Strange Queens Ch. 04

The electrically charged skin can also excite nerve endings in the skin, helping to render muscles unusable by activating and exciting clusters of nerves that can cause reflexive muscular movements. Inside the crotch area of the egg, more of the skin can be found, coming into contact with every part of a woman's inner thigh area. Shaped around her sexual organs, the egg's saddle has gentle cups that encircle her buttocks, while the two pillars that support her core - one on her spine, one a little taller and reaching up just below her breasts - are also coated in the reactive fabric skin and essentially completely disable her ability to resist the device, controlling her movement from the chest down and completely encompassing all erogenous zones bar her breasts. Additional devices can be purchased separately to assist in stimulating these areas, but given that the goal of the egg is to hypnotize an unwilling user humiliatingly, since orgasm can be achieved without mammary stimulation these are generally unnecessary and only serve to lessen the experience for the second party user.

The egg also features, in later models, extra layers of the stimulating fabric skin in a more stretchable form around the vaginal and anal entrances. Underneath these are equipped two vibrating rods, smooth metallic dildos embedded in the belly of the egg which slide upwards and into the victim, designed to increase the sexual stimulation far beyond the capabilities of the egg without the ability to enter the female. These rods extend up into the victim, taking the skin with them and bringing the electrical stimulation deep inside to the far more sensitive internal nerve clusters and erogenous zones. Here the dildos can vibrate in harmony with the electric frequency of the skin and bring about total submission and orgasm in times in the multiples better than the early designs of the egg. In later revisions, a hypnotism track was added, an aux input for headphones added to the rear of the device, along with an additional wireless pad of the skin designed to be attached to an erogenous zone of the dominant user which, when used, attunes the victim to the brain waves of their enslaver, guiding their mind to serve sexual services exclusively and pre-eminently to the user, on command and at will.

The egg, completed, had its designs given in total secrecy to three different manufacturing firms, each one only receiving incomplete partial designs for parts of the machine. One company, a mechanical engineering firm based out of the country, build the mechanics and the chassis, leaving out the dildos of course. A second company, a trade only techworks, was commissioned to manufacture the circuitry and AI, building the un-loaded hardware to store and process the egg's operating system which would define its interaction with its two users intelligently. The last company, a plastics moulding factory, was asked to create the egg's retail ready outer body. Roberts herself built the rest, placing her own tamper-proof locks into the body so that the secrets of the inner workings could not be taken apart and analysed. After adding in the dildos and testing the device on one of her own pets, she began to sell it to porn studios, big time godfathers and CEOs, companies and even the government. All who tried to tamper with the egg failed, forcing all orders to come exclusively through her. The venture made her a petty six point nine billion in private revenue. The manufacturing cost a hundred thousand a year.

Several of Roberts's early prototypes, including the very first metal frame design with no body, no supports, and only two skinned dildos on motors, stood in the left corner. Chelsea could remember Roberts's memories on the project, and the fondness of those days gave her a warm feeling, the same warm pride Roberts felt when her own design, a design that would enslave women around the world into sex-mad little pets, had made it, revolutionising the back door of the sex industry forever. Chelsea even remembered the day one of Roberts's pets had come home from a strip club to report that she had seen the egg in use in their back room, in privacy, under lock and key. All the new 'staff' at the club were put through their 'induction interview' in the back room, during which they were stripped, blindfolded, and asked to sit on the egg. Any struggling they gave once they were in the egg was useless, and ten minutes later they would leave the room a new woman, craving sex, craving pleasure, craving serving the wishes of their owner. Roberts had loved hearing that.

Meanwhile, across the room in the right corner was one of those filing units used in doctor's practises around the world. With mechanical shelves, the units can be moved apart from each other, creating a compact shelving area that can be opened and closed at will and takes up far less space than traditional shelves. Inside it, Chelsea knew, was all of Roberts's notes, every design, every blueprint and sketch, as well as row upon row of stored chemicals she needed for her experiments.

All around the room, tools and gadgets sat, some on wheeled tables, others on their own feet, others still in Samsonite cases and containers. As Chelsea looked around, the memories of each different project flooding back to her, she felt a dull sense of pride at her work. But her work it was not. It was the work of Eliza Roberts. Chelsea had not built these, and so her pride felt somehow wrong, as though forbidden for her to feel.

Chelsea wandered into the glass-encircled office and sat at her desk. As she did so, the bench behind her revolved, closing the doorway off, and the chair rose up mechanically. The glass lit up from the inside like a holographic heads up display, a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree display arrayed with coloured windows all around her coming to life in front of her eyes. Everything from the weather to the time to feeds from the internet to her last opened design sprawled about futuristically before her. She jabbed a finger at the window with the designs on it, as though tapping at a touch screen in the air between her and the glass. The computer display reacted to her request fluidly.

The design floated open, washing all other displayed windows around to the glass behind her field of view, allowing her full vision to the active window. As she reached out and twisted her fingers, the display - this was a 3D designed wireframe view of a four wheeled, two seated buggy, compact and round with spindly wheels on individual arms - rotated about as though she were really gripping the design like an egg in her fingertips. She looked at it, every individual screw a created entity that interacted with the design in the same way it would if it were really there. She unscrewed some bolts and the driver's door fell off, revealing a small, scrawled note floating beside the chair. It questioned the addition of sexual stimulus for the occupants of the car, whether it was worth it, the gain of such tools, their power drain on the electric engine. Chelsea left the design, door still on the floor, and swiped the other screens back into view. It was like the display on a smart phone, but a thousand times more fluid and animated. Every single minute interaction with the touch-less operating system was effortless and pretty, attractive and stress-less to use.

Chelsea checked on the web. Custom built feed windows scrolled through news, Facebook and twitter, and updates on less common sites too. Some dark web hosts also showed up-to-date feeds, including some that Chelsea knew operated out of her very own servers right here in the building, sites that she used to sell her products and arrange her business deals in the secrecy and shadows of the anonymous dark web.

Chelsea tapped Facebook and checked out the news there. Publically, the top three stories were the rising security risks online, the appalling performance of Winter Keaton in this year's Olympics, and a report on the demise of political supremacy in the western world. All bullshit and fluff. Twitter was much the same, save for some overly popular presidential typos and a Kardashian nude. Her news feed was much the same, day-to-day media doing the same thing it had done for hundreds of years. Her dark web subscriptions yielded some more racy reading, and Chelsea read that a new slave auction was being hosted soon before winter settled in. "Get some company for the cold!" it tempted her lavishly, "Buy a slave and let her keep you warm all the way into summer!"

She went on to read about the candidates for each slave up for sale, as well as some on-day only surprise lots for attendees. Chelsea closed the feed with a blink, unsure how she felt about the site. She knew it went on, as she knew it had done for centuries, as she knew it would for more to come. It still wasn't right.

Other feeds supplied more of the dark side of humanity's desires, and Chelsea read a little about the world that went on under the radar, but, presently she found herself tiring of her reading. She checked the time as she stood up, her windows interface resetting to the all-window overview it had been in when she entered, and turned on the seat platform in her office. The entrance was already opened for her. Stepping out, she stretched. Behind her, the glowing colourful interface faded away into the glass, only a time stamp by the door glimmering to view for her to see. It was approaching midday now, and Chelsea had recovered somewhat from her ordeal. The world outside the full length wall of glass that faced out over the city below was bright and beautiful, without a cloud in the sky. Had she not had Paulo, previously her Master, then her captor, and now her enemy, in need of dealing with, she suspected today would have been a great day to go out with Jordan and experience nature together. She made a promise to herself they'd do just that once this was all over.

Chelsea rounded the office, the clock in the glass following her as it did for anyone in the room at the time, to find Paulo beginning to stir. She pulled out her spray, gave it a shake, and misted the air around Paulo again as he began to wake. She kept her own nose away from the spray and stepped back to a safe distance quickly from both the mist and Paulo's reach.

Groggily, Paulo raised himself up on his hands and got on all fours, his lengthy flaccid member drooping down his legs though the ripped front of his pants. Slowly, he leaned back until he was kneeling, and stopped. Both he and his unnaturally long cock sat unmoving. Chelsea decided he must be under the spray's effects, so she stepped cautiously up to him, ready to react, gripping the bottle tightly, and deployed five long sprays directly into his face. Like the first time she had reapplied the mist, he flinched ever so slightly on the first spray, but didn't move a muscle after that.

The move back downstairs was relatively painless. Chelsea ordered him up, and he stood, unsteadily. Slowly they moved back to the lift and took it downstairs, Paulo gazing emptily forwards the entire way. It took seconds, and when they stepped out, Chelsea gave him two more sprays before she let him leave the lift. She let it disperse and then ordered him out and down the hallway to the room that she had put him in earlier, the door still open.

Chelsea left him with several more sprays to the face sitting on the bed, much as he had been the first time she'd brought him in here, and this time when she left she made sure to lock the cell down with the security protocol designed to ensure no accidental unlocks occurred. As she stepped back from the door, the cell at the end of the corridor pinged tonelessly and a soft swoosh ensued. Chelsea looked - and saw Jordan stepping sleepily from her cell.

Chelsea ran to her and embraced the girl tightly. Jordan hugged her back earnestly and for all the time in the world, it was like the two held like that for an eternity. Neither spoke, and they barely moved. Both girls held their eyes tightly squeezed shut. For Chelsea, it was like she was back home again, like everything was alright with the world once more. A great weight was lifted off her mind holding her one true love in her arms. She could feel her breasts pressed tightly against her own, every bit just the way she remembered they felt. She felt her soft skin, her neck against hers, her dark hair flowing down her back. Every millimetre of the woman was so very right.

For Jordan, she felt emotions exploding inside her. Her legs shook and, though she tried not to let it happen yet, tears were beginning to well in her eyes. She had spent so long alone, gone through so much in the past months that she had felt nothing but depression, sadness, utter crushing loneliness. To be back in the arms of her lover, her partner, her girlfriend, her best friend and her Mistress was like being acquitted of a crime she was innocent in committing. Her entire body felt weak and she was almost dizzy with the rush of endorphins, adrenalin and pure emotional joy.

As the girls pulled away, Chelsea saw Jordan's tears and she wiped them away as the woman began to sob in her hands. She hugged her again, pulled her in tight, bodies pressed tightly together, and let Jordan pour out her tears, tears she knew were those of happiness. Chelsea tried to hold back her own at the sight of them, little streaks sliding down her cheeks and dropping over the shorter girl's backside as the quivering woman cried in her arms. It felt so good to be back together again, a feeling that overwhelmed them so completely that the world might have been shearing in half and they wouldn't have cared. Right then, right there, everything was right.

After the longest time, they pulled away, and Chelsea beheld Jordan's sniffing and snuffling form. She pushed her inside gently and they sat on the edge of the bed closest to the door together, holding each other tight. 'Shh...' she soothed, stroking Jordan's soft dark hair. 'Shhh... It's okay now.'

Jordan reached out as Chelsea held out some tissues for her from the bedside table and she blew her nose. Chelsea watched her in adoration. Even an act as unceremonious as that looked like the cutest, most lovable act she'd ever seen. God she had missed Jordan.

'I've... Missed you, so much.' Jordan said to her through thick lips. She looked up, the picture of misery, and smiled through her puffy face. 'Oh jesus I've, missed you.' Jordan reached for Chelsea's face and she leaned in to the girl and they kissed, the taste of salty tears mixed with the pristine taste of Jordan on her lips. They kissed, long, hard, lovingly. Jordan's hand fell to Chelsea's chest and she put her arm on Jordan's. They pashed lengthily, without a care in the world. Like a child comforted by a toy, as they kissed, Jordan's tears dried up and her puffy eyes seemed to clear. She calmed noticeably as Chelsea kissed her. When they broke, they both let out a gasp. The kiss had been as powerful as the first one they'd ever shared, and both their heads were rushing with the sound of their heart beat. A slight lack of oxygen also contributed to the rush storming around their bodies, but that was just part of the kiss. A kiss so powerful it winded them.

After many moments together, they parted again. Both girls breathed more heavily.

'My god... It's better than I ever remembered...' Jordan breathed. Chelsea nodded, stroking her arm.

'It's like heaven, like your lips belong to a goddess. Which they do.' Chelsea added. Jordan smiled at her.

'Stop, you.' They kissed again, grinning, laughing. It was the first time Jordan had laughed in months. She did it without noticing. Slowly, as they pecked and rubbed each other lovingly, the girls began to part their lips. One of them, both thinking it was the other that started it, began to slide tongues tentatively together. Minutes later, Chelsea was laying Jordan back, the two of the sliding up the bed with their hands, never breaking contact with their lips. As their kiss got wetter and heavier, the girls began to press together, their hands sliding around each other's bodies. Slowly as they kissed each other, one set of hands - both thought it was the other who started it - slipped silently under the other's top and began to maul the other's breasts, breasts she hadn't felt in months, breasts she had yearned for day on night endlessly.

As the minutes passed and the girls began to get hotter and hotter, the sounds of sex started to echo about the empty hallways, wet slapping of horny vaginas mixed with the lovelust moans of two ecstasy-filled women, two lovers caught in the endless entwinements of pure unadulterated love. After a while, the auto timeout on the cell door expired and it quietly swooshed closed without a sound, closing off the sound of the lovestuck girls mating in their room.

Once more, the stark, clean white corridors of the cell level in Eliza Roberts's personal private home descended mostly into silence, the golden light of the clear day shining through the windows as the outside world went about their lives, unaware of the morning's events.

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