#subliminalbo

[ottopilot-wrote-this-sfw]

Auld Lang Syne: A Bailey Castillo Story

This story references characters from the Obedience by Fleur series by @subliminalbo, and is a sequel to Generational Trauma and Backend Support (both NSFW; this one is SFW).

A holiday gift to the homie @subliminalbo, who didn't get to beta read this one, but I don't think he'll mind.

Having a conscience is going to get me killed someday.

Client didn't return the asset on time. Pretty unusual; no one wants to be on the bad side of organized crime. Tracker says the asset is still on site, though. Now that's peculiar.

Could be an old man who had a heart attack. If so, then I changed into this dress for nothing. But if it's not… someone's going to come soon to recover the asset, and some unsuspecting dope is going to have a very unhappy new year.

The elevator doors open and I step onto the velvet carpet in my Louboutin heels. Had to get dolled up; people tend to raise an eyebrow to hoodies and Air Force Ones. The Ridley is actually a respectable, upscale establishment. Not a shithole front for prostitution, like the Gilead. This is where Romero's powerful bring their mistresses while they still have a little autonomy.

Wonder if Mamá ever stayed here. Focus. I dismiss the thought, double-check the details on my phone, and stop in front of the room.

Room 404. Sure. Why not.

I look for cameras. Finding none, I reach under the slit in my dress and pull my Sig Sauer P365 from its thigh holster. Saying a quick prayer that I won't need it, I rap on the door. "Housekeeping."

The door cracks open, and I move quickly, pushing my way inside. A man on the other side takes a tumble. Once inside, I shove the door closed with my ass. All the while, my piece is pointed at the man as I scan the room. "Stay down," I bark.

I spot the asset right away. She stands by an open window, the hotel's neon sign lighting her face in red. Same black evening dress she was dropped off in; sexy, but not overly tawdry. Red lipstick still applied perfectly. Not a knockout, but pretty. Obtainable. Normally, her standout feature would be her green eyes, but her gaze is vacant, like twin emeralds that had lost their lustre.

Not a hair out of place. An odd state for an escort drone.

I turn my attention to the man, who I'm still trained on. Middle-aged. Balding. Tattered sportcoat. Polyester slacks. Dated fashion sense. He's dressed like these are the only nice clothes he's ever owned. He looks nervous, propped up on his elbows, showing me his open palms. "Am I in trouble?"

"You Henry Robbins?" I ask. The room was in the client's legal name, paid in cash. That made him either terribly naive, or terribly stupid.

"Yes," he says, his voice shaky. "Look, I—"

I interrupt. I'm not interested in his life story. "Stand. Hands behind your head." Henry stands. He's probably 5' 4" and 130 pounds soaking wet. I give him a quick pat down from behind, and he's predictably clean. Not a threat, just some guy. I holster my piece. "She was due back at ten." I point to the couch. "Have a seat while I inspect the girl."

Henry sits, gingerly. Poor guy looks spooked. Probably has never seen a gun in his life. "Ten P.M.? I thought I had until ten in the morning."

I stand next to the drone and pull out my phone. I hook into her interface via Bluetooth and start running a diagnostic. I don't look up. "Probably seems like a lot of money, but you'd need a lot more than that for an over-nighter." Scans look good, which makes sense, since I doubt this guy has even breathed on her in three hours. "I need to bring her back to the shop for processing. You're lucky I had nothing better to do tonight." I compose a quick text to intake. Asset 43 recovered. Call off the dogs. ETA 11:50.

"What? No. Please, I need more time," the man says. He looks like he's on the verge of tears. There's a bottle of champagne on ice on the end table next to him, and two empty champagne flutes.

I sigh, arms crossed. "Look, Henry—it is Henry? Henry, this is an escort drone, and you loaned her out from some powerful and, frankly, very scary people. This is not an overdue book from the public library. You don't just bring her back when it's convenient for you."

Henry's shoulders slump. When he speaks, he ignores my warning, and it's like he's talking to himself. "They told me she'll do whatever I ask. That her name's 'Tiffany.' But it's not."

I look again at the motionless drone, then at the empty champagne flutes. "You knew her."

Henry's eyes are brimming with tears. "Her name is Cindy. Cindy Robbins. She is my wife." The use of tense is intentional. and it's received loud and clear. Not "was my wife." Is. Guess I'm getting the life story after all.

Henry continues, leaning forward, wringing his hands, looking at the floor. "Last year, she was diagnosed with early-onset dementia. She couldn't cope with that. I don't know how she found out about this, but she volunteered."

My stomach churns a little as I think of my mother, but I keep a poker face. "She volunteered? To be a drone?"

He nods. "One day I came home, and all I found was a note. Cashed out my savings and took a second on the house so I could afford tonight." His voice breaks. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

It's time to go, Bailey. No, it's half past time to go. Right. Time to bring the asset in. It's not time to guess when was the last time I had someone to kiss at the New Year. Not time to think about Mamá, and what I'd give to have another night with her. I look at the drone, her eyes looking straight ahead, and it's definitely not time to think about what choice I would make. Lose myself a little at a time, or do it all at once—with the soothing, cold appliance of a wetwork neural interface. Mental euthanasia.

11:37. So close. I had one foot out the goddamned door. Girl, this life is only going to work if you can compartmentalize, and you keep showing yourself you can't do that.

I break out my phone again, reconnecting to the drone's neural interface.

"What are you doing?" Henry asks.

I lower the personality inhibitors and schedule a job to reassert them. “Don’t talk,” I say. Stop talking, Henry, before I change my goddamn mind. I'm taking an awful risk. My backers tend to frown upon tampering with the merchandise, even from the lead architect.

Those green eyes blink. When they re-open, the haze is lifted. It's replaced by something, possibly confusion, possibly awareness. Whatever it is, it's human. The perfectly painted lips move, possibly for the first time tonight. One word escapes them. "Henry?"

"Cindy. Oh God." Henry looks at her, then at me. Like I'm Baron Fucking Frankenstein. “What did you do?”

"Thirty minutes," I say, dropping my phone into my purse.

I walk to the minibar. Johnnie Walker Blue Label, huh? Think I'll make it a double. I brought his wife back from the dead for half-an-hour, least Henry could do is buy me the good stuff. As the lovebirds have a tearful reunion, my shaky hands dump two of the tiny bottles into a tumbler. Then I sit in the leather cuck chair at the desk, and I watch.

Following some real Nicholas Sparks shit, they've wiped their tears and have moved to the couch. You think they'd be all hands, all over each other. Hell, maybe even move to the bed and fuck. But it's the damndest thing.

At first all they do is talk. But not loud enough for me to hear from ten feet away. Hushed tones, sometimes whispers. He says something and her face lights up like fireworks, and she laughs. I sip my scotch and I peer at them over the rim of the glass. She's beautiful, and while I still think it's insane and dangerous that he went in debt over this night with her, I'm starting to understand. Love makes people crazy.

But eventually, even the talking stops. They're just sitting together, holding hands. In each other's presence, her head resting on his shoulder. Three of us in this room, and the only one talking is Anderson Cooper on the television. When I look at them all I see are my own aborted relationships, and my unwillingness to share space with anyone. If I keep them away, neither of us will get hurt. My anxiety ties knots in my stomach. I stand up and drift to the window.

I send an update from my phone. New ETA 12:25. Something minor slightly off on the asset, running a diagnostic. Need more time. Take it out of my cut if needed. Timestamp reads 11:58.

I turn my back and face the window, pretending to give the couple privacy, but it's a lie. Instead of looking out over the Carpenter State campus, I watch the Robbins' New Year kiss reflected in the window. I feel like a voyeur, like a pervert who looks through peepholes in the public bathroom. Except instead of tits and ass, I'm the weirdo leering at people with a healthy relationship. My eyes shift to my own reflection, and I don't like what I find. Without my tech, none of us would be here tonight.

"TIme's up, Henry. Say goodbye," I mutter.

Henry leaves Cindy, and scurries over to me. He speaks in hushed tones so she won't hear. "Please, I'm begging, can you give us a few more minutes?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm doing you a favor, Henry."

Henry is practically begging. "I'm grateful for what you did, ma'am. but please, I need more time."

I lower my voice. "Henry… You won't want to be around when Cinderella turns into a pumpkin."

The implication hangs in the air, as a twisted look of horror settles on his face. He knows I'm right. He won't—he can't—watch her forget about him again.

Henry and Cindy say their goodbyes as I stand by the door. They hug and kiss for the last time, the hug lingering as neither wants to break it first. It's a good thing I didn't eat tonight, because I want to throw up.

Cindy says, "The price must have been tremendous, baby. You didn't have to do this."

There are hot wet tears running down Henry's cheeks. "Yeah, Cin. Yeah, I did."

Cindy leaves with me, and we walk in awkward silence to the elevators. Never done this. Never had to talk to a sentient drone, and it makes my palms sweat.

Finally, I say something. It's eating me alive from the inside out. "I'm sorry. But we had to go."

"No. Don't be sorry. You did a kind thing for him," Cindy says softly, adding, "for us."

"A kind thing." I push the Down button with a pen. Sure, I created the technology that made you a sex robot, but by all means, let's talk about my good deeds.

"You say it like it's a curse."

"Don't hear that a lot in my line of work." I immediately regret opening my big mouth.

The elevator arrives and the decorated doors slide open. Cindy and I walk inside, facing forward. I pull out my phone and look down at it, pretending to check college football scores. Anything to avoid the uncomfortable conversation I started.

"I never thought… he would do this. Hire me out." Cindy let out a humorless laugh. "I guess I shouldn't be that surprised. He even wore the coat I bought him." I see her warm smile reflected in the elevator doors, then it fades into a frown. "I chose this, you know. I didn't want to hurt him. Him watching me slowly forget him, forget everything I loved about him, all while he had to take care of me… I thought I was doing him a favor."

I can't look this woman in the eyes right now, because I've lived that truth. Mamá might have forgotten my name and that I was her daughter, but she never forgot she loved me. Never. I saw it in her eyes until the day she died.

"You don't sound so sure," I say. There's a wobble in my voice, a vulnerability I'd rather not disclose nor accept. "Maybe it wasn't your decision to make alone."

Cindy swallows so hard I can hear it. A hesitation. "I…"

At the pause, I look up and see Cindy's reflection in the elevator's steel doors. The brushed steel distorts Cindy's features, but there's that same blank, vacant of a drone. A look I've seen a hundred times over.

Heavy sigh. Fuck. Nice knowing you, Cindy Robbins.

The door opens on the ground floor, and I step out, heels clicking on the marble tiles. All business, once again. "Follow me," I instruct the drone. My phone reads 12:06 as I message intake. Asset is secured, bringing it to processing. ETA: Fifteen minutes.

I push through the heavy exterior doors and into the brisk Romero night, the drone following obediently behind. A light snow is starting to fall, but I barely notice. Cindy's words weigh heavily on my mind. A kind thing. I try to tell myself, kindness was the kind of thing that got you killed in Romero, or worse.

A smirk forms on my face. Or maybe… it was the only thing that proved I was still alive.

In the distance, I could hear the crackle of fireworks. Or gunshots. Hard to tell in these parts sometimes.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Generational Trauma

Once more unto the breach of @subliminalbo's Romero Literary Universe. This story references characters from the Obedience by Fleur series. This is also a prequel to Backend Support, though both stories (hopefully) stand on their own.

Thanks again to my friend @subliminalbo (also at @subliminalboarchive) for the art trade and collaboration.

Bailey Castillo set the clippers on the sink counter and rubbed the base of her skull. She was a queer woman, it certainly wasn't her first time getting an undercut. But it was the first time she'd done it to herself.

It made her smirk to herself. Given the grim nature of what she had talked herself into, Bailey could use all the levity she could muster.

She had an undercut when she met Ed. It was a good metaphor, she thought. Under that big head of dark curls, there was an edge. Her fresh face and polite smile were a mask, disguising survival instincts and a pragmatism you could only get by growing up Black, asexual, and female in Romero, Washington.

Bailey rubbed the shaving gel in her wet fingers until it foamed up. Smelling of peaches, she rubbed it on her shaved hair. After rinsing her hands, she rinsed the razor's blade, new and sharp, in the cold water of the faucet.

It seemed a strange offer. What did a lingerie company need with an embedded systems designer? Software devs for e-commerce, sure. But she specialized in hardware, in writing firmware, in the arcane art of assembly code.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, though. Not beggars who had a degree from the local party school, because Mamá got a discount on tuition, and it was what they could afford. Certainly not beggars who would take the first offer they could get that would get them away from this cesspool. Bailey shaved her neck and the undercut area with smooth, careful strokes.

Her first mistake was trusting. Trusting that if she did a good job - and her control array for Obedience by Fleur was, objectively, goddamn genius - she'd be recognized for it.

Bailey rinsed the razor of shaving cream and tiny black hairs. Won't make that mistake again.

She had overestimated Ed King. She bought his Silicon Valley rep, and failed to see he wasn't any different from Romero's traditional power brokers. He was a carnival barker, not a visionary like he thought he was. She was a commodity to him, not a person. If Obedience failed, she would've taken the blame; but since it succeeded, he was more than happy to take all the credit.

Bailey rubbed the smooth wet skin on her neck, checking for missed spots. Elena wasn't any better. She got what she wanted from Bailey, and that made her disposable. It was a blessing, really. Bailey was a natural beauty, but her curvy hips and thighs meant she wasn't model thin, and it also meant she was back at her mother's house in Romero, and not mindlessly, dutifully, licking Elena's designer boots.

Toweling off her neck, Bailey shifted away from the sink toward the 3D printer. She triple-checked her work.

When she first read about needleless tattoos in Wired, at all just clicked into place. A silicon ink payload in dissolvable microneedles. Putting the Obedience tech inside the subject. Permanently. Forget the sensors, pair the array with a fitness tracker or smartwatch. An AI sidecar to increase subject safety. No more brain damage.

Stealing the base software from Ed King? Bailey had no qualms about stealing from a thief. But she needed stake money. It was surprisingly easy to talk the Chinese triads into financing her. But they wanted proof before they pumped more yuan into her operation.

The 3D printer hummed to life as it printed the dissolvable needles, loaded with silicon ink, onto the dermal patch. This was, of course, a fork, custom firmware modified from the base model. Unfortunately, you can't just print a tiny one of these and slap it on a lab rat.

And experimenting on an unwilling human subject… That was something they would do. Bailey wasn't a monster. Not yet.

The array was done. It was a rectangle about the size of deck of cards. The trick had been spacing, making sure the crudely printed lines wouldn't bleed or touch accidentally when applied. Bailey's array was, of course, unique. She'd created a hyperfocus routine that, when enabled, could drown out stimulation and increase cognitive ability temporarily. More importantly, the mind control protocols were blunted, and she wrote an additional protection against mesmerism: the ability to mentally control her hormone levels.

But at the end of the day, this was modified Obedience by Fleur firmware. Bailey knew there was an unknown period where she would have to take Obedience's best punch, enduring and outlasting it, before the AI sidecar would read her biofeedback and adjust the indoctrination protocols lower. She was prepared for it, with a physical anchor.

She took the black choker, her mother's, in her left hand. When Mamá died, shortly after Bailey came back to Romero with her tail between her legs, it was in her jewelry box.

Bailey didn't know how to reconcile that. Mamá never said anything. She didn't have to. When she left the house wearing this choker, all painted up when she should have been in bed, the vacant look told young Bailey everything. But to keep this in an intimate place, where she likely saw it every day - before the early-onset Alzheimer's rotted her from the inside out - what did that mean?

That she missed it?

Bailey gripped the choker tightly, feeling the satin in her delicate fingers. She couldn't guess what went through her mother's mind. Bailey only knew what it meant to her: anger. Abandonment issues. A keepsake of a life she would never, ever lead.

One last check. One last chance to bitch out.

Bailey sat upright in her work stool. She prepared the tattoo array patch, removing it from the printing tray. She looked again at the choker in her left hand, her anchor to reality. She took the patch, and affixed it to the base of her skull.

At first, there was a cold, wet feeling. Like ultrasound gel. And it itched, probably from the microneedles penetrating her skin. Bailey's research indicated there wouldn't be any pain from the actual absorption of the silicon ink into her dermis, just a slight delay.

Immediately, she realized she'd miscalculated.

Bailey had set the weights on the Obedience protocol to fifty percent. She barely had time to process that was too high before she was inundated with sensation. "Oh… Fuck," she moaned breathlessly. It was so hard to think from the pleasure. Warm and comforting, like a blanket. Like a hug, but not a hug from just anyone. From someone precious. From a lover.

Then she felt something new. A flicker, at first. Then a slow burning heat. Then an intense raging inferno, burning between her legs, deep inside her, in her very soul. Bailey instinctively put her hand there, but it was a huge mistake. Immediately she rubbed her engorged clit through her panties, wetness spreading through the dainty cotton fabric.

Lust? But I'm fucking ace, Bailey thought, before the first orgasm hit.

Wave after wave of euphoric gratification pounded her senses like a tempestuous ocean.

Shit! this is- Then another.

Tides of pleasure washed over her.

The choker. Have to- Another.

The powerful undertow eroded her reason and resistance.

Mamá, I-

The blissful sensations overwhelmed Bailey, preventing the formulation of new thoughts, until she just simply stopped trying.

And then she was under. Submerged. Sounds fading. The world oh, so far away.

She was better this way, she saw that. It was better to stop resisting, stop trying to think, and just accept it. As she enthusiastically fingered her soggy cunt, mouth open, her body rewarding her for her compliance, Bailey thought she heard something. It was her own voice, moaning and panting and… giggling. Being dumb, and sexy, and available - it made her happy?

When was the last time she could say that, that she was legitimately happy?

She understood. She could feel like this for the rest of her life, and she only had to do one thing. Let go. Let go of the past, let go of the trauma, let go of the hurt. Let go of herself. The fingers on Bailey's left hand loosened their grip. The choker threatened to fall to the floor. No, not fall. To sink. To sink and drop, deeper and deeper. Her mind was still. Vacant. Empty, except for one thing creeping into her consciousness.

No. Not today.

Bailey's fingers tightened. She could feel the smooth satin, once cold, now hot with her own emanating warmth. She thought of Mamá, looking more like a movie starlet than her tireless, caring mother. Bailey saw her walk out the door, not even turning back to her crying daughter. And she remembered her pledge, to Mamá, to herself: it ain't gonna be me. Not today. Not ever.

Bailey held the choker with a steel grip, as if her life depended on it. It did. The choker was a life preserver in the choppy ocean of arousal flooding her mind and body. She had no idea how anyone could take twice as much of this. It was no wonder Obedience's control was absolute and immediate.

Slowly, she felt it. The constant bombardment of pleasure losing its steam. Waters receding. Her thoughts forming more easily, coherently. Her breathing stabilizing, and the hot flush of her arousal lowering to a simmer. "Set dopamine levels to zero," she gasped. She didn't need to say the words out loud for it to work, but in her disheveled state she needed to hear it. To remind herself she was in control.

She looked in a nearby mirror. Her eyes were a milky solid white, all sclera, no pupils. Her body was flushed with desire. She looked every bit the fucktoy she despised. Bailey knew she was lucky. If she had looked into this mirror a few minutes ago, she would've been lost.

Her hormone levels stabilizing, Bailey blinked, and her eyes returned to an intense chestnut brown. She was still in shock from the ordeal. She opened her palm and looked at the choker, and she placed it on her workbench. Slowly, she took her cell phone in her right hand and sent a message.

"Live test successful. Production is GO."

-------------------

The dream again. The same one. Fuck, I hate this, Bailey thought. And turning off the dopamine wasn't helping.

Bailey got out of bed and turned on a bedside lamp. She drowsily stood up, stumbled to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. It was a hot July night, so she was only wearing panties. Which, of course, were soaked through. Again.

On her back to bed, she stopped at her nightstand. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. Running a prostitution empire based on mind control hadn't been kind to her, she thought.

Bailey wasn't sure what possessed her. But she reached into her top drawer, and retrieved Rosa's - Mamá's - choker. She hadn't looked at it since she turned on the Obedience array. She'd been too afraid. But here, in the dark, she fastened the choker around her neck. She activated her hormonal controls and raised them - not too much - to maybe 120% of normal. And she looked in the mirror.

Her eyes clouded over until the pupils were gone again, just solid white spheres. Like two blank canvases. She let her mind dull - again, not too much. Just enough to let her thoughts drift. Her full lips parted, on their own, as she watched with interest and arousal. She had always been beautiful, but now? She was a bombshell. All tits and ass and thighs, with a pretty fuckable face. She didn't have a sexual bone in her 29-year-old body, but she would fuck this braindead slut in the mirror.

Bailey's mind cleared as she regained control. She again dampened her pleasure center, and her eyes returned to normal. She took the choker off, and put it back, reverently, in her dresser drawer.

She now understood why Mamá had kept it.

[subliminalbo]

The Romero Continuity

Sexy mind control stories set in the fictional college town of Romero, Washington.

Fleur-de-lis #1: An Orientation After being abducted from her lavish housewarming party in LA, supermodel Samara Alves awakens to find herself trapped in a Fleur-de-lis orientation room with her professional rival.

Fleur-de-lis #2: New Acquisitions* Cat's fateful lunch with a Fleur-de-lis executive ends with a new contract. Later, as Confidential begins its fall photoshoot in the English countryside, Samara arrives with ulterior motives.

The Submission Principle Dr. Fielding shares a truth of the universe with her student patient.

The Mistress and the Apprentice Madison turns the tables on Dr. Fielding.

Obedience by Fleur #1: Mindless Supermodel on Tour Supermodel Kiley Mara takes Fleur-de-lis' new hypnotic lingerie on a nationwide tour.

Obedience by Fleur #2: A Mindless Pet After being released from the control of Obedience by Fleur, Kiley seeks the help of a journalist to expose Fleur-de-lis to the world.

A Legacy of Slaves When the daughter of a wealthy donor announces her intentions to attend a different college, Mina cashes in on a generations-old debt to resecure her commitment.

The Submission Principle Applied Madison launches a hostile takeover of her sorority using the hypnotic techniques that Dr. Fielding taught her.

A Moral Victory The Alphas' final line of defense succumbs to Madison's power.

Madison's Monologue Madison insists that it's not all about sex.

A Matter of Trust A young pledge begins her transformation into a mindless Alpha.

Roni's Debut Veronica takes a tour of the Alphas house.

A Kingdom for a Mistress An emergency meeting of Carpenter State's Greek Council descends into chaos when nobody can agree on what to do about the Alphas.

Iconic After a fun night out with a pair of Alphas, Demi is invited back to their house where they promise to share the secret to Madison's success with her.

Lacey's Story: Part 1 When her professor suffers a sudden heart attack, Lacey finds herself a slave without a master.

Lacey's Story: Part 2 Lacey is desperate to cum as she seeks the approval of a new master.

Lacey's Story: Part 3* Late at night, Lacey confronts her ex-boyfriend with a surprising proposition.

Obedience by Fleur #3: A Mindless Desire* Racked with guilt for her decisions, Santiago hooks up with a Fleur-de-lis executive while secretly investigating his company.

As Deep As You Can Go A job interview with Dr. Fielding leaves Andrea with a new perspective.

Alphas #1: It Starts With a Pledge* As the Carpenter Watchblog explodes in popularity, Corbin and Piper are approached by a former Alpha with wild stories of mind control hazing.

Dirty Work Andrea and Tyler investigate an incident on Carpenter State's campus.

Assimilation #1: Charlotte's Submission A mysterious voice pulls Charlotte from her bed. She's called deep into the Romero woods where she meets her unseen master among a group of mindless strangers.

Assimilation #2: The Master's Plan Charlotte returns from the woods to share her new Master with her husband.

Assimilation #3: All Life Surrenders to the Master Summoned to the heart of the woods by the Master's voice, Gabrielle joins in a mindless orgy of newly assimilated vessels

Dressed for the Occasion Charlotte attends the Carpenter State annual fundraiser with the intention of using it as a hunting ground for her new Master.

An Alpha Interview #2: Tabbie Concerned that Tabbie's rehabilitation is moving slower than her other former Alpha patients, Dr. Fielding meets with her for a one on one session.

After The Show Dr. Fielding investigates a thief masquerading as a gifted stage hypnotist.

Mindless Love Story When Tanner spots the mysterious but alluring Teresa at the bar, he thinks it's love at first sight. Little does Tanner know that Teresa has already been claimed by Mina Carpenter.

Assimilation #4: Night Sounds While staying the night at her sister's apartment, Nina awakens to strange sounds. Investigating further, she discovers her sister leading a twisted orgy in her roommate's bedroom.

On the Doctor's Couch Under hypnosis, Nina takes Dr. Fielding back to the night that she witnessed her sister assimilate her roommate.

Not Like Other Girls Andrea struggles to overcome Dr. Fielding's powerful will.

Betas #1: The Formless Voice As the remaining members of Beta Phi Alpha try to rebuild in the aftermath of the Alphas, a sinister presence lurks among them.

Office Hours Following an unusual meeting with Professor Blake, Danielle finds the courage to approach her crush.

Merchandise Charlotte is the most popular item for sale at an underground Romero auction.

Queen Bee Jamie receives an attitude adjustment in Charlotte's office hours.

The Queen Bee's Monologue Jamie ponders her new perspective.

Assimilation #5: Laws of the Universe* When Charlotte invites Miles and his new girlfriend to dinner, Miles is suspicious of her motive. The truth turns out to be stranger and far more horrifying than he could have ever imagined.

Mona Mona tries desperately to reach out to Miles before Charlotte's husband changes her forever.

Self-Care Saturday Andrea comes face to face with a hungry entity at the Carpenter State scholarship dinner.

In the Water Alyssa is concerned when she discovers black water pouring from her faucets.

This Thing Inside Her Shortly after starting therapy to manage her stress, Carmen begins to feel like she isn't alone in her own body anymore.

Good Dollies A pair of Romero officers respond to a strange call from a River City thrift store.

Classified Information #1: The Prophet Documents from Carpenter State's encrypted server tell the story of an ill-fated expedition to an asteroid crater in Siberia.

Children of the Crater While researching an emergent cult around the crater in Siberia, Debbie slowly succumbs to their strange ideas.

Classified Information #2: The Sound* When a trio of students pull a sound file off of Carpenter State's classified server, they awaken forces from the far reaches of space.

Kayla Versus the Sound Kayla is mesmerized by her roommate's new song.

Channel 12 A young couple finds themselves enthralled by the programming on a mysterious public television station.

HYPNOSAPIEN Mel finds herself sinking beneath the hypnotic beat of a song as the crowd around her descends into mindless debauchery.

Welcome to Stoker Sam confronts a mindless vision of herself.

Madam Sonya Sonya Sarrano puts her business degree to good use.

Dana at Your Service Sonya discovers Dana at The Lone Pine.

The Goddess' Army An all-women gym in Romero begins recruiting soldiers for its army.

Remote Training Shelby participates in a secret Futurum study.

Internal Affairs #1: The Rookie* After being recruited out of college by the Romero Police Department, Lydia goes undercover as a prostitute in River City. If Lydia is really a cop, though, why does she take her fake job so seriously?

A Professional Alliance Dr. Fielding conspires with Dean Strickland to silence the face of a pro-union movement among Carpenter State's lecturers.

Just Research Tabbie enjoys her life as a brainwashed whore. Don't get the wrong idea, though, it's just research.

Futurum Corbin investigates rumors that Futurum is brainwashing its workforce.

Meditations Romero's art community is upended when a wealthy heiress purchases the historic Hedron Theater.

Return to Office Shelby is introduced to the next phase of The Conditioning Initiative.

The Pleasure Method Shelby processes a Carpenter State colleague using The Pleasure Method.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Alpha Summer #1: Alpha Is Everything

Originally published Apr 27, 2019 This series is being revised

The Hedren Theater in downtown Romero hadn't shown a movie since the AMC moved in ten years earlier. But before its demolition, the theater was saved by a Carpenter family petition and it was designated a historic landmark. The small, two-screen cinema was renovated and restored to its original state when it was first opened in 1928. Now it was one of the premier theater houses in northwestern Washington. A popular outlet for political fundraisers, theater department productions, and the occasional off-broadway show, The Hedren was often too exclusive for any random student organization to book.

Of course, the Alphas weren’t any random student organization. Not anymore.

A lot had changed since Madison took over as president of Carpenter State’s Alpha Delta Theta chapter. Under Claire Petruzzi’s leadership, sisters in the chapter were happy just to coexist with the other Greek societies on campus, leaving a minor impact in the form of small and infrequent community service projects. From the beginning of her presidency, Madison made it clear that the girls of her sorority weren’t Betas, but Alphas. They were what the boys in Alpha Kappa Psi could only pretend to be. Carpenter State’s brightest, strongest, and sexiest students. Madison implemented aggressive recruiting strategies that tripled Alpha Delta Theta’s membership. While the other sororities were scrambling to understand how Madison could poach so many of their members so quickly, Madison bolstered the Alphas’ popularity on campus by throwing extravagant parties at night and sending dozens of Alpha volunteers to the children’s hospital in the day. Now with a power that few students had ever wielded on the campus of Carpenter State, Madison was ready to take on its most exclusive group—The Seven Samurai.*

It all started with this one event: Alpha Delta Theta’s first annual Fantasy Girlfriend Draft being held in the main auditorium of the Hedren Theater. To date, it was Madison’s most elaborate project as Alpha president, and few of her sisters had ever seen her so wound up. It would be wrong to call Madison nervous—she didn’t have a nervous bone in her body. But despite Madison’s bottomless reserves in confidence, she didn’t have total faith in her brainwashed sisters not to fuck the whole thing up.

She’d found that sorority girls were quite easy to manipulate, but maintaining a comfortable balance between loyal servitude and sharp intellect was a tenuous practice that Madison had yet to perfect. Claire Petruzzi for example, the first of the original Alphas to fall under Madison’s thrall, could have used her leadership experience in arranging the draft, but Claire had been so thoroughly dominated by Madison that little remained of her ability to lead. She was simply a follower now, one of Madison’s most prized possessions. And yet other sisters proved too headstrong to even risk loosening the leash on, such was the case for the sorority treasurer, Caroline Bishop. Caroline was old money Romero and before her rebirth at Madison’s feet, she’d played that role of entitled rich girl down to the designer purse stereotype. The funny thing about privilege is that it’s often the strongest motivator when fighting back against a dominating force. Caroline had proven a worthy adversary for Madison in the early days of her presidency.

Few Alphas had the qualities of Piper McNeill. Though Madison had only captured Piper to prove a point, the young Alpha quickly revealed her value. She had a unique mix of intelligence and meekness that made her fit to serve. She was Madison’s head organizer, the most important piece of tonight’s event, and the only Alpha who was doing a damn thing to reassure Madison that the night wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

Though the event wasn’t Piper’s own idea, she’d been the architect of the whole show. Madison knew that Alphas were her greatest commodity and she hoped that a charity auction would bring out the hungry frat boys. It was Piper’s idea to hold the event on the night of the NFL draft and model it as such. One member from six of Carpenter State’s fraternities would pick in the draft, and they would each choose their own Alpha from a pool of a twelve sisters. The members were chosen at random to encourage a higher turnout, with an admission of $50.00 at the box office. It was convoluted, sure, but the kind of stupid stunt that frat boys loved.

Piper buzzed around backstage, obsessively studying the twelve prospects that she’d handpicked for the Fantasy Girlfriend Draft. This was a large operation and it required not just absolute obedience from all Alphas involved, but it had to be executed with impeccable style. Piper wasn’t just selling these girls, she was selling a brand. The Alpha, the perfect girlfriend.

Though some of the Alphas struggled with the idea of being outsourced as escorts to frat boys, Piper had assured them that it was all part of the plan to get into the Seven Samurai’s circle.

“But why?” Claire scrunched her face as she tried to process the question in her head. “I thought Sister Madison was all about like, girl power and everything?”

Caroline elbowed Claire in the ribs and quickly replied, “Of course she is. You shouldn’t question Sister Madison’s will, Sister Claire.”

“But what if I have to fuck one of them?”

“It won’t come to that,” Piper interjected as she followed down the line of Alphas standing obediently before her. “I promise that Sister Madison has a plan, and when tonight’s over we’ll be one step closer to realizing her dream.”

Claire and Caroline shared a sigh.

Madison floated in backstage, moving swiftly toward Piper and taking her by the arm. “He’s here,” she whispered. “Row F, seat 8.”

Piper nodded and took note of the seat number on her phone.

“It’s imperative that he’s picked, okay? Otherwise the night’s a waste.”

“I understand, Mistress,” Piper replied. “We’re following your script. Just find your seat and everything will go smoothly.”

Madison bit her lip, then did a quick glance over the twelve prospects. She pointed to the Alpha’s newest pledge. “She doesn’t look comfortable,” Madison said. “Make sure she fits in.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Piper replied.

“I don’t think I’m fit for this,” the pledge frowned. “Nonsense,” Piper smiled. “You’re gorgeous. You’re charismatic. The frat boys will love you.” “What if I disappoint Sister Madison?” “You’re perfect, okay? Alpha is everything.” The pledge’s eyes snapped wide open as she intoned, “There is only Alpha."

Piper looked out among a packed crowd while Tina Kennedy took the stage as the night’s MC. She introduced the evening’s twelve prospects to a slideshow of their “bikini bod” pics which elicited plenty of cheers from the crowd. Piper could see her mistress in the front row, pleased with the way the introduction was shaping up. When the draft commenced, Piper began texting Tina random seat numbers which she then read for the audience. Members from each fraternity jumped out of their seats as they were read off.

First, Freddie Simmons, Carpenter State’s own star baseball player. Excitedly he yanked the microphone from Tina’s grasp and shouted, “Melanie Reyes, baby!”

“Our first surprise of the night!” Tina said when she regained control of the microphone. “With the first overall pick in the draft, Freddie Simmons selects Melanie Reyes.”

Mel entered stage right, strutting confidently in her high heels and bareback gown. She flashed a white smile for the crowd, defying the sporty tomboy image she’d once so proudly embellished. “Like Freddie,” Tina said. “Melanie is a star athlete, smashing a school record thirty home runs last season for the lady Gremlins.”

Freddie admired Mel as she closed in, flashing his own confident, “I’m gonna put you in your place” smile. Mel closed the gap and pulled Freddie into a kiss. The crowd went wild as they exited stage left.

Piper sent the next number and the draft continued. Caroline went with the second pick, and as she entered the stage she put on an even racier show for the crowd as each Alpha would try to top the last.

With the third pick, Piper laid the bait.

“Row F, seat eight,” Tina read. “Yeah!” Gregory Mortensen cried as he realized where he sat. He was a paunchy young man with a haircut that didn’t seem to quite fit his head. He was out of breath by the time he jogged his way up to the stage.

Tina kept her distance as she asked him his name and fraternity.

“Greg Mortensen…my friends call me Morty. Sigma Iota Nu.” “Wow,” Tina offered a polite golf clap. “From the prestigious Sigma Iota Nu, we have Morty, ready to take the third Alpha off the board.”

Morty spoke into the microphone, “Claire Petruzzi!”

Madison couldn’t have staged this better. Not only had she tracked down one of Carpenter State’s storied Seven Samurai, but she’d also managed to string him along. But the greatest surprise of the night was that he’d picked Claire, her oldest enemy. Madison watched with a wry smile across her face as Claire pranced on stage, powerless to disobey her orders, Claire was forced to Morty for an evening of truly distasteful activities.

“Have you ever seen Blade II?” Morty whispered in Claire’s ear. “It’s the superior film of the Blade Trilogy which many overlook as the series that normalized superheroes in our popular culture.”

Somewhere inside Claire was screaming.

With Morty in her clutches, Madison was free to enjoy the rest of the evening as she watched her conquests individually embarrass themselves on stage. But it wasn’t until the final pick that Madison found absolute delight.

“With the final pick in the first ever Alpha Fantasy Draft,” Tina said. “Mike Olsen selects…”

She held the microphone up to Mike’s lips and the frat boy proudly announced, “Corbin Arroyo!”

Backstage, Corbin was a mess of anxiety. As the newest Alpha, she was only just adjusting to a life that she had once mocked. Piper tried to ease the pledge’s nerves throughout the ceremony , assuring her that, if her name was called, it would just come natural to her. Serving Madison always did. “Look at Mel,” Piper said. “She took to being an Alpha easily. The will to obey is inside all of us.”

Corbin nodded and repeated her oath. “Alpha is everything. There is only Alpha.”

Piper smiled.

Corbin continued to repeat her oath until the sound of her name over the speakers and instantly she was pulled into trance as her mind played out her programming. She moved fluidly toward the stage, like a veteran supermodel walking the catwalk for the thousandth time. Driven by a powerful and primal desire to please her Mistress Madison, the pledge put on a bright Alpha smile for the crowd, strutting on stage in her tight, form-fitting dress.

When she reached Mike, she parroted Mel’s move by pulling him into a kiss, but as their lips touched she plunged her tongue into his mouth before spinning around and grinding her ass against his tightening pants. The crowd loved it.

“Are you gonna fuck me tonight?” Corbin asked with a slight, mischievous grin. “I…dunno? Is that allowed?” “Baby,” she playfully slid her tongue over his mouth, quickly tracing the outline from his chin to his nose. “I insist.”

For the first time that night, Madison had joined the applause. But unlike the dozens of frat boys around her, applauding one of their own who was surely going to “get some,” Madison was applauding something else. She was applauding her own work.

Alpha is everything. There is only Alpha.

*The Seven Samurai are an elite group of fraternity members who traffic drugs throughout campus. First mentioned in Captured #7: Confrontation

[ottopilot-wrote-this-txt]

Generational Trauma

Once more unto the breach of @subliminalbo's Romero Literary Universe. This story references characters from the Obedience by Fleur series. This is also a prequel to Backend Support, though both stories (hopefully) stand on their own.

Thanks again to my friend @subliminalbo (also at @subliminalboarchive) for the art trade and collaboration.

Bailey Castillo set the clippers on the sink counter and rubbed the base of her skull. She was a queer woman, it certainly wasn't her first time getting an undercut. But it was the first time she'd done it to herself.

It made her smirk to herself. Given the grim nature of what she had talked herself into, Bailey could use all the levity she could muster.

She had an undercut when she met Ed. It was a good metaphor, she thought. Under that big head of dark curls, there was an edge. Her fresh face and polite smile were a mask, disguising survival instincts and a pragmatism you could only get by growing up Black, asexual, and female in Romero, Washington.

Bailey rubbed the shaving gel in her wet fingers until it foamed up. Smelling of peaches, she rubbed it on her shaved hair. After rinsing her hands, she rinsed the razor's blade, new and sharp, in the cold water of the faucet.

It seemed a strange offer. What did a lingerie company need with an embedded systems designer? Software devs for e-commerce, sure. But she specialized in hardware, in writing firmware, in the arcane art of assembly code.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, though. Not beggars who had a degree from the local party school, because Mamá got a discount on tuition, and it was what they could afford. Certainly not beggars who would take the first offer they could get that would get them away from this cesspool. Bailey shaved her neck and the undercut area with smooth, careful strokes.

Her first mistake was trusting. Trusting that if she did a good job - and her control array for Obedience by Fleur was, objectively, goddamn genius - she'd be recognized for it.

Bailey rinsed the razor of shaving cream and tiny black hairs. Won't make that mistake again.

She had overestimated Ed King. She bought his Silicon Valley rep, and failed to see he wasn't any different from Romero's traditional power brokers. He was a carnival barker, not a visionary like he thought he was. She was a commodity to him, not a person. If Obedience failed, she would've taken the blame; but since it succeeded, he was more than happy to take all the credit.

Bailey rubbed the smooth wet skin on her neck, checking for missed spots. Elena wasn't any better. She got what she wanted from Bailey, and that made her disposable. It was a blessing, really. Bailey was a natural beauty, but her curvy hips and thighs meant she wasn't model thin, and it also meant she was back at her mother's house in Romero, and not mindlessly, dutifully, licking Elena's designer boots.

Toweling off her neck, Bailey shifted away from the sink toward the 3D printer. She triple-checked her work.

When she first read about needleless tattoos in Wired, at all just clicked into place. A silicon ink payload in dissolvable microneedles. Putting the Obedience tech inside the subject. Permanently. Forget the sensors, pair the array with a fitness tracker or smartwatch. An AI sidecar to increase subject safety. No more brain damage.

Stealing the base software from Ed King? Bailey had no qualms about stealing from a thief. But she needed stake money. It was surprisingly easy to talk the Chinese triads into financing her. But they wanted proof before they pumped more yuan into her operation.

The 3D printer hummed to life as it printed the dissolvable needles, loaded with silicon ink, onto the dermal patch. This was, of course, a fork, custom firmware modified from the base model. Unfortunately, you can't just print a tiny one of these and slap it on a lab rat.

And experimenting on an unwilling human subject… That was something they would do. Bailey wasn't a monster. Not yet.

The array was done. It was a rectangle about the size of deck of cards. The trick had been spacing, making sure the crudely printed lines wouldn't bleed or touch accidentally when applied. Bailey's array was, of course, unique. She'd created a hyperfocus routine that, when enabled, could drown out stimulation and increase cognitive ability temporarily. More importantly, the mind control protocols were blunted, and she wrote an additional protection against mesmerism: the ability to mentally control her hormone levels.

But at the end of the day, this was modified Obedience by Fleur firmware. Bailey knew there was an unknown period where she would have to take Obedience's best punch, enduring and outlasting it, before the AI sidecar would read her biofeedback and adjust the indoctrination protocols lower. She was prepared for it, with a physical anchor.

She took the black choker, her mother's, in her left hand. When Mamá died, shortly after Bailey came back to Romero with her tail between her legs, it was in her jewelry box.

Bailey didn't know how to reconcile that. Mamá never said anything. She didn't have to. When she left the house wearing this choker, all painted up when she should have been in bed, the vacant look told young Bailey everything. But to keep this in an intimate place, where she likely saw it every day - before the early-onset Alzheimer's rotted her from the inside out - what did that mean?

That she missed it?

Bailey gripped the choker tightly, feeling the satin in her delicate fingers. She couldn't guess what went through her mother's mind. Bailey only knew what it meant to her: anger. Abandonment issues. A keepsake of a life she would never, ever lead.

One last check. One last chance to bitch out.

Bailey sat upright in her work stool. She prepared the tattoo array patch, removing it from the printing tray. She looked again at the choker in her left hand, her anchor to reality. She took the patch, and affixed it to the base of her skull.

At first, there was a cold, wet feeling. Like ultrasound gel. And it itched, probably from the microneedles penetrating her skin. Bailey's research indicated there wouldn't be any pain from the actual absorption of the silicon ink into her dermis, just a slight delay.

Immediately, she realized she'd miscalculated.

Bailey had set the weights on the Obedience protocol to fifty percent. She barely had time to process that was too high before she was inundated with sensation. "Oh… Fuck," she moaned breathlessly. It was so hard to think from the pleasure. Warm and comforting, like a blanket. Like a hug, but not a hug from just anyone. From someone precious. From a lover.

Then she felt something new. A flicker, at first. Then a slow burning heat. Then an intense raging inferno, burning between her legs, deep inside her, in her very soul. Bailey instinctively put her hand there, but it was a huge mistake. Immediately she rubbed her engorged clit through her panties, wetness spreading through the dainty cotton fabric.

Lust? But I'm fucking ace, Bailey thought, before the first orgasm hit.

Wave after wave of euphoric gratification pounded her senses like a tempestuous ocean.

Shit! this is- Then another.

Tides of pleasure washed over her.

The choker. Have to- Another.

The powerful undertow eroded her reason and resistance.

Mamá, I-

The blissful sensations overwhelmed Bailey, preventing the formulation of new thoughts, until she just simply stopped trying.

And then she was under. Submerged. Sounds fading. The world oh, so far away.

She was better this way, she saw that. It was better to stop resisting, stop trying to think, and just accept it. As she enthusiastically fingered her soggy cunt, mouth open, her body rewarding her for her compliance, Bailey thought she heard something. It was her own voice, moaning and panting and… giggling. Being dumb, and sexy, and available - it made her happy?

When was the last time she could say that, that she was legitimately happy?

She understood. She could feel like this for the rest of her life, and she only had to do one thing. Let go. Let go of the past, let go of the trauma, let go of the hurt. Let go of herself. The fingers on Bailey's left hand loosened their grip. The choker threatened to fall to the floor. No, not fall. To sink. To sink and drop, deeper and deeper. Her mind was still. Vacant. Empty, except for one thing creeping into her consciousness.

No. Not today.

Her fingers tightened. She could feel the smooth satin, once cold, now hot with her own emanating warmth. She thought of Mamá, looking more like a movie starlet than her tireless, caring mother. Bailey saw her walk out the door, not even turning back to her crying daughter. And she remembered her pledge, to Mamá, to herself: it ain't gonna be me. Not today. Not ever.

Bailey held the choker with a steel grip, as if her life depended on it. It did. The choker was a life preserver in the choppy ocean of arousal flooding her mind and body. She had no idea how anyone could take twice as much of this. It was no wonder Obedience's control was absolute and immediate.

Slowly, she felt it. The constant bombardment of pleasure losing its steam. Waters receding. Her thoughts forming more easily, coherently. Her breathing stabilizing, and the hot flush of her arousal lowering to a simmer. "Set dopamine levels to zero," she gasped. She didn't need to say the words out loud for it to work, but in her disheveled state she needed to hear it. To remind herself she was in control.

She looked in a nearby mirror. Her eyes were a milky solid white, all sclera, no pupils. Her body was flushed with desire. She looked every bit the fucktoy she despised. Bailey knew she was lucky. If she had looked into this mirror a few minutes ago, she would've been lost.

Her hormone levels stabilizing, Bailey blinked, and her eyes returned to an intense chestnut brown. She was still in shock from the ordeal. She opened her palm and looked at the choker, and she placed it on her workbench. Slowly, she took her cell phone in her right hand and sent a message.

"Live test successful. Production is GO."

The dream again. The same one. Fuck, I hate this, Bailey thought. And turning off the dopamine wasn't helping.

Bailey got out of bed and turned on a bedside lamp. She drowsily stood up, stumbled to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. It was a hot July night, so she was only wearing panties. Which, of course, were soaked through. Again.

On her back to bed, she stopped at her nightstand. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. Running a prostitution empire based on mind control hadn't been kind to her, she thought.

Bailey wasn't sure what possessed her. But she reached into her top drawer, and retrieved Rosa's - Mamá's - choker. She hadn't looked at it since she turned on the Obedience array. She'd been too afraid. But here, in the dark, she fastened the choker around her neck. She activated her hormonal controls and raised them - not too much - to maybe 120% of normal. And she looked in the mirror.

Her eyes clouded over until the pupils were gone again, just solid white spheres. Like two blank canvases. She let her mind dull - again, not too much. Just enough to let her thoughts drift. Her full lips parted, on their own, as she watched with interest and arousal. She had always been beautiful, but now? She was a bombshell. All tits and ass and thighs, with a pretty fuckable face. She didn't have a sexual bone in her 29-year-old body, but she would fuck this braindead slut in the mirror.

Bailey's mind cleared as she regained control. She again dampened her pleasure center, and her eyes returned to normal. She took the choker off, and put it back, reverently, in her dresser drawer.

She now understood why Mamá had kept it.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Backend Support

Something new for you tonight, True Believers: a story set in @subliminalbo's Literary Universe! Featuring an image manipulation graciously provided by the man himself!

This story references characters from the Obedience by Fleur series. While not required, the main stories are suggested reading.

Thanks to my friend @subliminalbo (also at @subliminalboarchive) for the collabo.

Bailey's Huawai flagship, customized with added security and privacy features, rang and buzzed on her workbench. Her brow furrowed, temporarily wrinkling her flawless golden skin. "Support," Bailey muttered with caution as she answered. Very weird. If someone's calling this number… something is wrong.

"Uh," a timid male voice stuttered in response, followed by a long pause. "Um, I think I fucked up."

Bailey closed her eyes, sighing. "Go on."

"Well, I…," the man continued, but his cadence suggested he was distracted. "Hey, um, honey, don't touch that," he interjected, before refocusing his attention on Bailey. "I think she's broken. I broke her."

"You. Broke. Her," Bailey repeated slowly, each word more incredulous than the last. "And how… how did you break her, sir?"

Bailey thought she heard the man swallow hard through the tinny speakerphone. "OK. Well. I know that she has some, um, default abilities."

"Yes. Her menu. This was explained when you requested her services."

Loud noises. The sound of glass breaking. "Shit," the man said in irritation. "that was a gift!" He continued, talking faster, Bailey could practically hear him sweating. "Well, I wanted to know if she had, like, a secret menu. So I asked her, and she said no, but that there was…"

"An API," Bailey muttered. Fuck. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, and sighed again. She would have to work on hardening that endpoint. The last thing she needed was incel dipshits like Johnny Mnemonic here fucking with the product. She was a damn good engineer, but you don't exactly get to beta test mind control technology before you put it into production.

She should know. She was not only the president, she was also a client.

"What did you do, sir? Exactly?" Bailey's words were polite, but her tone dripped with frustration. Condescension also, but she really wasn't concerned about the customer's feelings right now.

Another pause, then an admission. "Well, she started telling me about her API, and I'm not a programmer, so I asked ChatLLM. And it gave me some things to try. Baby, take that out of your mouth."

"You fucking vibe coded her. You vibe coded a sex drone escort, running assembly code firmware, with some commands you got from a consumer AI. She's a human being, not a kit you bought at Radio Shack." Bailey could barely contain her rising anger. She mentally adjusted her hormone levels. Her pupils faded completely into solid white spheres. This wasn't the time to lose her cool.

There was hemming and hawing, then finally a guilty, "yes."

Bailey spoke again, the edge out of her voice as the fury subsided and her pupils returned. "Well, seeing as this would violate the terms and conditions of your agreement, if there were such a thing, I'm here to tell you: you break it, you buy it. Five mil ought to cover it. Have a good one."

"Five mil…five million dollars?!" the man exclaimed. Bailey could hear his voice quivering. "I don't have that kind of money! I work retail!"

"I'm sorry," Bailey said. And to her credit, she did pity this man. She knew enough to know his death would not be quick or painless. Triads don't fuck around. "The people I work with, they don't…" She chose her words carefully for effect. "take damaged merchandise lightly."

Bailey could her muffled crying on the other end. More broken glass, but no admonishment. Just sobs. She didn't like this. Didn't like the choices on the table. Having to calculate the least shitty outcome. Compromising her morality - her humanity - one crossed line after another.

But who was she kidding? Compromising your morality was The Romero Way.

"I don't want your dumbass blood on my hands. I'll make you a deal. Give me someone to replace her."

"I don't…what do you mean?"

"A wife, a sister, a cousin. Someone hot, or at least cute. Fixable. Someone local. A name, and an address, and you get to celebrate another birthday."

She could practically hear the man bargaining with himself. "I couldn't. I won't."

Bailey's voice was firm and callous. "No skin off my ass. Hope your will is in order." Give me a name, she pleaded internally. Take the goddamn offer.

"OK. I'll text it over." Very quietly, Bailey exhaled in relief. Her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the address, and forwarded it to her liaison with some notes about tonight.

"You made the right choice. A team is on their way for extraction. For her, and for you."

"For me?"

"You know too much. Also, we have room in our inventory for all genders and sexual identities." In Romero, there are only perverts, and people who aren't perverts yet, Bailey ruminated.

When the man finally spoke, his voice was quiet, and his tone resigned. "Will she be okay? Will she be happy?"

Bailey hesitated. She thought of her mother, Rosa, her eyes glassy, wearing a low-cut red dress and her black choker, leaving a young child alone on a Saturday night. Baby, Mamá's got to go somewhere. Be a good girl and take care of yourself, okay?

She wanted to cynically deliver the uncaring truth. No, she wouldn't be okay. Ultimately, her happiness wasn't important, was it? It sure as hell hadn't been for Rosa, or for young Bailey. If you weren't part of Romero's circle of elites, you were just collateral damage.

But she didn't say that.

"Yes," Bailey lied, her voice soft and comforting. "She will." And she ended the call.

Bailey sat at her workbench for a long time, alone. Only the trees rustling outside the window permeated the silence. It could have been worse, she tried to tell herself. A lot worse. She saved a man from his own stupidity tonight.

When did she get so soft?

Ed King and Elena Maxwell had ruined her career before it got started, and they were going to pay. She only needed to set her emotions aside, and finish the job.

So why was she disgusted with herself?

These questions lacked simple answers. Tonight, isolated in her empty house, questions were the only company Bailey had.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Dirty Work

Originally published Jun 2, 2018

It was half-passed midnight and Andrea was ten minutes into a promising night's sleep when the phone rang. She answered with a curt, "What?"

"We got a job," Tyler said on the other end of the line. "It's a weird one." "Jesus, Tyler, I've got a midterm in nine hours." "We've all got shit on our plate, okay, Andrea? But it's a weird one. And weird ones..." "'Weird ones pay more,'" Andrea repeated. "Fine, whatever, pick me up." "Already outside."

Andrea met Tyler in the small parking lot across from her apartment. He was driving that same old shitty mint green Crown Vic he'd been threatening to trade in for a Tesla since they started the job. At least Tyler had a car, a thought that helped Andrea retain some humility every time she settled in the passenger's seat. The ignition stuttered when Tyler turned the key, and he shot Andrea an optimistic glance before the engine roared to life.

At a stoplight he asked, "What do you think about Vietnam?" "The war?" Andrea replied. "No, for spring break. I know it's a little esoteric but everyone does Orlando or Cancun." "That's because they're on this continent, Tyler." "Right," he said, driving through the light. "I think if you asked daddy he'd buy you a fucking beach." "You don't have to insult me," Tyler frowned. Andrea smirked and added, "What are you even doing still driving a beater?" "Honestly?" he asked. "College girls don't want to date a guy with a nice car. It's intimidating." "I wouldn't fuck a guy in this car. It smells like cheese."

Tyler continued on to Romero's main business strip, finally pulling over to the shoulder in front of Argento's Pizzeria. "Here we are," he said. "Argento's?" Andrea asked skeptically, studying the restaurant through her window. The lights were on but the neon open sign was switched off. Argento's Pizzeria and Italian was a staple of Carpenter State student life. Most students on a budget were regulars at Pizza Joe's, but Argento's was where you took a girl if you wanted a second date. It was never closed before two.

"I told you it's a weird one," Tyler said. "A couple of hours ago this girl goes batshit crazy, starts writhing on top of the table, really making love to this plate of spaghetti." "Gross." "Yeah. Junior can't get her to leave and she's making a scene so he does the logical thing and closes up, feeds her all the pasta she wants till she passes out." "Why doesn't he call the cops?" Tyler shrugged. "Bad for business, I guess. People round here know about us, Andrea. They know our deal with Pierce."

Their deal with Pierce. Most of the time he had them tailing his daughter, Monica, taking her into Dr. Fielding when she got too crazy. But things could get weird around Carpenter State and whenever the dean found himself or a friend in trouble, he called upon his team of fixers to clean it up. It was shit work, but it payed well. Most students wanted internships to build their resumes for life outside of college, but Andrea and Tyler's work with the dean was strictly off the books. That wasn't as big of a deal to Andrea who had the ambition of a hibernating bear. Tyler was the rising star of the pair, a journalism major with lofty goals and the family connections to achieve them. Growing up rich taught Tyler a lot about climbing ladders, and though he couldn't put "fixer" on his resume, Dean Pierce did promise to write any recommendation letter Tyler would ask for and had managed to secure him the position of head editor at The Daily Gremlin, Carpenter State's official student paper. Tyler found that controlling the news media around campus made his secret job a little easier.

"This place always gave me the creeps," Andrea commented as they waited for Junior at the door. "Why?" Tyler asked. "Who opens a pizza joint in a church?"

They heard the lock click, and the wide doors swing open. "Thank Christ you're finally here," Junior Argento breathed. "Where is she, Junior?" Andrea asked.

He nodded toward the back and the pair followed him into the kitchens. There they found the girl, Amy Teller, lying on the floor at the base of an industrial sink. Her boyfriend Jay was sitting next to her distracting himself with his phone. When he saw the two new faces he hopped up and eagerly asked them if they were cops.

Junior slapped Jay and sternly shouted, "No cops!" "We're the next best thing," Tyler winked.

Jay introduced himself and when Andrea asked, he explained what had happened.

"I swear it's those goons from Carmella's again," Junior grumbled. "They're trying to run me out of business!" "Tyler, come look at this," Andrea said as she examined Amy. "What is it?" Jay asked, taking a respite from his cuticle.

Tyler knelt down next to Andrea. She lifted up Amy's eyelid to reveal a solid crimson eye underneath. "You have any idea what that is?" she whispered. "I'll call Dr. Fielding," Tyler whispered back.

Amy jolted to life, startling the pair to their feet. "More!" she cried, grabbing hold of Andrea's arm. "So good...I need more!" "Baby!" Jay cried back. "It's gonna be okay, baby!"

Andrea placed a calming hand on Jay's shoulder. "We're taking her to the Psychology building. You should come with us."

Amy continued writhing in Tyler's backseat as they drove her down the road to meet with Dr. Fielding. Jay held her in his arms, trying to bring her back down, lull her back to sleep. Andrea and Tyler could only share uncomfortable glances at each other as Jay whispered hopefully in his girlfriend's ear. "Why the psychology building?" Jay finally asked.

"Dr. Fielding knows a lot about behavioral science," Andrea replied. "We just want to rule out a psychotic episode." "Jesus Christ," Jay cried.

Dr. Fielding was waiting in her pajamas outside the psychology building. She told them that she'd spoken to Dean Pierce and asked them to wait outside of her office while she worked with Amy and Jay. Andrea felt an eerie feeling of déjà vu sitting there, but she pushed through it while she discussed strategies with Tyler.

"It's not just going to sweep under the rug," she said as she rubbed her eyes. "A lot of witnesses." "It's midterm season, maybe school got the best of her?" Tyler suggested. Andrea shook her head. "Nah, Pierce'll never go for that. Too much heat on the school. Next we'll have parents asking what Pierce's doing for our mental health, he'd have to call a special investigation to save face." "What do you think then?" Tyler asked.

Tyler had the future, but Andrea was the real brains of the operation. This was where she was invaluable.

"What if...a new drug is going around campus, making students loopy." "I could print that," Tyler nodded. "No. We leak it to local news. Start a real hysteria, 'the new designer drug and why you're eleven year old is using it.' That way people aren't talking about Argento's, they're talking about the drug." "That's really smart, Andrea."

"I know," Andrea said. Sometimes it scared her how good she was at this job. "You ever think this is fucked up?" "All the time," Tyler replied.

Before they could continue discussing the ethics of their job, Dr. Fielding's office door opened and a surprisingly content-looking Jay stepped out. Fielding followed behind him and whispered in his ear. "Yes, Dr. Fielding," he said. Andrea and Tyler exchanged nervous glances as Jay shuffled blissfully away.

"I eased Jay's concerns," Dr. Fielding clarified. "But it's going to take a little bit more than hypnotherapy to bring Amy back." Dr. Fielding shook her head then added, "Of course you two don't have to worry about that. It's awfully late now, you'd best get along."

"Thank you," Andrea said, inching toward her seat. "Oh!" Dr. Fielding chirped. "There's just one more thing before you leave." "Yes?" Tyler asked. Dr. Fielding smiled, and somehow Andrea knew she had seen that smile before. 

"No!" Andrea cried, trying to leap out of her chair. But Dr. Fielding said, "Sleep," and Andrea was powerless to disobey the doctor's command. 

Andrea's body plopped lifelessly down in the chair as her chin hit her chest. Her heartbeat slowed, but she was still alive. Conscious even, but unable to think without a command. Andrea heard Dr. Fielding's voice echo clearly in her mind. "You both did a wonderful job tonight," she said.

"Thank you, Dr. Fielding," Andrea and Tyler said in unison.

"Pierce will get you your money but you understand by now that he needs you insurance you won't go telling your friends about the job. It's all very confidential." "Yes, Dr. Fielding, we understand." Dr. Fielding turned to Tyler and said, "Tyler, affirm your loyalty." "I am a loyal student of Carpenter State University. I swear to proudly serve Dean Pierce and protect the legacy of this institution." "Andrea, affirm your loyalty." "I am a loyal student of Carpenter State University. I swear to proudly serve Dean Pierce and protect the legacy of this institution."

"Very good," Dr. Fielding smiled. "Now, I want you two to take all of those doubts you have, all of those nagging ethics and questions that you have and lock them away someplace in your head that you'll never find. When you wake up, you'll understand what you've done tonight, and you'll be proud." "Yes, Dr. Fielding. We are proud to serve."

Andrea didn't remember leaving Dr. Fielding's office. She awoke the next morning in her own bed with a foggy head and an email granting her a makeup on the midterm, another benefit of working for the dean. Andrea smiled, happy that she could play a part in protecting her school.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Alpha Summer #2: The Fantasy Girlfriend Experience

Originally published Sep 27, 2022 This series is being revised

The thought came to Corbin as naturally as an instinct.

I need it in my mouth.

It was more than a thought now, more than a set of directives programmed into her head in the Alphas basement. It was planted, tested, and repeated until it was a part of her. I need to taste it.

A desire. A fundamental drive of Corbin’s core being. Some Alphas were given more to work with. Piper actively played an important role in the Alphas organization as Madison’s number one. But Madison would never bestow an honor like that onto Corbin. Corbin served no purpose to Madison but revenge. That’s why was in the bed of a random frat boy staring down his cock like it was a prize.

I need it inside of me.

His name was Mike. He seemed nice enough. He probably wouldn’t have been there if he knew the things rolling around in Corbin’s mind. But Corbin’s performance tonight could have won her an Academy Award. It had only been a couple of days since Mike picked Corbin at the Fantasy Girlfriend Draft. With the pick, Mike owned the right to take her one date. Mike was living out a fantasy tonight.

He wasn’t a bad looking guy either. Corbin may have even described him as cute once. He had a chubby face and a wide frame but couldn’t weigh more than 190. He squinted his eyes when he smiled, his face sinking into that residual body fat. He had a bushy head of wispy, golden hair that was more delicate than it looked. Corbin can tell that it was too good to last for him. In ten years he’d be sweeping what remained of his hair to cover the bald spot, fill out his body to match his look.

They spent the first leg of the night at The Yellow Room. The club shined bright in one of the rougher parts of town, a reflection of a time when River City was Romero’s up and coming social center. But those days were long gone. Despite its location, the club was popular with students. It was one of the few reasons that anyone ventured west of Stoker anymore. To get to The Yellow Room, they drove down a long stretch of road lined by the skeletons of failed businesses. The neighborhood hadn’t changed in thirty-five years. A boarded-up theater read “Filthy Felicia” on its marquee. Half-torn posters promising “XXX thrills” and “wide-open beavers.” Corbin smiled when she spotted a woman on the corner dressed to attract. Was it a kinship or something else?

The Yellow Room was as sanitary as any place on Carpenter State’s campus. It sat there on its own block, a sort of gentrified embassy. It was Mike’s first time at the club and he looked skeptical as they approached the bouncer. The bouncer is skeptical too, but Corbin placed her hand on Mike’s chest and pouted. She’d be hanging on him like this for the rest of the night. The bouncer stepped aside, and they were in.

Mike’s friends waited for him inside. They had the look of future lawyers and politicians. Mike had a pedigree too, the son of a judge, but his frat buddies had won the gene pool lottery. They came with clean smiles and effortlessly coiffed hair. No comb overs in their futures. They razzed him a bit about never leaving the frat house, but they were mostly there to support him. If Mike plays his cards right, their boy could get laid tonight. They didn’t know that Corbin already planned to fuck his brains out. It was the Alpha Way.

Corbin had always had a healthy sex drive, but she’d been insatiable since she joined the Alphas. That was Madison’s design. Few Alphas knew what Madison’s plan was, they simply knew to trust that everything happened for a reason. Still, curiosity tugged at Corbin like a phantom limb. She wondered for a moment how Mike played into it all.

The truth, of course, was that Corbin didn’t have a role to play in Madison’s plot. Piper had advocated for Corbin to the best of her ability. “She’s a savvy investigator. She can turn up all the names of the Samurai.” When that didn’t work she pushed, “Her blog has a huge subscriber base. She could be useful in drumming up support for the house.” But Madison didn’t care. Corbin was her plaything. Something to be punished, not rewarded.

The thought left as quickly as it came.

All Corban could think about was how badly she wanted Mike. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to all of the attention. He braced himself when she touched him, and she touched him a lot in that private booth. His friends egged it on. At some point in the night, they broke for the bathroom.

“Everything is going according to your design,” Corbin spoke into her phone, raising her voice to project above the club’s booming bass. On the other end, Madison seemed pleased for the check in but largely disinterested in the details. All she wanted was to know that Corbin was behaving as a good Alpha. Follow every order, question nothing. Corbin ached as Madison called her a good girl, and a moan escaped her lips that topped anything Mike would do to her that evening. In the privacy of the booth, Corbin slipped her hand beneath the skirt of her tight dress. She massaged her clit as she reaffirmed her oath to Madison. “Alpha is everything. There is only Alpha.” The call ended as Corbin spotted the boys. They were fewer in number now, their most handsome member Dan had broken off to fuck the girl he’d been eying all night. As the rest returned, Corbin watched one of the friends slip something into Mike’s hand. The curiosity returned, but once again it’s gone before she was back in Mike’s lap.

The night ended at Mike’s frat house. Corbin swore that she didn’t usually go home with guys on the first date. It was a lie, even before she was an Alpha, but she swore it because that was what Mistress Madison wanted her to say. It worked on Mike. They made out in his bed to the sounds of Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock in Speed.

“Corbin,” he said. She could see his red face even in the dim glow of the small television sitting precariously on the edge of his dresser. “I’ve never…”

“It’s okay,” she smiled, pushing herself up so that she was straddling him. “I’ll do all of the work.” “No,” he shook his head. “I’ve never even been naked with a girl before.”

For a moment, the smile on her face was the real Corbin. She’d always loved blowing a good boy’s mind. She slid off his lap and popped the button on his jeans. “Let’s start there then,” she said.

“I think,” he started, a little nervous. “I think I’m small.” “You think?” she asked. “I don’t look at them often.”

Slowly, teasingly, she slid the elastic of his underwear down his waist. He was hard and ready for her. He was right. He didn’t have a big cock but it isn’t small either. She told him that. She admires it, standing erect, inviting. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and she meant it. That was when the thoughts came to her. I need it in my mouth. I need to taste it. I need it inside of me. Her hand glided over the shaft and she looked up into his eyes and asked, “Can I lick it?”

Mike didn’t speak. He was frozen there in the bed. All he could manage was to bob his head up and down.

Corbin leaned in, pressing her tongue to the base of his shaft. She slid slowly, playfully up to the tip. Mike released an involuntary moan. She didn’t stop. She traced the head of his cock with her tongue, then closed her mouth around it. She took in every inch of him.

Madison was surprised by Corbin’s skill when she first saw her work on Jacob Maxwell in the basement. By that time, Corbin had admitted her attraction to both Piper and her roommate Kelly Gardner. Madison thought she knew everything about Corbin. But the new Alpha had experience with cock. There was little to teach her here, except for the eye contact. Always keep eye contact.

Mike tensed up as he looked down into Corbin’s glassy eyes. She began to work his cock now. In the thousands of times he imagined this moment, he never considered the anxiety. Corbin had promised Mike that the night was all about him, but he felt lazy lying there while she did all of the work. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wanted to reach out and place his palm on the back of her head like he’d seen in porn, but he was afraid to ruin the moment. He just laid there instead, fists clenched around the sheets as she took him to the edge. He wanted to cum, but he knew his body. He was afraid that if he didn’t cum fast, Corbin would grow tired and the mood would crash.

“Stop,” he said, blinking through sweat.

Corbin looked up with a worried expression. Her saliva creating a bridge between her bottom lip and the head of his cock. “Is everything okay?” she blinked. For a moment she feared what her Mistress would do to her if she learned of this.

“Yes,” he noded. “It’s just you’re so beautiful and…wait,” he sat up and reached for his pants crumpled up on the floor. He pulled out a small vile of gray powder. He paused, questioning his next move, before tapping out a pinch onto his knuckle.

“What is that?” Corbin asked. “Something my friend gave me tonight,” he said. “It’s supposed to take you places you normally wouldn’t go.”

“Baby,” Corbin cocked her head to the side. “You don’t need to take a drug just to have a good time with me.”

For a second Mike felt crazy. He’d never taken a drug in his life and he couldn’t believe that he’d gotten this close. But then he looked at Corbin sitting there on the edge of his bed in her underwear. He could still feel her lips on his cock and he wanted more.

Mike dove in suddenly, raising his hand to his nose and snorting the powder. He offered the vile to Corbin, blinking rapidly.

Corbin took the vile because it was Mike’s desire. It didn’t look like any drug she’d taken before. It hit her blood stream like a bullet speeding down the barrel of a gun. Her mind was set on fire. She fought through the rush of adrenaline as she finished Mike off. She looked up at him with a smile, swallowing every drop. He was relaxed now, infused with an inhuman stamina and ready for the real thing.

Corbin was aching for him too as she slid on top of his cock.

“Just like that baby,” he said, giving orders like a completely different person. “Baby,” she moaned as she began to rock her hips. “Take me, baby!”

As their rhythm picked up, Corbin felt and odd sensation spread through her body. Her consciousness was leaving. She was watching herself ride Mike from someplace high above the ceiling, floating off into the cosmos. She was suddenly aware that the woman in the bed was not her at all. She looked like Corbin, she sounded like Corbin, but she was an invading consciousness. And as Corbin floated higher into the vast void of space she feared that she would never make it back to her body. That the invader will go on living Corbin Arroyo’s life.

The scream pulled Mike from his own trance. It was a piercing, sobering scream from Corbin’s mouth. She fell off of him, hit the floor with a hard thud and backed into the corner of his room sobbing. Mike sat up quickly and held his hands out to quiet her down. “Hey! Hey!” he said frantically. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

Corbin quieted down, but her heart was pounding. She looked around the room, confused. “Something’s wrong,” she said. She looked up at Mike. She looked through Mike. “I have to find Jacob. Why do I have to find Jacob?”

“Jacob?” Mike asked. “Who is Jacob?” “I don’t know,” Corbin shook her head. “I’m not supposed to know?” “Look,” Mike slid closer to the edge of his bed. He looked like a little boy with his legs folded beneath him. “I think you’re having a bad trip, Corb. I shouldn’t have fucked with the drugs, I just…I really like you and I didn’t want to fuck this up.”

Mike didn’t know it, but he was pulling Corbin away from her clearest thought in weeks. She was already forgetting Jacob when she turned her attention to back to Mike. This time she saw him clearly and she smiled. Master, she though, if only for a night.

“You’re right,” she spoke clearly, but monotone. “It’s a bad trip. I should continue fucking you now.”

“No!” Mike shouts back. “Let me take you home.”

There was an emptiness in Corbin as Mike pulled up to the Alpha house. It was the feeling of duty left unserved. She looked over at Mike in the driver’s seat and offered a meek smile. “I’m sorry for how the night ended.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mike smiled back. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Corbin reached out and touched Mike’s cheek. “You’re cute, Mike,” she said. Thoughts were swirling in her mind, thoughts that had been jogged loose somehow from the drugs. She looked passed the boy in the driver’s seat next to her and studied the dark, looming house. It called to her. She knew that she had no choice but to return and be punished. But in a moment of sobriety she looked back at Mike with clear eyes and she said, “You’re a good boy. Stay away from the Alphas.”

She kissed him, and then she got out of the car.

The thought came to Corbin as she walked to the steps of the house that she could run now. She could return to her apartment and tell Kelly everything that had happened. But something pulled her into the Alphas house, just as it always did. The lights were on in every room of the house. Even though it was late, the Alphas rarely slept. They kept busy schedules. She wondered how many girls were in those rooms right now facing the same fate that she had. She shuddered as she turned the knob.

Madison was waiting for her in the entrance. She saw the look in Corbin’s eyes, recognized the doubt.

“What happened?” she asked. “Nothing,” Corbin said. She realized that she’d failed to check in with Madison at midnight, a requirement that had been set for her the last time she tried to run. “Why didn’t you text me?” “I was with Mike,” she said. The drug was still in her system. She had more control than she believed. “We have rules for a reason, Corbin. I need to know…” Madison stopped when she saw the tears streaming down Corbin’s face. “Why are you crying?”

Corbin was sobbing as she collapsed into Madison’s arms. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I want to be a good Alpha, I want to make you proud of me. But I keep fucking up and I don’t know why.”

A part of Madison was relieved. From the look in Corbin’s eyes a moment ago, she thought she had another rogue on her hands. But the way Corbin had crumpled into her made her smile. She’d thoroughly broken this one.

She held Corbin tight, shushed her. “It’s okay,” she said in her most soothing voice. She leaned out of the embrace and pressed her hands to Corbin’s cheeks, looking into her submissive eyes. “Now tell me what happened.”

“I was good,” Corbin said. “I was really, really good. I swear!” “I know,” Madison nodded. “I believe you.” “But as soon as he was inside me, I just…I couldn’t recognize myself…I thought…” “Stop,” Madison commanded, and Corbin fell silent. “You’re an Alpha. Those are just bad thoughts.” “Yeah?” Corbin smiled. Madison nodded and said, “It’s just anxiety, love. Don’t you remember telling me that you’ve never felt like you fit in anywhere?”

That didn’t feel right. Corbin had never been insecure before. But Madison was telling her this, so it must be true.

“R-right,” Corbin said. “But you belong here, Corbin,” Madison continued. “You’ve always belonged here. Being an Alpha is everything to you.” “Alpha is everything.” Corbin repeated, her heart rate settling. “There is only Alpha.” “There is only Alpha.”

Corbin was slipping. The drug was losing its hold and Madison had worked her way back into her head. Her eyes clouded and her lips spread into a dreamy smile.

“Come,” Madison commanded, offering her hand. “We can talk more in the basement.”

Corbin sighed, took Madison’s hand, and followed her into the darkness.