Chapter 32: Birds of a Feather

The whole ride, Claire was anxiously looking for some sign that she’d made a horrible mistake. She looked down every side street, and watched the rearview for every possible car that might have been following them. Even if she lacked a lot of good options, any sign that Belinda would be in more danger and Claire would have driven right home.

But that didn’t happen.

Patricia was a frustratingly safe driver—staying at or under the speed limit—but that didn’t make it harder to follow her.

I’m trying to be suspicious to keep Belinda safe, not because I’m shy about showing my pussy to a complete stranger… who is not under my control. Claire squirmed as she grasped the steering wheel tighter. I was pretty comfortable weaving Patricia up a bit and she’d see everything then.

Not being in control makes this feel so much… different…!

When Patricia finally pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex, Claire wasn’t sure if she was more anxious, or calmer. It was the sort of complex where the entrances to all of the units were external, and all of the buildings themselves were duplexes. Following Patricia to the back of the lot, she parked near her—but not too near—and then killed the engine.

Once she was parked, Claire grabbed out her phone, and pulled open an until-then unused notes app.

If you keep your mind through this, pay Belinda gas money.

Nodding confidently, Claire tucked her phone away, and popped open the back door. “Asking you to undo your seatbelt might be a bit much, so, uh… here, let me…” Claire sighed in relief as the seatbelt clicked, and opened. “Take my hand… I’ll help you out… Just come on out, okay…?”

Belinda didn’t nod, or speak, but she took Claire’s hand and it was easy enough to pull her out of the car. She stood unevenly, and Claire moved to help Belinda lean against her.

“Wow. You did a number on her, didn’t you?” Patricia whistled as she moved over to take the same side of Belinda she had before while Claire’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. “I’m impressed how well you managed it considering how… clueless you seem about all of this. All ready? I live alone and I’m not taking care of anyone at the moment, so there wont be any surprises.”

“One sec… Ah…!” Claire fiddled with Belinda’s keys, using the fob to make her car let out a satisfying beep beep! Before she nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be…”

Patricia didn’t say anything else, simply leading the way to her apartment. It wasn’t far, and soon the door was opening and the two women with functioning minds were helping Belinda make her way to a couch.

Not too big… definitely… cozy… Claire looked around after she pulled away from Belinda, and let out a sigh of relief. No signs that she’s secretly a murderer. Maybe a bit of a fan girl for whoever is in these paintings, maybe a fan of old-style lighting, possibly even a fetishist but… I guess I can’t blame anyone for that considering some of the sick shit that I’m into… even if it doesn’t seem that sick or wrong to me…

Sniffing at her own thoughts, Claire looked at the nurse hat resting atop a mannequin head, a picture of a woman in blue caring for people in what looked like a sick ward, the same woman holding a lantern, and a duplicate of that lantern sitting atop a mantle.

Below it wasn’t a fireplace, just an electric heater.

“For what it’s worth?” Patricia smiled warmly at Claire. “I’m not especially suspicious of you. You seem like a young woman in over her head. I want to believe everything you’ve said is true. Nothing about you seems like an infiltrator. If you were, you’d likely know more about what was happening, and being here to do something inappropriate would not be in your best interests. That said…”

She gestured to Claire’s waist.

Claire flushed, nodded, and reached for her skirt’s zipper. “You’re… helping me out here, so… as much as this is not the way I like to meet women…”

Patricia laughed, and then fell respectfully silent. Her eyes remained focused on Claire’s crotch, making it feel that much more uncomfortable for Claire to tug her skirt down. Once it sat around her knees, she grasped the front of her panties and pulled them down awkwardly.

“I’m always glad to be proven right when I want to trust someone.” Patricia laughed, and gestured upwards. A moment later, Claire’s panties and her skirt were clumsily pulled back into place. “You drank half a gallon of coffee at least. Go, use the bathroom… I’ll investigate your definitely-not-girlfriend’s condition, and I’ll be able to tell you more when you get back.”

“Patricia, I do not need to use—” Claire’s body made sounds that would have embarrassed her no matter what. Under the circumstances, it embarrassed her even more. “I’ll… be right back… where is it…?”

With a knowing sigh, Patricia shook her head and gestured. “Right there—we passed it on the way in.” When her hand fell it rested on Belinda’s head.

Her fingers slowly moved through the strands of Belinda’s hair, and Patricia’s expression grew more serious as she gazed down at the comatose woman beside her. Her fingers traced across Belinda’s face in a way not dissimilar to how she’d touched Claire—similar enough that it made her shiver in memory.

Then her body demanded her attention again, and Claire ran as fast as she could.

“Don’t be so quick! If you hurt yourself I can provide first-aid, but not much more!””

Relieving herself was a fairly standard affair. The entire time Claire’s mind raced, worrying that she’d missed some sign, but she couldn’t pinpoint anything that might have actually been wrong. She was eavesdropping on me… but I was suspicious… She heard my name, but… I said it out loud… Ugh… I just want to know that I’m doing the right thing, or the wrong thing…!

I’m not even asking to know before things go wrong, I’m just anxious as hell and I don’t want to still be anxious!

As she dried her hands, Claire looked up to a long plaque hanging over the bathroom door. Its script was relatively simple, and something about it seemed kitschy and warm.  “Good of your sick first, and second only the consideration of what is your place to do… Huh.”

Stepping out of the bathroom, Claire could feel so much of her sense of immediacy diminished. There was still a chance that Patricia wasn’t what she seemed, but it seemed far less likely with a moment for Claire to think without her bladder screaming at her. She made her way back towards the couch, and winced at the intense expression Patricia wore as their gazes met.

“You did a number on this girl, Claire.”

“I’m sorry!” Claire whimpered, staring back down at the floor. It occurred to her that she’d been doing that a lot lately, but it was the position that showed the most clearly just how contrite she truly was. “It… Like I said, she wanted me to… to prove that my mother was a Weaver, that… that I could do this… and I… I just sort of… I did to her what my mother did to me instinctively, I wasn’t… I wasn’t even thinking exactly what to do… I just needed to… prove it.”

A groan filled the air, and then a sigh.

Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, Claire could only shrug. “It wasn’t smart, and I didn’t want to do it, but if I didn’t…”

“If you didn’t?” Patricia stared up at Claire in a way that she could feel even without looking directly at her. It was a penetrating, judgmental glance, and Claire squirmed even more uncomfortably, her eyes still downcast.

“…She’d… look, telling you all of the details would be… difficult right now, but—”

“—Try me.” Patricia’s tone was firm. There was patience in it, but not for Claire’s anxious obfuscation. “This situation is serious. I need to know everything. The motivations in the moment you did this will affect her treatment.”

Claire swallowed, and finally looked up to meet Patricia’s gaze. She was hoping to find some hint of a lie, some suggestion that Patricia was stretching the truth in some small way, but it wasn’t there to be found. All she could find was genuine concern, and compassion tempered by the situation, or some personal concern that Claire didn’t know enough to identify.

Sitting on a nearby chair, and not the couch, she folded her arms over her chest and looked towards the door as though to imagine herself fleeing. “…My mother… she weaved my other mother…? And taught me how… and uhm… in the process I ended up weaving her a bit harder than she anticipated… and Belinda caught me… with both of them… She was very upset, but she was… willing to hear me out.”

“Why?” Patricia sounded less judgmental than confused.

“If I knew…” Claire lifted up her hands then dropped them limply onto the arms of the chair. “She’s always been a much better friend to me than I ever deserved. When she was demanding I do it right then… I started noticing how beautiful she looked… how gorgeous she was, how beautiful she is inside… and then I tried to do what my mother did to me…

“But I got better!” Claire whimpered. “She didn’t even need to fix me… it just… I pulled myself together! It was hard, and I didn’t want that for Belinda, but she… she backed me into a corner!”

The sigh that filled the air was warmer, and more amused than Claire expected. “Do you only know how to shatter someone’s psyche?”

When Claire looked to Patricia, her expression was much softer than it was before.

Much of the tension as drained from her shoulders, and the waitress looked more inviting than concerned. Everything about her posture was different.

She was back to feeling like the warm woman in Claire met in the diner.

“No…! I… I don’t even exactly know how to do that, I just…” Claire sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair behind her. “I panicked! Since I ended up okay… I figured it was… okay…? But I don’t even remember how many hours it took me to recover…”

“Mind if I ask a question about your mother’s technique…?” Patricia stood, moving towards the kitchen visible at the other side of the ground floor of her apartment. “I’ll be able to hear you, I just need to wash my hands, and my face. I should have when I arrived, but I was wanting to make sure Belinda was… relatively unharmed.”

Claire winced.

I really fucked up this time. Sure, Belinda pushed me, but I didn’t need to take the nuclear option. I could have refused, bit the bullet, and maybe she would accept how serious this is… Looking over to Belinda didn’t make things feel better. Though she was sat comfortably on the couch, one of her eyes was half open, and the other was completely closed. It was adorably dopey looking, but also clearly wrong. But she should be able to recover.

Or Patricia would be more upset with me, not… less…

Right?

Closing her eyes again, Claire sighed. “Sure. Ask away…!”

Rushing water from the next room was loud, but Patricia projected over the sound while managing to maintain a calm, even tone. “Did your mother stroke along your nose before she pushed her finger between your eyes?”

“Yeah…!” Claire whimpered. “Why… Why do you ask…?”

“Because you didn’t do that, Claire.” Patricia’s laugh was both humiliating, and relieving. That definitely found like a good sign. “Whoever taught you how to do this… your mother, who is a weaver while you aren’t… which makes me very curious… She didn’t explain anything, did she?”

“Uuuuhhhhhmmm…” Claire broke into anxious laughter. “She explained a lot of things about psychology, and what to look out for when you’re twisting up a woman’s mind, but not… much about… Weaving…? Or… psyches… or… crushing them…?”

The sounds of water faded, and Claire could hear Patricia’s voice drawing nearer as she spoke. “Your mother is not a very good teacher. The reasoning behind the slow caresses before the final thrust is similar to the reason some people fold paper before cutting it.” Claire opened her eyes, and watched Patricia folding and unfolding a paper towel

A moment later she held it out towards Claire before grasping either side and ripping it apart.

Holding up the two pieces, it was very clear the way they fit together. Claire nodded, her flush returning. She’s using a prop to explain how this works to me like I was a grade schooler. That’s how badly I messed this up.

If Belinda doesn’t decide to never ever talk to me again, she is going to be laughing about this for weeks!

“It may still be dramatic to be ripped apart in a state like that, but your mind was able to, with I imagine a lot of effort…” Patricia held the pieces back together. “Put things the way they were supposed to be. Once everything felt right, your personality asserted itself enough to pull you the rest of the way. What you did, on the other hand…”

Patricia held both sides of the towel at once before ripping them again, and again, and again.

All that Claire could do was whine.

She whined louder when Patricia threw the bits of paper up in the air like confetti.

“Your ‘punishment’ for doing such a nasty thing to her mind is going to be twofold.” Patricia held up her hand, lifting one finger. “First, you’re going to pick every scrap of paper up. I wanted to make sure I got my point across considering you’re just a little dense for a cute thing, and this is important.” She lifted a second finger. “Then? You’re going to let me teach you how to fix this… and a greater understanding of how all of this actually works.”

Before she said a word, Claire dropped down to the floor and began grasping up the tiny pieces of paper. They stood out against the off-blue of the carpet, and most of them weren’t nearly as small as Claire feared.

“That… sounds like a decent pair of punishments… sort of…” Claire cursed herself for not thinking her words through, but then focused more on grabbing up the paper, and focusing more carefully. “You know… a lot. And you say weird things that remind me of some of the things that mom says… She… was a Weaver, but she says she left because they were a bit…”

“Cruel?” Patricia gently smoothed Belinda’s hair as she settled back down onto the couch.

“Yeah…” Claire chewed on her lip for a moment as she gathered up more pieces of paper. “She admitted that she used her tricks on my other mom to help make her… to make her a lesbian, but… She isn’t cruel. She treats my mom… really well…”

Patricia giggled, ruffling Belinda’s hair before smoothing it again. “Mae always was a softie. I was very glad that she came to me when she took things a little too far and couldn’t put everything back the way it was supposed to be.”

Overtaken by shock, Claire dropped a handful of torn paper scraps. “You know my mom?!”

“Two Sapphists in the same general area, both living here for over twenty years, and you think we never met?” Patricia laughed. “You are dense. I can see why you had such a strong effect on Belinda, but… you’re not the brightest are you?”

Claire whined, and hid her face in her hands.

Then she shook her head.

“No…” Claire slumped down, defeat expressed in every angle of her descent. “I’m really not.”

Patricia sighed, and reached out her foot to gently tap Claire’s leg. “None of that, now. I was teasing you, not deriding you. So if you are Mae’s daughter… raised with Sophia, I’m going to guess… then I can see why she might keep all of this a secret—and why she wouldn’t be able to do so for too long after you became an adult. She never was the most patient woman before, that’s why Sophia ended up rough for a little while… but it was nothing I couldn’t fix.”

All of Claire’s doubts, worries, and concerns fell away just as quickly as if they’d been fucked out of her. Everything that Patricia said so far felt trustworthy, and knowing that she’d helped her parents, especially by fixing Sophia, made her feel deeply indebted to the other woman.

For the woman who fixed my mother’s mind… I’d do anything.

Patricia’s smile deepened as she watched the shift in Claire’s posture. When their eyes met again, Claire was far more relaxed. “I can’t teach you how to weave like Mae can, but Mae can’t teach you how to do what I do, either. Both disciplines take a lot to learn, but you, Claire… how long ago did you learn how to do this again? Because if you’ve been doing this for a couple of years then—”

“—Two days!” Claire pouted, slumping down again if not quite as dramatically. “I’ve been doing it for two days… This is the third, I guess…? But the first day was… being broken… then… figuring out people are full of… threads and… knots…? It’s… still… confusing…”

The waitress pulled her hands away from Belinda and quietly clapped. “In that case, you’re doing a wonderful job at power—but not control. If it’s only been such a short period of time, then I’m going to guess if you still don’t understand what you’re doing… did Mae ever tell you about Nightingales…?”

“…The birds…?” Claire laughed shyly as Patricia shook her head. “Then uh… no…! Should… she… have…?”

Patricia laughed loud enough that Claire squeaked in shock. “We’re another organization—like the Weavers—only we follow another patron’s sage advice instead of Aphrodite or Sappho.” She gestured a hand towards the painting with the woman holding a brightly lit lantern aloft.

Claire struggled to recognize it, but nothing came to her mind.

Her only thoughts focused in on how pretty the woman looked with her hair pulled back, wearing an apron.

“Florence Nightingale. She revolutionized nursing, unlocked secrets of treatment, love, passion… How to excite it, how to soothe with it! We’ve managed to make nonaggression pacts with most of the other conspiracies, and we’re even allowed to help… rogue elements, such as your mother, so long as they aren’t attempting some grand coup.”

Wait… If she isn’t focused on… bird techniques, then… but… didn’t I feel… some kind of… feathers earlier…? Claire almost whimpered, but instead she focused on reaching back for that memory as clearly as she could. She remembered Patricia reaching out for her, the warmth of caring, tender, warm compassion coming for her…

And then…

Feathers stroked along my face… Soft… warm… and then they brushed…

Down…

Claire quivered, closing her eyes as an echo of the feeling grazed along her breasts, and down her belly to tease her waist. I know I felt that… I didn’t imagine it…

But it only makes sense the name would lead to a lot of… different techniques…

“Was she…?” Claire’s voice was dreamy and soft, still half lost in the feathery warmth that the memory of Patricia’s touch left behind.

Patricia smirked.

“Your mother just wanted to hide, to start a new life… so I helped her. Nightingales wish the world driven by the love of women as much as any other conspiracy does. We’re just less eager in sprawling subterfuge, or fighting against the world at large.” Patricia pointed back down to the carpet. “I was serious though. Toss that into the recycling bin, right beside the couch…? It’s the blue one… Thank you…!”

Claire flushed as she gathered up the last of the paper in her hand again, and stood up to drop it into the open blue container.

“What was I saying…?” For a moment it was hard to believe that Patricia was the member of some powerful lesbian conspiracy capable of cleaning up after her mother’s mistakes, and much easier to believe that she was a cute, slightly ditzy waitress. “Right!” She snapped her fingers and giggled, looking even more the adorable diner bimbo.

It took a not inconsiderable amount of Claire’s self-control to resist imagining Patricia wearing pink instead of brown, bent over a nearby table as she wiggled her ass in the air.

She was being very flirty with me…

If that wasn’t a test, and more… interest that we need to put off because of more pressing matters…

Well…

Claire clenched her thighs.

I’d be into that…

A lot…

“Nightingales believe in making the world better by taking care of our fellow women. Sometimes this means aiding one conspiracy or another… sometimes, by converting women, recruiting them, training them…” Patricia looked concerned for a moment, gently kissing Belinda’s forehead before her worries drained back away. “We’re far more concerned with that than anything else. I offered to train your mother, but…”

Claire nodded. “She didn’t want anything to do with the conspiracies anymore…”

“Bingo.” Patricia smiled. “But you? You’re young. You’re actively using these abilities… and you’re dangerous, to yourself and others. Please. Let me teach you how to help Belinda.”

“Of course…!” Claire sat on the other side of Belinda, looking down at her friend with a hopeful smile. “Can you teach me what knots do what, how to work with her threads and make new knots and—”

Patricia gently batted at one of Claire’s hands as they reached for her friend. The younger woman whined, but pulled her hand back. “No. The way Weavers work is very effective, and I can assist in solving problems caused by them… but I can’t work them. They seem like nothing more than nonsense to me… but, with my insight, and your mothers… maybe you’ll figure this out.”

Claire blushed.

“You won’t tell my mother that I took advantage of her teaching me to mind control her into my obedient slave, will you…? I promise that I’ve been taking extra good care of her and Sophia…!”

“You have?” Patricia smiled as Claire rapidly nodded. “Then why would I need to tell her anything? We’ll probably want her to know you and I met eventually, but we can be very selective about what facts she learns from it. Mae doesn’t need to know she’s your slave… as long as you can take care of her in ways no one else can.”

Claire shivered, clenching her thighs together tight.

Patricia is going to teach me how to keep my mother as my slave… and how to perform… mental… maintenance…?

Fuck, today may end up going my way after all…!

“Then I will!” Claire smiled brightly, and sat up straighter. “Just tell me what I need t—” When she reached out to touch Belinda again, Patricia’s hand was there to slap her hand the moment before their bodies met. “Hey! Quit swatting me!”

“No!”

Claire glared.

Patricia held out a finger, menacingly. It didn’t seem to crackle with any special energy, but Claire couldn’t help but stare as it moved in between her eyes. “Sapphistry is powered by lust, by love, by desire, by your strong feelings towards other women. You put her entire mind, and body, out of whack. Not only that, but you have strong feelings towards her…”

The once menacing finger gently pressed between eyes just as they sealed tight and Claire let out a worried whimper.

“If you touch her, right now, you will make this fucked up situation even worse!” Patricia gently patted the top of Claire’s head. “No touchies. Only watchies. Can you do that? If you can’t… then I’m going to need to tell you to sit back over on the chair.”

Blushing darker than she could ever remember, Claire slowly nodded and wrapped her arms around herself with a soft whine.

“Good!” Patricia smiled brightly. “Then watch closely… because while this wasn’t a smart thing for you to do, and it will be difficult for us to fix… It will make for an excellent learning opportunity!”

It was hard for Claire to stop herself from slumping, but she managed it if only barely.

“Then teach me everything you’ve got!”

Patricia beamed, and placed her splayed fingers above Belinda’s face before slowly pulling them down until they rested just over her chin. Belinda’s body faintly arched, her eyes fluttered, and she let out the softest of sighs. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”