Part 11, Island Paradise(?)

Year 3 of the novel begins with Pansy's escape to a tropical island paradise. Or is it paradise after all? (Note--Rating more restrictive!)
 
 
January 1
-- Pansy and Miguel left Villeda Morales airport at San Pedro after breakfast and arrived in mid-morning at Cayo Golondrinas. As Mike’s amphibian approached the villa, Pansy was enchanted, and with reason. The villa was on a coral islet off the coast of Gracias a Dios, surrounded by the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. Mangrove lined much of the shore, but the windward side, on the northeast, was lined by a snow-white beach, fringed with coconut palms and low spreading fig trees. A calm lagoon protected by surf-washed reefs lay just offshore. A hundred meters inland she could see low whitewashed buildings surrounded by bougainvillea and jacaranda. After landing, she was even more delighted. The casa was newly built, with all modern conveniences and its own generator. Its greatest charm (and biggest drawback) was its isolation. There was little of what might be called modern civilization anywhere in the department of Gracias a Dios, and none at all near the island. The reefs kept away most boats, and there was no airstrip. Only small boats and seagoing planes could reach it. The villa was used for entertainment, Mike told her. Two caretakers usually stayed there.

Miguel showed Pansy around the island in just a few minutes. There was little to see; it wasn’t much bigger than two football fields. Most maps didn’t even show it. He explained that the island was south of the main hurricane track. “I suppose eventually one’ll swing south–like Hurricane Mitch, back in 90-something–and I’ll lose it, but for now it’s my piece of Eden.” The villa had three interconnected bedrooms: a main bedroom, a servant’s room, and a guest room. The latter had red plush furnishings and a mirror on the ceiling. Pansy thought it looked like a room at Mamá¡ Santiago’s brothel, but she didn’t share her opinion. The spartan servant’s bedroom was usually occupied by caretakers, a man and wife, but for the moment they had been given a vacation, and it was empty. The kitchen was well furnished and modern. The living room was comfortable but unremarkable, and there was a small den. Another room held the diesel generator and radio equipment.

The day confirmed Pansy’s first impression. It was a beautiful place! It was named was for the “sea swallows”, or terns, that nested on an outlying islet. Tropicbirds soared over the surf-washed reef under an azure sky. She was amazed that such a comfortable retreat could exist in this backward corner of the world. After a lunch of tuna salad, fruit, and iced tea, Mike offered to show her the reef; she quickly changed into a pink bikini she had bought in San Pedro. They swam to the reef with a snorkel and fins. It was a new world. She recognized brain corals and the broad branching fronds of Acropora, but the brightly colored fish were novelties. When the two swimmers were waterlogged, they returned to the beach where he fondled her breasts until she was nearly blind with lust. When he didn’t make love to her, she almost wept with frustration. She scolded herself: “I must learn to control my body! This is what they planned for me. I can’t let myself become a… a damned slut!”

Later she looked for land birds, but few were present. She found the local brown-headed race of yellow warbler, and a few northern migrants, the best a stray Cape May warbler in drab winter garb. There were many sea birds, though, and the sight of scores of frigatebirds soaring against a flaming red sunset left her breathless. Mike made passionate love to her that night. Before she fell asleep, she considered her future. In fleeing Las Rosas, she had escaped her fate as a maid. Yes, she was trapped in a woman’s body; but she’d make a success of herself as a woman–a professional woman. She’d be Mike’s mistress for now (and enjoy it!), but she’d use him to escape Don Pablo’s scheme, and to regain a professional status. Then she’d drop him and return home.
 
 
January 2
-- Pansy’s second day on Golondrinas began with scrambled eggs, rice, and beans. She cooked them well, Mike said. They swam in the morning. After lunch her desire slowly rose. She tried to suppress her lust–it was the only proper word–but she failed. As they danced after supper, her passion waxed and her inhibitions waned. She felt so good! It was like a drug. She eagerly awaited nightfall, when Mike would lead her to bed. At last he did, in the “brothel bedroom”. Eager to have him, she stripped shamelessly. Mike carried her to his bed and stroked her as she lay there until she couldn’t see straight. He made her beg him to finish, to satisfy her, and she had to seduce him. Afterwards he whispered in her ear, “You’re a wonderful puta. You know just how to please a man. I might guess you still remember how women used to please you, and you put that knowledge to practical use. It’s a unique advantage for a whore–like you.”

She froze. Mike pulled back the sheet; her body was visible through the nightie. She tried to pull the sheet back, but he held them. Shamed, she tried to cover herself with her hands. “No! Let me go! I want to die!”

He ignored her protest. “Surprise!” he whispered. “My name isn’t Miguel. I’m José–José Herrera, Suzi’s brother. Father asked me to initiate you into the sexual delights of womanhood. I wondered if you’d fuck a stranger. He said yes. ‘Seá±or Cualquiera lived for sex,’ he told me. ‘He was addicted to it, and that is unchanged. Pansy has the soul of a whore.’ He was right. You’re a puta, as you just proved. I’ll see you get all the sex you want, and more, as my bedtime play-pretty. That’s what a girl’s for, true?” She lay there shaking her head, struck dumb. He chuckled: “Oh, don’t worry: you’ll enjoy it. The doctors did a good job on you. You have a sexy body, and you turn on easier than a faucet.” He ran a finger across her belly; her muscles spasmed. He ran it up her thigh, and she gasped and trembled. “See? Your body’s ready. You want sex. You can’t help it.” He grinned. “Do you recall a year ago?” Pansy shook her head, too horrified to speak. “You were still a guy then. Hard to believe, isn’t it? You were fucking Petunia, like you used to fuck Susana. Now you’re still fucking–but you’re the one spreading your legs. And loving it–every moment of it.” Pansy tried to turn away, but he held her tight and her physical weakness left her helpless. “Your training–your conditioning–has just begun. When I finish, you’ll need sex. You’ll be a total fuck bunny, for anyone in pants. Maybe some day, as you lie face up with your legs apart and some guy pumping his seed into you, you can try to remember what it was like to be on top.” But he quickly contradicted himself: “No, that’s wrong. While you’re being fucked, you won’t be able to think of anything else. Your mind won’t have room for anything except your need for some guy’s prick sliding into your wet little pussy. Afterwards you might try to remember–but I don’t think you’ll be able to even imagine what it was like to have a prick.” She tried again to turn away, sobbing, but he held her, fondled her left breast through the nightie, and stroked the nipple. It hardened immediately, and she gasped as her body quivered. “See?” he gloated. “You feel all sexy now, yes? Already it’s who you are. You may hate your body, and yourself–and me–but it doesn’t matter, you want a good fuck anyway. I’ll give you exactly what you want. And deserve.”

She lay paralyzed. No, she couldn’t accept this! But how to escape the island? More important, how to escape the needs of her body? Mike–no, José–was right: she did want sex. He read the emotions chasing each other across her face and grinned. “I won’t mistreat you,” he reassured her. “You’ll be well taken care of, as long as you fulfill your duties–and they’re no more than what you agreed to. For now, though, get up and clean yourself off, like a good little puta. Your bedroom’s over there.” He pointed at a door across the room.

She rolled out of bed and dragged herself to the shower, but she felt dirty no matter how she scrubbed. At last she pulled on her nightie and returned through José’s room to her own, still yearning for another fuck in spite of everything. Only after an hour of weeping–like a girl, she thought bitterly–did she drop off to a fitful doze.
 
 
January 3
-- Upon awakening, Pansy remembered where, and what, she was. She felt debased and dirty, and she had no interest in living. Finding her way to the kitchen, she tried to eat; but her appetite was dead. The only desire she felt (and that strongly!) was sexual. It was maddening! Was this normal for a woman? She doubted it; she was being manipulated. Drugs, maybe?

José arose a bit later. She was terrified when he arrived, but he didn’t harass her. Sitting across from her, he said, “Pansy, I know exactly how you feel. You’re miserable now, and afraid. I know I’ve been… well… unkind to you, but if you behave, I’ll treat you well. You’ll have exquisite pleasure, maybe even a kind of happiness, if you cooperate. And you don’t really have a choice: you will cooperate. Remember, eventually you’ll be free. But it’ll require a year of patience.” A smirk crossed his face. “You’re helpless, you know. You have to obey me.

“I told you what’s in store for you. First, you’re my maid. You have to obey me implicitly, or I’ll punish you–and then you’ll obey me anyway, so you might as well obey to start with. You’ll cook, you’ll keep the house clean, you’ll do my sewing and my laundry. You’ll have to serve with skill and cheerfulness. Second, you’re my sex toy, my own little fuck bunny. And you’ll have to do that with skill and cheerfulness too. But that’s a duty that’ll be easy to fulfill, because you’re a slut. You’ve demonstrated that. Do you understand?”

She sat in front of him, miserable, and didn’t answer right away. Could she resist him? She had to! She wanted sex, yes–she couldn’t help it–but not with this animal. She wasn’t addicted to it–was she?

He repeated more firmly, “Do you understand?” as he stimulated her fear and sapped her will. “Answer me!”

“I… Y…yes.”

“Girl, you’re a servant. You’re a maid–and a fuck doll, of course. That’s what you agreed to when you came here. Now address me respectfully. To you I’m Seá±or Herrera, or Seá±or. Try again: Tell me what you are.”

Pansy swallowed, her mouth dry, and got out, “Yes, Seá±or, I understand. I’m a maid and a… a f…fuck doll.”

His frown dissolved into a triumphant grin and he told her, “You’re learning quickly, my pretty one. You’re good in the sack, you know, but you’ll get even better. You see, being a whore comes natural to you. You proved it when you agreed to come with me. You knew it was for sex. As payment for your services, I promised to help you escape from Las Rosas and to become a professional again. Sex for payment–a brief definition of prostitution.” She began to object, but stopped in confusion. He was right. Or at least partly right. She had agreed to sex with him, in return for his help. But “I didn’t want this! I was tricked!” she argued. “Of course you were tricked!” he retorted. “It was easy–you’re a stupid slut. But now that you’ve chosen prostitution, I will keep my part of the bargain. Evelina won’t train you. I’ll train you. As a whore, to please men in bed. Me at first, then other men. By the time you leave, you’ll be a docile and horny little girl, good for the kitchen, the nursery, and the bedroom–especially the bedroom!–but not much else. Just the sort of girl you approve of.” He rose from the table and ordered, “Come with me.” She followed him, trying to remind herself that she hated this man, that he had degraded and enslaved her; but she couldn’t make herself care. Her emotions were numbed.

José took Pansy to the “brothel bedroom”. “You’ll see a lot of this room,” he smirked. “It’s the workstation for your night job. Now take off your dress, my pretty little whore.” She hesitated. He stated quietly but with clear menace, “I am not accustomed to repeating my orders,” and she felt another twinge of terror. She quickly stripped to her undies. He looked her up and down, nodded in approval, then ordered, “Come over here.” She came to a mirror. “Take it off–all of it–then look at yourself.” She begged, “Please, no, Seá±or,” but he insisted and she couldn’t find the will to refuse. Slowly she unhooked her brassiere, then slid down her half-slip and panties, to stand nude in front of the mirror. A remote corner of her brain judged the image objectively and concluded that she was trapped in an attractive body: full breasts, slender waist, and nicely rounded hips and butt. José remarked, “A good body for a puta, no? And you enjoy your work. I’ve seen how much you like sex.” He stepped behind her and cupped her breasts. Her arousal became a raging flame. She flushed deeply as she hungered for the body of a man–even this man she hated–but she still resisted. José lifted an eyebrow. “You are a horny little girl, my dear, aren’t you?” Her will was weakened, as it would be whenever he conditioned her.

Tremulously she begged, “No! Please, don’t! Don’t! Leave me alone! Have mercy!” Her tears flowed again.

José smiled. “You need relief, yes? I’ll have mercy, indeed I will. I told you, you’re my whore. You know what a whore does, don’t you?” Instinctively she tried to cover herself, to protect herself, but he laughed. “Oh, I won’t rape you, my dear. One doesn’t rape a prostitute. No, you’ll seduce me, like the slut you are. Arouse me, tell me you’re a horny little girl, then persuade me. Beg for my prick in your pussy, and I’ll give it to you.”

Through her sobs Pansy begged again, “Seá±or, n…no! I’m not a… P…please. Don’t… don’t make me!” But her own body (and the chips in her brain) betrayed her. Even as she begged, she couldn’t control herself. Against her conscious will, she began to unbutton his shirt. As she pulled it away, he ran his hand across a breast. She stiffened as if paralyzed. “Hurry up, girl, you’ll never finish at this rate,” he ordered. Continuing to weep but unable to resist, she removed his shirt, undid his belt, and pulled his pants down, then his briefs. He stepped out, naked. Horrified by her need, she stood trembling with unwelcome lust. José ordered her to stroke his penis: she obeyed, driven by that lust even more than by his demand. He gasped. “You… you’re learning, my dear. Go on!” His erect member held her fascinated gaze; she needed to feel it deep within her body, pumping his seed into her. He dropped onto the bed, pulling her after him. He ran a hand over her body, which quivered in anticipation. She shook her head in denial but offered no resistance, spreading her legs. He wasn’t satisfied with passive acceptance, but held off until she begged, “I’m a… I am a horny… horny little girl. P…please, put your prick into my… my pu…pu…pussy. Fuck… fuck me! Please!” The worst part of her agony was knowing she meant every word of her plea. She was a horny little girl, and she did want–need–him to fuck her.

“An excellent performance, my little whore,” José complimented her afterwards. “You really are horny, aren’t you? Well, you’ll certainly earn your keep!” She felt powerless and degraded, having let herself sink to the level he had assigned to her. Worse, she knew he was right: she was here by choice. She had offered to sell her body in return for escape, exactly as he had claimed. She was a whore. She wept on the bed as José showered. When he came back, he ordered, “Clean yourself up, chica. You have other work to do.” She obeyed, suppressing her feelings. While she showered, José laid out her clothes. Emotionally numb from her initiation to her duties, she put on lingerie, then a simple black dress with lacy white cuffs, jabot, and ruffled apron. “Here, just a bit more,” he told her, and handed her white pantyhose, black maryjanes, and a white cap. Donning them, she looked in the mirror. She wore a classic French maid’s dress. A memory stirred; she had seen that dress before.

José watched the confused and unhappy girl stare at her image. “You used to be a professional, a long time ago,” he commented. “A chemist, I think?”

“Yes, Seá±or.” Had that really been her? It wasn’t credible. She was just a whore, wasn’t she?

“And I promised to make you a professional again. I’m doing just that–it’s the oldest profession, you know.” He leered: “You always liked sex. Now you’ll do it for a living. I’ll train you well–but you don’t need much training. You have an aptitude for it–left over from your old life, I think. And you’ll have a second profession: maid. That’s your daytime uniform. I know you approve of it because you chose it yourself.”

At first she was puzzled, but then she recognized the dress. It had been Mará­a’s. Seá±or Pinkerton’s maid. Now she had the uniform, and the job (both jobs!)… At least she didn’t have to wear high heels, she thought inconsequentially, and she was grateful for that small mercy of Seá±or Pinkerton.

When she was properly dressed, he told her, “Come, we’ll review your other duties.” He led her to the kitchen, where he showed her the pantry. “You’ll cook for me. After I’m served, you’ll eat, and then you’ll clean up.” She denied any culinary talent, but he told her she’d improve rapidly.

José explained that she’d have to practice one further token of subservience. “When you’re dismissed, you must curtsy to your betters–to me now, to Susana later. It’s a simple acknowledgment of your inferior status. It has to become a habit, performed without thinking.”

“‘Curtsy’? I… I’m sorry, Seá±or, I don’t understand.”

“You must not be very bright, my dear” He showed her how to lift her skirt slightly with both hands, give a small bow, and bend one knee. “You’ll have to learn to do it quickly and gracefully. Now show me.”

She told herself it was no worse than other indignities she had had to endure, and she practiced until he was satisfied. Then he showed her a hamper of dirty clothes: “See that you wash them well.”

“Yes, Seá±or, but how should I do it?” she asked. “Do you have a washing machine?”

“Yes,” he told her, and led her to a small laundry room. “No dryer, though. You’ll hang them on the clothesline, or iron them.” A sewing machine was also there, and he told her she’d be responsible for mending his clothes. “In general, keep the house neat and clean. Make the beds. Lay out my clothes each morning, neatly folded. Keep me well fed and happy. I’ll see that you’re content.” Indeed, although she knew she should be miserable, she felt a sense of well-being totally unsuited to her plight. Maybe it was because she was performing as a maid, not a whore? For whatever reason, the duties he was laying out seemed quite acceptable.

“Another point, my dear: I prefer to speak Spanish. From now on, that’s what you’ll speak too. Your Spanish isn’t very good, but it’ll improve. By the time you leave, you’ll speak it well. Also, you’re forbidden to communicate–to try to communicate–with anyone off the island. Any attempt will be severely punished.  ¿Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Answer me respectfully: I’m Seá±or Herrera to you. I don’t wish to remind you again.”

She obeyed immediately, responding, “Yes, Seá±or Herrera.” He smiled and left her with the pile of dirty laundry. Pansy spent the rest of the morning on her tasks, but inexplicably her spirits rose (of course, the brain chips enforced it). She rationalized the feeling, telling herself that she shouldn’t blame herself for her position. “I don’t have a choice. I’ll endure whatever the bastard throws at me, and I’ll give him the minimum of service–whatever I can’t avoid–until I can escape. Inside, I’m still the same. I’m still really Jack. They can’t take that away.”

Later José invited her to swim. At first she refused, but he explained, “You really are a stupid girl, aren’t you?” She trembled in fear as he went on: “Even now, you don’t seem to quite understand your position. You’re my servant. I control you now. I own you. Your only permissible reply is ‘Sá­, Seá±or’. With enthusiasm. Now,  ¿would you like to go swimming with me?” She acquiesced, changing from her dress to the scanty yellow bikini he had given her, and they snorkeled past a coral forest. Afterwards he took her on the sand again, with her active cooperation–as José had said, she couldn’t resist her need for him, even though she hated him–and she returned to the villa buoyed by (synthetic) pleasure.

José was pleased with the day’s results. Pansy was reacting as Ibá¡á±ez had predicted. The chips and drugs seemed to work well. He was almost sure he could condition her to need sex on a physical level, even if she hated it intellectually. Eventually her body should prevail over her mind, which would slowly, inexorably, shift to match her new position. She would come to despise herself as a whore, but that self-image would supplant her present idealized notion of herself as an educated and self-reliant norteamericana. Eventually she’d be grateful for a job as Suzi’s maid. It would be her only alternative, and a step up.

Ibá¡á±ez followed Pansy through the implanted monitors. His toys worked well, especially for sexual activity, but he wasn’t satisfied. “It’s too elementary,” he radioed José. “I’ll try to affect her language. The computer can tell which language she speaks. I’ll take advantage of that. The computer will give positive feedback for Spanish, negative for English. Use both languages. Keep a record of when she uses each. Soon she should prefer Spanish, and I’d like to find out how strong the preference will become. Eventually we want her to speak fluent Spanish. If possible, we’ll arrange that she speaks it as well as any native hondureá±a–or as poorly.”
 
 
January 4
-- José left Pansy undisturbed in her bed for her third night, but her libido was turned up, and her unsatisfied sexual craving, and emotional torment kept her awake. She desperately wanted to escape, but there was no place to go. Even knowing that the mainland was no refuge, she still would have fled the island–anything to escape José. Briefly she considered suicide, but there was no easy way… and besides, she reminded herself, she was determined to hold on until the end of the year, after which she could take her revenge.

At dawn she was still awake when José appeared at her door. “Time to get up, my little flower,” he announced. “You’re a maid, not a princess.” A touch of fear accompanied his words, and she threw off the sheet. “Take your shower, and be quick,” he ordered, “then cook breakfast. I’ll have fried eggs over easy, with bacon and toast. And coffee, of course. Then we’ll go over your chores for the day.” Influenced by the chips, she forgot her resolution to obey grudgingly and slowly, intent only on pleasing and appeasing this man whom she feared. She rushed to shower and dress, hurriedly applying her makeup as had become her habit. Even here the exercise gave her pleasure.

José monitored her primping, reinforcing it with a touch of her chip. She wasn’t beautiful by any means, not with her mestiza face, but she was attractive enough, and the training at Las Rosas had given her both the skill and the desire to make herself pretty. That desire would be reinforced here on Golondrinas.

When Pansy reappeared, he ordered her to clean off her face. “No makeup. You’re not here to catch a husband–or even to lure me to bed. Not just yet. Put your hair into a braid, too. It suits you better. And be quick about it, girl. I’m hungry.” She began to protest, but he frowned and she scuttled back in terror. José smiled when she returned unadorned, and also depressed. Makeup, cheap jewelry, and sexy clothes would be rewards, to be earned by service. Their use, when he allowed, would be reinforced by a twitch of her chip, and soon she’d covet them for the pleasure associated with them. Her taste would be conditioned to that of a cheap slut.

After serving José, Pansy was allowed to eat. Then he called her to the living room. She stood while he slouched comfortably in a chair and explained her duties. “You’ll get up every morning at 5:30 and lay out my clothes, neatly folded at the foot of my bed. Then you’ll enter my bed and seduce me. If you don’t succeed in arousing me–even if it’s not your fault–I’ll punish you. After that, you’ll make breakfast. I’ll let you know what I want the night before. Like today, you’ll eat after I’m done. Then you’ll clean up–wash the dishes, put them away, all that.  ¿Understand?” She nodded, and he frowned; she felt afraid again. He repeated more clearly, “ ¿Do you understand?” and she quickly replied, “Yes, Seá±or.” He went on: “You’ll keep the house spotless. Wash the floor, dust the bric-a-brac, wash the windows, whatever. Around 11 each morning, you’ll prepare lunch, and you’ll serve it to me around noon. In the afternoon you’ll do whatever I want. Maybe you’ll clean some more, maybe you’ll do laundry or sew. I might even let you relax, and you can slip into something more comfortable.” She’d look forward to wearing something sweet and sexy, and painting up her face. He’d see to it. “Then you’ll make supper. Something more elaborate–I know you’re not a great cook, as you yourself admitted, but I insist that you learn to cook fairly well.  ¿Do you understand?” This time her response was immediate: “Yes, Seá±or.” José nodded. “After you clean up, your evenings will be free.” He grinned and added, “Of course, you’ll have other duties I may call on at any time. Now you may go.” She turned and he stopped her, hitting her with fear. With a frown he scolded her, “Pansy, you’re a stupid girl. You’re already more fit for a prostitute than a maid. When you’re dismissed, you have to acknowledge my words and curtsy before you go.” He thought, then smiled, delighted that she had given him an excuse to punish her. “To show you the error of your ways, you can change out of your uniform.” She waited for the rest of it, and he obliged: “You’ll work in your red nightie for now. That’ll remind you of what you are. If you show you’re able to behave properly–as a proper maid–then perhaps I’ll let you have the uniform. In the meantime, you’ll be most decorative. Maybe I’ll use you in both professional capacities.” She began to protest, but he turned up the fear, and she helplessly acknowledged the order, “Yes, Seá±or,” curtsying awkwardly. Then he allowed her to leave.

She reappeared in a few minutes in her brief nightie and began to put dishes into the sink. He ogled her and told her where she had seen the nightie before: “You gave it to Suzi. Seductive little outfit,  ¿isn’t it?” Unwillingly she agreed. “ ¿Do you remember how you reacted when Suzi wore it? I know your anatomy’s a bit different now, and you can’t really appreciate such things any more– ¡but I can!” His malicious reminder brought her thoughts back fifteen months, to the time when Seá±or Pinkerton had seduced Suzi. It was hard to recall how he had felt when he was attracted to her pretty face and slim figure. Intellectually Pansy knew how Susana’s slender young body, displayed in this sexy nightie, had excited him, and she realized that she herself was fully as attractive. And much more helpless.

José let her clean up, then watched her go about her duties. Slowly he turned up her libido. By midmorning, aroused by her body and tired of the game, he carried her to the bedroom, where he took her. She protested weakly and tried at first to fight him, weeping, but she couldn’t overcome her own lust, and very soon her traitor body welcomed him eagerly. Afterwards, he ordered her to wash him as he stood naked in the shower stall, then told her to fetch clean clothes for him. She obeyed quickly, curtsying in her nightie. He allowed her to reclaim her dress, and she zipped it up gratefully. For the rest of the day, she worked diligently, eager to avoid giving her master any excuse to reprimand her. Her determination to give a minimum of grudging service was forgotten.

After supper, true to his word, José allowed Pansy to don a light sundress, which clung fetchingly to her figure. Even after the day’s disasters, her spirits rose as she carefully applied a touch of eyeshadow and lipstick. She wanted to redo her hair, but José had drawn the line at that. “No. You’re becoming a campesina, and I want you to see a campesina whenever you look in the mirror. The braid is part of that image.” She obeyed, telling herself, “That’s foolishness anyway. I’ll never think of myself as just a peasant!”
 
 
January 8
-- In the evening, as Pansy tidied up after a supper of steak and rice, Doctor Ibá¡á±ez called José. The doctor asked how smoothly Pansy’s conditioning was proceeding. “She’s sexually active, I see. That’s as planned, of course.  ¿Does she solicit you?”

“No, not yet–except as required, in the morning. She’s beginning to weaken, though. At least she seems resigned to it. She doesn’t protest any more.” It was hard to make herself protest when it was not only ineffective, but also left her worse off. (And, although she wouldn’t admit to herself, when the sex itself was so fantastic!)

The tinny voice of Ibá¡á±ez reassured him. “As I expected. She’s only had a week to get used to her new status, after all.  ¿Are there any other changes?  ¿Are my predictions accurate?”

“Yes, more than I expected. I haven’t pressed her to use makeup–in fact, I’ve discouraged it–but she still uses it. Skillfully, too. And given a choice, she picks sexy clothes. I don’t know if she realizes it, but she wants to be attractive.” He smiled. “That’s an easy goal to reach. She’s a damned good-looking piece of eye candy.”

“Good, good. Of course, that process was well begun at Las Rosas. Her treatment at Golondrinas should cement that character trait.  ¿And her other traits?  ¿Is she obedient?”

“Yes, more or less. Outwardly she’s docile, and she curtsies nicely enough. She hasn’t internalized it, though. At least so far, she obeys only because she knows she has no choice. She hates it. And me. I see it in her eyes.”

“Of course she does. That’s as expected. It’ll be a while before she’s shaped to our specifications.” Unseen by José, Ibá¡á±ez smiled and amended his words. “It’s not really our specifications, I suppose, but Seá±or Deon’s specifications. Well, keep up the pressure. So far she’s following my predictions nicely. I think Don Pablo will be pleased. I certainly am.”
 
 
January 11
-- When Pansy got up she felt miserable and feverish. Her head ached and her stomach cramped. She wondered what deviltry José had perpetrated, but she was afraid to ask. However, she succeeded in hiding it, and managed to seduce him. She made his breakfast, then had her own, as usual.

After breakfast José gave her a pile of clothes to mend. She still enjoyed sewing, so she wasn’t unhappy with the chore. Usually sewing made her feel good, and it helped this time too, but not much. She worked at it until late morning, when José told her to cook some red snapper for lunch. She did a passable job, and she felt her spirits lift as he ate. When he’d finished and she took her turn to eat, she found that the meal was indeed excellent. Her cooking skills were improving. She still felt feverish, though, and her stomach pains continued. After lunch she and José swam to the reef. She wore the yellow bikini again, and saw that José was turned on by her body. He came to her after the swim and stroked her breasts. As usual, her nipples sprang out, her legs quivered, and she flushed. He didn’t touch her after that. In frustration, her self-control crippled by the prefrontal chip, she tried to seduce him again. After all, she rationalized, it was in her interest to please him.

He wouldn’t let her. He laughed and told her in English, “No, not now. This morning was enough. You’ll just have to wait. Come on, let’s go back into the house and have a cool drink.”

She almost cried, and begged, “Seá±or Herrera, you can’t leave me like this!”

With feigned innocence he asked, “Like how?”

“Ooooh, I… I wanted…” She couldn’t bear to answer straight out. With teeth clenched she finished, “Oooh, never mind! Just go in for your drink.”

He laughed and told her, “No, that’s your job, girl. I’ll lie over there in that hammock, in the shade. Go make me a rum coke. Lots of ice. First, put your uniform back on; I’ll be served by a proper maid.” He paused: “And speak Spanish.” He left her standing there, and she could do nothing but obey.

She returned in ten minutes in her uniform and gave him the drink. “Con permiso, aquá­ está¡ su ron y coca, Seá±or,” she told him politely with a curtsy, resolved not to betray her frustration.

“Gracias, chica,” he responded, and lay back in the shade to sip the icy drink.

Oddly, the Spanish felt better. “ ¿May I go now, Seá±or?” she asked; “I have work that I must to do.”

He sighed contentedly, then told her, “No, not just yet. Tell me,  ¿do you like it here?”

Surprised, she replied honestly, “The island is beautiful, and with different con… conditions I can love it. With my… my present conditions, no, of course not. I hate it. I hate I am your servant, I hate I am your… your mistress…”

Laughing, he interrupted, “Oh, you’re not my mistress.  ¡Your social position isn’t nearly that high! You’re my whore. My sex toy. Use the right words. In fact, the most accurate description might be ‘slave girl’. Now go on.”

She flushed deeply and continued: “Very well. I hate I am your slave girl. I hate my body. I hate my name–my false name. I hate Don Pablo. I hate you.  ¿Is that all, Seá±or?” The venom in her tone demonstrated the truth of her words.

He looked pleased. “As it should be, Pansy; you’re being punished, after all. But cheer up. I’ll treat you well, if you obey. And you’ll obey, I’m sure. Now, because you’ll suffer if you don’t, but soon, because you’ll want to. As I told you, your personality’s being molded so you’ll be naturally docile and dependent, just as a maid should be. You might say that your personality will be ‘maid to order’.” He chuckled at his own English pun. “You’ll be well fed, well clothed, well taken care of. The work is easy. I’ll give you better sex than you ever had as a man. Soon you’ll accept–no, enjoy–being a whore. In a year you’ll be free. By then you’ll like sex. You’ll delight in your sexy body for the rest of your life–or for as long as you’re young and pretty, anyway. For the rest of your life, you’ll enjoy being a woman. You’ll want to please men–not as an equal–never again as an equal–but as a servant and plaything. As a fuck toy. Seá±or Cualquiera would approve of you.”

She replied angrily, “Seá±or Herrera, I take my condition only because I must. I have to obey, but you can not make me to like it. As soon as I can to change it, I will.”

“I think I can make you like it. We’ll see, my pretty one. Sit down and I’ll explain why you’re wrong. Or maybe you can show me the error of my ways.” Sweeping her skirt beneath her, she sat on a palm log next to the hammock. “Men and women are different,  ¿true?” He smiled unctuously. “You’re in a better position to know that than most people.”

Suspiciously she responded, “Yes, Seá±or, that is true.”

“ ¿Don’t you remember the arguments that you had with Suzi?  ¿About a woman’s place?”

“No, Seá±or, but… I… Yes, I…” Her speech stumbled. She shook her head in protest.

He threw George Deon’s old arguments at her. “Women are constructed differently. To bear and raise children. To please men.  ¿Didn’t you say that?  ¿And isn’t it true?”

“Yes, Seá±or, I said that. But… but that is not the entire truth.”

“ ¿But it is true? You do believe that,  ¿don’t you?”

She squirmed. “Yes, it is true. But I…”

“But now you don’t want to face reality. Now you are a woman. It’s your duty to please a man. It’s you who’s constructed to bear and raise children,  ¿true?” He took a sip of his rum coke.

“But I am not born to it. This was did to me.  ¡I not deserve it!”

“That’s true, Pansy–except for that bit about deserving it–but  ¿so what? You have to deal with reality, and your womanhood’s a reality now, whether God or a doctor gave it to you.  ¿True?”

“Yes, but… Yes, Seá±or.” Losing this debate with José was bad, but winning would probably be much worse.

“Then you have to accept the rest, born to it or not. You came to Honduras, so you’ll live according to Honduran custom. Luckily, that agrees with your own view of a woman’s duties. For the next few months, I’ll be your man. That means your place in life is to please me, however I might wish.  ¿Do you accept that?”

She couldn’t make herself agree. “No, Seá±or, I can not. Even here, a woman has right to choose. I not choose you.”

“Ah, but circumstances affect that right.  ¿Don’t you recall your own maid, Mará­a Banderas? Her circumstances forced her to accept you, just as yours force you to accept me.”

“ ¡It not the same!”

He grinned: “I suppose you’re right, in a way. Mará­a really didn’t want sex, not with you; but you did want sex with me. You’re a whore, and you offered me sex, in exchange for my help. And you want it still. Or at least your body does. You enjoy sex–and I’m going to condition you to enjoy it even more. You’ll crave it like a drug. Soon you’ll beg me to fuck you. Eventually you’ll get pregnant, and nine months later you’ll have to care for a baby. Tell me, after you are freed,  ¿how will you earn a living, when you have to care for an infant? That was your Mará­a’s problem, and it’ll be my Pansy’s problem as well.”

“ ¡No! I accept what I have to. As I said, I will obey you; I not have no choice. I go to bed with you if I must; I not have no choice. I not ask for it. If I get preg… pregnant, the baby will be your responsibility, not me… mine.” She thought, “Pregnant? Baby? Not possible! The bastard’s just trying to scare me.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re a woman. A woman’s body– ¡your body!–is made to bear children.  ¿Don’t you remember? You told Susana you agreed with Napoleon; ‘A woman is a baby machine’, you said. You were right, and your need for sex is part of it.” He decided to tell her more. “ ¿Why are you here? Tell me what Don Pablo said to you.”

Pansy was confused. “Seá±or, he didn’t say anything like that. I never expected to be here.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true in a way. Don Pablo didn’t say he’d send you here, or that I’d be your teacher. But think back.  ¿Didn’t he tell you we’d transform you into your own ideal woman?  ¿So that you’d be a good maid for Susana?”

Her face became resentful, and her reply was a clipped and bitter “Yes.”

José noted the lack of courtesy, but let it pass. “The first part of the project was your body. Don Pablo wanted to make you into a woman–and not just a woman, but a pretty young campesina.  ¿Do you admit that he succeeded?”

Her lips tightened. “ ¿It matter what I admit? Yes, he succeeded.”

“But he told you he’d do more than that. Much more.  ¿Didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

It was like pulling teeth to get her to answer. “ ¿Well?  ¿What else did he tell you?”

She gritted her teeth and looked down at the ground. Unwillingly she replied, “He said he makes me a woman in my mind too, so I will like woman’s work like cooking and sewing.”

“Yes, that’s part of it. And caring for children, and sex with men. But there was a little more to it. Your idea of a woman’s true purpose in life is that she should please men and raise children.  ¿True?”

“Yes… I mean it was my idea, but…”

“No ‘but’. You are here to be molded into an ideal woman. By your own definition. Some of that molding’s already been done. I’ve watched you work on your needlepoint, a typically feminine pastime.” He grinned wickedly. “And I know you’re good in bed.  ¿True again?” He sipped his mix of ice, Coca-Cola, and Flor de Caá±a rum, and sighed with pleasure.

Internally she writhed. Her body betrayed her in bed, and she forgot everything but her need. “Yes.”

“You tell yourself that it’s just for the moment, that we’re doing it with drugs and such, that it’s not natural. That’s all true, of course. You’re being conditioned. That’s how we do it–and when you leave here, that conditioning will be a permanent part of your nature. You’ll be a sexy peasant girl, ready–no, eager–to find a man and serve him for the rest of your life.”

Unconsciously she put her hands on her hips in a typically feminine posture and scowled in defiance. “ ¡No!  ¡I not a… a puppet, or a lab animal! I do what you want now because I have to, but when I will be free–and Don Pablo promised I will be free next year from now–I will do just what I want.”

“Yes, I agree, of course you will. But when we’re done, ‘what you want’ will be to attract a big strong man for a husband, to please him in every way you can–especially in bed–and to care for the children he gives you. Nothing more.”

“ ¡No!”

“Yes. Think a bit. You thought we couldn’t turn you into a woman–a complete woman.  ¿Did we succeed?”

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I don’t have no control over what my body does. Your surgeries and hormones and… and drugs–it is just brute force. My mind is different.”

“ ¿You think so? I’m told you insisted that you’d never enjoy sex with a man.  ¿True?”

Sullenly she muttered, “Yes.”

“Then you’re an excellent actress. Last month, you gave a damned good imitation of liking sex You fooled me yesterday, too. And I believe you wanted me to take you to bed this afternoon. By the way:  ¿Did Seá±or Cualquiera enjoy sewing?  ¿Would he have spent an afternoon on needlepoint?”

“No. He hated to sew.”

“ ¿And you?  ¿Does Pansy-Ann Baca hate to sew?  ¿Or did we reshape your mind?”

She realized that he was right. Her voice had a catch in it as she replied, “Yes, I like to sew. But I… But there isn’t… I don’t…” Her voice trailed off. They could twist her mind. “ ¿How…?”

“Then you should understand how effective our methods are.” He glanced at her face. “I see you do. Then you should understand that our other plans for you will succeed. You will become Suzi’s campesina maid. And if and when you leave her service, your new nature will remain as I described. You’ll be a sweet and humble little campesina, whose life’s ambition will be to catch a husband and raise a bunch of kids. Maybe you’ll find an outside job–you can clean, maybe, or become a waitress–but you’ll find that your real fulfillment will be as a docile and obedient wife, cooking and sewing and cleaning for your man. And keeping him satisfied in bed. You won’t want anything else.” He downed the last of his rum-and-coke, and added, “We are slowly reshaping your personality to match your looks. We call it ‘psychological engineering’.”

In despair she cried, “ ¡Noooo!  ¡You… you can’t do that to me!” Her cry was no longer a denial of their ability to change her, but an outraged protest at their injustice.

José interpreted the cry correctly. “Yes, we can. And will. And should. After what you did to Suzi–and to your own maid–it’s only justice.” Then he held out his glass: “Now go get me a refill, girl.”

She rose from her log, curtsied, and replied, “Yes, Seá±or.” Realizing how thoroughly that habit had already been implanted, and how quickly, she flushed, then hurried to get the drink. Habit or not, it was necessary to obey.

When she returned and handed him the icy drink, he asked, “ ¿Are you at all curious about how we’ll make you into a campesina? You claim not to be very much like that yet–and you’re absolutely correct, for the moment.”

With a horrified fascination she replied, “Yes… yes I am.  ¿Why do you think you can do this to me?” Knowledge was power. Maybe a little knowledge would give her enough power to fight back and preserve her integrity.

José grinned. “The scientist in you isn’t dead, I see. Not yet, anyway. Well, first, there’s your new body. That’s a big part of it. Your sex is plainly female. And Seá±or Cualquiera was partly right. You resist it, but your own body pushes you in that direction now.”

It was true, she knew; George’s opinions hadn’t been changed by his new anatomy. She resented her new status, but subconsciously she accepted it as proper for the body she was wearing now. Besides, she felt the force of her new body’s urges, and she acknowledged the validity of his claim. “But that is not enough to do the work, and you know it. Lots of women not agree to your description.”

“True, but here it’s more like that than in the U.S. That’s a second force on your personality. You’re not just a woman, you’re a hondureá±a–and in appearance, a campesina. Even after you’re freed, social pressures will bend you towards our model. But there’s more. I admit that Seá±or Cualquiera’s upbringing was hostile to our purpose.”

Pansy cheered up. “ ¡Yes! Whatever you do,  ¡my basic personality is already made!”

“Pansy, you recall being a young girl,  ¿true?  ¿Did you enjoy the party your parents gave for your fifteenth birthday?”

Dismayed, Pansy remembered. The memory of her quinceaá±os was filled with detail–donning the fancy dress, her older sister helping her with lipstick, dancing with her boyfriend Rico, her delight when he kissed her afterwards… She pushed it away. Another memory, of herself at twelve came back; she wore a pink dress, and her uncle–Seá±or Gá³mez, for whom she had worked occasionally–allowed her to play with her favorite doll, Pepita. “Yes, I remember, but…  ¡That is not real!  ¡I know that!” But the memory was so vivid! It seemed so real!

“It will be real to you, eventually.” He smiled: “Like your name. We control your past. Soon your only clear memories of your childhood and youth, will be those of your girlhood. We’ll see that you were brought up as a traditional campesina, a real girly-girl. And that upbringing will be what shapes you–along with our conditioning, of course.” He sipped his drink, then went on. “But I haven’t even mentioned our strongest tool. We can control your emotions.”

She had suspected that. Drugs, she thought. “ ¿How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Drugs, partly. What matters is that we can use standard conditioning techniques, augmented by our new technology. Reward and punishment. It’s very simple; if you please me, you’ll be happy. Very happy. And if you don’t, you’ll be unhappy. Sick. Depressed. I’ll be pleased when you’re feminine and docile. Therefore you’ll be happy when you’re feminine and docile. That, plus all the other forces, will transform you: you’ll wake up one morning, and the real Pansy-Ann Baca will be feminine and docile.  ¡Believe me!” He shrugged. “Or not, as you wish; just like your breasts grew when Herná¡ndez dosed you with estrogen, your personality will change whether you accept it or not.”

She had no response, but began to cry softly. He let her weep for a few moments, then sent her back to complete her chores. Later she began preparing their supper.

When she went to bed that night she found blood on her panties, a reminder that now she had a woman’s reproductive system. Her second period had begun. At least she wasn’t pregnant. Not yet, anyway.

José hadn’t told her every detail of her conditioning. The fear chip was in use as well, and it was proving effective. Each order was accompanied by a twinge of fear and a touch of depression. Obedience diminished the fear and brought a bit of euphoria. Her will power was also sapped, and she found it difficult to resist her emotions. Already she was obeying him immediately, with no resistance. A most encouraging development was that, as José had reported to Ibá¡á±ez, she had internalized her conditioning for makeup and pretty clothes, so that he was able to use them as rewards. By design, her taste was unrefined. She liked her neckline low, her skirts high, and her clothes just a little tighter than proper. Later she’d discover that her preference in clothes would bring her problems; but he and Ibá¡á±ez believed that by then her tastes would be permanently formed.
 
 
January 18
-- After two weeks José slacked off on the relays, and Pansy seemed to regain some of her spirit. She didn’t refuse José’s orders–she knew she was at his mercy–but her obedience was slow, and it was plain that she did the minimum necessary to avoid punishment. In José’s bed she served as required, and her body’s response continued to betray her, but she fought to control them, and she made it clear that she accepted José’s advances only as a repellent obligation. This morning she told José as much when she served his breakfast on the veranda. “You should not feel proud, Seá±or. I not know how you make me want sex, but I know it not your own self.”

José had noted her incipient rebellion, and in fact had encouraged it. Some disobedience and defiance was needed, to demonstrate its futility. He had planned for this. “You aren’t behaving with proper humility, Pansy má­a. Remember, you’re only a maid and a puta. Your duty is to serve me cheerfully and enthusiastically.  ¿True?”

“ ¡No!” She glared at him. “Yes, I am a maid. I must be. And a puta. I am forced. But I not only that. Inside I still Seá±or…” She hesitated; her knowledge of her real name was not to be revealed. “Seá±or Cualquiera.”

He noticed the pause and guessed the reason, but let it pass. The name would disappear again soon. “ ¿That pendejo? Yes, there’s some of him left. But he’s being swallowed by the campesina, kicking and screaming all the way”

She looked at him with hatred. He was right, and she knew it. “He never go entire.”

“Of course not. We don’t want him to go entirely. But he’s gradually losing everything that defined him. His face, his sex, his citizenship… All gone now. Even his name.”

“I know enough. I now am still that norteamericano, even if I not know my real name.”

“He was a chemist. He created new pesticides for a company in Georgia. You still recall that much, I think. Tell me,  ¿how would you synthesize DDT?”

She recognized the name of the insecticide, but she didn’t know anything more about it. It was hard to believe she had ever known anything about chemistry. “I… I not remember. You stealed it from me.” But then she flared, “It not important. I remember enough to know I am more than a maid.”

“No, you remember enough to know you were more than a maid. Once upon a time, long ago. But now you’re just an insolent and rebellious servant girl. You need to understand that such an attitude is unwise.”

She realized that she had gone too far. “I… Please, Seá±or, I sorry. I am a maid, yes. I know it. A puta too, just like you say. Please, forgive me.” She knew she should never oppose or contradict him.

“I’ll forgive you, yes, but you need a lesson anyway.” He considered. “ ¡I know! I’ll erase a little more of your past. Your norteamericano was a sports fan,  ¿wasn’t he? Baseball, football, that sort of thing. As a campesina you needn’t know about that. You shouldn’t know about it. And you won’t.”

“ ¡No!  ¡Please, Seá±or!” Pansy hadn’t thought about sports for some time, but she recalled Seá±or Pinkerton’s passion for the Indians and the Cavaliers, and she realized that it had been a major part of his life, maybe as important as the chemistry, lost without trace.

“Don’t fret your pretty head about it–it’s really a minor loss. Of course, a little more of Seá±or Pinkerton goes away with it. Sports are foreign to the life of a simple campesina, and that’s all you’ll be, very soon. Truly, you won’t miss it.” He laughed and added, “I imagine you’ll even wonder why men get so excited about such unimportant matters.”

She rushed to him, and fell to her knees. “ ¡No, Seá±or!  ¡I will do better! I…  ¡I beg you!”

He pushed a button on the handset, hidden in his pocket, and she fainted away. He picked her up with some effort, slung her over his back, and carried her back into the villa.

Ibarra had arrived while Pansy slept. Now he helped José carry Pansy to his equipment, set up in the caretakers’ quarters. When she recovered from the chip-induced faint, she was already drugged. She’d never remember the treatment she received today. Its effect would be clear to her, though.

Ibarra erased the names of the major-league baseball, basketball, hockey, and football teams. He deleted the rules of the games: she forgot about stolen bases, double plays, strikes… about fullbacks, touchdowns, punts… In an hour she was ignorant of the four sports, although he left her the names of the celebrity players. The very existence of football was lost. At José’s suggestion, he took most of her knowledge of world geography. The countries of Europe, Asia, Africa, South America–all vanished. The great cities of the world were obliterated. Mountains, rivers, islands, lakes… They were no more. She had already lost North American geography, so that her knowledge of the world became limited mostly to Central American countries. “After all, that’s the only area that’ll concern her from now on,” José told Ibarra. The procedure took the rest of the morning.

At the end José asked, “ ¿Will there be serious collateral losses, Doctor?  ¿What’s she likely to lose?”

“It’s hard to say. The neural connections of a brain are highly individualized. Unique, one might say. In hindsight it may be possible to guess why something unexpected was lost, but prediction is chancy. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d note any unexpected losses. You’re in a much better position to observe them.” He paused, then added, “There is one matter, yes. One that has proven to be serious with other subjects. From previous experience, I can say that her language ability will suffer. Erasing individual words doesn’t cause too much loss, but when we delete entire portions of a person’s life, quite a bit of language goes with it. Fortunately, Pansy’s deletions can be accomplished using English. I’m afraid her fluency in English will be impaired, but she won’t need it in the future anyway. And Spanish is a second language for her. It’s stored in a different part of the brain, and it shouldn’t be affected.”

Pansy was allowed to recover for two hours, although she was kept unconscious. Then, still in a trance, she received a crash course in Honduran history and geography. Ibarra also implanted more of her life as a young girl, assisted by his memory-enhancing drug. All the additions were done in Spanish, of course. In addition, they added a few words and phrases in Gará­funa, in memory of an imaginary Gará­funa ancestor. When they finished, she was put into a deep sleep, and Ibarra left the island.
 
 
January 19
-- The next day José carried Pansy back to the beach. She regained consciousness, but when she awoke there was no way for her to know that an entire day had passed. She was groggy and confused for a few minutes, but she quickly remembered the threat that José had made, and she repeated her plea for mercy. José silenced her, telling her that her fund of knowledge was partly in her hands. “Your body’s done, as you know. You’re clearly a campesina, as you see every morning in the mirror. And like I keep telling you, we’re transforming your mind as well, to your own specifications–the ones you so conveniently provided to Suzi. But we haven’t decided how much of Seá±or Cualquiera’s education you’ll be allowed to keep. I can choose what you keep and what you lose.”

“Yes, Seá±or, I understand. But please, let me… let me to keep the sports. I’ll be… I’ll do what you say.”

“Of course you will. And yes, I don’t care about sports. Things like that, and chess–we could let you keep them, if you please me. I’ll only be pleased if you serve me wholeheartedly. ‘Skillfully and cheerfully,’  ¿remember? You’ve been rebellious and sullen, as if you think you’re more than a maid and a whore.”

“Seá±or, I work better. I will try to please you.”

“Good. Then maybe you won’t lose too much more.”

“ ¿More? But…  ¿What about my sports?  ¿My baseball, my chess?  ¿I keep them?”

“Don’t talk nonsense. Campesinas don’t know anything about baseball or football. Or chess.”

She took inventory of… of béisbol, drawing a blank. She knew it was a norteamericano game, but she couldn’t name the teams, and she couldn’t recall how to play the game. Juan Paz, a local boy from San Pedro, played for… some northern team. She remembered fáºtbol, with six men–or a dozen?–running and kicking a ball, but the rules were unknown. Tennis remained. She was sure there were others, but they had disappeared from her brain. Chess was gone. Some of checkers remained, but it was shaky. Poker and gin rummy seemed to be untouched. She shut her eyes and wept as she explored her losses. How had he done this to her?

José smiled smugly. “Pansy, you’re going to act like a model campesina, humble and obedient. There’s no way you can avoid it. You can behave properly, and keep some of Seá±or Cualquiera’s knowledge, or you can become totally ignorant–and in the end you’ll still behave properly. If you really want to avoid losing more than necessary, then treat me well. Serve me willingly and without reserve, in bed and out. Obey me implicitly. Anticipate my wishes.  ¿Do you hear me?”

Miserable, she replied, “Yes.” She wouldn’t–couldn’t–fight, even passively, if he could amputate her mind piecemeal. He raised an eyebrow and she hurriedly corrected herself: “Yes, Seá±or, I understand. Please,  ¿what can I do for you now?” He told her to seduce him, and she complied. There was no reluctance, no holding back. José rewarded her with a strong dose of pleasure. Her training was progressing well, he thought.

Pansy was shaken by the day’s events. She had fainted, and then awakened just a few moments later. In that brief time, José had stolen part of her mind. How? It didn’t really matter. She couldn’t afford more losses. In spite of her hatred for the bastard, she determined to do exactly as he said. She’d do whatever he told her, become whatever he wanted. The alternative was worse.