Extract from Jane’s Guide to Costumed Criminals, 2011 Revision
DOCTOR BIMBEAU, ALIAS DOCTOR ALPHONSE BIMBEAU
Height: 6’ 0”
Confirmed Abilities: Technological genius
Unconfirmed Abilities: Possible hypnotic metafaculty?
Group Affiliation: Lackey to Overshadow (briefly, 2007), the Rebelles (against their wills, 2010)
Year of First Activity: Uncertain - first suspected activity 2005, first confirmed activity 2006
Locations: Initially Europe, latterly the Western Hemisphere
Status: Imprisoned awaiting trial
Doctor Alphonse L. Bimbeau earned his doctorate from Durham University in 1999 and joined the faculty of the University of St Mirren not long afterwards. His field of study was artificial intelligence; his doctoral thesis, entitled “The Hypercognition Problem: On the Inadvisability of Neural Nets”, was received with high praise from multiple others working in the field.
From here his career is largely unremarkable until, in 2005, the Chancellor of St Mirren suffered a nervous breakdown and the lab building in which Bimbeau and other researchers worked burned down overnight. No bodies were recovered at the scene, but Bimbeau and another researcher, Doctor Candace Kraft, both disappeared. To date, nobody has been able to reconstruct the melted device found in their office.
Bimbeau’s name next surfaces in 2006, when a woman offering to sell the services of superhuman slaves to the highest bidder referred to him as the source of the brainwashing. The subject of the brainwashing, Meridian, was not sold at the time but has confirmed since that she was brainwashed by the Doctor, reporting “if I have the chance to arrest him, I won’t take it, but he gave me back my code of ethics when the sale fell through. I’ve always been slightly ashamed I didn’t get sold as the Doctor hoped.”
This may go some way to explaining why Bimbeau was later abducted by Overshadow, who had frequently battled with Meridian in the past, and who wanted Bimbeau to create for her an army of mindless drones. This plan was eventually foiled by the Symphony, in only their second major headline after their return. Overshadow was imprisoned (though of course she broke out by 2008) and Bimbeau appears to have escaped.
For a while, Bimbeau’s name only appears in background interviews conducted by investigators looking to understand how certain events occurred. However, by 2010, Bimbeau briefly looks to seize a US Department of Defense research lab in Philadelphia, using the superheroine team known as the Rebelles, who appear to have been under mind control.
He is currently awaiting trial in Federal court for his actions. The Rebelles, meanwhile, are inactive and their status is unknown.
It was such a relief when her husband was away, Evelyn Raines reflected. Plenty of time to enjoy her own interests, plenty of time to pursue her own goals.
The Senator certainly recognised she had political goals of her own; both of them were from families with longstanding political lineages, and their marriage had, as such, always been one of convenience. He would probably not have objected to the meetings she had that pushed forward her agenda, because her agenda and his were self-supporting by definition.
He would definitely, though, have objected to Armando, her yoga instructor, if he’d done more than suspect what service Armando actually offered. She’d risen early that morning, showered, and breakfasted, and now she was enjoying a strong coffee in preparation for his arrival, waiting in the kitchen with her eyes toward the hallway.
She kept herself a decent distance from the door when he was on his way. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager when he answered the door; he might start harbouring thoughts about his value to her that would change the price of what was currently a perfectly agreeable arrangement.
When the doorbell rang, she set down her coffee, glanced across to the mirrored kitchen cabinet to assess herself, adjusted the decolletage of her bathrobe down a little, and went through to answer it at a measured pace, the better not only to keep Armando guessing but also to keep her carefully arranged hair intact.
She opened the door and found herself, almost immediately, walking backward as a six foot plus Latina, one hand on Evelyn’s sternum, walked firmly into the house. Behind her, a group of other women started to let themselves in.
Evelyn was so shocked she forgot to scream until she was most of the way back into the hallway. She blinked rapidly, trying to get a sense of what was happening around her, and for the first time noticed the Latina was wrapped in a tight yellow bodysuit. A redhead in an identical, if red, suit and another Latina in green flanked her, then grabbed her by the arms. The woman in yellow brought her other hand out from behind her back with a bright pink cylinder on pink leather straps, which she inserted into Evelyn’s mouth like a gag, then fastened.
So much for her security system and for anything she could do about this. The last sliver of hope for rescue died when she saw an unconscious Armando… float in?
He was wreathed in a strange purple glow and preceded a woman in a bodysuit of the same purple. He wasn’t going to be rescuing anyone.
Last in were two other women, one a redhead in a well-cut suit, one Asian in a parodic, fetishised maid outfit, who were wheeling in a large, bulky metal crate between them. The woman in the suit turned and locked the front door behind her.
The last two, as with the woman in yellow and the one in green, seemed impossibly curvy. If she wasn’t straight Evelyn might have wondered if she were still asleep and fantasising.
She’d attempted to break free, but Yellow had just caught her around the waist and picked her up. Evelyn found herself in a good position to elbow her, but nothing happened whatsoever, and the woman kept holding her easily, one-armed. That definitely wasn’t right.
The five in the bodysuits followed Suit into the room she’d chosen for that big metal crate. The maid had extracted a cable from it and was bending at the waist to plug that cable into the power outlet, her skirt bobbing up enough that Evelyn could see everything out on display.
Suit, meanwhile, was unfolding the panels of the crate, which hinged at the top and locked into place in a crucifix-style layout. She took out four metal loops and slipped them through the panel handgrips, and as they snapped into place Evelyn suddenly saw, clearly, that she was about to be strapped down, arms spread, feet together.
Suit looked up, her expression clinical and dispassionate. “Strip her,” she commanded, and all five of the women in the bodysuits chorused “Yes, Doctor.” The woman in yellow did something to roll her and as Evelyn pivoted through the air, the others drew her robe from her body, leaving her nude by the end of her rotation.
Maid returned to the crate as this redheaded Doctor looked at Yellow. “Put her here,” she said, and she slapped the metal for emphasis.
“Yes, Doctor.” Yellow obeyed without hesitation, and the maid promptly fed Evelyn’s ankles through the loops at the base of the crate, then did something that tightened the loops. All Evelyn’s kicking had been in vain. She fought the first of her wrists being strapped down, but her fight and fury was gone by the time her second wrist was strapped. It really wasn’t worth her effort; she was overpowered, embarrassed, and kept going only by a cold determination that when this was done, she’d make sure every single one of these women got what was coming to them. And if she had her way, she’d get to watch.
Once she was restrained, the maid moved up to stand beside the Doctor. She unclipped something from the side of the crate below Evelyn, and brought it out to rest just above Evelyn’s shoulder. The Doctor did something to it and she heard the ‘bloop’ of a device powering up. Up and down her body from the base of her neck town to her calves, she felt several strange pricks as metal spikes rose from the surface to form firm contacts just below her skin, and the maid fitted something tight across her forehead. Another switch was audibly clicked and something strange happened across the band.
The hum of the machine changed tone, and something lit in her head, numbness crackling across her brain.
Everything that was currently Evelyn was focused on the numbness, but beyond that, she found a strange… doubt. A doubt in her identity, in her very personhood. She was a core, and everything around that core was mutable. Changable.
The maid removed her gag.
“Can you hear me?” the redhead asked.
“Yes, Doctor.” The honorific came out automatically. Evelyn didn’t even realise there were other, ruder ways to address her until she’d finished speaking. She’d barely noticed that she was.
“Who are you?”
“Mrs Evelyn Adams Raines.” Again, answering before she could have the impulse to lie, before she noticed herself speaking.
This was unconscionable. Worse, it was - it felt - unfair.
“You are. You are also a slave.”
“I am a slave,” Evelyn said, but there was doubt in her voice. That made no sense.
“You serve your husband as his slave. His wishes are more important than your own intent or comfort.”
“I… serve my husband,” Evelyn by now trying to choke down her acknowledgements, but they kept spilling out, as the identity she was so unsure of was redefined. “As his slave.”
“Go on,” Candace said wryly. Evelyn tried to look at her out of the corner of her eye, but she wasn’t lined up right and couldn’t move her head. Instead, she saw the five women in the colour-coded bodysuits. Their expressions were a study of contrasts; one excited, one placid, one curious, one worried, one fearful. In a flash of intuition, she realised they had to be next for…
“His wishes are more important than my own intent or comfort.”
…for whatever was happening to her. Everything she said seemed to be true. Had it always seemed true? She didn’t think so.
“You’re brainwashing me,” she blurted. And then she felt her head shift again. That indisputable core of her identity suddenly seemed malleable too.
Everything she said seemed to be true, she thought again, and she could have kicked herself. She’d just done some of the Doctor’s work for her.
Wait. She’d meant to think something much worse than Doctor. But she couldn’t.
“Yes,” the Doctor said. “And you are accepting it totally.” There was a laugh, and the excited woman - Green - grinned and seemed to squeeze her thighs together.
“I am accepting it… t… t… totally,” Evelyn agreed, and then moaned in soft, excited anguish at the result. The effort in fighting just long enough to product a stutter left her feeling exhausted.
“Mistress,” the maid interjected, “perhaps we should up the incentive?”
“Ah. Yes.” An embarrassed chuckle. “You’re right, Lulu. Evelyn?”
“You’re happy to be your husband’s slave.”
“I’m… happy to be… my husband’s slave.” She said it in wonder, discovering it to be true, but she said it, and marvelled at having happy thoughts about her husband. It had been years; since they had accepted they wouldn’t be able to have children.
“But you do have one secret from him,” the Doctor told her.
“I have one secret from him,” Evelyn acknowledged, and as she felt the idea settle into her head, she was intrigued. What would be so important she’d hide it from her husband?
“You serve your husband as his slave, but the man whose slave you truly are is Doctor Bimbeau.”
“The man whose slave I truly am is Doctor Bimbeau,” Evelyn agreed, wondering who this man even was.
“Your husband must not suspect until Doctor Bimbeau gives permission. But when he introduces himself to you, his wishes will override your husband’s.”
“My… husband… must not suspect… until Doctor Bimbeau gives permission,” she said, her slavish loyalty to her husband giving her the strength to fight for a moment, until her new loyalty fully took hold. “When he introduces himself to me, his wishes will override my husband’s.”
The machine’s hum changed again, and the strange looseness to her self faded, her identity setting once again into a new frame of mind. The pinpricks up and down her body from the probes started to tingle with energy, somehow feeling delicious rather than painful.
“Take over, Lulu,” the Doctor directed. “A little bigger, a little taller, a little perkier. Nothing that would excite comment if someone who knew her well saw her. We can’t afford suspicion.”
“Yes, Doctor,” the maid answered. Evelyn was happy to know at least one more name from this crew. Her view of the five women in the multicoloured bodysuits was suddenly partially interrupted as the redhead in the suit crossed her field of vision, running a hand idly over the massive chest of the Latina in yellow as she moved by them. She watched the worried frown the Latina had worn throughout her brainwashing turn into something soft and smiling, just from the Doctor’s touch. The woman sagged slightly, knees not-quite-buckling. Her unusual height and her ramrod-straight posture had given her an air of authority but in one touch, that was gone.
Then there was the sound of a clatter of keys and the tingling from the probes became a steady, pulsating throb. Her eyes crossed and her vision fogged for a few moments, and her skin felt suddenly wonderfully tight and twice as sensitive as usual. She felt her hips jerk slightly as, without her moving, they rose a little higher above the table, her buttocks filling out, and the weight of her breasts on her chest, so normal as to be barely recognised, was suddenly novel and heavier, the weight of them also sitting higher on her chest as they perked up. She flexed her legs as her ankles slid perhaps a half inch further below the restraints.
By the time her vision returned, the woman in the suit - the Doctor - was back in her field of view, leading a naked Armando by the cock, his eyes faintly glassy with hints of purple smoke seeming to spill from them. She was in the process of hiking up her suit’s skirt, at which point Armando mechanically lifted her by the buttocks and mounted her on himself. His hips jerked to a rhythm so steady Evelyn, a hobby pianist, could practically hear the metronome driving him.
The woman had invaded her house, taken her home, taken her mind, and was now being taken by her lover. Evelyn was surprised to find that her new understanding of a position much lower in the hierarchy was accepting of this.
The throb ceased, except for an ache in her pussy she knew could only be satisfied by determined action. She felt the probes retract, and the maid - Lulu - undid her restraints. Evelyn lay there for a moment, but she knew that remaining as she was would not be helpful, so she gingerly withdrew feet and hands from the restraints and sat up.
Lulu gave her the warm smile of the devotedly obedient, and Evelyn felt her lips curve in an identical, answering smile.
“Bring me a seat,” Lulu instructed, “and fetch one for yourself and one for the Mistress, once she’s done.” Even though the other wore the costume of a fetish made, Evelyn still knew her place and hurried to obey.
By explicit agreement with Candace, Bolero would be the last to be transformed. Once Armando had finished pleasuring her, Candace explained this to Samba - to Daisy, as Candace had rechristened her. “But you’re their leader otherwise,” Candace said. “Gigi, Sammi, you and… well, Gamma, until I change that… you’re all options for who should be changed first. Bear in mind, you remain Doctor Bimbeau’s devoted slave… don’t you?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Daisy said with a hint of a smile. She was still riding a private high, reliving the feel of her subMistress’ hands on her chest earlier, the utter helplessness she’d felt at that somehow more exciting. Her own power, completely constrained, should surely not serve to arouse her, but it seemed that it did…
“So based on that knowledge, who should go under next?”
Daisy tilted her head, eyes narrowing. It was clear she was giving it thought. “Sammi,” she said eventually. “She can change the entire situation you’re in before you can blink.”
Candace smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You’ll please the Doctor if you keep this up. Sammi?”
“Lie down on the table, ready for restraint.”
There was a blur, and the speedster was on the table. Lulu patiently adjusted the restraints, then settled the Tiara into place. Candace drummed her fingers next to the console for a moment as it powered up, then reached out, brushing fingertips over the soft dark skin of her cheek as if she was searching for inspiration. Then she smiled.
“Who is your skill dedicated to, Sammi?”
“To my Master, Doctor Bimbeau.”
“Who is your power dedicated to, Sammi?”
“To my Master, Doctor Bimbeau.”
“Who is your body dedicated to, Sammi?”
“To my Master, Doctor Bimbeau.” Her breath was starting to come in short gasps now, her hips twitching on the table, as the same ideals that had been programmed into her when Mr Pearson was used on her as a fuckmachine were re-imprinted, more firmly, through the energy of the Tiara.
“Do you remember the price you paid to know the pleasure and satisfaction of submission and for revenge on the General?”
“Your superhuman life belongs to your Master.”
“You can’t even remember Delta. And Quickstep is only a mask you wear to better serve.”
She admired the look of the body, so helplessly restrained, that housed the mind being twisted into more pleasant, happier submission. Slim, but athletic. It wasn’t quite the look the Doctor favoured, but changing her entirely seemed unwise. And besides… perhaps her Master would enjoy some variety.
“Sammi, you don’t need to be changed,” she said. “You’re quick. I’m told you’re smart. And you’re keen to be used like that fuckmachine I put in you.”
“I’m quick. I’m smart. I’m keen to be, uh… to be used… like a fuckmachine…”
Candace’s eyes gleamed and she smirked. “So given all of that’s true, we don’t need to change you, do we?”
“We haven’t changed you, either. This is exactly how you always were. A loyal servant who belongs to Doctor Bimbeau.”
“This is exactly how I’ve always been,” Sammi agreed. Her glazed eyes seemed somehow to have a sudden dimension of delight.
Candace looked across to Daisy and nodded. Her message was clear; this was going to be the story she expected the others to stick to around Sammi. Daisy, in turn, nodded her respect and submissive acquiescence.
She looked next to Lulu. “Wider around the hips,” she said. “You know how much the Doctor enjoys your ass?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lulu said with a grin. Candace would firmly defend her position as the Doctor’s favourite bust, but she knew the Doctor enjoyed spanking and groping Lulu below the waist much more than herself.
“Bring it up to your standards,” she instructed. “Make it your equal. We’ll see if he prefers soft, welcoming thighs or muscle beyond human power.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lulu agreed with the same grin. This gave Candace a moment of thoughtful reflection; she knew she guarded what made her valuable to the Doctor closely, but Lulu didn’t seem to mind at all.
Did that make Lulu a better slave?
As she watched the white bodysuit strain almost to bursting around Sammi’s hips, she set that question aside. She didn’t need to grow as a person unless the Doctor wanted her to, after all.
Evelyn had been sent to put a lunch together for all nine of the people in the house. Sammi, meanwhile, had gratefully peeled her white bodysuit down below her thighs again, and was bent over, braced against Armando as he continued in his new role as a fuckmachine. Her eyes had rolled back into her head and the low moan coming from her sounded more like a turbine vibrating.
Candace was idly watching the TV news coverage, now that there’d been enough time for a clear story on General Walters to emerge, as she waited. She was more than done with the country now, and wanted to get back to kneel before her Master, present him with the results of her negotiations, and offer him superhumans to do with as he wished. She was quite confident he’d be pleased with her work.
At the same time, they’d driven across the country for two days, and it turned out that drive-thru food wasn’t at all enough to keep her at her best.
She looked up at the four remaining bodysuited heroines, caught Gigi’s eye, and crooked a finger. The other redhead scurried over, still locked to the desire to please she’d programmed in back in that Annandale hotel room. Candace pointed to the chair Evelyn had vacated, and Gigi sat.
“Your silent friend, there,” Candace said, nodding toward Gamma’s purple form. “I’ve not had the chance to understand her yet. What’s her weak point?”
“Her magic doesn’t affect anything steel, Doctor,” Gigi responded promptly, and Candace took a moment to breathe, calm herself, and remember that sometimes, those under hypnosis were annoyingly literal.
“Psychologically,” she said calmly. “You don’t need much work, except possibly physically.” She watched Gigi’s eyes open wide after the initial blink of surprise. Was that excitement or apprehension?
“Daisy will knuckle under once she’s worked on. Your other friend is going to be all too keen. She’ll twist herself. In fact - yes.” She raised her voice. “Bolero?”
“Yes?” the woman in green asked. She was technically under conditioning, but so much of the impetus had been her own secret fetish.
“Go tell Evelyn you need pen and paper,” she said. “Come back here, and write your own conditioning. My only requirement is it make you a true slave to the Doctor.”
The smile that spread across Bolero’s face was astonishing. She half-bowed obedience and scurried off with a stunning enthusiasm. Candace turned back to Gigi. “So tell me,” she continued. “What will your friend there want, to accept her programming more easily?”
Gigi’s furrowed brow showed she was giving this the same deep thought that Daisy had given her own question. “Compassion,” she said at last. “She gave Walters the most trouble early on. He thought it was her magic messing with the machine, but it was the way she was being used. Until he found a way to… to… bypass that, I guess.
“But her weak point is compassion, Doctor. She needs to be confident she’ll be doing good.” Gigi dropped her voice. “Which is probably not going to be easy, considering.”
Candace nodded thoughtfully. Thank you. You’re on the table next.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Gigi rose gracefully and swiftly, crossing to the Tiara table, and moved from standing beside it to seated atop it in something like a leap. Candace hid her smile politely, but it still did her good to see how eager Gigi was to please. The woman had been the only regular human in a team of superhumans; she was doubtless a little jealous of the attention and the capacities the others had, and used to compensating with drive and determination to go the extra mile.
Lulu stepped up to the table herself, and Candace watched the pair of them smile at each other; Gigi arched her back on the way to lying back and took her time presenting her limbs to be restrained, one by one, the two of them enjoying the sexual charge that the submission inherent in their work gave them.
The door opened just as Gigi’s second ankle was secured, and Evelyn walked in, pushing a silver trolley she’d scared up from somewhere, head bowed, hips rolling as she walked. An arrangement of small plates rested on display; nothing particularly exciting. Candace made a mental note to have Evelyn hire a cook if they ended up staying much longer. She took a plate of finger snacks across to the console, setting it down just above Gigi’s restrained arm, and checked through the readouts on the device.
“Can you hear me, Gigi?” she asked.
“Do you trust me, Gigi?”
“Because you programmed me to, Doctor.”
“And what does brainwashing do?”
“It doesn’t take away from me. It makes me better. Smarter. Happier. Hornier. It fills me with purpose and gives me a chance at real happiness.”
“I told you you wouldn’t need much changing,” Candace smiled. But she did, privately, note to herself that the readouts on Gigi’s mind hadn’t changed at all. The portable Tiara had done its work just as well, at least mentally, as this larger model. She’d have positive news to report back to the Doctor. “At least, mentally.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Gigi agreed. There was a pause. “What needs to be done physically?”
“I did have some thoughts about that,” she said. She picked up her plate of snacks and moved away. “Lulu?”
“Model her physique on mine, so the Doctor can enjoy us as twins… she the slightly less, ah… prominent twin.”
There was the tiniest pout on Gigi’s lips, but Lulu was happy enough to obey, and Candace was still as delighted as she had been when she first had the idea. Evelyn couldn’t be changed much without her old friends noticing, but everything was contextual.
These heroines had been locked away for years and were, in any case, heroines - their appearances often shifted, sometimes forever, sometimes short term, and for the most ridiculous reasons, often never spoken of again. That woman who’d become a bug creature for about four months, sometime in the 1990s, before springing back to her old look. The man who claimed to be a god who’d spent about a year two inches shorter and with a thick Brooklyn accent. That lucky-unlucky man who’d gone from incipient middle age to a teenager again, doomed to relieve the most infuriating, most hormonal years of his life with all the understanding of how much that affected you in mind.
When Gigi climbed off the table, she was all but superhuman in physique, her curves almost but not quite the equal of Candace’s. Dr Kraft realised perhaps too late that she’d inadvertently set herself the same challenge as Lulu; would the Doctor prefer these curves over soft womanhood or highly trained, athletic muscle?
She watched the changes begin and heard Gigi’s whimper as her body pushed against its confining suit, then the inevitable ripping as even the resilient latex of her uniform, stretched beyond tolerances, began to split along the seams and force the central zipper down.
Candace belatedly realised that stripping women before they entered the Tiara’s influence wasn’t just about ensuring they understood the power dynamic. She looked back to Sammi, whose modifications has been more conservative, and began thinking about how to source her a new costume.
Senator Raines would fund it, she decided, without ever knowing it. She was sure his wife would oblige.
“Excuse me, Doctor?” Evelyn asked timidly.
Candace had left the others in the room with the Tiara and gone up to inspect the master bedroom, certain they’d have to stay at least one night and wanting to make the most of it. She’d brought Evelyn up with her to find rooms more quickly and to answer any questions that came to mind, but honestly, she’d also been looking forward to an opportunity to sit and think.
“Yes?” she asked, eyes studying the house’s extensive grounds from the window.
“Is Doctor Bimbeau going to hurt my husband?”
Candace was silent for a long time. There was one thing she hated having to admit above all others, and she knew she’d have to here.
“I don’t know,” she said. “If it benefits him, yes.”
“Oh.” The way she said it made her sound suddenly very small, caught between two impulses, two people to serve, each much greater than her. Candace took pity on her. She turned and walked back to the bed, perching on the end. She patted the quilt next to her, and the naked beauty who had woken as a wife and was now a slave walked to sit on the indicated spot.
“When the Doctor first took me,” she said gently, “he was just starting out. Now, as your Master, you think he should have the best of everything, don’t you?”
“Yes, Doctor, of course.”
“When the Doctor first took me, he had pretty much nothing,” she said. “He could barely even cook for himself. He’d spent what little money he had on the prototype designs he needed to take hold of my mind, and would spend more on the components we needed to make it permanent.” It felt, as she retold it, like the classic hard-graft story of initial struggle for success.
“That’s what we did to you this morning. You’ll never have to wake up and hurry down so you can re-brainwash yourself before it wears off, so you can be back to full programming in time to make his coffee, start his breakfast, and wake him with a blowjob.”
Evelyn nodded thoughtfully.
“My husband, on the other hand, had a fortune,” Candace continued. “Now, is that fair to my Master?”
“No, Doctor. I suppose not.”
“I offered up my husband’s fortune to my Master,” Candace said softly. “If I thought I could get away with doing it again, I would.”
Evelyn nodded again.
“Now, I know you’ll never be half the slave that I am,” Candace continued breezily, “but you can do this for your Master, when he asks, can’t you?”
There was a short silence, and Candace watched the woman struggle with the ideas, then bite her lip and nod firmly. “Yes, Doctor. Of course I can.”
“And you will.”
“Yes, Doctor. Of course I will.”
Gigi and Sammi stripped Gamma. She was still being operated by Walters’ old posthypnotics, and they were all a little cautious of each command they gave her. The more significant the command, the better the impetus to resist - and after years under the helmet, there was no telling how long that control would actually last. Candace felt it was a lot like recharging a phone battery; it never lasted as long the second time.
Leaving her blank and unaware and stripping her themselves rather than having her do it was much less risky. The two fully conditioned heroines also lifted her and placed her on the table, then restrained her. Lulu checked their handiwork and nodded, favouring each of them with a flashing smile of approval. “You’re learning, ladies.”
Of course, they’d had plenty of time to observe how the restraints worked. But it was good to see them wanting to add new talents that their Master would be pleased by.
Candace sat at the console, checked the baselines for the bewitched, bewitching heroine, and considered for a while. “Can you hear me?” she began.
“Sir, I hear you, sir.”
Her eyebrows rose. She sat back in her chair. “Now I heard from one of your friends you weren’t much for the military life. Is that true?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
Candace’s eyes flicked to Gigi, who was blushing. So, not a deliberate attempt to mislead. What, then?
“Am I speaking to Gamma or to…” She looked to Daisy, raising her eyebrows. “Jazz,” Daisy supplied.
“Sir, Gamma, sir,” was heard at the same time that the word /Jazz/ echoed into Candace’s mind. The sudden appearance of the word, in a voice that was - almost - exactly not un-identical.
The readouts had shifted, too. She thumped the console, but it kept showing her something she considered impossible - considered, that is, until she realised that the machine wasn’t designed to show two baselines.
She sat up again. “Alright,” she said, and tried an adjustment, upping the Tiara’s power. It was designed to have a suppressive effect on thought, and only one of the two overlaying points descended; the other remained as it was.
“Am I speaking only to Jazz now?”
The power was dialed down. “And can you hear me now, Gamma?”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
So. Twice the modification would be needed. She tilted her head for a moment, turning over other ways to approach things.
“How much do you two hate each other?”
“She’s a civilian, sir. Irrelevant.” /So very much/
Candace bit her lip. An idea had occurred. It wasn’t tested - it had been implemented when she and the Doctor were just doing their best to expand the capabilities of the software, trying to have something for every option in the hardware. On reflection, there hadn’t been any use for it that they’d seen.
But here… if she had this right…
The Tiara was evidently much less effective on the mystical voice. That might mean it was less effective on the mind behind that voice, too.
So if she upped the gain, and tried the total mental erasure command…
No. Keep the gain low, and do the same thing. That would be safer. She keyed back from the UI she and the Doctor had been refining to the original, underlying code - where the command she needed was still available - and set it to run. “This may hurt, Jazz,” she said softly. “I hope it doesn’t. Either way, I promise you’ll be glad I’ve done it.”
The body convulsed on the table, but the restraints kept it in place. Another spasm. /What are you doing?/
“If I’m right? I’m erasing Gamma,” Candace replied. “Your old self is trapped underneath it. But whatever your powers are doing keeps a divide between the two, the kind Gigi didn’t have. Right?”
/I think so?/
“So we can erase everything above that layer, and your motor functions, your instincts, and your old memories should be protected.”
/Why? Gamma is much more controllable/
“I think you’re going to be grateful,” Candace said. “Do you know what gratitude is? It’s instinct. It’s reflex. It operates below the conscious mind.”
“It’s also an access for your mind,” she continued. The heroine’s body was jerking much less now. Less resistance. Less of Gamma to resist. “It will make you malleable in turn.”
“It did for me.” Which was a lie, but she didn’t think Jazz was a mindreader. Otherwise she wouldn’t be asking the questions she had.
And when the Tiara’s power was dedicated to convincing someone of a lie, that lie became the way into the mind.
Amethyst smoke began to bubble out of her closed eyes, to exhale from her nostrils. /Why should I let you?/
This was the gamble. “Because you’re curious,” Candace said, aware that everyone else in the room was watching her apparently have a conversation with the air around her. “Aren’t you?”
“You know Bolero went over to me before she even silenced you as Gamma. You know Gigi and Sammi of old. You know their body language. Are they unhappy?”
“Are they still who they were? Do you recognise how they stand?”
/Yes…/ The mystic energy hung in the air, but it didn’t flare. No spell was unleashed. Jazz was listening.
“This isn’t what Walters did. This is something else. And you’re curious to see what, aren’t you?”
“You can’t imagine a life of submission which would be so pleasant, can you?”
“But it clearly is, for your friends. So you’re wondering. You’re trying to imagine how it would be to be obedient, to be helpless to disobey, even, to be a toy for another’s pleasure, and to take such pleasure in that yourself.”
/I understand the idea. I tried to arrange it for your friend. It’s not for me/
“But you aren’t sure,” Candace pointed out. She looked again at the screen; Gamma should be all but erased. She adjusted the pattern of Tiara impulses, giving her words more weight, more truth. “You’re not confident. And you’re grateful.”
/I’m not confident. And I’m grateful/
Candace decided to seize the opportunity before Jazz realised the programming effect had begun. “You can imagine a way you could be happy as the toy of another. As the toy of Doctor Bimbeau.”
/I can imagine a way I could be happy as the toy of another. As the toy of Doctor Bimbeau. What are you doing?/
“I’m letting you condition yourself.”
/I’m conditioning myself?/
“Again,” Candace said, putting all her authority into her tone. “More certain.”
/I’m conditioning myself./
“You’re making yourself into a toy. His toy.”
/I’m making myself into a toy. His toy./
“It feels so good. So right.”
/It feels so good. So right./
“You can’t imagine fighting this. You can’t see why you’d want to.”
/I can’t imagine fighting this. I can’t see why I’d want to./
“You’re his toy.”
/I’m his toy./
Jazz’s mystic power sank back into herself.
“Let’s try talking out loud now, alright?”
“Your power is at his disposal. Your mind is at his disposal. Your body is at his disposal.”
“My power is at his disposal. My mind is at his disposal. My body is at his disposal.”
“You’re not just grateful Gamma is gone. You’re grateful to know who you are.”
“I’m not just grateful Gamma is gone. I’m grateful to know who I am.”
Candace relaxed slightly. “What’s your real name?”
“Erica Davis, Doctor.”
“Ricky, your friend tells me you always want to help others. How do you feel right now?”
“More people should feel this good, shouldn’t they?”
“You can help others by sharing the pleasure of submission, can’t you?”
“So there’s no reason to resist, is there, Ricky?”
“No, Doctor. No reason at all.”
After peeling out of her yellow suit, Daisy floated to sit on the Tiara table, her powers allowing her to settle as lightly as a butterfly.
“I’m not sure your restraints will hold me, Doctor,” she admitted, a little uncertainly.
“Don’t worry,” Candace said. “I have a solution. Just assume the position.”
She let Ricky guide her into place, the black woman’s touch tender and gentle as she helped ready her leader to learn the pleasure of submission to the same extent she felt it. Daisy looked up at her friend. Seeing her nude made everything different, even before Candace had had Lulu grant her an extra two inches of leg and an extra inch of torso to accentuate her curves. Ricky blew her a kiss as she settled restraints against Daisy’s skin, but as she’d predicted, she didn’t feel held at all.
Candace held one arm out straight, her hand directly above Daisy’s head. She looked up curiously, wondering what this meant.
“Your body is locked,” Candace said simply. “Only your mouth can move.” Then she snapped her fingers, and Candace felt muscles in her shoulders, her arms, her hips, her legs, all tense up and seem to lock in place.
She felt a rigidity to her own body, a certainty that nothing could move. As the probes rose up from the table to rest against her, she felt a tingle, but didn’t so much as twitch.
Her lips set into an o of surprise and awe at how easily her body had been frozen. Meanwhile, Candace settled the Tiara into place around her head. Daisy had speculated throughout the day on how this would feel, but found it more pleasant than she’d imagined. It turned out her thoughts slowing and falling easily into pieces was much, much better than the worries about her team which had echoed through her brain since the helmet came off. A loyal slave to Doctor Bimbeau she might be, but she still worried that this wasn’t the right way to be.
She’d been hoping quietly she might be freed, but now that thoughts were drowned in a lovely, treacly fog, she didn’t need to hope or question, and the pressure in her head was gone.
“You’re a powerhouse,” Candace told her. “And a great mind. You’re also sexy as hell. You make great property.”
She hadn’t expected that. “I make… great property?”
“Try again,” Candace said gently.
“I make great property, Doctor,” Daisy said, and breathed easier as she realised it was true. All she was doing, she felt, was admitting the truth. She just needed Candace to show her what the truth actually was.
“You’re proud to be great property. You offer your owner great value.”
“I’m proud to be great property. I offer my owner great value.” Daisy smiled. Great value was the best compliment she’d ever received.
“You’re Doctor Bimbeau’s property. You couldn’t ask for a better owner.”
“I couldn’t ask for a better owner than Doctor Bimbeau,” Daisy agreed. She felt every utterance revealing new truths, but as they replaced her old truths those seemed to slip away so fast she lost track of them entirely.
“You want to serve him. You love to have his orders to obey.”
“I want to serve him. I love to have his orders to obey.”
“Doctor Bimbeau is always right. Doctor Bimbeau is smarter than you.”
“Doctor Bimbeau is always right. Doctor Bimbeau is smarter than me,” Daisy acknowledged. Strange that this should be a programmed truth; now she knew it to be true, she was sure that she would have seen it proven anyway. Was Doctor Bimbeau jealous of those who were almost as smart?
“Doctor Kraft is smarter than you,” Candace added.
“Doctor Kraft is smarter than me,” Daisy agreed, although part of her wondered if Candace was lying - right up until it became indisputable truth in her mind.
“Your turn, Lulu,” Candace instructed. “Vamp her up, but again, a little below my own size.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lulu agreed, moving to obey.
Candace, meanwhile, turned to the collection now already fully converted. “Any of you folks good cooks?” she asked. “I’m starting to think about dinner, and we may have to order in otherwise.”
Bolero passed Candace the notebook and unpeeled her green bodysuit with something very like dignity. She climbed onto the Tiara table, lay down, and slipped her feet through the ankle loops, then her hands through the wrist loops. She sighed happily.
Candace read through Bolero’s own planned conditioning and saw nothing wrong with it. She was nodding thoughtfully to herself as Ricky looked up from, assisted by Lulu, setting the Tiara into place.
“She’s ready for you, Doctor.”
Candace smiled and upped the gain, ready for her words to imprint on her. “Bolero, your script here, do you remember it?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed.
“My name is Danni. My mind, my body, my pussy, my powers, and my thoughts all belong to my Master. Doctor Bimbeau is my Master, and I am his blissful slave.”
While parts of it had clearly been cribbed and adjusted from what Candace had been imprinting, there was in the way she said things and in her eager enthusiasm the clearest indicator how much she wanted to seize her fetish as an opportunity.
“His slightest wish is my command. My pleasure comes from obeying and serving him. Thinking of him makes me wet. Serving him is all I desire. I have no other wants or goals.
“I exist only to serve my Master, Doctor Bimbeau. He may use me or my talents however he wants and I will be happy. I will be happy even if he allows me to wait for orders in his presence.
“I have bought this pleasure for myself with the minds of my team.” Candace did glance up, at that, to gauge their opinions; she wasn’t worry about them fighting off their programming, but did wonder if it might hurt team unity. However, all four seemed to be smiling proudly, and Ricky was even nodding approval. “I will work for the rest of my existence to earn this pleasure and to make my Master proud.”
The silence that settled around the room as Danni completed her own conditioning was respectful, almost reverent.
“For that, Lulu, she deserves a big remake. Match her body shape to Daisy’s; she can be her petite double.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lulu answered, moving forward with a smile. “Daisy, I need you to strike a display pose.”
Daisy walked out to an empty spot a yard or so past the table from the console at which Lulu stood. She planted her feet shoulder-width apart, then twisted around the waist, arching her back, her body as on display as she could make it.
Lulu looked from Daisy to Danny, sucking thoughtfully on her lower lip, and began to work the controls. Ricky loitered nearby, trying to peer over her shoulder.
It was another week before arrangements could be made for them to depart Montana for their rendezvous, where they transferred from a passenger jet (in which their appearance had provoked a lot of attention, even though none of them had been recognised) to a helicopter operated by another of Bimbeau’s pawns, a pilot known only as Cyndi. (There was a surname, on her pilot’s licence. Cyndi herself couldn’t remember it; Candace, Lulu, and the Doctor had never bothered to learn it.)
The flight out over the sea from their rendezvous airport to the Doctor’s island was about three hours, the last hour or so of which they expected to be all but unmonitored - the island having been chosen for optimal privacy levels. The skyline was dominated by the giant volcano at the centre of the island, but Candace largely ignored it; it was dormant, but made geothermal power much simpler.
Cyndi brought the craft in over the lush beach, past the ring of untamed jungle, and into an interior circle which was much more carefully managed. A portion of it was landscaped; from there, an outdoor swimming pool beamed up at the sky, with a woman currently lying on one of the dozen loungers beside it, sunning herself nude. And beyond that, set into the edge of the volcano, was Bimbeau’s complex.
It had taken all of Angus’ available fortune and more besides by the end, but the Doctor had learned the virtues of marketing his products. He and Candace had been on site for most of the construction, supervising it, but had posed as employees of a Saudi billionaire making his home away from home (and, they had implied, home away from extradition treaties).
The technology they needed had been shipped in afterwards, with the more complex items either tooled on site or sourced in orders that indicated a very different final construction.
It had been live only for a couple of months when Candace and Lulu took Missy and left to visit Senator Raines.
The helipad was beside the house itself. Cyndi set the helicopter down, turned in her chair, and flipped a salute, a tweak to her programming the Doctor had found absolutely delightful.
Candace nodded in approval and Lulu returned the salute cheerfully. They dismounted from the craft while their five superhuman additions waited, and made their way in to report.
They found the Doctor in his lab, where his head was buried in schematics on a display. Candace and Lulu went to him and went to their knees together, the sound of their footsteps enough to draw his attention.
He turned to face them and a warm smile spread over his face. “Welcome back, both of you,” he said.
“Thank you, Doctor,” they chorused. Candace took up the tack afterward. “We have brought you gifts, Master. They await your pleasure on the helipad.”
“Is that right?” he asked, and grinned. “Good. I’ll inspect them shortly.” He stood, and waved a hand in front of Candace’s face. “Remember,” he said. “And run along.”
Candace gasped as the block he’d placed in her head dissolved. She remembered a baby - her baby - that she had handed over to another of Bimbeau’s conquests to nurse. She remembered being told to forget him before she was sent away.
She remembered the love and devotion he had programmed into her, for the child she already loved.
The part of her which wanted to bask in his praise for her success was drowned out by the part that owed her duty to Alexander Bimbeau, and she hurried off to collect him again.