Abi’s agent found two handsome underwear models who were prepared to be photographed sheepishly emerging from a hotel apartment in Blossom Valley alongside two female pro soccer stars in exchange for some keep-quiet money and a bunch of free publicity, and the explanation for Abi and Devin’s absence from training was duly splashed across all the gossip sites. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or irritated that they even made TMZ.

Neither of them were pleased with the dressing-down their coach gave them, but they agreed it was better than nothing.

“Hey,” Devin said the following day, on the way home from practice, “I’m gonna go restock the coffee machine. Can you take care of the recycling?”

Abi pulled a face. “You know I hate that job.”

“Well, I’m not a fan of it myself.” Devin had already turned off from their shared walk, heading on the quick loop to her preferred convenience shop, as she called back over her shoulder. So Abi said nothing about it at the time but stewed over it all the rest of the walk home.

When Devin returned, Abi was seated on the sofa, paying attention to her phone. She’d dragged the recycling onto the kitchen countertop and left it there in plain view of the front door, though from where she was sat it couldn’t be seen.

“Ughh.” Devin groaned loudly. “Really?”

“Really what?”

Dumping her purchases next to the recycling, Devin marched through to stand in front of the sofa. She gestured back over Abi’s shoulder. “Are you half doing that job or asking me to do it?”

There was a light in Abi’s eyes as she stood, an anticipation of challenge. She still had to tilt her head back slightly to meet Devin’s gaze; the other woman was a couple of inches taller, enough to make a difference when so close together. “Neither,” she said. “I’m telling you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Abi reached up with one hand, taking hold of her friend by the cheeks, thumb on one side of her mouth, fingers on the other, palm above the lips, squishing them together. Her gaze bored directly into Devin’s. She was acting entirely on emotion and instinct, and could not have explained if challenged where she got the idea to say “You look hypnotised.”

“Wufuk,” Devin said, or something close.

“You look hypnotised,” Abi said again. She read in Devin’s eyes an uncertainty, a confusion, and her tone became firmer, presenting what she was saying as a fact that had to be accepted. “You are hypnotised.”

As induction strategies went, it was a long shot with no priming in advance; on the other hand, even if she remembered very little of it, Devin had recently been primed to sink into hypnotic trance simply by having spent nearly forty-eight hours as the blank, mindlessly obedient slave of a supervillain. Abi saw the other woman’s eyelids flutter.

“You are hypnotised,” she said again, a little less forcefully. She felt a strange tingling in the back of her head. All the same, Devin definitely looked hypnotised now. “You cannot help being hypnotised,” she forged on. The tingle was growing. It was peaceful. It was light. It felt good.

“We cannot help being hypnotised,” Abi said, fascinated by how blank the gaze she was meeting had become. Blank… that was a good word, too, for how she felt. “We are hypnotised to obey,” she added. Was this what you were meant to say to someone you were hypnotising?

“We are hypnotised to obey,” she said, her voice a flat, empty monotone. A blank voice, if ever voices were blank. It was so featureless that she did not realise at once that Devin had said the same thing, in sync with her, her own voice just as empty. When they spoke in unison they blended together.

That was good, wasn’t it?

“We will do as we command,” she continued. She saw Devin’s mouth open to repeat it and this time her voice synchronised along to the other woman. “We will do as we command.”

The impulse - to solve the ‘problem’ of being asked to handle the recycling by hypnotising Devin to do it - had come out of nowhere, and even if she could have thought about it, Abi would have been unable to account for it. It was all but buried now in the blankness she felt filled by. There was just enough impetus to say “Taking out the recycling is a way to show your submission,” before her eyes, already half-crossed, rolled back in her head, her vision blurring and then gone. Her fingers slackened and she stood blank for a period of time, she wasn’t sure for how long.

When her head cleared, the recycling had been taken out; Devin walked in slowly a few minutes or two later, her gaze unfocused.

Abi waited for Devin to say something, but nothing came. In the end, she said “I’m thinking of making a stir fry,” which was her way of both changing the topic and making something of a peace offering. It didn’t seem necessary for either of them to discuss what had happened.

After all, neither of them could help being hypnotised.

*

One evening after practice, Devin sat down at the kitchen counter and made a great show of producing a notepad, pen, and her laptop computer, something which would sit unused for months at a time in favour of her phone.

“What are you doing?” Abi asked. “We’re supposed to be going out on patrol.”

“We can,” she said. “And we will in a bit, I think. But before we do that I wanted to get serious about seeking Kuge out again.”

She saw the flurry of emotions across Abi’s face, understanding and determination and fear and bravery, all passing over her features so quickly it was impossible to be sure which won. After a moment of hesitation, she parked herself on the other stool by the counter. “Talk me through it,”

As a duo, they hadn’t really had to work any difficult cases to this point. Abi was surprised and delighted to see that Devin had already put some thought into this; she opened her notepad to show a surprisingly accurately sketched map of the coast locally, with several points marked, and a date next to each of them.

“I’ve been looking for patterns,” Devin said. “A lot of his crimes made the news but there’s speculations on others, and I’ve been following that too and adding it in, trying to figure it out. I do actually have a possible right now, but it’s narrowing down where.”

“Go on.” Abi learned across, curious now.

Devin’s pen tapped the map. “Last week, he tried to break into Smart Solutions,” she said. “I hadn’t heard of them before but they’re an R&D firm, they develop tech to solve problems for other businesses then licence it out to be manufactured at scale.” Which was more tech know-how than she’d ever shown before, so Abi assumed her friend had been doing more than a little extra reading.

“Okay. So if I understand you right, they make advanced tech, but anything on their premises is probably a prototype to solve a problem we don’t even know exists?”

“Basically. But you know they’ll have beefed up security since he got thwarted.” She shrugged. “Turns out they have a security robot.”

“Oh.” Abi surprised. “That’s cool. So - wait - are you thinking he’s going to look for somewhere else doing something similar, and we stake it out.”

“Basically. I had Insight Labs earmarked as a possibility. They’re up the coast a bit but he’s been travelling quite a range. I just want to see if there are any others.”

“This is really good work,” Abi said cheerfully. “You check that out. I’m getting into costume.”

*

It was Insight Labs which they ended up staking out. THe drive out to Carmel Valley would have been frustratingly long; as Abi said on the way over, “The more I fly, the more I can’t believe I was ever excited to buy a car.” They were there in minutes after setting off.

“Of course,” Devin said, “if I’m wrong, this just means we’ll be sat here even longer waiting for something that never happens.”

But that wasn’t the case. They’d gone in the early afternoon, figuring that if Kuge was going to be using his mind control, he’d rather strike while there were plenty of people around than leave it to late. And as it turned out, they’d been in place on a roof across the street for not much longer than half an hour when a vintage Rolls-Royce limousine pulled up outside the building.

“No way this isn’t him,” Abi said confidently. A man in chauffeur’s uniform emerged and walked round to open the rear passenger door, and Kuge emerged. That big, loose robe, the mask, the shaggy black mane of hair that was either behind the mask or was part of it.

He headed toward the building as the chauffeur got back into the limo and drove off, and the two heroines exchanged glances.

“We should hit him now,” Darque said. “Before he has a chance to get in there.”

Fyreheart hesitated. “Yeah, but… what if he manages to get us under control again? Anyone passing by on the street will get to film it.”

Both women stayed on their perch a few moments longer, disconcerted, wondering. And then Kuge was through the front doors, and it no longer mattered.

“Ah, shit,” Darque said, hopping back into the air. “Let’s do this. We hit him hard and fast.”

As she swooped down on an arc she gathered more and more shadow around her, hardening it into a shell like armour. Using it as a shroud hadn’t worked, so brute force was next on her list.

She was confident that Fyreheart would be right behind her. Shoving the doors open, she stormed in through the lobby, just in time to see Kuge in the elevator as he looked up from the control panel.

The doors were closing. She threw a lance of solid shadow toward him, converted it as it moved into a grappling hook, and by so doing wedged it firmly into the door, stopping it from closing.

“Not this time!” she called.

“Let’s do this,” Fyreheart growled, deep in her throat, from just behind Darque, who was pouring more shadow into her construct, forcing the doors wider apart again.

Kuge tilted his head and laughed theatrically, then stepped forward out of the elevator, and Darque dissipated the shadow to let him. Better he stay on the ground floor with them, where they could control the fight.

“Good to see you again,” Kuge called.

“You won’t think that in a minute,” Fyreheart returned. “We sought you out so we can take you down.”

“Down,” Kuge repeated, and the eyes of his mask lit up.

“Shit!” Fyreheart reacted fast, putting both hands against Darque’s nearest arm and shoving her sideways.

The shadowy heroine went stumbling several steps to the side before going down to one knee, but that put her outside the area of effect. She looked up, taking stock of the situation. Saw the slackening of her friend’s face that seemed to smooth all the emotion and intelligence out of her face.

Fyreheart had seen this coming and pushed Darque out of the way to save her. Devin was grateful and annoyed at the same time; but, she reflected, it wasn’t fair of her to be annoyed. Abi couldn’t help being hypnotised.

She shaped manacles from darkness and hurled them at him, snaring his arms against his chest; keeping her head angled away she poured shadow into the construct, pushing a layer of it up from just above his elbows, to his shoulders, and then to his neck. She was using the physicality of the shadow to seep around the mask, to overwhelm it, to break whatever contact between him and the mask allowed him to control it.

She almost didn’t allow herself to believe it would work until finally, all of a sudden, it did. The mask lifted off, the eyebeams died. She gave a shout of absolute triumph.

And moments later, Kuge called out “Fyreslave, tell her how she looks.”

“Yes, Master,” Fyreheart answered immediately.

Slave? Master? A chill ran down Devin’s spine. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good. She looked across to Fyreheart, hoping for an explanation, but saw only glassy eyed blankness.

“You look hypnotised,” Fyreheart said, her tone flat and even, almost mechanical. “You look obedient.” Devin stared at her friend’s blank, glassy eyes, and heard only certainty in the other woman’s voice, as if she was privy to a great and secret truth. “You look like a slave,” Fyreheart continued.

“Fyreheart, I…” But she wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure what she could say in the face of this implacable certainty. Confronted with facts she believed to be untrue.

No. Knew to be untrue, didn’t she? Not believed? There wasn’t any question in her mind whether or not she was hypnotised.

Although, she couldn’t help being hypnotised.

“Tell her what she is,” Kuge said, although Devin barely heard him. The implacable logic held her. Could you be hypnotised and not know it? Why else would she look hypnotised unless she was? And she couldn’t help being hypnotised. Surely that was the most plausible explanation.

“Yes, Master,” Fyreheart continued. “You are hypnotised. You are obedient. You are a slave.”

The words seemed so familiar. She felt as if she had heard them before, had said them to someone else, even though she had no memory of it. Standing, staring helplessly at her partner, she squirmed, the ghost sensation of skilled fingers stroking her throbbing through her body.

Her lips were dry.

She was hypnotised. She was obedient. She was a slave.

Devin fell still, her thoughts breaking up like a wave crashing onto a beach. Her eyes glazed.

And the shadow binding Kuge’s arms dissipated with no will to maintain it.

Kuge laughed, and both hypnotised women shivered excitedly, but did not know why. “Both of you,” he said, “Share what you are with one another.”

“We are hypnotised,” they chorused in a blank, helpless monotone. “We are obedient. We are slaves.”

“Very good,” he said. He walked over, and met Devin’s blank gaze. She imagined he must be smirking under that mask; it was clear in his voice as he said “You tried. It was a good try. But you are hypnotised and obedient once again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” she droned in reply.

“In the end, you will always fail to resist me.”

“Yes, Master.”

He turned back to the elevator. “Now the two of you wait here. I want to see you both kneeling in front of this elevator when I return.

“Yes, Master,” the hypnotised slaves responded in unison. As the dented doors slowly closed in behind him, they walked slowly toward the door, legs stiffly straight, heads held high, arms limp by their sides.

They were kneeling before the elevator reached its destination, and then they waited, just as long as he wanted them to wait.

*

When they left the scene of the crime this time, the chauffeur held the door to the rear of the limo open and they got in, sitting on either side of the back seat so that Kuge would fit in beside them, all three of them doing just what Kuge had told them. Both women wore plastic smiles on their lips as they left the building, the smiles of dolls; perhaps the best indicator of this was that their smiles did not reach their blank, obedient eyes.

They still didn’t know what had been stolen. It was small enough that it was concealed by his robes, or it wasn’t physical and had been emailed. Or the whole thing was mindgames.

Seated in the back of the limo, Kuge triggered the switch to raise the privacy screen. Once the driver could no longer see or (more importantly) hear anything that took place, he said again “What are you?”

“We are hypnotised. We are obedient. We are your slaves, Master.”

“Every time you say so, it becomes more true,” he said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Say it again.”

“We are hypnotised. We are obedient. We are your slaves, Master.” There was no individuality in their voices. No personality. No hesitation. The responses could have come as easily from robots, and robots would not have accepted programming more easily.

“Again.”

“We are hypnotised. We are obedient. We are your slaves, Master.”

“Repeat: You want to be hypnotised."

“We want to be hypnotised, Master.” There was something about the headspace Abi occupied that felt better simply because she knew Devin occupied it two.

“You love being hypnotised.”

“We love being hypnotised, Master.”

There was so much amusement in his voice, and so little emotion present in hers. There was, now, one emotion; Abi loved being hypnotised. She assumed Devin did too.

“Being hypnotised makes you better.”

“Being hypnotised makes us better, Master.”

“Very good,” he said. There was a rustle of silks from beside her as Kuge explained what he wanted next. “Do you understand?” he asked, at last.

“Yes, Master,” they answered.

“Good. It will be Darque fi - no. Before we begin, Darque, what is your real name?”

“Devin Drake, Master.”

“And you, Fyreheart, what is yours?”

“Abigail Hartswood, Master.”

If he recognised the names, she couldn’t tell; of course, the mask hid any response he didn’t deliberately sound. Not for the first time, Abi wondered how deliberate that had been.

“Devin will begin. Abi will recite. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Begin.”

Devin sat up in her chair and turned at the waist to face her Master. Kuge had already adjusted his robes so that his cock was visible from among them. Devin lowered her head, mouth opening obediently, and slid onto his cock, one hand resting on his inner thigh as she began to suck eagerly. Oral was a way to worship; it was a way to show submission.

As she performed, Abi began to speak with the slow, blank cadence she had adopted since her first hypnotic experience, .

“You are hypnotised. You are obedient. You are his slave, and he is your Master,” she said. “You cannot help being hypnotised. You want to be hypnotised. You love being hypnotised. Being hypnotised makes you better.”

With the completion of that statement, Devin lifted herself back off her Master’s cock, straightening back up. She vacated this worshipful position perhaps a second before Abi’s open mouth slipped onto him in her place.

“You are hypnotised,” Devin told Abi. “You are obedient. You are his slave, and he is your Master. You cannot help being hypnotised. You want to be hypnotised. You love being hypnotised. Being hypnotised makes you better.”

And then her mouth was opening back into a submissive, obedient O and she was turning and sinking back toward his cock, moving just slowly enough that Abi had time to vacate first.

“You are hypnotised,” Abi began. “You are obedient. You are his slave, and he is your Master. You cannot help being hypnotised. You want to be hypnotised. You love being hypnotised. Being hypnotised makes you better.”

It was a long time before, with Devin being the lucky recipient, Kuge finally came; but by the time he did, not only had they left the Valley far behind but both women had new rules imprinted across their minds more deeply than any pattern of thought.

*

The lair was the same one as before. The chauffeur held the door for all of them, then got back into the car and drove away. Kuge, chuckling softly to himself, gestured and the heavy front door, built to appear as part of the brick wall, swung open. “In you go,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” they droned, and they walked in, stiff-legged, obedient automata which happened also to be people. His hand cracked off Fyreheart’s buttock as they preceded him, and to Abi it was a reward.

The main room was almost exactly as they’d left it, except that someone had continued to live there; a little more detritus had built up around the corners. Kuge did not appear to have permanent slaves.

“I’ve been expecting the two of you,” he said, from behind them, as they marched in lockstep to the dead centre of the room, where they stopped. “Actually, I was expecting you earlier.” He walked past them, standing a few feet in front of them, inspecting them. A wry humour entered his tone. “Don’t you think you should apologise?”

The was not something Devin felt that she’d been given clear direction on - it felt more like a decision made by a heroine or a soccer player than a slave - but he had assigned them tasks they had to use their judgement on before. She fell back on the way she had felt at college when a professor had asked her something similar, as that seemed to her the best model: “Yes, Master.”

When her speech came, it came on its own, Abi’s own slow, numbed, hypnotised mind evidently needing longer to come to the correct conclusion. “Yes, Master,” she agreed.

“Say you’re sorry then.” There was a taunt in his voice, almost mocking, and Devin felt heat rising, both in her cheeks and between her thighs.

“We’re sorry, Master,” they said in unison.

“Next time,” he said, “you will seek me out more quickly.”

“Yes, Master.”

He smiled, then, and gestured, pointing toward one of the other doors from the room. “After you gave me your measurements last time,” he said, “I had something made. Go in there. Change into your new outfit, and return.”

“Yes, Master,” they said. They both turned to face the exit on the spot, then marched into the room in single file.

The room was not a big one, little more than a walk-in closet, and the coatrail set from one side to the other only amplified that. Hanging from the coatrail were two outfits, each with a high pair of heels beneath. Each was in the colours of one heroine’s outfit, making it easy to tell which belonged to who.

They stripped down, discarding their own costumes where they stood - in their hypnotised state, with no orders relating to them, the costumes simply were not relevant - and then garbing themselves in the custom outfits.

Kuge had planned for them to be dressed like this, Devin managed to think. Had expected them to come for him, and to lose. And he had been confident enough in that chain of events to pay someone, or compel them, to make these outfits. And evidently he had commanded them to give him their measurements first.

He had expected to win, then; had expected to win every time. For him, their encounters were play.

She whimpered at the thought, shudderingly aroused.

Freshly dressed, they stepped into their heels and marched back out, moving more slowly now to keep their balance.

The new outfits retained their costume’s trademark masks, but replaced the bodystockings with fishnet stockings, frilly microskirts, tight upper blouses, and a small lace apron around the waist; heroic fetish maids. There were no undergarments.

They returned to the same spot they had been in before being told to change, falling back in in the same stance.

“I want this place put right,” Kuge said simply. “Repeat. A clean mind is a happy mind.”

“A clean mind is a happy mind, Master.”

“A clean room makes a happy Master.”

“A clean room makes a happy Master.”

“The more you clean, the deeper you sink.”

“The more we clean, the deeper we sink, Master.”

“The more you tidy, the hornier you are.”

“The more we tidy, the hornier we are, Master.”

“Maids get fucked more in clean rooms.”

“Maids get fucked more in clean rooms, Master.”

“You want to get fucked.”

“We want to get fucked, Master.”

“Very good. Now, on my command, you will clean this place, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” Devin couldn’t stop herself from whimpering again. Had the mask turned toward her, just a little? Was he paying attention, and if so, what would his reaction be?

“Begin,” he said, without any further comment.

“Yes, Master,” they droned, and set out to put things right.

Abi wondered. He had prepared the costumes for them. Had expected them earlier, apparently. Had he let the place get worse to give them a challenge, or had he always intended them to keep his lair clean, and they had failed him, while still free-willed, by not falling into his hands more quickly?

Impossible to tell.

“One other thing,” Kuge called, once both women were fully embarked on their tasks. “Whichever of you I judge to have performed best will have the honour of being the first to be fucked tonight. The other will have to watch and recite your mantra. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” they answered again, still helpless before his words. The pace of their actions picked up. Neither spoke - their minds had focused entirely on the tasks at hand - but they were aware that this was now a competition, and while their conscious memories of their last encounter with their Master had been erased, they knew that they had been given competitions then as well. Kuge liked to make his slaves compete for the reward of being used by him.

Devin contrived to be facing away from her Master as often as she could while doing the thorough job he had commanded. She also spent as much time as possible bending at the waist, not the knees, with her feet widely spaced to brace herself.

Well, to brace herself and to ensure that when she had bent far enough forwards that her skirt hem lifted, the lack of panties would be on clear view to her Master.

When victory was based on one man’s judgement, she felt it was better to show off for his judgement. She was actually surprised at how important she felt it.

When their work was done, they returned without speaking to the same space in front of his throne, and they stood upright, hands at their sides, waiting motionless. Kuge had removed the mask, which now rested on a platform beside his head, facing them. Their eyes drifted from him to the eyes of the mask, even though the hypnotic effect of the mask was not active and the eyes were not lit.

“Is this room clean?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” they answered in chorus.

“What is the consequence of a clean room?”

“A clean room makes a happy Master,” they droned again.

“What else?”

“Maids get fucked more in clean rooms, Master.”

“What are you?”

“We are maids, Master.”

“And so you are looking forward to getting fucked.”

“Yes, Master.”

He smiled, a thin line of satisfaction. Devin shivered happily.

“Devin Drake,” he said, “approach me. Abigail Hartswood, kneel where you stand.”

“Yes, Master,” they answered obediently, and then did so. Devin felt a lightheartedness as she did, a certainty that she had won the contest with her partner. She might have gloated jokily, had any free will been present in her thoughts.

She might not have done. Master clearly had a mood in mind for his slaves to follow this time, and given he had arranged for a limo to and from his latest theft, gloating over defeating another slave would not suit the aesthetic he was currently enjoying.

“Turn to face her,” Kuge instructed her.

“Yes, Master.” She turned on the spot, standing again with her feet planted wide. It seemed likely to her that the next command she was given would have her bend forward at the waist.

“Abigail,” Kuge said, “you will not take your eyes from your friend’s face. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will watch and you will recite your programming.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And reciting your programming will embed it more deeply.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will be so happy that your friend is my slave.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will finger yourself throughout, but you will not cum until your friend does.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Devin,” Kuge said, “you will watch your friend’s face for as long as you can keep focus. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“As I fuck you, you will listen to your programming.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And hearing your programming will embed it more deeply.”

“Yes, Master.” Some of this must be new ideas, Devin knew in the abstract, but she couldn’t make herself believe that most of it was not just how her mind was designed to operate.

When had he got such a strong grip on her mind? Just how deeply did her Master own her?

“You will be so happy that your friend is my slave,” Kuge continued.

“Yes, Master.”

“Now bend at the waist, as you did to tease me.”

“Yes, Master,” she agreed. How had he known her intent? Was it her idea originally? How much of the way she thought and decided belonged to him? She bent forward all the same, and felt his hands slip under her skirt to grip her by her bare hips.

“Abigail,” Kuge said, “You will begin when you first see me thrust into your friend.”

“Yes, Master.”

And then Kuge was inside Devin, hard and fast and urgent.

Abi opened her mouth. “We are hypnotised. We are obedient. You are our Master, and we are your slaves. We want to be hypnotised. We love being hypnotised. Being hypnotised makes us better, Master.”

The words settled into Devin’s mind like a warm, welcoming inevitability, and they seemed to be punctuated by each thrust, giving them extra weight.

She was so wet, so needy. So excited.

*

“You will not remember where you were.”

“We will not remember where we were, Master.”

“You will not remember what we have done.”

“We will not remember what we have done, Master.”

They stood on the threshold of his headquarters, the door open, facing away from him. The sun was high. Their bodies ached pleasantly, though their minds considered that irrelevant at the time.

“You will seek me out again.”

“We will seek you out again, Master.”

“You can’t help being hypnotised.”

“We cannot help being hypnotised, Master.”

“You love being hypnotised.”

“We love being hypnotised, Master.”

“You want to obey.”

“We want to obey, Master.”

Their costumes and masks had been replaced.

“You will not remember my face.”

“We will not remember your face, Master.”

“You will go directly to your home and sleep, and only when you wake up will you be yourselves again.”

“We will go directly to our home and sleep, Master. Only when we wake up will we be ourselves again.” Their voices remained a flat, blank monotone.

“Very good. Go now.”

“Yes, Master.” Both women launched obediently into the air, flying home.