Author: Bulgroz the Third Title: The Adjusters #33 - A Wedding and an Assignment Keywords: MF, mc Posted: October 2, 2012 Edited: October 2, 2012 The Adjusters #33 A Wedding and an Assignment (Huntington, West Virginia. Ten months ago.) He follows the girl through the hallways of City Hall, trying hard to make it seem like he is not following her. Thankfully, there are enough people mulling about, looking busy, worried, overwhelmed, that it is as easily done as said. He is curious where she is going. Her marriage ceremony--a civil wedding City Hall, not uncommon, but decidedly not the norm in the area--is set to start in less than a half hour. A small wedding, by the way those things are measured, but the reception to follow would be larger, with a luxurious reception hall reserved at a hotel down the street. A good hundred guests expected, most of them young--friends of the couple. The girl turns a corner in the hallway after a quick look around, and he tries to camouflage himself among the people milling about. He is dressed in his dark suit, and he can pass off as a civil servant fairly easily, at least if he hides his face a little bit. He approaches the corner, and risks a look. The hallway beyond is empty. He can hear the sound of her high heels on the floor further down, past another corner. He hurries as silently as possible to that corner, and peeks around. There she is, nearing a door in that deserted hallway. He takes a moment to admire her; her wedding dress is short and tight--too short and too right, uncharitable souls might say, but it does a perfect job emphasizing the girl's astonishing legs, long and toned and sheathed in sheer white silk stockings. Her face is half-covered with a thin veil, tied to a small hat sitting atop her long blonde hair. He has no time to contemplate his next step, however, as the bride quickly turns towards a man who is approaching from the other direction. The man is tall, tanned, with a South-American vibe. The bride does not say a word when she sees him, but simply welcomes him in her arms, and he kisses her hard, pulling her against him. If the way they kiss does not make it clear what is going on, the way she lifts her leg and rubs it against his and lets him run his hand underneath her thigh does. Stumbling, still kissing, they open the door and almost tumble their way inside. He watches the couple disappear into the room, dumbfounded for a moment. The South-American man with the bride was not the groom--who is a short rather tubby young man, with all the self-confidence of a beaten puppy. As far as he can tell, the only thing that the groom has going for him is a wealthy family and a healthy trust fund. Not that love has never flourished in such arid soil, but the scene he has just witnessed suggests that perhaps the bride is not altogether head-over-heels for her new groom. Which leaves him wondering what to do next. He has been looking forward to this, to this new Vessel for his Ministry, one worthy of his Seed, but the girl is cavorting before her own wedding, blatantly cheating on her husband-to-be. It brings her worth into question, and he does not need such questioning at this point. He is aroused, he is primed, his Seed is looking for release and to spread itself out into the world and cry out for reverence and adoration. He remains staring at the vaguely yellowing wall before him for a long time, unable to contemplate an alternate plan. He is feeling depressed and restless at the same time, a feeling he does not care for. The anticlimax of the events are hitting him hard, and he is still revved up from his imagining the coupling that has been aborted. The door where the couple has disappeared opens again, jerking him out of his reverie. He steals a glance around the corner to see the tall South American, a broad satisfied smile on his face, adjust his suit and walk away. The door is closed. He does not take a moment to think, and when he figures the South-American man is far enough, he tiptoes to the door and opens it as quietly as possible. It is not locked. He sneaks in, and locks the door behind him. "Did you forget something again, Fernando?" The voice is vaguely mocking, and he braces himself for a difficult few seconds before he can overpower her. This is always the most dangerous part of the operation. He really has to find a better way to approach his Vessels. He turns around and sees that the girl is adjusting her stockings up her long legs. Her back is to him, and she is concentrating on snapping the garter. The sight is mesmerizing--she has a foot up on a chair--and he almost ruins his plans by his staring. "Fernando? What--" She starts to look up, and he moves as swiftly as he can. He bridges the space in the small disaffected office--empty but for an old-fashioned desk and a chair and a pile of boxes gathering dust alongside one wall--and puts his hand on the girl's shoulder. The usual sensation runs up his arm, mysterious and welcome at the same time. The girl's face grows blank for a few seconds, before regaining some expression. He looks at her--Corrina, that is her name. Corrina Wolf, soon to be Corrina Larsen. She is looking right back at him with an expression that matches her maiden name. Her eyes dart down from his face down to his chest and further down to his groin before heading back up. There is no indication of what she thinks of him, and despite the hold he knows he has on her, he shivers. This woman is a predator, he knows, a woman who knows how to dominate, who knows what she wants and knows how to get it. Thankfully, he has some help in that department himself. "Corrina, I am your Lord, your Savior. I am the Light that illuminates your life and reveals the Truth. You are my Servant. You are my Vessel. She looks him right in the eyes, and he can swear he sees her desire swell tenfold. "I am, my Lord. I am your servant. Your vessel." "Who was that, before?" he asks her. "Fernando, my Lord." He has figured that much already. "No, I mean. Who is he? Have you been seeing him long?" "I met him a week ago, my Lord. An enjoyable man. Great ass. And a wonderful lover with a nice tool." His Vessels, once they acknowledge his Divinity, are often without shame, but it is a lack of shame that talks of their openness to him, of their faith in him. Corrina's shamelessness, in contrast, he feels is more of a shout of pride, a show of domination, a claim of independence. "Corrina. Strip." She will do as a Vessel, after a suitable behavioral correction, but he will treat her with the respect she deserves, which was none. Corrina reaches behind her, unhooks her dress, and shuffles out of it in a move that make her breasts bounce in the shelf bra before it sends the dress to pool down at her feet. She has a perfect body, hard and tight, like her character. A tattoo of a snake can be seen sneaking out of her panties and up her left side. He is already hard, of course, but seeing her stripped to her underwear with a pair of thigh-high white stockings and heels--and her bridal veil--increases his arousal. Especially since she naturally strikes a pose that emphasizes her assets, a pair of large breasts that look rather artificial. "Take off your bra. Did he fuck you?" He needs her to say it. "Oh yes, my Lord--just a quickie because I'm getting married now." She reaches behind her again to unclasp her bra, which she pulls off in a smooth motion that imparts just the right wiggle to her breasts. "But it should hold me over until he can fuck me properly." She stands before him, large spectacular breasts naked for his perusal. Artificial indeed, but also hypnotic. He finds himself glad he is a God and thus able to subjugate her, because a small part of him worries that she would have easily wrapped him around her finger otherwise. He makes to reach with a hand and touch the fleshy globes before him, and is surprised to find himself hesitating. Which makes him almost angry, and he grabs a breast with a firm hand and presses and squeezes and generally manhandles the flesh without regard to her comfort. How dare she challenge him? Corrina moans under his attention, and she pushes her chest forward exaggeratedly. "I'm sure Fernando likes these big boobs of yours," he says. "Did he come inside of you?" That worries him, a lot--it would ruin his plans for the day. "No," she says, suppressing another moan as his fingers find her large nipple and twist it. "He came in my mouth. He always does. He likes to come in my mouth. Says it's just proper for a slut like me." Fernando's not wrong, he thinks. But a Vessel is a Vessel is a Vessel. And he is already committed. "Good," he says. "On this, your wedding day, you were chosen to be a Vessel for my Seed, and it would not do to mix that Seed with the seed of a lowly minion." There will be no kissing. Not that he has any particular desire to. She does not arouse feelings of love and respect from him, feelings that might lead him to treat her like a beloved Concubine, but instead he feels the need to tame her, to teach her a lesson. He pulls up the chair in the middle of the room, and sits on it, after removing his pants. His erect cock is sticking straight out, as was proper of a God. The sight always makes him swell with pride. "Take those off," he tells Corrina, gesturing to her white almost translucent panties. There is little time for niceties, and he is in any event not in any mood for them. "Then come sit on your God's lap and swallow his Sword." She flashes a grin--she was eager for it, an eagerness that is much more than just the result of his power over her--Fernando was more correct than he probably would have cared to admit. She slips the panties down her legs with practiced ease, and reveals a perfectly shaved pussy, its lips still red from the pounding she has just been subject to. Without a word, she runs a hand over those same lips, and shivers. She is leading him on, he knows, and she is doing a phenomenal job of it. With her stockings, heels, and her veil, with her hand between her legs and large inflated breasts bouncing on her chest, she looks like an ad for a cheap fetish store. Except for the fact that she is too good looking to feature in such an ad. "Come receive tribute from your Lord," he tells her, torn between disgust and desire. "With pleasure, my Lord." She walks towards him slowly, one foot in front of the other, swaying her ass, swinging her breasts, inviting, demure, hungry. As she is about to straddle him, he raises his hand. "Stop. Turn around. You have displeased your Lord by having a lover defile your face, and you will not get your mouth near me. You will mount me with your back turned, in a proper show of contrition." If Corrina is displeased, she does not show it. She turns around, and wiggles her toned posterior right in front of his face, drawing his attention to the pussy lips peeking between her thighs, clearly wet with her juices. And then she sits on his lap, grasping his cock in her hand to guide it inside her. She does not spend any time adjusting to his size, merely sinks and impales herself upon him, letting out a long moan as she takes him all inside her tight pussy. He gasps. She is tight, tighter than he expected. Here she is, sitting on his lap, impaled on his shaft, squeezing it hard from inside, milking it, shifting her hips back and forth and left to right, pressed down into him, a moan growling in her throat as she seems to please herself with his shaft. For two full minutes she does not pull herself off from his lap, content to hold him inside her and grind away in a circular motion, a sublime lap dance if not for the cock skewering her. When he finally moves and puts his hands on her hips, she groans louder and lifts herself up from his cock before slamming down onto it. "Fuck yes!" she moans, before doing it again. And again. He is holding on for the ride, surprised by her ardor. His Vessels love the feel of him inside them, and they are enthusiastic when he orders them to be, but this one, she is consumed by a hunger that beffudles him. She takes his hands in hers and lifts them to her breasts, pressing them on the large globes of flesh. "Squeeze my big tits! Squeeze them! Fuck yes! Yes! Fuck me, my Lord! Fuck me! FUCK--" As he kneads her breasts with his fingers, marveling at the feel of the silicon-enhanced flesh, Corrina's movements get jerkier, her moans and groans louder, and she slams herself down more and more violently on his lap, only to finally press down and grind her ass down with his shaft as deep within her as it will go--and like that, she comes, freezing up and clenching, a scream caught mid-throat. The way her pussy seizes up almost makes him spill his Seed right then and there. She collapses onto him, her back to his chest, breathing hard, his cock still inside her. With a moan, she takes one of his hands and brings it to her face, slipping his thumb into her mouth and sucking on it like she might a cock presented to her face by a lover. She sucks on it lovingly, with little sounds of appreciation, and soon her hips start bucking lightly in time with her ministrations. She is getting going again--he has to admit, her enthusiasm for the sexual act is starting to be contagious--he has to fight back a smile. But he is running out of time. He has to move on to his duties. It will not take too long. He frees his hand--despite Corrina's whimper of protestation--and puts both of them back on her hips and guides her while he starts to thrust into her to her renewed delight. "Oh! Yes! Fuck me, my Lord!" she groans, reaching back with her hand over her head to caress his face. It was time. "Corrina," he says, thrusting his hips upwards to meet her descending thrusts, "I will now baptize you into your new faith. You will accept my Seed deep into your womb, and carry it to term so that you can bring forth a new generation of worshippers for your Lord. Tell me, do you want my Seed?" "Fuck! I want your cum, my Lord! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!" It is a good thing she accepts him so readily, because he would not have been able to resist much longer. She milks him thoroughly, her pussy a warm sheath like a blow job from angels. He settles back into his chair, and lets her do much of the work, enjoying the feeling of having his Divine Seed coaxed out of him by a professional pussy. He feels the rush of orgasm arrive slowly, building up inexorably, until his balls are ready to explode and he resists the urge to thrust and rides the wave until it finally breaks and he stiffens as he is engulfed and then he comes, hard, spurting jets after jets of cum into Corrina's womb, to the vocal delight of the girl who presses down harder on his lap with a strident "Oh yes! Come inside me! Deep inside me!" as she succumbs to her own orgasm. She lies back against him, into his his chest, her hair in his face, breathing hard. He recovers slowly. They are under a time constraint--when is he not these days?--and he has something else to do. "Corrina," he slurs, trying to remain present. "You are now a vessel of your Lord." "Yes I am," she replies, a twitch in her pussy suggesting that she may be reawakened at the slightest touch. This girl is insatiable, he thinks. "You and your soon-to-be husband are blessed. He shall be rewarded for offering his bride as a Vessel. Now, normally," he cannot help the meta-discourse, "your Lord would grant your soon-to-be-husband his innermost fantasy, as an acknowledgment for his generosity and sacrifice..." He lets the sentence hang. This time, he has something different in mind. He will give her husband-to-be the gift that he does not even know he wants. "A question for you first, Corrina. Do you love him?" "Who, my Lord?" "The man you are about to marry. After all, you are giving yourself away to other men..." Again, he lets the sentence hang. "In a way, my Lord." She manages to sound thoughtful, despite her position, despite her short breath, despite the cock still embedded inside her. "He is kind, he is uncomplicated, and he is simply crazy about me. He will make an excellent husband, and eventually a wonderful father." "So why are you giving yourself away to other men minutes before your own wedding?" He does not count himself, of course, because he is a God. But the latino man from earlier was far from divine. "Because he is not a skilled or imaginative lover, my Lord." One advantage with turning a woman into a Vessel, he thinks, is that she has no misgivings about speaking the truth, whatever it may be. It simplifies conversation enormously. "And I have needs, strong needs. I satisfy them when I can, with who I can. He knows, and he doesn't like it, but he loves me too much to let me go." He nods. Not necessarily as bad as he feared, but something he can work with. "Listen to me well, Corrina." He pulls her close against him, pressing his hands into her large breasts, squeezing. "You will love your soon-to-be husband. You will love him more than you've ever loved anything or anyone. All this sexual energy you have, all this desire, you will direct it all towards him. He will be the one who turns you on, he will be the one who makes you wet, he will be the one to fuel your fantasies. Do you understand?" He squeezes her breasts again. Corrina moans against him, rubbing her ass on his lap, whether to try to arouse him or because she is itching to continue fucking is not clear. "I understand, my Lord. I will be my husband's little slut." He grins. "Smart girl. Exactly. You will be a slut, but you will be your husband's little slut. He will be the alpha and the omega of your sexual fantasies, as is proper. He will be the one to say when you fuck, how you fuck, and even who you fuck. Whatever he says, it will arouse you. And you will do your best to keep him wanting you. In fact, making him want you will make you wet." He pauses, twisting her nipples, eliciting a deep groan. "What is your husband-to-be's name?" "Reginald, my Lord." "You will get a tattoo, as a surprise gift for your nuptials. You can put it wherever you want, but it has to be visible when you disrobe. It will say, 'Reginald's Slut.' Whenever you see it, you will be reminded and reinforced in your position as a slut to your husband. And it will turn you on." Corrina moans even louder and pulls one of his hands down from her breasts to her crotch and presses his finger against her clitoris, shivering as she starts rubbing herself with his finger. "I... I understand, my Lord," she says with a shaky voice. "Good. You shall not remember meeting me today--your lover what's-his-name left you after your dalliance, your last dalliance before your married life in which you will pledge yourself fully to your husband, and you spent time preparing yourself for that new life. You shall never speak of any of this to anyone, ever." "I understand, my Lord." He is still hard, as expected. Which is good, because he wants some of what she gave to that man earlier. "Get down on your knees, Corrina, and worship this Divine Rod. Satisfy me with your mouth." Corrina wastes no time to pull herself from his lap, and turns around to face him, her sumptuous body revealed in its full glory. He wonders where she will choose to get the tattoo. "With pleasure--" she says, before bending down at the waist and slurping the head of his cock into her wet mouth, letting her big breasts dangle between his legs. Her lips feel amazing. She lets the cock go and kneels down at his feet, looking up at him. "--My Lord." And then she engulfs him into the tight confines of her mouth, taking most of his cock in, sucking and licking and slurping with all the enthusiasm of a dedicated Worshipper. * * * (Charleston, West Virginia. Ten months ago.) Elizabeth Bowden answered the door with something akin to trepidation. Jeez, calm down, she scolded herself. You're not in high school anymore. She shook her head, laughing to herself. "Too early?" Greg was there, holding a large bouquet of roses. "Nope, just perfect." He looked adorable with his bouquet. She let him in and took the flowers from him, making a show of appreciating their fragrance--they did smell wonderful--and then stepping up to him to kiss him. Whether he was expecting a chaste kiss or not was rendered moot by her forcefully pressing her lips onto his and driving her tongue into his mouth. Before he could recover, Elizabeth was sauntering away from him, practically giggling. She was so horny she was ready to explode. She headed to the kitchen, put the flowers in a vase, and grabbed the popcorn she had just prepared and a few sodas. "Living room," she said to her fiance who was loitering near the entrance. He was staring at the custom-built wheelchair lift that ran alongside the staircase leading up to the higher floor of the house, a pensive look on his face. "My dad's not here," she said, guessing his thoughts. "He's gone for a few days on a field trip, with some of his vet buddies." Greg must have caught the slight emphasis she had put on gone and days, because he glanced at her and a little smile twitched on the corner of his mouth. "Living room," she repeated, grinning. They sat on the couch. "So what did you have in mind for tonight?" Greg asked. "I don't know. I'm sort of in the mood for a movie. But I feel like staying in--" "Clearly," Greg replied, looking meaningfully at the large bowl of popcorn. She swatted him on the shoulder. "Jerk," she said with a smile. "Anyways. I thought we'd order a movie, cuddle up a bit, talk, drink some. And then..." Almost uncharacteristically, she hesitated. "Well... I was hoping that you could stay the night?" Greg's smile answered her before the conversation caught up with him. "Really?" "If you don't mind, that is..." "I'd love it." She breathed the sigh of relief she had not even noticed that she had held. Now that's acting like a high schooler, she chided herself. He's my fiance, for God's sake! But between her work and taking care of her disabled father, she had precious few opportunities to spend the night outside of her own home. And with her father's rather old-fashioned ideas about morality and propriety, there had been no chance of Greg spending the night here at home, fiance or no fiance. He's so patient, she told herself, looking at her husband-to-be. "What?" he asked. "Just thinking how lucky I am," she replied, leaning over to kiss him. He was ready for it this time, and sank into the kiss with a passion rivaling her own. Before the kiss was over she was pressing her body against his, and subtly rubbing her chest against his, loving the feeling it conveyed to her nipples, naked underneath the thin tee shirt she was wearing. "Wow," said Greg, when he could catch his breath. "Yeah," said Elizabeth, adjusting her shirt. She reached for the remote control. "So what do you feel like watching?" Greg shook his head, as if to restore blood circulation. "Huh, I don't know. Anything really. Something light, maybe? Mindless action flick? Comedy? Something fun." "Mmm... something light. Something fun." She pressed a few buttons, bringing up the On Demand menu, and thumbed through a few of the selections. She glanced sideways at Greg, who was busy running his hand on her bare leg, left uncovered by the shorts she wore. His hand felt nice, very nice. She grinned as she thumbed down the menus and selected what she had toyed with watching in the back of her mind. Greg looked up when the screen resized and turned black before the movie began. "So what did we choose?" "Something light. Something fun." She cuddled up against him, her legs tucked underneath her her, one arm wrapped behind him, the other resting on his stomach. Greg looked at her strangely when he saw the Digital Playground logo flash during the opening credits. "Huh, Lizzie?" "Sshhh..." "Lizzie, do you know what you chose?" "Told you. Something light. Something fun. Maybe something dirty." She turned her head towards him, and grinned wickedly. She kissed him, another fierce kiss that sent tingles down to her crotch. She was sopping wet. This was going to be a great night. They settled to watch the movie and Elizabeth, cuddled up in Greg's arms, enjoyed the slight discomfort she could feel emanating from her fiance. Always keep them a little bit off balance sweetie, always said her friend Shelley. When the first sex scene started on the screen, she felt Greg stiffen against her, and she pressed into him even more. "You okay?" she whispered in his ear, enjoying the effect her breath had on him. "Huh... yeah... it's just..." "Don't tell me it's your first porno," she teased him. She pulled her right leg over his thigh, and felt his erection against her flesh. "No, of course not--I mean..." "It's okay," she reassured him. "You're a man, I understand. Heck, I like them too, once in a while. They're a great way to, you know, get in the mood?" When he turned to look at her, surprised, she grinned. She took his hand and pushed it under her shirt, up to her naked breast, which erupted in goosebumps at the touch. "We're going to be husband and wife soon--I think we should start to share, no? And besides, this may be... educational. You can show me exactly what you expect me to do to you when we're married...." He stared at her a long moment, his hand squeezing her breast softly, while on the screen a fake blonde with a fake chest and a tendency to scream "Fuck me harder you fuckin' bastard!" at the top of her lungs was being taken roughly from behind. "Who's lucky now?" he asked. Elizabeth grinned. "Oh, you haven't gotten lucky yet." By the time the second sex scene of the movie was underway, she was rubbing Greg's hard-on through his pants, while he was pawing her breasts and kept trying to divert her attention from the movie. "Lizzie, you're driving me crazy!" "Good! Exactly the effect I was hoping for." By the time the fake blonde in the second scene received her sperm shower from her beau, Elizabeth had Greg's cock out of his pants and was stroking him slowly. "Tonight," she whispered as she turned to him, "this bad boy is all mine." "No doubt about it," replied Greg, moaning and reaching down to kiss her. For a moment, a flash of guilt stabbed through Elizabeth, and she did her best to push it away as her tongue wrestled with Greg's. "What?" asked Greg. "Nothing..." "I thought you said we were supposed to share. That was a thought you had, and not a nice one." "I..." She took a deep breath, looking Greg in the eyes. His cock was still hard in her hand. "I just hope you don't have... you know... too much hope for tonight." He kissed her softly on the lips. "You mean, not to expect to make love to you tonight?" She drowned in the kiss for a few seconds longer before nodding her head. "Lizzie, you told me that you wanted to remain a virgin until we were married, and I told you before, that's fine with me. I mean," and his smile reached his eyes and made even his pockmarked face beautiful, "I'd love to be inside you, of course--but if it makes you happy to wait, then I'm happy to wait." "It's not..." Another deep breath. "It's not that it makes me happy to wait. It's just..." She let go of his cock--anything else would have been wrong at that point. "I haven't told you why--" "And you don't need to. That's what you want, and that's good enough for me." "But not for me. I need you to know why... why I'm fighting even my own urges, because, frankly, I'd fuck you right here and now if not..." She sought the comfort of his arms. "It's stupid, really. But I promised my mum, several years ago, just before she died, that I'd wait. She told me she wanted my wedding night to be magical, and not to cheapen it by giving myself away before that. And then... and then she died, and all I have left is that promise..." She willed herself not to cry. Greg's hand was in her hair, caressing it softly. On the screen, two girls were locked in a steamy sixty-nine, sloppily licking each other while a man watched them and stroked his impressive cock. "It's okay," said Greg in a soft voice. "I understand. And don't worry about me--I'm not going anywhere. And if the pressure gets too much, well, I've got my own ways to keep me distracted. And we can still do other stuff, right?" Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes wet, and he leaned down to kiss her, a gentle kiss that before too long she was returning with a passion that channeled the hurt she was trying to swallow back. She loved this man so much, and he understood her and was willing to give her time and space, and that love seemed to overflow her and she kissed him even harder and she pushed herself onto his lap and pressed her crotch against his cock and rubbed back and forth. Greg's hands were now both underneath her shirt and were kneading her breasts hard, and she moaned in his mouth as her rubbing intensified. She was so aroused, on edge ever since she thought about the coming night, that she was hardly surprised when a shift in her hips lined up Greg's cock with her clitoris and even through her panties and her shorts the pressure was enough to trigger an orgasm that had her thrashing on Greg's lap. When she had recovered, she stood up between his legs, and pointed down. "Take off your pants." As he shuffled on the couch to take them off, she pulled off her shirt, letting her breasts swing freely, her nipples reacting to the air and instantly turning into hard knobs. She shimmied off her shorts down her long legs, and stood before Greg clad only in a pair of lacy panties whose crotch bore a large wet spot witnessing how turned on she was. She basked in the look of pure lust Greg gave her when her straightened up, his pants tossed away, his cock standing straight and proud and ready to inflict damage, his eyes shifting from her breasts to her legs up to her pussy which gushed further as his gaze threatened to tear a hole through the flimsy fabric covering it. He was hungry for her, which was exactly how she wanted him to be. She leaned down, bending at the waist, her hand on his thighs, and kissed him. Behind her, forgotten, a brunette was servicing two men at the same time amidst loud slapping sounds of flesh against flesh. "You're amazing," said Greg, when Elizabeth freed his lips. "And you haven't seen anything yet." She leaned further down, still keeping her legs straight, and took the head of his cock in her mouth and sucked hard, twirling her tongue all over the hard flesh. She straightened back up as Greg groaned. "Tell me, how do you feel about women that kneel between men's legs and give them sloppy head?" Greg swallowed, reaching down to grasp one of her breasts hanging right before his eyes. "They're naughty," he said. "And how do you feel about naughty women?" Her lips hovered a hair's breadth away form his. "I like them. I really like them." "Good," she replied, and sank to her knees and in one smooth motion took his cock into her mouth again--and this time not only the tip but the whole thing went in--and she let the hard shaft slide down her throat until her lips were pressed against his balls. Greg made a sound that might have been a mix of a gasp and a swear word, and she let his cock slip out of her mouth. "I plan on showing you exactly how I've managed to remain a virgin while still keeping my boyfriends satisfied and coming back for more all these years." And she sank down on his cock, taking him to the hilt once more, this time sucking hard as she pulled back, and settled on a slow but steady rhythm of taking him down her throat and sucking loudly as he pulled back, over and over again, to the soundtrack of fucking from behind her. Glancing up, she was glad to see that Greg's attention was squarely on her and not on the television. "Lizzie," he moaned, running his hand on the side of her face, "I'm not going to last very long if you keep that up." The throbbing in his cock confirmed his fears. "Well then," she said, playing with a thread of saliva that connected the tip of his cock to her chin, "you should hurry up and figure out whether you want to come in my mouth or come on my face, don't you think?" She had his cock deep in her throat again before Greg had any time to respond. * * * (Northern Maryland, near the Pennsylvania border. Now.) Armand Brisecoeur was sitting at his console before his array of monitors, pouring over figures and data, pointing out interesting pieces of trivia to Daniel, who was trying to follow the Belgian's excited speech about topics that as far as he could tell, had nothing to do with anything--rates of leakage of lead in a river in Wisconsin, the sharp fall in value of a local currency in Upstate New York, the subtle demographic changes in a medium-sized city in Arkansas. "So what are we doing, exactly?" he had asked several times. "Looking for a needle in a haystack, really." He pointed to the right-most screen, which was scrolling through rows and rows of numbers. "That's census data for the last hundred years, chopped and diced and sliced in every combination you can imagine and more, taken apart and put together to make it tell stories of the kind even Stephen King would have trouble making up." When Daniel did not comment, Brisecoeur grinned. "I came up with many of these algorithms, you know--data crunching at a scale people have problem grasping. Just so you know, that was my job when I first joined the Corporation--that's what we call it, the Corporation. Only newbies and ass-sticks call it ADCorp. You should remember that. Anyways, it's great to be back to good ol' data analysis." Daniel gave up getting a straight answer from the Belgian. "Back to data analysis? So what were you doing before this?" "Internal Affairs. It's not as bad as Enforcement, but still it still gets to you after a while. And everyone looks at you funny." "What's Enforcement?" Brisecoeur shot Daniel a glance. "Sorry, can't tell you. It's a clearance issue. They take that shit seriously here. Another thing you should keep in mind. Curiosity's not good for career advancement. Anyways: between Internal Affairs, Enforcement, and Freak duty, give me Freak duty!" "Okay. Let's try again. What the hell are those freaks you keep talking about?" Brisecoeur looked at him for a beat, a pinched smile on his lips. He kept typing as he was doing so, and Daniel for a second saw his friend Radhu in Brisecoeur's stead. "Freaks," said Brisecoeur, giving in. "Officially, the Corporation refers to them as Specials. But we just call them freaks. Because that's what they are. Freaks. Guys--because as far as we can tell, they're always guys--who are able to affect peoples' mind." Daniel felt a sharp stab of anxiety pierce through his chest. Memories of the previous year came flooding back unbidden. Memories of friends forced to do things they would not normally do--Cindy, Serena, Kyra--Jenn. He willed himself to calm down, tried to not let any emotion show on his face. Thankfully, Brisecoeur was focused on the screens before him. "You mean, like hypnosis?" Brisecoeur snorted, which degenerated into a coughing fit. "Ah! What freaks can do makes the best hypnotist you've never heard of look like a midget at an Olympic High Jump competition. It's more like telepathy. They get into the heads of people and shape them, twist them, scramble them. Girls. It's always girls, never boys, who are affected." Brisecoeur tilted his head as something caught his attention on one of the monitors, and fired a volley of keystrokes before settling back down. Daniel frowned. "Telepathy doesn't exist." "Indeed. Telepathy is complete bull. I said it's like telepathy. What they do goes way beyond telepathy. They can't read minds. But they can--rewire stuff inside. We don't know exactly how it works. But all it takes is a touch, really. And poof, they're inside, messing with a girl's emotions and thoughts and memories. And our job is to catch them, and contain them, and study them so that we can cure them." Daniel simply stared at the Belgian man. Brisecoeur nodded. "It's okay. I didn't believe it either when I was told. And then I met my first freak. You'll see. I won't spoil the surprise for you." He paused. "They're dangerous, dude. Aside from the fact that they can seriously mess up someone, they tend to go nuts. All that power, it gives them delusions of grandeur. They go psychotic. Cuckoo. And then they start doing real damage." "Was Doctor Cargyle a freak?" Brisecoeur looked at Daniel. "What do you think?" "When I met him, he didn't seem psychotic. He seemed... normal." Behind Daniel, a cold voice responded. "Cargyle was a sociopath intent on bringing down the whole world. A new world order. Did you already forget how much damage he did?" Daniel flinched. He turned to look at Shawbank who was strolling into the room with her typical slow-paced steps. She was dressed in black, as usual, the leather of her jacket creaking in the cold of the room. "I did not forget." How could he? "Good. Because if you forget that sort of thing, you're done for. If the Specials don't get you, I will." Daniel did not know if Shawbank was serious or not. Her face remained as expressionless as ever. "Brisecoeur," she addressed the Belgian, "what have we got?" Brisecoeur tapped on his keyboard, isolating a monitor and directing Shawbank's attention to it. "The usual. Computer's outlined some interesting statistics, some possible leads, but nothing jumped out at me. There's a bit of an economic dip in Upstate New York for no particular good reason, and it seems correlated with some local barter money fluctuating on the local market, but I couldn't push the analysis very far." Shawbank nodded sharply, and looked at the data that Brisecoeur had sent to the monitor. She frowned, studying the numbers and associated graph. Daniel looked at her, then at the data, wondering what she was looking for. "Is everything based on analyzing data?" he asked Brisecoeur. "No. We have a dedicated floor above us with teams of people scouring the news, looking for tidbits that might suggest a freak at play. Oh, they've got some help--natural language processors filtering through the various newsfeed, international, national, and local, highlighting items of interest for them, but the bulk of the work at that level is manual. Computers are good at data crunching, not so much at semantic analysis." Shawbank, who seemed to have ignored their exchange, shook her head. "What else?" Brisecoeur tapped some keys. The display changed. "We have a slight uptick in births in West Virginia, compared to the predicted birth rate based on a forty-years regression. The analysis suggests more correlations than expected." "What kind of correlations?" "Lots. An interesting one is that the increase in birth is almost all accounted for by an increase in the birth occurring within a two-weeks window at the nine months mark after the mothers' wedding. A first child in all cases." Shawbank studied the data. "Doesn't it make sense that there'd be more births nine months after the wedding night?" asked Daniel. "Turns out wedding night conceptions are pretty rare nowadays, except in highly religious communities. And this increase is not correlated with any such community, at least based on available data such as hospital of birth. And besides, the algos take all of that into consideration to come up with a prediction. This birth rate is an increase with respect to the predicted birth rate, which means it's not accounted for by the collected data." Shawbank interrupted him. "Any news links?" Brisecoeur nodded. "One. Beckley, West Virginia. Interview with a man whose son was born eight months and three weeks after the wedding, who claims he has had a vasectomy and therefore would not have been able to conceive. Story ran in the Register Herald three months ago." Shawbank nodded. "Get me the data, and a starting point." She turned to Daniel. "We're flying out tomorrow. Meet here at seven hundred. Pack light." She turned on her heels, and without saying goodbye, left the room. She did not rush out--in fact, could have been said to stroll leisurely out--but Daniel was left with the distinct impression that she had vanished in a flash. "Quite an effect, isn't it?" said Brisecoeur, as if he had read into Daniel's thoughts. Daniel looked at him, and turned to look at the data on the monitors. "So it that one of them? One of those freaks?" Brisecoeur shrugged. "Don't know. Most likely, yes. Shawbank's got the eye for spotting them." There was a sense of wonder in Brisecoeur's voice. Daniel had to ask. "How?" "Beats me. She's just scary that way." He hesitated for one second. "Well, in other ways, too..." Daniel had to agree with that assessment. * * * Four hours later, Daniel pushed open the door of his apartment, a nondescript rental in a nondescript high-rise near the Baltimore harbor. He carried a take-out box of Thai food, knowing he needed to eat but did not feel particularly hungry. He did not feel much of anything. He had driven back from ADCorp in silence, against traffic, his mind a buzz of white noise. Aside from the Thai food, he also carried an ADCorp-supplied tablet computer that Brisecoeur had loaded with files about the Specials--the freaks. Case studies, biological studies, psychological studies. Brisecoeur had assured him that there was enough information in there to keep him busy until the next century. Was Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle, the man responsible for the fiasco at Darnell University this past semester, the cause of all of Daniel's troubles, a freak? Brisecoeur had not answered the question. Neither had Shawbank. O'Neill had told him, several months ago, that Cargyle was a researcher at ADCorp. And Brisecoeur had said that he and Shawbank were Internal Affairs before their current assignment. So Cargyle was an Internal Affairs case? This did not prevent him from being one of the freaks. O'Neill words resonated in his head: Trust no one. The two-bedroom apartment he rented was half-furnished, and held a couch and a side table in the living room. Daniel had not seen fit to add to that in any way. The wooden floor and empty walls echoed with the sound of his footsteps. He had lost most of his possessions in the fire that burned down his place back in North Alexandria in the spring, and he had no real drive to replace any of it. He dropped the Thai food and the tablet on the side table, and his eyes automatically went to the large poster on the far wall of the living room, the only decoration breaking the monotony of the off-white walls. It was a poster-sized shot of Jenn, looking back at the camera over her shoulder, her long brown hair catching in the wind, a dazzling smile on her lips, a sparkle in her eyes. Daniel's heart caught as it always did, and he stared, losing himself in the feeling. Where are you? he wondered, as he always did when he looked at her. Are you okay? What are you doing? He felt helpless. That she had not contacted him--or her mother, or anyone she knew--did not suggest happy things. Like an infected splinter, the memory of Biff looking at him in a North Alexandria strip club after he had forced Jenn to dance onstage itched, impossible to ignore, impossible to scratch. The words were seared in his mind. "See, I put a little thing in that cute head of hers, a little thing that ensures that if she's away from me for too long, well, she goes nuts. She starts craving dicks real bad, and there's nothing she can do to get rid of the hunger. If you manage to get her away from me, your loving little ex-fiancee is gonna become a cock-craving slut good only for the nuthouse." Daniel hoped against hope that Biff had just been pulling his leg, finding a new way to torment him. But he had seen how Biff had treated Jenn, and he could not dismiss easily the possibility that what Biff had said was true. Which meant that right now, Jenn was suffering. Daniel closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and eventually felt his clenched fists unfurl. Anger, worry, guilt, none of it would help him find Jenn. He stared at the poster on the wall for a few more minutes before dropping down on the couch. Part of him felt exhausted, part of him felt restless. I should be out looking for her, he thought. Not sitting here waiting to head out to friggin' West Virginia to go look for a freak--whatever that is. But that was the arrangement he had made with O'Neill: while he Daniel would be working with ADCorp, he O'Neill would be out looking for Jenn. And while it made him feel useless, Daniel had to recognize that it made sense. Sam O'Neill was a private investigator that Daniel had first contacted right after Jenn had disappeared for the first time, before Daniel knew all of the shenanigans at Delta Iota Kappa and the existence of Cargyle. O'Neill had finally showed up when the disaster at Darnell went down--when the fraternity burned down and everyone died. O'Neill had been investigating ADCorp for years, for reasons he had explained, but he was the one who pointed out that Cargyle had worked for ADCorp, and that they may hold the key to how he could save Jenn. In exchange for Daniel accepting the job he had been offered with the ADCorp and be willing to report on what he saw and heard, O'Neill had offered his services and expertise to track down Jenn. It had taken some convincing, but Daniel had eventually relented, extracting from O'Neill a promise that he would keep Daniel updated with his progress. O'Neill had told him to trust no one. But did he trust O'Neill? He did, although he did not have anything to go on except a strong gut feeling. Too many people with too many agendas. What was O'Neill's agenda? The private investigator wanted inside information on ADCorp. Why? O'Neill had said that he suspected they were behind the abduction and corruption of women throughout the country. He had no definite evidence, only leads, and he needed an informant. Daniel, for lack of a better plan, had agreed to be that informant. Daniel looked at the time. It was nearly eight o'clock, meaning it was nearly five in the afternoon in California. He picked up the laptop from the floor near the couch, and started up the custom video chat software he had installed. It was time to catch up with how Cindy was doing. Cindy. One additional oddity in a half year filled with oddities. Born Cindy Caprese, currently going by the name Cynthia Barnes, she had attended Darnell where she had shared a few classes with him in their senior year. The short and perky blonde had had a none-too-subtle crush on Daniel, but had respected the fact that he was dating Jenn. Later, when Jenn was abducted and controlled by Biff, Cindy became a friend that Daniel could rely on, helping him and Radhu solve the mystery of the strange hold that the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity had on several girls across campus, hold that was really Cargyle programming those girls to respond to triggers and obey the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity members. It did not take a doctorate to guess what those teenage college students did with their ability to control the girls. Cindy had been one such girl, programmed to respond to those triggers, and to act out whatever perverted fantasy the brothers dreamed up. Except that the programming, for reasons unknown, had not really taken. She had slowly regained awareness of her activities when she was triggered, even though--and that was one of the things that Daniel still had some difficulty understanding--she kept going along with the charade, kept being used. She told him, later, that she had always had a submissive streak, that she enjoyed submission, but there was a strong resistance from within herself to those desires which kept her from feeling sexually fulfilled, and the programming that the doctor had performed had helped reduce that resistance. Basically, when she was triggered, she could enjoy sex again. Still, she helped him hunt down Biff and try to get Jenn back, and for that he would be forever grateful. She was a friend, one of the few ones he had left. A friend with benefits, too, as the saying went. They slept together. There was no romance involved--at least on his part--but it was pleasant, there was no denying it, and it helped fill a void that he worked hard at denying existed. It made him feel close to someone. Even though Cindy was now across the country, in California, studying for an M.D. Ph.D. at UCLA. She was studying under an assumed name, courtesy of O'Neill, who had saved her from unknown attackers back in North Alexandria--probably the same group that had stormed and destroyed the fraternity house. O'Neill had thought it best to make it look like Cindy had been killed in the fire that ravaged Daniel's apartment. They spoke often through an encrypted video chat system that Cindy herself had customized, running over an anonymizing network. She was smart. As smart as Radhu was, he thought, with a pang of regret. She was online, and picked up on the third ring. "Dan!" The perky blonde's voice rang through the speaker as if she was beside him. Her image showed up on the screen, her long blonde hair framing a face dominating by a huge smile. He could just imagine her, basking in the southern California sun, her eternal short skirt swishing around her. He felt another pang--guilt, this time--at finding so much pleasure with speaking to a girl while his Jenn was off somewhere, lost, maybe suffering. "Hey Cin. Bad time?" "No, it's perfect, actually. I'm just out of Biology. Did you know the human foot has twenty-six bones, thirty-three joints, nineteen muscles, and one hundred and seven ligaments? And that I have to learn them all, before moving on to the leg, the pelvis, the back, and then--" "So they're keep you busy, huh?" Cindy laughed. "Yeah, that they are. It's just weird to be back in school, you know? It's more of the same, but all different. And I finally met my new roommate today. A sweet girl. Maura." "Glad to hear. And you got some sun, too..." Her skin had taken on a golden hue. "Southern California will do that you-- Oh, Dan, you should see this place. It's wonderful. I mean, LA is okay, but you just jump in the car and once you get out of the traffic hell, you're up in the hills and mountains and it's so peaceful it's insane. When are you coming down?" "Soon, Cin. I'm just getting started here." "That's right, it was your first day today. How was it?" "Okay. Compared to the three months of boot camp, pretty mellow. Met the team today." "Ah! So are you working with Super Cop?" Super Cop was Cindy's nickname for Agent Shawbank. "Yeah. Her and a little Belgian man with too much energy." He paused, trying to verbalize something that had been bothering him since the end of the afternoon. "You know, I don't really understand her. I mean, she's the one that recommended me for the job, yet I get the distinct feeling that she's not really happy I'm here." "You'll figure it out, I have no fear." She flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. "So do you know what you're going to be doing yet?" "Kind of. We got our first assignment." "Cool! Anything fun?" "I don't know. I'm not quite sure what it entails. I'll... well, I'll let you know more details when I learn them, but it's weird." "Weird... as in, Doctor Spooky weird?" Doctor Spooky was Doctor Cargyle--O'Neill had warned them not to speak too cavalierly about the events at Darnell that spring. "Yes, Doctor Spooky weird. Maybe weirder." "Then I definitely want to hear the details. Are you going somewhere fun?" "West Virginia." "Fun enough, I guess. Oh, Mister Dick got in touch last night." Mister Dick was O'Neill's code name,--Cindy's idea, yet she always had difficulty containing a giggle whenever she used it--Daniel shook his head, amazed at the fact that this neurosurgeon-to-be had the sense of humor of a ten-year old. "He said he was tracking a lead on the Girl, somewhere in New York." The Girl was Jenn. "He'll be in touch once he learns more." "Do you talk to him much?" "Every other day or so. He came to help me move here, I told you, yes? I think he's keeping an eye on me. Like he's worried about me or something. It's sweet." "Sweet--not a word I'd associate with Mister Dick." "Oh, get off. I bet he's feeling guilty about snatching me off and forcing me into a new identity and all. And I'll be honest, it's kindda nice to be taken care of a bit. Even though part of me wants to kick him and do exactly the opposite of what he wants me to do." "You know, Cin, I don't think I'll ever understand you." "I heard men like mystery. There you go." She grinned. "By the way, talking about liking--are you growing a beard?" He reached up, ran his finger over the stubble that were slowly forming a beard. "Yeah, I think so. I wanted--I don't know, I think I wanted something a little different. You're the first one to notice." "Oh, I'm sure Super Cop noticed. Anyway, I like it. It gives you a bit of a roguish air." "Roguish air?" "Yes. Oh, you should grow one of those handlebar mustaches too--you know, so you can stroke it when you're being all cunning?" She laughed, and Daniel found himself smiling in response--her laughter was infectious. "So--fun night in perspective?" Cindy asked. Daniel eyed his take-out Thai food, getting cold on the side table, then looked over the empty apartment. "As fun as it gets. We're off tomorrow morning, so I'll try to get some sleep." "Don't get all mopey, all right? My laptop will be on, and I'll be logged in. Call me if you get too down. Any time. You know that, yes?" "I do. Appreciate it, Cin." And he did. "Who know, when you call, maybe I'll have Dan Junior here--" and she lifted a large, realistic dildo to her face, pressing it against her cheek, "and I can act out what I'd do if you were right here beside me ready to fuck my little tushy off." Daniel could not help let out a groan as on the screen Cindy slipped Dan Junior into her mouth and sucked on it, never breaking eye contact with him.