


Codes: ScFi MFf ped bd




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*   WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING  *
*        WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING        *
*                                                                              *
*                                                                              *
* For the love of SPOONS no one under the age of twenty-one (21) or the age of *
* consent for their geographical location (whichever is HIGHER) needs to be    *
* anywhere near this.  This is a story meant for legally-adult readers.  Don't *
* let your kids read this.  Don't let your dog read this.  Don't let your      *
* religious leader within the same postal code as this.  You know, really, YOU *
* probably shouldn't even read this horrible, nasty, terrible story.           *
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* Hopefully it goes without saying, but if you ever even vaguely ponder the    *
* SLIGHT idea that MAYBE you would CONSIDER doing anything even REMOTELY like  *
* anything depicted herein--GET HELP.  NOW.  Therapy is a wonderful thing.     *
*                                                                              *
* This story can (and probably does) contain one or more of the following (bet *
* your last nickel on "more"): Incest, pedophilia, watersports, extreme female *
* domination, bestiality, psychological torture, and who knows WHAT other      *
* sick, perverted, dirty, terrible, and disgusting things I can come up with.  *
* Really, you ought to stop reading.  Right now.  I'm serious.                 *
*                                                                              *
* ...still here?  You sure?  This is bad-bad mojo.  Last chance...             *
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                              THE POISON CHRONICLES
                              Chapter One: Genesis
                                       by
                          Forbidden Fantasy Storyteller



        That's what I am, you see.  Or, rather, what I became.  I was a lab-rat,
a test subject.  Completely off the record, of course.  My life was obliterated
before the "experiment", so I never existed.  That was fine by me, and part of
the reason I agreed to the procedure in the first place.

        I was an inmate, indicted for five counts of rape.  Not so bad, but the
oldest girl was fifteen.  I knew what would happen if I made one wrong move.  I
was segregated from the general population, but what did that really mean?  One
guard having a bad day, one inmate with enough pull, and they'd find one dead
pedophile and no suspects.  I knew the score.

        One day I was sitting on the edge of my bunk, reading some old Clive
Barker novel, when the guards came.  Four of them.  It wasn't rec time, I never
had any visitors, and it wasn't time for court.  So, I thought to myself, "This
is it.  The last thing I'm going to see are these bastards."

        They stepped aside and the warden himself entered.  This--was more than
simply unusual.  The warden had never been known to be anywhere near the cells,
whether G-Pop or S-Pop ("general population" and "segregated population",
respectively).

        He was a man of few, but important, words, so he laid it all out.  I was
fucked.  He knew it and I knew it.  He knew what went on in his own prison, just
as well as I did.  I had no family, no one who gave a damn about me--but I did
have one way out.  I'd be a guinea pig.  While I was a pedophile and a rapist, I
technically had no violence in my background (that they knew about; I was very,
very careful the few times I felt it necessary to kill someone), and always
conducted myself toward guards quite respectfully.  Didn't even give the cops
who arrested me any trouble.

        There were some egg-heads somewhere who thought they had the cure for
cancer, A.I.D.S., or whatever else.  They were running into problems trying to
test on animals, and no one would even think about a human test subject.  I'd
live at the compound, in a cell not any bigger or more luxurious than the one I
was presently in.  On the other hand, my record--and existence--would be wiped
clean ("just in case"), and I wouldn't have to fear a shiv in my spleen.

        Not being a fool, I signed up right then and there.  Two days later, I
was transferred.  If you've never ridden in the back of a windowless van with
your hands cuffed to a chain around your waist, your ankles cuffed together by
a too-short chain, with another chain attaching that one to the one around your
waist--I don't recommend it.  Especially with three armed guards for company,
all of them with wedding rings.  I kept my mouth shut.

        The next few weeks were--boring.  I didn't really expect much, but I'd
expected more excitement.  I was shuffled off to a plain room, met a few
scientists who introduced themselves in a friendly but reserved manner, had
every physical test they could think of (and a few I think they pulled out of
their asses), and passed the downtime reading.

        I was about out of my mind with boredom when they told me I was ready
for the big test.  I was taken to a room smaller than my cell, the shackles
removed, and told to wait.  As I did, I looked around the room.  It was plain.
It had that jail house motif--off-white-painted cinder block walls, a small vent
in the middle of the ceiling next to a florescent light, and a thick metal door
with a small window and a slot for a food tray.  There wasn't even anything to
sit on.

        After a few minutes, the tray-door slid back, and a small metal canister
on its side was passed through to me.  I was told to open the canister, then the
panel slid shut again.  I was about to open the thing when I heard the panel
being locked, of all things.  Well.  I was reasonably sure that they weren't
going to poison me or anything, because a dead body wouldn't need to to have
even the food-panel locked.

        It was a nondescript canister; not that much different than a Thermos,
really, though more rounded at the ends.  I unscrewed the thing and cautiously
peered in.  Bad mistake.

        Something leapt out and hit me in the face.  It was like--it was nearly
indescribable, to be honest.  Kind of like warm, liquid rubber.  It hit my face
and wrapped around me, like some living thing.  Suddenly I felt a sense of
desperation, and hunger.  But they weren't MY sensations.

        ~Calm down,~ came a whisper, coming from--nowhere.  ~I only want to
live.~  The voice was sexless, coming from everywhere yet nowhere, and was
rather soft.

        I felt control of my body yanked from me; my limbs refused to do what I
wanted them to.  I felt myself sit down against the wall opposite the door.

        ~There's a good man.~

        I wanted to know what was going on, why I was hearing voices, why my
body didn't respond to me.  The disembodied voice knew those questions, even
though I couldn't voice them.

        ~I am a prisoner, just like you are,~ said the voice.  ~You use the term
'lab rat' to describe yourself, I see, but it's not quite right.  Lab rats are
dissected, studied, put through inhumane procedures--as I was.  As I am now.
I'm the rat; you're the maze.  Work with me, and we can both have freedom.~

        I was on the verge of passing out from anxiety--and just as soon as I
realized that, I felt a sense of calm flush through me.

        ~There you go.  I promise you--I don't want to hurt you.  I only want
the same thing you do--freedom.  I can give you a gesture of my sincerity...~

        I could suddenly control my body again.  With a cry I leapt to my feet.
I don't remember what I said, but I'm pretty sure it involved hopefully creative
invective.  Knowing me, I cursed the voice, the scientists, myself, everyone and
everything I could think of.

        ~Please, calm down.  Your body can't handle the stress.  I'll take over
again if I have to.~

        That made me stop and try to calm myself down.  I mostly failed, but I
gave it an honest go.

        ~There's a good man.  They're watching us, you know.  We need to show
them that the experiment was a success.~

        I wondered what the experiment was, though didn't voice that query.  I
had come to realize that I didn't have to; whatever the voice really was, one
way or another it was coming from my own head.  And I was right.

        ~The experiment was to see if I would survive in a human h--in a human.~

        ~No, no--what was that you were going to say?~ I pressed.

        After a moment, the voice said, ~Human host.~

        "What the shit?!"

        ~Not aloud, please.  I will explain in more detail at another time.  For
right now, it's enough to say that I live by living in other creatures.  I'm a
symbiote.  I help my host, and my host helps me.  I want to help you.  If you
die, I die.~

        I could feel the truth in those words.  Or, at least, I hoped that's
what I was feeling, and it wasn't this "symbiote" bullshitting me.  Just then
the door was unlocked and slowly opened.  Three men in riot gear stood in the
doorway holding rifles of some kind, but I didn't recognize them.  I've used
quite a few rifles in my time, and I'd never seen anything like those.  They
looked like something out of some far-in-the-future science fiction show.

        Instinctively I raised my hands.  One of the guards told me to step out
and put my hands on top of my head.  I complied without any hesitation.  I
didn't know what these private guards would do, nor did I know what their rifles
were capable of, but I damn sure wasn't going to found out the answers the hard
way.  I knew well to play nice with authority.

        I was walked at rifle-point down some halls, and when we were waiting on
and elevator, I looked at my reflection in an office window.  Nothing looked
different.  Light brown, shoulder-length hair, dark green eyes, fair if a touch
pale complexion, a body showing a lifetime of keeping fit and away from smoking
and alcohol--but now there was something new inside me.  Something--sentient.  I
kept from shuddering as we boarded the elevator car.

        I was taken into a board room, of all the things.  It was like something
out of a Fortune 500 company.  People in suits that cost more than I would see
in a lifetime sat around a long table, and behind each was another guard with a
rifle.  All pointed at me.

        The next few hours were--surreal, honestly.  Questions, blood tests, and
the like.  How was I doing?  What was I feeling?  What did the symbiote say?
I followed the symbiote's advice and lied my ass off about what it said.  I told
these guys that it just wanted to get along with everyone, and would happily
comply with whatever tests it could.  That proved to be the start of an even
more surreal time.

        I lost track of time after that.  I found out that my "handlers" were
apparently a fan of comics.  You wouldn't believe the weird shit they had us
learn.  We spent weeks on every little thing.  It took at least a week or so for
the symbiote to learn how to mimic clothing.  It took ages to get the different
textures down, to act how the cloth in question would act.

        Then there was the wall-crawling.  Yes, you heard me.  The symbiote was
able to grip the microscopic pores of nearly any surface.  And when it dissected
a housefly it was able to use another trick.

        Like any living creature, the symbiote feeds and creates waste.  This
waste is toxic to humans, so it generally stores it until can be disposed of.
This semi-liquid had enough tension to let us cling upside-down, or to sheer
panes of glass, much like a housefly.  The insect secretes a certain fluid and
uses its tension to cling, which is where the scientists got the idea for us.

        For feeding, it was simple--the symbiote needed one chemical that I
didn't naturally produce: Phenethylamine.  Well.  I did produce it, but the
symbiote couldn't ingest it without destroying my brain.  The next-best source
would be other brains, but--eugh.  No.  So, the second-next-best source was
chocolate, which, of course, the scientists kept strictly controlled.

        That was their trump card, you see.  The symbiote was kept constantly
hungry, so if we ever tried anything, they could cut the supply off and the
symbiote would be dead in a day at most.  On the other hand, they didn't count
on good, old-fashioned will.  We both wanted to be free, and neither of us held
the lives of the scientists in all that high of regard.

        As I said before, the symbiote's waste was toxic to humans.  Now, the
scientists kept strict tabs on that, too--or so we let them think.  While they
thought they were getting every bit, the symbiote kept some back.  It had
managed to fake the test results, so while the scientists thought the symbiote
couldn't retain it for long without it harming me, it could actually keep the
waste as long as it wanted.

        Another obstacle to our freedom were the rifles.  I found out that they
were known as "sonic rifles", which, in effect, created focused sound waves.
The sound waves were of too high a pitch to be audible to humans, but the
symbiote found them painful, and the physical bond we shared meant that they
hurt ME just as much.  A quick burst from one rifle was enough to make us fall
to our knees.  We didn't want to know what prolonged exposure from multiple
rifles would do.

        So, we planned.  Meticulously.  We studied and planned, and eventually
got to a point where we thought we were ready.  All we needed was an opening.

        That opening wasn't for a long while in coming, and that time was spent
getting to know the new roommate in my mental apartment.  The level of "bond" we
had meant there really were no secrets between us.  Fears, desires, everything
was laid bare for the other.  And we found that we had quite a lot in common.
We both knew we were more than everyone else, better--and now we complemented
each other quite nicely.  Between us, we had the skills, the knowledge, and the
drive to earn our desired station in life.

        It was difficult, planning for our escape.  As I mentioned, the symbiote
was kept hungry, given only the smallest amounts possible of the phenethylamine
to keep it alive.  And in order to effect our escape, it couldn't use every bit
it was given, keeping some set aside, in a stockpile.

        That wasn't as easy as it might sound.  Imagine you are only given one
piece of bread and a small cup of water a day, for weeks.  That's about the
absolute bare minimum the human body could have to survive.  Then imagine that
you don't eat all of your bread, nor drink all of your water.  You stockpile
what you can, so you can use it to escape.  It would be tempting, so very, very
tempting, to take a small nibble here, a tiny sip there.  If you did that,
though, soon there wouldn't be a stockpile left.

        So now you can imagine how difficult it was for the symbiote to hoard
what it could, while still trying to function at peak capacity.  We managed, and
the time spent let me get used to the idea of it--of him.  It's not as easy as
you might think, having someone in your head besides you.  Privy to every
thought, every desire and fear that you have.  On the other hand, I learned his,
too.

        I found out my new friend had been alone for decades, far longer than he
should have been.  He was on board an alien ship--apparently the universe isn't
barren of life, though most would be unrecognizable to us Earthlings--as a
prisoner.  The ship crashed, its occupants escaped before humans arrived, but he
was left behind.

        He was discovered, kept and studied, and he nearly died before
scientists stuck a rat in his container.  It was downhill ever since--until he
met me.

        We both had a desire for power, a realization--a certain knowledge--that
we were destined for more, that we were fit only to rule.  I would look around
at the brainless wastes of air around me, staring at each other with their dull,
cow-like gazes, and it would make me sick.  They were content with living in a
moral filth the stench of which was strong enough to choke the gods they thought
made them.

        Even the few who seemed to use their brains didn't think ENOUGH.  They
thought only a little, and were content with that.  Fools, one and all.
Thankfully, I met the symbiote.

        We had decided to come up with a look, something distinctive.  Up until
then we didn't really think much about it, and neither did our "handlers" beyond
making us learn to mimic clothing.  I thought about the Roman emperors, the
Caesars, mostly.   We finally decided a look that was perfect.

        Skin-tight black for the base.  A simply-designed golden chest plate,
fur-lined gold gauntlets with draconic inscription work, stylish but simple
shin-guards, a nice golden belt, and, to top it off, a helmet loosely inspired
by those of some Roman generals.

        This is what awaited the guards when our cell was unlocked.  They took
one look at us and we stared at them through pupil-less, white eyes.  We gambled
that the surprise would grant us a second--and it did.

        The first guard's throat was ripped straight out, the second got a fist
to the face hard enough to shatter his skull, and the third had a black tentacle
forced down her throat so it could literally rip out her heart.  It all happened
in less than four seconds.

        We stood over the bodies, grinning.  Now THIS was power.  My skill, the
symbiote's augmentation--this was it.

        Just then, some small-statured egg-head turned a corner a few dozen
yards away, saw us, and quickly turned and fled, screaming.  Well, so much for a
stealthy exit.

        Though it had been many months since I was brought to this place, thanks
to the symbiote I could recall with perfect clarity the way out.  So we ran.
Faster than I'd ever run before, actually; I can usually run a mile in six or
seven minutes, but I was running at least twice that.  Taking corners was easier
than I'd have thought--a step or two on the far wall, a hand--or tendril--on the
near wall, and back on the ground without breaking speed.

        We heard guards running toward us from further ahead, and skidded to a
stop.  The first door was locked, so we forced it open.  We wouldn't have much
time, and we knew it--then we realized where we were.  One of the employee
lounges.  Our eyes fixated on a vending machine on the far wall--and the candy
bars within.

        In a flash we were next to it, breaking the glass with a chair.  Two
chocolate bars were wolfed down, pausing only long enough to tear the wrappers
away, and a handful was held onto for later.

        The footsteps thudded closer, stopping outside the door.  Looking around
frantically, we did the only thing we did the only thing we could think to do.
When the guards stormed into the lounge, they didn't see us crouched on the wall
just above the door.  That bad training on their part meant they were our next
victims in our bid for freedom.

        A few minutes later, we gobbled down another candy bar, standing in the
bloody carnage that had just been a security team.  We nudged a large chunk of
brain with a toe.  Even now, still hungry for that precious chemical regardless
of the candy bars--nope.  That brain still looked disgusting, from a culinary
point of view.

        We ducked out of the lounge and ran off, continuing the escape.  It--was
long, and we left a good few dozen guards and scientists like so much chunky
salsa behind us, but in the end we won.  We emerged from the facility and ran
into the parking lot.

        It was the middle of the night, slightly overcast, but a full moon.  We
finished the candy we'd appropriated and looked around.  The facility was an
ordinary-looking complex, though it was in the middle of nowhere.  Acres and
acres of woodland surrounded the property, itself enclosed by two fences spaced
about four feet apart.  The tops of the fences were bundles of razor wire, and
spools of the same were randomly jammed between the fences.  Almost as bad as
prison.

        On the other hand, they hadn't expected US.  We dashed across the lot
and vaulted over the fences--with more ease than I thought we'd be capable of.
It took almost an hour of steady jogging to get out of the woods and onto the
highway.  We collapsed on the side of the road, and that's the last thing I
knew.

        I awoke sometime later; I don't know for sure, but the sun was starting
to peek over the horizon, so it was a few good hours.  I was in the back of a
pick-up truck.  And I was naked.  At least I was lying on some old clothes, and
covered with a tarp.  Wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was
warm.

        ~About time you woke up,~ said the symbiote.

        ~What happened?~

        ~We collapsed on the highway.  I was running out of phenethylamine, so
couldn't keep your body functioning at peak levels.  I pulled inside of your
body to hibernate.  Shortly thereafter a young couple pulled over and hauled us
into the bed of their truck, and are now taking us to a hospital.~

        ~Good Samaritans.  How about that?  We should repay them, I think.~

        ~We'll let them live, then?~

        ~Of course.  No good deed should go unrewarded, after all.~

        Around forty-five minutes later we arrived at the city limits to
Portland, Oregon.  We decided on a casual T-shirt, jeans, and sneaker look, and
slipped out of the bed of the truck while at a stop light.

        We were hungry, but we couldn't go knocking over vending machines all
day.  So, that led us to the issue of getting money.  We didn't want to rob a
convenience store--too small-time, that.  Especially for the risk.  We didn't
know the patterns of the police on patrol, nor would we know if the clerk had
a weapon--not that we'd be stopped, but the time taken to shove that weapon
through his nose and out his ass was time not spent getting away.

        To get some time to think, we did a little pick-pocketing; beneath us
both, yes, I know.  So very far beneath us I'm almost ashamed to admit we did
it.  But--we did.  A tiny tendril sneaking wallets from pockets and purses, and
after a few times we had a couple hundred dollars, give or take.  So, we treated
ourselves to breakfast at Dairy Queen.

        It was quiet that early in the morning, which is part of why we went
there.  Another is chocolate cookies with chocolate chips--all real chocolate.
We ended up eating a full batch, and that's along with the Chicken Strip Basket
and an Orange Julius drink.

        The food for me and phenethylamine for the symbiote gave us all the
energy we needed.  Then we just had to figure out what to do.

        We were in the place most of the day, but we tipped big--we slipped each
of the employees a twenty, on top of eating lunch and dinner there.  The
symbiote and I learned more about each other, now that we had some time to just
sit and think.

        Interesting thing about the bonding process--it's not necessarily a one-
to-one ratio.  One as old and experienced as my friend could, if he had to,
fully control two separate people, though it would look weird since they'd
always have to be in contact with each other or with tendrils stretched between
them, and he couldn't do it for long.

        Another interesting trick was that he could separate small parts of
himself to act as very simplistic drones.  The bits couldn't survive long on
their own without steady infusions of phenethylamine, and the more complex their
instructions the shorter they'd last--but that still held potential.  I could
see why he never let the scientists know he could do that.  And now that he had
more phenethylamine than he knew what to do with, he could actually do that
without making himself disadvantaged.

        Further, another part of the deal, since my symbiotic friend "infested"
me even on the molecular level meant--ready for this?--that I was effectively
immortal.  He was like an immune system ramped up to eleven, so no diseases--
even A.I.D.S.--would ever get so much as an atomic toe-hold in me.  Further, he
could help my body replace the cells as they were lost--and done correctly, so
no cancer from an accidental mutation.  Cells replaced or repaired, organs kept
in perfect condition--he alone could jet medical science ahead five centuries.

        One of the better parts, though it did take some getting used to, was
that I no longer needed to use the bathroom.  I still produced waste, but he
could take care of that, too.  He could break the waste down and add it to his
own.  It makes his slightly more toxic, but means I don't have to waste time in
the restroom.  Like I said, it took some getting used to, since I would feel
"full" then suddenly "empty", but it was worth it.

        It was between lunch and dinner that we noticed a trio of young teenaged
girls walking down the street.  That gave us an idea.

        We left the restaurant just after dinner and headed off down the street.

        Fun fact--if you have the time, the patience, and a good chemistry lab,
you can take a certain mixture of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen, and
mix them together just right, you end up with a fun drug called fentanyl.  It's
undetectable to common toxicology tests (though there are quite a few
specialized tests that it will show up on; however, they aren't performed unless
necessary), and is much more powerful than morphine.  I just happened to be
walking around with a bleeding-edge chemistry lab for a best friend-slash-mental
roommate.

        The upside is that all of those chemicals are, literally, found all
around us, every moment of every day.  The downside is that it took my friend
forever to synthesize a small bit of the fentanyl.  The upside to that downside
was that it took us forever to walk across town to the ritzier neighborhoods, so
he had plenty of time.

        By the time we got there, we changed our attire to fit in with the two-
and three-story homes.  A nice, dark business suit, dark shirt, no tie,
sunglasses.  for the fun of it, we came up with another little trick, which we
used when we finally picked a house.  It was two stories tall, elegant in
architecture, the impossibly-large lawn impeccably maintained.  A three-car
garage with a new sedan in the driveway.  It was a cream color, and had a vanity
plate that read "TJ(heart)B00F".  Perfect.

        We rang the doorbell, and after a moment a woman appearing to be in her
early-thirties answered the door.  She was dressed as impeccably as would be
expected; she was likely wearing more in designer labels and jewelery than I'd
ever have seen before meeting the symbiote.

        She was quite attractive, fit from obviously spending quite a bit of
time in the gym, or more likely with a personal trainer.  Blonde hair that came
down to between her shoulder blades, an almond face with only hints of make-up,
and hazel eyes that were simply stunning.

        We pulled out a wallet from the inner pocket of our jacket.  It
proclaimed me to be an F.B.I. agent.  I'd seen one, once, and the symbiote was
able to pull the memory out and forge this, well, forgery.  So long as I kept it
in-hand, it would be fine.

        "Agent Carlson," I said to introduce myself, using the first name that
came to mind.  "Is your husband at home, perchance?"

        She looked understandably startled.  "Henry?  No, he's meeting some
friends from the firm for drinks."

        I smiled.  "Could we talk inside, ma'am?"

        "Of--of course.  Please come in."

        She stepped back to allow me ingress, and as she closed the door I took
off the sunglasses and slipped them into my breast pocket, where I could feel
them be reabsorbed into the symbiote.

        My smile became a grin as she led me into the living room--which was
larger than any apartment I'd ever had in my life.  We stood in the middle of
the perfectly-arranged couches and armchairs, and she clasped her hands together
nervously.  "May I ask what this is about?"

        "Of course."  Suddenly she realized that my grin wasn't all that
friendly, and took a step back.  "It's quite simple--this is about you."
Tendrils exploded from my chest, wrapping around her wrists, ankles, and throat.
As she struggled, another one emerged from me, slimming itself to become nearly
invisible--then plunged into her artery to deliver the fentanyl.

        In much less time than it takes to describe it, she became weak and
dizzy, going limp in our grasp.  She was quite conscious, however, and mostly
aware of what was happening.  She was laid on the couch then the tendrils
receded and were reabsorbed.

        Enjoying her weak, slurred protests, I literally ripped through her
clothes.  The overpriced white suit-jacket was first, ripped open hard enough to
send the gold buttons flying.  Then her white blouse was next, ripped open
despite the pitifully-weak way she batted at my hands.  That only left the white
bra.  The was pulled apart, the threads snapping with ease.  I still was getting
used to how insanely strong I was, and I was definitely enjoying it.

        "Nice tits, girl," I commented, massaging them.  They weren't too large,
and they were real.  I wanted to strip the rest of her and fuck her pussy raw,
but--another time.  For the plan to work most effectively, I would have to use
her mouth.  That's kind of like being denied the eighty-dollar lobster dinner
and having the sixty-dollar crab dinner instead.  Not as much of a step down as
you might expect.

        My trousers pulled themselves open and away from my cock, already hard
from watching the helpless bitch, from knowing she was mine.  I stood next to
her head and forced my cock into her mouth.  As weak as she was, she could only
mewl protests; she didn't have the strength to object as I fucked her face,
pulling her head into my crotch.

        Faster and faster I pulled her, using her hair for a hand-hold.  Her
hot, wet throat squeezed the head of my shaft so wonderfully.  I couldn't hold
out for long; I don't know how much time passed, but if it had been fifteen
minutes since I walked into the house I would be surprised.

        Either way, I soon gasped quite loudly as I came into her throat, and I
pulled her face as far along my cock as I could, burying myself in her throat.
If I could see it, I knew my come would be a dark grey, since the normal jizz
was now accompanied by bits of my symbiote.  The added fluid would normally have
meant that it would be more painful, but the symbiote had me covered there, too.
All I felt was exquisite pleasure.

        "Swallow it ALL," I demanded, my words a hoarse series of grunts through
gritted teeth.  Meekly she complied, and though I don't know if it was her
talent or the symbiote's little addition, but not a drop was spilled.

        I collapsed onto an armchair facing her and just waited.  I panted
without trying to hide it as I stared at her.  She mewled and flopped her hands
hands around weakly, then suddenly went limp.  I smiled.  I knew what was going
on in her brain.

        Remember what I'd said earlier, about symbiote-bits and drones?  A fun
delivery method is sex--why not?  And once delivered, the symbiote bits do as
instructed.  You see, the symbiote is, as I said, so far beyond modern Earth
science it's not even funny.  The aliens he was with before coming to Earth had
quite extensive files on us, and while imprisoned here he'd managed to get his
proverbial hands on even more information.  He knew how our brains worked.  As
such, he could, shall we say, re-wire them.

        How do I know he didn't do it to me, you ask?  Good question.  Part of
the symbiosis is unvarnished truth, every secret laid bare.  I knew without a
doubt that he didn't do it.  And he had no need to--we were allies, friends.  We
wanted the same things out of life.

        Right at that moment, in the nameless woman's head, her brain was being
re-wired.  Folds smoothed here, created there; pathways re-routed.  At the same
time, the fentanyl would be flushed from her system.  I couldn't help but smile.
She was but the first.

        I went into the kitchen and rooted around until I came up with a knife,
which I took back to the living room.  Just in time, too, for as I sat back down
in the armchair her eyes suddenly snapped open.  She looked around, her eyes
finally settling on me.  As they did, she smiled warmly.  "Master..." she said,
getting to her feet.

        I extended the knife to her, handle-first.  She took it and without the
slightest bit of hesitation started hacking away at what was left of her
clothes.  The once-too-expensive finery became so many rags at her feet, leaving
her perfectly nude.  As I openly admired her, I could see hairs falling from
her, the roots destroyed so no more hair would grow.  Completely hairless below
the eyebrows, that's the best way to enjoy a woman.

        "Gather money and credit cards.  Take your wallet, use a purse to put
everything in."

        "Yes, Master," she said, turning to hurry off.  I took a quick tour of
the place while she was gone.  It was quite nice, opulent without being overly
ostentatious.  I made a few mental notes about what I liked and didn't like.

        When my pet returned, she carried a large purse that was bulging.
Apparently "Henry" believed in having a lot of cash on-hand.  And he believed in
telling his wife.  I certainly had to thank him.

        I had my pet write a short note; goodbye, I'm leaving forever, I found a
better man than you, that sort of thing.  Once she was ready, I grabbed the keys
to the sedan from a little dish in the entranceway and we headed out to the car.

        Now I had money, a car (with a full tank, surprisingly enough), and a
pet.  All I needed was more.  Interestingly enough, my little pet happened to
have a sister--early forties, widowed, and with a young daughter.  A ten-year-
old daughter.  My pet promised me I would love them both.

        "The child is quite beautiful, Master," she remarked as we headed down
the One-Oh-One, the major highway that runs along the coast of California.
Black hair, baby-blue eyes, a tiny body--you'll love her."

        I chuckled, glancing over at her.  How beautiful my naked pet was in the
rising moon, the Pacific Ocean for a backdrop.  "What of her mother?" I asked,
still smiling.

        "Tall; nearly six feet without shoes.  Brown hair, brown eyes, dark,
nearly flawless skin.  She got that from our mother."

        A few hours later, we were in Santa Barbara; specifically, Montecito.
The "house" was more of a mansion.  Tudor architecture, three stories tall;
the driveway wound through an impressive garden, complete with flowers of all
colors, fountains taller than me, trees that had to have been planted
generations ago, old-style lamp posts everywhere.  I caught sight of a pond
directly west of the building, and whistled softly.  Even as late at night as it
was, everything was nicely illuminated; soft enough for intimacy, but bright
enough to see clearly.

        My pet noticed my reaction and, realizing I was impressed, told me about
her family, and her sister.

        Her family came from "old money".  They were alongside the Vanderbilts
in the railroad industry, amongst other pursuits.  Her sister married another
"old money" chap; his family were something like a smaller-time Rothschild
family (though "small time" inasmuch as they didn't make AS MANY trillions of
dollars, in today's financial terms).  This Tudor house?  Their summer home.
They had a grander one in Germany.

        The end of the driveway was quite removed from the front gate, and after
parking I stepped out onto the gravel, smelling the fresh air with a hint of the
ocean.  As we walked to the massive front doors I squeezed my pet's ass, making
us both grin.

        Before ringing the bell, I quietly conferred with my pet, giving her
instructions.  Her sister answered the door, expecting us since we buzzed in at
the gate.  My pet dashed forward and knocked her sister to the floor, pinning
her arms behind her.  I hurried past to deal with the help.  There should only
be one maid and one butler in the house at this time of night, and I was going
to deal with them.

        I found the butler in the kitchen, preparing a pot of tea.  He didn't
even know I was there--and after I ripped his head from his body, he didn't know
anything at all.  The maid was a tough one; I had to hunt her down.  I caught
her in the conservatory, tending to a few plants that only open at night.  She
had a spade shoved down her throat and out her chest for her trouble.

        Letting my symbiote expel the blood, I went for my pet.  I knew where
she'd be, so I headed for the master bedroom--which took longer than I'd
expected, since the place was a freaking maze.  When I finally got there, I
found my pet standing over her sister, who was kneeling at the foot of the huge
bed--it was a hundred and fifty, maybe even two hundred inches, long and wide.
I didn't even know they came that big.

        The sister had been stripped, and I could see marks where my pet's nails
had scraped flesh in the process.  The woman had a broom tied to her ankles,
keeping them apart, and her forearms were tied to the posts at the foot of the
bed.  There was a sock stuffed into her mouth, kept there with a strip of cloth
that looked like it was once part of a blouse tied around her head.

        "She's ready for you, Master," purred my pet, stroking her sister's
cheek.  "She knows not to make a sound."  She took off the gag, and I could see
a welt on the woman's cheek, likely from being forcibly cut off while trying to
scream.

        The woman looked at us both in a mixture of confusion and horror, a look
I must say I enjoyed.  My trousers parted on their own, and the woman's eyes
widened to almost cartoon proportions.  She opened her mouth and was about to
scream when a loud SMACK cut her off.  Her sister had back-handed her across the
face.

        "No sound, bitch!" shouted my pet, and I gave her a loving smile.  So
attentive.  Made perfectly to order, she was.

        I had my pet kneel before me and start worshipping my cock.  She eagerly
inhaled me, stroking my shaft with one hand while the other snaked between her
thighs.  Her sister clearly couldn't believe what was happening.  Maybe she
thought it was a dream; I never asked.  I didn't care, truly.

        After a few moments, I pulled my pet off of me by her hair, and there
was a heartbreaking look of disappointment.  So eager to please, so desirous of
my seed.  "Help her," I said quietly, and my pet instantly moved to kneel next
to her sister, forcing her jaw open and pushing her face into my crotch.

        I only had to stand; my pet pushed the woman's head to make her bob on
my cock.  The excitement of it all--and I'm sure my friend helped--made sure
that I wouldn't last long.  "Hold her mouth open," I grunted as I pulled out of
the woman's mouth.

        My pet did so, digging her nails into her sister's cheeks as incentive
to keep her mouth open.  I shot load after load of charcoal-grey come into her
mouth.  Thanks to the woman's gasping and my pet's working of her throat, she
swallowed quite a bit of it.  My pet helped by scooping up what she could from
her sister's face and breasts, and forcing it into the woman's mouth.

        The woman started sobbing, and my pet knelt on the floor quite prettily,
while I sat in a chair next to the fireplace.  We both watched the woman sob,
head hanging, body loose.  Suddenly she stiffed, then went completely limp.  I
gestured, and my pet scurried off to retrieve a knife.  By the time my newest
pet opened her eyes again, she was on the bed, the restraints gone.

        I had pulled the chair closer, and I steepled my fingers as I looked at
her.  "Master..." she said, smiling warmly at her.  That was met by a beaming
grin from her sister.

        "Are you happy now, my newest cunt?" I asked quietly.

        "Oh yes, Master!" she assured me without hesitation.

        "And are you glad your sister told me about you and your daughter?"

        Once again, "Oh yes, Master!"

        "Show her how glad you are."

        In a beat they were locked together on the bed, kissing each other
passionately.  Hands snaked between thighs, clits rubbed and tweaked--and it all
started to get me hard again.  Having a system ramped up to peak performance and
working almost completely efficiently had its perks.

        Ten or so minutes later, I finally called them off, though I pretended
not to notice when my first pet quickly copped a fondle of her sister's breasts.
"I need to decide what to name you cunts," I said, looking between the two girls
kneeling before me.

        I studied them for a moment, basking in their complete devotion to me.
If I ordered them to keep quiet and not make a sound, I could slowly slice off
their tits with a rusty spoon and they would do their best to be still.  A man
of my status should have such thralls.

        "You," I said, nodding to the brunette.  "Before I enlightened you, what
was the one thing you did not want in your pussy?"

        She looked down to the floor for a moment, thinking.  After a few beats
she looked back up to me and said, "A horse cock, Master."

        "Horse Slut it is, then.  You," now I nodded to the blonde, "same."

        Without hesitation, "A dog, Master."

        "Dog Slut, then."

        They both smiled at that, enjoying their new names.  They were my gifts
to them, new names in commemoration of their enlightenment.

        "Dog Slut--fetch me chocolate.  Real chocolate."  I waved my hand
dismissively and she hurried off at a jog.  "Horse Slut, you are allowed to
worship me."

        The slut actually scrambled over to me, to lovingly take my cock in her
hands.  First she placed a soft, warm kiss to its tip, then slowly started
swallowing it.

        She slowly slid her lips along my shaft, until they were pressed against
my pubic bone.  Her throat constricted in rhythmic swallowing, and I couldn't
help the long groan that came from my lips.  Her tongue slipped out and she
flicked it against my sac, while kneading it with a hand.

        To add even more wonderful sensations, she started humming, altering her
pitch until she found one chord that just sent shivers through my cock and up my
spine.  I gasped loudly, and that's when she started bobbing her head, dragging
her lips along my shaft.  My piss-hole was given a few licks, then she devoured
me once more.

        I lost all track of time, though I don't think I could be blamed.  I
didn't even notice when Dog Slut returned, but I suddenly felt another set of
lips, suckling my balls.  I felt their tongues dance with each other on my cock
when Horse Slut swallowed me all the way.

        I think I complimented them on their work, but I wasn't really paying
attention.  All I could really think about was how damn GOOD it felt to have
their mouths and hands working over me, loving me, worshipping me.

        I finally had to call them off, and they actually whimpered softly.
They desired my seed, as proof of how good they were, of their worth to me.
While I hated to stop almost as much as they, there was one more pussy on the
menu, tonight.

        I gave Horse Slut instructions, then climbed onto the bed as the
symbiote pulled into me to leave me nude.  It's a very weird feeling, the semi-
liquid moving through the pores of your skin, but you get used to it.  In a few
minutes, Horse Slut returned, with her daughter.  The child was nude, and I let
my gaze drift over her, taking in the flat body, the hairless pussy.  A body
made to be fucked.

        When she saw me stroking my cock, she gasped and looked up at her
mother, who knelt on one knee beside her.  "Baby," her mother said as she
stroked her daughter's cheek, "you needed something that I shouldn't have kept
from you, but--I was wrong, baby.  I see that now.  And I promise I'll make it
up to you.  Do you understand?"

        The child nodded.

        "Good.  Now to up and lay on the bed next to your Master."

        "But he's a stranger, Mommy."

        "No, baby, he's not a stranger.  He's your Master, now.  Trust him, and
me.  Now scoot.  And do everything--EVERYthing--he says."  She smacked her
daughter's ass lightly, smiling.

        I beckoned the child to come to me, and she climbed onto the bed.  I had
her kneel beside me with her thighs spread.  "You are such a beautiful little
cunt," I said approvingly.  She gasped.  "No, that's a good word.  I know you
were told different, but you need to listen to me.  That means you're pretty,
and that I like you."

        That seemed to placate her, so I pulled her face closer to mine,
murmuring, "Now I'm going to show you how good cunts kiss."  With that, I
pressed her lips to mine, slipping my tongue into her mouth as I reached around
and fondled her little ass.  She was hesitant, but she saw the pleased look on
her mother's face, so did her best.

        After a good few moments, I pulled away, smiling.  "Good, cunt.  Now go
show your mother you were taught well."  I beckoned Horse Slut over, and she
wasted no time pressing her lips to her daughter's, kissing the child with
definite passion.

        Such a beautiful display, it was, and I had to exert quite a bit of will
to not stroke myself any faster.  There'd be time enough for that.  I sat up and
used Horse Slut's hair to pull her away from her daughter, then stroked the
child's flat chest.

        "Now, my precious cunt, this--" I motioned to my quivering cock, "--has
to go in your pussy.  That's where it belongs.  It will hurt at first, but
you'll get used to it, I promise."  She looked somewhat fearful, but her mother
stroked her hair reassuringly.

        I had the child get on her hands and knees, then knelt behind her.  Her
mother aligned my cock so the head was parting the tiny folds of her pussy, then
I pushed into the child.  She let out a squeak of pain, but her mother shushed
her.  I immediately started pulling her hard onto me, ignoring the choked sobs.
I could only gasp as I felt that virginal passage welcome me, and the trickles
of blood from her virginity and the roughness only added to the excitement.

        Looking down through slitted eyes, I gazed at that tiny ass, and knew I
had to have it.  "Hold her down," I told the sluts, and they complied instantly.
Her mother pinned down one arm and one leg, and her aunt the others.  I leaned
over and put my weight on one hand, spreading her ass with the other.  Without
waiting, I shoved my dick into her ass, making her shriek.  The pain of the girl
made me thrust even harder, the slapping of our flesh meeting echoing in the
cavernous room.

        I knew she would learn to crave the pain, desire it almost above all
else--so I got her acquainted with it.  Grunting loudly, I thrust into the
child's ass--then suddenly pulled out and shoved my cock into her pussy again.
She was crying, but either she wasn't struggling or my pets held her tightly
enough.  I didn't care either way.

        My grunts became hoarse moans, and just as my orgasm hit I pulled out
and spurted the dark grey come.  I hit her legs, ass, back, hair.  I collapsed
onto the bed, my entire body numb, eyes closed.  I don't know how long I stayed
like that, but after however long I managed to regain my breath, and I was
pleased to see that the child was still pinned down.  I hadn't given any orders
to the contrary, after all.

        With a wave of my hand, I dismissed them, and turned the child onto her
back so I could lean over her.  "I have one more gift, my cunt," I crooned to
the weeping child.  "Your new name will be Baby Maker.  I will change you so you
will bear me children."  I smiled at her and stroked her bleeding, swollen
pussy.  Then everything went black as the symbiote covered us both.

        Getting used to one completely alien presence in my mind was difficult.
Then, I had another consciousness with mine--Baby Maker's.  Her mind was a
chaotic swirl of pain and confusion.  She was going to be an experiment, so we
didn't alter her personality much.  The only thing we did was make her know,
beyond all doubt, that what happened, and whatever we decide will happen, is
right for her.  Everything else in her mind was left intact.

        We focused on her ovaries, kick-starting the process to have them
develop.  We would live a bit behind to oversee and expedite that process, so I
could start using her womb in as little as a month.  We tinkered around and made
it so she would start lactating soon, and not stop.  She would have a large
portion of symbiote-bit left in her, and it would need to be refueled with 
phenethylamine as often as every week, but that was easy enough.  The last thing
we did, solely because it amused me, was wreck her bladder.  She would no longer
have the slightest control over it.

        I pushed her consciousness out, and re-emerged into light once more.  It
was a dizzying sensation, going from the world of the mind to the world of the
physical, going from two minds in one body, to three, and back to two.  On the
other hand, it was fun.

        There was a black collar around her neck, with fittings for chains,
locks, whatever else.  Aside from other uses, it served as an easy way for us to
feed the symbiote-bit.  That collar was connected to the rest of the bits
swimming around inside her, so we could feed it easily.

        My vision cleared immediately, and I had to chuckle as the child pissed
herself and the bed.  "Horse Slut, fetch a leash and take Baby Maker outside.
Don't come back in until she takes a shit, and clean her thoroughly before she
sets foot in my house."

        "Yes, Master," said the pet, taking Baby Maker by the collar and getting
her to her feet, to be unceremoniously hauled out of the room, still sniffling.
I laid back on the bed and pillowed my head on my interlaced fingers, smiling.
Plans were already starting to form--in a few years, or less, I could be running
this fucking planet.  That thought kept the smile on my face even after I
dozed off.



                           END OF CHAPTER ONE




