The Imposters

She drifted into consciousness, eyes flickering open, then closing again. It was dark. She was cold. Her limbs lay, listless, heavy, shackled. Straining, she could not move. She felt … a tongue lapping slowly, ever so slowly. Her clit. Her clit. Swollen. She tried so hard to move her pelvis to engage deeply with the tongue, but felt frustration, exhaustion. She tried to look down to see who was doing this to her, but her head would not move. Her eyes closed again. She sank back into unconsciousness. The lapping did not stop…

Light seeped into the room. A small aperture above her head. She could look up. She could not look down, she could not turn her head. She desperately needed to pee, but there was nothing she could do. She must hold it until she was released, but when would that be? She was sleepy, but awake. She tried to yawn, but found her mouth was held in place. Who was doing this to her? Why was this happening?
More aware now, she knew enough to be afraid. She was tired, hungry, thirsty, and she couldn’t move.

But… her clit tingled, the walls of her vagina felt… raw. It felt good. She liked it. She wanted more. She strained against her shackles, but gave up. There was no point in struggling. She would not get out, she knew it. Not until whoever had her pinned like this allowed her release. She conserved her energy, and fell back into trance-like sleep.

In the background of her mind, she heard white noise. It was very pleasant. It melded into her thoughts, until she began to mouth words, but wasn’t aware what the words were. It wasn’t until later, as the light dimmed around her, that she began to realize the words were “obey” and “submit.”

These words were pleasant to hear, and her drowsy response was “yes, I will.” She wanted so desperately to pee, but she wanted even more to have that tongue back between her legs. Licking, sucking. She began to think of his cock and her clit. Wait… whose cock? She couldn’t remember. She felt dazed.

Dark. So dark. And so cold. She shivered. Her pee gushed forth; she couldn’t help it. It seemed to float downwards, away from her body. Good. There would be no mess. She felt warmer. Her back ached. Earlier, in a moment when her brain was less fuzzy, she knew she was lying down, she knew her arms and legs were trapped by unrelenting metal. At that moment, someone came in. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt like thick cloth and wouldn’t move. “Get me out of here,” she thought, making guttural noises, her eyes flashing.

She saw the man laugh as he adjusted some knobs over her head, twisting some wires into her hair. She felt a needle. I hate needles, she thought, then there was a sharp pain, but she couldn’t tell where it came from on her body. She slept again. The white noise was so calming, so sweet. She loved the noise. She never wanted it to stop.

Light again. A dark, deep voice. “You are so beautiful. I love your body. You are mine.” The feeling of hands touching her skin, lightly, stroking her. Then nothing. Sleep.

She wanted.

She wanted what?

She wanted him. It was that simple. She heard a voice again. “You want me?” the voice whispered. “Yes. I want you.” A chuckle, deep, throaty. “Good. That makes this so much easier.”

She felt one shackle release. She could move her right leg. She felt the tongue again. She was so grateful. She loved the tongue. She loved him. She loved his skin. This was so good, it was so right. She would give him anything he wanted. What did he want? She tried to speak. No words came. The tongue gave her what she needed now. Then… fingers. Another shackle released. Her arm, her left arm. She moved, blood flowed.

She slept. The warm voices were in her head. She loved him. She loved her Master. She loved being his slave. Anything he wanted, he could have.

She awoke, naked, on a warm blanket. She was no longer shackled. Now she was tied down, but her bonds were made of silk. Her eyes were covered. She could only feel, and wait. She was so thirsty. Her mouth! Her mouth could open. Her mouth was open. Her mouth was forced open. It did not hurt. Something was pouring into her mouth. Something warm and cool, sweet and salty, all at once. She drank and drank.

The noise was in her mind. The words flowed. “I am yours. I submit to you. I obey you. I am yours. I love you. I will do anything you ask.”

The love was in his tongue. She felt it again and again. Tongue lapping, gentle, sometimes, rough, tugging at her lips, her clit, teeth biting her clit, biting her lips. He never let her come. She begged. The pain built. Her mouth was open, and she drank. He said one word when she begged: “no.” His word was pain. She hated that word. Hated it.

“You love me?” he asked, after he’d said the word she hated.

“Yes, of course I love you. How can you ask?”

“I ask because I cause you pain.”

She replied, her eyes still covered with silk, her hands still bound, warmth returned to her limbs, “I love your pain.”

He smiled at this. This was a good answer.

He undid her bonds, but she would not get up. “It has been many days. You belong to me now. You can get up, you have permission.” His rough hands rubbed her soft, soft thighs, flesh he coveted now more than ever. She tried to obey him. His word was love, his word was pain, she must obey. The noise in her mind was still there. She heard the words that made her obey him. They were her words now.

He helped her up. She had not realized… she looked deep into the eyes of a stranger. She remembered now. She had been brought here….

“Now that you are mine, tell me your name,” he commanded.

She felt dizzy. Desire and fear intermingled. She didn’t remember her name. She had no name.

“Give me a name, Master, for I am yours now.” She gazed shyly at his face, shining with sweat. He looked so triumphant, a man who had what he wanted. His dark eyes, black against his light skin, glowed; he was tall, and strong, and fierce. She was scared of him, and mesmerized by him, all at once.

Standing behind her, he pulled her hair away from her neck, and whispered into her ear. She loved the sound of her new name. Then she heard a ‘click’ and felt cold metal clasp firmly where his lips had been a moment before. The collaring happened so fast, she had no time to prepare herself. She felt a moment’s panic; she couldn’t breathe. He saw the fear in her eyes, and his hard hands held her tight against his chest.

“You wanted this,” he reminded her, his voice stern.

“Yes,” she nodded, shuddering with the memories of a life, vague to her now. So many questions entered her mind, yet they all fluttered away, colorful butterflies of no importance.

As though he knew her thoughts, he reassured her. “Your new life here will be a happy one. You belong only to me, though, and I warn you now, I do not play well with others.” He laughed, mirthlessly, and she saw a glint of danger in his eyes. “I will work you hard, my little lady, but you will be content. You’re strong, you’re young, and you deserve everything you have coming to you, the good and the bad.” He handed her clothing, a simple red gown with white lace, and soft leather shoes. There were no underclothes, but this did not surprise her. Somehow, it was what she expected.

He guided her towards the door, out of this room of darkness. They ascended a long staircase, up to inner rooms of the manor. The stone walls, lit only by thick, dripping white candles, loomed solid and grey on either side of them as they made their way to his personal chambers. The servants were all asleep.

“Master, may I implore one question of you?” she asked, timorously, keeping her eyes on the bare stone floor at her feet, not daring to look up at him.

“Yes, of course. We must know one another intimately now. What is it, my pretty one?” He was indulging her; she could tell he thought her beautiful, and she wondered what that would mean for her future. Her beauty would fade in time, and with it, his love.

“What time is this? When are we?”

“Ah, you noticed the anomalies. Good; the treatments did not destroy your innate intelligence. Excellent. I had some fear that the combination of thought control and the drugs we used were potentially too strong, but it’s clear that you are aware and entirely functional.” He patted her backside, which felt far away from his hand inside the full skirt of this dress. She guessed the period to be… Tudor? Perhaps later; she couldn’t be sure.

No, she thought, I am not entirely functional… in her mind, she grasped for, but could not latch on to, her name or the details of her previous life.

Her face must have revealed her confusion, because he asked, “What is it? Do not keep any thoughts from me. I must know everything you are thinking. It is vital for your health, and without your thoughts,” he said, suddenly charming, “how can I possibly control you?” He chuckled, but she heard his implied threat. She smiled in response, a tiny bit nervous now at what she had agreed to. It seemed so final.

Changing tack, he said, “You must be famished, my girl. There is food set out by the fire. Eat! I command it.”

“And I must obey, my Master,” she responded, willingly. She wondered at her lack of resistance, but her mind simply would not allow any thoughts of resistance to his will. It was very liberating not to wonder if following his orders was the right thing to do. She simply did what he bade, and felt free.

“My devotion to you does not permit you liberties,” he warned her. “I want that made clear right from the beginning.” As they ate together, and he allowed her to feed him, she listened to his rules. Her eyes grew wide when he explained where they were and what was expected of her.

“As time goes by, you will become more and more accustomed to the era, and the restrictions of your life won’t seem so glaring, compared to what you’re used to. You will soon start to remember bits and pieces of your previous life, and when you do, this new life might seem constraining in ways you hadn’t imagined. You have been carefully programmed not to mind most of these limitations, but you are, nonetheless, mine, and you must accept that in ways that transcend fantasy. This is no fantasy, my poppet,” and his smile was grim. “Women are not treated in this time the way you are used to, and I can only hope we have prepared you sufficiently so that you adapt and don’t feel too much distress. Even so, if you do—“ here he paused to savor his wine—“there is nothing I can say or do to change anything now, nor would I if I could.”

“May I speak, Master?” she asked, sweetly. He gazed once again at her long, dark hair, river blue eyes, and white skin. He drank her in. The man he had been, Dr. Emmett Stephens, could never get enough of her, and as soon as he saw her, two years ago, when she interviewed for the job of assistant in his lab, his fantasy had begun to form—the fantasy that was now reality. He still could not believe it was true. It was beyond belief, but here he was, Lord of a manor in the England of William III, with this perfect creature sitting across from him. She was about to be ravished in ways he knew, from administering that psychoactive truth serum, she had never experienced. He licked his lips and felt his cock grow hard against the leather of his breeches.

“Of course, my girl. Say whatever is on your mind. But it is well that you ask for my permission. Never forget that.” He tapped his wine goblet, a tone of menace in his voice.

She smiled in perfect agreement with him, mollifying his concerns. “I have no intention of rebelling, so please don’t worry. Your will is my will, my Master.” Her features were calm, her demeanor entirely submissive. She was never so delicious as at this moment, when he heard her deference to his control.

“Oh, my girl, if you can maintain that attitude, we will be extraordinarily happy together,” and with that, he swept her up in his arms, and, throwing her onto the large four-poster bed, began to eagerly do all the things to her soft, curvaceous body he had waited for throughout the past months of her intensive training. This past week in the dungeon had been a form of torture for them both, but for him it had been a torture of restraint. Now that he could do whatever he wanted, he fully intended to give in to his lust.

Bending her over at the waist, he pulled up her full skirt and entered her from behind, his cock hard from pent-up desire, her pussy wet and welcoming. During the time she lay on the hard slab in the dungeon, he had fondled her nubile body, forcing the dildo into her, breaking her resistance to his touch through all sorts of penetrations. He had traced his fingers over her flesh, thinking of all the things he would do to her as soon as she was ready. Now, nothing stood in his way, and he was overjoyed to be filling her warm, willing cunt with his potent seed. She would soon carry his child, further binding her to him, and his ownership of her would be complete.

He came hard, visualising her with a full belly, rounded with his son, and he felt such contentment. In his mind, he fervently thanked the Organization, for without them, he would never have had this happiness. He did not care what it had cost him, he was finally at peace with himself and what he needed. Even if it meant he had to give up everything, and everyone, technology had caught up with his fantasies. His team had accomplished time travel, and this one miracle of science made him the luckiest man alive. The fantasy of turning his calm, cool lab assistant into this lascivious creature had become reality. Any difficulties she faced about adapting to the requirements of the time seemed to be gone. Indeed, her training had the added benefit of transforming her into his pleasure slave, and he couldn’t be happier. It was as though her will had been replaced by his. What more could he ask for?

The change in her was proving to be entirely delightful. He had gotten used to Dr. Samantha Pierce’s scathing sarcasm as a form of intellectual foreplay, but he always knew that underneath that icy demeanor lay the soft, willing kitten his training had exposed. It simply needed to be brought out, through a combination of strong psychoactive and psychotropic drugs, and unrelenting subliminal mind control. Much of the work had been done prior to leaving their time, and long before they arrived in William III’s England, she had been opening her mind to him through hypnosis.

This past week was the last stage of the induction, and had included what he could accomplish without electricity. He had been able to bring some of his equipment with him, but he was forced to rely on batteries, which were wearing out. Eventually he would destroy all evidence of their prior lives, and he and Samantha, renamed Katherine, much more appropriate for the time, would become Lord and Lady of Alderbury Manor, in South Kent, settling down with children, horses, dogs, and a life of leisure belonging to the landed gentry.

He had chosen her collar to be thin, discreet, and to fit in with the period. It was fashioned of pure Welsh red gold, but it had been made in their labs, and its lock was permanent. Katherine would never be free of it now. There was no going back, for either of them. He had instructed his staff never to reverse the flow of energy and not to rescue him, no matter what, and Katherine had made her decision, too, even if it wasn’t entirely hers to make, since her unknowing, and, he thought with a pang of conscience, somewhat unwilling indoctrination, had begun long before they left.

For awhile, Stephens came and went between the portal in the dungeon and the primary testing labs, as did members of his staff. His caveat had been that once he and Katherine were firmly settled, in approximately six months, the portal would be shut, and there would be no further contact. At that point, Dr. Stephens wanted to be left on his own, living the reality, the dream that was no longer fantasy. So far, his wish had been granted, for the Organization left them in peace.

The process of breaking down her will took many months, and was a stressful occupation of time he would have better spent perfecting the controls on the time and space redistributor. He so longed to fuck his young assistant, but his desire for her complete surrender was much stronger than his need for her body; and so he waited, penetrating her mind long before he penetrated her wonderfully tight cunt. Tonight represented the culmination of months of waiting, and now, tired and sated at last, they curled together, skin to skin.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to say no to him kept him much harder than he was used to. He’d wake up, realize she was there, and slip his cock inside her, just to remind himself he could. She ground into his hips each time, eager to thrust against him. She never thought to say no. As some point during that long night, she turned to him, and said what he was thinking, “Come inside me, Master, where it’s warm,” smiling at him, always welcoming. The only sounds were their moans and the crackling from the fire in the grate. He fucked her all night long, until he was utterly exhausted and was forced by necessity to sleep.

When he finally dozed, Katherine, drowsy but unable to sleep, lay on her back and gazed dreamily at the stone ceiling of her new bed chamber. She watched the shadows of the fire lick the walls the way he had licked her skin, her nipples, her cunt. Tonight, she was finally allowed to come, and was so grateful. She loved him, she loved being his and belonging to him. She touched the thin line of the collar, now digging into her neck, and tugged at it, pulling it away from her skin. It was pliable, but it would never come off, and the thought of that made her desire her man—her Lord, she reminded herself—even more.

She had a moment’s recollection of how she used to be, and she shuddered to think how cold she was, how intellectual, how distant. How disconnected from her body, how unhappy. This warmth, this closeness, this absolute, unquestioning belonging to someone—this was as it should be. She felt her Master turn to her, his probing kisses insistent. Her cunt was raw, but the pain felt so good. She loved these feelings he brought her. He forced his way into her slit, ignoring her soreness and low moans of distress, and ravished her once again.

She had no idea what plans he had for her, nor did she know just yet about the drug he intended to give her now that her formal training was over. All she knew was that he could have her any time, any way he liked, and she would open to him, no hesitation, no resistance. Katherine found herself agreeing with him, no matter what he said. In the moments Samantha reemerged, she was shocked at how compliant this new self was, but Katherine pushed Samantha down whenever she threatened to interfere with her unquestioning acceptance of Lord Alderbury’s dominance.

Katherine found that her Lord and Master loved inflicting pain, as they spent more and more time down in the dungeon, and he reintroduced her to the hard, cold marble slab she’d found herself on when she first woke up in the manor. There was also a wooden board that could be tilted in many directions that he liked to tie her to. At those times he delighted in depositing his salty cum in her mouth, and she drank deeply of him. She loved his taste, and her Lord loved her open mouth and soft, submissive eyes, so accepting, so obedient. He took her frequently, never allowing undergarments, for they interfered with his pleasure. His need was constant, and he slaked his thirst for her with or without his servants looking on. He was becoming debauched, but didn’t care.

Lord Alderbury slipped a tiny white pill on Katherine’s tongue whenever a momentary glimpse of her former self reappeared. He wanted her docile, but Samantha had been one of their top scientists, with a mind and a will of her own. The pills were a cocktail of hypnotics and barbiturates, which kept Katherine in a semi-permanent happy, dreamy state, which made it so much easier for him to augment the mind control begun through hypnotherapy. The crucial thing he’d found out about Samantha, back in their previous lives, was that she felt trapped inside her intellectualism and her books. She wanted out of her boring, emotionless existence just as much as he did, but she had no idea how to accomplish this, so he found a way to free them both.

Lady Alderbury remained in her rooms most days, and evenings as well, only emerging after the servants went to bed. She was perfectly content to do needlework, dream, and read a little from the library Lord Alderbury ‘inherited’ when he bought the house. The only servants’ gossip she overheard was that of her personal maidservant, who seemed scandalized at how the Lord used his young wife. Lady Alderbury merely laughed and reminded the old woman that the Lord could do what he wished with her—she was naught but his chattel, and it was not right for either of them to question his will. The couple’s disguise was working perfectly, and if anyone noticed anything odd about the Lord and Lady, it was better that it be their sexual appetites than their inability to fit into the period.

Lord Alderbury delighted in finding intriguing ways to bring pain and pleasure to his new bride. Her submission was complete; with every pill she swallowed, she forgot more and more, and Samantha rarely threatened his bliss with Katherine. Katherine was unaware that they were not actually married, though the Organization had been careful to arrange all the necessary documents, even purchasing the house for Dr. Stephens, before he was sent back to this time. It was important, if the subterfuge was to work, that she believe everything she was told. Fortunately, this was easy, since the process of mind control and drugs had done more than his team hoped for—much more. They anticipated a mostly docile submissive, but Dr. Stephens was delighted that Samantha had been turned into a woman whose entire happiness rested upon her husband’s will being followed unquestioningly. This turn of events surprised him, and exceeded all expectations for Samantha’s alteration.

The Organization’s plans were to recreate this experience as often as they could, providing an elite service for members who wished to take their willing, or less-than-willing, submissive with them to another time and place. The lack of willingness on the part of the submissive was no deterrent to the Organization, a consortium of scientific and medical professionals developing various innovative, and potentially unethical, immoral, and illegal, drugs and technologies. The inside, politically-incorrect mantra at the Organization was, “We’re too big to care,” and they cheerfully scorned all attempts at repressive governments controlling their activities. They moved their facilities to a remote underground location, keeping their research quiet. In short, Dr. Stephens knew from experience, they got away with murder.

The Organization’s lack of ethics and amorality, however, concerned him not one whit, as he plowed his cock into his willing wife’s sweet cunt. His own bliss, and hers, was now his primary concern. Every day became an experiment in making a dream come true. In six months, he would be on his own, and his only thought was impregnating this intoxicating witch and keeping her by his side. The power he had over her, the power she gave him, was the source of this intoxication, and he reveled in it. He searched for defensible reasons to punish her in the dungeon, but finally admitted that he had none. Her perfect submission meant he never had any reason to inflict the spankings she received, but he administered them anyway, and let the servants be damned. He cared not what they heard or didn’t hear, for that matter. It was his right to do as he pleased to his woman. That was why he loved the past; living in this time allowed him to indulge every pleasure his wicked heart could devise.

He therefore was forced to admit, when the merest thought of Katherine’s reddening behind made him hard, that the spankings were for his pleasure, not for her betterment. How did you ‘better’ an angel? To see her drape herself gracefully over the wooden bench he placed in the middle of the stone floor, and lift her skirts, with no hesitation, made his heart sing. To place his hands firmly on her warm flesh, to hear the harsh slaps, one after the other, to hear first her whimpers, then her cries of pain… this sent shivers down him when he remembered it all the next day. Was he becoming a sadist, he sometimes let himself wonder? He knew he gloried in causing this sweet, willing woman pain, he loved hearing her cry out, during orgasm, during punishment… he denied himself nothing when it came to her torture.

Katherine stood, dutifully each morning, sticking out her little pink tongue for the pill. Samantha still emerged on occasion, asking some very unpleasant questions, and both Katherine and her Master wanted Samantha gone and the past behind them. Dr. Stephens believed that if his early tests proved to reliable, Katherine’s recollections of her previous life were almost entirely erased by now, and were busily being overwritten by the present. This was another reason he wanted her pregnant as soon as possible—he needed to engage her mind and body in her new life, forcing her to relinquish any remorse or nostalgia about what she thought she might be missing.

Samantha had already noticed the lack of sanitation, and had, once or twice, made comments about the unequal role of women in English society of the 1690s. This would never do, especially if guests were invited. Dr. Stephens had specifically chosen this period as one of the more stable in English history, a time when William III and his wife Mary produced many children.

He chose Samantha partially for her intelligence and looks, but also because she had tested as fertile and capable of bearing many children. The major risk to her would be during and after labor, but his team had provided him with years of medical supplies. He paid his servants well to keep their mouths shut, and hoped for the best. It was a ridiculous risk, he knew, but he didn’t care. He was a risk-taker, and was willing to give this a try. He believed it was worth it. Modern life, or, rather “post” modern life, was so inexpressibly dreary, their escape was worth any risk they took.

After some weeks passed in a delirium of almost constant enthusiastic coitus, Samantha reared her ugly head less and less, and his succulent little submissive kept her mouth closed, except when it was wrapped around his cock. He asked Katherine one night, testing her, to pass him the pitcher of water, as he was thirsty after another bout of prolonged fornication. A few nights before, she had commented on the lack of ice. In their own time, this kind of comment might have elicited a chuckle from him; here in 1692, it worried him. He had found the bottle of pills and quickly put one on her tongue. Her overall compliance was reassuring, but at moments like that, he could not help but feel a little nervous. Punishing his darling was not the answer, for that would merely reinforce the memory of something as mundane as ice.

Instead, whenever she had a memory, he had her write a story about it. This kept her mind active, and gave her a private place to express her thoughts. He laughed when he read her stories, for they were charming, entertaining froth. He was able to convince her that she wrote wonderful fantasy. Gradually, over time, she believed that she had a sparkling imagination, filled with ideas that could not possibly be true. She knew she was only imagining things when she came up with something as impossible as “ice” or “toilets.”

Katherine believed his opinion entirely, for he was her Lord and Master. She knew he would never mislead her in any way. He didn’t even mind when she wrote stories about the things he did to her, the nights filled with delightful, cunning debaucheries and pain down in the dungeon, as her bare ass turned red, her back scored from countless lashes of the whip. She detailed every cry, every hidden fear, and he read her stories obsessively, eating them as he ate her, hungrily, always longing for more. “I promised you I would keep you busy, my little harlot,” he chortled one night, stroking her clit and sucking on it ever so gently, as she read another story of hers aloud. She gasped her pleasure at times, and he laughed to hear her try to read while she came. He insisted, as always, that she come on demand, and she dared not disobey him.

The stories were a wonderful device to keep her mind occupied, and sooner than he hoped for, the pills were no longer necessary. If she thought of something as exotic as “ice”, she wrote about it, where no one but her Master could read her silly, silly words. He worried less and less about being unmasked for the time-imposters they were, and in fact, even he began to forget their past, as he immersed himself in being the Lord of the Manor of Alderbury, maintaing his farms and estate and plowing his beautiful wife whenever the desire overtook him.

On the day she finally told him the good news, that she was with child, they celebrated down in the dungeon. But he was careful, and used a much softer lash, and only spanked her with his hand after that. He loved his darling submissive very much, after all, and wanted her to be happy. But he could not stop himself from torturing her nipples and her cunt lips, since that wouldn’t hurt the child growing inside. Even though his little kitten cried out enticingly in pain, he ignored her. He knew the baby was safe, and Katherine’s cries only inflamed his lust. Yet every time he asked if she wanted to stop, she panted “no, no, Master, please, please, you know I love the pain you give me.” And of course, after that, how could he stop?

Then one day, as Katherine’s belly and breasts grew increasingly round and even more delectable than before, and Lord Alderbury thought nothing could spoil his happiness, the one thing he hoped would never happen, did. The portal in the darkest recesses of the dungeon reopened, and Dr. Cravatz, Samantha’s ex-boyfriend, and Dr. Stephen’s one-time best friend, emerged, his face purple with rage.

To be continued….

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