He walked down the cellar stairs, keeping his eyes rooted firmly on the floor a the bottom of the stairs and unable to fully believe he knew what was about to happen. He woke up from sleep just a few minutes ago, right out of an incredibly realistic dream. Nothing didn’t make sense, nothing transitioned strangely...almost as if it wasn’t a dream at all. But when he opened his eyes after the not-dream, he was possessed of a new...knowledge. A knowledge he was entirely confident in, even if that itself was hard to believe.

As he reached the end of the cellar stairs, the normal damp-cellar-with-an-oil-furnace smells were joined by something, by a fragrance, subtle but definite. He turned his head to the left, where he he knew they would be.

They were.

Two females, one smaller than the other. Both standing, side by side and facing him, arms behind their backs. Black hoods over their heads. Dressed identically, tight white crop tops and pleated plaid skirts reaching their mid-thigh. He knew that their arms had been bound with duct tape, though he could not see it. He knew that under their hoods, each was wearing a collar. He knew the smaller female’s collar was a deep brown, and the larger female’s collar was a solid black. Each collar two fingers wide, soft and conditioned leather, with a solid steel ring riveted to the front center. That ring now attached to a heavy chain. That chain attached to a steel plate anchored into the ceiling with four fat bolts.

Just as he took this in, he thought about how he knew each collar was padlocked in back. How the keys were right where he would have put them if he had ever seen them before, right on his keyring next to his car keys.

How the smaller one was named Shelly, how she was 19 years old, how she had mousy brown hair cut just under her ears under that hood. Her measurements? 30E-22-32. Weight? 120. Height? 5 feet, two inches. Favorite foods, the time she broke her arm in sixth grade, whether she preferred her toilet paper to run over the top or underneath...all of it was just...there, accessible. He grinned when he thought about how she had just left an abusive relationship and had been raped several times in the past.

He looked at the other female and marveled as the same information presented itself. Some of it, he knew, came from what he started thinking of as his traditional memory – from experiences, conversations, things he had read. The remainder came from this newfound collective of knowledge, this brand-new, completely comfortable, strangely appropriate, and entirely weird new place in his head.

Alisha was 5’9” and weighed 140 pounds. She was curvy and built to be fucked, measuring 36F-24-36. Her curly black hair was currently secured with a simple black elastic hair tie; had it not been, he would have been able to see it reach her upper back from under the hood. Her knew her fears, both those she had told him and those she held back. He knew how fiercely she wanted to avoid feeling the stabbing pains of isolation and betrayal, and how gut-wrenchingly awful it would feel when her desperate attempts to cling to companionship and external emotional validation ultimately failed. And the world would have failed her again, just as she knew it would. He thought of the Greek myth of Sisyphus, forever rolling his boulder up the hill and his smile widened.

“Good morning, girls.”

Shelly whimpered. His smile disappeared.

“GOOD MORNING, GIRLS,” he shouted.

Shelly shrieked a brief shriek.

“Good morning,” in a tone he could only identify as hateful, came out of Alisha.

He walked up to Alisha. He heard her breath quicken and his cock stiffened. He punched her in the stomach, knocking her off her feet. Stepping back, he smiled again as he watched her choke and struggle to regain her footing, his cock straining against his underwear. His otherwordly confidence in the new information in his head was amazing to him, even as he trusted it completely.

“Once more,” he said, in a pleasant tone. Alisha got back on her feet. “Good morning, girls!”

“Good morning,” they squeaked out in ragged unison. Shelly squeaked because she was afraid; Alisha squeaked because she was still regaining her breath.

“I own you now. You’re mine. My possessions. My slaves. To be used as I see fit. You now exist to serve me. I expect obedience and anything else will result in punishment. No one will be looking for you. No one will ever notice any noises coming from this apartment, and you wouldn’t be able to make it off the front porch. One of you will try, I’m sure. I’m also sure the other won’t afterward.”

He thought fondly of the gravitric inversion field surrounding the apartment, calculated precisely to the exterior dimensions. He wondered how far the first one would get before the pain from her cellular destruction turned her around. Sherry wouldn’t try it, he decided. Alisha, however...Alisha was used to pain. She was determined. But she was also in recovery; she had a long history of serious drug use, going back to her early teens. That history of substance use suggested a person who would seek immediate relief from distress. She would try once, but she would submit after that, he thought.

“I’ll be conditioning each of you to serve me. You’ll each be responsible for cleaning, laundry, and cooking. You’ll be sexually available to me at all times. You don’t need to pretend to like it – in fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

He thought of their faces, hidden under the hoods. He wondered what they were thinking, what expressions they had on their faces. Alisha was traditionally pretty, bright blue eyes and a delicate note, soft lips he couldn’t wait to feel wrapped around his cock. She was prone to anger and was certainly furious at the moment. Shelly was much more timid, with low self-esteem. While her body was amazing, fit and trim and with an incredible set of tits, she was far from beautiful. A overly large nose and somewhat intense eyebrows detracted from what were otherwise cute features. He knew he wouldn’t need a paper bag, but he also knew that those features had contributed to a lifetime of self-degradation and devaluation. He could almost taste the self-loathing.

He stepped forward and grabbed a hood in each hand. Stepping backward, he pulled them both off simultaneously.

They blinked their eyes rapidly, shielding their faces with their hands as they adjusted to the light. As their eyes focused on him, they developed a similar shocked expression.