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The Last Climax

By: RamonaE



"You're a spy?" Jenna Lancer gasped.

Her mother Lana sighed and shook her head. "Say it a bit more loudly, I think the couple at the back table might not have heard.

Less than half an hour earlier Jenna Lancer had looked up as her mother entered the Parisian restaurant. It was as predictable as the sunrise: every male head , and most female ones, turned to stare openly at the statuesque brunette. A few months past forty, Lana Lancer looked a decade younger except for the mature, amused twinkle in her brown eyes. Her dark hair bounced on her bare shoulders as she strode through the crowd, the strapless formal gown worn as easily as a worn pair of sweats and a favorite t-shirt.

Jenna was no slouch in the loveliness department herself, having inherited her mother's height and curves and her father's blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. But growing up in the long-distance shadow of such an acknowledged beauty had left her with a serious inferiority complex where her mother was concerned. Even in the classic evening gown she now wore, she felt like a dumpy kid.

But all of that paled next to her mother's confession that her career as an entertainment journalist had been nothing but a cover for her clandestine, government-agent activities.

"You are kidding me," Jenna said more softly. "Tell me you're kidding."

"I am not," Lana said seriously. "You're twenty years old now, old enough to come to Paris on your own. That's why I'm telling you. All those times I was away from home and didn't return your calls, it was because I was on assignment."

Jenna shook her head as the waiter deposited fresh drinks. When he'd gone, she whispered, "I don't believe it."

"I can't prove it, obviously. But I have clearance to share this information with you. The world is full of evil people, Jenna. People who hate America and everything it stands for, and especially hate American women. What I've uncovered and helped stop would give you nightmares for life."

"And you think that makes it all right that you essentially abandoned me?" She took an angry swallow of her drink, bigger than she would normally, as if to show her mother how grown she was.

Lana sipped her own drink. "No, I don't think so. I'm not trying to make excuses, but to explain why—" Suddenly she stopped and looked at the glass. "I didn't order a drink. Did you?"

Jenna shook her head. "No."

Lana stared at the glass. "We have to get out of...." Her words trailed off, and she stared straight ahead, blinking furiously but otherwise absolutely still.

Jenna said, "Mom, what's wrong?" Except she didn't say it. She formed the words in her brain, but her lips simply wouldn't move. Nor would her hands, or her legs , or anything. She was paralyzed, immobile where she sat. Around them, dinner conversation in the crowded restaurant went on obliviously.

A man sat down with them. Neither woman could turn their head to see him clearly. "Ladies, you will respond to no one but me," he said in a flat, accentless voice. "When I stand, you will do likewise and follow me in silence from this restaurant to the car outside, where you will get in, close your eyes and sit quietly until I give you more instructions."

He stood. Lana and Jenna did as well, following him obediently, every man envying the one who was walking out with the two beautiful American women.

The walk was short, but long enough for Lana to comprehend what had happened. Their drinks had been delivered when she was distracted by her daughter's disbelief, and now both of them had been poisoned with something that deadened their voluntary responses. They were compelled to respond to commands, but could initiate no movement on their own. It was like being held in an invisible straightjacket.

In the car the man said, "Until I tell you otherwise, I want each of you to recall the most intense sexual experience of your lives. It will be all you can think about."

He sat back and watched the women as their faces, eyes closed and immobile, grew flushed with memory. Both began to breath heavily, and sweat beaded on their necks and shoulders. Jenna whimpered slightly.

Lana found herself recalling her last night with Gerard, her French lover and fellow agent. Her hands tied behind her back, her body smeared with oil and sweat, she'd been taken from behind while two other couples made love on either side of her. She met the eyes of the other women, and saw in them a mirror of her own experience. Watching another woman come was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced.

Jenna's memories were of sex in the shower with Kyle, her first boyfriend. It had been two years ago, six weeks after he'd taken her virginity, and they had enjoyed fumbling teen explorations of their sexuality ever sense. Now as she clung to him, water splashing down, he managed to hit just the right spot and she experienced her first orgasm that didn't involve her own hand.

Finally the man said, "Back to the moment, ladies, and open your eyes."

Lana and Jenna did as instructed. Both were red with shame, and their faces gleamed with perspiration. They were in a limousine, parked in the dark somewhere. Across from them was the man who had spoken, sharp-featured with black hair and a scar under one eye. He said, "You will follow me inside without a word, and stand silently where I indicate." With that he opened the door and held it for them. 

Lana could not look behind her to see Jenna. She heard her daughter's heels click on the cold concrete as they crossed what she assumed was an empty warehouse floor. They entered the brightly-lit but otherwise empty offices, where the scarred man said, "Stop. Jenna, stand beside your mother."

The girl moved into the designated position. Both women stared straight ahead, their expressions neutral. Inside each was screaming their rage.

The man moved into their field of vision. "Lana Lancer," he said with smug amusement. "The woman who destroyed my whole facility in Malaysia. Who arranged to have my main source of certain chemicals mysteriously blown up. And who I've had to endure on television for night after night, knowing you were behind it but being unable to touch you. Until now." 

With that he reached out and cupped her left breast through her dress. Lana's eyes blazed with helpless fury.

"And the apple, as they say, doesn't fall far from the tree. Hello, Jenna." He ran his finger along the neckline of her dress, brazenly jiggling her breasts.

Lana made a soft, keening sound. The man looked surprised. "Well. That is impressive. You should be unable to make any noise at all, and yet you manage that. Your will power is simply astounding." 

The man turned to Jenna. "And you, my dear. Face the wall."

Jenna did, and felt the zipper on her dress slide down to the small of her back. "Take off your dress now," she was instructed, and feeling utterly ashamed she did so, revealing her bare back to him. She wore a lacy black thong and nothing else except her high heels. Please don't make me turn around, she thought desperately. Please, no, don't make me...

"Turn around," he said.

She did as instructed. Bare-breasted, her dark nipples hard from fright, she felt herself flush red across her neck and shoulders. The man said, "Unzip your mother's dress."

Humiliated by the way her exposed breasts swayed when she moved, Jenna stepped behind her mother and ran the zipper down her spine. Her mother wore a black strapless bra beneath the dress, black panties and hose. The dress slid down to her feet under its own weight. Her body, tan and muscular, gleamed with sweat.

"My, this will be fun," the man said. "You'll excuse me while I make the final arrangements. Once that door closes, you're free to move and speak, except that you cannot touch that door." He gathered their dresses. "When the door opens, you will return to this spot and stand in silence." He left, holding the door open for what seemed like forever to the immobile women. Then he closed it firmly.

"Ahhhhh!" Jenna screamed, covering her breasts and crouching. "What have they done to us?" Tears ran down her face.

Lana strode immediately toward the door, but stopped a yard from it. Try as she might, she could not make herself touch it. "Fuck!" she yelled, fists clenched, and paced around the room looking for another way out.

As she moved she said, "We've been drugged. It deadens our will. We have to do what they say, feel what they tell us to feel." The baseboards were solid, and the ceiling panels were too high to reach. Perhaps with help, though, she could get up into them and manage to escape. "Look, I need you to help me get into the ceiling."

"They took our clothes!" Jenna sobbed. "They saw me naked!"

Lana knelt and grabbed a handful of her daughter's hair. "Listen to me, Jenna. What they've done so far is nothing compared to what they *can* do to us. This is the kind of thing I've been fighting, and now it's got us both. Now help me, before it's too late!"

At that moment the door opened again, and like two toys both women stood and silently resumed their side-by-side position, blank expressions on their faces. The scarred man said, "Follow me," and they fell into step behind him.

The hallway was dark, but a room at the far end blazed with light from an open door. When they entered, they saw it was a studio of some sort, with two digital video cameras on tripods and several sets of lights. Three men and a woman, dressed in casual professional clothes, watched with cool indifference. "Stop," he commanded, and the two women did as ordered.

He faced Lana. "I could kill you. Or I could have you on your knees, sucking my cock. Or on your back, legs spread for me. That was my original plan, actually. But finding your daughter with you has changed things. Two beautiful, helpless women, and me with a video crew on hand." 

He ran his fingertip along the waistband of Jenna's panties. "Let's see both of you naked."

***

Jenna snapped awake. She lay in a king-size bed, in what looked like a top-flight hotel room. She was naked, and tried to recall what had woken her. Almost at once she realized what it was: the sound of sexual activity coming through a tiny computer speaker.

Her head was fuzzy, and she desperately needed to pee. She stumbled from the bed toward the open door of the bathroom. She glanced behind her, and saw her mother seated at the room's desk, watching something on her laptop. Why is Mom naked? she thought in confusion.

"Mom?" Jenna said. "Are you watching . . . porn?"

Lana said nothing. Jenna went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Lana closed her eyes. She knew what was coming.

Jenna screamed and burst from the bathroom. "Mom! My . . . something happened to . . .!"

"I know," Lana said distantly.

"My clit . . . it's gone!"

"Mine, too."

Jenna came up behind her to see what was on the screen. Two women with dark hair lay on a rumpled bed, the head of one buried between the thighs of the other.

Jenna started to speak, but something about the women on the screen stopped her. The one on her back, spine arched, hands clutching at her full breasts, looked familiar . . . .

It was *her.*

And the woman between her thighs . . . .

"Oh, my GOD!" she screamed.

On screen Jenna very clearly had an orgasm, and her mother rose to crawl the length of their writhing bodies. They kissed, wide-mouthed and deep-tongued, while their hands groped at each other's breasts.

"I can't fight it," Lana hissed on the screen. "You know that, don't you?"

"You made me come!" Jenna almost sobbed. "You raped me!"

"We're both being raped," Lana insisted as she rolled onto her back. "Now you'll have to go down on me!"

"No, I won't, I . . . ."

Jenna began moving down past her mother's belly toward the neatly-clipped dark triangle between her thighs. Her mother's face was drawn tight with desire, and she massaged her own breasts with a desperation Jenna never imagined she would see. Jenna knelt between her mother's legs, sobbing, fighting with every bit of strength she possessed against the obscene urge planted in her mind.

Then with a keening moan of helplessness, Jenna began to lick.

"They drugged us, made us have sex with each other, then removed our clitorises," Lana said. "It's a simple thing, really. Neatly done. They've done it to thousands of women who caused them problems. And the drug made us not remember."

Jenna's hands cupped protectively over her groin. "Mom, that's my clit! It means I can't . . . ."

"I know. We've been castrated."

Jenna tried to speak, but the horror of the moment was too much. No more orgasms, no more sexual release . . . they had taken her entire womanhood from her. And she was only twenty.

Lana said, "I'm so sorry, honey. I know what I have to do. What you do, is up to you." Tears ran down her face, dripping onto her breasts. She raised the tiny government-issue handgun to her temple.

THE END