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Message-ID: <33924asstr$1007867402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Sara Hart <sara_h2020@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW Absolute Part 3 (F-dom, FF, MC, NC, Hum, Mast(male)) by Sara H
Date: Sat,  8 Dec 2001 22:10:02 -0500
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This is an adult lesbian story, including extreme sexual
situations among women, including dominance, submission,
and mind control. If such things offend you, please read no
further. Reading is a voluntary act. Parents, take
responsibility for your children.

(c)2001 Sara H

This story is posted by kind permission of the author. Do
not post elsewhere, in part or in whole, without the
express permission of Sara H.

***********************************

Note: This is the final installment of this particular
story of The Department of Psychological Research. Thanks
to everyone who has encouraged me along the way... it's
made all the difference. This last part has a bit more
exposition, but I don't think it's wasted. At least, I hope
not. I only hope that those of you who have enjoyed the
first two parts will find this segment as much fun. In any
case, I don't think all the stories about the Agency have
been told... not by any stretch of the imagination.

- Sara

***********************************

Special thanks to trilby else for "Tether," Taboico for
"In the Back of My Mind" and Iago for "Chain Letter," all
of which inspired at least the thinking that went into this
story.

***********************************

Absolute

by Sara H

Categories: F-dom, FF, MC, NC, Hum, Mast(male)

***********************************

Part Three

Kimberly Smith looked up from her patient charts as the
entrance chimed. In the security monitors, she saw a woman
looking straight into the hidden camera. It was eerie --
there was no way the woman could know where the camera was,
but it was as if she was looking right at Kimberly's face.
With eyes long since trained for detail, she saw that the
visitor was dressed in what appeared to be a black silk
jumpsuit, with long brunette hair and a sinewy frame that
looked like it could do serious damage. This was a woman
with attitude.

Warning bells began to go off in her mind. This had every
sign of being dangerous.

She keyed the microphone that sat beside her in the main
nursing station. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice
full of the cold professionalism that she employed to chase
away visitors who were trying to sell something, or were
just plain curious. She hoped it would be enough for this
intruder. She rolled a bit closer to the security console,
becoming more wary as the woman didn't move.

She took a deep breath and let it back out. This sort of
thing happened on occasion. Enemies of the Agency had
sometimes managed to find out about this place.

The Warrenton Mental Hospital was hidden in plain sight,
located in the heart of one of the many ethnic
neighborhoods that were scattered around Pittsburgh. Behind
its masquerade as a simple facility for treating
depression, it hid a highly secret and secure asylum for
use by the Agency. Usually visitors were simply lost, or
looking for a public bathroom. But once in awhile, it was
someone trying to break in.

Someone just like this woman.

She hadn't even acknowledged Kimberly's question. After
perhaps forty-five seconds of silence, her voice came
through the console speaker, which laced it with static.
"Sexual deviance is the touchstone of illumination."

Kimberly sat for a moment, taking in the odd phrase.
Without otherwise moving, she reached over, pressed the
electronic door lock, and heard its buzzing through the
speaker. She keyed the overhead paging console and spoke
into it as if she were talking to a close friend. "Code
Violet. Dr. Anigav to the foyer, stat. Code Violet. Dr.
Anigav to the foyer, stat."

She relaxed as she felt her crotch moisten. One hand crept
up and began to massage her left breast. She mewled as the
pleasure of it crawled outward through her body - much more
intense than the stimulation alone warranted. She didn't
notice.

She didn't care.

She was obedient to Mistress. She couldn't even remember
not remembering why and for whom she breathed every breath.
There was only now, and now was telling her what she must
do. And as she obeyed, the pleasure soaked in further,
until her submission was more than something to accept. She
longed for it, to bathe in it, to drown in the relentless
arousal and lust and pleasure it gave.

There was a flurry of motion as armed security guards ran
past, outside to a waiting van, and began to load large
boxes onto a dolly. When this was done, they brought them
in and began to place them around different areas of the
hospital. Areas that contained personal computers.

She didn't see any of it. Her eyes were filled with a
dancing image of erotic, evolving beauty, an image she had
come to know very well. It was the image of her purpose --
of surrender to ever increasing pleasure. Ever increasing
devotion and loyalty. It was the gift of Mistress Tamara.
She licked her lips in anticipation of her coming climax.
It was always better. Always.

She wasn't disappointed. Wave after wave rocked her,
sending her legs flying and body bucking beyond her control
as her sun-heated cunt drooled more juices juices into her
soaked panties. Her head rocked as nonsense words babbled
out of her mouth, mixed with screams and mewls of
animalistic abandon... she rode it up and over and down and
up again, flying and diving, soaring for Mistress...

When her vision cleared, she looked to her left and saw
that the black-silken woman had entered and was standing on
the other side of the counter. Completely unashamed, she
stood up, picked up her set of keys, and walked out of the
nursing station, turning to face the bold intruder.

Her sister. The realization nearly made her come again and
a hot, desperate mewl hissed out of her lips.

Filled with the grace of Mistress, she dipped to her
knees, head bowed. Although she had never seen the woman
before, she knew her for who she was. "Mentor, this slave
awaits the commands of Mistress."

Natalie looked down at the beautiful, kneeling woman. She
had the barest moment of regret that she couldn't take her
now. Her cumming had been a beautiful and almost painfully
arousing thing to see, and she wouldn't mind seeing it
again from a closer vantage. But Mistress had other
priorities, which held their own intense pleasures. Later,
there would surely be opportunity. For the time being,
there were more pressing matters. "Take me to the patient,
sister. You have done very well."

Shuddering in deep, silent pleasure, Kimberly stood and
guided her trainer through the maze of hallways, unlocking
doors and holding them open in mute respect as they passed
through.

Finally, they reached the plain white door of room 348.
The nurse unlocked it and pushed it open. Natalie walked
past her and into the room. She looked at the disheveled
woman who was busy rubbing her cunt against an iron
bedpost, facing the opposite direction. She appeared to be
completely oblivious to the fact that she was being
watched. "Is she like this all the time?" asked Natalie,
glancing back.

"Yes. If she isn't masturbating, she's sitting and
staring, or begging us to fuck her, or eating, or sleeping.
Lately, it's been driving us crazy," answered Kimberly, as
a giggle escaped her. Natalie heard the underlying, very
real hunger in the words. It brought a wistful smile to her
lips as she thought again of ravaging the young nurse. She
trembled as the image added itself to the unrelenting
euphoria of doing Tamara's will.

"I can imagine. Such a pitiful life, though. No one to
fuck, and dying to do so all the time," Natalie walked over
and placed her hand on the young woman's sweaty shoulder.

"Ms. Geoghegan," she said. There was no immediate
response. She tried again. "Mary, I've come to take you
home."

The woman stopped her lewd gyrations. She turned and
looked Natalie directly in the eyes. "Fuck me. Now," she
hissed, tossing her hair back like a horny harem girl.

Natalie added that to her list of things to do.

***********************************

The drive back to the Agency was uneventful, save her call
to Mistress.

"Yes, my precious?"

"Mistress, all went as planned. Rhonda's hack into the
asylum systems worked perfectly. By the time I left, the
entire staff was preparing itself for the implantation of
the Ceramic Intra-Cerebral Matrices. There is no sign of
rebellion or resistance of any kind. All of them have
reached initial obedience to the Sapphic Front."

"Mmmm, pet. You've done so well. I'm pleased. Is there any
reward you would care for in particular? Some pet with whom
you can play?"

Natalie's legs jerked in spasm at her Owner's words. She
accepted as wholly natural the fact that Tamara always
seemed to know her most secret thoughts. Her love for
Mistress grew again. A stray thought wandered through,
asking why in the fucking world she had ever tried to
resist this. "Yes, Mistress. I would love to be charged
with the final training of one of the nurses there.
Kimberly Smith."

"That should be no problem at all," said Mistress Tamara,
laughing. Natalie could hear the smile through the phone.
She pulled over just in time to be wracked by a gale force
torrent of orgasmic bliss.

As she quaked and bucked, she began to laugh at the
delicious and wholly depraved thoughts wandering through
her pliant mind. "Poor Kimberly is in for quite an
awakening," she thought, before cumming again, and then
again, orgasms piling up on top of each other like a wall
of eternal cuntlust.

***********************************

Director Reynolds looked at his watch and scowled.
McClanahan and Koranski were almost a half-hour late. It
was going to put a crimp in his work for the rest of the
day. He didn't have the time to spend waiting. But they had
said it was important, and they were the best agents he
had. He really had no choice.

At least the rest of the Agency seemed to be getting
things accomplished. It had been eerily quiet as he walked
through that morning. Everyone had their noses to the
proverbial grindstone, completely absorbed in their work at
their computers. It would mean more reports for him, but
maybe the backlog of reports would finally get caught up.
It was odd, yes, but he was not about to question
efficiency on such a grand scale.

Even his secretary had been so busy that she barely
acknowledged him. He looked at the large box beside her
desk as she typed, and wondered about it for a moment until
he saw the Agency seal on it. It had no doubt been brought
up from the file room. Like everyone else, she seemed
almost obsessed with whatever she was typing.

"Good morning, Dorinda," he had said.

She had barely looked up. She just let out a tiny half of
a humph, almost as if he wasn't there.

"Must be some kind of contest," he thought. "Probably that
Dalton fellow -- it seems like something he'd cook up..."

Whatever this fire was that had been lit, it was certainly
welcome. He made a note to find out who had been so
motivated, and make sure they were recognized.

He grimaced as he was brought back to the present by the
sound of the doorknob turning. Christ, Dorinda had been too
absorbed to even notify him. The grimace turned to a scowl
as Patsy and Natalie walked into the spacious office, out
of breath and red-faced. He stood and motioned each to a
chair with a dismissive flourish. He began to pace back and
forth.

"You two may be my best agents, but I can't abide
tardiness. There are things I have to..."

"We've cracked the Sapphic Front, sir," interrupted Patsy.

"... and I expect my agents to be examples to... say
what?" He was taken completely off guard.

"We cracked the Sapphic Front case. And it's not good
news."

"They've infiltrated further than we thought?" Reynolds
looked even more severe.

"They've infiltrated the Agency," said Natalie.

"Christ," said Reynolds. "How did they even find out about
us?" "Hard to say, but we think it was through a clerk,
Tabi Mallory. She's been compromised, at any rate. Total
lesbian Sapphic Front mole. And whether it was really her
doing or not, they've managed to make inroads. If you can
come to the security room, we have something important to
show you. It's the worst of what's happened," said Patsy.
Her statement wasn't a request. It didn't need to be. "The
employees and agents we've verified as viable are waiting
there."

"If I can come to the security room? Jesus, sometimes...
never mind. Let's go." Reynolds scowl was replaced with a
look of grim determination.

They walked quickly down the hall and waited, impatient
and fidgeting at the speed of the retinal scanner. The door
hissed open and they entered.

The room was dark except for the projected blue screen of
an idle VCR. Reynolds couldn't make out any faces, but
there were perhaps twenty people whose silhouettes he could
see.

"This is everyone, Rhonda," said Patsy. "You can start the
tape."

There was no answer, but the screen came to life. The
director watched as the camera came into focus. He choked
as he saw what came into view.

It was his living room.

As he recovered, he leaned forward and put his hands over
his mouth, pulling downward on his jaw. Through his
disbelieving outrage, his need to observe had won the first
battle.

His horror intensified as he watched his wife, Joyce,
enter the room. The view changed and he watched her kneel
in the negligee he'd given her for their twentieth
anniversary.

He could see the legs of another woman. Joyce's eyes, wide
and unblinking, looked up, as if listening. He wished he
could hear what was being said. He pulled further down on
his face, the red of his lower eyelids showing as he
watched, helpless as his wife -- his fucking wife -- began
to shake.

He heartened for a moment. She was fighting. She looked as
if something inside were going to break out, break her
free. Surely all his work with her over the years wouldn't
fail. He had conditioned her to be able to resist. She
hadn't known... but it was the only safe thing to do.

Because of this. This terrible, obscene display of someone
trying to break her mind. But she would win. She was
strong. She had to win.

And then her mouth opened. This was it. The moment she
would finally break free from the mental hold of whoever
had her.

"The slave begs a taste of her sister's hot, steaming cunt
in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress
Tamara."  Her words broke the silence like a scythe,
burning in his brain.

"Tamara? Why is that name so familiar?" he thought, his
mind fighting to find the information he should know but
had somehow misplaced.

"Oh, Joyce, that was pretty good, but you just didn't have
your heart in it. Again, with feeling. Try to make me cum
with your words."

The voice had been altered. Still, the inflections sounded
familiar. He fought harder to connect his whirling
thoughts. And why was his dick getting hard?

"The slave begs a taste of her sister's hot, steaming cunt
in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress
Tamara..."

Reynolds felt his mind breaking apart, piece by piece.
Joyce had lost. Her words carried... conviction. He wanted
desperately to wake up, but there was no relief and the
scene played on, burning into his soul like a red-hot
needle.

His cock felt like there were tongues licking it all over.
This was insane. The more horror he felt, the more it was
stimulating his cock. Sparks of heat flew up his spine at
the realization.

The electronic voice tortured him again as he let out a
small sob. It was impossible to tell if it was from pain or
pleasure.

"Much better, Joyce. But I think I'd like your hot little
tongue in my asshole. Wouldn't that be better?"

He couldn't pull his eyes away as his wife's eyes filled
with obscene relish and depravity. He watched as she
stretched out her tongue and leaned forward, body begging
to for a taste. The reality of the scene surged through
him. He thought he was going to vomit. He knew he was going
to cum.

His own thoughts were drowning out her words now, but his
eyes saw everything as her body language sent out waves of
newfound enthusiasm.

Reynolds put his fist in his mouth, fending off the scream
that was trying to explode out of his throat. Then, without
warning, his wife turned and looked into the camera, her
face distorted into the countenance of a demon of lust. The
sound of his name woke him from his inner rambling.
"Marvin, honey," she sang to him, in her familiar way, "I
do this in honor of the love of my life, my purpose for
living, my Owner and Mistress, Tamara Morgan, in order to
show you her infinite power. And it's much better for me
than it is for you..."

This time, he did scream, as his penis spilled hot,
boiling jism into his pants. He tired to push back his
chair, but his hips were quaking from the intense pleasure
still licking at his loins.

Rage and guilt, hatred and confusion rang through the
mind. Why was everyone silent? Why weren't they as outraged
as he at the mind-rape of his wife, his beloved? He looked
back to the screen, eyes wide with panic and ashamed
arousal. The camera was slowly pulling back. He clutched
himself, doubling over as he saw what and who it revealed.

Patsy.

The lights came up. He looked around the conference table.
Agent after agent was looking at him, with the vague
indifference of a scientist towards a laboratory animal.
Through the fog of his failing sanity, he realized that the
infiltration was much bigger than he could have dreamed.

He realized that he'd been had.

"Welcome to your new post, Director."

He looked up at Patsy who was standing beside him, holding
out a black leather collar. He screamed and broke for the
door, as agents crowded around him. Just as he felt a set
of hands gain purchase and start to pull him back, the door
slid open and he fell outward and under the heap of bodies
that followed him out the door. By instinct more than
skill, he managed to break free and run down the hall.

Without thinking, he turned into his office, sped past
Dorinda's desk, and slammed the door open and then shut as
he entered, pressing the security button that secured the
doorway with armor plate. His eyes closed as he heard the
steel armor slide quickly downward outside. He fell back
against the door, eyes still closed, panting.

"Glad to see you could make it, Marvin."

He stopped cold, unwilling even to breathe. He opened his
eyes and looked at his chair, which was facing away from
him. He began to giggle as he looked on either side of his
desk.

To the right was Joyce, beaming, eyes wide and sightless,
lost in rapture built in the crevices of her own mind. Her
hand played at her naked crotch while tremors passed
through her otherwise immobile form.

And to the left, in an identical pose, was Mary Geoghegan,
the daughter of the Senator -- the girl who had been locked
away from sight for so many years.

The chair spun around in a slow arc. Reynolds felt panic
and defeat clawing for the domination of his mind. In this
nightmare, he thought he was beyond surprise. He was wrong,

Sitting in the chair now facing him, was retired Senator
Alfred Geoghegan, himself.

Marvin Reynolds, Director of the Department of
Psychological Research, collapsed on the floor,
unconscious.

***********************************

"There you are. Good. Glad to see you're awake, now."

Reynolds felt groggy. He was confused. Where was he?

The memory took a moment to flood back in. He tried to
struggle, but he was too weak to move, not to mention the
fact that he was strapped to a gurney that had been tilted
upward.

"Alfred, this is all wrong," he said.

"No, it's extremely right," answered the Senator. "Let me
tell you a story, my boy. It's one with which you should be
intimately familiar.

"Several years ago, as you know, my daughter was abducted
for a high political ransom which I was unable to pay,
though I would have done so gladly. It was, sadly, not
within my power. I was sent tapes much like the one you
just saw, showing her progressive brainwashing. No, it was
more like programming.

"I, of course, came to you for help. As one of the few
politicians aware of your existence, I knew your agency was
the only one that could help. And, as you will also recall,
I was able to increase the Agency's clandestine funding. It
was difficult, but it's amazing what grief and desperation
will do.

"And then came the word from you that she was dead. That
she had been burned, her ashes buried. I wonder whose ashes
those were you gave me? Well, it's likely of no importance,
even if you could remember.

"I left the Senate due to my grief -- certainly
understandable. My Mary was my life. She was my sense of
rightness, of goodness. With her gone, I could go on no
longer. I was able to leave my post with dignity, barely.
But the grief killed my wife, Mary's mother.

"And I had no idea about the truth. It wasn't until nearly
a year later that I was given the initial facts. Facts that
gave me hope. But your plan nearly worked."

"Plan?" asked Reynolds.

"The plan to kidnap and turn my daughter into a raving,
nymphomaniacal lunatic. You sentenced her to a hellish life
of merciless arousal and desire that could never be sated.
And you used her, you demonic pile of maggot slime, for
your own pleasure. All for increased funding. Funding you
would have received anyway. You are beyond loathsome, my
friend. Although 'friend' isn't quite the word to use, is
it?"

Reynolds flushed despite the sedative. "I don't know what
you're talking about. You've been had. The Sapphic Front
has loaded your mind with..."

"I CREATED THE SAPPHIC FRONT, YOU IDIOT!" shouted the
Senator, rising from the chair. His face was red with years
of unspent rage. "Don't play stupid or innocent. I know
what you did, you bastard.

"You see, you failed to check up on Mary's own secret
life. She had a lover. A female lover. She was afraid to
tell me, but also afraid to be found out, because of what
it might do to my political career. She was misguided about
what my reaction would have been, but she was giving and
kind and beautiful. And you turned her into a gibbering
sexual monster.

"Her lover, Dr. Tamara Morgan, was very careful to respect
Mary's wish for secrecy and privacy. There was never any
evidence that they shared their hearts and beds.
Eventually, Tamara placed hidden cameras around Mary's
apartment, unbeknownst to Mary. She loved my daughter, and
feared the private investigators and scandal magazines that
would drive them apart if their love was discovered.

"The cameras caught several of just those kinds of people.
They also caught a young, rising Assistant Director on tape
as he was unmasked by my daughter as she fought against her
abduction.

"And that Assistant Director, my... friend... was you."

The Senator paused as the ramifications of his words sank
in.

"Tamara came to me. I didn't believe any of it, not at
first. But I had the tapes analyzed for authenticity. The
next time we met, it was me who visited her.

"So Tamara and I hatched a plan. I poured every last
resource of my sizeable estate into my own clandestine
research and development, under the guise of the mysterious
and misleading 'Sapphic Front'. A front, yes, but not of
the kind you imagined. The name of the organization didn't
exist before that.

"Imagine how amusing it was for me the day you called,
nearly two years after you recovered her "ashes", to tell
me that you had found out who had abducted her. Ironic,
isn't it? You could have named any threatening
organization, but you chose inadvertently to prove Tamara's
story. Worst of all, is that under different circumstances
I might have believed you.

"In any case, it took years to develop technology and
contacts that would allow us to penetrate the Agency. While
you looked for a group of women interested in world
domination, we were slowly leading your agents into a web
from which there was no escape. It took nearly five years.
But once we had Patsy, and then Natalie, the game was
already won. You were so predictable, Marvin. Not a speck
of insight or talent of your own."

"Tell me, do you think your agents ever suspected that
your 'Mind Mapper', the one you used for testing them for
mental tampering, was actually a brainwashing device used
to assure their loyalty? It doesn't matter. They know now.
And they're free of its effects."

The room was spinning around Reynolds. He felt the walls
closing in on him. He tried to play for time, if only
enough time to think. "So, you are the leader of the
Sapphic Front?"

"Odd you should ask. No, we had to test the technology on
men as well as women. In those early days, there were few
people involved. So I was the obvious candidate. I love and
obey Mistress Tamara with every molecule of my being. She
alone has given my life purpose again. I obey without
question or hesitation. And it's so damned good. Unlike
you, her rewards are quite..." -- the Senator closed his
eyes in a moment of bliss -- "g-gratifying. I'll never
serve the way her female pets do, but that is exactly as it
should be. You'll understand, soon enough."

Reynolds, thinking as fast as he could, said, "You'll
never prove your story, you know. The records were all
destroyed. Eventually, you'll be uncovered and labeled a
lunatic, Alfred. Give this up, now. It was a useless fight
then. It's a useless fight now, too."

"Oh, my. You really are as thick as I've been told. Do you
remember your backlog of files? You'd be surprised what's
been misplaced and put in the wrong boxes over the years.
Luckily, we had Patsy to pull all the pieces together." As
if to punctuate is point, he reached behind the desk and
dropped a large, sealed envelope on the desk.

"I just wanted you to know why this was done. I don't give
a fuck if you know how. I have Mary back, and she will soon
be rejoined with Tamara in a way they could never dream
before. And as for you, dear Director... I wish that I
could say that it has been a pleasure knowing you. It has
certainly been a pleasure destroying you.

"Which reminds me. I've been instructed to show you just
how far the Agency has become compromised. In five seconds
from when I say 'start', you will cum Marvin, by order of
my Mistress and yours, Mistress Tamara Morgan, MD. Start."

Reynolds could feel it building impossibly fast as his
cock grew rigid and painful. He screamed as his orgasm
slammed through him, shredding his defiance into tiny bits
of pleasure-confetti that fell across his body, causing it
to jerk and quake in shame and pleasure.

Senator Geoghegan, stepping with the distinguished grace
born of years and generations of tradition, held out his
hands to Joyce and Mary, who came to life and rose to take
them. He allowed them a moment for a brief kiss with each
other, and escorted them from the office.

 From just outside Reynolds heard him say, "Patsy, Natalie,
he's all yours. Please try to come up with something
creative, yes?"

He closed is eyes as he heard their approaching footsteps.

"Oh, shit," was all he could think to say.

     WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Today, Marvin Reynolds
     resigned his post as Director of the
     powerful but little-known Department of
     Psychological Research, amid charges of
     misappropriation of resources. Mr. Reynolds
     could not be reached for comment. However,
     longtime associate and friend, retired Sen.
     Alfred Geoghegan said that, "...this is an
     internal affair with internal solutions. No
     permanent damage was done, and no money
     taken, but Marvin obviously feels obligated
     to leave, despite the fact that many of us
     believe that he has done nothing wrong."

     Federal law enforcement officials
     acknowledged that there is no continuing
     investigation, nor any plan for one. "This
     is a closed case. It's been resolved. And
     it's somewhere that no one really wants to
     go," said one official, on condition of
     anonymity.

     Rumors around the Capitol are saying that
     the department might move from the public to
     private sectors, a move that would put the
     agency in the hands of private investors. Dr.
     Tamara Morgan, the newly named Director, said
     in an interview yesterday that such a move
     would prove "...beneficial to all interested
     parties, and free up federal dollars for more
     urgent causes." When asked what causes those
     might be, she responded, "That's not really
     up to me to decide."

     The Department of Psychological Research has
     been a target of conspiracy theory fringe
     groups for years, who have charged it with
     being involved in everything from military
     propaganda to mind control. From time to time,
     these rumors surface again, but close
     inspection over the years has yielded nothing
     to indicate such activities, leaving the
     public to speculate what function this
     classified organization actually performs...

***********************************

Marsha Collier didn't like visits from the home office.
They were more than a nuisance -- they were interruptions
that took days of useless preparation time, followed by a
day of guided tours where nothing got accomplished, and
that ended with little more than a pat on the back and
admonishments to improve efficiency. It was frustrating
that they were supposed to look efficient during an
exercise in inefficiency.

On the other hand, the new Director was not what she had
expected. She was friendly, open, and didn't walk around
with the usual air of self-importance that accompanied her
position. Best of all, she seemed genuinely concerned about
the issues facing their small staff of agents.

After only a few hours of looking through records and
asking about the operation, Director Morgan looked up from
a folder and said, "Is this what all your past directors
have done on these inspection visits? Looked at files and
talked about nothing of real importance?"

"Pretty much," said Marsha, shrugging. "Can I take that to
mean you're interested in something else?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, yes."

"You know, Director, that's the best thing I've heard in
longer than I can remember."

"I'm glad you think so. But let's stop with the 'Director'
stuff, right now. I'd much prefer that you call me... well,
'Tamara' might be too informal. Chief is too masculine...
how about..." said the Director, trailing off as she
thought about it.

Marsha waited patiently, without expression -- but inside,
she was smiling. She liked this woman. It was such a change
from the gruff machismo she'd come to expect in law
enforcement.

"Mistress," finished Tamara.

Marsha felt something inside ...shift... and looked at
Tamara more closely. Something was itching inside her
skull. It was something serpentine, something... delicious.
Morphing. Something familiar. Yes. Delicious. "Yes,
Mistress, that does sound more -- appropriate," she said.

She heard her words and comprehended their meaning, but
she felt somehow disconnected, as if she were observing
herself. Tamara -- "Mistress", her mind reminded her, was
some kind of... of... "Goddess."

But that wasn't right. Tamara was the Director, and she
was the Senior Field Agent for (Mistress) the reformed
Agency. She stood still while her thoughts whirled and
reality shifted again.

"Oh, I'm so glad you watched the Agency Restructuring CD I
sent, Marsha. Of course, as it is so often said, the Agency
is the sum total of its employees, so I had to restructure
everyone. You know, I never planned on this. But in my
fight against Reynolds and his corruption, I developed a
certain... taste for being in control. I don't think I want
to give it up just yet. There's so much pleasure in
seduction, don't you agree?" purred Tamara.

Marsha could feel her face turning red. She knew that this
was wrong, that it was perverted. She knew that she should
be fighting the consumption of her will. But her lips
disobeyed her. "Pleasssssure... yessssss..."

The utterance sent a shiver of delight from the base of
her brain down her back and legs. She was breathing faster.
She began to fight harder, but what was left of her control
could not break the grip on her body. She felt her pussy
becoming damp as her legs spread without her permission. It
felt like there was a sea of tongues under her, licking,
licking, licking endlessly, trapping her, changing her,
making her bend more and more... She knew it was just in
her mind. Her mind. A hallucination. It was oh fuck it was
just in her mind and she didn't fucking care. It was so
damned perfect. She let out a guttural moan.

"Oh, poor dear, it must be embarrassing to be acting the
slut. If only your mother could see you now. But you have
no mother do you? You have no father. You have no past. You
have Mistress. Mistress Tamara. Say it."

"N-nno. I have a motherrr. Her n-name... is..."

It had been right there on the tip of her tongue. The name
of her -- her what? Her Mistress. Yes. Mistress Tamara.

Tamara walked over and looked into the tear-filled eyes of
her newest awakened slave as she placed her hand under her
chin. God, she wanted to cum just from watching the shame
and desire fight for possession of the agent's mind. "Say
it!" she hissed.

"I... have Mistress Tamara," said Marsha, suddenly
relaxing as the tension in her released. A gigantic spasm
rocked her body forward as the assault continued.

"Mistress Tamara owns me. Say it, Marsha."

"No!" Her resistance broke through and gained a foothold.

"Mistress Tamara owns me. You can feel it winding through,
can't you? Every word I speak. Choking off your mistaken
sense of self, of purpose. Be a good girl. Mistress Tamara
owns me."

Good girl. She had to be good. She had to be...

She let out a horrified sob as the words forced themselves
out of her in an unexpected blast of surrender. "Mistress
Tamara owns me!"

"I am the loving property of Mistress Tamara. Speak."

"I am the loving property of Mistress Tamara..." she was
crying now, but it was so hard to remember why. She felt
love blossom and take root, sending her up to another
plateau of lust and desire.

"I obey her in everything."

"I obey her in everything." It was as if she were being
reborn. It was so clear. It was so terrible. It was
everything it should be.

"I am her slave. She is my purpose. Speak."

"I am her slave. She is my... purpose."

"I am a slut. I am a princess. I am whatever she desires,
whenever she desires it. I have no limits. I have no
dignity. I have Mistress Tamara. Speak."

"I am a slut. I am a princess. I am whatever she desires,
whenever she desires it. I have no limits. I have no
dignity. I have Mistress Tamara."

"I have no name. I am slave."

"I... have..."

The swaying, entranced agent knew something was wrong. She
tried to think of what her name was. She realized that she
didn't have one. The pleasure inside her expanded and rose.
"I have no name. I am slave."

"Listen carefully. I want you to undress me. Then, undress
yourself. You are to take the vibrator I give you and hold
it against my pussy while you tongue-fuck my asshole.
Everything you do to me, every pleasure you give me, echoes
even more strongly in yourself. It is stronger than any
pleasure you have ever known. Pleasing me in the slightest
task or chore, whether sexual or not, creates irresistible
sexual pleasure in you. Each time you obey, the pleasure is
stronger. That is the pleasure of obedience. Once felt, all
other pleasures are as nothing. They cannot compare to the
pleasure of obedience to your Owner. To Mistress Tamara.
Does slave comprehend?"

"Slave comprehends, Mistress."

"Very good. I am pleased. Once you have tasted the
pleasure of knowing you have pleased me, you may begin."

Tamara watched as the slave's body fell to the floor,
writhing and gyrating in obscene pleasure. The CIM was
recording and amplifying it all, playing it back so that
the slave felt it over and over, deeper and deeper. This
one would be an exceptional addition to her collection. She
felt herself lubricating as the slave's moans became
screams, and the screams choked off into pure lust and
ecstasy as her body tensed in climax.

It went on for a very long time.

Tamara thought back while she waited. Poor Reynolds,
doomed to a fate of only being able to get off when he was
alone and looking into a mirror, and only wanting one thing
in his life: to get off again. She grinned as she thought
of Natalie's and Patsy's torture for their ex-leader. Their
minds were almost as nasty as her own.

And now, with the last Field Office "restructured", she
indulged in the luxury of congratulating herself on her
ingenuity. Once she had Senator Geoghegan under her
control, making Reynolds out to be the perpetrator of
Mary's kidnapping had been easy. Implanting the false
memories in the ex-Director had proved challenging, but not
nearly as difficult as she had imagined. And now, the
Sapphic Front had all the resources of the Agency at its
disposal, and without the watchful eye of the government to
stop her from playing. She even had male agents to do
actual casework, if needed.

World domination wasn't the idea. It was seduction, over
and over and over and over. She savored the taste of it.

Tamara cooed as her newest slave rose and began to
undress. She looked at the beauty of the woman before her.
She would make a wonderful playmate along with Patsy,
Natalie, and her other top slaves. She would have to see
what would happen with all the CIMs synched together for an
orgy. She might even tie in her own.

Yes, it would be quite interesting.

Absolutely.






***********************************


Finis.




Please feel free to contact me at sara_h2020@yahoo.com. I
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