Chapter 13: Booked to the Rafters
Posted: May 29, 2003 - 12:00:00 am

Jorge was sitting alone, watching departure times for the trains.

A man wearing a mind shield had led him here from the Sears Tower. For some reason, instead of getting a plane to Denver, the man was taking a berth on Amtrak.

Jorge finally went to the phone to try reaching Charles again. He found it impossible to reach the Cabal's enforcer for two days now. When the secretary at the New York office once again told him Charles wasn't there, he had to consider other options.

After some thought he dialed another New York number.

"Hello?," the voice was a woman's whiskey tenor, husky and delicious.

"I'd like to speak with Bob."

"He went uptown on business," she replied. "Can I help you, or take a message?"

"This Bambi?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"It's Jorge. Tell him I'm on my way to Denver. I should be there by tonight. It's the Institute" He paused wondering if he should have said that, too late now. "I think he should come too."

"I'll tell him. He'll come. Where will you be staying?"

"There's an office in Boulder he can contact. He should be able to get the number from our New York people."

"Very well. Anything else?"

"No. Good-bye."

"Later then"

The clatter of the telephone was distant as she hung up. Jorge decided to go to the airport and fly after all. He walked past a couple in romantic embrace, and headed for the street.

Almost predictably there were no cabs around.

Jorge didn't have time to wait. He borrowed a passing car and driver. O'Hare was always such a mess to get to anyway, why wait?

Walking this street made Bob uncomfortable.

It wasn't the street so much as the people here. He was far more out of place here than he expected. Fear rose inside, coming from the place where he drew himself to when he was not in control.

Even the Voice didn't make Bob feel as distant from the rest of the world as this, the sensation of being the only white face in a large herd of people. There was a surging current of animosity as well. And that was just what he could see in the faces, the minds were sometimes worse.

The fear he hadn't felt when being shot at in Brooklyn swiftly gripped his chest here.

He had diverted three gangs so far, seeing him as easy prey. Nothing would save him from a sniper he didn't spot in time though. He saw no police either, rather he had seen four officers. They gathered together as though in numbers their own risk was mitigated by the other targets.

The police would only get in his way, attracting even more unwanted attention.

He walked up from the edge of Central Park. It was a nice day, until he noticed his tension growing. He wondered if a black in a crowd of white's felt a similar undercurrent of hatred. He never noticed, but hadn't looked for it before.

The poverty he saw didn't escape him. Many of these people had nothing to lose, consequently his sense of personal danger rose further. He was too well dressed to be here, not to mention he already looked like an easy mark.

He drew in on himself, vowing never to come back after this exercise.

With some small relief, he found the church he sought and climbed the steps. It was nestled between a pair of brownstones, it's windows either broken or shuttered over with plywood. The grafitti leapt out, belying the purpose of the structure. A small, hand painted sign read "Church of Jesus Christ Lord".

He tried to smile, but knew somehow it had come out as a fractured caricature of a grin. The foreboding from the surroundings kept his reactions subdued.

The doors opened to his touch, a quiet stillness within.

He found himself entering a small entry hall in far better condition than the exterior of the building. A small locked donation box sat chained to a table beside the entrance to a chapel.

An eerie sense climbed his spine, the chapel hall was empty. Some candles were lit on a table to the right of the pews. An intense sweet odor overrode a dusty, moist aroma of infrequent cleaning.

He examined some of the literature, finding explanations of the rigors of baptism and other related theology, a 'retreat' boot camp for Christians, and other assorted brotherhood forms of worship. He smiled, these were familiar, even if the location had him on edge.

Spotting a sign labeled "office", he followed the arrow through a door. A set of stairs led down to a long hallway, the office clearly labeled halfway down the hall. Stepping up to the opaque glass door, he entered without hesitation.

In the dark room, on the floor, amid piles of scribbled on paper, sat the man he knew he was looking for. A paunchy fellow dressed in black with a cleric's collar, sat clasping a pen in his fist, trying to draw a picture on the back of a letter he'd found.

"Ahwannaplaysomebodynow," burbled the grown man. He rolled to the side. It became apparent from the stench and large wet spot on the floor he had messed himself.

Bob shook his head. He was too late.

Looking about he saw two walls were covered with theological works. One wall without books had a number of framed certificates, degrees from seminaries, and a Masters in Social Sciences from the University of Michigan. Photos, also on the wall, showed an affluent family in a reasonably suburban neighborhood. Relatives probably.

Bob reflected, the man poured his life into helping the local needy, only to be injured in this hideous manner by Bob's new enemy. He walked over to the desk. Finding a phone, he dialed the police. At least they could find someone to take over for the poor man.

Bob tried to probe the black minister, only to find nothing left but childhood. The institute may have come up with a way to do this, but he doubted it. Either the guy went around the bend real suddenly, or someone with Voice erased this man's mind.

Charles would have to listen now. This could attract exactly the wrong kind of attention, if it happened often enough.

Bob couldn't understand is why the guy wasn't just dead. There was no indication his mysterious enemy had any compunction against murder so far.

Bob turned to leave. He took a few steps towards the door.

"Nastyladylefttoo." It was a child's tones in a man's voice.

The chill returned to Bob's spine as he heard this. He turned back. The no longer adult eyes were intent on Bob, a fear of being left alone shone there. Instinctively, Bob shuddered.

"Tell me about the lady, little boy." Bob tried to force his voice into a friendly tone.

"Lady gone." Bob probed the memory rising with the statement. There was a woman, in a dark black dress, wearing a veil. How very apropos for this cloak and dagger stuff. The oddly twisted man on the floor could remember her perfume, an intense sweet smell. She had shoulder length black hair in a 50's style perm, and wore low black work heels.

This victim remembered her laughing in a deep, almost masculine tone as she left him on the floor, putting a large pistol into her purse. Bob thought of the sweet smell as he came into the Church. He must have just missed her.

Bob shuddered. Why would a woman from Cabal want him dead?

He waited for the police. A child shouldn't be left alone.

The sunlight streamed in from the apartment's western windows.

House plants had turned their leaves into the warm beams, silent in photosynthesis. The number of planters caused the potted soil smell to prevail over other musty odors.

Outside, it was a warm day. The trees on the hillside were moving in the Colorado breezes rolling down from the mountains, but the warmth would penetrate Diane if she wandered out.

She wasn't going to wander out though. Heather wanted her nearby, and Diane desperately wanted to be with Heather. Her soul longed to frolic in the clean country air, to look over the beautiful vista below and soak up sunshine.

Heather reached out and stroked her hair. Diane shuddered with excitement at the attention. Her back tingled with the hope her mistress would command her services. She dared not ask, Heather would simply grin, then go do something else.

"Hello my pretty."

"Hello my love," she replied.

"I think I want you to eat me, my pretty," the red head almost moaned, "Would you like that?"

"Oh my love, I would like anything you enjoy."

"Well, you aren't going to eat me now, my pretty."

Diane's heart fell. Heather enjoyed teasing her like this. On occasion she made Diane wait hours, teasing her with those long auburn locks, the smooth curves of her body, and an occasional hint of a kiss.

Heather seemed to get great pleasure in using her as a foil for her desire. She sat still, awaiting Heather's pleasure. The telepath's fingers slid down Diane's shoulders, lingering at the raised line of her bra. A pout crossed the freckled face Diane lusted after.

"You shouldn't be wearing this today."

Diane quickly pulled her t-shirt over her head. A suggestion from Heather was a command to her. In moments she had the bra clasp open, drawing the bra off too. Her full breasts fell free, swaying a little as she moved.

As she reached for the t-shirt to put it back on, Heather grabbed her by the wrist. The soft, yet strong grip made Diane freeze, waiting the woman's pleasure.

Heather held her pinned by the wrist, with her other hand she traced little circles around the exposed nipples. Diane drew in a gasp as each nipple sharply rose to attention. Her shoulders instinctively pulled back, pressing her ample bosom forward towards the exploring fingers.

"Desperate little pretty, you want to be my toy, don't you?"

Diane looked into her lover's eyes.

"I long for your every touch."

Heather smiled as she stroked the nipples of Diane's luscious breasts. Diane wavered a bit, her eyes fluttered as the pleasurable sensations grew outward from the molesting fingers.

She moaned, almost imperceptively. Heather grinned at the helpless response. The fingers played across the pale round skin of the ex-reporter's mounds. Sensations drew her into the hazy joy of arousal. Her body swayed in almost involuntary ecstasy.

As quickly as it began, it stopped. Only the fingers around her arm remained. Diane whimpered, frustrated by the teasing touches she received.

Heather pulled her over to the porch doors, making her face outward. The courtyard below was empty, but Diane knew it didn't matter. Heather opened the french style doors one handed, forcing Diane through with the other hand.

Diane remained aroused, excited by any contact with Heather. The redhead's attention was everything to her right now, the rest of the world didn't even exist.

"Hold the rail," Heather commanded.

Diane leaned forward, taking hold of the stone railing before her. Her breasts swung slightly in the open air, but only Heather was there to see.

Heather reached about to the snaps on Diane's jeans. Undoing them, she then yanked the faded blue cloth over Diane's waist and down to her knees. Diane shuddered in excited anticipation.

"Oh my pretty, you left your panties off for me," Heather sounded pleased.

"Yes my love."

Heather rubbed her own crotch against Diane's naked bottom. The roughness of the clothe sharply accented the sensation. Diane moaned with need.

"Wait here pretty."

Diane could feel Heather leave her. But she held the rail, just as directed. She would not disobey her lover. A few moments later she could feel, or rather sense a presence behind her again.

"Stand still, my pretty, but part your legs for me."

Diane sighed, and moved to obey. She was more than happy to have Heather use her, but when Heather left it sometimes meant she was to satisfy someone else. She'd begun to dread servicing the needs of the Jones man.

While she was standing exposed for Heather's leisure entertainment, a large black car pulled up in the courtyard. The driver rushed out to open the door for someone.

Heather started to rub something against Diane's outer lips. Then it was thrust inside. A thick and long object had been inserted into her moist vagina and behind it, Heather's waist slapped against her ass.

"OOOOH!" Diane was quite startled. She gasped out another surprised syllable as Heather started the motions of fucking her with the toy penis.

Below the driver helped someone in a black dress and a veiled hat step out of the car. The woman's dark hair ended at her shoulders. She looked up at the naked women on the balcony.

"Unng!" Diane was beyond her own control. She held the rail tightly, her knuckles whitening as she bore down.

"Oh yes, pretty will come for me, won't you pretty?"

Diane knew she was expected to talk to Heather throughout her orgasm. If she failed to do so, Heather might not touch her for a long time.

"God yes, oooh, lover take me, please, unnng! Please let me come for you, let me give you my, oooooh!"

Diane could scarcely keep her eyes open. Her body rocked against the phallus substitute. Head down, hair rolling before her eyes, Diane ground herself back as Heather pumped forward.

"Oh, fuck me, please. Unnng! Please!"

Heather reached around and touched Diane. Diane felt the finger hit the tender flesh at the top of her pussy. Sensations of flaming lust rocked her, a jolt of energy pressing her into orgasmic spasms.

"YESSS, MAKE ME AAAAGGGHHH!" Her convulsions rocked through her again and again. Her breasts swung wildly, the sensational feeling simply lifting her to her tip toes. Heather was moaning herself.

Below the woman looking up simply shook her head and entered the building.

Warmth poured down from the sun, seeping into the pores of Jorge's skin.

Jorge was by the pool side. He had caught up with the Institute man at the train station. The man came to this hotel and settled in. So Jorge was staying here too.

This hotel was something of a resort. The tennis courts and golf course were substantial. The pro shops advertised lessons on signs in the lobby. There were three restaurants and a nightclub. Jorge noted the number of attractive young women wandering around, most of them seemed unattached.

Jorge had kept an eye on the man with the mind shield. He was discovering for himself the worst part of following someone. Never before had he been forced to wait on someone he already located. He was bored waiting for his subject to actually move on. So he enlisted a little help.

The hotel staff was soon set up to let him know if the man did anything. Jorge would be able to relax and to enjoy the hotel services. The services he ignored so far were those of the lovely bikini clad college students staying poolside. This was something he could correct.

Jorge smiled to himself. All these goodies, and time to play too.

A very attractive brunette was practicing her dives from the high board. He'd been watching her for a little while. Her athletic body was muscular, her tan simply spectacular. Jorge enjoyed the midair spins, flips, and summersaults she executed.

He watched as she brushed aside two young men, separately. They couldn't draw her attention away from diving. She seemed to be mostly interested in getting a two and a half flip perfected. The young men seemed rather upset before moving on to other potential love interests.

Jorge gathered his towel and walked over to the lithe athlete.

"Hello, my name is Jorge."

"Good for you, Jorge. I'm busy. Beat it." Her breasts weren't quite as small as they looked from a distance. He looked at her puppy brown eyes, the flush of exertion had made her cheeks a little red. It couldn't be the sun.

"Come to the bar in five minutes. Look for me there."

"What? uh, oh." Jorge saw his controls sink in. She started for her towel. It would take more than five minutes for her to change. But he didn't mind. He went off to his room for clothing.

Bob dropped his garment bag on the bed. The flight was reasonably quick, he'd bumped some first class passenger for the trip. He had decided he needed the comfort this time.

The hotel he'd found was adequate for his purposes. The room contained a king size bed, the rooms to either side empty. They would stay empty too, the manager took care to ensure Bob's privacy for him.

He was a little displeased with the arrangements. Bambi had done the best she could, but he couldn't reach Charles. Mostly he was unhappy he was the only one who knew about the tragic turn of events in Harlem.

Charles should know about the damaged minister he found. The police would never find anyone responsible. To them it looked like another man gone insane in an insane place. Only Bob and the mysterious female visitor knew different.

Now, outside of Denver, all Bob could do was worry about what Jorge had found. The mountains loomed in the distance. His hotel was supposed to be near the Cabal site Jorge indicated. Bob didn't know, really didn't care.

A short drive, a long drive, they were the same. Some poor sot would lose part of his day driving Bob where he needed to go.

Jorge chose a table near the door.

He checked his watch. It was about 10 minutes before the diver, whose name he hadn't gotten, wandered in the bar. She spotted him immediately and joined him.

Her hair was still wet, but had been combed out down her back to the sturdy looking shoulder blades. She had full red lips and a stern gaze over her thin chiseled nose. Her muscular shoulders, doubtlessly developed from swimming, were now covered by a simple t-shirt. Her jeans concealed the lovely legs Jorge had admired from the pool side.

"Hello," he said.

"What do you want," she snapped. But she sat down with him anyway.

Jorge smiled. Then he waved to the waitress, a pert woman in her late thirties. The waitress came quickly to the table.

"Bring my friend here," he scanned quickly through her drinking tastes, "a Banana Daquiri?"

Stunned at his apparent knowledge of her drinking habits, she simply nodded.

"And I'll have a White Russian." The waitress rushed away as quickly as she'd arrived.

"How did you know?" asked the swimmer.

"Does it matter?"

"Damn right it does."

"No, I don't think so," he smiled.

"I'm leaving," she tried to rise. Jorge wasn't going to let her though. She made the slightest turn to leave but settled right back into her seat.

Jorge smiled.

As the young woman looked frantically about, the waitress came with their drinks. She smiled down on the two of them as she deposited the glasses neatly on cardboard coasters, then turned to leave.

"Wait!" The swimmer seemed frantic, "he's forcing me to stay, and I want to go."

The waitress turned and looked at Jorge.

"That true, sir?"

"Yes, it is. Now run along and take care of your other customers."

"Yes, sir. Sorry dearie, he is in charge here."

Jorge finished adjusting the waitress as she wandered into the kitchen. His new friend was stunned.

"What's your name," he finally asked the stunned brunette.

"Jessica." She tried to remain silent, but the name came out anyway. "Jessica Bays."

"Come Jessica." He took a sip of his drink, then pushed it aside.

Standing he took her by the hand, leading her out to the lobby. They walked past several other people, couples arm in arm, a few luggage burdened fellows, and into the elevator. When the doors closed they were alone.

"I've been trying to do this differently."

She had no idea what he meant. There was no understanding what had happened to her. She wanted nothing to do with this man, but found herself going and doing as he directed. It was incomprehensible.

They got off the elevator and walked through the hall to his room. The electronic key opened the lock, and he pulled her in behind him.

"Open the curtains Jessica."

She walked to the windows and pulled at the chain, drawing back thick drapes. Sunlight spilled through the room, a large suite. They were in an entertainment room, TV and couch set up for guests.

"What now? When will you let me go?" She was astounded her voice would still allow her to verbalize her inner desires.

Jorge took Jessica by the hand and pulled her to him. He lifted her chin in one hand and kissed her. She found herself kissing him back, not what she wanted to do. She could only watch herself acting without any resistance.

She shivered as he lifted the t-shirt over her head. Her breasts rose in a more shapely manner with the breath she drew sharply in. The nipples popped erect, showing their round shapes.

Her hands moved aside for him as he reached for her Jean's snaps. The zipper came undone with a loud rip sound. She could feel moistness in her groin, and the skin tighten under her bra. She was very aroused now, but could not understand any reason for it.

Jorge pushed the jeans down to Jessica's ankles. Without knowing why, pushed her sneaks off and stepped out of the legs of her pants. His hands worked the eyelets of her bra and soon that was aside too.

"Yes, yes. You should do quite nicely. Turn around for me."

With her panties still on, she raised her hands to behind her neck, thrust her chest out and slowly turned in place. She simply kept turning, his fingers reached out to touch from time to time, but he didn't stop her.

"Good," he smiled. "Very good. Sit down a minute."

She sat on the couch, crossing her legs, but not folding her arms across her chest as she would have liked.

Jorge was not thrilled with this, he walked over and pulled her legs apart. She sat now, her panties still on, but with her sex exposed as he wished.

"I have to make a call. Then we'll play."

He picked up the phone.

A small private mansion, stocked to the hilt with mind slaves, proved to be the local Cabal office.

Bob shook his head as he walked through to the offices. The female staff was entirely dressed in revealing little outfits leaving nothing to the imagination, their nipples and crotch fur on display for everyone. The male staff were outfitted in paramilitary gray uniforms, carrying weapons.

It was obvious what the priorities were of the local Cabal people. Somehow he doubted there were any female Cabal members locally.

When he found no messages from Jorge, he settled into the library to read while he waited. On occasion he had to fend off women programmed to go into sexual frenzy for any man who wasn't one of the guards. He was disturbed by the lack of subtlety, but unhappy taking anyone he hadn't specifically seized for himself.

After a while, the call came. A blonde in a skimpy leather bodice came to him with a cordless phone. She stood along side him as he spoke. It was apparent she strongly aroused by her proximity to him.

"Hello?"

"Bob? This is Jorge."

"Where the hell are you? I've been waiting for at least two or three hours here"

"The Sanibad Resort. It's fairly close by where you are now."

"Okay, I'll come right over."

"Listen, I followed a man with a shield to this place and I'm watching for him to leave. He hasn't done anything here."

"So, if you follow him out, leave a note at the desk."

"Yeah, all right. I'm not used to coordinating with anyone, so if we screw up how do I reach you?"

"Either here or the Brentwood Hotel."

"Right. Um, I haven't been able to reach Charles, how about you?"

"Me either. I'm a little worried. A bunch of people have been trying to kill me and I think there's a Cabal member behind it."

"Why is that?"

"One of my leads had his mind erased. I'm pretty sure only a Cabal member could manage it. The Institute people aren't so subtle."

"Maybe, but I thought you said Bambi had been programmed pretty slick by the Institute?"

"I'm beginning to think the Cabal connection may be behind the Institute as well."

Silence came from the hand held phone. Jorge was thinking it over. When he finally spoke again it was much softer.

"Tell me you don't mean that."

"Huh? Oh, I mean it. Jorge, the people at the Institute used brainwashed Voices or as they called us, Sparks to adjust people. They had a big brute of a control machine to do it to sparks. I've since noticed most of the adjustments by even mildly talented Cabal members are blunt and unbelievably blatant. Only the better quality ones are subtle enough to leave controls such as I found in Bambi. I don't see how it could be any but a handful of Cabal members. I doubt the Institute has captured anyone so skillful."

The silence came again. In the background, Bob could hear sounds such as might be another person moving about in the room with Jorge.

"Oh, shit. I hope you're wrong. I dearly hope you are wrong."

"Oh, shit is right. I'm not making a mistake, Jorge. We need Charles to help us find this creep, and the sooner the better."

"Yeah, I'll try a few more numbers before I to back out. I'd intended to have some more fun," a flesh meeting flesh slap was audible through the earpiece, "but it can wait."

"Good, I'll be there as soon as I can. Bye."

"So long."

Bob pressed the off button and looked up at the waiting woman. She was panting above him, her hips moving in squeezing motions. The visible nipples were stiff, her displayed groin seemed visibly wet.

He shook his head and made an adjustment to her immediately. Now, unless someone else had overheard, only he and Jorge knew what he suspected.

"Thank you, return the phone."

She walked away. He winced at the crude controls laid over her mind, but left them as they were. She still panted as she left.

A car. He'd need another car. This time he would drive himself.

Jorge spent a while longer on the phone, but couldn't locate Charles.

To hell with Charles, he thought, and started to play with the nipples of his new toy, Jessica.

She gasped, a surge of desire spreading outwards from Jorge's touch.

"Get those stupid panties off." Jorge pulled his own clothing off as she promptly removed the only remaining article she wore.

Jorge walked around behind her as she stood waiting. The naked woman was lovely, her shoulders firm and strong, the long dark hair still wet down her bare back.

He touched her shoulder gently, raising goose bumps along the curves there. He pulled back again and touched her elbow. She shuddered, an excitement he had triggered but not programmed. She ducked her chin down towards her chest.

"You like being touched by men, don't you?"

"No. You seem to excite me, but usually I don't like anyone touching me."

He stroked a fingertip along her hips. The way she swayed in response showed an interest in his contact. She'd become far more aroused than he had adjusted her to be.

His finger reached out for her nose. She tried to lick at it, as though it was candy held just beyond her reach. He tried to fathom the change in her. All he could see was building excitement. A thrill of being possessed against her will.

"Ahhh. You want to be forced." Realization came up within him, she had a deeper desire than he'd explored. Since she realized she was permitted no choices, the desire had triggered within her to serve. An interesting submissive response, only unusual in her resistance up until now.

"No. I," she gulped. She knew it was true. Her control was relinquished completely, he might not have to do anything more to her mind. "I suppose so."

He touched the tip of her right nipple. She tried to lean into him, letting out a light moan. Her eyes limply closed, mouth open a fraction, the pink of her tongue rested against the tips of her teeth.

As he glided his finger down the length of her rib cage to her tummy, she swayed against the light pressure he had exerted. She swallowed, and took in a deep breath as he brushed the damp pubic hairs.

She panted for a moment as he drew away, her eyes closed and her chin jutting forward seeking further contact. He reached up and brushed across her brow with two fingers this time. She simply waved her head after his touch as though trying to shake off a chill.

He put his forefinger to her lips. She kissed it, and he pushed past the soft red flesh to feel the tongue beyond. The tongue played along the length of his finger with a desire bent to arouse him as well.

Jorge took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. He sat at the edge and bent her down to his penis. She quickly understood what he wanted. Yet she waited, looking up at his eyes.

"Lick it, suck me off," he spoke with command in his voice.

Her tongue became the central attraction to him as she wrapped it about his prick as best she could. Her red lips began to roll back and forth as she worked him into her mouth. He could feel the dextrous tongue trying to circle the tip of his prick. Her eyes locked onto what she was doing. Her strong hands started to massage the trunk of his cock where she hadn't gotten him into her mouth.

He watched as she began to bob her face in and out of his crotch, slipping farther and farther over his manhood with each plunge. He swallowed as the heat rose in his scrotum. He grabbed her head and pulled her into him, trying to force his way deeper, she struggled to help him without choking. Soon he grunted as the semen erupted from his prick and into her throat.

She gulped, a dribble of the fluids escaping the edge of her mouth.

"Get on the bed." He watched her scramble up to lie on her back. She was very willing to move as he directed now. Manipulating her could be done, but she knew refusal would only result in her body performing as commanded.

Jorge touched her curly hairs, feeling the moisture building there. She tried to squeeze her groin open and shut when he stopped touching her. He smiled at her apparent desire.

"You want something from me, hmm little swimmer?"

"God yes. I don't believe it, but I want you to make love to me."

"I'm already making love to you." He drew his fingers along her legs. "What more do you want?"

"I want you to," she hesitated. Her face turned pink and she looked to the side. "I want you to enter me."

"Enter you?" He placed his fingers on the tender flesh of her vaginal lips. She almost jumped, gasping and heaving. "Why should I enter you?"

"I really need you to, please come inside me." Her voice was pleading, no longer fearful of what he'd done to control her actions.

"I already came inside you." He grinned, and manipulated the small lump of flesh at the top of her groin. She writhed, swinging her head about on the bed.

"nooo, I want you," she muttered between the deep groaning sounds Her waist was rolling in smooth motions, a rhythm of lust and deep arousal.

"Okay." He knelt between her legs. She lifted the curved calves of her legs up, bending her knees and pulling them up towards her chest. She bent her head forward to watch him. Her jaw was open slightly from the excitement, but her eyes showed genuine desire, a need to feel the penetration, to plunge into her sexual pleasure.

Jorge steered himself into her, edging the cock head slowly between the lips of her pussy. Once he could feel the grip of surrounding tissue, Jorge shoved his prick all the way in.

Jessica gasped, flinging her head back and releasing her legs to wrap around Jorge. Jorge held still, embedded deeply within the confines of the woman's sex. She was still rolling her head about madly. Her hair would have swirled all about if it wasn't wet. Jorge could see her teeth were tightly clenched although her lips were parted wide, almost as if she was squelching a painful scream. Her eyes were wide open, face tightly clenched as well. The flood of sensations seemed to be driving her to an unusual intensity.

Jorge began pumping into her. He matched the rhythmic motion her hips were making. She grunted and moaned each sound bringing out another level of urgency. Her desire was driving her on, he could feel the heat of passion emanating from her as she began to pull and rub her own breasts.

"AIEEEEEE!" Her scream was loud and long. Then she stopped and pumped madly against him, grinding her crotch against him from time to time, again reaching for a subsequent release. Jorge could feel tightening in his groin, a beginning for a release of his own.

"Unnnnngh," a low grunt from Jorge signaled his second orgasm. He could feel the sweat dripping from his brow. Jessica was becoming frantic as she felt him slow down.

Jorge reached out with the talent, pulling the nerve endings to force her orgasm to hit.

Jessica screamed. The spasms of sudden pleasure hit her with a solid wall. The roiling flesh under Jorge rocked back and forth trying to further enhance the sudden burst she'd received.

Then she collapsed, a bundle of limp woman. Wrung out by her sexual release, too tired to complete a smile. As she lay there, Jorge pulled out and stepped to the side of the bed. Her legs reflexively pulled closed as she rolled to her side.

"What did you do to me?," she asked when she could work it in between panting breaths.

"I had sex with you. You seemed to have enjoyed yourself."

"I've never had sex like that before, and I didn't come up here on voluntarily. Oh sure, I really enjoyed it." She paused, taking in a deep breath. "But you forced me up here."

"Now how could I possibly force you?" He grinned. "You wanted me to bring you here."

"No, I," she looked unsure. "I must have, but I don't think I did."

"Too bad. Now, I have some work to do, my friend should be here soon." He stood, and started to pull his clothing together.

"Will you," she started. She looked very sleepy. "That is"

"Come by this evening," he responded. He felt very drowsy, but pulled his pants on without too much trouble.

He noticed she had dropped off into a sound sleep. He smiled and got the shirt on too.

As he finished moving the covers over her, he considered going down to the lobby to wait for Bob. He decided against it. If Bob wanted, he could use the girl too while they waited for something to break.

He sat on the couch and relaxed.

The grounds were meticulously kept.

Bob never spent any time at resorts like this. He walked into the lobby after permitting the valet to take his keys. The small wooden disk which would permit him to reclaim his wheels was easily slipped into his pocket.

There was a strange sense to the place. So before he called Jorge, he sat at the coffee shop in the lobby. Soon, with a cup of coffee, he sat back to puzzle out what bothered him.

There were an awful lot of young women, some couples. Bob also saw a fair number of what Betty use to call 'pretty boys'. There didn't seem to be any number of other kinds of customers. He started looking for retirees, or vacationing families.

Not spotting any, he reached out to the staff at the registration desk and scanned them. All of them had come on duty since he'd spoken with Jorge. It didn't seem right, but perhaps the change of duty was normal at around three o'clock here. No, these people were called in. They all received urgent calls to take over for ill staff members.

Bob paid his tab and walked about. He just couldn't believe this was natural demographics for a resort like this. He started to consider the idea this was another Institute.

Yet there was no signs of anyone in a mind shield. Everyone he found could be scanned quickly, and seemed to be on vacation. The crude controls weren't there either. Yet something was wrong.

Bob felt the twinge of fear he had in Harlem creep up on him again.

Betty stepped into the airport.

After her, Bambi got off the plane, smiling at the young college boys that waved to her. She knew they were certain she had just fucked each of them.

Only she knew the memories were planted by her. She had found the only good sex she had now was when Bob took control of her. She knew he'd let her wander free, but inside she knew. She was decidedly his. Only the other women in his harem could substitute, and then only when he wasn't around.

Betty waited for her to catch up. At the luggage, a red cap picked up their things and led them to a waiting taxi. The incident with the young men had aroused Bambi, so she fingered Betty the whole way to the hotel. The Taxi driver didn't see anything.

The rooms adjoining Bob's were reserved for them. The luggage put aside, Bambi slipped out into the evening air. She had one more job to perform before she let herself sleep tonight.

Tomorrow, Randi should arrive too. With their contingent of rather unique employees.

"You are Jones?" The pale faced woman in black snapped the question at him like a whip. Her voice was deeper than he expected and strongly commanding.

Jones had never seen her before, but he knew exactly who she was. He wasn't going to do anything to offend her if he could avoid it. She looked odd, a harsh face with too much makeup. Her hands were hidden beneath a pair of elbow length gloves, the stockings she wore were loose and ill fitting. The dark hair made her sinister as well, almost witch like in appearance.

"Yes," he struggled to maintain his calm. "I am Jones. And you are?"

"Jezabel. You know that. Where is Thadeous? He is supposed to meet with me."

"I," Jones paused gulping. Thadeous was visiting a new facility. He'd be back soon, but if he knew Jezabel was coming he would have stayed. "I don't know why he isn't here if, as you say, he knew you were coming. Can I get you anything while you wait? He shouldn't be long."

"Fine. You can tell me what our status is while I wait. Have someone bring some coffee."

Jones rushed to the door. He called one of the new guards in. Explaining he didn't want any interruptions and Thadeous was to be brought directly when he arrived, he also directed someone was to bring coffee and some sandwiches.

He turned to speak with his visitor. She had taken the most prominent seat in the room, pulling her stockings into place and smoothing the black dress across her lap. She folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on Jones.

"Let's start with what you know about what happened at the Rehabilitation Clinic, shall we?"

Jones swallowed. He sat down in the chair before her.

"As you wish" He began to speak, trying to ignore the horrible sweet smell of her perfume.
The story stops here
Author's Follow Up
Blackie