Strange Queens Ch. 04

He looked at her and in his distractedness, forgetting that he had been about to resubmit her to slavery for trying to break the bond between them, his face cleared a little. 'Thanks-' he groaned, '-baby. I-' But Chelsea stepped forward in one fluid motion and, before he could finish his thought, drew the blade quickly and firmly across his skin. The words died on his tongue and he looked to the back of the hand he had been holding to his chest in utter shock. A thin, clean line streaked across his backhand, a bead of blood welling in its corner.

'Till that spell be broken by wilful bloodshed.' She breathed at him. As if the finality of her words carried a physical force, Paulo stumbled back another step and fell to a pod behind him and sunk to the ground, weak from his wounds and from the exertion of channelling his power.

Chelsea watched him, impassive. She didn't want to think, and for a few moments she didn't. She just watched him, watched the man that for the last four months had been her Master, her sole love and light in life, her guiding force and soul-mate. She felt like she was shocked, but indirectly so, almost as though her soul was shocked instead of her. It was disconcerting to say the least.

And then she turned her gaze and saw Jordan, on all fours on the floor, her head drooping. Instantly some clarity returned to her and she was by her side in a second.

'Jordan!' she cried. She put her arms around the girl's body, holding her. She seemed dizzy and confused. She didn't respond, but as Chelsea leaned in beside her, she could hear the girl whispering muttered words to herself.

'Spirit... Mind... Body... Entrance... Slave... Ensnare... Life... Love... Spirit... Death... Bloodshed...'

They were lines from the ritual. Chelsea had no idea what effect being put under Paulo's initial subduing hypnotism was having on her, let alone hearing the words of the ritual completed in full near by, as well as part of them being started in her own mind. She guessed they would have a very powerful effect on her brain, even incomplete. Distantly, she hoped with all her heart that she would recover from the spell.

But, thinking about the completed ritual, Chelsea suddenly realised why the ritual had already been completed once. Helping Jordan to her back so she could rest on the floor for a few minutes, she turned and saw the red headed woman, still unconscious by the first pod. Her own carbon-mummified body gazed down at the girl from above, suspended in the chamber.

Chelsea strode over to her and knelt over her. She was breathing, quite deeply in fact. She had thought the woman would be asleep, or unconscious, but it was almost as though she were dozing, resting. As Chelsea touched her, her breath caught and her eyes fluttered open.

'Who... Who are you?' she muttered drowsily. 'You're not...'

'I'm Chelsea. I'm your friend.' Chelsea soothed her. Rachel's wide, clear eyes flicked about.

'Where is my Master?' she asked. Chelsea's heart pumped harder in her chest.

'He's, uh, not here right now. He'll be back soon.'

'Oh...' Rachel said, pausing lengthily. 'Okay.' She spoke airily, her voice high. It sounded calm, almost child-like. She relaxed her head back down again and brought her hands to her chest to fiddle with her fingers.

Chelsea stood up, looking down at the tall girl. She had to do something about the spell over the woman before it took a deeper hold on her physical form. Remembering back to her own, initial enslavement, she could remember her first few hours being almost devoid of devotion. By the time night had approached, however, she was already thinking of him, and the next morning she was more or less gone, gone enough to wake him up with his dick buried down her gullet. Thinking of the memory, she felt a yearning happiness for the image, the way one does when they think of a fond memory. She could feel her emotions at the time, joy and bliss, as well as how she felt physically. Too horny to think straight.

But, for the first time, the memory did not bring the familiar sensations of her sexually enslaved lust rushing back. She felt no desire to find, or serve, her Master, nor did any resentment at her actions overcome her. She just remembered, remembered being his slave and loving it, and remembered breaking that enslavement. She didn't regret it.

Actually, Chelsea thought, she hadn't felt such overwhelmingly compelling sensations of completeness as his slave for quite a while. In fact her sensations of love and obedience had waned somewhat over the last month or so, to the point where she was almost completely free from his control at times.

She thought back, as she crouched over Paulo, panting on the floor, to tend to his wounds. It had more or less changed when she had woken up in that hospital bed at a strange facility far from town.

Paulo hadn't told her a lot about the place, or her time there, but Albert had been more forthcoming with information, as well as with a few other things that she had initially regarded as unthinkable and inhuman, but had later been able to take advantage of to milk more details from him.

*

He had begun by filling her in from her last memory; that of writing up the off-quarter budgets for some of Paulo's legal business ventures. She had remembered an itch, an incredible horniness, and then, presumably, passed out. After some recounting from Albert as they sat together alone in the house on the same couch a Roberts-controlled Chelsea had hypnotised, finger-fucked and enslaved Tiffany, she could in fact remember masturbating so violently she had begun to fist herself. Indeed, right as her memories blacked out completely, she had the feeling she had cum so hard she had passed out.

According to Albert, she had in fact done just that. But it had not been just a wanton libido urging her to get her rocks off. Rather, it had been Eliza Julia Roberts, the genius psychobiological scientist that had originally owned the mountainside house that Chelsea had inherited along with Roberts' mind, dormant as mere electrons and frequencies in the darkest, emptiest edges of her mind, resurging to consciousness. According to the report from Kapplin -- the facility Paulo had taken her to to be cured, Albert told her -- Roberts' brain waves themselves, inactive and incoherent, not really a brain at all without being actually thought together consciously, had manifested a mental trigger in her that took physical form as an itch, something that grew in her mind until it became such a focus for her that the other personality in her could slip back into dominance.

It didn't stop there, Albert told her energetically. Once orgasm had hit, she was so totally consumed in it that she actually died. Not physically, but mentally, her brain activity going completely still. Nothing stopped in her body, because Roberts' consciousness and subconsciousness had been there to take over, but as far as people go, Chelsea was gone. No memories, no thoughts, no personality left. It was one person in her head, and that was Roberts.

From there, Roberts had posed as Chelsea until she'd been found out by Paulo and Albert, trying to escape the house and get back to her home. Paulo had found her half way up the driveway to their home, naked, hiding behind a bush. He'd felt her, the ties of enslavement his God-given powers had over her still linking her body and spirit to him, even if Chelsea's mind was gone. She'd tried to run, but with a single command she had obeyed him and returned. After taking his cock in her mouth and passing out from lack of air on his length, she subsided into a slave once more.

But not for long. Soon Roberts was back in control, and had woken up locked in a room in the house with one entrance and cameras and microphones fitted surreptitiously inside. She hadn't done much in the way of attempting escape, though she could surely have broken the glass windows if she'd wanted. Instead, not long after being locked inside, Tiffany, Albert's girlfriend, had been sent in.

Tiffany hated what she'd been told. She resented the woman inside the body for her opinion on women. Hot and feisty, the moment she'd heard, she wanted to punch Roberts' lights out. Paulo -- an idea forming in his mind -- had allowed her the chance. She had attacked Roberts, but rather than beating her up and leaving, Roberts had subdued her easily. Within minutes, she was forced -- disgusted and fuming so hard her face was burning -- to eat the domineer out.

The men left the woman inside the cell, and both had passed out, Roberts forcing the woman into submission several times over, forcing her to perform gay acts of sexual intercourse throughout the evening. Night had passed, a strange night. When the two woke, neither were sure of what had happened, at least not for long. But Roberts had done something alright. Within hours, she had remembered her actions, and even sooner than that Tiffany was acting upon ulterior intentions. Roberts, a life-long devotee to the studies of hypnosis and submission, had hypnotised and forcibly assumed control over the girl's brain. When she woke the next morning, she was a remote controlled slave.

She spied on them for a while, and for a few days Albert didn't even know. She concealed herself well, although they had found her in unusual places, and masturbating at unusual times. Often she would sit in the annex room beside Roberts' cell, watching her, listening to her over the intercom, one hand down her pants. She would visit the cell at night, letting herself in, reporting to her Mistress and begging for the reward of orgasm. She no longer orgasmed with Albert.

And then Paulo had had some days in his schedule cleared, and he decided to take Roberts to Kapplin. Nowhere in the world would be a better place to take a case such as her, and quickly they assessed her and recommended a full bioerotic hypnotic treatment. Being the sole owner of the facility, Paulo had no cost to pay and no waiting times. By evening that day, she was hanging, strapped bodily inside a machine with glowing, skin-like material, being fucked over and over, her mind gone in hypnotic washes of submission. Eventually, they killed her.

'Killed me?' she had asked in shock. Albert explained. They had killed her, yes, killed all brain activity. Roberts, Chelsea, both people -- as far as her mind was concerned -- were gone. But Paulo had heard her voice somehow, and when they entered the cell, she had stirred. Quickly they rushed her to the hospital wing, and were about to attempt resuscitation when she had woken up, fully, just like that. The oddest thing? She still had no brain activity, no breathing, and most shocking of all, no heartbeat.

It was at this point that Albert had gotten wary, and almost seemed embarrassed. Urging him on, she allowed him to ask a promise of her to continue. She agreed that she would give him a handjob and some of his Dad's money. It couldn't be that bad, and she desperately wanted to know...

Albert continued, telling her about how he'd gotten lost and woken up with a robotic cock. She didn't believe him, but was silenced quickly and firmly when he undressed before her. There, inches from her face was a glowing, ringed length of part human, part robotic penis. Micro-pistons connected the base of his shaft to his crotch, rings of lights along the length of it glowed different colours, and, from his thick, engorged tip, tiny, needle like arms extended and swished in the air, looking for all the world like the claw in an arcade machine attempting to grab something, but far more articulate and much smaller.

Chelsea had watched in partial horror as, at will, the cock lengthened and widened, standing firm before him. Albert showed off a hatch he could open at will, and drew out a tiny glass vial, which he loaded in like a bullet into a rifle. Seconds later, also at command, the tip of a hypodermic extended from his wide open meatus and shot the liquid in a tiny, pressurised jet against the couch beside Chelsea.

She'd tried to talk her way out of the promise, but Albert had argued violently. Quickly, he loaded a differently coloured vial into the chamber in his cock and cornered her. Even when she agreed, he forced his member against her skin and the contents of his injection entered her. Within seconds, she relaxed and returned to her seat, beginning to stroke his rock-solid metal and skin length. Merely a subduing libido boost, the effect of the drug was simply as though she were drunk, inhibiting her ability to use reasoning and heightening her lust, but without the other negative effects of alcohol. He had set it to hit quickly but act slowly, so she would still want to hear the rest of his story before she finished him, but not be able to resist keeping her promise.

And so she learned about Tiffany, about Tiffany's procedure and her mental conditioning. She learned about Paulo, too, about his love for her, a love that had grown beyond the love his bond with her commanded, his powers and his devotion to rebuild his family's wealth. She learned more about his businesses and his plans, his legal enterprises and his illegal trades. She learned about where she came from, at least as far as Albert knew, learned she was from the shipyard extension of his slave trading organizations.

The one thing she hadn't been able to find much out about -- and something she'd only thought of at the last moment, as she worked her fingers around Albert's thick length, squeezing around his helmet and working tightly over his thickly ribbed shaft -- was Jordan. He knew nothing of the name, had no idea who or where she was or if she was even kept by one of Paulo's businesses.

That had been a quite few weeks ago now, and two weeks after she'd returned home from Kapplin. It was there. at Kapplin, and in her alone night with Albert, she knew now, that she had lost at least some of her overwhelming enslavement to Paulo's will, perhaps as a side-effect of the procedure, or perhaps from her death, or perhaps all of it and more.

Later, she would mount Albert and milk him some more, absorbing his glorious upgrade inside her, but only after inspecting his chamber to make sure he had used no more vials to affect her as she did so. When she came from the sex with him, she knew something critical about her enslavement had permanently disappeared.

*

Chelsea cleaned up Paulo's wound with some alcohol kept with the tools on the bench nearby, typically used prior to Chelsea's take-over of Roberts for cleaning the carbonized tests and the chambers they would go in. It hurt him, but the wounds were clean and the exertion helped keep him subdued.

Chelsea made a mental note to find a serum of some sort upstairs in the chemical lab that would put him down properly while they dealt with the mess he'd left here, but she had more pressing matters to attend to. Jordan was still weak from her nearly completed assimilation by Paulo, and the other girl, Rachel, was asleep on the floor where she'd left her. A light twitch at the corner of her lips suggested she was happy in her dreams, and Chelsea knew exactly what she was feeling and thinking inside. She wouldn't have long before the woman was fully devoted to her new Master, and, even though she didn't directly know her, if she was a friend of Jordan's she was someone Chelsea needed to help.

And so Chelsea was left at a hurdle. She had three incapacitated people -- two women, her girlfriend Jordan and Rachel, her friend -- and Paulo, a big man at the smallest of times. Somehow she had to get them all somewhere she could look after them, but somewhere they would be safe and secure. She couldn't risk Paulo and his new devotee being together, nor did she want to leave Jordan anywhere near him. She couldn't even think how she would get them upstairs to the lab. Even if she used the platform embedded in the back wall of the building, a platform that could rise all the way unhindered from the first floor - their floor - up to the lab, the second highest level in the building, that was still a fair distance out of the storage room, back through into the living area and then down the cell block hallways to the frosted glass cut-out that had an entrance onto the lift.

Wait.

The cell blocks. Of course! The cells were ideal for holding unideal customers - Roberts herself had held women in them, herself included, for over a year without leaving. They were fully featured and designed to be inescapable from the inside while fully accessible from the outside. And, as she thought about it, another thought came to her. The buggy that she had used to show Paulo around this floor was still parked outside the room. Chelsea might not have been able to drag each unconscious person all the way to the lift, or to a cell, but the cart was designed for assisting Roberts, operating completely alone - in moving things about on each enormous floor of the house.

Dragging Jordan out first by her shoulders, crouched low and lifting as much as she could so as not to hurt her, she managed to man-handle her outside and against the electric vehicle. Already panting despite being a well-fit woman, she abandoned trying to sit her in a seat almost immediately and instead dragged her up and onto the flat rear bed behind the two mounted seats. The little cart sat valiantly in place as Chelsea climbed up and knelt on its table, hauling Jordan's now completely unconscious form up by the arms, being as gentle as she possibly could.

Presently, Chelsea managed to get the girl's ass on the table and positioned her as comfortably as she could. She considered trying to get Rachel into the seat beside her, but dispelled the thought immediately. If she fell off, she could be badly hurt. There were no seat belts on the caddy.

Looping an arm around Jordan's waist to hold on to her, Chelsea carefully manoeuvred the car around on the bare tile outside the store room and began down the hallways towards the very cell Jordan's new life had begun in so long ago.

*

It took Chelsea just as much effort to get her into her room. Opening the door was easy - the building was already coded to the two women, it had been since they were enslaved, one to the other and the other to Roberts - so that they could move freely about at her will. A simple application of her thumb to the metal plate by the door had opened it, having already authenticated the owner long before she approached by her biometric signature.

Dragging the heavily asleep girl through the door way - having spent five minutes just trying to get her off the rear table of the car without hurting her, manoeuvring unconscious people was harder than it looked - Chelsea managed to get her up and onto a bed without much issue. Once there, she tucked her in lightly and tried to make sure she was comfortable.

Then it was time for the others. Chelsea quickly exited the cell and closed the door with a second touch of her finger to the small metal plate, climbing back into the car and starting it up. Grabbing the wheel, she flicked a switch underneath its supporting arm and unlocked a catch on her chair, rotating herself around one-hundred-and-eighty degrees on the spot. The chair's cushion and backrest turned on their mounts, while the steering wheel, attached to a long, malleable arm, simply reached around her, twisting into place with little resistance. With the controls all on the wheel itself, Chelsea simply switched on the silent electric motor and used the thumb sticks to guide the car back towards the storage room, now driving with the larger rear tray at the front of the car and the smaller, higher table at the back.

When she arrived, she found Paulo still where she'd left him, slumped by a chamber part way inside the room. Rachel was beginning to stir again. Quickly, Chelsea did her best to get her onto the table, Rachel half-helping in a daze. She made the journey as quickly as she could and was able to deposit the red head - she still didn't know her name - into the cell next to Jordan's. Again, she helped the woman onto the bed, but once she was in place she was moving again.