Transformation Story: Twinned

Twinned

Hannah went down one flight of stairs and then the next set.  Rebecca’s house not only felt vast but was very awkwardly designed.  Hannah remembered her saying something about it having been altered or extended every decade in the past two centuries or so.  It did not look much older than Victorian but with the Gothic Revival style that meant there were loads of fake spires and pointed windows.  From somewhere below, Hannah could hear the noise of the party.  She pressed the button to light her watch face so she could read the time in the gloomy stairwell.  It showed that she had been asleep for more than four hours.  Soon after arriving Hannah had gone up to the room Rebecca had assigned her, right up in the attic area of the house.  With a particularly busy week at the office and the long drive down here she had not been surprised to feel weary.  It turned out that her intended ‘quick snooze’ had become something more like a full-blown sleep.

Hannah picked her way precariously down the last of the stairs.  Outside the door there she adjusted the veil she wore.  Rebecca’s parties were renowned and this year she had gone for an Arabian Nights theme.  She had apparently hired some Turkish band and, when she had arrived, Hannah had caught sight of hand-woven carpets, cushions, incense burners and lattice lanterns all around.  Hannah had initially been a little concerned at fitting in with Rebecca’s latest plan: she remembered the ‘Venice Beach’ party of two years earlier with regret.  However, as she thought about it, she realised that given the theme she did not have to turn up looking like a belly dancer or harem resident, but in something more encompassing.  As a result she was now in a broad sweeping plum-shade damask outfit.  She had not disappeared behind a burka but had a chiffon veil over her face.  Her headscarf jangled with ‘gold’ discs and her feet were shod in the most delightful embroidered pumps.

Hannah now pushed on the door which she thought led to the kitchen.  She was not far wrong.  It was just down a short corridor to where the actual door to the kitchen stood open.  Inside was a small group of men and women standing around; glasses of wine in their hands.

“Oh, Hannah, you’ve changed.”

Hannah focused on the woman speaking, realising it was Lillian looking pretty different to how she usually appeared.  She was dressed in a cropped green silk choli made less provocative by the duppatta draped around her neck; it was matched by the gypsy-style lehnga skirt.  The colours and the patterning were stunning and the choli showed off Lillian’s trim waist.  Hannah wondered why it took something like a fancy dress party to get British women to dress exotically.  Lillian may have got the wrong country; Hannah was worldly enough to recognise Indian clothing, but she certainly looked impressive.

“It’s only a month since you’ve seen me; I can’t look that different.”  Hannah joked.  You, however, are looking stunning.”

Lillian flushed and nervously tugged at her hair, tonight rather than pinned up in the practical style she typically wore, it was hung over her shoulder in a plait.

“Oh, this is something Rebecca found out for me.  I feel terribly self-conscious in it.  That’s why I am hiding out here.  Is that why you changed too?”

“Erm, I just woke up and put this stuff on.”

“Okay, but that was you in that, whatever you call it, chainmail?  I saw you earlier with your friend.”

“No, it must be someone else.  I was sleeping upstairs.  Only just brushed out the bed- hair.”

“Well, then there’s a woman who looks the spitting image of you here.  I bet it’s some trick of Rebecca’s.  She’s in this amazing outfit, being led around on a chain, by this other woman, what was her name, Isadora?  The one in the Alexandra Vidal dress well that’s what Melissa said.”

“I see.”  Hannah responded not really knowing what to say.

It certainly seemed like the kind of weird trick that Rebecca would pull off, finding someone who looked very much like Hannah and then making her up to look even closer in appearance.  Then, it seemed, she had got her parading around looking like some kind of lesbian.  Perhaps Sara had been involved too; she was always going on about how Hannah had to be a lesbian given how she looked and the fact that she never seemed to be able to hold on to a boyfriend past the first weekend away.

“Hannah?”  It was Sara looking incredulous.

Hannah found it disconcerting to see the women she knew, she did not call them all friends, dressed so differently to usual.  Sara was looked like some kind of vizier from the 1920s: dressed in a sharp, man’s suit with a fez on top and a slim moustache painted on.  Hannah felt a conflict of emotions whether she should be disapproving at how politically incorrect this whole party was, or the fact that Sara, for her doting husband and four children, looked by far the greater lesbian tonight.

“I’ve just seen you out there.”  She gestured to the other door which led out into the main corridor of Rebecca’s house.  Hannah was uncertain if she meant in the lounge, the dining room or even outside.  “I was complimenting you for finally coming out.  That’s a lovely, erm, partner, you’ve landed yourself.  But it can’t be…”

Hannah shook her head, delighting a little that Sara had been fooled by what was becoming increasingly clear had been some stunt of Rebecca’s.

“It’s some joke of Rebecca’s.”  Lillian explained their theory.

“Did you speak to her?”  Hannah asked.

“No, she was doing that submissive femme thing.  It seemed natural given she was on a chain held by this woman, Dora.”

“And you thought that was me?”  Hannah asked, giving air to her indignation.

“Well, it sort of fitted …”

“I bet you were delighted: all your theories about me suddenly seemed entirely true.”

“I guess so.”

Sara shrugged with the arrogant manner women of her kind of background adopted.  They could never see they might cause offence by spouting every theory that crossed their mind.

“She’s probably Russian or Slovene or something; probably doesn’t even speak English.”  Melissa suggested.

“Well, I suppose I had better go and meet her before anyone else has their ‘suspicions confirmed’,” Hannah gestured the quotation marks, “just like Sara.”

Hannah walked briskly along the main corridor, but as she did, she realised that really she had nothing much to be angry about.  Both Sara and Lillian had recognised her for who she was immediately.  This was all some game of Rebecca’s it was clear and she guessed she should be gracious and accept it as that.  She should be flattered, she told herself, that it had been her that Rebecca had thought to play with.  She also wondered whether this Russian woman was her size and whether she could get her own back on Rebecca, and especially Sara, and swap costumes.  With a mischievous grin, Hannah continued with more of a spring in her step, thinking of ways of using this game for her own amusement.

As she entered the long, wood floored lounge, Hannah saw Rebecca with a small cluster of men and women and one of them was clearly this Isadora.  She wore a close fitting dress, sleeveless and with mesh stretching between the two slender straps over her décolletage.   The body of the dress, reaching to just above the knee, was made of hundreds of short rectangular pieces of gold metal aligned vertically and separated into narrow strips and broader bands.  The woman was probably in her forties, but her skin looked surprisingly taut as if, for her, one of those rejuvenating creams had actually worked for her; all over.  Her hair was a natural jet black dyed dark red along its fringe and at the tips which hung down over her full breasts.  Her face was long and elegant coming to a pointed chin, her mouth was small but her lips were full.  Her eyes were large and accentuated by the mascara or kohl or whatever it was supposed to be called.  It had been applied in a style that Hannah associated with Ancient Egypt.

Hannah looked around for the woman who was supposed to be her doppelganger and it appeared for the moment as if she had gone.  Then, as Hannah approached the one she guessed was Isadora, she saw she held the end of a slender chain.  With her eyes Hannah followed it around the woman’s leg and then out of sight, but she realised it led to the woman she could now see knelt on the floor at Isadora’s heel.  As Hannah approached the woman turned her head.  Through a gap between the legs of those standing over her, Hannah caught the woman’s gaze and as she did felt a cold shiver as if somehow she had looked into a mirror.  Of course, the woman looking back was heavily made-up and wore a shimmery head dress, but Hannah could see immediately why so many here might mistake the two of them for each other.  Hannah guessed this was a little like what an out-of-body experience would look like; she jabbed her thigh with her nails just to prove she was not back in the bedroom, dreaming all of this.

Hannah found she was eager to talk to the kneeling woman, but thought it best to play it relaxed and so sauntered up to the group as if she was naturally circulating through the party.

“And what do you do Isadora?”  Geoff, one of Rebecca’s brothers-in-law asked as Hannah came into earshot.

Isadora smiled as if it was a foolish question.  “I am an artist.”

“In what medium?”  It Amy, Geoff’s wife, who asked.”

“People.”

“I think she means tattoos.”  Geoff observed glancing at the woman on the floor.

“Oh, that is but part of it.”  Isadora continued.

“And what themes?”  Joanna, Rebecca’s other sister, asked.

“One key theme.  You know the concept that there is not a single Earth or even a single universe, but an infinite number lying parallel to each other, breaking off every time someone makes a decision.  In one the person turns left, in the other they turn right.  Of course there are also far greater differences …”

“Like if Hitler won the Second World War, you know that book we read Amy, what was it?”

“‘Fatherland’.”  Amy responded.  “Ah yes, I get the point.”

“Yes, parallel universes, one where this Hitler wins; one where he loses.”

It struck Hannah that Isadora seemed unfamiliar with who Hitler was or what he had done, but she guessed the woman might be a foreigner and something was being lost in translation.

“Of course.  In many of the varieties of the world, there will be different people, because if you have different social manners, a different society, different countries even, then the same people are not going to meet or to have children.  Thus, the chances of finding another version of yourself in one of these other worlds would be very rare.”

“Like in ‘The One’.”  William spoke; Hannah remembered he was something like Rebecca’s nephew, though he was probably only five years younger than her.  “The Jet Li movie.”  He continued but it was apparent no-one knew what he was referring to.

“Precisely.”  Isadora said, though Hannah felt it was more to get the focus back on her than because she was any particular fan of Li’s work.

“I see: the fascination with the same person but being so different because of the different environment they were brought up in; nurture rather than nature.”  Geoff said, clearly intrigued.

“I always said your brother could have been Rommel.”  Amy joked.

“But what fascinates me is erasing such differences, proving that what is inherent in such people, those who appear in more than one world, would be precisely the same; crafting them so that the two versions are very alike.  Do you not see how much value there is in arranging something like that?”

“And that’s why you brought your Hannahl here, to match with Hannah.”  William noted, grinning at Hannah and leading the assembled group to turn and look at her too.

Isadora’s face lit up with an intensity that alarmed Hannah.  She looked like someone in a movie opening the casket to uncover the lost gold.

“Hannah.  Hannah Siobhan Watkins.”

“Yes.  That’s me.”

“I had hoped so.  I am Isadora.  Let me introduce you to your doppelganger, Hannahl.”

Isadora turned to the woman kneeling and put the arc of her hand beneath Hannahl’s chin and so prompted her to rise.  Hannah looked on her almost stunned, not simply because they looked so alike, but because even at this party with everyone dressed exotically, she appeared as if she had just stepped from some alien world.  Hannah guessed, given what Isadora had just said about her work, this was the effect she had been aiming for and, it appeared, Hannahl had no objection to be being used as a piece of art.

Hannahl wore an outfit that might have seemed no more than interestingly stylish on the red carpet of a movie premiere but here at a suburban party it really stood out.  As Hannah moved closer she realised it was entirely of metal, made into hundreds of tiny rings woven together into a chainmail outfit.  Unlike what Hannah envisaged: warriors wearing heavy jerkins of this, the clothes Hannahl had been dressed in were clearly light and gave her a striking, almost magical, appearance.

The dress was simple and short.  It had a halter neck and a ‘v’ front that allowed Hannah to see that Hannahl wore no bra.  The dress stretched only a short way down her thigh.  Her hands wore matching glovelets fixed at the wrist and covering the back of her hand but leaving her fingers, tipped with talon-like nails, visible.  Her shoes continued the theme.  They were like gladiator sandals in style but the upper was a long diamond of mail, attached at the ankle.  Her hair was the same shade as Hannah’s and just as long, but done into a single plait stretching down her back.  This plait emerged from her beneath her headpiece which encased her skull and stretched to rest on her shoulders to the back and to the front.  It was clearly made with skill, of even finer mesh than the dress, and came to diadem on Hannahl’s forehead.  Around her neck was a chainmail choker distinguished from her other clothes by the darker strand running in the midst; from it hung a ring to which was attached her chain; her leash, Hannah guessed she should think of it.

Hannah knew that she would never even think of wearing an outfit of this kind.  Though, of course, it looked as if it would fit a science fiction theme night, Hannah had a sense of something far more primitive, beautiful certainly, but from a harder, more direct age.  The dress was cut sexily and even though the mail was close enough not to show any skin where it covered, this was a provocative outfit.  Seeing a woman who looked so much like her wearing it, was very unnerving for Hannah.  For a moment she thought of looking at old video footage of yourself as a younger person, but she realised that this was more.  It was as if her reflection in the mirror had tired of mimicking her and, with a little scorn at its originator, had broken free and gone out to dress and behave in this flirty way for itself.

“Hannah, at last.”

Hannah reluctantly took her eyes away from Hannahl as Rebecca bowled up.  She was dressed as a belly dancer and looked as if she would fit right in with how Hannahl appeared.

“Where have you been?”

“Erm, sleeping.”

“Well, you kind of spoilt the surprise.  It was arranged with Isadora that I’d have you dress up like Hannahl and then have everyone guess who was Hannah and who was Hannahl.  It’s incredible isn’t it, how much she looks like you?”

“Erh, yes, I suppose so.”

“Rebecca, it’s not all spoilt.”  Amy said, and Hannah knew from the past that her sisters went to a lot of trouble to make sure Rebecca’s grand plans kept on track.  “It will be a greater challenge now.  Now we know one is Hannah and one is not, we will be on our guard, but I am sure Isadora can work her magic and make it difficult for us.”

“Amy, you’re right, you are right.”

“Right, Hannah, go with Isadora and Hannahl, get changed and then we’ll be waiting back here and the game will be to see who can tell you from her.  All sorted.”

Hannah had no time to agree or disagree and was bundled from the room and up the stairs to the first of the guest bedrooms, with Isadora grinning and Hannahl following placidly behind.  In the bedroom an outfit identical to Hannahl’s lay on the bed.  Hannah looked at it and pondered what she thought about all this.  Should she go along with what Rebecca had planned, simply to keep her friend from going into a sulk?  Was there any harm in dressing up this way?  After all, Sara was probably the only one who thought she was a lesbian and no matter what Hannah did, she was unlikely to change her opinion.  Suddenly all considerations were thrown from her mind as Hannah felt cold metal slide around her neck and then fastened behind.  She reached up to touch the thick mail necklace, her fingers stroking the ring that protruded from the front.  She knew that Isadora had made the decision for her and had begun to dress her like Hannahl.

Hannah felt she should be angry and protest, but somehow she could not muster those emotions within her, it was as if the moment the necklace had been put on, something had come down to blanket her thoughts.  She found herself turning slowly to face Isadora, but not to challenge, more to show off how good the necklace looked.

“That is much better.  I couldn’t have you experiencing any doubts about this; you are far too valuable for that.”

“Valuable?”

“Yes.  Did you not listen to what I was saying down there?  Do you not know how rare it is to have a matched pair from different worlds brought together?”  Then Isadora laughed.  “I suppose not.  Most of you do not seem to even recognise that there are parallel worlds; you think this is simply the universe.”

Distantly Hannah realised all of these thoughts should be making her run, shout, do anything to escape, but somehow every time a worrying thought arose it was snuffed out so quickly.  It was replaced first with a lack of curiosity about the new idea and then with an acceptance.  She steadily recognised that that acceptance was becoming approval and actually moving towards a delight in the change that she was coming to understand was going to happen to her.

“How is it that all these …” Hannah struggled to phrase the question, “well, no-one questions what you are doing?  Even though it is all strange, erm, naughty … exciting?”

“I have a glamour about me.” Isadora chuckled.

“You are glamorous.”  Hannah agreed.

Isadora laughed longer.  “No, I have a glamour…”  She let her words trail off.  “You don’t understand do you?  I was worried you would be too intelligent to make a good slave, but it seems you are perfectly suited.  I am so glad: it saves me having to start all over again in another version of the world.”

Hannah wondered if she had just been insulted or patronised, but as Isadora had just said, she did not really understand.  Instead, she felt a glow of happiness that she had somehow spared Isadora the effort of having to start her task again.  Surely alleviating her of that effort was something a good slave should do.  Good slave?  For some reason the words shocked Hannah, but she struggled to grasp why that should be.  Being good was what everyone should aspire to and being a slave, well, had not Isadora just said she was perfectly suited for that?

“Hannahl is you.  She was born the same day to your parents, but in a very different world to this one, a world in which I acquired her as a slave, as you can see from the clothes she wears.  I born was with some abilities, ones that I have trained hard to enhance and have been tutored to improve, so I could tell that, unlike most, she was not alone in the multiverse.  You were the next nearest version and so I set my mind to collect a pair.  Such a valuable possession to have, such a wonderful gift to give to my patron.”

Hannah wanted to protest that she could not be sold, she could not be owned or presented as a gift to anyone.  However, there was a strength in Isadora’s words that she found herself unable to contest.  It appeared that everything she said would indeed become true no matter how fantastical it sounded.

“Remove the clothes, put on your slaveweb.”

Hannah was alarmed to find that, even though she was consciously resisting the command, her body simply obeyed.

“Slaveweb?”

Isadora chuckled.  “Of course, you are ignorant of this most illustrious invention, a set of clothing which enslaves you, but also means you can feel what another wearing an attuned slaveweb can feel.  Naturally Hannahl’s slaveweb is attuned to yours. Once you have been connected by wearing the slaveweb, you and yourself will experience the same sensations.  Toying with the other version of you will give such a delicious circle of pleasure.  Put it on.”

Hannah realised that while Isadora had been talking she had removed her clothes and now found herself standing unashamedly naked before the older woman.  She simply reached for the dress and lifted it over her head and let it fall to her shoulders.  The metal was fortunately polished smooth and was cold to her skin, giving her a delightful shiver as it fell into place.  Quickly Hannah slipped the glovelets over each arm.

“Hannahl, come, dress Hannahr.”

“Hannahr?”  Hannah asked though feeling that she knew the answer already and her body simply desired the frisson of having it confirmed.

“You are Hannahr and she is Hannahl, your names show who is of the left and who of the right.”

As Isadora ushered Hannahl forward and down to the floor to begin putting on Hannah’s new shoes, Hannah noticed the small tattoo on the nape of Hannahl’s neck.  It was a spiral pattern ending with its tail pointing to the left hand side of her body.  Hannah alarmed herself by suddenly knowing that she would be given one that mirrored it, pointing to her right side.  She might be going to be made identical as far as possible to Hannahl but there would be one way in which their owner could tell them apart.  Owner?  That thought reared up in Hannah’s head.  The fact that she had thought of it so mundanely alarmed her more than the growing conviction that she was here to become someone’s possession; a precious matched pair with Hannahl.

Hannah held on to the hope that being here on Earth, with her in this slaveweb, presumably with a stronger mind than this version of her who had always been a slave, her thoughts would help them each break free.  She concentrated on thinking such thoughts of rebellion to Hannahl.  However, the woman knelt back and smiled up at Hannah seemingly far happier now they were dressed such alike.  Hannah was standing passive, her body unwilling to comply with her mind’s desire for rebellion.  In fact it let itself be turned and Hannah felt her hair being plaited so it resembled Hannahl’s.  It seemed impossible that Hannah’s hair was the same length as hers, but once the plait was finished she could feel it hanging as far down her own back.  As she glanced at her hands she saw their nails now had the red shade that Hannahl’s nails had.  Hannah gasped as she realised it was not simply her clothes that had been changed and her body tingled with the recognition of all that that meant.

Then Isadora stood in front of Hannah and lowered the last piece, the mail headdress, on to her.  Hannah felt she had been thrust far from the Rebecca’s house, the very room she was in, if not into a different world, at least into seeing this Earth as alien as Hannahl would have done.  Now that she was fully in the slaveweb, Hannah’s belief that she could assert her sense of independence over Hannahl and so liberate both of them quickly faded.  Instead, the sensations that Hannahl clearly felt, flowed quickly into Hannah.  Her body felt languid but aroused, there was a sense that every minor movement was a delicious communication of what she was: a sexual slave, a possession prized for her appearance and all the erotic skills she possessed.  Hannahl stood and slowly closed for a long kiss, her tongue snaking deliciously into Hannah’s mouth as the pressure of her breasts thrust Hannah’s nipples delightfully against the now warm metal that covered them.

As Hannahl toyed with her, Hannah began to feel the feeding back of sensation that her mistress had told her about.  Hannah tried to think of her in different terms, as her captor, but again Hannahl’s perceptions seemed so much more sensuous, so much more right that it was impossible to choose any other viewpoint over them.  Steadily Hannah found a whole host of thoughts flowing into her mind: how she loved being a slave, how she lusted after women, how obedient she was to her mistress, how her mistress was her goddess she burned to serve in every way.

“Oh yes, excellent.  You match perfectly.”  Isadora said excitedly and Hannahl stepped back a little.

Hannah did not know how to respond.  Now she was experiencing all the pleasures of being a sexual slave, caressing a woman who knew her so intimately down to every fibre and wanted simply to pass her time bringing pleasure to Hannah, to herself; to herself, to Hannah.

Isadora pressed her fingers against the nape of Hannah’s neck and for seconds the skin felt hot and then as they were lifted away, Hannah knew that somehow she would now have a tattoo there, the mirror of Hannahl’s.  Hannah felt that even if she had the ability to escape the will to do so was not there.  This existence as a treasured slave, a valuable artefact was the one that she felt fated for and thus there was no way she could do anything to alter that.  Apparently unaware or uncaring of what Hannah might think, Isadora began the final stage.  First the chain was removed from the ring at Hannahl’s neck to be replaced by one strand of a ‘y’ chain as you would attach a leash to a bitch’s collar.  Moments later, the other strand was joined to the ring on Hannah’s necklace and for the first time in her life she was led on a leash.

Hannah now moved, not perfectly in step with Hannahl, but certainly matched in walking as they went from the room behind their mistress and down the stairs.  As they entered the lounge, Hannah was conscious of numerous people, claps and cheers.  There were flashes of bright lights, that she guessed were from cameras, all around.  The light intensified and Hannah closed her eyes as it filled her vision.  Then through her eyelids she could see it had subsided.

As Hannah opened her eyes and took in where she was, all that remained of her was swept away.  In this court, filled with people dressed in rich silks and damasks, lace and leather, bedecked with jewels and leading leashed slaves, Hannah had no place, but Hannahr belonged.  Around her Hannahr was aware of her mistress being complimented and herself and Hannahl being admired.  Every gentle brush of her bare thigh, every surreptitious grasp of her breast sent pulses of pleasures running through her.  As her hip was pressed against Hannahl’s she felt it double, the sensation of skin constrained by chainmail, reported back from her brain through her own senses and the signals from the slaveweb.  Without thinking, she and Hannahl began to dance, snaking provocatively against each other, kept close by their chain, sharing an amplified pleasure no-one else could quite experience the same way.  With her nipples erect and her pussy running juicy Hannahr felt herself coming to orgasm; every grunt and gasp not echoed but harmonised by the sounds from Hannahl.  They were two but in this sensation they were one.  Hannah had never had sex with a woman, she had never dressed in a sensuous chainmail outfit and she had never slumped to her knees screeching out her orgasm in some court on another world.  However, this was no longer Hannah and to Hannahr these things were to be relished.

As Hannahr gathered her senses and came to her feet, led once again with herself, her double, the other half of what made her so sensual, she loved being at this court and she worshipped mistress for being so clever to bring her and her other together to create such a wonderful whole.

The afterglow of the orgasm kept Hannahr from focusing on what was going on around her.  She was conscious of mistress bidding her farewell and she recognised that her mistress had been replaced by a new one, younger and dressed in the most exquisite silk, an ankle length brocade coat and trousers, in cream and pale yellow silk, her long dark hair raised up into a conical spiral.  Pearls dripped from her wrists, across her breasts, from her ears and decorated her fingers and forehead.  Even with such wealth, she grinned like a child with the most perfect gift.  She strode, grasping her new slaves’ leash, led them to her quarters and into the large, ornate cylindrical cage, with the finest silk cushions spread inside.  Here she left Hannahl and Hannahr to pleasure themselves until feed time and then to perform to delight her court.  For now, though all that filled Hannahr’s mind was the pleasure of playing, caressing, fondling, kissing, licking, sucking and thrusting against the warm, soft skin, the flesh that was herself.