Preface:
This story contains vast amounts of forced non-consensual sex. The victims, all controlled by nanobots, enjoy their subjugation and experience many orgasms, but it is the bots that cause their enjoyment.
The Beckham Centre: Charlotte's Revenge.
Chapter 01: How it started.
Hi readers. If you've read 'Training my Niece to Obey', we've already met. I'm Charlotte Webb, or more accurately, I'm Ona Mabooty. Yeah, I've heard all the jokes. So let's pretend that yours isn't one I've already heard 1,000 times and that it was hilarious, and let's move on, shall we?
You've seen me on TV, and I know you're wondering, so here are my, well, let's say, 'relevant stats'. I'm a twenty-nine-year-old mixed-race South African woman born in Pretoria. My mother moved my sister and me to Germany, and my studies took me to London, England. Currently, I'm living in Brisbane, Australia.
My complexion is the colour of a shot of Tia Maria before you add milk. Dancing has given me a tight and toned body. Although I'm only 5-foot 4-inches tall (153 cm) and weigh a tiny 125 lbs (57 kg), I'm voluptuous and full-figured. With my suppleness, litheness, and dancer's quick feet and hands combined with my tiny hourglass figure, I'm even a blind man's wet dream.
Sigh. Okay, since you insist, here they are. I'm 36-24-36 and wear a 28GG bra. Happy? Yes, I have a tiny, leanly muscled body with a big round booty and huge tits. Nobody, I mean nobody, looks at my eyes, and even women stare at my breasts and ass. It's so embarrassing as well as secretly arousing. It makes me feel good to have people lusting for me, even if it is shallow and occasionally creepy.
I'm known for my appearances on Britain's Strictly Come Dancing, being the first professional dancer to win back-to-back trophies. My sister and I enrolled in dance school because my mother thought it would be a great way to make friends and for us to gain some self-confidence. We both sucked for a long time, but we worked and practised until we made it. My sister, Ina, is also a professional dancer.
But dancing is only a tiny part of my story. I danced and made appearances on Strictly and other such shows all over Europe to pay for my university studies. After years of studying, I became a microbiologist. My specialty is miniaturising nanobot technology. I can design and create little computers that are invisible to the naked eye and are so small they're hard to see even under a microscope.
I met my husband, Doctor Davis Beckham, at a seminar at The London School of Medicine, and OMG, is he gorgeous! Tall, at over six-foot (183 cm), lean and handsome. He has blonde hair and the most startling blue eyes ever. There's a catchy pop song by an artist called Donna Lewis. It's called, 'I Love You, Always and Forever'. For years, I had misheard the third verse. I thought it said, "You've got the most stumbling blue eyes I've ever seen". I loved the imagery but didn't know what Ms Lewis meant by 'stumbling blue eyes' until Doctor Beckham took his dark glasses off and smiled at me. Readers, I'm sure my heart and feet stumbled when he did!
Fortunately, even inside, Dr Beckham typically wears dark glasses. If he didn't, I'm sure many women and a lot of men would throw themselves at his feet.
You wouldn't believe how my husband I met. Davis, as he insisted I called him, came to my lecture! The world-famous nanobot technologist and psychologist came to see me! We chatted, and he asked me to look over some work he was doing. Of course, I was honoured that Davis even knew my name, but his asking me to help was beyond my wildest dreams.
Davis told me he was working on nanobot technology that would ease suffering in people with chronic pain. He said he hoped to use the bots to override the brain's pain and nerve centres, so the patient no longer felt the hurt associated with their injuries. Davis thought he could eventually design nanobots to take over the body's nerves and allow people with paralysis to walk again.
Sounds fantastic, doesn't it? No wonder I fell for his story, hook, line and sinker.
I took Davis' research notes back to my hotel room that afternoon. 7.00 am the next morning found me sleepless, pouring over his manuscripts and still making notes. This was exciting research because if Doctor Beckham could make this work, hundreds of thousands worldwide would no longer suffer debilitating pain.
I met Davis for coffee mid-morning, and we explored what he'd discovered and what I thought needed to be done to make it work. We were still bouncing ideas back and forth at midnight. When they'd closed, we'd been kicked out of the café we'd met in and the pub we'd eaten dinner in and were now sitting in an all-night diner. What impressed me most about Davis was that he never once openly ogled my breasts or ass.
Then it occurred to me, 'Oh, shit! I wonder if he's gay.'
If life has taught me anything, it's that only gay guys and homophobic spinsters never ogled my toned, lush assets. But, even so, quite a few of them looked, especially the gay guys.
I decided to flirt with him and gauge his reaction. Heavens, readers! I already had a little crush on Doctor Beckham before we met, and I'd devoured every piece of dissertation papers and studies he released. Doctor Davis was a giant in a field I was barely beginning to understand.
I began by moving around to his side of the table. I had been sitting opposite Davis on a chair whose legs were partially in the walkway. Davis was in the booth, sitting on a rounded couch. On the pretence I wanted to show him some research on my laptop, I moved beside Davis, then, turning the screen towards him, I pressed my bare thigh against Davis' leg.
As I said, readers, I already had a crush on Doctor Beckham, so I'd dressed appropriately for my crush. Nothing overt or slutty. Just a skirt, maybe slightly shorter than professional, and a halter top that exposed my toned midriff and left my back bare. Plus, heels that were perhaps a little higher than strictly necessary.
Davis was dressed in a gorgeously sexy, dark, three-piece suit. The suit, in gunmetal grey, with a faint dark blue lined pattern across it, enhanced his deep blue eyes and leanly muscled physique. As I ran my admiring gaze across Davis, I felt the warmth growing between my legs, so I pressed my thigh against his.
Davis coughed, his leg twitching away as if I was scolding hot. Doubling down, I turned towards Davis, let my erect nipples drag across his upper arm, smiled, and then said, "See? German researchers are investigating this same technology. My studies are way ahead of theirs, though. Their nanobots are still visible to the naked eye and will have trouble flowing through the blood. Mine are almost sub-microscopical, so they're so small the human body won't even recognise there's something foreign swimming through it."
To emphasise my desire, I casually placed my hand on Doctor Beckham's upper thigh, quite near his groin. To my delight, I could feel how stretched his suit trousers were. Davis was sporting an impressive package, and it was hard for me.
Readers, I'm not exactly a virgin. But neither am I particularly sexually experienced. In my university years, when most of my classmates were sailing by on the minimum 2.5 GPA, having fun, and exploring their sexuality, I swotted, studied, and stayed in. I was proud of my 4.7 GPA and tried my best to lift it higher.
Plus, I travelled all over, entering dancing competitions, or appearing on TV with Strictly. I didn't have time to 'fuck' as I wanted much more than that. Though, there was a night with Amanda Holden from 'Britain's Got Talent' that I'd like to tell you about one day.
Davis is at least twenty years older than me, and I'm sure he found my somewhat clumsy attempts at seduction amusing. But, even though he had physically reacted to my beautiful face and figure, I didn't think Davis desired me.
Oh, I'm certain he lusted for me. But wanted and desired me as an equal partner? No, that's a schoolgirl's fantasy. Thirty-nine-year-old professional men earning high six-figure incomes bang young women like me, but they don't want them as life partners. Instead, they want a woman who enhances their social standing. Another professional or a beauty queen (trophy wife), an heiress, perhaps. Someone who adds to his accumulated wealth and is not an almost penniless ex-student.
But it doesn't hurt to fantasise. A night in Doctor Beckham's arms seemed perfect, even if it was only four or five hours before my fitness regime's body clock had me awake and ready to go.
I looked at the fingers on his left hand, 'Good. No ring,' I thought.
I slid my hand closer to Davis' tented groin, "It's a long walk back to my hotel, Doctor, but do you want to come up for a nightcap?"
In his cultured voice, Davis answered, "My hotel is only across the road from here, Miss Ona. We could have that nightcap there if you'd like?"
Feeling like a right slut, something my mother berated my sister and me to never be, I huskily replied, "It will be too late to go home after our tipple, Davis. May I stay with you for the night?"
