The Adventures Of Astoria Morgan Ch 06

Chapter 6 - Poles Apart

Astoria awoke to neither dream nor nightmare, but rather to a cold, hard and quite real wooden floor. Her cheek was pressed against the smooth floorboards and her limbs were splayed out as if someone had casually dumped her there. Looking up, she saw rows of empty seats extending back into the darkness. Suddenly, a light snapped on behind the last row and there, in what appeared to be some sort of control booth, sat Pudenda Minx with her sidekick Little Bird.

Minx was now dressed in a black tuxedo with a matching bowtie that sparkled with sequins. Astoria blearily wondered how Minx was able to rise so high in the criminal world given all the time she must spend shopping for and changing clothes. Maybe there was something to dressing for success. There was certainly no denying her impressive style. With her slicked back hair and monocle, she looked like the dapper mistress of ceremonies in a cabaret of cruelty.

Struggling to her feet, Astoria discovered that she was now clothed in only sheer black stockings and a lacy garter belt. A pair of black pumps with, of course, absurdly high heels encased her feet with straps digging into her ankles and secured with two small golden locks, each in the shape of a little heart. Still woozy from the effects of the gas, she was only saved from falling by grabbing a silver pole that jutted from the floor and went to the top of what appeared to be a clear, plexiglass cube that surrounded her.

Minx now began speaking into a microphone and Astoria could hear her voice coming through a vent in the floor. "So nice to have you with us again, Ms. Morgan. No doubt you expected to awaken in the arms of your adoring fans. They certainly did their best to keep you with them. Luckily, some of my men were still at the Haven - you didn't scare them all away, dear - and with their assistance I was able to transport you here with only minimal casualties."

While Minx was speaking, Astoria was sizing up the situation. Pressing her hand against the clear walls of her prison, she could feel no give or fragility, and the cube certainly seemed to be securely bolted to the floor. This would be a tough spot to get out of - and surely Minx had more in store for her than mere confinement.

As if reading her mind, Minx continued. "I just had to get you out of that awful place. You simply can't hide your light in that dingy little haven for dreary women forever. That would be a crime - and I know something about that. My plan is to introduce you to a whole new fan base. You see, you are standing on the stage of what used to be quite a lively establishment here in The Drains - the Swinging Tits Burlesque Theatre. Oh, the people used to have quite a grand time here, or so I'm told. Pity that it has been shuttered now for so many years. But that will soon change, as I plan to reopen it shortly with YOU as my new star. Isn't that exciting?"

Astoria was not excited. "And if I choose not to star in your little show, Pudenda, what then?"

"Choice is so overrated," chortled Minx. "You'll find that I have constructed a system that will spare you the burden of all sorts of choices. I don't like to brag, but I am a rather gifted autodidact. The last time I was in prison, thanks to you as I recall, I made good use of the library you so kindly donated to master quite a bit of engineering, computer programming and neuroscience. Do you know what I discovered? The human brain fools itself into thinking it is making choices, but it's really all just stimulus and response, stimulus and response."

"I always find our conversations stimulating," replied Astoria with a skeptical smirk, " but I am not sure that you always appreciate my responses."

"For my part, I would simply love to banter away the day with you. Unfortunately, you can't become a star by solely relying on your native talent and good looks, which you assuredly have in abundance. No dear, you must practice, practice, practice. This is where my little invention can prove so helpful to your career."

Minx began working on the control panel and the glass cube resounded with a throbbing, techno beat. Astoria usually dismissed this sort of "music" as merely insipid, if not absolutely appalling. But now, she was finding it downright irresistible. Somehow the beat flowed into her body, causing her hips to sway, legs to strut and arms to make the most lascivious of movements.

"I've choreographed a brief introductory number for you, a little pas de deux I call Moth and the Flame. Tell me how you love it!"

Lights suddenly hit the booth from every direction. Crazy, colorful lights that filled Astoria's eyes and mind. They were everywhere, these dancing lights, insistently inviting her to dance with them. There they were, dancing on the pole, that seductive silver pole that had now exploded in a riot of fascinating, hypnotic patterns. She must go to the pole, wrap herself around it and make it her partner.

Part of Astoria realized what was going on and began to fight back. Her movements became jerkier, but though hesitating, she still found herself impelled inexorably towards the pole. Reaching out, she caressed its smooth surface and felt a brief tingle. It wasn't just the magic of the music, Astoria realized. The damn thing was electrified!

Still, she could not pull herself away. The combination of music and lights made her wrap her left leg around the silver shaft. The current had obviously been set low, and so was bearable, even enjoyable. Astoria pressed her body in for more. Only now she noticed that metallic starburst pasties had been securely affixed to her nipples. When she brushed them up against the pole, she discovered that the shock was intensified. Astoria gasped and recoiled, but then did it again. Like picking at a wound, she just couldn't stop.

Minx was so enjoying the performance, it was hard to keep her mind on the control panel. The show must go on, she reminded herself, as she adjusted the beat, music, lighting and charge to create the perfect mix. The charge was the most important now. Slow but steady increase, let the bitch acclimate and then take her to the next level. Someday, not far way, she would be conditioned to crave this mix of pain and pleasure, a hopeless pain slut. And speaking of pain . . .

Minx she saw that Astoria had wrapped herself in tight embrace around her silver partner. It was time now for a final crescendo of agony. Minx hit a red button on the panel that sent a massive jolt through the pole and hence Astoria. The pole took it well, but Astoria fell to the floor, limbs flailing in all directions and eyes rolled up into the back of her head. Minx thought she could even see a bit of foam in the corners of Astoria's gaping mouth.

Now it was Minx's turn to applaud the performance of her counterpart. "Well done, Ms. Morgan. You really do have a talent for this. Superb! Still, there is room for improvement. No time for lying about. You must get up and continue your practice. Break time is over." The music and lights began again and Astoria found herself staggering to her feet and renewing her dance. Her previous smirk was gone.

"What are you doing to me?" she pleaded.

"I think the purpose of your conditioning should be fairly obvious," replied Minx smugly. "Of course, every subject has her own quirks and peculiarities. We need to evaluate what combination of stimuli produces the best, most aesthetic results. So you see, it is a learning process for us too. We are all in this together." Astoria was not comforted by this declaration of solidarity and continued to wrack her brain for a way out of "this."

"But perhaps you meant to ask about that little jolt at the end of your routine. Though you might believe that was merely gratuitous abuse, we would never treat our artistes so shabbily. No, the grand finale charge has a very important purpose. To become a truly great dancer, you must be completely focused on your art. Right now, your mind is filled with all sorts of distractions that keep you back from achieving your potential. The final jolt is really just a simple electroshock treatment, designed to chip away at those superfluous neurons that you don't absolutely need."

Astoria was quite convinced that she needed all of her neurons, but nonetheless found herself once again approaching the dreaded pole. It was different this time, however. Minx's sound and light system was improving its grip on her, tuning her body to its rhythms and making her its instrument of seduction. Rapid-fire drum shots suddenly compelled her to shake her tits as fast as she could, shake them so her metallicized nipples just brushed the pole's shimmering surface, striking sparks that sent stabs of pain through her breasts - unpleasant for her, but a surefire crowd pleaser.

"Dance, girl, dance!" cheered Minx, as she slid the voltage a bit higher.

Now the music slowed and Astoria moved in for what she knew would be another close encounter that could only end in disaster for her. The dancing colors on the pole had somehow metamorphosed into the enticing bits of candy, sweets that the music told her she must lick and suck. The wetness of her tongue served to magnify the intensity of charge - shit that hurt - but she was insatiable now, insatiable for the delicious pain/pleasure. Nympho sex machine, grinding her wet pussy against the pole. She had to have it, all the throbbing energy inside her. OmigodOmigodOmigod! And then it hit her again, the electric orgasm, the kaleidoscopic climax that brought her back to black.

"Wonderful!" chirped Minx, as much in praise of her own mastery as of Astoria's performance. "We are breaking you in even more quickly than I had dared hope. Of course, it may take days, or even weeks of this treatment to fully degrade such a powerful intellect as yours, but eventually you will become my mindless little pole dancer." Minx paused for a moment as she considered other shafts on which she would make Astoria dance in private command performances.

"Sadly, I don't have time to personally attend to your continued treatment. As you know, I have an extensive criminal empire to run. Not to worry, though, as I am leaving you in the hands of Little Bird, one of my best lieutenants. I believe she was a ward of yours once. Well you know, a student repays her teacher poorly by remaining a student all her life. Let's see what she can teach you. I'll certainly stop by to check on your progress. Ta-ta."

Left at the controls, Little Bird brought the music up once again. This time she added a jaunty keyboard line on top of the beat that froze a smile on Astoria's face. "Friggin' Miss America. Show them you love it, bitch, they know you do."

Little Bird, however, was not as viciously virtuosic as her mistress, and Astoria sensed a slackening in the reins. She must find a way to reach Little Bird! The throbbing music made conversation impossible. Astoria realized she had to mobilize what was left of her psychic powers to establish a more direct connection. Looking up into the booth, she thought she recognized the girl. So many young women had come through the Haven, so many. Yet Astoria took pride in knowing each face and each story. Who was this one? Had the neuron bearing this critical bit of information already been lost?

Name first. Greta? Ginny? No, no, no. No, it was - Geena! Geena with two ee's! Astoria called to her, to the Geena with two ee's hiding behind the mask of Little Bird.

Little Bird wondered why she suddenly thought of her old name. It seemed so long ago when Minx had plucked her off the street, had shown her the joys of submission and discipline, had named her. Little Bird remembered Geena, beaten and scared and so in awe of the great Ms. Morgan. Look at her now! A cheap slut strutting her stuff on a dirty stage, selling her sex like the watered-down drinks they used to peddle in this dump, with an extra shot of degradation to make it go a little further.

Geena knew how to play that game. Despite her youth, she was an old hand at selling her pussy. Yeah, she had gotten old real fast, and about the only thing she had to hope for from her short life was a quick end. But then she stumbled into the Haven. Something inside her reminded her of the talks Ms. Morgan used to give to the girls, and how inspired and alive and even proud she used to feel thereafter. That's shit long down the river, thought Little Bird. We're all shit down the river with no way back up.

Astoria had gone into the tit-shake portion of her routine and the flashing sparks broke the girl's reverie. She knew what was coming. Soon she would have to press the red button and start the dance of sex and violence again, over and over again. She felt sad at the inevitability of it all, and a little sorry for the victim, and for herself. "Suck it up, girl," she thought to herself. "Suck up the sorry."

"You don't have to do this!" screamed a voice in her head. Who was it? Little Bird? Geena? "You don't have to do this!" It didn't matter. She didn't.

***

When Minx returned to the theater, the silence of the dark old space disquieted her. Where was the music? Why weren't rehearsals continuing? Had that stupid girl set the voltage too high and killed the star? Rushing into the control booth, Minx saw the two sitting at the edge of the stage, Astoria and Little Bird. Astoria had recovered the jeans and sweatshirt she had arrived in and Minx could now hear her earnestly lecturing her attentive listener on the radical possibilities of burlesque.

"And so you see, the male gaze that seeks to objectify and possess the female body gets ensnared in its own trap to the extent it becomes captivated and, ironically, blinded by its creation. Men school women in the arts of seduction for their pleasure, and wind up seeing only the sex object. They forget that we have eyes of our own, that we can see what their game is and can repurpose the erotic charms with which they seek to negate our personhood. Use the weight of their desire against them. It's dialectical jiu-jitsu. Of course, it does help if you can also physically throw them to the ground should they prove resistant to theory."

The blade whizzed just above Astoria's left shoulder, rather remarkably as Minx usually had impeccable aim. Astoria and Geena both looked up together. "Hello, Pudenda," replied Astoria calmly. "I was hoping that you would turn up soon. It was quite unladylike of you to keep your gentlemen callers waiting so long."

Minx heard steps behind her and spun around to find Commissioner Hardway and Chief O'Toole at the head of a squad of policemen. Astoria calmly strolled up the aisle to the control booth. "You see, I told the Commissioner that you would return to the scene of the crime, like the cliché you are, and he and his men have been patiently, and discretely, awaiting your arrival outside the theater for some time now."

"You've got nothing on me!" snapped Minx.

"Oh no? How about a couple counts of kidnapping, running an unlicensed house of ill repute and assault with a deadly sex toy. Your lieutenant - formerly known as Little Bird - has also agreed to testify about your recent activities. I'm sure the jury will listen to her song with great interest."

As she was out of knives, Minx could only cast a sharp look at Little Bird, who continued to sit at the edge of the stage, head down and appearing to pay no attention, as if these events did not really concern her.

Astoria continued. "I think Geena has realized that your brand of dominance and submission is nothing more than cruelty and exploitation, and as such neither a desirable nor sustainable basis for a relationship. True D/s should rest on love and trust and nurture the best self of each partner."

"What a pile of crap!" spat Minx. "It's people like you who put the BS in BDSM."

"What I actually do is put dangerous psychopaths like you behind bars. You enjoy imprisonment scenes, don't you Pudenda? You should have a long time to play out this one. Take her away!" The boys in blue snapped to attention as they hastened to carry out the command of this imperious woman.

Before being hustled off for her perp walk, Minx turned one more time towards her opponent. Their gazes met like old friends and grappled like sworn foes. One could imagine them standing that way forever, deadlocked in a stare down, locked down in a death stare.

The slippery Minx was the first to break free, turning, taking a couple steps, and then returning, looking over her shoulder as if she had forgotten something, then sashaying away resolved to remember everything, continuing the dance. Just before being rousted out the door, she turned her head one last time and pursed her lips to waft a butterfly kiss off to her rival.

Who was the moth here, who the flame? Who could ever say?