Levels of Control

Heather shook her head and got her tears under control. "Some Arab doctor examined me. Probably a Saudi. He called me a whore...god knows I feel like one." She pushed herself to her feet, using the metal bulkhead as support. "He pinched my boob and it was like...it just dropped me in my tracks. I always heard aphrodisiacs were a myth, that you couldn't make a person's body...feel that. Feel

this.

"

Meagan crawled off the bed. "The nipple thing is a secondary effect. The drug makes our breasts swell slightly and grow sensitive, like they do just before our periods. And it keeps our nipples hard." She took a deep breath. With her hands cuffed behind her, her breasts pushed against the undershirt, dark aureolas and jutting nipples visible through the thin, sweat-damp fabric. The overhead light cast dark shadows beneath her breasts, making them look even larger.

Heather squinted, her eyes still not fully adjusted to the dimness. "How do you know all this?"

"Because I read the file. I saw the autopsy reports. And because I wouldn't go along with it, they've murdered me this way."

"We're not dead yet," Heather said, with a determination she definitely didn't feel. Her legs were weak, as if she'd run a marathon, and her belly was empty and tingly. "They could've just killed us both, clean and simple. Why are they doing it this way?"

Meagan laughed harshly. "Why do you think? As a culture, they hate women. But when they interact with the outside world, it forces them to show respect to us. So they developed this. A drop or two in a drink, or a quick injection, and suddenly any woman is on her knees."

"Or her back," Heather added bitterly. "Fucking on her death bed, literally."

Meagan nodded. "And if you don't

know

you've been drugged, it gives a man tremendous power over you." She looked down. "I didn't know, at first. I did...things I never thought I would. Let myself be used. Then they told me what they'd done, and brought me here."

Heather walked over to Meagan. They were about the same height, although Meagan was older and heavier. "Listen to me," Heather said. "If it's a drug, it will wear off. We only have to..."

She stopped. They were so close their nipples almost touched, like tiny fingers straining toward each other. The physical nearness, the intense smell of their bodies, suddenly choked the words in Heather's throat. She had never before been attracted to a woman, and even this wasn't an attraction as she knew it. It felt like what she imagined a junkie experienced as he waited for his heroin to cook in its spoon.

"Wait it out," Heather finished, the words a croak.

Neither was sure who made the next move, closing the miniscule distance between them, but their aching breasts suddenly pressed together, the soft pendulous weight crushing gently against the other's equally warm cushioning. Each felt the rock-hard nipples of the other against their own. Heather moaned in relief and more aching need, while Meagan keened in a high-pitched whimper of desperation.

Then Meagan lowered her lips to Heather's shoulder and kissed the soft flesh to one side of the shoulder strap. It was a gentle, wet brush of lips, and it made Heather almost sob. She realized she was writhing in slow motion, trying to burrow her own breasts into the other woman's.

"Oh, God, what is this?" Heather whispered. "I'm not gay, I've never...never wanted...."

Now Meagan's lips touched her neck, tasting the salt from Heather's sweat. "Just want to...touch you...feel skin against me..."

Heather shivered and sighed in renewed, aching agony. Suddenly she understood the insidious reason for the undershirts: they provided a barrier against even the most basic comfort of another's skin. With their hands cuffed, their was no way to remove them. "If we...what happens if we...."

Meagan's lips now found her earlobe, then her cheek. Then Heather felt the woman's lips against her own. When she gasped at the sensation rocketing through her, Meagan's tongue plunged into her mouth. It was small, and delicate, and completely unlike any man's. Heather felt tears in her eyes as she hungrily responded.

When they broke the kiss, she saw Meagan was crying as well. "Look what they've done to us," the older woman sobbed quietly, her shame evident. Yet she made no effort to step away, something Heather could not imagine doing, either.

Heather impulsively kissed one salty drop as it hung along Meagan's jawline. "Whatever we do, it's not our fault. We didn't ask for this to happen to us, and we can't stop it. We have to remember that."

Meagan looked at her. "What are you saying?"

"That whatever we do to get ourselves through this...is okay."

Slowly both women turned and looked at the bed.