Message-ID: <1926eli$9707071118@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1926.txt>
From: "Pellaz har-Aralis" <wraethuthu@hotmail.com>
Subject: [REPOST] The Book Part 09/11 (mc, MF, FF, mdom, fem mast, exhib, lact, inc)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <199707051811.LAA03484@f35.hotmail.com>

I did not write this story, and I don't know who did.
I've tried to fix the paragraphing a bit, but I might
have overdone it a bit.  (Though it *IS* a lot better
to read when the paragraphs aren't 500+ lines each.)


_______________________________________________________
Get Private Web-Based Email Free http://www.hotmail.com

 From BBS: Dialup
alt.sex.stories message #2256 (#0) from Paul Seung Lee
<pslee@harp.aix.calpoly.edu>.  Entered on 18-Feb-95, at 11:15:00.
  Reply to message #2249 (There are more replies.)

Subject: the_book part9
=======================


	_Reviewers_ (_The_Book_pt9) 

Jorge had been a member of the Cabal for three months when he 
started to see changes in himself.  

At first the thought crossed his mind another Cabal member 
had been meddling in his mind. He dropped the idea when he 
realized the thought wouldn't have struck him if it was true.  
He kept asking many questions about the Cabal. Nothing about 
where they'd come from, but what they did. He got some pretty 
boring answers back from his contact. 

Mostly, the Cabal did nothing. 

One day a summons came. The Cabal invited him, perhaps 
ordered him, to attend a meeting. It would be in the 
Catskills in New York at a one time hunting lodge. He was 
expected to attend. 

He felt like a gangster.  

Pine trees surrounded the lodge. It was an old building from 
the time of Prohibition. Seeing all the limos and the 
uniformed drivers made him feel even more as though he was at 
a gangster meet. He must've been the only one to show up 
without limo or driver.  

There were guards too. Only those who could control minds 
could get in. Anyone else would be turned back. 

There were only a dozen or so people present. The man he'd 
met in New York was absent. A third were women. He hadn't 
expected any women at all. Preconceptions about the 
demographics of the mind control talented hadn't led him to 
believe there would be any women at all. 

There was one notable man, standing out from the rest. 

The man was in a gray pair of slacks and a brown sports 
jacket, patched at the elbows. His eyes sunken, as though he 
didn't sleep, hidden behind wire rimmed glasses, and his hair 
a tossled gray-black. Cleanshaven, the fellow carried himself 
as though this was simply an entertaining exercise. He spoke 
to no one, and there was a conspicuous area around him no one 
else walked into.  

Jorge got a drink, gin and tonic, and walked towards the 
unusual member. He didn't make it before a thin, wispish man, 
with an unidentifiable accent announced everyone was present. 
The meeting would begin immediately in the next room. 

==== 

The room was a sunken amphitheater. Seating was on carpeted 
tiers with a space in the middle for speakers. The wispish 
guy was standing there, waiting for everyone to settle in. 
Behind him was an exit, an open door with curtains to the 
side. 

"It's been a year since our last meeting. While there are no 
real changes to announce..." 

"There never is." A woman in red, holding a tall glass of 
something white was the source of this interjection. The 
wispish fellow stared in rebuke for a moment, then 
continued. 

"We need to reaffirm the leadership positions. And there is 
one piece of new business." 

He turned towards Jorge. Everyone looked his direction. The 
tall Dane felt self conscious for the first time since 
acquiring the talent. The feeling was somewhat foreign to 
him now, yet he knew he was on the spot. 

"Mr. Dansen is a new member. Unlike most new Voices, he is 
curious about us, rather than fearful, the preferred 
response." A light chuckle passed through the gathered men 
and women. 

"The Inquisitor," with this, the man nodded at the fellow in 
the brown sports jacket, "requested he be invited. Any new 
blood we get willing to participate in our activities is 
worth investigating. Please step down here Mr. Dansen." 

Jorge summoned his own reserves and stepped out where 
everyone could see him. The looks he got were curious, but 
not interested in him. They seemed concerned about whether he 
was a threat. He could sense mind probes being aborted, it 
wasn't considered proper to probe another member. 

The man identified as Inquisitor also stepped down to the 
middle joining the master of ceremonies and Jorge. 

"Unless someone thinks we need to replace the 
Inquisitor...?," a paused followed. "Fine," he lowered his 
voice. "Jorge, please go with the Inquisitor. We're just 
curious because you've asked so many questions. Everything 
will be fine. Just get along now. 

"Okay, other business. Anyone want the job of High Senate 
Speaker? Speak up, I've been doing this too long already..." 

There was laughter as Jorge was drawn away by the Inquisitor. 
The sounds of a beginning debate were murmurs of discussion, 
not the heated rancor he was accustomed to from small 
political bodies. 

Jorge found himself led out the nearby door. The curtains 
were drawn behind, then the door closed. The spectacled 
gentleman led him to a room with a pool table, soft red 
velvet chairs all around. 

"Rack 'em. We may as well play as we speak. Eight ball." The 
man took his jacket off, setting it carefully across one of 
the chairs. "I'm Charles. I have the responsibility of 
policing for the Cabal." 

"Am I in some kind of trouble?," asked Jorge. He looked about 
for another exit, but ended up finding the rack and a cue 
stick. The balls fit neatly into the rack. 

"No, nothing like that. But we rarely get new members who are 
interested in what goes on in the Cabal. Our real purpose is 
to minimize the threat a rogue Voice may represent." He 
broke, balls rolling slowly to a halt around the table. 

"Rogue voice?" Jorge sank a solid, tried to line up another 
shot only to have the cue ball drop. 

"Some idiot who draws attention to the rest of us." 
 
"Is this a frequent threat?"  

"No, since the rogue is likely to be poorly practiced, and 
real obvious about how he makes trouble. We even know there 
are a lot of Voices out there we can't find, simply because 
they just don't have the ambition to make the kind of waves 
we worry about. We don't care about them." Charles stood, 
holding the cue ball as though it might escape too. 

"You worried about me though?" 

"Nope. You've been at it a while from what I understand. No. 
In your case, I'm recruiting." 

Jorge looked at Charles, seeking deceit. He dared not probe, 
no telling what could happen. He stepped back and lowered his 
head, forcing his eyes to peer at his host through the 
visible hairs of his eyebrows. 

"You'd be recruiting to help catch anyone breaking Cabal 
rules?" 

"You may have figured out by now there aren't exactly rules 
so much as an expected behavior. Mostly a reasonable level of 
caution with the mutes. There would be a very brutal war if 
we couldn't maintain a tight rein on a general consensus in 
the Cabal. I wish there was more I could do, but too many 
innocents would die." 

"What do you expect me to do?" 

"It depends. May I probe you?" 

"I'm not fond of the idea, I'd rather you didn't." 

"Oh, I want you to stop me. Do everything you can to stop me. 
In fact, if you can control me, they'll make you Inquisitor. 
But I'm going to have to probe you anyway, since you've met 
most of the leadership now." 

"Really?" 

"Not because you're dangerous, but because you're so new, yet 
so experienced we don't know what to make of you. You ready?" 

"Okay, but I'm not happy about this..." 

The onslaught began. The two men slashed probes out, 
battering each other's advances aside. The spear like thrusts 
of one would be met by a wall like barrier of the other. 

Jorge staggered under one slamming hammer blow, only to deal 
out a sledge hammer stroke in return. Then the attacks drew 
on images of animals wrestling with each other, great tigers, 
lions, and monstrous creatures of the imagination. The 
battering seemed to Jorge to last immeasurably long. 

The clatter of a dropped cue stick passed quickly, nothing 
changed by the event. 

Soon the two were nearly kneeling, sweating from the 
invisible struggle, which sapped strength with psychic blows 
of enormous proportions. Neither had penetrated the other's 
defenses when Charles held up a hand. 

"Stop." 

And with the ceased effort of their minds, Jorge collapsed in 
a nearby chair. Charles remained leaning, with effort, on the 
edge of the pool table. 

"I can see we're well matched," came panting from Charles. 

"I guess," said Jorge. 

"I can't say I've come across anyone as strong as you in my 
life. Even my predecessor couldn't stand toe to toe with me. 
God, where did you pick up your Voice?" 

"It doesn't matter, does it?" Jorge felt a certain concern, 
that he safeguard his source of knowledge. 

"Only a little. God gives us the Voice. We're born with it. 
But something awakens it. I've always thought the cause 
affects the strength. I really am interested in how you're 
talent awoke but you needn't tell me." 

Jorge shook his head. He remained quiet at the invitation to 
speak. 

"I'll tell you my story though. My mother was a whore. She 
often brought the johns home, since otherwise she'd have to 
pay for the room. Made more money. She always referred to the 
johns as 'uncles'. On occasion I wasn't quick enough to hide 
in my room and the johns would hit me for being too slow. My 
Voice came to me when one of my 'uncles' was beating me. My 
emotions rode the strength of the Voice to stop him. He died 
immediately," Charles paused. He slid into one of the chairs 
opposite Jorge. "Heaven forgive me. Then my mother turned me 
out into the night. 

"It wasn't until I found the Cabal that I found a sense of 
purpose. Personally, I'm disgusted we don't have a much more 
strict set of rules, but open warfare between Voices could 
kill millions of people. Afterwards we'd all be hunted like 
animals. 

"What I need is good help. Ideally, I'd like to find people 
with the Voice before they learn to use it. To help them 
develop in a more healthy way. Realistically, we never find 
them before their habits are formed, like yours. 

"At least you turn your women loose quickly and don't steal 
using the Voice. That crew out there," he waved a hand the 
direction of the amphitheater, "have some pretty incredible 
vices. The woman in the red dress has been getting even with 
men for years. Not one of her toys escapes being marked 
forever. Every now and then I've got to save one before she 
kills him. I think she's passed from sheer vengeance into the 
realm of vindictiveness. I can't even mention what the 
Speaker likes to do..." 

"Sounds bad," said Jorge. "So?" 

"Yeah," Charles nodded, "On the whole they're pretty tame 
compared with anyone I have to censure permanently." 

"Permanently?" 

"You can lose your Voice, if we have no other way to keep you 
from calling attention to us.  That's my job. I'm the one, the 
one they call on to do it.  If I can't do it, we have 
assassins...  but we've only done that once while I've held the 
position.  I fear I'm condemned to Hell already." 

"You've had people killed? Where does that leave me if I don't 
want to help? Are you going to kill me too?" 

"No. You'll just have to consider this a warning about drawing 
attention to the talent if you're not interested in helping. 
I don't want to use harsh methods, but I'm not afraid to. I 
can't afford to let the run of the mill megalomaniacs get all 
of us killed." 

"Okay, I understand." He rose, and walked a few steps, "I'd 
being willing to help, I'm bored lately." 

"I thought as much when you kept asking questions. I've an 
assignment for you, in Chicago." 

"Chicago?" 

"Chicago. I'll have a packet for you before you leave today." 
When he left, he was bound for the airport. Charles had even 
booked a first class seat for him to the Windy City. 

Chicago was a simple exercise. The ill mannered Voice was 
trying to control the city council. In many other cities 
there would be little doubt it was unusual. In Chicago, just 
about everyone assumed the fix was happening behind closed 
doors. Jorge easily affected a change in the rogue, leaving 
behind a quiet unassuming individual without any unusual 
talents. 

He was proud of himself. He had averted a power hungry idiot 
whose actions could eventually lead to armed intervention. He 
probably saved an untold number of lives. 

Yes, the pride he'd felt as a child returned. He felt a 
return of accomplishment, lost when he believed his talent 
was unique and completely unrestricted. Apathy had been 
driven out in favor of action. 

There were obstacles he would overcome ahead. No longer a 
sure thing this talent, there would be challenges for his 
skill to tackle. His head rose a few inches higher was he 
left Chicago. 

==== 

New Mexico was hot but dry.  

Las Cruces lies at the southern tip of the San Andres 
Mountains, along that part of the Rio Grande north of the 
Mexican border. To the northwest Jorge had seen Elephant 
Butte and Caballo Reservoirs as his plane came in. The 
expanses of water seemed out of place in the arid climate. 

The Voice he was to visit was reputedly involved in local 
politics. The bent to control the world was the worst problem 
he dealt with on a regular basis. Charles seemed genuinely 
pleased with his work though. 

He settled into a hotel, rented a car and started off to the 
local address he'd been given. The address wasn't hard to get 
to, just a little north, out of town. It was a ranch, very 
western in appearance, as though someone was living partly in 
the past. 

The ranch was large. Guards at the gate tried stopping him at 
first, but they agreed quickly he should go on by. They soon 
forgot him completely. 

The porch out front was gray brown. He climbed the steps and 
looked around. The wood clumped at him as he walked about 
looking in the windows. The door in the middle of the porch 
had a button at the side for the bell. He ignored the bell. 
Entering the wooden ranch house, he noted its appearance. 

Rustic style was the main decor. Bull's horns, old saddles, 
retired pistols, wagon wheels, spurs, and occasionally an 
antique picture of a cowboy adorned the walls. The only carpet 
was a narrow and worn red strip of clothe up the stairs. 

He was met by a surprised servant in the dining room. The 
servant forgot him quickly, returning to dusting the 
furniture. The table was large enough for twenty or more. The 
dusting would keep this person busy for some time. 

Jorge went up the stairs and found the place empty. He 
settled into a bedroom, sitting in a large chair by the front 
window. He waited. The sun watched him through the window. He 
imagined the dim light in the long winters in Denmark. 

A short time later a pink convertible pulled up. A woman in 
stylized western clothing, right down to the boots, stepped 
out. She looked over at his car and almost danced as she 
hopped up to the house. 

Sounds of human voices rose from downstairs. He smiled. He 
knew the cleaning would still be occupying the poor servant. 
No, she hadn't seen anybody. Was there really a car out 
front, she hadn't noticed. He imagined the conversation 
ending with, what was obviously justified concern on the 
modern cowgirl's face. 

Resounding clopping came from the stairs. The boots thudded 
along in the hallway as she walked through rooms on the 
second floor. She stepped through the door, seeing Jorge for 
the first time. His slacks, t-shirt and loafers must have 
seemed out of place, she was staring. 

"Just how did you get in here?" 

"I'm waiting for someone. You wouldn't know Pat Morick, would 
you?" 

"I'm Pat Morick, but you better have one hell of a good 
reason for being here buster, or you're in a lot of trouble." 

"Oh my," he hadn't expected the Voice to be a woman. On 
reflection she could prove very entertaining. Her figure more 
visible here than through the window. 

She wore heavy jeans, a western yoke shirt with a string tie 
serving to accent her chest's curves. The boots were up her 
calves three quarters of the way to her knees. The hips a bit 
wide, but seemed to match the bone structure she carried. The 
shoulders were wide too, holding the shirt out almost square 
without padding. 

Her face was pink, with dimpled cheeks, a pug nose, wide lips 
and alert angry eyes. Sun bleached hair trimmed to the 
shoulders, she wore it held back by a pair of clips on either 
side. Her hands were clenched into little fists, braced atop 
her hips. 

"You've been naughty, Pat. The Cabal doesn't like political 
entanglements. It gets the wrong kind of attention." 

He smiled at her and lashed a mind probe forward, symbols of 
control to implant in her brain. 

She gasped. Her body flung back against the wall as though 
he'd struck her, hands to the side to support her stance. It 
was only a snap muscle reaction causing her backwards motion, 
physical force from him causing none of her movement. 

She lowered her head and concentrated a stare on him. His 
initial probe failed to gain entry. Now he slapped aside a 
counter thrust. 

She needled with jabs at his barriers. 

To prevent outside interference, he got up, walked to the 
door and closed it. It came as no surprise to him he could 
do this while they dueled. Yet she seemed unable to deal 
with physical movement while engaged in the mind battle. He 
sought about for any distraction to cause her attack to 
slow down. He needed to resume his own. 

She furiously surged energy waves of thought at him. He 
could make out crude control symbols in her attack, but 
couldn't do much more than stop them. Her brain was well 
protected by her own frantic efforts. 

Charles was the only Voice he'd met so far with this kind of 
strength. 

An idea crept up as his attacks against her mind failed 
again. Time stretched out. She managed to stand again, trying 
to strike him with her fists. 

While the main bout was thrashing in their minds, he grabbed 
hold of her slender wrists. They were strong, but her skin 
soft to the touch. He dragged her bodily to the bed. She 
barely had enough control over her actions to put up a 
resistance. It was weak resistance, but resistance none the 
less. 

"Get off me asshole!" she screamed. "Keep your filthy hands 
off me!" 

"You can submit and make this unnecessary," he snarled back. 
"I don't need you for sex, but I'll use any weapon to control 
you right now." 

Clawing his face kept him away from her shirt for a moment. 
He was able with one hand to pin her arms above her head. 
With the other he drew her face to him as he forcefully 
kissed her mouth. She bit him, drawing a little blood. 

"Bitch!" he snapped. 

His anger rose within. But also some compassion. He didn't 
like doing it this way, but to control her mind he needed 
somehow to distract her. He wouldn't fail, causing Charles to 
use an assassin, he simply would not. 

Symbols for sexual pleasure were a simple matter. Remembering 
he didn't plant them in the brain most of the time, he began 
adding surging heat to her loins. He forced the tickling 
sensation of lust through her chest, and successfully drove 
visual desire into her eyes symbols. 

She felt the betrayal of her body. The pleasure overcoming 
her painful physical resistance. Separation of mind and body, 
a step aside, as though a broken network was trying to 
reconnect itself. She still controlled her actions, but no 
longer was her sense of feel her own. 

"Okay motherfucker, you want to screw? We'll screw. But you 
won't like it much once I've got you!" a wildcat snarl 
verbally snapped at him. 

She began to trying to bite him, the battle of mental 
energies continuing. The rape of her body was only a 
secondary front to the rape of her will he was trying to 
commit. 

Kissing her became a battle itself. Her tongue tried to 
bruise his, teeth gnashing at any penetration he made to her 
mouth. She'd converted her own desires to acts of violent 
arousal, a severe counter rape of him. Although giving in to 
the sexual aspect of the combat, she was determined to fight 
for dominance in the act of sex as well. 

He pulled away her shirt, tearing it into long strips of 
clothe as he attacked her. Her breasts, still strapped into 
the bra she wore, stretched the fabric remaining, nipples 
aroused to hard nodules. Her hands, now free, began to tear 
away his t-shirt. 

Boots clattered to the floor behind him. Her humping body 
lunged against his groin, whether to injure or excite he 
couldn't tell. He fumbled with her snaps and zipper at her 
waist. She tried to twist their bodies to attain superior 
position on top. He used the strength in his upper torso 
throwing her back again. 

He stripped away the pants she wore, exposing slender 
curves, muscled from exercise. He now had a view of pale, 
formerly concealed skin. Her panties had come off with the 
pants, exposing a polygon shape of curly hair at her pubic 
region. Her hips still seeming wide, were rolling lightly 
with excitement. 

The final removal of her bra revealed a pair of firm white 
knockers, tipped with small, sharp nipples. The nipples were 
erect from the exertion of wrestling against him. 

She clawed at his back to pull him against her. Her teeth 
plunged into his shoulder as her excitement grew more 
evident. He slapped her face for the brutal biting. But the 
bright red palm mark seemed only to excite her more. Jorge 
was puzzled by this, but the psychic battle was still 
lashing away and he couldn't afford to wonder much. 

She believed he'd lose control using physical force. She was 
accustomed to being vicious and brutal. He, she believed, 
was not. This could give her the edge she needed, if she 
could draw the violence out of him. 

She whimpered with the next blow he delivered. Finding her 
hands pinned again, she tried squirming around to get out 
from underneath, only to find his free fingers were twisting 
her nipples.  The heat this sent through her body elicited a 
deep moan of pleasure.  

Her body yielded in pleasure to him. He struggled to avoid 
the temptation to give in to the brutality she encouraged. 
She continued to claw him, whenever she could get a hand 
free. 

"yesss!" she whispered, arousal reaching her voice. The 
violence was remarkably bringing her lust to a boil. She 
seemed to enjoy being combative, thriving on the thrill, the 
power, the struggle. 

The mental violation was moving slowly as well. His 
successful probes were surface in nature, only now gaining 
control over the helpless body beneath him. She remained in 
control over her mind behind the body, but physical 
resistance was ebbing completely.  

Her movements became more supple. The eyes she focused on him 
hazed with lust. He could feel heat rising within her. A hint 
of humiliation rose inside her, losing her control of her now 
helpless body. 

She was panting and gasping for breath, both excited and 
frantic. The adrenaline rush, coming from both fear and lust, 
gave her a boost. 

Her legs opened to him now. The pink wet opening exposed for 
his use. His own cock was still somewhat limp, but he could 
feel it hardening as he felt her gyrations beneath him. He no 
longer needed to hold her arms pinned. And her thin, almost 
bony, fingers began massaging the trunk of his prick. 

He could still hear her mind voice ordering him off her body, 
but her mouth, swollen from passionate and lust driven 
kisses, widened into a 
smile. 

"Yes," he made her say, "Yes I want you. I want to be your 
sex toy." 

He could feel a deepening sense of humiliation seep through 
her inner mind, overcoming barriers remaining. He plunged 
into her, feeling the moist tissue engulf his prick as her 
eyes rolled closed and he forced moans from her throat. As he 
reached the depths of her vagina, another phallic thought 
probe breached her mind. She was now his, only the tiniest 
vestige of resistance remaining. 

The power he had over her was strong, an aphrodesiac of great 
proportion. He pummeled against her groin, watching her face 
contort with unexpected pleasure. 

"Yes! Yes! YES!" her mouth cried. 

He no longer had to actively control her body to elicit 
response. She joined willingly in the act now. Knowing only 
slightly it was his will she served. 

She screamed, physical orgasm penetrating to where he'd 
planted his controls. Her body was completely clenched, red 
tipped fingers tightly fisted against her eyes and mouth. She 
was almost totally overcome inside. 

With his cock still wet from her, he rolled her over, making 
her kneel. Determined to overcome that last holdout at the 
back of her now little mind, he forced his entry into her 
ass. She squealed in pain. His dominance needed a further 
step to strip her of her last hold on herself. 

"NO! You'll hurt me!," she cried out. Her last little iota of 
control rose up, trying once more to batter back his 
ownership of her body. 

"You deserve to be hurt, remember? You wanted me to hurt you 
just a minute ago. It's what you want."  

"Yes. Yes I want it," he forced her to say. "Please, use me 
again!" 

Again the humiliation rose within and he fostered it with 
reinforcing symbols inside her. The deeply hidden nugget of 
self she'd withheld cracked. She cried on the bed underneath 
him, the last holdout allowed a moment to show defeat. He 
pressed his prick deeper into her nether hole. 

He owned her soul now too. He held her mind cradled in the 
bindings his manipulation had created within her. 

He began to move in and out, forcing her body to feel 
pleasure from being used. He let her come again, screaming 
with joy, before he allowed his own heat to rise. He owned 
her completely now. There was no last reserve. 

With a sudden plunge, his seed entered her ass. She seemed 
lost in exhaustion when he finally grunted out his orgasm. It 
was a good release. A great way to end the brutal battle. 
He started to change her, engineering a new personality. 

==== 

Jorge found a phone and made a call. 

"You got the one in New Mexico?" came the familiar voice. 

"Yes Charles. I wish you'd tell me in the future what gender 
the Voice is." 

"Come now Jorge, where's the fun in that?" 

"She's controlled by me now. She's almost as strong as you or 
I. We can probably use her in our duties." 

"Really?" 

"Really. I had to take her. She wouldn't submit willingly, 
and now she's totally available for our purposes." 

"I've seen her picture. Have you...?" 

"Yes, and I will again, but you won't." 

"Now Jorge, you know I don't force my partners. God forbid. 
Not even using the Voice. I even find it a little disturbing 
when you do." There was a pause. "Your next assignment is in 
Texas. Pretty close to where you are now, a little south." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"El Paso..." 

==== 

A foul taste in his mouth woke him up. 

Bob looked around the room he'd confiscated for concealment. 
The room was a partial shambles. It appeared a construction 
crew at work wasn't finished and left furniture in place as 
they fumbled about. 

Among a handful of other objects there was the bed he was 
sharing with the naked girl at his side. She was smiling with 
the innocence of one whose problems would be solved for her. 

He traced a finger along her pert breast, allowing himself to 
rub the nipple with the palm of his hand. She started to 
smile, stretching and exposing her other breast to his 
perusal. She blinked open her eyes, inviting him to use her 
again by spreading her arms wide. 

He was slightly disgusted. Partly with himself, for allowing 
himself to take her, mostly because of the situation. It 
would have been great fun if he were less harried by fear. 
But then, maybe he'd take her again now. 

Miki seemed to be thriving on the threat of capture. She 
writhed beneath the hands as they milked her nipples. Her 
head was moving in rhythm, chin jutting out, as he worked a 
pattern of manipulation into the action. 

He moved so his hips were above her head. Tilting her face all 
the way back, he could enter her mouth. With her neck 
stretched out, he had an easy entry deep inside past her 
tongue. The twitching tongue in her mouth was caressing the 
top of his prick as he worked in and out of her. 

With his balls bouncing against her nose and eyes, the sense 
of being deep in her throat was impressive. He could see her 
hips bucking as he pushed in past her lips. Her hand worked 
into the folds of her soaking wet flesh.  

As she sucked at him, he could feel familiar heat growing in 
him. The surge was coming, moving beyond stopping now. She 
swallowed, and swallowed again as a second, lighter surge 
pulsed through his cock. 

He pulled out of her mouth. She fingered herself, unaware she 
used to hate the idea of masturbating. A moan came from the 
puffy red lips, and her tongue licked, putting pressure 
against herself. He blocked her from coming though, so she 
became more frantic in her attempts at self fulfillment. 

Using his talent on himself, he sent arousal signals through 
his own prick. A second hard on came very quickly. She seemed 
genuinely surprised, perhaps not knowing how much control was 
possible. 

Lifting her tight legs over his shoulders he teased at making 
entry to her hungry pussy. 

"Oh please, I want you in me. I need it now." 

"You say the nicest things. How about telling me how good I 
am?" 

"You're the best. No one's ever been better. I love your 
prick inside my cunt. Can't you tell?" 

He chortled. It was unnecessary to force her to praise him, 
but power was so satisfying. And underneath the layer of 
controls he'd placed she felt a thrill submitting herself to 
him. 

The enlarged prick slipped smoothly into her soaking wet 
cunt. The fit wasn't tight, but the velvet smoothness 
invigorated him. He worked his way in and out. While he did, 
she thrashed about, struggling for release. He pulled the 
nervous system stops out of the way, allowing her to pump the 
sexual energy throughout her body. 

Her orgasm was strong, but she muffled the screech trying to 
come out. Energy sapped from her body, she began to go limp. 
He pumped in a last time, using the symbols to draw forth a 
spurt of his semen within her. It wasn't the best, but still, 
it was a good release, a jump start orgasm for the morning.  

Pulling out, he sat up at the edge of the bed. He stared off 
into space for a few minutes. The woman behind him began to 
snore again. He grinned thinking how exhausted he left her. 
He stank. 

There was a bathroom. Trying the door, it opened. The 
plumbing appeared to be complete, so he tried the water. It 
was working well enough so he started the shower. 

Clearing away some of the junk by the bathroom door kept him 
busy while the water warmed up. Rummaging about turned up a 
few clean towels. A well used hunk of soap shortly drew 
attention to itself as well. 

The warm water brought feeling back to his skin, muscles 
relaxed from the cramps developed in the uncomfortable strange 
bed. 

Rivulets of water tickled his senses, the dream quality of 
flowing water allowed him escape for the moment. 
He imagined escaping with the water through the drain. 

==== 

The helicopter rose in the bright morning light. The four story 
building below shrank rapidly. 

He couldn't take any chances. The spark remained on the loose. 
It wasn't clear how the spark had gotten loose, but the 
assumption had to be made; there was a flaw in the mind 
shields.  A new development, and a fearful one.  

The new wild spark was more dangerous than the visitors with 
their guns yesterday. This threat allowed no counter action 
if he remained here. Thadeous felt forced to flee. 

He left Jones to fend for himself. The man knew an awful lot 
about the operation. Yet someone with both authority and 
initiative had to be left in control until the spark was 
found. 

Having a spark break in was frightening too. Something was 
wrong, but the records here were limited to discovering, 
catching and studying the sparks. None of the Institute's 
other activities would be unveiled. 

He spent the night worrying. The helicopter too late, the 
spark might slip into his room at any moment. Yet nothing 
had happened, and the flight was underway. 

He would move the operation to the Colorado facility. If the 
spark were caught, operations could resume as before. He 
wasn't counting on this possibility. 

How would he tell Jezabel? 

==== 

"Mr. Jorge Dansen." 

Cobwebs parted from his eyes to display a man in an 
immaculately pressed suit. The sounds hadn't yet sunk in, 
his ears uncertain he'd actually heard his surname. He couldn't 
turn his head for some reason. 

"Jorge? Ah, we are awake now aren't we." 

"wherindafugami?" 

"Hm, Oh, where are you? At the Institute of course. You 
present us with a most unusual problem. We've never had a 
spark break in before. They all seem to want to break out. Can 
you imagine their gall, trying to leave us?" 

"waddafugyawant?" 

"Oh my. Hopefully your eloquence will pick up once the gas 
wears off a bit more. Your woman, the reporter, " Jones paused 
a moment, "she's become amorously attached to one of our 
inmates. An unexpected pleasure for us. The red head she likes 
is one of my boss's current favorites, so maybe she'll get an 
interview after all. Shame it'll never make the evening news 
though." 

"'leven 'clock, different from ev'ning news." 

"No matter, she won't be leaving us any time soon. All she 
wants to do is screw Heather. I watched them for a while 
myself. She's fun to watch by the way." 

"allyoudo?, watch? cantchagetitup?" 

The angry glare was piercing. Jones walked out of view. Jorge 
now realized he was tied down tightly. Very tightly. Trying 
his talent resulted in serious pounding pains at the back of 
his skull. Not that it mattered, the man from the Institute 
wore a device behind his ear, easily identified in this place 
as a mind shield. 
 
Jones came back after a mumble voiced discussion. 

"Where is Bob?" 

"whawho?" 

"Come now, you can't convince me your break in wasn't 
associated with his attempted break out. You two must be 
working together somehow. Where is Robert Lawrence?" 

"whoinhellis Robert Lawrence?" 

"You aren't helping yourself any," Jones waved to someone out 
of sight, "Take him to debriefing." 

The sound of hard leather on tiled floor, clack, clack, 
clack... 

"Oh Jorge," Jones paused. 

"whaddafugyawantnow?" 

"My. I arranged to sample your woman later, of course, I'll 
probably be far less subtle than you and cause her some 
injuries. You sure you don't want to tell me something before 
then?" 

"gofugyermudder, icangetanudderone." 

"If that's how you feel about it," he waved again. 

Jorge felt a motion and realized for the first time, he was 
on some kind of hospital gurney. He tried to move, but was 
frustrated by strong straps. There was one across his 
forehead. No wonder his head couldn't move. 

The wheels clicked as they moved across tiles on the floor 
beneath. The rhythmic sound felt like being beaten.  

What was debriefing? 

==== 

Bob reached out. 

A barrier at the exterior of the building blocked him. He had 
to poke and prod around shields for a bit to find a hole. 
Somehow they seemed to be unable to perceive where 
overlapping shields didn't actually meet. Better yet, someone 
forgot to protect the floors below.  

An exit turned up for the mind probe. It amused him the 
plumbing probably took a similar route after all. 

He stood in the running water, and reached a long thin needle 
of thought towards Bambi. It was a difficult strain. Finding 
her mind engaged in leisure, he ignored what she was doing 
and planted a suggestion. No, a series of suggestions. 

He wasn't sure he could do it, but casting about from her 
mind he found a dozen mind shields around the house. 

Carefully he insinuated controls around the odd shapes of the 
shields, compelling the owners to new tasks. 

While he could still manage it, he found Mary and issued some 
instructions to her as well. The Institute had only one man 
watching her.  

With strain, he pushed the needle of thought to Fran, giving 
her duty at the bank. The Institute, probably acting on 
profile information, left her unwatched. If he was free, 
they probably reasoned he would return home or to Mary. Not 
the dozen or so housewives he might have used. 

He sucked in air. The water had gotten cold.  

He shivered as he dried himself. 

==== 

Jones walked into Diane's new room, adjacent to Heather's. 
It was the usual Institute arrangement, a queen sized bed, a 
dresser, a lounge chair, some bookshelves with an assorted 
reading collection. There was a tightly closed window, but 
no bars. 

Jones smiled, subjects in these rooms never needed bars. 
Conditioned to remain, exceptions whose unnatural lust for 
the coven leader kept them passive, awaiting commands. 

He was disgusted. What gave these animals the right to have 
this power? He should be the one, not them. He would find a 
way in time. Even Thadeous would bow before him, worship at 
his feet! For now though, he could bide his time. 

As long as he found Bob, the little creep. Thadeous might 
separate him from his hide if the spark escaped. He would 
not tolerate Bob's continued freedom. Anyone failing in the 
duty to find Bob would suffer the most sever sanctions. 

He'd been an Institute man for almost fifteen years now. He 
knew the woman who sat before him was a threat only until 
Heather had had her. She was harmless now. Diane was 
compliant to his every wish now, Heather saw to that. 

Her poise was stoic. Not defiant, but stern, committed to 
servitude, yet remaining aloof. The lounge chair held her 
well, looking deep and comfortable. 

"Bob, Robert Lawrence," he said. 

"Pleased to meet you Bob." His eyes lit at this response.  

"You mean you never heard of Bob?" 

"Should I know you?" 

"Not me, you twit, Robert Lawrence." 

"Oh, I thought you meant you were Mr. Lawrence." 

He groaned. Damn it, the spark may have told the truth.  

"Why did you come to the Institute, Miss Towers?" 

"I got a hot tip, said you were performing brain experiments. 
I guess the guy on the phone was right. He works here 
somewhere." 

This little revelation frightened him. Then he remembered the 
lab techs had been isolated. Probably the one that freed Bob 
called her. Thadeous was right, isolating all the potentially 
tainted techs was necessary. 

"Yes, well you'll never leave here again, I assure you." 
 
"I wouldn't leave Heather. She needs me." 

He grinned. Heather had turned her out, like many of her 
coven members before, to work the streets for Heather's 
comfort. Only Heather had no idea the harlots couldn't get 
paid for their service here. 

"She'll be here as for as long as you will." 

"Good, I don't want to be without her." 

"Well, right now you'll take care of me. And we're going to 
have some fun, aren't we?" He unstrapped his belt. 

"You paid for it, er, if you're not Bob, who are you?" 

"Just call me 'Master'." 

"Yes Master." 

There was no pleasure in it for her, but Jones didn't care. 
She was doing this for Heather anyway. She'd be pleased when 
Heather told her how good she'd been. 

Heather wouldn't do that, he decided. He'd find a way to 
convince Heather she hadn't been paid. 

==== 

Bambi was in the midst of playful activities. She vaguely 
knew in the back of her mind Bob modified the women to 
entertain each other in his absence. She couldn't change the 
controls he'd placed. It seemed right somehow to perform the 
duties he'd laid out for them. 

The sense of belonging grew, each day the fellowship she had 
with the other women was stronger. She was reflecting on this 
sense, and the sense of being at home. A good inner feeling 
of security. They were a family now. 

Abruptly her eyes opened, {I'm here} she projected. 

{Have fun, see you later, don't hurt them!} 

{Hurt them!? They're going to hurt me! Bob?} but he was gone 
again. Bob left a message, somewhere beneath her thoughts, 
she knew. She calmed herself, if he wanted her to know now, 
she'd know now. The message could wait. 

Just as the controls were keeping the women together for 
Bob, the controls would bring the message to the surface 
when it was time. She wouldn't find it if she tried. 
Bob's instructions found her later. 

==== 

Bob came out of the bathroom, both exhausted and refreshed. 
At least the stink was gone, down the drain with the water. 
Miki had a grey cat on her lap and was stroking the fur to 
the sound of deep throated purring. He wondered only briefly 
where the feline critter had come from. 

"Get that thing out of here," he said.  
 
"Aw it's just a little kitty." 

"The damn things give me the creeps. Stupid animals anyway. 
How'd it get in here anyway?" 

The cat scooted away on it's own as he approached anyway. No 
telling where it went, much less where it came from. 

"You might want a shower." 

"I can try, how long do you think we're safe here?" 

"I'll worry about that, you've decided to let me, remember?" 

"Okay, back in a few."  

And she bounced off to the shower. A moment later a shriek 
came back. The water probably hadn't warmed up yet. He 
grinned. She should've tested the temperature before getting 
in, he thought. 

Gathering himself in, he began to seek out the guards, the 
lab people, anyone with a mind shield on. Soon, he'd find 
someone to suit his purposes. 

==== 

Peters was walking down the hall.  

It had been another satisfying morning, observing a spark 
beat the pleasure out of one of his coven. Peters knew if he 
could find a method for anyone to do the same, he'd be given 
any woman he wanted. He'd be able to do the beating himself. 
He wouldn't have to just sit and watch. 

Somewhere in this place was a clue to how to tap the energy 
these sparks used. Somehow he would find it. Soon. Soon he 
would be in control of the women he wanted, and they would be 
happy to serve him. 

He was walking towards Heather's room, the path an accident, 
but the clue he sought wouldn't be there either... 

==== 

Jorge felt the needle stab his arm. The point was hollow, he 
knew. 

Oddly enough, he knew these men were bored. He was another 
spark to examine and question.  

"It's okay, just a little thiopental. Can you count backwards 
from one hundred?" 

He just stared at the man in the white lab coat. Then he 
laughed at him. The guy shrugged and started talking about 
the drug and how it would affect him and the interesting time 
they would have together and there was a clock on the wall 
and he realized he'd begun to talk too and he couldn't stop 
and the ceiling was very odd... 

==== 

The first couple guards weren't much trouble. They tipped him 
off to the monitoring center. The monitoring center took him 
a short time since they were relying on the wall shields to 
protect them. 

They'd made the same mistake there as with the exterior 
walls. Any bank officer could tell them what they'd 
forgotten. The number of bank robberies from tunneling under 
the walls led to well reinforced foundations. After all, the 
defense was only as strong as its weakest link. 

He was fascinated for a few minutes by the number of inmates 
they monitored. Most of them weren't 'sparks' though. Most 
inmates kept being referred to as coven members. He wondered 
about that. 

He began snatching up every guard he could find. Just in case 
his take over was interrupted he had them take off their mind 
shields, remove the battery, replace the little devices 
behind the ear and forget them. 

Then he found a most interesting development. There was a man 
in the interrogation room. He began to take over the techs, 
but the discussion was most fascinating. He had to meet this 
man. The idea there might be help available appealed to him.  
He continued to concentrate on taking over the entire 
Institute. 

==== 

Men on duty as guards come in many varieties. The Institute 
had ensured loyalty by some reprogramming. A mild 
brainwashing technique since completely replaced by the use 
of an examination in the interesting room Bob visited early 
on. 

It had a certain effect on the initiative of the subjects 
however. 

==== 

Jenkins had been walking the halls much of the morning when 
he stepped into the Mens room. He somehow failed to notice 
the device that dropped from behind his ear. 
He had been programmed to forget about it after all.  

==== 

Dobson had been drinking his coffee when his keys fell to the 
floor. When he rose, the itch behind his ear was gone. It 
felt much better not to worry about whatever had been 
bothering his ear. 

==== 

Post turned suddenly when he heard a sound on the grounds. It 
was another guard, but a crow would later collect a new shiny 
thing for its nest. The errant mind shield wasn't even 
noticed by Post at all. 

==== 

The only reason the other guards didn't notice; they were all 
slipping under the control of the escaped spark. 

Bob was pleased at the speed with which the Institute was 
falling. 

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /