Suzanne came to herself in a puddle of torn clothes and gold-tinged fluids. Somewhere in the confusion the robot had gone back to his pedestal, and now he looked as blank and inanimate as the statue he so resembled.

Dominic, on the other hand, regarded her with a look of unadulterated amusement. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

"You know I did, Master." She resisted the urge to pull her messy clothes around her. What was the point, now? Besides, it was something of a relief to finally push past the edge of the envelope. Dammit, she'd wanted that robot from the first, and she actually got to have him - live, in front of the whole world. She got to have him every damn fucking she wanted him. Suzanne smiled to herself, then looked up to find the Master smiling back at her.

"You've just had a taste of what I experience every day, at every moment: absolute control over another human being." His smile grew slyer. "But you had a taste of the opposite, as well."

She had, hadn't she? But that experience had only lasted for a second. It was as if he'd flicked a single switch in her head, then sat back to watch the results. "Is that how it is for all your slaves?"

"Do I sense a touch of disappointment?" He pretended to be offended. "No, Suzanne, there are hundreds of different switches in the human mind, and hundreds of ways to manipulate them. For instance, there's this-"

Again his hands were in her head; but this time they lingered, undressing, caressing, exploring. Again her cunt grew wet, but this time she couldn't move a muscle to satisfy herself. All she could do was feel, as his power bored through every hidden chamber of her mind. It was her second fantastic fuck of the day, and by far the better of the two. Her body was motionless, but her thoughts spun in a rising vortex of climax upon climax.

"I can do whatever I want with you," the Master said, and his voice tolled through her head like a gong. "I can twist your thoughts, erase your memories, turn you into someone else entirely - and I can make you love every second of it. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Master," she gasped, her voice suddenly freed though the rest of her remained exquisitely bound.

"And you want me to do it now, don't you, Suzanne?"

All thoughts of the robot were forgotten. She was whirling upward toward the greatest orgasm of all, an orgasm so intense it would blast every thought from her mind.

And that was exactly what she wanted - more than she'd ever wanted anything else in her life. "Yes, Master! Please, Master!"

"Very well, then, just a taste...for now. Tell me, Suzanne, what was the worst year of your life?"

"Ninth grade," she moaned, the memories still smarting vaguely even in the midst of the whirlwind. Then the Master's power closed over them, soft as a velvet fist; and for the second time she felt something twist in her mind. Quick as a thought his hand withdrew, and an entire year of her life went with it.

Loss had never felt so good. Suzanne fell back with a shriek, convulsing across the steps below the throne and smearing them with her fluids.

She held onto the ecstasy for as long as she could; but the fist was gone, and she had no choice but to drift slowly back to earth. Her thighs trembled as though she'd run a marathon.

"Well," said the Master, "that was certainly enjoyable."

Suzanne wrestled her eyes back into focus to see that he'd barely moved. Aside from a bit of color in his cheeks, he didn't even seem much aroused. She wondered what it would take to bring a man like this to climax.

Dominic smiled. "Perhaps you'll find out, eventually," he said. "But for now, you have an interview to complete. I'd tell you to get dressed, but...." He glanced at the sodden pile of rags that had been her clothes. "Ah well, perhaps we can find something else for you to wear." He snapped his fingers and the robot women left the room.

There was an awkward moment while Suzanne tried to decide whether to look Dominic in the face or avoid him altogether. Then the attendants returned, and she stared at their armloads of black leather. "This will do, for now," said the Master. "Robots, dress her."

Suzanne let herself be encased in thigh-high lace-up boots, a chastity belt, and a skintight corset which elevated her breasts but left her nipples bare. I look like a bondage slave, she thought, and laughed sickly at the thought. It wasn't too far from the truth. That last orgasm had been so intense, so literally mind-blowing, that she'd do whatever she had to, to experience it again. She'd even give up her precious Pulitzer.

The thought brought her up short. I didn't mean that, she told herself quickly, then realized that she actually did. Worse still, she knew it was her own idea and not something Dominic had planted in her. Now that she'd felt his touch so intimately, she could never mistake it for anything else. In fact, she didn't want anything else, anymore. Suzanne was as hooked as any back-alley junkie. She raised her eyes to her Master's, knowing he'd read her every thought, and blushed a second time.

Then suddenly she remembered her riders. They'd read her thoughts, too, and experienced everything she had: secondhand, she hoped. At least, that was the way wetwiring was supposed to work. But if Dominic could use satellites to beam his control around the world-

"-I could use wetware just as easily. You're right, Suzanne." His eyes glittered. "If I chose to, I could puree every mind on the planet, through yours. But don't worry. We might have made a few more control addicts, you and I, but your riders are basically safe." He stood and held out his hand. "Now, come with me. I have so much more to show you."

She took his hand shyly, thinking how strange it was that this was their first real touch, and let him lead her into a broad green courtyard. Among the plants, fountains and fish ponds danced dozens of human forms, frozen like the ones she'd seen before, but more varied in appearance. Unlike the robots and house statues, these slaves had been allowed to keep their own features. Instead, they'd been painted to resemble a myriad of precious stones and jewels - everything from alabaster to obsidian, garnet to agate, hematite to malachite to moonstone. The list went on as far as Suzanne could see.

"This is my sculpture garden," said the Master. "I began work on it as soon as I settled in here, but there's still plenty of room for expansion. How do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she admitted, and stammered on before she could stop herself. "Are you going to make me one of them?" She imagined standing mindless and motionless until the Master willed her to move. She imagined becoming a thing, and was surprised to feel the familiar zing at her clit. How embarrassing. How hot.

Dominic laughed. "Don't worry, Suzanne. What I have planned for you is more unique than statuehood. Now, just enjoy the garden; I've put so much work into it. Here, feel this one's thigh."

They'd stopped beneath a statue that appeared to be carved from mahogany. Her skin was so cunningly - painted? dyed? what? - that the "grain" of the wood accentuated the natural curves of her body. Each hip, each breast, was outlined in concentric circles. Her face, on the other hand, was barely recognizable as human. And her hair at least couldn't be real. Suzanne ran her hand along the glossy flank, and noted that the woman's skin even felt like wood. "Amazing," she murmured. "How do you do it?"

"You'll see in just a moment. But take a good look at her face now. Do you recognize her?"

Suzanne obeyed, and the statue's African features swam into focus. That distinctive regal neck, those cheeks like ripe peaches - she had seen her before. "She was a model, wasn't she? I remember now, she went missing shortly after you took over."

"That's right." The Master seemed pleased. "I'd had my eye on her long before the Mars expedition. Actually, there are several statues here whom you might recognize. Most were models, but I also have a few actors and singers - overrated in their original line of work, of course. I wouldn't deprive the world of real talent. Here, take a look at this one-" he pointed to a bosomy young statue in pink marble. "Isn't she better off here, where we can enjoy her beauty without being distracted by her singing?"

Suzanne giggled - like a schoolgirl, she was embarrassed to note. And she was standing flirtatiously close to the Master, practically pressing her breasts against his arm. But her mind still tingled with the aftereffects of his control, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her again. That made it a little hard to maintain her vaunted professionalism.

Fortunately, it didn't seem to matter anymore. Dominic had obviously designed the whole interview beforehand, so all she really had to do was let him steer.

Still, a small rebellious voice in her head still screamed, What the hell are you doing, enjoying all this?

She did her best to ignore it. What was the point of worrying, when she couldn't resist him even if she'd wanted to? Besides, his touch had felt sooo good. She thought again about her riders, and wondered how many of them had masturbated to her broadcast already.

"And now," said the Master, "I think it's time to show you the next step in the process."

Suzanne felt a gush of warmth. Was he going to control her again?

He patted her ass and laughed. "Mmm, Suzanne, you're just so eager to be a slave - and after such a small taste of control! Unfortunately, it's not your turn just yet. I'm talking about the next step in processing these statues - and the robots, as well. You did ask the one who brought you here how I'd turned him to gold. Follow me and I'll show you."

Her led her across the garden and through another door, then down into well-lighted "dungeons" of bare walls and stony floors. "I store my slaves underground between viewings," the Master explained. "They sleep here, eat here, exercise-" He paused at her baffled look. "Oh yes, they exercise. It's the only way they can maintain bodies like the ones you saw upstairs. A statue who did nothing but pose all day wouldn't last a week. They have to alternate twelve hours on pedestals with twelve hours of body care."

"When do they sleep?"

"While they're posing. At least," he shrugged, "that's their down time. I don't know if they have enough mental capacity left for what we'd call 'sleep.' The woman you touched in the garden for instance: the only thought in the vast empty space behind her eyes was the shape of her pose.

"Ah, here we are."

They'd reached a set of huge double doors, sturdy as the gates of a medieval castle. But they swung open at the Master's touch, and he led Suzanne into a gigantic room that might once have been a drug laboratory. Now it was a sort of bizarro art studio. Blank-faced nudes stood spread-eagled on a dozen platforms. Some were surrounded by artists in smocks, actually painting them with old-fashioned brushes. Other were attended by lab-coated technicians and complicated equipment. A few lay still on tables, watching passively as robot arms spun toward their faces.

"What is all this?" breathed Suzanne. The fear had crept back into her belly. This was where she would end up; she knew it.

Dominic drew an arm around her shoulders. "As the robot told you upstairs, statue-making is a complicated procedure. We're skipping the early stages: the plastic surgery and muscle reinforcements they need in order to spend so much time posing. To be honest, it's not much fun to watch that bit. I'm bringing you in on the more entertaining end of the process."

He steered her toward a platform where an Asian woman waited inside a ring of laser barrels. She looked almost normal, except for her lack of hair - and her eyes, which were lead gray from corner to corner. "Contact lenses," explained the Master. "The paint and lasers would blind her if we didn't take precautions."

"So you color their eyes with a different process?"

"Yes, but you'll see that for yourself, in the end. Watch carefully, now."

The lasers hummed to life, focusing their barrage on the top of the woman's head. Then they began to sweep downward, forming a ring which crept, oh so slowly, across her face. In their wake, the woman's skin shone translucent as tissue paper.

"They're breaking down her melanin," explained the Master, as the lasers rotated outward to cover her arms, "and destroying her skin's ability to produce more. That's what gives my statues such vibrant color: they have no natural pigmentation to compete with what I add."

"Does it hurt?"

The Master raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter? Let's move on."

He led her to a second platform, where a man of about twenty was in the final stages of being painted. His skin was already a beautiful shade of cobalt, but a trio of artists were adding seams of white and darker blue, with here and there a hint of gold.

"Lapis lazuli," explained the Master. "A favorite of the Pharaohs, and a particularly good choice for this Egyptian boy. The woman behind us, I think, is slated for jade. I like to match ethnicities and materials when I can. It adds another layer of meaning to my art."

Suzanne studied the gold flake, remembering the first robot she'd seen. Paint alone couldn't explain the slickness of his skin. And anyway, paint wasn't permanent.

"No," agreed the Master. "But this isn't paint; it's closer to tattoo ink, although thanks to my technicians, I have a wider palette to choose from than any tattoo artist before me. But let's move on.

"From here the statues go to a second set of lasers-" he directed her to the next platform- "where the color is driven into their skin. Special dyes and creams are added later, to produce effects like gold or wood or even rough clay. Each statue has a team of body slaves who exist for no other purpose than to maintain its finish."

Suzanne watched as lasers turned a bull-necked man permanently bronze. She wondered what color she'd end up and, shuddering, forced herself back to the topic at hand. After all, she was still a reporter. For now.

Was that a pang of fear or excitement? She forced herself not to think about it.

"All right," she said. "But this doesn't explain the golden tongue and gums I saw on the robot who led me here. You can't get a laser into all the nooks and crannies of a mouth."

"No," the Master agreed, "you can't. At least, not without spending hours working at it. But we've found a better way. Look there-" he pointed toward a statue who appeared to be drinking a glass of ink. As Suzanne watched, the woman swirled the liquid around in her mouth and gargled, coating the entire inside of her mouth and upper throat. Then her cheeks bulged as she transferred the load back to the front of her mouth. A technician inserted a needle between her lips, and her face lit up from within.

"Electric current," said the Master. "The liquid doubles as ink and conductor." They watched as the woman spit out the dye and rinsed her mouth with water. Then she opened wide and the technician pulled back her lips, inspecting the deep purple results. "Of course," Dominic continued, "her teeth won't really be uniform until we cap them. And we'll replace her finger- and toenails with ceramic inserts. Then she'll be finished except for her eyes."

Suzanne had been growing more nervous about that by the second. "And how do you color those?" she asked reluctantly.

As always, the Master seemed amused by her discomfort. "Have you ever seen a one-way mirror? It's a similar principle. The trick is to position the color particles at just the right angle, so that they polarize the eyes without leaving the subject completely. Unfortunately, lasers are a bit too much of a blunt instrument for work like that; in the end we've had to fall back on some really old-fashioned methods."

He paused, forcing her to supply the prompt.

"And those are?"

"Well, you really need to experience it first-hand, and you're not quite ready for that yet. But you will be, very soon."

Suzanne knew what that meant. Her heart galloped in her chest.

"That's right." He stepped behind her, cupping his hands over her shoulders and nibbling her earlobe. "It's your turn now. But I don't think you dread it as much as you once did. Do you, Suzanne?" His tongue slipped into her ear.

"No, Master," she shuddered. Ashamed of her arousal, disgusted by her passivity, she thought for a second about shutting down the broadcast. But she was too much of a reporter to think that way for long. This was the story that would make her a household name, whether or not she could appreciate it afterwards.

"Beautiful Suzanne," said the Master. "I'm going to enjoy this almost as much as you are."