In a movie, maybe, she would wake up in her own bed like nothing happened, the surreality of the impromptu gangbang wiped away by the holes in her memory she's been having the last two days. Wouldn't that be a mercy? It sounds much better than waking up in the dark of the early morning, cold, crusty, and sore, on the cheap carpet of the apartment's office.

She's alone. Before leaving her, someone haphazardly draped her shirt and jeans over her hips and breasts as a makeshift cover. Her glasses lay folded next to her head, and her ballet flats are also by her head, for some reason. Her bra and panties are gone.

With a grunt at the stiffness in her back, she sits up and slides her glasses on, one arm holding her shirt to her chest. Yes, the office really is empty, and judging by the faint color outside the window, it must be close to dawn.

She came here in the afternoon. That means they were at it for hours and hours, through dinner, into the night, before everyone was satisfied with playing with her and left her there with barely more dignity than a used blow-up doll.

She shivers at the thought. That was amazing.

That doesn't feel like the correct response. She tries again.

I didn't know anal or double penetration could feel so good.

True, objectively, she did not, but still not quite right.

Was that one woman trans? She was hot. I thought she was just going to use her fingers.

Valentina squints in frustration. That woman was hot, and she'd let her fuck her again in a heartbeat, but isn't she missing something?

Unfortunately, the more she tries to hold onto that sensation, the more she's distracted by memories of sex that flash sudden and vivid in her mind's eye.

Too bad Mell didn't show up.

She would have welcomed it. Though, she has the sense that at one point she did hear her voice. Recognizing her voice after only one meeting doesn't sound plausible, yet the feeling remains.

I gotta get home, clean up, and sleep in a real bed, she thinks as she starts to haul herself off the floor. Maybe she'll remember what's bugging her after some rest.

She pulls her shirt over her head, then bends over to slip her jeans on with a wince. If she had a mirror, she's sure she'd look like shit, but at least she's clothed for her walk of shame. She doesn't even want to touch her face and find out what's dried on her skin. The shower will be her first stop.

I'll be able to get out, right? she wonders as she glances at the glass doors that lead into the dim entryway where the mailboxes are. That and the gym can be accessed with a key card from the outside, and they open from the inside automatically, but the office must be under lock and key. There's computers in here, equipment and documents. Shit people would steal.

She puts her shoes back on, then steps around to the other side of the counter. That's when she notices a handwritten note and a key sitting on top of the package she came to pick up. It's still quite dark, so she picks the items up and moves closer to light in the entryway to inspect it.

It reads: Make sure to lock up and bring this back on Monday! - Sharon, with a heart drawn in pink highlighter beneath it.

How trusting of her. Valentina crumples the note and shoves it in her pocket. She tries to imagine denying she ever had the key in the first place if Sharon comes looking for it on Monday. That'd show her, both for leaving her behind like this and letting some pervert steal her underwear.

I'll play dumb, and when she tries to bring up what happened I'll show her my tits instead so she can suck on them, then she'll probably want to use some of my other toys on me.

Hmm. That does sound like a good plan to get laid again, but she's not sure it lines up with teaching Sharon a lesson.

She'll have to think about it more when she's better rested. With that in mind, she unlocks the office door and steps into the entryway.

It's eerie in the teal-gray predawn light, illuminated only by a single faint bulb over the mailboxes. Well, that should be the only light source. She notices a bluish shine to her left, emanating from the gym.

Valentina turns her head.

The shine comes from a cell phone propped up in a slot on one the treadmills. The blue light of the screen glows off its owner's pale skin the way the sun's warm yellow rays reflect gray and distant off the moon. Despite the darkness, Valentina recognizes her instantly. It's Mell.

Isn't it, like, 4:00 AM at the latest? she wonders dizzily.

Mell notices her too and raises her arm to wave like a queen at the head of a grand parade. Valentina can't see most of her due to the front of the treadmill, but she wishes she could. Mell's wearing a black sports bra, and beneath that--does she have abs?

If Valentina went in and talked to her, she could find out.

Instead, she turns tail and runs out the door, refusing to look back until she's safe inside her apartment.

* * *

After washing the fluids dried on her body and in her hair away, Valentina sits to soak in her tub for the first time in ages. It's a good thing she cleaned it on Saturday. Hot water ought to ease the ache of her muscles and flesh, and it can help clear the mind too, right?

The white noise generator seemed like a natural companion to help her relax, so she brought it with her and placed it on the sink countertop. The mix she switched to reminds her of new age meditation music, like Tibetan singing bowls, chanting, and flutes arranged in vague, slow spirals. Soothing, if not as magical as someone crystal salesperson would probably tell her.

She leans back against the wall behind her and dozes as the noise, almost close to rhythmic but not quite, washes over her.

I've been acting strange, she thinks in a sudden moment of clarity, right on the edge of sleep, and so has everyone else.

She tips her head back against the wall and knocks it against the tile a few times to wake herself up. It's weird, right? For example, Sharon was just some milquetoast office lady! She did not seem like the type to start fucking her like that. (Even though Valentina so obviously needed it.)

Her tired body throbs, and she rubs at her clit like it's the most natural thing in the world. All that attention, and she's still not satisfied?

It does feel good.

"That may be true, but getting results doesn't mean the code's good," she says to no one.

It really is like her internal code's been rewritten so that every ping comes back TRUE when her body queries if she's horny. That can't be sustainable. There has to be some shutoff, or at least something that redirects her. IF horny ELSE get over it and do another thing until it goes away. Don't go have an orgy in public!

Mortification floods her as she realizes how many people must have seen and touched and fucked her body. Worse, Mell saw her in the aftermath, while she had cum crusted in her hair! Who even came on her hair?! She doesn't remember! She can't!

"Whhhyyyy," she groans into her hands, even as her insides react to the embarrassment by begging for more. Will it not stop?

Angrily, she pushes her palm against her pubic mound and leans over the side of the tub for leverage. Reality seems to slip and slide back and forth as easily as the warm water sloshes around her. She's in trouble, she's happy, she's turning into a slut, she's finally having fun, she's going insane, she's on the brink of something huge. Grinding, grinding, grinding, against her hand, the sound of chanting and flutes rising in her ears, until she quivers and slumps with release.

Somehow, she dries herself off and makes it to bed after that, barely aware enough to take her glasses off before she collapses facedown on her pillow.

It happens again, then: a slackening of whatever has a hold on her, right at the borderline of sleep. The realization isn't very helpful this time around, though.

My underwear wasn't the only thing missing. Where did that stupid dildo go...?

* * *

Valentina wakes up around noon on Sunday to a string of messages on her Slack from one of her team members. It sounds like a customer's connection is having problems, and they insist this critical bug is up to her to fix. It is a connector she worked on, but nobody promised this customer 24/7 service. They're not even enterprise. She tells her teammate as such and mutes Slack before he can snipe back at her.

"Work and life can balance on my fat ass," she mutters as she gets up. That doesn't make much sense, but it felt satisfying to say. Good thing the white noise generator is by her bedside, covering her odd grumbling, or Mell might've heard it.

Did she put that there?

She narrows her eyes, frowns, and picks up the machine. The sounds coming out of it are different than she remembers, back to natural sounds but a forest this time: crickets, rustling leaves, frogs, birds, wind.

Why has she started using this gizmo all the time? Wasn't she pissed off when Mell gave it to her? It was presumptuous of her to offer it. Valentina just so happened to take up some noisy hobbies (cleaning and fucking) soon after Mell moved in, but she was a perfectly quiet neighbor before that.

Almost as if the two things are connected.

The frown on her face deepens as she turns the machine over in her hands. It's entirely normal, but she's going to entirely turn it off now anyway, just in case it's connected to her recent behavior. Should've done it earlier, really.

She just needs to hold the button on top for five seconds, rather than the two seconds need to change the output.

One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four mississippi, five mississippi.

The device quiets, and the apartment fills with an eerie silence that seems, just for a second, like the walls are holding their breath.

Dumb bullshit imagination. She's going to go drown out all conscious thought the best way she knows how: playing League of Legends for an unreasonable amount of time.

* * *

Under the weight of routine, normalcy reasserts itself.

Valentina plays for hours at her desk. It's only the persistent growling of her stomach that reminds her that time has passed and she needs to feed herself. She puts together a sandwich from the limited food in her fridge (wilted spinach, pickles, and cream cheese between two tortillas is a sandwich) and mentally notes she should actually go to the grocery store tomorrow rather than getting it delivered. There's one right down the block, so she could even walk.

The image of walking back from the grocery store in the summer heat, hot, sweaty, and burdened with bags makes her grimace. Still. She could.

After finishing her "sandwich," she returns to her desk. Rather than jumping back into League, she notices there's crumbs on her mouse pad. With a sigh, she starts clearing off the detritus of snacks and cups off of her desk, then the outdated work post-it notes and sheets of paper. Soon enough, she's vacuuming the living room and under her workstation, chasing dirt and food debris.

"Guess I should dust the girls too," she says when the vacuuming is done.

There's nothing more annoying than taking all the figures off her bookshelf, dusting the shelves, then individually dusting the nooks and crannies of her favorite characters, but it has to be done sometimes. For their dignity, and her own.

Hours pass like that, time dripping away as she remembers some small task she needs to do each time she tries to go back to her desk. It's downright exhausting, but at least she's not doing it to the tune of stupid cricket sounds, and she only masturbated once, after cleaning her favorite Jinx figure, which...don't...fucking look at her? This is why she lives alone.

She continues well into the night, eventually flopping on her couch when she can't move any longer. With work the next day, she ought to sleep in her bed properly, but it's so hard to follow through.

She glances over at the TV, the faint video game BGM she chose from YouTube having long ago paused itself because she didn't click "yes" when asked if she was still watching. The remote is nearby, but she can't be bothered to lift her arms. The screen will go into rest mode soon. It's fine. Sleep's dulling weight drapes over her like a quilt, so she closes her eyes and gives in.

* * *

Valentina sleeps through the whole night without disruption.

Admittedly, she dreams of opening her eyes and finding Mell standing in her living room, backlit by the peppery light of her television's fireworks screensaver, but that isn't anything. Valentina's obsessed with her for no good reason, so why wouldn't Mell show up in her apartment, leaning over her, smirking and gripping her chin with possessive fingers.

Yeah, just a dream, she thinks, before falling helplessly back into one.

* * *

The Monday morning sun coming in through the glass door to the back patio hits Valentina like a ton of bricks. She sits up and gasps as the liquid heat from a forgotten wet dream follows her into the real world.

Normalcy sucks! She needs to get fucked again!

Without thinking, she shoves one of the throw pillows on the couch between her legs and ruts against it like an animal. The relentless burning between her legs is so strong it almost feels like a punishment.

"Ghh... ugh... ah..."

Frustration rises in her throat. Friction can only do so much; she wants to be taken. Gritting her teeth, she grinds and bucks, chasing an orgasm that seems always just a few more thrusts away.

Eventually, she eases the fire enough that she can stand up from the couch on shaky legs. The persistent ache remains, but she should log in to work. It must be past time, based on how bright it is.

She sinks onto her computer chair and starts up her PC. Once Slack pops up, a number of messages assail her--the team member she blew off yesterday, for one, but also a message from her boss asking if she can handle the connector issue, plus an unrelated person on another team asking the same thing.

Valentina immediately opens up her company's time-off request page and puts in a sick day. Her boss gets a curt "I have a fever. See you tomorrow if I'm feeling better," and her team mate and her other coworker get... nothing! They can die for all she cares!

The relief of taking time off hits her so hard that she cums.

This is insane, she thinks, but she rides the orgasm out anyway, her head lolling to the side as her insides roil and yawn and twitch like a rabbit caught in a trap. She's open, too open, and so empty.

God. She sucks in a shaky breath when the wave of pleasure has passed. She has to get out of the apartment.

* * *

Dressing up a little and walking to the grocery store did not fix her, but the fresh air was surprisingly nice. She took a backpack and a single cooler bag and only bought what she needed for a few days, like some kind of sensible person.

The trip back is mostly shaded by fluffy white clouds covering the sun, so the summer heat is tempered. For once in her cynical life, she feels downright lucky as she heads into the collection of buildings that makes up her apartment complex.

Things turn even better when she's walking past one of the other apartment buildings and sees Gabriel working on a large electrical box. Shyness threatens her at knifepoint for a second, but then she thinks about how bad she's aching inside. He helped her once; surely, he could do it again. She sucks in a breath and stands up straight, trying to look confident (and top-heavy) as she goes up to him.

"Hey, ¿te tienen trabajando bajo en este sol de nuevo?" she asks.

"!A, la señorita de 102!" he says, and while he's flushed from the heat, she thinks she might see an increased amount of pink on his cheeks. Wishful thinking? "Pues ya tu sabes, siempre hay algo que hacer."

"Claro. Creo que el aire no me funciona, hace demasiao calor en mi apartamento..."

He pauses, and she smiles as he grips the tool in his hand a little tighter. "¿Deveras? ¿Necesitas que yo lo chequee? Puedo pasar por allá horita."

"¡Chévere! Si quieres, entonces, cuando terminas ven y te refrescas un rato."

He nods and returns her smile as he pushes his hand through those heart-shaped bangs of his. She nods back, afraid to say more lest she fumble the moment, and practically floats away despite the heavy weight of her bags.

* * *

Valentina expects to be overcome with self-doubt once she's alone in her apartment, but something about the need thrumming through her makes her bolder. It helps that she's slept with him once, and they both had a good time, didn't they? Again. Again again again.

She hurries to put the groceries away. Not that Gabriel said he'd come by soon (she's pretty sure that's how he used horita), but what if he does? She has to be ready. The thought pulses through her so hard she gasps and catches hold of the counter to steady herself.

God. I just want it so bad. Why didn't I find someone to fuck me yesterday? So stupid. I need it.

I need it!!!

The thought clangs in her head like a gong struck by a hammer. She can't stop repeating it to herself in a daze as she puts her groceries away with shaking hands.

* * *

She barely remembers putting on her nicest pair of underwear or throwing her robe on, but she's keenly aware of every second that passes as she waits on her couch for Gabriel.

Her living room is so much cleaner than the last time he was here. Trash: gone. Coffee table: cleared of old Gatorade bottles. Floor: vacuumed. Not to mention her bed only smells like one or two days of pussy, not a month or more. Conditions are perfect. Maybe she can talk him into staying all day--or all night.

The glass sliding door to her patio is to her right, just a couple of determined strides away. Earlier, she pulled the curtain all the way to the left so she'd see as soon as anyone came by. Gabriel or not, she wouldn't care at this point. She keeps glancing with squirrel-like twitchiness at the wall of glass, hoping for someone, anyone, to come and fuck her.

The heat inside her apartment was just an excuse she gave for him to drop by, but it really does feel almost as hot as when her AC was broken. This time, she's the heat source. It shouldn't be allowed for one person to smolder this intensely!

I'm really such a slut lately, she thinks. I can't deny it, can I? Everything turns me on, and I'd let anyone do anything to me. I did, on Saturday.

"I'm such a huge slut that I'm skipping work to fuck someone I barely know," she says aloud, just to taste the words in her mouth. Her cheeks burn at the sound of her own voice saying something so... so...

So true.

It's tempting to pull her robe open and start masturbating in full view of anyone who walks through the shared lawn that connects this building's patios. It would be dirty, but she is dirty. The last few days made that clearer than ever.

Even though it doesn't feel quite right when she examines that thought, she can't think of any counter evidence. After all, the sequence is clear.

First, she met her new neighbor and got a bit of a crush on her. That obviously woke up her sex drive, long put on the shelf in favor of other things. Next, she fucked a near-stranger and loved it, to the point she couldn't stop getting off afterward. Then, she was the enthusiastic center of a gangbang in a public office, which started all because she was so visibly needy. In the aftermath, she could barely go a few hours without masturbating even though she should have been satisfied. Now, she's melting with desire, considering putting on a show in front of her patio door. It all adds up to a shift that she can't deny.

It's like... it's like my body is... Is it getting worse, or better? I can't think of anything else! I need to get fucked so bad I could scream!

She goes around in circles a few more times, trying to justify or analyze her sudden change in behavior, but she always ends up back at the start.

I'm a slut. A big slut. If I wasn't one before, I am now. I got ensluttified. Some billionaire bought out Val and rebranded her to XXX. More sex than the Metaverse, that's for sure.

She's snickering to herself about Mark Zuckerberg not having legs or a dick in VR when there's motion on her patio. Not a bird, no--it's Gabriel, her hero! Her standards are low enough that anyone with a dick or similarly phallic object would fit the hero role, but she likes him, so he gets extra points. He's actually checking her AC unit, precious man. Like it was anything but an excuse.

She slides the patio door open with a Vwoop! that ends as it smacks the opposite side of the doorframe. Gabriel starts and drops his wrench, his eyes wide, either from the sound or the sight of her. She looks down, sees her robe is open, and moves to close it, but her hands stop halfway.

Instead, she slips the robe off and tosses it behind her.

"Ven pa acá," she says, beckoning him forward. Like a good boy, he obeys. The slow-motion feeling from previous encounters is absent this time. She's there, in the moment, pulling him by the wrists into the apartment.

Not far, just over the threshold. He's too cute to lie on concrete. After one superheated kiss, she tugs him to the carpeted floor and straddles him. Briefly, he looks around with eyes that seem to see more than just her--the open door, the shared lawn beyond it--but she takes her bra off and directs his hands to her tits, and then he's all better.

Neither of us need to think.

She gets his jeans open and his cock out with such efficiency she feels like giving herself a pat on the back. If she's going to be a slut from now on, she'll kill all the competition just like she does in shooters. They can kiss her ass (either in a loser way, or for fun; she's game). With a determined look on her face, she pulls her panties to the side and quickly lowers herself onto his cock.

"Ohhh fuck, yeah, that's so good," she groans. Her Spanish dirty talk is basically nonexistent, but maybe he could teach her some if they keep doing this. She almost giggles at the thought, but covers her mouth before it happens. Giggling like a bimbo would be too much. She'd have to see a doctor.

Good thing it's not that serious. She's just having fun, saying yes to change, all that good stuff. Being on top is something she's never tried before, it was too embarrassing to think about bouncing around, but look at her now! Gabriel has his hands on her squishy hips, and he doesn't have a word of complaint.

That's when Mell walks around from her apartment and onto Valentina's patio.

Valentina should have a stronger reaction that than she does. Instead, her eyes get bright.

"You wanna come help?" she asks. That's how it went on Saturday, right? She was so popular!

Mell draws closer with a smirk on her face, but she stays on the border of the room and the patio. Regardless, Valentina can't get enough of the outfit she's wearing today: a black corset over a dark purple blouse, a short black pencil skirt, black stockings held up by a leather garter belt under her skirt, and black heels. She even has black gloves on her hands, though they look like a scientist's disposable gloves, not a goth dominatrix's, like the rest of the outfit.

"My, aren't you doing well? Even though you turned off my present," Mell says, not moving to join them.

Valentina falters at that. Oh, shit, she did turn it off, then she went and made a bunch of noise, huh?

"Oh, no, please continue," Mell says. She makes a "go on" gesture with one hand before folding it back into place. "I know how much you need it."

Valentina almost grumbles at that, but then her insides twitch. She does need it. Oddly enough, Gabriel hardly notices Mell, though she's standing only inches away from his head. He only has eyes for Valentina.

That's... weird, she struggles to think, but then Mell snaps her fingers a few times and draws her eyes back to her face.

"Come on now. Good sluts don't think too much," Mell says.

Valentina bares her teeth at that, though her hips do keep moving. It's hard to stop. "No need to be a bitch," she mutters.

Mell laughs at that--a much, much colder sound than the one on Friday, which Valentina could pretend held some friendliness behind it.

"I might be a bitch," Mell says, leaning closer to her face, her lips in a broad smile that reveals teeth as white as fresh marble gravestones, "but at least I'm not an animal in heat who can't even wash herself without reprogramming."

"I'm not a..." Valentina really struggles with that one, her head a spinning tornado on the inside. "What reprogramming?"

Mell nudges her in the side with the pointed tip of her high-heeled shoe. "Keep moving."

Valentina imagines biting her ankle like a chihuahua, and she snaps her teeth once, but then her hips pick up speed again.

"Ahnn," she moans.

Gabriel murmurs something so soft she can't understand it. He's looking at her in confusion now, still clearly not comprehending the situation (for many reasons). If only she could explain. She can hardly grasp it herself, and she speaks the same language as Mell.

She wishes she'd talked to him more. He has kind eyes. Maybe he could've helped. And she does need help, doesn't she?

Mell catches Valentina’s chin in her hands.

"I mean the reprogramming you paid me for. You wanted a guaranteed way to improve yourself, and here we are. Look at you! I definitely think it worked."

"Bullshit," she spits, her teeth itching. If Mell's going to touch her and call her an animal, she can play the part and tear into her. Any second now, she'll summon the strength.

"I've got the paperwork and a video confirming your consent, if you want to come and see it sometime."

Something about the idea of going to Mell's apartment, heretofore unknown to her, makes her moan and pulse around Gabriel's cock. The fight slips out of her somewhat, and she hangs her head.

"Why would I...?"

"Results. That's why anyone in the know loves me! My services are highly respected."

That doesn't make any goddamn sense, but Valentina wants to keep her talking, and not just because she has a pretty voice.

"Hh, how?" Valentina asks.

"Oh, you're interested in my work, how sweet!" Mell flourishes and taps her fingers together, then begins to count on them. "I use all sorts of things. Subliminals, pheromone modification, environmental control, drugs, memory removal, electrical shocks, conditioning."

"I wouldn't agree to all that!" Valentina says with a gasp. She can't stop moving, hasn't even tried to stop in the last minute, and she's dangerously close to cumming. Humiliating.

"Oh, but you did." Mell leans close so her lips are against her ear. "The sex too. 'I want to be used,' you said. And even if you didn't, how would you ever know?"

That makes Valentina cry out and orgasm. Gabriel follows, as if she pulled him along with her, and maybe she did, if she really is putting out some sort of sexual pheromone. Difficult as it is to focus, the way people have been drawn to her the last few days suddenly makes a little more sense.

After her breathing has evened out, Mell pulls Valentina up and off her knees with one strong tug of her arm.

"Wh-What?" she asks.

"Say goodbye to Prince Charming here. He did his part admirably, but he's done."

Valentina, dazed and shaking with uncertainty, nods as Mell starts to take her back to her apartment.

"¡Oye, para!" Gabriel calls in a weak voice.

Valentina's heart jumps, but when she raises her head, she sees he's only followed her with his eyes. He seems just as helpless to resist Mell's pressure as she is, and by the time he's struggling off of his back, Mell's sliding door has slammed shut behind them.

She really should have told him her name, if nothing else.

* * *

Valentina expects Mell's apartment to match her gothic aesthetic, to reveal black walls and black furniture, bats on the walls, and a bubbling cauldron or two. Instead, the stark whiteness and silvery gray of almost everything reminds Valentina of a laboratory in a movie. Impossibly sterile.

There apartment is a studio, with no walls between the living room, kitchen, or bedroom. Every surface she catches sight of is free of dust, and decorations are minimal beyond functional requirements, like a lamp or a stand mixer on the kitchen counter.

On the far wall, there's a long table that holds a computer with four screens connected by many cords to a number of medical-looking devices Valentina can't identify. There are metal filing cabinets both below and on top of the table, then gear right out of a chemistry lab, beakers and unidentified liquids. At the end of the table is a collection of tools Valentina is more familiar with than the others, at least from her fantasies: mounted floggers, restraints, leashes, a paddle, stainless steel clamps, and a large black box with a lock undoubtedly containing more items.

"BDSM, huh," Valentina says.

Before answering, Mell pulls her by the hair over to her neatly made bed. Here, her wardrobe preferences appear. The sheets are black.

"It's a shared interest, I know," Mell says as she peels back the top quilt of her bed, down to the foot of it. "You told me all about your fetishes. I had to drug you first, but you were very cute."

"I was... cute?" Valentina blinks at her. That can't be right.

"Really cute." Mell keeps moving, walking over to her table of equipment--for what, Valentina isn't sure she wants to know. "I love useless girls like you. That's why I'm going to make you my girlfriend. Or pet. Both, I guess."

Valentina can't help it; she moans.

"Yes, see, that's why I like you, Val!" Mell is doing something at her desk, but Valentina can't make her head stop swimming long enough to focus. "You're feisty, but very receptive to the idea of being controlled. Malleable. It's adorable."

She wobbles, then drops onto Mell's bed and lowers her head to her hands. Faint, tickling white noise buzzes in her ears. Mell did say she had one of her own, didn't she. Why would turning hers off ever, ever have been enough?

A second later, Mell is in front of her, like she just appeared there. Goddamn magician. Valentina squints up at her blearily through her glasses. She really may as well be magic; she's elegant, statuesque, fit, tidy, calm, and in control--all of the things Valentina never could be.

"I'm adorable?" she asks.

Mell grips her chin with fingers like iron softened only by a thin layer of rubber glove.

"So adorable. Like one of those cats with the grumpy faces. It makes me want to pull your hair."

"I like getting my hair pulled."

"I know. You weren't getting enough of it."

"Did you make me... dumber...?"

Mell laughs, and some of the warmth is back in it this time. Valentina's stomach responds by flipping back and forth like a gymnast on the uneven parallel bars.

"I just made you much, much hornier. I suppose it sometimes has the same effect."

"The cleaning was you?"

Mell wrinkles her nose and sits on the bed beside Valentina, though that does little to close the gap between them. Mell's torso is long, and Valentina has bad posture.

"You wanted to get your life together. That was the main reason you contacted me." Mell pinches Valentina's earlobe, making her wince and squirm. "I couldn't have such a messy pet anyway."

"You can't just make me your pet!"

"I can't?"

Mell pushes her down on the bed. Valentina can't believe how easily she goes, nor how smoothly her legs open.

"But who else knows how badly you're burning up inside?"

Mell strokes up Valentina's thigh, her hand still clad in a disposable glove, the unnatural texture of it inviting goosebumps.

"Who's been studying you for months, measuring all your improvements, your outputs, your sleep?"

Her hands are everywhere, squeezing and pulling, an inch away from violence. Valentina shudders with fear that should be more terrible than it is, less tantalizing.

"Who broke your AC just to speed the process up, then sent your favorite maintenance man to fix it?"

Valentina lifts her face at that, glaring at Mell. Playing around with a nice guy, not a slut and a slob like her, that... that...

That makes me so wet! God!

"I'm still so horny," Valentina whines. "Can't you stop it?

Mell doesn't answer. Not directly. "Who stole your new favorite toy?"

Valentina's eyes go wide.

She's so stupid. Mell wasn't just wearing a garter belt. She should have known what was waiting for her. Under Mell's skirt--removed at some point, when Valentina was too wrapped up in her own lust to see it--there was a harness, waiting for something special to be slotted inside.

She was ready.

"Who already owns you, Valentina?" Mell asks.

The resistance in her mind and heart and bones turns to jelly. The whole performance was a joke from the beginning. She can't imagine going back to living outside of Mell's grasp.

"You do."

"That's a good slut. Behave or don't, but you won't get away."

The rest of it hardly matters, does it?

Mell enters Valentina with the toy that was once her own. No one but Mell could actually make her get some use of it. Mell is the one who twisted her insides into something so needy, so open. Mell, tossing her to the wolves and ensuring she said "yes, please" when asked if she wanted more. Mell, who pinned and mounted her like a butterfly on a board, who told her her wings were cute and promised to pull them off and more, much more, if she tried to run away. Mell, a bully. A mad scientist. A menace. Beautiful. Terrifying. Merciless.

Mell. Mell. Mell.

When Mell locks a black collar around her neck after her orgasm, the first of many, Valentina knows that it's never coming off.