The Inquisitor: Forging. Part III.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

This story contains explicit sexual content, including scenes of psychological manipulation, BDSM, and various forms of fetishism, and is intended for mature audiences only. If this content is not for you, you may stop reading at any time and close this page.

All events and characters in this text are purely a product of the author’s imagination. The author is not aware of whether any events depicted have occurred in reality, in whole or in part. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

All images have been created using artificial intelligence, and any resemblance to real persons is accidental.

The author utilized artificial intelligence for story development and dialogue.

 

You can read the second part here.

The Inquisitor: Forging. Part II.

Orchestrated downfall

The days continued to pass. Elena’s trips to town became more frequent.

Left to her own devices, Anna unexpectedly stumbled upon an article online about how, after the Chernobyl accident, there had been a spike in oncological diseases in Poland, and that cancer rates in Eastern Poland were still high. There were also several stories of unfortunate children.

Beneath the article was a Polish contact number for one of the parents raising money for an operation.

Anna thought about it. For some reason, this article touched a nerve.

“They’re probably scammers”, she thought. For two days she wrestled with herself, but finally couldn’t resist and called.

“Good afternoon,” she introduced herself in Polish, “I saw the article about your daughter, and I would like to help.”

On the other end of the line, a man’s voice, filled with sadness, said: “Thank you very much. Agnieszka recently had a course of chemotherapy. She’s recovering. We don’t need the money, but you could help someone else. There were other numbers in the article.”

Anna politely said goodbye, and then thought to herself- “Do people really exist who turn down money when it’s offered?”

She herself had taken money and never felt a twinge of conscience. Although no, now she understood… something about that was wrong.

And Anna, frowning thoughtfully, returned to the flowerbed, which, thanks to her efforts, had transitioned from a state of neglect and was beginning to bloom.

 

“Look here,” Elena said about a week after Anna had become a brunette, running her fingers over the top of Anna’s head. The hair at the roots had grown out a few millimeters and was now a dirty-yellowish color. Against the backdrop of the saturated black, they looked like an untidy, dull halo.

“See?” Elena led Anna to the bathroom mirror, lifting a strand at the crown. “We need to touch it up.”

Anna, already accustomed to Elena’s gaze noticing every detail, nodded. Her own reflection – a tanned face with freckles, a bob haircut – seemed both unfamiliar and yet right to her.
“Let’s get rid of this untidiness,” Elena said.
She was already taking out a jar of black dye, smelling of ammonia and metal.

But even after the dye was rinsed out and her hair was once again uniformly black and glossy, it wasn’t enough for Elena. She stood, studying her work, and her gaze turned cold and appraising again.
“It’s still not right,” she said aloud, more to herself. “You need it a little shorter.”

The scissors, already lying on the towel, were back in her hand. Anna, seeing this movement in the mirror, didn’t flinch. She just pressed herself deeper into the stool, ready. Elena approached and, without a word, began working again. The snips of the scissors were faster, more decisive. She shortened the hair, removing millimeter after millimeter, until the top had become something prickly, almost boyish, maximally exposing her neck and ears. Anna sat motionless, her breathing steady, as if she were watching the haircut of someone else. Her hand slipped under her sundress, caressing herself.

 

Then Elena lathered up the back of Anna’s head and her temples. Cold white foam settled on her skin. She picked up the razor. The first touch of the cold steel made Anna flinch, but she immediately froze. With a scraping sound, the blade traveled across her skin, leaving behind a perfect, smooth strip. Strip by strip, with methodical precision, Elena shaved off the remaining hair on the sides and the back of her head, leaving only that long, heavy black mane on top, which, falling onto her forehead, half-hid the shaved temples. Then, with the clippers, she shortened the length of the hair on top as well.

The sight of this contrast- the vulnerable, bare skin and the black, raven’s-wing crown- affected Elena like a powerful drug. A shudder ran down her spine, her body instantly covered in a hot, sticky sweat. The familiar, thick and pungent smell from her vagina created a heavy, arousing atmosphere.

Anna felt this arousal. She slowly rose from the stool and, without a word, knelt before Elena. But this time, her request was different. She looked up from below, and in her gaze was pure pleasure.
“Fuck me in the ass,” her voice was aroused. “With all the cruelty you’re capable of. I want to feel where I end and you begin.”

 

Elena, breathing heavily, took a long, black, mercilessly shaped dildo from the shelf, one she had brought recently. She shoved it into her underwear and lubricated it with her own fluids. Then she approached Anna, who, obeying her rough push, bent over the sink, presenting herself for humiliation.

The first thrust was like a knife stab. Anna cried out, her fingers digging into the porcelain of the sink. The pain was blinding, tearing. Elena didn’t stop. She entered her deeper and deeper, stretching, tearing, striving to penetrate as far as possible.

Anna sobbed, her body convulsing, but she didn’t ask her to stop. On the contrary, she pushed back to meet her, accepting the pain as the only possible form of intimacy, as proof of her complete submission.

When Elena finished, she withdrew the phallus. Anna, exhausted, slid down to the floor, her back against the wall.

The next morning, Elena woke Anna with a gentle touch to her short, black hair. A soft, almost maternal smile played on her lips, carefully hiding the destructive hunger boiling inside.
“Good morning, my joy,” her voice was warm and honeyed. “I thought about us all night. We’re so different… and that’s our strength. But for our union, it’s important to find common ground. At the same time,” she paused meaningfully, “we shouldn’t be the same. You are you, and I am me. That is our harmony.”

The days passed in a sequence once more. Anna found more and more joy in simple work.
And there was something else. Her body had finally crossed an invisible threshold. Her breasts, once perfect and high, had become fuller, heavier, responding with a slight, pulling ache in the mornings. Her stomach, always flat, had rounded into a barely noticeable but warm curve. Her hips and buttocks, which she had once “dried out” to muscular firmness, had now acquired a feminine, rounded fullness.

She would catch Elena’s gaze when she changed clothes and see approval in it. That was important.

The pubic hair, which she had stopped shaving, had grown into a thick, dark triangle. At first, the sensation was strange, unfamiliar, but now, running her hand over her stomach, she found something pleasantly primal, honest, in it. She hadn’t had a manicure in a long time – dirt from the garden beds was lodged under her short, bitten nails. Her feet, once pampered and smooth, had become tough, with calluses. Not a trace of her former elegance remained, and, most surprisingly, it hardly bothered her.
One day, sitting on the porch steps, she was cracking walnuts with her teeth- Elena insisted it was healthier than using nutcrackers. Suddenly, along with the crunch of the shell, she heard a dull snap and felt a sharp pain in her palate.

“Elena,” she called, coming into the house and feeling the wound with her tongue. “Something snapped inside when I was biting down.”
Elena put down her book, came over, and picked up a flashlight.
“Open wider. Yes, I see it. A scratch on your soft palate. Nothing serious, you probably caught it with a piece of shell. Rinse with salt water, and I’ll apply some ointment.”
She applied a burning, herb-scented salve. The discomfort quickly passed, dissolving into the general background of new, strange bodily sensations.

“You know,” Elena said sometime in the middle of the week (Anna had long lost track of the days- there was no point). She sat across from Anna at the kitchen table, running her hand over her own stiff, closely-cropped hair. “I think we’re missing… a symbol. Something that will unite us, but at the same time emphasize our individuality.”

Anna, kneading a piece of warm bread in her fingers, looked up at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look. I have this simple haircut. Practical. No frills. You… you’ve already come a long way. You’ve taken a step towards… your real self. And I appreciate that endlessly. But there’s just a little bit left. To put the final dot.”

She picked up her old smartphone and started scrolling through it with the air of someone seeking inspiration.
“I was looking at you this morning, at your features… Your beauty, Anna, it’s of a special kind. It’s not afraid. It can withstand any, the boldest form. Look.”

She held out the phone. Photos flickered on the screen: girls with completely shaved heads.

“They look… strange,” Anna said hesitantly.
“That’s because you’re used to something else. Take a step forward.”

She said it with such unwavering confidence that Anna’s doubts began to melt, dissolving into the familiar chemical fog of trust. Had Elena ever wished her harm? Hadn’t she pulled her out of that nightmare of emptiness and lies? If Elena saw beauty in this… then she must be right.

“That’s… very bold,” Anna finally breathed out, handing back the phone.
“Exactly,” Elena’s face lit up with a warm, almost rapturous smile. She was already getting the clippers, and her fingers trembled slightly- not from nervousness, but from restrained, feverish anticipation. “And that’s exactly the kind of boldness that suits you. Let’s give you this individuality.”
Anna slowly nodded. Elena patted her on the shoulder, her touch firm, commanding, leaving an imprint.
“Well, let’s go, my beauty. It’s time for your real, final transformation.”

Anna obediently sank into the chair in front of the large, dusty full-length mirror. And even now, after all the experiments – from long-haired Rapunzel to an ultra-short crop- the ghost of her former grandeur was still discernible. Her short black cap, however absurd, lay in thick, shiny hair. Her face, with its clear, noble features, long lashes, and perfect brow line, still resembled a portrait of a heroine from a bygone era. She was beautiful. Beautiful in this simple room. And Elena saw it. And the sight only fueled her resolve, like gasoline poured on a fire.

Draping the old sheet over Anna’s shoulders, Elena turned on quiet, monotonous meditative music on her phone.
Then she picked up the clippers. Without warning, without a word, she placed them against the base of Anna’s skull and pressed firmly, guiding them upward towards the crown.
The loud, merciless buzzing filled the room, drowning out the music. Strands of black, still thick and lively hair fell in tufts onto Anna’s shoulders and the floor, like the petals of a black rose cut down to the root. Her elegant skull, the beautiful shape of her head – all of it was being exposed, becoming vulnerable and frighteningly defenseless.

She shaved it all off, down to the last hair.
Then came the shaving cream. The cold, white mass settled on the shorn skin, turning Anna’s head into an abstract sculpture. Running the razor over the perfectly smooth, pale, moon-like nape of Anna’s neck, Elena experienced a sharp, almost painful spasm of pleasure. A strangled, guttural moan escaped her throat, and the sharp, pungent scent of her arousal hung in the stuffy air of the room. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the wave of convulsive pleasure, born from the act of totally destroying this last bastion of beauty, to wash over her body. But her hand, holding the razor, did not tremble a millimeter.

Having weathered the wave, she continued with fanatical precision, shaving every millimeter. Anna’s head was now completely bare, her pale skin gleaming.
She rubbed the rest of the bare scalp with almond oil, making the bald head shine like wet pebbles.

Aroused Anna, whose body had reacted to Elena’s arousal, silently slid from the chair onto her knees. She didn’t walk; she moved with a smooth, crawling motion until she was between Elena’s spread legs, her face buried in the warm, damp darkness.
She pressed her bare, oil-slicked skull against Elena’s thick, curly pubic mound. The smell was concentrated and simple- sweat, salty skin, and that specific, musky, deeply feminine scent of arousal, which for Anna was now the very smell of power itself. Then she lay back on the floor, as she did every time, assuming a pose of absolute availability, and, tilting her head back, once again found her only goal- the warm, wet cleft between Elena’s full thighs.

Her tongue worked skillfully. The movements were honed to an automatic precision: with a flat, broad stroke she would run the entire length, feeling the muscles quiver beneath her, then the tip of her tongue would find the hard, swollen nub and begin working on it with fanatical, rhythmic constancy, circling, then pressing. She wasn’t just licking- she was absorbing, through taste and smell, the very essence of her mistress: the sour-sweet, thick, animal nectar mixed with soap and sweat. She swallowed her juices, and it was an act of the deepest fusion and submission. And she achieved her goal- she brought Elena to a loud, hoarse, almost angry orgasm that burst into the silence of the room like a moan from the very depths of her fleshy, un-beautiful body.

And then, lying on her back beneath Elena, staring at the ceiling with empty, wet eyes, her lips glistening with Elena’s fluids, Anna herself, without a single touch to herself, solely from the excess of humiliation, complete submission, and this perverted, absolute intimacy, reached a quiet, convulsive peak. Her body arched, her feet pressed into the floor, and a silent, shuddering moan escaped her throat.
A heavy, saturated silence hung in the room, broken only by the ragged breathing of the two women.

The days on the farm blended into a monotonous, dreary ribbon, like a waking dream. Mornings began with the unchanging ritual: Elena, standing behind Anna, would run a razor over her tanned, lightly stubbled scalp. The blade slid with a familiar rustle. Her skin, deprived of the protection of hair and any skincare products, quickly roughened under the sun and wind. An even, dark tan settled on her bald head, making it darker than her face, and her entire body became sprinkled with freckles and fine peeling patches. Her hands, once pampered and delicate, were now covered in scrapes and calluses from working the soil and chopping wood.

After lunch, Anna would sit down with the Mandarin Chinese textbooks.
Elena would immerse herself in her secret affairs.
She would sit for hours at her laptop, connected to the unstable satellite internet, her face in the blue light of the screen seeming carved from stone. She would search intensely for something, browsing sites in German and Russian, scanning chemical formulas and old medical reports. Sometimes she would go into the bedroom for quiet, clipped conversations on a burner phone. Fragments of sentences would reach Anna as she passed by:
“…yes, I understand the risks. But there are no other options.”
“…the money will be transferred upfront. Half.”
“…sterile conditions are mandatory. Otherwise, no deal.”

A cloudless, sultry summer hung in the air outside, but inside the house it was cool and tense. Elena was focused and silent, her gaze even more piercing, obsessed with a single, unrelenting thought.

And then, one evening, after their silent, almost ritualistic coupling- which contained more despair and assertion of power than passion – Elena placed her heavy, warm palm on Anna’s bald, tanned nape. Her touch was not affectionate, but decisive.

“You are ready for the next stage,” she stated in a flat tone that held neither question nor doubt.
She didn’t specify what for. There was no need. Anna, sitting on the floor at her feet, looked up at her- a gaze with slightly regrown eyebrows and short, straight lashes, holding neither fear nor hope, only a certain emptiness.
“The time has come for the next step,” Elena’s voice became serious. She cupped her massive, sagging breasts, the skin covered with stretch marks. “Look at my breasts. Now look at yours.”

Anna lowered her gaze to her own breasts- still high, firm, perfectly shaped; even the newly acquired fullness had only given them more luscious, but still beautiful, contours.
“Will we ever be truly happy,” Elena continued with false sadness, “when there is such a difference between us? Such… injustice?”

“You… you want me to have breasts like yours?” Anna’s voice trembled; for the first time in a long while, a spark of genuine, animal fear broke through.

“No, silly, of course not!” Elena pulled her close, pressing her against her sweaty body. Her breath, smelling of stale food and morning coffee, wafted over Anna’s face. “We are the same but different… remember? I was thinking… Since my breasts are so big, but, alas, not perfect, maybe yours should be different? Not like all those dolls’. Smaller. More delicate. So your nipples are always aroused, like a young girl’s. Isn’t it so beautiful – to preserve something youthful in yourself forever?”

“You want to… remove my breasts?” Anna whispered, her fingers instinctively clenching.

“No!” Elena pulled her into a kiss again, their tongues entwining in a wet, desperate dance. “I love you. But… I think an A cup… would be ideal. Small, delicate. Later, when you gain a bit more weight, they’ll swell too. Otherwise, they’ll just sag and end up like mine. Think about it, my love. All day. It will be your gift to me.”

And Anna thought. All day, carrying water from the well and weeding the garden beds, she thought. She looked at her breasts when washing from the basin. Yes, they were magnificent. But Elena was right- time was merciless. In five, ten years, they would sag, like everyone’s. And a reduction surgery… it wasn’t the same as having no breasts. And like this… like this, she would become different. The thought that her small breasts would arouse Elena caused a surge of strange, perverted anticipation within her.

By evening, when the sun had set below the horizon, she found Elena and said quietly:
“Okay. I agree.”

Elena’s reaction was thunderous. She was seized by a real storm. It wasn’t just sex, but a mad, cruel orgy where pain, power, relief, and triumph all mixed. After multiple orgasms, when their bodies were covered in sweat and saliva, Elena was overcome by one last, darkest wave of ecstasy.

She pushed Anna away, her eyes wild. And instead of the usual act of urination, with a low, animal moan, she did something else. Thick, dark, foul-smelling feces burst from her and splattered directly onto Anna’s face, covering her mouth, nose, and cheeks.

And the inexplicable happened. Instead of disgust, vomiting, or screaming, Anna froze for a second, and then her face twisted into a grimace of incredible, transcendent pleasure.

Without washing it off, she began to rub the warm, sticky excrement over her face, over her oil-slicked skull, over her neck and chest, massaging it into her skin as if it were a precious ointment. She did this with a blissful, mad smile, muttering something unintelligible, until she collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of her own humiliation and stinking filth, where she fell into a happy, serene sleep of complete self-destruction.

Morning began with an annoying, tormenting itch all over her body. Her skin, irritated by the caustic feces, was red and covered with small, inflamed pimples, including on her face, which had once been flawless. Anna hastily washed with ice-cold water from the well, but the feeling of dirt and defilement, mixed with the previous day’s ecstasy, did not go away.

She mechanically prepared a hearty breakfast, the way Elena liked it, and set out the razor and gel on the small table – the tools for their daily painful ritual. After eating, Elena, satisfied, reached for her and pressed a long, wet kiss to her lips. Anna responded with her usual submission.

Finished with the shaving and having drawn two unnaturally thin, surprised-looking black half-circles where her eyebrows used to be, Anna tried to put on her old jeans. But her body, fattened on simple, greasy food, had changed. The seams dug into her fuller hips. With a soft sigh, she put on a shapeless skirt and Elena’s tunic. The fabric was coarse, but it carried the soothing, powerful scent of her mistress – a mix of sweat, skin, and cheap laundry detergent.

The wait wasn’t long. Elena, working through the darknet, found what she was looking for: a surgeon, stripped of his license for negligence, but still able to hold a scalpel. He wasn’t interested in questions; he was interested in the large sum transferred to a crypto wallet.

The operation took place in a back room of an abandoned veterinary clinic. The last thing Anna remembered before sinking into anesthesia was the touch of her own, still full and firm breasts.

She woke up back at the farm, in her bed. Elena’s familiar face, lit by a dim lamp, was leaning over her. Its expression was triumphant.

“The operation was a success,” Elena’s voice sounded moist and joyful. “Everything went very quickly. The stitches will be quite small, almost unnoticeable. You did well, my girl.”

The pain was dull and distant, muted by painkillers. Anna recovered quickly, and that evening Elena celebrated with a new form of intimacy. She was surprisingly gentle, almost tender, entering her with a lubricated dildo, avoiding pressure so as not to disturb the healing stitches.
On the third day, Elena removed the bandages. The sight was shocking, but not as terrible as Anna had feared.
The surgeon hadn’t removed everything completely. Something remained—two small,  breasts.

Elena stood nearby, holding her own massive, sagging “pancakes.”
“Look at us, Anna,” she whispered, and in her voice was an almost religious solemnity. “We’re different… but we’re getting closer and closer. The same. Our hairstyles. Now our breasts. Remember what they were like… and what they’ve become.”
Her fingers softly traced the new, truncated contours of Anna’s body, and then her own.
“We still have a little more… just a little… until complete union.”

Anna looked in the mirror at her reflection: a bald head, a solid body in baggy clothes, and now—childish, absurd breasts.

And beside her – radiant Elena. And at that moment, the serum, reality, and madness finally wove together. But Anna saw something completely different- a real woman, not a walking sex doll.
She nodded, and her hand reached for Elena’s.
“Yes,” Anna said simply. “I’m becoming real.”

A month passed like one long, dusty day. The memory of her former life, her former body, faded with each sunrise. Anna could barely remember the feeling of the weight of her former breasts, their firmness. Her new body, hardened by work, burned by the sun, and stripped of feminine curves, was becoming more angular and strong. Her shoulders had broadened, biceps were visible under her tanned skin, and the absence of breasts and her shaved head made her silhouette from a distance almost masculine.

After a hearty breakfast of fatty scrambled eggs with bacon and fried bread- food that continued to fill Anna’s body with soft fullness- the usual morning ritual followed. Anna knelt on the cold kitchen floor.

Her progress in Chinese was astonishing. Anna could now read simple texts, and the characters, which had once seemed like chaotic scribbles, now formed meanings. Her brain, deprived of external distractions- social media, calls from her agent, socialite bustle – and directed by Elena’s will towards solving a single task, demonstrated a frightening efficiency. Everything not focused on physical labor or servitude went into these strange symbols.

“Confucius said: ‘If you make a mistake and do not correct it, that is the real mistake,'” she read aloud while Anna traced characters in her notebook. “Your former life, your actions- that was a mistake. And what you and I are doing right now is precisely correcting it.”

Another favorite quote was: “The noble man is ashamed when his words do not match his deeds.”
“You made promises to sick children and didn’t keep them. Your words turned out to be empty. Now your task is to make sure your deeds, even if belated, finally correspond to… higher justice.”
Anna listened and mechanically repeated the characters. Every word from Elena, reinforced by the chemicals and her absolute power over Anna’s reality, seemed like an indisputable truth.

One day after the morning “meditation” – which was in fact a session of quiet suggestion under the mask with remnants of the serum – Elena asked softly:
“Darling, wouldn’t you like us to have a shared mark? Not a tattoo forever, no. But something like… a seal of our union in this new incarnation?”

In Anna’s eyes, still clouded by the gas, a shadow of the old animal fear flickered- an instinctive revulsion to indelible change of her body. Elena caught it instantly.

“I understand, it’s frightening,” she immediately changed her tone to a soothing one, running her hand over Anna’s bald nape. “It’s like that first character that seemed like a scary scribble to you. And now you know it. We can start small. With something temporary. There are inks like that; they last six months, a year, and then they fade and disappear. I’m a bit of a chemist and I understand this. I promise – I’ll choose a composition that will be safe. And then you can decide for yourself – keep it temporarily, or permanently. If you want. It’s just… a sign of our path right now. A reminder.”

The idea of something temporary, not final, calmed Anna.
“What could it be?” she asked quietly.
“A short phrase: ‘Eternal union in this body, in this life.’ So that every time you look at it, you remember you are not alone.”

Anna, after a pause, nodded.
“Yes. Let it be so.”

But where one mark appears, others soon follow. Elena’s artistic education, long forgotten, found its application. First, she applied that very phrase in an elegant script to the inside of Anna’s wrist. Then more and more.

She worked with grim, focused inspiration. Almost every day a new tattoo appeared- sometimes over an old one, but more often, increasing the quantity. Anna seemed to have fallen into a state of apathy or mild euphoria from the process. She regarded the new marks on her body with detached interest, as if it were not her body, but a canvas on which her mistress was learning painting.

One evening, after another round of sex, Elena, studying Anna’s perfectly smooth, tanned skull, whispered passionately:
“Your skull… needs to be decorated.”

Summer was already ending.

The thought of that Polish girl wouldn’t leave Anna’s head. One day, when Elena had gone to town, she decided to dial the number again.
“Hello, how is your daughter doing?” she inquired politely.
On the other end, a man’s voice began to cry.
“Our girl is no longer with us. The disease beat her.”
Anna was stunned. It had never occurred to her that even with all possible treatment, the disease could win.
“I’m so sorry. Is there any way I can help you?” Anna said, struggling to find the words.
“No, thank you. Although wait- yes, you can. If you have the means- look online. Maybe there are some startups that could improve early-stage diagnostics. Maybe that will save someone. That’s all. Nothing else is needed.”
The call ended.
Anna was deeply saddened.

Elena, upon returning, thought it was related to her, and therefore decided to ease the intensity. All week, she treated her with as much kindness as possible, subjecting her to no violence. They walked together and discussed various things. Elena unexpectedly noticed to herself that Anna no longer seemed so hateful to her. That’s why that evening, she opened Sarah’s photo once more, to feed on hatred.

“Anna, why have you never thought about piercings?” Elena asked one evening, studying her profile by the light of the lamp. “It can be beautiful. I’m reminded of Indian women – how beautiful they are with their ornaments.”

Anna, sitting on the floor sorting through flashcards with characters, looked up.
“It’s certainly beautiful, but wouldn’t it hurt?”
“Pain is just fear,” Elena countered, her voice calm and reasonable. “And forever… Our skin is elastic enough. Remember your ears- how often you had to re-pierce them so they wouldn’t close up. But you liked wearing those cute Cartier earrings. Why not try a little stud with a pretty stone in your nose, or a ring in your navel?”

There was no pressure in her tone, only observation. Anna thought about it, her fingers reaching for her earlobe, where Cartier earrings had once hung.
“So… what would you suggest?”
“Let’s start with a stud. And get your earrings back. Some large hoops would look magnificent with your beautiful head.”

And Anna, after a brief silence, nodded.

The changes happened quickly.
Elena ordered sterile needles and jewelry through her dark channels.
Naturally, it didn’t stop at just a nose stud. On her face, she got a septum piercing, and the holes in her ears were stretched into tunnels.
But below – barbells in her nipples, and numerous rings in her labia.

But this no longer seemed to bother Anna. She worked in the garden, ate well, and enjoyed having sex with Elena, including pissing and ” hot Karl”.
She felt no rejection of her appearance: a full, bald, tall young woman, covered in tattoos, with small breasts for her proportions.
So when Elena said that her completely shaved, tanned skull looked unnatural and needed decorating, Anna agreed instantly.
A tattoo of a dragon’s head appeared on Anna’s scalp. On one hand, it creatively combined with the characters and piercings already on Anna’s body; on the other—well, why think about what was?
The former beauty was gone.

And from that day on, they had a new tradition. Every evening, Elena, standing over the kneeling Anna, would slowly and ritually empty her bladder onto the dragon’s head. The warm stream would flow down the blue and red scales, washing away the day’s dust.

Elena looked at her creation with cold satisfaction. The revenge was almost complete. She just had to wait for the final act, and then she would throw this bitch back into high society, let them devour her. They don’t tolerate those who stumble; they’re all predators and moral degenerates there.
Anna’s smile had been the last fortress Elena conquered in her stage of destruction.

And Elena had thought of everything. It was no accident that she had insisted Anna crack nuts with her teeth instead of using nutcrackers. “It’s better for your gums,” she’d said. The hard shell methodically traumatized the gum at the base of her two upper front teeth. First came slight soreness, then light bleeding. Nothing serious; it would have healed in a couple of days. If not for Elena, who carefully, with a cotton swab, for several evenings in a row, applied a caustic substance into the micro-tear in the gum. It worked slowly, painlessly, killing the tooth from within.

One morning, when Anna bit into a hard apple, she felt not pain, but a strange emptiness and the taste of blood in her mouth. The two upper incisors remained embedded in the flesh of the fruit.

With a stunned look, she ran to Elena, her mouth agape.
“Look… they… fell out…”
Elena, putting on a concerned face, peered inside carefully.
“Oh, darling… Apparently your gums weakened from a lack of vitamins. Or an old injury resurfaced. It happens. Nothing terrible. Many people live without front teeth. It even… adds character. Makes the face more expressive, memorable.”
But… I won’t leave you without teeth.
Anna smiled happily, because Elena would help here too.

The effect was horrifying. The Hollywood smile now had a black, gaping hole in the center. When Anna tried to smile or simply open her mouth, it came out as an ugly, toothless gape.
Her diction deteriorated significantly, but-at the same time- her tongue work in their sex life improved; it became more flexible, gaining more ability to please her mistress.

Elena didn’t want Anna to look like a drug addict. So she had ordered, in advance through the same dark channels from a workshop in Karachi, a crude but functional dental bridge. It was made of steel, with removable veneers in tooth color.
After the bridge was fitted, it was easy for Elena to convince Anna to have the veneers put on as well.
Now, when Anna smiled, it looked like her mouth was full of metal.

Elena led her to the mirror.
“Finally,” she whispered, hugging Anna from behind and looking at their shared reflection. “Now you are perfect.”

Elena’s revenge was complete.

One final move remained. She needed to gradually distance herself from Anna, return some of her independence, and disappear to another country. Surely the appearance of such a transformed Anna would arouse public interest- she remembered how Britney Spears simply shaving her head had caused months of media coverage. And there would certainly be those who would want to dig for the truth.
Besides, Anna had grown tiresome to Elena- it’s one thing when you’re fulfilling all your secret desires with a beautiful woman, and quite another when it’s already a transformed slave, especially once the revenge is complete.

And so, while pondering her exit strategy, Elena unexpectedly received news that frightened her: on her laptop keyboard, a handwritten letter awaited her.

“Hello, Elena. You don’t know me. I am a colleague and friend of the late Kurt Schmidt, whose belongings you acquired. I know you have unlocked the secret of the capsules. For the past few months, I have watched you… experimenting with a certain model, satisfying your wild erotic fantasies. There is no other way to achieve such an effect without using the serum.
I visited your home but did not find Kurt’s diary with the final synthesis stages. I saw some equipment that tells me you tried to synthesize the serum, but I’m sure you failed.
Alas, to be frank: My partners are in a hurry, and I have little time.
I propose a deal: separately we are powerless, but together we have the beginning and the end of the formula. You will perfect my intermediate product, and I will perfect yours. The entire volume- split fifty-fifty. And to remove any temptation to deceive me using the capsule, I inform you: unlike you, I have an antidote.
You have 24 hours to respond. After that, I will take measures. My temporary phone number is attached to the underside of the table. Schultz”

Elena didn’t need an hour. The threat of an antidote was effective. Its existence meant the possibility that this stranger, Schultz, had already saturated her house with the antidote, and the spell was about to break. Or worse – had used the serum on her long ago. She didn’t know if she was under its influence or not.
The only possible thought- why hadn’t he drugged her and simply extracted the formula? Perhaps not enough time had passed.

The decision was made. She found the phone under the table and dialed the number.

That evening, after Anna had pleasured her once again, Elena announced with slight sadness:
“Darling, a great trial awaits us. I must help others clear their minds too, and for that, we need to part. I’ll buy you a ticket to your villa in the Bahamas, so you can be alone for a while. And in the meantime, I’ll go far, far away.”

Anna began to cry. Elena hugged her and tried to comfort her.
“I’ll write to you, and maybe we’ll meet again. Besides, it’s not tomorrow; we still have three days,” Elena said.
“But I don’t need the Bahamas,” Anna said, after crying it out. “Nothing is keeping me there.
I didn’t want to tell you, but I sold my villa, my yacht, and my apartment. You were right- money changes people, makes them worse than animals. People start to absolutize its possession, and they become easy to manipulate into doing terrible things.”

And Anna told the stunned Elena that after that call to the father of the deceased Polish girl, she had followed his advice.
She had found a number of startups and started funneling funding to them. It turned out that many promising developments were denied funding. The reason was simple. Big Pharma finds it more profitable to treat advanced stages rather than early ones: human nature is such that people are willing to pay any price for relief from suffering and life extension if the threat is serious enough. Sometimes the invention itself already exists, but clinical trials or registration are lacking. That’s who Anna started helping, making direct investments on the condition that the patents and licenses would be free to use, and the developers would receive fixed compensation from the fund’s resources. This required a lot of money, so she had to donate almost all her funds.

But Anna was happy- she still had future royalty participation in film projects, and she could support the projects for some time. She confessed to Elena what she already knew- that previously, the money raised for oncology she had appropriated for herself.
And now she was happy that she had managed to overcome her greed and avarice and was truly doing good.

Saying this, Anna laughed and took a sip of tea (as usual, laced with the mind-altering substance).

And Elena thought that the Creator had indeed made her an instrument of justice: turning a bitch into a righteous woman. And probably, Anna had now atoned for all her guilt, giving the world more than she had taken from it.

Elena made a decision.
“Anna, you’re amazing for telling me all this. I think we need to travel to the remote places of Southern China and spend time with the monks.”

One Year Later

Switzerland, Lucerne. At a small table near the monument to the Swiss Guard sat two people. An elegant elderly man and a young woman whose features were the result of brilliant surgery and the power of the serum turned upon herself. She had made herself fall in love with her own new image – pretty, stylish, turning heads on the streets, somewhat reminiscent of Audrey Tautou in her youth.

On the cafe’s television, a press conference was showing of the actress Anna Kovalska, who had disappeared a year ago. She had changed significantly over the past year: long hair replaced by a stylish short cut, the thinness gone, and the shape of her breasts somewhat altered. But this was no longer the cold beauty of before, but rather a friendly charm that put people at ease.
She announced that thanks to her friend, she had re-evaluated her attitude towards life, and now her foundation would be more transparent and would change its aid priorities. She also stated that the foundation’s core funding would come from her own fees, and she urged other celebrities not to be slaves to their money.
At the end of her striking press conference, she concluded with a wish for everyone, quoting a French writer: “Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.”

After listening to the press conference, adjusting her flowing pixie cut, Elena (for it was she) smiled at her companion.

“How did you manage to fix everything?” her companion asked.
“Oh, laser resurfacing erased the scars, surgeons corrected my breasts, and skilled implants replaced the lost teeth. The tattoos faded on their own—regular baths and massage were enough; the weight- a balanced diet and exercise; and the hair- it grew back on its own.”

“Well, Herr Schultz,” Elena said, switching the conversation to business mode, “I am more than satisfied with our collaboration. I propose we continue: you sell the capsules to politicians and tycoans, and I’ll synthesize new batches… and enjoy life.”
“Agreed, beautiful Elena,” Schultz said, almost without flattery. “The Russians were more than pleased with their influence over a certain American businessman and would like to continue cooperating, and will guarantee our safety in every way, so each of us can do as we wish. Don’t look at me as if I’m a monster—when Kurt and I deceived the Stasi and gained influence over a certain Soviet politician, we also thought everything would be fine. But it turned out the way it did. I hope you know what you’re doing. But remember the old truth: power corrupts…”

“And absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Elena finished for him. Her gaze glided over the well-groomed streets of Lucerne. “I know. But I managed to slip out of that trap. Now I have experience. And in this world… there are so many bitches who deserve a lesson.”

In her bottomless hazel eyes, Schultz caught that familiar gleam, known from old photographs of fanatics- the fire of hell. Only now it burned in the face of an angel.

The game was far from over.

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Greetings, reader.

I’m pleased you’ve stuck with me this far – it tells me you’ve read what came before.

I hope I’ve lived up to your expectations and you’re not walking away disappointed.

If the story did leave you wanting, my apologies.

Either way, feel free to leave a comment below or email me at [email protected].