Professionalism, pulling no punches, Pulitzer Prizes - the words sounded like so much spluttering now. The only thing that comforted Suzanne any longer was the knowledge that she was about to feel the Master's touch in her head again. How strange, she thought, that what she'd most desired was now what mattered least; and what she'd most feared was what she most desired.

Not that the desire diminished the fear. She'd broken out into a cold sweat as they walked through the garden.

When they reached the throne room, the Master led her into a pillow-strewn alcove bordered by four living statues perched high on pedestals, their arms supporting a canopy of gauzy fabric. They gazed down on the scene below with blind, blank ecstasy.

Dominic pressed Suzanne into the pillows: red silk and velvet, delicious to the touch. She felt her heart pounding almost as strongly as her crotch, but her breathing outdid them both. If she hyperventilated any harder, she'd pass out. Desperately she tried to control her breathing.

The Master leaned over her like a longtime lover. "Are you ready to give yourself to me?"

"I - I don't know," she stammered. But she did.

He pretended not to notice the lie. "You're trembling," he murmured. "Let's start by doing something about that."

She stiffened as he slipped inside her mind, the relaxed at the familiar, welcome feel of his power. It flowed into her like warm water, soothing her thoughts and weighing down her limbs. Her fear melted like butter.

"Better?" asked the Master, and she sighed. There was no need to speak any longer.

"Very well, then. Let's begin." He brushed a strand of hair from her face and smiled. "Look into my eyes, Suzanne. Look deep."

She obeyed, and his pupils swelled to huge, black pools surrounded by rings of blue-green fire. "All you see are my eyes," the Master murmured, and immediately it was true. The image was burned into her brain now, so that even when he moved away, she could see nothing else. Her own eyes were open but fixed. She was essentially blind until he allowed her to see again.

"All you hear is my voice," the Master continued, and the words echoed in her head while the rest of the world grew silent. The thumping of her heart, her smoothened breathing, the hiss of silk on skin - all vanished. She was deaf as well as blind...except to him.

"All you feel is my touch." His hands roamed over her neck and breasts, her thighs, the lock on the chastity belt. It seemed as though she were floating in midair, her body numb except where his fingers brought it to life. She would have shuddered again, if he'd let her.

"I control you, mind and body," The Master whispered. "You feel my power in your head, just as you feel my touch on your skin. Don't you, Suzanne?"

Yes, Master, she thought, for she could no more speak than move.

"I can do whatever I want with you, and you won't lift a finger to resist, will you?"

No, Master.

"Such a good little slave ... and you'll be an even better one soon. Now listen closely, Suzanne - and this is the last time I'll call you that, for in just a moment I'm going to take away your name. In fact, I'm going to take away your whole identity: your will, your thoughts, your every memory of life before slavery. You will become an empty shell, animated only by your desire to serve me; and you will enjoy it more than you've ever enjoyed anything else in your entire life."

Her stomach twisted one final time - or was it her cunt? She was beyond knowing or caring. She was his already, and he'd barely even begun.

"This is how it will happen," said the Master, dipping his finger into the top of her thigh-boot. "I'm going to undress you now; and each time I take away a piece of your clothing, I take away a piece of your self."

Suzanne felt the teeth of the zipper part as he began. Her mind, too, was opening, the last bits of resistance peeling away along with the boot. As it slipped off completely, she opened her mind as wide as she'd once opened her legs.

Now the second zipper began its descent, and the Master's voice returned. "First," he said, I'm going to take away your will. From this point on, you won't be able to lift a finger of your own volition. You have no will but to obey my will."

The boot came off and a vast, empty space yawned in Suzanne's mind, filling instantly with Dominic's control. She'd never have to yearn for his touch again; it would always be right there within her. Unable even to think of moving, she lolled in an ecstasy of stillness.

He began on her corset. "I'm taking away your past now. From this point on, you will have no memories, only knowledge. You will know what a name is, but you won't remember your own. You will know what it takes to please your Master, but otherwise your mind will be completely virgin."

Her memories melted like wet cotton candy: an exquisite sensation, but one she had no desire to prolong. In fact, she had no desires at all now, not even for orgasm. Yet she was almost unbearably aroused.

The Master untied the final cord of her corset, and her breasts tumbled loose in his hands. She felt her nipples stiffen as he began to knead. Then his tongue was on them, and his teeth. Given telepathic permission, she moaned softly in time with his movements.

At last he sat up and pulled the corset from beneath her. With no commands to steer her now, she flopped on her side and lay still until he righted her. Soon she felt his hands on her chastity belt and the twist of a key in a lock. "I'm taking the last of your thoughts now," the Master said. "From this point on, your mind will be empty of everything but the desire to please me. I am your sun, your moon, your stars, your life. I am your Master."

The belt was opened and drawn away, and at last she lay naked beneath him. Blind, deaf, mute and mindless, she was little more than a doll. His doll.

The Master's fingers slipped into her cunt, and he allowed her to tremble. "Nothing arouses you but my control," he said, "and thus you are always aroused." He teased her G-spot briefly, then thrust his cock inside her and began to pump. At the same time, his will surged through her empty brain, filling it to overflowing. When he allowed her to respond again, she twisted like a flag in a gale.

The sex seemed to last forever. Mindless now, the slave had no sense of time, only obedience; and her Master was endlessly inventive. As for her riders - close to four billion of them by this point - most screamed and thrashed along with her.

But the Master had told the truth; they were still safe...more or less. Wetwiring was a powerful medium, and even the hardcore sexcasts hadn't boasted signals as strong as these. Each rider felt the Master's hands on his or her own body, felt the Master's cock in his or her own mind, felt the pleasure of total submission. The most impressionable of them, like Suzanne, saw nothing but Dominic's eyes and heard nothing but his voice. Those with more control caught a glimpse of his well-muscled body and triumphant face. A few remembered Suzanne wondering what it would take to bring a man like this to orgasm, and knew they'd found their answer.

At last the Master lay back, still idly caressing his newest slave's breasts. Her skin was raw, her muscles trembling with spent energy. She was covered head to foot in bodily fluids, and even now a trickle of drool leaked from one corner of her mouth. But she said nothing, thought nothing, did nothing - except wait for her Master's next command. She was no more than a plaything, to be used or ignored at his whim.

Time passed. The Master returned the slave's senses and allowed her to feed him, then to lick her own meal from his feet and cock. Shower time was next, and she washed them both with diligence, never once complaining about the taste of the soap.

Finally she was ready for her physical transformation. "I hope you know what an honor this is," the Master said as he led her back to the studio. "I don't accompany every slave through the painting process. Frankly, I find it boring if I'm not doing the work, myself. But you, of course, are special."

The slave was too far gone to appreciate the compliment, much less to respond to it. She was nothing but a puppet now, and puppets have no voice.

A trio of lab-coated technicians met them at the door, bowing deeply before their Master and eying his charge with professional curiosity. If they recognized the reporter who'd visited them earlier, they made no more sign of it than she did.

The slave watched quietly and incuriously as they prepared the depilatory cream. "Leave her eyebrows," said the Master as they began to smear it across her body. "And the hair on her head. Everything else can go."

The cream burned, but the slave didn't notice. Nor did she notice when they inserted the contact lenses and her world went dark. Seeing or unseeing, she was steered entirely by her Master's will.

At his direction, she climbed onto the first platform, never missing a step despite her blindness. The lasers hummed to life as she spread her arms and legs. Then the first spot of pain bloomed on her scalp, stinging billions of riders into reaction. Some screamed; others turned down their sensory feeds. But most just cringed and endured the discomfort. Even though they weren't controlled like she was, they were hooked.

Without enough mind to process her pain, the slave waited patiently while the lasers did their work. She moved and bent as the technicians directed her, even lifting her feet at the end so her soles could be scoured. At last, at the Master's unspoken command, she stepped down from the podium and placed her hand in his.

"Beautiful," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair. "We don't use the pigment stripper on hair very often, but I do like the result."

Their next stop was the paint pedestal. Again the slave stood quietly, raising and lowering her arms at the artists' direction, opening and closing her eyes, bending over and spreading her legs. The paint cooled her skin and soothed her riders' nerves, but she took no pleasure in it, herself. Her only pleasure now was in being controlled by her Master.

Then the discomforts returned: the second round of lasers, the jolt of electricity in her mouth, the capping of her teeth and the replacement of her nails. She passed through it all like a sleepwalker.

At last she was placed on a cold steel table and the contact lenses were removed. She stared up into a circle of faces but noticed only one. His.

"You won't remember, of course," her Master told her, "but not long ago I told you there was only one way to view this next step. This is that way. Open your eyes wide, now, and don't blink."

His face withdrew, and the slave stared up at a pair of mechanical arms tipped with hundreds of tiny needles. They hummed to life, and riders around the world screamed in horror. Some clawed at the air before their faces; others curled into fetal positions. But very few actually turned off the broadcast. They couldn't bear to leave it now, even if it meant...this.

The slave lay just as she was commanded, staring blankly up into the oncoming needles. Soon she could see nothing but flashes of whirring silver. Then pinpoints of pain bloomed across her eyeballs.

She never blinked.

"Look to your left," a technician commanded, and she obeyed. "Look right. Look up. Look down."

At last it was over, and the needles withdrew. The slave's vision was a little darker, but that didn't matter. Only her Master mattered, and he was beaming like the world's proudest parent.

"Now," he said, taking her hand and raising her from the table, "you're finished. Do you want to see how you look?"

She made no answer.

"Oh, silly me," laughed Dominic. "You want only what I want, don't you? Very well, then, I do want you to see how you look. Let's go over to the mirrors. But close your eyes until I tell you to open them." The slave obeyed and felt herself steered again by her owner's will. She drifted across the studio floor, blind but perfectly controlled, until he brought her up short in a corner.

"You're standing in front of a bank of mirrors," he told her. "When I count to three, you will open your eyes and take a good, long look at yourself. I've taken pains to make you unique, so be sure to show your appreciation. Are you ready? One, two three."

The slave opened her eyes and stared in silent wonder. Her skin was a creamy white, but not like stone; more like fresh morning snow, each dip and shadow tinged with subtle blue. When the Master, standing behind her, ran his fingers over her breasts, they looked as though they might plunge straight through her skin and draw out cool, white handfuls of flesh. Instead, her blue-textured nipples simply rose to attention.

He tweaked them, then drew his hands upward to call attention to her head. Her hair was long and loose, stripped of all color but glittering like ice. Her lips, like her nipples, were plump and lightly shadowed. But it was her eyes that really held her riders' attention. Featureless white, they gleamed in their blue-shadowed sockets like pearls in twin oysters.

"The eyes are the windows of the mind," said the Master, stroking her slack face. "Your eyes are blank because your mind is blank. In fact, I have taken more from you than from any other slave I own, even the statues in the garden. They, at least, know a bit about how to care for themselves. But you are a perfect blank slate. I can paint you, dress you, strip you, command you as I like; but you will never be more than an empty-eyed doll, dependent on me for every aspect of your existence."

The slave gazed raptly at her blank reflection. Yes, this was her sole purpose in life, to be controlled by her Master. A surge of arousal rocked her to the core, but she made no outward sign. She was a puppet, a plaything, and could not move except by her Master's will.

Pleased, Dominic smiled and squeezed her ass. Then he slipped his finger into her cunt. "That's right," he purred. "You can't even sigh without my permission." His finger traced a slick route across her hip, up her chest, and into her ready lips. "And didn't I tell you you'd enjoy it?"

Night came, and with it the Master's address to the United Nations. The slave stood at the rear of the hall, watching from behind a one-way mirror as the ex-leaders of the world filed in. Their tiers of comfortable seats had been replaced with cattle stalls, and a robot chained each delegate into place.

It would have thrilled Suzanne Waverly to learn that almost every wetwired individual on the planet was riding her now. But Suzanne Waverly was no more, and the only thing that thrilled the slave was her Master. She awaited his arrival - not eagerly, for that would have required a will, but patiently, like a doll set in place until wanted. Yet even now he controlled her, and she gazed around the auditorium, taking in the scene for the audience she no longer knew she possessed.

The politicians fidgeted nervously in their stalls, in control of their minds for the moment but unable to rebel in any way. They stole nervous glances at the podium, perhaps remembering the times they themselves had stood there, perhaps dreading the one who would stand there soon. The stage was empty now, save for the Master's throne, and the floor beneath it had been turned into an orchestra pit. In that confined space, a hundred black-clad musicians tuned their instruments.

Silence fell as the unseen Master gripped their minds. Then the orchestra swung into an imperial march, and all eyes swiveled helplessly leftward. There was Dominic, wrapped in smiles and black leather, striding across the stage like the Emperor he was. Caught in the grip of his will, the ex-leaders cheered like kids at a rock concert. Their ruler grinned and waved, then threw himself down on the throne and dangled one leg over an armrest. He held up his hand for silence.

"Good evening," he said, and though he used neither microphone nor amplifier, his voice carried perfectly into every mind. "Friends, robots, statues, and slaves of every persuasion: thank you for gathering on such short notice. It's been a difficult five months as I've settled into office, but I appreciate your patience. In fact, I'd like to reward you for it. Someone told me recently that, of all the questions dangling in your captive minds, the one you'd most like answered is this: what am I going to do with you?"

He stretched languorously, drawing the tension to the breaking point.

"It's a fair question, and one that deserves a fair answer. So here it is. Ladies and gentlemen, I present you your future." He gestured, and the orchestra struck up a dirge-like wedding march.

That was the slave's cue. She stepped from behind the partition and started forward, her Master's eyes drawing her like a magnet. Only he mattered, but because he willed it, she spared the occasional glance for the audience around her. The ex-leaders clapped and cheered, although their eyes were bright with terror. They, along with the rest of the world, had watched her transformation with a combination of fear and arousal. And they, along with the rest of the world, had assumed the transformation was hers alone.

The slave floated up the steps like a balloon on a string, then knelt to kiss her Master's feet.

"Good puppet," he murmured. He drew a finger along her spine, and she arched her back, giving the ex-leaders a view they weren't quite in the mood to appreciate.

"You may sit up," the Master said, and she did so. Rocking back onto her knees, she gazed raptly into his face. "And you-" he gazed out at the politicians- "if you are not yet tuned into WNN, will do so now. As for those who've already joined the ride-" he smiled into her empty eyes- "you no longer have the freedom to disconnect. Until now, I have given you permission to watch or not watch as you pleased, but now the pleasure is mine. Even those who've missed this broadcast will watch it eventually, in recording. Even if they aren't wetwired yet, they will be, free of charge. As for those who aren't yet old enough to appreciate this material, well, they'll just have an extra present on their eighteenth birthdays."

He drew his leg from the throne arm and slid it between her thighs, inserting the tip of a steel-toed boot into her slit. She ground down onto it and began to moan - but softly, so as not to distract from his speech.

"I know what you're thinking," the Master said, still speaking to the slave's riders rather than the slave herself. "You're telling yourself, this is what I have in store for you. You're going to become a pack of painted zombies, good for nothing but fucking your Master's boots or standing in a corner until he decides to take you down and play with you. Would you like that? I know she would." He slipped his other boot into the slave's mouth and forced her backwards until she lay with her head on the floor and her knees in the air. She squirmed ecstatically beneath him.

"I'd like that for you, too," said Dominic.

"There's just one problem. A planet full of wall-eyed sex puppets can't care for itself. Oh, I'd have fun with you for maybe a week, at most. Then you'd all start to die pretty rapidly, and where would that leave me?" He withdrew the boots, and the slave snapped back into a crouch.

"No," sighed the Master, "as much as I hate to admit it, I need most of you with your minds intact. It's the only way to maintain my lifestyle.

"On the other hand-" he leaned forward, eyes gleaming- "that doesn't mean I can't fuck with you a bit. The trick is doing it in a way that provides maximum pleasure for me and minimum damage for you. That's one reason you haven't heard from me in so long. I've been working out a way to have my cake and eat it, too. And now I've found it."

He traced a spiral around the slave's nipple. "Every one of you felt that, just as you felt my boot in her cunt - and my cock in her mind. Some of you are already addicted to it. The rest of you will be, soon. It's the nature of the process."

He reached beneath the throne and pulled out a hand mirror, which he held before the slave's face. "Ladies and gentlemen, concubines and slaves, behold your queen. She is the lowliest member of my harem, but she is also your ruler, for through her you all submit to me.

"You see, the broadcast she began this morning will continue for the rest of her natural life, and each of you will tune into it for one hour per day. Which hour is up to you, but once you have begun to watch, you will not disconnect for a full sixty minutes."

He flashed his false-charming smile. "Now, that may seem like a lot of time at first, but don't worry; soon you'll be begging for more. And I won't give it to you. Oh, a few people here and there will draw my attention, enough that I grant them the ultimate reward. Maybe you'll even see them receive it, through your queen. But as for the rest of you, you'll just have to carry on as best you can, living, working, mating, dying, and pining for that one short hour of the day when you can feel me fucking your brain."

The slave gazed at her blank-eyed reflection, her clit thrumming. She had followed very little of her Master's speech, but then again, she didn't need to. She was exactly as he wanted her to be, and she did exactly what he wanted her to do. Nothing else mattered.

He stroked her mentally with his will, then lay the mirror aside. "Good little pet," her whispered. "Good little queen. Are you ready for your wedding?"

Waves of blind devotion rolled off her.

"I'll take that as a yes. And what about the rest of you?" he peered deep into her eyes, once more addressing her billions of riders. "Are you ready? You'd better be; this ceremony is as much yours as hers. I'll give you ten seconds to get down on your knees and turn all your sensory feeds up to the max. From this point on, every word I say to her, I say to you. Every response she makes to me, you make to me. I control you through her, now and always."

There were a series of bumps and rustles as the ex-leaders got to their knees. Then the Master stood and spoke. "In most weddings," he said, "both parties are expected to assent to the vows. But you're only a concubine, so you have no say in this matter. I take what I want with or without your assent, and in fact you have no assent to give. Therefore, I will make all the statements and vows, and you will merely indicate your submission. Is that understood? Nod."

The slave nodded, and billions of riders nodded along with her.

"From this day forward, I am your Master. I decide how much freedom you will possess, I determine whether you live or die, and I remake your mind and body to suit my fancy. I accept your service as my imperial right. Indicate your submission by kissing my feet."

The slave bent low, smothering his boots with kisses and licking his soles as he goaded her on. Her riders, meanwhile, tasted carpets, bare floors, and various other less savory substances. None of them rebelled; they couldn't. And experiencing their queen's arousal at full blast, few of them even found the will to be disgusted.

"From this day forward, you are nothing but a concubine. You exist only as my toy, my plaything, a member of my harem. You are helplessly enslaved, and whatever independence you retain is due solely to my mercy. Indicate your submission by kissing my feet."

Again the slave obeyed, and the world along with her.

"And as for you," the Master continued, bending forward to lift the slave by her chin, "my beautiful blank slate, you are the head of that harem, the queen of all concubines. And you must have a symbol of office." He snapped his fingers and a robot came forward, bearing what looked like a crown on a red satin pillow. But when the Master took it up, his harem saw it for what it really was: a white leather collar, studded with diamonds and pearls. "Up," he said; and their queen, still on her knees, reared to present her neck to him. The rest of the world reared with her.

"With this collar," said the Master, "I name you Queen of All Slaves. You have no will of your own, no thoughts of your own, no memories of your own. But your very blankness makes you the perfect conduit for my will. Through you, every member of my harem will experience my control firsthand. Every time you grovel before me, the world grovels. Every time I fuck you, I fuck the world.

"And now-" he slipped the collar around her neck and fastened the ends together, locking them with a key- "By the power invested in me as Emperor of this Earth, I claim you as my plaything, to bind and to enslave, in body and in mind, from this day forward, till death do you submit."

He unbuckled his pants. "You may kiss your Master."