Codes: ScFi Mf ped bd ******************************************************************************** * WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING * * WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING * * * * * * For the love of SPOONS no one under the age of twenty-one (21) or the age of * * consent for their geographical location (whichever is HIGHER) needs to be * * anywhere near this. This is a story meant for legally-adult readers. Don't * * let your kids read this. Don't let your dog read this. Don't let your * * religious leader within the same postal code as this. You know, really, YOU * * probably shouldn't even read this horrible, nasty, terrible story. * * * * Hopefully it goes without saying, but if you ever even vaguely ponder the * * SLIGHT idea that MAYBE you would CONSIDER doing anything even REMOTELY like * * anything depicted herein--GET HELP. NOW. Therapy is a wonderful thing. * * * * This story can (and probably does) contain one or more of the following (bet * * your last nickel on "more"): Incest, pedophilia, watersports, extreme female * * domination, bestiality, psychological torture, and who knows WHAT other * * sick, perverted, dirty, terrible, and disgusting things I can come up with. * * Really, you ought to stop reading. Right now. I'm serious. * * * * ...still here? You sure? This is bad-bad mojo. Last chance... * * * * * * WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING * * WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING * ******************************************************************************** Formatted to be eighty characters wide 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 | | | | | | | | v v v v v v v v 12345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890 ================================================================================ THE POISON CHRONICLES Chapter Two: Amassing the Flock by Forbidden Fantasy Storyteller I awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows. Yawning, I stretched and pushed back the covers, then looked over at the cage under the window. My precious Baby Maker was chained to it, and was still dozing. She was getting used to sleeping in her cage, sprawled in a nest of blankets. I smiled when I saw her bulging stomach. Ten years old, and she was going to bear me children. We had gotten her pregnant about two months previous, though she was the equivalent of four or so months pregnant. That was part of my gift to her. My symbiote--an alien creature who survives by bonding with other life forms--and I changed her, to make her fit her name. We left behind a bit of the symbiote, to help regulate her system, keep her healthy, and in this case, make her system so efficient, my child would develop in almost half the time. I of course would have wanted an even shorter period, but much more and the baby would be in danger of not developing properly. I couldn't decide whether I wanted a boy or a girl, so I flipped a coin. Literally. It landed tails-side-up, so--girl. We fucked little Baby Maker left, right, and sideways--mostly just because, really. The first time her womb was ready, the symbiote bit inside her selected only the best sperm from me and the healthiest egg from her that would produce what I wanted. Best way to get a girl pregnant. No worries, no questions--you know what you want. Easier than going to the grocery store. As I lay there, watching the snoozing girl's swollen breasts leak milk, I realized that I have no idea how I survived before the symbiote. We were made for each other, complementing each other perfectly. And we were both prisoners at one time, under the painful eye of fools who shouldn't be in charge of a hamster, much less myself and an alien. We were both made for greater things. By his very biology, he could make me physically better than any other human on the planet. I now had an eidetic memory, I could rip small trees out of the ground, roots and all. The most interesting was the ability to climb walls--one of the things we can thank our egg-head captors for, making us learn that one. I looked down the length of the bed, to where Horse Slut and Dog Slut were chained to the wall. Like Baby Maker, they wore collars, short chains attaching them to a ring we'd attached to the wall. In addition to the collars, these two were allowed "tails". Symbiote-made tails, stretching their assholes. True to their names, Horse Slut had a horse's tail, and Dog Slut had a canine tail. They learned to swish their hips to make those "tails" move. It was quite endearing, especially now, when they were swishing for all they were worth in their anxious need. These two were completely devoted to me, and would happily kill themselves or each other to satisfy my whims. Which is how I remade them--or, perhaps put another way, how they became after I enlightened them. They were quietly whimpering, thighs squeezed together and looking at me pleadingly. "Do my sluts need to go outside?" I asked, grinning. "Yes, Master!" they exclaimed in unison. "Alright, alright." I slid off of the bed, chuckling to myself. After pausing for another stretch, I went to retrieve two leashes from the set hanging next to the door. I didn't bother conferring with the symbiote about clothing. No point in clothing at the moment, really. After attaching the leashes to their collars, I unhooked them from the wall. I had to laugh as they strained, though were well-trained enough to not try and force me along. Still, the leashes were taut for the entire journey through the near-maze of the Tudor mansion. I took my pets outside, and we had barely left the steps when they squatted on the balls of their feet and leaned over to plant their hands on the ground. They groaned as they pissed, and apparently they'd been holding it a while, judging from the look and sound. Imagine miniature fire hoses, and you'll be close. As they pissed, I looked up at the mansion. Three stories, wider and longer than any museum I've been in (and I'm cultured enough to have been in quite a few in my time). Once Horse Slut became my pet, everything she owned was passed to me, lock, stock, and deed. It took a lot of money to find a shyster who would do it without telling anyone; her family was under the impression she and her daughter--my dear Baby Maker--were on a cruise around the world. And that's how I wanted to keep it. The lawn was really a garden, bisected with a winding gravel path, and the front gate was far enough away where you'd have to drive for a good fifty, sixty seconds to even see. Nestled in the well-to-do area of Montecito, in Santa Barbara, California, it was a damn fine home. And it was ours--the symbiote had as much ownership as I did, even if it wasn't legal. It was barren, mostly; we let go the servants we didn't kill and "hired" a team of young women. Naked female flesh as far as the eye can see--naked save for a large black collar. Inside each of my lovely drones were bits of the symbiote; it could separate small parts of itself to act as non-sentient drones with simple instructions (though what's "simple" for the symbiote is not in the slightest for humans)--instructions such as re-writing a person's personality. For more major physiological changes, that would require the symbiote as a whole, though I didn't mind. He could create a mental bond between himself, myself, and a third person, able for us to control the subject while we root around and rearrange things to our liking. I was brought from my reverie when I noticed my pets had stopped pissing and shitting, and were meticulously cleaning each other with leaves. One girl would rest her head on her forearms, ass sticking up in the air, while the other cleaned her, then they would switch. When they were done, they crouched on the balls of their feet, swishing their hips to make the "tails" move and looking up at me expectantly, smiling. "Ah, you're done. Good pets," I said, affectionately petting their heads. "Now--you will tend to your name-given duties, cunts, and if you break your records you will earn a surprise--but BOTH of you have to succeed." I unhooked the leashes and they took off like they were on fire, racing around the mansion, giggling as they left a trail of grass in the air behind them. I chuckled and headed into the house. I eventually settled in my library, and my personal attendant--a buxom Swede who spoke very heavily-accented English (stereotypical, even cliché, I realize, but why not, really?)--brought me a pot of herbal tea (the real stuff--with the leaves) and a cup. I caressed her ass, enjoying the sight of her large breasts swinging as she bent over. I'm normally not one for large breasts; Bs are fine with me, as even Cs are if they "fit" the woman well. However, if you're going to go cliché, go whole hog, you know? I relaxed for about a half-hour, reading Dostoevsky. I really want to like "The Brothers Karamazov", but--he drones, on and on and on and on and on. I can rarely make myself read much in one sitting. The Swede kept me company, turning to let me absently fondle whatever part of her body drew the attention I was trying to give the book. She was a Swede born and bred for generations, with that slightly odd yet alluring ("odd" to Western tastes) body that I really didn't want to resist. I gave up reading and slouched in my chair, letting my Swede kneel beside me so I could stroke her hair. I sat and pondered for a while. I knew damn well that I'd be labeled a "cult leader" or the like, if anyone outside my as-yet small following of enlightened women really knew what I was up to. I wouldn't necessarily deny the charge, of course, since it would be accurate--but my followers aren't the only cult, not by far. Merriam-Webster defines "cult" as, first, "formal religious veneration; worship", second, "a system of religious beliefs and ritual; also, its body of adherents", third, "a religion regarded as unorthodox or spurious; also its body of adherents", fourth, "a system for the cure of disease based on dogma set forth by its promulgator (health cults)", and fifth, "great devotion to a person, idea, object, movement, or work (as a film or book); especially such devotion regarded as a literary or intellectual fad". You can see the obvious path of logical progression. Every religion currently on the planet qualifies as a cult, usually by more than one of those definitions at one time. Christianity wasn't always the "in" religion; its roots are rather heretical--unorthodox and spurious. Same with every other religion. And yet, new members of this or that religion are born all the time-- because they are indoctrinated literally from birth. Baptisms, circumcisions, naming ceremonies, religious teachings to kids as soon as they can read or even understand speech. And how many of THOSE cults have members who are unhappy without knowing why? How many of THOSE cults have members who profess one thing in the open, but behind closed doors commit acts that fly in the face of said declarations? There's a certain level of honesty in my cult. The girls honestly adhere to the best of their ability, one and all. Can that really be said of other cults? In the face of "Sunday Christians", "Islamic extremists", and whatever else, I think the answer to that is obvious. Which leads me to another thing--every other cult has people so convinced that the current leaders are full of it, they either depose the leaders, branch off and form some "fundamentalist" version, or try and make a bigger stink and cry out that they are the RIGHT way to go about things. Not so in mine. The symbiote and I are ultimately in charge; it's that simple. There isn't some lengthy list of dos and don'ts, no complicated system of what's alright and when. In short, we were brought together to provide something humanity sorely lacked--stability and discipline. And we could give it. My pondering ended when I dozed off. I awoke around an hour or so later, if the light levels were any indication. My Swede had dozed off as well, curled up against my leg. I chuckled and woke her up, then sent her about her duties while I retired to the bedroom. My dear Baby Maker was awake, and I smiled at her as I entered the room. "How's my baby doing?" I asked as I crossed to the window overlooking the rear of the property. "She's doing good, Master," said the child. "Movin' a lot, though." "I'll see what can be done for the discomfort, alright?" The child smiled and relaxed in her nest. It was important that she be secluded, so her system could be carefully maintained. A pregnant girl is a precarious balancing act, one that would even strain the symbiote bit inside of her. Every little thing can affect a baby's growth--air quality, food, even the mother's moods. So it was clear that she had to be caged for my baby's health. The child understood, after a while. Or at least as much as she could; I confess that I never cared enough to see if she understood the minutiae. I gazed out the window; the property was even larger than just the front would have suggested. There was a fully functional stable in the distance, and my symbiote-enhanced vision let me watch as my two sluts did their work. I smiled, watching Dog Slut help push an Arabian's cock into Horse Slut. I have a mild, inexplicable phobia regarding horses so I'll never ride them, but since they were there, I might as well have made use of them. I'm told that Arabians are the smartest breed, which didn't help my fear of them any. A few hundred yards from the stable was a dog kennel. Normally I don't like the concept of keeping dogs caged outside, but I spent the money to make sure that their kennel was as nice as my house. A human could live there comfortably, really. Enclosed with central heating and air, fresh water piped in, fresh blankets, dog doors light enough to be easily moved by the canines but heavy enough so only heavy wind will make them clack noisily. The only area left open to the elements was my mounting stage. Fenced off and only accessible by one of two gates, it was where my Dog Slut could love the dogs as much as she loved me. As I watched the two in the stables, I wondered if Dog Slut had already broken her record, or if she'd go next. They were enlightened, sure, but I kept their reasoning capabilities intact. What's the use of a woman if she's a drooling idiot, you know? Looking out at the back of the property, there was a lot of room I had an idea for what I wanted to do, some animals I wanted, but there was an interesting problem with animals, one that, at first glance, might not make sense. As a life form, my symbiote lived by bonding with hosts. This means that, amongst other things, it can "fit" with the entirety of the host (in this case, a human host), down to the molecular level. This requires a level of knowledge that, as yet, Earthlings are nowhere NEAR. As a species, and as much as actual biologists try to discourage it, we're still under the assumption that there's one gene for everything. The "eyeball" gene, the "red hair" gene, and whatever else. That isn't how it works, but evolution and biology are for another time. The symbiote, by virtue of its own biology, had the capability to affect its host, again even on the molecular level. That's why it was able to augment my own body so much, why we can enlighten people, and so on. However, ability is one thing. That ability is nothing without knowledge. The symbiote studied humans, carefully, to get that level of knowledge. He hadn't had the opportunity (or, until then, the desire) to study animals. Much of the rest of the animal kingdom is comparably simpler than humanity. However, without the knowledge, the symbiote couldn't just go in, alter this and that, and come out with a functioning creature. He would need to bond with it and stay bonded for quite a while. It's almost surprising, isn't it? A species as complex as humanity can be my symbiote's play-thing, but other animals--not so much. Almost surprising, but definitely humorous in a way. The symbiote suddenly had an idea, and once he shared it with me I could have slapped my forehead for not thinking of it sooner. However, I smiled instead, and hurried out of the room, though I did give my darling Baby Maker a wiggle of my fingers. I'd have stayed a moment to properly give her some attention, but I wanted to get on this idea. I headed to the study, as it had a computer with access to the Internet. I don't believe in keeping distractions like that in the bedroom; I don't even have a television in there. A few books, but mostly music C.D.s and an expensive sound system. There were eight people in the world--just eight--with the skill and training for what we wanted. Most were around the world or otherwise beyond easy reach, but one would be in Los Angeles in just a few short months. I sat back in my chair and planned with the symbiote. We knew what we wanted to do; the question was just of how to execute it. A thought occurred to me, so I rummaged around the desk, finally pulling some manila folders out of a drawer. Horse Slut's family had interests in quite a few businesses around the world, most of which ran autonomously. Basically, they did their jobs and the family got cut a substantial check. That's all fine, well, and good, but we had big plans. We wanted to ultimately form a secluded community, far away from everyone. That required more money than could easily be gotten ahold of. I would have to liquidate nearly everything just to raise the funds, and I wasn't about to do that. So, that required a more hands-on approach. I steepled my fingers as I stared at the computer screen, focusing internally. The symbiote and I exchanged ideas, plots, until we were brought back to external awareness by my Swede. I steepled my fingers as I stared at the computer screen, focusing internally. The symbiote and I exchanged ideas, plots, until we were brought back to external awareness by my Swede. "Master, the visitor you expected has arrived," she said from the doorway. That brightened me considerably, so I hurried from the study. By the time I arrived, the symbiote had covered me and made itself look like a dark suit. Only thing we didn't wear was a tie, for that "casual power" look. At the front door stood a young man, accompanied by one of my security guards (due to efficiency and a lack of desire for intrusive questioning, I kept the security personnel clothed, as lamentable to my sensibilities as it was). He had a large tackle box with him, as well as a backpack. He was the "punk" sort, shaved head, plugs in his ears, tattoos and piercings covering most of his body. I welcomed the man in and took him into the conversation hall. I had his box and bag taken for him, which were set on the floor next to the couch. We sat and chatted, as I had my Swede give him a folder. He was considered one of the top branders in the country. I had him flown in from New York City, after careful research. Aside from his immense skill, he was quite familiar with the B.D.S.M. community. While I am utterly loathe to apply such a trite and rather inaccurate label to myself, it worked well enough. He wouldn't think much about my girls being kept nude. He would be here for the entire day, likely well into the evening. As a matter of course, he would be handsomely paid for his time. Aside from his fee being doubled, he would have meals there at my expense. And depending on how things progressed, he might have a night of lust, gluttony, and any other cardinal sin he cared to indulge in. He would be there so long--and would be rewarded so well--because branding is such a lengthy process. What I wanted would take hours on each girl. Afterward, of course, came another lengthy process, one that would be my responsibility. The care of the wounds, which must be reopened often if one wants a deep, rich-looking mark. Plus there may be re-applications (which I could handle, if it came to it), to get the design to look cleaner, and--on and on and on. I had a bit of a cheat in that last matter with my symbiote and his bits living in my pets, but there's only so much an alien symbiote can do. A lot of it would still take patience and time. Thankfully, I had some patience, and quite a bit of time. He looked over my designs and we discussed the specifics, we went out to eat on the veranda off the back of the mansion. Fresh fruit and a hearty salad--and, of course, some real chocolate on the side for that precious phenethylamine that my symbiote needed. I generally avoid an over-abundance of red meat; the human body doesn't require much, after all, and if you eat too much, well--look around at the populations of most first-world nations and you can see the results. Obesity, health problems, and such. On the other hand, it's fitting in a sense. A race of metaphorical cows over-indulging on actual cows. The feeble-minded feeding on the feeble-minded. After our meal I invited the brander to ready his equipment and call on my Swede for anything he might need, then I retired to my bedroom with the folder of designs, crouching by Baby Maker's cage and stroking her cheek through the bars. She looked so beautiful, especially swollen with my child. I reached down and stroked her belly, smiling wider at Baby Maker. She had accepted her life, enough, and smiled back at me, happy at my pleasure. Some time spent just stroking that wonderful stomach, than I sat one the foot of the bed. I was keeping track of time and figured the girls would be up soon. Sure enough, I was proven right as I heard thundering footsteps running. I couldn't hide my grin as the sluts ran into the bedroom. So fast were they running, they couldn't stop themselves in time and skidded right into me. I was pushed back by the force, though I could only laugh. The girls, sweaty, dirty, dripping horse- and dog-seed, and smelling of the beasts they'd fucked. Dog Slut was atop me, and she beamed a grin at me as she and her sister panted from the run. "We did it, Master!" she exclaimed breathlessly. I knotted two more in an hour than I ever have before!" Horse Slut chimed in, kneeling next to me, with, "And I took your horse deeper than ever! I didn't use my cot, either!" I'd had one of those special cots built for her, the kind that she could lay on and put her where she needed to be. I kissed Dog Slut deeply, making her moan softly. Not to make her sister feel I was being inattentive, I pulled her in for a kiss, too. "I'm glad, my pets," I told them truthfully. "You did better than I expected." I squeezed a breast of each of them affectionately, then laid back and looked at each of them in turn. "Would you like to know what your surprise is?" I asked in a friendly taunting sort of way. "Yes, Master!" they said in unison. They looked so beautiful, gazing at me so hopefully. Well, I wasn't about to disappoint them. "I'm going to make it clear that you're mine, that I own those delightful bodies of yours." I motioned to the folder I'd set on the nightstand. They tensed, wanting to rush right over, but knew to wait for my permission. I kept them waiting, grinning at them, for a moment or so. I couldn't keep doing it, though, so I finally said, "You may go see, pets." I'd barely gotten the last syllable out before they sped from the bed in a way that reminded me of the Keystone Kops. I chuckled to myself and got up, pausing by the cage to stroke my dear Baby Maker's pussy. "I'll give you a proper fucking soon, I promise," I told her, then went to the two sluts. The girls had the designs out and were squealing over them. They looked like teenagers just handed the reigns to their very own ponies. "Master!" cried Horse Slut, and they both turned to me, to leap into my arms. I laughed as they smothered my face in kisses. They understood what the brands were, and what they meant. They were permanent marks, claims of my ownership. "Show me how much you love me," I told them, and they instantly wriggled to get free. I set them on the ground and they both fell to their knees, tenderly taking my cock in their hands. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. Slow, loving kisses were given to my cock by one set of lips, while the other nuzzled my sac. Hands stroked over my thighs; they were by then very talented, and didn't need to use their hands to worship me. Tongues danced together along my shaft, and I had the pleasant experience of feeling them passionately kiss each other around my cock. Soon they started taking turns swallowing me; one would work her lips on my shaft while the other suckled my sac, then they would switch. So aroused was I, I knew I wouldn't last much longer. I grabbed the hair of the bitch sucking me and pulled her along my shaft. She suckled harder, flicking her tongue against my cock, as her sister suckled my balls. They both started humming, a favorite trick, to add more wonderful sensations to their worship, and in mere moments that caused my orgasm to surge up. I shoved my cock as deep into the girl's throat as I could as I shot my load. After a few spurts I pulled her head away and without missing a single drop, her sister took over, gulping down my come with pleasure. When I was milked of every drop, I stiffly went to the bed to sit down and regain my breath. The pets knelt at my feet, each laying a cheek on my thigh. They closed their eyes, content to wait. I stroked their hair, smiling. Their symbiote-bits were fed, just as their love of and devotion to me were fed. My symbiote had injected extra phenethylamine into my seed, so the symbiote-bits inside them would be fueled. That thought made me realize that they hadn't eaten all morning. "Go and eat, pets," I told them, and they got to their feet. "Focus on fruit and vegetables with fiber." "Thank you, Master," they said in unison, smiling at me. After they departed, I opened the middle drawer of the nightstand to reveal an intercom system, and called for my Swede. When she arrived, I told her, "I need supplies. Fetch a pad and write this list down." I waited a moment while she retrieved a pad of paper and a pen, then returned. "Cyclone hurricane fencing, nine-gauge, fifteen feet tall and enough to enclose a two-thousand-square-foot area. I'll need contractors to build a small lagoon. I'll also need suppliers of live deer and elk, as well as numbers to veterinary suppliers of meat and vitamins for exotic pets." She wrote down everything, and after I dismissed her she hurried to place the phone calls. I made a few phone calls of my own, then I went to find the girls. They were just finishing up their meal when I entered the kitchen. They took their meals on the floor, eating from ceramic dishes with their names on them. A bit on the cutesy side, but they were cute girls, so it worked. "Go out to the veranda," I told them, "and I'll be out in a moment to have you properly branded." They squealed and rushed out of the kitchen, only remembering at the last second to take their dishes and put them in the sink. They then raced out of the mansion. After conferring with my Swede and meeting up with the brander, we headed out to the veranda. The girls were kneeling not too far away, quite obviously--and rather cutely--tense with anticipation. The Swede set the brander's tackle box and backpack down, off to the side, then headed off to my shed. It was a tool shed refitted into a workshop. As he was putting together his equipment, I went over to the girls, lightly stroking their hair. "I'll keep this brief, my darling pets. Up until now, it was only known to you and myself that you were mine. Anyone would look at you and see beautiful chattel, but that would be it. No more. These brands will eliminate all doubt that your flesh is mine, that you are my enlightened." In the short time it took to make that speech, my Swede was returning from the tool shed. She was pulling a low, flat cart with a wooden contraption on it. I'd had it made when I ordered the brands. I had my pets help me set the contraption up, though it wasn't overly complicated. It was really a simple Saint Andrew's Cross, though with a stand that would be tied to stakes driven into the ground. As strong as I was, I handled that part. The entire thing was set up in no time; less than fifteen minutes. The time was spent going over where the brands would be placed, how they would eventually look, how they'd need to be cared for, and so on. The entire process took quite a few hours, which I watched most of from a chair. One of the girls would be fastened to the Cross, and the brander would place a small rectangle of metal in clamps, then heat the rectangle with a blowtorch. This was scraped across the flesh of her thighs. While not as quick as strike branding, it had the advantage of being more precise. The designs would flow wonderfully, with the edges seeming to melt into the skin. Both had a stylized phoenix on their left hip and thigh, with either a stylized dog head or horse head on their right. Naturally, they depended on the girls' functions--Dog Slut got the dog head, and Horse Slut got the horse head. The edges of the wings, the fur on the dog's neck, and the wispy horse's mane flowed just marvelously into the non-branded skin. By the time the artist was done, the Sun was setting. Dog Slut was freed, the leather strap she used to bite down on removed, and the artist brought over his tackle box. It was full of potions and pastes, as well as written instructions. He went over them with me, noting the cleaning routines I'd have to follow, and of course his card was included in case anything needed to be touched up. Thanks to my symbiote, however, my recall was nearly perfect, so if I had to I could do the touching up, myself. My girls were sent inside with the tackle box while I persuaded the artist to join me for dinner. It was an admittedly opulent affair, with my Swede in attendance to pour drinks, light the artist's cigar for him after the meal, and even fetch an ashtray. After being handsomely rewarded--in cash, of course--I even convinced him to stay the night, after finding out which girls he favored. As it turned out, he found my security guards most appealing; the whole attraction to a woman in power, I suppose. Either way, three off-duty guards were sent to his room. * * * Three-sixteen in the morning. That's when my symbiote forced me awake. ~AWAKEN!~ it shouted in my mind, on top of forcing my consciousness to the fore. Imagine sleeping peacefully in a hammock, then someone coming along and dumping you onto the ground. That's a fraction of what it's like to have an alien symbiotic entity brutally pull your consciousness. I was about to curse it out when I noticed that the room was pitch- black, as was the property outside my windows. I kept the lamps in the garden on, as well as dimmed lighting in the mansion. I shoved the annoyance at being awoken so rudely out of my mind as I took in everything I was seeing externally while being filled in by the symbiote mentally. My pets were cringing against the wall, looking around fearfully. As I leapt off the bed, my symbiote said, ~The alarm came in less than a minute ago. The front gate was breached moments before the power was cut.~ We clothed my body in the black and gold affair we hadn't even thought about for months, and I looked around with the heightened vision afforded me by the symbiote covering my eyes and giving us the blank, pupil-less look. ~Numbers?~ I asked as we quietly crept to the door. ~Unknown at this time. The front guard was cut off while calling in the alert, though I do not know whether it was due to the power being cut, or her life taken.~ I gave the mental equivalent of a nod, and opened the door a sliver. Beyond I could see--nothing. Well, well, well. I could hear quiet footsteps, however, so I was certain the breachers were using night-vision goggles. Smart. Two pairs of footsteps were coming down my hall, so I leapt up to hang onto the wall right above the door. The bedroom door was slowly and silently pushed open, and I saw a P-Ninety assault rifle slowly enter. I knew my guns, and shockingly enough, this looked like the U.S.G. custom variant--United States Government. A revised sighting system was the main alteration, though there were also modifications to add ammunition rounds. Wonderful. Right as the breacher crossed the threshold, I reached down and grabbed him by the head, yanking him upward. I twisted his neck as I did to kill him, then waited. Showing a bit more intelligence than I'd given them credit for, his partner chucked in a gas grenade. So, it wasn't going to be another episode of the Keystone Kops. So be it. Releasing the first body, I dropped to the floor and grabbed the grenade in one motion, hurling it back at the thrower's face. I heard a loud crack as the man groaned and grabbed his face. The remains of night vision goggles fell to the floor. I smiled. He choked and started gagging on the tear gas that was spewed from the grenade, and I waded through the fog confidently. The symbiote would filter it out for me. A sharp thrust of my knee to his head snapped his neck, then I walked on to find the rest of my little playmates. I surprised another one as he was searching my private lavatory, and I grabbed his rifle, gripping it hard enough to twist the metal. A swift kick to his kneecap sent him down, and I slowly brought my hand forward. In my palm was deposited some waste of the symbiote's, that substance so pleasantly toxic to humans. "Who are you?" we snarled--and I say "we" because at that moment, it wasn't just my voice. It was blended with the symbiote's, as angry as we both were at this invasion of our home. The soldier--or perhaps mercenary--said nothing, and I could almost feel the glare he was giving me behind his goggles. "Talk or die," we growled, and the man resolutely kept his silence. Well, we WERE wondering exactly what would happen, so we simply nodded. "A soldier to the end." The smoldering, green-ish semi-fluid was shoved into his face, and we watched it eat through the balaclava. He started gasping and grunting, clawing at his neck. Steam actually started wisping out of his mouth, and what little we could see of his face around the goggles turned a very, very deep red. Suddenly his face collapsed in on itself, as the waste ate through him, bones and all, like acid. And the beauty of it was that he was still alive, so felt every incredibly painful moment of the end of his life. The collapsing continued--as well as the clothing that was directly in contact, his neck, followed by his chest sunk inward before being eaten. We crouched and pushed up his goggles so we could peer into his eyes. "Bet you wished you talked," we muttered, then got to our feet and left the room, letting the man enjoy his final moments of agony in peace. We would rather have liked to have stayed and watch, but we had to deal with the others. Another two-man team was caught in one of the guest bedrooms. Solely for effect (we're terrible, we know), we managed to sneak in and get to the other side of the bed without being seen. Slowly we rose, both palms full of the green-ish waste. The two men had their weapons pointed on us in a fraction of a second, for which--at another time--we would actually have found rather commendable. Right at that moment, however, we had other things on our minds. The pair studied us for a moment, in our few pieces of golden armor on the inky-black suit. We could only imagine what we looked like--blank, white eyes peering out from behind the helmet, no visible mouth. Truly, we must have been a sight. "What are you?" one of the men whispered. We did have a small fondness for certain clichés, and so we took the opportunity to introduce ourself. "Us? Why--we're Poison!" we replied, then hurled the globs of waste at the men. They went down, clutching their faces and screaming. We grinned, then dashed out of the room. I shan't bore you with the details of how the rest died--all but three did die, and that's the important part. At the end of it, the three we allowed to live--female, of course--were unconscious, stripped naked, and bound together in the conversation hall. Thankfully, my Swede survived the assault, so after taking stock of the grounds, she reported to us as we stood over the unconscious invaders. We put our hands on our hips and regarded her, remarking dryly, "The guards better have a good reason for allowing this to happen." "They were overwhelmed, Master. The guard at the front gate was killed, as were three more on the grounds." "Well. That IS a pretty good reason," we conceded. We wiped a bit of blood off of our breastplate, then crouched over the women. "They weren't wearing any identification--but these little beauties will tell us enough when they wake up." "Master, may I propose a theory?" "Yes, Swede." She crossed her arms over her bared, ample breasts in thought. "I would suggest the branding artist was involved." We peered up at her, curious. "Explain." "While you have not graced us with your presence for long, you HAVE been making contacts. Your personal life, while mostly unknown, is only MOSTLY unknown." It hit us where she was going. It was known by a few that we kept these beautiful women as our pets, and we were starting to make friends--the kinds of friends who share their toys. It would have been known that, being generous, we would have offered the use of our girls to guests. Plus, with my two branded, it would have been assumed that I would have spent myself enjoying them--and thus be in no position to deal with an invasion. They hadn't counted on my alien symbiote keeping my body running at peak levels, however. We narrowed our eyes in anger, then bolted up the stairs to the guest room the artist was in. When we entered, he had a semi-automatic to one of my girls' heads. "Stop right there, or I'll shoot," he said calmly. "So what? Shoot her. We can get more," we replied, which caught the artist off-guard. Not much, but enough to make his eyebrows raise a few degrees. We started walking forward, and he cocked the weapon. "I said stop!" "And we said go ahead and fire!" we roared. The sudden loudness surprised him enough to grant us a second to leap forward and grab him by the face. We kicked open the French doors to the balcony and dragged him onto it. Tossing him against the stone railing, we placed our foot against his throat and pushed. "Well us what we want to know, or you WILL die," we hissed. "Slowly, and very, very painfully." We added a bit more pressure to make our point. He gasped and choked, motioning at his throat. He managed to make mouth movements that seemed like he'd start being agreeable, so we let up. Though only a little. It came out in a babbling rush. He was hired by an intermediary, one that let slip he was working at the behest of one Marie Sweeney, C.E.O. of Thatcher-Greggs, International. They were what's known as a "close corporation," which basically means that it's a near-incestuous money-shoveling business, where stock was held mostly by the board members. They had their hands in just about everything, and they were one of the businesses that gave my dear Horse Slut's family the most money. All that he knew was who hired him and that he would have to contact them soon. We snapped his neck and dusted our hands off together as we went back into the bedroom. we gave the girls orders to clean up the messes around the house then went to our Swede, who had been waiting in the doorway. It was obvious someone had it in for us--freaking duh, right?--but as yet I didn't know who or why. We did think that the place to start would be Miss Sweeney. "Not a very cool, super villain-y name for the head of a company and someone likely trying to kill me, eh?" we remarked to my Swede. She smiled at the humor, then said, "Perhaps you could rename her, after you enlighten her, Master." We grinned and stroked her ass affectionately. "We like the way you think." In two hours, the mansion was put to rights, such that you'd hardly know a scuffle happened in the first place. Contractors would have to be called to fix the front gate and security wiring, and women were pulled off of other duties to be guards, but on the whole it was taken care of very well. My pets were all reassured, their cunts stroked to calm them, and soon they all but forgot about the invasion. I put out feelers, as it were, to see what information could be gleaned. In the morning, it was time to work on something else. Time was passed, gathering intelligence on Sweeney, renovating the back of the property, that sort of thing. A few important events happened rather closely together. First was the birth of my daughter. She was showered in my come, which her mother, grandmother, and great-aunt licked off of her. From the start her tiny pussy was filled. Fingers, small tendrils from my symbiote, and so on. Her body would be trained, as would her mind. My darling Baby Maker enjoyed being out of the cage after the birth, and she took to her motherly duties with gusto. She changed the baby regularly, helped her suckle from my cock, the breasts of herself and my other pets, and pussies alike. Of course, the child never wanted for milk, either, and it was planned to keep the child nursing for years. Her mother's milk glands could never be allowed to shrivel, instead kept in prime condition. She'd be my little milk machine, as well as a baby factory. The second event was the renovations to the back of the property were finished. I had a large pen, waiting to be used. Which leads to the third event--the veterinarian I was waiting for was going to be in Los Angeles. Doctor Ricardo "Rick" Erickson was going to give a talk on conservation and preservation. He was also one of the so very few who raised tigers. He was one of those who knew more about tigers than they knew about themselves. That was knowledge we needed. I managed to get a badge for the conference; it was going to be a large affair, with animal-rights-related events and talks going on left and right, an entire hotel nearly taken over. I had my Swede accompany me, dressed in a sharp white suit, to contrast with my black suit. The badge--under the name Julian Augustus--was waiting for me as expected, and I started to mingle. I took in the experience, studying the crowd, catching snippets of conversation. Then I saw her. Marie Sweeney. She was wearing a business suit that looked surprisingly wonderful on her. I'm not much one for a clothed female, but I was prepared to make an exception for her. Dark brown hair tied back into a smart ponytail, wire-rimmed glasses, the frames a dark red that matched her lipstick and her shoes. She was in one of the conference halls, at least twenty yards away from me, and as she talked she turned slightly, to look at me. One corner of her mouth pulled upward in a smile--though what she was smiling at, I couldn't imagine. Then she was gone, fading deeper into the crowd. Curiouser and curiouser. I had my Swede see what she could dig up on the woman, why she was there, and just after my Swede walked off I spied Doctor Erickson. He was just leaving an elevator. I hurried to him. I introduced myself quickly, telling him how I loved his work, so on and so forth, speaking so fast he couldn't get a word in edgewise. I steered him toward the stairs, telling him I just wanted to get off to the side--then I pushed him into the stairwell. The moment the door shut behind us my symbiote burst from me, wrapping around the veterinarian and drawing him closer. He struggled, his screams stifled by the symbiote. And oh yes, he was screaming. There was no time to waste, so we plowed through his mind, tearing aside the irrelevant information to gather the bits that we were there for. It was over quickly, and so was Doctor Erickson. A shame, really, to have to turn him into a mindless husk, but, again, time WAS of the essence. We met up with the Swede at the car, and she drove us home. Not long after that, we decided on "home attire". We were going to make ourself a king, so it wouldn't do to dress as anything else. A crimson toga, golden bracers, leather boots, and a pendant with my stylized phoenix design on it. Inspired by the Roman culture, of course. We also managed to purchase a Siberian tiger cub, freshly weaned. It would be a rather intense investment, in terms of time, money, and emotion, but it would be worth it. We were sitting in our redesigned conversation hall, one particular evening. It had been redesigned with a tall-backed chair that we liked to think of as a throne, the tiger cub sleeping in our lap. Most people who raise tigers are in a far more precarious position--but we were a physical match for even an adult Siberian, and this cub needed to get used to being outside of the cage. That evening, we were lightly stroking the cub, amused by his purrs and rumbles, wondering what he was dreaming about. My symbiote told me something that would change a lot of things, a lot of plans. It needed to spawn. The way its people reproduced was different than the way we do. While it would obviously be preferable to sharing their genes with partners, they were capable of asexual reproduction. The downside was obviously a lack of true genetic diversity--but the upside was that the offspring would likely be reasonably similar to the parent. So, basically, my symbiote said it was going to have a baby. I pondered that for a while, then smiled. It wouldn't be so bad, another pair like us. After all, every king needs his queen. Someone to help me rule the kingdom we would create. My smile became a grin. It wouldn't be so bad at all. I just had to find the right woman... END OF CHAPTER TWO