Kanagen

  "So, the numbers for the new series are looking good," Ms. Dvoretskaya said, tapping their foot idly as they sat at their desk opposite one of their fellow executives (Mr. Beers, VP for Product Logistics, eleven o'clock). "I think we'll be ready to get production running come Monday. I assume you've got all your ducks in a row on that end?"

  "Series 71 should be finishing production by the end of today, so we can begin retooling as soon as we get the specs." He had a warm voice, the only thing Haven was really paying attention to; she would need to make notes on this meeting eventually.

  "Fantastic. I'll have Haven run them over right after lunch." A gentle nudge with one foot let Haven know that Ms. Dvoretskaya was thinking of her, and likely of what they'd do during their lunch hour. Haven liked that.

  "Where is your cute little secretary, anyway?" Mr. Beers asked. "I would have thought she'd be running interference out front."

  "Oh, she's working on a very important job right now," Ms. Dvoretskaya said, their thighs squeezing gently around Haven's head and shoulders. "But she'll be back at her desk well before she needs to run those papers over to your office."

  "Fair enough! I'll make sure Petra's ready to get everything sorted." Ms. Dvoretskaya shook hands and exchanged a few final pleasantries with Mr Beers. Haven heard the door shut, and felt Ms. Dvoretskaya rex fractionally, felt their hand on her head, their fingers carding through her hair.

  "Good girl," they purred, leaning back away from the desk. Haven followed them as they inched their chair back, keeping her mouth on Ms. Dvoretskaya's engorged length. Having been working them for the entire meeting, she could feel the little trembles every time her tongue caressed its head. "Your mouth is a miracle, you know that?"

  Haven didn't answer. She could have, of course — it wasn't as if she needed her mouth to speak — but she was totally focused on her job. This was her job. She worked for Ms. Dvoretskaya, and that included seeing to their physical needs. She loved her work. She had the best job in the whole company, and she knew it, and she wanted nothing more than to do that job well.

  She felt Ms. Dvoretskaya's fingers clutch at her hair — stars, but she loved it when they did that — and hold her in pce as they began to buck gently into her mouth. "I'm so close, I'm so close," they whispered, biting their lower lip and gasping for breath. "Come on, come on..."

  Haven let Ms. Dvoretskaya control the pace as they clearly wanted to, but she kept her tongue hard at work. She might not have had experience, but she was eager to learn on the job. What a wonderful job she had. She was so lucky to be Ms. Dvoretskaya's secretary, so lucky to be on her knees for Ms. Dvoretskaya, so lucky to be able to fit under their desk and service them while they were doing other, even more important work. So lucky to receive Ms. Dvoretskaya's load as they arched their back and let out a long, groaning whimper.

  "Ohhh fuck," they grunted, "that's so much better than going it alone." They let out a ugh as they colpsed back into their chair. "Fuck! I am so gd I asked them to give me one of these..."

  Haven said nothing, dutifully swallowing. It all slipped so easily down her throat. She cleaned away everything that clung to Ms. Dvoretskaya's cock, earning a few more shivers and moans, before pulling away. "Will there be anything else, Ms. Dvoretskaya?"

  Her boss let out a grunt. "Give me five minutes, then I'll return the favor," they said, grinning half-drunkenly. "Hey," they added, lifting a hand to make the out-of-character gesture, "check-in. You okay?"

  Oh. Ms. Dovretskaya was breaking character. Haven knew she should reciprocate, even though she very much wanted to stay in the workpce mindset. "I'm fine, sir," she said, mirroring the gesture.

  "For real?" When Haven nodded again, they rexed just a little bit more. "Okay, good. Wanted to make sure I didn't go too far too fast with that. Or with the offer to reciprocate."

  "No?" The workpce mindset was slipping as Haven was forced to return to reality. Was Ms. Dv- was Tara trying to get out of it? "I-I mean, I don't really have anything down there." Nothing, beyond a soft bit of tissue that was screaming to be touched, and had been practically from the moment she'd been told to kneel down under the desk. The heat had been slowly spreading through out her body, a kind of hunger she'd never really experienced before, but which she had no way to sate.

  "You've got a gorgeous pair of incredibly soft thighs," Tara said, grinning, "and if you'll let me, I'll bend you over my desk and fuck them. How's that sound?"

  Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. "Yes," she whispered, even if she was certain that Tara was only trying to get out of what they'd offered in the heat of the moment. That was what it meant when someone chewed on their bottom lip like Tara was doing, right?

  "I was hoping you'd say that," they said, helping Haven to her feet. "Now... in-character or out?"

  "In," Haven said without hesitation. She was being greedy, but she wanted so badly to just get back to secretary mode, to that pce where she could simply do her job without having to think.

  Thankfully, Tara didn't seem to mind. "Good girl," they purred, getting Haven to her feet and turning her around, holding tightly onto her from behind. "I did make a promise to my perfect little secretary, after all. Bend over."

  "Yes sir, Ms. Dvoretskaya," Haven whispered, leaning down onto the heavy blotter on Ms. Dvoretskaya's desk. She gripped the far edge with both hands, unsure just how this would go — but whatever happened would be what Ms. Dvoretskaya wanted, and that was all that mattered. She heard one of the drawers open, heard Ms. Dvoretskaya fiddling with something, and then felt their hands on her thighs, hiking up her skirt, pulling down her panties until they clung to her knees.

  "You've been such a good secretary, Haven," they whispered, their fingers gliding between her thighs from behind, leaving a film of something warm and slick in their wake. "And it's important to reward your secretary when they do good work. Isn't that right?"

  They wanted an answer. "Yes sir, Ms. Dvoretskaya," she whispered. Ms. Dvoretskaya said she'd been good; whatever apprehension she might feel about whether she'd performed her duties properly could scarcely stand up to that kind of affirmation.

  "And I know just what kind of reward my sweet little secretary needs," they continued. Their hand cupped the little bulge between her legs, sending a shiver through Haven as the sarcotesta mirrored her arousal. The heat built and built as Ms. Dvoretskaya caressed her most sensitive spot, as their fingers made it slippery and wet. "My sweet little Haven," they whispered, giving it the gentlest of squeezes and drawing a uncontrolled whimper out of her. "Mmmmfuck yeah, that's what I like to hear."

  "Please," Haven whined. "Please, Ms. Dvoretskaya, I need it." She had heard these words before, but now she repeated them for herself; secretary mode washed them of the jealousy their pornographic origin had come with, and all she felt was joy.

  "You need it?" Their free hand gripped one of her ass cheeks and squeezed it, alternating with the hand between her legs. "You need this?" Something else slid between her thighs, repcing Ms. Dvoretskaya's hand. It was thick, hot, and just as needy as Haven was.

  Her fingers tightened on the desk. "Yes, sir!"

  "You need me to fuck you?" Ms. Dvoretskaya began to work it back and forth between Haven's slippery thighs, running it right along her sensitive little bulge with every thrust.

  "Yes, sir!" It was bliss and agony all in one. Every thrust felt like it would put her over the top, but every thrust only pushed that top higher as the heat and hunger built inside her. Haven had never felt this way before, had never felt so right. Ms. Dvoretskaya was fucking her, and all was right with the world.

  Never stop. Never stop. Never stop.

  "Good girl," Ms. Dvoretskaya growled as they pumped away, their hips ramming into Haven's ass as they hilted themselves against her thighs.

  Never stop.

  The sunline was growing dim in the sky, turning a ruddy shade as it simuted a sunset. The foliage along the path reflected the light in dazzling ways, walls of flowering ivy rippling in a breeze Trish couldn't quite feel, making distracting patterns of light and dark. Yet another marvel of Affini bioengineering, no doubt — a retaining wall that doubled as an art instaltion. "So," Trish said, raising her voice a bit to ensure that Scoparia heard her, "are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or not?"

  "Hm?" Scoparia hesitated for just a moment mid-step. "Ah. Apologies, I was rather lost in thought."

  Trish scoffed. "You're lost in thought? You think I'm not stewing it in over here?"

  "Oh, I have no doubt that you are. Every inch of your body screams tense. I was going to suggest a nice long soak in a hot bath before dinner. Perhaps a massage?"

  "I'll pass on that, thanks," Trish said. "Now spill."

  "Spill what?" Scoparia said, rippling with confusion. "The tub is back at the hab."

  "Tell me what the hell those two did to my brain," Trish said, enunciating each word with more force than was strictly necessary.

  "Oh. Well, nothing, really. They just noticed unusual behaviors, entranced you, and looked for any signs that you'd been tampered with — and as it happens, they found them, which is particurly baffling."

  Trish froze in pce. "What do mean, tampered with? One of you has been in my head?" Heart pounding, she racked her brain for clues to who might have done it, what might have been done. "Was it you?!"

  "It most certainly was not," Scoparia said, her carefully manicured leaves fttening out in irritation. "For one thing, I am your guardian. I would not bother to employ stealth if I wished to induce a trance — you are quite aware that my goal is to get you to alter your behavior. Indeed, to alter your own behavior, rather than alter it for you. It would be quite counterproductive to this test to influence it, wouldn't you agree?"

  Trish seethed, but couldn't deny Scoparia's twisted logic. Besides, if Scoparia was acting so confused about it, it probably wasn't her, unless this was some kind of bizarre attempt at gaslighting. "Alright, fine, not you. Who was it? What did they do?!"

  "Calm down," Scoparia said, turning and kneeling in front of Trish. She id a vine across her shoulders in what was, no doubt, intended to be a comforting gesture. "Whatever was done was already very subtle, very weakly held together, and did not survive the attempt to inspect it. It fell apart almost the moment that Tsuga entranced you. Polyphyl was able to find evidence that it had been there, but not necessarily what the posthypnotic effects might have been. About the only thing Tsuga was able to pull from you before it slipped away were the words 'don't look.' I don't suppose you have any idea what that might have meant?"

  Trish blinked. "Don't look?" There was something oddly familiar about the phrase, but it was like trying to recall a dream from a week ago — memories of memories of memories of something forgotten. "No, I don't know what that's about. And you don't have any idea who did it?"

  "Polyphyl wasn't able to find that out, either. Whoever did it must have fully erased whatever experiential memories were associated with the induction while leaving the programming in pce, which Polyphyl tells me is no mean trick. I'll be keeping a very close eye on you, just in case I see other unusual behaviors cropping up, but from what I can tell you appear to be operating more or less at your baseline, if unfortunately feral, personality, and have been more or less the whole time. Is that a comfort to you?"

  "...a bit, yes," Trish admitted. She crossed her arms and began to gently chew on her lip as she tried, in vain, to draw up even a single mote of memory that might provide an answer. "Damn it."

  "We will eventually discover the truth," Scoparia reassured her. "Once Koer has finished reblooming, we'll consult with them; they may be able to provide us with details that allow us to further tie things together."

  Trish nodded. "I wanted to talk to them anyway."

  "I remember," Scoparia said, nodding. "And while I may not approve of their performance as your social worker, I am hopeful that they will be of help. I wager there is no affini who knows you better than they do."

  "You're probably right about that." Sixty years of biweekly check-ins at a minimum was a hefty sample size even by Affini standards, no doubt.

  "There is one thing, admittedly, that might shed further light on this issue — but it only puzzles me more."

  "Oh?" Trish risked a gnce up at Scoparia, at the perfectly mimicked expression of frustrated confusion she wore.

  "Your unusual behavioral shift during the wardship meeting. At the time, I simply put it down to you being a good actor — which, for all I know, you might well be, even if it's not in your file. In retrospect, I wonder if that might not have been a byproduct of the hypnotic conditioning you were subject to."

  Of fucking course. "You know," she said, "just because someone messed with me on some level does not mean that I couldn't manage a simple fucking meeting all on my own."

  "Language," Scoparia said, tapping Trish on the nose with a vine.

  "A useful and justified intensifier," Trish countered, not flinching. "Don't cast me as some kind of incompetent victim just because I'm human."

  "I never accused you of being incompetent," Scoparia said, "merely too feralist to function in Compact society without intervention — which is a stark contrast to the way you behaved in the meeting."

  "And it never once entered your mind," Trish replied, honing the edge in her voice to the sharpest possible, "that you might be wrong?"

  "No," Scoparia said, her voice perfectly even. "It did not."

  "I know my way around a wardship meeting because I've been dealing with patronizing affini like you for most of my adult life at this point, and before that? I don't suppose you're familiar with Customer Service Voice?"

  She regarded Trish with apparent confusion. "I am not?"

  Trish put on the brightest smile she could, raised her voice half an octave, and began to speak. "Welcome to Alert General Hospital. I see that your chart says you've got an antibiotic-resistant dermatological infection. The good news is, we have a top-of-the-line UV treatment center; I'll get you started on your topical antirads." She enunciated every word in perfect Modern Canamerican English, without even the slightest hint of Yellowknife twang.

  "...ah."

  "Yeah," she said, dropping the smile and the affect. "Even before I had to deal with aliens who could destroy my life on a whim, I was dealing with humans that could do the same. You learn survival strategies quickly, or you don't survive." That her survival strategies hadn't helped her in the end, she left unsaid.

  "You no longer live in the wild, though," Scoparia said, her vine tightening just a little around Trish's shoulders. "You don't need to apply survival strategies here. Your survival, and your happiness, are guaranteed by the Compact."

  "And if my conception of happiness differs from yours, you'll ever-so-helpfully adjust it for me," she spat. "That's not survival. It's annihition."

  "The only thing we annihite is needless suffering. By now, you should recognize that, and if you don't, that too is a form of suffering that requires our attention." Another of Scoparia's vines brushed through Trish's hair, and she leaned in close to examine her; Trish looked away, back at the shimmering wall of ivy. "You are very tired, I think. Does a hot bath not sound nice?"

  "It does," Trish admitted. Mostly, she just wanted to be done with the argument. Scoparia would never give ground.

  "Then let's be on our way," Scoparia said, smiling so broadly that Trish could easily make it out even in her peripheral vision. A bit of gentle pressure from the vine on her shoulders coaxed Trish forward, and the two continued the walk back to the station. Trish spent the entire ride from the third ring back to the first trying to ignore Scoparia, and trying to figure out what the hell the Affini had done to her.

  Try as she she might, though, nothing added up. Even if her memory of the event had been erased, Trish was certain she'd be able to pick out some sort of inconsistency in her behavior, but she was certain she was as doggedly opposed to the concept of domestication as she'd always been. What the hell did "don't look" mean, anyway? Was she supposed to look away from the reality of what the Compact did to the people it ran roughshod over? If so, whatever Affini had tried to scramble her brains had done a piss-poor job of it, because everything about being a floret was as nightmarish as it had ever been as far as she was concerned.

  "Trish?"

  She sat bolt upright as Scoparia poked her gently, the green-yellow afterimage of the illuminated panel she'd been staring at following her vision. "Huh?

  "My, you really are tired, aren't you? Come along," Scoparia said, wrapping a few vines around Trish and gently helping her to the floor. "We'll get you taken care of."