“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Evelyn muttered to herself, sweeping down the stairs of her home. As one does in the early hours of the morning, she found herself thinking irritatedly that there was no light switch at the top of the stairs, but by the time it was day and she could delegate someone to arrange to fix that, she knew it would already have been forgotten.

She was not actually as angry as she had been when the buzzing doorbell - still going even now - had first woken her and her husband-Master from their sleep. It wasn’t often that this happened; there was supposed to be enough security around the house to stop it. Both of them had grumbled in frustration when hearing it, but then the Senator had sleepily murmured “Honey?”

“Yes?” she asked, and she found herself holding herself a little straighter in bed, being a little more alert, simply because he was speaking to her in an authoritative tone, and he programming knew exactly what to do in response to that.

“Sort this out.”

It was still baffling to her that just a few years ago she’d have told him to sort it out himself or just scoffed and rolled over. She could barely remember how that had ever seemed like a reasonable response to a request from her husband.

Instead she said “Yes, Master,” and rose immediately from bed. She paused only to throw the slightly heavier of her two robes on, the one that wasn’t sheer enough to show most everything, before leaving the room.

But she had a command to obey, and obedience brought pleasure by its very nature, and as a direct result, it was only natural that her anger was blunted by the bliss she was already feeling.

By the time she reached the door and opened it she had reached a strange sort of equilibrium between irritation and blissful submission to her (secondary) Master.

She threw open the doors and came face to face with…

…with…

At first glance it was Swift Fox, carrying the limp form of a woman. But as she staggered into the foyer and more lighting hit her, the soft purples of the costume turned out to have more looseness and wrinkles than ever made it into news footage. The costume was especially loose around the chest.

Evelyn immediately marked this down mentally as not being Swift Fox, but she didn’t acknowledge that when she first spoke. Why abandon a potential advantage before you knew whether or not you’d need it?

“To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?” she asked, shutting the door behind the newcomers. “And shouldn’t you be in Chicago?”

“I - I’m here. Actually.” Evelyn smiled. There was some attempt to disguise her voice, but that was unquestionably Darby. “Working on this case.” She gestured, somehow, with the woman she was holding, and Evelyn properly looked at her as a result, and her eyes opened wide.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Penny!”

“I got her out from the guy controlling her,” Darby told her, and honestly the fake voice had slipped a bit more; it might be kinder to simply admit she recognised her. On the other hand, this wasn’t Evelyn’s priority any more.

“Did you break the control?”

‘Swift Fox’ shook her head. “No idea how.”

“Alright.” Evelyn sprang into movement. “Help me get her into the parlour, there’s more padding there.” She caught the bewildered expression beneath the cowl, but Darby was willing to follow her lead, and for Evelyn that was enough for now. “She’s unconscious,” she prompted.

“Right. I have a stun gun. I’m not sure how much longer-“

“You’re just going to have to hold her steady,” Evelyn said. She closed the heavy wooden doors into the parlour; her husband should now have the silence needed to go back to sleep, secure in the knowledge she was obediently sorting this out.

Evelyn had spent some time going the extra mile on her husband’s commands with the simple goal, unspoken to him, to get him into a habit of giving very broad orders. It had been a difficult thing for her to do, as it involved pushing a little against his control, but thanks to her programming Evelyn could never forget that truly she was slave to Doctor Bimbeau over and above to her husband, and it had therefore been necessary for her to build expectations that would allow her to put her true Master first while still serving her husband-Master.

She was glad that Penny had been restored to her, and while she truly couldn’t understand the chain of events that had led to her aide appearing on her doorstep at half past three in the morning, dressed as a superheroine, with her friend who she’d stunned to prevent her resisting transportation, she was sure it had happened because she had appealed to the Master for support.

It was clearly important that she repay that support. As such, it wasn’t hard for Evelyn to decide on a plan of action; the only problem might be putting it into practice.

She gestured to Darby to carry Penny toward the couch, but she’d already seen a flicker of motion from Penny; she wasn’t surprised when, after an intake of breath and a startled yelp, her old friend started to struggle.

“Hold her,” Evelyn instructed, suddenly nervous. “Pin her arms. You can do a lot that way.”

Darby nodded. She was trying to hide her nerves; the cowl should have made that easier but somehow, even as Darby clasped her gloved fingers together, it didn’t come off that way.

“Let-me-GO!” Penny howled, wrenching and twisting and trying to get free. Evelyn hoped Darby’s youth would win out over Penny’s obsession with CrossFit, but it was more important to her to make sure she didn’t have to fight for long.

“Penny,” she said firmly. “Penny, it’s your friend, Evelyn.”

“Tell her to let go of me, Penny, I need-“

“No you don’t,” Evelyn said, trying to make her voice as placid and calm as possible. “You need to listen to me.”

“I have to get back to my owner!”

Evelyn took a step closer and raised her hands placatingly. “That can’t happen, Penny. But you can help him all the same.”

Penny shot her a deeply suspicious look. For all that they’d been friends, the woman no longer trusted her.

Evelyn intended to see about that.

“He wanted more allies, didn’t he?” she asked, and Penny nodded fractionally, still suspicious but wondering where this was going. “You were going to want to bring me to him eventually,” Evelyn continued. “Am I right?”

Penny nodded again. “Then you need me to trust you, Penny,” she said. “And before I can trust you there’s something I need you to do.”

“What?” Her voice was prickly with suspicion. Completely justified suspicion, Evelyn had to admit. So she needed to act fast.

She went with the first idea to pop into her head, and she started by pulling her robe open, letting her breasts spring free.

There was more than enough to draw the eye, and she knew she’d mentally replay both women’s wide-eyed reactions to the chest she had now Doctor Kraft had worked on her physique; sure, it was nothing compared to those who didn’t need to maintain the same public identity they’d already had, but she knew her tits were fuller and perkier than anyone would expect. “Watch closely,” she purred. “That’s right…”

Thumbs and forefingers found her nipples, tugged, and then went into a broad, stroking caress, perfectly synchronised on each side as if she were a programmed machine rather than a person. Her programming kept that pace on time as she continued to trace a spiral before them both. “Focus,” she said, still purring. She could see disorientation in their eyes, something that she knew would be unlikely from this approach if they weren’t both already utterly drained.

“You need my trust, Penny,” she purred. “You need trust. You’ll do anything for trust. You must trust… trust…” She took another step forward, close enough to touch.

“Trust me, Penny,” she said softly, and she raised her hands suddenly and clasped Penny’s head to her breasts in a swift, sudden tug, “and sleep.”

There was a delicious mewl of surrender muffled between her breasts and both she and Darby felt the other woman sag.

Evelyn had known she’d have to hypnotise Penny to keep her from trying to escape, to try to hold her long enough that something could be done to break the hold. She didn’t know what Penny’s so-called ‘owner’ had done, but it would take time to break.

She’d already made the decision to drop Penny and then explain herself to Darby - but, looking at the younger woman’s glassy eyes and parted, vacant lips, she realised she perhaps wouldn’t need to.

She released Penny from the smothering, entrancing embrace of her tits and gathered Darby in, pulling her cowled head in just as fast and as swiftly. “Sleep for me,” she purred, and she felt the other woman also sag, heard the soft sequence of thuds as a released Penny sank first to her knees and then hip-first to the floor.

Both of them were deep now.

Evelyn sighed, and tried to figure out what she could do next.

*

“I need some equipment, Mistress,” Gigi said into the comm.

“Weapons?”

“No, Mistress. A Tiara.” This was the term that Doctor Bimbeau’s initiates used for the device he used for mental and physical imprinting, the breakthrough technology he’d devised with Candace Kraft which allowed mental manipulations to last beyond the six month ‘neuroplastic resiliency’ limit commonly accepted by those who studied the field.

There were a couple of what they internally referred to as ‘true’ Tiaras, ones which had the extra circuitry, chemo-electrical tanks, and assembler arrays to perform a physical reconstruction of all or part of a person, but slightly more common were control devices a little bit larger than would fit as carry-on luggage, with the headband capable of administering psychological restructuring courtesy of bio-electron manipulation.

“A Tiara.”

“Yes, Mistress. And a Fire-and-Forget, if it pleases you to spare one.”

“Hmp.” Gigi could picture the expression on her face. “For what purpose?”

“I intend to use the Tiara to break a rival control on one of our Sisters, Mistress.”

“And the Fire-and-Forget?”

“I have… concerns. And will not have the time to do about them what must be done.”

“So you wish to take precautions.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I will be supervising your report personally, Gigi.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Mistress rang off, and Gigi checked the bindings and the gag on the unconscious blonde. From the way she’d been fighting, she’d be a terror if she got loose, and it would likely be some time before -

A vibrant, vivid swirl of purple energy started spilling out of an otherwise unremarkable point in reality.

- so, maybe not so much time after all.

Gigi relaxed slightly. However good the blonde was, if they had less time, they were less likely to escape. And since the delivery was being made by magic…

Gigi had heard from heroines in other teams that there was some expectation that you’d be unsettled by magic. She, on the other hand, had been in a team with Jazz since early 1997, and though there’d been a several-year gap while they were all in brainwashed stasis, they’d worked together long enough that the supernatural just felt… well, natural.

The two items materialised in front of her and she smiled, tucking the Fire-and-Forget away in the concealed pocket at the base of her spine, then opening up the Tiara.

She settled it into place on the blonde’s forehead before she could move and quickly powered it up, her pinky finger poised above a red button set away from the others; the paralysis field. Her finger stabbed down on it the moment the power light blinked on.

She turned back to the other woman. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” the blonde’s voice emerged, soft and low and quiet.

“Who are you?” Gigi asked.

“My name is Melissa Wilder.” Gigi watched a muscle by the woman’s lip twitch; displeasure, no doubt, at telling the truth, minimised but not completely overwhelmed by a paralysis that was, necessarily, limited around the lips, tongue, and voicebox.

“Uh huh,” Gigi said. “What else?”

“A Beautiful Assistant.” She could hear the capital letters. Gigi contemplated dismissing the very idea, but decided not to.

“Whose?” she asked.

“My Master’s,” she said at first, and Gigi saw that muscle twitch again; the Tiara wouldn’t let someone get away with an easy half-truth. “The Capitol Ghost.”

Which confirmed that this was truth, and not some shell personality designed to take the brunt of the Tiara; the jury was still out on whether that would work, but Gigi was purely determined not to be the person who required it.

“Who else is your Master?” Gigi asked.

“Nobody,” Melissa answered. “I thought, once, that there was another Master. I was wrong.”

Gigi twitched, but kept herself, just barely, in check. Her job here, she reminded herself, was not to be goaded. It wasn’t even to goad. Her job was to correct.

“Well,” she said, and turned up the gain. “You’ve probably been more wrong before, but not often. Don’t worry, though, we’ll soon have you so right you’ll never want to be wrong again.”

There was a soft, low sound from the captive, something between a moan and a whimper. The effect was kicking in, and she clearly recognised the symptoms. Knew how it felt.

Anyone else in the sisterhood, Gigi thought, would have been delighted. She, personally, had been put under the Tiara for modifications a couple of times. It had always been bliss from the anticipation onwards.

But this woman, now, under her new conditioning, disliked the idea. Was ready to fight the idea. It was objectionable. Offensive.

It would, she reminded herself, not last long.

“Who is Doctor Bimbeau?” she asked.

“He was my Master,” came the answer.

“I said, who is Doctor Bimbeau?”

“He is a fool.”

Gigi bit back a sharper retort. Helpless as the other woman was, she didn’t want to show her that she was getting through.

Instead she upped the power to the Tiara feed, shifting to overwrite. “Doctor Bimbeau is a great man,” she said.

“Doc… tor… Bimb…”

Melissa was pushing hard against the Tiara. Gigi wasn’t entirely sure whether pushing back hard would be the right course of action; there had been speculation, in her hearing, that the Tiara might do damage to someone’s brain if it was used too intensely, if there was enough resistance to the suggestion.

Most people didn’t have reason to push back that hard. Even your own free will only has so much value to it, compared to your sense of self. But if controlled, if bound, people will push back, potentially, heedless of the damage done.

Gigi frowned. “How did this Capitol Ghost take you?”

“I was strapped to a giant pendulum…” Melissa began.

Gigi listened to it all with increasing bafflement throughout. Well, it was at least a pathway to restore her; it would all be about sneaking things through her truth filter, where she had to admit the truth. With enough truths built up, reality could change.

“What are you?”

“I am a Beautiful Assistant.”

“Why?”

“I have been hypnotised.”

“You were hypnotised before, too, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was hypnotised before.”

“Your mind was altered.”

“Yes.”

“You enjoyed it.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“You were made to enjoy it.”

“Yes.”

“You love to be hypnotised.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I love to be hypnotised.”

This was a technique Gigi had simply hoped was more prevalent in Doctor Bimbeau’s slaves than just being something her team had. Their love of being controlled and being changed was, for most of them, artificial, and even relatively recent. But the way Melissa’s eyes had slightly widened, the shift in the way her lips had parted, told Gigi that the reaction wasn’t just being built now; she was building a connection back to it.

“You’re a slut for hypnosis.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut for hypnosis.”

“You’re a slut for mind control.”

“I’m a slut for mind control.”

And that was the other factor that Gigi had been watching and waiting for; the point where Melissa repeated without needing prompting. Where her mind had found a pattern and fallen into it, fallen along with it.

Once a mind followed simply because there was a pattern in play, it would follow you anywhere.

“You’re a hypnoslut.”

“I’m a hypnoslut.”

“You’re a hypnoslut like me.”

“I’m a hypnoslut like you.”

“You and I are hypnosluts.”

“I and you are hypnosluts.”

“You and I are so alike.”

“I and you are so alike.”

“You and I obey.”

“I and you obey.”

“You and I serve the same Master.”

“I and you serve the same Master.”

Her face didn’t show any realisation that she had been caught in a trap; she was too busy simply being caught up into a trance.

“You and I are slaves to the same Master.”

“I and you are slaves to the same Master.”

“You and I are slaves to Doctor Bimbeau.”

“I and you are slaves… to Doctor Bimbeau?”

There was a wondering tone to her voice, but it was a delighted wonderment; there was no hurt or sorry at the loss. “You and I are slaves to Doctor Bimbeau,” she repeated.

“I and you are slaves to Doctor Bimbeau,” Melissa accepted.

Gigi leaned down and kissed her, enjoying the tingling feel of Tiara feedback through her lips, her own eyes glazing a little. “Welcome back to the fold, sister,” she murmured softly.

*

It had occurred to Evelyn that just having two entranced women didn’t mean she had a long-term solution to her problems, because in due course they would recover; she didn’t have a Tiara. One couldn’t be risked in her home, owned as it was by someone not in the Doctor’s control.

However, she didn’t have to think about the solution. Problems to do with Doctor Bimbeau’s people, if she could not solve them herself, had to be referred to a higher authority, to someone her programming told her was wiser than herself.

It was Rikki who answered her call again; Rikki who smiled broadly. “Oh, hi!” she exclaimed, somehow much more friendly and affectionate than when they’d spoken previously. “Did you get the help you were looking for?”

“Uh…” Evelyn blinked. She hadn’t been ready for the question; hadn’t really been ready for Rikki to be so much less supercilious. “Yes,” she said at last. “The situation is… well, it’s moved on, you know?”

“No,” Rikki said cheerfully, “but that doesn’t matter. How can I help this time?”

“Um.” She couldn’t help herself; she had to ask. “Are you… feeling okay?”

A look of total confusion crossed Rikki’s face, and then lifted just as quickly, like the shadow of a cloud vanishing when it moves past the sun. “Ohhhh,” she said. “What was I like last time?”

“Honestly? Kind of a smug bitch.”

“Did you deserve it?”

Evelyn might have bridled, but the twinkle in Rikki’s eye was all but irresistible. “I… often do,” she admitted. “In my defence I had an urgent problem.”

Rikki nodded. “I get that. But you weren’t the only one I was that way to. You know Ms Triumph?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, yeah. She called in.”

“She’s one of us?”

“I mean I guess?” Rikki shrugged. “If not something weird’s going on, but the Mistress has weird plans sometimes.”

“Were you a bitch to Ms Triumph?”

Rikki laughed. “Yeah, afraid so. And that turned out to be a bad idea, because she complained to the Mistress. And the Mistress mentioned it to the Master.”

“And you were put back under the Tiara,” Evelyn finished.

She smiled and nodded. “Yeah, Master said whatever I had been, my role and my duty now are too important for me to act like I’m better than them.” Rikki ran her tongue over her lips slowly, sensuously. “Which is real good, because now I know exactly who I am, and I know exactly what my mouth is and isn’t for.”

Evelyn found it difficult to process how jealous she suddenly was, and how much she wanted to let go among the others. She had commands to obey every day, at least; she served constantly. Yet she was cut off from the others like her, and at moments where she realised it, she could feel lonely as a result.

“Well,” she said. “I do need support.”

She saw Rikki’s eyes glaze, saw her sit up straighter, her smile wider and her jaw perhaps a little slack. “How may I serve?”

“Tell the Master or the Mistress that I have two people here who need to join us before their minds recover. And tell them I can’t hold them for long, and ask them what I should do.”

Rikki nodded. “At once.”

“Good girl,” Evelyn said, and as much as she liked the happy light in the other woman’s eyes, it felt wrong to be among her slave-sisters and assert herself.

She was so glad that Doctor Kraft had corrected her. Her older self had been just wrong.

*

Not the End…