*This was just plain fun to write. It is submitted
with that in mind, and with no "higher purpose." There are
several sets of thanks, though, that should be made:*
*Tabico, for minds so easily twisted, Eye of Serpent, for
a sense of adventure and fun, Dreamfire, for ethics that
must be recognized even if dashed to pieces, trilby else,
for his portrayals of perverted and tragic loyalties (and
dashed ethics), JR Parz, for his tireless devotion to, and
pursuit of arousal, and finally, cat_slave, for inspiring
in no small part the obsession in this story.*
Reading is a voluntary act. If you're under 18, and are
offended by sex, mind control or other acts according to
your individual tastes, or the sensibilities of your
community would be offended, especially if you're going to
invite them over to a mass viewing of this story, please
stop now, and go away.
Otherwise, feel free to read on.
Warmly,
Cat's sara
(c)2001 by Cat's sara*
----
Circumstantial Goddess
by Cat's sara
(Categories: FF, F-dom, MC, NC, Tech, Toys, F-solo)
----
Marcia came down the stairs in her green robe and
slippers, gently rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She
yawned as she realized how hard she'd slept. The contest
for log-hood was in serious contention.
She staggered into the kitchen and went to the fridge.
Pulling the door open she reached in and pulled out a
ginger ale. Swiping her long, ash hair back from her
face, she popped it and took a long drink.
Then, for the third morning in as many days, she want to
the telephone and dialed the number for work. "Hello,
Jeannie?" she croaked. "I won't be coming in again today. I
don't know if it's the flu or food poisoning, but I can't
make it in.
"No, the doctor's office said I couldn't come in until
this afternoon. Guess they've been hit hard this winter.
Not as hard as me I don't think." She coughed lightly, but
not too hard, for effect. "Yes, I'll let you know. I'm
hoping that after the weekend, I'll be feeling good enough
to make it in.
"Thank you. I'm sorry.... bye."
After no absences in over six years, no one at worked
questioned the reality of her illness.
Marcia smiled.
She dropped the robe from her shoulders, and kicked off
her slippers. Walking to the living room, she whispered
softly, *"Marcia calls her work each day and says that she
feels shitty... until she goes to bed at night she rubs her
sexy clitty..."*
She fell back on the couch, moaning softly as her hands
found her wet, randy snatch. Her fingers stretched her lips
open as she found her nubbin and pinched it, starting the
circular motion that had become her only chore. The initial
pain of its rawness only made her hotter as she circled it
in time with her words...
*"Marcia calls her work eeeeach day and says that she
feels... ohhhh... shitty... Until she goes to bed at
night... mmmmm... she rubs her sexy-y-y clitty..."*
She gasped and mewled in delight as the pleasure of her
first climax of the day swept through her, her head
thrashing side to side for long minutes and then, finally,
coming to rest as she continued to breathe heavily and
sigh. Each time it was stronger than the last, and though
she knew she shouldn't be so perverted, every time she
tried to stop, that damned rhyme ran through her head and
seduced her into doing it again.
The rhyme. It had gone for days before it had begun to
affect her. It started with a phone call at work, a rather
silly one, which she had dismissed at the time as a prank.
But the rhyming words of the caller kept rolling over and
over in her mind for the rest of the day, and even as she
went to sleep that first night.
The next morning, it hadn't gone away, and seemed to get
stronger as the morning wore on. She even caught herself
typing it into some proposed ad copy. She had gone to the
restroom and splashed cold water in her face... the next
thing she knew, she was locked in a stall, furiously
rubbing her itching, begging clit. Chanting. Believing.
It had been torture to tear herself away and back to her
desk.
On Wednesday, slightly dazed from the strength of the
rhyme... as if it were shouting in her ear, she called in
sick.
Thinking back as well as she could, she wondered if she
was going crazy, but before she could form more than that
thought, she heard it again, and felt her lips move,
*"Marcia calls her work each day and..."*
The phone was ringing. Without stopping her obsessed
finger twirling, she looked at the caller ID and saw that
it was a private call. She quickly stopped and picked up
the phone. It might be Jeannie, her boss, checking up on
her.
The young, female voice started as soon as she put the
phone to her ear.
*"Marcia's mind cannot refuse, it's trapped inside a
lasso... Now she adds another treat, her finger in her
asshole."*
The phone clicked as the call ended, and Marcia hung up.
*(Jeez, at home, too? This is getting annoying!)*, she
thought briefly before bouncing forcefully back down onto
the couch.
Her hungry fingers again found her clit and she moaned
loudly as the middle finger of her left hand plunged into
her virgin asshole.
*"Marcia calls her work each day and says that she feels
shitty...
"Until she goes to bed at night she rubs her tender
clitty...
"Marcia's mind cannot refuse, it's trapped inside a lasso...
"Now she adds another treat, a finger for her asshole...
"Marcia calls her work each day and says..."*
Marcia giggled, her eyes glassy, and came again. It was,
as had become her habit, stronger still.
This time, she didn't even try to think before starting
again.
The phone didn't ring again for a very long time.
----
Cindy hung up the phone and looked over to her friend
Susan, who had a look of wide-eyed disbelief on her face.
"That should be interesting," Cindy crooned, giggling. "She
should never have fired me. Bitch."
"Well, you *could* call what you're doing over-reaction."
"Why? I'm just convincing her of my marketing skills. All
my ideas about repetitive conditioning have just been
*more* than proven," retorted Cindy.
"Because you influenced some sicko you worked for? Give me
a break," argued Susan, rolling her eyes. "Besides, you're
not that kind of genius. You're just a student psych major
on winter break."
"She wasn't a sicko five days ago," Cindy said, frowning
slightly. "She was a fabulously successful advertising
account manager.
"I won't be merciless. By the time I'm done, she'll love
her new life. I don't think she'll agree with your medical
diagnosis of 'sicko', girlfriend," Cindy added, smiling
infectiously. "And you're right. I'm one of the one
thousandth of one percent who got incredibly lucky and
stumbled onto this. I'm not the one who came up with the
fancy formulas. I'm the one who added two and two. And
brazen enough to steal them and do my own experiments."
"She was just a convenient candidate, then?" asked Susan.
"Absolutely. I didn't want to engage in my 'ethically
questionable research' *too* close to home, at least at
first," lilted Cindy, in a mockery of social grace. "I'm
not really pissed as I sound, but she happened to come to
mind before anyone else."
"Huh?"
"Never mind.
"The hardest part was getting her a dose of the neuron
stimulant. But I managed. Anyway, between that single dose
and my calls, she's proving that I've found something
really incredible. When I called her, I thought it would
just be horribly annoying. I had no idea she would actually
start acting on the words," Cindy explained, "but when I
called to mess with her a little more, I found out that she
had called in sick. I could imagine the rest.
"It works the same way as Deja vu," she continued, "or
those songs that get stuck in your head. Only stronger.
It's profoundly convincing, from what Marcia has shown."
"But if it's true, and please forgive my trite turn of
phrase, what if it falls into the wrong hands?" asked Susan.
"It won't," Cindy said, flatly. "My hands are just fine."
*(Good thing you won't be around for my next call,)* she
thought.
----
There was so much to do. Marcia needed to vacuum. She
needed to shower. Wash dishes. She needed to do something
with her hands other than endlessly bring her traitorous
clitoris and asshole to greater and greater heights of
indecent pleasure.
She just couldn't bring herself to stop. The endless,
insane stream of her mantra kept rolling over and over in
her head, drowning her more reasonable thoughts like
helpless kittens.
Her breath smelled bad. The odor rising from her underarms
and mixing with the pervasive odor of sexual arousal
nauseated her. And it made her hotter. More lost. The good
and the bad of it, they all added to her drive to continue.
She was sure she was going to die cumming. Her clit was so
raw she was surprised she hadn't drawn blood.
Then, without warning, she didn't care again. It just felt
so fucking *good*.
The phone was ringing. She managed to stop herself long
enough to hit the speakerphone button.
*"Marcia?"* came the voice that was her torturer. Her
captor.
Marcia meant to say yes, but all that came out was a
hoarse grunt.
*"This is Cindy Middleton, the woman you fired six months
ago. I've called to save you."*
*(Save me yes, god save me ohhhh have to play and
cummmmm,)* thought Marcia, with what little thought she
could muster.
*"But you have to promise to obey. Even if you can't say
it, you have to think it. Thinking is believing. Believing
is obeying. Think and believe and obey. Can't do one
without the other two."*
Marcia grunted as her brain listened, hanging on by a
thread.
*"Marcia is a slutty girl, a to boot... And when
she thinks her lustful thoughts, she thinks that Cindy's
cute... She stops her play, she cleans her house, she lets
her body rest... but while she does these things she finds
with Cindy she's obsessed."*
The phone clicked into silence.
Slowly Marcia's hands stopped their movement, and she fell
back on the couch. Silence. Her mind, finally free. She
cried and laughed at the same time. She'd won. The new
rhymes weren't kicking in. It was finally over.
But surely that wasn't *really* Cindy Middleton that
called. It sounded like her, but she didn't seem capable of
this, whatever "this" was. She had just been summer help, a
college temp hire, and she was lazy to boot.
*(Cute, though. Even sexy.)*
Marcia froze. Her eyes widened in horror as she recognized
the invasive thought. No, the belief. She stifled a cry as
her spasmed in lustful yearning. Obedient pussy.
Obedient Marcia. She stood on shaky legs, and picked up the
phone, forcing her fingers to dial a number, any number for
help. *(Marcia is a slutty girl, a to boot...)*,
she began, her lips moving silently as she thought the
words.
She stood, lips drooling slightly as they worked the words
of the insane rhyme over and over, as Cindy's words
buffeted her mind. The contest of will and words continued
for several minutes, as Marcia shook and babbled, and held
her finger a half inch above the keypad of the phone.
Then, with a final spasm that shook her entire body, she
stood straight and quieted. Her slightly parted lips
twitched gently as the words moved to the inner recesses of
her conscious mind.
She calmly placed the phone back in the cradle. It was
useless. She needed to obey the words. The thoughts. *Her*
thoughts. *Her beliefs.*
Tears began to streak down her face as she turned away to
go clean the house.
Perfectly.
----
*From the journal of Cynthia Middleton:*
*The main effect seems to be inward, obsessive repetition
of verbal stimuli and acceptance of same by the subject,
followed by acting on that acceptance. Initially, the
neuron stimulation creates both the repetition and the
feeling that this has happened many, many times before,
almost like it was pre-ordained. Eventually, this gives the
subject the illusion that the cycle has always existed.
Their reality becomes the stimulus and vice versa, and may
be unstoppable, even with the proper stimulus from whatever
or whoever created the cycle in the first place.*
*The drug only lasts for a short time, perhaps two hours.
But it is incredibly strong, and apparently "burns in" the
neural paths so that they respond to similar stimuli in a
similar fashion each time. From there, the brain itself
takes over the process, deepening the inward-leading
pathways accessible to whoever stimulated the original
action.*
*The rate of processing also increases, until the
repetitions are so fast that the conscious mind cannot
possibly comprehend them. The end result is a self-
reinforcing form of suggestibility that is, for all intents
and purposes, mind control.*
----
Cindy thought that perhaps the rhymes were a bit much. It
was fun, but it was getting harder to think them up. Soon,
she would have to step in more seriously and make sure
Marcia knew where she stood, and what she was.
And where she would stand from now on.
Cindy broke out of her reverie and looked over at Susan,
who was deeply involved in a romance novel, laying sideways
in the easy chair, her long, nearly black hair falling
backwards in casual elegance opposite her lithe,
beautifully shaped legs. Unfortunately, Susan would
probably never know how much Cindy lusted for her. She was
completely turned off by the idea of women who were
attracted to women.
Cindy recalled the look on her face the night Susan had
told her the of a particular encounter, an event that
had apparently colored her thinking up to the present.
Cindy had been planning on telling Susan about her
orientation, tired of the secret life and desire she had to
keep from her best friend. As she was driving Susan
home from a party, one where several women had been necking
openly, she broke the ice by asking, "So what do you really
think about women?"
Susan, who'd had enough wine to be reasonably loose-
tongued, said, "I'll tell you what I think. I think they're
a bunch of perverts with no regard for common decency.
"I know it's a strong thing to say, but you never had a
next-door neighbor come on to you one afternoon on the way
home from school. Everyone knew Karen was a but me, I
guess. I found out when she kissed me in my driveway, in
front of God and everyone else. I've never spoken to her
since."
Susan's face was dark by the time she finished her cryptic
tale, and she didn't say anything else until she thanked
Cindy for the ride home.
After that response, with the wind knocked out of her
courage-sails,neither did Cindy.
But now, looking at Susan's turned up nose and natural,
Hispanic beauty, Cindy was wondering if she should take the
ethically questionable step of "persuading" her friend to
change her attitude.
Nothing as intense as what she'd done to Marcia... just a
little... education.
Cindy walked into her bathroom, barely aware that she had
already turned a corner.
----
Susan looked up in irritation as Cindy sprayed the air
with a plastic bottle. "What are you doing? You're getting
my book wet!"
"Air freshener. Sorry, I just thought it was getting musty
in here... I'll go get a paper towel."
"Whatever."
Susan went back to her book. She was just getting to the
risque parts, and was a little embarrassed, actually, at
having gotten so lost in the story. Regardless, it didn't
take long to let go and let herself get absorbed again.
She jumped at Cindy's voice. "Hot stuff, huh?"
"Well, now that you mention it, yes," said Susan, looking
back at the pages. She didn't want to have to tell Cindy to
get lost. Sometimes friends were a real pain in the ass.
Besides, it was Cindy's place, and it wasn't like she
didn't have the right to intrude.
"Nah. It would only be hot if it were two women," said
Cindy, smiling. "Now *that* would very cool. Wow... hot and
cold running lust!"
"What?!?"
Cindy laughed and held up her hands in a gesture of no
contest, turned and left the room.
Susan went back to her love scenes. She was halfway
through a page when she realized that she just wasn't
getting into it. *(Dammit!)* she thought. *(Nothing like...
like... )* Susan put down the book, her brow furrowed as
she tried to figure out why she suddenly wasn't interested
in Veronica Davenport being held in the strong arms of
Clint Macon.
Deciding it didn't matter, she sat up and turned on the TV.
Cindy sat in her bedroom, thinking about what she had just
done. She felt guilty. Excited. Torn. Aroused.
"I shouldn't feel guilty," she whispered to herself. "I
should thank my lucky stars that I can make Susan hot for
me. If I were a little less worried about the consequences,
I'd be making her my slave." She considered for a moment
and giggled at the kinky thought. On the other hand, it was
kind of exciting... and slightly mocking herself playfully,
she softly added, "Now *that* would be very cool. Susan,
the obedient little cuntlicker! *Very* cool!" She smiled as
she pictured her friend kneeling, bound, dressed in sexy
leather.
"Very cool. It would be... *very* cool." She noticed that
her voice had a sort of hollow ring to it, like something
was in her ears. Like buzzing cotton.
She paid no attention. She had too much to think about.
Like how cool it would be to make Susan her slave. It gave
her an idea. A very *cool* idea. She picked up the bottle
of stimulator reagent and poured it, undiluted, into the
spray bottle. She gave it a few pumps to make sure it was
working.
"Very cool!" she gibbered enthusiastically. The sweet
aroma of the pure reagent hit her nose. She stopped,
motionless, realizing what had happened. The "air
freshener" had been strong enough to affect her, too, even
though she had quickly left the room. She put the bottle
down and stepped away. In a panic, she began to do
multiplication tables in her head.
She realized after only a moment that it was useless, as
the thought of how *fucking* cool it would be to have Susan
as her slave smashed through "two times three" and rammed
into her mind like a runaway freight train.
And it felt so fucking *good*. *(No wonder Marcia caved),*
was the last real thought she had.
Picking up the bottle, she walked back out to the living
room, and looked at Susan. Hot. Sexy. Cool. So cool.
Susan was busy feeling her through her shirt,
pinching her nipples and watching a videotape. It was an
old 40's movie, but a commercial was on... a shampoo
commercial, full of overtones. As it came to the
end, Susan hit the rewind button and took it back to the
beginning. Moaning openly, she pressed play. It was just
too hot for her to ignore.
"Very, very cool," said Cindy.
"Huh?" said Susan, turning her head but keeping her eyes
glued to the screen.
Cindy held out the spray bottle and gave ten squeezes into
the confined air of the small living room.
"Susan, I have something very cool to tell you. You're
going to just love this.
"In fact, you already do."
----
Cindy moaned as cuntslut began licking her again.
She knew that it was her slave's self-interest that made
her return. The slut loved to and couldn't until she
brought her Mistress to that same glorious moment of
animalistic release. It didn't matter. It was the best
reinforcement of the slut's complete surrender that could
be. It was very, very cool. Glorious. *Very* cool. A slut
making her Mistress was the best, coolest feeling in
the world.
She had already taken a shower by making her degraded
slave, the who used to be Susan, take water into her
mouth and dribble it slowly down her body. That was
followed by washing with a soap bar held in her slut's
willing mouth, and then another water rinse. It took nearly
two hours. So, so very cool.
Brought back to the present by the tireless tongue on her
clit, a wave of intense pleasure wracked Cindy's tired
muscles. Before she could object, it was washing over her,
obliterating any possibility other than letting it happen.
So cool. *So cool to own her slut.* Her own moans made her
girltoy's tongue work even faster, finding just the right
spot and right pressure and rhythm to make Cindy's legs
jerk in involuntary pleasure. Toes curled. Tongue waved,
licking the air in abandon. Mistress. Pleasure. Slut. So
cool.
Cindy came. And then came harder as she felt her slut
respond and climax ferociously with her, her tongue itself
lost in spasms of relentless pleasure at the recognition of
her Mistress's climax. Cindy's body convulsed even more
strongly in response as the two lost women sent themselves
into a cycle of higher and higher pinnacles of orgasmic
pleasure, until they were nothing more than a molten heap
of lust-fire, their clits the white-hot coals that re-
ignited their flaming passion every time it began to lessen.
Silence came only as they fell into the black wool of
unconsciousness.
Cindy slowly opened her eyes. *(So cool!)* was her very
first thought.
----
The pleasure of the neuron stimulation chemical had been
Cindy's big surprise. It was like having an orgasm directly
in her brain.
She felt motion as her pet moaned and slowly awakened.
Cindy reached for the bottle of pure reagent and gave a few
squeezes into the face of her adoring slave.
"cuntslut lives for Mistress Cynthia. cuntslut has no
identity. cuntslut is only cuntslut. Property. Owned. Pet.
Toy. Slave. Cunt. cuntslut is a dirty little whore
pussyslave and lives to please Mistress. Mistress's
pleasure gives cuntslut greater pleasure than anything else
in the world. It's the most fucking cool thing there is, or
could be, or ever *will* be. cuntslut is all Mistress's toy
ever has been. A cool, dirty, mindfucked cuntslut, living
to please Mistress Cynthia. There is no past. There is only
Mistress's will and cuntslut's absolute devotion. So
goddamned fucking *cool*. Repeat that back, slut."
Then, eyes glistening in anticipation of the enhanced
pleasure the chemical would bring, twitching in raw
arousal, Cindy sprayed herself in the face and waited for
the words of her cuntslut that would seal them together
more deeply, and more deeply, and more deeply...
----
Marcia stood behind the bar, looking for someone that
would meet her needs. She leaned over and crossed her legs,
feeling her body jerk slightly at the twinge of pleasure
that coursed through her.
Finally, she saw her candidate approach and sit down at
the bar.
"You need a drink?" she asked, smiling.
"Black Russian," answered the woman. "Please."
"I have a suggestion, if you like Black Russians. It's
called a 'Slavemaker.' It's the same but has a special
liqueur added that gives it a little zing. If you don't
like it, I won't charge you. It's *very* cool."
"Sure, I'll try it," agreed the woman. Marcia smiled
as she mixed the drink, and smiled more as she reached
behind the counter and added a helping of the Convincer, as
Mistress had named it.
She handed the the drink, watching as she took a sip,
and then kicked back the shot glass.
"What's your name, honey?" asked Marcia, smiling.
"Janice," answered the girl.
"Marcia. Well, Janice, did you like it?"
"Very tasty. Yes."
"How about another on me?"
"Sure."
Marcia watched as she threw the drink back again in one
gulp. "Smooth, huh?"
"Yep. Smooth."
Marcia walked away, taking the time to do some cleaning
behind the bar. When she turned back a few minutes later,
Janice was staring into her glass, eyes dilated.
Marcia could barely contain herself as she walked back
over to Janice, speaking.
"Feels good. So good. It really does. It feels sexy."
Janice looked into distant space, confusion briefly
crossing her features. "Feels... good," she
responded, as a smile teased at the corners of her mouth.
"So good. Sexy."
"So good to be a little cuntwhore. Janice is a little
cuntwhore."
"Janice is a little cuntwhore." For a brief moment, Janice
looked up into Marcia's eyes, her brow furrowing before her
face relaxed into pleasure-induced acceptance.
"It's fucking *cool.* And Janice can't wait until she
meets Cynthia. It will make Janice cum. Janice is Mistress
Cynthia's slave. It is *so* cool," whispered Marcia, her
own voice trembling with the thrill of what she was doing.
Doing for Mistress. So cool.
Marcia walked away again, randy and wet, nearly cumming as
she watched Janice, pretty little cuntwhore Janice, begin
to repeat the words over and over to herself, her destiny
altered forever.
Walking to the edge of the bar, she made a light nod to a
booth in the back corner.
Mistress Cynthia approached the bar, and said, "Nice work,
pet. She will make the perfect addition to our little...
merry band. Now. Cum. for Mistress. Hard. Now."
Marcia felt her soul rip open in surrendering orgasm as
Cynthia approached Janice and tapped her on the shoulder.
Through the haze of her pleasure and obedience, she saw
Janice turn and listen, and watched as the cuntwhore
shuddered, eyes quickly filling with awe, devotion and love.
It was *so* fucking *cool.*
----
Please send any comments and feedback to
sara_h2020@yahoo.com, and mention the name of the about which you are writing in the subject line. Thanks for
reading!
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