Flesh Drone
Jenny Hawthorne descended the irregular staircase that led straight into the underground dungeon. With each step, the air grew heavier. It smelled of fresh blood and old man’s sweat. It was certainly not the place you would expect to see a world class designer rocking a golden sequin mini-dress and a pair of Stella McCartney ankle-length boots, but she was on a mission, one she could not afford to fail.
“Why on earth have you come here, Alec?” She muttered, eyes glued on her phone and the tracking signal displayed in it. It was getting weaker by the second.
Alec was husband number four, soon to be ‘ex’ by the way things were going between them. A shrewd businesswoman, Jenny had never been great in the affairs of the heart, and he had never shied away from wanting to wet his cock in other fountains. Two times she had almost caught him red-handed, yet something told her this would not be attempt number three.
The staircase ended on a winding corridor that stretched for at least three hundred meters. A string of recently installed halogen lamps snaked across the ceiling. In-between, two almost invisible cameras focused on her. Jenny continued along the path, worry wrinkles becoming more pronounced. The mid-forties fake redhead hated asking for help when she could do things on her own. However, perhaps letting go of her pride would have been the better answer this time.
“Too late to back away now…” She thought as the corridor suddenly gave way to a large circular room, almost like an old Roman amphitheater where gladiators were forced to kill one another for the sake of mass entertainment. Darkness dominated most of the space, save for three patches of dismayed light. One was to her left, and comprised a rusty chair wrapped in a mesh of electric wires. The second was right next to it, punctuated by the cold bars of an extra-large cage. The pungent smells were stronger there. Finally, a little further away from what appeared to be the center of the division, stood a latex-clad blonde, holding a metal leash in her right hand. A hooded man waited on all fours beside her and, even though his features were completely obscured, Jenny knew who he was right away.
“Alec, what is going on around here?”
The dehumanized husband offered no answer for he had not been given permission to speak. Instead, the woman that owned his entire existence took a step forward, and grinned:
“Welcome, girl. I am glad you are finally here.”
Jenny squinted. “Do I know you?”
“Of course, you do. See past the heavy makeup and the uncharacteristic outfit, my dear, and listen only to the sound of my voice.”
Jenny stumbled forward, eyes focused on the arms of the other woman. Two perfectly identical chains were etched on her perfect skin and the only person she knew with such tattoos was…
The designer squinted again. “Vanessa?”
“None other. Welcome to one of my many playgrounds. I know it does not look like much, but that is what makes it so appealing. How do you like your husband now, or should I say, Number 9?”
“What have you done to him?”
“What I wanted to do ever since you introduced us. What he begged me to do once I told him I liked to play dirty with bodies and minds alike.”
“Alec? Is this true? Did you ask for this kinky shit?”
Vanessa tugged the chain around his humbled neck. “Do not bother with his real name because he has already forgotten it.”
“Fuck off! Alec, stand up, and come with me! We are leaving!”
Number 9 moaned, but remained in its rightful place, awash in blissful mindless servitude.
“What did I just say?” Vanessa continued. “This flesh drone is now my property. He serves me and only me. He will not listen to any other voice unless I command him to.”
“This is insane and so are you! I am calling the police then!” Jenny tapped her phone. The reception was poor – a single bar on the upper-right corner of the screen -, but it would have to do.
“Are you really?” The sadistic dominatrix cackled. “And tell them what, exactly? That your best friend mindfucked your man into abject slavery? Surely, you realize how ridiculous that sounds… You will be the laughingstock at the Force, so do yourself a favor and do not even try to go that way. Especially not when I have such delicious plans for you, now that you are here…”
“What plans?” The Jenny trembled as she noticed erratic movements from the corner of her eye.
“Is it not obvious?” Vanessa clapped her hands and half a dozen more helplessly brainwashed thralls emerged from their hiding places. They all looked the same, uniform fetish soldiers whose loyalty could never be bought or shattered. “I hope you like the number 10.”
Ferocious hands jumped at Jenny’s torso, legs and feet before perpetual mindlessness conquered all.
