Captured Souls (12 page)

I wonder if the electromagnetic forces flowing through all of our bodies constantly will have any long-term effects.

I’ve not noticed any real symptoms except that I’m constantly horny and will likely wear those boys out before they hit their forties. But the buzzing in my crotch mates the buzzing in their minds and if I ever turn it off, they will be gone. Wherever the implants go, they will follow.

The boys are good providers. Specimen 1 sells well and Specimen 2 receives loads of prize money.

I earn money from my essays and books, and even give lectures now and again on neurological transmissions through electromagnetic fields with regard to human behavior patterns.

We want for nothing in our strange little arrangement.

However, the addition of Specimen 3 is still not going well. Her beauty is a full-time job. Jars of lotions, pots of creams, hours of lying under lamps or heated fabrics, soaking in tubs, standing in showers. Every week, she wanted to go to the hairdresser for a different weave and a mani-pedi. I, of course, enjoy changing my hair frequently as well, so I didn’t really mind going together to the beauty parlor. I’m not quite so attentive to my hands and toes, though, and don’t have the patience to sit through weekly mani-pedis. I’d do work on my tablet while she was pampered, and of course, spy on my men.

It didn’t matter that we had our weekly beauty visits; she still had to care for all her nails at home as well. It was a constant entertainment for her, all her self-pampering.

You’d think she was a movie star and, indeed, she likely aspired to be just that.

I sent out her portfolio for more modeling work; however, her reputation as lazy and demanding meant that despite her magnificent beauty and charisma, people didn’t want to work with her. She’d blown up her bridges at the young age of twenty-two.

With more prying and probing, it was also an underground secret that she was a hooker, an escort, a cokehead, and, therefore, no major studio would ever cast her in a movie. Since I’m not in the arts, I don’t understand why it matters if she’s a hooker or not. Last I heard, everyone from Marilyn to Madonna slept their way to the top—why not my beauty?

It didn’t matter.

She always was a star when the four of us went to the clubs.

However, her grating requests, her constant demands for more, more, more was not the docile, relaxed goddess that I had hoped for. And the fact that she cost more than both the boys put together, with zero income, didn’t help her case that much.

There is always a payoff. I didn’t want to up her doses too much, for becoming a dog or anything else wouldn’t be useful with her. I could snap her like a twig with my own fingers should I want, my strength was no match for her frail beauty.

Still, I wanted beauty, I had my beauty.

Yet, something doesn’t feel quite right.

Journal

When I returned home from the university, I had an odd feeling in my bones. Scrolling through the cameras wasn’t giving me any information, as all the specimens had their TVs running in darkened rooms. After removing my coat and putting down my purse and briefcase, I went down to the basement and began the task of unlocking all the bolts. My gut was clenched. My heart pounded and my anxiety was completely unfounded. Why I had the nervous stomach was startling to me but I knew there was a reason.
 

Before I finished unlocking the doors, I went into my lab to grab several hypodermic needles that I kept prepared in the fridge. I filled my pockets with them, my only weapons. I didn’t know what I was going to find behind those locked doors but it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

There was hope that my paranoia was unfounded, but years of this game indicated to me that my instincts were going to unfortunately prove to be correct.

The last lock unbolted, I walked quickly down the hallway, one hand in my lab coat, ready for anyone sneaking around corners and such. The mirrors in the corners of the hallways were intact—so no surprises around any corners.

My gut determined that I check Specimen 3’s room first.
 

My damnable gut had been accurate and turned sour as I stood there with my mouth hanging open like some dumb idiot in a horror movie.

There they were, engaged in erotic activity without me. Specimen 3 was sitting on Specimen 2 while Specimen 1 slammed into her with such delirium that they didn’t hear me come in. They moaned and rocked, a perpetual motion machine. It was hypnotically enticing in a way, watching three beautiful people. However, their flaunting of the rules was not beautiful at all. This is not part of the rules. This is not how it goes. They are all to crave only me and not ever dare to try one sexual escapade without me around.

And yet, there they were and I wonder now how many other times have they all had fun behind my back?

“What is this?” I said, my voice low as I fought to keep my anger.

“Oh.” Specimen 1 saw me first and pulled out. Specimen 3 quickly disengaged from Specimen 2 and they stared guiltily at me.

“Just having a bit of fun,” Specimen 1 said, his erection beginning to soften. “Figured you wouldn’t mind…being out and all.”

It felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Speechless, I gaped at them like a fish out of water. Every cliché in the world overwhelmed me, but that was not me. I was not a cliché. I was more than that. I was more than some authority figure to be mocked behind my back. Love and respect would not let them cheat on me. The equation was overwhelming as I comprehended the programming failure. It took me a moment to regain my composure.

“You have all broken the rules. There will be consequences.”

I didn’t say any more and backed out of the room. They didn’t move or speak until I shut the door.

It took a hot, steamy shower to calm my nerves. My head was spinning; I was literally quivering with rage. I wrapped myself in a large terry-cloth robe and climbed into my large, warm bed. Clicking the remote, I opened up the windows of sixteen of the security cameras and started the analysis time-stamped when I left the house.

When I was out giving a lecture, I had left them to their own devices. All of their doors were open. They were free to roam at will. The live footage I was able to sneak peeks at during my event seemed innocuous. But the way they acted upon my return gave me the chills.

Specimen 3 leaned out her door to call for Specimen 1. She said she was having a problem with the TV reception and needed help. He entered the room and they flirted with each other for a bit. She pointed to the remote and he fiddled with it for a while until it was adjusted to her liking. She excused herself to the washroom. He stared at the TV for a moment but kept glancing towards the bathroom. He went into the bathroom.

I had a tiny camera installed in the bathroom, but the picture wasn’t clear because of the distortion of the lens and the steam from showers. There were glimpses of them kissing passionately. Then, all too clear, between the mist smudges, he was taking her on the floor. She cried out with pleasure, her face, that beautiful face, contorted as he pleased her.

A pang hit me in my abdomen. My passion for them both was crushed. It wasn’t as if I’d never watched them before; it was the joy they had at disobeying my orders.

The lack of control sickened me.

They had quite a time in that bathroom. I fast forwarded and their session lasted at least an hour, with a steamy shower.

As tears welled up in my eyes, I reached over to click off the remote when I see her donning a little pair of short-shorts and a halter top. I watch for about four minutes and she returns, laughing, with Specimen 2 in tow. He doesn’t talk much and they fall into her bed in an embrace. She must know there’s a camera there, Specimen 1 certainly had spotted it, but perhaps Specimen 3 didn’t believe it or notice it.

The betrayal hurts me more than I expected it to. It was not an unexpected action and something I should have been more emotionally prepared for. Humans have been breaking the rules since the first day they existed. Historically, has there ever been healthy respect for authority or love or commitment? True human nature always finds a loophole. However, the entire experience caught me off guard and my dominance needed to be reestablished with all three of them.

Journal

Beauty…what was beautiful about her really? Genetics? Was she beautiful inside and out?

No, she was a filthy liar and her star continued to dim in my mind. Her betrayal and lies consumed me. Each day, another little slice in my heart as something else proved that she was less perfection than most of the people I worked with every day.

Women cheating women. She took my men and used them as her own. She didn’t respect my boundaries as her lover. The programming hadn’t reached deep enough for any of them. What made them so enticing, their oozing sexuality, also made temptations too easy and the reprograming of so many pathways to worship only me was too delicate. It had never been done, that I was aware of, unless there were other people like me conducting such experiments in their basements. It’s not impossible, but unlikely.

I’ve set up more powerful infrared spycams in every area of the house. Not so much for catching them at play. It matters not if they cheat once or a thousand times. After one time, it’s done as far as I’m concerned. It just becomes a Springer show after that. Careful observation of behavioral patterns is needed and physical reactions to the experiments must be explored in more detail than ever before.

I’m adjusting the formula and am going to try a chemical neurological compound that may trigger a specific set of synapses to respond to the new audio subliminal stimulus.

I will see just how effective each phase is as I adjust the formulas.

Specimen 3

I enter her room where she’s been tied to the bed for two days. The smell of the place was disgusting and I pulled my germ mask over my face. Earlier I’d sprinkled drops of lavender into the mask so that I wouldn’t be subjected to Specimen 3’s wretchedness.

She was quiet, watching me with fearful eyes.

“I hope you’ve had some time to reflect on choices you’ve made.” I stood by her side of the bed. She lay naked on plastic sheets, smeared with her own feces and urine. A tube snaked down from the headboard and into her shoulder where there was an intravenous tube to keep her hydrated and vital. Plastic sheets lined the floor and walls and most of the furniture. Her eyes were wide, she was sweaty and making crying noises through her ball gag.

“You can’t, you just can’t run around fucking my boyfriends behind my back. There are rules. In any sexual arrangement there are rules, spoken or unspoken, and they are to be followed.” I paced around her, staring into her eyes. My own were brown today, dark and daring. She tried to squirm, the chains rattling against the wooden frame of her white princess canopy bed.

“Your pretty white room is getting pretty filthy with all this mess you’re making,” I said. I turned and walked away. I gave her a moment to believe that I was gone. I waited a few minutes. I rolled a metal table into the room. The disappointment on her face when she saw that I had returned was priceless. Her fear began again, a panicked struggle, as if she hadn’t already tried every form of escape over the past two days. The trolley clinked as I rolled it near the bed.

I went over to where she lay frozen with fear, her eyes carefully watching every detail of what I was doing as I pulled the tubing needle free from her shoulder. She winced a bit as the needle left her flesh and only a few droplets of blood emerged until I pressed my vinyl-clad finger over it for a minute.

The bleeding stopped so I tidied up the equipment by closing the secret compartment cupboard where the IV unit was hidden in the headboard. The needle and tubing were disposed of in the hazardous-waste barrel in the corner of her room. Items could be dispensed into the barrel but not removed. I only brought the barrel in when I knew there would be big jobs such as ones involving plastic sheets and feces.

I wore gloves and the mask and a long-sleeved vinyl apron over my lab coat. I uncinched the chains and they rumbled loose until she could move her arms freely. I uncuffed her and rubbed her wrists. She didn’t have the energy to claw at me. I unshackled her legs. She slid around in her own filth, trying to get the feeling back.

I removed the sheet covering the trolley. The shelves held cleaning supplies, towels, bedding, plastic, disposable wipes, sprays and more. In the side panel was a leather riding crop and a leather flogger.

“Stand up,” I commanded. I knew it would be hard for her. Plastic sheets slid between her feet as she faltered. Her eyes were lost, great foamy loops of spit dripped down from the ball gag and her chin. “You made quite a mess here. You’d better clean it up.”

She pointed at her own body where she was filthy, but I ignored her gestures.

“Clean this place up. You need to wipe down the plastic before you roll it up. Use the disposable towelettes and put them in the big barrel.”

She stood there. I went to raise my flogger but I didn’t really want to as she was covered in shit and it would be a waste of three thousand dollars worth of braided leather.