Strange Queens Ch. 04

... No. No, she did have an idea on how to defend herself. Although not her specifically, but Roberts. The doctor was trained in martial arts as a young woman. But Roberts, so far as Albert had told her, was gone, dispelled from her brain for good under the intensive hypnotic control of the Kapplin facility's brainwashing procedure. Chelsea hoped to god the foreign doctor had been more resilient than that, because Paulo was rounding the table on her very quickly, a fist ready to put her down.

As he raised his knuckles to slam into her temple and end her resistance once and for all, Paulo's burning, evil eyes glaring down at her, Chelsea clenched her fists and threw her last reserves of energy and will to the wind. It was instincts now, time to stop thinking and let her body and mind work as one. Either she would defend herself now, or she would be knocked out and most likely wake up in a sealed cell at Kapplin, or, if she was lucky, never wake up as a free-minded Chelsea ever again.

The fist came flashing down towards Chelsea's outstretched body, her wide eyes full of fear as they saw the fist. Then all went dark.

A second before her own arm came flying up from her side and flicked the fist away easily, twisting sharply around and grasping Paulo's forearm in her hand, twisting it around painfully!

Paulo's eyes went wide in shock, but Chelsea didn't stop to gloat. She jumped to her feet and planted two quick punches - stunners, rapid pop, pops to his nose - with her free left hand. The blows hit, Paulo reeled. He was a thickly built man, she didn't break the skin, but the blows shocked him and that was all she needed. Quickly, Chelsea twisted the arm more and brought a foot to the back of his leg, kneeling down in a way that pulled his knee forwards. He lost balance and dropped and so did Chelsea, but she was in power now and she delivered two fast jabs to the pressure points along his side. While he reeled on the floor she stood and backed away, levelling the playing field. Her nose stung and her breathing rasped, but she was alright.

Turning, she ran to the shelves by the now empty lift shaft, yanking open the drawers and searching for another useful suppressor she could use on Paulo. A second, trial only version of the same spray came to life in her hands as she threw the various ointments, creams and salves aside, covered in red stickers. Beside it, another unmarked bottle glinted at her, waiting to be seen. She twisted the cap off the experimental suppressant and turned to see Paulo striding towards her, his hand out. She raised the bottle and tried to depress the spray but it wouldn't eject and Paulo swatted it away easily, clapping her wrist so hard with his backhand that pins and needles exploded in her fingertips. His bearlike right hand closed around her neck and she felt herself forcibly lifted off the ground, her back pressed into the support column in the wall, one of the two identical columns on either side of the elevator shaft housing the mechanical wheels for lifting the platform up and down.

Paulo spat on the ground and glared at her. Her face began to go red, gasping for air.

'You little fucking bitch,' he breathed. 'You've put me through so much shit. You came into my home, became part of the family, then you turned into a threat, enslaved my son's girlfriend, died, came back to life hating me, stopped responding to my commands and now you've tried to kill me. I thought you would be different, different from the sons of bitches my fathers and grandfathers were, but I see now any family of mine only wants my money or my dick. I'm fed up with being fucked over and I'm not going to let a pissant little bitch like you fuck up what I've worked so hard to give back to my family name.' Paulo's breath washed hot against Chelsea's face. She felt like her eyes were going to pop, like her lungs would burst. She could see the edges of the tunnel returning to the edges of her vision.

'Well, no more, you cow. You and your little whore girlfriend taught me one thing; even my own power can be overwritten. Gloria failed to do what I commanded of her, and so did you. So, now I think it's time I relied less on the Word, and more on technology, on solidarity. Thankfully,' he grinned violently, 'thankfully, now I have a fucking factory full of lovely little gadgets and trinkets I can use to turn every cunt I don't like into a slave at my command.' He practically spat the words, leaning in close to her nose. Chelsea's face went purple, her legs swinging uselessly underneath her. She clawed feebly at his arm, but either her nails did no damage or he didn't care.

Chelsea gurgled something against his grip. He cocked his head. 'What was that, betrayer? Hmm? I couldn't quite hear you.' He released his grasp a little, freeing her windpipe slightly.
'Ah tffnk... yffp... d-d...' He let go some more, dropping her to the ground enough so that he wasn't bearing her weight in his grip on her neck. She gasped for air.

'I... Don't... Think... So...' she sucked in air, her voice a whisper. 'Say, goodnight... sweetie.' And Chelsea raised the second bottle, the blue stickered one that had been in a corner of the drawer, the one she'd grabbed with her other hand right before she'd spun to face Paulo, and deployed the contents right into Paulo's face.

The effect was instantaneous. Paulo's eyes widened and his grip relaxed instantly around Chelsea's neck. She dropped to her knees, gasping, sucking in air, coughing and gagging. Before her, Paulo stumbled backwards, his eyes wide. His face was flushed, and he looked down in shock, his fingers spread wide, his arms raised at the elbow. He glared downwards, unblinking. The serum, whatever it was, had taken effect, spectacularly, on his body - but what was it doing?

Seconds later, the answer was revealed. Within thirty seconds Paulo's pants began to tent, first with a bulge, then with a thick throbbing length. As the already lavishly-endowed man's member toughened into full mast, his well-fitted suit pants tore, the pressure ripping them apart at the seam. The thick digit burst free, thickening and lengthening rapidly in the open air before him, a black man's envy if ever there was one. Paulo, his face beetroot red, stared at it in horror. He began to sway as the rush of blood leaving his organs took effect, blood he needed in his brain, controlling his will, his movements, and the will of his gods. He sank to his knees, and as he did so, a thick wad of semen burst unbidden from his tip, his thick, burning red length pulsing with his heart beat. He watched it ejaculate spontaneously in wonder, gazing at the jet of creamy fluid as It shot from his barrel and hit the wall beside Chelsea. It happened again, and again, and again and again and again, and before long he was ejaculating thick spurts constantly, his entire body rocking. His eyelids fluttered and he swayed on his knees, the sensation, the shock, and the loss of blood getting the better of him. As his cock deployed another spurt with gusto, he fell forward onto it, passing out.

Chelsea's throat burned with bile stinging in her neck. Her breathing rasped, catching, making her choke. It was all she could do to stay there on her hands and knees, one hand around her neck, coughing and spluttering. She tried to take it easy, to breathe calmly. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her nose and ass still stung painfully.

Eventually, when she looked up, she saw her assailant flat on the floor, passed out, a line of glinting fluid marking a long gash on the floor in front of him. Underneath his hips, the side of the tip of his thick cock could be seen, gently throbbing, a cock Chelsea had seen, had ridden, had buried in her throat and so deep in her cunt it had as far as she had felt, pierced her womb with its length, releasing his seed inside her very abdomen. The spray bottle rolled against her fingertips as she panted and wheezed on the floor, and she picked it up.

'Thanks,' she said to it. 'Who would have thought an instant orgasm spray would save my life.' As though the bottle had responded to her, she smiled, plonking herself down against the support column, one leg under the other, leaning her back against the wall. 'You know, some time, I might just take you up on that offer, mister.'

Chelsea guessed, rightfully, that Paulo had been perhaps one of very few people with the right kind of appendage to react in the way that he did to the spray. Sure, using it on anyone else would have most likely bought her time, but because of Paulo's sheer size, the amount of blood needed to run it would have rushed so quickly from his brain and heart that he passed out. The shock would have helped, too. Paulo might just have been the worst man to be sprayed unwittingly with an insta-cum spray. Ironically, he was too big a man for his own good.

And so Chelsea sat there for a while, letting herself recover, watching Paulo keenly and ready with her spray in case she needed it. When she felt up to it, she got to her feet and called the elevator, taking it back down to the cells and locating the bottle on the carpet in Paulo's still open room. She extracted it and took it back upstairs to where Paulo still laid face down, a small puddle of wet fluid under his chest. She left a generous mist of the spray around his head and body for when he woke, and, this time, made sure to pocket the spray properly.

And now, with her ass aching, her throat red with the marks of Paulo's grip around it, and the cut across her nose bleeding, Chelsea was once more alone and in control. Just.

Curiously, she pondered how the hell she would get Paulo back downstairs, and hoped that the red haired woman wasn't having too bad a time without her new-found Master.

*

Some time had passed since they'd dropped her off at the school grounds and Katrina was on lunch, some time to herself between lectures. She'd already taken two this morning and was keen to write down her thoughts about what she'd heard.

She sat outside - it was a beautiful autumn day, and the cloudless sky was warm and fresh. A wide courtyard of trees and benches, adorned with little hills in the grass that provided a uniquely natural, relaxing sensation to the designed garden space, were arrayed variously in the shade under trees and around the edges of the grass. Katrina sat on one bench now, underneath a beautiful old tree not far from the stairs. Some fifty paces ahead of her, lying together on the opposite side of one such small grassy hill, were a young couple, laughing and talking. Katrina smiled as she watched them, averting her eyes knowingly whenever either of them looked about to see if anyone was watching. She didn't let on to how much of their exploring hands or adoring kisses she had seen already.

Her notebook was full with freshly added bullet points and Katrina cast down her pen for a while, stretching her wrist, pausing for a few minutes to think and eat some more lunch. Though she thoroughly enjoyed her classes, she had thrown herself in at the deep end and sometimes the rush of new knowledge could be a headache. As most applied courses were, if you joined, you showed you wanted to learn what was on offer. The responsibility to make the most of the class was up to you.

As she shoved another generous bite of her sandwich into her mouth hungrily and scratched at her breast with her free hand, someone came up and sat next to her. She turned with a start, not hearing him approach, but relaxed her shoulders a little when she saw who it was.

'Hello, David.'

David smiled at her and raised a palm. 'Dave, please, we've been over this.'

'I'll stick to what your mother gave you, if that's alright.' Katrina wasn't really in the mood to talk to him. She never was, and that wasn't her Asperger's talking.

'Look, Kat, I really wanted to ask you-'

'Katrina.'

'-Katrina, I really wanted to ask you about the gala. I know it's not for a few months, and I know it isn't strictly a college event, but everyone's going and I really wanted you to come with me.'

Kat sighed inwardly. Ever since she'd started here a few weeks ago, David had been hounding her to go out with him. He wasn't an unattractive man, not by any standards - he was tall, with a short straight shock of brown hair and big brown eyes, a square jaw and lightly defined, if not outwardly muscular, features - but she wasn't interested in him. Perhaps in another time, another place, under other circumstances, but she wasn't into him. Besides, she was seeing someone else.

'I'm sorry David, but I don't want to go.'

'It'll only be till the dance, we can go straight away. An hour, tops. We can get a drink, get some food, walk along the bridge, or just go back to-'

'David.' Katrina cut him off, looking right into his eyes. 'I really am sorry to tell you this, because believe me you're a great guy and you clearly chase after what you want. I'm just not ready to see anyone else, okay? I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone. Really.' David went silent after that, sat back against the bench. He tapped his knee awkwardly.

'So... No to the gala then?'

Katrina's twin golden orbs of light that were her eyes glowed in the shade at him. 'Sorry, Dave.'

After some more sitting, and nodding to himself, Dave gave her a wave and left.
Katrina just shook her head, and, when he was definitely gone, smiled to herself.

*

It had been some time since Tiffany had called, and Albert had had some food - and his wank in the bathroom to the tinny sound of Tiffany's guttural, high pitched moans on his phone - and dressed.

It was the holidays - though he didn't go to school or university, he had predetermined weeks of leave throughout his schedule of working with his father, weeks he could go out, party, meet people and interact with the world around him like any other early-twenty year old might do. Regardless of his holidays, Paulo and his chick Chelsea weren't home, and Paulo had mentioned that they might be gone an indefinite amount of time.

Still, he mused to himself. His few friends were out of town and none of the strip clubs were open this early in the morning, and, since he'd met Tiffany he'd stopped using Diamond Divas, his regular callout girl service. He didn't fancy Lilly's roster had stayed the same since last time he'd called, and if he was going to call the service, he wanted his regular, Lilly LaLover.

The more he mused, the more he realised that even if he did get Lilly, who he at least had started to feel more than just a sexual bond with in their last few months together, there was no telling how she would react to his new penis. The model was strictly experimental, and the last thing he wanted was for her to report him to her bosses. Before long, he'd have all sorts of undesirable attention - local whores, media, and the smart little entrepreneurs that saw the monetary potential In the upgraded dick alike - flocking to their doorstep. The world, in one way or another, would know about the dick and want to know where they could get their own.

No, even if Lilly was there, Albert wasn't sure he wanted to fuck her with his metallic, glowing, extra long and extra thick member. It just wouldn't be the same, and Lilly might hate him and his new device. He couldn't bear that thought. Much as he wanted to be a 'man' about it, part of his heart would always belong to the buxom teenage beauty he'd met that night, the woman with the purple and gold hair, the woman who'd taken him, young, drunk, impressionable and as horny as a march hare, out back, way out back, into the rooms no one sees, the rooms with a lock on them. No, you always remember the woman you lose your virginity to.

Albert stood, abruptly, shaking the thoughts away. He had to man up, stop thinking girly shit. Making a call, he decided on the one thing he really could do that might interest him at this time of day and strode out of the house, pulling a shirt around his muscular body and sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. He got into the best car his Dad had at the house, flicked the auto lock on by the gate, and crunched the dirt behind him as he sped away down the driveway. A few moments later, the gate closed and every door and window in the outside walls of the house locked.

Albert hit the bitumen at speed and slid effortlessly into his lane, taking off at something more than a little bit above the speed limit.

He would cross the now less traffic packed city towards the highway into the hills in only fifteen minutes time.

*

While Chelsea waited for Paulo to regain consciousness, she cleaned up the lab a bit. Jordan and the other woman were safe downstairs - the rooms had everything from computers to gym equipment, beds and recreation, toys and more, as well as purified water piped direct to their room, Chelsea herself had lived in one for over a year without ever needing to leave and no interaction with the world outside her door, save for the meals Roberts would deliver to her each morning, midday and evening - but Paulo needed to be secured before she could look at doing something about the girl who Jordan seemed to be friends with. Ideally, what she needed was to cure her of her enslavement to Paulo, but as Chelsea well knew, that godly grip took hold firm and fast on your mind and didn't let go.

She suspected she would only be making an enemy in the woman if she tried to reason with her, and only wilful bloodshed, as the verse stated, could break the bond. Paulo would never desire to break an enslaved will, and the girl would only do so if she were like Chelsea, with Paulo's ppower over her slowly waxing and waning in and out of control. Even then, Chelsea had had two minds in her, one under his control and the other immune. She had had one of those minds forcibly banished from her brain, she had died, and even then she had had waves of her submission wash over her and put her under again and again.

No, if Chelsea was going to break Paulo's enchantment over her, she would have to do it from the outside. Somehow, she had to do what Kapplin had done to her - hypnotise her, extract her mind and purge it of enslavement - if she wanted to be free of the spell.

Purge...

Chelsea looked about herself, an idea forming in her mind. Over in the far left corner from the office work area in the dead centre of the room was a bank of various equipment Roberts had worked on. Everything from her inventions into enslavement to devices designed to heal wounds, reshape skin and transform cells resided in this room. In that corner were some of Roberts's early designs in the egg device, a tool based around physical stimulus. Designed to be sold to porn studios and domineers with money, it was a retail-ready egg-shaped plastic seat in which a woman sat, straddling the central column, two curved hugging lips reaching up both the front and back of her body, holding her in place on the seat by the hips and torso. Down in the sides of the egg were cutouts, shaped to fit a woman's legs in a kneeling position. Only once she was fully in place, with her legs and feet in the chambers and her crotch lowered so it was resting on the soft skin insides did the egg turn on. Once activated, it could not be disabled, and the woman was completely unable to resist it.

The premise for the inside of the egg was simple. An electrically charged skin, a soft, fabric like polymer with the softness and texture of silk but the electrical conductivity of copper wire, is activated by the application of specific frequencies of electricity. Once applied, the skin suckles onto the body, attaching itself to the shape of the user. One piece of the fabric on its own could be pulled away easily, but when sat in, with the legs on all but the outward facing sides untouched, only a woman's outer calves, thighs and hips open to the air, the skin is remarkably powerful and can resist up to two hundred kilograms of force, much more than even a powerfully built woman can exert pushing her legs outwards. As they are, positioned in a partially open kneeling position, her centre of weight bent a little forward, this renders the user unable to escape the egg's grip.