Megan opened her eyes. She was, she discovered, back in that original room -- or prison cell, as it was reasonable to call it, lying on the same bench. Nothing had changed, as far as she could tell. Whatever they were going to do to her, she decided, tentatively relieved, they hadn't done it yet. She reached up to check on the odd feeling around her neck...
Before her hand reached her throat, she froze, wondering how it was that she could use her hand. She had spent enough time bound with chains that it seemed very strange to have this much physical freedom. She waved her hand in front of her face, assuring herself it was really there. There was no metal band around the wrist -- either wrist. She bent over to look at her feet. No bands there either. No hobble chain, nor anything to connect it to. Lacking the metalware, she was even more naked than before. Except for...
She reached again up to her throat, and felt, with her fingers, around the new collar there. As far as she could tell, it was identical to the one that Sissy wore, which was not at all good news. Sissy's was a shocking collar, and had kept her confined in the kitchen so that Jason could get work done without Sissy constantly trying to wrap herself around him.
Megan pressed her lips together. Okay, she thought, I know at least part of the method they'll use for coercion.
She sat fully upright, feeling an energy coursing through her that she couldn't account for. It was as if she'd had fifteen cups of coffee in succession, and she wished she had access to her exercise equipment at home to burn some of it off. Or that she could get out and run a few miles.
She examined the collar in more detail with her fingertips. There was no break in it, as far as she could determine. There would have to be one somewhere, she thought, since they got it around my neck somehow, and it's pretty doubtful they welded the thing in place. Probably the break is just too small to feel. She made an attempt to break the collar, to tear it loose, but was hampered by being unable to get her fingers into the space between the collar and her throat. It didn't interfere with breathing, but it was a snug fit. Obviously measured precisely beforehand.
The last thought led her to wonder how much time she had spent unconscious. She looked closely at her wrists, and realized that, though bruises and cuts were visible, they were substantially healed. It took days for this to happen, she thought, maybe a week, or even more. They had had plenty of time to do something to her. She had no idea what it might be.
The energy pumping through her resolved itself to a specific location: between her legs. It was something of an ants-in-the-pants feeling, despite the absence of pants. No, she thought, not quite like that either. It was more like...
No, she realized, it wasn't like being horny. Horny is exactly what it was. She was intensely sexually aroused, for no reason she could imagine. She might have just awakened, perhaps, from an intensely erotic dream. But she couldn't recall any such dream.
Megan growled wordlessly to herself. Okay, she thought, they shot me up with some kind of aphrodisiac. Yet there was nothing that could serve as an object of her affections in the room. She could relieve herself with her hand, if she wanted to, but surely simply watching her do that wasn't their goal. There had to be some reason for her arousal, but she couldn't imagine what it might be.
They do want me to perform some sexual activity, she told herself. That much is pretty obvious. Whatever it is will be revealed eventually.
Once again she reminded herself that there was no other person they could threaten, to force her to perform. They could only hurt Megan herself, and clearly the shocking collar offered them an easy way to do it. She could hold out against it, she was sure. They were going to be disappointed.
The very fact that she was still capable of thinking defiant thoughts cheered her. She was still in control, despite their ham-handed attempts to force some sort of behavior out of her. She still didn't know exactly what that behavior was.
Her thoughts, focused for the moment on her crotch, caused her to notice her pubic hair was gone. Her legs, as well, looked much smoother than she would have expected. She shaved them regularly at home, but obviously hadn't had a chance since she'd left Earth. Yet as she brushed her fingers wonderingly down her calf, she discovered it was smoother than she had ever felt it. They had depilated her completely from the waist down, and from the feel of it, it might be permanent. Unless they had just done it ten minutes ago, which seemed unlikely. To add to my arousal, she wondered, or to someone else's?
Stroking the smooth skin of her leg did make the tingling between her legs increase. So it worked to that extent. She jerked her hand back as if her leg were hot, and worked to get her mind on something else.
She nearly jumped to the ceiling in startlement when a voice suddenly spoke. There was no one with her in the room, and there had been no indication any such sound was about to occur.
The voice was electronically generated, or more likely disguised to sound as such. Megan couldn't even identify it as male or female, though under the local circumstances there was only one possibility for the sex.
"Would you try to speak, please, Major Duchain?"
What a really odd conversation starter, thought Megan. Megan framed in her mind a witty reply ("Would you prefer polite or obscene?"), but the moment she started to open her mouth -- or actually, in the last split-second before she opened her mouth -- she felt a sudden bolt of lightning through her body, making her cry out in pain, her whole body hunching to try to contain the agony. It had to have come from the collar, she thought. The oddest thing was that there was more than just the pain. It seemed as though an intensely black emotional cloud had formed instantly in her mind, consisting of every negative feeling imaginable: fear, despair, grief, and the kind of shame she felt when she disappointed her mother as a small child. Tears welled out of her eyes, not from the pain, but from the internal tragedy that overwhelmed her without any identifiable cause.
The emotional pain persisted until she stopped trying to speak. As soon as her mental intent backed away from speech, she could feel the cloud dissipate. It returned as soon as the words "What in the hell..." formed in her mind and she signaled to her mouth to say them: the crippling bolt of pain, and equally crippling internal cloud, stopped her again. She crouched, her eyes squeezed shut, her breath coming rapidly and heavily.
The electronic voice spoke again. "You can see that attempting to speak is something you should never do. You will be much happier not speaking."
Megan automatically sent to her mouth the words "Go fuck yourself!", but the response was batted down once more. It's just pain, I can take pain! she told herself forcefully. She summoned all her will to carefully enunciate "I can speak no matter how hard you make it," but almost fainted before the words had moved a single vocal muscle. There was so much more to it than pain. Her own mind had been enlisted against her. The emotional onslaught sapped her will to fight, for as long as it persisted.
"You will not be allowed to speak, nor to put messages in writing or any other form of interpersonal communication. There are small probes in your brain in the areas that control those functions. The probes, when stimulated, will both activate the collar and initiate the conditioned response of an emotional cascade to prevent the action of communication from being carried out."
Megan, breathing hard again, was trembling both with fear and with anger now. They've operated on my brain! she thought furiously. And whatever they did is, so far, working.
She gasped suddenly. Have they made me a dolly?? Is that the idea? Dollies here can't speak, she pointed out to herself. In their case, it's because they never learned how. And their entire existence revolves around a craving for sex!
It won't work! she screamed at them silently. You can make me unable to do something, like speak, but to you can't make me perform sexually like a mindless clone! You can't make me want...
The word "want" set off a memory. Megan's blood chilled. That had been what Dion meant. "It will be something you want to do." And I do want it, she thought, no matter how hard I'm fighting it. This feeling between my legs is driving me nuts!
It didn't help that the sensation in her crotch seemed to be intensifying. She caught herself starting to move her hand towards it, so strong was the urge to rub her clit and satisfy the growing need. She was proud of herself for resisting.
She was sufficiently absorbed in her thoughts and sensations that she almost missed the fact that the voice was speaking again.
"You will now be guided to the room in which you and your partner will carry out your duties. You may think of the collar you are wearing as a leash. The leash will now be reeled in, drawing you towards that room. Following its guidance will save you from extreme discomfort. Ignoring it will cause the discomfort to increase."
Megan wanted to demand to know how her collar could do something as specific as guiding her from one place to another. She forced herself to bury the question, understanding now how fruitless any attempt to speak would be, only to demand of herself next what the voice had meant by "partner." That one she thought she could figure out. She just didn't care for the answer. Since she was, it seemed, intended to be a dolly, the intense arousal she was feeling must be meant to encourage her to have sex with someone. She thought, with a sinking feeling, she knew who. Or rather, the clone of who. She started shaking her head. No, she thought. You can hurt me all you want, but you are not going to make me do that.
A light pain, far gentler than the thunderbolts that had struck her earlier, more of an annoying ache, began near her neck, spreading from there. At the same time, she felt the black cloud begin to envelop her again.
I wasn't trying to talk! she shouted silently. What am I supposed to do? Or not do? Just tell me!
It's not about talking this time, she realized. It's what the voice said would happen if I don't follow... follow what? How do I know where to go?
The pain grew quickly, and the black cloud resolved into an emotion that had a greater component of shame than before, as well as terror. She was doing something very bad, something not worthy of her, something that could not bear examination. And something very bad would happen to her if she didn't do what was expected of her.
She looked at the door. She understood she was supposed to go somewhere, but how? The door doesn't open for me, she howled silently in frustration and despair.
At last, sobbing, she jumped to her feet and approached the door. To her astonishment, it whispered open, and she ran crying out into the hallway.
The corridor was empty, a fact for which she was intensely glad. When she had walked these halls naked before, she had been with Dion, who somehow, despite all her mistrust of him, gave her a feeling of being protected. Now she would be alone, at the mercy of anyone who came by. But no one did. She wondered if it was nighttime, which she hadn't thought it was. More likely, the halls had been cleared for her.
The evacuation of the hallway wasn't for the purpose of making her feel safer, she realized in sudden insight. It was to make sure she understood she wouldn't be getting help from anyone. She could feel how badly she wanted that, wanted someone to tell her where she was to go, what was expected of her. But she would have to solve this puzzle on her own.
She wondered, suddenly, whether the same had happened on her first exploration of Olympus, when she'd first arrived, sneaking around in her flight suit to look for Janica. Was it just a coincidence that Dion had scheduled a wrestling match, or whatever it was, for exactly that time? Or had it just given everyone something to occupy their time while they vacated the rest of the building? It seemed very likely, now, that they had known Megan was coming, had followed her progress ever since her ship had landed. Certainly they clearly had known where the ship was in the end, when she was caught. They were waiting for her there. Most likely they had known all along. It was probably a game to them, letting her explore as they watched. They had known she couldn't cause any harm. So they just let her bumble around, finding things.
Megan had been doomed, she was sure now, from the very moment of landing. She moaned. At least she was still allowed to make such sounds.
The pain had abated as soon as she'd entered the hallway, but was growing again as she stood. And the black cloud was returning: the terror, and even more prominent, the shame. It was a good choice of an emotion to motivate her, she realized. It had always been important to her to do the right thing. Now she was conscious that standing still where she was was the wrong thing, a bad thing, and so intense was the feeling that her resistance to trying to set things right was quickly crumbling. She had to move.
She took a few cautious steps forward, and the pain and shame increased. Not that way! That's the wrong way, the bad way! Stop, now! If the pain gets worse I'll collapse and the shame will engulf me.
Crying again, she reversed course, and felt immediately better. It was such a relief! Nothing hurt, and she felt good about herself! There was a feeling of... joy, she thought, was the best way to describe it. Smiling, she hurried along the corridor, stopping when she reached an intersection, giving her a choice of going straight or turning left.
She bit her lip, and felt the black cloud encroaching again, and the pain. She turned left, and felt better again.
Reaching another intersection, where the corridor she was in came to an end and she had a choice of going left or right, she hesitated again. Flipping a mental coin, she turned right. Immediately she doubled over in agony, tearful and weepy again, and backed up several steps before turning to go the other way.
The joy returned, she was smiling again, and she nearly broke into a run, hoping to feel even better, when suddenly the pain and the cloud returned once more. I'm in the middle of the corridor! she thought angrily. There isn't a place to turn!
Looking behind her, she saw that there was a door in the left-hand wall.
She backed up towards it, feeling better again.
Independently of all the other feelings she'd been experiencing, her stomach filled with butterflies. That is the place, she told herself. On the other side of that door.
Somehow going through that door symbolized the ultimate surrender, in some sense. To say she had come to this point of her own free will was badly distorting the facts, but there had been no one directing her, ordering her to come to this place. To all appearances, the orders had come from inside her. But inside that room, she knew, the whole point of the exercise would be revealed, something she knew she wouldn't like, and to go through that door would be to deliver herself into their control.
She shook her head. They made me do it, no matter what it seems like. I did it to avoid the pain, physical and emotional. I'm already under their control, and it is beyond my ability to fight it.
She frowned. She realized she was avoiding considering how good it had felt when she was properly doing what they wanted. There's more to this than avoidance of pain, she admitted to herself. If I started out again from where I was before, knowing this time where I was going, I'd come straight here, just so I could feel that joy again. I'd want to come here.
DAMN Dion, she said to herself forcefully, and damn him for taunting me with the idea I'd "want" what they were going to make me do.
She whimpered softly, knowing that in a moment, the battle of trying to resist entering the room would begin, and that she would lose it.
As she stood there motionless, the pain returned.
I have to go through that door, Megan thought hopelessly. I want so badly to say No, you can't make me do this. She knew the pain if she stood in place would shortly grow agonizing, and that she could have stood against the physical pain. But not the emotional rending. The shame came from within, not outside. It was part of everything she was, a part with importance equal to, or greater than, her rational self that tried without success to hold back the emotional floodgates. She could tell herself all she wanted that it was a conditioned response to the pain stimulus, that it was faked shame, with no real connection with right or wrong, that they had made her feel it. But that was just words against a hurricane.
She made a high-pitched, boiling tea-kettle sound as she stepped to the door. Once she stood close enough, it whispered open. That same force that had moved her to the door made her take two running steps into the room beyond the door, and the pain abated.
There was one other person in the room, a woman, as naked as Megan, sitting on the edge of a wide bed.
SO much happened in the next fraction of a second.
In part of that fraction, Megan told herself she had been right. She felt no surprise at seeing a Janica clone. She had anticipated, from the moment the voice had told her she would be paired with a partner, that it would be one of the Janicas.
But Megan wasn't prepared for her own reaction. The sexual arousal she had been feeling from the moment she woke up suddenly spiked, hitting a plateau at a level she had never experienced before. She didn't understand it. She had spent many hours alone with Sissy -- with naked Sissy -- who looked exactly like this woman she was seeing now, and who had tried three different times to seduce her, and Megan had never felt the slightest sexual attraction to her. Megan couldn't imagine feeling such attraction, not to someone who looked exactly like her beloved, worshipped big sister. Yet here it was, that sexual spark setting off a fire inside her, burning through every fiber of her being. The only thoughts she could sense running through her mind, through her body, through her crotch, were of how soft Janica's lips looked, how silky her skin appeared, how perfect her face was, how inviting her breasts and nipples were, how the curves of her body were so ideally shaped to fit into Megan's embrace, how it would feel when Megan touched her, held her, locked her arms around her, kissed her, felt, tasted, and smelled her, heard her soft sighs, saw her perfection close up.
I've been imprinted! screamed the tiny voice of rational Megan. They did it to me, and now I know exactly what Sissy feels when she sees Jason!
All of these thoughts and sensations passed through Megan in the first half of that fraction of a second, so fast that the clone's very first physical movement had not had time to happen yet.
When it did, it shook Megan to her core. The Janica-clone bolted to her feet, with the most profound look of astonishment Megan had ever seen on any face anywhere, her mouth a round O that an instant later, closed and worked in concert with her vocal cords to begin saying a word that started with M. The Janica-clone suddenly bent over as if in intense pain. Looking up at Megan then, the clone raised her arm to waist level, her fist clenched, her thumb separate from it pointing straight upward.
Megan couldn't breathe. She could only hear the words rushing through her mind overwhelming all other thought, It's really Janny! It's really Janny! It's really Janny!...
Dion never said she was dead!! Megan suddenly remembered. A replay of part of her first conversation with Dion returned to her mind, Dion responding to Megan's question of what they had used the original crew for after they'd finished modeling behavior for the clones.
"What would you do with something you no longer had a use for?"
The anger Megan had managed to reduce to a simmer now exploded. "YOU KILLED THEM??" She sprang to her feet, her hands writhing helplessly behind her.
Dion held up both hands in a calming gesture. "Major Duchain, I want you to really think about this. Would you want them to be alive after what they went through?"
Janny was alive! Dion had never said she wasn't! Megan had simply leapt to the conclusion she feared the most. And Dion had left her hanging there!
She's alive and she's here!!
Janica had gotten farther towards saying a word -- Megan's name! -- than Megan was able to. But that must be because the sudden shock of seeing Megan had provoked a reflex action, too quickly for the pain reaction to catch it in time. In all probability it would never happen again.
And then, after that, Janica had done something only she would do.
Megan couldn't remember exactly when that thumbs-up signal had developed between her and Janica. But they had used it, over the years, to signal Everything Will Be Okay. Megan remembered falling and skinning her knee, and through her tears, after deciding it wasn't so bad, she had signaled thumbs up to Janica. When Janica was crying after a breakup with a girlfriend in high school, and Megan had blundered into Janica's room, Janica had smiled weakly and given Megan the sign, insisting through her tears that everything was going to be okay.
Nobody, as far as Megan knew, knew about the sign except the two of them.
Thus ended the first fraction of a second after Megan entered the room.
What did not end, after that first fraction of a second, was Megan's physical need for Janica. Her craving. Her desire. The imprinting was too strong to be resisted.
Megan tried resisting. She tried SO hard. She remembered having felt so sure she would be able to triumph over whatever force impelled her towards... well, the Janica-clone she had assumed she would encounter.
Mocking her efforts at resistance, Megan's left foot took a step forward. Then her right. Then the steps became a brief run. She was only dimly aware that Janica was also moving forward, as if blown forward by a gale of wind behind her that she couldn't stand up against, and that Janica was making the same moaning sounds of need that Megan was.
They met with a jarring slap of bare skin meeting skin, and immediately lips met lips. The tingling that had been growing stronger between Megan's legs since she awakened exploded, and she felt a desperate need to run her hands over every inch of Janica's body, down her back, squeezing her buttocks, up to her breasts to let them fill her cupped hands, caressing her face, all while maintaining the kiss. She rubbed Janica's tongue with her own, and then hooked it behind Janica's teeth, wanting to lock their mouths together so the kiss would never end. Janica's hands were wandering as well, going down into the cleft of Megan's buttocks and then underneath, fingers brushing softly against Megan's vaginal lips, becoming slippery from the juices there, and Megan's whole body quivered as Janica's fingers entered and stroked her clit. Megan let out gasping breath after breath through her nose, moaning, near exploding.
Still not breaking the kiss, Janica pulled Megan towards the bed. On reaching it, they fell together, Janica twisting to roll on top of Megan, wrapping her arms around Megan and sliding them underneath Megan's back, pushing her tongue deep into Megan's mouth, grunting with the effort. Megan slid her hand down Janica's side, around her buttocks and between her legs, feeling wetness there equal to her own, and repeated the favor with her fingers that Janica had given her earlier. Megan wanted to be on top and tried to roll Janica over, and they compromised with a side by side position, arms tight around each other, each bringing her right thigh up to press against the other's crotch, each twitching her hips, their bodies rocking together, each moaning ever louder, the moans muffled by their continued kiss. Each used her fingers inside the other now, and soon they screamed together, Megan feeling an orgasm wash over and through her more intense than any she had ever felt.
And as the orgasm receded, the iron grip of unanticipated, inexplicable, unwelcome erotic passion for her sister relaxed, just slightly. Enough for Megan to feel the weight of what she'd done. She instantly backed away from the kiss, and her hands flew to her face, not quite fast enough to miss seeing Janica's jaw drop in shock, or the instant flush that made Janica's face look as though she fallen into a vat of red paint. Megan, her eyes hidden behind her fingers, knowing her face was the same shade as Janica's, shook her head vigorously, and made a monumental effort to speak, to say how sorry she was. That same pain as before, that same terror that insisted that disaster and unfathomable horror loomed, made her stop once more. She chanced a look at Janica, whose expression made it clear she was going through the same inner sensations as Megan.
Megan was glad to see that expression, telling her that Janica had been driven unstoppably by the same inner forces that had overcome Megan's will, and that she understood. Janica knew that Megan was not in control of herself, any more than she herself had been.
How could they make me do that?? Megan demanded of herself.
She heard the clamor of recrimination in her mind, and the voice telling her how ashamed she should be. Yet the shame, real as it was, was somehow only theoretical, only intellectual, only rational in comparison with the emotional weight of the dirtiness she had felt earlier resulting from simply trying not to walk down the hallway to the place they wanted her to go. She was, in some odd way, a little relieved by the shame she was feeling now. It was her shame, not something imposed on her artificially. In some way, they had reduced her ability to judge her own actions by her own rules and standards, and substituted rules of their own. But she still could generate feelings that really belonged to her.
But still, she did feel ashamed, and the real shame, though not as overwhelming, was no more fun than the artificial kind. Automatically, still looking into Janica's eyes, she tried again to say "I'm sorry," but as before, the words were sidetracked before they could begin, and she felt that same bolt of pain and, now, the surge of the stronger, more deeply-felt shame -- for trying to speak, not for having sex with her sister. There was nothing in the room to write with or on, so she took Janica's hand, intending to use her finger to trace the letters spelling "I'm sorry" in Janica's palm, only to encounter the same painful consequence that attempting to speak brought on. Yes, thought Megan, the voice back there did tell me I wouldn't be able to use written communication either.
Tears spilled out of Megan's eyes. She wanted so badly to talk to Janny, about so many things, after all these years, to ask her so many questions. To ask what she had been doing over the last thirty years. And she couldn't. And she absolutely did not want to feel what she was feeling. The magnetic attraction drawing her to Janica, the powerful sexual need for her, had not gone away. It was only resting after the need had been satisfied, but, as Megan was becoming aware, the respite was very temporary, and the force inside her was building again. The tingling between her legs had never gone away. And she was becoming more aware of its continued presence by the second.
She noticed that Janica was breathing faster than a moment ago, her nostrils flaring. She's feeling it too, Megan realized.
It's going to happen again, Megan thought helplessly, and I can't stop it! We can't stop it.
Knowing it was pointless to try to say anything, Megan held her fist in front of Janica, thumb upraised, and gave her a shaky smile.
Janica smiled wanly in return. Then she gently took Megan's fist, still with thumb up, pulled it towards her lips and kissed it.
Megan's smile was more genuine now. She felt warmth spreading through her. That feels so sweet, she thought, and it's nothing sexual. Just something one sister does when the other makes her feel better.
Then Janica began licking, her tongue passing slowly and wetly over Megan's curled fingers, then her wrist, and starting up her arm, with an already-familiar moan of desire.
The tingling between Megan's legs was in full flame again. No, she thought, please...
The intense magnetism, the sense that everything about Janica was what she needed, what she must feel rubbing against her, what she must capture with her arms and legs and never let go of, returned to full force. Megan reached out convulsively and pulled Janica towards her, her mouth fastening onto Janica's, wide open, lips moving, tongues rubbing.
They were both startled when the door to the room hissed open suddenly. Megan froze when she saw a man enter.
Megan told herself afterward she should have been prepared for what her body did next. She knew Mens and his cohorts had spent a long time contaminating her mind, filling her with a sexual craving far beyond her control. But she had avoided imagining all of the ramifications.
Though it wouldn't really be accurate, Megan thought later, to say she had no control over her body's actions. Her body did exactly what she wanted it to. She just couldn't seem to control the wanting.
Instantly letting go of Janica, even forgetting, she realized afterwards, Janica's existence for the moment, Megan rolled away from Janica, fell backward onto her back on the bed, and raised her legs into the air, split wide apart. Staring intently at the man, or more accurately at his beltline, where his penis was hidden away by clothes, Megan patted her vaginal lips insistently with her fingers, whimpering "Uhh? Uhh? Uhh?", trusting him to understand she was begging him to fill her.
Beside her, the barely-remembered Janica had whirled up onto her knees, facing directly away from the man, her butt towards him, and was reaching behind her to pat her own sex invitingly, her head twisted around to look towards the same part of him that Megan was, while making sounds similar to Megan's.
The man looked at Janica first, and waved her away. Janica made a shocked squeaking sound of disappointment, moved off to the side, and then began crying. He returned his gaze to Megan, made a gesture with his hand, the fingers together tapping against the thumb. Megan gasped excitedly. She knew what the gesture meant. She had no idea how she knew what it meant, but it seemed part of a language she was somehow, unaccountably, familiar with. The hand gesture meant Megan should use her mouth.
Megan threw herself forward, pivoting on her butt, to sit upright at the edge of the bed, while the man was pulling his pants down. As soon as his erection sprang free, Megan reached for it, circled it lightly with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, leaned forward and sucked it into her mouth.
Closing her eyes, she moved her lips up and down the shaft, her tongue rubbing it underneath. When she felt ready, she took a deep breath, took the head in farther, quickly, suppressing her gag reflex, and swallowed it.
She felt a warm joy spreading throughout her body. Her holes -- her mouth, her vagina, her rectum -- were sad voids in her body that could only truly be filled by a penis. Only that male body part that fit her own parts so exactly, its fullness perfectly complementing their emptiness, could make her feel complete and whole.
She let the head slide out of her throat, took another breath, and swallowed it again, this time letting it move in and out slightly so that her lips rubbed back and forth along the shaft. Then she took a firm grip on his buttocks and pushed her face hard against him, flattening her nose on his lower stomach, in his pubic hair, trying to take him in still deeper, deeper.
She felt the triumphant orgasm approaching, summoned it, welcomed it... HERE! It intensified as she worked to hold herself still, not biting.
The rational part of her mind was left with many puzzles to solve. She didn't know when she had learned anything about oral sex with a man, or indeed any type of sex with a man. She especially didn't know how she had learned to swallow an erect penis, when she sometimes had trouble just swallowing pills.
But there were so many other things going on that she didn't understand. These mysteries would just have to wait their turn.
As her orgasm subsided, the man suddenly jerked, and emptied himself partly down her throat and partly, as he pulled back, into her mouth. She gulped, swallowing the slick, salty fluid, and let the now-shrinking penis slip out of her mouth. She kissed the head, licking up a last dribble of semen, hoping somehow the kiss could encourage it into new life. Hoping the encounter wasn't over.
Beside her, she was fully aware of Janica sobbing now. Megan understood. She knew how she would feel if the man had rejected her and chosen Janica, not allowing Megan this chance to be completed, to have her emptiness filled.
The man pulled up his pants and, as wordless as he had been throughout, left.
No, thought Megan, don't go! She stood and ran towards the door. Just two paces beyond the bed, she doubled over as the lightning pain from the collar spread through her body, along with the now-familiar terror and shame that stopped her in her tracks.
The rational Megan, held in the background since the man had entered the room, came back to the fore. As she backed up, reducing the pain and the emotional weight blocking her way, she shook her head. They can't stop me from leaving! Not by just making me feel bad about it, by making me feel scared of it!
Determined to break their hold over her, she took two long steps forward, and then cried out on agony. It's only pain, she told herself. And the emotions aren't real. Not real. Not real!
She took one more step forward and collapsed, and lay convulsing on the floor, no longer able to control her muscles in any way.
She felt her skin scraping on the floor underneath her. The pain abated the smallest bit, and she was able to look towards her feet and see that Janica was grasping her ankle, pulling her out of the agony zone.
Megan managed to sit up at last, her body still trembling but able to obey her will once more. Crying, as Janica still was, she reached for Janica and pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her hair, a gesture echoed by Janica.
Megan realized, in puzzlement, that she couldn't recall any detail of what the man had looked like. That he had been real was without doubt, but she couldn't so much as remember his hair color, let alone the shape of his nose or chin. She knew she had been focused on a lower part of his body, but she felt sure she had looked directly at his face when he'd first entered -- Yes, she reminded herself, I did! I had to decide that he was a man, to begin with -- but she could never have described him now.
She shrugged off the mystery, leaned back and looked at Janica, and saw again the perfect sexual mate, everything she needed. The tingling in her crotch, never at any time absent, was dialed up once more. Her rational self, seeming more and more reduced to pure observer status, was unable to generate the same degree of resistance as earlier. The dolly within her was consolidating power, becoming dominant. Megan lunged forward and kissed Janica, open-mouthed, moaning with arousal. We can't leave this place, Janny, she thought, but I have everything I need here. I have you. I want you, I want you, I want you!
Megan pressed forward, pushed Janica over onto the floor and lay atop her, rocking her hips. Janica sighed with pleasure, wrapped her arms and legs tightly around Megan and began licking her neck.