ous Homemakers: Part 2
by Chained Knee
As ever the author invites comment at chained.knee@yahoo.com

Monday. 10:45 a.m. Claire Willis and Rachel McGilll were having
coffee as usual in Claire's dining room. Claire was telling
Rachel about how a neighbor's exclusive handbag was actually a
cheap knockoff.

As Claire explained, “So she says, I bet it was $10,000. And I
say I bet she didn't spend ten bucks. And she says, no way,and I
say, way. And she says, how can you tell? And I say, you can
totally tell by the stitching. And...”

Rachel's cellphone interrupted Claire's story.

“Sorry.” Rachel said with a sheepish smile. Claire frowned and
sipped her coffee while Rachel checked the caller's number.

“Sorry got to go.” Rachel declared abruptly.

“Hey!” Claire objected but Rachel was out the door in an instant.

“She's been acting real crazy recently.” Claire mused as she went
to her front window to see where Rachel was going. She went into
Dr. Don's house across the street.

“Oh that ho!” Claire laughed. “I'll surprise her and the doc when
they're getting it on. Let me time this right. Five minutes chit
chat. Two minutes to strip. Ten minutes for foreplay. Strike
that. The doc has got to be a slow mover--15 minutes for
foreplay. So I'll give them roughly 30 minutes and start banging
on the door. That will scare them totally shitless.”

Claire thought about Rachel's infidelity while she waited for the
right moment to surprise the couple. She felt responsible for it.
She must have given Rachel the idea when she talked about how she
wanted to have an affair. She hadn't been serious about fooling
around. Sure her husband had other lovers. He probably had
several, both guys and girls. Claire's reaction was “so what.” He
could play the field as long as he took care of Claire and he did
that very well. He bought her whatever she wanted—the best
clothes, the nicest handbags, the most expensive shoes, a great
car. She had feigned anger in front of Rachel just to break up
their dull routine.

Claire had to admit though that she had sacrificed a lot for this
life of luxury. Regular sex was one casualty. Her husband, Paul,
wasn't around much and wasn't up for nookie when he was. Another
price had been her dancing career. Paul was adamant it was
inappropriate for his wife to be a dancer. At the time her
husband had popped the question, giving up dance for security
seemed like a good deal. She was unemployed, bouncing checks and
her landlord was ready to evict her. Sure she loved the thrill of
performing before an audience and showing off what her bod could
do, but good gigs where always hard to come by. She found it hard
to compete against the flat-chested stick figures with her deep
breasts and curvy figure. The life was tough and she didn't want
to go the way of Natalie Portman in Black Swan.

Not that she didn't want to dance anymore. She practiced solo but
it wasn't the same. That urge to dazzle a crowd was still with
her and annoyed her terribly from time to time, to the point that
she might explode if she didn't get on a stage. Sometimes, when
she was really alone, she felt other urges and desires, feelings
deep and primal that she kept locked away, a fantasy of dancing
naked before an audience hungry for her and desperate to have
her. She dispelled these feelings for fear they could doom her
life of comfort.

As much as her “kept woman” existence grated on her sometimes,
Claire had to endure it as best she could, especially since Paul
had made her sign an ironclad pre-nup that would leave her out on
the street without a dime if she was caught fooling around. She
was far too prudent to let hat happen.

Claire took great pleasure in being able to now wield that moral
superiority over Rachel. Though they were essentially in the same
situation as bored housewives, Rachel's Ivy League intellectual
pedigree and smarts gave Claire a major league sense of
inferiority. Rachel seemed to know everything about everything.
What made that worse was that Rachel had married for love where
Claire had married for security. Those smarts and romance didn't
carry much weight any more and Claire took a lot of glee from
that. Rachel slipped up morally and in a really stupid way. Now
who was the better person?

The time that Claire had set to show up at Dr. Don's had come.
She restrained the urge to run over. When she got to Dr. Don's
door she gave it a hard pounding, hoping to rile up the occupants
from their illicit conjugal bliss.

Claire had been surprised the first time she had knocked on Dr.
Don's door when it turned out that he knew her and Rachel even
though they had never met. She was surprised this time too when
the door opened to reveal Rachel, completely naked except for a
slinky pink thong, with a tiny pink bow in the middle, and
matching pink high heels. Claire was also stunned to find Rachel
wearing makeup—lots of it. The most Rachel usually wore was maybe
some gloss. Now, her lips were painted bright red, her eyelids
were coated with full-blown, gaudy purple eye shadow, her lashes
were thick black with black eyeliner, and her cheek bones were
defined by bright rouge.

Rachel's eyes were closed as if she were trying especially hard
to concentrate. When she opened them, she whispered, “Don't.”

Claire misinterpreted the word as a plea instead of the warning
Rachel had summoned the strength to make.

Claire was about to make a teasing comment, but Dr. Don's voice
interrupted her. “Please show our guest in.” He said. Instantly,
Rachel's demeanor turned to one of stiff formality, like a
servant in a period mansion in England.

“Come in, Miss Claire.” Rachel said meekly. “We've been expecting
you.”

Rachel spun around and sashayed into the house, her hips swinging
seductively. Claire gulped. Rachel was certainly beautiful but
Claire had never seen her do anything so sexy before. Presumably
she saved that stuff for her husband. Now she was moving as if
she wanted to turn Claire on and she had succeeded.

Claire followed Rachel into the Doctor's living room. The Doctor
himself was sitting comfortably in a plush leather chair, reading
one of his scientific magazines and drinking a scotch. Without
acknowledging Claire, he raised his drained glass and gave it a
little shake, clinking the ice cubes it contained. Without
hesitation, Rachel obtained a scotch bottle and refilled the
glass. For a moment, she turned her head slightly to look at
Claire and gave her a brief, pensive look of shame. Then she
returned the bottle to a shelf and fell to her knees besides Dr.
Don, her head bowed as if a supplicant before her god.

Claire laughed out loud. “Could you two just be a little less
discrete with your master slave act you got going on here?” She
snorted sarcastically.

Rachel blushed but neither she nor the Doctor said anything.

Claire became annoyed about being ignored. “Doc, you can move
wherever you want, but Rachel has her reputation to worry about.
If anyone finds out what you two are doing her, Rachel's good
name will be in the toilet.”

Finally, Dr. Don gave a light wave to Rachel and said, “Tell her,
girl.”

“I'm not Rachel anymore.” Rachel said blushing, with an air of
sad resignation. “I am Sir's girl.”

Claire became unnerved. “Come on, Rachel! Snap out of it.” She
said insistently. “You'll need a miracle worker for a divorce
attorney if your husband finds out about this!”

“I live to serve, my Sir, Dr. Don.” Rachel said flatly, her voice
tinged with shame.

Claire couldn't believe what she was hearing. “For god's sake
Rachel! Think of your future. This weird ass s-and-m thing is not
worth it.”

For a moment, just a moment, Rachel's brow trembled and she
closed her eyes as if she were exerting herself to move. She
failed to lift a finger and sobbed, “I am Sir's girl.”

Claire pointed an accusing finger at Dr. Don. “You've brainwashed
her, you bastard!”

The Doctor finally looked at Claire and shook his head.
“Brainwashing would presume that I compelled my girl to do
something she wouldn't want to do. I am merely helping her
realize one of her fantasies. In return she is providing me with
some valuable data. In fact, I've learned from her that my
induction programs have to move slower if they are to properly
alter a subject's thought patterns. My girl, here still feels a
need to resist her programming even though she cannot fight it.”

“You're crazy!” Claire gasped.

The Doctor shrugged. “I am sure I seem that way to you now, but
once you join my experiment, you will discover how lucid I am.”

Claire didn't like the sound of that. “Back off, asshole!” She
cried, not realizing a small black creature had crawled up her
sleeve and was on her shoulder. Only when it had scurried to the
base of her neck did she realize it was there until it quickly
burrowed into her skin and attached to her spine.

Suddenly, Claire fell into a void of empty whiteness, deprived of
thought and emotion. Out of this emptiness came a voice, a
chanting voice, reciting a seemingly random series of zeroes and
ones, “Zero, one, one, zero, one,zero, zero, one, one, one.” As
the voice droned on in a monotone, Claire began to reemerge into
conscious awareness. Slowly, Claire realized she knew the source
of the voice. It was her own. She was saying these numbers even
though she could not feel her lips moving or even the rest of her
body. Finally, her voice deviated from the numbers to which it
was devoted and said something else. “Test Subject 2. Claire
Willis. Twenty-eight-year-old Caucasian female. Fantasy:
exhibitionism...

Claire swooned as Dr. Don's living room came back into focus. Dr.
Don was giving her a clinical look as if performing a routine
health exam. Rachel was staring at her sadly.

Something was wrong. Claire felt it. Even if she had no idea what
it was. Anger rose within her. “What did you do to me, you
bastard!” She demanded of Dr. Don.

“Merely inducted you into my test protocol as I have already done
with my girl.” The Doctor replied matter-of-factly.

“You're not going to pull your invasion of the body snatchers
routine on me!” Claire yelled and she scrambled out the front
door. Down the sidewalk she saw a neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, walking
his dog. She ran after him.

“Hey, Bert!” She called.

Mr. Jenkins stopped, turned and faced the out of breath, sweaty
Claire. Perhaps it was the surprise of female attention,
unconscious lust, or a primal mating instinct but, whatever the
reason, Mr. Jenkins eyes inadvertently fell on Claire's heaving
chest.

Claire liked Mr. Jenkins enough and never thought him anything
close to attractive. Yet, somehow, his glance her breasts
received turned her on. Her body began to glow with warmth and
her stomach tightened from the reception she had received from
his eyes. For a moment, Claire forgot her anxiety and
coquettishly reached for her blouse as if she was going to give
him a more unobstructed view of her bosom.

A sharp twinge of embarrassment and shame retrieved her from
going any farther.

“Oh my god, what am I doing?” She blurted and tore off, leaving a
confused Mr. Jenkins scratching his head.

Claire slammed the door behind her when she reached home and
rubbed her forehead. “What the hell did that freak do to me?” Her
protest trailed off as her body began to throb with a strange
sensation. Her flesh seemed to vibrate with energy as if the
warmth from Mr. Jenkin's stare had infected the rest of her form.
There was a countervailing sensation now too. Her clothes—the
began to feel constricting, like a boa strangling its prey. This
feeling became so unpleasant that the urge to strip then and
there became overwhelming. She tore off her all clothes, popping
buttons in her haste, and threw her garments across the room as
if they intended to do her harm. Free from her bondage, Claire
laughed and drank in the exhilarating freedom of her nudity, but
only for a moment. This strange behavior worried her deeply. What
had the Doctor done to her to make her act so crazy? She
remembered that pinch at the back of her neck. Maybe that had
something to do with the cause. She ran up to the full-length
mirror in her bedroom to find if it had left a mark.

Upon inspection, Claire did find a red mark on the back of her
neck, but no other clues to show how she might have been tampered
with. She grimaced as wondered what to do next. Her eyes fell to
her reflection.

“Hey, I am so hot.” She discovered as she drank in the vision of
her nude self. She still had her dancer's body with her strong
and firm arms and legs, her long swan-like neck and non-existent
tummy. Her big boobs and curvy waist that had been a liability in
her profession were still dazzling.

“I am sssso hot.” Claire told her reflection in a sexily smooth
voice as she drank in her image. She ran her hands over down her
chest, circling her swelling boobs and thickening nipples. The
feeling of her own fingers was as intimate and delicious as a
lover's caress.

As her body swayed from the bliss of her own touch, she became
intoxicated with its movements in the mirror. She playfully swung
her hips to a Nickelback song she played in her mind. At first
the undulating motion of shoulders, to waist, to hips was subtle
but became more exaggerated with each wave of movement.

“God, what a hot bod!” She repeated as she watched her private
dance...giggling at her rhyme. “It's too hot to keep secret. I
should be showing it off.” A vision came to her, one like she had
toyed with many times over the years. She was on a dance platform
in front of crowd of lust inspired men, reaching out to her with
desire, but unable to touch her glorious body. How she drove them
wild in this dream, how she drove them from reason to lust's full
embrace. Even though she had enjoyed this fantasy many times
before, the rush from its current incarnation conjured the more
intense bliss than she had ever know before. One hand fell to her
sex and found it wet, hot, hungry and inviting.

The doorbell rang, rousing Claire from her lurid dream.

“Oh my God!” She gasped as she looked at herself, naked, hot and
flushed from her self arousal. “What am I becoming?”

The doorbell rang again. Claire ran to her closet for something
to put on. She reached out for a prim blouse and skirt but
hesitated. She couldn't bring herself to put it on, it was too
restricting and too concealing of her sexy and luxuriant body.
The thought of wearing it made her flesh crawl. Claire tried to
force herself to pick something but she couldn't. The idea of
wearing the clothes in her closet now seemed utterly repellant.
It was like after eating the same food she liked had suddenly
become unpalatable.

The doorbell made an irritably long and loud ring.

“Come on!” Claire yelled at herself, “I have to wear something. I
can't answer the door naked.”

The thought slipped her back into the realm of her randy
fantasies. In her boredom, she actually had dreamed of answering
the door naked with whoever was there becoming entranced by her
sexy body, their jaw slack, their mouth watering, their hands
reaching out to touch her. It was a fantasy that would become
reality; she only had to let go...

“No, no, no!” Claire screamed at herself as she banished the
vision from her mind. “I am not that kind of woman!”

Claire finally forced herself to war something: a sundress that
danced about her skin in the right places to accent her body's
shape. She never wore the thing because it became see-through
when it was hit by direct light. It seemed the perfect compromise
between her sensibility and her new-found desire to reveal
herself.

Claire ran down to answer the door. It was Rachel. She was back
to wearing a shirt and jeans but she still had the heels and make
up she had been wearing when she answered the door at Dr. Don's.

“I wanted to warn you.” Rachel sobbed. “I tried really hard. When
he ordered me, I had to obey. He's robbed me of my will. Whatever
he wants, whatever he commands, I have to do it. I am the slave I
always fantasized of being. The things he has made me do...you
have no idea. But I loved doing them. I loved them because I love
serving him. As ashamed as I am about what I have become, I still
love it!”

“Rachel...” Claire wanted to say something consoling but her
friend interrupted her.

“Don't call me that! You know about my slave self now. I am no
longer Rachel. I can barely remember what it was like to be her.
I can hardly remember what it was to think for myself and make my
own decisions. Rachel is just a mask I wear now. I am whatever
Sir wishes me to be. I am an instrument of his will. It still
sounds so strange to say it but it is true.”

“Rachel...girl...whoever you are, we have to get help.”

“I want help but I can't! The urge to obey Sir is too powerful. I
can't resist!”

“Then I'll get help!” Claire groaned as she tried to leave.

Rachel blocked her way.

“You can't. Sir ordered me to take you somewhere where you will
realize your own fantasies.”

“Rachel, please! Just let me go.”

“No, I won 't let you1 The last time I failed Sir he turned me
out for two whole days. He didn't talk to me. He didn't command
me. It was agony. I felt as if a part of me had been ripped away.
I can't go through that again!”

“I won't go!” Claire growled.

Rachel stepped forward, grabbing Claire's hips and pulled her
close. “Don't be crazy! Your programming is phasing in.
Everything you are feeling now is going to get worse. You won't
be able to resist it. If it is not directed, by tonight you'll be
running through the streets naked. You have to come with me to a
place where your urges can be contained.

“No!” Claire protested, trying to pull herself away, finding that
the idea of her streaking through the neighborhood was not at all
that unappealing. She struggled fruitlessly as if she did not
want to break away from Rachel's grasp.

“This ass, these tits, these curves.” Rachel whispered hotly as
her hands roved over Claire's body. “These were meant to be seen
and stared at. They want the eyes of a crowd. They can't be
hidden away unseen, untouched!”

Rachel's hands struck a chord where ever they touched Claire,
until nearly her entire body was singing with arousal. Claire's
mind drifted back to that Nickelback song she had hummed in the
bedroom, slipping her back into that dream of herself before a
huge crowd, with men yearning to covet her, women insanely
jealous of her and both desperately wanting her. Her body was
ready to offer herself to this vision and her mind was to weak to
resist the temptation.

“Take me with you.” Claire whispered desperately as she dwelt on
this dream.

Rachel led the dazed unresisting Claire to he car. They both got
in and Rachel drove them toward the location Dr. Don had chosen
for Claire.

Through the fog of her desire, Claire had an reawakening of the
sharpness of her reason. Small though it was, it was enough for
her to realize that the passenger car door was unlocked. The next
time the car stopped, she could escape and run to get help! When
they came to a stoplight, Claire reached for the door latch.
Before she could pull it, she looked up to find the driver of the
truck next to her, stealing a peak down her dress. Claire had
been ogled this way before, by men a lot better looking than this
jerk, but the affect of his lurid stare made her tummy do a flip
and her her tits start to ache with tingling. She found herself
wanting more of a reaction from her voyeur, not for his sake but
to inflame the feeling his stare gave her. She ran her hands over
her bra-less boobs and then tugged at her dress' collar line to
reveal them more and more. The man's jaw dropped and Claire drank
in his attention. She ceased to see him as a person but his gawk
distilled him to the essence of his lust. Claire drank it like an
intoxicating liquor. It was so delicious and she needed more. Her
dress was now pulled down so low that her nipples were starting
to show. The driver was now leaning so far out of the window, he
was in peril of falling.

The light turned green and Rachel and Claire were off again.
Claire shook her head, realizing she was becoming to far gone to
escape. She stared out the window as the burbs gave way to exurbs
and then to the country. Finally they pulled up to the front of a
gated drive.

“Dr. Don's girl.” Rachel said into an intercom. That gate swung
open and Rachel drove in.

“Is that what I am now?” Claire wondered. “One of Dr. Don's
girls?”

Rachel pulled up to a large manor house. Both women got out of
the car and found themselves greeted by a woman in a full-length
black velvet cape and two handsome men in tight clothes.

“The Doctor's new test subjects, I see.” The woman said. Then she
addressed Claire, “I am Miss Prymm,. I was the Doctor's graduate
assistant and first experiment. As I am sure you know by now, his
work has some interesting side effects. I will be your employer
and house mother.. Since you will now be working for me, you will
call me, Mother."

"There is no way in hell I am calling you that!" Claire shot back
angrily.

"Oh you will, my dear, you will do that and more."  Miss Prymm
said ominously.” She threw open her robe to reveal she was clad
in a garter belt, stockings, and heels but nothing else.

“I am Dr. Don's girl. My name used to be Rachel. I am test
subject one. ” Rachel introduced herself to Miss Prymm. “This
other girl is Claire. She is his test subject two. The Doctor
said that she will make an excellent addition to your
establishment.”

“Off with your clothes.” Miss Prymm told Claire.

“Here?” Claire asked with surprise, fighting the urge to undress.
“Outside? I won't do it!”

“Very well.” Miss Prymm replied. “Then go.”

“Really?” Claire said suspiciously sure that this was some trick.

“Really!” Miss Prymm said. “I have no need or desire for
unwilling girls.”

Claire laughed and tried to get back in the car. As she did, she
caught the men with Miss Prymm lewdly staring at her body as it
moved under her dress. She drowned again in an intense feeling of
warmth. Even with her back to them she could sense their eyes,
roving up and down her figure. As if their stares spoke to her in
musical form, she began to sway delightedly in smooth undulation,
moving like a snake. Everyone, even Rachel and Miss Prymm were
transfixed by Claire now and she found herself reveling in their
attention. Unconsciously, she pulled at her collar, tearing it so
that her dress could fall to the ground and her naked body could
emerge like a blooming white rose. Claire swirled around and ran
her hands over her breasts and let them glide over her tight
tummy, hungry for the attention of all around her. The men were
obviously excited into straining erections, Rachel was blushing
with her own arousal and Miss Prymm was salivating at the
performance.

Claire caught herself before she could do anything more lurid.
She realized now why Miss Prymm had been so ready to let her go.
If anyone ever wanted her and showed their desire, she would give
them a show like the one she had just performed. She was addicted
to being seen., She had been able to resist the feeling before
Mr. Jenkins, but her will was getting progressively weaker.
Rachel had been right. Soon she would be so hungry for stares and
looks, she would be streaking through the streets to get them.
She would be totally out-of-control. She didn't know what Miss
Prymm had in store for her but the alternative currently seemed a
whole lot worse. She was trapped. Claire Willis the housewife was
now helpless in the clutches of Dr. Don and this Miss Prymm.

Claire caught a sob in her throat and hung her head. “So what are
you going to do me?” She asked.

Miss Prymm moved closer and felt Claire's body like she was
inspecting a horse. “Nice body. Strong thighs. I bet you can
handle yourself on the pole real well. You're a bit older than
most of my girls, but that gives you a maternal quality that the
customers just love. I'll have you on the stage in no time.”

Claire found herself getting excited. She was going to perform.
This was going to be her dirty dream come true. She tried to
douse her thrill. It may be a dream but it was a dirty dream.
DIRTY! She couldn't like it, she couldn't enjoy it even if she
had to do it. That would mean she was dirty too.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Miss, if you have no need of me...”

“Your master said I could make use of you if I needed you and I
do need you.” Miss Prymm interrupted. “I am short a waitress and
you will do just fine.”

Rachel gulped as Miss Prymm descended upon her.

“Undress.” Miss Prymm commanded firmly. Rachel was soon almost
fully undressed down to her pink thong. Claire found herself
taking special pride in the fact that though Miss Prymm's men
were slightly distracted by Rachel's performance, their eyes
remained on her.

“Domination fantasy. One of my favorites. The first experiment
the Doctor performed upon me involved making me live one of my
domination fantasies. It must make you feel sooo goood” Miss
Prymm said in a near hiss.

“Yes, miss.” Rachel stammered meekly.

Miss Prymm considered Rachel briefly. “The best thing about the
domination fantasy programming is that it is so easy to get
whatever I want from you. Whatever I ask, you will give to me
without hesitation.” Miss Prymm said. Her voice then became dark
and more demanding. “You master has given you to me and so this
is what you will become. My waitresses are always cheerful. They
think of nothing else but pleasing my customers. Whatever my
customers want, they will do, within the confines of the house
rules. Their sole goal is to make my customers happy. Nothing
else matters. Is that understood?”

As Miss Prymm made her decree, Rachel leaned back her head and
her eyes started to roll back as she absorbed these commands, her
bright red painted mouth making an “o”. What remained of her old
personality was subsumed by her programmed need to obey and Miss.
Prymm's directives. Before she realized what was happening, she
had shed all thought except that necessary to carry out what Miss
Prymm had commanded.. It was as if she changed into a totally
different person within a minute. Her lips widened into a broad
grin. She sighed a happy sigh and her eyes twinkled not with
intelligence but with saccharine cheerfulness.

“We can't have customers calling you girl.” Miss Prymm mused.
“Rachel is to boring a name. So we will call you Raquel. Are you
ready to work, Raquel?”

“Oh yes, Miss!” Raquel with childlike simplicity. “I want to make
customers happy. Can I make them happy?”

“But of course, Raquel, that is your sole purpose.” Miss Prym
laughed. “Gentlemen, see that Raquel is properly employed.”

The two men took Raquel into the house, one cupping her ass with
her hand while she giggled in delight.

“So is that what you're going to do to me?” Claire asked Miss
Prymm. “Turn me into some brainless bimbo?”

Miss Prymm laughed as she took Claire's hand and directed her
into the house. “Strip away the Rachel's imposed civilization and
education and you'll find a slave at heart. Someone who needs to
be dominated. You are a natural slave too, but a slave to your
body. I will unlock your inner slave. You will find the
experience must illuminating. I know I did.”

Entering the manor, Claire found that the interior had been
gutted to make a huge strip club. Tiered stages served as venues
to naked and nearly naked women performing erotic, gymnastic
dances. Their rhythm matched that of the loud music blaring
through the room with heart stopping bass. Customers sat either
in rapt attention at dinner tables or huddled up against the
stages screaming their adoration at the dancers and waving money
to get their attention. On small stages in side rooms dancers
performed acrobatic sexual acts for smaller groups.

If Claire had come to this place before Dr. Don had reprogrammed
her, she would have walked out in disgust. Now she was drawn to
this place like a moth to flame. This was a place she wanted to
stay This was a place she wanted to perform in like the girls on
the stages.

“No!” Claire told herself in rebellion against these thoughts.
“They've done something to me to make me act crazy. I won't
become their plaything. I won't!. No matter what they make me
do!”

Miss Prymm led Claire through the hall, passing Rachel, now
Raquel, who had completely slipped into the role of one of Miss
Prymm's waitresses. She was going from table to table, asking
“Want a drink?” She giggled in immature excitement as customers
swatted her ass or copped a feel. Raquel wanted to make the
customers happy and, if this is what made them happy, this made
her as happy as could be. To Claire, this Rachel, stripped of all
inhibition and will power, with her personality recast and
simplified to play this part, was a bizarre mockery of the
housewife she knew. Raquel passed by Claire without acknowledging
her, the now-limited resources of her mind focused solely on the
customers' needs. Since Claire wasn't a customer, she didn't
register to Raquel at all.

Miss Prymm took Claire backstage to a dressing room and eased the
dazed woman into a salon chair. A group of girls similarly
undressed as Rachel descended upon her. One gave Claire's feet a
pedicure. One gave her hands a manicure. Another washed and
coiffed her hair. Another painted and applied makeup. One spread
a cream over her bush and shaved her pussy clean. Claire was
washed, waxed, massaged and exfoliated all at once. She felt she
was being cleansed from head to toe.

Miss Prymm spoke to Claire as she endured the treatments.

“The wonderful thing about reading your remote brain scans from
Dr. Don is that I know more about you than you do about yourself.
For instance, I know you have loved your body. You have always
loved your body. You love the way men and women look at you. It
makes you feel comfortable, hot, relaxed, proud.”

Claire grinned and her hand stroked her tummy. She did love her
body, she loved everything about it. The way her firm breasts
bobbed on her luscious chest, the slopes of her shoulders and
waist. She loved to see it reflected in the lustful eyes of men
and envious eyes of women.

“You have been ashamed of this self love.” Miss Prymm said with
an accusing harshness. “You have been conditioned to hate it as
self love. You have been educated to believe that it is wrong.”

The change in Miss Prymm's tone took Claire by surprise. She had
been enjoying the touch and feel of the body at that moment so
the charge was not one she could deny. Claire choked back a sob.
Miss Prymm was right. She had been told it was wrong to love her
body. Her parents, her teachers, her religion. They all said it
was wrong so she repressed her self love in obedience to their
dictates not hers. And here she was doing what they said not to
do, loving herself and her own touch.

“Even despite this condemnation. You became a dancer to enjoy
your body. To show your body. You told yourself that you danced
for art. This was a lie. You danced to be seen, to turn people
on.”

“No! Claire cried. “That's not true!” But it was a hollow
protest. Miss Prymm was right again. Claire had told herself and
others that she loved dance as an art. She claimed to love
Balanchine and Taylor but this was just fancy window dressing for
what she really wanted. Miss Prymm was flaying away the layers of
denial she had put down to contain that desire that drove and
fueled her. She and her girls were chipping away at Claire's
personality, corrupting each aspect of it with her increasingly
liberated self love.

“You've been tempted to strip. You envied the girls you knew who
did it. It seemed like such easy money. But you wanted to do it
for more than just make money at it. You wanted to let loose on
stage and have people hunger and want your naked body. You wanted
to drown in their gazes. You couldn't do it because of all those
lies you told yourself. It wasn't proper. It wasn't right. You
didn't do it. You wanted to. Badly. You regret not doing it when
you had the chance.”

Claire squirmed in the chair as tears ran down her cheeks, which
the make-up girls patted away. It was as if Miss Prymm possessed
all of her secrets but, more so, she could not find the ability
to contest them with the deceptions and lies that had hidden them
even from herself. It was as if she were compelled to tell the
truth and confront it. She felt more bare than she had ever been
in her life. Yes, Claire had wanted to strip back then. She so
wanted to. Not just for fun and money, but for the sheer ecstasy
of showing off her wonderful body. She had such a great body and
it would have felt so good to do it. How could she have passed
that up? “Yes.” She admitted aloud. “Yes, I wanted to.” Admitting
her secret gave her a sense of release but also tinge of shame.
It wasn't something a proper woman would admit to. The
condemnation of her word and her past rose against her but now
they were just phantoms against the truth that had been released.

Miss Prymm laughed. “Now you will strip. That urge to show
yourself has always been with you, gnawing at you. It wants to
escape and consume you and a part of you wants it to. Tonight it
will!”

“Yes.” Claire moaned. “No!” She yelled quickly afterward. Yes,
she wanted to strip, she was desperate to do it now and realize
that desire she had wanted to realize. Only surrendering to that
temptation would jeopardize her comfortable life. If her husband
ever found out she had done such a thing, he would turn her out.
Shamed, she would have nowhere to go. Her parents wouldn't
understand. Her friends wouldn't. “Please don't!” Claire pleaded.
“Please don't make me do it!”

“It's who you are Claire.” Miss Prymm told her. “It is time to
stop lying to yourself and become what you are meant to be.”
.
The girls who had been treating Claire pulled away and the back
of the salon chair was raised so that Claire could see their
completed work. Her hair was pinned up while the rest of her body
was completely hairless and bronzed with fake tan. Her eyes, with
lids painted in a shimmery blue, batted heavily mascaraed false
lashes almost double their normal length. Her eyebrows were now
sculpted to be short and extra thin, prominently arched and
tapered at the ends. A sweep of pink toned contouring blush
drowned her cheeks. Her lips were glossed with bright red
glittery lipstick. Sparkles and glitter were powdered lightly
over her breasts, reflecting light like a galaxy of stars. Her
fingernails and toenails burned with a red that matched her lips.
Not only did was she painted with make up but she also decorated
with jewelry. Her nose was pierced with a diamond and belly
button was pierced with a silver ring. Sparkling bangle bracelets
danced on her wrists and ankles.

The makeup girls pulled the passive Claire up and “dressed” her,
slipping her into a red g-string and seven inch stiletto heels.
They draped a flowery dress over her body that was so flimsy she
barely had to breathe to slip out of it. “I want to take, dressed
advantage of that maternal look.” Miss Prymm informed her as she
placed some horn-rimmed glasses on her nose. “To make you look
like the horny, out of control housewife the Doctor has
programmed you into.”

Finally Claire got a good look at herself. Made up, dressed and
decorated as she now was, she was a sinfully, seductive
temptress. She was more than a common whore or slut in this form,
she was a succubus, painted and decorated to be viewed and to
inspire lust and desire. Her very presence was a lure for souls,
to offer everything they held dear, money, family, job, loved
ones, salvation, everything, just to be with her even if it meant
their everlasting damnation. She was breathtaking. She even took
her own breath away.

The old Claire was repulsed by what she had become, shocked at
her new lush tawdriness that seemed a mockery of the woman she
had been back in suburbia. It was like that this vision she now
saw was a parody of that life, using it as an element to enhance
her allure by appealing to dark dreams and fetishes. What made
this part of herself cringe even more was that the realization
that it was slipping away. This new her was asserting control,
flexing its power, drinking in its beauty. That part of her that
had always wanted to be on display was now at the forefront, its
passions dulling her self control and her judgment. It was as if
the body had a powerful voice in her mental counsels and wanted
to show off this form and enjoy what it could do and inspire.

"I won't do what you want.  You can't make me!”  Claire protested
but doubting whether she had the will to resist.

"Oh, you will do everything I ask."  Miss Prymm said smoothly
stroking Claire's trembling cheek.  "This defiance is merely the
last fragment of your free will.  Soon Dr. Don's programming will
dissolve even this into the desires you have repressed.  Soon you
will become your desire completely and perfectly malleable to my
commands.  You will beg to do everything I want of you.  You will
do it because I will give you what you have always secretly
wanted. I know because Dr. Don did the same thing to me."

“I won't!” Claire whined.

“Time to go on stage.” Miss Prymm told her.

“Don't make me.” Claire pleaded.

Miss Prymm laughed. “I hear the old Claire speaking. That Claire
is disappearing.”

“No!” Claire begged. “Please.” Indeed Claire as she was slipping
away before the new her that was emerging, sweeping her former
consciousness away into irrelevance.

“In her place.” Miss Prymm continued. “Will be Morgana, stripper
queen!”

“Morgana!” Claire said, savoring the new name for herself. She
tried to resist, shaking her head as if she could just wake up
and everything that was happening to her would disappear in the
mists of a dream. But the woman she had seen in the mirror, that
body, embraced the name and was ready to shrug off Claire and her
suburban prudeness in a heartbeat.

While Claire was struggled desperately to maintain her finger
hold on some small bit self control, she hardly realized that
Miss Prymm was moving her to the dressing room exit and directing
her toward the stage. Only when the D.J announced her arrival did
she really realize what was happening.

“Now, Miss Prymm's newest acquisition, Mooooooorgana!” The D.J.
Shouted to the audience that cheered with anticipation.

As Nine Inch Nail's “Closer” began to shout from the speakers,
Claire found the eyes of the entire club upon her, pulling her
out onto the stage as if she were on a leash. At first her steps
were hesitant as she tried desperately to assert the will to
restrain herself but she felt herself being drawn on to the stage
as if she were being pulled by invisible strings. The music beat
was crushing her resistance and she found herself doing a vamp
strut onto the stage. She didn't know what to do but she could
feel what the crowd wanted, she could see it in their eyes, their
desire was a palpable presence and it took control of her and
manipulated her body like a marionette. Her shoulders started to
roll, her hips began to sway seductively, as her hands ran up and
down her body boobs, her waist, her thighs, her tight ass .

“I can't believe this is happening to me.” She whispered
desperately to herself as she found herself on display. “I can't
stop it...I can't stop it. I have to dance!”

Making eye contact with a man below the stage, she strode up to
him, thrust her breasts forward, her butt out and gyrated her way
into a crouch, swinging her skirt as to give him brief glimpses
of that hotness between her legs. She was as surprised by her own
actions as the recipient of her attention was to obtain them. For
a moment, Claire had a sudden realization about the wellspring of
her moves. Back when she had thought about being stripper, she
had fantasized about what it would be like, what she would do and
how the audience would respond. It was a dream she had
masturbated to often back then and then locked away after
marriage. Now it was as if the music reached into her and pulled
out that long forgotten repressed memory and stoked it into an
overwhelming compulsion. She was making it come true! She tried
to restrain herself but she could not restrict the impulse to
dance--to dance and drive the crowd wild

Claire's dance became more exaggerated causing the man's eyes
began to bug out of his head and his jaw dropped,. She found
satisfaction in taunting this man with something he could never
have. She wagged her hips up to a standing position, jiggling her
tits in front of him, the sight of which caused the viewer to
visibly drool like an idiot. After making this conquest she went
on down the stage, finding other victims to drive mad with her
moves and beauty. Claire's personality was fading with each
strutting step, which each hip bump, with each chest jiggle. She
was losing herself before the audience, becoming their fantasy as
well as her own, drinking in their cheers and applause, but most
importantly their fixed stares that were locked on her body. She
began to see herself through them and savor what they saw, the
fullness of her breasts, the power of her thighs, the
seductiveness of her curves.

By the time Trent Reznor's acid like voice was singing the song's
refrain, she sauntered to the stage pole and was grinding against
it as if she were taking a lover. When the song increased in
intensity, she did too, assaulting the pole, arching a leg around
the poll and spinning fiercely around it in lightning fast
circles. She arched back, her hair came loose and spilled out in
a shower of silken tendrils and she tossed her glasses away. She
was a gyroscope of sexy curves. In an instant, she was off the
pole and out of her flimsy dress and rubbing her body and posing
and flexing to the roars of the crowd, naked except for her heels
and thongs. At the same time, she was flinging away her
restraint, her self control as the needs of her body to be seen
and the return of her long lost fantasy to strip
merged together into a controlling power within her.

Claire moved down the stage again, occasionally swinging her hips
and rolling her ass into a crouch before a forest of hands waving
bills, letting only the ones with the largest denominations slide
the folded paper up her thigh and into g-string. If the money was
really big, she pulled the owner close so their face was pressed
against her tits. When the music was reaching a crescendo, she
spun away to the end of the stage, crawling cat like until the
song's words burned into her. “I want to fuck you like an
animal!” She bucked forward and backward as if she was being
taken like a beast, her back was arched, her hair flailing, her
tits bobbing fiercely. She even growled. In a way, she was a
beast now. She was something deeply primal, something ruled by a
ravenous appetite, but it wasn't sustenance she craved but the
need to show her body and to be seen and desired . The compulsion
laced her consciousness and dulled her reason.

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar.  Claire drank in the
moment she had thirsted for all her life-bringing an audience to
its feet, screaming with adoration.  When she left the stage to
make way for the next dancer, it struck her that this moment had
come about by becoming what Miss Prymm wanted, by using her body
in the most sinful and seductive ways, by adopting poses and
positions only hours ago she would have disdained as the stuff of
bimbos, strippers, and whores only hours ago.  Something she had
wanted all her life had not come from those years of studying and
performing jazz and modern dance, it had come from becoming Miss
Prymm's.  Claire found herself actually grateful to Miss Prymm
and Dr. Don for making this moment possible.  She hungered
for more moments just like it.
 
"Enjoy yourself, my dear?" Miss Prymm cooed as Claire re-entered
the dressing room.

"Oh, yes!" Claire blurted.  "So much.  Can I go on again? 
Please?"

"That depends."  Miss Prymm said curtly.  "The slots on the stage
rotation are full. I can't send a girl out who won't do what she
is told.”
 
Claire gasped.  She was finding experience was addictive as it
was exhilarating and the idea that she might be left out filled
her with an overwhelming sadness.  Her resistance reduced to a
nagging doubt, a whisper, subsumed under the weight of her new
personality's power.
 
"Tell me what to do, and I'll do it!" Claire said desperately. 
Miss Prymm looked at her slowly and Claire lowered her head. 
"I'll do whatever you ask."  Claire felt the bitter shame in her
growing sense of defeat even as the promised rewards of dancing
seemed so great.
 
"See that you do." Miss Prymm laughed.  “We'll see if there is an
open slot in an hour.”.
  
"Yes."  Claire said meekly.  She gave Miss Prymm complete power
over her.  Because Miss Prymm controlled access to the dance
floor and the stage she wanted to take, her urge to dance
overwhelmed any opposition to her commands.  When Miss Prymm
raised an eyebrow to her response as if she expected something
more, Claire quickly responded, "Yes, Mother!"  She opened her
heart to Miss Prymm and her mind, allowing her to Miss Prymm to
write her commands on both.

Miss Prymm could took delight in seeing Claire compose herself as
a servile stripper.  "While you are waiting, sweet Morgana, use
your special skills to make my customers comfortable.  Do well
and I'll get you into the rotation."

Claire squealed with excitement.  She would do just as Miss Prymm
asked.  After she returned to the hall, she realized from the
activities of the other dancers that making Miss Prymm's
customers comfortable meant soliciting them to buy lap dances. 
Claire threw herself into her performances.  She was in much
demand from her d so she could pick and choose who she wanted to
dance for.  When she spotted a candidate, usually good looking
with expensive clothes and a watch, she would appear before them,
bouncing her tits beneath the flimsy dress she had danced in,
twirling her hair.  "Wanna dance?' She would ask.  The man or
woman was always too flabbergasted to refuse.  She pushed them
in a chair and acrobatically created a fantasy of allure on and
around them.  She pulled her thong strap to let them slip in
their cash and then was on her way to find another customer.  At
first, that last part of Claire that still clung to being
Claire cringed at using her body and her dance in this shameless
way, but with each dance she thought less and less about about
it, until she wasn't thinking about much at all other dancing and
collecting money.

A pleased Miss Prymm caught Claire after one of her lap dances,
"Morgana, dear."  She told Claire.  "We have a request for a
private d from a very important customer.  The thing is, he wants
you to play."

Claire looked confused.  "Play, Mother?"

"Yes dear.  Miss Prymm told her.  "He wants your lap dance to be
a bit more physical."

Claire froze as she guessed Miss Prymm's meaning.  The old part
of her rose in power, pushing aside her stripper persona.  This
was a matter of survival.  If she did this thing, there would be
no turning back.  She would do it again and again.  She would
have broken her pre-nup with her husband, he would find out, he
had people to find out those things, and she would be cast out,
with no source of income but this, being one of Miss Prymm's
strippers.

Miss Prymm sensed her hesitation.  "Of course, you don't have to,
my dear.  However, my customers expect the top dancers to put out
for the right price.  I can't have them being disappointed so I
can't put anyone in the rotation who isn't willing to play."

The threat of not being able to take the stage let Claire's s
persona roll back, just like water that has been displaced by a
stone comes rushing back.  Claire was too weak to resist the
demanding urge of her body to dance and be seen.  There was
nothing she wouldn't do, even if it meant giving up her
comfortable existence as a housewife, she was unable to stop
herself from surrendering that too.

Miss Prymm led her to a room where a well dressed man sat in a
chair, his hands handcuffed behind him and his mouth gagged with
a red ball held there by black leather straps.

"Just a precaution."  Miss Prymm explained.  "We have strict
restrictions on touching.  My girls are far to alluring to trust
any man to keep his hands or his mouth to himself.  You know what
to do?"

Claire nodded.  Miss Prymm closed the door and a Nickelback song
came on, the exact one she had been humming when she had danced
for herself back at her home.  Home, she was so far from it now,
mentally more than physically.
Claire slowly descended upon him, her body swaying in time to the
music. She could see in his face how he wanted desperately to run
his hands over her body. To taunt him, she felt herself as he
wanted to feel her. Her fingers made a long and seductive journey
over her body, running through her silken hair, down her neck,
over the full summits of her breasts, across her tight tummy and
over her hips and to grasp her round ass. Then they made a return
journey revisiting the sensuality of her body's geography,
slowly, gently and lovingly. Her moves took the sensual tension
he was feeling and transformed it from an amusement into
agonizing want. He groaned and strained fruitlessly at his
restraints.

Delighting in his reaction, Claire strutted around him, playing
with his hair and laughing triumphantly as if her were a
downtrodden warrior captured in battle. When she was in front of
him again and so close she barely touched him, she spun around
and rolled her hips in a circle, grinding down and brushing
against his knees as she descended into a crouch, lifting and
sweeping her dress as she went so he could get a playful close-up
view of the hypnotic motion of her ass. She over her shoulder at
him teasingly. His wrists were jerking against the restraints and
he lolled his head as if in a fit but the mound at his crotch
showed where his thoughts lay. She ascended and then swept ass
back and forth over it, letting it tremble like an earthquake.

In an instant, Claire spun around and threw off her dress. She
crawled up on to his lap and pulled his face into her tits,
squeezing their sweet velvety flesh against his face, making him
drown in her sweaty musk. She rocked in time to the music,
pulling him into her flesh, suffocating him to one beat, and
letting him go in another so that he could drink air again. She
giggled. This was power. Here was this man, no doubt richer than
anyone she had ever known, and here he was as helpless as a baby.
She could even use him to pleasure her. That was it. She wanted
to play so she play with him.

Claire slid down to a crouch before him and expertly undid his
trousers and pulled at them and the man's underwear so they were
at his knees. His cock was erect like a pole. She licked her red
lips as if she were going to devour it. The man's eye's went wide
as if that was what he expected but while she did swallow his
prick she did not bite it, her head bobbing over it sheathing and
then releasing it. The man gurgled and his prick jerked as if
were ready to cum. Clair gave a tsk tsk motion with her fingers
and mounted his lap once again. Claire knew that once she did
what she planned to do there would be no turning back. Her
husband would disown her, somehow he would find out, he would
know she had screwed someone else. Up to this point there was
still some hope that he would understand that everything she had
done now was against her will. This was the fantasy her, the
creature that Dr. Don and created and Miss Prymm had created. As
fantastic as it sounded, there was still a chance he would
forgive. But her dance was merged with lust now and she was
beyond the recall of rationality.

Claire lifted her legs, swept them around and onto him, resting
her ankles on his shoulders, leaning back leaned on her hands
which clasped his knees. She lifted herself up and then fell on
his hardened shaft, easing herself on it with a piston-like
pumping motion, letting him slowly into her. She would use this
man no matter what the consequences now. She was not to be kept
on a shelf or closeted away any longer, she was a vital, virile
woman, an exotic dancer who was the embodiment of lust. Her body
was on fire with heat and the room's dull light glistened off her
tightening body. The man's head was thrown back in stifled
screams that barely passed his gag. He was Claire's now. She
owned him.

Once the man was deep within Claire, she lifted her waist and and
let it fall more forcefully the grinding beat. Each time she
impaled herself on him, her ass hit his pelvis with a loud smack.
The man was delirious now but Claire had that part of him that
she wanted and used to to hit exactly where she needed to be hit.
Still she got what she wanted. Her body began to vibrate as if
she were coming apart. Her panting became moans and her moans
became screams as her cunt grabbed his manhood and squeezed it.
She crested an orgasm that hit her like a thunderclap, blinding
her and nearly cleaving her mind with pleasure. For a moment she
was sucked into it and all of reality dissolved. When she
returned, she rocked on the man as she enjoyed some last
treasures. She hadn't realized he had cum too. The experience had
been too much for him as he was unconscious with his head down
but with hints of a smile on his gagged lips.

Miss Prymm was waiting for Claire when she left the room.

“How did it go, Morgana?” She asked.

Claire, now Morgana, laughed. “I think he survived.”

Claire danced the night away, on stage, on laps, before crowds
and individuals who could afford the price Miss Prymm charged for
the privilege. The club finally closed in the early morning hours
but Claire begged Miss Prymm to stay.

“Don't send me back!” She pleaded. “I belong here now.”

Miss Prymm laughed gently. “You do indeed, sweet Morgana, but Dr.
Don has not finished with you yet. When his work is complete and
if you are still willing, then you can be totally mine.”

Miss Prymm had restored Rachel's wits, the two housewives drove
home. For most of the ride they were silent, but when they
reached their suburban neighborhood, Claire finally spoke up.

“This place is so unreal to me now. It's so dull and so bleak. I
don't belong here. I belong at Miss Prymm's.” She murmured.

Rachel nodded. “I know what you mean. As much as I have tried to
fight Dr. Don's programming, I find that I can become anyone that
he wants me to be or anyone he gives me to wants to be, even
Raquel the slutty waitress. As crazy as it sounds, this is the
most free I have ever been in my life.”

The car stopped in Claire's driveway. Claire rested her palm on
Rachel's hand. The two looked at each other and felt a deeper
connection between each other than they had ever felt before.

“Rachel, I know its late...um...early but...” Claire stammered.

“You don't have to ask.” Rachel told her.

The stripper and the slave went inside and made the most
passionate love they had ever enjoyed in their whole lives.

    

AH2