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Subject: _The Book_'s Universe: ===>_The Book_<=== (pt 8 of 13) - by Blackie (mc, ff, mf)
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*Article: 10197 of alt.sex.stories
*From: JLB155@PSUVM.PSU.EDU (Jennifer Bernold)
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*Subject: REPOST by request: The Book, ch.8
*Date: 1 Jul 1993 18:03:11 -0500
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From: an21262@anon.penet.fi (Blackie)
Subject: Story: Overleaf (_The Book_ pt 8)
Another episode in _The Book_, A mind control story.
This episode is heavy on plot again. Poor Bob. *sigh* Plot often is
harder to write than sex is. Even harder to work sex into when you
really need to fill out the plot, which was being vaporous until last
we left Bob, in the lurch.
The characters in this story are fictional; any resemblance to
persons living, dead or otherwise is strictly coincidence. You see any
similarities, keep them to yourself.
f/f, m/f, often non-consensual, strictly fantasy.
Hit 'n' to skip this story.
_Overleaf_
The weather ruled the day. It had begun with hot steamy sunshine, but
by noon the rain came down in sheets. Just as Diane had resolved
herself to becoming soaked, the storm abated. Puffy clouds were soon
all that was left in the sky.
Diane was a reporter. She was a good reporter. She believed in the
fourth estate as a branch of government. She was one of those true
believers who thought everyone had a right to know everything,
anywhere.
Her beliefs caused her some problems.
The worst problem was working as an employee for any real News
outfit. The papers almost always had editorial policies she didn't
like. She'd gone from print to broadcast because she figured it would
be different. The reality of much harsher controls in the broadcast
media hit her hard.
So she worked pretty much freelance, kinda. Her job with the 11
O'clock News for the KUTE network was fairly nebulous. When she got
stories they liked, she got paid. Otherwise she was shit outa luck.
She got paid fairly regularly.
The story she was working on came from a strange tip. Some guy called
and said the Biltmor Rehabilitation Institute was committing
experiments on the inmates. Some kind of brain research. He chatted
with her long enough for her to find out he worked for the Institute.
She tried a few phone calls this morning. Every time she got through
to someone important enough to know anything, she was told the
Institute didn't grant interviews. After further research, she found
no record of the Institute in the state registries. No charter, no
license, no known clients, no credentials to support the lofty title.
Her sometimes boss, Mr. Magnum, managing editor, told her to go get
the dirt on them; he'd buy it. She smiled weakly at this, since there
was no way to get the dirt without sneaking in.
So here she was, soaking wet, hot, and uncomfortable. The damn place
was like an old style fortress. Two sides of the property were bounded
by river, a third side had a sizable swamp. The remaining side of the
property had a 20 foot wall along it, with superfluous closed circuit
TV atop.
She'd moored the boat in the swamp. Scratching her left leg, she
regretted not wearing jeans for this outing. She could feel every
inch of her exposed skin screaming for just a few moments of
scratching.
Nothing deterred Diane. Her camera man was trailing behind her. Jorge
had never yet managed to keep up with her on a story. He'd make it
right beside her when it was time to shoot, but she always broke the
ground. This time in a more physical sense than usual.
Jorge was a pretty nice guy. She'd worked with him now for five years.
He'd never made a pass at her either. For camera men, that had to be a
world's record. She was pretty good looking, or she'd have a tougher
time in front of the camera. And all camera men tend, she believed, to
be on the make all the time. Except Jorge. Sometimes she wished he
was.
Jorge was a true blessing for her career too. He had to read her mind
sometimes to catch the angles he got on film. She rarely had to edit
out enormous quantities of footage he'd taken. He almost always ran
the camera perfectly for her face shots, and never let her profile
look bad. Always, he managed to stop filming just as or before any
flubs she made. Nice to have a psychic camera man. She smiled at the
thought.
Jorge was immensely interested in this story too. For the first time
he'd volunteered to do some of the research leg work on a story she
was working. Odd for him, demanding every word the informant uttered
verbatim, hanging over her shoulder to hear what she'd learn.
A bird leapt into the air before her. She managed to avoid jumping or
screaming with surprise. Startled for Diane meant 'drop for cover'.
She remembered covering riots downtown in her first year as a
professional. The constant hazard taught her caution rather than
fear. It helped over the years.
The wood she was trying to sneak through silently was making every
effort to shout out her location. If it wasn't the damn birds, it was
twigs, if not twigs, it was scratchy underbrush. The moist earth
beneath her feet would sink away, leaving her 4-5 inches in the dirt,
almost sucking her sneakers off. The branches she chose to hold for
support gave way violently, shaking volumes of leaves above.
When she finally got to the open fields of the Institute, she was
relieved to escape the jungle like swamp. Jorge said nothing, just
waited her directions.
There were statues standing about on a manicured lawn. The water in
the fountains sparkling in the intermittent sunlight. Wait, those
weren't statues. They were all wearing white coats, white jump suits,
or white whatever.
Jorge pointed to a few rows of coniferous bushes in a line towards the
house. House?, mansion more like. The thing was four stories tall. The
triangular shapes above the top windows made the place look like the
setting for a gothic horror, except for the lack of gargoyles. Maybe
the frightful statuary would be there when she got closer.
They moved towards the bush line.
====
Bob and Miki lay hidden in the storage room all night. The frantic
sounds of search activity had force them to send the remaining captive
guards out to join in the hunt.
The room was only searched once, by a single guard, who was easily
convinced of its secure condition. Bob smiled, it hadn't been as
difficult as the first time to get through the thought shield.
Amazingly Bob felt very horny. Odd reaction to being so severely in
danger.
He remembered a car accident years ago. During the incident he'd only
thought about how it would ruin his afternoon. The time he'd been
mugged, well some guy tried anyway, all Bob had thought of then was
how he'd be getting home.
The amazing thing was, he could probably take Miki. She'd probably
never be able to stop him. He figured Bambi had the stronger will
power, or talent, or whatever. He stopped himself. There was a time
and place for screwing around. This wasn't one of them.
The search had moved on, they had probably concluded Bob and Miki
reached the outer grounds by now.
It was time to try again.
====
"uh, uh, uh, uh" sounds of carnal pleasure came from behind one of
the bushes.
Although amused, Diane wasn't the least bit interested in a humping
couple on the other side of the bush. She might've been, if she knew
one of the inmates was boffing away madly with one of the sex slaves
he was captured with. Although how she would know is anyone's guess.
Curiosity overcame Jorge. He was also very amused, but kept it to
himself. He snuck a peek to see what the couple looked like.
While he was snooping, Diane got a bit ahead. She lost track of the
camera man. When she turned to ask his opinion on approaching the
building, he simply wasn't there.
Damn, she thought, first time he's ever done that. Maybe the couple in
the bushes was worth looking into for a minute or two. Jorge might
finally be showing some sexual interest. Naw, Jorge would catch up.
As she mused, a crackle of twigs directly behind her drew her
attention.
"My, my, my." A man with a pistol stood about four feet away. "Where
the hell did you come from lady?"
She realized she was a wreck. Her hair was matted from the drenching
rain, and mud of the swamp. The dress she wore was tattered and torn
from the underbrush. The guy couldn't help but know she was out of
place. Oh well, she had to try to baffle him.
"I took a walk and got lost."
"Not without an escort you wouldn't. You were in the swamp. Trying to
sneak in for something? A boyfriend maybe? You one of the sluts who
follow their men into this place, eh? Perhaps you..." THUNK!
The gunman dropped to the ground. Behind him stood Jorge, his almost
white blonde hair standing over her assailant with a stick. The
camera was missing, which made him look naked to Diane.
"God, I'm glad you caught up."
"Wouldn't want you to get hurt." he said.
Bending over Jorge picked up the nasty looking weapon. He turned it
over a few times. Then he handed it to her.
"Dart gun. Probably tranquilizers."
"Makes sense," she answered, "they wouldn't want to injure the
inmates, after all."
Jorge pointed to the camera propped up in one of the bushes. He walked
over and popped the small red button keeping it running.
"Great Jorge. You always manage to catch the angles for me." She blew
him a kiss. He ignored it. He never even flirted with her. It was just
as well, she guessed, but it might be nice once in a while.
Diane moved to the next opening in the bushes, peering ahead. Jorge
was turning over the gunman.
Diane missed the motion as Jorge pulled what looked like a hearing aid
from the man's right ear. Turning it in his hand, it popped open and
a small battery dropped out. He grinned and put the device, without
battery, back behind the man's ear. If anyone had been watching, Jorge
would have seemed to be examining the man's skull for permanent
injury.
For an additional moment Jorge intently examined the guard. Diane
thought he was terribly decent, being concerned that he'd hurt the man.
He hoisted the man to his shoulders and carried him closer to a pair
of closely grown bushes. With a little pushing and shoving the man
disappeared from the casual observer, for now.
Diane looked approvingly at Jorge's work, flagging him to hurry up.
====
Jones was uncomfortable. He all about Tyler. He figured the same
treatment could soon be his. He made a conscious decision to try not
to sweat. It wasn't working very well.
"Astounding, Mr. Jones. Simply astounding."
"Yes sir."
"There must have been a problem with the drug. Who was last to see
him?"
"One of five lab techs sir. We don't know which one. The log sheet for
moving the subject from the tie down room to the sampling lab is
missing."
"I see."
The pause dragged for a few minutes. The man in the large leather
chair turned away. Jones stood perfectly still, hoping for salvation
by being overlooked.
"This was a bad day for this Jones. We have guests coming, you know."
"I know sir."
"Important guests."
"Yes sir."
Another pause left Jones worrying about this compounding aspect. How
would it affect him?
"Jones, I want all the lab techs who could've been there locked up."
"Sir?"
"Any one of them could be a time bomb. If the spark is free, he may
have done something to their minds. Ah, his mind, the tech who let
him loose. You said he was smart. That makes him dangerous, in ways
beyond what we usually see. He's not just another lunatic with ESP."
"I will see to it, sir."
"Go. Report back when they find him. Oh, and the new girl, I want her
brought up to the lab to see what affect he's had."
"On my way."
He turned and started towards the door.
"And Jones, don't screw this up. Tyler really didn't please Jezabel."
A series of chills went down Jones's back. He stepped up his speed to
perform for his master.
====
The Fates didn't seem to like Bob any more.
Although the search moved outside, there were plenty of the guard
type goons in the halls. It was annoying. Working around the mind
shields was difficult, and took time. Enough time for someone to
react and just shoot.
He didn't want a drugged dart stuck in his fanny. It didn't appeal to
him. Not to mention all the other unpleasant possibilities afterwards.
Miki assumed the role of fairy tale princess. A quiet 'rescue me
please' princess. He didn't mind. The arguments over who was in charge
never occurred. She just tagged right behind him.
There were a small group of goons coming from around the corner. At
least he assumed they were, there were seven or eight mind shields he
could count.
Trying the door next to them, he led Miki into a dark room.
His ear to the door, it sounded as though the group was about to come
in here. Looking about he saw there was a very large round wooden
platform, and sections of room with hanging curtains partially
concealing a dozen or more chairs.
He led Miki behind one of the curtains, hid himself behind another.
====
There were several guests. Some from as far away as China.
Today the Institute was showing product to potential clients. Each
one had brought an unsuspecting secretary or party official for the
demonstration.
A man with Italian leather shoes bade them enter the theater chamber.
There were a few stragglers, yes, ten in all entered the room for the
pitch. He turned on the light over the platform, and climbed up to
stand stand dramatically above.
"Gentlemen, take seats, I beg of you. We will begin sooner if you are
seated."
In the light it became clear this man carried himself with an
aristocratic bearing. He was unconcerned with anyone else present,
except in that they represented income. His suit, a perfectly cut,
hand tailored charcoal gray pin stripe, accented his authority well.
Hands behind his back, standing as though at parade rest for a
soldier he began to speak.
"I am Mr. Thadeous. I am the Institute."
"What you are here for today is a look at a new method we've developed
for brainwashing. We can use it to get information from anyone, no
matter how well trained. We can use it to ensure loyalty to you, no
matter how bad the subjects prior record. We can control anyone for
you, for a fee.
"The price will depend on your needs. All we need is for the
individual to be improved, yes improved, brought here for the
improvement."
"Mr. Thadeous, we are willing to bid on the process itself. How much
for the process?" came from an individual with a brown suit on.
"It's not for sale, Mr. Vinocelli. Not at any price. But, we can sell
your organization the kind of protection you've only dreamed of.
Croupiers and dealers with scrupulous attention to your profits.
Girls who will not quake at any request, and charge accordingly. But
the process is our property."
"I take it you will not make this product available exclusively?" Came
from a woman with jet black hair, wearing an old style veiled bonnet.
"Mrs., um, Leclair, We are in this for the profit. We'd be at odds
with too many organizations cut out of the loop, if they couldn't get
the product we offer. At the same time, we expect our customers to
respect our proprietary interests. Since it will serve you as well."
"If it works you mean."
"Which brings us to the purpose of this little demonstration. Mrs.
Leclair, We've taken your, volunteer along with all the others, and
performed the process. We asked you to bring the volunteers simply to
show how quickly this process works."
He looked at his watch.
"Barely fifteen minutes have passed since they went to the labs.
Since you questioned our veracity about the 'product', you may want
to examine them yourself.
"This is not hypnosis, although it may resemble it. Nor are we using
drugs. We directly altered their minds with a device we developed
here for the purpose."
A lab tech led six people into the room. They each carried a folding
chair onto the platform. The tech unfolded each chair and sat the
'volunteers' one at a time.
"Now, you should be aware the subjects can neither hear nor see us.
Nor can they feel anything we do."
He slapped one subject. Happily, this time there was no physical
reaction to his action. He'd worried about that since taking Heather.
====
Bob was amazed. There was a real conspiracy underway. Not something
simple like his own, to enjoy his new found sex life, comfortable in
his life style.
This was a power play of far more insidious proportions.
Bob reached out to sense the six placid individuals on the platform.
All of them bore overwhelming changes from a machine. One like the one
they tried to use on him.
It hit him like a bolt from the blue. Their machines produced none of
the subtle manipulation that modified Bambi. Her changes and controls
were subtle enough to be very difficult to remove completely.
Who adjusted Bambi when she'd been 'programmed' and set loose?
Thadeous was still speaking about the advantages of improved
employees, agents, and even ex-enemies. Bob looked at the man, seeing
no hearing aid like device. He could clearly see both ears, and
neither bore any evidence of a mind shield.
And Bob had just probed the 'volunteers'!
The guest's volunteers were babbling continuously. All kinds of
embarrassing details. Things the Institute would know nothing about.
Yet legally questionable, and obviously secret. Including personal
plans to assassinate their superiors, dealings with other agencies, and
other common human schemings.
But in general, not really harmful to the guests either.
"Stop." Thadeous said.
The men and women on the stage instantly ceased speaking.
"You can count on business with us," one man muttered. He was carrying a
large briefcase and fit no more than a non-descript image. His accent
placed him from the deep south. Bob could imagine any of a number of
incredibly fascist organizations he might represent.
"I'm sold too," the lady named Leclair chimed in. Bob figured there
were at least three organized crime syndicates, one south american
country, a major international corporation, and a terrorist group
represented here. They would all be very unhappy if he escaped.
On the other hand, what could he do about them?
In only a few short moments the entire audience agreed to do business
with the Institute. There were no dissenters, this wasn't a bidding
session. Price would be discussed elsewhere, somewhere more
comfortable.
Thadeous signalled the tech to remove the volunteers, and led the
guests from the room.
Bob didn't know whether to panic or breath a sigh of relief.
====
Damn him, thought Diane. She'd been separated from Jorge again.
She managed to break a pane of glass, reaching through to open the
window. She stepped through, looking for all the world like an
inexperienced cat-burglar.
There was a red headed woman in the room. She was about 5'7" with a
reasonably well shaped figure. Her green eyes turned in surprise on
Diane. The woman was dressed in a hospital green gown, with no shoes,
stockings, or other acouterment. She'd been brushing her hair.
She was very pretty, thought Diane. Her full red lips were incredibly
moist and well shaped. Diane stepped forward, reaching for the woman's
hands.
"Hello pretty," came a sweet cotton candy voice, melting in her ears.
She could listen to that voice for hours, she was certain. Just
looking at this woman made her realize how long she had gone without
sex.
The red head was so voluptuous, so incredibly tasty to watch. Diane
could never leave her new love, she was so perfect. She devoured
the woman with her eyes for only a moment, though.
Then she plunged her tongue into the other woman's mouth, savoring
the delectable flavor of sexual passion burning there.
She could feel a hand reaching around to undo her dress. She assisted,
shrugging off the ragged clothe. Her body exposed, suddenly her matted
hair worried her. Would the red head dislike her because of her
poor appearance?
No, the white hands were gently rubbing her breasts, sending bolts of
pleasure throughout her body.
She threw herself into the pleasant haze of sex, giving herself to
this mysterious woman.
====
Bob and Miki, slipped into the hallway again. Almost right on the
tail of the demonstration party.
But Bob simply took them across the hall and through the door there,
which was ajar. He shoved her to the side of the door, looking about
this new room quickly.
He saw no one in the new room, but he heard the sound of running
feet. About a dozen men dashed into the room with the stage. Bob left
the door as it was and looked about. He scanned about for a good
hiding place.
He couldn't find one.
A guard opened the door that wasn't latched and looked around in the
room. There was nothing unusual. The place looked just fine. No one in
here.
"Not this room." the guard announced to his unseen buddies behind. He
pulled the door closed and latched the outside deadbolt.
Bob breathed again. If any more than one guard had looked in here,
they'd have found the fugitives. One he could get a control on, two he
wasn't ready to try.
Miki nuzzled up against Bob.
It looked like they were stuck again for a while. Bob might not need
to do anything to Miki to have some fun. They could kill an hour or
two here until the search moved back outside again.
====
Jorge had lost Diane.
He was confused. He'd always been able to find her again if she zipped
out of sight too fast before.
He set the camera down. He didn't want to hurt Diane's feelings, but
there would be no News story from their little jaunt. He opened the
casing where the film was and pulled out a metal foil packet of some
sort.
Unwrapping the foil carefully, he removed a small red object, about
the size of a coin. He refolded the foil and replaced it in the camera
casing.
The coin sized object was a red, almost amber like substance. On one
side was a man's profile with a superimposed triangle. On the other a
stylized lightning bolt.
He removed his watch and slid the coin into a slot designed to hold
the coin against his skin. The back of the coin seemed to fit the
pattern of the watch, or was it the other way around. In any case, the
coin appeared to be part of the watch now.
He strapped the watch back on, without looking at the time at all.
The camera was now tucked out of sight, behind a planter in the
garden. He examined the leaves he'd covered it with and finally
pronounced to himself the adequacy of his work.
He began to look for ways into the building.
====
Bob pulled Miki to him.
She came much more willingly than he'd expected. Well, here they were
in the middle of a nest of vipers, or some kind of really bad guys,
and they were hiding out, snuggling, getting fuzzy together.
He could understand himself. He needed an escape from the surrounding
reality while they hid, but her?
He tried to probe her mind.
{Hi!}
{Hi yourself} whispered the voice in his head. {Do you think we can
safely kill an hour or two rubbing our bodies together for warmth?}
{Maybe, does that appeal to you right now? aren't you scared?}
{Yup, but I'm having this urge to screw. It gets worse every time we
find a relatively safe hiding place.}
He thought about it and wondered if she was picking up his horniness
without knowing it. Seepage of his thoughts worried him, a little. He
looked inward to see if he was losing control.
He found nothing, so he slipped as subtle and covert a probe as
possible into her mind. She was horny too. But he uncovered a thin,
almost invisible trace of control. Examining it closely, he saw it was
his own. Unconsciously, to his surprise, he had taken her. She was
his, and nothing she could do would change the fact.
He let their lips meet. A moment later their tongues introduced
themselves. It should be a peaceful break from being chased about the
premises.
He needed the break.
====
The door had been left open.
Several doors had been left open. Jorge was bemused at the guards
running hither and yon, searching for someone. Some strange event
was happening here.
He acquired a lab coat from a surprised, and now unconscious,
technician of some sort. With a clipboard and a pocket full of pens,
everyone seemed to accept him without any trouble. Also, the little
false hearing aid gizmo behind his right ear leant an air of
authenticity. His almost white hair didn't seem to bother anyone.
Trying to find something, anything, leading to Diane's whereabouts was
tedious work. If he intruded in the wrong place, someone would know he
wasn't one of 'them'.
He felt the pounding of running feet through the soles of his shoes.
After agonizing whether to bluff, or hide, he chose the later action.
A door to his left popped open quickly, permitting entry to a nicely
furnished private room. Very much like the sanatorium you might expect
if you were a visitor.
He closed the door behind, listening for the running feet to pass.
The room had a single window, with plush red curtains. The walls were
done in a style of wallpaper you often find in old houses, faded
beyond recognition. There was a dresser with a small mirror above, a
chair and a bed.
He saw a woman, in her early 30s, sitting on the bed.
====
When Jorge was fifteen, he still lived as a native of Denmark.
They'd lived near Skagen, at the northern tip of the country. He'd
played quite a bit in the caves his father told him about along the
cold Kattegat.
The caves, according to his father, had been used to hide Jews from
the evil men who corrupted the soul of the German people and brought
the invading armies into Denmark.
That was over long before Jorge first climbed into the caves. Yet he
knew intimately how the Underground developed cocaine laced
handkerchiefs to deaden the noses of the dogs used to search. And he
warmed with pride when he thought of King Christian wearing the Star
of David rather than allow his people, however few, to fall to the
devil marching with the German armies.
Jorge often came to see where his father had played so important a
role in saving so many people. Where the fishing boat had left for
Marstrand or Lysekil in Sweden, a long and grueling voyage. Dangerous
because the Kat was pretty brutal on occasion.
Sometimes he would sit for hours on the rocks inside, watching the
tide grow into the mouth of the caves. The sea beckoned to him,
calling for him to travel. But he sat and thought of Edda, three years
older than himself, and his travel lust waned.
She was lovely. Her waist length braid of blonde hair accented the
sway of her hips. Her eyes glistened with joy when she spoke, and
every movement of her hands was accompanied with a happy carefree
skill.
He wanted to tell her of his love, but he was dreadfully frightened.
After all, he was only a child, although he felt he was a man.
One day in the caves, escaping his frustrated tongue tied desire,
he stumbled across it.
A locket, an old remnant from one of the refugees of war. No, maybe
not, the chain was embedded in the dirt and rock. In the rock above
were several strange runes he'd never before seen. With his lamp
shining directly on the runes, he almost thought he could read them.
After struggling to make out the meaning for a time, he pulled at the
locket and the chain snapped. The locket came free with what pieces of
chain remained attached.
He could not open the jewelry in the cave, so he shoved it in his
pocket and fled for home.
On the way he found Edda walking in the sunshine, having been off on a
picnic. She was beautiful, wearing an old traditional style dress and
white blouse, embroidered in colorful red, yellow and blue.
"Hello Edda."
"Why hello little Jorge."
He burned red with fury. She should see him as a man!, as her man! He
was unsure enough he thought of turning to leave. Being called 'little
Jorge' was not what he wanted to hear from her.
In some strange way, all this interesting thinking came out in runes
similar to the ones on the walls of the cave.
"Oh Jorge, where have you been? You're shoes are wet!"
"I went to the caves. They're peaceful. It gives me a chance to sit
and think."
"Do you think you could take me there?"
"Sure, when do you want to go?"
She looked over her shoulder at the friends she'd been out with. They
waved at her.
"Let's go now," she decided.
In a cul-de-sac hollow near the caves they stopped together and
listened to the rolling of the sea. She was silent, almost
reflective. He admired the roundness of her chin, the pink high
points of her cheeks, and the smile she had shown him on their walk.
"I haven't seen much of you lately," she said.
"I've been exploring the caves."
"I like seeing you Jorge."
Not little Jorge, but simply 'Jorge'. He wondered about her out of the
ordinary behavior.
She leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulders. His
uncertainty was growing. He enjoyed the presence of the soft golden
hair against his cheek. His arm wrapped about her shoulders, holding
her close.
The birds of the sea made their skreeing sounds.
Edda lifted her head, eyes closed, slightly puckering her lips for a
kiss. He breathed out slowly, and joined his lips to hers. A moment
later he found himself surprised again as the laughing pink tongue she
had embarrassed him with verbally, was exploring his mouth.
Her right hand found its way to his leg, and crept up to his crotch,
feeling his manhood right through the fabric of his American jeans.
The cock under her hand swelled immediately.
After she'd rubbed his cock through the jeans for a time, she gathered
his left hand in her right. Pulling gently, she led the hand over her
breast. He could feel the softness of the fleshy mound, and the lines
of her bra. He also felt a hard little bump at the peak. She gasped in
air as he played his fingers across the hard little bump.
Her hand worked his pecker through the cloth, and soon he had spilt
out his sperm inside his pants. He was embarrassed, she seemed
disappointed.
"What are we doing?" he asked. His release had relaxed his concern a
bit.
"Making sure you know I love you," came the reply.
Her smile quickly perked up. She shucked off her blouse and bra,
exposing for him the enticing redish brown nipples of her somewhat
generous bosom.
She took off the bright red skirt and lay it down in the soft grasses.
Then she set to work undressing him. She worked her soft red lips over
his naked skin as she revealed any more than an inch or two of it. Her
tongue danced along the recesses of his crotch, staying for now, away
from his prick.
Soon her fingers, with their unadorned but almost perfect nails,
caressed the folds of his balls and phallus. Still, he remained soft
until her lips came to the flacid penis, sucking in past her teeth the
head, working the tip of her tongue into the opening at the end.
His organ rose, stiffening with each glorious plunge she made towards
his torso. Soon it had achieved a rigid hardness he couldn't recall
ever attaining before.
Edda stradled his body with her legs, lowering the fur covered
triangular patch of her groin towards his prick.
"Ohhh, yess!" she muttered as the organ entered the cavity she had
proffered. Her head rolled down, chin on her chest. Her arms she
placed on his chest to support her body, which now began to rise and
fall along the length of his cock.
She was moist inside, he thought, and so deliciously warm. His length
was plunging in and out as his own hips tried to pump deeper into the
tunnel above. He watched with interest as the two breasts waved up and
down. The nipples were forming oval shapes in opposite directions as
she concentrated more and more on the pleasure she was receiving.
"uh, oh, god," she mumbled over and over. The blonde braid waved like
a whip as her head spun first one direction, then the other. The
breathing was deeper, the panting continuous as she went into
overdrive.
"OH! YES!" she cried out. He thought the entire town nearby could
hear her voice. She bucked out, thrusting her glorious chest forward
above his head, then she bucked back, forcing him deeply within her
while tucking her head down again. She did this four or five times.
As she screamed out her happy release, he felt the muscles in his
groin tighten, it felt so good to feel the rapid flow of semen up
through his groin and out the tip of his penis. He knew she'd given
herself over to him completely now. The pounding of his heart was a
reminder of how strong the orgasm had been.
She sank down across his body, joining her mouth to his in a lengthy
sloppy kiss.
Later, as they nestled together, she asked him what they'd name the
baby. This jolted him out of the reverie he was in.
Fortunately no baby came. He was able to convince her without to much
trouble how bad it would be to have children before they were ready.
Soon, she was on the pill.
They played at sex for a few more hours before returning home.
The next time, they used a bedroom in his parent's house when they
were away. He entered her and they remained physically joined for
hours, even after his organ shriveled down to a flacid lump of flesh.
They performed every conceivable method of reaching orgasm. He was
amazed how much Edda knew. When she offered him her ass he was shocked
at first, then intrigued. The tightness was an exciting experience,
which he would always relish.
Over the next four years they could rarely be found separately. There
were so many ways she would let him take her, so many places.
It was a bit of a scandal, an older girl chasing after a teenager.
But they had some great fun together, even after he realized it was
the secret symbols of the runes giving her to him. Not some secret
longing for him she might have had.
The runes gave him the power to make her come too. Her orgasms became
so dramatic and powerful under his control, she frequently couldn't be
roused for an hour or two afterwards.
Her body was completely his property, her mind a part of the deal.
For quite some time, anything he said went. He took her to parties,
sometimes screwing her in front of total strangers, forcing an orgasm
from her when she was too nervous to believe it possible.
In time he came to understand he didn't really want her. Not if she
was completely under his control. He found he could control almost
anyone. Every attractive girl in town was his at one time or another.
Edda even watched out for interlopers on a few occasions.
He gave Edda the freedom of not wanting him anymore. They drifted
slowly, but amiably apart.
There was an absence for a long time in his life, a hole, some missing
piece of him. He began to travel. With his unique ability to see into
and control even a stranger's mind, he could go anywhere, do almost
anything he wanted.
There were new worlds to explore, new adventures. Every day contained
an interesting exploration, and new romances he could tailor to suit
his immediate desires. Married or single, no woman could resist his
talent. None denied him access to their sex.
He rapidly lost count of the number of women he'd had. But he really
hadn't lost any interest in sex.
Until he was much older than fifteen, anyway.
====
The woman on the bed was Edda. No, not really, but similar enough to
be a twin.
There was the long golden hair in a braid, down to her waist. Her eyes
sparkled with the same happy fire. Her fingers moved with the a
skillful grace as her hand covered her open and surprised lips.
He could feel her thought tendrils trying to grab him. She was trying
to make him see how important it was to free her. But she couldn't
see, couldn't know. Her best chance for escape was not from
controlling him.
She was startled again. Her probe for control was thrust aside like so
many spiderwebs, a fragile gossamer set of threads.
He explored her mind with the far more practiced skill he brought with
him.
She was unhappy. The strange men in their lab coats had spent the
first few days of her stay poking and prodding, taking blood samples,
and a battery of physical exams. She'd been kidnapped bodily from the
middle of the grocery store.
When they got her here they kept asking her about how she'd learned to
read minds. She knew they'd used drugs, but she had no idea what kind.
Only, now and then they gave her something to make her feel good.
She was told they found her because of all the poor folk she'd helped.
She helped some homeless people recover from bizarre little problems.
She couldn't know the homeless people she'd been helping were
considered hopeless but functional cases. Released because of the lack
of room and probability they'd never change. They started turning up
recovered, started finding jobs, living more happy, content lives.
The Institute began looking for the common factor. The common factor,
one fairly ordinary housewife with a penchant for being present at the
time they began to recover.
Every day they'd tried to coerce her to reveal something about how her
talent worked. Every day she tried to tell them, but couldn't. Every
day was the same, trapped here in this comfortable prison.
They hadn't come today, but now this nice almost white haired, bronze
hued man was here, and he didn't have one of those nasty noise makers
to keep her out of his mind. But...
He made her sleep.
====
Jorge came to New York to see the City. He was excited to find a new
pool of resources for his fun.
He'd spotted a short but well stacked woman on sixth avenue. Her face
was fairly ordinary, but the legs and her shape, oh my.
As he was following her uptown along Sixth Avenue, strange the way
New Yorkers referred to north as uptown and south as downtown, a
strange thing happened.
Some crazy driver turned his white mustang south onto Sixth. He was
zipping along too, in heavy traffic. All, of course, going uptown but
him. For the first two blocks he weaved in and out of the oncoming
vehicles, but then he bumped up the curb onto the sidewalk.
The next two blocks the car was on the sidewalk.
Jorge and the woman he'd been following were walking in that last two
blocks. He managed to pull her aside, watching two interesting events
springing from the silly stunt with the car.
First was the cop on the sidewalk trying to stop the car by his
physical presence. Astonishingly, he'd tried to impose himself in the
path of the oncoming vehicle. At the last moment he seemed to decide
it wasn't worth his life to try ticketing the determined kid behind
the wheel. He dove aside.
Second was the passengers in the car, except for one of them the four
kids along for the ride were having a great time. One of them in the
back seat looked for all the world as thought the world was after him
specifically. He had the frightened look of someone in the paranoid
stages of pot.
The cop was face down, and looked angry. The car had turned at the end
of the sidewalk, going the right way now on the street it had found.
Jorge smiled. These things seemed to happen more often in New York.
He took the woman to her home.
She rewarded his heroism at assisting her avoid the little event of
insanity in her otherwise normal world, by offering him coffee. He
decided the coffee wasn't enough.
Alicia, her name, started dancing for him, taking off her clothing,
one button at a time. She was small and wiry. But her tits were large
for her figure. The clothing dropped one by one, into a neat pile
beside her.
His cock plunged into her tuft of hair and flesh in her groin, and he
felt a relief at the normalcy involved with this violation of her
body. He enjoyed the power he had over her, making her orgasm several
times while he rode her.
He could feel, as often before, the tightening muscles of cunt, trying
to grip him tightly. But not as tightly as he'd like tonight. So he
rolled her over, and took her other hole. She screamed at first about
not doing it, about how disgusting he was being, and how it would
hurt.
But as he knew, it took but a few moments to change her mind, and soon
she enjoyed it too.
After he finished his own pleasure, filling her with his semen, he
changed her to become sexually desperate for his attention. Then he
enjoyed having her do things for him. Like make dinner in the nude,
sit at his feet, sucking his cock while he watched a Kolchak the
Night Stalker movie on channel 9.
He gave her orgasms as she walked about, cleaning up dinner, and even
just changing the channels on the TV. If he took it into his head to
do so, he simply forced another jolt of sexual release through her
body. It was fun to watch as she stood naked before the front window,
knowing anyone could see.
He loved watching her total helplessness, listening to her beg him to
give her a break, then beg for the spasmotic orgasm she could feel
coming.
About the time he got dressed again, a key opened the front door. In
walked a man, in jeans and sneakers, wearing a turtleneck sweater.
For a moment they stared at each other. They stared because they'd
both made a cursory attempt to spin a web of control over each other.
The man looked at Alisia, who was presently on the floor of the living
room, jolting through another rending and frantic coming. Her body was
thrashing about with the pleasure, and her sweat was pouring out as
she moved.
"I see you've had Alisia."
"Yes, but women are easy targets. I had no idea anyone else had the
talent."
"There are a number of us here in the States."
"Really?"
"We do have something of a working group. There's a long history of
our, er, cooperative." Alisia finished her pummelling orgasm and looked
at the two men with a certain anxiety.
"Why don't you go get dressed slut," said Jorge. She hurried off to do
his bidding.
"Yes, well I'm not too upset about you using my slave, but in the
future, it would be well to check for influences other than your own.
At least if you want to stay in America."
"I can agree to that. There's plenty of women available here."
"One more little thing. Watch out for other people with the Voice.
Not all of them are tolerant of strangers."
"Might have guessed, in fact I would think it was the norm." Jorge
said. Jorge started towards the door.
"We should talk about the Cabal before you go."
"Cabal? What is the 'Cabal'?"
"A group of telepaths who have banded together. We mostly try to
ensure that telepaths keep their fingers out of politics. The last
time we failed to catch someone manipulating the economic and
political arena in this country was in the '50s."
"Why should any telepath care?"
"Visibility could bring on a witch hunt. None of us want some morons
trying to mob us, or worse, ending up in a lab somewhere, being
dissected for science."
"I hadn't thought the possibility significant."
The other man laughed aloud. Alisia came back, dressed in a sexy tight
black evening gown. Her makeup had been refreshed, and she just about
leeched onto Jorge's side. He was somewhat embarrassed, being caught
sampling another man's woman like a thief.
"He wants me back, love. Don't let him take me," Alisia begged of
Jorge.
"Don't worry, I can fix her, or if you want you can just keep her,"
the stranger said.
"No, you keep her, she served her purpose." replied Jorge. She
shuddered, thinking how much of a slave she'd become.
"You think about the Cabal," he handed Jorge a card. "If you're
interested, give this number a call. If not, be warned to stay out of
trouble. We won't tolerate anyone threatening our safety."
Jorge left, peeling the slave he'd possessed from his side. She became
fearful, perhaps panicky as she was handed over to the other man. She
calmed quickly though in the man's arms. The door shut smoothly
behind him. Soon she would never want to leave the man Jorge had
spoken with. She had no Voice, and that made her no more than
property to them.
A week later he called the number.
====
Jorge tried to open the door to the hall again. No luck, it was now
locked.
He went to the window, but dozens of guards were working the grounds,
in some cases beating the bushes. He chuckled to himself, wondering if
they'd found his earlier handiwork.
Looking around, he realized the room was sealed tightly. The air vents
were far to small for even a cat to slip out, unlike nearly every
movie he'd ever seen. This didn't stymie him immediately.
He began a systematic search of the room for a tool to pry the door
open. He move the Edda look alike aside and took the bed apart. Using
a bar of metal formerly a support in the bed, he began attacking the
door.
He noticed his head was getting a bit fuzzy. When he looked around,
he realized how easily they could gas the room. There must be
microphones in here somewhere. He was not free. Too late now. It's
over.
He was sleeping.
====
Bob finished sharing his pleasure with Miki some time before.
He made a decision, that for Bob, was quite courageous. This
establishment had to be dismantled to ensure his safety. Every record
they had about him would be destroyed before he left. He wasn't going
to be a hunted animal for the rest of his life.
He developed resolve sitting there in their hiding place.
****
Give a little, get a lot. Those cards and letters keep piling up.
Thanks, especially if I've failed to return your mail.
-Blackie
Flash Gordon, when looking for fun,
Poked Dale with his little space gun.
Murmured she, "I'm not shy,
But quick, button your fly-
In comics that just isn't done!"
-c1970
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