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Message-ID: <29981asstr$987963001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cats_sara@yahoo.com (Cat's sara)
Reply-To: cats_sara@yahoo.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 22 Apr 2001 03:56:35 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} Circumstantial Goddess - FF, FD, MC, NC
Date: Sun, 22 Apr 2001 14:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This story was just plain fun to write. It is submitted with that in
mind, and with no "higher purpose." There are several sets of thanks,
though, that should be made:

Tabico, for minds so easily twisted, Eye of Serpent, for a sense of
adventure and fun, Dreamfire, for ethics that must be recognized even
if dashed to pieces, trilby else, for his portrayals of perverted and
tragic loyalties (and dashed ethics), JR Parz, for his tireless
devotion to, and pursuit of arousal, and finally, cat_slave, for
inspiring in no small part the obsession in this story.

Reading is a voluntary act. If you're under 18, and are offended by
sex, mind control or other acts according to your individual tastes,
or the sensibilities of your community would be offended, especially
if you're going to invite them over to a mass viewing of this story,
please stop now, and go away.

Otherwise, feel free to read on.

Warmly,

Cat's sara

(c)2001 by Cat's sara

----

Circumstantial Goddess

by Cat's sara

Categories: FF, FD, MC, NC

----

Marcia came down the stairs in her green robe and slippers, gently
rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She yawned as she realized how hard
she'd slept. The contest for log-hood was in serious contention.

She staggered into the kitchen and went to the fridge. Pulling the
door open she reached in and pulled out a ginger ale. Swiping her
long, ash blond hair back from her face, she popped it and took a
long drink.

Then, for the third morning in as many days, she want to the
telephone and dialed the number for work. "Hello, Jeannie?" she
croaked. "I won't be coming in again today. I don't know if it's the
flu or food poisoning, but I can't make it in.

"No, the doctor's office said I couldn't come in until this
afternoon. Guess they've been hit hard this winter. Not as hard as me
I don't think." She coughed lightly, but not too hard, for effect.
"Yes, I'll let you know. I'm hoping that after the weekend, I'll be
feeling good enough to make it in.

"Thank you. I'm sorry.... bye."

After no absences in over six years, no one at worked questioned the
reality of her illness.

Marcia smiled.

She dropped the robe from her shoulders, and kicked off her
slippers. Walking to the living room, she whispered softly, *"Marcia
calls her work each day and says that she feels shitty... until she
goes to bed at night she rubs her sexy clitty..."*

She fell back on the couch, moaning softly as her hands found her
wet, randy snatch. Her fingers stretched her lips open as she found
her nubbin and pinched it, starting the circular motion that had
become her only chore. The initial pain of its rawness only made her
hotter as she circled it in time with her words...

*"Marcia calls her work eeeeach day and says that she feels...
ohhhh... shitty... Until she goes to bed at night... mmmmm... she
rubs her sexy-y-y clitty..."*

She gasped and mewled in delight as the pleasure of her first climax
of the day swept through her, her head thrashing side to side for
long minutes and then, finally, coming to rest as she continued to
breathe heavily and sigh. Each time it was stronger than the last,
and though she knew she shouldn't be so perverted, every time she
tried to stop, that damned rhyme ran through her head and seduced her
into doing it again.

The rhyme. It had gone for days before it had begun to affect her.
It started with a phone call at work, a rather silly one, which she
had dismissed at the time as a prank. But the rhyming words of the
caller kept rolling over and over in her mind for the rest of the
day, and even as she went to sleep that first night.

The next morning, it hadn't gone away, and seemed to get stronger as
the morning wore on. She even caught herself typing it into some
proposed ad copy. She had gone to the restroom and splashed cold
water in her face... the next thing she knew, she was locked in a
stall, furiously rubbing her itching, begging clit. Chanting.
Believing.

It had been torture to tear herself away and back to her desk.

On Wednesday, slightly dazed from the strength of the rhyme... as if
it were shouting in her ear, she called in sick.

Thinking back as well as she could, she wondered if she was going
crazy, but before she could form more than that thought, she heard it
again, and felt her lips move, *"Marcia calls her work each day
and..."*

The phone was ringing. Without stopping her obsessed finger
twirling, she looked at the caller ID and saw that it was a private
call. She quickly stopped and picked up the phone.  It might be
Jeannie, her boss, checking up on her.

The young, female voice started as soon as she put the phone to her
ear.

*"Marcia's mind cannot refuse, it's trapped inside a lasso... Now
she adds another treat, her finger in her asshole."* The phone
clicked as the call ended, and Marcia hung up.

*(Jeez, at home, too? This is getting annoying!)*, she thought
briefly before bouncing forcefully back down onto the couch.

Her hungry fingers again found her clit and she moaned loudly as the
middle finger of her left hand plunged into her virgin asshole.

*"Marcia calls her work each day and says that she feels shitty...
"Until she goes to bed at night she rubs her tender clitty...
"Marcia's mind cannot refuse, it's trapped inside a lasso...
"Now she adds another treat, a finger for her asshole...
"Marcia calls her work each day and says..."*

Marcia giggled, her eyes glassy, and came again. It was, as had
become her habit, stronger still.

This time, she didn't even try to think before starting again.

The phone didn't ring again for a very long time.

----

Cindy hung up the phone and looked over to her friend Susan, who had
a look of wide-eyed disbelief on her face. "That should be
interesting," Cindy crooned, giggling. "She should never have fired
me. Bitch."

"Well, you *could* call what you're doing over-reaction."

"Why? I'm just convincing her of my marketing skills. All my ideas
about repetitive conditioning have just been *more* than proven,"
retorted Cindy.

"Because you influenced some sicko you worked for? Give me a break,"
argued Susan, rolling her eyes. "Besides, you're not that kind of
genius. You're just a student psych major on winter break."

"She wasn't a sicko five days ago," Cindy said, frowning slightly.
"She was a fabulously successful advertising account manager.

"I won't be merciless. By the time I'm done, she'll love her new
life. I don't think she'll agree with your medical diagnosis of
'sicko', girlfriend," Cindy added, smiling infectiously. "And you're
right. I'm one of the one thousandth of one percent who got
incredibly lucky and stumbled onto this. I'm not the one who came up
with the fancy formulas. I'm the one who added two and two. And
brazen enough to steal them and do my own experiments."

"She was just a convenient candidate, then?" asked Susan.

"Absolutely. I didn't want to engage in my 'ethically questionable
research' *too* close to home, at least at first," lilted Cindy, in a
mockery of social grace. "I'm not really pissed as I sound, but she
happened to come to mind before anyone else."

"Huh?"

"Never mind.

"The hardest part was getting her a dose of the neuron stimulant.
But I managed. Anyway, between that single dose and my calls, she's
proving that I've found something really incredible. When I called
her, I thought it would just be horribly annoying. I had no idea she
would actually start acting on the words," Cindy explained, "but when
I called to mess with her a little more, I found out that she had
called in sick. I could imagine the rest.

"It works the same way as Deja vu," she continued, "or those songs
that get stuck in your head. Only stronger. It's profoundly
convincing, from what Marcia has shown."

"But if it's true, and please forgive my trite turn of phrase, what
if it falls into the wrong hands?" asked Susan.

"It won't," Cindy said, flatly. "My hands are just fine."

*(Good thing you won't be around for my next call,)* she thought.

----

There was so much to do. Marcia needed to vacuum. She needed to
shower. Wash dishes. She needed to do something with her hands other
than endlessly bring her traitorous clitoris and asshole to greater
and greater heights of indecent pleasure.

She just couldn't bring herself to stop. The endless, insane stream
of her mantra kept rolling over and over in her head, drowning her
more reasonable thoughts like helpless kittens.

Her breath smelled bad. The odor rising from her underarms and
mixing with the pervasive odor of sexual arousal nauseated her. And
it made her hotter. More lost. The good and the bad of it, they all
added to her drive to continue.

She was sure she was going to die cumming. Her clit was so raw she
was surprised she hadn't drawn blood.

Then, without warning, she didn't care again. It just felt so
fucking *good*.

The phone was ringing. She managed to stop herself long enough to
hit the speakerphone button.

*"Marcia?"* came the voice that was her torturer. Her captor.

Marcia meant to say yes, but all that came out was a hoarse grunt.

*"This is Cindy Middleton, the woman you fired six months ago. I've
called to save you."*

*(Save me yes, god save me ohhhh cum have to play and cummmmm,)*
thought Marcia, with what little thought she could muster.

*"But you have to promise to obey. Even if you can't say it, you
have to think it. Thinking is believing. Believing is obeying. Think
and believe and obey. Can't do one without the other two."*

Marcia grunted as her brain listened, hanging on by a thread.

*"Marcia is a slutty girl, a lesbian to boot... And when she thinks
her lustful thoughts, she thinks that Cindy's cute... She stops her
play, she cleans her house, she lets her body rest... but while she
does these things she finds with Cindy she's obsessed."*

The phone clicked into silence.

Slowly Marcia's hands stopped their movement, and she fell back on
the couch. Silence. Her mind, finally free. She cried and laughed at
the same time. She'd won. The new rhymes weren't kicking in. It was
finally over.

But surely that wasn't *really* Cindy Middleton that called. It
sounded like her, but she didn't seem capable of this, whatever
"this" was. She had just been summer help, a college temp hire, and
she was lazy to boot.

*(Cute, though. Even sexy.)*

Marcia froze. Her eyes widened in horror as she recognized the
invasive thought. No, the belief. She stifled a cry as her pussy
spasmed in lustful yearning. Obedient pussy. Obedient Marcia. She
stood on shaky legs, and picked up the phone, forcing her fingers to
dial a number, any number for help. *(Marcia is a slutty girl, a
lesbian to boot...)*, she began, her lips moving silently as she
thought the words.

She stood, lips drooling slightly as they worked the words of the
insane rhyme over and over, as Cindy's words buffeted her mind. The
contest of will and words continued for several minutes, as Marcia
shook and babbled, and held her finger a half inch above the keypad
of the phone.

Then, with a final spasm that shook her entire body, she stood
straight and quieted. Her slightly parted lips twitched gently as the
words moved to the inner recesses of her conscious mind.

She calmly placed the phone back in the cradle. It was useless. She
needed to obey the words. The thoughts. *Her* thoughts. *Her beliefs.*

Tears began to streak down her face as she turned away to go clean
the house.

Perfectly.

----

*From the journal of Cynthia Middleton:*

*The main effect seems to be inward, obsessive repetition of verbal
stimuli and acceptance of same by the subject, followed by acting on
that acceptance. Initially, the neuron stimulation creates both the
repetition and the feeling that this has happened many, many times
before, almost like it was pre-ordained. Eventually, this gives the
subject the illusion that the cycle has always existed. Their reality
becomes the stimulus and vice versa, and may be unstoppable, even
with the proper stimulus from whatever or whoever created the cycle
in the first place.*

*The drug only lasts for a short time, perhaps two hours. But it is
incredibly strong, and apparently "burns in" the neural paths so that
they respond to similar stimuli in a similar fashion each time. From
there, the brain itself takes over the process, deepening the inward-
leading pathways accessible to whoever stimulated the original
action.*

*The rate of processing also increases, until the repetitions are so
fast that the conscious mind cannot possibly comprehend them. The end
result is a self-reinforcing form of suggestibility that is, for all
intents and purposes, mind control.*

----

Cindy thought that perhaps the rhymes were a bit much. It was fun,
but it was getting harder to think them up. Soon, she would have to
step in more seriously and make sure Marcia knew where she stood, and
what she was.

And where she would stand from now on.

Cindy broke out of her reverie and looked over at Susan, who was
deeply involved in a romance novel, laying sideways in the easy
chair, her long, nearly black hair falling backwards in casual
elegance opposite her lithe, beautifully shaped legs. Unfortunately,
Susan would probably never know how much Cindy lusted for her. She
was completely turned off by the idea of women who were attracted to
women.

Cindy recalled the look on her face the night Susan had told her the
story of a particular encounter, an event that had apparently colored
her thinking up to the present.

Cindy had been planning on telling Susan about her orientation,
tired of the secret life and desire she had to keep hidden from her
best friend. As she was driving Susan home from a party, one where
several women had been necking openly, she broke the ice by asking,
"So what do you really think about gay women?"

Susan, who'd had enough wine to be reasonably loose-tongued, said,
"I'll tell you what I think. I think they're a bunch of perverts with
no regard for common decency.

"I know it's a strong thing to say, but you never had a next-door
neighbor come on to you one afternoon on the way home from school.
Everyone knew Karen was a lesbo but me, I guess. I found out when she
kissed me in my driveway, in front of God and everyone else. I've
never spoken to her since."

Susan's face was dark by the time she finished her cryptic tale, and
she didn't say anything else until she thanked Cindy for the ride
home.

After that response, with the wind knocked out of her courage-sails,
neither did Cindy.

But now, looking at Susan's turned up nose and natural, Hispanic
beauty, Cindy was wondering if she should take the ethically
questionable step of "persuading" her friend to change her attitude.

Nothing as intense as what she'd done to Marcia... just a little...
education.

Cindy walked into her bathroom, barely aware that she had already
turned a corner.

----

Susan looked up in irritation as Cindy sprayed the air with a
plastic bottle. "What are you doing? You're getting my book wet!"

"Air freshener. Sorry, I just thought it was getting musty in
here... I'll go get a paper towel."

"Whatever."

Susan went back to her book. She was just getting to the risque
parts, and was a little embarrassed, actually, at having gotten so
lost in the story. Regardless, it didn't take long to let go and let
herself get absorbed again.

She jumped at Cindy's voice. "Hot stuff, huh?"

"Well, now that you mention it, yes," said Susan, looking back at
the pages. She didn't want to have to tell Cindy to get lost.
Sometimes friends were a real pain in the ass. Besides, it was
Cindy's place, and it wasn't like she didn't have the right to
intrude.

"Nah. It would only be hot if it were two women," said Cindy,
smiling. "Now *that* would very cool. Wow... hot and cold running
lust!"

"What?!?"

Cindy laughed and held up her hands in a gesture of no contest,
turned and left the room.

Susan went back to her love scenes. She was halfway through a page
when she realized that she just wasn't getting into it. *(Dammit!)*
she thought. *(Nothing like... like... )* Susan put down the book,
her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out why she suddenly wasn't
interested in Veronica Davenport being held in the strong arms of
Clint Macon.

Deciding it didn't matter, she sat up and turned on the TV.

Cindy sat in her bedroom, thinking about what she had just done. She
felt guilty. Excited. Torn. Aroused.

"I shouldn't feel guilty," she whispered to herself. "I should thank
my lucky stars that I can make Susan hot for me. If I were a little
less worried about the consequences, I'd be making her my slave." She
considered for a moment and giggled at the kinky thought. On the
other hand, it was kind of exciting... and slightly mocking herself
playfully, she softly added, "Now *that* would be very cool. Susan,
the obedient little cuntlicker! *Very* cool!" She smiled as she
pictured her friend kneeling, bound, dressed in sexy leather.

"Very cool. It would be... *very* cool." She noticed that her voice
had a sort of hollow ring to it, like something was in her ears. Like
buzzing cotton.

She paid no attention. She had too much to think about. Like how
cool it would be to make Susan her slave. It gave her an idea. A very
*cool* idea. She picked up the bottle of stimulator reagent and
poured it, undiluted, into the spray bottle. She gave it a few pumps
to make sure it was working.

"Very cool!" she gibbered enthusiastically. The sweet aroma of the
pure reagent hit her nose. She stopped, motionless, realizing what
had happened. The "air freshener" had been strong enough to affect
her, too, even though she had quickly left the room. She put the
bottle down and stepped away. In a panic, she began to do
multiplication tables in her head.

She realized after only a moment that it was useless, as the thought
of how *fucking* cool it would be to have Susan as her slave smashed
through "two times three" and rammed into her mind like a runaway
freight train.

And it felt so fucking *good*. *(No wonder Marcia caved),* was the
last real thought she had.

Picking up the bottle, she walked back out to the living room, and
looked at Susan. Hot. Sexy. Cool. So cool.

Susan was busy feeling her breasts through her shirt, pinching her
nipples and watching a videotape. It was an old 40's movie, but a
commercial was on... a shampoo commercial, full of lesbian overtones.
As it came to the end, Susan hit the rewind button and took it back
to the beginning. Moaning openly, she pressed play. It was just too
hot for her to ignore.

"Very, very cool," said Cindy.

"Huh?" said Susan, turning her head but keeping her eyes glued to
the screen.

Cindy held out the spray bottle and gave ten squeezes into the
confined air of the small living room.

"Susan, I have something very cool to tell you. You're going to just
love this.

"In fact, you already do."

----

Cindy moaned as cuntslut began licking her pussy again. She knew
that it was her slave's self-interest that made her return. The slut
loved to cum and couldn't until she brought her Mistress to that same
glorious moment of animalistic release. It didn't matter. It was the
best reinforcement of the slut's complete surrender that could be. It
was very, very cool. Glorious. *Very* cool. A slut making her
Mistress cum was the best, coolest feeling in the world.

She had already taken a shower by making her degraded slave, the
girl who used to be Susan, take water into her mouth and dribble it
slowly down her body. That was followed by washing with a soap bar
held in her slut's willing mouth, and then another water rinse. It
took nearly two hours. So, so very cool.

Brought back to the present by the tireless tongue on her clit, a
wave of intense pleasure wracked Cindy's tired muscles. Before she
could object, it was washing over her, obliterating any possibility
other than letting it happen. So cool. *So cool to own her slut.* Her
own moans made her girltoy's tongue work even faster, finding just
the right spot and right pressure and rhythm to make Cindy's legs
jerk in involuntary pleasure. Toes curled. Tongue waved, licking the
air in abandon. Mistress. Pleasure. Slut. So cool.

Cindy came. And then came harder as she felt her slut respond and
climax ferociously with her, her tongue itself lost in spasms of
relentless pleasure at the recognition of her Mistress's climax.
Cindy's body convulsed even more strongly in response as the two lost
women sent themselves into a cycle of higher and higher pinnacles of
orgasmic pleasure, until they were nothing more than a molten heap of
lust-fire, their clits the white-hot coals that re-ignited their
flaming passion every time it began to lessen.

Silence came only as they fell into the black wool of unconsciousness.

Cindy slowly opened her eyes. *(So cool!)* was her very first thought.

----

The pleasure of the neuron stimulation chemical had been Cindy's big
surprise. It was like having an orgasm directly in her brain.

She felt motion as her pet moaned and slowly awakened. Cindy reached
for the bottle of pure reagent and gave a few squeezes into the face
of her adoring pussy slave. "cuntslut lives for Mistress Cynthia.
cuntslut has no identity. cuntslut is only cuntslut. Property. Owned.
Pet. Toy. Slave. Cunt. cuntslut is a dirty little dyke whore
pussyslave and lives to please Mistress. Mistress's pleasure gives
cuntslut greater pleasure than anything else in the world. It's the
most fucking cool thing there is, or could be, or ever *will* be.
cuntslut is all Mistress's toy ever has been. A cool, dirty,
mindfucked cuntslut, living to please Mistress Cynthia. There is no
past. There is only Mistress's will and cuntslut's absolute devotion.
So goddamned fucking *cool*. Repeat that back, slut."

Then, eyes glistening in anticipation of the enhanced pleasure the
chemical would bring, pussy twitching in raw arousal, Cindy sprayed
herself in the face and waited for the words of her cuntslut that
would seal them together more deeply, and more deeply, and more
deeply...

----

Marcia stood behind the bar, looking for someone that would meet her
needs. She leaned over and crossed her legs, feeling her body jerk
slightly at the twinge of pleasure that coursed through her.

Finally, she saw her candidate approach and sit down at the bar.

"You need a drink?" she asked, smiling.

"Black Russian," answered the young woman. "Please."

"I have a suggestion, if you like Black Russians. It's called a
'Slavemaker.' It's the same but has a special liqueur added that
gives it a little zing. If you don't like it, I won't charge you.
It's *very* cool."

"Sure, I'll try it," agreed the young woman. Marcia smiled as she
mixed the drink, and smiled more as she reached behind the counter
and added a helping of the Convincer, as Mistress had named it.

She handed the girl the drink, watching as she took a sip, and then
kicked back the shot glass.

"What's your name, honey?" asked Marcia, smiling.

"Janice," answered the girl.

"Marcia. Well, Janice, did you like it?"

"Very tasty. Yes."

"How about another on me?"

"Sure."

Marcia watched as she threw the drink back again in one gulp.
"Smooth, huh?"

"Yep. Smooth."

Marcia walked away, taking the time to do some cleaning behind the
bar. When she turned back a few minutes later, Janice was staring
into her glass, eyes dilated.

Marcia could barely contain herself as she walked back over to
Janice, speaking.

"Feels good. So good. It really does. It feels sexy."

Janice looked into distant space, confusion briefly crossing her
petite features. "Feels... good," she responded, as a smile teased at
the corners of her mouth. "So good. Sexy."

"So good to be a little cuntwhore. Janice is a little cuntwhore."

"Janice is a little cuntwhore." For a brief moment, Janice looked up
into Marcia's eyes, her brow furrowing before her face relaxed into
pleasure-induced acceptance.

"It's fucking *cool.* And Janice can't wait until she meets Cynthia.
It will make Janice cum. Janice is Mistress Cynthia's slave. It is
*so* cool," whispered Marcia, her own voice trembling with the thrill
of what she was doing. Doing for Mistress. So cool.

Marcia walked away again, randy and wet, nearly cumming as she
watched Janice, pretty little cuntwhore Janice, begin to repeat the
words over and over to herself, her destiny altered forever.

Walking to the edge of the bar, she made a light nod to a booth in
the back corner.

Mistress Cynthia approached the bar, and said, "Nice work, pet. She
will make the perfect addition to our little... merry band. Now. Cum.
Cum for Mistress. Hard. Now."

Marcia felt her soul rip open in surrendering orgasm as Cynthia
approached Janice and tapped her on the shoulder.

Through the haze of her pleasure and obedience, she saw Janice turn
and listen, and watched as the cuntwhore shuddered, eyes quickly
filling with awe, devotion and love.

It was *so* fucking *cool.*





----

Please send any comments and feedback to cats_sara@yahoo.com, and
mention the name of the story about which you are writing in the
subject line. Thanks for reading!



http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sara_H/www/

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