Message-ID: <59589asstr$1258225806@assm.asstr.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 14 Nov 2009 07:47:15 -0600
From: StoryMaster@TYTC.org
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
Subject: {ASSM} "The Youth Training Center" The Book -by- The StoryMaster - Chapter 05  [M+,teen, pt, f+, NC, Abduction]
Lines: 1100
Date: Sat, 14 Nov 2009 14:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Chapter Five - Trouble in Paradise

"Alex, my friend, it's awfully good of you to return to help us in our
hour of need."  Adam North, the Headmaster of The Youth Training
Center, said as he shook hands with his old friend and colleague.  For
close to twenty years Alex was North's second in command, and now his
experience and competence were once again sorely needed.

"Glad to help out," Alex replied with a warm smile.  "You know I could
never let my old friends down."

"Thank you, Alex.  That's good to know."  North then fell silent.  He
had the reputation of being a thoughtful man and rarely spoke or acted
without first spending a moment to reflect.

"I'm sure you've heard by now that we are faced with a potentially
serious challenge."

Alex nodded and said, "I've heard some talk, but nothing of any
substance, really."

"Let me give you a little background information," North said after
another customary pause.  For the last eight or nine months, our staff
psychologists have been deeply involved in the study of what we call
Free Radical Stimulation."

Alex gazed thoughtfully at his former employer and remained silent.

"Free Radical Stimulation, or FRS, is nothing new really.  We have
simply put a name to a phenomenon which I'm sure a tenured Handler
such as yourself has suspected for quite some time," North explained.
"FRS results from the sympathetic stimulative energy generated by the
movement of body mass.  I say sympathetic, since it represents a
secondary source of excitation, one that is not the direct result of
an action. And because this impetus is secondary, it has the potential
to be unmanageable.  I know, I know, this all sounds clinical as
hell," North said with a wry chuckle when he noticed an expression of
puzzlement on his old friend's face.  "But bear with me for a minute,
Alex.  Let me give you an example," North offered.  

Alex nodded.

"Breast sway is probably the leading contributor to FRS in a subject
and is the easiest to recognize," North explained.  "We all know that
a young lady's breasts tend to oscillate in time to her lover's
cadence during copulation.  The larger and more pendulous the breast
mass, the more pronounced these oscillations will be.  With me so
far?"

Alex nodded again.

"Until recently no one suspected that this rhythmic movement of breast
tissue during intercourse could lead to problems when left unchecked.
If the truth be known," North said with noticeable chagrin,  "it
wasn't until we began to develop our curriculum on the topic of
Arousal and Climax Management that we began to hypothesize that
ungoverned breast sway could possibly lead to an unanticipated
increase in the subjects' level of arousal.  It stands to reason when
you think about it," the Headmaster said with a shrug.  "After all,
the female breast is highly sensitive to mechanical stimulation.  As
the breast mass undulates, resulting from body movement, resulting
from the thrusting force of a partner, energy is conducted by the
fatty tissues and delivered to the extremely impressionable erogenous
areas of the areola and nipple.  Consequently, without her partner
ever touching her breasts, a young lady can derive additional
excitation, or FRS, simply from their movement.  Since this
sympathetic stimulation is not under the direct control of her
partner, one of the basic precepts of expedient A/C Management is
compromised."

Adam North fell silent for a time while his trusted former colleague
pondered this information.  

"I take it that's not all," Alex said, looking up at North with a wry
smile.

"Actually, that's just the proverbial `tip of the iceberg'," said the
TYTC Headmaster.  "Like I said, breast sway is easily recognized.  In
fact we've developed several very effective methods to identify and
deal with the problem.  Unfortunately," Adam North continued with a
sigh,  "there are literally dozens of other ways that FRS manifests
itself.  Many of them are particularly subtle."  

Again the Headmaster fell silent, organizing his thoughts before
continuing.

"Now to the real meat of the problem," he said at last.  "Until
recently we believed that FRS was strictly a physical manifestation,
induced entirely by mechanical forces."  Then, with a sheepish
expression on his handsome face, Adam North looked directly at his old
friend and admitted, "We were wrong, Alex."

"How do you mean?" Alex prompted after a respectful pause.  

"You know better than anyone, my friend, that the cornerstone of our
doctrine states that given appropriate stimulation, a female,
regardless of the circumstances of her involvement, will eventually
become an active and willing participant.  Since we first opened our
doors in 1986, everyone in our employ has operated under the premise
that eventually our Guests, who for the most part are here against
their wills, will learn to cooperate.  Then as time and training
progress, they become increasingly more accommodating.  Right?"

Alex nodded curtly.

"That's what we thought," North said.  "The key word here is
`eventually'.  Eventually any and all young ladies will conform to our
programs and principles, but what one bright young Associate
discovered about six months ago is that a few of our Guests seem to
acclimate in a much shorter period of time than most.  For years we
attributed these relatively isolated incidences to the effectiveness
of our training program.  We congratulated ourselves for the speed
with which a few of our young Guests adjusted to their new lives and
responsibilities, but what appeared to be success was actually FRS in
disguise," North admitted.  "The problem was right there in front of
us, but no one saw it.  I guess it took the fresher perspective of a
new Associate Handler to recognize the obvious."

"What our Junior Handler recognized is that for a small number of
young women, being taken forcibly, if you will, can be an exciting
experience.  To put it another way, some females will derive emotional
Free Radical Stimulation from non-consensual sex.  Since the initial
discovery of this elusive form of FRS, we have actually noted signs
and symptoms in a Guest during her Induction Interview." 

"Really?" Alex commented rhetorically.

"That's right, and you and I have probably seen it first hand on more
than one occasion and failed to recognize it," North added.  "Part of
the reason for our lack of recognition is this.  At first glance, it
doesn't sound like a problem at all if a Guest gets `turned on' by her
training program.  After all, Isn't that what we're after?"  North
spread his hands in a questioning gesture.  "Let's reflect on that for
a moment.  I realize that the science behind Arousal and Climax
Management is somewhat foreign to you, Alex, but a man of your
experience is certainly more than familiar with its implementation,"
Adam North stated, complimenting the venerable Senior Handler.  "To
the trained A/C Manager, any source of ungoverned stimulation must be
considered to be potentially problematic, since it can lead to
unanticipated changes in the subject's level of arousal."

"Ask yourself this.  If a Guest derives excitement and therefore
stimulation purely from the non-consensual nature of her training
program, will she enjoy the full benefit of that program?  With FRS
masquerading as acceptance or even obedience, is she not, in essence,
out of control under the true definition of A/C Management?"

"I think I see what you're getting at," Alex told his former employer.

"Good," North replied.  "Because it is a huge problem as you will soon
see.  We now believe that a Guest who becomes overly cooperative very
early in her training program is quite possibly suffering from
Emotional Free Radical Stimulation Syndrome.  EFIRS, we call it,"
North said in all seriousness.  "More over, our staff psychologists
and physiologists have determined that there is little doubt that a
Guest suffering from EFIRS cannot possibly realize the full benefit of
our program of conditioning.  In essence her disorder causes her to
take an emotional shortcut to a state of induced pseudo-cooperation
without first learning acceptance, submissiveness, respect and
obedience."  

"Although we haven't yet been able to compile what we consider to be a
suitable quantity of data with which to conduct a thorough analysis,
our statisticians have determined that perhaps one in one
hundred-seventy females potentially will suffer from EFIRS.  The
ramifications for The Youth Training Center stemming from the
discovery of this condition are staggering, but the simple fact is
this.  Based upon the findings of our initial investigation, we
believe that we may have unwittingly graduated as many as eighty to
ninety `flawed' young women."

Adam North, who'd been leaning forward on his elbows, sat back in his
leather chair with a decidedly concerned expression on his face.
Nothing was said by either man for a good long while.  Then at last,
it was Alex who broke the silence.  

"It certainly appears we have a problem.  What needs to be done, and
what can I do to help?"  His confidence was refreshing.

With a troubled smile, but a smile none the less, Adam North said to
his friend, "Alex, I just can't tell you how much I appreciate you
coming to our aid."  Then after one of his characteristic delays,
North outlined his plans.

"First of all, I've ordered the direct recall of approximately forty
Guests whom we strongly suspect may have suffered from EFIRS while in
our care.  Additionally, communiques have been sent to all of our past
Clients, informing them that a potential problem exists, and
requesting that if they are even the slightest bit suspicious about
the level of conditioning of one of our Graduates, they should contact
us immediately."

"How are we fixed for bed space at the moment?" Alex asked.

"That's another problem," North replied.  "We were already operating
at near capacity even before we discovered EFIRS.  Now we're facing a
serious challenge.  I've ordered the Cafeteria to be converted into
additional dormitory space as well as several of the Encounter
Chambers.  We can double up on Night Partnering for awhile, but the
staff is going to get fatigued pretty quickly," the Headmaster noted. 
"Speaking of the staff, thank God we took on a new group of trainees
eight weeks ago, or we'd really be in trouble.  As it is, we are
forced to rush the Candidates through their training in order to meet
the additional population demands.  Fortunately there are a few truly
gifted young men among this year's class, and the rest are quite
competent to assume routine duties given some supervision.  As more
and more recalled young ladies arrive into our care, our class of
Candidates will just have to get some `on the job' training," North
added with a pensive smile. "Make a point of introducing yourself to
Rick Adams and Tom Mathews.  Mr. Adams in particular is one of the
most promising young men that I've had the pleasure to meet in many
years."

"Oh, before I forget," North added.  "Go see the Coach.  I've never
seen him in such a lousy frame of mind.  He's really feeling the
pressure, I'm afraid."

"Don't tell me the Coach is finally feeling his age," Alex said with a
wink and a chuckle.  Then he added, "I'll go see if I can't cheer him
up.  I'm sure he'll want to hear how Patricia and Courtney are doing."

North paused, gazing at his old friend fondly but with obvious
concern.

"Alex, I need you to be my morale officer among other things," the
Headmaster said at last.  "Tensions are running pretty high around
here, and it's bound to get worse.  I need a man with your experience
and confidence to serve as an example for the more junior staff
members.  We're all going to have to give one hundred ten percent for
the next month or two, and I'm relying on you, Alex, to keep our
Associates functioning as a team."

"You can count on me, Mr. North," Alex responded, waxing formal.  The
two old friends exchanged warm smiles.

"So how are those two little princesses of yours?" North exclaimed
more light heartedly after a contemplative pause.  "How old are they
now?"

Alex smiled and replied, "Oh, they're just fine.  Patricia is
thirteen, going on thirty, and Courtney just turned fourteen last
month.  They're quite a handful, those two, I assure you."  Alex
grinned.  "It's all I can do to keep up with them some days."  

Alex spoke and acted like any proud parent would when he talked about
his two girls, but Patricia Martin, and Courtney Douglass were
certainly not his real daughters.  The two lovely young ladies had
been given to Alex on the day of his retirement as a farewell gift and
token of appreciation for his many years of dedication and service. 

"I'm sure they are a handful," North chuckled.  He remembered fondly
the quality time that he'd personally spent with Miss Courtney
Douglass during the early days of her conditioning program.  Courtney
was one of those demure young ladies who entered into a relationship
reluctantly.   As with most reserved youngsters, however, all Courtney
required was a firm hand and some patient coaxing to cause her to
blossom into a rose of sensuality and passion.  

Adam North hadn't had the pleasure of Miss Martin's company, but he
recalled the fiery disposition of the pretty curly headed brunette at
her Induction Interview.  Later he'd heard reports about Miss Martin's
challenging yet satisfying progress.  North had no worries about the
possibility of EFIRS where Patricia and Courtney were concerned.  He
felt quite certain that under the tutelage of his former executive
officer, the two young ladies now led useful and satisfying lives. 

"Yes, yes they are," Alex said with a reflective sigh.  Then he became
more businesslike.  "How is Medical dealing with the influx, and are
supplies holding out?"

"The Gyn Section informs me that they expect to be able to handle the
increased demands for routine exams.  Many of the returnees are
already on a regular Thelazine regimen administered by their
respective Life Companions, and those who aren't, will be reintroduced
to treatment right away," North explained.  "Last month we had a
vicious outbreak of yeast infection, but I'm told it's under control
now."  He reached for a clipboard that hung from a hook on the wall
beside his desk.  After flipping through a few pages he looked up at
Alex.  "It looks like most of our supplies are at adequate levels.  We
have a goodly stock of menstrual products, tampons, napkins, douches,
etc.."  Then he frowned.  "Our biggest problem will be the fact that
CAP Devices are in extremely short supply."

"I thought I saw an awful lot of Handlers providing Manual Presence
out there," Alex commented, nodding toward the office door."

"Yeah, we're coping, but it's putting a strain on available manpower,"
North replied.  We simply don't have enough Handlers even with our new
group of Candidates to spare trained personnel to follow the Guests
around all day.  R&D's been instructed to step up production of the
Mark IV's, but until they're able to supply our needs we'll have to
make due with a few Mark I's."

Alex nodded.  "They served us well for many years."  The pride was
readily apparent in his voice.

"They certainly did," North agreed.  "I've ordered that all returnees
shall be CAP'd immediately upon induction.  No exceptions," the
Headmaster said with conviction.  "If we run out of Mark I's, we'll
just have to resort to Manual Presence until R&D comes through for
us."

Again Alex nodded his understanding.

"Until such a time as our returnees can be examined by our Psych Dept.
to identify those suffering from EFIRS, I strongly believe that they
should all be reacquainted with the practice of inward focus and
reintegrated into our fold.  There's simply nothing more effective
that I know of to help a young lady center herself and concentrate on
her legitimate responsibilities than anal presence."

Alex agreed with another nod.

"Additionally, I have ordered training collars for all returnees.  We
want to be able to quickly identify these young ladies, both for
security purposes as well the ability to recognize those in need of
special handling.  The collars are being fabricated as we speak and
should be ready in a day or two."

A shriek followed by a muffled curse caused both men to look toward
the closed door of the Headmaster's Office.  A moment later, Alex
turned to his former employer and smiled.  "Haven't heard that for
awhile," he said.  "It's good to be back."

"Let's go to work then, my friend," Adam North said as he stood up
from his big swivel chair.  "As soon as you get settled into your
quarters, why don't you head down to Room 109," North suggested.  "You
remember how to get there, I hope?" he added with a wry smile.

"I'm getting older, but I'm not senile yet!" Alex scolded playfully.  

"Kevin should be there with the Candidates Class, running through a
few drills.  We just took in nine returnees and two new Guests this
morning.  Kevin suggested that we use the opportunity to let the
trainees practice their basic handling skills, and at the same time
let our young ladies re-acclimate to their daily responsibilities."

"Sounds like a good idea," Alex said as regained his feet.

"Kevin's been doing a fine job since you left," North commented. "He's
become a key player, particularly in the training arena.  I suspect
we'll make him a team leader by the end of the month."

"I always figured that Kevin would go far.  He's a highly motivated
guy and takes his work seriously," Alex noted.

"Indeed he does.  I suspect you'll probably run into Hugh and Cliff
while you're down at 109.  Tell Cliff I need to see him later today.
Will you?"  North asked politely.

"Sure thing, Boss," Alex replied cheerfully.  He looked forward to
seeing his former coworkers.  

"Oh, by the way," North added as Alex turned for the door.  "We're
having Patricia and Courtney brought in this evening.  Anything else
you need from home to make your stay more comfortable?"

"Can't think of anything right off hand," Alex replied.

"OK, I guess that about does it," North said, extending his hand to
his friend.  "Again, I can't thank you enough for coming in, Alex."

Shaking his boss's hand Alex responded, "Think nothing of it.  I'm
looking forward to getting back into the swing of things.  It's been
too long."  Alex turned and headed for the office door.

"Don't forget to drop in on the Coach," North reminded his capable
Senior Handler just before the door closed behind him.

"Not to worry," Alex replied cheerfully, then he was gone.

"Touch her with a little more authority, please.  It's vital that she
understand who is in charge," Kevin instructed the slightly bashful
young man dressed in fresh white coveralls.  "Here, let me show you." 
Having said that, the Handler/Instructor took the trainee's place,
stepping directly in front of the naked young girl.  "Look at me, Miss
Benning," Kevin order.  

"Guests shall maintain direct eye contact with their partner or
partners while being attended to," he then stated, quoting one of The
Youth Training Center's Non-negotiable Standards.  

Slowly the girl raised her head until her eyes met with those of the
TYTC Handler.  She was pretty as were the majority of the girls who
came to the Center, but unlike most, this was Chelsea Benning's second
visit to the exceptional institution.  She couldn't believe she was
back in what she considered to be a sinister prison filled with mad
men.  It had been about six months since she'd last stood where she
stood now, and Chelsea was still in shock.  Her inner thighs and lower
abdomen ached from the dense composite CAP Device that had been
inserted into her rectum only minutes following her arrival.  Chelsea
felt deeply invaded.  It was a feeling she remembered with a mixture
of hatred and revulsion.  Another thing that Chelsea remembered was
that the men dressed in spotless white coveralls were not to be
disregarded or trifled with.  

"That's better," Kevin commented when at last the girl's trembling
gaze met with his dark stare.  "Feet to shoulder width, please," he
instructed the pretty blond, after placing his left hand onto her
right shoulder.  Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his powerful
fingers.  Kevin nodded to the two Handlers who'd led the girl into the
classroom and who stood at the ready just behind her.

Chelsea knew better than to disobey, and slowly she moved her right
foot to one side.  Her heart pounded in her chest as adrenaline pumped
through her veins. Powerful  feelings of fear and frustration and rage
assaulted her mind, making rational thought nearly impossible.  Then
his hand was upon her.

"Oh God, nnnnnn!" Chelsea screamed silently, gritting her teeth. Tears
sprang from her bright blue eyes as she struggled to keep her gaze
fixed upon the dark eyes of her defiler.  "How could she be back here
again?  How had they found out?" her tortured thoughts cried.  

"Good morning, Miss Benning," Kevin stated formally in order to
properly demonstrate the Standard Greeting technique.  

As the man's hand started to rub and to squeeze her in the most
guarded and private area of her femininity, surprisingly powerful and
undeniable sensations slowly began to suppress coherent thought,
causing Chelsea to `listen' to her Inner Female.

Kevin stared purposefully into the young blond's eyes, peering through
the windows to her soul, watching for those signs recognizable to the
trained eye that manifested her level of compliance.  The
Handler/Instructor also observed a stunning array of expressions which
flashed on her pretty face like a slide show.  Kevin considered this
to be one of the more enjoyable and rewarding parts of his job.

"Always handle her with authority," Kevin repeated for the benefit of
the more than twenty young men who stood nearby and who made up the
current class of TYTC Handler Candidates.  "Surprisingly, in time,
this will provide a calming influence for the Guest.  Initially I like
to part my fingers into pairs to either side of her pubic cleft.  This
allows me to palpate the labia majora more effectively while I
continue my massage of the genital area," Kevin instructed.  "Look at
me, Miss Benning," he corrected his pretty subject when she
momentarily dropped her eyes from his.  Her face was ablaze with
abject humiliation.  "Push upward with your finger tips and try to
keep the heel of your hand pressed tightly against her pubic arch. Let
her know that you're there and in control and will remain so until
such a time as you choose to cease and desist.  Any questions?" Kevin
asked his class then removed his hand from between Chelsea's thighs
and stepped back.

"Ok, try it again," he said to the young man who's place he'd taken.
"And remember, any time you touch her, you will affect the level of
her arousal."  Kevin saw a few appreciative nods from his class of
trainees.  "Just a reminder that it's up to you to control her degree
of ardor at all times.  Don't let her get away from you."

Each of the approximately twenty young men were then instructed to try
their hand at the Standard Greeting technique.  For the next forty
minutes Chelsea was forced to endure being touched and fondled by each
trainee in turn.  "Good morning, Miss Benning," each man said as if
they were passing the time of day.  

Meanwhile, all throughout the demeaning ordeal, the man whom Chelsea
assumed was in charge, coached and prompted, casually referring to her
like the training aid she'd become.  On occasion he'd step in to
demonstrate, and during those times, there was little doubt in
Chelsea's mind about who was in charge.  "When you enter her, use your
first finger, and do it swiftly and completely," Kevin instructed
during one such demonstration.

"Hmmphh," Chelsea huffed unconsciously in response to the invasion
upon her person.

"Silence, Miss Benning!" the big man in white coveralls snapped.
"Guests shall remain silent while being attended to," he added,
quoting another of the hateful standards of the despicable
institution.  

Chelsea winced and shut her eyes in an instinctive attempt to block
out the repugnance of it all.  The man's finger was so very long and
his touch so invasive and degrading.  Chelsea could remember boys
she'd been with who's penises hadn't delved so deeply.  She shuddered
involuntarily.  

"Look at me, Miss Benning," the man corrected her.  His finger moved
purposefully inside of her, foraging, touching her everywhere.  

Caught up in the moment, Chelsea failed to recognize the fact that her
vaginal passage seemed to be unusually well lubricated given the
circumstances.  In addition to having a CAP Device inserted into her
rectum, Chelsea had also been given her first dose of Thelazine soon
after her arrival.

Kevin smiled at the pretty teenager as she reluctantly complied with
his wishes.  He felt the spontaneous contractions of her vaginal walls
around his probing digit as the Thelazine helped her to respond to her
natural urges.  Although Chelsea's reproductive anatomy was being
effectively coerced into the spirit of the moment, her thoughts and
emotions were far from falling into compliance.  Kevin made a mental
note as he witnessed the unbridled hatred in the girl's facial
expressions and icy blue stare, that Miss Benning may very well be
suffering from EFIRS.  He hadn't had a chance to review her dossier,
but it seemed to him that he remembered her from her first visit to
the Center.  Then again, he'd seen so many young women over the past
three years of his tenure with TYTC.  But something about Chelsea rang
a bell with Kevin.  He'd have to review her records later.

"Remember, the Standard Greeting is not just another way to make
friends and influence people," Kevin said with a wry smile to the
young men gathered around him.  "We use this technique and others like
it to instill a sense of powerlessness in our young ladies.  Our
desire is for our Guest to eventually come to the conclusion that her
body and her sexuality are not hers either to give or to withhold."

Chelsea managed to contain her growing outrage at what the filthy,
wicked man was saying to his class of demented monsters.  His touch
was proving to be a powerful distraction.  Kevin located her
Grafenberg Spot.  Chelsea silently admonished herself for so easily
falling prey to the man's attentions, unwittingly blaming herself for
her weakness of character when actually Thelazine was responsible for
her premature attentiveness. 

"Our goal is for our Guests to develop a new self-image," Kevin went
on to explain to his class.  He felt the girl's instinctive reaction
to his manipulation of that area of the vagina that most women will
admit yields remarkable results.  In spite of the animosity portrayed
on her face, Chelsea was starting to participate.  "We hope that one
day, our Miss Benning here will view herself as Fully Functional
Female, one who's purpose is both defined and controlled.  And,
gentlemen," Kevin said to his class,  "you may rest assured that in
time, she will."  

With that he extracted his hand from Chelsea then held it up so that
she and the class of Handler Candidates could plainly see that at
least three of his fingers were coated with a clear, silky fluid.

Chelsea could not contain a heated blush as the man rubbed his fingers
together slowly before her troubled eyes.  Then a deep sense of
humiliation and disgrace descended upon her as she realized the true
significance of what she saw.

"OK, let's have another Guest, shall we," Kevin said at the end of an
uncomfortable period of silence.  "Thank you, Miss Benning.  You may
go now," he said, dismissing her without further consideration or
comment.  Chelsea was led away by two helpful attendants. 

The class waited for a moment or two then suddenly, "Let go of me, you
bastards!" a female voice cried angrily.  

All heads turned in the direction of the rear door to Room 109 and the
source of the shrieked expletive outburst.  Even Kevin was surprised
by the ferocity that the pretty brown haired girl exhibited as she
struggled to break free of the two Handlers who escorted her into the
room.
"Fuck you!  Fuck all of you!" the girl bellowed.  Her short brown was
a tousled mess from her struggles, and her slim body pitched and
writhed between the two big men.

Rachael Monroe was sixteen years old.  Just three months ago she'd
been released by the Center into the custody of her family.  More
specifically, into the loving care of her step-brother, Nigel after
having spent nearly two months at TYTC among men whom she thought of
as a group of deviant fiends.  Now, for some unholy reason, she was
back, and Rachael Elaine Monroe was positively furious.

Rachael's life was anything but normal following her return to
normalcy.  Her first night home was spent in the loving arms of her
step-brother, providing him with all manner of amorous entertainment
and setting the tone for things to come.  It was the next day that
Rachael received a totally unexpected and profoundly soul wrenching
shock.

She hadn't seen either of her parents the evening before after being
delivered home by an unmarked transport van.  Nigel had greeted her at
the front door, and immediately escorted her to his bedroom.  The rest
of the evening was history.  

Rachael was a little wobbly on her feet from fatigue and lack of
sleep.  Nigel had taken her anally just before sunrise and she was
still a bit sore as she headed for the kitchen.  No one was around, so
Rachael went to the refrigerator and rummaged about until she found
some orange juice.  Pouring herself a glass, she walked to the table
in the familiar sunny breakfast nook and took a seat.  She stared
blankly out of the window as a tumult of thoughts and emotions washed
over her.

Suddenly a familiar voice said, "Well, hello dear.  So good to have
you home."  

Rachael turned quickly and saw her mother standing in the doorway, a
smile on her face.  

"Did you have a good time at camp?" she asked.  "I hope you learned a
lot.  Nigel promised your father and me that if we let him enroll you
at..."  She hesitated trying to remember the name of the place her
daughter had been for two months.  "The Youth.... The Youth Training
Center, that's it."  She smiled warmly at her stunned teenage
daughter.  "Nigel promised us that you would be a changed young woman
when you returned home.  You were so spoiled, dear, and your attitude
was very unbecoming for a young lady," her mother remarked in a
patronizing way.

Rachael couldn't believe her ears.  Her mouth opened and closed in
silence as she struggled to find the words to express her
astonishment.  When at last she found her voice she said in a
breathless rage, "Cam.... Camp!?!  Mom, do you know what they did to
me there!?!  It... it...it...."  Her sentence quickly deteriorated
into senseless spluttering.   

"Now, now, dear," Rachael's mother said, cutting her off.  "Just calm
down, and let me fix you some breakfast.  Nigel said you might get a
little worked up now and then until you get used to being home again.
Nigel is such a good boy.  He really cares about you, you know."

He mother's last remark was simply too much for Rachael to tolerate.
Literally jumping up from her seat, she crossed the kitchen and
grabbed her mother by the shoulders.  Then, while shaking her rather
roughly, the irate teenager shouted just inches from the woman's face.
"Mom, Nigel is a monster!  He only cares about one thing and one thing
only.  Do you know what he made me do last night?  He..."

"That's enough, Rachael!" her step-brother ordered from the kitchen
door.

Rachael would never understand why she fell silent, but almost
reflexively her mouth practically snapped shut.  The next thing she
knew, her step-brother stood behind her with his hands on her
shoulders.

"Good morning, mother," Nigel said politely.  I'm sorry if Rachael's
upsetting you.  Remember, I told you, the Center said, it's gonna be
awhile before she feels like part of the family again.  Unseen by the
older woman, Nigel dropped his right hand down behind his pretty
step-sister where it came to rest on the hard lump beneath the terry
cloth bathrobe she wore.  

At the urging of The Youth Training Center, Nigel agreed to keep his
step-sister on a program of Continuous Anal Presence, at least for the
first month, to help her maintain focus while she adjusted to her new
surroundings and responsibilities.  So, following their love making
and Rachael's morning toiletries, Nigel CAP'd her.  Now he saw the
wisdom in the Center's sage advice.

"I guess we're going to have to work on that temper of yours,
Rachael," her step-brother cooed from just behind her left ear, his
fingers closing gently around the dense composite material of the butt
end of her CAP Device which was easily accessible even through the
fabric of her robe.  He felt her body grow tense in his grasp when he
moved the deeply implanted appliance only slightly.  "Now apologize to
your mother, and then I want you to go to your room.  Do you
understand?" Nigel asked with a thinly veiled tone of authority.  He
tapped lightly on the end of her CAP with his finger tips.

"Uhgg!" Rachael gasped softly, feeling the conducted force of her
step-brother's manipulation of her CAP directly against the tip of her
spine.  The fingers of his other hand dug painfully into the muscles
of her shoulder.  Rachael was close to tears from frustration and
anger as she gazed into her mother's eyes, but obediently she said,
"I'm sorry, Mom."  Then she looked away quickly, and allowed Nigel to
escort her from the kitchen.

Rachael's life soon became routine.  Like other girls her age, she
went to school every day.  She attended classes.  She participated in
sports.  To the casual observer Rachael's life appeared to be fairly
normal with the exception of the fact that for such an attractive
young lady, she kept pretty much to herself, and associated with only
a handful of friends,.  If one were to investigate more closely, one
might also note that what few friends Rachael Monroe had were all
female.  She did not seem to be interested in boys, although at her
age and with her good looks, many tried to approach her.  A more
discriminating observer might also notice that Rachael's step-brother,
Nigel, always seemed to be close at hand.  This was a bit unusual for
a teenage girl.  Most of the other girls Rachael's age tended to shun
their brothers' company, fearing that it might interfere with their
ability to attract a potential mate.  Nigel, on the other hand, seemed
to be omnipresent in his sibling's daily life.  He drove Rachael to
school each morning, and every afternoon he escorted her home.  

Once home, Rachael Monroe's life diverged from the norm rather
drastically.  Both of her parents worked, so she and Nigel had the
afternoons to themselves. The two working class adults never
comprehended the true scope of the relationship between Nigel and
Rachael, but could plainly see that Nigel cared a great deal for his
younger sibling.  After all, it had been Nigel's idea to send Rachael
to "camp", and both Mrs. Monroe and her second husband, Doug McKinsey,
agreed that the change that had come over their once headstrong young
daughter following her time away was a marked improvement.  

Rachael's seeming lack of interest in boys was mostly due to the
steadfast and diverse diet of amorous attention she received from her
step-brother at home.  Their conveniently adjoining bedrooms allowed
step-brother and sister to spend virtually unrestricted quality time
together every day.  Nigel promised that some day he would introduce
Rachael to some other guys, but for now he would provide her with all
the love that a growing sixteen year old girl could ever want or need.
And provide he did.  Rachael's day began and ended in her
step-brother's arms.  Every morning when she awoke in Nigel's bed, he
was usually already inside of her, even before she became fully
conscious.  He would then make love to her slowly and patiently,
keeping her right on the verge of climax, but never quite letting her
escape into the oblivion of orgasm.  More often than not, Nigel would
take her a second time in the shower, sometimes anally, sometimes
vaginally, however the mood struck him. 

Thankfully, after her first month home, her step-brother stopped
insisting that she wear that horrible thing up her rear end every day.
It hurt like hell when Rachael sat in the desk seats at school.  Every
now and then, though, particularly if she was at all uncooperative,
Nigel would make her bend over and remain silent while he pushed the
dreadful device deep into her tender nether passage where it would
remain for several days.  

"When it hurts you," he would tell her.  "I want you to think about me
and how much I care about you, Rachael."

Lately, Nigel had taken to shoving his finger up her backside whenever
the opportunity presented itself.  He picked the worst times, too.
From the beginning Nigel forbad Rachael to wear panties, and as if it
weren't enough of a challenge for Rachael to keep from exposing
herself in front of her peers at school, whenever Nigel caught her
alone he would casually reach under her skirt; she wasn't allowed to
wear slacks; and slip his first finger into her rear end.  Once he
actually did it to her while she stood talking to two of her female
acquaintances.  

Rachael knew he was there.  She recognized his scent.  "Huh? W..what?"
she asked stupidly, struggling to remain a part of the conversation
and to concentrate on what the two young girls were saying.  It took
every ounce of Rachael's self-control to keep from slapping his hand
away when her step-brother started to fumble with the hem of her
skirt.  She couldn't believe he was going to do this to her now, in
front of her friends.  Hoping against hopes that her companions
wouldn't notice, Rachael jumped slightly when his finger tips wiggled
between the cheeks of her shapely little butt.  Rachael Monroe had a
nice butt.  Somehow she managed to maintain control so her friends
never knew that while she stood chatting with them in the school
hallway, her step-brother's long middle finger was moving slowly in
and out of her anal passage.  Nigel even entered into the conversation
once or twice.  His nonchalance was remarkable, considering what he
was doing to his step-sister right in front of her friends.  

Rachael couldn't remember ever being more thoroughly mortified, but in
spite of the "delicacy" of the situation, she felt a sultry blush
begin to rise in her face and neck.  Rachael was beside herself,
feeling certain that her friends would notice sooner or later.  She
prayed that Nigel would tire of this insanity and leave her alone,
before she became any more aroused.  What Rachael didn't know was that
the few friends she had were accustomed to seeing her arrive at school
with her neck and shoulders still slightly flushed from her early
morning activities.  In fact, when Rachael was out of ear shot, the
other girls whispered among themselves that since she'd come home from
wherever she'd been, Rachael always seemed to have a certain "glow"
about her, even though she didn't have a boyfriend.

It seemed like forever, but at last Nigel dropped his hand from
beneath Rachael's skirt and joined the circle of her high school girl
friends.  The girls all giggled at some remark he made, then with a
smile, Nigel turned to his step-sister and popped his finger into his
mouth.  Rachael watched with a mixture of horror and disgust while
Nigel sucked on the very same finger he'd used on her a minute
earlier.  After an endless few seconds Nigel drew his finger from
between his lips with an audible "smack", winked at his stunned
step-sister and sauntered away like nothing out of the ordinary had
occurred.

The entire episode was extremely debasing for the pretty teenager, and
shortly after that first time, Rachael began once again to entertain
thoughts of herself as being no more than a sex engine, a receptacle
for her step-brother's semen. 

Nigel seemed to have goodly reservoir of semen, that much was certain,
and he was extremely generous about sharing his bounty liberally with
his pretty step-sister.  Rachael swallowed copious quantities into her
belly.  She took it into her vagina, and Nigel regularly insisted upon
injecting a contribution into her nethermost passage as well.  The
opportunities for love appeared endless, and Nigel was always in the
mood.

Any resistance on Rachael's part was met with the threat of her return
to that despised institute.  Her own mother even informed Rachael that
she would be sent back to "camp" if she didn't behave.  The older
woman never did figure out what the Training Center was all about, and
Rachael knew with cold certainty that she would comply with her
step-son's wishes should he decide to return her to that unholy mad
house.

Although Rachael thought she'd managed to deceive the company of
sadists and deviants who'd held her captive for so long, the residual
effects of their obscene program of libidinous brainwashing lingered
in her subconscious.  The strong willed teenager had eventually been
able to convince her captors that she was ready to cooperate by
pretending to comply willingly with their diabolical wishes, but her
subsequent release had not come without cost.  For more than two
months, Rachael had undergone a program of concise and comprehensive
sexual conditioning,  the effects of which were profound in nature.
Rachael Elaine Monroe was a strong young lady, but she had not come
away from her experience at TYTC unscathed, and although the symptoms
of EFIRS were beginning to surface upon occasion, her step-brother's
seemingly insatiable appetite and unrelenting attentions served to
reinforce her prior training.

Rachael's day began with sex, and whenever he could arrange it, Nigel
would treat her to brief carnal interludes during the course of the
school day.  School let out at three o'clock, and since Rachael lived
only minutes away, by no later than three forty-five each day she and
her step-brother would begin her extra-curricular activities.  

No sooner had the kitchen door closed behind them, Nigel took
Rachael's books from her, set them on the counter and began to
unbutton her blouse.  She was naked in an instant.  For the next three
hours or so, Nigel made love to Rachael many times over, here and
there around the house.  No place was sacred.  He enjoyed having her
on their parents bed which was quite disturbing for Rachael, but that
wasn't the worst of it.

Rachael's step-father was a soft spoken, even tempered man, and unlike
his son, Nigel, there wasn't a wicked bone in his body.  Doug McKinsey
treated Rachael with kindness and respect, and as a result she felt a
genuine fondness for the man.  He loved her mother and provided
stability and security for their family.  Rachael would never dream of
doing anything to upset him.  Unfortunately when she expressed her
concerns to her step-brother, suggesting that should his father ever
catch them at their "games", he would be heart broken, Nigel reacted
quite unexpectedly.

As a result of her insubordination, each day just before her step-dad
was scheduled to arrive at home, Rachael would find herself standing
in front of the big kitchen window that looked out on the driveway.
Her feet were spread widely apart, her hands gripped the edge of the
stainless steel kitchen sink, and Nigel hammered away enthusiastically
at her from behind.  Wherever they happened to be in the house, at the
prescribed hour Nigel would stop and lead Rachael into the kitchen.
There he would resume his attentions by entering her from behind while
she stared anxiously out of the kitchen window.  Any minute, Doug
McKinsey would park his car in the driveway, get out and start up the
walkway toward the kitchen door.

"N..Ni..Nigel," Rachael gasped breathlessly as her step-brother's
thighs slapped noisily against her shapely buttocks.  The familiar
blue Chevy had just pulled into the drive.  "N..Nigel, h..he's
h..h..here.  N..N..Nigel."

"Hush, Rachael!" her step-brother hissed.  His fingers dug into the
supple flesh of her hips, and his pace quickened.  "I'm almost there,"
he added.

Rachael was beside herself with anguish as the man she called "Dad"
strolled up the path.  All he had to do was look to his left just a
little bit, and he would see her standing there in the kitchen window.
There would be no mistaking what was going on.

"It's all in the timing," Nigel explained the rules of the game to her
with a grin.  Nigel would try to inseminate Rachael before her
step-father made it from his car to the kitchen door.  "To spice
things up" as Nigel put it, there was the added risk that Mr. McKinsey
would see them through the window upon approach.  "If he catches us,
no problem.  I'll just tell him that you seduced me," Nigel informed
his distraught step-sister.  "He'll believe me, you know.  And you can
bet your pretty little ass, Rachael, that they'll ship you back to
`camp' for sure."  Rachael knew it was true.

"Huuuh...Hurry up, Nigel!" Rachael panted.  "Huu...He's alm..most huh
here."  

Her step-father was in fact so close now that Rachael could read the
headlines on the newspaper he carried.  She was close to panic when
suddenly Nigel gave an all too familiar groan.  He held her by her
hips and pressed the fronts of his hairy thighs tightly against the
firmness of her rear end.  She felt him pulse deep inside of her
once... twice... three times.  Shortly thereafter a strangely pleasing
sensation of liquid heat began to permeate Rachael's belly, then he
was gone.  Rachael raced after Nigel, disappearing into the hallway
just as the kitchen door opened and Doug McKinsey stepped into his
home.  Fortunately he didn't see the small drops of creamy fluid on
the kitchen floor, leading off into the hallway and eventually to his
step-daughter's bedroom door.

Rachael's evenings were much the same.  Nigel allowed her to bathe
alone most of the time, but not always.  Following her bath, she and
her step-brother would join the family for supper where conversation
was generally terse and reserved.  Once supper was over, Rachael would
retire to her room where she would soon be joined by Nigel to begin
the evening's activities.  

She tried her best to be quiet, but Rachael felt pretty sure that her
parents must have overheard the occasional thump or squeal.  Nigel was
not a gentle lover.  The nights were long for Rachael.  Often Nigel
made love to her until the wee hours of the morning before allowing
her to rest.  Many nights Rachael would slide into an exhausted
oblivion even while Nigel had his way with her.  

Unexpectedly, about a week ago, Nigel's demands upon her were
drastically reduced in both frequency and scope.  Rachael was stunned.
She didn't know what to do with herself or what to expect.  Then one
fateful afternoon as she and Nigel returned home from school, they
were waiting for her.  The men might have been strangers to most, but
for Rachael, the clean, white coveralls they wore gave them away
instantly.  The unmarked van was parked one street over.  Rachael
fought like a tiger, but her struggles were all for naught.  She was
quickly and efficiently subdued by the two large men.  No words were
exchanged as one of the men produced a small, pneumatic vaccination
gun.  

"Snick," and the lights went out.

The next thing that Rachael knew, she was being partly led, party
carried into Class Room 109 by two very large men dressed in the
dreaded white coveralls of a TYTC Handler.  The surroundings were at
once familiar to Rachael, causing her to renew her struggles, cursing
and kicking and biting at anything that was inadvertently placed into
harm's way.   

She was back, back in that most hideous of places.  Back in that
asylum filled with demented monsters who thought nothing of performing
all manner of loathsome and perverse acts upon her and the other
unfortunate girls whom they referred to as their "Guests".  In fact,
even as she clashed with her immediate captors, Rachael realized that
they'd already put one of those repulsive "things" into her back side.
Even now she felt the telltale cramping and unnatural sense of
fullness associated with the unholy device.  There was a time, not to
terribly long ago when this feeling represented a sense of
completeness for Rachael, and that time would surely come again.

"Let me go, you bastards!  Let me goooooo," Rachael shrieked again.
She was so wrapped up in her attempts to free herself from the men who
sought to restrain and imprison her, that the unhappy teenager failed
to take in the full significance of her surroundings.  

"Be silent, Miss Monroe!" a commanding voice suddenly boomed from
nearby.  

Startled, Rachael looked in the direction of the voice.  Not only did
she fall instantly into a shocked silence, but she also momentarily
ceased her struggling.  Such was the power of the command voice once
imprinted on a subject's psyche.  Even though Rachael Monroe had
graduated from the Center many months earlier and was strongly
suspected of suffering from EFIRS, she responded none the less to the
authoritative resonance of Kevin's voice.  The brief cessation of her
struggles allowed Rachael to finally notice the group of twenty
interested onlookers standing nearby, and judging from their cold
stares, she had a bad feeling that things were about to get very ugly.
Fueled by a renewed sense of panic Rachael was even more determined to
escape.  So as the man whom she vaguely remembered as being one of the
"head fiends" moved closer, Rachael unexpectedly lashed out with her
right foot only narrowly missing the big man in white.

"Fuck you!" she snarled viciously.  "Fuck all of you!" and once again
Rachael started to twist and struggle in the hands of the two men who
held her.

Completely unruffled, Kevin turned to his class of eager young
Candidates and said, "Gentlemen, this is Miss Rachael Elaine Monroe.
Miss Monroe, like many of the Guests that you will be working with in
the days and weeks to come returns to us as a result of our EFIRS
Recall."

Ignoring the proceedings going on around her, Rachael continued to
wrestle mightily with her tormentors.  "Let go of me!" she screamed at
the top of her lungs.

Forced to raise his voice above the din, Kevin continued as best he
could.  "We believe that although Miss Monroe exhibits many of the
positive signs of having completed a successful program with us, her
conditioning may be less than adequate.  After reviewing her files, we
see that in spite of an admirable diet of amorous activities provided
to her by her step-brother, there is documented evidence that Miss
Monroe continues to offer passive resistance most of the time, and
from time to time, outright defiance.  For this reason, her
step-brother was good enough to allow us to bring Miss Monroe back
into our fold and work with her for a few weeks to see if we might be
able to help her reorient herself."
Kevin was suddenly interrupted by a muted groan of male origin.
Turning quickly, he saw that somehow the irate teenager had broken
free from one of her attendants.  The Handler was holding a hand over
his right eye, and Kevin surmised that the Monroe girl had managed to
strike the unsuspecting young man.  This was, of course, totally
unacceptable behavior which required that swift corrective measures be
taken.  

Actually, if the truth be known, the incident was quite timely.  For
the better part of four hours, the group of approximately twenty young
men who were in attendance that morning in Class Room 109, had
patiently observed demonstrations and techniques which were rather
provocative in nature.  Although these dedicated young men were in
training for a position with the Center which would require tremendous
self-discipline, they were, after all, only human.

"Alright Cliff, let's put her down.  Miss Monroe needs to be `CC'd', I
think," Kevin said succinctly.  "You OK, Scott?" the
Handler/Instructor asked of his fellow associate.

"No problem, Kev," the big man in white answered good-naturedly.  Then
with lightning reflexes he recaptured the hysterical teenager's
flailing right arm.  The young girl howled a string of obscenities as
the two big Handlers forced her to the padded floor of the
demonstration area at the front of Class Room 109.

Kevin's coolness and confidence were indeed enviable as he first
addressed his class before turning to help his colleagues prepare
Rachael for the next demonstration.  "I am sure you all know that
striking a Handler is unacceptable behavior," Kevin spoke in and even
tone of voice. The young men gathered around him nodded almost in
unison.  "Although we can understand why a Guest might choose such a
course of action, we must not allow such an overt exhibition of
contempt and insubordination to go unanswered."
The two Handlers, Scott and Cliff had Rachael on her back on the
padded deck where she continued to fight and curse vigorously.
"Silence, Miss Monroe!" one of the men ordered, but to no avail.
Rachael Monroe was quite obviously dreadfully misaligned, and action,
more so than words, would be required.

"We do not resent the fact that Miss Monroe has chosen to resist,"
Kevin explained calmly as he reached behind his back to the
specialized kit which was standard issue to all Handlers at TYTC.  "To
the contrary," he went on, producing from it a thin, black rod about
eighteen inches long and one half inch in diameter.  "We welcome our
Guest's refusal as a teaching opportunity."  

With a swift flick of Kevin's wrist, the strong carbon fibre baton
telescoped out to a length of almost three feet.  Kevin fished two
thin loops of webbing from the ends of the black tubing as he
continued with his lecture.  "At TYTC uncooperative behavior on the
part of a Guest is handled in only one way."  Kevin glanced over his
shoulder at the attentive group of young Candidates.  Then quoting a
TYTC axiom, he said, "For every challenge, there is a sexual
solution."  He received several nods.  "We could simply use Miss
Monroe's CAP to `nudge' her into re-thinking her chosen path, but in
this instance and more specifically, at this juncture of her renewed
training program, I feel that Corrective Copulation, or `CC' is in
order.  You might also hear the more colloquial term, `Carbon Copy'
used for this remedial technique, and the reason for this will become
quite clear in a moment."  Kevin smiled at the curious expressions on
the faces of his trainees before turning back to the business at hand.
Taking care not to get kicked, Kevin grabbed Rachael's left ankle in a
vice-like grip.  Then under extreme protest from the irate young
woman, he slipped the nylon loop at one end of his staff over her
foot.  The webbing tightened securely around the struggling girl's
ankle almost instantly as Kevin made a grab for her other leg. Missing
once, the Handler/Instructor dodged a kick aimed at his head, grabbed
the offending lower extremity, and before Rachael knew what was
happening the second loop was around her right ankle.  

"Fuck youuuuuu!" she shrieked with a vehemence that was shocking to
the onlookers in the room.  

"I don't think so," Kevin responded to Rachael's rage with a wry
chuckle.  "But some of these other gentlemen might very well be
interested in such an arrangement," he spoke matter-of-factly.  In one
practiced move, Kevin then extended the carbon fibre leg spreader to
its full four foot length and locked it into place with a twist of his
hands on the thin shaft.  

"Corrective Copulation, as you can see, tends to occupy a Guest's
attention for a longer period of time," Kevin explained as the second
young Candidate knelt between Rachael's widely spread legs and pushed
himself enthusiastically into the stunned teenager.  

While Rachael's second lover of the morning began to strike up a
rhythm, she was only vaguely aware that the "head fiend" continued to
speak.  The face of the young man atop her was a blur as Rachael's
mind's eye turned inward to the steadily pistoning maleness which with
each stroke cycle consumed a greater portion of her conscious
thoughts.  As if from a great distance the voice that Rachael had
never really forgotten droned on.  

"Unlike CAP Correction, which is more immediate in nature, Corrective
Copulation when administered by a suitably large group of volunteers,
will hold a young lady's undivided attention for as long as the Group
Leader deems it appropriate.  The prolonged experience tends to make a
more lasting impression upon the Guest, and gives her ample time to
consider that perhaps uncooperative behavior is not the most rewarding
course of action she could choose.  At the same time, it offers her
the opportunity to achieve harmony and balance once she decides to do
so."

Kevin watched from nearby while a third young man took over.  The
Monroe girl was by now almost completely caught up in the experience.
From her files he'd learned that her step-brother had kept the pretty
teenager on an oral maintenance dosage of Thelazine.  This in part was
responsible for the fact that in spite of the circumstances of her
coupling, as her third lover introduced himself to Rachael, Kevin saw
her raise her knees ever so slightly, aligning her vagina to better
accept what the young man had to offer.  

Kevin made a mental note that there was the distinct possibility that
the young girl was deriving a certain amount of excitement as a direct
result of the non-consensual nature of the occasion.  

Still, Corrective Copulation seemed the best approach for Rachael
Monroe.  Mid-way through her fourth partnering the young woman was
allowed to climax, and it was noted that the resulting release of
tension tended to wash away a good portion of the negative emotional
baggage associated with way the relationship had begun.  If in the
beginning, Rachael had indeed experienced emotional free radical
stimulation purely from the non-consensual nature of the engagement,
the release provided by multiple climaxes helped to level the playing
field.  So by the time her sixth lover took over, Rachael Monroe had
become an active and willing participant.

A lot was learned that morning in Class Room 109 about the treatment
of Emotional Free Radical Stimulation Syndrome.  Proving once again
that, "For every challenge, there exists a sexual solution."  With
Rachael's help, a hypothesis was formed, recognizing the benefits of
multiple orgasms as a possible method to treat the perplexing malady
known as EFIRS.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+