This is an adult story, including sexual
situations among women, including fetishes and mind
control. If such things offend you, please read no further.
Reading is a voluntary act. Parents, take responsibility
for your children.
(c)2002 Sara H
This is posted by permission of the author. Do not
post elsewhere, in part or in whole, without the express
permission of Sara H.
The story, "Absolute" was about the beginning of Tamara
Morgan's tenure as head of the Department of Psychological
Research (the Agency). This is about one of the many
challenges she faced.
I must give a nod to Eye of Serpent yet again, for the
oblique inspiration of the Belle Simon series of stories.
Also, the "As Good As It Gets," and a short vignette
called "Patterns" which appeared in the "Shadow Realms"
anthology played a small but significant part in getting my
mind working in this direction.
It was fun to write. I hope it's also fun to read.
- Sara
---- ---- ---- ----
Fetish Fatale
by Sara H
Categories: (FF,MC,F-solo,Fetish-atypical)
---- ---- ---- ----
1.
Diana Finchley looked up as the banging on her office door
grew louder. She was afraid it would fall in before she
could open it. She pressed a button under her desk and the
door buzzed, and the woman who had been beating it fell
into her office, almost losing her balance.
Almost.
In less than a second, Diana found herself staring down
the barrel of a nine-millimeter pistol.
"It was unlocked, Patsy," she said.
"Shut up, Finchley," said Patsy. Her voice was full of
impending death. "Your operation is finished!"
"Operation?" Diana said. "I don't understand what you mean."
"Don't even try," said Patsy. The rage in her voice was
real. "You thought you could condition me, make me turn,
betray the Agency. But I'm one of those rare people beyond
your ability to bend. I'm your worst nightmare, you bitch."
"Hmm. That was you last night? Were you the horribly
disfigured dwarf or the ominous shadow that chased me?"
said Diana.
"Shut up, cunt. You have certain items. Items that I want.
Now."
Patsy paused to give the venom in her voice time to seep
into the seated woman. "Are you going to cooperate, or am I
going to have to make sure that your face looks like a bowl
of rancid lasagna? Either way is fine with me. I'm not
leaving without them."
Diana tensed. This was a rather unfortunate turn of
events, and completely unexpected. There was no choice
about it. She gritted her teeth as she smiled and said,
"Okay, Patsy, you win. The items are here beside my desk."
"Smart girl," said Patsy, sneering.
She walked over to the desk, gun never leaving the face of
her enemy. She reached over and hefted the heavy object and
stepped back.
"Now, you evil whore, I'm going to take this bucket and
brush, get on my knees, and scrub the floors. I'm starting
with the top floor. There's nothing you can do about it, so
don't even try. Don't even think about attempting to stop
me. The Agency has operatives everywhere."
Patsy stepped backwards, leaning to one side as she worked
to carry the five-gallon bucket of water and industrial
cleaner. In a miracle of balance and skill, the gun was
still pointed directly at Diana.
"Remember, bitch, I'll be back to kill you if you so much
as think about interfering. Got it?"
"Got it," said Diana, voice dry with fear.
Then Patsy was gone.
Diana relaxed and broke into a smile. She got up, closed
the door, went back to her desk, and flipped a switch on
the console. A voice answered, "Yes, Ms. Finchley?"
"Good work, Doreen. But next time, see if you can't reduce
the need to use force. She reacted perfectly, but she
almost killed me in the process."
"Of course, Ms. Finchley. I'll do better next time."
"I'm sure you will. By the way, does anyone at the
Department of Psychological Research suspect what's
happening?"
"No, Ms. Finchley. They are about to close the
investigation. We will all be returning to the Agency
offices soon. Your strategy is perfect."
"Well, it's not like you're biased or anything," laughed
Diana.
"Recognition of your perfection is not bias, Ms. Finchley.
It is a simple statement of fact."
"Oooo, you make me feel so good, Doreen. I think I might
keep you around, just for the fun of it." Diana smiled as a
moan of pleasure made its way out of the speaker.
"Yes, Ms. Finchley," said a breathless Doreen.
"This afternoon, put Patsy through the last stage. The
misdirection conditioning worked perfectly. Now all we have
to do is transfer how obsessed she feels about scrubbing
floors to how she feels about me, and layer it into her
subconscious. The information we get from her should be
enough to figure out how to streamline the process.
"I would imagine the Agency is a very well kept place
these days. I don't mind. The day I walk in to confront
Director Morgan, I want that place to be shining.
"Afterwards, I might even make her Director of Laundry and
Ironing. She's always been a sharp dresser. I doubt she'll
be hard to convince."
There was a long pause as Diana savored the thought.
"Let me know when you're done with Patsy, Doreen."
"Yes, Ms. Finchley."
Diana switched off the intercom and shivered as she came.
---- ---- ---- ----
2.
Deputy Director Natalie Koranski barely looked up from her
desk before resuming her work. She recognized the footfalls
of the approaching woman. It was easy after years of
working together.
"Why, Assistant Deputy Director McClanahan, to what do I
owe this great pleasure?"
"Just got back from Finchley Enterprises and checking in.
I thought I'd let you know you were right about the
Finchley case."
Natalie's hands stopped moving and she looked up. "Well,
you could have trusted me."
"You're right, and I should have, but you can't be too
careful. The Agency isn't without its enemies."
"And your apology?"
"I thought I might make it on my knees, Natalie." Patsy
smiled as she watched Natalie's scalp move back as the
words hit home.
"Right where you belong, too," said Natalie. "It's only
been a month and I've been going crazy with desire."
"Mmmm, you wouldn't be trying to be overt in order to
distract me away from some agenda, would you,
darling?" said Patsy as she began to move around the desk.
"No, I'm trying to steer you clear of making any mistakes
about my intentions, my love."
"So it's an order then?"
"Absolutely."
Patsy reached over in a moment of brash presumption and
pressed the switch that would seal the office from
interruptions, eyes and ears. She smiled as the door hissed
and clicked in response.
Patsy teased off her top, holding it out to Natalie, as
the seated woman's hands began a lazy unbuttoning of her
own blouse.
It was Natalie who broke the silence. "It's always a good
idea to celebrate a successful mission, eh, Patsy? Keeps up
morale, if not morals..."
Patsy didn't speak. Her eyes smoldered with desire as her
shoes, pants and pantyhose followed the path of her blouse
to the chair beside Natalie's desk. Her whisper was full of
unspoken fire. "Yes, Deputy Director Koranski, I couldn't
agree more."
Natalie licked her lips as her hands released her bra,
flowing over her and nipples as if in a ballet of
electric drama.
Within only a few more moments, both women were naked,
standing face to face as their hands roved over each other,
mere millimeters away from touching skin, feeling the heat
radiating outward, moaning as the leaned in to kiss, only
to jerk away at the last moment, as if unable to consummate
their hungry lust.
Patsy fell to her knees with slow grace, staring at
Natalie's shaven crotch, boring a into it until as a
reward, Natalie spread her feet apart. "Do it, my love.
God, yes, do it..."
Patsy reached forward, placed her hands into the hot,
soapy water and pulled a scrub brush from the bucket just
behind Natalie's feet. She began to press it into the
floor, panting as she did, drool falling from her lips as
she became lost in secret rapture.
The sound hitting Natalie's ears made her moan loudly
enough that the sound echoed even in the plush drapes and
carpet of the sealed office. She fell backwards into her
chair as the swishing, grating sound attacked her right in
the clit, making her legs buck and her thoughts spin out of
control.
She turned to her desk, to the two large crystal decanters
still awaiting her attention. She reached her hand into
one, and brought out a single jellybean. She dropped it
into the other, which was almost empty. "Twelve," she
gasped.
Patsy nearly fell as her clit throbbed at the sound. Her
lips moved, swollen and dark with blood, covered in spittle
as she bobbed her head up and down. The words came,
finally, rasping out of her as she quaked in place, her
hands still scrubbing the floors. "Count, you bitch... fuck
yes... count... do it... ohhhhh YES..."
"Thirteen," said Natalie, the word nearly spewing out of
her mouth. She was losing control. There was only the
pleasure and the sound. Count. Fuck. Scrub. Count. Fucking
count. Count as fucking. Scrub.
shwish "Fourteen!" Her legs were moving beyond her
control, and she almost dropped a jellybean. "Oh God...
ride... count... drop... gotta count have to... count...
complete fuck count yes... so good fuck yessssss..."
Patsy was slipping down on the floor, the strong odor of
detergent filling her nose as Natalie's counting filled her
mind and cunt.
As they came, their screams filled the air, heads shaking,
bodies lost to convulsions of epileptic proportions.
Yammering gave way to muted groans as their tongues stuck
to the roofs of their mouths and they took the final leap
into ecstasy before collapsing.
They lay for a time, their bodies spent. Long or short, it
didn't matter. It was bliss. Patsy's head throbbed in pain,
as if she'd been kicked by the of All Mules. Natalie
woke, shaking her head and uttered the one word that could
make Patsy feel better.
"Forty-six," she said, and moaned.
---- ---- ---- ----
3.
Life at the Agency was never dull, that was for sure. In
her three-year tenure, Tamara had seen her share of bizarre
events. There was the time Priscilla Tanner was found
giving a to a fire hose - well, actually, trying to
suck a golf ball through it. She'd been sent to investigate
a retired Marine drill instructor with telepathic
abilities, and it had taken months to get her to quit
yelling, "Semper fi! Do or die!" as she went on another
sexual rampage.
Then there was the team that had come back believing
itself to be the Sapphic Guard of Aphrodite. Tamara had let
that one go on for a while, because it was fun to watch
them frolic. "Aphrodite" herself, however, was now spending
the rest of her natural life in her own private Olympus.
She had once been a very clever mathematician at Yale. Go
figure.
As for Tamara, she had a sixth sense about mind control.
It was as if it showed itself to her.
It wasn't obvious this morning, but it felt like something
was going on. She was irked. It felt like mind control, but
she couldn't point her finger at anything in particular.
No one had taken any suspicious actions, at least that
showed, and no one was lacking in their work. It was, in
fact, a little unsettling, considering the fact that every
agent was usually either fucking with someone's mind or
getting their own mind fucked.
Or just fucking, which sounded like something she might
need this morning. She made a mental note to call Patsy in
for lunch.
She walked into the building. Her unease wasn't new. It
had increased over the last several weeks. The place was
spotless, and everyone was busy, as usual. Most office
doors were closed, the agents behind them busy with their
cases. Or busy getting laid. After all, Tamara did take
recreation and aerobics seriously.
She stopped in front of one particular door and knocked.
"Just a moment!" shouted a muffled voice. Tamara cocked
her head to the side as she listened. The footsteps came
forward, then backed away -- then forward, and away again.
This pattern repeated several times before the door clicked
and opened.
"Dancing the morning away, are we, Sonja?" asked Tamara.
"Sorry, Director," said Sonja. Her face turned a little
red as she explained. "I was just seeing which... um...
which was the shortest way to the door from my desk.
Efficiency, you know, trying to be um... more efficient."
"Efficient," repeated Tamara, head down and mouth slightly
open in a gesture of slight incredulity.
"Well," continued Sonja, "it's just kind of a thing I've
developed. I was interested in time studies when I was
younger... I know it seems silly."
"It seems like you're bored," said Tamara, stepping back
and smiling a little. "Listen, I need you to coordinate all
the reports from the Finchley case and have a detailed
prelim performance analysis on my desk by this afternoon,
if you aren't too busy seeing the fastest way to get it
done."
Sonja gave her boss a contrite look. The playful sound of
the words didn't disguise the serious nature -- and warning
-- of the Director's request.
"You got it, Ma'am. I'll have it to you before then if I
can."
"That's what I want to hear. Don't worry, Sonja. You're
not in trouble. I just don't want you to be."
"Yes, Director."
Tamara closed the door and stood for a moment. Her brow
furrowed as she heard the footfalls again, in the opposite
direction, repeating the pattern she had heard before.
Odd.
She got to her office, hung up her jacket, and sat down.
There were several sealed envelopes waiting on her desk. As
was her habit, she reversed the order and lined them up
carefully on the left side of her desk. She picked up the
top one, which would have been the one that arrived
earliest, and pulled out a small sheaf of papers and a CD-
R. She placed the CD in her PC and looked at the front page
of the classified document. "EYES ONLY" and "Summary" were
the only words there.
The CD began to auto-play as she turned the page.
"The six month investigation of Finchley Enterprises and
its owner, Diana Nicole Finchley, has concluded with the
finding that although there have been reports of coerced
behavior indicative of mind control techniques, no evidence
has presented, and none has been recovered to suggest any
validity to these allegations."
It was a tad strange to get the summary before the reports
were all in, but not completely out of bounds. It just made
Sonja's tardiness in preparing the agent performance
analysis look a bit more serious.
Tamara turned and looked at her PC. The CD was taking a
long time to open any files -- perhaps she needed to call
tech support. The sound of the disc spinning was
particularly annoying, as if the CD itself was off balance.
She decided to call as soon as she finished the summary.
"What seems to be clear is that Finchley is devoted to
organizational betterment, and her employees match her
devotion with their own devotion based on their particular
talents and abilities, to which they are devoted
completely."
Tamara found herself nodding. This was just the kind of
philosophy she had tried to bring to the Agency: loyalty
and devotion based on excellence and a sense of purpose.
Almost obsessive purpose.
"Employees' talents, what they are devoted to, can be
something as arcane as statistical productivity analysis or
as simple as common, menial tasks such as housekeeping,
envelope stuffing or insect extermination. Ms. Finchley's
support of her employees' compulsive devotional vocations
leads to an unswerving sense of loyalty, devotion and
service to Ms. Finchley herself."
That seemed a bit strange and over-reaching. The whine
coming from her PC was making it hard to concentrate, but
Tamara decided to read on. She needed to get through this
before the final report was delivered this afternoon.
"Ms. Finchley, while being a strict taskmistress, keeps
her charges both happy and in awe by finding their talents, and generously devoting herself to allowing them
to express their innermost desires. While this is certainly
effective motivation, it is definitely not mind control. It
is completely natural. I agree."
I agree? That seemed out of place. The writers of these
summations usually left out any first person references.
The words seemed to float in front of Tamara, like a pesky
gnat. Unconsciously, she waved her hand in front of her
face as if swatting away a mosquito. Insect extermination.
Her look became more intense as she concentrated. "Damned
noise. I agree."
She smiled a little at her own silliness.
"The most telling indication of Ms. Finchley's innocence,
as well as worthiness of respect, came when she discovered
our investigation. Rather than try to close us down, she
allowed us free access to her facility so that we could
investigate fully. It was, and is, quite disarming. We
began to develop an extremely cooperative relationship with
her, as we wish all investigations would proceed.
Obviously, everything reported by our agents indicates that
Ms. Finchley can be trusted fully. I agree."
Tamara winced as the noise rose in pitch again. She didn't
have time for this. "I agree," she muttered under her
breath.
"She even allowed us to create a Talent Profile for
Director Tamara Morgan. She gave us the tools and
technology to bring those talents out. It's very exciting
that Tamara will not be able to help being completely
devoted to her newly discovered talent. That is because
this devotion, this obsession, this overriding compulsion
is completely natural. I agree. I agree completely. I agree
without question. I agree with Ms. Finchley. I am grateful
to Ms. Finchley for allowing this talent to come forth."
Tamara stared in disbelief at the words. How could anyone
possibly know what made her tick? Finchley trusted? It
seemed to be quite a leap. Her hand swatted again, and
again she didn't notice. Who could have come up with a
profile on her? It didn't matter. Some things just come
naturally. "I agree," she said. "I agree completely. I
agree without question. I agree with Ms. Finchley. I am
grateful to Ms. Finchley for allowing this talent to come
forth." She said the words as if she were thinking about
something else.
She wondered for a moment what exactly her talent was. The
suspense had been building, like a whine in her ears, an
obnoxious, whirling buzz that would end when she discovered
her purpose.
Her eyes felt hungry. She had to read on -- to see, to
find out.
"Director Morgan is obsessed with the clean lines, pleats
and folds of clothing. She loves to watch the fabric as it
conforms under weight and heat. The wet folds, steaming,
slick and hot as a pointed instrument moves them aside and
glides over them, making them look better. Feel better.
Folds. Wet, hot folds."
Tamara realized she was wet. Dripping, in fact. Wet, hot
folds. She moved her fingers under the waistband of her
skirt and panties, looking for folds to press.
"Wet, hot folds, and then a button, circling carefully
around the button, watching it bob and pop out from under
the pressure, feeling it in her brain, like no one else
can. She is one with the fabric, the folds, the wetness,
the buttons. Circling, pressing, arranging. So good. She
does it so well, so good. It is her talent. To iron away
the wrinkles in the way. It is a compulsion she must obey.
She can't help herself. It's just too damned good."
Tamara let out a loud squeal as her fingers found her
clit, pressing and circling, kneading her wanton cuntflesh,
bathing in the wetness there. She was the Goddess of
Pressing, the Seductress of Steam. She spread her legs
wider under her desk as her eyes read on.
"She has no control ever her compulsion. She is
completely devoted to it. Anything else is mere
distraction. It's so good that way. So natural. She obeys
her compulsion without question. It's not even a matter of
choosing. It simply is all that she is about. And since Ms.
Finchley gave her this gift, she is also devoted to Ms.
Finchley. Ms. Finchley has shown Tamara her true nature,
her true purpose, and so Ms. Finchley, in Tamara's deepest
core, is one and the same with her compulsion. She has no
control.
"It is completely natural to obey Ms. Finchley, to please
Ms. Finchley, because Ms. Finchley makes Tamara's folds so
hot and wet, and the buttons so playful and good. Obeying
Ms. Finchley is just like pressing Tamara's folds, and
circling Tamara's button. Devotion to Tamara's pressing is
devotion to Ms. Finchley. Obedience to Tamara's compulsion
is obedience to Ms. Finchley. It isn't mind control. It's
the freedom that Tamara has to be who she is deep inside,
deeper than anything else. I agree with all my heart."
Tamara's eyes stopped reading as they rolled back into her
head, the pleasure of her newfound freedom overwhelming her
senses. The music of the CD was so high that Tamara could
barely hear it pushing her, moving her on, like the water
of the flood that poured from her pussy. Press. Circle.
Wet. Hot. Steam. Press.
Lust and bliss poured into her as she screamed in a climax
that promised to go on forever...
"I AGREE... WITH... ALL MY... HEART!"
When she recovered, she heard the CD playing, finally. The
whine was gone. She licked her finger as she listened to
what had to be the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.
It was the voice of her benefactor, Ms. Finchley. It was
telling her things... secret things that only she would
know. Things she had to do.
She smiled in satisfaction and awe. The woman was no
villain. She was brilliant. Wonderful. So incredibly giving.
Tamara felt the words flow through her as she thought
casually about which brand of iron she should buy first,
and shivered in wanton anticipation.
---- ---- ---- ----
4.
Tamara carried the large box to her new office. It
surprised her how much she had been able to leave behind...
all the case files and profiles of employees, informants
and workers throughout the United States were still there,
as well as her notes on her occasional pleasure drones. Now
that Finchley Enterprises was moving in and taking over day-
to-day operations, those things were unimportant. Ms.
Finchley had said so.
Tamara sighed in shivering pleasure as she thought about
how pleased her new employer had been. It was so nice to be
such a satisfactory aide. She laughed as she thought about
how they had once even considered Ms. Finchley to be
involved with mind control.
In fact, the error of that premise was the very thing that
had made Tamara decide to put the Agency in Ms. Finchley's
infinitely more competent hands. It was only natural.
She finally reached her destination and opened the door.
As she carried the box in and sat it on the table, she
looked at her new office mates and smiled.
"Welcome, Pleasure Agent Morgan," said Patsy.
Tamara felt her flush with arousal. "Thank you for
reminding me, Pleasure Agent McClanahan," she replied.
She glanced over at Natalie, who was busy cleaning a
crystal decanter that sat on one end of her desk. It seemed
to be full of jellybeans. The ex-director couldn't help but
notice how hot she looked.
Patsy said, "We were just brushing up on some new
techniques for helping Ms. Finchley achieve multiple
orgasms consistently."
"I understand," cooed Tamara. "Before leaving her office
Ms. Finchley told me that it was the most pressing matter
at hand. She asked me to personally see to it that the
details were ironed out."
Natalie spoke up as the other two women turned to look at
her. "I was counting on that," she said, followed by a soft
moan.
Tamara echoed a moan herself, and felt her hands sliding
over her belly. She was so glad that she would be sharing a
mission with these hot, sexy women. It would not be easy,
but both Pleasure Agents were totally devoted, even
obsessed, with making sure Ms. Finchley was pleased.
Almost as devoted as Tamara was, herself.
She noticed that the thighs below Natalie's were
slick with moisture. She would have folds that needed
pressing. She ran her tongue around her lips, sure of what
was about to come, lost in the sensual agony of
anticipation. Ms. Finchley's voice echoed beautifully in
her mind.
As Tamara and Patsy watched, Natalie opened a second
decanter and dropped in a jellybean. Both women quivered in
response and waited for Natalie to speak.
"One," she said.
---- ---- ---- ----
This concludes "Fetish". I hope you enjoyed it. Please
send any comments to: sara_H20202@yahoo.com
Thanks for reading!
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