synopsis: An Internet porn star learns what it means to really submit.
Note 1: If you are under 18 years of age, this story is not for you. Go away.
Note 2 : This story was inspired by my exploration of latex fetish sites. It is dedicated especially, but not exclusively, to Bianca Beauchamp, who looks entirely too self-possessed at the end of a chain; and to Kumi Monster, who looks just right.
Note 3: Comments? Questions? Picture trade? E-mail me at email@example.com.
Queen Bee was excited and nervous. She'd never done anything like this before, and that was saying a lot. She was the queen of the internet porn stars, notorious for enjoying all kinds of sex with all kinds of people and props. So naturally she'd posed in latex before, and naturally she'd done the BDSM thing - with both men and women, and at both ends of the chain. But she'd always managed to maintain a level of self-control that shone through in even her most submissive poses. Queen Bee just wasn't a sub, no matter how often she might play one. Oh, she wasn't a domme, either, though she liked to think of herself as strong-willed; Bee enjoyed every role she played and took none of it to heart. She was a professional, not a lifestyle adherent.
Normally, Bee controlled every aspect of her photo shoots. Everyone from the photographer to the set designer to the makeup artist was personally chosen by her. But Morgaine (no title necessary) was the fastest-rising domme on the Internet scene, and showcasing a guest star at The Pleasure Hive always brought in lots of fresh eyeballs. Besides, several of Bee's friends and fellow porn stars had already worked with Morgaine, and every one of them raved about the experience. This from hardened professionals who simulated orgasms for a living.
So here was Bee, unmade-up and wearing sweats, being chauffeured alone to the domme's private estate. Bee had been in the business for more than ten years, herself, and she didn't have an estate. She assumed Morgaine was either an heiress or into some deeply illegal activities, or perhaps both. Either way, it wasn't Bee's lookout. She was here to do a photo shoot, have some fun, and build her subscription base.
The mansion rose up at the end of the long, long drive like a cliff face out of some Lovecraftian dreamscape. It was huge, dark, intimidating, utterly cold and cruel. The only spots of color were the blood red velvet drapes that hung closed at almost every window.
The chauffeur handed her off at the front door to a butler no more talkative than she had been. "Follow me, please," was all the butler said before leading Bee deep into the drawing room, where Morgaine awaited her. The butler left silently, and Bee was alone with the woman who would be her domme for the day.
Morgaine stood alone by the mansion's sole open window, tall and stiff-backed, her hands clasped behind her. She turned as Bee approached, revealing a buckled black bustier with a floor-length black latex skirt cut wide in front to showcase her thigh-high boots and thong. Her hair was piled high atop her head in glossy black swirls. But it was her eyes that most caught Bee's attention. They were a gray that was almost silver, and they glittered with the kind of imperiousness Bee could only dream of mustering. Morgaine's pupils were endless wells that invited Bee to drown in them, and offered not one scrap of pity if she did.
Bee struggled to keep her mental footing, then covered the lapse with a dose of cheerful bravado. "Hello, Morgaine," she smiled. "I love what you've done with your home. You really live the lifestyle to the hilt, don't you?"
Morgaine's lip twitched. "It's not a lifestyle; it's who I am. But you'll learn the truth soon enough. Are you ready to submit?"
"What, no tour of the house first?" Bee grinned to be sure Morgaine knew she was joking, but the domme's expression never changed.
"Perhaps afterwards, if you're still interested. Now, are you ready to submit to me?"
Bee pouted prettily. She'd worked with tops before, but never with one quite so cold and businesslike. Bee wondered if Morgaine ever broke character at all. She imagined the domme in sleep, lying stiff and straight on her back with her hands folded primly across her chest. Yep, that was about right.
As for Morgaine's question, Bee sensed deeper levels of meaning beneath the surface, and that gave her pause as much as the woman's attitude. But Bee was here to submit, wasn't she? She'd done it often enough before. And after all, what else could she say? It was her assignment. "Of course," she twinkled. "I'm yours to command, Mistress."
Morgaine seemed barely satisfied. "I'll teach you how to say that properly, soon enough. For now, you will follow sabine to the dressing room, where she will prepare you for the shoot." She gestured, and Bee turned to see a woman standing stiffly in the doorway wearing a white minidress and an over-the-mouth neck corset. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight, straight ponytail.
Feeling rebellious, Bee gave her hostess a last saucy look before turning to follow the silent sabine down the hall. Well, she thought, this certainly wasn't an auspicious beginning to the shoot. Her hostess wouldn't talk to her, and her makeup artist couldn't talk to her. Suddenly she missed her own chatty queen of a dresser with an almost physical ache. Relax, she told herself. You can see Gerard again any time you like. This will only take a few hours, and then you can go home, have a drink, relax with Mark.... Thinking of her longtime lover, she smiled to herself. He'd get a kick out of her story of this afternoon, and he'd get an even bigger kick out of the pictures that came from this session. Mark loved to see Bee with other women. They always had their best sex after one of her lesbian shoots.
sabine took her through a long, darkly paneled maze to a dressing room that was surprisingly mundane. She gestured toward a small wardrobe, indicating that Bee should change clothes. Bee wasn't shy by any means, but she did find it odd that sabine stood watching her, standing stiffly at attention, while she took off her sweats and donned the simple white robe provided. Yet strangely enough, she felt as if no one was in the room with her at all. Even dressed as provocatively as sabine was, she was effectively a non-presence.
Bee settled herself into the makeup chair and sighed as sabine began brushing out her hair. She considered it as much a part of her sexuality as her breasts or her closely-trimmed pussy. It was always long and wavy, and this month she had dyed it honey blond as a birthday present to Mark, who liked that color best. She snuggled comfortably into the chair, enjoying the smooth, soft manipulations of the brush, wondering if Morgaine took as much pleasure from having sabine do her hair as Bee did. But of course, it wasn't really a fair comparison. With Morgaine, sabine was serving her Mistress; with Bee, she was merely preparing the "sacrifice." And that became even more apparent as the slavegirl straightened Bee's hair and bound it back into a tight, submissive ponytail identical to her own. Bee looked at herself in the mirror and grinned. Slavegirl for a day: been there, done that. No problem.
Next sabine began applying her makeup: pale and slightly pearlized everywhere except Bee's eyelashes, which were lengthened and darkened - the better to highlight her lids lowering in submission. She happened to catch a glimpse of sabine's eyes as the no-woman bent to apply her lipstick, and was surprised at the depth of drowsy heat in them. Perhaps sabine wasn't quite as empty as she seemed. Or perhaps, Bee thought again, she was empty, except for that one undying ember of lust.
But that was a very un-Bee-like thought, and she quickly forgot it.
Next, sabine brought out the manicure tray and selected a set of nail clippers. Bee quickly pulled her hand away. "Oh, no, honey, you don't have to do that. I grew these myself, and they're not too long for gloves. See?" She wiggled her fingers. "Can't you just repaint them?"
The slavegirl's eyes met hers, and for a second that drowsy blue turned to cold, hard silver. "Are you ready to submit to me?" rang Morgaine's voice in Bee's head; and Bee's own voice answered back all too quickly, "Of course." She had submitted, and now she had to abide by Morgaine's will. It was perfectly straightforward. Sighing, Bee stuck her hand out, and in the end sabine trimmed her nails so lightly that Bee wondered why the slavegirl had bothered in the first place.
Next came the polish remover and a fresh coat of dull, flesh-colored paint. Then it was time for the finishing touch. Latex didn't slide easily even over a body as smooth and pampered as Bee's, so there was always lots of baby powder on hand for a shoot like this. Morgaine seemed to have her own special brand. As Bee stepped out of the robe and stood nude in the designated circle, the slavegirl brought out a crystal bowl brimful of a fine, white powder with the same pearly sheen as Bee's makeup. sabine knelt reverently inside the circle, placed the bowl at her charge's feet, and began to massage it into Bee's skin from the toes on up.
Bee closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and drank in the smooth, soft strokes of the slavegirl's hands. She felt like a classic movie damsel in distress, captured by natives, drugged, and prepared for sacrifice to some kind of hideous beast-god. Of course, in a really sexy classic film, the natives would be smearing her with oil, not powder. But the slickness would come, oh yes it would. Bee just had to be dulled first.
sabine's hands reached the top of her thighs and slid inward, lightly tickling her clit. Bee shivered, but her eyes didn't open. There was no need, when she could enjoy herself just as well in the dark. She chuckled huskily when sabine's fingers slid on inside her pussy, spreading the pearly powder everywhere they touched. Bee's muscles convulsed, drawing the slave's fingers in even deeper, slicking them with her honey.
Then the fingers were gone, as quickly as they'd entered. Bee was disappointed, but she understood. sabine was only preparing the sacrifice; her Mistress would be the one to claim it.
For a moment Bee wondered at herself; she'd never really gotten the slave mindset before, but the rationale behind sabine's actions seemed perfectly clear to her now. She smiled and kept her eyes closed as sabine continued the slow climb up her body. Go with the flow, Bee. You might actually learn something today.
The slavegirl's hands cupped her breasts and kneaded them gently; then she pressed her latex-bound mouth against Bee's nipples. Bee cried out in surprised pleasure. She knew she could well be doing the same to Morgaine later on, and as she pictured the scene in her head, her mind flashed white with a sudden burst of clit-slicking slavethink: i give You all that i have left to give, all that You haven't yet taken from me.
Where had that come from? Ohhh, but it had felt so...fucking...good! Unbelievable.
Bee wondered if that was how sabine felt all day long. If so, she could see why subs like her made a lifestyle of it. The Queen of the Pleasure Hive hadn't had a real orgasm during a shoot since her early days in the business, but it suddenly occurred to her that she might have one today if she dug into her role far enough. Maybe she didn't always have to have control. It might actually be fun to give it up for a little while and see what happened. Just as long as she could take it back at the end of the day.
This must be what her friends had experienced when they subbed with Morgaine, Bee realized. No wonder they'd raved about it. Bee couldn't wait to talk to them later and compare notes. But in the meantime, she'd play her role to the hilt and see how far it would take her.
All too soon, the powdering was over. sabine picked up the bowl and padded away; and Bee, with her new understanding, stood just as she'd been left until the slavegirl returned. This time sabine bore a simple black leather collar held reverently out before her, with a fine silver chain twined along one arm. Bee knelt and let sabine lock the collar around her neck, shuddering at the sound of the tiny click. It was working. She'd never felt so good being leashed before. Somehow, today, it just felt...right. Bee wondered if Morgaine were watching them somehow, if she were pleased at how well Bee was getting into her role.
sabine untwined the chain and led her away to her Mistress.
The whole basement, which was as large as any of the floors above, had been converted into a series of sets, each complete with its own lights, cameras, screens and other accoutrements. sabine led Bee to a steel-walled room where Morgaine lounged in a chair of chrome and clear plastic, as much at ease as a queen on her throne. She had changed into a blood-red, sleeveless latex gown with black and white dragons chasing each other around the hem. Her collar was high, her décolletage deep, her eyes electric. She was beautiful beyond words.
The domme actually smiled a bit when she saw Bee. "Ah, good. I can see the submission blooming in your eyes. You're learning."
Bee felt a warm glow. Morgaine had noticed. She knelt sinuously and bowed her head to the floor, only vaguely aware of the black-clad and -hooded photographer capturing this moment for the 'net. She'd have done the same if she and Morgaine had been alone, so eager was she to explore this new role. Maybe Mark would act it out with her again, later on. Then again, Bee rather doubted he could pull off Morgaine's imperiousness. Perhaps it was better to keep the BDSM play here - yes, and maybe do more features with Morgaine from time to time. Mark wouldn't mind. He'd enjoy it.
Bee felt a gloved hand grasp the tip of her chin and tilt it upwards until her eyes met those of her Mistress. Again she felt as if she were falling into those blacker-than-black pupils, drowning, losing her sense of self forever. And it was so much harder to stay separate this time. From a distance, she heard Morgaine's voice: "No, it's not time for that yet, little one. I give you your freedom, for now." There was a sense of being pushed, not pulled, up from the depths, and Bee found herself back in her own head. She gazed in wonder at the woman who'd almost ravished her with eyes alone. No wonder Morgaine had chosen to be a domme. She was just so...so strong. And Bee was so unexpectedly weak. She rolled the new sensation around in her head for a moment and decided that she liked it.
This time Morgaine smiled more broadly. "And now we will begin the training." Bee looked automatically to the domme's hands, expecting to see the usual riding crop, but it wasn't there.
"No," Morgaine said, as if reading her thoughts, "I find pain as a motivator to be both vulgar and unimpressive. Besides, pleasure makes a much deeper imprint, in the long run. sabine--" She gestured, and the slavegirl, whom Bee had totally forgotten, stepped forward smartly. Morgaine took the leash from her (she'd still been holding it? But it had felt as though the domme had taken control) and hooked it on the end of her chair so she could have both hands free.
Still kneeling, Bee felt suddenly doglike, and found herself reveling in it. She would have rubbed her wet cunt against Morgaine's leg if she'd been allowed. She really was going to come today. She must have more sub in her than she'd thought.
The domme stepped to a plain steel wardrobe, practically the only other piece of furniture on this set, and opened the double doors. Within hung a huge collection of latex items, some recognizable, some not, in black and white and a number of vivid colors. A column of drawers ran up the right side of the wardrobe, and Morgaine opened the first and pulled out a pair of long black gloves. "We'll start with the basics," she purred, lovingly caressing the material. "Up." She gestured, and Bee rose smoothly from her knees, hoping she looked slavish enough.
"sabine." The slavegirl took the gloves, and Bee held out her arms without being commanded.
Bee had done many shoots before where people dressed her. Normally, it made her feel like a queen being attended by her servants, and she played that role to the hilt. This time, though, she understood that she was nothing but a piece of property being decorated by another piece of property. Mistress made the decisions, and her slaves did all the work. The latex hummed in time with Bee's clit as it slid up her arms almost to her shoulders. It felt slick, impersonal, mechanical; and so did she.
sabine put boots on her next - ballet boots that hugged her legs tightly all the way her cunt - and then Morgaine had her look at herself in a full-length mirror. Bee found herself standing stiffly, staring expressionlessly, robotically, at the stranger before her. The slave in the mirror was half glossy black, smooth as an oil slick; half vulnerable flesh, pink and pearlescent - the latter part looking as if it, too, longed to be covered. Bee thought she'd never felt quite so naked. She'd been stripped of more than just clothes, but she couldn't figure out what else was missing. All she knew was that she loved it. She felt light and airy - perhaps even fragile, but in a good way. It was as if a weight she'd never noticed had been removed from her shoulders.
Suddenly Bee remembered the photographer and noticed the click of a shutter behind her. She stayed in pose as the black-clad woman circled around, getting first the wide angle shots, then the still absorption of her face and the dewdrops at her cunt. "Good slave," Morgaine purred, and Bee's knees buckled for a moment. She teetered in the high boots, and Morgaine caught her from behind.
Firm hands grasped her breasts, kneading them as though she owned them. And for today, she did. Bee sagged in her Mistress' arms, never doubting the domme's strength. Impulsively, she turned in Morgaine's embrace and kissed her passionately, lovingly, then slid downward until she could take the shiny red globes of her breasts in her mouth. Morgaine purred with pleasure and pushed Bee's head lower.
Dimly, Bee realized she wasn't just acting for the camera. She wanted to thrust her tongue deep between Morgaine's thighs and explore what must be the world's most glorious cunt, but the slick fabric of the dress prevented her. Shocked at the depth of her emotion, she whined and pressed her face tight against the hidden crotch, reaching around to grasp Morgaine's ass cheeks and helplessly humping the air. She wanted so badly to be inside Morgaine, and to have Morgaine inside her. She wanted to be filled with Morgaine, so full that there was room for nothing else, not even herself.
The thought brought her up short for a moment, but the sense of powerless longing was too strong to be overcome. She was close to orgasm already, but only close, and somehow she knew that making the leap was beyond her power alone. Only Morgaine could take her the rest of the way. Part of her hated giving up that much control to another person, but a larger part of her - unknown till now - reveled in it. She was learning how the subs thought, and she was learning to like it.
As if reading her thoughts, Morgaine patted her head and said, "Now, little one, you're ready for the next step. Up."
Bee struggled to her feet as best she could, still swaying a bit in the ballet heels. Funny, she'd never had any trouble keeping her balance before. But that didn't really matter. Greedily her eyes followed Morgaine's movements as the domme opened the wardrobe again and took out a shiny black corset. It looked much too small for Bee's waist; and indeed, as sabine buckled it on her, she found herself so tightly constricted that she could barely breathe.
Constriction - submission - restraint: it all flowed together in Bee's mind, and revelation bloomed within her. Bee could barely breathe on her own now; and the bonds were just as strong in her mind as on her body. This was what it really meant to submit to Morgaine: Bee was corseted both inside and out.
Experimentally, she tested the limits of her new constraints. She had a faint memory of being disturbed at the amount of control she was giving up to the domme, but that part of her psyche was now bound into stillness and all she felt was a sort of delicious powerlessness. She knew that it had been imposed on her, but she wasn't allowed to care, only to enjoy. In fact, she was bound in such a way that she was forced to enjoy being bound, even to enjoy being forced to enjoy. Bee's head swam as the thought mirrored itself into eternity, and the dizziness made her feel even more helpless. She reveled in it.
What was Morgaine, to have done this to her? Not human, surely. Those eyes should have been a giveaway from the beginning. But it didn't matter now. Bee had submitted, and now she didn't even have the freedom left to think of resisting. Her thoughts turned briefly to Mark, but he was locked as deeply behind the bonds as the rest of her pre-Morgaine life. She wasn't allowed to feel anything at all for the man she'd shared her heart with for the last six years. Her clit sizzled at the realization of all that had been taken from her.
Meanwhile, the photographer whirled around her as Bee took in these fresh new truths. Every nerve ending was on fire, but she stood stiffly, blankly, like a robot awaiting its finishing touches. She didn't bend or buckle now; she was beyond that. She would move only as Morgaine commanded.
Now sabine was sent in to tempt her, and Bee fought the urge to shiver as the soft, slavish hands ran over her breasts, pinching the nipples oh so gently; between her thighs, twiddling her swollen clit; inside her cunt, ramming repeatedly until Bee's free-flowing juices splashed the latex. And still the demi-slave kept her eyes fixed firmly on her new Mistress. She couldn't have held out without that silver-eyed command, but it was there, and it kept her firmly in place.
"Enough," said the domme, and sabine withdrew. Bee managed not to sigh.
"Well done, slave," said Morgaine. "You're very close now." That almost tipped Bee over the edge; but she'd resisted sabine, and she would resist this, too. She would come today, but only when her Mistress allowed it.
Morgaine strode back to the wardrobe, and when she turned around, she was holding up a simple black hood with only a single hole for Bee's mouth. Bee quivered with anticipation. She'd worn hoods like this before, but they had never meant anything to her; she just found it inconvenient not being able to see. But now she understood. This was what she was becoming, a slick, shiny toy with no needs of its own and just one reason for existence: to pleasure its Owner. She longed to disappear completely into that blackness - forever, if that was what her Mistress wanted.
Morgaine moved as though to slide the hood over Bee's head - doing it herself, Bee noted excitedly. This was the moment her Mistress would take full ownership! But then Morgaine paused. "No, you're not ready yet." She lifted the bulk of Bee's ponytailed hair and examined it with distaste. "The hood will never work with this. It won't lie smooth against your head."
Understanding, Bee felt a last quick pang of fear. She longed to plead for her hair, to explain how good Gerard had always been at making it lie flat under hoods. She was sure sabine could do the same. But she couldn't plead because she hadn't been given permission to speak; and that wasn't the point, anyway. She looked full into those black-and-silver eyes and knew that Morgaine understood as well as she did.
They took her to a new set, totally bare except for a simple table topped with shaving implements. The walls were all mirrors. First Morgaine laid hold of Bee's ponytail and chopped it off neatly at the base. Then she spilled the loose hair down across Bee's eyes and into her lap. The camera captured Bee's look of blind ecstasy as the last of her old identity cascaded away.
sabine did the actual shaving, as was only fitting; and when both head and crotch were bare, bee looked at her strange new self in the mirrors and smiled inwardly. she was a smooth and shiny latex drone. Morgaine smiled too, and slipped the hood over Her new slave's head, blotting out her old life forever.
Darkness, inside and out. When she had first been corseted, the drone had reveled in feeling her mind constrained, but that was a mere pinch compared to this. she hung now in nothingness without even the memory of how to think for herself. The only memories she retained were faint traces of the moments leading up to her engulfment: the slick slide of latex over skin, the squeezing out of self bit by bit, the all-encroaching blackness. The drone waited in nothingness, her clit booming, as eternity passed and passed again. It was glorious.
At last, her Mistress spoke. "Come to Me, My pet. You have earned your reward."
The drone crawled toward Her, blind but drawn unerringly by the aura of Ownership. her featureless black hands cradled her Mistress' hips, and even through the latex, she knew Her skin was bare. Within her hood, the drone closed her eyes in silent ecstasy.
she leaned in, catching the first precious scent of her Mistress' flower, and what was left of her mind spun giddily. she tipped her head back, then dove into the sweetness tongue-first.
Mistress cried out above her, and the drone's hips bucked, but her time still hadn't come yet; she had to please her Mistress first. her tongue thrust quick and quicker: over the clit, around the hole, into the deepest passages, seeking treasure. Mistress began to writhe and moan, and the drone thrust harder, squeezing Her buttocks tight as she pulled her head in closer to the heart of pleasure.
At last Mistress screamed, grabbing the drone's head and slicking it with fresh juice. Black power exploded out of her, electrifying the vast, dark reaches of the drone's mind and sending her finally through the breach. Still glued to Mistress's crotch, she bucked and writhed in time with the Great One, feeling everything She felt and reveling in the fact that she'd been the one to make it happen. she'd brought her Mistress this pleasure. she'd been a good slave.
There was no telling how long the tableau lasted, but eventually Morgaine tapped the drone on the head and told her to rise. "Well," She said, "I think we have all the film we need for the pictorial. Now it's time for the video."
Queen Bee stood in the midst of her honeycomb, nude and glowing with entitlement. Her eyes, glistening black from corner to corner, surveyed her domain with pleasure. She caressed the comb around her, scooping up sweet golden honey and massaging it into her breasts, her hips, her cunt. She sighed and licked her lips, smiling wickedly for the video camera she knew was out there. More honey came pouring from above, and she bathed in it, rubbing it through her thick blond hair, then down across her breasts again, dipping it into her pussy and then licking the combined sweets from her fingers.
And now came the drones, dozens of them, crawling on their hands and knees with their breasts brushing the floor. they were slickly black from head to toe, with no seams to show what was latex and what was skin. Even their glossy black eyes, identical to the Queen's own, were impossible to assess. they reached her feet and began to lick with lips and tongue no paler than their skin. they licked the honey from Bee's flesh and left their own shiny blackness in their wake.
At first Bee didn't notice, so rapt was she in the delight of this second bath. She raised her arms, swayed her hips, danced in time with the motion of the tongues. When at last she looked down and saw that her body was becoming as dark and slick as the drones', she felt a frisson of fear that quickly turned to pleasure. Yes, this was right; these were her sisters. She recognized the curve of a lip here, the faint remainder of a tattoo there.
these were her sisters in the industry, the ones who had already learned the pleasures of submission at Morgaine's feet, and had indirectly brought her here. bee's featureless eyes rolled back in her head, and she knelt to give the drones better access to her body. their tongues moved inexorably upward, painting her breasts, her face, her mouth. her own tongue touched blackness and took on its stain. Gentle hands slid the wig from her head, and she rejoiced to feel her slick, bare skull reclaim its hood...only this time, the hood was her skin. This was her, now. Forever.
The newest drone's bee-black eyes could still see, and they reveled in the sight of her Mistress' return, stepping easily among Her slaves in Her high stiletto boots. She wore long black gloves and a black bustier over a golden catsuit, and all that latex didn't look the least bit submissive on Her. Rather, She looked like the Queen Bee Her newest drone had always imagined herself to be. The drone understood perfectly, and was the first to fall at Her boots and kiss Her shiny black feet. The Queen was dead; long live the Queen!
That's right, My sweet new pet, rang the Voice in the old queen's head. There was no need for speaking now; Mistress' thoughts were her thoughts, and she had no others. you are Mine now, and all that you have is Mine. Even The Pleasure Hive is Mine, and it will become the premiere fetish site on the 'net, with Me as its Queen and you as My favorite slave.
"Of course, it won't be you online anymore; you'll always be here now, forever a drone steeped in darkness. The bee the outside world sees from now on will be the changeling I make from the hair and nails sabine collected from you, not so long ago. But that must seem like an eternity to you now, yes? After all, you've become a different person. A non-person. But perhaps you'd like a little remembrance of the free woman you were, before you sink into slavery forever. Just a taste."
And suddenly Bee was herself again, underneath the blackness. She saw what had been done to her, the steps she'd walked so cheerfully into slavery - and how it had all begun with her careless voluntary submission to a fairy. She threw back her head and screamed, but the weight of her sisters held her down and kept her from fleeing. All the video camera caught was a single slick, black hand reaching out of a pile of slick, black bodies. The gesture could have meant anything, and the scream would be covered by a soundtrack before the video ever hit the 'net.
Bee's last moment of terrified freedom was lost to the world. Only she and Morgaine experienced it, and the drone forgot it the moment her Mistress reclaimed her mind. She melted back into the pile of drones and was lost in ecstasy forever.
Questions? Comments? Want to see some of the pictures that inspired this story or to trade pictures? E-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org.