Strange Queens Ch. 04

One such surprise, she'd discovered on her first morning in her dorm room, was a timer. Simple and elegant, Tiffany's mind had a countdown to orgasm, and her lust ramped up in the hour or two before zero hour every day without question. His tweak was that she couldn't cum until she heard him say her trigger word, but she would get so lusty, so desperate, so in need, that she wouldn't be able to stop until she finished.

Albert had initially set it up as an alarm clock, the world's best alarm clock - your girlfriend on the other end of a phone moaning and trying not to scream as she fucked herself to orgasm, begging you, crying for you, screaming in agony for you to say the one little word that would open her flood gates in a flash. Some days she was in tears, tears that were blasted away in an instant the moment she was allowed to cum.

'Slave.' Albert breathed lazily. He could hear her chest shaking as the ejaculate sprayed from her groin uncontrollably. She would have hoped and prayed that she wouldn't spray today, but she would. She always did. That was part of the fun.

'So where are you today, baby?' Albert asked casually as he heard her breathy "o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h" moan struggle to escape her throat as her whole body rattled in orgasm. She didn't say anything for a while, just moaning and yelping, jerking about helplessly and trying in vain to quieten herself down. When she finally finished, her stomach and arms burning with lactic acid from clenching for ten minutes straight, she was panting hard.

'The... Fucking, toilets... You, fucking... Shit, head...' she breathed. She was slumped against the cistern on a toilet in the back cubical of the school toilets, legs spread and slumped relaxedly against the wall, her top button torn from her shirt, part of her bra showing, her skirt hiked high and her panties around one ankle. Her visible labia pulsed, tensing, her entryway wide from her fingers buried inside herself, contracting and relaxing in the after-throes of glorious orgasm.

'Oh, so you made it out of class this time, hmm?' Albert teased. He couldn't see it, but Tiffany flipped the bird, tiredly, at the phone to her ear.

'This time, you... fucking perv.' She breathed down the line. 'Luckily.'

Albert laughed. Early on in her time at school, in a new class, Tiffany had been so nervous about stepping up to leave, thinking she might collapse on the floor or at least that everyone would be able to see and smell her wetness, she had stayed put, putting a hole through her lip with her teeth as she'd tried with all her will to stop herself from screaming. Throwing the rules about phones to the wind she'd called him as quickly as she could, her fingers slipping on the touch screen keys, the thumb of one hand slick even though she'd wiped it on her skirt before bringing it up to use the phone.

Albert, the fucking little shit, had made her wait another thirty seconds after he'd picked up before she came. She'd moaned, fast, jerky, gasping "hmm hmm hmm hmm" huffs through clenched teeth and thick "o"ed lips, the people in the rows near her turning to look right at her. Everything was tense, her arms locked on the desk, elbows straight, her knees shaking uncontrollably. People whispered, some took out their phones, a couple in the rows ahead and below her turned and pointed. One of them started filming. Tiffany had already dropped her own phone on the desk. A few of the nearer people around her flinched - she saw them blink in surprise - when they heard her cum splat audibly against her tight panties in a spray that would have made porn stars proud. She gave up caring when the people in the row in front stared between her thighs, unable to close them despite trying, watching her soak her seat, her own cum running thickly down her calves and soaking into her socks.

She had made a lot of strange acquaintances that day. She hoped to god the people filming in the next row - at least five or six that had perfect shots of her shivering legs and right up her skirt to her pulsing wet cunt - had the decency not to get her face in the shot when they inevitably posted it to other friends, on Facebook, and most likely on PornHub. By the end of that class, she could feel her own wet cum under her heels, and she blushed her red face, red from embarrassment and even more red from the rush of intense orgasm, as a small, mousey girl a seat down in the row in front put a tissue to her nose from the smell of sex, glancing behind her.

Tiffany had sworn like a trooper at him that night, but thanks to just one of countless little triggers he had buried in her mind, she had barely begun before she was writhing on the floor of her dorm bucking and kicking and screaming without room to care about the noise as her body exploded in remote controlled orgasmic bliss. Before long, she had earned the one private room in her three-bed, two roomed dorm - not from being senior, or the alpha in her room, but by the other two wanting some space from the screaming, jerking sex whore who called someone and exploded - literally - her cum against the walls. There was already a wide, dribbling dried stain on the wall and one on the back of the door where she'd garden-hosed her fluids previously.

Eventually she calmed down and caught her breath, and, nothing but love and thanks all she could feel for him, she blew him kisses and whispered dirty dirty promises to him down the line. She was cleaning herself up with toilet paper with one hand as they exchanged wet comments, wiping the worst of the wall down and hiking her sticky panties up. Once she was in place - more or less, the button was a pain and she just couldn't get rid of the smell completely - they said their goodbyes.

'Oh, and baby?' Albert said before he hung up.

'Yeah, you devil?'

'Trinkets.'

Tiffany was already starting to moan again as he ended the call, leaving the receiver in her hand to beep with the terminated line as she crumbled to her knees on the dirty tiled floor, shaking, convulsing, doubling over, her stomach pulsing as she came again. Her love juice ran down her thighs and pooled under her knees and the panties already completely soaked around her lips just slid down her slicked legs.

Somewhere, a dark, empty, lonely place in her brain, the tiniest part of her mind not consumed in the second mind blowing, body rending orgasm in as many minutes, swore a promise she would kill her boyfriend when she got home, but it was forgotten already before she finished the thought.

Albert got up, still laughing, rubbing himself down animatedly. His robo-dick stood up and performed its usual self-cleaning cycle, the sensations now normality in his life as the inside of his nerve-filled helmet was washed and brushed clean with tiny micro-heads. Oddly, no one was home. He called out for his dad, or for Chelsea, but no one replied. Shrugging, he remembered they had been going early to visit her old house, and so he thought little more of it, shambling to the kitchen to pour some juice and contemplating watching one of the videos he'd taken of Tiffany fucking herself to jerk off to. Wouldn't be as good as fucking her first thing in the morning, but a wank to her perfect, mindless little pet body violently fist-fucking herself uncontrollably would be just as good.

*

It didn't take Chelsea as long this time. Medical basics like an all-purpose salve were in a drawer and Roberts had stockpiled a generous helping of retail and homemade alternatives in this one drawer alone, not to mention plenty more in similar drawers and cabinets on every floor of the facility. Chelsea took two tubes and returned back down to the cell level.

The door opened silently at the press of her thumb, authenticating to her biometric signature faster than the latest flagship smartphone. While they still used crusty optical pressure sensors to scan and image a fingerprint, as a default all biometric authentication panels in the private home - there were over three hundred - featured a next-gen heat sensitive carbon and laser dual combo. On the one hand, the pad, an electrically charged sheet of metal coated with a special film of super-resistant carbon, in a form that went on wet, dried clear and dried so thin it was invisible to the naked eye is depressed by the valleys and hills of a fingerprint.

This carbon, once depressed, forms a shape to the fingerprint. This is then read easily by a simple laser scanning core, with sixteen billion Dots per Inch (or DPI for the average user) scanning capability, able to see even the microscopic differences between fingerprints. But that's not all. The carbon is flush with an electrically charged sheet of metal, which reacts with the carbonised layer, giving it a rigidity to return to its original shape after the intrusion is removed, thus negating anyone stealing a print from a left-over mould on a pad. On top of this, the electric layer also picks up natural gasses and oils caught in the microscopic crevices on the finger and carries a sample of them onto the carbon where the same highly flexible laser can then identify the substances, registering any possible diseases, chemical threats or even unusual DNA from pigment skin cells embedded in the oils.

On top of this, at any time throughout the entire facility - even in the tunnel downstairs - a similar setup of three scanners - laser pinpointing to determine body shape, mass and pigment, gas spectrometry to confirm scent and air signature, and electrical analysis of the brain waves - is always routinely scanning and authenticating every living being inside every two seconds. Taking a snapshot of the person's unique personal ID, using everything right from their smell and thoughts, no one can wander any of the facility's halls without being thoroughly checked and logged by the central server. Although the computer's clever on-board artificial intelligence allowed the strangers Rachel and Paulo inside, each had been on their first entrance accompanied by an approved user. Rachel had first entered with Jordan, weeks ago, while Paulo had come in this morning with Chelsea. As such, no action was taken. Had they been unaccompanied, however, the computer would have immediately processed a threat assessment and, if necessary, actioned a suppressant to subdue the invaders. If nothing else, the computer was capable of initiating a full-scale lockdown.

Chelsea barely stopped for a second for the door to slide effortlessly open. Paulo was still sitting inside on the bed, his face slack, staring forward right into Chelsea's stomach. She lowered the hand that had dived into her pocket, withdrawing the suppressant spray, and let it sit again. She approached the relaxed figure still in his now creased suit, a blotched circle of blood staining it around his wound. Chelsea wasn't sorry for it, but the suit was a nice one. That was a small shame.

Quickly she undressed the jacket from Paulo's limp body, getting him to take off his shirt for her, which he did without resistance. The area was bloody but the blade hadn't gone deep. It was mostly a bad gash, the broken blade and plastic casing stopping it from going too deep. It was a painful cut between two ribs but little more. Chelsea shook the white bottle in her hand and took off the cap, pointing a small fly spray-can-like nozzle at the gash. It sprayed a thin jet of clear mist at the cut and she watched it seep deep inside. For a moment, Chelsea could have sworn she'd seen Paulo move - but then, she reasoned with herself, it must have been a muscle twitching from the pain. Even one of Roberts's sedatives would likely only have a partial effect over pain like this, she concluded. She suspected even she would jump if she were sprayed with the mindless liquid and then had her wounds cleaned.

Chelsea finished her application and put the bottle in her pocket, the wound now well wetted and bubbling lightly. She swapped to her second bottle, a cream labelled with simple colouring and general directions. She smeared a generous helping onto the wound and blew lightly. As she did, the outer layer seemed to harden a little, and when she touched it with her finger lightly she found that the surface had indeed hardened a little on the skin, keeping the wound in place, a solidified bandage made from the cream.

She pocketed her healing salves again and withdrew her first bottle from the other pocket, the suppressant. She rounded to Paulo's face and raised the bottle, deploying two quick-

- Huh. Chelsea caught herself. For a moment there she felt like she'd thought of something else, become distracted, almost as though she'd blacked out just for a second. She shook her head and sprayed the bottle into Paulo's wide, empty eyes again -

But Paulo wasn't there.

*

Chelsea blanched. She was still bent over, holding the bottle out to the spot that would have been right in front of his face, her back bent at the bum. She straightened, looking at her hand incredulously. As she did so, she noticed something unusual about the bottle. Its waiting spray nozzle was pointed backwards, right at her face.

She almost sprayed the bottle right there, just out of the energy she'd already committed to performing the act, but she stopped herself and, instinctively holding the bottle as far away from her face as she could, turned it around. She capped it once more and slid it into her pocket, never noticing how her hand easily missed her pocket and let go of the bottle on the outside of her pants, falling to the soft carpet by her foot, forgotten.

Chelsea was in trouble. Paulo was gone, lose in the facility, and Chelsea, so far as was logical, had been sprayed in the face with the serum. She could have been out of it for anything from thirty seconds to a few minutes with absolutely no recollection of the event or whatever went on inside that time. She tried not to think of the possibility of implanted actions while she'd been under.

She slowed herself down, thought about it. Paulo had still been under the effects when she'd returned to the room. She watched him from the door, saw his face, which was why she knew she could enter, and... Aw, fuck. Mistake one; she'd left the door on open. As she retraced her steps, she recalled the flinch Paulo had made when she's sprayed the antiseptic onto his wound. It hadn't been a reflex, she thought with dismay. It had been a reaction.

And Chelsea realised now that Paulo had been acting. Somehow he'd imitated the serum - he probably woke up so dazed from her repeated sprays that he had realised how he'd been sitting when he woke and copied it - so that when she entered the room she would believe he was still under. It had been a remarkable acting job, then, when she had instructed him to take off his shirt. He had reacted so willingly and immediately, offering no resistance, not even showing he took time to think over the action as any logically functioning person would, that she had never suspected he was faking the effects of the spray.

And then, when she'd finished, he'd worked out what the bottle had to be and he must have simply snatched it at the last moment, turning it on her and putting her out. From there, he had all he needed to escape and roam anywhere he wanted in the building, unchecked.

So where would he be?

Chelsea thought, hard, fast. He knew this level; she'd shown him around it earlier. But the other levels were a mystery to him, the only one he knew about other than this one being -

- being the lab on level four.
'And this is the lift, with a simple swipe it takes you up through the spine of the building right up every level. You saw it downstairs. Up on the top floor it opens with both sides onto the living areas, it's in the middle of a dividing wall. Then, in the lab, it's in a pillar and opens on three sides! After that, in the bay it opens in a courtyard on both sides where you can easily get to hydroponics, farms and storage with the caddies, and here as you can see it opens with the right door into this hallway, between the containment cells I'm about to show you and the operation cells you just saw. There's a biocoded exit down there and not far ahead is the elevator. Underneath us it opens with the front door on the carpark platform. Three doors and the lift is half the size as any other lift in the world, but it's still got the same passenger room.'

That was the sentence she'd said to him. The lab on level four. Fuck. And, too, she had told him how to use the lift, she remembered now. Despite the biocodes, the lift would allow access in the passenger lift as she had actively shown him the controls, an action authenticated by the server as a trustworthy display. The computer would allow Paulo's biochemistry to interact with the low-level arrays in the building, including cameras, external doors, and the lift.

Chelsea was sprinting before she finished the train of thought. If I was a half-crazy, power hungry billionaire determined to make money, enraged at being betrayed, hurt, and aware my half-god powers were beginning to fail me, I would run for the lab where an even more crazy and power hungry womanizer made contraptions to subdue, control, and enslave specifically females, even if the three people threatening my life's work weren't women - which they are.

Chelsea hit the lift at speed, but it was sitting between levels above her, trying to intelligently be ready for two separate users on different floors. It arrived in seconds and she slammed her palm against the panel, thrusting the holographic controls upwards with a violent swipe. The lift swished rapidly upwards and within moments she was on the lab level. Both doors slid open and she stepped out-

-and a plastic case crashed into the back of her head, shunting her head forwards and making her vision explode with stars. She hit cement hard and watched her vision from the other end of a long, dark tunnel floating dizzyingly back and forth like a drunk woman staring at a swinging pendulum. She barely had time to shake the nausea away when her shirt was grasped by the collar and she was hauled up backwards. She was on her feet, swaying, and just had time to raise her arms as Paulo's open palm rushed towards her nose, ready to crush it back into her brain. She blocked the blow but the force sent her reeling and she sprawled awkwardly on the floor, her ass stinging from the impact. She was still desperately trying to get her vision under control and her coccyx burned with pain.

Chelsea rolled as a booted foot came for her chest, trying to pin her into place on the ground. She hit all fours and pushed herself upright, unsteady. Paulo, enraged, lifted the boot again and kicked at her, sideways, karate style. She dodged to the side and instinctively twisted her torso sideways, letting loose a straight-handed side chop to Paulo's adam's apple. It hit home but there was too much distance between them and it only left him coughing. Chelsea struggled to stay balanced, but her vision was focussing now and, though her ass hurt like fuck, she wasn't injured. Quickly, she reached into her pocket while Paulo was distracted and drew out the suppressant-

-but it wasn't there. Her pocket was empty. Like a flashback in a cartoon, Chelsea had a fleeting, vivid image of herself unknowingly slipping the bottle against her pocket and letting it fall silently to the soft carpet by her foot, even tapping the empty pocket as though it was in place there. A suggestion, Chelsea's brain screamed. She cursed hatefully. The cunning bastard had even thought to leave suggestions, hypnotically induced ideas in her sleep under the serum, to help what he knew could be an uphill fight for him while she had the all-powerful spray on her. The motherfu-

-Paulo's open palm hit her again, this time before she could react, and her forehead snapped forcefully backwards from the impact as it hit her right between the eyes. She stumbled backwards but before she fell she hit the edge of a table and caught herself, her stomach knotting sickeningly. Chelsea thought she smelled blood. Paulo didn't let up, ramming a fist into her stomach. She doubled over and rolled over the table, clattering unceremoniously to the floor on the other side, vials, tubes and unfinished equipment crashing to the ground all around her. Bile burned in her throat as pain screamed in her body, she wasn't used to fighting and had no idea...