Ever had one of those dreams where everything’s moving really slowly but you’re still at full speed? Not to be confused with the one where you’re driving a car that spins off a cliff and you wake up, just before it crashes.

Well, I was living one of those dreams. Not the crash one, the other one. I was having a hard time telling the difference between reality and dream-reality.

I woke up only a few hours after I’d gone to sleep. I was still exhausted and I’m sure my body wouldn’t be able to take being hyper-accelerated all the time. I had no idea how much this thing had been tested, nor exactly what any long-term affects the stopwatch would have on my body.

All things considered, it was probably my natural sense of paranoia that awakened me. After stumbling around the dark hotel room for several minutes, I realized what was bothering me. I guess the idea had to ferment in the back of my mind before my conscious thoughts could pick up on it.

The damn video surveillance tape in my studio.

Wait a minute. Think for a second here. We have a daughter of a senator, who would no doubt tell her father about what happened. We have one of the lab-girls who may or may not know what’s going on. We have the lab tech himself, who’s gone rogue. And the friend of the lab-tech.

And whatever poor saps happened to get in Lloyd’s way while he had been playing ‘teenager with a time-control toy.’

Okay, so if I picked up the tape, there was still a very good chance that people would still come after me, even if the instructions I gave Lloyd stuck. Why? Allow me to extrapolate. Tattoos and piercings all over the place. Tattoo shop, in a high profile location, not ten miles away. Oh, and the owner goes missing the next day. Won’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure all that out.

What’s a poor boy to do?

First thing is get that damn tape anyway. Hell, should I survive this government-on-my-ass fiasco, I may actually enjoy watching that cute girl get stripped by Lloyd repeatedly. In slow motion. But more importantly, it’s visual evidence that I actually saw Lloyd, he saw me, and then I left the place with him. I don’t need that kind of proof floating around.

I hyper-accelerated. I then opened the door and let myself out. I didn’t want to be seen in public – not yet. Granted, I had no idea if the government would even come after me. I mean, am I crazy? Just because I carried ten years or more of research worth billions of dollars in my pocket – the Pentagon has spent a hundred and thirteen dollars for a screwdriver, fourteen for a roll of toilet paper and eight hundred dollars for a toilet. Like they care about a mind-control serum and a time-stopping device.

Yeah, right. Forgive my being pedantic, but I hope you get my point. I felt I had every reason to be paranoid and I had to make like a banana and get the hell outta dodge. And of course, in hyper-accelerated time, that meant a bicycle. Yay.

Irony of ironies. I’m using twenty-first century technology that reduces me to getting from point A to point B on a bike.

To make a long story short, I spent a good twenty minutes finding something ride-able and I spent another hour or so getting back to the mall. At least I didn’t have to wait for cars or traffic lights.

My real worry was if Lloyd had decided to go get that tape or if he figured I’d come back to the store. And who knows how long it would take before the rest of the federal government came chasing after me. Ahh, to hell with it. Only one way to find out. I’d be damned before I sat outside that mall, peering in the glass doorway, wondering if the world was on my heels.

I had a key to the backdoor of my shop. I was hesitant to use it, but I had to believe that Lloyd couldn’t get in that way. I had no idea how he would have, and I gambled that no one else had had enough time to track me down yet, nor owned any more of these prototypes. Wouldn’t be much of a prototype if there were thirty of them running around, no?

Long story short, my gamble paid off. I got inside, grabbed the tape in question, some of my favorite tattoo supplies and the money in the register. I cleared out my safe. Before I took my one last look at my shop, you can bet I didn’t forget to take my portfolio of my art.

I got out of there and felt a little better at least. I still had to hang around town for a bit. I had a date with Lacey in twenty hours.

Nitty-gritty details bore the hell out of me. Yes, I stopped by my place. I grabbed some tidbits to remind me of my life. I had no girlfriend or wife I was leaving behind. I wasn’t worried about clothes or tv’s or ‘stuff’. I knew I’d be able to acquire whatever I needed and then some. I closed the door on my apartment and that chapter of my life.

I decided to use the invisibility function of the stopwatch, so I could get some sleep in real time. I didn’t want to use up my entire life in a hyper-accelerated world. I needed rest, however. And I knew just where to get it.

I’d had an ex-girlfriend who dumped me for ‘someone who wasn’t a scummy tattoo artist.’ Now, I’ve told you how I take pride in my work. I never appreciated her attitude. And if it bothered her so much, why’d she go out with me in the first place? Well, apparently, when she was ready to move up in the world, I didn’t fit in with her plan. I was just someone she could use to get her to the next rung of her own little ladder.

Naturally, she never let me tattoo her though she knew it’s how I’ve decided to express my art. I let her live with me for over a year while she was in her senior year of college. Yet, for all that, she wouldn’t even consent to the smallest little tattoo on her ankle, or anywhere else. Forgive me if I sound petulant, but, well, frankly, I was bitter.

It was still only about 7am, so I hyper-accelerated, used the ten-speed I’d “acquired” and jetted over to her place. She lived with a doctor now, in a swanky area of town, not too far in fact, from Lloyd’s dream-girl’s place.

I used the same trick Lloyd and I had to get into her place. Fortunately, her doctor wasn’t there, so I went invisible, knocked on her door, she opened it, I froze time, pushed her out of the way, set her back in place, stopped the stopwatch, time resumed, I was invisible, and she said, “Those damn kids.”

Deep breath. Whatever. I was in. I quietly dodged out of her way as she went back into her bedroom. She wasn’t ready for work yet, in fact, it looked like she’d just gotten out of the shower – I guess the bathrobe and the towel wrapped around her head were dead giveaways.

I looked around. She’d done well for herself. Several Italian rugs, a living room set straight out of some Scandinavian furniture gallery. My place was no rat’s nest, but I could tell her doctor-boyfriend had some cash. She’d landed a job after leaving me as a co-anchor. I followed her into the bedroom.

She unwrapped the towel and shook her hair. I’d swear she was doing the last take for a shampoo commercial. She had brown hair, dark brown, nearly black now that it was still wet. And then she slid the robe off, standing there in the nude.

The BITCH. She’d gotten a tattoo on her lower back. It wasn’t my art. It was …not.. my… art. To say I was pissed is.. well, is there sand in the Sahara? I don’t know how many times I’ve had this argument and here the bitch goes and has some kind of doctor crap tattooed on her back.

Anyway. She had long hair, all the way down her back, maybe six-inches above her ass. She had brown eyes – I’d sung “Brown Eyed Girl” to her I don’t know how many times. Cute nose, chin, that kinda thing. Average sized breasts, maybe a B-cup. Typical ass, nothing to write home to mom about. Well, you know what I mean. No one writes home to mom about asses.. I mean, I don’t really want to know.. well, anyway.

Nice legs. I could see in the mirror from behind her that she kept her snatch trim. Nothing worse than an unshaven pussy. I figured it was time to freak her out.

I moved up behind her and grabbed her ass, just like I used to, cupping just on the bottom of it.

She jumped. “What the-?” And she whipped around. Naturally, she didn’t see me. In case you’ve gotten up to get a beer and came back and forgotten exactly what I was doing, I was invisible.

She turned back around, staring over her shoulder to the area behind her. Exactly where I was in fact. Fuckit. Invisibility only gets you so far. I hit the stopwatch.

I went back downstairs to where I’d stashed my stuff. I brought it back up with me. I was going to fix this girl but good. Oh yeah, her name was Kylie. Too bad, too, because I love that name. Was actually the first thing about her that I was attracted by.

I dropped my bag behind her, and I had to push it to the ground, since gravity was a bit too slow for my tastes at that moment. First thing I figured she needed was a tongue piercing.

Yeah, tell me about it. Extremely painful. Bet she’d have trouble giving stock reports that day. Of course, the tool I needed used electricity. Not a real problem since the speed of light still moves faster than I do. Even so, I figured it’d be easier if I used my stopwatch. And a bit of mind control!

Pull out the pen-needle, jab it in her ass. Oh, that was gratifying. You have no idea. Hell, I left it stuck in her ass for a minute or two.

“You will open your mouth and leave it open for two minutes. You will not move from this spot nor use your hands.” Times four.

I could have done this in hyper-acceleration, but this was just easier, and hell, I’d get to see her struggle a bit. I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head that this wasn’t really me. But ya know what? She’d done me wrong and I started to understand a bit of why Lloyd was doing what he was doing.

I pulled out my tool. No, not THAT tool. The one I used for tongue piercings – not that dissimilar from an air-powered nail gun. I held it up to her mouth (it was as invisible as I) cocked Kylie’s head back and hit the stopwatch so time would start for me again.

“Ungggh.” Kylie said as she yanked her mouth open. Stared at the ceiling. She had that wild eyed look a cow might have when they’re about to get branded or trying to rush out of a burning barn.

And then I extended her tongue and she started squealing repeatedly having no idea what was going on. “Unnggh. Unngggggh. EEEErrrkkk!”

She started breathing heavily like a tied down bull in a rodeo cage until I nailed her with the gun and blood started oozing out of her mouth. She screamed in abject pain and terror then. It wasn’t very pretty, let me tell you.

“Aaaaahhhhgggggghhhhhhh!” Boy was she getting loud. I froze time again.

“Krikey bitch, you need to just shut up once in a while.” I said to her frozen form. I pulled out the studs and screwed on the ball-like top and bottom of the pins. I took some swabs out of my bag and put them in her mouth, so they’d would soak up the blood.

The sight of her blood made me pause for a moment. I turned off the invisibility function and staggered back a bit. What was becoming of me? I went over to her Scandinavian couch.

I’d originally come over here just to get some sleep. No one knew me around here and I could turn on invisibility and just crash on her couch. Then I’d go meet Lacey at the 7/11 and find out what I could. Maybe take her with me to Vegas or something. But even that thought was crazy. What sleep-deprived state was I in when I thought she’d want to come with me – a total stranger – to Vegas? I could make her go, but what fun was there in that?

I didn’t know if it was the absence of restrictions and the corresponding complete freedom of action without repercussion that was affecting me. Or, if there were something inherently wrong with the design on the device whereby users were slowly corrupted. Oh hell, not slowly. Quicker than time, that’s for sure.

But then I looked at Kylie standing there. She was a damn fine looking newscaster. But if I knew her, she’d go to work dressed in some kind of business looking outfit and stare down her nose at all the guys at work. All the women too, for that matter. She was a co-host of the local news affiliate who was engaged to a doctor. That was all the other women needed to know. Yes, some of this was supposition, but I knew Kylie.

Stare down her nose, huh? Well, I’d give her a reason to do that. I’ll once again spare you the details and let you view the ensuing scene from her point of view.

Kylie tried to move her hands to grab her mouth, but she couldn’t. She wanted to lean forward to see what had happened to her tongue. She could only imagine that she’d somehow bit it, though she had no idea why she’d stood there holding her mouth open for several minutes.

“Ow, ow ow.” She whimpered. She felt a slight pinprick in her ass and she was finally able to lean forward and grab her jaw.

What the fuck? She thought. She opened her mouth, looking in the mirror and there were cotton swabs sucking up the blood and there was a pin through her tongue.

“Whath the fuckth ith thith?” she said. Kylie gingerly reached a hand forward to touch it. But just before she did she felt a stabbing pain in her nose.

“OWWWWW!!!” She grabbed her nose and it felt like someone had cut her nose off. And then she pulled her hand away to look at it, and a cute little ring pierced right through her septum.

“Ow.. ow.. whath the fuck ith going on?” Kylie said. And she blinked and a delicate chain was attached to the nose ring, stretching across her cheek and it connected to her earring.

“I.. I.. donth underthandth.” She said, shaking her head in disbelief, staring at the chain in the mirror.

She could almost hear the sound of a hammer hitting a spike as first one nipple was pierced - the ring showing up in the mirror and before she could squeal out in pain - the second was done as well. Her hands flew to her nipples, and she started to whimper.

She felt the slightest prick of skin on her ass, almost like a mosquito bite. Then she felt a change come over her. She knew she hated the piercings. She had no idea where they’d come from, but she decided not to worry about it. She couldn’t take them off and wouldn’t let anyone else take them off either, regardless of how much she hated them. The chain on her face embarrassed her. Just looking at it, even by herself, alone in the bathroom, completely naked; she could see her skin blush from her cheeks to her chest.

She groaned slightly in pain, but started to get dressed for work. She turned to move and then felt a bee sting on her waistline. She looked down and saw yet another ring, this time in her navel. “Pleathe, thtop! Whoever you are?” she cried out.

And then a horizontal chain appeared between her breasts, connecting to one that went vertically up from her navel. She paused, breathing heavily, realizing, that she was getting wet.

“Thith ith making me horny?” She said to herself. “Whatth ith wrong with me? I mutht be having thome kind of hot flatheth. I gueth I got thethe done latht night. Why are they thtill tho thore.” She looked in the mirror sardonically. “I really need to thtop talking.”

She turned towards the closet and pulled out a conservative business dress – knee length, long sleeved. She walked into the bedroom, half stumbling.

She looked in the mirror again, touching the chain on her face. ”Ugh.” She turned towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of bikini briefs. She went to slide them on, but they’d turned into the racy thong that her doctor-boyfriend had gotten for her, though she’d refused to wear it, no matter what he said.

“Whath in the hell?” She put the thong back in and pulled out the bikinis. She bent down again, sticking out one foot and then the other, pulling them up. She looked in dresser mirror and saw that somehow, she’d put on the thong again!

“Whath the fuck ith going on?” Once again she pulled them off, but when she got them off, she was holding the bikinis in her hand.

“Thith ith crazy.” Pinprick in her ass. She dropped the bikinis and pulled out a push-up bra with half-cups to show off her nipples. She said, half dazed. “What? Why am I wearing that?.. oh, the nipple pierthingth. Would hurt otherwithe. Of courthe. Damn, that thonofabitch Todd alwayth wanted me to get pierthings.”

“OW!” Kylie whipped her head around, feeling for all the world like she’d just been smacked hard in the ass. She couldn’t see anyone there, so she pulled on the bra.

She looked at herself in the mirror, noted out the bra pushed her B cups into respectable C’s. The chain ran elegantly across her chest and then the T went down to her belly-button.

“Lookth kinda cuthe in a way.” She said quietly. She shook her head questioningly, obviously wondering still how it had gotten there. Then she doubled over in pain, grabbing her crotch.

“Omigodth, Omigodth, Omigodth.” She tried desperately to hold the tears back, but her eyes still leaked a few drops. Then she looked down and shrieked.

She saw yet another chain snake down from the ring in her navel, past her stomach and she almost fearfully lifted her hand. The chain ran through four rings that had been pierced through her labia, two to each. At the end of chain was a lock. There was no way she’d be able to fuck or even pleasure herself with that lock attached to the rings in her pussy as it was. She cringed in pain at the tenderness in her labia as she jingled the lock.

It seemed quite sturdy.

When she stood up straight, the slack in the chain tightened and tugged gently on her labia. The only way she’d be able to urinate without making a mess was if she hung over her knees, breasts pressed to her legs. Maybe she’d get sex if she pulled her legs up and bent at the waist, giving enough slack to loosen the rings. But every time she took a step, she gave the chain little tug and it sent chills up and down her spine.

She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair had begun to dry, her eyes were red, as she’d been holding back the pain and the tears. There was no way she could appear in public like this. How could she go on the air with this chain on her face? What was she supposed to say, she was taking up Belly Dancing?

As she stood there contemplating her future, one of her chokers appeared around her neck. It has originally been a simple lace/acrylic choker that had a fake pearl pendant dangling from the front. Instead of the pearl, there was a key.

And then words appeared on her mirror, written in lipstick.

Whoever.

She repeated the word. “Whoever.” Out loud. And then she doubled over in pain, as thousands of pin-pricks all at the same time jabbed into her abdomen. And then it was gone.

Has.

“Hath?” She read she read on the mirror. And then the pain again. She looked down, doubled over, and saw the words she was reading appearing on her abdomen, just above her pussy.

She saw the word, ‘My’ appear in the mirror, but then she shook her head ‘no.’ She wasn’t that stupid! She didn’t know what was going on here, but she wasn’t going to repeat that word! In fact, she was getting the hell out of there. Must be some kind of weird poltergeist, and she’d had enough.

Kylie grabbed the dress and blouse off of the bed and darted towards the living room. She was getting the hell out of there!

And then she felt the pin-prick in her ass. And she stopped dead in her tracks. She felt her legs drag her into the bedroom and stop in front of the mirror. She said the word.

“My.” And then the pain again, this time lessened. She could see the word inscribed on her lower abdomen.

Key.

“Key” she said with a sigh. And then doubled over in pain, putting both hands on the dresser, wincing against the pain.

Owns.

She didn’t like the sound of this at all. “Ownth.” She said. And then the promised pain came.

Me. She said the word and after the pain, she looked in the mirror. In delicate tiny script above her pussy, there was the inscription, slightly inflamed as a new tattoo would look. “Whoever Has My Key Owns Me.”

Pinprick in the ass again. And then she turned around, wondering what the hell that was. But she also knew it was true. Whoever had that key in their possession would own her. She didn’t know why, but she was simply glad it was around her neck! She reached for it.

But her hands stopped. Right when they should have been able to clasp either the choker around her neck or the ring itself, they simply stopped.

“What ith happening to me??” She yelled out.

Well, that’s enough of that. Instead of explaining, let me sum up. I rode with her to her station. I’d brought some other clothes for her to wear, so she was extremely frustrated when she got in her car wearing a conservative business suit, but got out of her car wearing a short skirt, a sleeveless, collar-less, button-up shirt and high heels. She tried to find the clothes, but since I’d thrown them out the window a few miles back, she was S.O.L.

Needless to say, a lot of people asked her about the chain on her face. She made up a variety of excuses, most having to do with trying to feel sympathy towards the oppressed muslim women of the world. Yeah right. The guys also gave her the dubious honor or staring at her legs in her short skirt.

By the time the broadcast had rolled around, she’d finally been able to get rid of most her lisp, the swelling having reduced considerably.

She had an eventful broadcast, as her shirt kept coming undone. (You can imagine how that happened.) Her co-host saw the new chains connecting her boobs. Of course, she didn’t realize it, and no one bothered to tell her (guess it doesn’t pay to be a bitch to everyone, eh?) that the shirt was mostly see-through anyway. Her producers were happy when they reported a spike in ratings due to the fact that her newly pierced areolas were seen by a reportedly, eighty-two percent of the viewing public. They were doubly happy when the FCC didn’t give them a fine.

Of course, my favorite part of the show was when the poor lad who had to fetch her coffee every day asked her about the choker.

“That’s a very nice necklace, Ms. Monague. What’s that key for?” he asked quietly.

She replied, also trying to keep it quiet. “Whoever has the key owns me.” She said, acting as if she were joking.

He looked at her quizzically and she waved him off, again, adding to the joking effect.

“Are you serious?” he asked earnestly.

“Sure, Tommy, whatever. Just run along now, okay?” She said. As he turned around, she had a ghastly look on her face. I would have thought someone had died! I imagine she was wondering if Tommy could somehow get that key off her neck. I bet Tommy was wondering the same thing! I smiled in extreme pleasure as I saw her reaching to her crotch, completely unconsciously, rubbing the labia-piercings through her skirt.

Ahh, my work there was done. I don’t know why, but I felt very good about my actions. I know it was rather cruel, but it felt justified. I don’t think I’d just do that to some stranger. Hell, I felt justified when I ‘borrowed’ the keys to her car and drove back to her house.

If you think about it, her husband-to-be has got to love the changes. Well, provided he gets the key before the door man does. Or the mail-room guy. Or the Co-host. Or Tommy even. I bet she felt very satisfied at first, at least knowing that she held the key. Little did she know that she’d hand the key to the first person who asked to see it! Oh, delicious. And she couldn’t put it back on the hook by herself. She could hold it, but someone else had to put it on.

So, imagine asking for the key back, but then, having to give it back to your former and now current owner (at least until they hung the key around your neck!) and asking them to put it on your neck for you! Oh, delish.

Is that as sick as Lloyd? Well, the piercings probably were. Food for thought. I didn’t really change her personality, outside of the fact she’d have to obey who ever had that key. She needed a bit of humbling. Really, she did.

Oh, I know. I had to watch myself. It’s a slippery slope, this ultimate power thing. And I hadn’t even looked through the rest of Lloyd’s gadgets yet.