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Subject: _The Book_'s Universe: ===>_The Book_<===  (pt 10 of 13) - by Blackie (mc, mf, nc) (repost)
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*Article: 10109 of alt.sex.stories
*Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
*From: an21262@anon.penet.fi (Blackie)
*Subject: Story: _Out of Print_ (the Book pt 10)
*Message-ID: <1993Jul3.081918.23884@fuug.fi>
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*Date: Sat, 3 Jul 1993 07:58:50 GMT
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Another in the sometimes harried tale of _The Book_, a mind control
story. Yeah, here I am having fun again, so what?

m/f, non-consensual, serious explicit dominance sex in second half...

All characters are strictly fictional, any resemblance to anyone
living or dead is purely coincidental. Shame ain't it.

email is welcome, however, I no longer email prior episodes out. You
can try your favorite mailserver. 'laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu' contains the
entire mishmash to this point. Any of a number of other mail servers
requested permission to archive it as well and have copies, honest.

Hit 'n' to skip this.

new necessity:

Copyright (c) 1993, Oogle Bird Enterprises.
All rights reserved, permission granted for a single printed copy for
personal use only. Transmission of this story in electronic form is
permitted provided no alterations are made to text, and this message
is included in its entirety.



                        _Out of Print_

Something odd was happening. Jorge noticed the noises in the room had
stopped.

He wondered if thiopental deadened normal senses. They said the
effect was different on everyone. The white cloaked man asked him to
count backwards, so he had laughed. Laughing failed to stop the drug
from working however.

Some questions he ignored at first. But then he started telling them
about the caves in Denmark and then Edda. They seemed very interested
in anything about the symbols. They never heard of them before. And
when he mentioned the Cabal, they looked very startled.

One of the men started mumbling something about subjects lying while
under the drug before. They were very excited though.

It seemed hours passed before his head began to clear a little and he
started getting very drowsy.

Then quiet settled over the room.

A strap over his forehead came undone. He tried to crane his neck,
but some kind of cap was being removed from his hair. It pulled at
him, making it feel as though the roots were being yanked out.
Looking from side to side, he was able to make out one man burning a
bunch of tapes in a trash can.

His arms came free. The straps holding his legs and ankles went next.

One man was politely offering him a hand to get up. His head spun a
bit as he sat. The room, a sterile space, was littered with various
bits of equipment normally found in a doctor's office. A pair of
oxygen tanks stood nearby, a desk, a set of chairs, and various
assorted paraphenalia.

The room contained only three men besides himself. They were all
busy, making themselves ingratiating. The one burning the tapes was
smiling and nodding at him. One offered tylenol for the headache he
must now have. The third watched at the door, keeping an eye out
for someone.

Their sudden change in behavior seemed very odd. They even still had 
mind shields on. He tried to probe all three without success.

A cardboard box on the floor contained his clothing and belongings. He
poked through it, looking for a most important article, his watch. 
Finding it, he turned it over. The medallion was still attached. The 
foolish interrogators never checked. 

He put in on, and doing so, felt vastly refreshed.

Then he spotted a phone on the desk. He managed, with some help from
a former captor, to stumble over to it. Lifting the handset, he tried 
dialing only to get a horrible tone for the effort.

The man beside him picked up the phone, held down the switch hook for 
a few moments, then dialed '9'. He handed the phone back with the 
steady hum Jorge was accustom to. Jorge dialed again.

"You've reached the offices of Schmitz, Martin, and Lear. May I help 
you?" came a feminine voice.

Jorge smiled for the first time since the gas put him in dreamland. He
recalled how nicely the owner of that voice screamed in the sack.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Lear, Cindy."

====

Leisure activity at an end, Jones stepped into the hall. The very
first man he saw was a guard.

Jones learned his craft years before. Every stitch out of place
triggered some small part of his paranoid senses. Something was
wrong. He knew it but couldn't find the cause.

Reaching into his pocket, he removed a second mind shield. One he'd
taken from the lab techs who could have handled Bob on the gurney. He
examined the hearing aid like device in his palm and looked down the
hall at the receding backside of the guard.

The man's ears were both visible.

There was no mind shield. He suppressed his panic, and stepped back
into the room with Diane. Grabbing her, he led her into Heather's
room. He picked up one of the local censure shields, a skull cap like
device to place over a telepath's head, intended to suppress the
talent.

Seeing one man with his mind shield still in place, Jones stopped him
along the way. He brought the man along. If he could get anyone out
who was capable of helping the Institute rebuild elsewhere, it would
prove useful.

Peters didn't know what was going on. But Jones was the number two man
at the Institute. Peters wasn't going to lose his status by following
the man's orders. He quickly complied with the directions he was
given.

He led the little troop towards the river side exit. There were
speedboats there. The loose spark couldn't control everyone. If only
there was time enough left...

====

Sunlight filled the room. Like a glass full of sparkling clear water,
the sun washed to every corner, flooded the long wooden shelves,
illuminating the oak desk.

Bob stood at the window. He tried to imagine mowing the yard before
him. The number of tight corners, hedges, trees and other obstacles
must make the gardeners crazy, he decided. A numbing escape into
physical labor only goes so far before it becomes annoying.

Birds seemed to like the greenery. He tried to touch one of the 
flight borne creatures with a mind probe, but had forgotten the shield
at the outer walls of the building. Some other time perhaps.

Jorge was led in by two of the men who interrogated him. He was back
in his own things. It was much more comfortable than a blue hospital
gown. The mess here would be settled soon. The Cabal was on the way.

Bob didn't turn as he spoke.

"The records of your interrogation have been destroyed, and the goons
can't remember a thing," he said, watching a cardinal soar on bright
red wings.

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Bob. You are Jorge."

"Oho! You must be the escaped Robert Lawrence that man was; wait a 
minute!" Jorge walked over to look out the window too. The clouds were
puffing along, accenting a beautiful blue sky.

"Hmm," Bob faced towards the freed telepath. "what?"

"Where's the guy who questioned me about you? He was in charge of
this place."

"What did he look like?'

"Perfect suit, black hair, manicured, muscular, short nose. About 42,
give or take a few years. The kind you see as the heavy CIA type in
flicks."

"That should be Jones. Dirk Jones is how he introduced himself to me."

"Yeah, if you say so. But he was in charge, what'd you do with him?"

"No, he wasn't. Some guy named Thadeous was. Neither of them are still
here. Sorry, I haven't found your reporter friend yet either. You do
know, by the way, how bad an idea it would be if she actually aired
this story?"

"She's not going to tell anyone. You know that."

"And I expect your gang of thugs at any minute."

"Huh?"

"This Cabal, or whatever."

"You got that? Say, how did you get past those mind shields?"

"They're shaped funny, like donuts. I didn't know until they tried to
experiment on me with some kind of control machine. Your people will
probably find it soon enough. Like donuts, there's this hole in the
middle. If I had to guess, they probably transmit some kind of energy
through an antennae. Most antennas have some dead spots. You just
need to know where."

"Really? Now I know, so lots of others will know too. You want, the
Cabal would welcome you as a member."

"No thanks. Until Thadeous and Jones are caught though, I'd like to
stay in touch with your people."

"I'll see what I can arrange. The Cabal won't have any trouble with 
that."

"Tell me a little about them. Who the hell is the Cabal?"

"What's to tell? It's an international organization, mostly based in
the States because of the effort the Cabal put in moving here to
escape persecution in Europe. The name is new by a few centuries. It
was borrowed from a group in England under one of the kings named
Charles. I don't know enough history to know what it was called
before that.

"Let's see, the Cabal has been under siege a few times before. None
with secretly organized opposition though. This Institute scares the
leadership a whole hell of a lot."

"I can imagine..."

"No you can't, it's never happened like this before. The Cabal has
suffered from a few outside threats, but no one immune to the Voice.
Internally, we have occasional problems, but those we can handle."

"How about those internal problems. Why would anyone be stupid 
enough to cause trouble when a whole bunch of telepaths would be all 
over them in a hurry?"

"No one in their right mind would. But anyone with the Voice has a 
substantially higher risk of insanity. If you've even a tenuous grip 
on reality, follow the 'rules', no one in the Cabal gives a fuck.

"In essence, if you call attention to anyone with Voice, mostly
yourself, we try to convince you to ease back. We don't want any
witch hunts.

"The Cabal doesn't much care what someone does with the Voice.
Mostly. Stay away from power politics, it's too easy to spot the
personality changes the highly visible mutes go through your voice
influences them.

"There are also strict rules against violence, murdering mutes even
by proxy, or even just maiming them. Its another thing that attracts
too much attention. If you get enough mutes involved, they may figure
out what happened, and then... you can guess.

"This mess here for instance. Exactly the sort of thing the Institute
was doing. I was out here looking for them. I've only been hanging
out in the area a year, but everyone I work with think I've been here
for five. The planted familiarity sometimes can get additional leads.
The Institute's influence hit about two to three years ago, but we've
been unable to track them down."

"Yeah," said Bob, "I can see why a group like the Cabal would form.
But I don't like the idea of making too close an association."

"Embarrassed about your own set of playmates? The Cabal really
doesn't care about that. They're too worried about Voices that act
genuinely loco. Hell, they're much worse than you, I'm sure."

"That reminds me. They should be here any minute now. So what 
will you do with all the looney people the Institute has locked up 
here?"

"I'm not sure. It's against the rules to control other members and
people with the Voice. We save it for special situations requiring
censure. Some of these people have the Voice. They may simply need a
little adjustment to return to more normal lives."

"Normal? You've got to be kidding."

"If we have to, we can make them mute again. They'll have a chance
again, as soon as a little adjustment is made. A team will come in,
remove the 'God' syndrome and fix the worst. I doubt we'll need to
do much worse. As long as they're no longer a danger to the rest of
us."

"I hope so," said Bob

"Just the way I feel."

Bob closed his eyes, sensing an additional presence. He didn't need to
root around the room though to find it. The familiar symbols almost
cried out to be found.

"Can I see your watch?" 

"Huh? What for?"

"I just want to see the source of the symbols I keep..., they're at
your wrist."

"You see the symbols?!"

"I read a book. You read a cave wall. I think you and I may be unique.
Most of the 'sparks' here are freaks of nature, finding their talent
by one freak accident or another. You and I seem to have woken it by
seeing the symbols."

Reluctantly, Jorge removed the watch. He pulled the concealed
medallion from it's hiding place. Bob turned it in his hands, basking
in a glow of definitions, descriptions and experiences from the red
coin like object. He handed it back after a moment.

"Very interesting, where'd you find that?"

"In a locket from the cave. I learned about the symbols through it,
more so than the scrawls in the cave."

"An unusual keepsake. Are there more?"

"I've never seen another one, you?"

"Oh no," Bob lied, "I'd know if one of those had passed under my eyes."

They both peered out the window to the brightly light lawn. Silence 
fell over them, a quiet born of the strange situation. Trouble shooter
rescued by amateur, waiting for the rest of the cavalry.

Jorge tried to think of ways to reach out to the younger man. He
wanted to know more about the book, yet somehow knew the subject had
been closed. Hands in his pockets, he looked at the tall man, 
wondering what to say. 

"What will you do once we take over this mess?"

"I'm going to hide for a while, some place with lots of people."

Jorge grinned, "and probably lots of attractive women too."

"Yeah," Bob grinned back, "as many as I can find. I've got this habit,
see..."

====

As Fran drove them away he looked back at the Institute. 

Miki was acting snippish, jealous of Fran and the deep kiss from Bob
when he greeted her. Bob deliberately made Miki watch as he gave Fran
a violent orgasm in the car. Miki's embarrassment was turning into a
deep humiliation, and he could sense deep down she liked the
treatment.

He watched the manicured lawn and the frightening building vanished 
from sight. As they passed through the gates, his imprisonment passed 
away into a memory.

Too bad he couldn't make the Institute's organization vanish as easily.

====

>From the balcony, it seemed the view went forever. She could make out
Denver in the distance. It was hazy, slightly marring the rest of the
countryside.

Diane was confused. Heather was very important to her, but why were
they here? She wanted to go home, if only to get a change of clothes.
The people they traveled with were in such a rush. Hurry to the
plane, hurry to the car, hurry in the house. It was very unnerving.

Every now and then, the man who confused her by claiming to be Bob
insisted she service his peculiar needs. He still insisted on being
called Master. And Heather insisted she had to cooperate. He always
left a foul taste in her mouth, in much more than the physical sense.
He made her feel dirty.

He never touched Heather though. That was a small consolation.

She could hear his voice. He was talking to someone in the study 
above. They probably didn't know the window was open.

"I tell you we can still do it!"

"The Senator will be difficult to control. I'm not certain we can
continue operations until we've re-established ourselves here."

"As long as we have at least one of the sparks, we can still sell the 
process!" 

"No," a strange male baritone replied. "I won't chance it until we've 
gotten a few more under our thumbs. I do thank you for bringing 
Heather. But we've got to get these two sparks. I have the folder on 
Robert Lawrence, and our field agents are gathering the necessary 
information on Jorge Dansen as well. Too bad the debriefing material 
for him was lost."

"I only just got out of there with the spark. The reporter was with me
at the time. I couldn't have gotten the tapes if I'd tried. You know
if I had, they'd be picking my brains too. Not just the lab techs we
left behind. And they don't need drugs to learn everything someone 
knows."

"I know, I know. But I don't think Jezabel will understand."

A shiver went through Diane, hearing the tone in the stranger's voice. 

Out of her sight, Jones shuddered at the name as well.

====

The trip was uneventful. The probe at the gate was gone. Whether
removed by the Institute or driven away by the Cabal, Bob had no idea.

They settled into the hotel suite very nicely, the women spreading out
all over. They had a nice view of Central Park looking north from the 
balcony. 

A man named Charles came by to visit. Jorge sent him. The man looked
a little like an academic, dressed as though he should pass for a
professor. The wire frame glasses kept sliding down his nose.

Bob knew the Charles was in charge of Cabal security or something
like it. They chatted a while. Bob didn't tell Charles anything he
hadn't told Jorge. Still, the man was grateful to Bob for helping. He
insisted on a substantial reward from the Cabal.

The Cabal demonstrated their gratitude to Bob in a monetary way. When
Charles learned how carefully he'd been accumulating his income, he
arranged a sizable retainer fee. Bob was now a semi-official
consultant of the Schmitz, Martin and Lear law firm.

They also promised to provide an accountant if he wanted. He'd
declined. If someone else was going to watch his money, it would be 
someone he controlled.

It was uncomfortable having older siblings watching his every move. 
Even if they were being protective.

====

His traveling harem had gone shopping.

Betty was excited about visiting Saks. Bob was more interested in a
town-house for the 'family'. First though, he had to get more
familiar with the City. He decided to explore a little on his own.

Manhattan is huge.

Bob was boggled at the shear size of it, the density of the
buildings, the number of people. For a seventeen to eighteen mile
long, five mile wide island, it was overwhelming him.

He went downtown to Chinatown. From there he walked north through the
village, Greenwich Village. Past the New York University buildings
and through Washington Square Park. He stopped for an early lunch
near a used book store he'd found around 12th street.

He continued on. The crowds were amazing, rushing from place to
place, hurrying to get where they were going so they could rush some
where else. He was unaccustomed to the waves of people.

At 33th street, an interesting game store had attracted his
attention. Too bad he really couldn't play competitively any more.
His discipline would have to improve significantly to keep from
reading an opponent's mind.

He wandered around, sampling food from street vendors, immersing
himself in the crowds. In the heat, scantily clad women glowed as
their exposed skin became moist. Crossing Herald Square, he avoided
the plethora of beggars in the little islands between the avenues.

After wandering about in a camera/electronics store for a while, he 
decided to visit some of the Museums. The shopping crowd was beginning
to oppress him. Too many rushing people.

He climbed into a taxi in front of Madison Square Garden, across from 
the Post Office.

====

Courtney was walking alone through the Gem exhibit. 

The day was very peaceful. She'd taken off work to avoid the heat in 
her office. Sometime, her boss promised, they'd get air conditioning 
put in. In the meanwhile everyone had to live with it.

Today she'd escaped. The tiger's eye was her favorite gemstone. There 
were a bunch of them here in the Museum of Natural History. The more 
popular stones attracted the tourists, but the tiger's eye were the 
loveliest stones here. She also liked the opals, but she knew the 
colors came from the moisture in opal, not the stone itself. Tiger's 
eye was its own natural wonder.

She wandered out past the moon rock, encased in Plexiglas of some 
sort. There the school aged kids were gathered with their mothers. The
distant origins of the stone chunk attracted as much attention as 
the rare gems of Earth.

A tall man looked on, over the children. He seemed as fascinated as 
the kids. Was it her imagination, or was he watching her too? She was 
used to men looking at her though, they found her attractive.

She stepped out into the hall. She started towards the exhibit of
American Indian artifacts. Brushing her red paisley dress smooth, she
failed to notice how it accented her figure. The low heeled, white 
shoes she wore set off the laced socks she'd worn well.

She passed a museum guard, whose head followed the swish of her 
dress' hem with momentary interest. He admired the section of 
exposed leg, a calf turned with gentle and elegant curves.

The old drums and pictures of tepees adorning the walls didn't 
attract her attention as much as the dugout canoe. She wondered how 
long it took to hollow out, the birch bark canoe had to be easier to 
make.

She clasped her hands behind her back, stepping from exhibit to 
exhibit. These weren't as interesting as the tiger's eye, but it 
remained a relaxing escape.

Behind her, a teenage boy admired the round shape of her bottom and 
the drop of her dark pony tail as his parents called him away. She 
never noticed.

She did catch a glimpse of the tall dirty blond fellow again,
examining the same dugout she'd looked at a while ago. He was
handsome enough, maybe she could introduce herself. He wandered off
before she made up her mind. Sigh, so it goes, she thought.

In the hall with the insect models she shuddered. She slipped past 
them to see the whale. Hanging from the ceiling, it was impressive.
She liked the elegance of its long sleek features.

She walked down the stairs, drawing attention from the male half of a 
couple going up. The guy's girlfriend punched him, whispered voices 
conveying disapproval of his behavior. She smiled to herself.

Before the case showing the stuffed Seals she spied the tall guy
she'd seen elsewhere in the museum. This time she was going to get
close. His dirty blond hair was neatly combed. He wore a stylish pair
of trousers, a light cotton shirt, and dark running shoes. She
thought about introducing herself.

This whole thing was very unlike her. She almost never walked up to a 
stranger to introduce herself. She stepped over to stand beside him 
anyway, uncertain where her courage was coming from.

He turned, flashing her a sweet disarming smile. Her insides melted a 
bit. Nerves took over. She froze up, barely managing to smile back. 

"Hello." 

"Hi," she squeaked. A short pause occurred.

"My name is Bob. I'm only visiting New York for the second time."

"I'm Courtney," she bobbed up on her tip toes, guessing him to be 
about six foot four. Her five and an half foot height forced her to 
tilt her head back to look at his face. She could see his eyes linger 
on the rise of her bust, thrust forward by tilting her head.

"What would you say to accompanying me through some more of the 
museum?"

"Sounds promising."

They walked for some time. She lost track of where they'd been. He was
very absorbing to listen to. If asked, she couldn't have said what he 
talked about though. He was so, so, well, interesting for some reason.

By the time they walked through the exhibit of dinosaur bones, and 
passed the large sea turtle, she had her arm intertwined with his. Her
head seemed almost magnetically drawn against his shoulder.

"How about we go outside, get a drink some place," he suggested.

"I'd like that."

As they emerged into the late afternoon sun, he allowed her to nuzzle 
against him as though they were long time lovers. His warmth wasn't 
the attraction, but attracted she was, clinging as she'd never done 
with anyone before.

"They blow up the balloons for the Thanksgiving Day parade on this 
street," she told him. He chuckled.

"I presume you mean they inflate them, not explode them."

She turned red for a moment, embarrassed, although she knew he was 
pulling her leg. 

"It's great to come the night before the parade. Everyone comes. It's 
a huge party up and down the block. I've seen Woody Allen out here to 
see the event."

"Nice. Could be a lot of fun."

They walked away from Central Park, then south. He was particularly 
fascinated with a store featuring wind up toys. The name was "The Last
Wound Up" and they had to go in. He bought her a set of walking teeth.
She laughed as they clattered across the countertop.

They stopped at a cafe, pulling up a table by the window. She had
Cappuccino, he had Expresso. She'd never seen anyone put cream and
sugar into Expresso. He called it Turkish style. He was remarkably
quiet now, letting her run her mouth about her life.

She told him how she'd come to New York to work as an actress. She
talked about the problems with apartments, the job market, her
favorite recent movie.

When he excused himself to use the men's room she admonished herself. 
She was practically flinging herself at him. She'd only just met him, 
and here she was telling him her life story. It was very out of 
character for her, the aloof woman she'd become, but she wanted to 
spend the rest of the evening with him.

Hopefully, she would have many evenings with him.

====

In the men's room, Bob rinsed his face. Two men slipped in the two 
stall bathroom after him. He had just washed his hands, when one of 
them grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back against the wall. 

A knife glinted in the glare of harsh bare lightbulbs. The brawny man 
before him started to lunge... never to make it. His eyes glazed over,
then his accomplice froze as well.

Bob found the image of another man, a buddy, in their minds. They'd
been told to roll him, take anything they wanted, but to leave him
dead. They'd followed him since early in the morning. The buddy,
someone they occasionally did work for, hadn't said why. And these
two never would've asked anyway.

He pulled everything from them they knew about their charming pal.
Then he left.

About fifteen minutes later, a blue uniformed patrolman was listening
to the two confess everything illegal they'd done since kindergarten.
They listened to him read them their rights, but they breezed on
through everything again, explaining in detail where he could get
evidence.

Bob by then was back with the girl. Very lightly adjusting her
impressions of him to make him as seductive a partner as she'd ever
met in her life. A dream like lover or prince to her. She was dizzy as
he quickly either adjusted her the slightest amount, or by reading her
mind took advantage of her own desires.

He was going to take her. And use her to sheath his tool.

====

Courtney enjoyed the flick, a romantic comedy about some guy, his 
kid and a truly improbable girlfriend. She held Bob's hand the entire 
time, unwilling to let him go.

The night was cooler. They walked to the upper west side, wandering 
around west of Columbia. Her apartment was near by, it was time to 
call it a night.

She took him along to her building stoop. They sat and watched the 
comings and goings from the neighborhood a little while. 

"I've got to go to bed," she told him.

He smiled and took her by the hand to the door. She teetered back and 
forth a few minutes, while he stood there.

"Come up for a quick soda, but then you'll have to go." 

His head tilted quizically, but he agreed. She couldn't escape the 
seductive draw he had about him. She found her eyes swallowed in his
dark gray pool like eyes.

Unlocking the door she guided him into the narrow apartment. The
living room shared space with the kitchenette. Her air conditioner
had started on the time, so the apartment was cooler than out doors.
Not much cooler, but enough to make it livable.

The bedroom, slightly unkempt, showed through the door next to the
stove. She started to go pull the door to the bedroom closed, but his
hand firmly grasped her shoulder.

She turned and her eyes again were drawn to his. She couldn't yank her
eyes aside at all. Her mouth hung open as he drew close. She backed
against a chair, stumbling, but not taking her eyes from his. Her head
tilted unconsciously back as his lips met hers.

Finally her eyes were off his. They were closed as she lost herself in
the lusty exchange of greetings between their tongues. She could feel
strength in his arms as he reached behind her, pulling her torso close
to his own. A dream quality, as though she were only present as an
observer, crept over her.

She pulled back.

"I don't think we'd better..."

He drew her in again. The sensual touch of his body against her sent a
tingling and pleasant feeling into her stomach. The hum of the air
conditioner covered her gasp of pleasure as he gently gripped her
ass, more a light massage than a grasp.

She tried to pull away, but his tongue held her like a magnet. She 
pressed against his chest lighter than she intended, planning to 
escape from his clasp.

Lingering kisses from him were covering her face. Chest heaving now 
with excited interest, she found her eyes were rolling from the 
sensation of being tenderly worshiped. 

She didn't want to let this happen. She didn't. But Bob was in control
of the moment, pulling her in tighter, raining little goose bump 
raising kisses about her neck and shoulders.

Then his fingers found her breast. She drew in a sharp gasp as the 
electric bolt of arousal shot through to her throat. The fabric added 
its own gentle silk feel to his touch, giving the contact a jolting 
and burning sensation.

She managed weakly to pull back, panting. Lips swollen with lust
filled excitement, she shook her head trying to shake free from the
cobwebs tangling her mind.

This couldn't be, she thought. She never let anyone in on the first 
date. And never necked or petted if she didn't know them pretty well. 
Bob though, he, well, he was almost mystically enticing. And well, she
could stop him now, couldn't she?

He drew her to the couch and pulled her down.

The sounds of City life were battering down the walls, sirens, yelling
couples, kids crying out in the night. She heard her own heart over 
the normal City noises, pounding excitedly as the man beneath her 
sucked in her lips, wrestled with her tongue, and took free liberties 
with her breasts. 

It was a dreamy kind of excitement. A wild trip, a roller coaster with 
Bob's hands gently kneeding the concealed flesh through her clothing. 
Every time she opened her eyes they rolled about, bringing her head 
into gyrating motions of lust. The kisses he passionately endowed to 
her were searing hot, bringing a wet lust into her throat. 

"Unnngh." 

Her discussion was lowering to simple moans, she locked her hand about
Bob's wrist, the one with the molesting hand attached. But she 
couldn't bring herself to push the hand away as she knew she should. 

His breath brought a flaming red heat to her skin. A crawling feeling 
of pleasure crept across the back of her shoulders. 

"Oh, please, I can't..."

Her head lolled back as he treated her neck and throat to a bath from 
his tongue and lips.

"No. No. Don't do this..."

That villainous hand was resting on her right leg. Right at the knee. 
The fingers were caressing the flesh there, exploring the inside of 
her leg.

"Oh. Please don't do that..."

The hand slowly inched upwards. She snatch at it with her left hand
while he tongued the slight cleavage exposed in the red paisley print.
However tightly she griped the hand though, she found herself almost 
guiding him forward, helping to lift the hem of the dress above her 
thighs. 

Sensing her vulnerability, he was going to get his fingers on her
sopping wet crotch. She was ashamed, shocked she was allowing a one
day acquaintance do this to her. The tips of his fingers teased her 
flesh through the wet panties. She knew he now was aware just how wet 
she'd become. She was certain her face was pink. The shame at letting 
him get this far tonight was affecting her breathing, bringing the 
panting to a heavier level.

"Ohhh! I don't want to do this, not tonight... ohhhh!"

"Sure you do," he whispered into the ear he was nibbling. A wet soft 
tongue explored the recesses there afterwards.

"No, no. It isn't right. Ahhh! I hardly know you..."

"Soon you'll beg me, I promise to get you hot enough to forget any 
reason for hesitating." 

His fingers had teased her crotch to the point it was rolling on its 
own, betraying her professed wishes. Her pelvis was trying to join in,
generating a rhythm she struggled to suppress. And failed. 

"ooooohhh!" 

Her tongue protruded its tip out, pressing against her lips. She could 
feel his mouth at her tits, chewing lightly through the cloth. Her 
nipples were shooting energy out her chest in all directions. Their 
erect state was clearly visible through the dress, any time he lifted 
his head.

"ooooohhh!"

A guttural groan rose within her. The day's excitement was growing 
into the night's excitement. Her body was engaged in sex without her 
permission. She couldn't stop him. His entire hand now cupped her 
crotch. Heat was rising from there as well. 

"ooooohhh!"

She could feel him pull back a bit. Her dilemma at wanting to go on,
and wanting to stop remained in his hands. He began to lift her dress
up over her head. She struggled to stop him, pushing him away. But he
simply took her wrists in one hand and did the work with his other.
Stripped to her bra and panties, she felt exposed. The shame she felt
earlier rose again, turning her pink.

He paused only to chuckle at her embarrassment. His fingers again 
working their magic at her crotch. There was a magic too, for all the 
arousal he gave her, she seemed unlikely to come soon. She was on the 
up side of a roller coaster, and there was no telling when she'd 
come down.

Her body's excitement grew. Her mind was wallowing in the shame at the
loss of control over her own desires. His finger tips flew along the 
length of her most private parts, forcing the fluids to rise inside.

"ooooohhh! unnnggh, stop, unnnggh, please stop... why are you, 
ooooohhh!, doing this to me???..."

The spiral of excitement climbed higher as her hips lunged against his
hand. Her head rolled. And again he stopped. She couldn't decide 
whether to scream for him to leave or to continue.

He lifted her. Carrying her draped across his shoulders like so much 
waste in a large sack, he hauled her to the bedroom. She never let 
anyone in here. She knew she was being violated, but her body was an 
accomplice in the act. He eased her onto the bed, and pulled off the 
panties, her shoes, and undid the bra she still wore. Her body 
continued to throb with desire against her wishes.

Still wearing her lacy socks, she was rolled onto her back. He stood 
there undressing as she watched panting.

"Don't do this. I beg you, stop now. Maybe we can do this some other 
time, when we've known each other longer."

He chuckled again.

"I'm taking you now. And instead of begging me to stop, you'd best 
consider begging me to fuck you. You might want to get over 
eventually, and you'll only get there if I take you."

"No, ooooohhh, can't be true."

He was beside her again, naked. Her flesh against his flesh. She could
feel the draw, the magnetism, a seductive pull from the man. He had 
her body under his sway, and she couldn't change that.

"ooooohhh!"

Her moaning commenced again. He wrapped his arms around her, spooning 
her with his stiff prick against the crack of her ass. Right hand 
cupping her crotch again, he cupped her left breast in the other. His 
lips worked across her shoulders to her neck and back. 

Goose bumps ran up and down the length of her body. She couldn't keep 
her legs together. Her right foot desperately sought to be behind his 
legs, pulling him closer to her. A finger slipped into her vagina, 
sending pulses into her. 

Her already heightened state accelerated, her left arm pounding 
against the mattress, seeking release. She gasped. She moaned. The air
in her lungs gushed out, only to be replaced in seconds by a rush of 
fresh oxygen. 

"No," she gasped again. "no..."

His cock was rubbing in and out along her cheeks. A tingling pleasant 
feel rose from her bottom. Where she lay now, trapped in Bob's arms, 
she couldn't change no matter what.

She needed to come. She had to come. The orgasm she needed was just
another step on the ladder of ecstasy, she could tell. However, 
nothing changed to give her the release her body demanded. 
Frantically, she pushed herself farther along, and just as frantically
the release moved another step away. 

"No. no, ooooohhh!"

"You want to come?" came his harassing voice.

"Oh Yes! ooooohhh!"

"You'll have to beg for it..."

"AAAHHHH, I-I CAN'T!"

"Oh, come on now, let's here it. 'Please fuck me, please fill my 
pussy', you can do it..."

"no, no, aaaahhh, nooooo..."

The fingers in her cunt began to work her clitoris, the nerves 
virtually shouted in combinations of pain and pleasure. Her body was 
pounding against him, rocking the mattress now.

"You either beg, or you won't get what you want..."

"OH GOD, why are you doing this to me...?"

"Because you're so pretty as you plead with me. It excites me, and you
seem to crave this kind of treatment."

"no, no, aaaaahhhyyyyyaa!"

"Oh yes..."

"You're humiliating me. nnnnngggh, you bastard."

"Yes, but it's making you so fucking hot isn't it? ISN'T IT?!"

"No, no, no, .... aaaahhhh, yes it is you fuck."

"Be nice, beg...."

Her cheeks were being prodded nicely by his manhood. She wanted him in
her now. She was horribly ashamed of herself for failing to stop him 
from going this far, but now she was trapped in a cycle of arousal. 
Requiring release, now she knew begging for it was the only way.

"Okay, please fuck me....nnnnnnggg."

"What? I don't think that was very good... try again."

"GOD! fug me, please, oh please put your prick in my cunt and make me 
come."

"Good, much better. You keep it up nicely and I may yet let you come."

"AAAHHHHIIEEE! unnngh, unnnggh!" 

Her panting grew heavier, the heaving of her chest as he abused the 
nipples was madly rhythmic. She'd fuck a goddamn horse if it would get
her off now. She had to have that cock in her, and she had to have it 
now!

He pulled her feet up onto his shoulders. Maddeningly, he admired the 
lacy socks a moment. Then he just teased the lips of her pussy with 
the tip of his prick, pulling away as she tried to lunge her crotch 
against him to get a plunge into her. She felt like a slut begging,
and now a bit like a whore, trying to press him into her like this.

He was grinning.

"Before I fuck you, you should tell me what a useless rag you are. I 
want to hear you say how you are making yourself my property, 
forever."

"You fucking bastard. I begged. I PLEADED. Please fuck me, goddammit!
Can't you see how desperately I need it? I want you, I want you so bad
it hurts inside."

She rolled her head from side to side again. Her body writhing out of 
control.

"Yeah, but that's old news. I want to hear you give me ownership of 
your body. I want you to admit you're no better than a slave..."

"Aaahhhh! I give myself to you! please, please fuck me. Please treat 
me like property, but please fuck me now!"

"Close, not treat you like, you are property. Say it."

"I'm property, yours, body and soul. GoD! CAN'T TAKE IT. PLEASE!?"

"Good bitch. Now..."

He plunged into her. The fullness was grand! She rolled her head, 
ignoring the fact the right swing made her hang out over the edge.
He pumped. She rejoiced as he pounded away, hammering with practiced 
skill.

"Tell me, everything we agreed to while you come!"

Humiliation swept deeply into her soul. It bit into where she kept her
self respect, bringing out the shame she'd grown inside since she
asked Bob in. She was low, an animal, no more important than a slug.
She bit back her grunts, moaning as she began to speak,

"I'm yours. unh, I belong oooohhh! to you. I want to be fucked. Use
me as a rag. Unnngh! I need you to screw me hard! Please don't stop! 
unnnh..." 

Suddenly she felt the spurting of semen into her intimate parts. He 
grunted out a stern "YEES!". But she still hadn't come. He slowed 
down, she writhed about even more. 

"You promised me, please don't stop now! Please!"

"Roll over bitch."

"WHAT!"

"You heard me."

Her humiliation knew a new height. Desperate for release, she rolled. 
He pulled her up to her knees and pushed her face into the pillows in 
front of her.

"Fuck me, please, let me come!" she continued to plead, knowing it 
didn't matter. He was going to do whatever he please with her, and she
would happily consent. And assist.

He was remarkably stiff for a man who just came. His prick rubbed
against her little rosette, the nether hole, an even more private
part of her anatomy. She never would've considered doing this before.
She whimpered as he pushed his prick into her little asshole.

"Yooow!" she yelped as he pressed it deeper. Her body was still 
rolling with waves of pleasure, anxious to orgasm. He pressed another 
inch into her. Surprisingly the fullness was desperately exciting as 
well. His cock finally pressed all the way home, his balls resting 
against the wet bottom of her cunt.

"Unnnnggh!" she mouthed, breathing the sound out as well. His fingers 
found her clit again, and rubbed it in little circles.

"Ready slut?"

"Yes, please fuck my ass, god please fuck me hard!" and she whimpered 
again.

His dominance of her was complete, she'd yielded everything she could.
There simply wasn't anything left to give over tonight.

His in and out motions built slowly. To her amazement, she found 
herself pushing back, forcing her ass to accept the bludgeoning 
instrument of invasion. She could feel the violation deep within her, 
her panting heaving from her in waves.

Then. Then it began. She could feel the white heat rising. Flashing 
fires raged up from her ass, filled her from her clit, and even surged
outward from the nipple he'd begun to pinch so brutally she thought 
she must be bleeding.

"OOOOOOOHHHHIIIIIIEEEEE!" screamed her voice, as loud as she'd ever 
managed. Her body surged through a second orgasm following close on 
the heels of the first. His cock unleashed another pulse of fluid into
her, leaving seed inside her most private regions. She screamed again,
releasing another wave of orgasmic energy, almost slamming her head 
against the wall before her.

She collapsed. Still kneeling, her body relieved of the tight tension 
of waiting, she gasped for air to recover. As she did, she could still
feel him filling her ass. The humiliation returned in strength. She 
was too embarrassed to speak.

He pulled out slowly, leaving her with a feeling she was missing
something. She suddenly felt lonely without him in her. She longed for
his penis within her, anywhere in her. She felt a longing well up
within, desire for his touch. A desire to be a bare object, a tool
for his use. She wondered at this nugget of desire, turning it in her
mind.

He rose. Slapping her sharply on the bottom. She smiled at this sign 
of ownership he'd made. At least he liked her, she thought.

====

"Hiya, Jorge."

"Where are you Bob?"

"New York. Met your Mr. Charles."

"Not Mr. Charles. Charles is his first name."

"Really? Doesn't matter. How would the Institute trace me here? I 
mean, I had two guys try to kill me."

"Jesus. How in the fuck could anyone find you that fast? Maybe 
scanners at the airport?"

"No, no. I'd notice that. Gotta be something else."

"Maybe a simple surveillance thing. Someone recognized you from a 
photo. It's possible, although I have a hard time figuring out where 
they'd spot you. Maybe they tumbled through the hotel reservation 
system. I don't know."

"I guess. I just thought you'd like to know. I'm gonna look for their 
boss. Call if anything breaks on your end."

"You bet. Maybe New York isn't such a good idea."

"Maybe I'll be able to backtrack them if they keep it up."

"Good point. Good night."

"Yeah..."

click.

He hung up the handset.

The naked sleeping woman was a sweaty mess from their sex. She was 
lovely though, serene in her repose. Lacy socks still in place.

****

uh, yeah. Maybe, just maybe I'll be able to wrap this up sometime this
summer. I know some of you want it to go on forever, but book length
runs anywhere from 90k words to 130k words. This could get close,
believe me. With this episode, not counting the 'from the files of the
institute' stuff, it reaches close to 60-65k words (based on wild ass
guess).
      -Blackie


Amusing silly quote:

 "Pour Hope in Bell's Ivory Flesh slip."
    -Kathleen Starcher, _Paint on a Happy Face_ first sentence. Found 
     in summer 1993 issue of 'Dollmaking' (if ever a magazine name was
     erotically punny, this one gets a vote)
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