Chapter 1: Familiar Hop, Unfamiliar Faces
Eleanor coughed, waving her hands to disperse the thick fog surrounding her as she found herself suddenly stumbling through a dimly lit alleyway at night instead of the strange alien cavern where she’d been only a moment before.
Her hops were always sudden, offering very little warning. They always brought with her a bit of the surrounding environment, taking some small piece of the place she’d last visited and bringing it along with her to wherever she’d be spending a few minutes to a few months. The alien habitat she’d last visited had a much different atmosphere to the urban environment, and the two blending didn’t do the young, cutely chubby, dirty-blonde any favors.
Huh. Another urban setting. Looks a lot like some version of Earth, though I’ve been wrong about that before… Eleanor fluttered her blue eyes, tugging down her black t-shirt. The last world hadn’t brought with it a change of clothing, but she’d only been in those caves for about a day. Luckily she’d just gone shopping in the world prior and had enough to make her brief stay in those alien caves relatively comfortable.
Before she’d ended up in the misty, foggy caverns she’d been on a rather average place for a hop—a dimension she’d dubbed “Slice Of Life 15” even if she wasn’t sure whether fifteen or thirteen was more accurate. It was hard to keep track of the more bland dimensions when the only twists seemed to be things like the names of popular brands of snack food or which celebrity was holding political office. Let’s see if I can find something to hint at what I’m going to be dealing with this time…! Hopefully it won’t be too bad. If this version of Earth has been conquered by vaguely humanoid cephalopods again I’m going to scream, or cry. Possibly both.
Stepping out of the alleyway Eleanor’s eyes squinted as she adjusted to the bright city lights. It was late at night, but that only made the bright lights that much more blinding.
She looked up at an electronic billboard, squinting to get a better look as she waved away the last of the dispersing alien atmosphere that she’d carried along in her dimensional wake. “Providing Metahuman Solutions for Your Everyday Problems… Metahumans…?” She blinked up at the blue hourglass logo as it flipped over, grains of sand falling from the top towards the bottom. Some of those grains then flew out of the hourglass, taking the form of silhouetted women wearing capes. “Oh. I’m in another one of these.
“This place looks familiar… am I… could I possibly be back in Midas City…? The odds of ending up in the same dimension twice when there are infinitely many dimensions seem impossible, but… this one was…” A shudder traveled down Eleanor’s spine, making her whole body tremble and shake. Her thighs clenched. Her eyes turned glassy, and distant.
Eleanor could still clearly remember how it felt to have her head filled with so many small, gritty particles of dust. Somehow they’d been so itchy, but when they’d reached her brain they’d turned it to goo and sunk so deep inside.
It’s not possible that my head was filled with more dust than the volume of the inside of my skull…! Her thighs clenched tighter as her toes curled. I’m just remembering it wrong…! She put me into some kind of trance by using whatever… whatever that ‘dust’ stuff really was. I was just in an altered state, that’s it. That’s the only thing that makes sense… I was in some… trance.
No matter how hard she tried to convince herself she didn’t properly remember what happened to her when she’d met the small goth woman, her memory didn’t clear or change at all. She’d woken up, tipped her head to the side, and made a pile of dust larger than her own head. It had felt so good, made her feel so hazy, so distant, so confused, so… amazing. Every jump cleared her mind from any past control. Her body always reverted back to how it was when she’d first jumped between dimensions. None of the feelings that made her shudder were Dust’s control still reaching inside of her, still able to manipulate her.
Eleanor’s libido didn’t need any help. The memories of her tongue buried between the cheeks of Dust’s ass were too visceral. The sensations of how floaty her head felt, so melty and dreamy, were too easy to recall. She was still in control of herself, but the memories were enough to arouse Eleanor to the point of completely forgetting her surroundings.
Midas City may as well have been in an entirely different world. Her eyes were still gazing up at the billboard, drinking in the sight of the hourglass tipping and heroines flying from the digital sand again and again, but her mind was lost in memories.
She could remember dust blown over her face, dust melting down her throat, dust itching over her skin and melting, tingling inside of her, making everything so sticky, tingly, warm… She could remember kneeling, sucking, and licking… She could remember most of the night only as black-and-white images, disjointed, out-of-order moments. Even with her mind freed from Dust’s direct manipulations and control, the memories hadn’t placed themselves in the right order.
So lost in her memories, Eleanor was taken by surprise when a group of women clad in skintight, latex bodysuits arrived. She didn’t even realize they were in front of her until she was surrounded, limbs held up that ended with large, round attachments that resembled some sort of canon.
“You will be processed.”
“W-what?!” Eleanor shook her head, coming back to herself incredibly quickly as she struggled to understand what was happening to her. None of the women had visible faces, instead hidden away behind yet more black latex. They might have been wearing masks that obscured their features further, but they looked artificial and wrong in a way that was more than just latex, more uncanny than if their identities were simply being obscured. “P-processed?! What… what are you…?! What’s going on?!”
Too distracted by the strange women who moved in deliberate, purposeful, robotic ways, Eleanor hadn’t seen the electronic spoils the women set down before they’d moved to surround her. She backed up into the alley, and the women followed her.
Looking over them, she fully expected them to be duplicates of the same robotic mold designed to look like shapely, curvaceous women. Instead, each woman was of a mildly different height, with subtle differences in their basic shapes. Overall they were identical, but it looked more as if someone had put a concentrated effort into giving them a marked similarity rather than being made similar from the start.
“You will be processed.”
The sound came from another of the latex-clad women, but the sound was identical. Do they all have the same voice, or… or is that not even… Another shudder rolled down her spine, only this one was less from arousal, and more from horror. It was all too easy to imagine less pleasant reasons they might all sound the same, might all have been altered to bear that similarity.
As difficult as it was for Eleanor to accept nonstandard physics, it was easy for her to accept a twisted mind showing casual disregard for bodily autonomy.
Light began to shine from the cannons the seven women held aloft, all aimed directly at Eleanor’s face. At first she was thankful the strange apparatus at the end of their arms wasn’t designed to cause her physical harm, but the relief only lasted until her blue eyes began to open wide on their own, following the movement of the lights as they shifted in an identical pattern within each extended canon.
Nothing about the lights themselves looked especially fancy. Eleanor had traveled through the stars in spaceships. She’d handled ancient arcane artifacts. She’d met dragons. The flashing, twisting lights looked like props for a bad softcore sci-fi porno—something that might have been hidden away under her bed in another dimension.
W-wait I… I can’t… I can’t… Look away…? Eleanor tried to blink, to flutter her eyes, but instead her blue eyes simply opened wider, and wider. What’s… what’re they… h-huh…?
Still trying to understand what was happening, who these women were, why they were doing this to her, Eleanor was mystified by the strange way her body was reacting to the light. She tried to strain her face, to force her eyes to close, but they wouldn’t. They only opened wider and wider, taking in as much of the strange pattern of colored light as they could. There were so many colors, colors she could name and colors she couldn’t, and even if she intellectually knew that nothing good could come from staring there was nothing she could do to make herself look away.
Then the pressure started to push in against Eleanor’s mind, squishing and pressing down against her from so many sides at once. Wh…What is this… this… pressure…? Eleanor thought she was expressing herself verbally, but the force pushing against her mind made anything but quiet, distant thoughts far too difficult.
Even whispering was too much for her to manage against the sheer force pressing against and squeezing her so tight. It wasn’t painful. It might have been if she had the strength to resist, but Eleanor lacked the mental discipline to fight the lights that swirled across her increasingly vacant face as her mouth fell open.
The longer she stared, eyes wide and slowly turning glassier, more distant, the colors began to force themselves deeper inside of her brain itself. Everything about the light was forceful, the pattern not seducing her mind but slamming against it again and again, overcoming it with intense overstimulation. She’d had no time at all to realize what was happening and even attempt to struggle. She didn’t even realize the lights were closer now, surrounding her, invading her mind in the most disorienting way from every direction at once.
Eleanor couldn’t even manage to stand up straight, swaying between them as the lights didn’t bathe her mind, but drowned it deeper and deeper in inescapable befuddlement. Blue eyes were devoid of even the simplest thought or expression of her personality within.
Her brain surrendered to the lights as though it was designed not for the young woman to think, but as a tool for those lights to grasp and manipulate. The colors were more in control now than Eleanor had been consciously in control of her mind before they’d started to fire. Her synapses were filled with dancing light that controlled Eleanor far more effectively than her own volition ever had.
She wasn’t remembering Dust anymore, but her thighs were still clenched. Her nipples were bullets under her black shirt. All of her body felt as though it was being squeezed, from her face, to her breasts, to her hips, to the full shape of her sizable ass, and all along her legs. Just like the women surrounding her were clad in skintight latex, Eleanor was held within light that squeezed just as powerfully. It kneaded, less for her pleasure, and more as a means to fill every nerve, to adjust more and more of her brain. Eleanor was already too far gone to consciously enjoy the pleasure from the phantom sensations, but moans still dropped from her mouth even if they were so quiet and soft.
The pressure exerted through her nerves was anything but soft—firm and unyielding—but she was trapped too tightly within those feelings to express those feelings with the intensity they might deserve. Instead, she could only quietly gasp and mewl as her hips twitched and her wide eyes stared into those lights that streamed across her brain.
Her brain was overloaded with raw mental information that she wasn’t able to consciously process. Instead of fighting back, or interpreting it as inappropriate thoughts and ideas, more and more of her was shutting down. Both overstimulated and numb, what little remained of Eleanor that could be described as ‘awake’ was rapidly beginning to vanish. All of the parts of her mind that had once been used to interpret light were instead being used to block out thought, to blot out understanding, and to push Eleanor deeper and deeper into a void of color and surrender.
Drool slid down from her lips, glistening with the same light that shined deep inside of her eyes.
“You will be processed.”
The same voice came from so many directions at once, and Eleanor couldn’t resist. With her mind so utterly pinned down she lacked the ability to comprehend their meaning. If she were merely within a trance she would have echoed the sentiment, confirming that yes, she would be processed. If she was as deep in a trance as her mind was thoroughly dominated by those lights, it would have been said with no lack of obedient conviction.
Instead she could only stand in place, frozen under their attentions, her mouth and eyes wide as she trembled from the endless stimulation that further wore down at places deep within her brain that could not choose to surrender, and needed to be forced to bend instead. The lights were reprogramming integral places that most wouldn’t dare to touch.
Her heartbeat was full of that light. Her automatic respiration, breathing in and out and back in again, were thoroughly coopted by that same mechanical control. Understanding those concepts was impossible, but Eleanor could feel herself becoming smaller.
Controlling her heart meant controlling the blood that flowed into her clit. Controlling her lungs made it easier to make her breathless and faint, further weakening her mind’s most vulnerable, delicate places. The pressure was squeezing Eleanor down into a small, tight, compact space within herself as the drones began to guide Eleanor away. She didn’t know where she was going, but even if they told her she wouldn’t have been able to understand it.
Some of the drones carried electronic components. Some kept the light shining on her face and into her brain. Together, all of them eventually moved down a set of stairs, and into an underground compound.
It was dimly lit, just enough to make everything easily seen. Many other women dressed in skintight, black latex scissored their legs as they moved through the facility. Their faces were hidden away behind the same masks, their bodies all looking on display, all moving with a will that was wholly external, programmed to function solely for the will of another.
Much like Eleanor, all they could do was follow as their minds obeyed programming that was more powerful within their brains than anything else had ever been.
None of them had any choice, nor understood just how little choice they possessed. They received stimulus, and they obeyed how their programming demanded they treat that stimulus. In that moment, as she followed the latex clad women through the facility, Eleanor was just another machine.
The biggest difference was the clothing she wore.