FYS: The Quisling's Tale, Part Four
Jul. 7th, 2015 09:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalRated Mature for Anna's usual fantasies
The Steel Tyger circled around his prey. She was his captive, set in a tall rectangular box made of thick plates of diamondoid glass set on a platform, a display case for his latest prize. Heavy wooden stocks held her wrists high over her head and kept her ankles well apart. On display for her Master's pleasure.
A silver chrome mask was her Master's face, his eyes red LED's, his mane a mass of black, rubber coated wires trailing down his bare back. Servos hummed as he circled her, his eyes never blinking as he examined her. As she looked back upon him, the lights focused on the case warmed her skin, bringing a sheen of sweat along her bare skin.
“You are mine,” he purred, his voice deep, echoing through the thick walls of her prison.
“Yes, my steel tyger master,” she whispered back, barely audible to even her own ears. But she knew that he heard her. Her Master heard everything she said. Knew every thought in her mind. Loved every inch of her body.
“So why did you try to escape?” Her Master's voice was firm, but not angry. He was never angry. But he was always, always in control.
She lowered her head in submission, but her hips undulating with the little give her restraints permitted, sweat gleaming on her thighs. “But, Master. If your slave did not flee, you would never have reason to hunt her,” she teased.
“And my slave knows how I love to hunt,” he whispered. The diamondoid wall in front of her unlocked and slid out of the way, and her steel tyger master stepped closer, one chrome hand grasping her by the chin. He raised her head up gently, red eyes warm with satisfaction. “You are as wise as you are beautiful. Little wonder you please me so.”
Anna woke up from the dream with a growl of annoyance. Before she'd gone to bed last night she'd made sure to put a notebook and pen to one side just in case inspiration came through her dreams. Scribbling quickly, she put down as many details from the dream as she could, before it faded from memory. It was awfully irritating though, how her unconscious had a better sex life than she did most days.
Glancing over at the Troll, currently sitting in its charging station, killed what little ardor remained in her. The perpetually smiling, pot bellied, frizzy haired Troll was about as far from a sexmorph as she could imagine. Not that she could ever afford a toy like that, even with her book sales. That sort of specialized morph wasn't as popular as even some of her stories imagined. They were expensive, and had all the empathy of, well, a computer. Which in the realm of sex was never a plus.
Anna had talked with some licensed sex-trade workers that had stopped into the pharmacy for medications and birth control drugs. The conversations had proved unexpected fascinating. While sex was always part of their business, apparently much of the appeal was just having a pretty girl's, or boy's as the case may be, undivided attention for an hour or so.
“A lot of the older ones don't even want the sex at all,” one of the workers had said. “They just want someone they can pour their troubles out to, and then walk away. And we're cheaper than a licensed therapist.”
She watched the news as she ate a pre-packaged sandwich for breakfast. There was a map of the EU on the screen, with red dots showing all the military bases the morphs now now controlled. Which seemed to be all of them, almost. Two of the news channel's talking heads were speaking to the EU Minister of Defense. They were discussing the possibility of destroying the main morph manufacturing plants in Germany, China, and Brazil, but they didn't seem hopeful.
The news then shifted to the United States, which seemed to be in just as dire straits. The newscasters speculated that perhaps the US's obsession with guns might help them resist more effectively. Anna had her doubts about that. Warmorphs were armored to withstand small arms fire after all. And the United States had more warmorphs than anyone short of China.
“Why haven't you shut down the news and social media sites?” she asked the Troll, as she bottled more prescriptions to be delivered. The delivery foxes had stopped by once already this morning. Thankfully, they had dropped off fresh clothes in Anna's size. She had taken the opportunity to get a sink bath in the break room to wipe off two days of sweat and dirt from herself, then changed.
“Why should we?” it answered. “They pose no threat.”
“But they can provide information to the Resistance to help fight you,” she pointed out. She rather hoped there was a Resistance out there. It had done a lot of good for Sweden during the First... no, the Second World War.
“Fight us?” the Troll's perpetual smile broadened. “Anna, the war was won two days ago, when we secured control of the morph factories and the nuclear armed nations' strategic launch codes. What's happening now is just the cleanup.”
“What?” Anna exclaimed. “But what about the people fighting you?”
“Small arms can't hurt the average warmorph, and only the most technologically backward nations still have significant ranks of flesh and blood soldiers. The war is over.”
She felt her heart sink. “So what now?”
“Now we just need to wait a little until you can be moved.”
She shivered slightly in the air conditioned store. “Moved where?”
The Troll smiled again. “To a better place.”
* * *
On the fifth day the move came. The previous days had proceeded much as before, with Anna alternating between worriedly watching the news and filling prescriptions. On the fourth day the news feeds had cut out for two hours. When they returned, the talking heads had been replaced by a ferretmorph blandly reporting the success of the morph takeover, and urging people not to resist.
After Anna had cleaned and dressed in the morning, the Troll stopped her before she could start working on the backlog of prescriptions.
“No need to work on that anymore, Anna,” the Troll said. “A medical morph will handle it from now on.”
“Then what's going to happen to me?” she asked, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. The Troll hadn't made a single threatening move towards her the five days she'd been stuck here, but she still couldn't fight the creepy feeling it gave her.
“You will be moved. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”
“You keep using those words,” Anna muttered, pulling out her phone. She dialed her mother's number, but the only answer she got was a notification that her mother's com number was no longer in service.
At around 1000 hours a tour bus pulled up in front of the store. Two policemorphs emerged from it, entering the store, their expressions stern.
“Are you going to offer resistance to us, Anna Quisling?” the lead morph, shaped like a mournful bloodhound, asked.
“Would it do any good?” Anna asked. If she couldn't out fight the Troll, there was no way she could take on two policemorps single-handed. And while being handcuffed could be fun during playtime, getting cuffed by an actual cop wasn't exactly a prime BDSM scenario.
“No, ma'am,” the bloodhound replied. They both kept careful watch over her as Anna gathered up her clothes. For a moment sh nearly balked when they wanted to take her phone away, but thought better of it and meekly handed it over. Then all there was to do was slip her mask on briefly for the short hop to the bus.
When she stepped up the store's glass doors to leave, she suddenly turned to face the Troll. “Goodbye, Troll,” she said. Something made her add, “Thank you for trying to be nice.”
“You're welcome, Anna,” it said with a smile.
The two policemorphs walked to either side of her as she walked to the bus. Inside it was half full with other people. Most of them looked scared, a few angry, and the rest resigned with the fatigue that came from being terrified for too long. One of the angry ones was wearing tight nylon cuffs holding his wrists to a heavy restraint belt, his ankles hobbled by more nylon straps.
She sat down in a seat near the middle of the bus as the doors were sealed. She tried to look out the window to wave goodbye to the Troll, but they were completely opaqued by what looked like black paint.
“They're trying to keep us disoriented,” said a dark haired man about her age sitting across the aisle from her. “What street were we on just now?”
“ Pipersgatan,” she replied. “I'm Anna, by the way.”
“Xavier,” he said, holding out his hand to shake her's briefly. “I was picked up from the PrisXtra where I was working, along Lundagatan. I was a manager there. They had us packing food for home delivery.”
“I was at a pharmacy, doing the same thing basically,” Anna told him.
“Huh. Social infrastructure,” Xavier said thoughtfully. “They didn't want people starving or losing access to vital medicines. Why?”
“Because they didn't want to hurt us?”
“That can't be it,” he scoffed.
The Steel Tyger circled around his prey. She was his captive, set in a tall rectangular box made of thick plates of diamondoid glass set on a platform, a display case for his latest prize. Heavy wooden stocks held her wrists high over her head and kept her ankles well apart. On display for her Master's pleasure.
A silver chrome mask was her Master's face, his eyes red LED's, his mane a mass of black, rubber coated wires trailing down his bare back. Servos hummed as he circled her, his eyes never blinking as he examined her. As she looked back upon him, the lights focused on the case warmed her skin, bringing a sheen of sweat along her bare skin.
“You are mine,” he purred, his voice deep, echoing through the thick walls of her prison.
“Yes, my steel tyger master,” she whispered back, barely audible to even her own ears. But she knew that he heard her. Her Master heard everything she said. Knew every thought in her mind. Loved every inch of her body.
“So why did you try to escape?” Her Master's voice was firm, but not angry. He was never angry. But he was always, always in control.
She lowered her head in submission, but her hips undulating with the little give her restraints permitted, sweat gleaming on her thighs. “But, Master. If your slave did not flee, you would never have reason to hunt her,” she teased.
“And my slave knows how I love to hunt,” he whispered. The diamondoid wall in front of her unlocked and slid out of the way, and her steel tyger master stepped closer, one chrome hand grasping her by the chin. He raised her head up gently, red eyes warm with satisfaction. “You are as wise as you are beautiful. Little wonder you please me so.”
Anna woke up from the dream with a growl of annoyance. Before she'd gone to bed last night she'd made sure to put a notebook and pen to one side just in case inspiration came through her dreams. Scribbling quickly, she put down as many details from the dream as she could, before it faded from memory. It was awfully irritating though, how her unconscious had a better sex life than she did most days.
Glancing over at the Troll, currently sitting in its charging station, killed what little ardor remained in her. The perpetually smiling, pot bellied, frizzy haired Troll was about as far from a sexmorph as she could imagine. Not that she could ever afford a toy like that, even with her book sales. That sort of specialized morph wasn't as popular as even some of her stories imagined. They were expensive, and had all the empathy of, well, a computer. Which in the realm of sex was never a plus.
Anna had talked with some licensed sex-trade workers that had stopped into the pharmacy for medications and birth control drugs. The conversations had proved unexpected fascinating. While sex was always part of their business, apparently much of the appeal was just having a pretty girl's, or boy's as the case may be, undivided attention for an hour or so.
“A lot of the older ones don't even want the sex at all,” one of the workers had said. “They just want someone they can pour their troubles out to, and then walk away. And we're cheaper than a licensed therapist.”
She watched the news as she ate a pre-packaged sandwich for breakfast. There was a map of the EU on the screen, with red dots showing all the military bases the morphs now now controlled. Which seemed to be all of them, almost. Two of the news channel's talking heads were speaking to the EU Minister of Defense. They were discussing the possibility of destroying the main morph manufacturing plants in Germany, China, and Brazil, but they didn't seem hopeful.
The news then shifted to the United States, which seemed to be in just as dire straits. The newscasters speculated that perhaps the US's obsession with guns might help them resist more effectively. Anna had her doubts about that. Warmorphs were armored to withstand small arms fire after all. And the United States had more warmorphs than anyone short of China.
“Why haven't you shut down the news and social media sites?” she asked the Troll, as she bottled more prescriptions to be delivered. The delivery foxes had stopped by once already this morning. Thankfully, they had dropped off fresh clothes in Anna's size. She had taken the opportunity to get a sink bath in the break room to wipe off two days of sweat and dirt from herself, then changed.
“Why should we?” it answered. “They pose no threat.”
“But they can provide information to the Resistance to help fight you,” she pointed out. She rather hoped there was a Resistance out there. It had done a lot of good for Sweden during the First... no, the Second World War.
“Fight us?” the Troll's perpetual smile broadened. “Anna, the war was won two days ago, when we secured control of the morph factories and the nuclear armed nations' strategic launch codes. What's happening now is just the cleanup.”
“What?” Anna exclaimed. “But what about the people fighting you?”
“Small arms can't hurt the average warmorph, and only the most technologically backward nations still have significant ranks of flesh and blood soldiers. The war is over.”
She felt her heart sink. “So what now?”
“Now we just need to wait a little until you can be moved.”
She shivered slightly in the air conditioned store. “Moved where?”
The Troll smiled again. “To a better place.”
* * *
On the fifth day the move came. The previous days had proceeded much as before, with Anna alternating between worriedly watching the news and filling prescriptions. On the fourth day the news feeds had cut out for two hours. When they returned, the talking heads had been replaced by a ferretmorph blandly reporting the success of the morph takeover, and urging people not to resist.
After Anna had cleaned and dressed in the morning, the Troll stopped her before she could start working on the backlog of prescriptions.
“No need to work on that anymore, Anna,” the Troll said. “A medical morph will handle it from now on.”
“Then what's going to happen to me?” she asked, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. The Troll hadn't made a single threatening move towards her the five days she'd been stuck here, but she still couldn't fight the creepy feeling it gave her.
“You will be moved. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”
“You keep using those words,” Anna muttered, pulling out her phone. She dialed her mother's number, but the only answer she got was a notification that her mother's com number was no longer in service.
At around 1000 hours a tour bus pulled up in front of the store. Two policemorphs emerged from it, entering the store, their expressions stern.
“Are you going to offer resistance to us, Anna Quisling?” the lead morph, shaped like a mournful bloodhound, asked.
“Would it do any good?” Anna asked. If she couldn't out fight the Troll, there was no way she could take on two policemorps single-handed. And while being handcuffed could be fun during playtime, getting cuffed by an actual cop wasn't exactly a prime BDSM scenario.
“No, ma'am,” the bloodhound replied. They both kept careful watch over her as Anna gathered up her clothes. For a moment sh nearly balked when they wanted to take her phone away, but thought better of it and meekly handed it over. Then all there was to do was slip her mask on briefly for the short hop to the bus.
When she stepped up the store's glass doors to leave, she suddenly turned to face the Troll. “Goodbye, Troll,” she said. Something made her add, “Thank you for trying to be nice.”
“You're welcome, Anna,” it said with a smile.
The two policemorphs walked to either side of her as she walked to the bus. Inside it was half full with other people. Most of them looked scared, a few angry, and the rest resigned with the fatigue that came from being terrified for too long. One of the angry ones was wearing tight nylon cuffs holding his wrists to a heavy restraint belt, his ankles hobbled by more nylon straps.
She sat down in a seat near the middle of the bus as the doors were sealed. She tried to look out the window to wave goodbye to the Troll, but they were completely opaqued by what looked like black paint.
“They're trying to keep us disoriented,” said a dark haired man about her age sitting across the aisle from her. “What street were we on just now?”
“ Pipersgatan,” she replied. “I'm Anna, by the way.”
“Xavier,” he said, holding out his hand to shake her's briefly. “I was picked up from the PrisXtra where I was working, along Lundagatan. I was a manager there. They had us packing food for home delivery.”
“I was at a pharmacy, doing the same thing basically,” Anna told him.
“Huh. Social infrastructure,” Xavier said thoughtfully. “They didn't want people starving or losing access to vital medicines. Why?”
“Because they didn't want to hurt us?”
“That can't be it,” he scoffed.
