========
Path: news.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.cais.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!nntp.earthlink.net!usenet
From: alebeard@earthlink.net (Alebeard)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.bondage
Subject: The Book, Repost, Various sm stories - book.txt [08/11]
Date: 24 Jun 1996 22:55:22 GMT
Organization: Rainbow
Lines: 1458
Message-ID: <4qn6cq$nek@uruguay.it.earthlink.net>
NNTP-Posting-Host: pool041.max2.santa-clara.ca.dynip.alter.net
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: message/partial; id="835656663@Alebeard"; number=8; total=11
X-Newsreader: WinVN 0.99.7
Xref: news.primenet.com alt.sex.stories:165926 alt.sex.stories.bondage:380

"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
[END]

Brian C. Ladd, Curator, Mindnumbing Archive
MNA is *not* affiliated with the University of North Carolina; it is a
personal project which the University will neither acknowledge nor condone.

Let your Congress critters know you vote and you oppose their heavy-handed
attempts to stiffle free expression on-line..


========
=============================================================================
                        Mindnumbing Archive Repost
=============================================================================

<V-CHIP RATING=ADULT>
    The following is eroitc in nature.  If you are under the legal age of
    consent in your local jurisdiction, stop reading now.  If you are
    easily offended, please stop reading now.

    <SOAPBOX>
    If you are offended by the government telling you what you can and
    cannot view on the Internet and other electronic media, protest!
    If you're an American, contact your Congress critters and let them
    know you vote and find the CDA offensive.  Do it now, today.  This
    posting would _NOT_ be possible under a fully-enforced CDA.  Who
    do you trust to choose what is decent and indecent for you?

    Don't use the excuse that you don't know how to contact them:  Go
    to <A HREF="http://ast1.spa.umn.edu/juan/congress.html">Contacting
    the 104th Cogress</A> maintained by Juan Cabanela.  Phone, fax,
    address, it is all there.  Contact them early and often.  Let them
    know you are registered to vote (Getting the hint here? If you're
    not registered to vote --- get registered!) and question their
    vote to restrict your access to information on-line.

    Check out <A HREF="http://www.eff.org/blueribbon.html>The Blue
    Ribbon Page</A> for more information on what you can do to protect
    free speech on-line.  Remember the power is in your hand to simply
    vote the bums out.
    </SOAPBOX>

The curator of the MNA most likely did NOT write the story which follows.
Authors, when known, are acknowledged in the body of the file.  Assemble the
various parts of related messages, removing everything outside the [BEGIN]
[END] markers and you'll have the "complete" story.  See the MNA Index posted
to alt.sex.stories.d for chapter counts and synopses.  Note that the MNA
posting counts and authors' chapter counts are completely unrelated.

If you have similar materials, please repost them, too.

Comments, encouragement, and additional material for the archive gratefully
received; flames, repost requests, and e-mail requests rapidly dispatched to
the void.  There is no public archive of these stories that I know of; see
SOAPBOX above.  I will no longer acknowledge messages asking for one.

If you're an author in the MNA and you do not want your story reposted:
Contact me at ladd@cs.unc.edu and I will remove your story from the
reposting list.  If you're an author of an Unknown story and you want to
take credit for it, contact me as well, please.

[BEGIN]
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.

                        _Out of Print_

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

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

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

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

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

Then quiet settled over the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

====

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

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

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

The man's ears were both visible.

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

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

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

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

====

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

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

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

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

Bob didn't turn as he spoke.

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

"Who are you?"

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

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

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

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

"What did he look like?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

"This Cabal, or whatever."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can imagine..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I hope so," said Bob

"Just the way I feel."

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

"Can I see your watch?" 

"Huh? What for?"

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

"You see the symbols?!"

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

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

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

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

"An unusual keepsake. Are there more?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

====

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

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

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

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

====

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

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

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

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

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

"I tell you we can still do it!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

====

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

====

His traveling harem had gone shopping.

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

Manhattan is huge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

====

Courtney was walking alone through the Gem exhibit. 

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

Today she'd escaped. The tiger's eye was her favorite gemstone. There 
were a bunch of them here in the Museum of Natural History. The more 
popular stones attracted the tourists, but the tiger's eye were the 
loveliest stones here. She also liked the opals, but she knew the