Strange Queens Ch. 04

'She's ready for us to begin, Sir.' The lab coat said, a small tablet in his hand.
'Did you extract her samples already?' Paulo asked him. He nodded.
'When she came in. I have the details here.' He replied, handing over the small computer. Paulo took the tablet and scrolled down for a moment.
'Anything overtly unusual?'
'High in zinc and metazinc, very good balances between essential nutrients, very high alpha wave brain activity and excellent count in white blood cell activity, but otherwise, no sir.'
Paulo took a breath slowly, exhaled.

'Then begin.'
He pulled up a felt-footed chair and had a seat, staring down at the woman inside the cell.
'May god have mercy on your mind, Roberts.' He breathed.

*

Text cycle initiation, 18:50 PM
Expected Duration for phase 1: 6 hours
Subject level: Omega

*
Some speakers somewhere in the room crackled and a voice rang out around Roberts's ears. 'Subject one, you are here for a rigorous mental examination. Ordinarily I would take this time to introduce you to your new home, enlighten you on your reasons for arriving in our humble midst and present you with a brief summary of our schedule for your activities and, if applicable, your options to negate some of these activities. However, you are not here for interrogation, or for brain imaging. Nor are you here to be reconditioned for a new purpose. You are here to be pried open and investigated, to have your very mind stretched from wall to wall, to have your entire being examined like a book. Believe me, we have many, many tools and methods of doing so, and we intend to use them all on you. We will break you, Subject. Of that you can rest assured.' The microphone went quiet. Roberts looked up against her bonds, and despite everything, she grinned an evil grin.

She couldn't know it, but she was looking directly up at Paulo. He blinked.
'Our first attack on your very being comes in a simple form,' the speaker told her. 'But a delivery tool we've found to be incredibly potent on our usual suspects. That said, of course, you aren't our usual suspect, so forgive us if this seems somewhat rudimentary for your, experienced, tastes.' The mic clicked off.

Underneath Roberts, a humming began. In fact it was less of a hum and more of a tone, a deep buzz that sounded almost too clear and present to be real. It quickly filled the room and in moments it was all around her, gently vibrating off every corner and crevice with no discernable origin or end point. It took her a few moments to realise that the tiles beneath her body had lowered and parted silently, opening the way for a contraption below to rise up into place. She smiled when she saw it, applauding herself for correctly guessing that the floor would be the magician in this little show. She watched, but she could only see the edge of whatever it was that was sliding effortlessly into place.

Then, as it clicked into position around her, she felt a comfortable, shaped contraption cupping her body. One moment she was just hanging, the next she was resting on a very well-shaped formation. She could feel her ass cupped gently in twin shaped moulds, her back sitting in its own mould-like form, complete with ridged cut-out for her spine and gentle slopes for her arch and neck. Even her head found it had a gentle resting spot cupping it. The contraption cupped her legs, too, holding them in their unusal sitting position. She never moved, the contraption never pushing her from her hanging space. It just touched her, held her gently, almost like a tender embrace.

The thrum in the room seemed to be louder now, though she's somewhat forgotten it for a moment. She recalculated her assumption now that the device had moved into position. If it had been the mechanics of the device, they'd have stopped when it did. But the bassy hum droned on in the background solidly, as solid as the mould she now found herself in or the thick cables stringing her to the ceiling. It was almost so deep and even that she found it hard to concentrate on.

Ahead of her, a section of the glass mirror seemed to warp and wobble, as if it's very structure was melting like hot candlewax before her. She saw the room reflected in it distort and twist before it was seamlessly replaced by an edgeless screen. Gentle waves of colour radiated in its centre like a hypnotic disc, colours she couldn't make out clearly, but colours that were there nonetheless. She smirked at it. These were Visual/Aural Rapid Neural Distraction techniques, a tool developed as far back in hypnotic history as Clark L. Hull in 1933 and were built further on hypothetically by the scientific minds of the likes of Pierre Janet and brought to the true experimental foregrounds by Hippolyte Bernheim with his theory of Hyper-suggestibility.

Essentially, they believed that hypnosis very much included, if not relied upon, the forced or volunteered separation of twin cognitive rescources, in other words, consciousness and subconsciousness. Several tested these theories with methods of distraction designed to lure away the conscious with a constantly changing attention source, something that would intrigue a patient into watching further and slowly allowing their conscious mind to be collected up in the single pursuit of processing that single point of interest. In layman's terms, it meant that a hypnotism subject could be shown something that would catch their interest, something always changing, always providing them new inputs that would fire different neurons and change their perception. In this way, the watcher would be captured by their own interest in the sensations they received from watching the object, distracting themselves, allowing their subconscious to become vulnerable to suggestion and injection. VARND techniques, a term popularised in textbooks and websites of the modern day, served as a blanket term for conscious distraction tools that involved visual and audible distraction.

Roberts smiled. Now she knew why the gentle hum was here. The room likely had a sound system with a pitch device or synthesiser repeating a single, perfect tone that could be adjusted incrementally by volume, timbre, and frequency. This would distract her sense of hearing, numb her auditory reception, and as a result heighten her other four senses. The visual display, a wide view of just visible colours swirling about endlessly like water paints in a pond was essentially the same visually, a constant distraction to interest and capture her vision. It left her remaining three senses even more heightened, and left her mind busy processing this ever changing sensory input.
But now that she knew what it was, she knew how to fight it.

She looked away and receded into her mind, shutting out the sound with her own thoughts. She practised an age old tool she'd found highly useful back in her studies when she'd found herself becoming too wound around the theories she was researching, to intrigued to stop reading. She turned off her emotions and her senses internally and began reeling out an analytical string of details in her mind. She began simply, with her status. She saw in her mind's eye a list of her details spool out, numbers she'd calculated representing her physical position, her temperature, her hunger and thirst, her location, everything. By doing this, she distracted herself with her own mind, kept herself busy, and was able to ignore the outside world. It had worked wonders when she'd started masturbating to old black and white videos of scientific theories in mental study, when she'd be so caught in reading every word about their research that she'd forgotten to eat or drink or move. It would work now.

Roberts was doing well, she could perceive the sound and the sight outside, but she knew she was separate from it. She could easily distinguish between her mind and her cell. That was good.

And then the contraption she was in came to life. Spectacularly, instantly, to life. She felt every single inch of the device that touched her seem to buzz, to turn on, immediately turning from the plain plastic shape to a sort of living skin. She saw her string of statistics halt, felt herself concentrating on the sensation. It was so realistic, like she'd been wrapped in the warm hug of someone she loved very dearly. She shook herself and forced the spool to reel off more details. Concentrate, she told herself firmly. Only your mind is safe. Stay safe inside it and nothing will be able to touch you.

Ever so slightly, so slightly she barely realised it, the skin like material buzzed. It might have been a million micro massaging heads, or a trillion tensile beads sewn into it, or perhaps a very low frequency electric current. Whatever it was, it made the skin feel alive, and it was vibrating in exact perfect unison with the audible thrum around her. It was giddyingly realistic. It was like having a warm human's embrace, the touch of smooth, massaging skin on every exposed part of her body.

Outside, above her to be exact, three men watched the chamber below as though there was nothing between them. Underneath their feet, right in the very epicentre of the experimentation chamber, the female hung from her harness and binds, the shaped seat curved and fitted perfectly into her shape. They watched her intently, watched her face as the interfaces were engaged with her, the subject, one by one.

'Subject is showing above normal mental stability under the effects of passive level three,' the lab coat said matter-of-factly. He consulted his tablet in his hand constantly, tapping and swiping things as they came up. Paulo just sat on his chair and watched the show below, Albert behind him.
'The next levels utilise our personal techniques,' the coat said evenly to no one in particular. 'With the help of your acquisition of our business, Sir, we utilised our expertise and injected the funds into research into the development of sub-mental stimulus and contortion, as you know. Our stable liquid form hypnotic barbiturate, the chemical we labelled INCARR A1, is already utilised to great effect at another stock trade facility which you also own. However, we continued working on it and similar barbiturate hypnotics, resulting in our current stable form we've called IISAC B1. Its acronym represents Induced and Isolated Sensory Attention Control. The B1 indicates the first stable strain of a gaseous chemical state.' Paulo looked up at that, but only for a moment.

Roberts was concentrating very hard on her focus, reeling off detail after detail and checking it with memories. She'd reached her memories on her time as Chelsea in the care of Paulo and was painstakingly analysing everything she could remember about those events, when she paused. She'd only caught it for a fraction of a second, but in that instant she'd shot back into the past. There she was as a twelve year old girl, a twelve year old girl nearly thirty years ago, playing in the back yard of her parent's home. It was in the hills, and the entire yard sloped on one side, and little Eliza was playing with her favourite ball, watching as she pushed it up hill only for it to crest and roll back again.

She'd come out here all the time to escape the house. Her parents hadn't exactly been the most cohesive pair, never were and never would be for years after she'd left home. They fought and they bickered, and they often spent days separate to calm down and recover from something that had blown up between them. Eliza had never liked it, never been a confrontational type. A smart kid, gifted, in fact, if she'd ever been given the opportunity to have it truly recognised, Eliza had only ever wanted a happy life at home where she could learn and study and fill her mind with all the fascinations of life. Instead she found herself running out here and hiding in the mess of paths and gardens, sheds and grass, exploring the rusting history of the house and teaching herself her own lessons one by one. The bit that really brought her slamming back here, back in her nice little white dress and shoes, standing on the tiny overgrown path before the door to the tiny tin shed she'd called her second home, was the smell.

Lavender.
There had been a bush beside the shed that had long since grown out of control, snaking high up into the air and pushing its little buds inside the warping sides of her little operations garage. She'd smell it every day, and sometimes she'd pull out her old Wester deck chair with the broken leg and set it down on the grass by the little shed and watch the bees working quietly in the bush.

This was what really got her. Roberts shook herself back to reality, back to her stark white cell and padded harness, back to the gently thrumming seat that seemed to suckle onto her, back to the humming buzz of sound that almost sounded like the buzz of bees flying about her face. She blinked, looked around, but it seemed nothing had changed.

So why did I remember that...? She asked herself tensely.

It was a bad sign. She hadn't been back there in decades, having sealed her new life off from her past long ago through a rigorous self-medicated series of hypnotherapy that had taken her months to complete. The little girl, Eliza, was not the hardened woman Roberts was today. But she had been there, seen it all like she was right there again, twelve years old, the sound of her parents muffled in the background.

She thought she could hear their voices in the buzz around her, just maybe, just barely audible over the tone. But she couldn't be sure.

'Subject shows positive reaction to the addition of the IISAC gas to the chamber,' the lab coat recited monotonously. 'Neural activity now enhanced in the Beta and Gamma wave areas, slight reduction in Alpha wave intensity. Production of Iota waves on necessary frequency not yet at usable levels. Continuing to passive level five.'
Paulo laced his fingers in his lap.

Roberts looked about herself, her eyes catching the swirling, dazzling mess of colours washing over and over each other on the ceiling. She looked away quickly. No, she thought. No, I can't let myself be distracted. To be taken away from my consciousness now is to admit defeat. I will not admit I have been defeated by men! She screamed mentally. That did the trick, and Roberts was back to her reel, instantly spooling more information like a diagnostic machine in her mind, triple the pace now. She concentrated furiously, ignoring everything around her.
It seemed like a good five or so minutes had gone by without any change at all when Roberts realised quite suddenly that she'd begun spooling off her details at a rhythmic pace. Each new line printed itself off in her head in time to a beat she didn't realise she'd been tapping out. Tuning into her world around her for a moment, she realised that she had indeed been rhythmically synchronised, though with what she couldn't tell. It seemed as though the entire chamber around her was pulsing to the same rhythm, but she couldn't distinguish anything creating it, or if it was even there, for that matter. It was entirely possible the rhythm was completely internal, and this was her mind assuming it was in the space around her just because it had been thinking it for so long. She could feel her entire being timed to it -- even her heart seemed to tap out the even pace along with everything else.
Indeed, it was all around her, though she didn't know it -- everything in the room that was part of a particular sensory attention device, from the swirling display of light and colour on the reflective ceiling to the gentle bass tone around her to the microscopic massaging of the skin like interior of the moulded seat cupping her. They all pulsed ever so perceptibly with a tiny beating rhythm.

'Subject showing positive to frequency stimulation,' Lab Coat said, consulting his tablet. 'Iota brain wave generation increased, approaching optimal attitude, Theta waves also increased by forty-two per cent in response to rhythmic stimuli. Phase six of passive sequence ready for initiation.'

And then the real kicker came. For the briefest of instants, while Roberts was analysing this new development, she tasted something. Or, she thought she had. For just a fraction of a second, she'd thought she could taste semen on her tongue. It had been there, and then it was gone.
But that wasn't what stunned her.

Roberts had only ever tasted the male body once in her entire life. When she was nineteen, she'd had sex for the first time, real sex, not the toy-assisted bliss she'd induced herself, or the forbidden love she'd shared with another female. She'd never had anyone's genitals in her mouth before, never licked a pussy or sucked a cock, until this day. She had been a virgin.

It was Friday night and a week from the end of school. She'd studied another year to further her learning and was about to graduate with the current top year. In her time, she'd become somewhat friendly with one of the boys, a smart and handsome young man studying sciences. They'd chatted and talked and she'd thought of him as a friend, but he was a drinker, loved going out on the weekends with his friends and drinking. There was a reason he hated Mondays more than most other students. This Friday was the first night he'd gotten her to come with him after months of asking. She'd done well and she deserved the treat, so she'd done it, let him drive her into the city and find his favourite pub.

But there was something she hadn't known about him. He was a womaniser, a fan of female action. He'd felt a girl's touch for the first time a year and a half ago when he'd been so drunk he'd slipped a scantily clad chick a fifty for a handjob and she'd given it to him right there at the table, and he'd been doing it every night for the past eighteen months. He was no virgin, not by a long shot. He'd felt more pussies hugging his rod than any other boy in his school, though they'd never have known it. But that night he'd taken a lady with him, and she'd never drunk before. It didn't take
much at all for her to get wasted, and before long she was slurring and giggling across the table top like the schoolgirl she was. She hadn't even been aware half her drinks weren't non-alcoholic.

His name had been Bradley, and he'd had the common decency to take her into the men's before he'd fucked her face. Sure, he wasn't a full time playboy -- he genuinely enjoyed classes and did get along as a good friend with Eliza -- but when he got drunk, the other side came out. Even though she had no recollection of any of that night, she remembered the minutes she'd been on her knees in that stall like they'd just happened. She could see him now, see him looming over her, shutting the door behind her back and putting his hands on her shoulders, pushing her to her knees, after he'd taken the time to flick his finger in the front of her school skirt and tear it from crotch to knee in one violently fluid action. He'd touched her up, felt her virgin meats underneath her fresh pink panties before bringing her to her knees like a submissive slave and casually unleashing his cock before her.

She'd watched him, barely three inches away from her nose, watched his fingers twist the button out of its eye and draw his zipper down until his pants fell away, his underwear joining it. She'd looked at it with awe, watched him move it back and forth. Already she could smell his scent, smell the heady odour of arousal clinging to her nostrils and seeping into her drunk brain. Then he'd gently grasped her jaw and opened her mouth, grinning evilly above her, watched her part her lips and open wide, before he'd placed his head on her tongue and pushed her mouth shut around him.
And that was it, she'd started. She was now giving oral, just like that. One moment she'd been drunk Eliza in the bathroom, the next she was kneeling before a man with his penis in her mouth. She could taste his pre-cum on her tongue, feel his saltiness on her lips. It felt huge, too, a thick round shaft that seemed to pulse and throb like it was alive, seemed to be talking to her, wanting her, all on its own.