The next morning, the three villainesses were reviewing the details of the Mes-Méram gas test. Sylvie and Substrate were more pleased than Felicia, whose observations were considerably more detailed, not to mention more objective, than theirs. “It’s not as powerful as we need it to be,” she objected. There was something about John’s lack of enthusiasm when it came to fucking Ellen that bothered the assassin.
“But I already told you, Felicia, if I make the chemical any stronger, it could be lethal,” whined Substrate. “I can only twist chemical reactions, not biological side effects.” The agitated teen sat down with a huff. “It could kill the delivery agent, not just the target.”
“Du calme, cherie,” Sylvie gently urged. “I am sure zat we will figure out ’ow to deal wiz all of Felicia’s objections.” She turned to the hit woman. “So what eez ze problem, exactalement?”
“He was resistant. I know he gave in eventually, but he didn’t go down without a fight. Besides, our next objective presents a more difficult challenge.”
“You wish to make ze doctor’s assistant your sex slave.”
“No, not necessarily,” Felicia quickly protested, purely for Substrate’s sake, knowing that Sylvie was no dummy. “But what I really want for now is her unquestioning obedience, and if we couldn’t get him to cooperate when it came to sticking his dick into a warm pussy, which is something men aren’t known to be picky about, how are we going to get this woman more or less brainwashed.”
“I was able to make ’eem—respond,” Sylvie shot back, lighting a gold-tipped black cigarette in a black cigarette holder. She raised her head and exhaled slowly.
“Don’t brag, Sylvie,” Felicia retorted, allowing herself, just for a moment, to feel the stirrings caused by the spy’s sexy bearing. “We all know that you can be quite the temptress when necessary, but even you’re not infallible. Especially with women.”
“Ohh, eeeuuuwww!” interjected Substrate. “Can we please quit with the lesbo innuendo, or are you guys trying to make me nervous on purpose? Thank goodness I’m underage or else I’d probably have been raped by one or both of you already.” She stood up to look at the other two villainesses. “Wait a minute—is that all this is about—sex?” Both women gaped at her, and Felicia nodded. “Was it that his penis didn’t get hard fast enough for Ellen, like he still had cognitive control enough to fight it because she was… too ugly for him?”
Felicia nodded again, and Substrate broke into a big grin. “Oh. I can fix that,” she casually replied. “I thought you were wanting me to reduce the cognitive function some more. If I just hafta add a new reaction, and don't gotta change the primary one, no sweat. I can do that without increasing the potency of the original solution. We won’t hafta worry about killing anybody with side effects because it’s a different part of the brain and requires a completely different compound.”
Damn literal geniuses, Felicia silently swore before asking, “Will it work on women as well as men?” Substrate made the assassin promise not to ever use it on her before she would answer. Aggrieved at having to play along with Substrate because the teen’s request had answered the question quite well, she growled, “I don’t do children, Substrate, so yes, I promise.”
The former superheroine-turned-supervillainess shrugged, “Different parts and manifestation due to hormonal differences, influences, and more affected by higher brain processing, but the same connections, and the same nervous system impulses—shouldn’t be a problem, but I need to whip up a sample batch so we can test it on the doctor’s assistant. I don’t have enough raw material for a test and two subjects.” When asked how long it would take, the teen grinned, “Gotta wake Ellen first so she can get the base formula from the hiding place, and then a week or so of fooling around to nail the concentration and correct combination of the agents.”
Lady Mes-Méram looked astonished. “So queeckly? Le gaz took much longair zan zat!”
Substrate blushed. “Well… I’ve kinda had this one in my head since sixth grade and I first laid eyes on Brad Dawson,” she admitted, “but back then I couldn’t get the chemicals I needed, and he turned out to be an asshole, anyway.”
“In sixth grade, most boys are,” Felicia wryly noted.
“So, I’ve had this idea for a long time and worked it in my head a lot,” the teen continued. A gigantic, and somewhat evil, smile came to her face. “Now that I’m a bad guy, can I keep a dose or two for myself? There’s this really cute singer I’d like to ummm… meet.”
“I’ll make a deal with you, Substrate,” Felicia bargained. “If this works, then Ellen will be able to get you all the chemicals and lab stuff you’ve ever wanted. She has a good friend with access to all of that.” The young supervillainess immediately agreed, and sped off with barely contained excitement.
Sylvie asked if they’d be able to deliver on their promise; a pissed-off Substrate could do a lot of damage. Nothing would be safe to eat, drink, or even breathe. “Oh, that’s the easy part,” replied Felicia. “Ellen has a direct line to Dennis Witt, head of R&D for the largest pharmaceutical corporation in the world. Once she gets her hooks into him, we can get any chemical we want, in any reasonable quantity.”
It took Substrate less than four days to deliver the promised drug; the prospect of being able to enslave any teen heartthrob at her whim had caused the girl to work straight through without sleep. Felicia was impressed; Substrate showed no sign of fatigue as she worked through her final checks. Wish I could do that. Be a handy job skill. A loose thought came to mind. “Could we possibly impregnate some cigars with the solution?” I can think of a girl or two…
Substrate’s face went blank, and she was motionless. While the assassin’s question had induced her apparently-catatonic state, the teenager was far from comatose, running millions of chemical reactions and equations through her head every minute. After about fifteen minutes, she blinked and told Felicia, “No. The extra tobacco in the liner and wrapper throws off the reaction. I’d hafta mess around and change the formula first, an’I don’t have enough raw materials to play with to make a test batch of that plus the new drug.”
It was worth a shot, Felicia thought. Guess Sylvie will have to do the conditioning. Hope she’s feeling charitable.
Mike Scott was poring over his sample network certification exam. The handsome, broad-shouldered young man considered himself lucky to have found such a plum job. With his college football career ended by a knee injury, he was working as a security guard while he took classes during the day. This gig was great: tony neighborhood, and not much to protect. His main duty was to run off nosy people with cameras who were hanging around, and that rarely happened in the wee hours.
He glanced up as nearby movement caught his eye, relaxing when he saw that it was some homely chick walking along the street with a cigarette holder. She swung her hips sensuously as she walked with a confident air, and Mike chuckled to himself. She was probably so rich that nobody had dared to tell her what she really looked like. I mean, seriously, who even smokes nowadays, let alone uses a cigarette holder?
She stopped after walking past the booth, and turned, walking back to him. “Excuse me, but do you ’ave a light?”
That explains it; she’s French, he thought as he stood up inside the booth and opened the window. “I’m sorry,” he began as the woman put her cigarette holder to her lips, intending to tell her that he didn’t smoke. Before Mike could discern that the cigarette was missing, she blew into it, surrounding him with a fine, odorless mist. The world instantly turned wavy, and his legs suddenly couldn’t support his weight. He fell back into his chair, unconscious.
Lady Mes-Méram leaned him forward so that his head fell onto his book. When he woke up, he’d think that he fell asleep while studying. “Sweet dreams, cheri,” she said, blowing him a kiss before walking around the security arm barring access to the parking lot. Since the cigarettes only worked well in confined spaces, the spy had needed something that would work fast, without physical contact, and that would leave no trace. Substrate had cobbled together a sleep mist that would also wipe out a little bit of the victim’s short-term memory from leftover chemicals and some Rohypnol they’d obtained. I love modern pharmacology, Sylvie thought. So much better and cleaner than the old days, when all we had was chloroform and the like. The spy found her intended victim’s car, defeated the lock, and climbed into the back seat of the luxury car. “She does ’ave excellent taste,” Sylvie quietly noted, and quickly replaced her nose filters. She removed the breath sprayer filled with sleep mist and sighed. Although she preferred the style in using the fake cigarette holder, it was for direct frontal attacks only, and this one had to be from the rear. Now all Sylvie had to do was wait.
Charlotte Green walked briskly towards her car after a long night at Mayer and Associates, the private plastic surgery clinic where she worked. The exclusive clinic saw the rich and famous, or just plain rich, and catered to their every whim, which was why she was leaving at almost 3 a.m.—this patient wanted to make sure that no one was around when she left. Being the head nurse to Dr. Mayer was worth it: the perks were worth much more than the inconvenience of occasional long shifts, one of which she was approaching, the almost brand-new Infiniti M45 given to the clinic by a car dealership owner in appreciation of his pleasure at his retooled daughter. Of course, her torrid three-year affair with Dr. Mayer didn’t hurt when it came to deciding who got to drive the new “company car.”
Maybe it was the late hour, or that she believed that a guarded parking lot was a secure one, but Charlotte failed to realize that someone else was in the car until it was too late. A surprisingly strong female forearm wrapped around her neck from the rear seat. She made the mistake of going for the arm with both hands, which is when she heard a brief hiss and felt liquid hitting her in the face. Her eyes stung briefly, and then she belatedly figured out her assailant’s true objective. She struggled momentarily; and then she felt all the energy leave her body, and her arms fell limp. As her field of vision shrank, she heard a soft, feminine voice say, “Bonne nuit, cherie,” and then everything went black.
Charlotte awoke to find herself handcuffed to a pole in a dark room. The last thing she remembered was… doing post-op cleanup after last night’s surgery. “Good morning,” snickered a female voice, sympathetically adding, “Here’s some water. It will make you feel better.”
Charlotte accepted the drink, letting her mind clear. “What do you want with me?” she cried after a few minutes. “I don’t have any money!” A flat-chested, very nerdy-looking girl stood impassively in front of her, smiling evilly. Talk about needing plastic surgery, Charlotte snidely thought despite her predicament. “I don’t know anybody who’d pay ransom for me!”
“Shut up,” the girl snapped with surprising authority. “It’s not money we want. You are going to help us with a little problem we have. You see, we have need of your employer’s skills and his discretion, and you are going to get it for us.”
Charlotte struggled even more as her panic surged. She knew that, despite their longstanding affair, Dr. Mayer would not help a criminal. He’d sooner give up money, which itself was extremely unlikely. He liked being rich, and so did his wife. “He’ll never do it, not even to save me! There are laws—”
“—Which are made to be broken. I am sure that you can tell that we have no problems with that,” the ugly girl mocked. “He won’t be doing it to save you, though. He’ll be doing it because you told him to, and quite happily, I might add. And it’s not because you’re going to threaten his marriage by telling his wife about your affair.”
Charlotte couldn’t hide her shock. How could she know about that? “You bitch!” she screamed. The girl turned away and left the room, ignoring Charlotte’s continuing curses and empty threats. The nurse’s mind reeled, trying to come up with a way she could get out of this, because she knew that her boss would call the police as soon as he found out. She became even more depressed when she realized that she and Dr. Mayer weren’t supposed to see each other again until Saturday, when they had a minor procedure scheduled. That would make three whole days before anyone would even know she was gone, and who knew what was going to happen to her between now and then!
The chick who had spoken with her was far too calm about this, seeming experienced at kidnapping and who knew what else. She started sobbing as the thought that she was as good as dead began to force its way into her conscious, only growing quiet when she heard voices outside of her door, but she could not make out the conversation.
The door opened, and the ugly girl walked in. “Bonjour, ma petite chère,” she said in perfectly-accented French.
Charlotte nearly fainted when it dawned on her that she’d been kidnapped by someone with split personalities. She’d already seen two, which made it likely that there were at least three distinct personalities. She doubted that the girl’s base personality even knew what she was doing. “Please, let me go,” begged Charlotte. “I won’t tell anybody, I promise.” The girl smiled at her as she removed a cigarette case and cigarette holder from the purse she carried. “Your—friend—took me by mistake,” continued Charlotte. “But I know you didn’t have anything to do with it. Just let me go, and I promise I’ll get you help.”
“But eet eez your ’elp zat we need, ma jolie petite,” Sylvie replied, placing a Capri 120 into a short black holder, smiling, “And I zink you will be ’appy to.”
Charlotte’s snide retort was cut off as the woman exhaled a thick stream of smoke at her face. The nurse coughed, drew a breath to say something suitably nasty, but all she got was some more smoke. She tried to hold her breath, but the woman seemed to be a smoking machine, and Charlotte began to notice the scent in spite of her efforts at resistance: light and floral, not unpleasant. A feeling between her legs came from out of nowhere. Not now! My life’s at stake.
Sylvie watched her captive’s confusion, and she had stopped trying to avoid the smoke. Soon enough, the woman was actively sniffing at the smoke surrounding her, but didn’t seem ready to be brainwashed just yet, so Sylvie immediately put another spiked cigarette into her holder after finishing the first one.
Charlotte watched as her captor lit another of the floral-scented cigarettes, and quite unconsciously, leaned forward to breathe deeply. The feeling she’d been trying to ignore seemed to get stronger with each increasingly interesting drag her captor took, but she couldn’t do anything about it because she was still handcuffed. Charlotte felt very warm all over, and she parted her lips, panting lightly. She watched the girl come closer, drawing on the still-long, slender cigarette. Charlotte leaned forward as much as she could, and was rewarded with more of the wonderful smoke, and suddenly, an all-too-brief touch of the lips. She moaned as her entire body flared into full arousal, and swayed on wobbly legs, prevented from falling by being handcuffed to the pole. She was so horny that she could barely think.
“You will not try to escape, will you, cherie?” asked the woman, and Charlotte shook her head vigorously in response, her mind too saturated with sexual heat to be able to speak. Her enchanting captor released her from her bonds, immediately exhaling more smoke for Charlotte to breathe, which she eagerly did. “Come to ze bed and sit wiz moi,” purred the kidnapper. Blissfully addled, the nurse staggered to the bed as requested. Everything the woman said was important to Charlotte. More smoke was her reward, and her body felt like a gigantically engorged clit.
“Take off your panties.” Done. “Such a pretty girl,” her arousing captor cooed before lazily walking fingers along Charlotte’s now-bare legs. Charlotte didn’t know what she wanted more, smoke or sex, no longer caring that she had been exclusively heterosexual to this point in her life.
Now Sylvie could see the drug’s effect, and put out her cigarette. Charlotte was ready to be taken. The spy leaned forward, aggressively kissing her victim, while simultaneously fingering Charlotte’s pussy.
Charlotte’s orgasm exploded violently, and she kissed her homely kidnapper passionately, her own sexual orientation permanently altered in seconds. This orgasm was so incredibly, intense, so unlike any other she’d ever had in her life, and it just kept going and going and going…
The next thing Charlotte knew, the woman responsible for her incredible pleasure was lighting another cigarette in the holder. It made her look sexy. The nurse blinked, realizing that, amazingly, she was very horny again. “Now you will do everyzing I ask you to, oui? Because you want my touch, n’est-ce pas?” the sexy woman asked.
Charlotte nodded immediately, watching with fascination as the object of her intense desire and affection drew on the holder. I’ll do anything that super-sexy babe wants, especially if she can make me cum like that again. After snapping a ball of smoke back into her mouth, her lover placed a gentle hand on Charlotte’s chin. Charlotte eagerly opened her mouth, breathing deeply of the smoke flowing as their faces neared.
Sylvie marveled at how quickly and fully Substrate’s new formula had worked on Charlotte. If this was repeatable, there wasn’t a secret in the world (or man) beyond her reach. The superspy asked the question again in a seductive whisper. “Will you do everyzing I tell you, Charlotte?” and took another drag from her holdered cigarette.
The nurse was so enchanted by watching the sexy way that the woman was smoking that she didn’t answer right away. Her fascination was broken when the woman kissed her deeply. “Yes—” Charlotte hesitated as she exhaled a tiny bit of smoke, not knowing what to call her new lover.
“Mistress, cherie. I am your—”
“—Mistress,” Charlotte happily replied, again rewarded with the flower-scented smoke from her mistress’ lips. “Yes, Mistress.”