Hello, dear reader! It is I, the author. It's been a generous amount of time since the last time I continued working on this currently un-released continuation of Strange Queens, and even longer since the last upload. It's been too long - I've made a ton of efforts to get back in and continue writing, but eventually it petered out. I love this series, as my longest-running and longest-written ongoing story set, but I can't bring myself to finish this one.
As some of you may remember if you've read the previous stories, Strange Queens #2 ended unfinished, and I still to this day don't know how I would have completed that satisfactorily before beginning #3. This, I hope, can end up like that story - left somewhat hanging, yet satisfying enough, and in a place where #5 wants to be written. That's how I best write - wanting to continue, feeling the story of the characters writing itself inside my mind, rather than trying to force it out, dry and unyielding.
To anyone who's read and enjoyed the Strange Queens series, thank you. I notice every favourite and follow. If you're disappointed about the ending here, know that there is no other way for me to finish this particular arc, and that the best way for me to start #5, is if #4 is closed for business. If you enjoy this, please let me know, and especially if you feel you have feedback to build on this story. That can be one of the best ways to inspire a writer to write on.
I apologise for any errors in advance - proof reading this many pages can get tough.
Disclaimer: the men and women featured in this story are entirely fictitious, and the product of my imagination alone. Any reference to existing characters or real people, no matter how accurate, is purely coincidental. This story contains references to mind control, hypnosis, intense orgasms, gay and lesbian intercourse, forceful intercourse and rape. All mention of violent or abusive actions are used as descriptive writing techniques only and do not describe unconsenting or violent sexual acts. All characters are over the age of 18 unless otherwise stated. All characters involved in sexual or violent activities are over 18.
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"When in doubt, fuck the bitch, kill the baddies, and then take all their fucking money. Right? But I suppose the yoga is a pretty good supplement for all that, eh, Michael?"
~Trevor to Michael, cut voice lines, GTA V, Rockstar North 2013.
Strange Queens Four: The Return to Power
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Katrina stepped over the threshold into the motel room and smelt the sticky odour of wet sex hanging in the air instantly. She didn't have to look at the three beds to know that something had gone on there. In fact, in all honesty, she didn't have to enter the room to know. The girls in here had all been heavily darted, most two or even three times. They would likely still be deep asleep and dreaming of their wildest, hottest, and most livid fuck-parties even as she stepped inside.
Katrina Clinton, 26 years old and tall with a strong, solid build and a shock of shoulder-blade long messy hair entered the room and peered in the darkness for the small service counter on which the kettle and complimentary coffee sachets would be. A prime age in life, fit and healthy and intelligent, Katrina's life had been dominated by two completely opposing forces ever since she'd become old enough to hit school. First, she was possessed of a very, very rare genetic mutation, a pigment malfunction of sorts, which made her eyes the same colour as her hair -- the hair in both locations, to be exact- gold. Bright, shining gold eyes, eyes that matched the blonde hair that framed her face. This, combined with her clean white skin, tall and curvaceous shape and powerful feminine figure had attracted much attention, especially in her later years at school.
But her second defining feature wasn't a physical one, nor one that she liked to disclose to people. Being honest with herself, she realised she didn't really know how exactly to disclose it to others, an irony, she knew, given that this reason was caused by the very same thing she would be talking about.
Katrina had Asperger's. A sufferer since birth, she had always had trouble with understanding people, always seemed silent and mean, ignorant of the world and slow in classes. But she had never been either; she'd learned fast and learned well, quietly excelling her expectations in nearly every subject. She knew too how the world worked, knew it well. There was no covering up the truth when she was little. She already understood that people in the world weren't the nice, friendly innocents that a child always believes them to be.
She had, however, been typically clueless to interactions. She was nervous around boys, more than your usual teen. She avoided them, almost came to find herself scared of the male body and hence her own genitalia, afraid of how it worked, how it made her feel, and what they could do with it. For someone with Asperger's, anything that couldn't be reasonably explained and understood was uncomprehend-able, and as such somewhat a danger they couldn't control. She didn't talk to girlfriends or meet people, and she could often be found hanging out in the back of the library, behind a computer, searching for information or playing a game, anything that she could do to interest her, anything she could understand, anything that got her away from people. She understood computers and what they offered her. She didn't understand humanity.
And it was thanks to these facts that Katrina had been such an oddball when Rachel had met her. Silent and analytical, her everyday attitude was one of impassive calm, or so it seemed to the casual observer. Completely untrained on emotions, and not knowing a thing about controlling them or how they controlled her, she had been hit and hit hard when her friend, Effie, had thrown her life away in order to save her and her releasers. An addict to the drug in the darts that the guards used as a suppressant back at the private cells in which all the girls had been kept, Effie's only remaining wish in life had been to experience the unparalleled bliss of orgasm the drugs would bring her. Katrina had never met another friend quite like her, never met a girl more attuned to the tiny hints of emotion every human being expelled.
She had understood Katrina like no one else had before, seen right into her soul, known when she'd been sad, understood her confusion, and been compassionate with her all the way. Katrina had called her an Empath, a reference derived from one of her favourite sci-fi shows in which one of the lead female characters had the ability to detect other people's emotions and feelings. Though she knew human beings didn't have this ability, Effie came shockingly close to it.
While it had been due to her differently tuned personality that she had seemed uncaring and cold to Rachel and others, it had been due to her other attributing feature -- her looks, stunning and model-esque, if a little muscly and tense for the catwalk of the twenty-first century -- that had gotten her kidnapped and locked up in the comprehensive network of chastity belts, chains and locks inside a concrete cell hidden far out in the side of a remote foothill. Living alone and working two jobs whilst studying, Katrina had never been a social girl and had seen no reason to bother trying to be once she'd left home. She worked from early in the morning to late in the afternoon and attended specialist classes in the evenings, buying food for dinner on the train home. She hardly spent much time at home other than to play games and sleep, and as such only had a small apartment that cost very little. It hadn't taken much for a casual operative to stalk her home in the darkness of night and scope out her house.
In fact there had been so little movement that the same operative had snuck in late at night and jimmied the electronic lock on the door into submission calmly, even breaking out into a gleeful smile when he'd walked in to see the girl completely naked, head down on her keyboard, screens glaring at her from the darkness, a videogame frozen in pause on one and an audiobook streaming on the other. He hadn't even needed to chloroform her, but he did it anyway just to make sure that she didn't wake when he touched her up while he waited for his agency to arrive with a van. He'd enjoyed how tight the dormant female had been in her dark little apartment, slumped over her arm rest limply. He knew the chemicals mixed in with his knock out rag would make her enjoy it, even if she was deeply unconscious, but he wouldn't have cared if she'd been wide awake and struggling from him.
He'd always had a special attachment to feeling girls up while they were unconscious. A victim of her own social blindness, if only in a very small part, she had never even seen him looking at her greedily all the way home, and, though she didn't know it yet as she sat in her chair with his hands swirling over her skin, would never see that home again.
