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.