index


Message-ID: <33781asstr$1007226612@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Iago <iago_72@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW - "Exclusive" (F/F, MC, FDom, NC)
Date: Sat,  1 Dec 2001 12:10:12 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


In the following story, asterisks (*) are used to
denote the use of italics. 

-I.


=====
This is the night 
that either makes me, 
or fordoes me quite.
  -Othello, V. i.
=====
Iago's Home: http://www.geocities.com/Iago_72/
Erotic Mind Control Story Archive:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/~mcstories/index.html

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Buy the perfect holiday gifts at Yahoo! Shopping.
http://shopping.yahoo.com

<1st attachment, "Exclusive.txt" begin>

Exclusive

by Iago (iago_72@yahoo.com)

Disclaimer: 

This story copyrighted by Iago (c) 2001 
This story contains mind control and erotic/sexual situations.
Please refrain from reading if you are offended by this, and/or
under legal age in your area.
Codes : MC, F/F, Fdom, NC


####


1.


Stephanie was happy to see Veronica again, of course. The relief
hadn't quite done away with her trepidation, but it was a welcome
sight after Ronnie's prolonged absence.  

"I've been trying to get in touch, but I guess you're a tad
busier these days." Stephanie's cheer sounded genuine enough over
the background noise of the cocktail lounge, even if she'd
resented the silence she'd met after all the messages she'd left
on Ronnie's machine. 

Better to err on the side of caution. This was more of a social
call after all.

The woman sitting across from her nodded empathetically. "I've
been meaning to, Steph. Really, I have. It's just that things
have been a bit crazy as of late... for obvious reasons."

She allowed herself a genuinely personal smile, as if it was a
prized and rare commodity. Which it was, in the middle of a
high-stakes election campaign where all the focus remained
entirely on the runners. 

Stephanie shrugged, a bit sore but willing to let it go. "Maybe
we can mix business and pleasure, then." 

She tried not to sound too hopeful, but Ronnie would have guessed
that the moment Steph called her specifically, requesting an
interview with Bryant on behalf of her station.  

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, something
Stephanie wasn't used to at all. To her, Ronnie had always been
the tall, lanky girl with braces, her partner in crime from grade
school to college. Time hadn't changed either of them very much,
even if Ronnie's stint at Law school had led her to a firm
partnership and a six figure salary, while Steph ventured into
televised journalism. The hardships they had faced in their
respective lives, more severe than  twelve-year-olds could ever
fathom, hadn't withered that very bond which had first brought
them together so many years ago. 

And yet.

"Well, Steph," Ronnie offered at last, "I'm not sure what you
have in mind, but the editorialist of the Bugle is sitting two
tables down, and he's been writing some very mean things about
our campaign. Call in a camera crew and stick your foot out. We
can have him covered in tzaziki sauce for the six o'clock new."

Stephanie ceased the drumming her fingers beside the drink she
was nursing. A touch of familiarity flickered back into the
Indian dark eyes watching her, followed by a crooked grin which
shattered all pretense of aloofness. The svelte lawyer shed her
polished, impeccable facade, and joined Stephanie in spontaneous
laughter.

For a brief instant, they forgot all about the crowded lounge. A
few of the executives and politicians huddling around their own
tables ventured furtive looks of recognition towards them, before
returning to the business of drinks and handshakes. 

"We better keep a low profile. Someone might recognize you."

Ronnie chuckled. "Yah. Like that's likely. They're eyeing *you,*
dear." 

As if to accentuate that fact, a passing waitress did a
noticeable double take. Stephanie shrugged and smiled, accustomed
to the glances she drew from total strangers. The price she paid
for chasing stories with a mike, dragging camera crews along for
the ride.

The waitress took off with an air of puzzlement.

"Ouch. Not recognizable enough, I guess."

Ronnie winked at her. "Bet she'll smack her forehead two weeks
from now while flipping channels." 

Stephanie cocked her head to one side. "Will she be catching my
interview of Olivia Bryant?"

"Stephanie-"

"I've made the request a number of times. Imagine my surprise
when my producer  mentioned your name. Christ, you didn't even
tell me you'd left the firm for a thankless job with a
next-to-nothing salary-"

Stephanie stopped herself short, embarrassed by the sudden
outburst. *Whoa nellie.*

Veronica's smile never wavered. Her eyes sparkled, as though she
found something intensely amusing. She slipped her hands off the
table, tugging her skirt while crossing her legs underneath. 

"I'm sorry, Steph. I know it would mean a lot to you, but I can't
accommodate you. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't run any
story on Ms Bryant for the time being."

Stephanie blinked. Twice.

"You're serious."

"Most assuredly. I can't guarantee an interview, but I suppose
that a gesture of good will would go a long way to get you in her
office."

The constant buzz of conversations around them made it easy for
them to speak with near-complete privacy, but it also made it
difficult to catch slight nuances in speech. Stephanie could have
sworn Ronnie had made a giggling sound.

She leaned over. "Begging your pardon, but Interview or no, it's
my job to report the news."

Veronica's smile took on a slight edge. "Mmm... Sorry sweetie,
but Olivia's private life is none of your concern."

Stephanie kept a tight lid on her swelling frustration. If Ronnie
wanted to convince her to do something so utterly senseless, she
was pushing all the wrong buttons. 

"Private life? Look, I'm aware of your responsibilities, and of
our friendship, and to hell with conflicts of interest.
Everything about a candidate for Mayor is news. I sure as hell
shouldn't be the one telling you that."

"I wish I could explain, Steph, but it's not really up to me. It
really would be best if you didn't try anything... silly." 

Stephanie gaped at her, incredulous. There was no menace in that
smile, but Ronnie's inexplicable glee gave her a chill. 

"Ronnie, if this is some kind of joke..."

The sudden ring of a cell phone interrupted her. Veronica
continued to smile as she fished the device out of her purse,
flipped it open and brought it to her ear. 

"Yes?" 

She slipped on the edge of her seat. "Yes, I'm with her now...
I've explained the situation..."

She glanced up, before adding, "I'm afraid she's not going to
change her mind..."

Stephanie observed the spectacle with a frown. Her friend
whispered in the receiver, and listened carefully listened to the
instructions from the other end of the line. The conversation
ended with a hushed breath from Veronica, before she slapped the
phone shut. 

"Look. Nadine Tugman has been chasing us for a week. She says she
won't rest until she gets an exclusive for station eight. Maybe
Olivia's a little sour. Can you hold off, at least for a little
while?"

Stephanie gritted her teeth in exasperation. *Tugman?*

Letting her main professional rival snatch an exclusive through
sheer persistence didn't sit well with Stephanie. She gave a
terse shake of the head, and Veronica sighed, gathering her
things. There was nothing left to be said. 

She took the time to turn and wave her fingers in silent goodbye
as she sashayed out of the bustling cocktail lounge.

Stephanie watched her go, absolutely dumfounded.


2.


She'd already gathered extensive notes.

To label Olivia Bryant a star candidate was to resort to
euphemism. She was in her late forties; age had been kind, adding
elegance and grace to natural beauty, without the hint of blemish
or wrinkles. She exercised remarkable poise and influence in all
of her public appearances. Her scholarly background was
fabulously eclectic, including degrees in the fields of
administration and psychology, which had insured her a very
successful career in the private sector. She countered charges of
inexperience as a public servant with charm and wit, delighting
in photo opportunities where her ease with folks from all walks
of life was at once apparent. She seemed born for the galaxy of
exploding flashes which perpetually followed her, giving her
campaign a glamorous hype which translated as a comfortable
advance in the polls. 

Stephanie had started off with casual background checks. It
wasn't until weeks later that she'd realized just how many of
Olivia's old acquaintances had joined the ranks of the campaign.
Ms Bryant had a habit of sweeping up a lot of people in her wake.


Veronica Holder, evidently, had been one of them. 

The picture grew a little clearer night after night. Daytime
campaign activities were carefully planned affairs, a sharp
contrast with the more relaxed and genial tone of fundraising
dinners and speaking events. Stephanie relied on press
credentials for entry in the more common events, watching
discreetly from a distance. Bryant's moratorium on the media
apparently didn't include the written press or the televised 
reporting of events. 

Steph seemed free to move about. Without a camera crew backing
her up anyway. 

Bryant's entourage struck her as rather peculiar. Almost
exclusively female, chic, alluring to the point of drawing
appreciative states. Stephanie didn't think much of it until she
found herself whispering reminders in a hand-held recorder, after
a long night of hopping about around town following Bryant's
every move. She stood on the sidewalk, waiting beside the crowd
gathered for the last scheduled event, and watched while
assistants and advisors emerged from Bryant's security limo. 

Stephanie had squinted to make sure. A few of the ladies, Ronnie
among them, had swapped dresses during the last trip. A slight
flush colored their cheeks. 

Bryant's smile was brighter as she emerged in turn, waving at the
cheering crowd. She led two of her cohort into the hotel, and
they flanked her with waxing smiles, as though delighted to be
near her. 

The rumors had been floating about for a while, but rival
candidates didn't seem too eager to fan *those* fires, terrified
of seeing what little public support they enjoyed vanish
altogether following scandalous and unsubstantiated claims. 

It gave Stephanie a lot to think about. Especially when she
watched Veronica from a distance, her empty eyes growing a little
wider with every murmur Bryant dropped in her ear. 


3.


The Chilton fund-raiser was a strictly black tie affair, no press
allowed. Stephanie borrowed a dress for the occasion, and
verified her appointment with the hairstyle salon. She'd added a
touch of coloring the day before, in case Veronica was floating
about. 

The opportunity to mingle with unsuspecting guests was too good
to pass up.  

Stephanie sat in her office, working the phone all afternoon. By
four o'clock she had the name of one of the campaign's lesser
known but regular contributors, who happened to be off on a trip
to Bermuda for the week. 

Luckily, not everyone was privy to the travels arrangements of
members of the guest list. A last minute confirmation in the
voice of 'Mrs. Donaldson's personal secretary' insured that the
proper invitation would be kept aside, until someone could be
sent to pick it up. 

Stephanie spared a moment to sigh in relief, after putting the
phone receiver down. She grabbed her keys, heading for the
parking garage. 

With any luck, the person holding the envelope aside wouldn't be
around Security by the time she sneaked her way in. 


4.


It was a hell of a party. 

The city's wealthiest and most influential gathered for the
occasion, politicians and CEO's chatting of inconsequential
things over champagne. The occasional flash of a private
photographer would catch pairs and trios of people smiling, their
good-natured cheer a ringing endorsement. 

Stephanie gathered her shawl around her shoulders as she made her
way across the reception hall, the utterance of a prayer of
thanks for being allowed in still on her lips. The
square-shouldered man who bowed politely as she went through had
paid more attention to attire and countenance, casually verifying
the name on the invitation card before making a hasty check mark
on his board. 

With one less worry on her mind, Stephanie scanned the crowd to
get a sense of its dynamics.

She spotted Bryant immediately, looking pleased as she held up a
giant check for a photo op. Veronica, as well as several advisors
stood by her, smiling prettily but watching like hawks. Stephanie
had the sudden feeling that they guarded her more closely and
efficiently than the oafs hired by security to blend in with the
plants.  

She snatched a glass of champagne off the tray of one of the
waiters, nodding in a dismissive fashion, careful to stick to her
part. She was still a bit too nervous to enjoy it properly, the
turmoil of her thoughts fresh in her mind. Doubts had not
receded, her last few nights spent wondering if she was stooping
to the level of tabloid journalism.

It didn't help to remember that in the end, she felt that Olivia
Bryant *was* the best candidate running. Everything she knew
about the woman made her want to vote for her. 

The picture of Ronnie's curious antics flashed back in her mind.
*That just leaves what I don't know.*

She made her way to the bar at a leisurely pace, listening
intently for scraps of conversation. The inevitable interruption
came in the form of one of the city's assistant DA's, a pup fresh
from Law school, exuding all the seductive confidence his blue
eyes and sly grin could muster. Stephanie met his bravado with a
mixture of amusement and aloofness, humoring him with small talk
long enough to be certain he didn't know Olivia personally. 

She regretted brushing him off, gnawing her lip in
disappointment, but she had to wander off in order to match
Bryant's sweeping movement across the room. She took great care
in keeping as much safe distance between them as possible. 

She lurched when she caught sight of the figure standing next to
Veronica, and almost went sprawling. There was no time to curse
her heels as her eyes flashed in anger...

*Nadine Tugman?*

There was no camera about, no microphone anywhere in evidence,
but the inference was clear. The reporter was making idle chatter
with Ronnie, hanging back while Olivia shook hands with guests.

Nadine was positively *beaming.*

Stephanie watched, powerless, as the candidate finally left her
supporters with  thanks, and stepped aside. Ronnie led the
introductions; handshakes and smiles were exchanged, the words
unheard, but their meaning quite plain. 

Olivia made for a nearby exit, Nadine and Ronnie trailing along.

The fund-raiser would go on without the star attraction for a
while. Stephanie swore under her breath, wondering how quick her
rival would hammer out the specifics of her exclusive.

She dropped her glass on a nearby table, and took off in the
direction of the vanished trio. 


5.


The maze of corridors failed to deter her resolve. She tightened
her grip on the hand-held recorder in her palm as she navigated
through it, a flurry of questions simmering in her mind. She
didn't know which one she'd open up with, but since Bryant would
probably summon security once she realized what was going on... 

The whole place seemed deserted. She turned a corner and slowed
her pace, glancing back and forth between an office door and the
entrance to a ladies' room. 

The thumping of blood in her ears echoed dully, but not loud
enough to mask the muffled cries that grew more distinct with
every step she took. 

Stephanie felt a sudden spark of unease as she approached the
washroom. She stood there, puzzled by the peculiar noises, and
finally pressed her ear against the door. 

Olivia Bryant's voice was instantly recognizable. "Yes. Much
better Nadine. Much, *much* better."

Giggles. Moans. Then, "Thank you."

Stephanie held her breath. 

"Don't stop on my account, Nadine. You may continue. Maybe I'll
let Ronnie's tongue enjoy a taste of you when she's finished
here..."

The groan that followed prickled the back of Stephanie's neck
when she recognized it as the purest expression of sexual
pleasure. Despite herself, she raised a hand and gave the door a
slight push. It opened up a smidgen, and she lined her eye with
the tiny crack. 

A long mirror was positioned near the entrance, stretching for
the length of the room itself. The view wasn't great, but
Stephanie beheld a number of stalls and bodies, all  dipping at
an odd angle... 

"Ooohh... thank you..." Nadine's voice chimed, clearly this time.
"I'd looove Ronnie's tongue in my pussy... but I love pleasing
you even more... I can just *cum* thinking about it..."

It didn't sound much like her on-camera voice at all. 

A flash of silver reflected in the mirror. Stephanie squinted and
saw the shape of Nadine's naked ass swaying back and forth, slick
with sweat. Fingers danced underneath, caressing flesh... shoving
something back and forth in her-

*Jesus... she's masturbating... right in front of...*

"I see you're a quick learner," Olivia noted. "Mmmm... yes,
already accepting your newfound role... I'll *definitely* let
Ronnie eat your slick pussy now... she's such a gifted little
slut... it'll be so much more than you can even imagine..."

Stephanie struggled to manage a better angle. Her mouth was dry,
the constant moaning spilling into the corridor, making her
queasy. She suddenly wished she'd stayed behind, fuming over
champagne...

She covered her hand with her mouth, her eyes widening in shock
as she cocked her head and glimpsed Olivia, leaning back against
a wall. Her black, glitter dress was parted, her legs open in
depraved welcome while Ronnie's face pressed between them. What
bliss the older woman derived from the tongue tracing slow paths
up and down her wet slit was overshadowed by the passion of the
act itself; Ronnie's moans intermittently spiked into sharp
cries, as though furious orgasms assaulted her in sweet torment,
while she tirelessly pleasured her boss with kisses and licks. 

Stephanie tore herself from the spectacle, shuddering in a cold
sweat. She choked of a scream when Olivia's gaze intersected with
hers through the mirror. 

The door quickly fell shut as Stephanie reeled back. She swung
around and dashed back down the corridor, looking to trace back
her steps as she fought off the irrational fear that she'd been
recognized.

There was no sound of scrambling behind her, only the rise of
cries heralding an impending, collective climax.

They followed her, echoing through the deserted corridors. She
had to struggle to keep her pace casual. 


6.


Thankfully, events had conspired to bring an early rush to the
six o'clock prep. Dozens of people moved across the newsroom with
tapes and transcripts, while others remained at their stations,
hammering at keyboards or barking on the phone to be heard over
the commotion. Stephanie made her way across the chaos like a
fretful gazelle, pacing through savanna with an eye out for the
roving lion. She slipped by, expecting the voice of her producer,
Isaac Welsh, to shout at her any moment. She breathed a sigh of
relief when she made it to her office unnoticed.

Maggie popped up from behind her door, scaring her silly. 

"Jesus!" Stephanie practically yelled.

The camera*woman*, as she insisted on being called, folded her
arms and pouted, clearly insensitive. "I've been on loan to Jett
Hawkins, chasing ambulances and firetrucks for the last two
weeks. Tell me we're go on a shoot, cuz I need to be rescued from
this hellish existence."

Stephanie smiled despite herself. They were known as an
inseparable duo ever since Maggie had been hired by the station
two years back. It was a rare thing for Steph to keep anything
from her colleague, but with there were no words to convey what
she'd seen the night before. In fact, her left arm was sore from
all the pinching, the now permanent throb serving as reminder she
had not imagined the whole thing. 

"I... I may have something soon, Maggie. Gimme a bit more time to
gather background."

Maggie sighed heavily. Clearly, she knew something was up, and
had expected Steph to own up. 

"Mail's on the desk," she muttered, before shuffling out.   

Steph hung her coat and went for it, having to go through the
handful of envelopes twice on the count of distraction. Nadine
Tugman's lust-filled voice kept whispering in her ear.

*Bit of a conflict of interest,* she mused sarcastically. She
remained unconvinced that Nadine would be so unprofessional as to
indulge in a sex fling with a high profile figure, to say nothing
of the fact that she apparently "swung" that way. The shock of
that surprise made Bryant's involvement almost trivial.

She couldn't begin to analyze her feelings when it came to
Ronnie.

She slumped in her chair and swept her hair back, closing her
weary eyes and trying not to think of-

*Tongue. Licks.*

She'd gone through her old class pictures in the morning,
thinking back to high school and college, trying to remember
hints or clues she might have missed. Maybe Ronnie had wanted to
tell her something important, all those years ago... 

*I'm a lesbian sub, Steph. I get off on eating pussy. I'm a
gifted little slut. My owner says so...*

Steph pursed her lips, unable to shake her skepticism. *Christ!*
Ronnie hadn't once hinted her preference for anything even
remotely like what she'd witnessed. 

A touch of the fear she'd experienced during her swift exit
retreat trickled back into her, and she broke into goosebumps. 

"Hey there, Steph. Looks like the mailman left something extra
for you."

Isaac stood at her doorstep, waiting politely to be invited in
the office. He held a brown, square box under his arm. His
sagging cheeks were pleasantly rosy, and he made an effort to
suck in his gut while holding his chin up. The lines around his
eyes, accustomed to his fits of vexation, had smoothed out in the
wake of his open, carefree smile. 

Stephanie was instantly struck by her boss' affable manner,
spending a number of seconds trying to come up with a comeback.
She improvised hasty thanks, which he took as his cue to comein.

He waddled in like a penguin, his respect for her personal space
approaching bashfulness. Stephanie looked on curiously, and
remembered some offhand comment by Maggie about Isaac's doctor
telling him to keep his blood pressure under control. 

He tiptoed forward and gingerly dropped the box on the desk. 

"Everything going your way, Steph? Anything I can do?"

"Uh. Not yet, Isaac. Maybe later. Still working on nabbing
Bryant."

The all too brief answer appeared to assuage his curiosity.
"Well, just let me know when the egg's ready to hatch."

He made to leave but she held him back. "Uh, Isaac. Have you
heard of anything brewing at channel eight? A big interview lined
up?"

She bit her lip, knowing she was letting on more than she'd
wanted, but her producer had an uncanny ability to gauge the
pulse of the opposition, especially when there was a major scoop
brewing. 

"Nope. Not a thing."

Steph nodded, a trifle relieved. "Uh. Ok. Thanks."

He shambled off, his back stiff, and Steph felt he might soon
need to add a chiropractor to his list of appointments. 

She turned her attention to the box, puzzled by a return address
she didn't recognize. It was an express package, mailed and
delivered on the same day. 

She cut through the packaging tape, and looked inside. A letter
sat atop a spill of Styrofoam bits. She took it out and opened
carefully. 

The script was handwritten, sharp but flowery. 

*Ms Woodruff,

It would seem that your determination is matched only by your
cleverness. I won't fret over the details that lead you to
observe last night's activities, and I congratulate you instead
on managing to obtain such a choice seat. I trust you've enjoyed
our spirited little interlude. 

I feel I've unfairly slighted you by consistently refusing offers
for an interview. Ms Tugman, though obstinate in her attempts to
convince me to grant her an exclusive, has lost the objective
edge I feel the voters deserve when it comes to the presentation
of candidates. She would no doubt object to my giving you a copy
of the impromptu conversation we did share on camera, but perhaps
it will make up for the silence you've met from me so far.*

Stephanie dropped the letter at once to rummage through the box.
She pulled out a videotape labeled "*O. Bryant - Takes 1-4*". 

She went to toss the box and noticed a rattling noise inside it.
She stuck her hand in again and pulled a metallic tube out-

Stephanie stared mutely at the shining, smooth-shaped vibrator in
her hand, before picking up the letter again...

*You'll forgive me for the indulgence of my other gift. Ronnie,
sweet girl that she is, suggested it some time after you
departed, hoping that the sights and sounds you'd witnessed might
endear you to contemplate new and interesting paths of sexual
discovery. I wondered if it would be proper, but she was rather
insistent, and I found myself unable to resist the plea of eyes
for very long. 

Looking forward to our meeting at ten o'clock tomorrow morning to
discuss the particulars of-*

The letter slipped out of Stephanie's fingers. 

*Ronnie? Sweet girl that she is?* 

She reached for her phone and keyed in three digits.

"Maggie? Tell Isaac you're back with me. Get your gear ready,
We've got something lined up for tomorrow morning."


7.


"I'm sorry if I was unclear in my message, Ms Woodruff, but I am
not exactly ready to grant an interview on the spot. I'm sorry
your colleague had to drag her gear all the way to my office for
nothing." 

Olivia Bryant kept a placid smile as she spoke, unruffled by
Stephanie's decision to bring Maggie along. Both had argued for
several minutes with the secretary outside, until Steph finally
agreed to enter alone for a private chat. 

The office was a study in contrast, the paneled walls of
sand-colored maple clashing with an asymmetric desk of sycamore
and bronze that belonged in an art deco gallery. Steph's chair
had short legs and a curved back; she sat stiffly in it, already
set on staying in it until security dragged her out. 

"With all due respect, Ms Bryant, you seemed very intent on
talking. I have a responsibility to bring what you have to say to
the public, and that's exactly what I'm here to do..." 

Her voice trailed off, her heart not altogether in the charade
she was playing. Olivia knew what she'd seen-God, she practically
flaunted it.

What next? Bribes? Threats? 

* Mmmm... yes, already accepting your newfound role...*

Steph slipped a hand inside the jacket she hadn't bothered to
take off, and traced a finger along the 'send' button of her
cellular, the number to Maggie's portable already keyed in.

Sex play aside, it seemed even less of a paranoid notion now than
it did in the drive over. 

Olivia settled her elbows on the arms of her chair as if it were
a throne. 

"I apologize again. Perhaps I'm too distrustful of the media. I'm
of the opinion that it looks only after itself, its agenda
dictated by the hype it creates. The message often gets lost,
altered along the way, shaped by the desire to make a story more
shocking or riveting for the readers and viewers."

Stephanie scoffed. 

"Some might think that's a bit of an arrogant position.
Candidates are expected to play by certain rules. Whatever evils
you ascribe to the Press, it plays a role in democracy, and you
seem to think that's a danger to you." 

"Really? I'm surprised by your na vet , especially after seeing
the lengths to which Ms Tugman resorted to secure my promise for
an interview. I thought things might be different here, but I
sense in you a willingness to match hers. You would do anything
to avoid the humiliation of loosing an exclusive to her."

Stephanie felt the blood rush to her cheeks, despite the
preposterousness of Olivia's inference. 

"If you're referring to the smut you've recorded on that tape,
I'm afraid you're quite wrong."

Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. She'd watched the whole
thing the night before, in spite of her revulsion. Nadine had
done a few poor takes, a series of asinine questions which went
on for twenty minutes, until Veronica showed up on camera. 

Before long, the whole thing turned into an exchange of lewd
innuendoes. Olivia, suddenly camera shy, slipped away, leaving
her companions alone for the viewer's pleasure.

The display of obscene, lesbian porn hadn't been far behind.

"Smut? On the contrary, I think it's very educational," Olivia
retorted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Educational. Both as a demonstration piece, and as a first step
towards realigned,  proper thinking. A reporter's words can only
be informative once she's been taught what to say and how to say
it. The truth comes out naturally, easily, her understanding of
notions such as obedience and a willingness to serve plainly
apparent to those who listen... those who have always longed,
secretly, to be convinced..."

Alarms sounded in Stephanie's brain. Her finger froze over the
button that would warn Maggie something was wrong...

"The theory is simple, really. The human brain is too dependent
on its senses, wired to interact with the environment. Feeding
visual stimuli to trigger specific reactions that have no
connection to memory is the key, and few would believe how easily
it is turned. You can be engrossed in deep thought, in problem
solving or meditation, while your body responds to outside
stimulus. Much like driving a car for miles while thinking of
some random childhood incident, you can snap out of your reverie
minutes later, without remembering a thing about the rather
intricate task you were performing." 

Stephanie shivered in her seat, blinking as though an invisible
veil was being pulled from her eyes. She was both fascinated and
horrified by Olivia's lecture, and quite embarrassed by the flush
that was now slipping down her entire body. She didn't want to
take the jacket off, but the heat was moistening her skin and
burning the tips of her nipples. 

Olivia was only too happy to go on. "We're still in the recording
stage, since local stations lack the proper equipment to transmit
on the proper bandwidth. Eventually, we'll be able to key in to
the proper frequencies, delivering bursts matching specific
keywords. We are still limited to the delivery of specific
commands, but luckily, our facilitators exist to insure deeper
conditioning."

The flash-flood of arousal washed over Stephanie, barely matched
by the rising panic. The glint of silver she'd spotted in the
ladies room mirror, sliding in and out of Nadine...

*Oh God. A metallic shape... just like-*

"The vibrator... in the box..." Stephanie hissed, trying to keep
herself from squirming on her chair. 

The seat underneath her ass was becoming wet.

Olivia grinned in happy surprise. "Ah. Yes. Very good, Stephanie.
You're catching on quickly. Ronnie is partial to the term "Rods
of Teaching", and I must say it's growing on me, especially when
I'm watching video feed of our latest recruits, powerless to stop
themselves from using it on each other. 

"They have three settings of intensity... it's best to be gradual
about it, but we were a little rushed in your case. The tape you
watched was geared to take you through all three levels, so
you've no doubt achieved near-complete conditioning at this
point..."

Stephanie moaned in her chair, unable to escape the vision of
herself stretched on her home couch, blank faced as images of
lesbian depravity flashed across her television screen. She could
almost hear the voice-over, whispering over the speaker... she
made up the words her memory wouldn't recall... *Obey your
lust... Yield to pleasure... Olivia is Truth... Olivia is Love...
Proceed to level two...*

In her mind, hands moved to the slick, warm shape buried inside
her pussy, turning the knob that would reward her with new, more
powerful waves of pleasure... she fancied her legs up and apart,
her knees touching her shoulders as she grabbed hold of the
device, shoving it in and out with one hand while the fingers of
the other ground into her begging, screaming clit. 

"Take the phone out of your pocket, Stephanie," Olivia beseeched
softly.

Stephanie's legs quivered as she orgasmed. She didn't even hear
the dull thud of the device hitting the floor. 

"You're not quite ready to serve, of course. All impure thoughts
must be eradicated before you have that honor. The process is
impossible with portable equipment."

She was reaching for the intercom on her desk as she spoke. Her
look of apology for the interruption was pure reflex, but she
followed it with a wink to focus Stephanie's attention. 

"Veronica, dear, how are things with Ms Woodruff's colleague?"

The voice answered back with pride and enthusiasm. "She is
restrained, Mistress. We have already moved her to the
realignment chamber. She is being prepped for her initiation into
the Glory and Pleasure of your service."

Stephanie couldn't restrain herself.

She slipped off her chair, her hands struggling feverishly to
hike up her skirt. Taking her panties off would take too long, so
she pressed her fingers against them, and slipped hot, wet satin
into her slit. 

Flames of ecstasy shot up her cunt, and consumed her. 



8.


Stephanie stood in the center of the vacant room, the harness
insuring correct posture by pulling her shoulders back. The thin
band of leather also bit in the underside of her breasts, but the
pain was as easy to ignore as the throbbing of her ankles. The
sharp incline of her high-rise heels locked her knees in places
while forcing her ass out, but the display she made of herself
aroused her, knowing that Mistress was watching. 

Warm, trembling breaths washed over her shaved cunt, and
Stephanie gasped. It was hard enough to think of herself like
this, naked and standing obediently at attention, without
dripping all over the floor. She yearned for a tongue to lick her
clean, knowing it would only further open the floodgates of her
desire. 

"The profession of Faith shall now begin," a voice told her. It
sounded near to her, a whisper inside her ear. She had grown used
to the tightness of the earphones secured on her head.

"Who are you?"

Excitement coursed through her limbs. "A servant of Mistress'
Will, and the instrument of Her Purpose."

"What is your designation?"

"servantslut, Mistress."

"What is the name I have given you to mask your true
designation?"

"Stephanie Woodruff, Mistress."

"Very good servantslut. Now what is the name given by me to the
servantslut who has brought you into my service?"

Stephanie lowered adoring eyes to the woman kneeling before her.
She smiled and shuddered when the brunette kissed her pussy with
loving attention.

"Veronica Holder, Mistress," she answered breathlessly. 

"What is the First Law of Obedience, servanslut?"

"To Pleasure Mistress. To obey Her every wish. To fulfill Her
every desire. To satisfy Her every yearning."

Stephanie moaned while Veronica's tongue played with her
netherlips, as if to reward her for every good answer she gave.

"What is are the Second Law of Obedience?"

"To bring more servants to Mistress. To make them willing and
obedient. To gift them with the Glory and Pleasure of Her
service." 

"Excellent, servantslut. What is the Third Law?"

"To free womankind from impure and improper thoughts, to
undermine the sick perversions of male-dominated society in every
way possible, and to bring about Mistress' eternal rule over All
That Is."

"How do you feel about men, servantslut?"

Stephanie's lip twitched, but her revulsion was quickly overcome
by Veronica's tongue floating on her clit. 

"There is no feeling, Mistress. There is nothing but the need to
shape their will into submission, and use them until the time of
Cleansing is upon them."

Fleeting memories came to her then-the image of Isaac, unwitting
pawn and slave to Mistress, stumbling along because of the Rod of
Teaching firmly inserted inside him... rewarding him with
throbbing pleasure as he mindlessly followed Her instructions. 

Males bodies were unsuited for the Glory of the sacred devices,
requiring constant stimulation to obey. That cold fact elicited
no pity in Stephanie as she contemplated her boss' inevitable
fate as a brainless automaton. His mind would eventually be
overtaxed and subsequently destroyed by pleasure. 

She didn't hold on to the thought for long, Veronica's probing of
her pussy reminding her of the divine, womanly pleasures Mistress
had ordained.

Veronica's tongue fucking grew more fierce, as if to echo in
agreement. Stephanie's legs buckled, the climax nearing...

Stephanie's hands grappled the head between her legs, pressing,
grinding Ronnie's face against her cunt as she came...

"Yield to the pleasure," the blessed voice told her, "and embrace
me forever..."

*Missssstreeesssss* 


9.


Maggie's heartbreaking plea was full of hope and fear. "You
remember our friendship, don't you?"

Stephanie emerged from the shadows with a reassuring smile, but
Maggie heart sank at the sight of her trusted partner's naked
form. She wore the fetish harness with pride, and chuckled softly
as she traced a finger along the restraints that kept Maggie
firmly secured on the x-rack. 

"You-you told me to trust you, Stephanie, remember? You told me
it would be all right." 

"Everything *is* all right, dear. Or will be, shortly."

Maggie struggled through panic and tears. Her voice grew more
strident, like a guitar, gently weeping. "Stephanie, God, please!
Get me out of here! Get me the fuck-"

She groaned when Stephanie lowered her head and sucked one of her
nipples into her mouth. The cold metal under her didn't strain as
she arched her back, powerless to resist the explosion of
mind-numing bliss that coursed inside her. 

"Your cunt has tasted the pleasure of the Rod of Teaching,"
Stephanie whispered. "It hungers for the greater, more sacred
pleasures now. Let the feel of my tongue wash across your body...
let it deliver you into the arms of Sapphic bliss... you know
it's what Mistress wants... you can't resist Her Will... *you
don't want to resist Her Will...*"

Maggie struggled harder, her nipples inflamed as Stephanie
continued her sucking. She bucked against the rack, the strain of
the orgasm making her cry out when Stephanie lovingly bit into
her breast. 

"Yesss... accept it... we have so much work ahead of us... so
much pleasure... so much joy as we serve Her... as we make others
serve Her..."

Maggie's voice broke, her supplications coming between helpless
cries. "God, Please Stephanie... don't... don't-"

But Stephanie's tongue was already trailing down, leaving warm
saliva pooling between her breasts... inside her navel... hot...
moist... 

*Friend... Trust... don't...*

*Don't resist.*

*Don't resist Mistress.*

Maggie's eyes widened, the stars of countless, invisible Heavens
exploding inside them. She came in Stephanie's mouth, blinded by
the searing pleasure that fired up into her clit, burning away
all the mindless, shallow drivel of an existence spent apart from
Mistress... *cum... numbing... endless...* 

The pain of her old life vanished, replaced by Stephanie's
tongue... by the soft, sensual organ, sliding deeper inside
her... she strained to pull her legs apart, to show her
acceptance and joy...  only wishing for the moment when she, too,
would guide others upon the right path.

She opened her mouth eagerly to accept Stephanie's pussy when her
fellow servantslut climbed upon the rack, spreading wide. She
teased it, slowly, gently, while her own cunt flared... their
convulsive spasms shared as they swirled deeper... together... in
the abyss of overwhelming surrender.

The merciless assault of ecstasy did not cease. 

It would never, ever cease.


-Fin-


I hope you enjoyed this story. Send all comments to
iago_72@yahoo.com - Thank you for reading.


<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------


------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+