Chapter 3: Just the Facts

Sean's cell phone rang. He answered and heard the brief message.

"This is 27. You must obey Dominica. Execute protocol 77."

He replied, "I must obey Dominica. It will be done." Then he disconnected, and one by one, he selected two speed dial numbers. For each one, he waited for an answer, then relayed the message. "This is 27. You must obey Dominica. Execute protocol 77." From the other end came the reply, "I must obey Dominica. It will be done."

Thus, one slave called two. And two slaves called four. And soon, over 500 slaves were notified. Notified that an investigation needed to be made. Facts needed to be found.

Sean made another phone call, to the "Rest and Re-Creation" spa he had visited before, and he made an appointment for the next day. For a haircut, and for an hour in the "decompression chamber." As a service manager, his schedule was flexible -- unlike many others. Not all of them would be making appointments for the next day, or even two. But within the week, all 483 of the franchises across the country would be visited, by one of MzDominica's slaves. By a slave who had been captured by her Voice, and the slow dripping of Her pee into his mouth.

The name "Sean" hardly meant anything to him now. He was simply one of Dominica's slaves, continually obsessed with serving Her... with returning to Her farming community, up in the mountains -- Her Realm. Aching for that state of complete mindlessness that took away all responsibility, all care, all thought. The slave found his cock getting hard again, as he recalled guiding a plow across a field, feeling with every step the soft skin of Mistress thighs, seeing Her eyes glowing, staring into his. He smiled, knowing he would soon have time for a short vacation, and could drive up there to serve Her again.

But for now, he was Sean -- and he had already forgotten about the phone message. At least, his conscious mind was unaware of it. He knew simply that his hair was getting a little shaggy, and some time in "the tank" would be a nice, relaxing break from his daily routine.

The waterfall was huge. Like a panorama of Niagara Falls, that Sean had seen in photographs -- except all the "water" was yellow. Second by second, millions of gallons of MzDominica's pee rushed down between the river banks, flowed over the lip of an unseen cliff, and cascaded through the air a thousand feet to the river below. Sean inhaled the scent, a smell at once pungent and aromatic -- as though Mistress' pee had been mixed with a perfume, sweet and flowery. Like lilacs. So strange. He breathed slowly and deeply, unable to get enough of the sharp, florid scent. And his mouth felt so wet. Saliva threatened to dribble down his chin, if he allowed his excitement to make him lose control and open his mouth -- open it to pant, gasping for air, because he was so aroused. Needing to breathe, inhale the scent of Mistress' pee and open his mouth to swallow. To kneel at the base of the waterfall, lean his head back, and feel Mistress' urine force itself between his open lips, down his throat, into his belly. Filling him. So warm. Sticky like syrup. Slick, like water. Yellow and acrid and flowery. Sean began to shake. To shiver. Craving to open his mouth. Craving to open it wide -- and drink, drink, drink, feeling Mistress' pee flow into him, gallon after gallon, while he knelt in a river of Her pee, washed in Her yellow fluids, wet and mindless, and shaking with ecstasy.

"Hold still a moment," Soleil said, snipping around Sean's ears, trying to get that perfect, rounded cut, shaping his hair as she did, so carefully.

Sean opened his eyes, but still felt like he was wet, drifting... streams of yellow fluid washing past his arms, his chest, his legs. He looked up at the hair dresser, shaking a little because a woman had given him a command. Only one woman really mattered in his life, but Sean's conditioning had made him so obedient to ALL women, he looked up at Soleil adoringly, helplessly -- even though she was only nineteen, and a little ditzy.

The hairdresser caught his gaze for a moment -- he looked so sweet and helpless and cute! What was it about the guys who came for haircuts in this place? They were all like such helpless little puppy dogs! She wanted to cuddle him and hug him, and take him home! Soleil suddenly blushed, when she realized that her panties felt warm and wet, and she realized what she wanted to do with this little puppy, sitting in the barber chair before her. She covered by reaching down to the table for the hand mirror, and lifting it in front of the guy's face. "There, how does that look?" she asked -- feeling her nipples harden even as she spoke. Oh, he looked so adorable!

Sean gazed into the mirror, not quite seeing himself. Thinking only of the huge waterfall of Mistress' pee, and gazing up into Her eyes as he knelt at Her feet, face uplifted, mouth open. Awaiting Her pleasure. Awaiting Her liquid blessing. He found it so very hard to bring himself to the present, to pretend to inspect his haircut, lift a hand and brush it over one side. "Looks good," he muttered, hoping he wouldn't need to say anything more cogent.

Soleil smiled, disengaging from the guy's puppy dog gaze. "Looks good," they ALL said. Yes, men WERE all alike! Oh, but for a moment there, "all alike" meant helpless little puppies, and she had wanted to take care of this one so much! Soleil quieted her breathing... paused a moment... then turned and undid the safety pin at the guy's neck, then whipped the little barber sheet away, smiling her usual plastic smile -- the one that seemed to bring the biggest tips. "Thank you," she said, "I'm glad you like it!" Before the guy could reply, Soleil felt -- rather than saw -- the receptionist just behind her.

"Sean?" the receptionist said, "You're in luck! We've had a cancellation. If you'd like, we can put you in the decompression chamber right away!"

Sean looked from one woman to the other, still so deep in his pee fantasy, he was not sure who had spoken. "That would be great," he replied. He stood up, in a daze, and followed the woman with the little clip board.

Soleil watched as the receptionist led her customer toward the back hallway, pouting a little. Another moment, and she would have been able to stroke his cheek before he stood up -- pretending to straighten a stray hair or two. That almost always brought an extra dollar tip. Now, she could only hope he would even remember her, when he signed the credit slip. She smiled a little, though, remembering that puppy dog look, and the tightness of her nipples -- as she brushed off the barber chair, and straightened up things, preparing for her next customer.