This is the opening of a story I've been working on for a while. It isn't going fast but I thought I'd share the first couple of bits with you now they are finished. The rest you get as and when I finish it.

This is copyright Boris Ludmenkov 2000. Please do not repost or reuse in any way without the author's permission.

This is a fantasy and if you can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality you should seek professional help.

If you are reading this at an age when your legislators or in a country where you aren't supposed to read this sort of thing at all then you have four options:

1) Go away and read what they want you to.

2) Defy the law and pay the price in nerves and paranoia.

3) Move to a more civilised country.

4) Organise a revolution and overthrow the censoring bastards.


Rebecca had waited since dawn for him to arrive. She had set herself up at the window of the room she had hired across the street from the shoemaker's shop hours before it was due to open. She had drunk coffee from a flask and from time to time fondled the reassuring weight of the pistol in the pocket of her coat.

It had taken her several months of work to follow up this lead. Since her sister had disappeared from the face of the earth, a year before, she had used her position at the newspaper 'morgue' to scour the world for clues. Dozens of false sightings, dead end leads galore and then one day a picture had crossed her desk. 'Richard Mayne and companion at the Oscars.'

The 'companion' was her sister, Jane. She looked happy. That was what tore at Rebecca. She looked so happy.

Later she rationalised that feeling. She said that to herself that Jane could not have abandoned her only living relative willingly. She must have been coerced. That smile must be false. She must have been under the influence of drugs. Of blackmail. Of something.

So she had begun her search for Richard Mayne. The reclusive millionaire. He was British. He was rich, with interests in movie making and security work. He hadn't been known to any newspaper more than ten years back.

Nobody knew where his money came from. Nobody knew where he lived. He appeared, impeccably dressed, always accompanied by a beautiful woman at a few select events. He seemed to have the ear of powerful and wealthy people.

And he was seen with Jane. Just that once.

It had taken her a long hard slog to find out something definite about Richard Mayne. It wasn't much but it was certain that he bought his hand made shoes, from an old-established, very exclusive and expensive firm in London. The shoemakers had no computers she could hack into so she was reduced to breaking and entering to look through hand-written ledgers and boxes of index cards to discover the date of Richard Mayne's next appointed fitting.

Which was this morning. And so she waited and watched.

At 10-40, five minutes before the appointed time, a large car drew up and a man got out. As he put money into the meter she looked him over with her binoculars and confirmed that it was the one she had been waiting for.

When he came out, a small package under his arm, she was waiting, leaning on a pillar box. As he opened his car and got in, she walked briskly across the road, her hand in her bag. As he seated himself in the driver's seat she knocked on the window of the passenger side. When he wound down the window she showed him the gun.

"Don't do anything stupid, Mr Mayne."

He smiled.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Did you want something?"

He was completely unfazed by the sight of a weapon pointing at him. He actually smiled. It infuriated her. She opened the door, keeping the weapon pointed at him, and got in.

"Start the car. Drive towards King's Cross."

"Surely." He tossed the box containing his new, handmade shoes onto the back seat and started the car. Then he turned to her and said: "You had better do up the seat belt. I take it you don't want the police to have any reason to notice us."

She glared at him but complied. For a while there was silence as he manoeuvred the car out of the back street and onto a main road. They got stuck in traffic along the Tottenham Court Road though. She lowered the gun below the dashboard and put her coat over it. He turned to her and smiled again. A smug infuriating smile that said: I'm not in the least afraid of you, little girl.

"I'm perfectly sure that we haven't met. Not even casually, I mean. I would know if someone I'd been formally introduced to was pointing a gun at me."

"No. We haven't met. Just keep quiet. For now. You can talk later. I want you to talk later."

"I'll talk now. I promise."

More silence. The traffic began moving again. A little while later they were passing Kings Cross Station. She told him to turn off and soon they were driving down a back street and into a battered garage that she had rented. When the car pulled to a stop, he turned off the engine and turned to her.

"Now do I find out what this is about?"

"Jane Freeman."

"Ah, yes?"

"I want to know where she is." He raised an eyebrow in an infuriating Mr Spock way. "And you're going to tell me."

"Hmm, and what is your interest in the lovely Miss Freeman? If I may ask?"

"She's my sister."

"Ah." He frowned. "I had hoped that this situation would not arise. I had understood that Miss Freeman had no close family."

She stiffened. It sounded as if her suspicions were justified.

"Where is she? Is she..."

"Jane is just fine. Give me the gun and I'll take you to her."

She opened her mouth to say: Oh yeah. Sure.

And then her hand reached out and she gave him the gun. Just like that.

He smiled again and said; "Go to sleep now. I'll wake you when we're nearly there."

And she did.


She awoke as she felt sunlight, filtered through leaves, pattering down on her face. She stretched lazily in the comfortable seat, turned....

And saw Richard Mayne at the wheel of the car.

They were driving along a country lane. She was sure it was an English country lane: they were driving along the left hand side of the road. But apart from that they could be anywhere. There were no road signs, no indications from which she could deduce their location. Tall beech trees lined either side of the road, their leaves russet red in the autumn sunlight. She could see no houses, only trees.

"Where are we?"

"On our way to see your sister. With whom I am going to have to have a few stiff words."

"Why?" She looked around the car as she asked the question. His shoes were still in their box on the back seat. There was no sign of....

"I got rid of the gun. I thought it best."

"You did?"

"Yes. The reason I'm upset with your sister is that she told me when she joined my.... employ that she had no family who would be interested in searching after her. No one who would make a fuss if she just upped roots and went."

"She said that?" Rachel's blood boiled for a moment at the thought. Then she decided that he was just trying to get a handle on her, manipulate her for some reason of his own.

"Yes. I hope it was an honest mistake. I don't like being lied to."

"You said she works for you?"

"More or less. She lives with me. It is not, perhaps, what you would call a conventional career. But the fringe benefits are considerable."

"Like going to the Oscars?"

"Ahhh. So that's how you managed to track her to me...... Yes, well. Attending the Oscars is one of the minor benefits of the job. I do assure you that she chose the path she took. I did not coerce her. I never need to use coercion."

"She vanishes out of sight without a word to anyone. Drops off the face of the Earth and you expect me to believe...."

"What you believe, Ms.Freeman, is of no concern to me. I'm only taking you to see your sister so that you will not cause any more trouble. If you caused any more trouble, I might have to take extreme measures to assure my privacy. I wouldn't like that. Neither would you, in all probability."

Rachel sat, seething for a while at his smug superiority and then she remembered something. Something that made her shiver with cold fear.

"Why did I give you my gun?"

"Do you really want to know?" He turned to look at her and smiled.

"Why did I do that? And right after that you told me to go to sleep.... And I did."

"Hmmm. This is not unconnected with the nature of the fringe benefits that I mentioned before. It is something you might not want to know. But if you ask again, I will tell you. Do you really want to know?"

Her mouth was dry and she could not make herself speak. She nodded.

"Well, then. Where to start..... Do you know anything about metaphysics? Epistemology? About the higher forms of mathematical analysis?"

"I can just about spell them."

He laughed "Very good. That's better than most people. Let us keep it simple then. There has been, among people who study such things, a growing consciousness of the implications of the rapid growth in human knowledge and capability. What we know, the number of things we know, the degree to which we know how to manipulate the world grow every day. And the more things we know the more we can know."

"Sounds like the sort of thing they say on Open University programmes."

"Indeed. History of Science 101, as our American cousins would say. But some people have begun to suspect that a point may come in the not too distant future where the gain in knowledge will grow so fast that humans will become capable of things that they can't even dream of now. They will become so powerful as to be gods. The theorists call this point at which knowledge and power go through the roof, the Discontinuity, because it will mark the end of human history and the beginning of superhuman history."

He turned to her and smiled. "I'm here to tell you that it has already occurred." A shiver went through her. She was either in the car with a madman or something much worse.

"About ten years ago, I made a discovery in certain highly abstract fields. I found a way to apply that discovery to the world around me. And as a result I gave up my employment at one of our older universities and became what I am today."

"Which is?"

"I'm a wizard."

"A what?"

"A wizard. A thaumaturge. A wonder-worker. Not by summoning up demons (as far as I know there are no such creatures). Not by working strange incantations in dead languages or bending over scrolls for hours. But by using my discovery and certain applications of programming theory..... I can change the world around me. In any way I like. Where I am, reality is what I say it is. I'm not a god. But in some ways I'm not short of it."

"It sounds like you're saying you found a way to do magic. Your own private Aladdin's lamp."

"Yes, that is precisely what I'm saying. Magic. How else do you think I got you to give me your gun?"

She was silent for a while and looked out at the country going by. Then she said:

"What else can you do?"

"You'll see. You'll see a little of what I can do. We're nearly at my home."

The car flew on along the strangely deserted country roads until it came to the gates of a large, secluded house. The gates flew open as they approached and they passed through them. Along a tree lined drive they rolled and pulled up in front of a house that looked as if it had been built a couple of centuries before, for one of the richer members of the merchant class or one of the minor members of the aristocracy. The car came to a stop and they got out.

He led Rebecca from the car and towards the large front door of the palatial house. It was opened by a lovely blonde woman, dressed in a 'French Maid' outfit which displayed her spectacular bosom, who curtsied as they went in. Silently she took their coats and then, when her arms were full, he paused and lifted the maid's face to his, kissing her as Rebecca looked on. The blonde shuddered with pleasure and looked disappointed when he released her.

"Later, Candy," he said and she bobbed another curtsey before vanishing. He lead Rebecca into a large, sunlit room which turned out to be the library. The walls were lined with books of all sorts, from encyclopaedia's to paperbacks. A computer sat on a desk with notebooks and manuals piled untidily around it. A black woman, dressed in a crimson silk tunic that barely came to the top of her legs was putting books away. As they entered she turned and with a squeal of delight came running towards him. Her quite huge breasts bounced around against the silk of her tunic.

"Master! You're back!" She spoke in a light, educated American accent. She looked as if she were about to throw herself at him but she stopped short, apparently worried by something she had seen in his face. "Is there something wrong? Master?"

"Now, Sugar. You know you are not to call me that without first making sure that we are alone or....?"

"Or that the person with you is authorised to know Yes, Master. I'm sorry."

"As it happens, there is no harm done. I want Rebecca to know what happens here. But, as a punishment, no welcome kiss for you. And I think you had better apologise properly. Don't you?"

"Yes, Master," the woman agreed, and without further ado she got down on all fours and began kissing his feet, begging him to forgive her for being an 'unworthy slut'. She seemed most sincere and totally unaware that Rebecca was standing there open mouthed. Her breasts spread out on the floor either side of her torso and her silk tunic rode up as she abased herself and Rebecca could clearly see she was wearing nothing underneath it.

After a while he said: "All right Sugar, that's enough. Be more careful next time. Now go and fetch myself and my guest some tea. And when it's ready have Cherry come with you to serve it."

The black woman ran happily out of the room and he gestured to Rebecca that they should seat themselves in the twin armchairs before the library fire.

"Is something troubling you?"

"It.... That woman...."

"Sugar. Yes?"

"How can she.... How can she degrade herself like that? How can she just...."

"Sugar enjoys her position here. All my girls do. I don't enjoy being served by unenthusiastic slaves. Being controlled is necessary to my girls as being in control is necessary to me."

"I will never.... I can never.... accept that any woman should do.... should be allowed to do what she just did. It is disgusting. It degrades us all!"

"It is just a variation. A sexual taste. A choice."

"Such choices should not be allowed!"

"Perhaps you would feel differently if you could see things from Sugar's point of view."

"I don't give a damn for that whore's point of view!" She was about to say more but she found herself frozen, her mouth wide open and every muscle in her body unable to function. He had raised just a finger and looked at her with a speculative expression.

"I think it would be best if you were to think a little before you say such things, my dear. For that....."

He gestured again and Rebecca found she could move again. But not speak. Because as she looked at him she felt a wave of feeling move through her. A feeling that combined emotions that had always been separate for her before. Shame, unworthiness, a feel of being small and insignificant.... All of that, combined with a flood of sexual need. The need for him, the desire were not separate from her profound feeling of being his inferior: each occasioned the other and made it stronger. She shrank back into the leather of her chair, afraid to get closer to him.

He watched for a moment and then his eyes flickered to the elegant, hand-crafted, English shoes that he wore. He spoke. One word.


She could not disobey. Whimpering, she slid from the chair and, on all fours, crawled the short space between them. Her mouth was dry at first and she could taste the other woman's saliva on the leather as she tried to show him her complete unworthiness.

A timeless time later, she stopped. The compulsion had passed but she was aware that her panties were damp with her juices and her nipples were hard against the fabric of her bra. Her mouth tasted of leather.

From above her came his voice: "You can get back in your chair now."

Shuddering, wordless with shame, feeling her face wet with tears, she did so.

"Look at me." Unwillingly, she did so. His face was hard.

"If I hear you speak disrespectfully of my girls again, that will happen again. That and more. Do you understand?"

Silently, she nodded.

"Good. Then dry your eyes and we will say no more about it. Ah, here is Sugar with out tea. And your sister!"

Rebecca stood and turned towards the opening door behind her. Coming into the room were the black woman, carrying a tray of pots and cups. And behind her, dressed in a red silk tunic that was as brief as Sugar's was her sister, Jane, carrying a tray of cakes and sandwiches.

Not a plain Jane. The red of the tunic was the same as the natural red of her full lips and contrasted with the black of her long, unbound hair and her pale, ivory skin. She had dark eyes and a sweet smile that revealed perfect teeth. And just now she was not smiling at Rebecca. All her attention was on Richard Mayne.

She swept past Rebecca as if she wasn't even there and went and put the tray she was carrying down on the table beside him. She then knelt in a seamless, graceful movement by his chair and brought her head down to kiss his hand, showering kisses on it. And then she looked up, obviously detecting something amiss in his manner.

"Master? Is there something wrong?"

"Look who we have visiting us today, Cherry." He nodded towards the dumbfounded Rebecca. Jane turned following his gaze and then said, in just the same tone she had used when she found her younger sister had got drunk on the bottle of Scotch she had been saving for the end of her finals:

"Becky! What on earth are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here? You vanished. You're my sister. I came looking for you. What did you expect me to do?"

"But... But.... Oh dear!"

The man was shaking his head in fond irritation as the black girl, Sugar, quietly served him tea and put an unnoticed cup down on a table by Rebecca's chair. She then came and knelt, her knees slightly apart, by his chair.

"But I left you a note: saying you weren't to worry. Saying I was fine. Why did you have to come and... and..."

"I didn't get any note! The police didn't find a note. What damn note?" By now she was on her feet and shouting at her sister. It was just like the fights that had spattered her teenage years, after their parents died and Jane had to look after her.

"Cherry, Cherry. You have not handled this well. I am disappointed."

She turned and knelt on the other side of his chair.

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Master. I just thought Becky would be glad to see the last of me. We always argued whenever we met. We had our own lives.... I just didn't think."

"Your sister seems quite devoted to you. She was most determined and ingenious in her methods of finding you. She even purchased an illegal gun. I think you owe her an apology: you did not see her face to face and explain that you were going off to a new life. That was cowardice, was it not?"

Jane (who seemed to be called Cherry here) bowed her head. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry. It was."

"Then we will say no more about the fact that you have disappointed me... for now. Greet your sister properly and serve her some of the cakes Honey has made for her."

Head bowed, the lovely girl stood and picked up the tray of cakes. She went over to where Rebecca was standing and then flung her arms impulsively around her, threatening to spill the cakes all over the room.

"Oh, Becky, Becky. You never did know when to leave well enough alone. You never did."

The two sisters kissed and cried and made up as Sugar retrieved the tray of cakes. As Jane/Cherry pulled away Rebecca became aware of what had been pressing into her own chest: a pair of very large, very firm breasts that certainly hadn't been there when she had last seen her sister.

"Jane? What are... those?"

Jane grinned. She cupped her breasts and held them up. They were at least a DD cup.

"Aren't they wonderful? He gave them to me. A present. I had to wheedle and beg and hint like anything before he'd do it. They're not as big as Candy's but he says they're as big as he's going to make them."

"Anything larger would look ludicrous on you, Cherry."

"Yes, Master. As you say, Master. Three bags full, Master."

"Don't blot your copy book any further, little girl. You're in enough trouble already." He grinned as he said it and bit into a fairy cake.

"But, Jane, what on earth are you doing here?" Rebecca sank back into the chair and by conditioned British reflex picked up the cup of tea.

"Well, I help out on the business side, analysing stock trends and corporate reports. I help around the house: I've even learnt to cook a bit, though I'm just an assistant to Honey, who's in charge of the kitchen." That was a surprise, when they had lived together, Jane couldn't even boil water. "But mostly I'm just a slave. His slave. One of his sex-slaves." And she knelt by him again and took his left hand. Kissed it lovingly.

Rebecca found herself crying. "Oh, how can you... how can you.... What has he done to you?" Her sister, she thought, twisted by the horrible power of that man. Made into his fantasy. And there seemed nothing to be done about it.

He took his hand from her lips and caressed her hair.

"Tell her the whole story, Cherry. Tell her what I have done to you."

"Yes, Master."