If you are under 18 years of age, please do not read the
following story. Likewise, if you are offended by
depictions of graphic sex, please go no further. Otherwise,
you're on your own.
This is Copyright 2002 by Sara H. Do not post
elsewhere without express written permission from the
author.
Here ends the sabbatical. Thanks for reading, and thanks
to all who wrote to wish me well, encouraged me to
continue, and otherwise counted yourselves as friends.
Sara
---- ---- ---- ----
Illumination
by Sara H
Categories: FF, MC, F-solo, SF
---- ---- ---- ----
PART ONE
i.
There was a question hanging in the air. It was sitting
behind the eyes of everyone at the gathering. Jessica
looked around her darkened, candlelit living room and the
assembled women with unease. They were anxious, eyes moving
from to picture, person to person, staring into
coffee cups that were still full. The movements were almost
too casual, eyes never quite meeting, as if there was
something gnawing at them. A bit of uncomfortable laughter
broke upward through muted whispers.
It was excruciating.
"Everyone ready?" a soft voice called from the doorway.
All eyes turned towards the sound. It was Kathy, Jessica's
oldest daughter. At nineteen, her beauty was in full bloom.
Jessica looked down, saw what she was carrying, and smiled.
Yes. The question was answered. Kathy held the object whose
absence had caused their nervous unease. The lamp.
Jessica felt an odd mix of anticipation and relaxation
flow through her body. It pressed through her like a best
friend, caressing her from the inside out. She looked
around again.
The room was transformed. Everyone was waiting now,
longing to bathe in the reassuring glow. Something was
coming alive, something that energized the entire consort.
It wasn't that all of them were naked, or that only women
were present. It wasn't that some knew each other from
church, from work, or that some were complete strangers,
brought here by happenstance.
It was that they all looked hungry in the candlelight.
Every last one. Ravenous, in fact. It didn't dawn on any of
them that the hunger was new, created within them by some
invasive power.
It was natural, after all. There was no reason to
question. They loved to obey.
It made Jessica hot. She felt awe and wonder that she had
been chosen to show the women here something of such
magnificence, in her home, in her living room, with her
family present. She felt her gush as a pleasure-wave
swept outward from her belly.
Jessica seemed to awaken just a bit from the mass reverie.
"Yes, sweetie. Thank you. I think everyone is quite ready."
Kathy, feeling as distant from her recent past as from her
earliest moments, set the lamp on the coffee table and
turned it on. She heard the low, throbbing hum as it warmed
up. It glowed to life, the swirling pattern erasing even
the knowledge that she was watching.
Her eyes went wide, pupils dilated. The dark of the room
showed the reflected swirls of the lamp in her eyes. She
felt as if her brain was itching, clawing for more of the
delicious sensation.
As if with a single thought, the eyes of the assembly
turned to focus on the growing light. Long since emptied of
furniture save the lone coffee table on which the lamp
rested, the room held no barriers to its captivating
brilliance.
Jessica shivered in sympathetic lust with the others.
"Yes..." She'd forgotten just how good it really was.
As the lamp grew brighter, so did the reflections, now so
strong that all eyes in the room seemed to be lost behind a
haze of swirls.
The bodies of the enthralled women began to move. It was
slow, like a ballet performed to music which could not be
heard. It continued until they had formed a perfect circle
around the glowing object.
The lamp, as if sensing the ritual, shot into brilliance
in a second. Soft white beams like silk lasers shot
into the eyes of the adoring women, freezing all motion,
turning their eyes into matching orbs of white-hot bliss.
The women stood at rigid attention as the light reshaped
their dreams, their thoughts, their desires... and their
souls.
They remained in place, soaking up their new existence and
directives for hours. Their fingers and toes convulsed in
exquisite, perfect unison. Their bodies moved in a dance of
learning, bellies and hips undulating as they learned both
seduction and acceptance.
And then, with no warning, the light went dark, it's glow
fading, slowly replaced by the yellow light of the candles.
The women shook and looked around, the lamp forgotten for
the moment. They did not find anything odd in the soft,
white light still glowing in their eyes.
As hands began to caress, the beams of white appeared
again, connecting woman to woman as their lust grew to new
heights. Tongues danced along with fingers, soft moans
wafting through the room like music. There was no thought
but pleasure, no need but surrender.
As Jessica's lips met the soft lips of the young, familiar
nineteen-year-old next to her, her heart pounded with
passion and need. There was not enough of her mind left to
worry about who this beautiful was. She was only her
latest lover.
She proceeded with her seduction of Kathy, as Kathy
proceeded with hers, as they had proceeded every night for
the last week, each woman sharing in the bliss of every
other.
It was natural, after all. There was no reason to
question. They loved to obey.
ii.
Marge Hausman stared out her front window. She wasn't
particularly nosy, but she noticed the cars parked up and
down the street for the eighth night in a row. First it had
been one or two; now, it looked like a full-fledged party.
She'd even seen some of the neighbors knocking on the door
of the Taylor house.
The weird thing was that there wasn't any indication of a
celebration. The front door sat closed, and nearly all the
lights were off. There were no signs of any activity at
all. She looked a little harder, and then shrugged. She
turned away from the window and walked upstairs.
She turned down the covers of her bed before taking one
last look out the second window. Just for a second,
she thought she saw bluish flashes of light in the living
room windows across the street. She looked harder... there
was something striking about the color, but it was already
gone.
She chalked it up to imagination sparked by her curiosity,
and lay down in her bed. None of it really mattered anyway,
and she was asleep, cuddling with her second pillow before
she had taken more than a dozen sleepy breaths.
She woke up to the sound of voices outside. She looked at
the clock. Three thirty-two a.m. Curious, she lowered
herself to the floor and padded to the window, pulling the
curtain back.
Several women were walking to their cars and chatting. She
watched two of them stop. They turned, held each other
close, and fell into a passionate kiss, their tongues
dancing even before their lips touched.
She gasped at the lewd and unexpected gesture. She jerked
her eyes up to the door of Jessica's house and gasped
again. Jessica was standing there, looking at the two women
and her eyes were, well, glowing.
As if she had heard the surprised intake of air, Jessica's
head turned upward, and she seemed to look directly where
Marge stood. No, more than that - Jessica seemed to be
staring directly at her.
Marge shook her head and looked again. Jessica was still
staring, but her eyes had lost their luminescence. Marge
felt blood rush to her cheeks. She wanted to turn, but she
felt trapped, as if she were some caught in oncoming
headlights.
Jessica was smiling. Saying something. Inside her head, a
voice from nowhere and everywhere said, "Soon."
Marge fainted.
When she came to, she crept to her other window and looked
out. Jessica was gone, as were the cars and the two women
she had caught stealing a lover's kiss.
She stood for a long moment, staring at the dim street.
She had seen it. It was real. It was... what was it she had
seen? Something about Jessica... about the party... it was
already disappearing like the wisps of a dream.
Yes, that was it. It was a dream. She had fallen out of
bed. That was all that had happened. She felt the remnants
still in her. A very sexy dream. She was still horny from
it. As she stood in the window, her hands found their way
to her nightie, pulling it upward.
A finger pressed in on her clit as she closed her eyes.
God, it was so good! So hot! One hand rubbed her belly
softly as she circled her distended fuck-button. Where had
that word come from? She didn't care. Pleasure was
cascading through her now like a vicious scythe, slicing
away her fear of being seen. Her knees felt weak as she
trembled at the approaching pleasure. Fuck, it had never
been this good!
She opened her eyes. On the street, a small crowd of women
watched, eyes glowing, eating into her, melting her into a
rubbery doll of lust... and it hit, her silent scream
echoing through her head, like the sound of the watching
women, all cumming with her, pressing her onward into the
eternal Moment of Pleasure, losing all sight and sound,
only the itch in her brain telling her that there even
was a her, and all else was pleasure beyond anything she
had ever...
She came down slowly from paradise and opened her eyes
again, flashes of light still exploding in her eyes. She
shook from the immense shocks that weaved through the
encapsulating warmth of her afterglow.
The street was empty.
She was only a little surprised that she felt a twinge of
disappointment.
iii.
Melissa Perkins was livid. She did her best to be
diplomatic, but her anger was obvious. "Phil, you don't
understand. I don't want to do any more feel-good for awhile. A long while. I want something I can grab
hold of and feel like I've done something worthwhile. I
deserve it, too. You know I do."
Phil Drummond looked at the short, black hair and frame that had made Melissa one of his most popular on-the-
scene reporters. She was already heir-apparent for the
nightly six o'clock co-anchor spot. With Hugh Sanders ready
to retire, the official announcement had been planned
within a month. As head of News Production, he'd had a lot
to do with her rise. She owed him at least a little
indulgence.
"Look, Melissa. I can't make you do this. But women love
you. love you. We can make this work thanks to
you. Normally, a successful woman entrepreneur will
make remotes go crazy. But with you, we don't have to
sacrifice ratings because, quite frankly, the will hang
around to watch you wiggle on camera. I know it's terrible,
but it's also business."
"I don't wiggle!"
"Figure of speech. Come on. This woman, Jessica Taylor,
specifically requested you. Consider it your parting gift
to paying dues."
Phil was too charming for his own good, damn him. Melissa
knew she was going to say yes. But she wasn't done yet.
Still fuming, she asked, "So who suggested this story? It
doesn't sound like something you'd dream up."
"Marge Hausman, the new hire. Sales. Look, she's the new
Golden Child of the affiliate and is out to prove herself.
She had the demographics to prove her case. Apparently,
lots of women are watching the news now, while their
spouses work late. She thinks this is a natural.
"I know you're better than this. But a month from now,
you'll be co-anchor, and you'll have some say over what you
cover. And I could use the help. Marge and I didn't have
the best of meetings."
"Oh, all right," she said. She scowled at him with her
meanest "don't fuck with this bitch" look, then laughed
as she shook her head. "I don't know why I'm doing this for
you, you heartless prick."
He ignored it and beamed. "Great! You need to be at her
home in an hour."
She tried to stay angry and couldn't. Now that the
decision had been made, it was time for business. "Anything
I need to know about her?"
"Only that she's charming, well-educated and owns a
medical lighting equipment distribution company. We'll need
the tape in a few days. We're doing a full profile on her.
It will air next week. Today you're only going to meet with
her and see what looks like material."
"Fascinating." Melissa rolled her eyes and let out a tiny
laugh.
iv.
By the time Melissa arrived at the modest home, she was
prepared. Clipboard, tape recorder, and digital in
tow, she looked like she was showing up to work for her
interviewee. She was greeted at the door without having to
knock.
The woman who opened it looked much too to be a
successful business woman, but it never paid to make
assumptions. "Jessica Taylor?" asked Melissa.
"No," said the woman, blushing. "You want my mom."
"That would be me," said a voice. Melissa turned slightly
to the left to see a thirty-something woman dressed
casually, hair tied back in a pony tail. "And this is
Kathy, my oldest daughter," she said, gesturing to the
young woman who had answered the door. "Very happy to
finally meet you, Ms. Perkins. I appreciate your coming out
like this. Won't you come in?"
"Thank you, and please call me Melissa," said the
reporter, smiling as she stepped through the door.
"Of course. And in that case, it's Jessica. Everyone calls
me that anyway. Ms. Taylor sounds so old."
She smiled, and Melissa found herself smiling back. Phil
had been right - she was quite disarming.
Stepping inside, she looked around at the furnishings.
There was nothing to indicate wild success - no
masterpieces, no thousand dollar couches, no antiques. As
they walked into a comfortable study at the end of the
hall, Melissa thought it seemed the kind of place that
Norman Rockwell might have painted.
"Please, sit down."
The two women exchanged small talk, and before long,
Melissa felt completely at ease with her host. She was a
wonderful conversationalist, listening, adding to the
conversation, pushing it forward, but never overbearing or
rude. Melissa was, to her surprise, glad that she had
accepted the assignment.
Kathy brought them both iced tea. It was during that
slight lull in the conversation that Melissa decided to
break the professional ice. "So tell me, Jessica. Now that
you've reached some level of success, where do you think it
came from?"
"A good idea, a lot of hard work, and what amounts to
unbelievable good luck. I know that sounds strange, since
most people think they owe their success to a dream and
hard work alone. But I think luck, or chance, plays into it
more than anything. Certainly more than most egos would
admit."
"Well, it's at least gracious to say so."
Jessica smiled. "Well, take my latest interest. Totally
luck. I spend a lot of time tracking down very esoteric
lights that operate at specific lumens. I do it for my
customers, and I'm good at it, which is the basis for my
success. But I also do research to keep abreast of the
latest advances in lighting technology. And every woman
knows what good lighting can do."
Both women shared a laugh, and took a moment to sip their
drinks.
"Anyway, I ran across an ad in the back of an industry
tabloid, and I took a chance. It was expensive, but I think
it's going to make a huge difference in how things go for
me from now on.
"Would you like to see it?"
Normally, Melissa would not have taken the time, but since
she was here to get to know Jessica, she decided there
would be no harm, and said so.
"Great! Kathy, would you bring in the lamp?"
"Sure, Mom!" called Kathy. A few moments later, she came
into the room, carrying something that looked like a
crystal volleyball mounted to an ebony pedestal. It's
surface was textured and bumpy. On second glance, it wasn't
completely spherical, or maybe it was. It gave the
impression of being of an irregular shape, but Melissa
could not tell exactly how.
Jessica smiled as she placed it on the desk at the end of
the room. "I know, I know... it looks like some fad-lamp
from the sixties, but it isn't at all. I'm not even sure
how to classify it. All I know is that it's fascinating,
and everyone who sees it seems to agree."
"Whatever you say," thought Melissa, mentally rolling her
eyes. Then, as her practiced diplomacy took over, she said,
"Well, I suppose I'll have to see for myself, if you'll let
me, of course."
"I was hoping you'd feel that way."
Jessica got up and walked to the windows, pulling the
shades and then the curtains. Then, she walked to the door
to the hallway and closed it. As her hand reached for the
light switch, she said, "Don't worry. It's just that in the
dark you can... see it's effect much better."
Melissa was thinking of how much this was like high
school, when she would pull out her strobe lights
and black lights to show her friends. It was the adolescent
version of dress-up and a small morsel of nostalgia settled
in her chest. She became aware that despite her
"professional eye", she was having fun.
"I'll be right back," said Jessica, who had moved over to
the lamp to turn it on. "Just enjoy the show. I have a
couple of calls to make and I'll be back before you know it.
"Oh, it takes a minute or two to warm up, okay?"
"Sure thing," said Melissa. She usually hated it when she
was left idle, but it didn't seem so bad this time. It was
so much better than the usual ego massaging she had to do
when working like this.
By the time Jessica closed the door, she was beginning to
think of how to approach the story. Maybe the business
ingenue who got lucky, but that seemed too simple.
Unspoiled natural woman? Better, but Jessica also seemed to
have a sophistication that guided her from behind
her overt behavior.
Her thoughts were disturbed by a low, throbbing hum coming
from the lamp. Or it seemed like the lamp. She hoped it
wasn't going to break or catch fire. All she needed was a
face full of glass and a bill to replace the odd device.
Jessica had said expensive, and that could be anything from
fifty dollars to more than she wanted to imagine.
A moment later, her thoughts was dismissed again as a kind
of bluish light began to pulse and swirl in the globe on
the table. It was like gooey plasma squirming, oddly
distorted by the lumps and wrinkles on the surface.
Quite compelling, really. It was so fluid and graceful...
it almost seemed to react to what she wanted to see while
still surpassing her ideas of what it would do. Somehow, it
looked sexy. She thought about looking to the door, but
didn't want to miss the next swirl. It was really
captivating. She felt like her retinas were matching the
growing light, itching as it crawled around inside her eyes.
The blue was gone, replaced by colors that mixed beyond
her ability to recognize, colors no one had ever seen. "The
colors of the soul," came the wispy thought. She laughed at
herself. She wasn't prone to spiritual metaphor.
She wondered if the soporific euphoria was her
imagination. Moments later, there was no doubt. She was
getting a bit too lost in it. But it was like drugs times a
hundred. Like everything she'd tried when she was younger,
but better. So much better.
She balked and shook her head, but instead of clearing it,
it only intensified the sensations. Alarmed, she managed to
look away, but the after-images were inverted and
nightmarish. She looked back at the light. Felt calm. Felt
the light reaching in, almost as if it were wiggling up her
optic nerve, tickling her brain.
It moved from the back of her head forward.
There was no mistaking it now. Something hostile was
trying to get into her, distracting her with seductive
euphoria. He thoughts felt slow and muddled. She worked
past her disorientation, tried to lift her arm - and
couldn't. She tried to look away again, but her eyes and
head felt like they were held in place by strong elastic
bands. There was no feeling of hard restraint; instead it
was soft and insistent, keeping her focused on the swirling
colors.
Panic came to her, forced her to fight. She worked her
muscles, pressed against her captor, but she could also
feel her own absolute lack of movement. It only made her
more desperate.
Then, with what seemed like no effort at all, something
exploded and washed through her mind, like warm, wet
lotion. Her anxiety disappeared, erased inside of a single
heartbeat. It was replaced by the oddest sensation of
rightness. She felt her mind open, craving more of the
tickling, crawling, perfect pleasure.
She was rewarded.
Her body began to itch now, her shoulders and nipples
massaged by fingers more knowing and facile than any born
of humans. They moved through her body, again inside, where
she couldn't escape their insistent pleasures.
Her was wet. Her asshole twitched. She couldn't
move. The thousands of fingers within her were seducing
her. She wanted to escape. She wanted more. She couldn't
form what it was she was supposed to free herself from. It
was like thinking in snapshots that made less and less
sense.
The futility of wanting to leave became plain to her. She
couldn't remember where she was. She couldn't tell if she
was sitting or standing. That information was no longer of
any consequence. She didn't care. She felt her body
surrender, begin to crave, to beg, if it were possible,
for more of the delicious intrusion. Her mind was turning
more and more to agreement.
"So nice," she thought. "So perfect. Bad. Must be a bad
thing to be so good. So good to feel so bad. So good must
resist bad. Bad to resist. Good to let go of bad good bad
girl good feel oh god I want this. More. Want. Give. Yes.
Yesss.
The glow of the lamp increased, but Melissa felt no pain
from it, no need to do anything but open wider. She didn't
wonder about it. It was. It was her vision. It was her
thought. It was an eternal, frozen moment. It was her
world, now. Home. There was no escape, nor any thought of
it.
Escape and home had no place together.
Climax came to her like the blood pounding through her
arteries and veins. Her mouth, open and unmoving, drooled
in open abandon. She was beyond caring, beyond the
mechanics of inhibition. Her body convulsed inwardly, still
unmoving, as orgasm after orgasm washed away any desire for
anything but more of the beautiful light.
She ached for it to take her away, to make her into
whatever it wanted, just not to stop, ever to stop, just
keep shearing away anything but what would give more of the
pleasure coursing through her. The lust. The love. For
this, she would do, would give, would believe - anything.
Anything.
As it flared into brilliance and her mind melted into
pure, white silk-light, escape was the last thing on her
mind. In truth, it wasn't on her mind at all.
She wanted only for it to go on forever. She didn't care
if it made her a slut, a bitch in heat. Those words had no
meaning to her in this place. Only pleasure, lust,
obedience and surrender made sense inside the cocoon of
love that wrapped her in its wondrous embrace.
She could feel the last traces of resistance as they
burned away in the glorious light of reason. She was
changing. She was being reshaped in ways few had
experienced, but that would be known by many more, and
soon. Very soon.
She relished the knowledge as she felt her mind being
directed, taught, shown. She helped root out the last
vestiges of doubt, dancing inside as they burned into
charred husks. She blew gently with her thoughts and
watched her once-notions of ego, of hesitation, of all that
did not serve Home blow away like fine dust, scattered to
the realms reserved for that which can no longer exist.
It was natural, after all. There was no reason to
question. She loved to obey.
---- ---- ---- ----
PART TWO
v.
"Do you think she's ready?"
"Yes. I was worried at first, but I should have known
better. Every eventuality has been accounted for, even the
resistance of some key inductees."
"She's not a key inductee."
"Don't be so sure. A month ago, you were a nosy neighbor.
Now, you're in charge of the twenty-third region."
"True, but..."
A third woman cleared her throat and cut short the
discussion. When both women had turned to her, she said, "I
think you're both forgetting something."
She let the words sink in before continuing. "Something
important."
"The final goal?" asked one.
"Who else we need to enlist in the Cause?" asked the other.
"No," said the third. "You forget that your opinions are
not relevant.
"You are forgetting obedience."
The two women's faces turned with shame. There was no
way to answer; no excuse that could be given. There was
only the truth of Jessica's words.
Jessica allowed their torment to build inside of them,
swirling like a ball of white-hot wax, growing until it
nearly filled them. In truth, she loved not the torture,
but where it would lead them. Though they did not realize,
it was a necessary step in shedding the myth of their
individual importance.
There was only Home, and the Cause. Soon, they would know
that more deeply than they knew of their own existence.
Jessica licked her lips and felt her clit respond with
itching desire. The rewards of growth were always quick in
coming.
The women turned, already aware of what was to come. They
opened their eyes so completely that anyone watching would
think them in mortal fear, or perhaps insane. Such was the
level of their desire to let in the light of teaching.
Jessica smiled and turned on the lamp. She knew that if
she stayed, more of her humanity would be stripped from her
- that she would become even more of a mindless pawn of the
Cause. Soon, she would not even know her own name.
Her heart swelled with love and longing. Her addiction to
the light of teaching was a matter of pride, pride that
would soon be gone, replaced only with complete surrender.
Soon, she would be purified. Soon, she would be the
perfect vessel of the Cause. She would be a Queen.
Soon, she would be Home.
vi.
"Mom?" called Tami as she came in through the front door.
"Sorry! I forgot to take my Ouija board! We're doing the
seance thing tonight!"
No one answered back. Weird. Her was kind of a
homebody. After work, she didn't ever seem to have much
energy. Tami didn't mind. She knew she'd worked hard ever
since Dad took off to keep them going. And at sixteen, she
was enough to appreciate it.
She shrugged. was probably gone to the grocery store,
or, just like her, had left something behind and gone back
to work to get it. She went up the stairs two at a time,
running to her room to grab the box with the Ouija board in
it.
As she walked back out of her room, she heard something.
It sounded like it was coming from her Mom's room - kind of
a low, throbbing hum. Just as she got close, it stopped.
She froze. She could hear someone moving in the room, as
if trying not to be heard.
"Mom?" she whispered.
"Tami!" Came her Mom's voice, urgent but soft. "Go! Now!
While you..." The throb started again, cutting off her
mom's words.
Tami wasn't about to go anywhere.
She crept the rest of the way to the room and pushed the
door open slowly. She gasped as the scene opened to her
view.
It wasn't just her Mom. There were two women standing in
front of her as she sat on the edge of her bed. All three
of them were naked.
While Tami watched, frozen, one of the women knelt and
began to lick at her mom's... well, at her... privates.
Tami knew about sex but this was even beyond her precocious
knowledge. It was... it was sick.
The remaining woman turned to look at Tami. Before she had
a chance to turn, she was caught by the stare, frightened
to run, frightened to stay.
As she watched, the late evening light seemed to play
tricks on her. It looked like the woman's eyes were
glowing. White on white, almost swirling. Looking for
anything to grab onto with her mind to keep herself from
collapsing, she stared back.
"Mom?" said Tami, almost whimpering.
"Your mom's occupied, Tami. She can't hear you. She
doesn't even know you're here right now."
She cringed as she heard her utter a loud moan. It
didn't sound like her at all. She couldn't tell if
it was a moan of pain or pleasure. It if was pleasure, it
sounded like it must have been pretty damned good. Through
it all, her eyes never left the woman's.
"No, she really doesn't," continued the white-eyed lady.
"But I do."
"Why don't we go to your room, Tami? We can talk about
this. I can explain it in a way that will make it all make
sense. That sounds like a very good idea, doesn't it?"
"Very good idea. My room. Explain," thought Tami. She was
having a very hard time finishing her thoughts. She decided
it was because it was too much to take in, although she
only felt it as a sense of relief. "Yes. Why don't we go to
my room?" she agreed.
vii.
Tami sat at her desk. Walking down the hall without
looking into the strange eyes of the woman had cleared her
head a bit. She looked at her telephone. She wanted to call
someone. But who? What could she say? "Help! There's a
woman with swirling white eyes seducing my and
another trying to confuse me! Help! Get someone here right
away!" She almost laughed at how stupid she would sound.
"My name is Marge, Tami. I do understand. I worried about
it all, too. I thought either I was going crazy, or I was
in a nightmare. In fact, it was neither. I just didn't
understand."
There was a moment of silence.
"Tami!"
Tami looked up out of reflex and right into the swirling
pools of light where Marge's eyes should have been. Colors
seemed to dance there, and something else, like secrets
told by a best friend. The telephone was a distant memory.
"Your has found her purpose, Tami. Isn't that
wonderful?"
Tami found herself shaking her head yes. Something wasn't
right about it... but she couldn't quite figure it out.
"She saw the light in my eyes, too. It was all she could
see after only a few moments. Do you know what that's like?"
The room faded. It didn't seem strange at all. It seemed
like it was supposed to happen. Marge smiled, and Tami's
heart nearly exploded in joy.
"You see, you're beginning to see what I see, feel what I
feel, think what I think. I always say what I think. So...
I guess that means you always think what I say. Is this
making sense to you, Tami?"
Tami knew that it shouldn't make sense. She fought with
every ounce of he being to shake her head no, but all she
could do was tremble as it moved up and down.
"I can see you're upset. But I don't feel upset. I feel so
good. So very, very good. I even feel good in my pussy. I
love feeling good in my pussy. What do you think?"
Somewhere inside of Tami, a voice was fighting, clawing to
get free. It made her voice strain and sputter as her voice
creaked out of her. "I think I love feeling good in my
pussy."
"I think with my pussy. My brain is a secondary organ. My
pussy gives me life. My tells me everything. My
pussy feeling good gives me life. What do you think?"
Tami was trembling all over as she struggled with the
words. They were obscene... insane... and so, so right.
There was nothing but sound of Marge's voice in her brain,
becoming her thoughts, and the glow of the light and it
was... it was delicious. Tendrils of pleasure seemed to
be growing like vines on her skin, covering her arms and
legs, her hands and feet. Her and were on
fire, her clit and nipples red-hot points of ecstasy.
"I love my pussy. And my loves Home. Home gives my
pussy a reason to feel good. Home is the Cause my lives for and obeys. And I obey my pussy. I love my pussy.
I love what my loves. I obey what my obeys. I
love Home. I obey Home. I love the Cause. I do whatever
Home directs me to do for the Cause.
"Tell me Tami, what do you think?"
"I -- I -- n-n-n -- LOVE MY PUSSY!" she screamed as her
resistance shattered into a trillion fragments.
"I love your pussy, too," intoned Marge, her voice
suddenly earthy and seductive.
"I love your pussy, too," said Tami. Obeying the
imperative sent a shockwave of lust and pleasure through
her body.
Tami felt herself standing and moving, and then laying
down. The word "bed" surfaced, but disappeared, having no
meaning.
"I love only women.
"I have no use for men.
"I love only women because Home says I love only women.
"Bringing women Home is my cause.
"I love how women look.
"I love how women smell.
"I love how women feel.
"I love how women taste.
"I love to taste every inch of every woman I see.
"When I bring them Home, I can taste them.
"I love how women fuck."
Each statement moved through Tami like an ultrasonic
scalpel, severing the threads back to where she had begun.
Each word, each syllable was bliss, eroding any awareness
of anything but the thoughts in her newly corrupted pussy-
mind.
She knew what she had to do. Her tongue stretched out in
longing to taste the woman she was with, the woman who
offered the light of teaching, the woman who had come to
take her Home. It found viscous wetness, and a delicious,
heady flavor unlike any she had ever known washed over and
through her.
And then she felt it... the tongue that was touching her,
matching her movements, circling and playing over her clit,
something probing her asshole, and she was doing the same,
and it was being done to her...
She lost track of anything but the union of lust and
complete abandon, her body floating in the pleasure of
woman... no, of obedient woman... and finally, just
when she thought she'd reached as far into pleasure as she
could, her soul soared into heaven itself, and she came,
giving herself completely, totally, with no thought but
that her lover go there with her, to where they belonged,
obedient, surrendering, completed as no one had ever been...
Tami was Home.
viii.
"Took you long enough," said Sharon, frowning. "Did you
get lost or something?"
"No, no," said Tami. "Mom had some friends over, and she
wanted to show me something."
"Sheesh, parents," said Megan, joining in the
conversation. "So what was it?"
"Just a thing. Better than the Ouija board, though. She
let me bring it over after I begged."
"You brought the Ouija board, too, didn't you?" It was
Sharon again. "If you forgot it, we might have to go get it
ourselves."
"No, it's right here. But I bet you won't want to use it
after you see the other thing." Tami put down the large
canvas bag and opened it. She pulled out a kind of funny
looking lamp.
"A lamp?" asked Megan. "You're all excited about a lamp?"
"Look, trust me." Tami took on a dramatic pose, and with a
voice that like an over-serious imitation of her mom, she
said, "One look at this, and you'll never look at lamps the
same way again! They all fell into fits of giggling.
It was already dark outside, but Tami turned out the lights.
"How come no lights?" asked Megan.
"Well, it's much cooler to see that way," said Tami.
"Besides, this is supposed to be a seance tonight, right?"
"Shut up, Megan," said Sharon. "I want to see this thing,
and get it out of the way so we can start asking questions
of the spirit world. WoooOOOoooOOoo!"
They all started laughing again. As her eyes adjusted to
the low light coming from the new moon through the window,
Sharon noticed that Tami's eyes looked kind of funny.
Almost like reflections in them that swirled a bit. But
then it was gone, as the lamp Tami had brought over started
to put out a weird, throbbing hum.
She sat down on the floor and waited. It was going to be a
great night...
---- ---- ---- ----
PART THREE
ix.
Phil bit down on the inside corner of his lips as he
poured a cup of coffee. He wasn't upset, but he wasn't
happy, either. The changes around the station had been
subtle, and he couldn't point to any one moment when he
went from having a voice in how things were run to being a
one more cog in the machine. But there was no question that
things had shifted in his career.
It wasn't just him, either. It was as if the place had
been reorganized, but no one had said anything about it. It
had just happened.
He walked down the hall, distracted by his thoughts. He
was still a producer, but he had little to do with what was
produced. And even on the rare occasions when he still
worked his craft, it didn't have the jolt for him that it
once had. He felt more like an overgrown technician than a
creative force in the nightly news. For the first time in
many years, he was beginning to think he should look for
something new to do with his life.
He sat down in a chair outside Marge Hausman's office.
Their meeting was scheduled for ten o'clock, and he was
early. He sipped his coffee and continued his quiet self-
examination.
He'd started off on the wrong foot with Marge, and it had
taken several months to come around. Melissa Perkins may
have had something to do with it -- even though in her six
months as co-anchor of the news, she had become much less
close.
Even cold.
It wasn't arrogance he felt from her, but a gradual
pulling away until it was as if he didn't really exist in
her world. Even his directions during the news seemed to
fall beneath her radar. Not that it mattered. Ratings were
up. The station owners were happy.
Marge had gotten the credit, and she deserved it. Despite
her job in advertising sales, her suggestions for had paid off. Her instincts seemed to go against
conventional programming wisdom, but the results verged on
miraculous. More and more people, and women in particular,
were tuning in to watch the news.
That's how this business was. Even though she had come in
with no broadcasting experience, she was now his boss. Good
results in ratings always brought good fortune. Great
results changed lives. Phil could remember when his life
was changing for the better, and he missed it.
But there was something about Marge that made him not mind
her success at his expense. Sure, he'd go home and fume
about decisions that undercut his authority, but by the
time he got to his daily meeting with her, he'd find
himself in awe of her abilities. His objections and
annoyances would vanish as she spoke of what she had
planned for tonight's show.
She was the one who first recognized that he seemed to be
getting bored with producing. Before that, he'd never
really noticed. But with each passing day, he realized more
and more how true it was.
The door to her office opened, and he stood, waiting for
permission to enter.
Melissa walked out, her eyes looking into the distance, a
small smile on her face. She walked by him without even
acknowledging his presence. "Hi, Melissa," he said, looking
for a sign that she heard.
As usual, he might as well have been talking into an empty
room. It occurred to him for the first time that he really
didn't mind. Not at all. She was the anchor, after all. It
only made sense.
"Phil. Great. Come on in," said Marge, still sitting
behind her desk. It was uncanny how she always knew he was
there, as if there could never be a question.
Then again, he'd never missed a meeting. He'd never even
been late.
He entered, closed the door and turned to face the
Director of Sales and Programming. She was busy typing
something into her PC. He took a moment to look around the
office again.
It was retro, but elegant. Spacious, with nice
appointments, walnut furniture and cabinetry... it was
almost like something reserved for heads of state. The
spherical lamps that adorned her desk and tables, as well
as globe-topped floor lamps in the corners, added a kind of
focused sense of theme -- what that theme was, he couldn't
tell.
He wondered how she'd gotten the owners to pay for it all.
The answer came to him in one word. Ratings.
He approached her desk, just like every other day, and
awaited her acknowledgement.
She turned to him and smiled. "Thank you for coming, Phil.
Punctual as usual."
In response, Phil knelt on one knee and lowered his head.
"The Producer awaits the commandments of the Programmer,"
he said. He was glad to be allowed to be so casual.
"Phil, I've noticed you've gone beyond fatigue. You don't
seem happy with your work at all now. Nothing wrong with
that. We all need a change from time to time. Don't you
think so?"
Phil turned red. He'd never realized it was so obvious.
"Yes, Programmer," he answered.
"Tell me what's been going on in that head of yours," said
Marge.
"I've just been thinking how trying to be creative is such
a farce," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Programmer, it's like this. I've never really
buckled down to find the true satisfaction and wonder of
simple tasks... tasks that are better suited to my lesser
male mind. Never having experienced them, I denied the
incredible satisfaction they offered and tried to find my
joy elsewhere, but to no avail. In the end, it has only
made me unhappy to try to live differently than the way I
was born."
"And how is that?"
"Like all men, Programmer. Born to be workers... the
builders, the cleaners, fixers, the keepers of orderly
life."
"That sounds like a worker bee to me, Phil. A drone."
The word showered over him like sweet cologne. Drone.
Marge smiled as she watched his reaction. "Well, then what
are women created for, Phil?"
Breathless, Phil answered, "They are the beauty, the
creative force, the dreamers, the providers of Purpose and
Existence, Programmer. They are the Teachers, the Givers,
the Ones Above who have the capacity to know Love and
Pleasure."
By the time he finished his breath was coming in gasps as
awe and wonder and awe filled his head, digging further
into his malleable synapses.
"Phil, I do believe you've finally learned. I think you
should be promoted. You've done so well. You deserve
this. That's the purpose of this meeting -- of all our
meetings.
"So as of this moment, you are no longer Producer. You are
hereby given the title of Drone. Welcome to your new
position."
Again, Phil lowered his head. "The Drone awaits the
Commandments of the Programmer," he said. His head was
swimming with bottomless gratitude.
"Very good, Drone. The Programmer wishes to have a
footstool for the rest of the day."
"The Drone obeys the Programmer," said Phil, dropping his
hands down so that he rested on all four limbs.
He moved carefully around the desk, his legs and arms
moving in odd horizontal motions so that his back stayed
completely level with the floor. It was as if he hovered
rather than crawled.
"Very nice, Drone," said Marge. "When I again say 'Drone
off,' and until I say, 'Drone on,' you will have no
cognizance of anything in the room. Your eyes and ears will
not function. No odors will waft into your nose, no touch
will disturb your skin. Your mind will think only of how
happy and wonderful it is to exist in your new position.
"Drone off."
Phil floated in emptiness, with no thought of where he was
or what he was doing. He thought only of how good it was,
and how happy it made him to be a drone for the Cause.
He didn't hear Marge as she welcomed Huey Brooks into her
office.
The words, "The Senior Engineer awaits the commandments of
the Programmer," weren't even a whisper in the drone's mind.
x.
Some neighborhoods were just too odd for words. There was
nothing that Sandy could point to on the surface... the
birds were singing, and spring was slowly moving towards
summer. The houses were well kept, and the streets were
lined with large maples. It looked like the dictionary
picture for the word "picturesque."
But for all its homey comfort, there was something
missing. People, maybe. In the most quiet neighborhoods,
people would be going out to a mailbox, cutting the
grass... Sandy stopped on the sidewalk for a moment. That
was it.
Every lawn looked as if it had been freshly cut the night
before. There wasn't a single case of someone waiting an
extra day. The bushes were all trimmed to perfection. There
wasn't a blade of grass out of place.
Not one.
It looked too inviting to be real.
She laughed out loud, and her voice sounded strange after
so much quiet. With the lack of people, she was beginning
to spook herself. "The perfect mouse trap for the pesky
real estate agent," she thought. She tried laughing again,
but the sound wasn't a comfort. It only made her more
uncomfortable.
She walked up to the next house, expecting the same thing
that had happened with every house before - nothing. She
looked at the mailbox, the name "Taylor" neatly lettered in
white, and rang the bell.
The door opened, and she felt a mix of surprise and
relief, followed by disappointment as she realized it was
only a of perhaps nineteen or twenty.
"May I help you?" asked the girl.
"Well, yes," said Sandy, letting her sales instincts take
over. "Are you the owner of this beautiful home?"
"Home..." murmured the girl. She looked up at Sandy. "No,
I don't own it."
"Your father? Mother? Are either of them home?"
"Mom. Yes, she's here, but she's working in the basement."
"Could I impose on her time for a bit... Miss...?"
"Kathy. Taylor. I'll have to ask. Come on in. What was
this about?"
"I'm Sandy Manning. I've been canvassing your neighborhood
for FutureHomes Real Estate, and I couldn't help but notice
your lovely home. Are you sure there isn't a better time?"
She looked more closely at the woman. She was quite
attractive, and Sandy almost felt as if she were being
teased with aloof expertise. She couldn't explain it,
really. Something about the girl's twinkling eyes.
"No, now is perfect. Now is always perfect. I'll be right
back. Please, come in," she repeated.
Sandy stepped into the foyer of the charming home.
As she looked around, she realized that this place could
quite possibly make up for the rest of her recent dead
ends. It looked like Kathy and her might be getting
ready to move. There were boxes lining the walls, and only
a few chairs around. Faded squares on the wall showed where
pictures had been hanging.
Most of what was left betrayed a quirky, one-track mind.
There were several lamps in every room... table lamps,
floor lamps, ceiling lights... and all of them were exactly
the same style. True, their mulled, spherical shape gave
them a kind of "streetlight" elegance, but it was a bit
much, well into the area of personal eccentricity.
Sandy shrugged. It was better than a house full of ceramic
chickens.
She turned back around as she heard footsteps climbing
stairs.
"Her Highness would like to talk to you, but she's kinda
busy right now. Lots of planning to do."
Sandy smiled a bit at the smartass comment. She might have
been put off by it had it not reminded her so much of
herself at twenty. She was a little let down, but at least
it would be a lead.
"She'd like to know if you'd mind coming downstairs. She
really can't afford to take a break."
"No! I mean, that would be great!" said Sandy. Then with
more control, she added, "Whatever is convenient for her."
She was glad the enthusiastic outburst had come in front of
Kathy -- it never paid appear over-anxious to a prospective
client, but it wasn't Kathy's house to sell, so she was
much more likely to ignore it.
She followed Kathy back through the den and kitchen to the
stairs that led down into the basement. As she expected,
Kathy stayed at the top of the stairs while she went down.
xi.
The voices sounded strange and distorted, as if she were
listening through bubbling water. It didn't matter at all.
The light swirled so beautifully, caressing her head from
the inside. They were saying the same things, anyway,
repeating, like a child's game. So simple.
So sweet.
"I AM HOME," said the first voice.
"I am Home," answered the second, sounding familiar in a
vague sort of way. It sounded sensual. Seductive.
"I BELIEVE IN THE CAUSE." Again the first voice. So
beautiful.
"I believe in the Cause."
"MY PAST IS DEARY AND GRAY." Sandy thrilled to the sound
of it as it slid into her ear canal.
"My past is dreary and gray." Yes. So dreary. So gray.
"THE FUTURE DOES NOT EXIST."
"The future does not exist." She shivered as her nipples
hardened, aching with need as the words moved through her,
guiding every feeling and thought.
"THE PRESENT EXISTS. THE QUEEN IS IN THE PRESENT. THE
QUEEN EXISTS."
"The present exists. The Queen is in the present. The
Queen exists." Sandy realized that her mouth was moving
exactly with the answering voice. Her skin was alive with
color and light, moving in concentric circles and colliding
in her thrumming clit, burning away her inhibitions,
echoing back outward and teasing her with a hundred
thousand tongues of tickling bliss.
"THE QUEEN IS ALWAYS PRESENT. THE QUEEN IS EXISTENCE. THE
QUEEN IS HOME. THE QUEEN EMBODIES THE CAUSE."
How perfectly logical it all was, now. She remembered with
cloudy thoughts the idea of running. Pleasure swept up and
through her again, her moan catching behind her throat,
coming out as a loud, powerful grunt as her belly muscles
clutched, trying to grasp more of the delicious heat. She
had no idea why she had wanted to fight this. It was part
of the dreary, gray past. She let it go.
"The Queen is always present. The Queen is existence. The
Queen is Home. The Queen embodies the Cause." Sandy didn't
know how long she'd been listening. It didn't matter. She
burned with desire and obscene, decadent pleasure as the
most perverted thoughts took root and grew in her mind. Her
breath was fast and ragged. Lust crept into every crevice
of her essence. Heat licked her loins, hotter now, and then
hotter. The past was dreary and gray. The future did not
exist. There was only the Queen. She was present. She was
existence.
Sandy and the second voice were one.
Rapture moved through her like torturing molasses, molding
her gently as it melted into her pores. The sweetness was
like nothing she'd ever known... she could taste it on her
tongue, smell its irresistible aroma. She realized deep in
the recesses of her consciousness that it was the ambrosia
from the Queen's Portal, and then the thought was gone,
stripped from her as she surrendered everything... what and
who she was, what and who she would be... to the present.
To the Queen. To her Existence. Home.
Her climax hit her full blast, sweeping through her like
holy fire, burning away the last tiny splinters of her
psyche. It was more potent than the most powerful of
narcotics... more euphoric than the most overwhelming
dream. She felt it shaping and reshaping her, addicting
her, stretching her body out into nothingness and back into
a tiny ball and then out again. She opened further and let
the change come. The pleasure was all -- it was life,
existence, reason, perfection. She screamed in lunatic
ecstasy.
The climax was Completion.
As the new Caretaker's eyes opened to the dancing light in
the chamber, she began her appointed task, her body covered
in the sheen of the transforming juices of her beloved
Queen. She did not recognize the walls, floor or ceiling.
Her eyes shone pure white as the light within her claimed
her will and knowledge. She was only she... Caretaker... no
name, only purpose.
Protect the children. The ova in her care. The ova of the
Queen.
The Caretaker admired the Queen, the royal translucent
body quivering as another ovum emerged, perfectly formed,
from her inhumanly dilated vagina. She watched as the Queen
shuddered in pleasure and more of the viscous liquid poured
from her. It would be the Caretaker's sustenance for the
rest of her days.
She looked at the hundreds of eggs lain around her, their
slightly wrinkled, spheroid surfaces so beautiful, like
mulled glass. They held the light that was Home. The light
that was the Cause.
The light that would change everything, forever.
Soon.
xii.
Captain Splith looked down at her indicator and sighed.
She hated her task. Days like today always put her in a
blue funk.
Junior Officer Flron walked in and, seeing the face that
Splith was wearing, turned to leave.
"No, stay."
The woman stopped, waiting for her captain to speak further.
"I'm just tired. Seedplanet A6354HT is seventy percent
transmuted. The Q'ullions are still killing us, even though
we have officially won the war," said the distressed
captain.
"More Lightmines?" said Flron.
"Yes. Standard dispersion. Initially through a standard
communication medium, and then through several hundred
thousand transmuted human females producing more mines. The
males here are already mostly sterile, and the female
convergence to the hive mind has long since reached
critical mass. There's no way to clean up without putting
ourselves at risk," said Splith.
She fell to silence. There was nothing more to be said.
The Yicktor Beam would leave a dead husk where a planet had
thrived. It was the only way to end the continuing threat
of the Q'ullion breeding weaponry. They would have to
sacrifice another planet that had been destined to help
repopulate the Treth System.
But that was before. Now, left unchecked, it and a
thousand planets like it would instead repopulate the Q'ull
Homeworld, and the war would be un-won. The creatures of
light and darkness would rule the galaxy. They had almost
won against humanity the first time. There were not enough
untouched humans left for a second chance at victory.
An enemy that turned you into itself from the inside out.
Made you like it. Want it. Live for the transformation.
Splith shivered in revulsion. Sorrow for the lost filled
her heart. She almost wished she'd been taken by the
Q'ullions, spared this horrible duty.
Almost.
"What was the planet called?" asked Flron, ending the
silence.
"The locals called it 'Earth'. Also 'Terra' and 'Gaia',
among others," answered Splith. She hated that they were
already referring to it in past tense. "We'll begin Yicktor
Saturation in seven orbits."
"Yes, Captain," said Flron. "Permission to prepare?"
"Yes. Of course. Dismissed," said the captain. Her voice
was heavy with sadness.
Flron walked down the empty corridor listening to the hum
of the engines. She stopped by her quarters to grab her
radiation protection. As she placed it on her bed, she
thought about the sadness of her Captain, and then about
the melancholy of the rest of the crew.
She smiled and opened her personal storage compartment.
She looked inside and then reached in, pulling the slightly
off-center sphere from its resting place in its shielded
box.
Seven orbits.
"Gaia" would not be dying today. There would be plenty of
time.
She reached up to her communications console and punched
in a code. "Flron to Yicktor Crew. Stand down. Captain's
orders. Assemble in the aft galley. I have great news.
"We're all going Home."
Lights like swirling fireflies danced in her eyes.
---- ---- ---- ----
Fin.
This concludes "Illumination". I hope you enjoyed it, and
would be glad to hear your impressions. Please feel free to
write me at sara_h2020@yahoo.com
Thanks for reading!
- Sara
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