Strange Queens Ch. 04

Next came the hardest part. Chelsea did her best trying to move Paulo, but he was still awake and even if he hadn't pushed her away drowsily, she wouldn't have been able to get him onto the car. He was too bulky, weighed too much. As it was, he pushed at her sleepily as she tried to move him, his big hands making her job even harder.

Chelsea had to think of something. Quickly dashing outside, she didn't bother with the car, sprinting down the hallway, past the two cells she had only recently filled and around the corner. She found the lifts in a hallway that divided the larger cells from the smaller, more single-purpose rooms, a hallway that cut across the exact centre of the building. As she approached, the sleek, seamless metal doors shooshed open for her. She stepped in without a pause and flicked her knuckles against the panel. The glowing, raised blue arrow reappeared and the lift began to silently lift her upwards.

The doors opened seconds later and Chelsea was out, the double-sided lift opening in the centre of a pillar barely wider than the lift itself. Chelsea dashed out, rushing straight away to the back of the room. She had taken the lift to the second-highest level, the lab, a wide open space filled with almost every invention Eliza Roberts had created in her years. The space was wide and well lit, the customary full-size floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall glass panel forming the outwardly facing side of the building and natural, mirrored skylights bringing daylight into the darker areas of the place.

It was wide, at least the size of two basketball courts side by side, and only a little lower. In the very centre of the room, just a little towards the glass windows was a wide circular office area, a three-hundred-and-sixty degree table inside it with circular glass walls all around it. In the back, facing the glass exterior was an open doorway, the entrance into the revolving office area.

On the outermost extremities of the room on all sides, individually separated rooms with various fitness and entertainment equipment stood, outfitted with everything from gym trainers to couches with gaming consoles, pools and sports rooms, a squash court in the corner and even a sand pit in one. Each was completely divided off from the others in a self-cleaning, self-replenishing room, but several could have their dividing walls retracted to allow access between them. The heated and unheated pools, for example, had a thin, telescoping wall that could retract away, turning the two square rooms into a long, level temperature lap pool.

Between the doorways to the various subjugated rooms around the outside of the floor and the central work room was a lot of free space. Arranged in a half-organized fashion were creations of all kinds, mechanical machines, wheeled tables slathered with blueprints, notepads, drawings and vials, and hundreds more unknown tools of sexual and mental contortion. Though even the Roberts' infused Chelsea didn't know what most of them were, some - like one, a white egg shaped device with two upwardly sloping tongues mirroring each other and cut-out leg grooves in each side, shaped as though the device was designed to fit a person straddling the inner, gleaming, semi-clear material in the saddle and hook their legs up into the perfectly shaped recesses as though kneeling inside the seated device, their crotch bared to the inner part of the saddle and unable to move once in place, were familiar.

Nearby, a table bore drawings of a different device, appearing to be made from a screen-like device not unlike a tablet connected to a set of glasses covered with blinking lights, bore an empty place under a lamp that had until several hours ago been home to a tool Jordan herself had snatched on her way out. Further around the room, far from Chelsea's rushed searching, a locked Samsonite case sat alone on a bare wheeled bench. Inside, each encased in thick, shaped foam like a disassembled sniper rifle in a case, were several thick pen-like devices, each bearing two solitary buttons on their sides. A label on the box, scratched in pen on some half-peeling masking tape, read "soul synch project." Discarded on the floor under it lay a small box with a touch screen and buttons on it, several thick, rubbery tubes extending out to a clear thick silicone tube, a large rubber ring around its base. Each tube was stencilled, one with "suck" one with "pressure" and one with "electric stim." The box part bore more quickly written tape, this one reading "Milking device."

Chelsea dashed into a back room. Next to it was a wide, gently outwardly curving hole in the floor. No specialised rooms adorned this back wall, on the deepest edge of the buildings inside. This was the wall-less cut-out for the internal hydraulic platform that enabled Roberts to move anything too big for the lift up and down between the innermost three levels of the building, every level excluding the top floor living area and the downstairs car park. On it was Roberts's prized work, her transmogrification device, a dual-chambered mass of wires, bared computer parts and mechanical componentry. In the very centre, against the back wall of the platform - the wall was attached to the platform, as there were no rails or edges to the entire raising platform and only closed off sections on each level - was a horizontal bed not unlike a tanning bed. This one, however, instead of rows of lights, bore a thick, black, skin-like fabric that coated the entire inside.

Retracted up thanks to a set of thick supporting beams reaching out from the rear wall of the elevator was mounted a second, nearly identical copy of the bottom half of the bed, this one facing downwards. When lowered, it would close into place over the occupant in the chamber, covering them entirely up to their chin. Only their head would remain uncovered. A second portion of the lid remained separate, hanging slightly lower than the body resting retracted in the ceiling. This additional section would cover the head, forming a fully enclosed chamber once it was lowered separately from the main body down to the bed below.

At the foot of the artificial skin covered bed, a second upright chamber stood. At present, it's thick corrugated glass doors stood revolved open against the sides of the chamber. Inside, strips of thin metal bearing unusual looking strips of lights and open endings of pipes arrayed evenly all around a smaller raised pedestal in its centre. A gentle, source-less glow emanated from somewhere in the chamber's upper ceiling.

Chelsea knew what the device was. It was the device that Roberts had built on her own specifically designed to combine her entire repertoire of knowledge into one single, all-encompassing purpose; the final, irreversible, inescapable and irreversible conversion of anyone, but specifically women, into subservient, obedient life-long sexual slaves. Chelsea herself had been through it four times - the four carbonized, mummified bodies floating in the murky blue chambers down in the storage room, bodies that had her exact frame, her exact face down to the smallest pimple and hair, bodies in which exact copies of her very skin, bone and brain hung - in her time as a captive of Roberts'.

The other body, the fifth in the row of ten chambers spaced out evenly in the storage room, belonged to a different girl, a wider, more voluptuous woman. Jordan. She was Roberts's fifth use of the machine and her first test subject other than Chelsea, and it was this very machine that had completely, utterly and permanently built her body, her brain, her very DNA to love Chelsea. Despite everything she had been through, that bond was so thoroughly and deeply rooted, it still held today as strongly as it had then.

But Chelsea had no eyes for the device today. She left it sitting silently on its elevating platform, silent and dormant, as she searched the nearby rooms either side of the platform for what she wanted. She needed a serum, an injectable or perhaps airborne sedative that would knock her previous Master down in the storage room out until she could get him somewhere she could control him. Ideally, she thought as she flicked her fingers over countless vials of differently coloured and textured liquids, each labelled with a long, detailed description, she could use something that subdued a person's will, so that she could use Paulo's own body to get him to another of the cell rooms down on the level he was currently in. She was strong, but she was nowhere near strong enough to lift the middle-aged male.

Chelsea found something that sparked her interest. Brushing aside some unimportant vials, she pulled out a small spray bottle, like the ones used for solution to clean eyewear. Chelsea gave it a tentative spray far away from her face and tried to rack her brain for the categorized, meticulously impassive memories of Roberts. She took a ginger sniff at the air near where she'd sprayed.

She woke up where she'd been standing thirty seconds ago. Seemingly, nothing had changed. Her shoulders were slumped and both arms hung limply by her sides, and she'd dropped the tiny spray bottle on the floor. It sat rolled against her heel.

Chelsea's memories edged aside as she found what she'd been looking for. The taste of the slightly sweet, cold fluid in the bottle hung in the back of her throat as she, or rather Roberts, remembered that this was indeed a suppressant, a quick acting and even quicker passing airborne spray designed to subdue less-savoury subjects while still making them controllable. It was a simple mechanism, a shutdown of the logic and reasoning cores in the brain, as well as a suppressant on emotions, memory and stimulus. It was simple in that it turned off everything needed to argue or resist and making it impossible to store their actions under the effect in memory. A blackout of memory meant no ability to learn to resist or anticipate the spray again, and resulted in confusion once the subject reawoke. It was, really, just like a quick conscious sleep.

Chelsea grabbed the tube from the floor and turned. This would do; more applications would lengthen her control as long as she needed, provided she didn't run out of solution. It wouldn't knock Paulo out, but at least it would let her get him to a room. Once he was locked inside, there was nothing he could do.

As she turned to leave, Chelsea turned to look back at the elevator platform, sitting silently in the perfectly shaped indentation in the rear of the room. The sun shone brightly in, glinting off the finishing on the horizontal bed. The soft white light glowed inside the chamber.

Perhaps... she thought to herself. I don't have any profiles, and it would take time to set up properly... but that might just work. Maybe. Turning, Chelsea moved towards the elevator.

*

Down on the second level, all was still. In their rooms, the two girls, Jordan and Rachel, lie in their respective beds, resting. Rachel turned happily in her sleep, a wide, content grin on her features. Below the sheets, a dampness had begun to spread from between her closed legs as she dreamed happy, dirty little dreams with her Master in full focus. Next door, Jordan slept soundly, herself dreaming, but her dreams a confusing, churning mess of images, sounds, smells and sensations that pummelled her from all sides, some scary, some reassuring, some safe and trustworthy, others unknown, dark and foreboding. Down the hallway in the store room, Paulo's head rolled this way and that, lightly dozing, the pain in his back burning from the knife wound.

Using the control panel identical to the one inside the regular lift on the inside edge of the elevator, on its own special pedestal against the wall-less side of the platform, Chelsea brought the elevator, transmog bed and all, down to the lowest level it could reach. Outside, a thin, slightly curved door made of the same frosted glass as the rest of the dividing wall keeping anyone on the lower levels safe from the moving platform extended from its place tucked flush behind the long, curved glass divider. The platform lowered itself surprisingly quietly down into place and the frosted glass door slid open again.

Chelsea strode out of the door, brushing her ring finger against the thin metal frame of the threshold. Indistinguishable from the rest of the frame, a gentle glow flickered on and off in a second and the frosted separator slid back into place, sealing off the wide elevator platform from the stark white hallway outside. Using a special command coded into the unique DNA and skin indentations covering her ring finger, the door intelligently locked itself to all access except hers. While she was fairly certain she could resist Paulo should he attempt to assume control over her in his current state, if something should release the red head, she didn't want to risk the sensitive device on the platform to the uninitiated users. This way, only three people could access the room, and one was inside a cell, sleeping. The other had no body and lived - or, used to live - inside Chelsea's mind.

Chelsea strode purposefully down the hallway to the storage room, spray in hand. As she rounded the corner, she saw Paulo moving distressed against a pod, rolling his head. He had become somewhat delirious since she'd left him and was still scratching at his wound. Chelsea made a note to herself to return upstairs to the shelves upon shelves of vials and find a disinfectant, but that was secondary to securing Paulo so he couldn't take control over more of the house. It didn't go unnoticed to Chelsea that, if he managed to assert control over Jordan, he would have unopposed control over the house, including all of Roberts' inventions and devices, not to mention the numbers to forcibly overcome Chelsea.

As soon as the enslaved Jordan told him about the cells, she would be locked up until he discovered one of Roberts' more ruthless mind control machines, upon which time he would, without a doubt, return to her and solidify his ownership over every secret in the house. Chelsea knew firsthand the power the building held, and in the hands of a ruthless, money-hungry, morale-less demi-god, the equipment here could destroy the fabric of sociality itself, the machines of female enslavement put into the public market and sending the equality-struggling human race into a new age of male-dominated supremacy, an age that would never see women rise up to be any more than slaves and whores ever again. They would never want to. Their minds would be sapped collectively of will.

Paulo's eyes flickered open as she approached. He half smiled at her, mumbling something about his baby girl returning to him. He was beginning to thank her for bringing him his nightgown and slippers when a glistening, glinting mist shot into his face, and everything went resoundingly black.

Paulo's head drooped the instant the mist hit him. Within seconds, his muscles relaxed and he slumped against the base of the chamber. Chelsea cast a glance up at herself, hanging black in the blue fluid, and shrugged helplessly.

'What?' she asked herself. 'Don't judge me unless you know you would have done it differently.'

She crouched down before the man and examined him. He was breathing, slowly, deeply, so he wasn't asleep. She raised the bottle and sprayed again, and he reflexively flinched ever so slightly. He didn't flinch at all with the third spray, or the fourth.

'Get up.' Chelsea ordered. For several seconds, he didn't move. Then, dragging his massive hands along the floor, he pushed himself of and stood, slowly, drowsily. His head was still drooped.

'Follow me.' Chelsea's words were clear and low, not quite monotonous but devoid of emotion. She cast a look back over her shoulder to herself in the chamber, who seemed to glare back at her from her peaceful eternal sleep. 'Oh, shut up, you cow.'

Paulo raised his head and his glassy eyes opened as he shuffled down the hallway after her. It took about a minute to take him down the long, endless hall to the cells she wanted to use, but soon enough she was standing by the next door in line next to Jordan and Rachel's. She brushed her fingertips over the metal plate, not even bothering with a fingerprint tap, and as though it hadn't even needed to wait for her to do so before it opened, the solid steel door swished open with a tiny mute whisper. Chelsea strode inside and Paulo's massive form followed, eyes open but looking for the entire world like he was asleep.

'Bed.' She said simply, pointing. Paulo sat down on the bed, hands on his knees. Then, once he was in place, she held up the bottle again and deployed six more sprays right into his open eyes and mouth. He didn't flinch.

Alright, she thought wryly. The wound. Chelsea left the room, flicking her hand at the door, and hit the elevator at a run. Smartly, it was back on this level - it knew the only person to use it, Chelsea, had returned here in the moving platform, and had made a logical guess as to where it would be needed next. In ten seconds she was back on the lab level.

*

The sun was high in the sky at this point and the day was in full swing. The roadway outside the embedded home had quietened to a gentle rush as people of all walks did their various jobs. The city embraced the working day, and it was clear and crisp, a beautiful autumn morning.

Across town, Albert woke up. His phone was ringing. He ignored it, turned over, and dozed again. Thirty seconds later, it rang again, and this time he went to the effort of swiping the call to 'declined.'

This time, it rang right away.

Vomiting some rather colourful profanities, Albert threw the sheets off in a temper, revealing his naked form, and reached for the phone. The charging cord in it tore away as he yanked it to his ear.

'What.' He growled. His throat was dry and he held the device away from him as he coughed. He returned it to his ear seconds later, reaching for his bottle.

'huh.' He muttered. The person on the other end of the line had just finished with the reason they'd called. They could audibly hear Albert's throat as he swallowed water when they began to repeat themselves.

'Albert, I'm sorry to wake you. It's Johnathan. Your father had a meeting with me at Corrsons & Corrsons half an hour ago. Did he need to cancel or is he on his way?'

Albert sat unmoving for a few moments while the necessary neurons wound up in his head to process the words.

'Yeah, he's cancelling.'

'Oh my, that is unfortunate, could you tell him please we need to reschedule urgently-' the voice went tinny and small as Albert took the earpiece from his ear and swiped the call to ended, cutting off the manager's voice.

'Fucking pansy.' He muttered, scratching his dick, his fingers, now used to his new cock, winding around the mini-pistons embedded in his skin to reach the right areas.

He had just plonked his head back onto the pillow when the phone rang again. Swearing to Eros he'd kill the fucker for calling him and not Paulo about this dumb shit, he was absolutely about to ditch the expensive smartphone at the wall when he saw the name on screen.

Tiffany.

Albert answered and put the phone to his ear.

'Baby?'

'Oh god, Alby baby!' came the thin response. Tiffany's voice was flustered and emotional. 'Oh fuck, mmmm, it's good to hear your voice.' She seemed to be in the middle of something.

A grin creased Albert's mouth in the half-darkness as he heard the woman on the other end. She was at her college, in class at this time. Since he'd turned her back on, amongst the glorious, lavishly worshiping sex she'd given him, Tiffany - the real tiffany, exactly as she had been before she'd been reconditioned, feisty and sexy and fierce in every way - had decided, with his help and encouragement, that she wanted to study. Within a week she had enrolled and been accepted into the class she wanted, and a week later she was gone. It was in a neighbouring town, her college, a few hours' drive away, but Albert had taken full use of Tiffany's mindless Program Mode to implant many, many little surprises for her to find while she was away on her first term.