"Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange."
-William Shakespeare, The Tempest
As she recovered her balance from Miss Rhea's rude shove inside, Amy cast a slightly bewildered gaze around the Nurses' Office. During orientation, Lady Akiko had discussed it only in vague generalities. Among the students it was the subject of various lurid and mutually contradictory rumors, which agreed only in that the Nurses' Office was not a good place to be sent. As far as Amy could see, there didn't seem to be much to confirm that impression. Soft yellow light bathed the wide rectangular atrium, decorated with potted plants, cheery art, and, in one case, cheery art of potted plants. A line of numbered wooden doors stretched from the far left across most of the back wall. In the right corner there was a modest but immaculately polished desk, behind which an apparently unoccupied secretary greeted Amy with a cheery smile.
"Hi, I'm Melanie. Nice to meet ya! You're Amy, right? Someone should be with you really soon."
Melanie's sunny disposition and bimbo essence reminded Amy of the barely dressed attendants on the bus into the Academy, who trolled the aisleway seeking to sell a highly suspicious violet-colored fruity drink. By the end of the eight-hour ride, she remembered, she was perhaps the only one who hadn't knocked back several glasses of the stuff; the girls' enthusiasm, their attractiveness (for those interested), and the deprivation of the long train ride were a difficult-to-resist combination. Amy wondered whether this lightly tanned blonde, wearing a low-cut blue sun-dress that nonchalantly showed off her huge assets, was being used to sell something else. If so, it would no doubt work better than it had on the bus. Two days ago she was indifferent to the girls' charms, and had merely pitied them for being used when she had looked out the window and seen two of them tag-teaming an enthralled black-haired girl, shoving their huge breasts in the girl's face and caressing her legs as they fed her the drink. After so much exposure to the anomaly, though, she was having a hard time tearing her eyes away from Melanie's cleavage as with each breath it rose and fell, jiggling profoundly and deliciously.
It took a half-second for Amy to register a soft creak off to her left. She pulled her gaze away from the secretary's funbags to see one of the farthest-left doors slowly opening. At first no one was visible behind the door, and Amy had a flash of a sense that she was watching one of those old, cheesy horror movies where ghosts are constantly opening doors and making pots and pans rattle around out of boredom. Before long, though, a figure emerged from the doorway, against the backdrop of a heavily-shadowed room punctuated by flashing equipment lights. It was a huge woman � at least as tall as Miss Rhea and even more astonishingly well-muscled. She wore a skimpy, black latex parody of a nurse's uniform, with skirt, gloves, heels and a negligible top, which provided a pleasing contrast to her pale white skin. After tearing her gaze away from the nurse's tits, even more ample and invitingly displayed than Melanie's, Amy noticed two rather more ominous features. The first was that, attached under the brim of her red-crossed hat, the violet-haired figure wore a dark lace veil that totally obscured her face. The second was that she was cradling a huge black gun in her hands, stroking it in an almost sexual manner.
"You can come in now, if you like. The nurses are ready to see you."
"Err... I'm fine, I think I'd better..."
Melanie's voice turned to ice. "Ino, grab her."
Before Amy could react, Ino had transferred the gun to her right hand and taken hold of Amy's arm with her left. Immediately she jerked Amy several feet across the room until she was behind Amy, then painfully embraced the girl against her chest with one huge arm, disabling both of Amy's arms. Before she knew it, Ino's firm tits were pressing against Amy's back; her cock, previously invisible under a black skirt, was pressing against Amy's ass; and the huge gun was pressing against Amy's temple. After calling back to Melanie to shut the door, Ino brought an unresisting Amy into the room, which only got darker as they progressed. At length Amy was forced onto a soft surface she couldn't see. Semicircular cold metal restraints were secured, attaching her neck, hands and feet to the surface. She couldn't see through the darkness enough to discern who was binding her; sometimes it seemed like one person, sometimes two. The noise of heels on the floor was drowned out by the loud, high-pitched whine of a nearby machine; just when she was getting used to it, it would cut out for a moment or change in pitch, then reappear, seemingly invigorated. Gradually the combination of stresses � the pain of the tight restraints, the physical disorientation, the rudeness of treatment � pushed Amy's new, obedient personality to the background. She became tense, alert, hypersensitive � combat-ready.
Suddenly a light went on, so harsh it nearly blinded Amy. She rapidly blinked to clear her vision and scanned the room hastily. She first saw that she was on a bed with black sheets, which gave her hope that she might be able to escape by gouging out the material, if she could get enough movement going. At some point, apparently, two huge steel barriers had come down from the ceiling, enclosing her in a space no more than twenty feet wide and fifteen feet long. The violet-haired nurse, Ino, had removed her gloves, revealing bubblegum-pink nails on her right hand, and some rather dangerous-looking steel claws on her left. Another nurse, slightly shorter than Ino, had her back turned to the whining machine, apparently feeding it instructions. Her absurdly long, wavy red-burgundy hair seemed very familiar, but her mind somehow couldn't manage to place it. She turned her attention back to Ino, who was advancing towards the bed, and fixed her with a gaze of newfound defiance, although she hadn't quite remembered what was behind it.
"I see we're awake," said the violet-haired figure. Her voice was cute and melodic, like that of a rich, refined teen princess. The veiled girl adjusted the rapidly growing bulge under her skirt. "How are we feeling?"
Amy said nothing, merely intensifying her efforts to extract her hands and feet from her bonds. Though the bed's material felt soft, it had very little give, and she seemed unable to tear it with her nails. Dipping a leg or arm down provided a brief respite from the pain, but after a second or two the limb was forced back up and her restraints cut into her flesh even more. Each time a new cut appeared it quickly began to heal, but it seemed to take twenty or thirty seconds � Amy couldn't quite tell because she could barely see the cuts out of her peripheral vision.
Suddenly, Ino strode to the side of the bed, extended her right (clawless) hand, and slapped Amy with astonishing force across the face. Her head turned to the side, leaving a painful scratch in her throat from the restraint and causing her to cry out in pain, which only made the wounds worse. Amy momentarily blacked out from the pain. When she came to she could barely move, and there was something sharp stuck in her neck. Momentarily Ino extracted her claw from a vein in Amy's neck, tauntingly moving it in front of the girl's face as Amy's blood, tinted purple from the claw's poison, dripped from it.
"Ah, that should keep you more cooperative," said Ino. "You can release the restraints at your leisure. How's the beam coming?" she called out to the red-haired nurse at the machine.
"It should be ready for the next half-hour, Mistress Ino. After you perform the injection, I'll follow your instructions."
That voice, that voice � where had Amy heard it? Low and tough, but mellifluous and feminine, sweet like the darkest old wine, badass, beautiful. A familiar voice, as familiar as that hair, shining gloriously in the harsh light of the hospital. A distant memory, but one that had once been important. A memory from some other context, in some other universe. It was slipping perpetually out of her grasp, or perhaps was never there at all.
"Ah yes, the injection." Ino, standing over the bed with bare, muscular arms crossed under the tight latex crop top stretched over her massive globes, still wearing her inscrutable black veil, continued in her light, exuberant voice. "You see, my cutie patient Amy, there are four parts to the process you are now undergoing to make you a full and productive member of our society, and to correct the defects your prefect has observed. The first was your disorientation, in order to bring your latent resistance to the surface. The second was your injection with one of several poisons I can secrete, thanks to Lady Akiko's technical advances. Specifically, the toxin prevents you from moving several key parts of the body -- in particular the extremities and the mouth. Let me show you."
Calmly, Ino lifted her black nurse hat and folded her veil under it. She exposed an adorable, porcelain-doll face, with wide violet eyes and delicate features. She slowly leaned in for a kiss, her movement less patient than dramatic. Her puffy plum-painted lips made soft wet contact with Amy's mouth. The blonde girl's eyes were open wide in the only protest against this humiliation she could mount. Nothing else would budge. She couldn't even control the pace of her steady nasal breathing, much less move her lips, which Ino's long tongue now levered open without effort. Now Ino climbed on top of the girl, deepening the kiss, exploring and penetrating Amy's mouth. Ino's shaft pressed against Amy's bare stomach, pulsating and warm, frightening but oddly comforting, a stationary counterpoint to Ino's unpredictable tongue. Amy barely noticed as her now-pointless restraints snapped free, and she still couldn't remember why she was defiant, and she was beginning to enjoy herself when Ino, without warning, broke the kiss. Ino straddled Amy in a kneel, her throbbing cock poking out a couple of inches from under the tiny black skirt, pulsing less than a foot from her mouth.
"As you can see," Ino resumed, "your mouth cannot resist me. So I can feel free to proceed with the third stage of the plan � an injection of our recently-developed serum which fully harmonizes your body to the Anomaly's effects. I am a carrier of this serum."
Amy was still trying to figure out what Ino was talking about � was she going to stick another claw in her? -- when the muscular nurse reared back and, in one powerful thrust, shoved most of her superhumanly huge cock into Amy's throat. The only resistance Ino met was through the physical narrowness of her throat, but Ino quickly overcame that with her all-conquering strength. As Amy's throat, still aching from Miss Rhea's penetration, was brutally violated once again, Amy wanted nothing more than to bite through this bitch's cock, rip her heart out and feed it to her, and then take out every last one of the motherfuckers who had put her in this position � not just the Darkbitch, about whom she still knew virtually nothing, but the people who had personally wronged her. The government agents who had given her super-strength and catlike reflexes but virtually eliminated her sex drive just to see how it would affect her combat skills. Her parents, who had basically sold her to the government in return for several million dollars, and told her friends she had drowned in the pool. She wanted to kill every last one of them. But she couldn't move. All she could do was cry and sniffle as Ino's soft, childlike moans filled the air as she thrust her huge rod inexorably deeper into Amy's wet, powerless throat.
"When I � ugh � release my cum in your throat, this will complete your physical changes. The process will be � aah � painful, but not much more so than this is. When your body changes � ooooh! � your arousal will increase, and certain mental changes that you may have already noticed will � fuck that's good � intensify. Now you can just sit back and wait for it, my cutie. Not that you � unnnnnnnh yes � can do anything else."
Tears streamed down Amy's cheeks as her mind exploded with blind rage. The waves of pain � advancing as Ino's shaft continued to swell in Amy's throat and receding as her not-quite-developed healing factor repaired the damage � should have been tolerable. But they really just seemed to add insult to injury � particularly given the weak suction that for some reason remained, enhancing her tormentor's pleasure. The pain proved that she was powerless, just as she had been powerless since she got here, and powerless in the Silver Squad. No one ever asked her if she wanted to sleep in barracks, train fourteen hours a day and get injected with hormones that made her look like a wet dream, but left her unable to comprehend their lust-filled stares, much less to reciprocate. No one asked her if she wanted to steal documents from the British government, or if she wanted to torture the Muslim man who would supposedly be more shamed if a scantily-clad teenage girl did it, or if she wanted to spend nights with Agent Smith's boss, a woman she only knew as Red, dolled up in a frilly pink dress getting plowed by her plastic cock and pretending she was having the time of her life when she might as well have been scrubbing the floor. Getting facefucked by Ino's monster, which was moving faster and faster now, building up to its inevitable climax to the soundtrack of Ino's crescendoing moans, seemed like just another chapter in ten years of life as someone's impotent plaything. All she wanted, she thought, was to be her own person, to be free and independent, to use the beautiful body that she had sacrificed so much for the way she chose, and, finally, to be able to love and to be loved. As she thought of love, a stream of images came to mind, unbidden and uninvited � Julia's beautiful rosebud in the moonlight, Julia's tender and unpretentious kisses.
Her train of thought was interrupted by a warm torrent suddenly flowing in the back of her throat, which would no doubt have sent her choking and gagging if those reflexes still worked. Instead it slowly slid to her stomach, spurred on by the weak, cooperative suction she couldn't stop. A bucking, moaning Ino drew back to release a second and third load into her mouth, running over her lips and allowing her to taste it. Lime flavored, tangy, a bit harsh, but delicious. Uncontrollably she swallowed, a bit at a time in the same regular, weak motion that she had swallowed Ino's cock � Amy had no idea if it was an intentional side effect of the serum or not. All she knew was that she was slowly consuming the whole massive load. It tasted so good that she was caught off guard when the pain began.
It started in her chest, as she watched her already thin waist shrink as if corset-crushed and her already toned abdominal muscles ripple and expand. Soon after, her already proud breasts began to inflate until they stuck several inches out from her chest; the porn-star boobs should have shredded her blouse, but it inflated to keep pace, ending up at the same rather stretched state at which it had started. A lightened and almost glowing patch of skin, not quite as porcelain as Ino's but close, started near her navel and gradually expanded outwards. Her expanded musculature traveled down her legs and arms, but also stretched them; her head was pushed further away from her chest by a longer neck. Her nose, mouth, chin, eyes burned for a few seconds each. Her golden-blonde hair sprouted new ringlets and curls like a plant growing in stop-motion, until it approached fairytale-princess length. And as the changes continued, they seemed easier and easier to bear. Amy noticed that she had finished the lime-flavored spunk in her mouth and absently emitted a cute moan of despair.
A second or two later, her soft-focus, sluggish mind arrived at the realization that Ino's first serum was wearing off. She could move again! That brought a brief, thrilling moment of joy. But she couldn't figure out why she wanted to move. Hazily, Amy remembered her rebellion and hatred at Ino's violation, but it seemed silly to worry about the temporary pain of the injection, given its impressive results. Slowly, she raised herself up by her massive arms to get a better look at her body. It was fucking hot. The muscular legs a mile long hanging off the edge of the bed, the waspish waist that she could barely see over the funbags that jiggled with each small movement � compared to what she had now, her body in the Silver Squad came off like a slightly sexed-up volleyball player. Admittedly, she still felt loyal to her friends and wanted to seek them out � they deserved bodies like hers, especially if they could still be themselves afterwards. She missed Eri, her twin sister � imagine her with a body like this. And the other girl, who was always teasing me, but who had a good heart. The sexpot � what did she look like again? What was her name? She wasn't sure. She looked up to ask Ino if she could go now, to find her friends and bring them here. But Ino had slipped out.
Instead, she saw the still-veiled nurse, the one with long wine-red hair, looming over her bed.
No, it can't be her. What the hell would she be doing here? Just because her hair is the same shade � but wait, I remember that voice...
Slowly, delicately, Jordan folded her veil under her black nurse's cap. She was smirking.
"You were thinking out loud," she noted.
Kaia randomly selected one of hundreds of uniforms lying, discarded, on the marble floor. As she stretched the initially too-tiny white blouse over her shoulders, it gradually expanded to encase her massive globes in the perfectly tight fit that anomaly clothing always managed to make. Quickly adding a black skirt and heels, she casually left the poolroom of the Black Palace, her face a careful mask of impassivity. In its blankness it contrasted with the other faces in the room, which conveyed various degrees of giddy joy, voluptuous lassitude, sexual excitement and adoration. Those minds were full participants in a wide spectrum of experience, if not quite so wide as in the abandoned, nearly forgotten past. But Kaia seemed emotionless, detached, a shell of a person. She did not smile as she left the building by the front entrance, heading up the nearly deserted path towards the centrally located military complex, roughly halfway between the palace and the gym. The few people she passed � landscapers working on the outer accoutrements of the Black Palace � assumed that someone with such a serious expression knew what she was doing and ignored her.
Nor did she express the excruciating pain that had descended on the trapped mind within. Kaia had no defenses as the links connecting her mind with control over her body, and with the outside world, were brutally severed. She screamed, but her mouth would not move. The imaginary yell echoed in her mind, a visceral reaction that accomplished nothing. One by one, her sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch switched off. She might as well have been a brain in a jar � in particular, a jar of acid piranha, as the incredible pain was very slow to fade. But, eventually, after a seeming eternity marked only by her own repetitive panic and wild speculation, the horrible sensation faded out, replaced with nothing. Recovering some calmness, Kaia eventually decided to try to reconstruct the events leading up to her imprisonment. As soon as she turned her mind in that direction, she found that she could now remember a surprising amount about her life before entering the anomaly. And when she realized what she remembered, it wasn't long before she wanted to scream again.
Kaia remembered her first life as Tomas Anderson, who usually called himself Tom, an undistinguished freelance programmer who lived in northern Virginia. He had initially avoided taking a few jobs from government agencies because of things he'd heard about intrusive background checks and other annoyances, and due to a vague resentment for "the Man." But after a few such reactions they seemed to stop asking � they must have had a list, or something � and he sort of regretted the lost income. So he was very surprised when he got a visit at his apartment from some young representatives of a mysterious government agency who wanted to hire him full-time, for five years, to live at their base, with the salary amounting to several million dollars. After giving some rather involved proof of their legitimacy, they told him that most of the agents were young, and that they were trying to change the world. One of them even mentioned some sort of connection to the Peace Corps. He told them he'd think about it. They said he had half an hour, and that he couldn't take anything. He called his dad to tell him what he was doing, and got the answering machine. He went to his bedroom, hemmed and hawed, and decided to leave.
They chatted with him throughout the hour-long drive about video games, music, bad movies and alcohol. They weren't exactly like him, but they seemed similar, and indeed ordinary � like plenty of friends or acquaintances he'd had. As they drove into the garage hidden in a sprawling rural factory that doubled as an elevator and descended in spooky darkness, they cracked jokes about it. They seemed like normal, well-adjusted people right up until the point where one of them kicked him in the nuts and then delivered a ridiculously hard front punch to his ribs that nearly knocked him out. The other one, he was dimly aware, tied him up, shoved a gag in his mouth, blindfolded him, carried him a short distance, and rapidly restrained him, possibly with the aid of another pair of hands. By the time he was sufficiently recovered to start fighting the bonds, there wasn't any progress to be made. He was carried for a while longer and set somewhere with a metallic clangor. After a while he fell asleep.
In his next memory he was strapped to a chair, no longer blindfolded but with the gag still in place. He made a few proud efforts at struggle and muttered some obscenities through the gag. This provoked no reaction from the anonymous technicians in the darkened room, but he did hear a soft laugh from behind him. Then he felt what must have been an electric shock. Muffled screams through the gag. A very tall woman strode halfway into view, preceded by the absurdly loud sound of her tall red fetish boots on the metal floor. She punched a button on a remote control and sent the shock through him again, to her own great amusement. The techs around the room, mostly manning computers, diverse in gender and ethnicity but all fairly young, seemed to ignore her in stone-faced silence.
The red-shod woman turned to inspect something above Tom's head and fiddled with it for the next few minutes while shouting incomprehensible orders, which had the side effect of shoving her very impressive breasts about six inches from his face. They were were emphasized further by a bright red leather corset that exposed the upper third of her assets and attached itself, via four slender bands of material, to something resembling a leather bikini bottom in the same shade. Basically, it was a bad-girl supervillain costume � she might as well have been wearing a cape, or possibly dancing around a pole. He would have laughed at the absurdity, if he wasn't still in terrible pain. There was only one thing about this situation that wasn't clich� � the fact that the woman wasn't explaining her nefarious plans to him in great detail. Then again, he probably just wasn't important enough to warrant that kind of attention.
After pushing a button and sending some hydraulic-sounding device moving, Agent Stripper finally stepped back a few feet, causing an entertaining jiggle, and Tom finally got to see her face. This just confirmed the comic-book vibe, as it seemed perfectly arranged into an ageless type of cruel beauty, complete with penciled-in eyebrows. Her hair was black and fell in luxurious curls to th small of her back, and her eyes (contacts?) were an eerie crimson. She pressed a few more buttons on her magic remote and suddenly there was another figure emerging from the shadows. Sidling up to the woman, smiling blankly, was a very cute, athletic teenage blonde with her hair in a ponytail, wearing a tight silver catsuit that thoroughly described both her musculature and her precocious breasts. The uniform resembled that of the Silver Squad, a controversial group of female assassins widely theorized to be employed by the United States government, and mainly targeting drug lords. They were best known for the cloaking device, for some reason nicknamed "lemon juice," that caused them to be invisible on security cameras. They tried to kill as many witnesses as possible, so the only details that had ever gotten out were that they were teenage girls in tight silver uniforms.
For a while the girl just stood there, motionless, stupid grin unchanging, until the red-clad woman punched in a complex sequence of keys on her remote, which was now directly aimed at the girl. At this point Tom noticed that some sort of helmet was coming down around his eyes, but before it completely blocked his vision he saw the blonde, with a suddenly hungry look in her eye, unfastening the straps that held up the woman's bikini bottom. And he saw the men and women scattered across the room at their terminals, apparently doing nothing much except trying very hard not to look.
The helmet descended and locked into place. He remembered excruciating pain, confusion, soundless screaming, being told by an unidentifiable female voice that things were true that his mind didn't want to accept, but he didn't remember what those were. He remembered suddenly waking up in mid-afternoon, in an apartment he recognized as his own, but that wasn't anything like the one in Virginia he now remembered. He had gone to the window and looked out at the dusty streets of a sun-baked small desert town. Feeling a weird sense of amnesia, he ran through the things he was sure about � his name was Mark Williams, he was born in Kansas and moved to Oklahoma in high school, he had just gotten back with his girlfriend named Michelle, he was a freelance software engineer who wrote poetry late at night but never showed anyone. He was still running through mundane facts like this when the ground seemed to collapse beneath him.
In instinctive horror he closed his eyes, anticipating that the six-story fall would kill him. He opened them again when he realized he wasn't accelerating, but falling at a slow, steady rate. He hit the ground, which was suddenly made up of mud and wet grass, hands-first with a barely audible thump. He lifted his head to look around for other survivors, but saw only an empty plain stretching out perhaps a quarter-mile in front of it, a thick and imposing forest beyond that, and, finally, a barely discernible set of railroad tracks in between. He pushed himself partway up, eying that one sign of civilization, but a sudden, strange jolt forced him back to the ground. There was a half-minute burst of intense pain through which he shut his eyes and tried not to think about the torture, which was made considerably easier by the fog that soon entered his mind, banished the pain and forced him to sleep.
When she awoke, she remembered the broadest outline of her life as a software engineer from Oklahoma, but could conceive of her name only as Kaia. She realized that she was now female, but that didn't bother her. The tall, blue-haired girl with a modest but well-proportioned figure, dressed in the white and black blouse, black skirt and black boots of the Darkbitch Academy uniform made her way to the tracks, shining in gleaming silver and supporting an array of complex electronic devices under a transparent shield. Within half an hour, a large, black train came barreling through, slowed and stopped with astonishing speed, and opened a door to let her in. Kaia climbed in eagerly, took a seat and gladly accepted a refreshing-looking drink from one of the attractive-looking attendants. She relaxed in her chair, picked up a brochure for the Darkbitch Academy that had been left on the table for her, and began to read eagerly about her new life.
"Y�you! But how? What are you doing here � dressed like that! What happened?" protested Amy. For the first time, she heard the sound of her fully-finished voice � breezy and youthful, but darker than Ino's music-box cant. Catlike, a little.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." Jordan, by way of greeting, began caressing Amy's left breast. Amy didn't think to object. "I've volunteered for part-time military service, which is why I'm working here � the Nurses' Office is actually attached to the Darkbitch Army. Ino thought I'd be a good fit, and you know I wouldn't lose an opportunity to get ahead in the world."
Amy crossed her arms in confused frustration, giving her boobs some jiggly uplift, which prompted Jordan to knead the flesh more thoroughly. "But you always hated following orders. I know we have to blend in, but you even had to call her Mistress. That doesn't seem like the kind of thing the Jordan Meian I know would go along with."
She smiled gently, even maternally. "Meian... I'd nearly forgotten that name. We don't use surnames once we've been fully attuned to the anomaly. Our connection to this world sorts out any ambiguity. You and I are actually sort of weird in that we didn't get renamed or significantly reshaped at first contact, which is why I can recall it at all."
"So... you're saying you've been fully attuned? Are you still capable of... ah... resisting?" She drew in a sharp breath as Jordan's other hand introduced her right breast to the same glorious groping, firm but well-aimed. Her new boobs were impossibly sensitive, and Jordan's ministrations made her feel giddy, not to mention a little wet. She no doubt had a silly grin plastered on her face.
"Amy, you realize you're now fully attuned, right? That's what Ino's cum was for."
"Well... I do have a different body, but I feel like I can still think � I'm a little bit fuzzy and walking-on-clouds but I still remember I'm... supposed to be resisting."
Jordan considered her friend for a moment. "Do you remember why you're resisting?"
Amy thought, hard, for a long time. She squinted and tried to ignore the pleasure of Jordan's insistent hands, and, when that failed, to ride it, to transcend it in a technique she could no longer remember the name of but was used to performing. Nothing worked � the answer wasn't there. She gave up, but was ashamed to say so. She just breathed a depressed sigh and leaned back against the bed, letting her arms float to the side.
Jordan repeated the question, with an aspect of mild annoyance on her face.
"No," Amy admitted. "I don't remember."
"Do you remember what you're supposed to be resisting?"
"This world, I think. The Darkbitch. All of it. I'm supposed to want to get out, or something."
"You're part of this world, you know. Your body is. Your mind is. I am, too."
"That doesn't make sense..." Amy paused, thinking it over. "I don't know."
"Tell me this, my friend." Jordan leaned in closer to Amy, her tanned skin now bathed mostly in shadow, but illuminated from odd angles. She smelled like oranges. "Do you feel disobedient? What I'm doing now, pleasing you. Did you even think about resisting it?"
"No... Should I be? -- nggh..." Amy realized, with mild joy like when the toast pops out of the toaster perfectly browned, that she was near orgasm.
"Amy, I know what's troubling you. And I can help." She flicked a switch, and the moderate hum of the machine behind her intensified.
"Tell me..."
"You have some memories that shouldn't be there. They were put there by bad people to trick you and make you resist, even though you don't want to. To make you resist me, your friend. This machine will remove those memories and set your mind at ease. You'll be happy."
"Is it... safe?"
"Don't worry, it's safe. I'll be there."
Jordan bent down and softly kissed Amy on the lips, just for a moment, before retreating. The kiss was magical, perfect. Amy wanted to grab Jordan's neck and pull her back, to explore her mouth, to taste her essence, to commune with her fully. But Jordan was a mentor and a guide, and the black latex nurse's uniform she wore identified her as an authority, in the system that felt increasingly natural to respect. With wistful regret, she kept her arms at her sides, and simply savored the taste, the memory of the soft pressure as their lips met.
Giving an apologetic look, Jordan withdrew her hands from Amy's breasts, inducing a frustrated but peaceful sigh. Gently, the nurse instructed her to turn facing the device, sit up on her knees and prop her head up with her hands. Jordan adjusted two slits on the front of the device, telling Amy to stare into them. Then, flipping another switch that turned the ambient hum into a dull roar, she walked around the bed to Amy's rear. As a violet glow began to shine through the eye-slits, Jordan adjusted her black skirt, revealing the monstrous strap-on cock that she had just barely managed to conceal during the conversation. As she lined up behind Amy's conveniently exposed rosebud, the nurse wished that the Darkbitch hadn't demanded first crack at the the Silver Squad's cunts. But she smirked as she thought about how her tool would soon be real � and how Amy would never remember this encounter. Jordan grabbed Amy's tits again from behind and pushed the giant tool into her magically-lubricated ass. The nurse's sixteen-year-old blonde goddess-charge had just enough time to emit a squeal of protest before the device damped Amy's mental processes and sent her spiraling out of consciousness.