NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE: A "FALL OF WOMEN" STORY
Chapter 3 - Accelerant
J.C.
The familiar is the foreign.
That's the basics of the uncanny valley: if something looks similar, but slightly off, it gives a strong, eerie sense of wrongness. A sense that things are out of place.
I'm doing something perfectly ordinary: sitting on a bench, watching my wife walk through a crowded public square. And yet, nothing is ordinary about what's going on. In fact, I muse to myself that, bizarrely, I can no longer even tell which is the familiar... and which the foreign.
In the early weeks after the spread of the payload, it was common to see women convoying in public. Looking for safety in numbers, trying to limit any one-on-one interactions with men that could just corner them and collar them. Then, as the payload kept eroding the very capacity for independence of the female gender, convoying disappeared.
Nowadays, if you see women outside, they're typically being led by a leash, sometimes on all fours. The others, those that are still resisting or have by some miracle avoided contagion, have fewer and fewer reasons to venture outside on their own. Female employment has collapsed almost as fast as female will. And the dangers of braving the outside world on your own are usually not worth it.
And that's why seeing Sarah just... walk through the square is such a remarkable sight.
In chaos theory, one well-known metaphor is that of the butterfly whose flapping wings could eventually, through cascading events, cause a massive change in the world.
In this case, I think of a woman. One woman, in a world of billions. At this moment, in this place, she is truly unique, or appears to be, anyway.
Sarah's acting is impeccable: Her posture is erect, radiating determination and conviction. She moves... well, like a woman who isn't affected by the payload would, I suppose, with a sense of purpose, and precision.
She has a slowly but unmistakably growing number of onlookers trailing in her wake. I try to put myself in their shoes, to imagine what they must be thinking... What is that woman doing? Isn't she scared? Who's keeping her safe? Doesn't she have a master?
A feminist unbowed. Brave, proud and defiant, just like the old Sarah. Exactly as I wanted her to appear. I feel a thrill surge through me seeing my creation come to life
To the untrained eye, she appears unaffected by the payload's insidious influence. A feminist, unbowed. A woman, unbroken. Uncollared, and to top it all -- unafraid.
Exactly as I want her to appear.
It's all I can do not to chew my nails. In a sense, it's like I've just pushed my latest effort from a testing environment into production... except she's not software, aside from the payload in her brain, that is. She's my wife. My owned wife. My research testbed.
My handiwork.
I want to recreate Sarah as she was... at least, on the outside. But this time, when she submits to me, when I assert my sexual authority over her -- it will be about my pleasure. Not hers. Not anymore.
I sit up, eyes narrowing. A man's just approached Sarah. His eyes are roving over her body with undisguised hunger. One look at this guy and I can read him like an open book: he's performing all the tricks he must have read about on catcher spaces, and is trying to execute them so he can bag himself an uncollared girl.
He's puffing up his shoulders, to look more intimidating, physically larger. He's pressing her into her personal space, to make sure the payload has an easier time making her feel sensorially overloaded. He's talking to her, but he's making sure his hands are visible at all times, so the virus can bombard Sarah's mind with images of what those hands would look like, wrapped around her throat...
Except the payload will be doing no such thing, not this time. Sarah is not resisting it any longer, after all. She's already surrendered, been claimed by it, reshaped by it. In the measure that she's behaving like an independent woman at all, it's just to carry out the will of her master. My will.
I tense, my fingers gripping the edge of the bench, straining to hear how their conversation is going.
"... and like, I can't believe you're out on your own. I mean, it's crazy times we live in," the man is saying, a smirk curving his lips. "You could really use a man to keep you safe..."
He leans in closer, looming over her, and scans Sarah up and down with a glimmer in his eyes. His body language is aggressive, shoulders squared, as if challenging her to step back. And Sarah... is standing tall, arms crossed, glaring at him.
She isn't backing down.
"I'm not interested, thank you," Sarah says. "And I would appreciate it if you kept your distance."
He stares at her as if she's just grown a second head, and that's hardly surprising. I'm sure he can't believe what he's seeing, what he's hearing. He approached Sarah expecting her to completely crumble, falling to her knees, or on her back. Either way, she'd be his.
But that's not what she's doing is doing: she's rejecting him. And it's pissing him off.
His face turns red, eyes narrowing into slits. His fists clench, and he steps forward, getting right up in Sarah's face. She doesn't flinch, her glare unwavering.
Alright, that's enough for this one experiment, I think. Time to step in. I rise from the bench, heart suddenly pumping -- I'm nervous. Maybe even a little bit anxious. I make my way to them as quickly as I can.
"Back off, buddy," I tell him. He turns to face me, anger and confusion on his face, fists clenched. He probably thinks I'm some kind of competitor seeking to collar the same girl. But when Sarah begins to creep closer and closer to me, understanding begins to dawn on his face.
It rapidly becomes clear that all eyes are on us. Every bystander in the square is watching on as the man looks at me, then at Sarah, then finally back at me.
"...I was just talking to her," the man mutters, grudgingly stepping back. "Didn't know she was, uh, already taken."
I give him a look that clearly conveys my lack of amusement. He hesitates for a moment, looking like he wants to say something else, but then he turns and walks away.
I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding, my body relaxing slightly. That was close.
I can see Sarah's relief as well, her shoulders slumping slightly.
I look around, at the people staring at us. There's a mix of emotions in their eyes -- curiosity, surprise, and most of all, disbelief. They're not used to seeing a woman stand up for herself. To see her fight back.
A knot tightens in my stomach. I'm getting the dawning impression that, in my eagerness to push through with this very public experiment, I may have... acted unwisely. I put my hand against the small of Sarah's back, and lean to whisper into her ear.
"Let's head back to the car. Now."
We've barely started in that direction, however, that a woman's voice calls out to us. I turn around to face her.
She's an Asian woman in her mid-30s, or something. Slightly shorter than Sarah. She looks dishevelled, her black hair a mess, with deep bags under her eyes that suggest only one thing: chronic insomnia. No prizes on offer for guessing what caused that. She's wringing her hands, nervous and on edge, and her eyes dart from Sarah, to me, and back again.
"Please," she says, her voice trembling. "I need your help."
I blink, taken aback. For a moment, I'm not sure what to say. But then I notice the way Sarah's expression softens, a compassionate look crossing her face. "Of course! What's your name, dear?" she says, her voice gentle. Too gentle. This is how she sounds when she's faking politeness. There's a glimmer in her eyes.
Uh-oh.
"Fiona," the woman says, her voice quivering. "Please, I live with my daughter, and I... she... we're trying to stay sane, but... she's recently been fired from the office. And I... I can't... I can't..."
Her words hang in the air, and I can see the vulnerability in her eyes, the desperation. Another woman, battered into complete submission by the payload... she's truly barely hanging by a thread, this one. Sarah nods, thoughtfully, her frow creased with apprehension. She rests a hand on Fiona's shoulder.
Damn, she's selling it well.
"Fiona, I understand what you're going through. But I've found a way to fight back, to keep my mind clear and focused. It's not easy, but with the right techniques, you can learn to resist the conditioning. That's what you wanted to ask me, right? To teach you?"
Fiona nods eagerly, relief washing over her features. "Yes, yes, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."
Sarah smiles reassuringly. "Of course, dear. Why don't you come over to our place tomorrow afternoon? We can start working on some exercises to fortify your willpower and help you reclaim your autonomy."
She's inviting her home?
The stiffness in my pants is unmistakable. I look at Fiona's face, so full of hope, and imagine what she'd look like with her lips spread around my cock. Sarah, luring her in for me, betraying womankind for my pleasure... the idea is just... intoxicating.
But... I'm also wary. Worried. Unsettled. I never intended for Sarah to actually go through with this, to actively seek out and ensnare other women. I simply wanted her to believe that her actions, her facade of resistance, were furthering the subjugation of women. It was the best, most direct way to use the payload to reshape her to my specifications.
I may not have as much fine-tuned control over her psyche as I thought. And that's... not the only thing I'm worried about.
With plans made and goodbyes exchanged, Fiona departs, a renewed spring in her step and a flicker of determination in her eyes. Sarah watches her go, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
As we resume our walk back to the car, Sarah leans in close to me, her breath hot against my ear. "Did you see that, Master? She's so desperate, so eager for any glimmer of hope. It's going to be delicious, nurturing that hope, letting it grow... only to shatter it into a million pieces when the time is right."
For once, no matter how hot the words sound, I find myself only half-listening. I was not prudent enough. Sarah doesn't realise it, but we may be in danger right now.
And what happens when we start drawing that kind of attention to us?
