Some sex, ft/F, blackmail, mind control, super hero, BDSM, humiliation, transformation
Sydney’s image and voice came out clear across my monitors, “I see you two careless morons are awake. It’s no use playing possum, Master has monitors everywhere. Those collars can’t come off, so don’t bother trying.” Their collars restricted their enhanced human abilities including strength, stamina, regeneration and invulnerability.
“Who are you?/ Where are we?/ Why did you capture us?/ You won’t get away with this./ I will so kill your crippled ass when I get out./ Who is your Master?”
“If you shut your pie holes for a minute, you might learn something… Better.” The young wheelchair-bound teen rolled closer to her captives with those sparkling green eyes, regarding her newly acquired lab rats.
“I am Sydney Thomas. You can call me Sydney or Miss Thomas. I don’t respond to much else. Where you are is in my lab. I have time before the bulk of my order arrives so it was deemed the best place for this experiment. I will get away with this. Go ahead and try it, if you manage to earn your way out. Master is Master. I answered your questions. Now listen up if you want to live.”
The remarkable girl’s ability to track multiple conversations at once astounded me yet again. In a room full of people, she never once lost track of any conversation in hearing range. Sydney had earned this opportunity against my better judgment. I had been talked into it by both my student, Sydney, and my wife, Catherine.
I just hoped that it worked out the way that Sydney expected. Not that I thought it would.
“That got your attention. Now you might be asking yourself, what do I have against you two imbeciles?” Smiling her childlike smile, seemingly full of innocence, my student replied to her captives: “I, nothing, but the world’s nastiest Arch Villain does. Remember May 6th at 01:37 AM? No, let me refresh your memories. Do you see that picture of a painting on the wall over your beds? Ever seen it before?”
“Looks like the Puss knows.”
“Puma,” corrected the 5’4” brunette Heroine from behind the transparent force field walls.
“Right, whatever.” Sydney shrugged off the interruption. “That was the painting that you two destroyed in the DIA last month. What you might not know is that it was donated by the second fucking scariest person on earth.”
I would have to sit Sydney down again and discuss her language, her anger at the world was cracking through her speech again.
“No. Besides Moria is on Hope Station playing with her Tinker Toys and Legos. Does Leonard of Prague ring a bell to either of you two walking disaster areas?”
“Dr. Death? What does he have to do with that painting?” The B-Ranked Villainess known as Kriss demanded, only slightly worried about her ‘crippled captor’s’ answer.
“Dr. Death himself donated his sixteenth century nativity scene to the DIA for restoration and viewing ten months ago. You two fucking idiots came and destroyed a genuine da Vinci two weeks after that particular masterpiece was fully restored and hung for viewing. Two weeks. Do you have any idea how mad he is right now? I was in the next room and still shit my pants.” Sydney made what she called her ‘vomit face’, again.
I wished she would stop that. And the language.
“It was an accident,” Puma defended herself.
“NO, it was not, you threw me into the wall. It’s your fault. Let me go and tell Dr. Death that it was all her fault.” The tall ebony-haired Villainess directed the blame fully on her Heroine counterpart.
“Right.” My student didn’t believe a word either of them said. “Now for the offer. You want out. Both of you can be free tomorrow morning. Just say the word.”
“What’s the catch, Crip?”
Calling Sydney a cripple was useless. She called herself worse on a daily basis.
“The catch is that Dr. D. is waiting for your sorry asses. You, your family, your goldfish, cats, dogs, lovers, pimps and associates, you name it. All dead. Art is forever. People count less than candle flames to the ancient bugger.”
Both understood that was true. The millennia old vampire did have a reputation for thoroughness.
“What is your proposal, Sydney, was it?”
“How do we know you aren’t lying about Dr. Death?” Kriss blurted out suddenly.
“Take me up on my offer and I will release you tomorrow morning. You just better hope that I don’t provide coordinates to your whereabouts. Even if I don’t help his Scariness find you, he would only need an hour or two before he snuffs out your Candles himself. Also, there is a computer on the desk, look it up. Besides, I don’t trouble myself with lying, nor liars.”
“As for my plans, it’s simple: you play my game. Be happy it’s me administrating it. If it were up to Mistress Catherine… well, it might be worse than if Dr. D. got ahold of you.”
My wife was the one who convinced Leonard to restore some of his art. That one in particular. She was not pleased…
“What is your game?”
“Who is this Mistress Catherine? And you mentioned a Master too, who are they?”
The Villainess at least followed the conversation, I wasn’t sure about the brunette.
“My game is a series of contests between the two of you. Once either of you accumulates four losses, the match ends and your service to me begins.
“I said, ‘Master is Master’. Mistress Catherine is Catherine Larkin. Maybe you’ve heard of her? You know, fusion, Mars and a few other little inventions.”
“The Smith is your master?”
“Can we talk to her, please?”
“Yes and no.” Sydney pointed at each, responding to their question and demand. “Mistress is really pissed at you two. Having her come near either of you two wrecking balls is like asking to visit the target range with you two acting as the targets.”
My wife and Leonard had developed a unique relationship over the years. With the development of Boris, the thousand-year old Inhuman sparked an unlikely friendship with my wife. At first it was one-sided, but Leonard’s knowledge and personality grew on Catherine.
“Just by talking to you two I feel my IQ diminishing. Tomorrow at eight AM I will return for your decisions. Either you choose to play my game, or you choose to go free. Your choice, either way. And once my game begins, there will be no quitting. Night, bitches.”
The no-longer-lonely little girl wheeled her chair - she had refused Cat’s offer of a hoverchair with the excuse of exercise - into the elevator, returning to the house and my den.
Sydney hated her wheelchair and what it represented and used that hate to spur her studies. Her goal was to walk under her own power before her sixteenth birthday. Clarence, the Chemist, and I planned out a set of courses that she would need to study in her dedicated pursuit of her goal.
“Master, you were right, neither is bad, per se, just reckless, uncaring and unaware. They live in their own little selfish worlds and woe to anything or anyone that stumbles in their way.”
“Are you sure you want to go through with this charade?” I asked once again.
“Yeah... Yes. Stupid Mistress and her lazy ‘speaks’.” She caught herself again. Sydney complained often at Cat’s turn of phrases. At length. Some had rubbed off on me, which my latest Student worked hard on correcting.
Wheeling around my desk, I had cleared out a bookshelf when a scared little girl first joined my household for easy access, the blonde teen reached out and asked to be held.
“My father never did this for me.” She mentioned for the hundredth time in a year and a half since moving in with me. “Do you mind if I nap here?” A yawn and a light snore later, the fragile young woman drifted off with my arms around her. A ball of energy she might be, but when her reserves ran dry, my latest student would sleep on a dime. Even in the beginning, my lap was her preferred location for napping. She trusted me, unusually so. Cat rarely enjoyed Sydney’s trust and Clarissa never received it as of yet.
That she could get Jeff, my other student, to leave his room and his studies, was somewhat remarkable.
Sydney had explained the reason behind her success with her senior student to me once in confidence, when both women were out of the house. I promised that her reasons for trusting me would remain between us.
“So, have you decided? Free for Dr. Death to hunt your sorry asses down and suck you dry of any blood, or stay and play my game?” Sydney wheeled into her open lab, interrupting the pair of arch-enemies’ conversation.
“What does your game entail?” It seemed that the Heroine was the initial spokesperson for the two.
“Humiliation and reflection.” ‘And control’ went unspoken. “It’s the best of seven. You versus her. Loser chooses a forfeit after each game.”
“What kind of forfeit?”
“What the fuck. A kid wants to humiliate me?”
“Kriss, we agreed that I would ask the questions.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t ask mine.”
“Then ask, after.”
“Sydney?” the caged Heroine, Puma, reiterated her question.
“Incremental changes in the loser. You don’t have to worry about it, IF you don’t lose.”
“I’m slow. Please explain with examples.” Puma patiently continued with her questions.
Pulling out a deck of cards, Sydney replied, “say you lose the first round: Tier I cards affect what you wear, meaning I will be permanently altering your wardrobe style on a loss.” Holding up a hand to forestall the expected interruption, “two sets of identical twenty card decks, plus two wild cards are added for luck. If you get a wild card you may draw an extra card and you get my advice on the choices available. If you draw doubles, your choice is decided for you, taking what the double offers.”
“How do we know you won’t screw us?” chimed in the obnoxious Villainess.
“Because I don’t care what happens to either of you,” my student answered honestly. She hated untruths and those that spoke them with regularity. “I rather both of you take the easy way out and go let Dr. D. chase you down, so I can get back to my homework. I’m doing this for research and to help out Mistress Cat. Besides, if she were the one writing the clues, neither of you would have a chance.”
“What do you mean by that?” the athletic brunette asked, unable to help herself.
“Unless you understand Reallllly advanced quantum physics… let’s just say that Mistress Cat turns into a math monster when she is working.”
“So, you are the good cop?” snidely, Puma chimed in.
“No. I’m the only one that can deliver the clues and hints that morons like you can understand. I’m also the only one who is willing to put an effort in seeing that you don’t get sucked dry by a vampire.”
“Kid, if you keep calling us morons, I’m going to bash your teeth in.”
“Answer a simple question and I will refrain from addressing you two idiots as anything other than ‘Ladies’ in the future. Ready? What is Avogadro’s constant and what is it used for? It was something I learned when I was nine. I was told that every high schooler has to learn it at one point unless they were on the short bus or majored in shop class.”
After a few off-the-mark guesses, Sydney ended the farce.
“Approximately 6.022 x 10^23. It’s a chemistry thing. Something you should have learned in your tenth grade chemistry class. Instead of copying the homework from the geek in front of you, in lieu of him getting clobbered every day.”
Disgusted with the pair’s lack of learning, their presence and most everything else about the pair of Supers, Sydney continued where she left off, “then the Idiotic Duo you shall remain. Now would you rather play with Dr. Death or me? Decide.”
“I’ll take my chances with the wheelchair geek.” Kriss wasn’t making friends.
“Wait, what happens if we win? Will you let us go?”
“Win or lose. Both of you will be my indentured servants until the day after my eighteenth birthday. I’m not going through all this work to keep you alive and have you run out and get hit by a bus.”
“I’m not going to be a slave to some crip.”
“What would you have us do as your, ‘Indentured Servants’?” Puma more reasonably inquired. Neither liked how this was being played out, even if it spared their lives.
“Secretary, errand girl, maid, cook, gardener, anything I tell you to do, you will do. In the top right drawer of your desks is a wooden box with a contract and a quill. You will sign it if you agree to everything it says.”
“No way in hell…”
“Sydney, indentured servitude is illegal in this country.”
“That is where you are wrong. That contract is not a legal one. It’s a magic one. If you sign it, you will magically be bound by the terms stipulated. If you don’t sign, off you go. I hear that Dr. D. is staying for the week at Central City’s Hanover, a hundred and nineteen miles to the east of us. Care to join him for dinner?”
Sydney’s ominous repeated threats of invoking Leonard’s name proved effective in quieting the two rebellious Supers.
“Read it over. It is not too harsh and you get paid fifty K a year. Both of your apartments will be packed up and preserved for the duration of your service under me. I’ll return in two hours for your decisions.”
Neither woman called out to Sydney on her way to the elevator.
“I’ll sign your fucking contract,” Kriss snarled. Taking the quill from the box, “Ow! It bit me,” the lithe black-haired Villainess complained.
“Magic. The contract is signed in blood. Yours. Those cost Master a considerable amount for each for those two pieces of parchment.”
Sydney waited patiently as both women pondered the implications of a magic bound contract.
Recklessly, Kriss signed it first without a great deal of further thought.
“Here’s your fucking contract.”
“OK. And you, Puma?”
“It’s only a couple years.” The shorter, curvier brunette Heroine, bit her lip and signed her contract also.
“Return the contract and quill to the box, close it, and bring them here, please. Boris, will you take the boxes from our guests, please?”
“Affirmative, Miss Sydney.” Boris, my wife’s experimental Android, emerged from the corner where he had been watching over Sydney out of sight from the two captives. He then received both boxes containing quills and contracts.
“Good. Both of you need to write an apology to Dr. D. I won’t be reading it, only he will. Make sure it is sincere. You have time, so work on that later.”
“Your first contest will begin in an hour. Until then, go to your computer and find the ‘Game I’ folder and open it with your birthdate being the password. All numbers.”
We both heard, from our differing positions, Sydney in the elevator and me in my den, “Chess for Dummies?” in similarly disgusted tones.
My apprentice sat in her usual spot, poolside, reading over her microbiology lesson when I returned from refilling my coffee.
“Why did you choose chess?”
“Jeff’s idea. He wanted the first stage. I think he reasoned that he would be left alone after his sole token appearance. Master, I am not sure about him.”
“You worry that he is becoming more withdrawn?”
“Not really. I think he is losing himself. Only his studies matter. He doesn’t even like building his toys. Just designing them.”
“If you were in my position, what would you recommend?”
“Sign him up for soccer or something. If he gets worse, he will end up never leaving his room, even to eat. When you insisted that he build each design I asked for separately, he fumed for a month.”
“I don’t force my students.”
“And I think you are wrong. Aunt Lissa didn’t help.”
“What did Clarissa do?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Don’t be like that... Reno. Ok? She took Jeff for a weekend in Reno to get laid.”
“So that was all the hush hush. He didn’t seem unhappy after their vacation.”
“He has less motivation to go out now. Nothing to strive for. Getting laid should have been an end goal for that slug, not an early stage reward.”
“Feel strongly about that do you?”
Blushing, a rare sight from the too worldly fourteen-year-old student. “Sorry, I know you have a plan, I just don’t see it.”
Resting my hand on the too-thin girl’s head, “I will speak to Jeff tonight. Now go play with your toys.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Best out of three and you keep playing until one of you wins two games. If you get a stalemate then start over. If no one wins two games before midnight, you both lose and draw a forfeit.”
Boris brought over a card table and two chairs, setting it up between their two nearly-invisible, walled cells.
“Thank you, Boris, I appreciate the help.”
“You are welcome, Student of Mother’s Master,” Boris replied stiffly.
“You’re being silly again.”
“Do you require further assistance, Miss Sydney?”
“I’m good. The chess set isn’t heavy. You can go back to your shows if you want.”
“May I remain and observe?”
“Sure.” Pausing to correct Catherine’s ‘unnatural influence’ with a grimace, “Yes. Just don’t help either of them.”
“Puma, you are white and get to go first. I will add a rule. If you make an illegal move with any piece, that piece is removed from play. No cheating either, this is being recorded and if you get caught cheating, it’s an instant loss.” Sydney wheeled over to a desk that was set up earlier for this occasion and returned to her studies.
After hearing less grumbling than expected, I extended the force fields joining their two cells.
I signaled Boris to referee the match.
The first game was ugly, but Puma, whose real name was Stacy Pinta, revealed a hint of experience with the first win. Probably from playing during her childhood. The second game went even slower with Miss Pinta further dominating Kriss, aka, Helen Jacoby, from beginning to end.
Once the match was decided, Boris dropped the force fields, separating the two B-Rank Supers.
“Miss Sydney, the victor of the first set is the Heroine Puma; two games to zero. I also report that the Villainess Kriss held back a bishop and has the item with her now.”
“Thank you, Boris.”
Staring daggers at Sydney, the tall, twenty-four-year-old raven-haired Super, watched her captor approach with arms folded under her moderate sized chest, pressing her leather vest firmly against herself.
Sydney pushed aside Puma’s chair and removed her custom-made deck of cards, skillfully shuffling them. My serious student spread out the cards in a fan on the same table that the two were using minutes prior for their contest and waited for Kriss to make her choices.
The three cards were reluctantly chosen from the fan. “Pretty in Pink.” Sydney read the card aloud as the first card was flipped over.
“Oh, hell NO!”
The second was turned over, “Moon over Miami.”
“FUCK NO!” Even I winced at the implications of that one from my position at my desk in my den, at that card’s possibilities. I could imagine Sydney’s mind playing havoc with the opportunities that that card offered. Hot pants and barely-there club wear. Cat would be thrilled, before pummeling me senseless at the reminder of some of the more heinous outfits during her apprenticeship with me. And those hats… I smiled at the memory of the conductor’s hat that she hated with a passion.
“Pilgrimage to the Stars.”
“What the hell? What kind of sick mind makes these cards up anyway?” Kriss was having none of it, but was stuck with her earlier decision of playing the game once she signed the contract.
Puma was saying something mocking, but no one outside of her cell other than Sydney or I, via our earbuds, could hear what she was saying. With Sydney’s back to the short brunette, she didn’t acknowledge the Heroine or her curiosity.
“Choose one of three, Helen. I did say that they were only clothing changes in your permanent fashion style.”
Glaring daggers at the wheelchair-bound teen, who she was helpless to strike out against, “I’ll take the damn ‘Stars’ Card. Fuck ‘Pink’ and Fuck ‘Hotpants Hookerville’. Kid, you better not screw me over, kid.”
“Helen, please return to your cell, open the refrigerator and drink a bottle of Replenishment,” the young Mistress of the Game patiently instructed while gathering up the cards and sorting through the deck to remove the other ‘Pilgrimage’ card for when Puma lost her first round.
“What’s that? And why do you want me to drink something?” More than a little wary now, especially compared to when she had signed the contract, Helen Jacoby, refused to move an inch.
“It’s better than an IV.”
“What the fuck would I need an IV for?”
“You need the extra vitamins for the RNA shot, which you will be asleep for. It tastes like a strawberry milkshake. I have one a week, they are pretty good.”
It took some persuasion but the Villainess formerly known as Kriss - named after the customized daggers she used - did open a bottle of the too sweet strawberry tasting milkshake drink. Sydney even coaxed her captive to sit on the bed before Inducing Helen to sleep.
Wheeling into the cell, my student rolled her wheelchair over Helen, unbuckled and lowered the pants of her sleeping captive, and plunged a thick syringe into her ass. Emptying the thin, pinkish liquid from the vial into the muscled flesh, slowly and evenly, double-checking to make sure everything was correct before placing a cotton swab and a small piece of tape over the injection wound.
Meticulously, and painstakingly slowly, she undressed the much larger woman. Sydney at 14, was barely 4’11” and 80 pounds. The injury to her spine years ago from the crossfire of the Supers’ battle had stunted her growth.
Sydney spoke to her captive while stroking the raven-haired woman’s mane for twenty minutes. With a chaste kiss on the cheek, she packed up the discarded clothes.
Taking everything with her, my student wheeled out of the 900-square-foot enclosure, spoke briefly to Boris and waited for his return while doing her homework. Puma had long since given up trying to communicate with her captor and watched everything intently from her position behind her own transparent force field.
Twenty minutes later, Boris returned with a covered dress hanger and a large mid-sized silver suitcase. Setting aside her homework with annoyance, Sydney thanked Boris and asked for his assistance in dressing the unconscious five eleven, twenty-two-year-old woman.
Thankfully, my student recognized that her strength was limited and relied on his for the task.
Once the pair was inside of Helen Jacoby’s room the force field opaqued, blocking sight of what they were doing from Helen’s competitor.
Opening the silver suitcase, Boris plugged in the wand and began shaving Helen with the Laser, permanently denuding the woman of all hair in ‘unwanted’ areas, followed by Sydney washing her patient’s slightly reddened, recently-shaved areas clean of the ashen residue.
In the cell’s closet, Boris unwrapped the ‘uniform’ that Helen would now wear and permanently gravitate towards in all future wardrobe choices. I raised an eyebrow at the choice that she made, though I suspect my wife and Clarissa had a hand in making.
With Boris acting as brute force, the two lifted and dressed Helen. A thin white, high-cut, very-high-cut, sleeveless and shoulderless thong leotard with half-inch silver raised piping which encircled the leg, arm, and neck openings. The half-dozen horizontal cuts in the chest area created a shield pattern, hinting at Helen’s smaller-than-expected, medium sized breasts. Not that the thin material needed assistance with the cuts.
I suspected more of Cat’s exhibitionism at play. I would have words with my wife later; Sydney needed to make her own choices.
The bicep-length, detached sleeves stretched from a ring on her middle finger along with the above-the-knee boots were made of the same silvery material as the piping on the leotard, just thinner, for a perfect material match. Knowing that this was not the end of Sydney’s changes, I waited and watched via my monitors.
Placing a large shallow tub that Boris retrieved from the storeroom outside of the cells under the patient’s head and shoulders, Sydney began cutting and shaving Helen’s head of hair to a perfect smoothness. Donning a long pair of nylon gloves, she began massaging a thick grayish-purple gel into Helen’s now egg-smooth scalp.