Author: Bulgroz the Third
Title: The Adjusters #38 - A Wedding and Three Debriefings
Keywords: MF, FF, mc
Posted: March 7, 2013
Edited: March 7, 2013




			  The Adjusters #38


		   A Wedding and Three Debriefings



(Charleston, West Virginia. The next day.)


"With this ring, I thee wed," Gregory Hermann said, "and with it, I
bestow upon thee all the treasures of my mind, heart, and hands." He
slid the ring on the finger of his new bride.

Elizabeth Bowden, now known as Annette Elizabeth Hermann, echoed her
husband's statement before sliding a ring on his finger. "With this
ring, I thee wed, and with it, I bestow upon thee all the treasures of
my mind, heart, and hands." She smiled at her husband, a smile full of
promise.

The officiating priest extended his hands over the bride and
groom. "And now, by the power vested in me by the State of West
Virginia, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss."

Sitting on the last row of the church, Daniel Malcolm gave a little
smile as he watched the ceremony end. His smile was ambivalent. On the
one hand, from what Hermann had told him, and what he remembered from
his brief interview with Elizabeth--or Annette, as she was now
known--those two loved each other, and they had navigated around some
impressive reefs in the past twenty-four hours. On the other hand, it
was a wedding, and weddings had this bad tendency to remind him of
Jenn, and of the bare fact that he had no idea where she was or what
she was going through. Again, it took an effort to push the thought
from his mind. He would deal with it later. Always later.

Organ music erupted as the bride and groom walked down the aisle, arm
in arm, the bride resplendent in her short wedding gown, the groom
handsome in his black tuxedo. Even the eyepatch Hermann was wearing
gave him a vaguely roguish air that amazingly balanced the scars on
that side of his face. He smiled broadly.

Hermann's one eye caught Daniel's and the groom nodded in his
direction. Daniel nodded back. Hermann's head nodded towards the side,
and Daniel took it to mean Hermann wanted to talk to him
outside. While the crowd filed out the main doors of the church, he
went out the side door, and walked around to where he could see the
limousine waiting for the couple.

Soon, Hermann and his bride came around the corner, still arm in arm,
Elizabeth leaning on Hermann, looking happy.

Daniel extended a hand. "Congratulations, both of you." He shook hand
with Hermann, and when he turned to Elizabeth, she dismissed his hand
and instead pulled up to him and hugged him.

Taken by surprise, it took Daniel a moment to hug her back. She
pressed hard against his body, making no attempt at maintaining a
respectable distance or some sense of propriety. Her hands rubbed down
his back, and he was taken aback by her pressing her groin against
his. When he cleared his throat, she tilted her head back to look at
him, still holding on with her arms around his neck. Her eyes were
wide and shiny.

"Greg told me what you did for me--for us. Thank you."

Daniel's "You're welcome" was drowned by the scorching kiss Elizabeth
gave him, all lips and tongue, her hands coming to the back of his
head to keep him in place. Daniel protested, but Elizabeth disregarded
those protests, and Hermann simply seemed to shake his head in
tolerance of his new wife's behavior.

Elizabeth let a shocked Daniel go, and turned to her new
husband. "Shall we go, my husband?"

Hermann looked at her and nodded. "In a moment, Liz--Annette." He
still seemed to have problems wrapping his tongue around Elizabeth's
new name. "Please go to the car. I'll be there shortly. I need to
speak to Agent Malcolm."

Elizabeth pulled up to Hermann and kissed him even more intensely than
she had Daniel, practically humping his thigh as she pressed against
him with her whole body, her short dress creeping up her legs and
exposing them even more than they already were. "I'll be waiting," she
told him, slightly out of breath after the kiss. "Wet and ready for
you," she added in a low voice.

With a gentle wave to Daniel, she walked to the waiting limousine, her
pretty behind swaying gayly with every step. Both Daniel and Hermann
watched her go in silence.

"That was... interesting," Daniel said, a question in his voice.

Hermann had the decency to blush. "Yeah, well..." He composed
himself. "Agent Malcolm, I don't know how to thank you. I'm not sure
what happened, or what role Lizzie's--" he shook his head, gave a
rueful smile, "sorry, Annette's father had to play in all of this, and
I respect that you cannot tell me, but regardless, Annette and I are
together right now, and that's all because of you."

Daniel nodded. "Just treat her right, okay? And get in touch with me
if anything weird happens."

"Anything weird? You mean, weirder than any of this?"

Daniel chose not to answer. "And that goes for Shelley too. They are
your responsibility now."

"I understand."

They shook hands again. Then Hermann headed for the limousine.

Daniel called after him. "Mister Hermann."

Hermann turned to him, his hand on the limousine door.

"Don't abuse it," finished Daniel. He did not need to say what he was
referring to. He took a page from Shawbank's playbook, and gave him a
cold glance. "I'll be watching."

Hermann nodded, then climbed in the car, which departed soon after.

Daniel watched the limousine turn left at the intersection. He stared
at the empty intersection for a long time, while the wedding guests
slowly spread onto the side walk and the surrounding lawn, gathering
for pictures, and to chat with relatives they had not seen in too
long. It was all so mundane, so normal, that it seemed like the events
of the past days--of the past months--were nothing but a midnight
movie he had seen the night before.

He did not turn his head when he felt a presence next to
him. Shawbank. Looking like her usual unperturbed self, with her
eternal black leather duster. He did not say a word, and she did not
say a word either in return. He felt her glance at him, and return her
attention to the guests mingling around the church. The expression on
her face was unreadable.

Daniel was in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. He took in the
warm autumn day, and threw his head back to feel the sun upon his
face. He closed his eyes. It felt good. Simple. Pure. Unlike all the
thoughts he had been having all through the ceremony. Thoughts that
threaten to degenerate into self-pity. I'll find you, he told the sky
to tell Jenn.

Shawbank spoke without looking at him. "I'm curious. How did you do
it?"

"Do what?" He kept his eyes closed.

"Get them back together. Hermann and his fiancee. You said she was
pretty messed up when she woke up."

That was an understatement. Elizabeth--who now responded exclusively
to the name Annette--had woken up after Shawbank and the recovery team
had left with both the Special, James Bowden, and with Hermann, the
latter to be dropped off at an emergency room. Daniel had stayed with
the young women to keep an eye on them, both Elizabeth and her friend
Shelley. Elizabeth had looked around for someone she called her Lord,
and seemed quite lost without him, asking Daniel over and over again
where her Lord was, going to Shelley--who was still knocked out--and
trying to rouse her, asking her where their Lord was, and nothing
Daniel could do would calm her down.

Shawbank listened to him recount that part of the story, and merely
nodded, like she had heard all of it before. "Deep imprinting. Bowden
must have been particularly strong in his insistence that she be his
and his alone. That cemented his hold on her quite profoundly."

Daniel looked at her. Shawbank was wearing shades, making her
unreadable face even more unreadable. He noted, not for the first
time, that she really was a beautiful woman, with her high cheekbones
suggesting an Eastern European descent. While she had a slight accent
when she talked, it was light enough he could not determine where it
was from.

Daniel continued, staring back in the distance. "When Shelley came out
of it, she wasn't as distraught as Elizabeth was, but the two kept
holding each other and Shelley was consoling Elizabeth and telling her
everything would be okay and they would find their Lord, and I stepped
away from them to offer them a bit of privacy and to keep an eye on
them, but they seemed subdued, even though Elizabeth seemed ready to
lose it at any moment. She was shivering, like she was cold. I looked
around for a blanket but there was none.

"And then I heard Shelley tell Elizabeth that perhaps their Lord would
call her and tell her what to do, and the way she said it caught my
ear--I don't know what it was. I picked up Shelley's purse, and found
two cell phones. Her iPhone was locked, but the other, a cheap flip
phone, was not. It was odd, and then I saw it only had one call in its
log. Then I thought--"

"Burner phone."

"Pretty much. I called the number in the log, but there was no
answer. I had Brisecoeur track it down, though, and it belonged to
James Bowden. So I figured that this was the phone that Bowden used to
communicate with Shelley. So I took a chance. If I disguised my voice,
I thought I might have a chance to give Shelley new instructions, or
perhaps just to calm them down. So I went around the corner, and
called the burner phone."

"And that worked?"

"Better than I thought it might. I don't know what Bowden told her the
phone did, but as soon as she answered, she treated me like I was
Bowden myself. I did not even need to try to sound like him."

Daniel recalled the conversation he had had with Shelley on the phone.

"My Lord? Where are you?"

"I've been called away. Do you recognize me?"

"You are my Lord. You are my Light. You are my Life."

"How is Eli--Annette?"

"She misses you, my Lord. She is miserable because you're not around,
like you told her to be. She craves you and misses you and is
suffering. When are you coming back, my Lord? Annette misses you, and
your pet wants to feel your cock rip her cunt apart."

"If you talk to her, will she listen to you?"

"Your Wishes are your Wishes even through me, my Lord."

"Then tell Annette that I have... obligations to attend to, and that
she can wait for me, and if she does I will be grateful. I will
return. But in the meantime, I have elected a Lord in my stead, one to
which both you and Annette will listen to like he was me. His name is
Gregory Hermann, Annette's old fiance. I want Annette to act like she
still loves him, and go through with the wedding, and convince
everyone that they are husband and wife. Gregory will be your Lord in
my stead, to both of you, until I come back."

"Until you come back, my Lord?"

"Yes, until I come back. You will not call him Lord--you will simply
call him what you used to call him, before. But he will be your Lord
in my stead, until I come back."

"Yes, my Lord. Will he get to fuck your pet's slutty cunt, my Lord?
Please?"

"He will be your Lord in my stead, until I come back."

"Yes, my Lord."

Daniel had then watched Shelley relay his instructions to Elizabeth,
who seemed to calm down instantly, even though there had remained a
look of confusion on her face.

"Bottom line," Daniel said, not wanting to go into the details, "that
was a loophole in Bowden's instructions to the girls--Shelley would
take anything spoken through that particular phone as if it came from
Bowden, no questions asked. It was a simple matter to get her to tell
Elizabeth to return to Hermann and marry him."

"And you told Hermann this?"

"Not the details, no. And I didn't tell him about Bowden's
abilities. I just spoke of drugs and shock."

"But he know about the phone? And its effects?"

Daniel nodded. He had felt he had to tell Hermann, in case Elizabeth
or Shelley started acting up.

Shawbank watched the guests disperse, undoubtedly to get ready for the
wedding reception later that day. "Nice gift you gave him, then. A
girl he can pretty much do whatever he wants with."

Daniel shrugged. "He loves her."

She turned to him and smiled, a smile with no humor in it at all. She
said nothing.

"Well," she continued, "it was a nice thought, but the girl won't
recover. When they are away from the Special that affected them, they
eventually wither and die."

"What? Why?"

Shawbank shrugged. "Unknown. Usually it's a heart attack, or some sort
of systemic failure. They die craved something that they cannot
obtain. The stronger the Special, the faster those he has affected
start falling ill and dying."

"That's horrible!"

"Specials are horrible."

"So she's doomed?"

"Her and her friend, Shelley, yes. Certainly. And the other women that
Bowden impregnated."

"How long do they have?"

"It depends. Depends on the strength of the Special. On the duration
of their exposure. On the extent of the changes he forced upon them."

Daniel stared at her. The way she talked--so calm, so methodical, so
unaffected--was disconcerting.

He looked in the distance, thinking of Hermann and his wife, headed
towards a doomed future.


				* * *


Greg Hermann leaned back against his seat in the limousine, and closed
his eyes. Elizabeth, or Annette, as he had to remind himself--perhaps
Annie?--was cuddled up against him, her head on his shoulders, her
legs folded underneath her, her discarded white heels on the floor of
the limousine.

His life had been a whirlwind for the last twenty-four hours, ever
since he had seen those two agents, Malcolm and Shawbank, come at him
in the parking garage at work, thinking they had been sent by the
Connelly brothers to smash his knees or something. And then that
Shawbank woman had nearly chopped his head off--he could still feel
the coldness of the blade on his neck--and then there had been a race
to Elizabeth's place, and then there had been a race to the church,
and then there had been that vision of Elizabeth's stepfather plowing
into his fiancee hard while her friend Shelley looked on, and then
there had been a fight and then there had been Elizabeth's thumb in
his eye and the look on her face as she had gouged it out--hate and
madness and a feeling of otherness that still made him shiver--and
then there had been the emergency room where he had wondered just what
the hell had and would happen.

Elizabeth's hand was caressing him softly, running down his shirt,
unbuttoning it, sliding inside to touch his chest. Her body was
rubbing softly against his, and there was a faint moan that vibrated
in the depth of her throat.

Greg turned his head and looked at his new wife, who had changed so
much, without changing at all. From where he was, he had a plunging
view down her cleavage, a view that revealed her perfect breasts
squeezed into a tight corset. Further down, in the same line of sight,
he eyed her thighs, sheathed in a pair of white stockings, their lace
tops exposed, garters running up underneath the hem of the skirt. Her
legs, her thighs, led right up to a pussy that he had finally sampled
the previous night, for the first time, a delectable experience that
he would remember for all time. He felt himself get hard at the memory
of sliding into the tight and silky tunnel, and at the feel of
Elizabeth's hand sliding down and gently teasing his cock through his
pants.

"Is this for me?" she asked, looking almost coy.

He moaned as her hand pressed harder against his cock and she tilted
her head up, and he leaned down and kissed her. She responded with
eagerness, her mouth opening and her tongue invading his mouth, her
hand deftly unfastening his belt and opening his pants and pulling out
his hard cock. She stroked him hard and fast, her hand feeling
wonderful.

"Li--Annie," he said, panting, "the driver..."

"Maybe we can get him to join us," she responded, as she shifted on
the seat to kneel next to him. "I'd love to have his cock sink into me
while I blow you, my husband."

The way she said that suggested that she meant every word. Greg shook
his head. Elizabeth had always been highly sexual, he knew from their
years of dating, but whatever Bowden had done to her had affected her
in ways that he could not fathom easily. Agent Malcolm had not told
him the details, if he even knew, something about drugs, but whatever
it was it seemed to have jacked up her libido something fierce, and
seemed to have removed much of her inhibitions. And it also increased
whatever exhibitionist tendencies she may have had already. There was
a sluttiness to her--he could not find a better term--even a
tawdriness about which he did not know how he felt.

But any further thought he may have had was wiped from his mind when
he felt her lips wrap around his cock and slurp it into her mouth. He
leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, enjoying his new wife
worshipping his cock with long loving warm strokes of her mouth, her
tongue and lips and hands working in concert to convey sensations he
could not get enough of.

The way Elizabeth was going at it, producing sucking noises that
sounded loud in the confined area of the limousine, he knew that the
driver of the limousine would have a pretty clear idea what was going
on, but for the moment, he did not care.

He opened his eyes when he felt Elizabeth shuffle in place next to
him, her mouth never letting go of his cock, and he looked at her pull
off her panties and hike up her dress over her waist, baring her
perfect ass.

She interrupted her blow job for a second, and looked at him. "You can
fondle my ass, if you want, my husband," she said, and Greg was
fascinated by the thin strand of drool that hung from her lower
lip. "Or you can stick your finger in my tight cunt, if you prefer. Or
in my ass. Or if you want you can just fuck me..." She let the
question linger.

Greg groaned and ran his hand over her backside, appreciating the way
she thrust her ass up to meet his hand. She moaned, her hand stroking
him harder. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to have her straddle him
and ride him, but the fact that they were in a limousine stopped
him. Somehow, getting head seemed acceptable, having outright sex
not. He felt ridiculous at the thought, but the thought was there
nonetheless.

"Continue sucking me, please," he said, and Elizabeth merely grinned
in response before dipping her head down and taking him back into her
mouth, sucking hard and loud and swinging her ass slightly with each
thrust.

He ran a hand over her cheeks as her mouth pressed down on his cock
and he felt its head sneak its way down her gullet. She suppressed her
gag reflex, audibly, and swallowed him whole, and he groaned in
response. He fondled her ass shamelessly as she kept him inside her
for several seconds, massaging him with her throat.

When she let him out to breath, she stroked him with one hand while
glancing in his direction. "You really like that, don't you?" She had
a glint in her eyes.

Greg nodded, not trusting his voice. "Feels amazing," he whispered.

Elizabeth smiled and then closed her eyes and moaned when two of
Greg's fingers pressed into her pussy from behind. Her slit was
dripping wet, and she accepted him by arching her back and giving him
better access.

"God I love your fingers in my cunt," she said, her voice throaty.

She kept sucking him as he fingered her, and her skills were such that
he was ready to explode by the time the limousine reached their hotel,
which was admittedly close to the church.

"I want you to pop in my mouth," Elizabeth said as the limousine with
its darkened windows turned into the entrance of the hotel. And to
emphasize her point, she started pumping him faster and harder, her
lips forming a tight seal around his cock, her tongue and throat
working double time as her suction increased.

Half a minute later, as if she had timed it perfectly, while Greg had
three of his fingers thrusting deep into her pussy, Elizabeth
triggered his explosion and he felt jets of his cum spurt out only to
be caught by the gorgeous redhead that was now his wife. She kept his
load in her mouth, not swallowing, not spitting it out, as she gently
stroked his deflating shaft.

Greg belatedly noted that the limousine was stopped by the curb of the
hotel, and that the driver was watching them silently in his rearview
mirror. Greg could only see his eyes, but they were aimed straight at
Elizabeth, who adjusted the top of her dress and dutifully ran a
finger over her lips to clean up any stray semen and slip it into her
mouth.

As if nothing had happened, with his load of semen still in her mouth,
she opened the limousine door and exited, her dress still pulled up
over her hips. There was no one around to see her as she adjusted her
dress down her thighs, even though Greg was pretty sure that the
limousine driver was watching her the whole time, and must have
enjoyed a perfect view of her naked ass as she arranged her attire.

Greg exited, shaking his head, wondering exactly what he had gotten
into. Elizabeth was still Elizabeth, but... more
so. Uncensored. Wanton. Hungry. He was not sure he disliked it. Not
sure at all. He felt guilty about wanting to thank Bowden--wherever he
was now--about it. And it was not the only thing he had to feel guilty
about. He pushed that last thought out of his head as he stepped up to
Elizabeth, who waited for him by the lobby of the hotel, looking
radiant like any newlywed would, still with his semen in her
mouth. What was she doing?

He received his answer as the made their way to the reception
desk. Elizabeth's maid of honor, Shelley, was waiting for them by the
desk in her apple red bridesmaid gown. Elizabeth let go of Greg's arm
and stepped up to the tall blonde and pulled her head down for a
kiss. They locked lips, and Greg could see Elizabeth transfer his cum
into her friend's mouth--Shelley accepting it without protest. As the
guests and employees in the lobby watched on uncertainly, the two
women--the redhead in white and the tall blonde in red--swapped spit
and cum, pressed against each other in a deep kiss.

Greg was partly embarrassed and partly aroused at this display, an
ambivalence he felt was shared by most of the men in the vicinity,
whose fantasies later that evening would undoubtedly prominently
feature the two women. He walked up to the reception desk just as he
heard Elizabeth say out loud and with an amused tone, "You taste like
cum, you little bitch!" He did not hear Shelley's response.

It took some work to get the clerk's attention, but he finally managed
to get the keys to the room he had reserved for him and his new wife,
despite the clerk constant looking over Greg's shoulders to steal a
look at the two women nuzzling right there before everyone. Greg had
to turn around and tell them to tone it down a little bit. He was
worried they would all get in trouble, and trouble was the last thing
he wanted.

In the elevator up to their room, Elizabeth was hanging on to his arm,
her head tilted, and was kissing him with her fingers seeking to reach
inside his pants, while Shelley was kneeling at her feet, kissing her
thighs through her stockings, running her hands up and down her
calves. Greg was ready to pull up the blonde should the elevator stop
and someone climb in, but no one did, and by the time they reached
their floor, Shelley's hands were sliding underneath his wife's dress
and making the redhead squirm and squeal into his mouth.

Greg wondered at the interaction between the two women as he unlocked
the door to their suite. As far as he could tell, Shelley had always
been the dominant of the pair, with Elizabeth happily following her
lead, not quite submissively, but with a patience and a tolerance that
one would give to a hyperactive child. And from the rumors he had
gleaned here and there about the two back in their college days, that
dynamic had reflected itself in their dating behavior. He wondered
whether their new behavior had anything to do with Bowden's influence.

As soon as they were inside the room, Elizabeth grabbed Shelley and
kissed her again, this time pulling up the blonde's dress to her waist
and fondling her aggressively, her hand between the tall woman's
supremely toned thighs. Greg's held his breath as he saw his wife's
hand sneak underneath the thin material of Shelley's diminutive red
panties and press deep inside the blonde's pussy. Shelley moaned in
Elizabeth's mouth, and her knees buckled.

Greg was not sure what to do exactly, so he just stood there, room key
in hand, getting hard watching his wife assault her friend.

When Elizabeth pulled out of the kiss, she glanced at him with a
smile, then grabbed her friend by her short hair. "Go give my husband
a kiss, my little bitch, and tell him that you are going to be his
fuck toy as a wedding gift. Then get down on all four and crawl to the
bed." Elizabeth punctuated her statement with a loud slap on Shelley's
rear end.

Greg watched, almost disbelieving, Shelley sashay her way over to him,
her dress clinging to her body like a second skin, down to the middle
of her thighs, and high heels sinking slightly into the deep
carpeting. Her hips were almost hypnotic, and she took him by surprise
by stepping up to him and kissing him. With her heels, she was about
the same height as he was, and there was no need to tilt his head.

Her kiss was hungry, her lips searching his and her tongue all but
subtle. Her hand lingered on the side of his face, while her crotch
pressed into his hip bone. With her other hand, she pulled him close
against her, and he let his hand run down her back to her ass, keeping
an eye out on Elizabeth.

He should not have worried, as his bride was leaning back against the
wall, her own dress bunched up around her waist again, her hand down
into her thong rubbing her pussy, watching her best friend kiss her
husband.

"You heard my Lady, Greg" Shelley said breathlessly when the kiss
ended. She kept her body pressed against his. "I'm your little fuck
toy today. Your little fuck toy wedding gift. A little fuck toy to
whom who can do whatever you want." She punctuated those last three
words with kisses on his lips. "And I hope some of what you want will
involve that cock of yours slamming into my tight little cunt." She
closed her eyes and shivered at those words, and kissed him again.

Letting him go, she dropped to her knees and then to her hands and
knees before slowly making her way to the bed. Greg watched her the
whole way, admiring how her behind swayed with each step, how her back
arched.

"She's got a nice ass, doesn't she?" Elizabeth's voice in his ear made
him jump. She was at his side, her hand running down the front of his
tuxedo, unbuttoning him, stripping him slowly. "It's real nice and
tight, my Lord told me. And she really went crazy when he fucked her
there."

Her Lord. She was talking about Bowden. She still thought of him as
her Lord. Agent Malcolm had warned him that Bowden's footprint had
been too large in her psyche to eliminate--how Malcolm had figured
that part out Greg did not know, but Malcolm had spent close to two
hours with Elizabeth and Shelley in the church while Greg took his
little detour by the emergency room--he touched his eye patch, not
conscious of the movement until he felt the hard material.

Before them, Shelley climbed on the bed and remained in position, her
ass up, her head down.

Elizabeth's hand was busy unfastening and pulling down his pants, and
finding and rubbing his cock that had gotten hard again at the
display. "I can see you like the thought of fucking my friend in the
ass, my husband," Elizabeth said, a naughty playful tone in her voice.

"Liz--I mean, Annie--you sure about this?" He was almost annoyed at
the tone of disbelief that had crept in his voice. Despite all that
Agent Malcolm had told him--which did not amount to much, on second
thought--he still had trouble believing the change in both Elizabeth
and Shelley.

Elizabeth laughed. "Are you kidding me? This is your wedding gift, my
husband." She grabbed his cock and squeezed it before stroking it,
making him shiver all over. "I want you to spank the little bitch
while she eats me out and gets me ready--well, gets me even more ready
than I already am. I want her ass red."

She kissed him hard before strutting to the bed, unzipping and pulling
her dress up over her head, leaving her clad only in her white garter
belt and white stockings and her white heels and her white thong
panties, a sexy image that Greg would call up over and over again in
the coming months when he thought of his wife, or at least those times
when he did not tell her to reenact that moment.

Elizabeth, having reached Shelley on the bed, flipped the blonde's
bridesmaid dress over her back, baring a thin toned ass clad in a red
thong, and gave one of the exposed cheeks a resounding slap. Shelley
yelped, but did not move out of the way, and Greg could see her in
fact thrusting her ass upwards to facilitate Elizabeth's
access. Shelley's legs spread apart a tiny bit as well. Elizabeth
slapped her again, even harder, before climbing on the bed.

"Get me ready, you little bitch. I want to feel your tongue deep
inside me. My husband," she said, turning to Greg. "Come here and
spank her, and spank her hard." She grabbed Shelley's head and leaned
over to kiss her. "The little slut loves it, doesn't she?" The kiss
was long and deep, and afterwards Elizabeth grabbed Shelley's head and
pushed it down to her crotch, and Greg noticed that somehow, at some
point, Elizabeth had ditched her underwear and was spreading her legs,
nude but for her garter belt and stockings and her shoes. Her pussy,
shaved clean but for a small patch above the clitoris, another novelty
undoubtedly inherited from Bowden, looked wet and inviting.

Shelley dove in and started licking and sucking and Elizabeth leaned
back against the headboard and kept her hands on the blonde's head,
her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, enjoying the
treatment. Her nipples were rock hard, her chest rising and falling
with every breath.

She pulled Greg out of his reverie--he had never witnessed one woman
going down on another in real life before, and it was fascinating and
arousing. "Come and spank the bitch, my husband."

Greg shook his head and took position behind the blonde on all four on
the bed. Her ass was right there, waist high, inviting, practically
swaying, whether due to volition on her part or due to the attention
she was lavishing on his wife's pussy, he could not tell. Nor did he
care. He tentatively slapped the proffered ass, thinking of all the
times he had wanted to touch his wife's best friend before, but never
allowing himself the luxury of even thinking about it. And here he
was, touching her, with his wife encouraging him. And then he thought
of the phone he had in his pocket, the phone that meant that
practically, he could get these two women to do pretty much whatever
he wanted.

"Slap her harder! She loves it, the little bitch!"

Greg grinned and spanked Shelley harder, making the blonde moan and
groan into Elizabeth's crotch. Still smiling, and his hand smarting a
little now, he ran his finger over the tight skin, appreciating the
play of muscles underneath.

Shelley seemed to enjoy the contact, and lifted her ass further to
give him better access, and to try to guide his fingers between her
thighs.

Elizabeth seemed to read his mind. "Go on, you can play with her, but
nothing goes in her pussy--it's off limits." She smiled at the moan of
protest from her best friend between her legs, and the smile had a
teasing quality to it. "Isn't that right, Shel? Nothing in that slutty
pussy of yours?" She pulled her friend's head up.

Shelley moaned and pleaded. "Please!" She pushed her ass back against
Greg's hand. "My Lady! Please! I need something in my cunt! It's been
so long! Please! I'll do anything..."

"See," Elizabeth said, running her tongue over the blonde's lips, as
Greg wet his fingers on the juices running out between the blonde's
legs, "that's the problem: you like it waaaaay too much in your
pussy. It's not healthy. And besides, I like you needy. It makes me
wet." She kissed her friend again, a deep kiss that made the blonde
squirm even more.

Shelley grunted loudly in Elizabeth's mouth when Greg pulled aside the
thin string of her thong aside and pressed two of his now wet fingers
against her tiny rosebud. Her sphincter gave way, and his fingers sank
into a heated oven, one so tight he simply could not imagine his cock
making its way in.

"That's right," Elizabeth said as Shelley moaned louder. "The little
bitch takes it up the ass like a pro, doesn't she? You like my
husband's fingers in your tight hole, Shel? You like him
finger-banging your slutty ass?"

"Please..." Shelley moaned, pressing her ass back against Greg's
invading fingers. "Tell him to fuck my cunt, my Lady... please...Oh!"

Elizabeth smiled at her, but did not respond. Instead, she tilted her
head towards Greg, all the while cradling Shelley's face. "You like
her ass, my husband? Isn't it wonderfully tight?"

"It's amazing," Greg replied, thinking that words did no do the
feeling justice.

"Can you just imagine shoving that big cock of yours in there? Pushing
and pushing while the little bitch begs you to fuck her harder?"

"Please, my Lady..." Shelley groaned, pushing back harder against
Greg's fingers, which were now thrusting in and out of her
ass. "Please... my cunt?... please?"

Elizabeth looked at her, but spoke to Greg. "You can fuck her ass as
much as you want, for as long as you want, as hard as you want, my
husband. And she'll make it good for you, won't she, my little bitch?"

"Please, my Lady..." Shelley moaned.

"But first," Elizabeth continued, looking at Greg, "I want you to come
and fuck your wife, my husband. I need your cock inside me."

Greg looked back at her, and grinned. He pulled his fingers out of
Shelley's ass, who responded with a little whimper that he understood
as disappointment, and gave her another slap that made her yelp and
made Elizabeth smile wider.

Shelley moved out of the way, lying down next to Elizabeth on the bed,
and the redhead kissed her deeply while remaining in position, her
legs spread, waiting for Greg.

He lay down between her stocking-clad legs, his cock hard and
demanding leading the way, and pressed into her steaming pussy.

"Oh fuck--yes!" Elizabeth groaned, tilting her hips up to facilitate
his insertion, squeezing her pussy around the invading shaft. "I love
your cock!"

"And I love fucking you with it," Greg responded, closing his eyes,
enjoying the feel of his wife underneath him, squirming, panting,
yielding. He would not go as far as saying that waiting for so long to
fuck her had been worth it, but it certainly made it better.

Shelley was staring at them with longing in her eyes, one hand
grasping a small breast, the other between her legs softly playing
with her inner thigh.

They fucked slowly, Greg and Elizabeth--Annie as he was trying to
think of her--and she cooed and squealed softly with every thrust he
made, looking at him, pacing herself based on what she felt he wanted,
a lover and not a fuck-buddy, a partner and not a hooker hired for the
night.

"Watch this," she whispered in his ear as he pressed into her, and she
put her hands on his ass to keep him where he was, fully embedded
inside of her. "Get around him, little bitch," she told Shelley, "and
stick your tongue up his ass. Go on, lick him good."

Shelley scrambled to obey her mistress, and Greg, who was enjoying the
feeling of Elizabeth's pussy squeezing him rhythmically--what was she
doing down there?--gasped when he felt the blonde's tongue gently
probe his anus with a light touch. "Whoa!"

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Elizabeth giggled softly in his ear. "She's
got a wicked tongue on her, that little slut. Just go with it, enjoy,
and let me milk you." She kissed him hungrily as he remained
motionless, assaulted by the feeling of the blonde's mouth pressed
against his ass and her tongue thrusting into his anus and by the
sensations of Elizabeth's pussy massaging his cock from inside.

"Fuck you feel good, my husband," groaned Elizabeth, pressing her body
against Greg's, as if she wanted to feel him with every square inch of
her skin.

Greg could only moan in pleasure. Shelley's tongue was thrusting in
and out, one of her hands massaging his balls.

Elizabeth was whispering urgently in his ear, as she rubbed herself
against him. She was pressing her crotch into his pubis, rubbing her
clitoris against his skin, working herself up to an orgasm. "I want
you to come inside me, my husband--spill your load deep inside me. And
then I want you to fuck the little bitch's ass while I watch. Oh!
Lord! Fuck!" She clenched and arched her back underneath Greg, and he
pushed a little further into her, even though he thought he had
already bottomed out.

Elizabeth's words were coming faster, as was her breath. "And when you
fuck her ass, do it fast--do it hard--Oh! Make it hurt--I want to hear
her scream--I want to see her cry--Ah! I want to listen to her beg
that she'll do anything for you to fuck her slutty cunt instead--I
want to hear her list all those things she'll do--Oh! All those
degrading things she'll do to you--Oh! To me--Oh! To whomever we
choose--Oh Jeeeeez!"

She clenched beneath Greg, her body seizing, and her pussy clasped
down on his cock like a vise before starting to throb, and between
that and her squeals in his ear and Shelley's tongue thrusting harder
and faster into his ass while she pressed his cheeks apart and kneaded
his balls, he exploded, driving his cock into his wife's pussy while
Shelley remained attached to his ass.

"Oh yes! Come inside me! Deep inside me!" Elizabeth moaned, pulling
Greg close and kissing him while she wrapped her nylon-clad legs
around his waist, holding him tight.

He emptied himself inside her as she shivered through the tail end of
her orgasm. Then he pulled out and collapsed next to her, spent.

Shelley remained at their feet, looking at them, waiting for
instructions.

Elizabeth wasted no time to provide them. "Go and clean my husband's
cock, you little bitch--and thank him for letting you rim his ass."

"Yes, my Lady," Shelley responded, and grasped Greg's deflated cock
with a tentative hand before leaning over and gently suck it into her
mouth, slurping off the combination of Elizabeth's juices and his own
semen. She then looked up at him, coy. "Thank you for letting me
tongue your asshole, Greg. I'll do it again, whenever you want. Just
ask, and my tongue will be up your ass before you know it. And if you
fuck my cunt, too, well then--"

"Leave my husband alone with that, my little bitch," interrupted
Elizabeth. "He doesn't want to hear about your poor slutty cunt. Come
here and put that tongue to good use again and clean me out."

"With pleasure, my Lady," Shelley responded, giving Greg's cock a last
longing glance before crouching down between Elizabeth's thighs and
proceeding to clean up her best friend gaping pussy.

Greg shook his head, then stood up to stretch. He sank in the chair in
the corner of the room, watching the blonde eat out her new wife with
gusto. He rested. Then he thought of his plan. He reached for the
bottle of champagne that had been waiting for them, and popped the
cork. The two women, busy with their ministrations, barely noticed. He
poured himself a generous glass, and drank, to steady his nerves.

When Elizabeth came again, this time from Shelley's tongue and
fingers, he knew it was time to act.

He pulled out his cell phone, and called the number Agent Malcolm had
given him. Greg had felt a reluctance on the part of the young agent
to give him that information, and given what he was about to do, that
reluctance was maybe not misplaced.

A phone in Shelley's purse by the door rang, the ringtone some kind of
classical music Greg did not recognize. Shelley froze for a second
before getting off the bed and answering.

"Yes, my Lord?"

There was a half-second delay between Shelley uttering the words and
them coming out of Greg's own phone, a delay that Greg found
disconcerting. He needed to concentrate.

"Shelley," he said. "Can you hear me?" He felt ridiculous to even ask,
but he just could not seem to be able to jump into it cold.

"Yes, my Lord."

Somehow, she thinks I'm Bowden, Greg thought. It was as Agent Malcolm
had told him: Whatever you speak into the phone, Shelley will take as
instructions to be obeyed. And whatever she tells Elizabeth, Elizabeth
will take as instructions to be obeyed. Agent Malcolm had told him of
it, and had told him he had used it to help Elizabeth and Shelley
recover from their ordeal. If not for the behavior changes in
Elizabeth and especially Shelley, Greg would have thought Agent
Malcolm had lost it. But it was true. And to see it in action was
something else altogether.

"Shelley," he said, "I want you to tell Liz--Annette that she loves
me--I mean, that she loves Gregory Hermann, and that she will obey
Gregory Hermann the way she obeys me, your Lord." This was getting
confusing. As Shelley repeated his instructions to Elizabeth, who
listened with rapt attention, he focused on what had kept him hard
since the previous night, when Malcolm had explained to him what was
going on. He took a deep breath, let it out.

"Shelley," he continued, "tell Annette that from now on, she is to
behave like an insatiable lust bunny, the way a porn star behaves on
camera: eager, hungry, always ready to fuck. I want her to become that
ultimate fantasy to every red-blooded man in this country. She is to
be turned on by being used, objectified, treated like a whore,
dominated, even insulted. In private, or when I tell her to, she will
dress to arouse, and will get turned on when she's on display,
understanding that it is her job to be sexy and desirable and
fuckable. Nothing will be too demeaning, too humiliating, too
perverted for her. In fact, the more perverted the sex, the more
aroused she will be. She will be very vocal, even crass in a sexual
setting, but remain very proper in everyday life."

As Shelley repeated these new instructions, he felt a stab of
guilt. But if he had had any hesitations about this--his own private
porn star, a fantasy he had had ever since watching his first
pornographic movie at fourteen--they had been shoved aside when he had
seen how Shelley had behaved in Elizabeth's presence.

When Elizabeth turned to him with a look of dirty lust on her face, he
felt his cock jerk. "Annie," he told the redhead. "I want you to come
here and suck my cock."

"Fuck yeah! I'd love to suck your cock! And then I'm gonna shove it up
my cunt and fuck you until you go blind," she replied, her voice
eager, and she scrambled off the bed. Before she could kneel between
his legs, however, she stopped, and looked around. With a smile on her
face, she bent down to pick up her high-heeled shoes, and made a show
to put them on. Then she straightened up and ran her hands down her
body.

"There," she said, posing. "Now I look good enough to fuck, right?"
Without letting him answer, she sank down to her knees between his
legs, and grasped his cock.

"Annie--stop," Greg said. "Open your mouth."

She did, looking back at him. He took his cock and slapped it lightly
on her face, the way he had seen in that movie so long ago.

"Stick out your tongue."

He slapped his cock on her tongue, again, lightly. Elizabeth grinned,
and Greg smiled right back when he watched her hand descend between
her legs.

"How about you call me Master today?" he told her, before putting his
cock on her tongue and sliding it into her mouth. "And I'll call you
my little cock slave?"

By way of response, Elizabeth simply started sucking on his cock,
taking him hard and deep, her mouth a vacuum, loud and messy.

He leaned back in his chair, enjoying her ministrations, blessing his
luck. It worked! He almost could not believe. Yet here was his wife,
his own Lizzie, acting the way he always wished she did. He put a hand
on the patch covering his right eye, in some ways the price he had to
pay for this benefit.

"God I love your cock!" She looked up at him, looking
mischievous. "Master."

"And my cock loves you, my little cock slave!" He grabbed her head and
pushed it down on his cock, taking her by surprise and making her
gag. "I love fucking your mouth!"

Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes conveying a mixture of lust and
amusement, and she put her arms behind her back. "Then fuck away,
Master. My mouth is all yours..." she said, her voice dirty, opening
her mouth and waiting for him to take his pleasure.

Which he did, while Shelley looked on, a look of envy on her face, the
cum she had licked out of Elizabeth's pussy still shiny on her chin.

Looking at Shelley, he realized he was procrastinating. He closed his
eyes, and told Elizabeth to just suck him now. He rang up Shelley's
phone again.

"Shelley," he said. "Go grab my bag, and pull it the video camera
equipment I have in there. Set it up to record the bed. Make sure
neither I or Annette are in frame. Then grab the piece of paper that's
in the bag, and learn your lines. Then I want you to get on the bed,
and put on a sexy show, pawing your tits and your ass and your cunt
and finger fucking yourself in all the dirty ways your mind can
imagine. And yes, you have my permission to put fingers up your cunt
this time. And while you do all of that, I want you to speak your
lines into the camera. And make it real. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," said the blonde.

She did as she was told, and in no more than ten minutes, as Elizabeth
dutifully sucked on Greg's cock, moaning and humming all the while,
Shelley had set up the digital camera upon a tripod, had learned the
act that Greg had prepared the previous night after agonizing over his
decision, and was back on the bed, kneeling but standing straight with
her chest towards the recording camera.

She cupped her small perky breasts, twisting the nipples and wantonly
shifting her hips. She looked at the camera, both coy and lascivious.

"Hello, Mister Connelly," she said, her voice throaty, the way Shelley
knew a proper girl looking for a stiff cock to fuck her should
sound. "My name is Shelley Caskill, and I'm a dirty little slut." She
put two fingers in her mouth, and sucked hard, closing her eyes. "I
hear you were looking for girls for your clubs, to dance, and to
entertain your patrons, and I thought that my slutty little body might
be good enough for you."

She posed for a few seconds, her hands on her head, her body exposed,
toned, tight, her skin slightly shiny from her exertions with
Elizabeth earlier. She brought her hands back down to her breasts, and
squeezed them some more.

"I know my titties are a little bit small compared to the big-titted
sluts you are used to, Mister Connelly, but they're very sensitive,
and if it helps I'm happy to get a boob job if that's what you
prefer. I really really want to work for you."

She ran her hands down the sides of her body and brought them over to
her pussy, which she caressed with her eyes closed before looking back
up at the camera.

"I've got a very tight cunt, Mister Connelly. You wouldn't believe how
small it is. And I know how to use it too--you just need to ask any of
the boys that I've fucked over the years, who kept coming back for
more. I love anything up my cunt, Mister Connelly--big cocks, tongues,
fingers, dildos, anything--oh!"

She pushed two fingers into her slit, and they slipped inside so
easily it was as if they had been coated in oil. Shelley gasped, and a
tremor ran up her body and her thighs trembled and she fell back on
her ass and moaned as she thrust her fingers in and out, with
increased vigor. She seemed to have forgotten all about the camera and
her script, and was simply pleasuring herself, quickly reaching a
climax that had her squirming and screaming and finally collapsing on
the bed, her thighs pressed together and trapping her hand between her
legs.

She took a few moments to catch her breath and recover before looking
again at the camera, an embarrassed smile on her face.

"I love to come, Mister Connelly, as you can see. And I come easily
and quickly and loudly, and I know for a fact it drives boys crazy to
see a girl coming hard as they fuck her."

She slowly turned her back to the camera and bent forward while
sliding her hands over her ass and pulling her cheeks apart, exposing
her tiny rosebud.

"And you know what else drives boys wild, Mister Connelly? When a
pretty girl like me tells them that she wants them to fuck her ass--to
fuck her tight ass as hard and as long as they want. They just go
nuts, and can't wait to sodomize me--there's just something about
giving to a cute blonde in the ass. Don't you agree, Mister Connelly?"

She pushed a wet finger insider her asshole, and groaned in pleasure
as she gently thrust it in and out.

"I also love to feel a big fat cock in my mouth, Mister Connelly. I
love getting face-fucked, feeling a thick cock chocking me as it
pounces my throat. I love it when a boy just unloads in my mouth--or
on my face, or on my tits, or anywhere they want really. I just love
getting sprayed with thick man juice, Mister Connelly. It just makes
me so hot--"

She turned around and, facing the camera, on all four, thrust three
fingers in her mouth while pumping her hips as though she was being
taken from behind. She licked and sucked her fingers before running
her hand back down between her thighs.

"But you know the best part, Mister Connelly, the thing that will make
me the best fucking slut you've ever had working for you? The best par
tis that I'll do anything you want, no matter how perverted, no matter
how depraved, no matter how sick. I get off on obeying big strong men,
Mister Connelly. I get off being a submissive little slut that has to
put out to a big strong man so that she can feel his big cock plowing
into her slutty little cunt. I'll be the best little cock slut you've
ever had, Miter Connelly. I can promise you that."

And just like that, Shelly thrust three fingers into her pussy, and
before long she was once more lost to the world, writhing on the bed
as she finger-fucked herself into oblivion.

Greg watched her with awe, while Elizabeth kept on sucking him
sloppily, drool running down her chin and onto her breasts, coating
them with a sticky sheen, the way she had often seen in pornographic
movies. She looked delighted to service him.

Greg watched Shelley pleasuring herself and coming over and over
again, the camera capturing every moan and groan and every finger
thrust and every pelvic motion. He would edit the video, of course,
but he knew he would keep much of this last footage. It was simply too
good.

And then he would send the video to the Connelly brothers, as he had
told them he would when he had called them on the phone earlier to
offer Shelley's services as payment for his debt. The brothers wanted
some proof that the girl was suitable, and Greg was certain that the
video would establish that Shelley was more than acceptable.

He quashed the feelings of guilt that were threatening to surface. He
did not want his kneecaps smashed to smithereens, or to find himself
stabbed in a dark alley late at night. He did not know exactly what
the Connelly brothers were involved in beyond the strip clubs everyone
knew they were running, but he had heard the rumors about illegal
operations and prostitution rings and even white slavery. He knew that
they could use a pretty girl with an inexhaustible sex drive and a
subservient streak. And after Greg had given her instructions to obey
the Connelly brothers like she obeyed her Lord, Shelley would be just
that, a girl who lived to fuck and who would do the brothers bidding
no matter what. She would be there sex slave.

Shelley deserved better, certainly, but he would make sure that his
instructions would make it so she thoroughly enjoyed whatever the
Connelly brothers would put her through, thoroughly enjoy her new life
as a sex slave. It was the least he could do.

"Liz--Annie," he told the redhead lavishly worshipping his cock, "get
on my lap and fuck me."

"Fuck yeah," Elizabeth said, wiping her mouth and straddling his
lap. "You want me to shove that big cock up my cunt, Master? Want your
little cock slave to ride you like a fucking bull?" She sank on his
cock, and it felt amazing. "Oh yeah," she moaned. "That's so fucking
nice." And she sought his mouth to kiss him

As their kiss deepened and her hips started dancing on his thighs, he
reflected that he had the rest of the day and the whole night to enjoy
these two women together, and he resolved to make the best of the time
they had.


				* * *


(Baltimore, Maryland. Two days later.)


Daniel Malcolm was waiting on a bench in one of Baltimore's waterfront
parks, looking at the Inner Harbor. The day was warm for the season,
the sun out and its light reflected in the water. It made Baltimore
almost look beautiful.

Now that their assignment was over--Shawbank was over at Headquarters
debriefing their capture of James Bowden--Daniel felt empty once
more. The next few days held some scheduled training specifically with
other agents in IE Division, but it was not engaging. He missed
Jenn. He hoped that O'Neill would have something to report, anything.

As if thinking of him had summoned him, Private Investigator Sam
O'Neill walked around the bench and sat down next to Daniel. They both
stared at the Harbor for a while. "Daniel," the older man
acknowledged.

"Sam," Daniel replied. He hesitated to ask the next question, but he
had to. "Any news?" He did not need to spell it out further, at least
not to O'Neill.

"Some. I picked up her trace up after North Alexandria. It looks like
she hitched a ride with a trucker and went west into New York
State. He dropped her off in Schenectady, a bit past Albany."

"And how... how was she doing?"

O'Neill hesitated, and glanced at Daniel. "Not too good. One of the
reasons why the trucker was easy to find--he couldn't keep his mouth
shut about the hot chick he picked up and..." He paused, shook his
head. "You don't want the details. The point is, though, she's still
alive."

"And she's in... what did you say? Schenectady?"

"She was. Her trace was pretty easy to follow. She stayed there for a
some time, perhaps two weeks, and then her trail led to Buffalo. And
there I lost it. There's a chance she crossed over into Canada, or
that she went down to Erie and from there to Pittsburgh or
Cleveland. It's not entirely clear what her goal is."

"So you don't know where she is?"

"Not yet. But I've got a few leads still that I need to pursue. I'm
headed back to Buffalo later this week."

Daniel felt discouraged. "I should be out there, looking for her."

"No. You should be right here, exactly where you are, doing exactly
what you're doing."

"And what is that?"

"Finding your fiancee is not enough, Daniel. You know that."

Daniel knew. Jenn had been screwing her way west, unable to resist
Biff's last orders to give herself to random men and--what? run away?
Even if Daniel and O'Neill found her, what kind of state was she
likely to be in? They had to figure out a way to undo what had been
done to her. And even then, Daniel thought darkly, she's probably
going to need some pretty intensive therapy for the rest of her
life. Is she even going to be the same girl I fell in love with?

"You still think ADCorp can help with that?"

"Cargyle worked for them."

"So you said. But I checked, and there's no record of him in the
company files."

"Then you didn't look at the right files. He worked there up until two
years ago."

Daniel felt anger rise. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to just
sit back and do nothing? To know that the girl I love is out there,
doing Lord knows what, alone, scared, and that there's nothing I can
do to help?"

O'Neill's face grew dark for a moment. "I know exactly how hard it is
to feel useless when someone you love is in trouble."

After a long moment during which neither of them spoke and just looked
out at the water, O'Neill patted Daniel lightly on the back. "Don't
worry, kid. We'll find her."

Daniel looked at him but did not say anything. Which was just as well,
because there was nothing to be said.

"So." O'Neill said after another long silence. "How was your first
foray into ADCorp?"

Daniel and O'Neill had already talked after his summer training before
joining IE Division, and so Daniel brought him up to speed describing
his first days at Headquarters and his first assignment to retrieve a
Special. At O'Neill questioning look, he described what he had learned
about Specials, including what he had witnessed of the interaction
between Bowden and Elizabeth and Shelley.

O'Neill seemed in a state of shock upon hearing the whole story. "That
doesn't make any sense!" He seemed almost angry. He stood and started
pacing in front of the bench.

Daniel frowned. "Yeah, it's pretty far-fetched, but the documentation
I've seen seems pretty thorough, and both Shawbank and Brisecoeur were
adamant and don't sound particularly deranged, and, well, I've seen
some weird stuff." He did not mention giving instructions to Elizabeth
Bowden through her friend Shelley Caskill via a phone that James
Bowden had decreed to Shelley she would obey at all times. That by
itself had been sufficient to convince him that whatever had happened
had been real.

"So you're telling me," O'Neill continued, still pacing, "that there
are... what... thousands of these Specials roaming around, messing
around with women's minds? That's insane. I mean, we'd have heard of
it, somehow, in some form or another."

"Maybe. Maybe not. According to the files--I'll give you a copy, it's
a pretty disturbing read--most of the Specials have pretty weak
abilities. They'll be able to affect a girl into maybe liking them as
opposed to disliking them, or maybe just give them a nudge in one
direction or another, emotionally--hardly anything earth
shattering. Hell, for all I know, many of them become salesmen in
women boutiques, and end up making great sales without having a clue
why they're so successful.

"The more powerful ones, those that can get women to do stuff they
don't want to do, well, it turns out they burn out pretty quickly and
go crazy. Psychosis. The more powerful they are, the more quickly and
spectacularly they fizzle. At which point they're pretty easy to find,
and they haven't had time to cause much real damage."

O'Neill had stopped pacing, and was looking at Daniel. "So a bit like
Ebola?"

"Huh?"

"Ebola? The crazy flu that kills you in a couple of days and makes you
bleed out of your eyes and ears? It kills so quickly that it doesn't
have enough time to spread and cause a real extensive epidemic."

Daniel nodded. The analogy did not seem so out of place.

"But it still doesn't make sense," O'Neill continued, coming back to
sit next to Daniel. "I mean, somebody would have noticed and said
something by now."

"They have. But they're few and far between, and there's no proof
anyway." Daniel had looked online, and had found a few mentions of
articles and reports and anecdotes involving people that he guessed
had been Specials, but the reports were conflicting, and seemed to be
both sensationalistic and low on facts. "I mean, you look online and
you find people talking about Big Foot and MKUltra and crap like that,
and among that you read reports of a few people that seem to be able
to control minds alongside reports of guys that can bend spoons with
their psychokinetic powers. Who's gonna believe that? The truth hidden
among the lies."

"Okay, fine," grunted O'Neill. "But why would ADCorp be interested in
Specials?"

"For the good of the community? Those Specials are pretty bad people."

O'Neill shot him a glance that said more than he could express. "I
strongly doubt ADCorp has the good of the community in mind. No, it
must have something to do with..." He never completed his sentence.

"Sam, what do you think ADCorp is doing? You haven't told me yet. If
I'm going to be your spy on the inside, you gotta tell me what you're
suspecting."

"I'm not entirely sure." O'Neill said, and pulled a cigar out of his
trench coat pocket. He did not light it, but put it in his mouth and
munched on the end. "That's the part that's so frustrating. But I'm
convinced that they're working on drugs to control women."

Daniel would have thought the idea preposterous not even a year
earlier, but after witnessing first hand what the Delta Iota Kappa
fraternity had done back at Darnell University, and learning about the
Specials, his worldview had changed.

"The kind of drugs that Cargyle used at Darnell?"

"That would be my guess. I've been keeping my eyes on them for a long
time, Daniel, a long time."

Daniel thought O'Neill would provide more detail about how long he had
been pursuing this, but the private investigator merely chewed the end
of his cigar more vigorously before spitting out some tobacco. "And
they're very good at covering their tracks."

 "So how do the Specials factor in?" Daniel asked.

"I don't know. Unless..." and he paused. "Unless that's how they get
the drugs they need."

"From the Specials?"

"Maybe. I mean, if they have this ability to control women, maybe
ADCorp figured out a way to... I don't know... extract that ability
and turn it into a drug."

"But why?"

"I don't know. That's one of the things that I was hoping you'd find
out." O'Neill looked at Daniel.

Daniel said nothing, and turned back to look at the water.

What he was thinking was that if indeed ADCorp was developing such a
drug, and Doctor Cargyle had worked on it, then they would indeed know
how to revert what Biff had done to Jenn. O'Neill was right. For that
reason only, it was worth remaining and investigating further.

And worse come to worse, Daniel further reflected, perhaps I can get a
Special to help me reprogram Jenn. But what Shawbank had told him,
that Specials' victims did not end well, did make that plan one of
last resort.


				* * *


(ADCorp Headquarters, Northern Maryland. The same day.)


"Control will see you now, Agent Shawbank."

The pretty secretary smiled at Agent Eve Shawbank, and the tall
raven-haired woman, who had been standing against the wall instead of
in one of the functional chairs lining the lobby, merely nodded her
head before walking down the short corridor to her boss's office.

She did not knock on the door, but pushed it open.

She was greeted by the familiar odor of cigarette smoke that still
lingered in the air despite his owner having quit the habit nearly
three years earlier. It impregnated the walls, the furniture, the very
person of George Clayton, commonly known as Control, who sat behind
his large desk, reading through his electronic tablet.

Shawbank stopped in front of the desk, again remaining standing,
waiting for Control to look up from his reading. He looked older than
the last time she had seen him, after the Darnell University operation
back in the spring. He must have been nearing sixty, if not
sixty-five, and his hair, which used to have streaks of gray, was now
uniformly gray, and thinning rather blatantly.

He looked up after a while, and a smile which she could not honestly
qualify as gentle but was probably the gentlest he could muster, broke
his features. "Eve, so good to see you again. Thanks for coming to see
me." He stood and walked up to her. His steps were still as firm as
they always had been.

She extended her hand, and he shook it, with both of his, patting her
on the arm afterwards.

"New secretary?" Shawbank asked.

"Indeed. It was time for some new blood."

"She's pretty," was all Shawbank said.

"Eve, how could you even hint at something like that," he said, with a
grin. It was an old joke between them. "Feel free to borrow her if you
want. She has delightfully sensitive breasts."

Shawbank gave a curt smile. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Control gestured to the chairs and the sofa in one corner of the
room. "Anything to drink?"

"No thank you, sir."

"Still as tightly wound as ever, Eve. What do you do to relax?" He
went to pour himself a glass of cognac. "On second thoughts, don't
answer that."

Shawbank watched him sit down in front of her. She noted, with her
usual fascination, her own feelings towards this man shift in her
heart. He had been her mentor in the Corporation for her fifteen
years, ever since she was brought to him, young, almost broken; he had
taken her under his wing and fixed her up and turned her into what she
was today.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked.

"I did. We haven't really talked since you came back from that
operation in North Alexandria before the summer. Did I mention how
excellent a job you did? Several months later, and no one blames
anything but the overabundance of alcohol on American college campuses
and shoddy gas distribution systems."

She nodded at the implicit compliment. "How goes the investigation
into why Cargyle ran away, and how he managed to leave with a vial of
serum?" she asked.

Control shrugged. "The investigation is ongoing. Near as we can tell,
Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle just decided to up and leave by himself, and
to pursue his research unencumbered by our supervision. There's a
small chance that he may have injected himself with a variant of the
serum." Control could not resist pursing his lips at the thought. He
still clearly remembered the outcome of the last time something like
that had happened.

Shawbank made a face, but for another reason. Davenham had told her
after the Darnell operation about his suspicions that Cargyle had not
acted alone, that he had been induced to leave, helped, guided. She
was frustrated to have squandered the opportunity of questioning
Cargyle when she had him in her grasp. If only she had been told, she
would have found out the truth.

Control misread her expression, and she did not dissuade him from his
misunderstanding. "I'm sorry, Eve. I know you wanted to be in charge
of the internal investigation into Doctor Cargyle's actions, but you
were needed somewhere else."

"You needed me to babysit," she said, and it came out as if she was
spitting out the words.

Control smiled. "Are you upset because I switched you from Internal
Affairs to Specials Recovery, or because I saddled you with an
inexperienced agent?"

"Both, sir."

"I read the report of the operation to apprehend the Special--James
Bowden, yes? You did great, as usual. And Agent Daniel Malcolm seemed
to do well on his first assignment."

"He was fine, I guess." Shawbank looked at Control. "Can I ask a
question, sir?"

"Who am I to stop you?"

"Why him?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's not typical agent material."

"In what way? Is there a problem?"

"Not yet. But he's quiet, reserved, does not interact much. He broods,
he's introspective, curious, and also stubborn with a fierce if
controlled independent streak."

Control seemed to fight to keep his face from grinning. "A spot of the
pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

Shawbank did not rise to the bait. "That's what worries me, sir. Plus,
he seems a bit too ethical."

"Well, the order to offer him a position came from higher up, so we
don't have that much choice, unless he screws up."

"Higher up? How high?"

"The highest. The Adjusters asked for him. Davenham himself passed the
order along."

"Davenham?"

"Yes."

Shawbank tried unsuccessfully to hide her shock. She had no response.

"In any event," Control continued, "his first assignment went well,
and we'll be implementing the standard agent protocol. So we will know
soon enough whether he is agent material."

"Standard protocol? I think it's a mistake, sir."

"Why? We have his psych profile from his training over the
summer. Should be a breeze."

Shawbank hesitated. "It's just a gut feeling, sir."

"I need something more than a gut feeling to go against standard
protocol, Eve, you know that."

"I do not have anything else, sir."

Control looked at her for a long time, without saying a word. She was
reminded of how dangerous this man was--his age had not dulled his
wits. "Well, as I said, the order came from above, so I have little
choice. Unless you have a better idea on how to deal with Agent
Malcolm."

"I don't, sir." And partly this was because she did not know what was
going on. Why did the Adjusters want Malcolm brought into the fold? It
made no sense.

"Very well, then. Anything else?"

"How do long am I to remain on Specials Recovery?"

"Until Mister Malcolm is trained and ready for general operations, I
expect."

Shawbank nodded, disappointed, but not surprised.

"Well, I should really get back to figuring out how to deal with
Advanced Research. They're on my case for the increased supervision
I've foisted on them." He sighed, and stood up. "It was good to see
you again, Eve. Do let me know how things get on."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

She stood and headed to the door. A hand on the handle, she stopped
and turned to Control.

"Sir, one last question. About the Darnell University operation."

"Yes?" Control was back behind his desk, thumbing through his tablet.

"Why did you ask us to bring the girls back instead of leaving them in
the fire?"

"You do not need to worry about it, Eve. The identifying information
your team left behind was entirely adequate. As far as the rest of the
world is concerned, those ladies died a horrible death in the fire. A
tragedy, really."

Shawbank hesitated. "But why the deviation from standard procedure?"
Standard procedure was to leave victims behind unless there was a
reason to believe they knew something that made them dangerous.

Control looked up at her, and he did not smile. "Are you questioning
my orders, Agent Shawbank?" Any trace of levity had left his voice.

"No, sir, of course not."

Control merely nodded, and Shawbank left, closing the door behind her.

Back in the lobby, the pretty secretary gave Shawbank a friendly
wave. "Have a good day, Agent Shawbank."

Shawbank stopped, and looked at the secretary. Janet Flynn, said the
name plate on her desk. She looked very professional, her blonde hair
up in a bun, glasses, her red lips glossy. Her blouse was unbuttoned
just enough to show a hint of generous cleavage. She has delightfully
sensitive breasts, Control had said.

"Thank you. Janet, is it?" Shawbank asked, a smile creeping on her
lips.


				* * *


(Baltimore, Maryland. Later the same day.)


Daniel was walking back to his apartment building, carrying take-out
dinner, thinking back to his conversation with O'Neill, and the leads
the private investigator had uncovered. He was trying very hard not to
get his hopes up too much. He was also trying very hard not to think
about the very real possibility that he may never find Jenn again,
that she may be lost. He had given way to such ruminations a few
months earlier, and it had driven him to the brink of insanity. That
feeling of helplessness, that he had the energy to do something but
nothing to do with it so that the energy turned on itself and had
threatened to consume him whole, they were like vultures perched on
his shoulder, waiting for the right moment to pounce and devour him.

He was not denying the reality of the situation. But most everything
he could do was being done--short of going to look for her himself. He
had tried that, spending weeks looking for her himself after the
events back in North Alexandria, once O'Neill had told him that Jenn
was still alive, that the car accident that seemed to have claimed her
life had not killed her, that she had walked away from it. But he had
been unable to pick up her trail, and the frustration would have
driven him insane until O'Neill stepped in.

He entered the lobby of his apartment building in time to see a young
woman struggling with unlocking and opening the main door while trying
to manage a large awkward delivery box.

He reached for the door. "Hold on, let me get that."

"Thanks," she said, trying to get a better grip on the box.

Pushing on the door with his back, he lifted one end of the box and
held it, and they maneuvered the entrance.

"Thank you," the young woman said when they reached the elevator. "I
think I can get it from here."

"Nonsense. I'm going up anyways.

"I appreciate it." The young woman smiled at him. She was beautiful,
her face round with dark brown eyes and long lashes. She was about his
age, her long body molded into tight jeans and boots and a yellow tee
shirt with what looked like an indie band logo. Her hair was long and
dark and pulled back in a pony tail pushed through an Orioles baseball
cap.

The elevator arrived. Inside, she pressed for her floor. Daniel
shifted his weight and put his takeout on the large box. The smell of
curry filled the small elevator. "Nice," the young woman said. "Thai?
Do you know a good place around here?"

"The Thai Cantina around the corner. A hole in the wall, but it's
pretty decent food."

"Thai Cantina. Good to know. It's useful to know at least one good
place when you're new to a city."

"You just moved in?"

"Still am. This box here," she nodded to the box they were still
holding between them, "got here a bit late, and the moving guys were
already gone. I'm glad you showed up when you did. My hero," she said
with another smile, to which Daniel had to respond with a smile of his
own.

"I'm Calypso," the young woman added. "But you can call me Cal."

"Calypso?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're going to say--"

"That your parents had a thing for classic Greek literature?"

She gave him a long appreciative glance. "My mother's a classics
professor. Most people think I'm named after the music."

Daniel shrugged, vaguely embarrassed. Calypso, the nymph who had kept
Odysseus on her island for seven years during his fateful trip back
home from the Trojan war. Daniel remembered the first summer he had
spent with Jenn, when she had decided that they should read the
Homeric poems out loud to each other. Jenn, the English literature
student, avid of reading and fiction and history. Daniel had
acquiesced, and found to his surprise that he enjoyed The Odyssey a
great deal, although he found The Iliad a slog. Jenn had taken him to
task about it--she had always found the tragedy of Achilleus poignant.

"You okay?" Calypso asked, concern in her voice.

"Yes, sorry. Just--" He smiled. "My name's Daniel. Daniel Malcolm."

"Hi Daniel. So how long have you been in Baltimore?"

"Oh, just a few months. Moved in for work."

The elevator stopped at her floor. She navigated them down the
corridor, the large box between them.

"So you're basically new here as well. That's cool. I'm also here for
work. Theater."

"You're an actress?"

"You sound surprised."

"No. Yes. I don't know."

Calypso laughed, then stopped before a door marked 403. "That's me."

She unlocked the door, and they carried the box inside. The apartment
was smaller than Daniel's, and was filled with moving boxes. "Sorry,
as I said, just moved in. I'd... huh... I'd offer you something to
drink or something but--"

Daniel grinned in response. "It's okay. Maybe some other time, when
you're more settled."

"That'd be nice."

There was a moment's awkward silence. "Well then. Good luck with your
settling in, Calypso. I'll see you around."

"Thanks again for your help." Her smile was genuine, and warm.

Daniel barely remembered to pick up his dinner.

Back in his apartment, he stared at the poster picture of Jenn on his
wall, and sighed. He fingered her engagement ring hung around his neck
through his shirt. Wherever you are, I hope you're okay. I miss you.

His laptop, open on the couch, dinged. He frowned. Few people would be
trying to contact him for chat. Although most of those were people
that he felt would be good for him to talk to.

He grabbed the laptop. Cindy. He fired up the customized encrypted
video chat system, and a bubbly blonde appeared in a window, her
bright smile contrasting with his dark mood.

"Hi Dan! Glad I caught you."

"Hey Cin. You look... different."

"You like?" She ran her hand through her hair, which had been cut in a
bob that gave her a particularly mischievous look. She was also
sporting a pair of glasses, with wide rims of the kind that were
popular in the sixties and seemed to be making a comeback in some
circles.

"It's... different."

"Pfft. Men and compliments. It's like pulling teeth."

Daniel had to laugh at that. "You look great, Cin. And that little
geek girl look really works on you."

"And you should see me when I've got only these glasses on and I'm
naked as the day I was born."

"I'm sure you look scrumptious."

"Apologies accepted. It was Mister Dick's idea."

O'Neill. Of course. Cindy was after all supposed to be dead, and while
it was unlikely that those that were after her would still be after
her after a body that had been identified as her had been recovered
from the smoldering remains of Daniel's apartment, O'Neill clearly did
not want to take any chances.

"So how're things?" Daniel asked.

"Pretty great. We're expecting a massive thunderstorm tonight, so my
roommate and I and a couple of friends are hunkering down with ice
cream and bad eighties movies."

"Lucky you... I guess?"

"Do you have some time to chat?"

"I have nothing but time."

"Tell me all about your adventures with Super Cop."

Daniel gave her a variant of the story that he had given O'Neill, with
slight changes in emphasis and commentary. Cindy was curious and,
Daniel thought, disturbingly aroused by the effect that James Bowden
had had on his stepdaughter and her friend.

But she was also intensely fascinated by the scientific aspects of
Specials, and begged Daniel for a copy of the report that Brisecoeur
had provided him at the beginning of the investigation.

"I'll email you a copy as soon as we're done." He could tell something
had spiked her curiosity. "What are you thinking?"

"It's just a shot in the dark, but remember earlier this year, back at
Darnell, you sent me off to get a blood analysis? You wanted Radhu to
have a look at the results?"

Daniel remembered. Cindy had been abducted by Doctor Cargyle and
programmed with his mixture of drugs and other technologies into
basically acquiring a secondary docile sex-doll personality that would
manifest itself when the proper trigger sentence was pronounced. The
same programming that Biff had applied to Jenn, except in Jenn's case
it had been much more extensive. Cindy's programming had not taken,
however--whether she had acquired a resistance to it, or whether she
was partially immune was not clear.

Daniel paused. Immune. Cindy was partially immune to what the Doctor
had given her. Shawbank was immune to the effects of Special. This
added some credence to O'Neill's theory that what the Doctor had done
to Cindy--to Jenn--had something to do with Specials. But the doctor
was not a Special; or even if he was, as near as he could tell, the
doctor had not been involved in programming Jenn--it had been Biff
with his friend, what was his name? Bernie. Biff and Bernie had
programmed Jenn.

"Why do I have the feeling you're thinking along the lines of what I'm
thinking?" Cindy asked, a knowing smile on her face.

"Depends. Are you thinking that perhaps whatever was done to you is
related to those Specials?"

"It would make sense, no? Remember, we were trying to figure out what
could affect women the way that whatever Doctor Spooky did to us
affected us? And we couldn't really come up with anything?"

"But I don't think Doctor Spooky was a Special."

"Maybe not, but maybe he figured out a way to extract whatever caused
a Special's ability--"

"Like a drug," Daniel said. That was exactly what O'Neill had
wondered.

"For instance," nodded Cindy, thinking out loud. "Remember, Mister
Dick told you that Doctor Spooky worked for... the Company." She meant
ADCorp. "And the Company is hunting down and capturing Specials."

"It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"That it does. So after you send me that report you mentioned, I'll
look more carefully at the results of the blood analysis and see if I
can find something that correlates." She hesitated. "You know what
would really help?"

"What?"

"Blood and tissue sample from a Special."

"I don't know how to get that."

"Something for you to think about on those long cold lonely nights in
Baltimore, then. While I'm down here, in sunny California, basking in
the warmth and letting Dan Junior explore the inner depths of that
tight pussy that really misses you."

Daniel shook his head. Cindy had named her dildo Dan Junior, something
that both embarrassed him and gratified him.

"You're nut, Cin, you know that?" he said, to diffuse the unease that
sometimes crept up on him when he thought of his relationship with
Cindy. He glanced up at the poster picture of Jenn on the wall,
looking back over her shoulder, resplendent, happy, heartbreakingly
beautiful.

Something crossed Cindy's face, an expression that Daniel could not
interpret. "What was that?" Cindy rarely looked serious.

"Nothing," she said, looking downcast for a second. "I'm gonna have to
go soon. But... well, I ran into something today."

Daniel was intrigued. "Okay? What?"

"Remember that short story that Jenn had submitted and published under
the name J. Dumas back in the Spring?"

Daniel's blood froze in his veins. "Yes... Charlie and the
Chancellor's Plot." How could he forget? As near as he had figured
out, Jenn had written up a creative reinterpretation of what had
happened to her when she was under Biff's control as a short story,
probably taking advantage of a loophole that Biff had left in her
programming. She may not have been allowed to talk about what was
happening to her, but she could spin fiction based on it.

"Well, there was another story by J. Dumas that appeared in that same
magazine earlier this week."

Daniel could only stare at her.

"Do you want me to send it to you?"

"Of course! Please--" Daniel cleared his throat. "Please do."

"Okay. But I warn you, it's a bit... well... it's rough."

Daniel looked into Cindy eyes, and read the rapid cycling of love,
pity, and support in them. He nodded. "I understand. If we're lucky,
it maybe will provide us with some clue as to where Jenn is."

"I think it does. Although I haven't solve that riddle yet. But I'm in
contact with the magazine to know how they got the submission. They
are understandably reticent to share that information, but I'll try to
work them anyways."

"Thanks, Cin. I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you've been
doing."

"Least I can do, Dan. You gonna be okay tonight?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"All right. Take care of yourself, and feel free to call if anything's
the matter." Uncharacteristically, she did not make a sexually
suggestive comment.

"Will do. Have fun with your friends tonight."

By the time Daniel had broken contact, Cindy's email was waiting in
his inbox. He clicked, and a document opened on the screen.

Charlie and the Convent of Oblivion, by J. Dumas. "It was year four
hundred and seventeen of the Renascence Era, forty-one years since the
Great Darkness War, one year past the reign of King Altobar the First,
the Hero of the War, Bringer of Peace. It was the first year of the
reign of Queen Helena, daughter of King Altobar the First, a reign
destined to be unlike that of her wise and just father. For Queen
Helena ruled through fear and repression, levying crushing taxes and
imposing exhausting production requirements on her subjects."

He closed his eyes, noticed he was shaking. He stood, paced around his
empty apartment for a while. He did not know if he was ready to do
this.

As if in answer to his doubts and fears, there was a knock at the
door. He almost yelped in surprise.

He opened the door, not even thinking about looking through the
peephole first. He was what met with the smiling face of Calypso, her
hair freed of her baseball cap but still in a high ponytail, her hand
raised for a finger wave.

"Hi," she said. "I felt bad about earlier, being a poor hostess and
all, so I went out--" she lifted a six-pack of beers, "and got a
little something. If you don't mind a bit of company, that is..."

Daniel perceived the slight look of loneliness in her eyes. First day
in a new town--never an easy situation.

Part of him wanted to just have her go away, so that he could read the
document Cindy had sent him--Jenn's story. Another part of him saw her
presence as a way to delay something he knew full well would hurt and
force him to think about something that he had no power over--Jenn's
predicament.

When Calypso uttered a simple and vulnerable "Please?" he opened the
door fully, and let her in.

"How did you know my apartment number?"

"Your name on the mailbox downstairs. Only one Malcolm in the
building."

As he watched her walk into his living room, he noted that she had
changed--she still sported her yellow tee shirt, but had traded her
jeans for a pair of shorts bearing the University of Alabama
logo. They bared her legs, which were long and lean and reminded him
so much of Jenn's that he had to suppress a groan. Her whole body, now
that he thought of it, reminded him of Jenn's body. Jenn had been a
dancer in her youth. He wondered whether Calypso danced.

"Wow. I like the uncluttered decorating style. It's very... pure?"

"Yeah, I don't... let's say I don't spend that much time here."

"So what do you do anyways? Oh wow!" she said without waiting for his
answer. "She's beautiful." She nodded towards the poster on the wall.

"She is. It's my fiancee."

"Your fiancee? Lucky boy! Where is she?"

"She's... well... huh... well, it's complicated."

"Ah! Aren't all relationships complicated?" She shook her head as if
she was continuing the conversation within herself. "Do you
think.... I mean, would she mind that I'm here tonight, bearing
gifts?" She put the beers on the floor near the couch.

Daniel grimaced. "No, I don't think she would. And to be honest, those
beers look like a pretty good idea right now."

She grinned, and sat down on the couch, folding her long legs beneath
her. Daniel tried not to stare at the flesh on display. She pulled two
beers out of the pack, and uncapped them.

Daniel walked up to her, and accepted the bottle she offered.

"Cheers, then," she said, clanging bottle neck against bottle
neck. "To new friends."

"Cheers indeed."

The beer feel good going down his throat, refreshing and tasting of
oblivion. He eyed the untouched take-out. "Huh, have you eaten yet?"

"No. I haven't had the courage of trying to find the box with the
nonperishable provisions I packed. Though I think I have a box of
saltines on a windowsill downstairs."

"Want to share?" He nodded towards the take-out.

"Do you mind?"

"I wasn't really hungry to start with..."

"That'd be great, then"

He went into the kitchen to grab two plates and some extra chopsticks
from too many previous take-out dinners.

Went he came back, Calypso was reading the file Cindy had sent him on
his laptop. He did not know what to say, and she preempted any
reaction of his by her exclamation.

"Whoa, this is pretty good." She scrolled down, reading quickly. "I
love fantasy." Her eyes went wide. "Oh my God!"

"Listen, Calypso--"

"This is kinky!" She looked up at him, her eyes wide, a broad smile on
her face. "If there's anything I love more than fantasy, it's dirty
fantasy!" She eyed him, with a mock frown. "You know, you didn't
really strike me as the type."

Daniel sighed. This was getting weird. But perhaps this was exactly
what he needed. Something to take the edge of fear off. "Believe it or
not, someone sent it to me, and I was trying to gather the gumption to
actually read it through. I'm not really a fan of the stuff."

"Wait, let me guess. The author, asking for comments?"

Daniel grimaced again. "Something like that."

"Well, I know how to make it more interesting."

"How?"

"Hey, I'm an actress, I told you. I'll read it. I love reading out
loud."

"I don't know..."

"Come on! It'll be fun. Beer, Thai food, and a hot chick reading you
smut. You know, there are guys that'd kill for that."

Daniel sat down on the couch, his back against the side, and pulled up
his knees to his chest, clutching his beer. He did not have the
stomach for food. And he was not sure he had the stomach to hear
Jenn's tale either.

Calypso seemed to have misunderstood his reluctance, and smacked him
on the knee. "Come on, trust me. I'll make it good." Her smile would
have been infectious under any other circumstance.

Closing his eyes, he nodded. "Fine."