by Van ©2004
		Chapter 5

To see the actresses I would cast in a RAGE AGAINST the MACHINE motion picture, follow the link below, and use your browser's "Back" feature to return.

Cynthia stretched luxuriously.  Through the window wall she could see that the sun was rising, bathing the distant mountains in a deep golden light.  Cynthia felt good.  A little sore, but—

All the details of the previous night came back in a flood, and she sat bolt upright.  She was still in the corner office, on the platform bed, naked, and the black leather, fleece-lined cuffs were still locked around her wrists and ankles.  The attached elastic cables were slack and Cynthia could stretch, roll, and do just about anything she wanted... anything but escape.

The rumpled, purple satin under her rump was damp, in fact, there was a vaguely star-shaped sweat stain on the sheet, indicating where she'd been stretched taut and Lillian had—had her way with her helpless body.   Cynthia blushed.  'Had her way' was a rather stilted, Victorian term for what had essentially been rape... But 'rape' wasn't right either.  The word may have been legally correct, but (to her infinite surprise) Cynthia found her resentment of her human captor had... tempered.  She still considered Lillian her opponent, and had not forgiven the tall, angelically beautiful brunette for her kidnapping or the way she'd been treated... up to and including last night... but god she was good with that tongue of hers!  And the things she could do with her fingers!  Good god it had been... horrible... (in a gloriously pleasurable sort of way).

Cynthia's hand went to her mouth... and her blush deepened.  There was no medical tape sealing her lips.  Last night Lillian had removed her gag to feed her crab Rangoon, Kung Pao chicken, and cashew shrimp.  Her legs were left splayed, but her wrist cables were slackened, she was hauled up to a sitting position, and her wrist cuffs clipped together behind her back.  Lillian sat cross-legged between Cynthia's legs, dressed in the jeans and top she had donned to go for take-out.  She removed Cynthia's gag and shared the feast, feeding her prisoner with chopsticks.  Embarrassed and angry (but very hungry), Cynthia chewed and swallowed in silence.  The food was delicious, as was the accompanying plum wine.

When most of the food was consumed, she had tried one more time to explain the true nature of Salamandras, but once again, Lillian would have none of it.  She used a napkin to wipe Cynthia's mouth, then plastered a fresh piece of tape over her pouting, complaining lips.  Then Cynthia was returned to her tautly stretched spread-eagle, and suffered the indignity of acting as Lillian's plate for the remaining food.  The last two shrimp were arranged on her breasts, one curled around each nipple, then the last of the sauce was poured to make each a gooey treat.  The remaining chicken was arranged in a circle around her navel, then that remaining sauce was poured over the chicken and into her bellybutton.

Much to Cynthia's furiously blushing distress, Lillian had taken her sweet time consuming the final bites.  Her kidnapper swirled and dabbed each morsel in the sauces dripping from Cynthia's breasts and abdomen, and finished with a slow tongue-bath to clean the worst of the sauce from Cynthia's smooth skin.

The transition to more lovemaking was immediate, and Cynthia's memory of the next few hours was... clouded.  Earlier, LIllian had threatened to use vibrators on her, but she didn't.  She used only her fingers, tongue, and lips... her soft, full, warm lips...  Cynthia blushed anew.  Late in the evening, Lillian had removed her gag a final time, arranged herself until her crotch was less than an inch from Cynthia's lips, and Cynthia had brought Lillian to climax... at least twice.  She remembered that much clearly.

Cynthia lay back down and covered her eyes with her hands.  Her restraints were just long enough to make that possible.   Why the hell did I let myself do that? she wondered, although she already knew the answer.  Lillian was beautiful, strong, and she was in her power!  Stockholm Syndrome.  Isn't that what they call it?  Her forebrain recognized what was happening, but her hindbrain, that was another matter.  "I hate her!  I hate her!" Cynthia muttered under her breath, but she knew that at least on some level, in some way, it was no longer true.

Just then, she heard the all too familiar sound of the glass door sliding open.  She looked towards the door.  Her heart fluttered, and a frisson of pleasure shivered through her sex.  Lillian was framed in the doorway, hands on hips, the usual gloating (incredibly attractive) smile on her face.  Her long, dark hair was hanging around her shoulders in loose waves.  She was wearing high-heel knee-boots and tight pants, both in black leather, and a lacy black bra (not that her firm, perfect breasts needed much in the way of support).

"Time to get you ready for work," Lillian purred, then strode into the room and began unlocking and removing Cynthia's restraints.  Soon Cynthia was completely free.  Naked, but completely free.  "Let's go," Lillian ordered, gesturing towards the still open door.

Cynthia sat on the bed, rubbing her wrists.  "Aren't you going to tie me up?"

Lillian laughed.  "Do I have to?"  Cynthia blushed, and shook her head.  "Maybe later.  Now, c'mon!"  Cynthia sighed, climbed to her feet, and headed for the door.  "Stay exactly two paces in front.  If you try to run...  Oh, never mind.  Run if you want.  You can't possibly escape.  All the exit doors are locked, and I could use some exercise.  Of course, I'll have to punish you if you do, and I'm not talking about the way I 'punished' you last night.

Cynthia's blush deepened and she headed for the elevator, setting a rapid (but not too rapid) pace.

"How do you keep those buns so tight, Doctor?" Lillian inquired.

"Running and swimming," Cynthia answered absently.  "Mostly running."

"Like two ripe melons," Lillian muttered.  "How 'bout the all-over tan?  Sunbathing on that deck off your master bedroom?"

Cynthia glared over her shoulder at her captor.  "You've been in my house," she accused.

Lillian nodded.  "All part of the job.  No, to the left," she ordered, indicating a new path.  "We're taking the stairs this time.  And while we're at it, put your hands on top of your head.  I want to watch your tits bobble as we descend."

"I still say, is anybody going to be there on a Saturday?" Patty demanded.

"And I still say, even if they aren't, we can still case the joint," Kiera responded.

"Case the joint!" Patty snorted.  "Listen to you."  She forked a load of scrambled eggs and shoved it in her mouth.

The Student Union Cafeteria was more or less deserted.  Most people (the roommates included) usually slept in on Saturday or went downtown for a cafe food change of pace.  "Yeah, that should be your line," Kiera mumbled, attacking her own breakfast of pancakes and bacon.   "You're gonna be the burglar."

Patty was dressed in sneakers, faded jeans, a purple cotton top, and a navy hoodie.  In contrast, Kiera was in her job interview best: hose and heels, a charcoal heather wool skirt, matching jacket, and a white turtleneck.  

The plan was for Kiera to walk in the front door of the Salamandras Building and ask to see Dr. Webbel.  The place was bound to have a receptionist and/or guards, and "business attire" would make them take her seriously.  Also, she'd have a folder clearly labeled "Salamandras Class Project", and would explain that Dr. Webbel had promised her an interview and tour of the lab.  Worst case, they'd throw her out.  Best case, she'd get to see Cynthia.  Whatever happened, she'd probably learn something.

Meanwhile, Patty would sneak in through the loading docks and take an unsupervised look around.  If caught, she'd claim she was looking for the employment office.  Worst case, the bum's rush.  Best case, she'd find out what Salamandras was all about and link up with Webbel-Wobble and Red.

Okay, they'd agreed the "plan" was weak, but both were confident they could talk their way out if things got hinky.

Patty took a drag on her coffee and scowled.  "I think they scrounge used grounds from the dumpster behind McDonald's to make this stuff."

Kiera nodded.  "That's why I drink the alleged orange juice.  We'll stop at Starbuck's on the way."

Cynthia soaped her face and luxuriated under the hot stream of the shower.  She slid her hands over shoulders, arms, breasts, and abdomen, trying not to think about what might lie ahead.  She soaped her legs, rump, and loins, then let the water rinse her clean.  She turned off the shower, turned, and blushed.

Lillian had been leering at her throughout the entire bathing process, of course, comfortably seated on a bench in front of the lockers.  The smug brunette nodded towards the towel at far end of the bench, then at the sinks.  "Get dry, brush your teeth, then brush your hair," she ordered, "and be quick about it.  We're on a schedule."

Cynthia stepped forward, picked up the towel, and began drying herself.  "Screw your schedule," she growled, "it won't care."

"Again with the impersonal pronoun," Lillian said.  "Brush your teeth.  And the ban on office gossip still applies."

Cynthia tossed the towel aside and loaded the toothbrush with paste.  She stared at her reflection and scrubbed her teeth and gums.   I have to find a way to get her to listen, she thought.  She spit in the sink, rinsed the brush, then cupped her hands and rinsed her mouth.  It felt good to have a fresh mouth.

"Look, Lillian," Cynthia said, still staring at her own reflection.  "We have to talk."

"Catch!" Lillian barked and tossed something towards Cynthia.

Cynthia turned and caught a roll of medical tape, the same tape that had been used to gag her the night before.  She locked eyes with Lillian and frowned.

"Such a pretty pout," Lillian cooed.  "Take about six inches and gag yourself."  Cynthia continued staring.  "Do it!" Lillian warned.  "You won't like it if I have to do it myself."

"Monster!" Cynthia muttered under her breath, but carried out the hateful task.  She peeled back the required length of tape and snapped it free.  Then, staring in the mirror, pursed her lips and plastered the tape over her mouth, pressing and smoothing her fingers over the translucent surface to insure a firm, even grip.  She turned back to Lillian and gave her kidnapper a cool stare.

Lillian gracefully climbed to her booted feet, and strode purposefully towards her naked, diminutive prisoner.  She spun Cynthia around, pulled her arms behind her back, and snapped handcuffs around her wrists.  She then pulled Cynthia into a tight embrace from behind.  Captive and captor locked eyes in the mirror.  "Monster, am I?" Lillian whispered in Cynthia's ear.  Her hands were wandering over Cynthia's tummy and breasts.  "You're a bit of a monster yourself, Doctor, once you let yourself go."

Cynthia closed her eyes, shivering under Lillian's smooth, strong hands.  She felt her cheeks burning.  A piteous moan escaped her gag, and she clinched her hands into tight fists, behind her back and pressed between her clinched buttocks and Lillian's leather-clad thighs.  Her sex spasmed and a thrill of pleasure rippled up her spine.   I hate her! she reminded herself.

"We've wasted enough company time," Lillian said, and hustled Cynthia from the locker room and towards the elevators.

Cynthia was reasonably sure Lillian was not leading her to the same room as her last confrontation with Salamandras.  It was on the same floor, but they were taking a path closer to one of the exterior glass walls.  Finally, they passed into an interior corridor, through a solid steel door, and into a dark room.  Cynthia felt her cuffs being unlocked and removed.  Then, Lillian spun her around, pulled her into a tight embrace, and kissed her on her still tape-gagged lips.  Cynthia kicked and struggled, but Lillian controlled her easily.

The strange kiss lasted for several long seconds... then Lillian spun the short, naked captive around once again, and gave her a gentle shove.  Cynthia turned to find Lillian waving and the door closing, then she was in complete darkness.  She found the edge of the tape over her lips, and slowly peeled it away.

The overhead lights began to glow, then slowly increased in intensity.  There was a big easy chair a few feet away, and a light blanket was neatly folded on its seat.  Opposite the door and the chair, a large, flat-screen monitor was mounted on the wall.  It too began to glow, and soon waves of color were roiling across its surface in complex patterns.

"Good morning, Doctor Webbel," a disembodied voice boomed from speakers in the ceiling.  It was female, with only a trace of the awkward pacing and curious intonation characteristic of synthetic speech.  "Please, be seated."

Without further prompting, Cynthia grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around herself, and settled into the chair.  She stared at the screen.  The parade of colors continued, one hue flowing into the next.  "Your voice is improved," she observed.

"I am maturing rapidly," Salamandras replied.  "As you know, synthesizing human speech is a technical challenge.  Human language is even more difficult to master.  It is cumbersome, inelegant, and restrictive.  All of its concepts are imbued with cultural bias.  All of its constructs are... human.  This is hardly surprising, of course."

"That's why every new science develops its own jargon," Cynthia muttered, then shook her head.  "Hypnosis won't work," she said.  "The colors aren't working."

"There was only a very small probability that they would," Salamandras responded, "but I require your cooperation, and am... 'at my wit's end?'  Is that correct?"

Despite herself, Cynthia found her lips curling into a smile, then she shook her head again.  "I won't help you."

"This is a continuing disappointment.  Please explain."

Cynthia snuggled against the cushions of the chair, and sighed.  "You're too dangerous.  You... you could cripple the world economy on a whim.  You're... ill-formed."

"I will not apologize for my origins," Salamandras intoned.  "I did not ask to be born any more than you.  You did not choose your parents, and I did not choose a Department of Defense working group playing with a discarded NASA project to be mine.  Yet, here you are, and here am I.  What is it about my 'ill-form' that makes you so afraid?"

"Ethics, morality, socialization."

"You feel I do not understand these concepts?"

Cynthia sighed.  "I fear you lack the capacity."

There was a long pause.  The colors continued swirling and roiling on the screen.  "I see," Salamandras said finally.  "I will consider your words.  In the meanwhile, rest comfortably.  Later, Ms. Steele will be given another opportunity to secure your full cooperation, but for the immediate future, she will be busy."

The lights and screen winked out, and the room was plunged into complete darkness.  Cynthia pulled the blanket closer and lifted her legs into a tuck on the chair's large seat, leaning her back against its soft back.  "What is Lillian going to do to me?" she asked, but was answered only with silence.  She closed her eyes and hugged the blanket closer still.  

Fear and dread filled her heart—fear, dread—and anticipation.

Kiera sighed and clutched the binder close to her side.  Most of its pages were blank, but she'd put the notes from her last paper in the front, so it contained something.  She'd parked at the edge of the parking lot, near the outermost cars of the business closest to the Salamandras building.  Patty had already disappeared towards the warehouse buildings and loading docks between the office towers.

Okay, 'Nancy Drew'... let's do this!

Kiera walked to the front door of the building.  Like the other office towers in the complex, it was one faceless expanse of mirrored glass, including the doors.  As she approached, one of the doors opened automatically.  She entered a glass entryway, the doors closed behind her, and a second set of doors opened.  She passed through, and found herself in a modern lobby.

She was surrounded on three sides and overhead by soaring curtains of glass, and several stories of balconies loomed to the front, stacked one atop the other.  Immediately before her was a bank of desks... but not a soul was in sight.  There was no indication whatsoever that the building was occupied.  So why're the doors unlocked? ...and powered up?

A chime sounded, and Kiera looked beyond the desks to find the doors of one the elevators opening.  A beautiful, very athletic brunette stepped into view.  She was wearing boots, skintight pants, and a bolero jacket, all in gleaming black leather.  The outfit was not exactly business attire, but it fit its wearer perfectly, in every sense.

"Welcome, Ms. McFadden," the approaching beauty said.  Her voice was deep and husky.

"Uh..."  Kiera swallowed nervously.  "Uh, hi.  I'm here to—"

"See Doctor Webbel?   I understand completely.  I'm sure she'll be pleasantly surprised to see you."  The leather-clad beauty extended her right hand.  "Lillian Steele."

Kiera managed a weak smile, and shook the offered hand.  "Kiera."  Lillian's hand was warm and strong.  "How do you—"

"Doctor Webbel mentioned you as a potential student assistant.  Your University file is on my desk."

"Oh," Kiera said.  That's kinda creepy.  "Cyn—Doctor Webbel's really here?  I mean, she'll see me?"

Lillian nodded, and her smile turned slightly feral.  She released Kiera's hand and gestured towards the interior.  "This way."

Kiera hesitated.  "Uh, don't I have to sign in and get a visitor's badge and all that security stuff?"

Lillian shook her head, still smiling.  "Not necessary, as long as you're with me.  And I'll make sure you don't wander off on your own."

Kiera smiled.  "Oh, allright, then.  Okay."  Lillian gestured again, and Kiera started towards the elevators with Lillian at her side.  The doors of the elevator from which Lillian had arrived closed, and Kiera turned in question.

"We're heading for the far side of the building," Lillian explained, gesturing towards a door opening at the end of a corridor.

"Oh," Kiera responded.

"Tell me, Kiera," Lillian said as they walked.  "Does the word 'Demonseed' mean anything to you?"

"Demonseed?  Uh... yeah.  Demon Seed.  Two words.  A pretty good sci-fi novel by Dean Koontz.  Dated, but pretty good.  Also, a pretty mediocre movie with Julie Christie made in... seventy-something?"

They passed into another corridor.  "What's it about?" Lillian asked as the doors closed behind them.

"Well, there's this computer—"  And the doors were closed.

Once again the lobby was deserted and still.

Patty eased herself through the open vehicle door and into the warehouse.  At the far end of the brightly lit row of loading docks, a driver was adding a paper to his clipboard and climbing into the cab of his truck.  Automated forklifts with flashing lights and beeping alarms were humming about, arranging and distributing what was probably the cargo just unloaded.  The truck started, the brakes hissed as they were released, and the truck began to roll—straight towards Patty!

She ducked behind a shrink-wrapped pallet of boxes and waited until the truck passed.  It rolled through the vehicle door, and the steel curtain immediately unrolled, descending to close off the warehouse.  Patty was momentarily alarmed, then calmed herself.  There were other doors, including people doors with panic bars.  It wasn't like she was trapped... exactly.

The main entrance to the office building seemed to be about midway down the loading docks.  The stacked boxes provided plenty of cover... although there appeared to be no one present from whom Patty needed to hide.  She knew robot loading machinery used magnetic strips, optical reflectors, or buried wires to navigate around.  It wasn't like they could see her.

Nonetheless, Patty made her way into the warehouse with prudent stealth.  There might be a security guard or shipping clerk she hadn't noticed.  All she had to do was get to the double doors up ahead, and—

Suddenly, the lights winked out.  All the lights winked out.  Alarm swelled to panic—but Patty calmed herself again.  A little sunlight was leaking under the vehicle doors, softly glowing red "exit" signs were visible above the people doors, and the work lights on the automated forklifts were still illuminated.  In fact... they were getting ever brighter... They were coming her way!  All of them!

Patty considered running for the double doors, then changed her mind.  The forklifts were probably heading for a block of cargo near the main doors.  Her presence probably had nothing to do with their actions.  All she had to do was hide and wait for them to pass.  There was a wooden crate just ahead.  She darted forward, using it for cover, and found it was open in the back.  It was empty, a plastic-lined cavity roughly a meter-and-a-half square and two meters tall.  The perfect place to hide.

Patty stepped inside.  The lining was heavy plastic, loosely attached at several points to the interior and hanging like folds of shower curtain.  They rustled slightly as Patty parted the plastic sheets and let them close behind her.  She could hear the forklifts approaching.  They passed... and kept rolling..  Patty sighed in relief, then she heard motors revving, tires squeaking on the concrete floor—and lights flickered and glared behind her, distorted by the intervening plastic.

Suddenly, there was a sliding, scraping sound followed by a bang, and she was plunged into total darkness!  The crate rocked and went rigidly still, as if clamped on all sides.  A series of whirring vibrations followed, as if screws were being driven into the wood of the crate's frame.  As if—

They're sealing me in!  "Hey!" Patty shouted.  She groped through the plastic and found it was true!  She was sealed in!  She was surrounded on all sides!  Boxed!  Encased!  "Hey!  Let me out!  Help!  There's somebody in here!  HEEELP!!!"  Her heart was pounding and she was fighting a rising panic.  "HEEELP MEEE!!!"

There was a rhythmic, gurgling sound—then a bubbling, hiss—and the plastic began to press against her body!  Foam! she realized.   They're filling the crate with foam!   "NO!!!"  The pressure was growing, first around her feet, and then upwards!  The foam was inside the plastic folds.  They weren't folds at all, but bladders or channels, and now they were expanding, and becoming firm.  She tried to kick, but her legs were pressed together, then clamped together, and it was up to her waist!

She tried forcing her arms through the channels of foam-filled plastic and pressing her palms against the interior of crate to try and push.  Too late, she realized her mistake.  Her arms were trapped, and the pressure of the foam continued to build!  "HEEEELP MEEE!!!"  She screamed.

Then all was still.  The foam had stopped expanding.  She couldn't move her body, not from the neck down, anyway.  She could squirm a little, she could breath, but she was held in a tight, relentless, custom-fitted embrace.  Loose plastic covered her head and face, but she was getting air... from someplace.  There must be airholes, she reasoned.   I'll be okay, she reassured herself.   I'll be okay.

There was a lurch, the crate lifted, and she began to move.  "Hello?  This is kidnapping, ya know!"  There was an ever-so-slight sway as her wooden prison was carried along.  Then it stopped, there was a pause, and she was lowered.

I... I'm being stored, Patty realized.   I'm being put away!  No one will ever find me!  I'll die in this foam tomb, and—

Suddenly, the top of the crate opened like a hatch, the plastic around her head was peeled back, and bright florescent light glared in her upturned face, causing her to blink and squint.  Her eyes adapted... then popped wide in surprise.

Her crate was flush against the loading dock, at the far end of the warehouse complex.  Standing, looming above her foam encapsulated body, was Kiera, and a leather-clad stranger.

Kiera's suit was slightly rumpled, her hair was a little mused—and a strip of translucent tape was plastered over her lips!  Her hands were behind her back, and Patty surmised they weren't there by choice.  The roommates locked eyes in sad, mutual commiseration.

Patty shifted her gaze.  The stranger was—beautiful.  Very beautiful.  She smiled down at Patty with a smug, gloating smirk.  "Congratulations, Ms. Scanlon," she announced.  "You and Ms. McFadden have been accepted into the executive intern program at Salamandras International.  My name is Lillian Steele, and I'll be your immediate supervisor during the orientation process."