Corporate Takeover: Femme and Balanced - Chapter Four

As always, a first draft, so beware of misspellings and nonsense!

The grand bastard of all headaches was sitting inside Seiver’s skull when he woke up. He tried to cradle his head, but his hands were restrained again. 

“Come on,” he complained, but what came out was a croak, barely more than a whisper and nothing approaching recognizable language.

The door opened suddenly and his lifted to see who entered. A new chamber of pain, previously unsuspected, opened up when he moved his head. He quickly returned it to the pillow and prayed to every god he could name to take that pain away. He breathed in through clogged nostrils and out through a mouth that wouldn’t open all the way. Into the room came a woman he’d never seen before. She was blonde and very attractive. Tall, too. He liked tall women. Especially in heels. He couldn’t see what this one was wearing on her feet, but he could imagine patent red heels, shining under the fluorescent lights. 

“Don’t try to speak. Not for a few days,” she said. She had very full lips. “The good news is the procedures were a success. The bad news is it’s going to be a painful couple of days. We’ll manage that as best we can. Tap your finger if you understand.”

He did. 

“Good.” The nurse placed another bag on the IV hanger to replace the one now drained. He couldn't read what was on the label, but it looked hand-drawn. 

The pain in his eased some, and he felt that floaty feeling again. This was more than pain management. This was mor eof that psychedelic shit they tried on him. He opened his mouth to complain, but all that came was that dreadful gravelly sound. 

“Relax, Monique,” the nurse said, “it’ll be better soon.”

The dolls were there, too, faceless assistants to this buxom blonde. They weren’t lifting him like they had before. They were wheeling him back into the harsh bright lights of the purgatory between rooms bed and all. Another bump and he was back in the cool dark of the room with all the pictures. And, like before, the woman doctor was there. Benson her name was. She told him that, or maybe it had been the voices layered beneath the sound sin this room. They hadn’t started yet, but that rolling bass was something Seiver could still feel shudder through him in a not-unpleasant way. 

“Welcome back, Monique,” Benson smiled down at him. She had her hands stuffed in the pockets of a sweater she wore open against a pale blue button up blouse. She looked comfortable, something Seiver was unsure he would ever feel again. He shut his eyes and let time move forward again. “I understand the surgeries went well. Feel free to relax and sleep through this if you want. I only want you to be relaxed and happy.”

A painful chuckle came unbidden at Benson’s words. Seiver thought she had a pretty insane idea of relaxed and happy. Taken against his will, given all sorts of drugs, goddamned surgery performed on him. He would bide his time. Evenw hen the pictures were replaced today by videos, home movies taken on handheld recorders and smart phones, moving documents of this girl named Monique. He was given witness to her most intimate moments with family and friends, even a few confessional videos where Monique spoke directly into the lens, and confessed her fears and hopes and dreams.

So consumed by these voyeuristic visions, he hadn’t noticed that sounds were playing, too. Benson appeared to have gone, leaving him here alone with this girl. In the latest videos she must have been late twenties, and she railed in one against a man who stood her up. She was crying, but tough, too. That was something he and Monique had in common, Seiver decided. They were both resilient.  

Now that Benson was gone, Seiver could relax. His captor was gone,a nd he quite liked this girl Monique. True, his captors seemed determined to make him believe that this fresh-faced girl was him, which was absurd, but that didn’t make his time with this persona unpleasant. It was actually enjoyable to piece together the narrative of her life with only the videos and pictures to guide him. 

For example, there were competing pictures of Monique in middle school. One was of Monique, hair tied back in a ponytail and grinning at the camera as it captured her and the diorama she’d been assigned to create. It was from a novel, in Seiver’s imaginings, a New York apartment like something from an O’Neill play, where the cast could have character-revealing arguments with one another. Only something happened on the way to class. The diorama was destroyed. And maybe Monique decided to withdraw from the assignment rather than present her ruined creation. Later, at home, her mother taught her the valuable lesson that the attempt is always better than surrender. Trying is never wrong. And here is the picture later, with Monique’s cheeks wet with tears, but now she’s smiling, her cheek pressed to her mother’s, whose eyes are alight with love for the girl beside her. 

A dozen more like it, stories that wove the life of a Monique into a recognizable tapestry. When the sounds slowed to a stop and the videos stopped playing, Seiver did feel better. Maybe not happy, exactly, but serene. 

When the latex dolls wheeled him back to the hospital room, he was grooving with the drugs, and still combing through the movie of Monique’s life. It was fun for him, especially in this doped state, where his mind loved going down these little corridors of possibility, exploring dreams inside of dreams. Brakes were engaged and the dolls left him alone again. He looked into the mirror of the half-opened bathroom door and saw a sunset of bruises around his eyes and nose. He winced at the sight of his broken face, and the bandages that covered the tip of his nose and wrapped around his cheeks and scalp. He wondered what they had done to him while his focus softened and his addled brain took comfort in nothingness.

“How’s it going?” Diane asked. 

Annie was in the room with Seiver, taking vitals and ensuring that the wounds were healing as expected. The drones did an admirable job of basic care, but Annie never fully trusted their uploaded reports. Written and submitted digitally, of course. She had never known a drone to speak.

“Good. Another day or so we can unwrap some bandages. That should start her on her way.”

“And you’re not freaking out around him?”

Annie looked down at the bandaged figure. Already she could see a slighter form beneath the sheets. “No. It’s not really him anymore, is it? Maybe mostly, but not completely. And less all the time. He took a blast of mental conditioning today. That’s got him knocked out as much as the drugs. He’s assimilating everything Benson hit him with. It’ll be a confusing time for him.”

“We’ll help her.”

Annie saw Diane take Seiver’s hand and look down on the transforming subject. The young girl’s chest swelled at the sight of this woman showing such compassion. In that instant, Annie knew what she would do next, and she knew she would not or could not stop herself.

“Doctor Benson’s working on tomorrow’s conditioning?”

“Yes,” Diane sighed. She didn’t look up from Seiver. She pet his hand as she held it. “You know how she is during these times. She probably won’t leave her office at all tonight.”

Annie did know. She only needed to confirm it. She waited until Diane released Seiver’s hand to leave and left with her. 

“I know it’s just dye, but I like you as a redhead.”

“I like it, too,” Annie confessed. 

They moved through the main floor of the facility toward the double doors on the left. In another time, these doors would have led to break rooms and managers’ offices, but now most of the rooms sat empty. Some had been altered as storage for the drones when they rested, some simply to store materials and supplies for their procedures. It was a utilitarian arrangement to be sure. Before they entered the hall, they passed under Benson’s office, and the ever-present sensation of being observed. 

When the double doors closed behind them, Annie turned fast, taking Diane’s face in her hands and pressing her against the wall. Her mouth pressed insistently against Diane’s. For a moment, she worried that this had been a horrible miscalculation, that she would be shoved away and things would never be the same between them. All of that worry and guilt flitted through her mind in the instant before Diane’s lips returned the kiss, and her hands held Annie tight. The kiss was long and hungry, and neither noticed the figure round a corner and approach.

When they registered the unmistakable sound of a body in motion, they parted quickly, turning to the approaching figure. A drone. Clad in black latex and on a mission of its own. It moved toward them and then past them without halting. Diane stood apart from Annie, allowing the thing o move between them until it passed through the doors to the main floor. 

“Jesus,” Annie gasped when it was gone.

“We have to stop. Right now.”

“Come to my room. You said it yourself, Raquel will be working all night. We can be discreet.”

“She’ll find out.”

“I don’t care. I think… I think I’m in love with you.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Diane hissed. “I don’t care how true it is.”

“Then give me tonight. Come to my room for one night.”

“This is it,” Diane swore. “One night. No more.”

“Please,” Annie whispered, reaching for Diane’s hand. “Please.”

Diane’s fingers wound into Annie’s. “One night.”

The trip back to her room had Annie’s heart pounding. She was sure they would be seen any moment. The guilt on their faces wouldn’t fool Benson for long. She would scream at them, maybe rush at them, order the drones to seize them. And then? And then it wouldn’t matter. 

And it didn’t matter now that Annie had Diane back in her room, the one kept for her when she wasn’t on assignment. This was her real home. This was where Benson had seen her brilliance and made her part of something grand. And how had Annie repaid her? 

Annie kissed Diane desperately, the weight of their affair unable to stop thm, or perhaps it fueled them. There was no reason left between the. Diane was lifting Annie’s shirt while the smaller girl lifted Diane’s skirt. They turned in a chaotic dance to Annie’s bed, falling together into it. Annie was beneath Diane, her legs around Diane’s hips. Lips ceased and their eyes met. For the moment, the guilt and worry was gone and it was only the love between them. It felt good and right. When they kissed again, it was more tender, and all the more powerful for it.

Annie’s pants were loose, and made their way easily down her legs. Long fingers aided her in removing the panties beneath. 

“I’ve never been with anyone else since I changed,” Diane whispered. Annie had her hand between Diane’s legs, and she felt the tumescence there. It made her hands tremble with need.

“I want you so much,” Annie said. 

“I want you, too.”

With only a bend of her wrist, Annie had Diane’s shecock in hand and freed of her own underwear. As far as Annie knew, Diane was the only one Raquel Benson didn’t entirely feminize. She’d kept the male appendage for her own desires as much as Diane’s. The appeal was obvious. The beautiful blonde settled against Annie, and the smaller girl helped guide Diane’s member on its path. She gasped when it first opened her, and again when Diane sank into her wet pussy. Annie’s nails curled against Diane’s back. The shemale’s hips moved with a slow rhythm, measuring Annie’s interior. The girl moaned low at the confident, slow strokes. 

“Oh yes,” she whispered, hand winding up Diane’s back, head bending up to kiss the woman’s chin. “Just right.”

Their movements were perfectly orchestrated, a syncopation of flesh that left them in a state of awe at how easily their lovemaking came to them. When Diane’s  strokes became more powerful thrusts, Annie bucked with her, riding the gorgeous shemale when she rolled onto her back. Annie planted a hand against the wall beside them, throwing herself onto the cock as it entered her, delirious with the pleasure of it until she could take no more and she threw back her head. She bit down hard on the meat of her hand to stifle the scream, sure she would stir Benson even at her most consumed with the cry of pleasure that stirred inside her. 

Diane came, too, only a moment after Annie’s fluttering stomach turned into white light in the middle of her. The rolled together, they kissed. Diane brushed Annie’s flaming hair back from her face and adored her with loving eyes.

“Thank you,” Annie whispered, nestling into the comfort of her lover’s embrace.

“Only tonight,” Diane whispered, but there was a reverence in the words. They had made the error of understanding. They both knew what they would be giving up now, and that knowledge would be a cancer between them. But tonight, in this moment, it was heaven.