Maria Takes The Chair

Lois took a deep breath—and grabbed Maria by the upper arms. Carefully but firmly, the reporter guided the scared and confused barmaid toward the chair.

"I...wait...what..."

"Maria, we need to know what happened to the other women. This...'reception station'...it's on a program. If we're going to get out of here, we need that program to run." The barmaid wasn't really fighting Lois, at least, not as much as she should have. Every time the red-and-pink-haired young woman glanced around the room, she almost seemed to be entranced. Without much effort, Lois guided the barmaid into taking a seat, gently massaging the young woman's shoulders.

"It'll be okay," the reporter assured her. "I'll be right here."

Lois hated to do that—her father had always taught her to lead from the front, to never send a soldier to face a danger you wouldn't herself—but whatever was going on here, Lois needed her wits about her.

After all, she thought as she laid a protective hand on her belly, I have more than just my life to think about.

As soon as Maria was firmly seated in the chair, the huge wrap-around monitor came to life, the neutral pink background lighting up and beginning to swirl.

"Thank you." The speakers echoed, something odd in the artificial voice. Almost a slurring of the too-crisp speech. "The orientation program will begin momentarily."

Maria fidgeted uneasily. Lois tried not to look at the screen itself, but wasn't sure where else to look...until she had an idea. Letting go of the barmaid, the reporter slipped behind the screen, directly opposite the young woman. From this vantage point, Lois could see everything happening to Maria—the barmaid was perfectly lit in the warm pink glow—and Maria could see Lois, hovering below the screen.

Lois noticed how her guide's fingers were clutching the armrests of the chair tightly...and the woman's legs, spread a little in the skirt, revealed her absence of panties. The reporter rubbed her fingers, remembering how she had paraded the poor woman around like a puppet, two fingers embedded in that twat. The stab of remorse disappeared, however, as the program began.