Before reading: Please note that this story has a steady pace, and there isn't a great deal of sex of any kind until about a third of the way through.

It also has themes that won't appeal to everyone. If you're not keen on femdom then there's a chance you won't enjoy the story. The man in this story is gradually subjugated by dynamic women.

*****

"I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in."

George S. McGovern - American historian and politician

1

The couch was more comfortable than its stiff lines made it seem. Jon sat back for a moment to take in the open and sleek office around him. Men and women wearing pallid greys hovered noiselessly in the mid-distance. A clean-cut man with rimless glasses nodded hello to him on the way to his desk.

Jon responded awkwardly. He felt scruffy. It wasn't just his stubble, plaid shirt and jeans; it was an internal untidiness that dawned on him. He was in an unfamiliar world, and he might have been worried that he didn't belong had he not already ruled out ever joining it.

He unfolded his copy of G2 and hadn't read a sentence before someone interrupted delicately.

"Would you like a cup of tea or coffee Mr Roeder?"

It was a lad straight out of school, but immaculately presented like everyone else around here.

"Uh, no thanks."

Jon saw his chance to get a bit more information. "But could you tell me a sec - what does Mr Fournier do here?"

Amused incredulity flashed across the kid's face. When he saw Jon was serious he composed himself and said, "Well, he's a project manager. Have you heard of SwiftRail? The Maglev project? He's coordinating the whole thing. He flew back from a meeting in Germany to..."

"Just to see me? Bloody hell."

A few paragraphs later, Edward Fournier came out, shook Jon's hand, patted his arm with brotherly warmth and led him to his office. London rolled out in the window behind Fournier's desk, one green bend of the Thames and the dark glass and chrome of the city. The office and Fournier's desk were bare. It didn't look he spent much time here.

Jon put Fournier in his late-30s. His brown hair was neatly parted and trimmed to precision. There were flecks of grey above his ears, his high cheekbones were supporting dark, powdery eyes that betrayed an all-nighter, or overnight travel. He had a faintly deferential aspect towards Jon, which Jon guessed not many people round here had seen.

This was not an interview, and while Jon assumed that many a candidate had sat before Fournier desperate to make a good impression, this encounter would be very different. Jon would ask the questions, and this man of real status would spend the next hour doing his best to convince.

"Yes, SwiftRail - essentially an underground vacuum tube between London and Manchester. 15-minute journey times, totally sustainable, no fossil fuels, countless jobs created. And above ground the old railway line will become a new national trail for walkers. The idea wasn't mine, but I fought fucking hard for it."

Fournier addressed the matter at hand.

"It's three weeks. Something like a boot camp, but they won't be shouting at you like a drill sergeant or anything like that."

"Although you will get in shape. You do a lot of exercise, but there's a spiritual side as well. Funny, I never thought it would be so hard to explain..." He took a deep breath before starting over. "So you go to this lovely country estate and the days just fly by. There's no time to dwell on doubts or get homesick."

"Does it work?"

"Oh yes," Fournier insisted. "You get in great shape, and you learn so much about yourself, without even trying. I bet you've been selected for the same reason as me - headhunted because of your situation and outlook on life. I reckon there are a lot of people like us, who have talent and are clearly intelligent, but are...well, rudderless. I see them every few months when we interview a new batch of graduates. No spirit; no passion. Sorry."

Jon shrugged. Fournier had his number.

"This..." Fournier made a circling motion around the office with his finger, "might not be your dream, but it's mine for sure. After my three weeks on the program everything was so clear. A few years later I'm the youngest guy leading these projects. Infrastructure, affordable housing, parks; things that transform places and really improve people's lives."

"Just knowing what you want to do and caring enough to go for it. That's the trick to a great career. It's as simple as pinpointing that goal. If you're smart enough, and I think we are, the rest is easy. And you'll find all this out."

"That's what those women..." Fournier corrected himself, "... and men - guys, know how to do. If you work hard and throw yourself into the program it will be over before you know it, and all the while you'll be getting amazing insights about who you are. It's intense - christ, I've said all this already - and it's so focussed because you're the only one there."

"But why the secrecy? I mean, I bumped into Alice at a career's fair. I guess she was my headhunter. But there's nothing online; no email. Well, I had doubts"

"They may have been watching you for a while. That's just how they work. Kind of refreshing isn't? It's a charitable, altruistic organisation, and there's simply an understanding to keep it low-key and avoid the wrong kind of attention. I suppose you can think of me as a customer endorsement. But wait", Edward said with a friendly chuckle as he mimicked the old infomercial spiel, "...don't take my word for it. I've got a few numbers of other alumni on my phone."

And just as he picked the phone up it rang in his hand. Fournier glanced at the screen and tightened, visibly. "Excuse me, I have to take this."

Looking out to the river, Jon thought back to Alice two weeks before. The final exam of his master's degree was a few days behind him, and still none the wiser about his future after six years of higher education, he was desperate for some inspiration.

But inspiration eluded him at the careers fair. If Alice had been watching him all along, she'd have observed a glum-looking man trudging lost around the hall. As he was getting ready to leave she tapped him on the shoulder. They found a quiet corner where she assessed him for half an hour, deeming him eligible for a three week course.

Fournier was just outside the door to the office. For a moment Jon thought he sounded a little flustered, his voice rising above a murmur, and pleading, "...no, you don't need to do that to me. I promise...", before falling back down to an indiscernible drone.

Jon mused, "Guess there's always someone bigger no matter how high you go."

Alice had grabbed Jon's attention that day at the career's fair. This was also true. Was she beautiful? He couldn't tell. But there was something magnetic in her paleness, and the sharp, upward flick of her flexuous lips exuded confidence. Her eyes were round and bright, almost circular and set off sharply by dark makeup. Her obsidian hair flowed down to her shoulder, culminating in loose curls that caressed her long neck.

Her cleavage was exposed, marginally more than he'd expected to see at this sort of event. It was a deceptively deep, soft, snowy fold, and he was careful not to stare as she probed him gently about his situation and plans for the future over a cup of tea. She nodded and hummed empathetically, confidently meeting his gaze with her wide, expressive eyes when he spoke.

Jon was at the end of a master's degree in Film Studues. As far as his professor, Leslie Hardwick, was aware he would go for a phd, but unbeknownst to her Jon was desperate to call it quits. She adored him and had him lined up for a life in academia, but he was now stringing her along, and didn't know how to break the news to someone who had high hopes for him. He wanted to get a job, get far away from his parents, but had not a single clue what he wanted to be.

The problem was that in a deep recess in his mind, he feared he wasn't strong enough for the working world. He wouldn't be able to bounce back from the rejection that is part of most job hunts, and if he got a foothold, corporate life would chew him up. He just couldn't assert himself onto other people, much less steamroll them - he was naturally passive and retiring.

Yet the guilt of leeching off mum and dad, and dodging the confrontation with Professor Hardwick had spurred him to visit that job fair just before his final exam, with few expectations. His prospects weren't that bad, but he lacked fire; a damp apathetic fug followed him around.

Edward came back into the room with a sigh and shuffled back into his chair, composed once more.

"This job, eh! Anyway, have you given it some thought?"

"Yeah, I think I'm going to go for it. Don't worry about the other alumni. I've heard enough here.."

Fournier looked surprised and relieved; he was smiling broadly and without a trace of guile. Like a naughty child spared punishment by a lucky twist of fate.

"Oh, good on you, Jon. It's the best decision you've ever made. I promise."

2

"I love you", muttered Kathy as they prepared to part. It was the 1st of June, and Jon was packed and ready to go. Fournier had sent him road directions, but asked that he kept them to himself. Jon felt privileged, and this sense of pride overcame the shame of holding details back from his girlfriend.

"I love you too", mumbled Jon, abashed.

"I can't believe you won't be able to call me while you're there. It's not on.", Kathy protested one last time.

"Yeah, I know", Jon offered apologetically. "I'll see if I can sort something out. But I think it's strictly emergencies only."

Kathy was troubled by the whole thing. But of course she would be. She hadn't met Fournier or Alice. And she hadn't been headhunted. Jon was sure it wasn't jealousy; just that she couldn't know what he was feeling, and why he was so excited about what lay ahead.

It didn't help that their last night together had been less than perfect. Stepping out of a bar arm-in-arm, they were pestered by a group of drunk young lads more interested in Kathy than they were in Jon. Nudged to one side and helplessly watching an ugly situation unfold, Jon missed his cue to step in, and waited helpless as they badgered and jostled her. If Jon had stood up for his girlfriend, a fight would no doubt have ensued, and outnumbered four-to-one Jon might have ended up in hospital. As it was Kathy was shaken up, and lads moved on after splashing beer on her dress. It was over in seconds. A minor incident, but the timing could not have been worse.

Plans of goodbye intimacy that night were torn up on the spot. Jon felt emasculated and ashamed. Kathy didn't blame him for not sacrificing himself for her; "it might have made it worse for both of us", but he could feel her trembling. They slept at his bed and he held her in his arms until he fell asleep.

After their meeting, Fournier had phoned Jon to brief him with details. There would be no internet, no phones; a complete break from the trappings of everyday life would be needed. Jon would need to commit to the program for it to work, but would be free to walk away at any time. Fournier assured him again that he would love it.

These rules, skeletal and not fleshed out by any other information, had freighted pangs of trepidation as the first day approached, but it would be worth it if he could find out what he was supposed to do with his life. He was sure that a confident, focussed Jon would have made the right call in situations like last night.

He needed a reason to fight for what he wanted.

During the next three weeks, Jon would have to miss Kathy's cousin's wedding, which meant private relief for Jon, but annoyance for Kathy. He grinned mischievously when he thought about it. But apart from that it would amount to little more than an extended holiday. They had been a couple for six months, and, as obstacles go, this break would be negotiable - like a fallen tree across a forest path.

They kissed and held held each other for a few seconds. She smiled at him when he promised he knew what he was doing. As he pulled away he wished the timing could have been better, and he glanced in the mirror to see Kathy looking lost and vulnerable in his parents' driveway.

It took four hours to reach the estate. Specks of dust danced around his fiesta in the bright sun, and he passed the journey listening to music for the last time for a few weeks. From the four wide lanes of the M3 he got onto an A-road, and from that he pulled into a country lane flanked by thick foliage that interlinked a few metres above the road surface. The road wound along the side of a valley for several miles, before he saw the landmark; an old tudor cottage that was once the gatehouse of the property.

Jon pulled onto a track next to it and heard the gravel crunch beneath his wheels. Towering ash trees obscured his view, but after a curve in the track he came to a modern-looking gate protected by dark brick walls. He spoke tentatively into the intercom when he heard a woman's sharp, inquisitory voice. After a pause the gates opened noiselessly.

The track continued through a copse, and then opened out onto a vast green space, which sloped steadily up to an imposing stately home in the mid-distance. The track led to the front of the building, hugging the edge of deciduous woodland that took up a whole swathe of the property. Approaching the house he was drawn to its tall windows and turreted chimneys. He tried to put a date on it - 1600s maybe, old and grand.

As he approached he noticed four figures standing in front of the portico. All women. He recognised Alice and made an effort to catch her eye as he parked up. None of the women approached him as he got out of the car, leaving him to crunch his way sheepishly across the gravel to introduce himself to them, watching him the whole time.

"Er, hello."

"Hello Jon Roeder", said the eldest, a refined woman in her 40s. Wearing a black formal dress, she had long, dark hair and slightly accentuated, round cheekbones.

"You're a little late and we want to get started as soon as possible." Her tone was warm and maternal, if her words were to the point

"I'm Lauren. I know you've met Alice, and this is Olwen and Jennifer. You'll have time to get to know each other later, but first I'll get you settled in." Jon adjusted to this matter of factness with a characteristic nervous laugh and nodded hello, but he sensed Lauren was already on the move behind him and expected him to follow.

He took a step towards the building and was wrong-footed as Lauren strode away from the door and towards the woodland to the side. A few paces behind her and trotting to keep up, Jon marked her height; a good couple of inches taller than his 5 feet 10. Her black heels clipped their way across the gravel drive, which gave way to a stone path when they reached the trees. They had to sidestep through a dense thicket lined the outer edge of the woodland and obscured the view from the house. But after a squeeze they were in the forest, with trees at wide intervals and damp, mossy air.

Their destination wasn't clear until they were almost on top of it; a glass dome that reflected the trees, and it was only when they confronted the structure that he could size it up.

It was a strange biome, about the length and breadth of a tennis court, with green hexagonal tiles that camouflaged it in the forest. The apex was high, several metres off the ground, but well below the canopy of the ancient trees around them. They had to crouch a little to get inside, and when they did, the building burst into life and Jon was dumbfounded by what he saw.

There were luminous turquoise strips on the floor, tracing their way around the building's minimal amenities. Hexagonal slivers of light glowed softly from the ceiling. Much of the dome appeared to be just open space, so minimal was the design. At the centre was what looked like a bed; an oval padded surface, thicker at one end, but it also had a transparent convex lid that was currently open.

Awe-struck, Jon turned around him to see Lauren tapping away on a touchscreen by the entrance.

"Is that my bed?" he asked, stammering.

"Yes", she said tersely."This is you."

And she began pointing at different parts of the dome.

"Bedroom.", the pod-like thing he had just pointed out.

"Laundry", a hatch that led to nowhere, "you'll need to change often."

"Bathroom.", reassuringly, a frosted sphere in a nook on the far side of the dome.

"Exercise area.", an open space with white padded mats.

"Dining area and lounge.", a flat surface that didn't look like any dining table he had ever seen. It was circular, and a tube emerged from the centre like a high-end kitchen tap, feeding into a large plastic beaker. Tracing its circumference was a padded bench. A few steps from this was a kind of couch, contoured to fit the human body.

"Oh, we'll come to the eating arrangements later. But for now here's a water bottle. You'll need to keep hydrated. Refill it by pushing this button."

She handed him a large sports bottle, the kind he'd never had use for. Gradually he registered the smell of the building; fresh, with a touch of spice, a scent that evoked a souk he had visited in Morocco. Frankincense? He couldn't tell the time of day. It was bright outside, but the shell of the building made it hard to perceive the sunlight.

Lauren pulled a drawer out from under the sleeping pod. It contained clothing, if he could call it that. She held up a cross between a wetsuit and bodysuit. It had long-sleeves and the lustrous, lycra-style material looked like it was going to be clingy. Responding to Jon's reaction of horror, Lauren tried to appease him, "Think of yourself as an athlete. You're going to do a lot of exercise, and this material has been developed to dry quickly and remove odours. Change when you need to."

"I've never thought of myself as an athlete." Jon was slim enough, but thanks to his exercise-free lifestyle he was on the soft side.

"I'll give you a few minutes to get dressed and settled. You'll get used to it. And please have your belongings ready for me to take away. I'll be back with Jennifer shortly and you can have lunch."

3

Sheepishly, Jon slipped on the blue-to-green creation. It extended to his wrists and down to just above his knees. He felt very self-conscious, and sought a mirror in the bathroom, but there was none. "Probably for the best", he breathed ruefully. He stuffed the clothes he had on into his bag and dropped his car keys in there too. Momentarily forlorn, he was playing with the idea of sending Kathy a text when the biome's door opened and Lauren returned.

"I know it might take some getting used to. We'll keep it charged and will let you know if there's an emergency."

She took the bag briskly, and Jennifer stepped in behind. Pausing by the console to type something into it.

Of all the women he'd seen so far, Jennifer looked the youngest. Maybe early-20s.

"Jennifer is our fitness expert. Today will be an intro - one exercise session, then a meal and then some relaxing visualisation with me, and that should round things off until tomorrow."

Jon was aware of himself at this moment. Both of these women were attractive in different ways; Lauren, elegant dark, tall and soft, and Jennifer bright, fair and lithe. She was dressed in the same turquoise colour as him, also in a bodysuit. Her sandy hair was tied back, setting off her delicate features; a cute mouth, freckled cheek, oval jaw and pert nose. Jon could sense his small gut protruding and was anxious about humiliating himself.

"Are you ready to go?"

She overflowed with peppy and cartoonish energy, which, he figured, she'd need if she was going to get him active for the first time since adolescence.
"I think so."

"Well let's get your monitor on."

And she came close, held his hand out, wrist up, and wrapped a lycra band around his wrist that surprised him when it snapped shut and fastened with a click.

"It's to check your heart rate and other stuff. You'll have it the whole time we're here."

"We'll see what you can take. Let's go for an hour starting...now."

All of a sudden the dome filled with music, and Jennifer hopped over the to the white, matted area. Jon followed, and looked back to notice that Lauren had gone.

"Just follow my lead. I've got your information here." she pointed to a display on her wristband. "We'll slow down if you look like you're in trouble."

Jon still felt ridiculous, but there was a lightness to Jennifer's manner that made him less bashful. She handled him in a cheerful and clinical way that reminded him of a skilful family doctor from his youth.

And with that he rubbed his left wrist and started to jog on the spot. The first exercise session was underway, and it was grim. The music was just what he feared - loud, brash techno, that he did his best to ignore while trying and failing to keep time with Jennifer. She was too agile; she moved more like a dancer than a personal trainer, effortlessly switching from one exercise to the next, glancing occasionally at her wrist and informing him about his heartrate. "Like there's anything I can do about it", Jon said internally.

They graduated from jogging on the spot to jumping jacks to jabs, then took a few minutes to stretch and started a new sequence with more intensity. The tempo and style of the music adapted itself to their activities. When they were pushing it the music became more bombastic, and when they were stretching it softened and slowed. 45 minutes in and Jon was feeling wretched. He had a persistent stitch in his chest, his bobbing gut was making him queasy, but he pushed himself as he had promised Fournier he would do. Jennifer slowed the pace when he struggled, but always looked comfortable, her fair ponytail blithely bouncing around. He was too tired to admire just how sexy she was.

They were working to a climax, and Jennifer reassured him with a countdown, of minutes and then seconds. Jon crashed to the floor when the session ended. Limbs shaking, he hauled himself up to follow her stretches weakly, before traipsing off to use the shower for the first time. Jennifer said a chirpy goodbye and was gone, leaving him to gulp down water and try make sense of the bathroom fittings.

"Three weeks of this shit!" he blurted out loud this time.

The water came on as soon as he stepped into the glass cubicle. Once he was under the head, refreshing jets of water burst from the corners of the shower and massaged his body from all sides. It was just what he needed. The all-in-one shower gel and shampoo dispenser was another welcome touch, and he took a few minutes to relax, being soothed unconsciously by the gel's spicy aroma.

On the wall at chest height was a curious button. It was the size of his hand, with a red diagonal cross on a white background. He tried to make a mental note to ask about it, but would soon forget in the whir of new facts and experiences of the first week.

Realising that he couldn't get back into his sweat-soaked bodysuit, he stuck his head out the door of the bathroom partition to make sure nobody was around, and sprinted naked over to the bed to get another suit out from the drawer. There must have been 20 there, all meticulously folded. He ran back, changed into it and a wave of relaxation washed over him. The kind that only comes after vigorous exercise, "or sex", he thought.

Sex. In a place with women dressed in skintight lycra, he would need to try hard to keep his mind off that topic. Maybe he could find a way to be cordial with them. But he knew that he wanted to see Alice again. Perhaps there was a chance they might get to know each other.

And as he thought this he looked down at this lycra-clad body and felt inadequate.

"Yeah right."

He left the bathroom a second time to find Alice sitting idly at the dining table. She was wearing a dark green sundress that reached her knees and scooped down to her chest, framing a silver pendant was held in the soft grip of her breasts. He said hello, and sat down on the circular bench opposite her.

"Hi, I'm so glad you chose to do this. How are you finding it so far?"

"Well, it's different. I'm not used to wearing lycra. And the aerobics were really hard," whimpered Jon in a faux-moany tone that Alice was clearly on board with, "...but I think I can take it. I've got to tell you though, I'm absolutely starving. What time is it?"

Alice looked uncomfortable for a second, before telling him that time didn't exist here. Well, of course it did, but in blocks. "Over the years, we've found that our candidates do better if they lose track of time a little, and put their trust in us for that kind of thing."

She didn't wait for Jon to interject. "Course, you'll go to bed at night and get up in the morning. But during the day your time will be broken down into sessions."

"Jennifer will exercise with you four hours of the day. You didn't really meet Olwen earlier, but she runs the estate and you'll be helping her for another four. And Lauren will have you in the evenings for visualisation. The occasional meal and spare time you'll be spending with me." She tittered gently when she said this. Was she flirting?

"I'm here to help you get used to it. And for normal conversation. You won't get to talk much with the others, and we find it helps for there to be a little more human contact. I can also answer questions about most things here, but there are some topics we can't talk about."

Jon frowned and felt a twinge of anxiety. "Just so we don't interfere with the process. It's a complicated one, but we know what we're doing. I don't know if Edward Fournier told you, but our alumni tend to go onto big things. Just by being here you future is incredibly bright. It may help to remember this if you have any doubts in the next three weeks."

After a pause,Alice changed tack. "So, do you want to get something weird out of the way?"

"You mean, weirder?", and they shared a laugh, but Alice had stopped a few moments before Jon realised. And they regarded each other again in awkward silence.

"You won't eat food here either; you'll drink it. Here, let me show you."

She reached across to the tube at the centre of the table, her pendant working loose from between her pale breasts and dangled from her neck. Her eyes met Jon's and she tapped a display on her wrist, identical to the one Jennifer had used earlier. She held the tube between a gracile thumb and forefinger, and after faint rumble beneath the table, an opaque and viscous green liquid began to spout into the beaker. It slipped into the cup where it rested like bread dough.

"Now this will take some getting used to - more than anything else perhaps - but everything you need is in this cup. It's a perfectly balanced diet that has been developed by the MOD for extended army patrols, as it happens. The taste is pleasant, and you'll find you'll find it fills you up quickly."

"But, but what's wrong with normal food?"

Alice's red lips parted in a tender, patronising smile. "Nothing, but this way we can guarantee you get the right stuff. If you think of this course as holistic, getting to grips with your mind, body and...soul" she grunted impatiently at the word, 'soul' because it wasn't quite right,"then diet is crucial, just like the aerobics with Jennifer, and just like the activities with Olwen and Lauren. Everything combines."

"OK, ok!" said Jon with mock impatience.

"Shall I hold my nose?"

"Oh, it's not that bad. You'll like it I promise."

And Jon lifted the beaker to his mouth and felt the gloop touch his lips. He wanted to recoil, but there under Alice's expectant gaze he felt he had to make an effort. He took a gulp. It tasted like pancake batter as it rolled over his tongue. But after another gulp he noticed he was feeling very full. There was still some left in his mouth, and it would be a real effort to get it down.

Alice was rapt by this display, her lively eyes watching him intently, so Jon glugged the remainder, feeling thoroughly bloated once it was in his system. He took a deep, laboured breath and sat back in his seat. The thought of repeating this three times a day made his stomach uneasy.

"Well done!" she breathed ."I haven't seen someone take so much in their first go...I hope you won't feel it too much."

"Feel what?"

"You'll see." She said, before diverting Jon's attention.

"Oh, you've got your wristband on already. I hope it's not a pain."

Jon tugged at it nervously. "It's OK. It feels a bit clammy. What is it, some kind of prison tag?"

"Oh my, no. Even now it's sending data to this building - your pulse, body temperature and more besides. There are hundreds of little processes happening all the time - it even analyses your sweat and can tell the dome what nutrients you need in your food."

Jon's head had been spinning all day, and he starting to feel overloaded. .

4

When it turned dark Lauren stepped into the dome. She shivered a little from the brisk twilight air and approached the table, happy to see Alice and Jon in conversation. Alice told Jon she'd see him tomorrow, and Lauren asked him to lie down on the couch and close his eyes. Once again she entered something into the console, and all at once Jon realised how tired he was.

He hoped he wouldn't have to participate too much, because now his eyes were shut he was struggling to pay attention.

In the distance he heard Lauren's voice. Insistent and strong; throaty but feminine and refined. She spoke slowly and deliberately, emphasising on words like "safe", "calm" and "happy". It was a strain to follow her thread, and he was relieved when she told him to relax, and more so when she said it again, and even more when he heard it a third time. And then: nothing.

Jon saw Lauren, chic and graceful, on a wet London street, and recognising her he went to say hello. She was in a mac, which had a sheen from the rain. He motioned to give her a friendly peck, and she pulled him in warmly, whispering something he couldn't understand. Her dark silken hair tickled his nose and he felt her plump, painted lips planting on his cheek. She pushed away, and turned so that she could kiss him on the other cheek, Mediterranean-style. Jon prepared to step back and start a conversation, but she cut him off and drew him back to kiss the first cheek again.

The rain continued to fall, and crowds parted and passed them by. And still she kissed him, alternating cheeks. Over and over. Through her coat, her breasts pushed against him and spread across his chest as she gripped his lapels. He was stuck fast, helpless at her whim. Motionless by choice or because she was holding him, he didn't know. He opened his eyes and saw hers staring into them. Smoky, dark, and unfathomably deep. She drew one hand up behind his head, forcing his head back. Her gaze penetrated him and she spoke once more. "Smile."

Jon awoke gradually, like the sun rising. There were no bumps; no car alarms outside; no doors slamming; no knocks at his bedroom door, and no bickering voices arguing about domestic matters. Just growing consciousness of the silence, wan light and the brush of cool air on his face. He was in the pod, and the glass lid was lifting glacially above his head.

He rose unprompted and realised that he hadn't taken off his outfit from the night before. He stretched and as he walked over to the bathroom, he noticed that his footsteps fell silently on the floor. Taking the chance to brush his teeth, he tasted the same spicy quality to the toothpaste that he had detected in the shower, and when he had entered the dome the day before.

Thinking of which, he was looking forward to getting outside and seeing real daylight again. He refilled his water bottle and saw his beaker from the night before, clean and waiting beneath the tap. Oddly he thought, the notion of eating or drinking that gloop again didn't seem so awful. In fact, it made him hungry . Maybe because his belly was beginning to gnaw at him and he knew there was nothing else.

Jennifer arrived as he left the bathroom, signalling the start of a new day. She was wrapped tightly - almost lewdly - in lycra again and was just as chipper as yesterday. She bounded over to the exercise area, and as she limbered up he observed her body; slim, lean and lightly toned. He watched the light play on her body and saw the small mounds of her nipples straining at the tight material of her chest. For the briefest moment he worried he might get hard at the sight, but the feeling passed.

"We're going for a double session now, and then again before your evening meal."

Responding to Jon's involuntary doubtful reaction.

"Come on, you're a fit lad. You came through yesterday just fine and I was pushing you so hard."

He was too proud to tell her he was putting on brave face, maybe even showing off a little.

It was murder from start to finish. Today Jennifer incorporated all sorts of press-ups, tricep dips and plank walks, and Jon's arms shook as they supported his bodyweight for the first time in his life. The music was even more jarring than the previous day. Obnoxious synths hummed like a handsaw in his brain. The beat jolted his bones and made him feel like he was losing control. He simply could not keep time.

During the most stressful spells, Jennifer became a stormy blur of bobbing hair and glossy green spandex. His vision distorted by sweat and exhaustion. With vague shame he saw saliva fly from his mouth and mingle with the drops of sweat that had dabbed onto the soft surface of the exercise area.

Jennifer pretended not to notice the mess, and was unaffected by the intense exercise. She maintained a cheerful facade, and when things got tough she smiled more. Jon wondered if she was some kind of robot.

It felt endless, and there had been so many false finishes that he doubted Jennifer when she finally brought the torture to a close, bounding over to him to congratulate him. He indulged her perfunctorily, reached for his water bottle for what felt like the hundredth time and hauled himself over to the table, hoping she would go away forever.

When the queasy feeling eased, he started craving gloop, and watched greedily as it flopped from the tube into his beaker. This time he sipped, and it dawned on him that he was even savouring it.

He limped into the shower to get pummelled again and had a few minutes to wonder what would follow, and why there were no men at this place, when he made out a figure approaching through the woods. The biome's door opened with a swish and over the threshold for the very first time strode the voluptuous frame of Olwen.

Her jet black hair was coiffed to a short bob, framing a triangular face with a bold, sharp nose that belied the softness of her body. Large shades obscured her eyes. An olive green satin blouse clung to her chest, accentuating her buxom curves. She wore a black pencil skirt and shiny heels. Jon got up to greet her, but she had set off in a whirl and harshly directed him to follow her. He fumbled to get his trainers on and tried to catch the woman who was already sashaying along the path towards the house calling back to him to "hurry the fuck up!".

It was another fine day, and he was glad to be outside Olwen's brusqueness had done nothing to dampen his spirit. He'd found it charming, and, patronising her in his mind, already had designs to wear down her edge by being sympathetic and attentive to her commands.

Her hips swung as she marched towards the house. He followed her through the entrance for the first time and squinted in the dusky light of the hallway, struck by the scale of the house. The design was demure, with just a bit more detail than minimal. There was another console by the door, and the large panelled doors that branched off it were all closed. A plush floral carpet absorbed his footsteps and he followed Olwen's rubenesque frame past a wide stairway to an office at the rear of the building.

Olwen took a seat at the desk facing the entrance and regarded him with soft ridicule. Her sharp lips twitched with a cruel smile. He would get acquainted with the look she was giving him; tilting her head back to peer down her nose at him. Jon felt self-conscious in his uniform again and tried to avoid her gaze by letting his eyes wander around the place. On one side of the long room was an ornate fireplace with a broad mantelpiece, and on the other was a row of leadlight windows shaded by venetian blinds. There was nowhere for him to sit.

"There's a service entrance in the kitchen next door. You'll use that from now on."

"Right you are", said Jon with exaggerated deferentiality, but Olwen's fierce expression cowed him straight away. She pulled her glasses off to reveal large, languid eyes with a dark kohl trim and large, fan-like lashes.

Setting them down on the table deliberately, she spoke again, addressing him impersonally like a prison warden briefing a crowd of fresh inmates.

"You're going to work hard for me every day, and it will test your spirit to the limit. It will be mildly entertaining for me, and if you do everything I tell you, it will slowly get easier for you." Olwen raised her chin as she addressed him.

"The main rule is not to address me unless it's absolutely necessary. The rest you'll pick up from trial and error. I expect a lot of error."

"If you need me report here and don't say a word until I speak to you. You'll find your instructions in the kitchen."

"One more thing:", Olwen paused and scrutinised Jon like a museum exhibit." ...smile."

Jon found her insultingly didactic but he smiled with complete abandon. He was positively grinning, and he didn't know why. As if from a vent on the deep sea floor warmth trickled through his cold body.

Olwen lit up and sniggered when she saw this, composed herself and turned to the computer, making it clear she was done with him for now.

The kitchen was huge, with three rows of counters, sinks and ovens, and a cavernous fireplace where huge lumps of meat might have been roasted for historical banquets. The windows were a couple of metres off the floor; wide, rectangular sheets of vintage glass, textured and warped, casting faint patterns on the kitchen's surfaces.

In one corner was an electric kettle as well as a until with a plastic tube, similar to the one he got his meals from. On the wall was a panel with a list of the rooms around the house. Next to each one was an LED. Jon found his instructions on the counter.

A sheet of paper read, "Stay here and wait to be called."

And he waited, and waited. The sunlight swung around the room, he was sure that hours were passing, and still he waited. He wondered if he should go back to the difficult woman in the room and ask her what on Earth was going on. He was the butt of a joke. He thought about leaving and going back to his dome. He heard a phone ring in the other room, and Olwen's voice murmuring.

The kitchen was dark and cool, and Jon shivered in his outfit and fiddled with his wristband, which was pressing uncomfortably on his skin. He felt glad that he hadn't caught sight of himself in a mirror yet. He wondered about his stubble, which would start to look scruffy in a couple of days, and he hadn't even thought about his hair, something he usually fussed over when he was alone. He thought about Kathy, and wondered if he might be able to contact her somewhere down the line.

And then at long last a light blinked on the panel above the kettle. It was the office, and in the absence of having anything else to do Jon took his cue to confront Olwen again. She didn't look up when he entered the room, but said one word.
"Tea."

Jon paused for a moment, which was enough to elicit an impatient glare from Olwen.

He did the best he could, opening and closing the multitude of drawers and cupboards to find what he needed. He found a mug, boiled the water and brewed the tea, letting it stand for a couple of minutes before adding milk. Not knowing whether she wanted sugar, he found a jar full of perfect cubes and in his haste grabbed a couple before rushing back to Olwen.

When he set the mug and cubes on her desk he knew something was wrong.

"No. Try again. Take your time and do it properly."

Aghast, Jon picked everything up and returned wearily to the kitchen. His pride was bruised and he felt no little resentment towards this cow. Taking a breath and pondering the situation, it occurred to him in his strop that he could leave right now and go back to Kathy and the comfort of his mum and dad's house. The internet, a square meal, his playstation and all of a sudden, the idea of a wank called to him.

But slowly he began to concern himself with what Olwen wanted. A few months earlier Jon had taken Kathy to afternoon tea at a posh hotel. Remembering Fournier beseeching him to give everything to the process, he figured he should try his best. So he spent a few minutes rifling through the cupboards, fridge and pantry gathering together what he needed. He found a fancy tea set and a tray.

He found biscuits and cakes, and found the means to make sandwiches, cutting them into fingers. He arranged the tray as precisely as he could and when he was sure that he would avoid humiliation again set off for the office once more. So prickled was he by her rejection that he felt that doing a good job would be an act of defiance.

This time Olwen watched him when he entered the room, and recognising the improvement, patronised him even more. "Better. See I knew you could do it. Well done"

"Wait for while and you can go off and drink your gloop."

He knew she was mocking him, and he was aware that there was something unfair about what was going on, but her praise made him feel good. He watched in pride as she finished the tea, pinching the delicate handle of the cup with manicured fingers. Her blouse was open to the third button, and a small billow of pale cleavage pressed against the tautened, glossy material.

When she was finished she lowered her head and returned distractedly to her work. Waiting awkwardly in the centre of the room, Jon studied her face and the frown twitching above her eyebrows. He deduced that he was no longer needed and silently gathered the tea paraphernalia and made his way back to the door. As he left Olwen's office he heard her call, "Well done", and though her tone was snide and the scene had been emasculating, he felt proud.

The shadows in the grounds grew and the shaded areas dimmed. A mini-storm of flies caught the sunlight above the lawn outside the kitchen window, and for the first time Jon noted the disequilibrium of having no way to tell the time. The only indication of its passage was in his transfer from one woman to next..

There was a tap at the exterior door, and he could make out Jennifer hopping about, warming up through the frosted glass. An hour of peppy hell awaited. But just as Jon felt he had been subversive by wrong-footing Olwen with his catering skills, he wanted to defy Jennifer by keeping up with her. They jogged back to the dome and he felt soothed by the soft dusk, which reminded him of childhood summer holidays in the countryside. If everything else was tough, he was still in a special place doing something only a privileged few even knew about.

And so, steeled by the events of the day, he gave everything as they exercised, and was cheered by Jennifer's nods of approval. When it ended he felt the same quivers of nausea, but was able ignore them, knowing that his gloop would make him feel better.

Jon washed, changed into a fresh uniform and basked in the feeling of being alone as he sipped his dinner, detecting - and guiltlessly enjoying - the doughy flavour.

He took a tour of his home, observed the walls and floors that were made of some material he couldn't identify. It was carbon-coloured, dull and yielded to pressure, rendering contact noiseless, as he had noticed with the floor. Almost every fitting was made from this strange substance, including the structure of his bed; that strange pod. He looked at the cavity in which he slept and ran his hand along the interior, tracing a web of small holes near where his head would rest, figuring it was some kind of loudspeaker or vent.

From behind, Alice asked, "Fancy watching a film?"

Disregarding Jon's jolt of surprise, Alice started tapping at the display by the entrance, and, over by the exercise area a panel slid open with a low hum, revealing a large screen. After no entertainment to speak of for two days, Jon was looking forward to the distraction.

"Of course, Jon, it can't be junk. To fit in with what we're trying to do here, the films we show have to be challenging. But knowing that you're a film student I'm sure you'll get something out of them."

The dome grew dark as the film began. What he got was the uncut version of Walerian Borowczyk's La Bête, a mid-70s erotic drama, that Alice watched impassively on the bench beside him. It was lyrical and comical for an hour, but the finale was torrid and bizarre. The film's Beast, resembling a werewolf, chases an 18th-century woman through woodland to a harpsichord soundtrack, closing in on her as she loses items of clothing in the struggle. She tries to climb a tree to escape, but the monster catches her as she dangles helplessly from a branch.

Jon glanced sideways at Alice as on the screen the beast's obscene cock was leaking gobs of cum long before it even enters the woman it had been chasing. Alice was nonchalantly watching the screen, running the tip of her finger lightly from her chin down to her collarbone.

Propelled by its raw, visceral arousal it has only one aim; to mate with her before it dies. The scene was graphic, but what staved off a sense of mortification and grabbed Jon's attention was sight of semen that kept flowing from its penis. It mesmerised him to the point that he hadn't sensed his own cock growing, creating a large, visible bulge in his outfit.

Jon just wasn't aware of it. He saw Alice crane slightly to observe him, but paid no heed as he continued watching the screen. The film was ending but he was still entranced, and the hard-on had subsided before he gathered his thoughts and stirred. The film was lurid and definitely pornographic, but he supposed it was just about elegant enough to be passed off as something artistic and appropriate for this kind of situation.

He was still comforting himself with this excuse when Lauren arrived. Alice bade Jon goodnight, and he hunkered down into the couch without invitation, waiting for Lauren's words. Once more she told him to relax. She spoke at length about breathing slowly, and releasing the tension from his body. After a while he could no longer follow her words, but instead clung to her hand as she floated and wisped at speed over a dark landscape. After a while longer he felt nothing.

Jon remembered the woodland from the film. He saw the canopy high above him and moved reverently past the thick, gnarled trunks of ancient trees. As he walked he found it difficult to complete a stride; his feet were getting caught and he was beginning to trip. He looked down, and ivy had become entwined with his legs.

Uncowed he attempted a big leap to break free, but with this exertion the ivy answered with the same force and brought him to down to his knees. He wriggled forwards in a futile attempt to escape, but felt resistance as the ivy tightened around his thighs. Its power was subtle; overwhelming him in stages, pulling him and tipping him slowly onto his front. Every shift of balance he made was countered deftly until he was teetering on his knees. He saw the ivy on his arms and felt a final nudge send him face first into a spongy bed of leaves and moss.

His body, now trapped, was manoevered onto its back. He saw the the branches sway and the black blur of solitary birds landing and taking flight. The sunlight glowed green through the foliage and the earthy, cool scent of the forest counselled him to stop struggling. He looked down at his body. Flexuous tendrils crept over his jeans, nodding as in time-lapse; ungainly but purposeful and intelligent. They weaved through the loop on his zipper and eased it open to a numb feeling of dread.

The tendrils waited, and the forest began to whisper a phrase. "Submit to feminine love", it urged him, and the voice grew from a delicate wisp to a melodious, rhythmic entreaty. He knew it was enfeebling him, and that it would not stop. The fear ebbed away, overcome by anticipation at the act of succumbing. When at last he obeyed the instruction, the tendrils reanimated. They prised his arms away from his chest by the wrist, and he saw their pale green twists wrap snugly against his neck, damp and fleshy on his skin.

Sensing dull motion on his thighs, Jon raised his head to see his hard penis caressed and guided into a silken pink tube, a flower never seen before. Dewey and warm, it closed around him and gripped him and made him gasp. A breeze picked up and the tube danced on the air, up and down, and accompanied once more by the order to submit, now urgent, almost pained.

His cock slid up and down, and slick moisture eased its path, dripping from the vessel and down his shaft, gathering at the base with every thrust.

Free, frictionless and unyielding, this force was whisking Jon towards the edge of orgasm. He couldn't fight it, he lifted his hips against the motion of the flower, and in that instant saw the lid on his pod raise and shaded sunlight flushing into the dome. He looked down at his hard cock and he remembered everything.

5

By the middle of the first week, Jon was coming to terms with the schedule. He accepted that he might never remember what his sessions with Lauren would be about, but he knew that he associated them with a sensation of safety and tranquility.Yet secretly a powerful, deep arousal was seeping into his being after every session with her. He tried to dismiss it as an accidental side-effect.

His dreams were becoming ever wilder and more sensual, but by day his mind turned to other things; mainly how good he was feeling.

He felt fitter, and perhaps it was wishful thinking but he was sure he had burned off some of the puppy fat that he had been carrying. What's more - he began to look forward to the exercise. Bold, masculine vigour overcame the pain and sickness of the workouts, and after sessions he basked in the famous good-tired sensation he had heard people talk about but had never experienced.

There was also a clarity to his thoughts, an upshot he figured of the change in routine and healthy lifestyle he was leading. It was tough, but, as Fournier had requested, he was giving himself over to the program; exercising as hard as he could, and doing his best to please Olwen, however rude she might be.

One day, as the first week was coming to a close, Olwen called Jon into her office. He was perfectly attentive, and had hardly missed a beat since that first day. Olwen watched him enter, and invited him to stand at the centre of the room, a few paces in front of her desk. He tried to read her expression, which was faintly threatening. A knowing smile, charged with the same sense of superiority that often lit her sharp, quick features.

Olwen grinned menacingly, white teeth framed by dark red lips, and it soon morphed into an uncertain frown. She cleared her throat lightly.

"Jon, you're doing well, and you look like you're settling in fine. I just thought I'd take this chance to see if you could, maybe...be a ragdoll for me." These strange last few words lingered in the air with an uncertainty, and she stared at Jon, her face alive with amusement and expectation.

Nonplussed, Jon regarded her blankly. But as he did so, he felt his knees give way and hit the carpet. He dropped limply to the floor like a discarded doll, still watching Olwen as he dropped, as if through a video camera knocked over. Her yelps of laughter filled the room all the while. He didn't get up. He didn't know whether he lacked the capacity to do it, or if his body was telling him not to. And there he remained for what felt like hours; locked in place on the flowery carpet, absently confused and frightened.

Olwen hardly acknowledged him. Apart from when she cooed at him with artificial sympathy. She got out of her chair, wearing a dark green vintage sweater, buttoned to the top, and perched on the edge of her desk. Jon saw her black heels and opaque black tights. She extended both arms to grip the desk beside her. He looked up at her bored eyes as she spoke, "Jon, what happened to you? You've gone all limp. Well at least you'll be able to smile about it later. It will all make sense then."

And when she said the word "smile" he felt emphatically, inexplicably happy and safe once more, despite what had just happened.

Yet later, when he looked back at that day he knew that this was the first time he became afraid.

Alice was the only one Jon felt he could talk to about Olwen, and when he saw her that night she looked annoyed by what he told her. "There are times when she will seem a bit too much" she said carefully, "and I think she crossed a line today, but you have to know that this is all happening for a reason."

Jon was still very uneasy. "But why did I fall on the floor like that? It was as if I couldn't do anything about it. Like my body wasn't mine.."

"I don't know. But thinking about it, you've been serving her all week. And you've become so good at it that when she gives an order you carry it out without thinking about it too much."

"What? Like I'm conditioned? Shouldn't I be worried about this?"

There was compassion in the way Alice's round eyes contorted as she spoke, "Perhaps, but it's just a sign that you're giving everything to the program, which is what you're supposed to do. You're doing whatever you need to do to get through it. And here we are at the end of the first week already."

This cheered Jon, and knowing that the end was already in sight, he felt like he could steel himself against any future surprises. The bigger picture came back into view. The goal of embarking a career, earning well and starting a life superseded all the little hurdles in the meantime. He also liked the otherness of this small adventure, and felt content to categorise everything he experienced as a one-off.

"I think this all means that she has a certain power over you, as you might expect. I can have a word with her, and she won't know it came from you."

Jon toned down his complaint. "Fine, it's really not such a big deal. It just caught me off guard a bit."

Alice was confidential and understanding, and it soothed him. But there was something automatic in her manner; her sympathetic hums as he spoke and the way those eyes emoted. It made him wonder how many times she had heard this kind of complaint.

All the same, rehearsed or not, she was someone to talk to, and she appeared to get him. Jon was drawn to her, all the more for a vague and slowly burgeoning sense of arousal Jon was starting to feel as the program gathered momentum. It wasn't always noticeable, but he wondered if it guided his behaviour and responses in some way, and slowly, unthinkingly, he accepted that it did.

On purpose or not, he was abstaining. And when he realised it had been a week since his last orgasm he shrugged his shoulders, conceding to himself that it might be what was making his interactions with these women increasingly intense. But he felt no confliction, and didn't look for a moment free to masturbate. It simply didn't occur to him; it was lost in the stack of many mysteries about this place, like who these women were, where had they come from, and why all, apart from Lauren, were wearing green all the time. Lauren was by far the most mysterious. It didn't help that he was exhausted and already falling asleep by the time he saw her in the evenings.

This evening Alice, ever smart, was in a forest-green pencil dress with a boat neckline that reached her collarbones and clung to her body. The short sleeves stopped at her shoulders, baring her smooth, lean arms.

Her hair was up, pulled to the side, and clasped loosely at the back. "I don't know if you're aware, but it's Saturday. You don't get to unwind much here. And I know it's out of the blue, but would you like to dance?"

Jon looked down at his weird spandex creation and back at Alice as if she had lost her mind. He felt a light stab of excitement in his chest as she tilted her head to show she didn't care what he was wearing.

"Well, OK."

Alice removed her heels and busied herself with the console, while Jon moved over to the exercise area.

Jon wasn't a dancer. At least, not until six or seven drinks when he was out with friends. He couldn't even do it at weddings; there was a self-consciousness that tightened his body to the spine and made his movements awkward and arrhythmic. He'd think about how he'd look to other people and freeze completely, regardless of whether it would disappoint the people he was with and adopt a "too cool for school" aspect to cover his embarrassment.

This occasion was different of course. He still felt engaged by a sense of defiance in the face of doubt, and on top of that he reasoned that there were no observers.

Music filled the biome. It was like nothing he had heard before. The tempo was low, barely danceable. The production was sparse; just a piano, what sounded like a double bass and a sparse drum beat. It reminded him of the minimalism he had heard with disinterest at a school class a few years back. There was an unpredictability about the melody, that reminded him of jazz. But while Jon trying to define it Alice had taken her place in front of him and had placed his right hand on her white shoulder and had intertwined the fingers of his left with hers.

He caught sight of her eyes, smelled her sophisticated scent, and his stomach felt hollow. She said nothing, but looked at him with curiosity, like an experiment she was invested in. The tempo picked up and they were off. Jon was self-aware as ever, but to his pride was able to respond to her gestures and make sense of the pattern of her steady, poised movements. It was simple at first, but gained complexity in stages. He looked at his own arms as he moved and was surprised by their contours; so much more defined that just a few days before.

In phases they would draw each other in, and Jon would breathe the scent Alice's hair and feel her breasts urging gently against his chest. Always self-assured Alice kept eye contact that Jon would be brave enough to meet periodically. She guided their dance with her little hums or one-word instructions. The music was driving him, just as it had started to do when he exercised with Jennifer. It was like he was riding a wave that he had been trying but failing to catch his whole life. Now he was riding it he felt comfortable in his shoes, and like he had less to envy in other people.

Just as remarkable to him was the idea that this situation could be platonic. Or was it? Alice didn't seem to be initiating anything, but, perhaps an upshot of no relief for a week, it didn't take much to draw Jon's thoughts back to sex. And the smoothness of her skin, her naughty half-smile, and her eyes with their faintly quizzical stare began to send spasms through his body. Part of him wanted to stop; the next time they would pull together she would surely notice a mounting hardness. But his body was dancing to a different tune, uncontrolled by reason.
Their performance entered a new section; Alice would slide her calf down the side of Jon's leg and surrender her body-weight to his strength. She came closer, bending, gyrating then straightening, all in a smooth motion, taking him with her and trusting him to move her as he chose. He felt her breath against his cheek.

Jon sensed a figure in the room, and saw Lauren had taken a seat at the circular bench. She may have been there for a long time. He loosened his grip, expecting the dance to end, but Alice pulled him in again, now they were together, her hips nudging against him in subtle pulses. He looked at her face to gauge expression and saw her eyes meeting Lauren's, and both smiling. Eventually the tempo slowed once more and they parted gently.

"I think you'll need to cool him down a bit", Alice joked with Lauren, spoken with a flippance that jarred Jon from his swoon.

There was no time to make sense of what had just happened. This was getting to be a familiar situation.

6

He knew the first week was over when he awoke on what must have been the second Monday. Indistinct dreams, of Lauren and Alice, had wafted through his mind. Fumbling for a change of clothes to take to the shower he paused when he noticed something had changed. Piled neatly as before, his outfits were now bright red with reflective hoops from collar to cuffs. Like a prisoner.

"Well, they won't miss me if I try to run."

Jon had entertained the idea of asking to leave after Olwen's little stunt. But normality had returned, and in the meantime he had noticed definition all over his body. His small paunch had shrunk further, and firm abdominal muscles were starting to take its place. There were other less obvious transformations; the leaden, slovenly demeanor that had felt like a permanent part of his being as a student had dissipated, substituted for a lightness of both mind and body. It was in his step, and the ease with which he could chat with Alice. He felt more spontaneous.

"Kathy might not recognise me when I go back."

Kathy! Now there was a blast from the past. When Jon was a child he would spend a couple of weeks every summer at his grandparents' house in the countryside. They were happy times, but every year there would come a point where, amid blur of days spent splashing in rivers, chasing rabbits and climbing trees, Jon was sure he had forgotten what Mum and Dad looked like.

He tried to picture Kathy, but couldn't quite do it. This wasn't helped by having his phone confiscated; it was full of portraits of the two of them.

At any rate, it was just two more weeks and they'd be together again. "A holiday", he bargained with himself. "She'll be thrilled when she sees this." he patted what was left of his belly and remembered Kathy's light appeals to him get in shape. The way he saw it, Kathy had always been on separate plain to him. Alive, razor-sharp and surely set for big things after her post-graduate course. And although he figured that the fear was based on little more than his own self-esteem problems, the thought of her outgrowing him gnawed at Jon from time to time. Whether his negative opinion of himself was justified or not, she would leave eventually.

Which made his progress all the more agreeable. When it came to vocation he was none the wiser, but he was sure there must be some grand yet oblique purpose to his days serving Olwen. And Lauren carried so much authority that it was natural that she should be imparting deep wisdom. He just wished he could remember it.

Jennifer entered and Jon almost choked when she saw her. Like him she was in red, but there was less of it. Much less.

She wore a red wet-look red tank top and matching cycle shorts. The top held her pert breasts up, and they peaked over the neckline in pliable, freckled globes. Just a fraction below the material were the keen buds of her nipples and the top cut off just below her chest to reveal a trim midriff. Chipper as ever, Jennifer ignored his reaction and behaved as if nothing was different. Jon couldn't help wondering what might happen during the jumping segments. These days he couldn't help thinking about a lot of that stuff.

Exercise was a joy. Where before it felt like he was trudging through mud he was now gliding on ice. Jennifer, brow glistening and cheeks flushed, eyed him with approval and stepped up the routine to push him. Every now and again he would see her looking his way and then down at her body as she bounced. And when they stretched she found a way to position him behind her, bending until he could see little more than the lush, convex outline of her butt, bursting through bright red spandex.

He loved and hated it at the same time. He was being teased. The music was fiercer and less apologetic; it hit him on a primal level and he felt like adrenaline was sluicing into his bloodstream with every thumping beat.

Jon tried to see this objectively; if he were watching another guy in the same situation, at such close quarters with a beautiful woman, would he expect that man to be this aroused? Wiping herself down, Jennifer pulled a hand smoothly across her chest and tugged lightly at the neckline.

"Great work this morning, Jon. You're getting better every day. Tighter too. Catch you later, love."

Jon showered, and wondered absently about the button with the red cross on it. He then made for the table to get some of his gloop. The liquid coursed through the tube, folded into his cup as before. Only now it was blue. Neon blue. He studied it briefly before sipping it in silence as he contemplated the start of a new week.

Next up would be Olwen - stern, unpredictable and intimidating. He made the most of a brief moment alone. As he pulled his cup to his lips he heard something that unnerved him: A voice. It was an almost inaudible murmur. He tried to distinguish the words, but could not; it was a completely different language. He recognised the speaker though. It was Lauren.

Speaking slowly and steadily, her voice filled the dome, but Jon couldn't work out where it was coming from. He could only make it out when he sat perfectly still. It made him uneasy so he rushed to finish up and get ready.

Olwen hadn't come to get him, which was unusual. So after a brief hesitation he set off on his own.

As he made his way along the leafy trail to the house he heard a petrol engine cough and ignite followed by the outline of someone shifting across the vast lawn. Jon ducked through the foliage to get a better look, and saw a man. The first man he had seen in a week. He stood for a moment to catch his attention.

The fellow, dressed in blue overalls and cap appeared not to see him. So Jon waited until he completed another strip with the mower and came back his way. He was now in his line of sight, and Jon raised a hand. The man strode towards him steadily, pushing the mower with two stiff arms. But as he approached from the near distance it became clear something was wrong. He had black, bulging eyes that looked past Jon and the trees to a point just above the horizon.

Jon was lost for a moment. Maybe he was blind. Or perhaps not all there. He put him at 40, maybe older, and his expression reminded him of a dying soldier in a movie, shot in the head and reacting as if trying to look up at his skull from the inside.

The house was in shade, and he tiptoed along the drive tracing the lawn, past the large red-brick facade and delicately-painted lead windows, taking one last look at the man before he turned the corner and crept towards the kitchen. The buzz of the mower followed him and grew louder, to the point where Jon was sure he would turn the corner onto the small patch of turf that flanked the house.

As he reached the kitchen's exterior he was in a rush to get inside, and tripped through the threshold. Recovering, he looked up to see Olwen, arms folded, waiting, wearing a look that told him he was in trouble. Her eyes and upper lip were puckered, and the nostrils on that long, high-born nose flared.

"You! You're late. Get into the office."

"Alice", Jon thought, as he felt a palm in the centre of his back, forcing him forward, into Olwen's office and up to her desk.

She was always severe, it was part of her being, but right now she was in overdrive. Was he late? Not really; he'd come straight from breakfast. The only thing that crossed his mind was his conversation with Alice about her. Had he got Olwen in trouble? It was a possibility.

"Sit!"

She jostled him into her seat and propped herself on the corner of the desk to his right, picking up a clipboard and scribbling something down. Jon looked at the monitor in front and saw nothing but a blank screen.

"In the space of a minute you'll see 10 words at six-second intervals. Remember them and then you have ten seconds to tell me what they are when the minute has elapsed."

"Do you understand?"

And so began the test. For a long time he was required to recall whole, coherent sentences, and the challenge was so simple that he was embarrassed at the clinicism and seriousness of the beeps that timed the challenge. But time passed, and the words became more abstract and disparate. Jon tired and was aware he was making mistakes, but the test continued.

Each time he read the words back, Olwen's expression was inscrutable. She would watch him with her large, cool eyes and nod when he was finished.

The day inched by. Jon was unable to take stock and was unsure of how much longer he would be here. And when he tried to consider the idea of getting up, stretching his legs or going to the toilet, he was back in another loop, memorising and reciting, over and over.

The task was onerous and was taking its toll. In his distant memory were attempts to lighten the mood with a small joke or a chuckle, but Olwen blocked them with a neutral, impassive blankness. He was stuck in a cycle, descending beneath a thick layer of black cloud accumulated by repetition. He wasn't even aware when the words started forming sentences again, or what they meant.

He read on. Repeating sentences automatically, unaware of what he was saying. His only distinct memory was a sly twitch at the corner of Olwen's mouth, painted fingernails sliding down the material of her stockings and a single sentence: "the stronger I get the harder I serve".

And without warning the trial ended. The vagueness soon cleared and Jon felt like he had been napping. He extended his legs unsteadily and looked up to see that he was back in the kitchen reaching out to fill a beaker of gloop.

7

By the time he made it outside there was no sign of the man he had seen earlier. The mellow July sun was setting behind the tall pines on the east of the estate, and Jon was enjoying the feeling of being alone again. Soothed by the glow on the back of his neck, he revelled in this new freedom to fulfil his daily appointments on his own steam.

He figured he'd have the chance to explore the grounds a bit more this week, and even played with the notion of solving some of the mysteries of the place and these people for himself.

He knew it would soon be time for Jennifer's workout, so he savoured the moment and ambled back towards the woodland that enveloped his strange home, still a little groggy from his test. His mind began to drift, and he pictured himself freewheeling on his cycle as a kid. He rolled down country lanes and over humpback bridges near his grandparents' home.

But at once there was a block in the road, vague and blurry. In his mind's eye he tried to picture it and as it came into focus, he said the word aloud: "Button"

The shower button. For a second it was all he could see. He blurted it out again, "Button". Disturbed by his outburst he looked around hoping nobody was around. "Button!". He covered his mouth, but this only made him say "Button" in a muffled voice.

Now alarmed he crouched, grabbed a handful of turf, and tried to get himself under control. As he calmed, his hijacked voice relented, whispering "push the button".

During their workout he saw through Jennifer. He was there, but not in the room with her. Everything in his mind was channelled towards the button in the shower. Every hop, press-up, squat and stretch was a countdown to the moment he could get in the shower.

At last the session ended and his heartbeat raced. He watched Jennifer out the door and ran to the glass cubicle. He had no idea why he wanted to push the button so much, and when he tried to make sense of his need he paused, letting the water flow over him and closing his eyes. He opened them again to see his palm resting on the button. He realised he couldn't get his own body under control until he carried this out. First he applied light pressure, then enough to force it in with a click.

The water stopped, followed by a clunk on the door of the cubicle. Jon turned round to test it, and confirmed he was locked in.

There was a short pause. And then it came; liquid flowed through the shower's many outlets once more. But this wasn't water. It was blood red, but smelled like a concentrated form of the spice that permeated the air around the biome. There was no avoiding it; it sprayed Jon from all angles, and he was saturated in seconds. Rubbing between his digits the substance was thick and slippery. As Jon looked down and inspected his fingers he saw something growing below. In a flash his cock had become turgid and was straining towards his belly. He beheld it with amazement, but didn't have time to react as his attention was diverted to his chest, where two bullets, formerly his nipples were protruding on each side.

He brought his hands up to touch them and the merest contact of his palms flung his head back in ecstasy.

The liquid continued to flow, covering him in a red film that dangled in gooey strands when he parted his fingers. The pleasure, growing by the second, was almost unbearable. Jon let his hand slip down brought it under his shaft to cradle it his palm and gauge its weight. He was dying to come, but his hand disobeyed and would not grip his cock. He tried again with the other hand and the result was the same. He groaned as the bulbous head of his penis slipped from his weak grasp and bobbed perpendicular to his body.

He was still trying in vain to masturbate when the red gunge was replaced by water and the lock on the door clicked open.

He heard Alice calling from the main chamber and panicked.

He dried off clumsily, but the sudden fear brought on by her arrival did nothing to quell his passion. As if powered by jets, but tethered by the membrane of his skin his nipples and penis launched to the forefront of his mind. They were there in a way he had never felt before. Every touch set off a depth charge in his body; the feeling was violent but profoundly moreish.

As he dried off he was conflicted. There was a battle between his sense of shame and the addiction to pleasure that was as yet unsated. He pulled on his uniform, and just the friction of the material over his body made him feel it would send him sliding helplessly to orgasm.

Alice called to him again, and, harassed and gasping, he told her he was coming. Which was true in more ways than one.

He peered down at the protrusions on his chest and between his legs, did his best to compose himself and went out to greet Alice.

When an erection is this fulminant; this urgent, there's not much you can other than face the music. That Jon was so out of control of his body made him bolder. He wanted to know what had just happened to him, and Alice might as well see him in all his glory so she could get the message and save Jon some awkward conversation.

When she saw him her eyebrows jumped, but she settled quickly.

"Just a side-effect." Jon beheld her with disbelief.

"You pushed the button? That was a minor stimulant we recommend for people who can't keep up with all the mental and physical exertion. You were doing fine so didn't need it - silly. And this is what can happen. Don't worry, I've seen it all before."

Jon wanted to tell her that he couldn't masturbate. He wanted so badly to climax, and his tongue was loosened by his arousal. But he was still ashamed to say it. Too proud to save himself.

"You might be up for a long time. I think it might be best if Lauren gets here early so you can unwind."

Alice poured Jon a beaker of dinner and beckoned to him to sit down next to her. In a red polka-dot dress and wearing 50s-style red button earrings, she seemed like an anachronism sitting in this strange building, pulled from science fiction.

"Oh Lauren. What does she do exactly? You know, I think I nod off every time I see her."

Alice's voice was flat and serious. "She's helping you improve and find your potential. You're a special person, Jon. She'll help you come to terms with it and grow. Everything we do here starts with her. Up to this point I'm guessing she's been preparing you. I think you'll get to talk to her in a franker way this week sometime."

And just like that Lauren arrived in the woods, far earlier than usual of course. Alice darted out to meet her by the entrance and they shared a few indistinct words. Jon watched Lauren gaze over at him and wondered if the whole thing was more serious than Alice had let on. Soon Lauren stepped in, maternally firm as ever, to send Jon off to a trance once more.

Jon slept uneasily that night. His unconscious thoughts were drenched in sex. When awake Jon's unstoppable desire raged like floodwater behind the groaning dam of his sense of propriety. But when his eyes closed there was no such barrier.

He saw grey clouds bubbling above like molten lead. Lauren, Alice, Jennifer and Olwen, the whole cabal, were with him out on the lawn picnicking on a damp, close afternoon, dressed primly as if they were churchgoers in their Sunday best. Gone was the hushed deference towards Lauren and Olwen, as Jon chatted easily with the women, finally finding out who they were and where they had come from.

Alice flirted with him, and as the conversation continued around them, Jon would smell the delicate perfume on her neck, whisper in her ear and kiss her cheek provocatively like they were teenagers showing off to friends. Animated, Alice told a joke to the group, and as she built to the punchline a raindrop fell on her cheek. It was bright red, and scattered into small droplets. It interrupted her. She lifted her hand up to wipe it away, leaving a vivid smear that looked like an open wound.

Jon and the other women watched as she regarded her red palm and started to giggle. As she did so she lifted her other hand thoughtlessly up to her chest, cupping her breast and kneading it, then curling her fingers under the placket of her blouse where it was buttoned. Vacant and detached, she watched her arm as it extended, ripping the blouse open as more drops fell on her white chest.

Reclining as if forced back Olwen brought two hands up to her forehead and wiped her face, drawing her hands down her cheeks, neck and over generous breasts. Lauren rubbed Jennifer's arm, leaving a red smear while gazing at her face.

The rain fell harder and Jon's skin became moist. He flinched at the coldness of the first drop, but was supine and breathing hard before he could think. He felt a hand invading beneath the material of his shirt, and fell back to see Alice on top of him. There was a tug at his trousers, and Olwen, who had already unfastened his fly, was exposing Jon's legs to the red downpour.

Alice obscured his view. Lifting her head to kiss him with lush red lips, probing his tongue with hers, while teasing his sensitive nipples. She slipped across, resting on his shoulder to plant kisses on his neck.

Almost overloaded, Jon heard a sharp, inflected moan, and looked to other side to see Lauren shadowing Jennifer, the two locked in a kiss, Lauren's hands rippling below the neckline and raised hemline of her dress, her arms twitching steadily as her fingers, unseen explored her breasts and pussy. He had a moment to see his erection released from his underwear before it disappeared into Olwen's mouth, making him buck his lips as her tongue, slippery, flicked against his head, squeezing precum from deep inside his balls.
Alice had hoisted his t-shirt and was attending to his nipples, tonguing them fervently while unclasping her bra and releasing her breasts, which glided, soft and heavy over Jon's skin.

Jennifer's moans were deeper and more persistent, as Lauren skilfully ushered her to climax, Jon shuddered again, and looked back at Olwen as she raised her head, dangling a strand of saliva over a cock that had transformed. It was rigid and glazed, but smaller. She ducked once more and rose to a reveal a penis smaller still. Each time her head bobbed down and her warm mouth engulfed his shaft, less of his cock remained. The red rain fell, and he was too electrified to be alarmed.

She peered down her sharp nose at him and smirked as she went down again, consuming his shrinking cock between dilated lips.

All of them were soaked now. The viscous liquid flowed over Jon's skin as Alice brought her palm over to the left side of his chest. Responding to her hand he felt a warm, vague swelling, like a nebulous erection as it caressed him. His chest was expanding. Blooming outwards his breast began to meet her hand, and then force it away from his body like lustrous, rising dough.

On the right side glossy pillow bulged pliantly into her face, his nipple growing in her mouth as she sucked. Alice pulled back and with wonder took their weight in both hands and worked them gently, squeezing the tits up and in, and then allowing the ample flesh to slide back with a bounce to where gravity wanted them. Every pinch and fondle drove Jon wilder, and his body replied with unfettered moans, vocalising his excitement in a new way; like a woman.

Olwen's tongue drove against his head and Jon gasped with a voice an octave higher. Jennifer's whimpers peaked with a sharp and Lauren released her from her grip, letting her flop onto Jon's left arm and pin it down in symmetry with Alice on the right, as she panted into his ear. Their hands teased Jon's body, frictionless on satiny skin. As they touched her she became daintier; her arms attenuated, the features of her face more delicate and her legs slender and elegant. Her lips plumped around Jennifer's finger as she twirled it around her tongue.

Jennifer and Alice's faces met above Jon's curvy tits, kissing messily, tongues quivering against each other.

Olwen's tongue fluttered against the sensitive bud of his former penis, but Jon could also feel a fingernail pressing on his perineum. Jon raised her head dizzily to peer over her breasts and catch Olwen's devilish leer. Olwen's mouth opened and froze in delighted surprise as her finger was repelled. Undeterred she drove it firmer into Jon's flesh, but it had nowhere to go. "You know you're going to succumb", she sighed, superior and calm.

She dove back to the nub, and there was another soft thrust with her finger, and then another and another, each one weakening Jon a little more. She couldn't resist; she didn't even know why he was trying. There was yet another surge. This one irrepressible, and with a slow, agonised wail Jon let go as one then two slender digits slithered into a burning, wet cavity between her thighs. Her pussy. There was a pussy-muffled cry of jubilation from Olwen below, her mouth and fingers working in perfect tandem.

Another pussy descended from overhead, and in the backdrop against the sky was Lauren's black hair. Wordlessly she lowered herself towards Jon's face. She wanted to object; she wanted to lift her hands and parry Lauren away, but her slender arms were trapped beneath two naked women who were feverishly stimulating her body. The sky above her grew dark and Lauren's shapely behind docked with her face as if it was made for it.

Helpless, she felt the cool dampness of Lauren's cheeks against her own cheeks, and the tickle of her bush on her chin. She could smell the earthy moistness of her vagina, which weighed heavier and heavier on her mouth, before she was supporting the woman who had started grinding into her face. Olwen pumped her fingers into Jon's pussy, rousing her to cooperate in Lauren's pleasure and plunge her tongue greedily into her slickening sex.

Jon heard Lauren's moans as if underwater, and channelled her own desperation into bringing her mistress to a climax and trying to get enough air into her body. Jennifer's hands cupped Jon's tits and tickled her nipples, Alice softly kissed her tummy, while Olwen licked her clitoris and finger-fucked her pussy, arcing them up as they entered, making dull, rhythmic contact with her weakest and most sensitive place.

It was a relief when Lauren's muscles tensed and she started to cry in staccato bursts. Jon could not breathe, but drove herself up and into Lauren to make her come. There was silence followed by deep, low groans and muscles twitching, buffeting Jon's ears. Jon felt a stream of juices coursing into her mouth, and this, fused with Olwen's diligent, mischievous assault made her feel like she was welling up and about to overflow.

Her own stifled cries were reedy and agonised as her body reached its limit. Olwen would never stop until every sensation of pleasure had been plundered and her fingers kept thrusting ever faster into her silky pussy. Jon's limbs strained against their captors' weight. She thought this was the end; that this would break her. The grey sky went black. And then it detonated from deep within; an orgasm that tore through his body, distorting it, forcing his back to bridge and fists to clench.

Sleep-blind and afraid of what might greet him as he woke, Jon looked down and through the haze saw his outfit spattered with cum. He had never had a wet dream before. And he understood straight away, as he pinched the soiled material and peeled it away from his skin, that it would not be enough to stem his arousal. Truth was that it had set the snowball rolling.

The dreams were becoming more lucid all the time. Alice became ever more alluring. Was he falling in love with her? The wilting barrier that prevented his most unhinged, desperate thoughts from invading his waking mind was being trampled under the feet of his captors, and there was no respite. It was a constant, sustained offensive and the reasoned voice in his head, impervious to his sex drive was struggling to hold out, a lone soul losing itself in the darkness.

Was it deliberate?

Jon was always worried he might be some kind of deviant. He was afraid to share his fantasies of being dominated with Kathy, lest she find them too kinky. He thought he had an overactive imagination that would run to dark corners of his mind where even he was afraid to tread. There were days when he thought about seceding into a world of filth, finding a dominatrix and becoming a slave once a week, or indulging his fleeting bisexual thoughts, hooking up anonymously with a guy and sucking him off in a park.

He could never share this with Kathy, but in time he feared his fantasies could spill out everywhere. This was dangerous. After all these were complete strangers.

He just couldn't be sure if he was to blame for what he was feeling. And the doubt made him chide himself and want to get a grip.

"10 more days".

8

When Jon wasn't overwhelmed by arousal he could still sense his cock when he hopped, bent over or turned sharply, as if it was now the centre of his nervous system. His balls felt like they had doubled in size and it took very little to draw his attention to them. He fixed his mind on something else, and what better distraction than the man who had begun haunting the grounds in the second week; the man who would not, or could not, even register Jon's presence.

Obviously he was some kind of helper. Did he live here? If so, where had he been during the previous week? And why did he look like he was dead?

Jon felt like his tether had been slackened; his sessions with Olwen and Jennifer were more condensed - still onerous in their different ways, but affording ever more free time, which Jon spent strolling the grounds. Every day he stumbled upon something he hadn't seen before; a walled garden, a gazebo or a pond. All were empty, all were pristine, as if they were maintained just for him, and all were tucked inside dark copses and connected by the same kind of narrow paths that led from the driveway to his dome.

In what felt like an act of rebellion, he also took the time to investigate his hi-tech home from the outside, wondering how it was powered, where his water and gloop was coming from. Only one a single path had been plotted to the dome, and that was the one that led from the driveway to the threshold. The building was enveloped by undergrowth, which made it hard to get his bearings as he negotiated its glass circumference. He propped himself against the exterior membrane with one hand as he went. Leaves batted his face and his ankles were repeatedly snared in weeds. He fought his way to a break in the foliage and found what looked like a large air-conditioning unit. It was a brushed metal box, almost as tall as him, and he figured it was on his bathroom's exterior. There was hatch, locked, and through small vents he could see lights blinking.

Turning away from the box he noticed a trail, overgrown, but leading away from the box into the woodland. Its route was obscured by the low branches of alder trees and fierce-looking bramble bushes. Jon pushed on for a minute, but, scratched on his hip, was ready to give up when his steps became freer and he strode out towards a huge grassy clearing.

There had been a few of these around the grounds, but none were as large and impenetrable as this one. All around the foliage was thick and sharp, in a circle that encroached on the expanse of wispy grass, about the size of a football pitch. As he reached the edge he another biome came into view, and it was just like his own.

Instinct told him to crouch, and he approached it carefully, trying to remain unseen beneath the tops of the high meadow grass. Within 20 metres of the dome he thought he could see movement inside it and crouched again. The wind picked up and hissed through the grass, a crow, disturbed, took flight. Jon turned to watch it, and as he did, he saw the outline of a man against the sun above him and shrieked.

It was the same man - the only man. He was impossibly close, and with a skip made up the distance between them in a heartbeat. Jon flinched as the man tackled him, and they both fell into the grass. He cupped his hand around Jon's mouth, and after gesturing towards the dome with a nod of his head shot him a look of instructive apprehension with those morbidly deep-set eyes. Content at last that Jon was no longer terrified he pushed a work-worn finger to his pursed lips.

He reached for his pocket and pulled out two items: a wristwatch and a notepad. The watch was an old silver casio, its face scratched and weathered. The man drew a biro from behind his ear and started writing on his pad. He was balding, and his unkempt hair sprouted from his scalp in wild tufts. There was a deftness to his movements that suggested a lot of practice. Was he mute?

Brown and grey stubble made him seem dirtier than he was. But those eyes chilled Jon - they would behold him for a moment before rolling back up into their cave.

Jon looked at the watch. It was 12:35 on Thursday the 25th of July. Jon had felt increasingly adrift, and just to know the time of day anchored him, loosely, in the real world. As he inspected it the man tore a leaf from the pad and handed it to him uncertainly.

"Not safe. Meet here tomo at five after leaving Olwen. Hide watch and don't let anyone see you leave. Wyatt. "

The writing was neat and clear, until the word "Olwen", when it became a shaky scrawl from a trembling hand.

"Not safe", Jon whispered to himself as he crawled through the grass back to the cover of the woods. Where was the threat coming from? The women? During the previous 10 days he had been uncomfortable and confused at the changes that were taking place, but it had never occurred to him that he was in danger. He had consoled himself with the temporariness of it all; the thought of seeing Kathy again in a few days, and the idea that he would come out of it a more complete and employable person. He he had been obsessed by the idea of becoming a success, but this wasn't impervious to fear. Something was definitely wrong.

He ducked and hopped through the undergrowth, and then, a few feet away from the entrance to his dome he found a maple tree, and fastened the watch to a low branch, out of sight to those who didn't know it was there. He hurried in, changed into a new costume and set off for the house, determined not to betray himself to Olwen.

Of all the keepers, Olwen was the most irritated by the new freedom that Jon had been granted. Her hauteur had developed into hostility. No task she gave Jon was too petty - from picking up paper that she had dropped at her heels, to beckoning him over to add extra sugar to her coffee or even dab her full lips with a napkin. Now he started to wonder if he was in danger, his mind flitted straight back to when she impelled him to fall helpless on the floor, or recite words from her computer monitor for hours on end. Just picturing her imposing frame, that dark bob and that keen nose inspired resentment in Jon, who was now cowed by her.

He took a deep breath before opening the back door. He passed through the empty kitchen, over the soft carpet in the hallway and into the office, where Olwen was waiting, propped against her desk. She was wearing a red dress with a deep v-neck that plunged to the smooth, snowy skin of her breasts.

Jon was no longer surprised to see such lascivious amounts of cleavage. It was fully exposed as if this was a perfectly commonplace thing to do - following a subtle progression from demure yet alluring to now outright sensual that tracked his own growing desperation. Every encounter with a keeper now involved Jon trying to avert his eyes from valleys of seductive flesh, and Olwen had more eye-catching flesh than any woman here.

Now he felt like a conspirator. There was no way that Olwen could know where he had just been, but he felt like he'd be vulnerable to scrutiny. Olwen and Lauren in particular could control him in a way he couldn't fathom. If the worst came to the worst, he reasoned, just recognising that they had a hold on him could save him.

"Do you find me attractive?"

Jon paused, wanting to choose his words with guile, but Olwen was addressing a part of him that would respond involuntarily. He didn't like her but he found her attractive. He found all the keepers attractive. He wanted to be honest with her, and show that he wasn't taken aback.

"Yes."

She smiled confidently and drew an idle hand loosely from her shoulder, down the neckline of her dress passing lightly over her breasts before returning up to her shoulder.

"So you fancy me. That's good to know."

'Fancy' was far too loaded, and Jon had to interrupt. "No, I didn't say..."

"Oh, so you don't find me attractive?" Olwen was feigning offence, playfully. "Look at me, Jon."

Jon raised his head and drew his eyes up her body. "I like you."

"Good. Now, if I came onto you right now, would you fuck me?"

"No!", this was way too much.

"Are you sure?"

Jon leapt in, "No - I mean, yes."

"Yes, you'd like to fuck me?"

Jon, glared, wounded, but non-compliant. He spoke deliberately, "I said 'no'." But as he said the word 'no', there was an unintended whine in his voice, a few notes higher than he wanted. He knew he sounded like he was protesting too much.

"Really?" Olwen giggled, "so, if I pull my panties down, if I come up to you, push you over and grab your cock, you would resist?"

The shock of the choice of topic was fading, and Jon was now starting to consider what she was saying. The information went straight to his penis, which, against every ounce of willpower he could summon, was starting to respond. He had a trump card he hadn't used yet.

"I've got a girlfriend." As soon as he laid it on the table he realised that it was worthless, and that it only showed Olwen how weak he was.

"Oh yeah, Kathy. But she's a long way away. And you haven't spoken for weeks. lf I closed the door, let you touch my breasts, kissed you on the mouth, do you think you could hold back."

This was a catalyst for an erection, and in seconds he was rock hard. He knew it was because he hadn't come in a long time. Still perched on the desk, Olwen crained her neck and made a point of showing him that she could see him.

"I don't know Jon. Something tells me different. If I lift my skirt up, sit on you, look into your eyes and grind into you. Push my tits into your face - you're going to reject me? How about if I moan in your ear - beg you to fuck me?"

Jon couldn't control his breathing. Olwen planted both hands on her breasts them and squeezed them as she emphasised her point, her languid eyes widening in sync. He couldn't look away.

"Even being in love with Kathy - would you fuck me, Jon?"

She was about to start a new sentence, but Jon had heard enough. "Yes!" he was angry and ashamed, but too horny to care.

Olwen chuckled. "Good to know, Jon - now, I've got boxes that need moving."

Her hips swung as she walked out of the room, and Jon followed her along the hall until they reached a pair of locked doors on the left. She swung them open, revealing a large, mirrored ballroom with dozens of boxes covered in dust cloths. The room was ornate and wildly decorative, but had a dank, disused quality.

"We need to clean this hall up for a party next weekend. All of this stuff needs to move upstairs. I think you're more than up to it now."

Olwen inspected him with a wink before sashaying provocatively up the stairs and leading Jon on his first trip to the first floor. She opened a spare bedroom with wallpaper stripped, and bare, rough floorboards with flecks of white paint. Olwen looked vivid and glamorous in the centre of this dour room. Her demeanour had lightened since Jon's admission. "There you go, bring them up here. I'll be in the office if you need me." And she was gone.

Jon stood alone in disbelief. He entered slowly and saw his reflection for the first time in two weeks. His belly had all but melted away, and muscular arms now hung by his sides. His beard was a bit overgrown, and hair unkempt, but he was pleased with his appearance, even standing in the bright-red athletic costume. The pace of the transformation startled him.

He glided silently around the grand old house, trying not to draw attention to himself. The hall looked out over the front lawn, and was lit by a sequence of tall leaded windows. Chandeliers hung, dusty from the ceiling and gilt trim weaved its way up the walls and over the decorative grates that housed centuries-old radiators.

Nobody had been here for years. Jon left footprints in the dust on the floor, which rolled alongside his feet in small clouds. He wiped his feet every time he set off with a new box along the delicate, soft carpet of the hallway. He sneezed self-consciously, listening to it ring around the hall for a second.

The afternoon passed, and he was hardly aware, busied with the dull task of hauling cardboard boxes up a flight of stairs. He thought about the party. He had only seen five people - who could they be inviting to fill such a big space?

His body felt more apt for this sort of labour - he marvelled at his sinuous arms and capacity to shift heavy weight comfortably without needing a rest halfway through. He pushed himself to pick up the pace, as if he was trying to prove a point to himself about his new athleticism. Or perhaps, he wondered, he wanted to impress Olwen.

When he finished his task, he looked out over the bare floor with pride, and went to see his keeper. He was so rare that she should offer praise, than when she hummed with surprised and told him "well-done, boy", he felt great. From the first day he met her, he craved her approval even when he despised her.
Jon tottered back along the leafy path in a daze. Olwen's conduct would get her sacked from an ordinary job. But those rules didn't apply here. If there were a higher, benevolent reason for her behaviour, some sort of method to her sexually aggressive manner, then Jon was eager to know what it was.

Because now it was menacing. There's always a point in a horror film when he told wanted to shout at the screen and tell the protagonist to leave; get away from the haunted house when things start flying around the room, get the wife and kids to safety before it's too late.

But somehow, despite Olwen's cruelty, and swirling doubts, he didn't want to go home. Yes, he was afraid of Olwen, confused by Wyatt and wondering what he had got himself into, but every doubt and fear was numbed by arousal, which combined with pride made Jon feel he could take on anything that came his way. It made him bolder than he thought he could be. He remembered Fournier, the man who was like him but had done something with his life.

He slumped at the bench and downed a serving of gloop as he processed what had happened that day.

Twilight wafted over the woodland, and before long Jon could see small moths flitting outside the transparent panels of the dome's membrane. He relished the silence before the adrenaline and ardure of exercise with Jennifer.

It was mere minutes before she arrived briskly, eyeing Jon with caution, in a way she had never done before. She paused to enter something into the console and grunted tetchily. She was normally so blithe and chipper, but she looked like something was on her mind. Jon barely felt like he knew who she was, despite all the hours they had spent together. It wasn't like Alice; Jennifer kept Jon firmly behind a wall of sterile professionalism. He kept silent.

As she fiddled with the touchscreen, a hatch door swung silently open from the floor near where Jon was sitting. He peered inside with wonder and saw heavily-padded red equipment.

"It's for sparring. This stuff is very protective. You won't feel a thing."

There were gloves, chest protection that covered his throat, a head-guard with a mesh mask, and there were pads for the arms, feet, thighs, crotch and knees.

"Slip it on and we'll get going."

Her manner was snappy and impatient. This wasn't like her.

The gear had looked cumbersome, but when it was on his body he felt less inhibited than he expected; his arms and legs had a free range of motion and he was light on his feet. Whatever it was, this was expensive stuff. He jabbed his chest and felt nothing.

Jennifer was tying her sandy hair back into a tight ponytail, before swiftly donning the protection with ease of an experienced hand, her slender spandex-clad limbs sliding into the armour one by one.

Before long they were facing each other in the exercise area.

"We're not sparring here. There are no rules. The game is to fuck the other person up."

Jon would have thought that she was playing with him, but Jennifer wasn't much of a joker. He was at a loss to understand what was happening. Jennifer twisted so that she sideways on, smoothly adopting a guard position. Jon had no idea what to do, and remained square, standing back on his heels. Martial arts were for the movies, and he was expecting her to coach him a little. So naturally he was unprepared for what came next. His eyes casually followed Jennifer as she stooped, dropping her head towards the mat and spinning the ball of her right foot.

He had no idea that her left foot was flying towards his head at great speed. It slammed into his protective gear, which shielded the blow but not the shock. Jon was lifted off his feet and landed flat on his back. He was still wondering what had just happened when Jennifer's knee came crashing down on his chest. He winced at the blow and caught sight of her face above him, determined and snarly. She pulled away, giving him the chance to rise to his feet.

"You have to defend yourself, or you're going to have a horrible time. This stuff will absorb the blows, but you'll feel it after a while."

"I won't hit you", Jon protested.

"I doubt you'll get close enough", taunted Jennifer "Come on, I'm a big girl."

Jon rose weakly, and then did his best to get into a defensive posture. She attacked again, her fist driving into his shoulder, followed instantly by the sole of her foot clipping the top of his head gear. He tottered back, almost unable to keep his footing. Each blow was like an insult; a breach of the trust that he was placing in her, and making him angrier.

But he remained passive, and tried his best to stand guard. Jennifer waited for him to attack, and when he refused she tilted her head as if to say, "OK, you asked for it", licence granted for another volley. She crouched, kicking his shin with a downward motion, and when her feet were planted her head dropped back. Jon stared in wonder as she sprang a backflip, bringing first one foot and then the other into sharp contact with the underside of his head-guard.

Jon's legs went out from under him, and he stayed there kneeling lazily on the floor, helpless and exposed to Jennifer. She danced, as if to tease him. Jon got up shakily. He was getting beaten up here. Pride told him to fight back.

In blind panic, he struck out. But because he had so little experience and his sense of equilibrium was off-kilter, Jennifer could anticipate his attacks with embarrassing ease. He lunged clumsily with both arms, with the vague aim of tackling her and pinning her to the ground. Jennifer just ducked, using Jon's own momentum to send him sprawling to the ground. The creeping panic had raised his heartbeat and quickened his breaths, and his energy drained quickly.

Her counter blows were less punishing, as if she were rewarding his aggression, and she patronised him with praise for each failed assault. Drunk, Jon had no idea how exhausted this was making him. In his addled mind he saw Jennifer's arrogance as a weakness and steeled himself for once last blow. He wanted to show her he'd had enough, and assert a manly superiority over this younger woman.

Jon roared, which was his first mistake, and charged naively at Jennifer, swinging a fist towards her head. Jennifer's reaction was so nonchalant it punctured his pride completely. She dodged and crouched, grabbing Jon's hand and guiding him over her shoulder, flipping him into a vulnerable, supine position once more. She mounted his chest, pinning his arms down with her shins and removing his faceguard.

Jon tried to push her off, but had no strength left and could only stare up with the last vestiges of defiance he could summon. It had been sapped by his frantic attempts to overcome her. As the sense of panic subsided, his helplessness and her dominance aroused him. He felt her weight on his chest, and could sense her body tightening and relaxing with each breath.

Without speaking Jennifer removed her gloves and brought a hand up to his face, idly stroking his cheeks with her forefinger. Jon began to cave to her dominance, as her finger traced his eyes and nose before gliding down to his closed mouth. She ran it along his lips and started to press. He saw her freckled face gripped in mischievous fascination. Now Jennifer started to push two fingers into Jon's mouth. Instinctively he resisted and clasped his lips together. Jennifer giggled and pinched his nose.

Already out of breath, it was seconds before Jon was gasping, and the rush of oxygen sent a wave of pleasure through his body. No sooner was his mouth open it was filled by Jennifer's fingers, slipping back and forth over his tongue.

"Suck them.", she ordered coldly, and Jon obeyed, and each time they filled his mouth he could sense his cock growing even more rigid. She probed his mouth over and over, before finally pulling her wet fingers away and languidly wiping his saliva on his cheek.

"I can do this to you any time I want. Remember that."

She got up and Jon, still flat out, lifted himself felt himself onto his elbows to see what she was doing. When, with relief, he saw that she was changing out of her gear and getting ready to leave, he collapsed onto his back and promptly passed out.

He woke again to see Alice above him.

Wordlessly she helped him to his feet and stripped him, efficiently removing each piece as he leant against her and stowing it away in the compartment. "She beat me - she bullied me, and I liked it", Jon confessed drunkenly. Alice didn't seem surprised.

Pulling his arm over her shoulder she manoeuvred him onto the bench and gave him some water. He recovered his senses in phases, and when he was almost lucid once more Alice reached into a handbag and pulled out a deck of cards. Jon was incredulous.

"I'm not sure I feel like playing cards right now-"

Alice cut him off. "I have to insist. We need to check you're OK."

"It's simple 21, or blackjack. I'll make it easy for you - just stick or twist."

Jon shifted in his seat, reluctantly acquiescing, comforted that Alice at least, had his best interest at heart. She shuffled the pack like a Las Vegas dealer and laid a card down with a delicately manicured finger.

"Just tell me stick or twist."

Jon drew seven. Alice drew 10.

"Twist"

Two

Alice drew a queen.

"Twist"

Four

"Twist"

King, and bust.

Jon lost the next hand, and the next one. On the fourth he grew impatient and was intently focussed on the game. His luck improved, and he started scoring in the high teens, but each time Alice managed to trump him. By the seventh hand he was suspicious that the deck was rigged and looked through the pack before shuffling it meticulously. But he continued losing.

By the tenth Jon was chasing losses and making rash decisions, playing the smallest percentages to get closer to 21 than Alice. By 12th hand he had all but given up, and by the 15th he was starting to come around to the idea of losing. Alice, who had been quiet up to this point, was now starting to chime in sympathetically. "Ooh, you were so close that time." "Jon, you didn't think that one through, did you?"

After a while Jon wanted to lose. He enjoyed being patronised and humiliated. It seemed insane to him that he could lost so many hands, even to someone who was clearly more intelligent. "Yes, she must be some kind of genius", he thought. Internally he bowed to her greater intellect.

Soon Alice started laughing. A melodic, teasing laugh, and Jon was in no doubt that he was the butt of the joke. Almost delirious, Jon was now spurting out random calls. Twisting on 20, sticking on four. And with each ridiculous mistake Alice was increasingly amused, her breasts bouncing as she laughed, and those round eyes gradually became wet with tears.

Jon laughed too. As with his bout against Jennifer he felt comfortable in defeat. Not only had he stopped trying to win, he was now trying to lose, without realising.

When the game drew to a hysterical close, Alice reproached him, "You weren't even trying at the end there, were you? Do you want to lose so to make me feel better?"

"I don't think so. I just don't know what happened. I think I was trying my hardest."

"Well then, it's OK to feel comfortable losing, if you trust that the person beating you is superior. You're a smart guy - I know your background. One of the benefits of this program is that it will help you find your place in the world. Once you know that, you'll begin to thrive."

Jon had often confided in Alice, complaining at turns about Lauren's mystery and Olwen's cruelty. But tonight he was distracted by the intrigue of Wyatt, the wristwatch on the branch and the second dome, and Olwen's strange advances earlier in the day. He could live with fear and uncertainty if it was joined by excitement. The thrill of losing control, and being accelerated on a ride to where? He kept his thoughts to himself, and they chatted warmly into the night.

Lauren didn't show that night, leaving Jon to make his own way to his pod for the first time. He climbed in, and the transparent hood descended above him. He heard Lauren's voice "five", which gave him a start. In the cramped space he rolled to work out where it was coming from "four", and when he found the source, a small speaker behind his head "three". Dread took over, and he tried to push against the glass "two". But no sooner had he lifted his arms, they fell back by his side "one". The last image in his awake mind was Olwen propped on her desk as she teased him.

9

"Olwen" was the rootlet that undulated down easily from the waking world into a lucid dreamscape, Jon held on as he went under and found himself on a plush spiral stairway bordered by golden handrails. He was wearing a tuxedo, and noticed how dashing he appeared, hair-parted and clean-shaven, in the mirrors that lined the walls.

The broad steps had the absurdly shallow incline of the staircase in the house. Jon had to take three silent strides for each decrement, but he took them steadily down into what he perceived to be a dark hallway, still unseen below. Up the stairwell wafted a feminine voice, resonant yet breathy and light.

"Don't slip, Jon."

Slipping on this scarlet rug would be impossible. And, so what if he fell? He'd still be on the same step. There was no danger. As he considered this truth he noticed that his shoes were missing, and looking back he could see them several steps above and around the curve.

"Forget about those. Keep walking, but don't slip."

He pulled one foot up to touch the material of his sock, but this was gone now, and turned just in time to see one settle in place two steps behind. Refocusing on his course down the stairs he observed the carpet's fabric change from red velvet pile to taught red satin.

"Watch yourself", the voice warned playfully.

"OK, the satin is smoother, especially in barefoot, but the slope is so gentl-"

His heart fluttered as his foot skimmed across the next step, which angled downwards, and Jon lunged for the security of the handrail. The task had become more difficult, but if he could keep his mind on it he would find out what woman wanted in the hallway. He wondered who she was, and rebuked himself that it should take him so long to realise it was Olwen.

"Of course!"

"Don't slip."

It was warmer. The air, which had been dry and had the opulent aroma of a stately home, was now balmier, more organic. He knew the smell intimately from Kathy, and the time he'd spent buried between her legs. The memories fired numbed strobes of excitement down his body, which gathered busily in his tumid penis.

"Keep your balance." The voice quivered.

"Stop distracting me.", he called back, starting to fluster.

Another step, with the safety of the handrail—which was dripping wet. He held up his hand and slicked the clear mucus between his index finger and thumb. Jon pushed forward, barefoot down the sloping satin stairway. Leading with his right foot for traction.

"Hurry up now."

Without reasoning why, Jon took a spontaneous stride forward and his foot gave when it touched something slicker than satin. What was this? Latex? It was more lustrous, silkier and ten times more treacherous to negotiate as the filmy liquid from the handrail was dappled on the floor too. The stairway now resembled more a ramp with fine ridges. It was softer than before; Jon's feet made indentations in a springy material that glossed like a wet balloon under the uncertain pressure of his steps.

"Faster now."

Bounding forward, Jon could not understand why he followed the voice's orders so readily. He considered turning back, but just the gesture made him feel like a drunkard teetering on an ice-rink, ready to fall at the slightest nudge. The idea that he shouldn't listen to the voice; that he was getting played for a chump turned him on violently, and he looked down to see his cock bolt upright, perilously exposed from its trousers and underwear.

"Don't stop." the voice called pleadingly. Now not so gossamer, but pleasured and authoritative, channelled directly through his ears and resounding in his core. He pushed off carelessly from his left foot and tottered forward onto fleshy white skin, lubricated by sweat and arousal. Looking down, he could see that the way ahead was suddenly precipitous; a narrow hollow occluded from two sides two soft, slick mounds that pressed together pleasingly to form a profound cleavage. Olwen's cleavage. The handrail was long gone, replaced by a length of rope that dangled from a distant ceiling. Jon was trapped, ankle deep in the crevasse.

"Let go. Don't stop." The voice responded.

Jon tried to find some purchase, but was rapidly engulfed to his knees, slipping jerkily down to his waist, the back of his penis pressed lasciviously against the smooth, spongy tissue. With a jolt he was up to his chest, restrained and compressed on both sides by endless breasts, the rope was about to slip through his fingers. He had just a second to gasp and was gone, flopping down between soft, wet tits, held in line but feeling just enough friction to elicit a sensation of unbearable pressure growing beneath his cock.

"Don't stop. Yes, Jon. Yes." The demands were now ecstatic, urgent cries, repeating over and over and rippling through his body.

The wall of the cleavage was tight against his tumescence, but couldn't prevent him pouring through its infinite, silky clutches. Inevitable, unstoppable and building constantly as he slipped down through Olwen's limitless, glabrous cleavage. The pleasure was relentless. Nothing could stop what was coming.

His voice chimed in agony with Jennifer, and a ballistic missile of cum surged from his cock blasting him into wakefulness. He was still at the peak when he woke, grinding his body into the bed long after the dreamscape had melted away. After driving himself recklessly into his costume for what felt like hours, he collapsed, spent in a pool of his juices, with consciousness a forgotten notion until daylight.

This dream would remain permanently vivid in his mind. As Jon got up, bewildered, he expected an ache in his crotch, the kind that often followed a large ejaculation. But there was none; when he pulled his hand down to touch his penis it became lewdly, unapologetically hard.

"Not safe". He remembered hearing Lauren's voice before he fell asleep. And it hadn't been the first time. Jon felt he owed it to the part of his mind that still listened to reason - a corner of his being that felt violated and scared - to get to the bottom of this, and planned the day ahead, making sure to find Wyatt at 12.

He breezed distractedly through a session with Jennifer, who was now back to her old self. "That time of the month?", he wondered as his body responded, detached, to each command to jump, squat and stretch. When she was gone he recovered the wristwatch. It was 11:30. He clutched it in his hand as he paced around anxiously inside the dome, before making the trip to meet his appointment, heart pounding. He traced the outline of exterior up to the metallic box and struggled through the foliage to the clearing.

The glade was as silent as the day before. He crawled through the undergrowth until he found the spot they had been in the day before, where the was grass was still flattened. He looked at the watch. It was 12:02, and Wyatt hadn't shown. He waited. It was a mild, grey day. Not quite warm enough to stay still in his outfit. By 12:15 he was impatient, which made him undaunted. He lifted his head and saw that the dome was empty. He weighed his options and noted the risk - some unknown danger that had spooked Wyatt - but the seed of curiosity had already been planted by the day before.

He wriggled through the long grass and took another look at the dome. There was no sign of anyone, inside or out. Jon took a deep breath, picked himself up and approached the door, which opened silently.
Inside were rows of workstations and office chairs, about 20 in total arranged in a circle, like a war room, around an empty space at the centre. The building was deserted, but clean and in perfect working order. He stooped to stay hidden from the outside. The desks, sleek and grey, were laden with computers, but there was no sign of any paperwork. Nothing he could get his hands on; that was, until he had made his way to the other side of the dome. On one desk was a thick book of bound A4 sheets, that almost looked like it had been laid out for him.

"Aphrodite Project - 2025 handbook"

He sat on the floor, out of sight and skimmed through the introduction, frantically reading fragments of sentences at random like a kid trying too late to bone up for an exam.

"Leverage the inexhaustible resource of male desire by imposing limits..."

"...plant subjects in high-powered positions to perform a corporal function."

"...industrialised domesticity of the male sex..."

"...erode the foundations of the masculine order..."

"...end war and inequality."

The intro was followed by endless pages of technical language, formulas and arcane protocols that he had no hope of understanding in a few minutes. He needed to take it with him. While wondering how he could hide the book from the keepers, or whether they would notice it was missing, his eyes rested on a paragraph on the back-cover. It was an excerpt from an unlikely source:

"Men and Women differ in their reactions to love, and out of their differences often comes a partnership most satisfying to both. The man learns to be patient and tender with his wife, the wife learns to make her husband feel a king - and at the same time her delighted slave.

Woman Magazine, April 19 1958"

"Delighted Slave" was underlined.

This was followed by another quote:

"Margaret Sanger - Woman and the New Race, 1920

The first step is birth control. Through birth control woman will attain to voluntary motherhood. Having attained this, the basic freedom of her sex, she will cease to enslave herself and the mass of humanity. Then, through the understanding of the intuitive forward urge within her, she will not stop at patching up the world; she will remake it."

Jon was dizzy. He couldn't take it in. Reality snapped back, and he hurdled the desk cross the empty space in the middle of the dome and make a beeline for the door. He was halted by a whir, and after a loud click two segments of the floor began to part. As it did it revealed a cavity a metre wide, and an underground stairway came into view, illuminated at once by blue fibre-optic strips on the wall and ceiling.

He descended, and the stairway bottomed out into a cool passage that extended for a distance, at least a couple of hundred metres. He gripped the wristwatch, rolled up manual to his chest and obeyed his piqued sense of wonder and curiosity. His steps made a metallic clunk on the floor, which echoed along the tunnel. Goosebumps formed on Jon's ghostly blue arms.

At last he reached the other end and climbed the steps into darkness, before another automatic hatch opened around him and he stepped, blinking, through the floor of Olwen's empty office. The hatch closed, and he found himself on the very spot where he had been subjected to her orders and taunts. Confused, overwhelmed by trepidation and excitement, Jon looked around for moment and trod silently to the kitchen. Also empty. But he heard a faint voice on the lawn to the front of the house.

The kitchen exit was on the west side of the property, and the alternate dome was buried in woodland across the grounds to the east. This tunnel traversed almost the width of the grounds. He made his way round to the lawn, and instantly recalled the red rain of his dream.

Olwen, Lauren and Jennifer were sitting primly on a picnic blanket around a large carbon fibre briefcase. Wyatt was kneeling a short distance away from them, side-on and head bowed. The woman noticed Jon, but didn't look up. He held the manual behind his back, in a distracted attempt to hide it. He approached, said a meek "hello" and took a seat quietly on the grass.

Lauren was the first to acknowledge Jon. "Could you give me the watch please?" Jon felt like running, but reasoned with himself that he had done nothing wrong. He had nothing to fear. He handed over the watch, Wyatt turned and shot an accusing glance.

"Good, and you can give us that, too." She pointed at the book he was doing a poor job of concealing. Jon felt like a child who had been up to no good. "If you got a chance to read it properly you'll understand what we're about to do with Wyatt here. You were never supposed to go where you went today, but it's extremely promising that you haven't run away now, given what you know."

"Of course, you can walk away at any time, Jon. But once you see the program through to the end, you have a duty to us. We'll give you exactly what you need in three short weeks, and you'll give something to us in return; loyalty."

"He is our one failure. Ten years ago Wyatt did well on the course. Not quite as well as you, but we had no reason to believe he'd try to hurt us. What we didn't realise at the time, because our preselection profiling was suboptimal, was that Wyatt is a misogynist. Something in his fundament was damaged at an early age, and corrupted against women. He wants to hurt us in a way we could never challenge, so we have to work out how to keep him in check. We've tried to give him some kind of life here."

"You still have a week to go. And you'll become intimate with all the ways we tried to keep him loyal, but every few months he would rebel. He tried to slander us in the media, he tried to involve the police and refused to answer our calls. We've spent years trying to get through to him."

"Today he's finally come to the end of the road."

Olwen lifted her chin and smirked at Jon. Jennifer opened the briefcase. Wyatt was motionless.

In the case were face masks connected to bottles of compressed gas. Olwen picked one up and sauntered over to Wyatt, skipping playfully in front of him before kneeling behind his back.

Lauren started talking, "For decades people wondered about a theoretical aphrodisiac that could stop whole armies in their tracks. It's a beautiful idea; the triumph of love over war. We had been lobbying for it secretly for decades, scratching funding together where we could find it. Today with nanorobotics we have achieved it. This gas is made up of billions of nanomachines, created to target receptors in the body. Wyatt's going to be exposed to the most potent version, manufactured to attack for a week - just the substance that will lead to huge manifestations of physical love across the world. And in their wake, the unconquerable spread of Love Allure, and woman worship."

Lauren turned to Jon, "But we know that we can subjugate just about anyone with force, and fear will be the response. We don't want to hold the world beneath our heel, but we want to rule it with love; so what we really need are annexed allies, Jon. Men like you."

Jon was desperate to know why Wyatt wasn't running. Although he was glad that he wasn't in trouble he still sympathised with this strange man who seemed so resigned to his fate, whatever that would prove to be. Was Wyatt wrestling the same emotions as Jon; that powerful sense of fear kept in check by excitement?

The mask was strapped to Wyatt's face and Olwen took a few cocky steps back before tapping something into her phone. There was a faint hiss, and Wyatt shuddered then toppled forward, his fall broken by his arms. They quivered, before finally giving way and he came to a rest at Olwen's feet.

Lauren gestured to him in the way a scientist might refer to a guinea pig in a lab. "He'll be awake soon, but the next day may not be enjoyable for him. He'll be in a state of constant, mounting arousal, with no hope for relief. He may hate us, but like you he has come through the Aphrodite Program and cannot orgasm by himself. All that loathing, and no outlet; no wonder he tried to hurt us. But starting soon he'll feel the first portending waves of an orgasm. Over the following hours it will build, and then some time this evening he will reach a climax that will never end."

Lauren pitied the unconscious man as she said, "He will not make it through the night. After three minutes on the cusp of orgasm he will lose consciousness, but the climax will continue without him. His body will push on to an insurmountable peak until there's nothing left."

"This is not how it should be. In an ideal world we would hand him over to the police, or impose some kind of gagging order against him. But we can't afford this. We've made too much progress. Too many lives have been saved. Nevertheless, Wyatt is a victim, and we will mourn him."

"Not least because he did such great work around the place, cleaning, mowing the lawn, carrying stuff around." Olwen chimed in glibly. The women nodded grimly in unison. "We'll have to bring in some extra trainees over the weekend."

Jon was frozen in horror and incredulity, at the stark banality of a man's bizarre death. If this was all some ruse he didn't want to put it to the test. He wanted to run. He wanted to get home to normality and hold Kathy in his arms, but when he gazed over at his three captors something inside melted and then solidified in his cock, the iron bar that was always on the edge of his thoughts.

Jennifer approached, wearing that same look of lobotomised cheeriness. "You have just seven days left, Jon. You're so close." She gestured at the condemned man." This isn't your fate. You'll understand why this had to be."

"Do you want to stay on?" Lauren asked, with a confident air.

"Yes!" Jon was shocked that he hadn't even paused to consider the question, but when he answered a jolt of excitement rippled through his body. These women, all women, seemed elusively powerful at that moment. They were all that mattered to him. If he knelt down and prayed at Lauren's feet he could remain there forever and all would be well in the end.

10

There was no point in observing the usual routine that evening. As the sky darkened Jon took a seat on the remnants of a marble column in a remote part of the grounds and wondered. Would he be an accessory to a murder? What was Wyatt's story? Nervously he ran a finger under his wristband, trying to work it loose and get some fresh air to the clammy skin beneath. In recent days it had started to prickle, like a skin test for allergies.

There was rustling in the foliage behind. Jon dreaded the thought of seeing Wyatt again, knowing what was to come, and as his head swivelled he was ready to run like prey. But it was Alice. She had been absent that afternoon, but the serious look on her face suggested that she knew what had happened.

"How did you know where to find me?"

Alice sympathised with his ignorance. "Oh Jon, you've been wearing that wristband for two weeks now. Didn't you wonder what it was for? It's tells us a lot of things about you, and one of them is your location on the property. Didn't you ever wonder how smoothly things happen around here? It's all for you."

She let the idea sink in, and gestured towards the foundations around Jon. "This was an orangery once. It burned down long ago when several of Lauren's ancestors were killed. Tragedy is entwined with her family history."

"Just tell me about Wyatt, Alice."

"Like you he joined the program willingly. But what you need to know is that during the process we access and retune emotions that are rooted at the very heart of a person and his makeup. Wyatt went back out into the world, but all was not well. Our suspicion grew, so we visited his flat six months after he left and found an arsenal of guns and knives."

"What we didn't know is that before we recruited him he had a history of domestic violence that had never been reported. We found him too late, when he was in his 30s, and after completing the course he became deeply conflicted. He loved and hated women at the same time. It made him more dangerous than he had ever been. We managed to nullify his threat, but today he made a last attempt to finish our organisation for good."

"But why do you have to kill him?"

"He has tried to hurt us many times, but each time was foiled by our subliminal conditioning. It was just a matter of time before he succeeded. We don't take this lightly, but what we're doing for men like you is going to save millions of lives. Think of it; a world without exploitation or war. We have to weigh that quest against his life. If people find out about Aphrodite Project won't survive. We're growing, but our future is always in the balance"

Jon was not satisfied. "OK, OK, so why does he have to die like this."

That sympathy returned to Alice's tone, and she knelt on the grass next to him. "Jon, the gas won't work on any old person. For the average person it will generate an arousal that they will need to relieve over and over again. But for a man who has undergone Aphrodite conditioning the arousal will only continue culminate without the prospect of release. Unless."

"Unless what?"

"Um, Jon, unless we say so."

"It's a soft warning to you too. This is a taste of what we can do. Wyatt's fate what happens when you provoke the natural instinct of a mother defending her young."

Jon knew he was being threatened, but his fear and sexual desire were coming from the same place.

"You won't be like him, because you're a good person. We researched you, and you'll be surprised how much we know. We know what you like." She cast her eye down, deliberately at her dress, and ran a hand up her midriff and over her breasts.

"Wyatt wanted to show you something that you weren't ready to see. You are still free to go, and you could have taken the manual with you. You could have ended everything."

Jon was only interested in the notion that they controlled his release. He was desperate to come. All his credulity and all the madness would just drain away if he could clear his head with a waking orgasm.

"Can you 'say so' now?"

Alice was evidently delighted at where Jon's train of thought had taken him. "No. Not yet, but we'll get there very soon. Things are about to get fun. You will learn the power of womankind, and bask in its love for the rest of your life. You will evangelise it, and your voice will be powerful."

She was seducing him, and she moved in painfully close. Jon could caught her scent and could feel her hair against his cheek. She puckered her Russian red lips and planted a kiss on his forehead. Jon longed to wrap his arms around her, pull her in and feel her breasts against his chest, but it was as if he could only appreciate at a distance, like a painting or artefact. He could feel her breath on his skin, but his perception had been convinced or fooled into believing that she wasn't really there.

When he returned to the dome he could hear Lauren's voice loud and clear filling the structure. A few days before he had sensed it in half-sleep and asked himself it was real. But now it was perfectly audible. Lauren was entreating him to relax and submit. In short, endlessly repeated sentences, she was telling him to fall in love with her, with all womankind. As he imbibed his dinner, the words meant nothing to him. But time passed and Jon began to switch off.

Time passed and he sat absently at the table and began to drone in time with Lauren's mantras.

"I submit to feminine love."

"I develop myself to honour this power."

"The stronger I get the harder I serve."

"The harder I serve the better I feel."

"The better I feel the longer I wait."

Jon wasn't really there. As he hadn't been the hundreds of times he had repeated these lines over the previous two weeks. Meanwhile, out in the blackness Wyatt's brain had turned to pulp. The heels of his boots had dug in, and his hands had ripped handfuls of soil from the cool ground. His mind was being invaded and overwhelmed by a titillating fantasy that kept regenerating intelligently, blasting past the limits of his imagination, dragging him to a peak that kept moving away. He had been inhaling for three minutes, and the life was about to be wrung from every wire-tight fibre of his body.

11

When Jennifer arrived the next morning she wasn't alone. Jon sensed the commotion long before they entered. He was told that for the final week all of his activities would be accompanied by a group of trainee keepers. All women in their 20s and 30s, they would sit in, observe and participate without saying a word. Their faces were inscrutable, beyond half-smiles and blushes, and they followed the keepers in unison like a shoal of fish. Jon might not have paid them a second glance, but the final week had brought with it another change of colour for the keeper's uniform.

They wore only black. But it was worse than that, because the outfits were lewd. Before he'd have described his company as sexy, or slightly inappropriate, but now they were unapologetically alluring. Jennifer's leotard invaded her contours, and was worn by the rest of her cohort. It cut off at the very limit of their nipples, but as Jennifer cavorted he was teased by the idea of seeing her areolae as her breasts danced, but improbably they were held in place.

Jon no longer had the energy to conceal his arousal. It defined him now, and was not just accepted, but encouraged. They were proud of that they had driven him to this state. And he knew it when they inspected from time to time. His build was now athletic, and his erection was an unmissable mound against the black material of his bodysuit.

When he exercised that morning he felt the many pairs of impassive and curious eyes on his body and no longer felt abashed. He was thrilled by the scrutiny, and wanted to do his best. As he complied with Jennifer's commands, mindful of the thrashing she'd handed him recently, his own spikes of excitement and arousal appeared to charge the new recruits. He'd hear a gasp, notice a lip-bite, or see a hand dive involuntarily between shiny spandex thighs.

He soon returned to the familiar feeling of cruising through the day, brought on by the sense that he had no control, and with no prospect of being able to change anything he let himself switch off, like a backseat passenger on a long drive. He observed what happened to him with detachment, like someone watching the landscape through the car window.

Clean, dry and refreshed, he made his way to Olwen's office. The trainees were scattered around the property, busying themselves in flower beds or filing in and out of the main entrance to the mansion with decorative items and pieces of furniture.

He caught Olwen on playful form again. As he entered the kitchen he could hear her directing the recruits briskly, stressing that they only "had a few days to get it ready". Jon had to dodge two women carrying a large tube of rolled-up material towards the ballroom. He had become fond of her brusqueness. It had crept up on him unawares, but familiarity with Olwen hadn't allowed Jon to drop his guard. Now he knew her, he knew to be ready for anything.

And so it was that his meek arrival that day, not long before the end of the program, met with a question that knocked him sideways.

Olwen rose from her desk. "Jon, are you ashamed of leering at us all the time?"

"...I don't know. Honestly, I was but I can't help it any more."

"So you're impossibly aroused. When was the last time you saw a woman naked?"

He thought hard. It didn't surprise him that he wasn't shocked by the question. Two weeks back there was the night out with Kathy when they had plans to be intimate, but she got accosted. It felt like a lifetime ago. But before that only exams, and the tension of that time made it difficult to think about sex.
"About six weeks."

A ripple of muffled laughter rolled gently around the room. When he looked up the other few women in the room didn't look away, but stared back.

"In your state, do you think you could handle the sight?"

"Yes", he said with a whimper. "What state?", he queried. But he knew - they all knew - what Olwen had meant.

The women slid a chair across the office to the wall and ducked Jon into it. Scotched shafts of sunlight fell onto the patterned carpet and the room was still. Olwen hadn't moved. They had been lying in wait.

"Jon, lay your hands on the armrests. You won't move, will you?"

The women gathered in the middle; four around one, a blonde woman with tight hair who faced Jon with a confident stare. It felt like a dance piece, and Jon was the only audience, but they remained motionless. Jon looked uneasily across at Olwen, his hands gripping the chair.

Hands began to slip down the central woman's body, along the smooth material of her black leotard. She stared at Jon as she lifted her arms straight above her head and kept them there, unafraid of her vulnerability. Eight pairs of hands began to explore her body. Steady at first, but bolder with excitement and curiosity. They cupped her breasts, and Jon was close enough to see their fingers indented on the yielding flesh.

It was as if they were floating towards him. He caught wafts of a subtle perfume, intermingling with an earthier, damper scent. A finger and thumb caught the the zipper at the neck and pulled it down a few inches. The hands sensed the opening and flew inside, massaging the naked skin underneath. Jon chanced a sideways glance at Olwen to see that her taunting gaze was fixed on him. Everybody was staring at him.

From then he gave the performance in front of him his full attention. The woman in front of him had been inscrutable until one of the others started to knead her breast softly beneath the material of her clothing. Her eyelids twitched and her gasp was clear against the silence of the room. Kisses followed, planted on the sides of her neck, and Jon twitched when he heard the first low moan.

Jon was engrossed and didn't notice Olwen's movements, as the women pulled the zipper down further to leave their companion naked from the waist up. When he saw her naked flesh he felt an epiphany. He was alone with them in a different world, but, crossing the divide from one to the other, Olwen drove herself into Jon's consciousness by kneeling down next to him and speaking into his ear, her lips and tongue forming sounds that resonated through his body.

"Now is the time. You arrived enclosed within a wall and we've been scratching away at it every day. With every passing hour a piece of it has been removed. Now you can start to be the person you want to be."

Jon didn't turn. He couldn't. He had been waiting for so long, unable to orgasm, that the sight of women in passion tapped a fathomless well of wonder that he could never hope to exhaust. At first the cadence of her voice affected him more than what she said, but the meaning of her words began to trickle into his mind.

"We're going to call Kathy and end your relationship with her. It's the only way you can take the next step. You'll be ours forever. Don't worry about her; she will survive. We're going to train her, and she'll become a keeper like us."

Olwen went on.

"Its just natural. You're a different person to the one that arrived. She wouldn't recognise you, and over time it will hurt both her and you to go back to the life you had before."

"Besides. You prefer this life. This one makes sense to you. You're not scared about making the wrong choices anymore, because we'll make the right ones for you."

Jon heard what Olwen said, and the meaning of her words set off a twinge in his stomach. The woman at the centre of the group sat back as the others intensified their attack: Hands caressing her small breasts and plunging between her thighs. Her moans were becoming louder.

"Isn't it beautiful, Jon? This is what you want to live for now."

Olwen's lips were an inch away from his ear, and he could feel the breath that accompanied every word she spoke. He felt an intimacy with this harsh, strict woman that was purer, more meaningful than anything he had experienced in the outside world.

Jon's arousal throbbed like heartbeat, and the sense that he was being coerced into cutting the biggest tie with the life he had before turned him on like he could never have imagined. He watched the woman and all the tension and guilt drifted away until he felt it was too much to think about Kathy. Her image perished in his mind and was forgotten. The woman's chest was heaving, her eyes etched with desperation. Staccato cries filled the room, Jon was catapulted into a dreamscape of raw desire and when she came he wanted more than anything to capture that moment, and forevermore be an agent of pleasure for all womankind.

"So do you consent?", Olwen probed.

Jon was now riding a slow orgasm that would not climax for days. And in his passion he turned to Olwen, whom he now loved more than anything, and with wild intensity shouted back, "Yes! With all my heart, yes. With everything I've got. Yes!"

12

On that day a threshold was crossed. From then on, in his heart he felt a frisson that transmitted throughout his body when he saw a woman. Any woman. The trigger for this transformation was sexual, but Jon's sexuality was being rewired.

For the time being he would treat his love and weakness for womankind as something dangerous and subversive, but Lauren and the keepers were heightening his submission, and in the coming days would reinforce his sense of veneration towards them.

In short, they needed to make him safe and compliant. They had to harness his arousal for their purposes to avoid him becoming another Wyatt. Safeguards had been drawn up in the years since the Wyatt Mistake to ensure that Aphrodite subjects were powerfully aroused by women, but didn't see them as objects. Their lust would need to be channelled into respect and compliance.

This process was guided by years worth of empiricism and protocols, and Lauren, Olwen, Jennifer and Alice were seasoned experts. As the end of Jon's program approached, they made preparations for what they termed his "finale".

Jon was a special case, and they sensed it when they were first briefed about him by Leslie Hardwick, his university professor. See was a member of Aphrodite, and had been planted at the university to identify possible candidates for the course. She recognised both Jon's potential and lack of initiative, and had been tracking his progress in the few years he had spent at the university.

Yes, Jon was going to be important to the future of the Aphrodite Project, and to mark the culmination of his program Lauren saw fit to throw a celebration.

With Jon now enjoying semi-captivity around the grounds of the mansion, the four keepers held a series of meetings to make sure everything had gone to plan. They also had to lay the groundwork for Post-Prog: Jon's release.

Jennifer assured the group that Jon was now in good physical shape; his body fat was at 10% and this was allied with a heightened sense of self-esteem. She was currently working on a set of video files that would be given to Jon so that he could continue his exercise routines in the Post-Prog world. Jon would be weaned from total dependence on the fortified shakes that were currently his only form of sustenance, but she would send the order to the central office to make sure a daily dose would be sent to his new address.

Alice assured the group that Jon was indeed heterosexual. It was clear that he was highly attracted to her, and that this attraction made him compliant. She reported that her efforts to serve as a light guiding hand to make the program more palatable had been successful, and that he had fully immersed himself in all of his activities. She had soothed his doubts throughout the course, and he was emotionally ready for his finale. The biome and wrist device had operated perfectly throughout his stay, tracking his growing arousal, administering incremental doses of IV, airborne and food-based aphrodisiac, and bringing the subject through the long course of verbal affirmations unconsciously. Despite his extreme state of arousal, he was also no danger to anyone - the new batch of trainees were free to approach him. He had completely submitted to Loving Authority.

Olwen, with a chuckle, re-asserted that Jon enjoyed being a supplicant to women. Despite encountering the usual reservations, which Alice had deftly allayed, Olwen had managed to pique his sense of masculinity while diverting it into servitude. There was no task too onerous, and this boded well for his Post-Prog prospects. He would fight to serve women. Jon also had no defence against a sexually assertive woman, and when she tested the voice commands that he had assimilated during Lauren's sessions and via the voice recording in the biome, his body had responded instantly. (Smile, Ragdoll, Consent).

Lauren was one of only three Aphrodite members in the country with the ability to condition the minds of men. She kept her methods secret. But she told them that the Aphrodite network had taken steps to plant Jon within the management structure of the BBC, and had already moved his possessions to new accommodation in Pimlico. Jon's former girlfriend was scheduled to start her training on the 20th of June, two days away. She would become a keeper.

Jon had been left to wander the grounds, but mentally was in a completely different place. He was no longer able to distinguish between his ever vivider fantasies and reality. It was all the same thrilling and terrifying ride. This stage of his progress would continue up to his finale, and would be when his mind and body were most amenable to the Aphrodite programing. Like The Beast in Walerian Borowczyk's movie that he had watched with Alice, Jon's hard cock was issuing white fluid without prompting.

As he lay a patch of the the lawn shaded by the broad leaves of a thriving sycamore tree his mind floated off. In the dappled sunlight and with the scent of summer hay on the air he was swimming lengths in an outdoor pool on a sunny day, accompanied by a few strangers going about their daily exercise. They were in different lanes, so he could keep his head down and keep going, in the same way that he wanted to knuckle under and get to the end of his course.

There were no obstructions ahead, and as he swam he contemplated the clear, turquoise water through the lens of his goggles and felt safe and secure. He completed a length and turned, and as he approached the opposite wall he saw two pairs of female legs fluttering beneath the waterline in the deep end. Jon tried to change course to avoid them, but they moved across to cut him off. The jig was up, and Jon's rhythm was broken. He had to grip the edge of the pool and find out what these women wanted.

He lifted his head to notice Jennifer and Alice treading water. With his back to the wall, they closed on him side-by-side in bikinis. "I want to ask you something, Jon." Alice said.

"Do you like my breasts?" Her round eyes interrogated him in such a matter-of-fact way that he felt compelled to think of an answer. Yet as his tongue stumbled on the words and his gaze darted from Alice's beautiful face to her pale, buoyant chest, he neglected to watch Jennifer whose hand had descended beneath the surface of the water to untie the string on his waist and grip the hem of his shorts. Jon was still trying to think of an appropriate answer for Alice when Jennifer dived below, whisking his shorts in a flash before jumping back up to throw them far over a fence that enclosed the pool.

"Whoops!", she said perkily.

Jon was completely humiliated. The water was cool against his groin, and his penis wafted with the currents. Fortunately none of the other swimmers had seen what Jennifer did, but he was relying on the pair to take sympathy with his plight.

"Jenny, you bad, bad girl. Now he's completely naked!" Alice gushed. "We'd better get closer to him so nobody can see his dick. He'd probably get arrested."

"Or we could leave him here!" Jennifer suggested wickedly.

"We could, but look at the poor thing, Jenny. I don't think I could do that to him."

"Aww." Jennifer chimed.

They drew themselves in close, hiding him from the rest of the pool, and trapping him against the side. Their breasts, tight within the wet sheen of their black bikinis, pushed against his chest. He was already turned on - in fact, Jon couldn't remember a time when he wasn't turned on - but he was ashamed about the idea of them noticing his hard cock against their waists. He tried to focus to get it down, but there was no chance.

Alice felt it first and issued a delighted cry. Jennifer looked down and was a little less impressed, "Oh, you perv!" She shouted, and ducked Jon's head beneath the surface. Alice joined in and pushed him down. Reflexively, Jon tried to come up again, but was stuck underwater, held in place by these two women, who, far off above the waterline were clearly entertained by his predicament. Just as panic started to set in they hoisted him back up, only to find him all the more aroused by his treatment.

"Ha, he's going red." Jon, was exhausted and terrified, but his arousal could conquer anything.

Jennifer expression reminded Jon of when she had soundly thrashed him earlier in the week. "OK, here's what we'll do. We'll give you 10 strokes. If you come then that's it for you; we'll push you under and you'll never come up again. If you survive I'll go and get your shorts, and you'll be a free man."

"Ooh, you meanie." Alice taunted.

"Are you ready?"

Jennifer started. The first stroke was swift and casual, barely grazing the head of Jon's penis. Despite his building anticipation he could hardly her touch. But soon the strokes became firmer and more urgent, and by the fifth Jon was in real trouble. He looked up at the two girls and could read only amusement in their expressions. They were pitiless. They wanted to kill him.

Jennifer turned the knife, "Look at Alice's tits, Jon. Look how they strain against her bikini. Feel how soft they are against your body."

There were four to go. The first of these began at the bottom of his shaft and twisted its way to the top of his head before sinking and twisting back down to the base. Alice took over and gripped harder. As she worked her way up Jon was sure he was about to burst, but survived, more by luck than any willpower. Two to go.

The penultimate stroke pushed him unmistakably to the edge. "I thought you were my friend, Alice." he bawled.

"Oh, well, your mistake." She shrugged.

"Last one now." Jennifer grinned, "You come, you die."

Their hands intertwined and slipped along his cock in the water. Jon couldn't hold on. He yelled in pleasure and terror as semen streamed disobediently from his swollen head.

"Yay, he's coming!"

The moment he heard that he was gone beneath the water, white trails of semen still erupting from his cock, Jennifer and Alice's slender legs kicking him down further.

Jon's body began to convulse, and as it did his eyes opened to see a cock jumping beneath his uniform and, beyond that, a semi-circle of trainees watching him with a mixture of curiosity and empathetic excitement. When they saw he was awake they scattered. As the program reached its closing stage he still hadn't achieved a conscious orgasm.

13

The days that approached the finale were a blur. Jon had lost all control. One moment he was watching Jennifer and a set of trainees gyrate as they exercised, the next he was staring into depths of Lauren's unfathomable eyes and forgetting everything. .

Childhood memories continued to flood back. Jon remembered helping his mother bake, and, once, when she let him fold ingredients into the food mixer his sleeve got caught in the mechanism. She dashed to switch it off the moment he screamed, and he suffered little more than shock and a sore wrist. But it would have torn his hand off, and both he and his mum learned a lesson. The memory that had stuck with him down the years was the feeling of powerlessness - how the machine kept on turning, brutal and uncaring.

Jon recognised that his body and its unconscious functions were working against him in a similar way. He was simply along for the ride and no more a master of his impulses and drives than if they belonged to another man. He was at their beck and call, just as he was to his keepers. He discovered he was contactable via his wrist device and on the penultimate day Olwen called him in to brief him on the party that would take place on his last evening.

"We've fitted a tuxedo for you. We're expecting a hundred guests and you'll be the sole waiter, so I hope you're up to the task. Everything is pre-catered; you simply need to keep champagne flutes topped up and canapes on-hand."

"There will also be a de-briefing tomorrow, so you're aware of everything that's taken place on the program. After that we'll send you out into the world."

"But, I don't know if I've learned anything."

"No?" Olwen didn't look convinced. "Strip for me."

Jon took off his outfit without pause. His cock sprang up as it was released from beneath the material, and a thick drop of semen was sent twirling through the air.

"Now, how do you feel at the moment?" Olwen asked tersely.

"Exposed, a bit vulnerable. But...", Jon needed time to grasp the full extent of the other sensation, "...so unbelievably happy." His eyes welled up. "You know, I think I'd do anything for you. And yet, I don't need to have you. I don't want to conquer your body to feel better about myself as a man. I just want to do right by you. And by you I mean, every woman."

"Yeah, I think you've learned everything you need. That feeling will stay with you for the rest of your life, dear. You're a perfect man."

Olwen ran her hand gently down his chest, sliding it down to his crotch. She pulled a single finger up over his balls and slid it teasingly towards the shiny, mushroom-shaped tip of his rigid cock, prompting a small burst of cum to cover her black fingernail. She lifted it up to his mouth, which opened unthinkingly. It was the most tenderly she would ever treat him.

"Now say it with me." Jon sensed exactly what she meant.

"I submit to feminine love.

I develop myself to honour this power.

The stronger I get the harder I serve.

The harder I serve the better I feel.

The better I feel the longer I wait."

With each repetition Jon felt like he was being dragged closer to that final, cataclysmic orgasm. Olwen lightly ducked his head until he was kneeling, and he gazed up at her adoringly. She wore black leggings that clung to her curves and her waist was cinched by a black corset, which lifted her breasts to form soft, pink-white peaks. The sight of her sharp face gazing down at him contentedly was sending him to a delicate place, but she never let him get further than the edge of the abyss.

The edge was where he would stay, agitated and defenceless, for a further 24 hours.

Olwen sent him on his way, and he was appalled to find Jennifer and Alice, waiting at the biome. sharing wicked grins. Their hard work was done; they had broken Jon and rebuilt him successfully, and in their demob-happy mood they wanted to play with their guinea pig before its release.

"Can you imagine, Jon, that we know more about you..." Alice paused to think "...than almost anyone could know about another person."

"We have weeks of data to tell us what turns you on, and we tested every little sexual quirk to see which ones would whet your appetite the most. Turns out you have a big thing for cleavage, more than any other man we've dealt with. When you responded well we gave you more. I bet you've even dreamed about it."
Jon's cock leapt at the memory of falling into the white chasm between Olwen breasts, and he began to swoon once more.

Alice lifted a hand to cup her right breast and expose more flesh, and Jon whimpered pathetically. The merest pretence of pride or dignity had long since been vanquished. There was nothing he could hide from the keepers, and this transparency liberated him. But for now he was squirming in his seat at the round table in the biome, both desperate to be left alone and aching for more punishment.

Jennifer cut in. "Oh I know, we can try out the voice commands."

"So let's see, what were they again?"

"Well, there's 'smile' of course." Alice replied.

And at once Jon was beaming and feeling at ease.

"Do you know what happened there? The simple act of smiling had a reciprocal effect on how you feel inside. You feel happy and safe, even though we have complete control over you. We used it in the first week to ward off homesickness and fear."

Alice's round eyes were alive as she spoke. She was passionate about her vocation. She loved to be in control.

"Then of course, the ragdoll command." Jennifer chimed in.

Jon had gone limp in his seat, his head lolling back. With no means of propping himself up he was starting to slip to the floor.

"Oh yes. That was a safeguard that Lauren brought in a few years back."

"See, when you started getting horny there was a danger - just a small one that affects a tiny percentage - that you could start to get violent with us. So we introduced a command that would stop you in your tracks."

"Oh there he goes. "

Jon collapsed on the floor in a heap of unresponsive limbs, still smiling wide.

"There are a load of other suggestions implanted in your mind, Jon. A lot of them we don't even know."

"I think the most dramatic one is coded in a language that communicates with your mind and body on an unconscious, visceral level, in a way that English can't. We only know a few words. Lauren and the other founders are all fluent. She has been talking to you with it every night for these three weeks. You may hear some at this party tomorrow night."

"Are we just going to leave him there?" Alice asked with insincere concern.

"Of course!" The pair cackled. "Let's mess with him a little more. He clearly loves it."

"Until we give you permission, nothing will get you to your feet. Whether the building is burning around you, or you absolutely have to go to the toilet, you will remain there until we say otherwise."

"Naturally you consent to all this don't you?" Jennifer asked, as if she didn't know the answer.

"Yes!"

14

The next day, Jon was ordered to report to the mansion the moment he was on his feet. When he arrived he was directed wordlessly but with a smile by Olwen to a bathroom where a team of trainees standing around a huge bath that was already filled with warm water.

"Please remove your clothes Mr Roeder. We have been instructed to get you ready for tonight."

Their manner was friendly but authoritative, and Jon complied immediately. He found that every woman's voice was fortified now with tangibility. He shook himself from his outfit, still rigid, and didn't react when a couple of women in the group smiled at the sight of his penis. As he lowered himself into the water, his head was gripped lightly from behind and tilted back over the rim of the bath, so that all he could see was the ceiling and the face of a woman with a pixie-cut busying herself above him. In the corner of his eye he saw a razor being prepared, ready to remove his three-week beard.

As he was occupied by the razor he felt hands lathering his body, exploring every nook and cranny from between his toes to the small of his back. He gasped as they slipped over his penis and felt another mini eruption in his groin, but his thoughts were immediately distracted by the blade that making its smooth way across his cheeks and chin. A light hand supported his head and moved it deftly, and all the while Jon was thrillingly aware of the loss of control. It was over so quickly that he was shocked to feel the silkiness of his barber's fingers as they applied to moisturizer to his expertly-shorn face.

Jon was helped up into a chair, where his hair was cut short and neat, with the same precision that he had noticed when he first met Mr Fournier. His barber never said a word. He hair was parted and styled with a little pomade, before Jon was handed a new outfit and led downstairs for his de-briefing.

He stepped into a conference room where Lauren, Olwen, Jennifer and Alice were all present and dressed for business. In front of his seat was a document.

Lauren addressed him formally. "That, Mr Roeder, is a contract. Given your background in film we have found a suitable position for you in programming at BBC's Broadcasting House. In this role you will serve as our broadcasting arm and push our agenda at every opportunity. 20% of your salary will come to Aphrodite, but you'll find that you make swift progress in your role, your authority will not be questioned and it will be easy to get things done; our network will make sure of this."

"This document makes clear that it will be incumbent upon you to ensure that BBC programming espouses our values and emphasizes the superiority of women, both overtly and secretly, in the interests of enlightening and educating the UK and other countries about the importance of Love Allure. We will also provide you with subliminal media packages that we have developed, and these will be incorporated into every programme that you commision."

"You will serve as a corporal, leading men and converting them to our cause, but you will always answer to Aphrodite. When the organisation contacts you by phone, you must pick up immediately. If you miss more than two calls in a month you will incur penalties."

"You are also about to enter three years of chastity. It is our requirement that you remain unquenched and fanatical towards us. On successful completion you will be touted within the Aphrodite Organisation as an eligible bachelor. If you are chosen and meet your partner's approval, you will take on your her surname and decisions on the nature of your relationship will be hers to take."

"In the meantime you will be able to break your fast at long intervals with a technique that will be demonstrated to you in due course. In the coming years you can be assured of your importance to the world as an agent for change; patriarchal modes of thought are eroded, as armed conflict is gradually abandoned, people begin to live in harmony with the earth, religious fanaticism is forgotten, wealth is prised from the 1% and redistributed fairly, and nurturing women come to power across the planet."

"It is the only way."

As Jon watched Lauren during her speech he was utterly convinced that she wanted the best for the world. To him she exuded a power and light that left him in awe. She was more powerful, more beautiful than anything he could conceive. She was a goddess whose doctrine he would defend to the death. She represented a purpose that would be his vocation forevermore. It inspired him, imbued him with resilience, and when he thought about the job that awaited him his mind was overrun with ideas of how to further Aphrodite's agenda.

He could hardly understand how or why, but he had discovered an unshakeable sense of direction, and a cause that he would follow for the rest of his life. He signed without hesitation, and was bound to the Aphrodite Organisation forever. That afternoon his old fiesta reappeared in the driveway, and together with his tuxedo for the evening he found his possessions waiting for him at the dome, together with along with an elegant wristwatch and new phone.

As he sat he heard a click and watched as his old wristband fell away from his wrist. He ran his finger over the indentation left behind and saw that his skin had been perforated. The nanomachines that killed Wyatt were already in his body. They had been inside him since the very beginning and the thought warmed him.

He was a better man than Wyatt.

Guests arrived throughout the day, and Jon was ordered to remain discreetly out of their way until the party was scheduled to start at eight. He remained in his home and listened to the female voices out through the woods and on the lawn. Sparse at first, they grew in number until he was sure there were a couple of hundred people out there.

At last Alice, refined and beautiful in a clinging black silk gown, came and retrieved him and led him to the kitchen where trays of canapés had been prepared, and cases of champagne were chilling in the vast walk-in refrigerators. For the next few hours Jon would be on his feet, shuttling between the kitchen and ballroom, working through a forest of women of all ages, bewitched by their perfume, seduced by their smiles.

In their finery they nodded at him kindly, and as he passed them he could hear them compliment him in their conversations. He relished the task, and felt it was the perfect send-off, even if he wasn't sure whose benefit the party was for. All the while his hard cock was held against his body by his underwear and hidden beneath the pleats of his black trousers.

In one corner a string quartet played unobtrusively, and at the far end of the long room a small podium had been erected. A small group of men was present, but they were consigned to a table in the corner, where they remained, silent and inconspicuous. In the course of the evening the conversation became louder, peals of laughter rang out and Jon noticed pairs of eyes watching him with a growing appetite. He saw his old professor Leslie Hardwick. She kissed him tenderly on the lips, and told him she was proud of him, and told him - to his surprise - that she was responsible for the Aphrodite Organisation reaching out to him.

Finally, Lauren took to the stage and Jon learned the purpose of this soiree.

"Sisters, as you are no doubt aware, Boris Johnson resigned last, citing - ahem - personal reasons. But there will be no leadership race to find a replacement. And you may not know that our own Fiona Campbell has already been approved to take his place."

This news was met with rapturous shrieks.

"The Prime Minister had resigned?" Jon wondered with surprise, aware once more that there was a world beyond this stately home, and it had been turning the whole time. Turning, inextricably in Aphrodite's favour.

Fiona Campbell stepped onto the stage, curtsied reverently for Lauren, and uttered one solemn and heartfelt sentence, before disappearing into the crowd to applause. "I vow to serve Aphrodite by every means at my disposal."

Jon was busy serving drinks, and hardly noticed when Lauren returned to the podium.

"Now, sisters, we have a new graduate with us tonight whose finale ritual will take place right here. Of course he has not the slightest clue what is about to happen, and I would like you to make this moment as special for him as possible. I now lead you in the hymn of culmination."

Jon didn't know when Lauren's song began, and looked up out of faint curiosity when he realised that she was singing in a different tongue, before working his way around the crowd with his magnum of champagne.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back. He tried to pull away gently, but within an instant the crowd had closed on him and restrained him. They pulled off his jacket, and ripped the shirt from his back. His shoes were already gone and before he could think of bringing his arms down to hold them, his trousers and underwear had been torn off. By then the women around him had joined in the song, and Jon felt his desperation growing. A few women held him in place while a circle formed around him. Every pair of eyes in the hall was on him.

The song gained a chant-like quality, and the pace increased. And with this change Jon's hips began to buck, without ever knowing how or why. He looked around and saw the sea of women's faces, enraptured and delighted by their feminine dominance. They simply would not stop singing, and Jon felt the muscles in his groin grow tighter. The women were only gripping his arms and legs, but he was sure he could feel soft hands manipulating his cock in the rhythm of the chant.

The voices grew louder and more insistent and Jon's breath quickened. He was hurtling back towards that edge where he had spent the last week. But this was more serious; his body was being tormented by a wet, slow-moving yet unstoppable force that was pushing its way out from within him. It was too strong for him to stand, and he started to scream. The women responded to his screams by singing their strange song louder and faster. Far off he could see Lauren staring back at him, and he felt utterly open, as if there was not a single thought in his mind that she wasn't intimate with. There was nothing left to hold back.

In this moment of revelation, and to great shrieks of joy, a gargantuan blast of cum exploded from the head of his cock and flew above his head. Jon couldn't catch his breath; he could only grind a deep, tortured grunt from his throat as the semen continued to cascade like a fountain from his cock. The orgasm endured for minutes, and was more agonising than anything he had known in his life, and yet simultaneously, transcendentally, cosmically pleasurable, far beyond any boundary he could imagine. The last thing he saw was a sea of women's faces looking down at him, smiling warmly and glowing with Love Allure, and he lost consciousness with a smile that melted their hearts.

Jon woke in an unfamiliar bed at a new flat, his new watch attached permanently to his wrist and a note on his bedside table. It read:

"Dear Jon,

We are so proud of you.

Please know that you will be granted sexual release by phone at four intervals throughout the year, but we have the power to make you experience that climax involuntarily at any time. Do make sure that you comply with our instructions and perform well in your employment to ensure that it does not take place at an inopportune moment.

Now go out and fight for us!

Love,

Lauren, Olwen, Jennifer and Alice

Welcome to Aphrodite - Branch Four"