Interview With...

Cooperating became orgasmic. Other senators he'd fought on issues were more than happy to have them on his side, thinking he'd seen the light, but he was close to seeing stars instead. His mouth was on auto-pilot; his betrayal of his own will came easy to satisfying his own encouraged lust, something 'reporter McKinley' always assumed of men like 'Senator McKinley'. The words came pouring out in a stream as steady as the soft, vigorous motions in his pants. A soft spot in-between his testicles was teased with the circles his left felt before, and the senator nearly went cross-eyed, small moans hidden amongst yelling.

Needless-to-say, he soon relented right there, joining an initiative and a chorus of voices that benefited her in some way. McKinley smiled as he resigned to her, fooling himself into believing what he did was right in his heart. His mind was another story, as it fast-forwarded to later that night, slipping under the covers to sleep, and being revisited by those hands and voices again, finishing off the job they started. They didn't always come to him, but he would do anything just for the chance to be revisited. If Senator McKinley happened to have a spouse or partner in bed, the woman present would also feel his affections driven to please her, unaware of what really drove him. The partner would inadvertently inherit a sex-slave, whether she knew it or not.

"See what I mean?" a faint echo asked him. The echo grew stronger as he was sucked out of his senator fantasy, and then sucked out of the 'basement suite' where he lay back to the warehouse where he sat in captivity again.

"See what I mean, McKinley?" Her question was now clear as a bell, as his mind slowly came to terms with what her molasses did to him. The impossibility of her rule was replaced with the ardent faith of a religious disciple. The one difference being unable to tell the world of the God, well Goddess, roaming around in it.

He was silent for several minutes, letting the molasses erode from his mind, trying to let the erection shrink and return needed blood flow back to his brain. The gap of speaking was his answer, and she pressed no further on it.

"How was t-"

"Please," he interrupted "just...give me a minute."

She looked down at his tented pants, toying with the idea of bringing the illusion of the fingers on his leg back, but she mercifully sided on giving him the few minutes he needed to come off his high.

"Ok," he told her, his breathing and blood flow normal again.

"So how did you come up with the name Y-" she spoke absently, stopping herself just short triggering his memory.

McKinley almost inquired about what she hesitated to say, but brought his thoughts to the file on her, It had the thickness of a phone book even though the pages weren't that thin. He denied it when people who knew him say he didn't need the file as it was all in his head, but still tied to a chair, he easily, mentally perusing through it, stopping at a note he made two years ago.

"You have Italy in your pocket, and you used the Bartelucci family to get it, didn't you?"

"And you are the only reporter I have looked into to make such a wild claim, that it was the work of another clandestine outfit, but be 100% correct."

"Son of a bitch," McKinley muttered, thinking of how much money from bets his industry-colleagues owed him for the things he could now confirm. He was practically a rich man now, but thanks to circumstances would never be able to collect.

"The old man was supposed to die, but not of natural causes. After his last trial, someone, one of many possible suspects was going to take him out. But it never happened. And then he took to his home country where he supposedly made more political connections using the ones he already had, like he was running for office there. How many men did you have to dissuade from acting on their primal need of vengeance?"

She glanced at Hans again.

"27," was the number he came up with.

"Who did the dissuading more, him or you?" he asked the Kenyan.

"Half-and-half. Some men took a substantial beating, some men got a good night's sleep and woke with clearer heads. Anger clutters up the mind so much, I find."

"No shit."

The despot cocked her head to the side a bit. "Do you think me an evil person, McKinley?"

"I'm tempted to cite the tenets of absolute power with you. Evil...I'll have a clearer picture once the interview is over."

"To be honest, I meant more 'did you think of me as evil before tonight?'"

"If antagonistic and manipulative count as evil for you, then indeed."

"They do not. Neither of those words are directly synonymous with evil."

"But I still don't know everything you're linked to, or have done yet. For example, Pete Winslow, what did you do to him?"

He didn't receive a reply right away. Instead she looked away from her interviewer for a few minutes, her mouth covering her face the way a modest aristocrat would, obviously trying to keep her giggling amusement to herself. Glancing back at his serious reaction, she gave that up for a hearty laugh. Even Hans in the background produced a smile for the first time on his face.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea who that is."

His eyes went wide at the gall she displayed.

"Peter Winslow, my goddamn informant. One of the few men on this planet who ever acknowledged you ever existed. One of the most courageous too, to be willing to bring you into the light. And one who you seem to be expressing a lot of joy for someone you never heard of."

"My apologies, but I think you have more to be confused about. Pete Winslow does not exist. Never has."

"Yes he does," he looked at her sternly. "Or did. He'd been vetted in every way possible."

"In every way afforded to you. His employers paid good money for those credentials. His real name was Anton Voslov. As far as my affairs, a more accurate title for your 'Mr. Winslow' is an employee of a competitor."

"Forgive the skepticism, but why the hell should I believe that?"

"You cannot exactly deny my claim. My words have been nothing but truthful and forthcoming tonight."

"I can't exactly confirm it either thanks to you. You still haven't answered what you did to him. He's been missing for months, hell, years now."

"Sources get cold feet all the time; you should know that McKinley. That is exactly what I could have told you, but I will get to what really happened to Voslov, once I give a little context to it."

"So, closed casket. You said is real name was Anton Voslov."

"Slavery ring. He might have a brand-new name by now."

The color flushed from his face, imagining picturing what sounded like a fate worse than death, or worse than the demonic 'folklore' she could've subjected him to.

"That is one of the ventures his employers, something he often supervised when he was not feeding you false and/or incriminating information about me here. There is a large hall in Sofia, Bulgaria, often serving for parties and fashion shows. Beneath it lies the biggest human trafficking and slavery ring in the capital, like you see in some movies. Certainly the kind of place unfortunate girls, like I once was, could end up myself if the fates were less than kind. A spy of mine was there to observe my competitors dealings, an affluent competitor I might add, and found that underground establishment."

"I don't know how you can imply that you don't compete in slavery when you can take the minds of an entire city and countless others against their will as you see fit."

"Key differences are the I have little need of most civilians for very long, and if those in my power experience anything, it is at worst confusion, and at best the opposite of what the enslaved felt there. Scores of young girls from across the poorer parts of the globe. Maybe some from my country, or surrounding ones, all of them filled with the typical fear and despair expected of those having to endure such a fate."

"So..."

"So every year, I like to devote my time to some pro bono charity work. Two years ago, around the time your 'Pete Winslow' went missing, I paid a special visit to Sofia. My competitors knew about as much about me as you did, despite planting spies, and they too would have never expected one of the modeling girls to boldly infiltrate them. I modeled for them for a little while, and then excused myself once my duties were over to access a private elevator downstairs. The guards were more than happy to find their happy, helpful place once I told them to close their eyes for a moment and imagine it. Five new assistants and myself made it down to witness the bidding on and hearing faint sounds of non-consensual sexual acts. The lighting was already low enough where I could start to affect everyone in small doses. Those physically enslaved received faint mental imagery of their last genuinely happy moments which pacified them; all the men found themselves detached from themselves until they were nearly zombies. Once one of my assistants found the power for the basement level, my control was fully established."

"When the lights returned to their original lumination, all the young girls, and one or two young boys found themselves acting on their base emotions. Some cried as they approached the exit, knowing that their prayers were answered and that they would be exiting their hell soon. Others...had become filled with burning anger, imagining the retribution delivered onto their captors if given the chance. With their chains gone and the threat of violence from uncooperative actions gone, they were allowed to act on their impulses. I take it back, the chains remained; the men removed them and bound themselves. There was a rack on the wall filled with all sorts of toys, ranging from sexual to borderline lethal. Every tool was used on the men. Businessmen, moguls, sheiks, men of power became stars of snuff films. I made sure those who wanted to scream for the various pain they were in did, just for the satisfaction of the inflictors. I was glad I stayed near the exit with the others, for all the blood and whatever other fluids there spread around that dungeon."

"When it was all over, all of the previously imprisoned came with me, shuffled into vans waiting outside the building. Most were returned to their countries and families, or someplace safe enough for them. Some who were old enough work for me now, in some of my more legitimate sectors, helping to support their family and themselves. Some have live-in slaves in their domiciles that were former oppressors of any sort, programmed to serve in every sort. I get the feeling some would like more involvement in my organization. I will appreciate the gratitude if they ask, but I cannot say whether their wish will be granted. If you still had concerns about Voslov, he is currently in the thrall of some female somewhere, just like the rest of them. Before we all left though, I took him from the basement with me, making sure he was mostly untouched. The last presentation of the fashion show was supposed to be some nocturnal, low-lit show, something a French designer wanted to debut there. He was more than happy to let me take over presenting, and once the lights dimmed, everyone was ecstatic to see me walk out on the runway, adorned in this dress and some elegant jewelry, particularly the chain attached to the collar around Voslov's neck. My little poodle barked and heeled on command, and people laughed at him and swooned at me. All but one camera man had set their cameras down and just enjoyed the show. I actually have those pictures I did allow to be taken in fact. Hans,"

The German approached his Mistress, producing a tablet that he handed to her. She pulled up pictures of herself and his former informant. He was indeed naked, and according to his pictures spent most of the time staring up at her like a goddess. Some of the faces of the audience showed the same expressions. She surely carried herself like a goddess there, poised and provocative, blessing her audience with the gift of her beauty. One pic was of her pressing her heel into his ass, as if pressing his body flat to the floor. McKinley noticed a few bruises on his ass, and imagined it would've hurt to have her foot there, but it belied the smile on his face. There were others of Voslov being a foot stool, a steed for her to ride, a seat, and a begging supplicant, all the while the audience was clapping, standing and sitting. McKinley couldn't tell, but Voslov was probably smiling for one image of him underneath her dress, obviously giving head. The audience looked like they were trying to get onto the runway for their chance at his luck.

"The last picture lacks the clarity of the rest, but my last act with Voslov was throwing him onto the floor and riding his face for all he was worth. He had some worth, fortunately for him."

McKinley had no trouble picturing the despot forcefully degrading him like that, making him love it and making everyone else wish they were him. A thought flashed through his head where McKinley was in Voslov's place, and it didn't disgust him like he thought it would. He slowly started to realize that he actually enjoyed the images with each reveal, with each graphic description. He kept his legs together to try to hide another growing erection. The tablet lowered for the subject of his long-time investigation to give the same smoldering smile that was in almost every picture from the fashion show. Her face got closer somehow. He didn't see her get off her throne, just that same face approach him. He saw how beautiful she looked especially in the dimmed light. Something about the way it gleamed off her skin so subtly, off her lips, lips that got closer and closer to him, growing more tantalizing as they closed the distance. She stopped just an inch before his face. The somewhat putrid warehouse scents disappeared again as her aroma graced his nose and added to her captivating presence. All he seemed aware of for several seconds was the visage of a woman interested in him, something he wasn't always used to, especially not with dangerous women. He appealed more to the ones looking for safe bets, ones who could tolerate workaholics for a little while.

"Envious of him?" was all she said. The way it rolled off her accented tongue made produced some tingling in his body.

He tried to right himself to give an appropriate answer, but before he could, he blinked to see the image of her fade to the point where she was back in her seat, like she'd never left, her smile even brighter. It occurred to him again for the second time just how dim everything was getting.

"Starting to feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"The ease of slipping into my power. Much easier than before."

"This is your doing."

"In part. Activating a small amount of darkness, I can leave my power hanging in the air, an open invitation to anyone in the dark to see what they want, or maybe who they want," she raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Your delusional, you know that?"

"No, delusional is something more like this," she gestured to Hans who made a mad dash at McKinley, the blonde's face as aggressive as the reporter had seen it up to this point. He had something in his hand, whatever it was, it looked black and metal. It was mere seconds before Hans closed the distance and struck him across his face. McKinley reeled in his seat as he was dramatically toppled and sent to the floor. McKinley felt everything, struggling against his bonds on the floor, struggling with how pleasant and good that felt. The hit he took and his collision with the floor resembled being smacked with a feather and falling onto a cushy water bed. It didn't register with him that he was supposed to feel pain. His fear and negativity evaporated the moment he was struck, and it took him more than a minute to reason with the fact that the sensations were all wrong. From his place on the floor, past Hans' legs, he could see her face, still smiling. He smiled dreamily back, unable to hide the burgeoning arousal. A sudden movement from above signaled Hans was preparing to strike him again, and he couldn't explain how he welcomed it.

The hit never came, or if it did, he never felt it. Maybe by the second hit would've blissed him out to the point of not feeling it. His mind felt it unfortunate for a second. A part of his consciousness reminded him that what happened could be another illusion. He opened his eyes to find everything was the same before Hans attacked him. Something liquid freely trailed down his face in a single droplet. He figured blood at first, but it could've been sweat for all he knew. It almost didn't matter as everything here was subjective.

The despot's impish smile was the brightest thing in the warehouse.

"Now that you can blame me for."

"Fuck you."

"I can have Hans accommodate you there, literally, if you want to continue that verbal spat."

Hans looked still and ready. McKinley wondered if he would even be aware of what he'd be ordered to do. The tone of her voice suggested that whatever act forced on him would be something fit for a masochist, which he wasn't. She looked up to the bulb that looked like it was about to burn out.

"Your time is almost up McKinley. I hope you are almost done with your questions."

"I would've asked if you had any regrets, anything you'd do over. But other than missing the chance of having Phillips be your figure-head, I don't think you regret one thing you've done with your life."

"What is there to regret? Without this power I have, I imagine life would amount to little more than a poor, maybe tolerable life in Kenya, if I somehow managed to survive every conflict my country endured. Fate, if there really is such a thing, has been generous to me; opportunities to see the world, become my own entrepreneur, and do some good in the world most charities are unable to measure up to. It is rather fulfilling for me."

"I'm happy for you," he nearly interrupted, sarcastically, "but how the hell am I supposed to feel about this? I'm just a small inconvenience to you in the scheme of things. Other people get to forget you and go on with their lives. This is like the culmination of my adult life's work, and tomorrow you're telling me it all goes away."

"I never forced you to become Ahab, chasing me with your Moby Dick the world over."

He had something to say, but stopped himself as a nagging question finally rose to the surface.

"All these years of you maintaining secrecy, being aware of my investigation - why did it take you this long to come after me, to do something about me?"

She happily responded to that. "The world is a much more interesting place with people like you in it. Yes, I value secrecy for the life I lead, but it can be a lonely life, with very few people to share yourself with. No one has ever gotten so close to knowing about me. You never knew too many details that could constitute a huge threat to me, but I was always interested to see how much you might find out on your own. I know it was based more on your career, originally, but believe it or not, it was nice to know that there was someone out there who wanted to know the real me, putting so much time and effort into it."

"What do you mean 'originally'?"

"For years, I have daydreamed about your pursuit of me, would it change if you knew a few more key details about me. The fact that I was female, what I looked like, would your pursuit become more intensified."

"Don't flatter yourself," was what he wanted to say, but her words made him wonder as well.

"Up to now you have sacrificed two marriages, and however many love interests working, tracking me down. No need to be coy."

"You really think your gender mattered to me for what I was after?"

"I am not judging which way you might swing, just noting where your real passion lies," she joked.