[ from Kristen's collection ] __________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age (Under 18 years old) PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW! __________________________________________ Scroll down to view Story Archive-name: Book16.txt Archive-author: Blackie Archive-title: "By the Book" Part 16 of 20 --------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright (c) 1993, Oogle Bird Enterprises. All rights reserved, permission granted for a single printed copy for personal use only. Transmission of this story in electronic form is permitted provided no alterations are made to text, and this message is included in its entirety. --------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 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. 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, thedings 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,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 yowo 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 Lawrenc 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. contiuned in part 17