Chapter 11
The House Always Wins

Quiet time.  

Alan was lying on his in a hammock reading a novel, "Aura" by Carlos Fuentes.  Pauline 
was dozing next to him, on her side and half curled up into a ball, her back pressed into 
the side of his body.  It was the first really warm day of spring and they were taking 
advantage of it, trying to spend as much time outside as they could get.  A half hour ago 
they finished lunch on the deck, and Pauline's parents had returned inside the house.  
Pauline had suggested the hammock, and they had both taken books; however the big 
lunch had taken its toll on her, causing her to nod off almost immediately.

By the time Alan finished reading the book, a novella really, not long enough to be a 
novel, he too dozed off.

The afternoon turned overcast and chilled; Alan was awakened by Pauline shivering 
through her sleep beside him on the hammock.  Her long brown hair was on him because 
in their slumber she had nuzzled her head in his armpit, and he was amused by it, 
absorbed by its sheer volume; it smelled of chamomile.  It completely obscured his 
shoulder, and stray bits of it had worked their way up under his neck, tickling him 
pleasantly  He lifted his arms above his head, stretching out, and let out a hearty yawn.  
Mr. Van Devanter, who was about fifteen yards away and watering his vegetable patch 
turned and waved.  Alan hoisted himself out of the hammock, casing her to stir.

"When did it get so cold?" she asked him sleepily.

"Not sure.  We both drifted off into dreamland." She sighed contentedly.

"Umm," she purred, stretching out on the now roomier hammock, "I'm far too wiped out 
to move, but much to cold to stay out here."  She stretched again.  "Help me up?"

He pulled her up and out of the hammock and gave her a little kiss on the lips, and was 
about to follow her back into her house, but her dad called him over.

They chatted for a little while, mostly about growing vegetables, a topic which interested 
Alan not at all.

"Come inside with me, we should talk," he said to Alan, a wicker basket of radishes 
under his arm.

"Uh oh, this doesn't sound good," he chuckled, and Mr. Van Devanter assured him there 
was nothing to fear.

They went into the kitchen, finding Pauline's mom at the sink filling just-washed clay 
flower pots from a huge bag of store-bought soil.  She smiled at him as they came in.

"First off, who told you you could sleep with my baby?" Mr. Van Devanter asked.  It was 
such a shocking opening, and not only to Alan.  Pauline's mom dropped a flower pot into 
the sink, smashing it.

"What?" she screeched.

"Relax. Relax.  I was just kidding, Helen.  The two of them were out back in the 
hammock reading, and they both nodded off.  Jesus, can't anyone here take a joke?"

"Oh," her mom said clutching her heart, her tone of voice suggesting that the weight of 
the world had just been lifted off her chest.  Mr. Van Devanter gave her a meaningful 
look, and soon she left them alone in the kitchen.

"You know of course that we--Pauline's mom and I--think you're a great guy.  We 
couldn't be more happy with this situation, with you an our baby girl dating."

"Thanks."

"Oy, I've been dreading this day for years."

"I don't follow," Alan replied.

"You'll understand when you have a daughter."

"Oh," Alan said, grinning at Mr. Van Devanter, "That."

"I not just because she's my daughter.  She's my baby, you understand.  When she's forty 
she'll still be my baby.  It's just hard, though you being the person I'm having this 
conversation makes it all the more easy."

"I think I know what you're trying to say."

"Good, then I'll be brief: Don't hurt her.  Got it?"

"You bet."

"Whew," Mr. Van Devanter exhaled, "That was easier than I thought it would be."

* * *

Alan hung around the house a while longer.  Pauline was up in her room having a nap, 
and he and her dad watched some early season baseball in the den.  Mr. Van Devanter 
had invited him into the den and cracked 
open two beers, a surprise.

"I am sure you've had this before, eh."

"Yeah.  My dad and I sometimes have a beer together."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not leading you down the path to perdition."

After a few innings Kate came home; she had been out with friends and was surprised at 
seeing Alan still at her house.  Alan and her dad greeted her, and her heart started racing 
when she saw Alan rise and follow her up the stairs to her bedroom.  She could feel his 
presence behind as she walked across the upstairs hall, and she realized with a start that 
her pussy was dripping.

"My parents are downstairs," she whispered as he closed her bedroom door behind them.  
"Pauline is home."

"Get undressed," he ordered.  She did while looking at him with look that mixed her 
belief that this was ill advised with one of high lust.

He approached her as she was finishing and gave her a gentle push onto the bed. "I 
thought you understood, slut.  You are mine.  Property." She began to nod in agreement.  
"I use you when I want, where I want."

"Please," she half-squeaked, half-whispered, "Master, please.  Use your slut.  I will never 
for a moment doubt you again.  I will never for a moment even hesitate when you 
command me."  Alan was slowly running is fingers up and down her bare slit, and Kate 
could no longer continue her begging, consumed as she was by the feelings he was 
drawing out of her body.

"Hmm, your pussy is very wet, my slut."

Through her gasps she answered him, "No, Master, ahhhhh, it's your pussy."  Their eyes 
met and she smiled at him.

"Nice answer."  He put his mouth against her labia and snaked his tongue into her moist 
depths.

"Oh my god!" she squealed. "Yessssssssss!"  Alan licked her pussy vigorously, his right 
hand twisting and tugging at her butt plug, his left pulling at her nipple rings causing her 
breasts to stretch away from her body.  Kate came explosively at this treatment, her body 
shaking and twitching, her hips bucking at his face.  He moved up, pressing his body on 
top of hers so that they were face to face.  Kate licked her own juices off his face, gasping 
and moaning with the after effects of her prodigious orgasm.  "Please fuck me," she 
panted. "Please, put you dick in my--I mean, your--cunt.  It's soooooo wet.  Wet for 
Master's cock, my Master's big cock.  Please?"

Alan slowly entered her, and the sensation, the feeling of being used by him, took her 
breath away.  "You like that, slut?" She moaned contentedly as he slowly pumped in an 
out of her.  The plug in her ass came alive, vibrating inside of her.  She was incoherent 
with lust, and just as she had bucked her pussy into his face, she was now thrusting her 
hips up at him, desirous of more of his cock in her.  She looked down at their joining and 
saw he was burying himself in her to the full, but she wanted more.  She wanted a harder 
fucking, wanted to feel him piston in and out of her so that their bodies came together 
with slapping force.  Alan increased his pace.  "More," she moaned.  "Harder, yes, faster, 
fuck me, Master, use your slut. I want you to feel this hot cunt squeeze you big cock." As 
she felt herself crescendo towards a monstrous climax she began to twist her nipples by 
the rings.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.  "Kate, sweetie, are you in there?" her 
mom asked from the other side of the door.  Not waiting for an answer she turned the 
knob and entered.  Alan took charge of the situation.  He used his power to project an 
image into Mrs. Van Devanter's mind that she was not seeing Alan fuck her middle child, 
but rather she saw the two of them demurely conversing.  "Oh, hi Katie.  I wasn't sure 
you had come home yet."

Kate mind was exploding, and not just from the heroic fucking Alan was throwing her 
way. "Ugh ugh, yeah Mom, I just got back a-a-aaaaaaaaaaaa little while ago," she 
managed to speak through her climax.  She didn't understand her mother's calm reaction 
at seeing her fuck Pauline's boyfriend, who had not even paused his rutting when the 
door had opened.

"Oh, Alan, I didn't see you there! I just got off the phone with your mom.  Were all going 
to go out for dinner tonight.  I insisted because your mom had barely been out of the 
house since you grandfather died, and she needs a good night out."  As she was leaving 
she turned and added, addressing Kate" I'm so happy to see you and Alan getting along so 
well.  It'll make Pauline so happy to know."

Right after she left Kate's orgasm hit her like a runaway freight train, her shrieks echoing 
off her plaster walls.  It was Alan coming inside of her that set her off, and it took more 
than a few minutes for her to becalm herself enough so she could speak.  She was about 
to ask him, "What just happened?" but thought better of it.  There were still a great many 
things she didn't comprehend, but she did know that she was Alan's property, and slaves 
don't ask impertinent questions of their masters.  Whatever Alan did to her, she accepted.

* * *

"I just saw Alan and Kate upstairs getting along like a house on fire," Mrs. Van Devanter 
told her husband.

"Good.  I know last time it was Kate who caused them to stop dating."  He bit down on 
his pipe.  He had stopped smoking it years ago, but still kept a few around anyway. 
"Good," he said again, unaware of any double meanings in his wife's report.

Alan appeared downstairs a few minutes later.  Mrs. Van Devanter and the girls were 
upstairs getting ready for dinner and  Alan and Mr. Van Devanter were passing the time 
at the backgammon set.  Alan was experimenting with his powers by manipulating the 
dice, giving himself bad or mediocre rolls at the start of games, and then gradually 
improving them.  He found that he could double Mr. Van Devanter midway through the 
game and then win two points every time, sometimes four, if he was doubled back.

"Wow, that's some game you have there," his opponent said. "You should come to the 
club on poker nights and hustle some of the guys who play this instead.  You'd make a 
fortune at twenty dollars a point!"

Alan thought this was an excellent idea, but didn't tell that to him.  He was contemplating 
a trip to Atlantic City or one of the Indian casinos in Connecticut, and a good night of 
backgammon at the country club would provide a needed bankroll.

* * *
 Two weeks later Alan was driving to Atlantic City alone in a rented car.  He had 
considered taking someone with him, either Chloe the au pair next door, or Megan and 
Leila, but thought better of it.  He had more than five thousand dollars in his pocket, won 
from the stock brokers and high-powered lawyers at his country club last Wednesday 
night.  He might have won more, but after a few hours nobody would play him.  His dad 
and Mr. Van Devanter even managed to win a few hundred from side bets on the games 
he played.

It was nearing dusk when he reached the casino.  He had stopped in New York for two 
Italian suits, some fancy dress shirts and silk ties, a new pair of black shoes (also Italian), 
and a hundred dollar haircut.  "I should have sprung for a fancy watch," he thought to 
himself as he handed the car keys to the valet.  He tinkered with his appearance on the 
way down, making himself look about ten years older than his eighteen year old self, 
matching his new papers.

He had contacted Jack through the Swiss Bank, FedEx'ing a letter and writing of his 
plans to make some money at the casino.  Jack had telephoned back and told him to see a 
man in Manhattan first.  This man was an "employee" of Jack's, and he provided him 
with a fake set of identity papers (birth certificate, drivers license, passport), a social 
security number, a nice credit history, and an American Express card (platinum) under 
his new false name.

A few hours later he was up twenty thousand dollars.  He was playing blackjack, and 
using his power her could read the hole card of the dealer.  Actually he had two methods; 
either he read the mind of the dealer, or he focused on the card itself, reading through it to 
see the concealed value.  He was also careful 
not to arouse suspicion.  He didn't set out to win every hand, and even made some 
intentional mistakes, doubling down at the wrong times.  He was at a $1,000 max table, 
and he never varied his bet, always putting down just five hundred for each hand.

"Hi, mind of I join you?" A pretty young thing sat down next to him, not waiting for his 
response.  "I'm Lisa." She flashed him a dazzling smile.  She had a tight body capped 
with a drop-dead gorgeous face.  Alan stood and pulled out a seat for her.  "You seem to 
have the touch tonight.  I hope some of your luck will rub off on me." She leaned into 
him at this, her arm brushing against his as if to illustrate her point.

"Hi, I'm Carl Sutherland, nice to meet you," giving her the name on his false papers.  He 
scanned her mind.  Her name was not Lisa, it was Anne-Marie, and she wasn't a random 
gambler, she was from casino security.  She was there at his table to see if he was 
cheating.

Anne-Marie Nicoletti had been with the hotel for about a year, and was well schooled in 
the various ways players try to con the casino.  She had recently been promoted after 
exposing a ring of slot-machine cheats.  The ring had recruited little old ladies to play 
machines they had first modified after breaking into them.  The old women had aroused 
little suspicion even after a month of big takes, but she had been the one to see the 
emerging pattern, and the credit for the bust was hers. 

She watched her target play.   She had been roaming the floor when her supervisor had 
radioed her to check out table nineteen.  In the jargon of this particular casino Alan was a 
"mustang," an unknown player who was doing "too well." She watched him even more 
closely; if he was cheating he was very good at it.  She looked around as he played, 
checking to see if there was a partner somewhere on the floor who was signaling to him 
what the dealer's hole card was.  Nope.  She watched his hands as he bet, looking for the 
telltale signs of a computer in his suit. Nope.  She watched the dealer for a while, 
checking if he was weak in some way.  Strike three.

Alan chatted with Lisa/Anne-Marie as she did her job.  Since she had sat down Alan had 
lost, intentionally, five thousand dollars.  "Sorry," she said to him, "I seem to have 
brought you bad luck."

"It comes, it goes," he said as he grinned at her.  Alan decided that since she had just seen 
him lose $5,000 it was time to start winning again.  He upped his bets to a thousand per 
hand, and in less then a half an hour was up more than $75,000. "You turned out to be 
lucky after all," he said to her smiling.  Alan looked at his watch, and seeing it was only 
about 10pm asked her to dinner.

"Are you staying here?" she asked him, hoping for the chance to search his room.

"No, I'm not staying the night."  She was disappointed.  Alan called one of the pit 
workers over to take care of his winnings.  He was informed that the floor manager 
wished to speak to him in the office.  Anne-Marie watched Alan go to the rear of the 
casino, and she knew that if he did have some sort of cheating device on him the scanners 
in the doorway leading to the office would betray him.  As she watched him disappear 
into the back she went to the phone and called her supervisor.

"Did you see anything?" he asked her quickly.

"Zip.  What did the overheads get?" she asked him, referring to the ceiling-mounted 
cameras which watched all that transpired in the gambling den.

"Like you said, Zip.  Bupkes.  Less than Zip.  He's coming.  Gotta go."

* * *

Alan had a brief conversation with the floor manager.  He was invited to the back where a 
cashier would count his chips and cash him out.  Alan was suspicious; he had seen the 
Scorsese movie "Casino" a few years back, and the scene with the cattle prod and the bal 
peen hammer came forward in his consciousness.  The man led him to his office and 
began to tote up the chips.  Alan scanned his mind, relieved that his motive was not to do 
violence, but to simply keep him in the casino, in the hopes 
that Alan would lose back his money to the house.  Alan gave the manager the 
information required to have his winnings transferred to his Swiss bank account, and he 
saw the man's eyes widen at this, the fact of Alan's status as a "player" becoming ever 
more clear.  This eased his tensions, and he was about to tell the floor manager that he 
had to leave, but the man told him that if he wanted to spend the night his room would be 
comped.  He also told Alan that anytime he came back her would be allowed into the VIP 
room.  

Alan accepted his offer, and told the man that he was thinking about dinner, and then 
perhaps another trip to the tables.  The man lifted the phone on his desk and got Alan a 
table at the hotel's best restaurant.  As he went back out into the casino he saw "Lisa" and 
again invited her to join him for dinner.

They sat down at the table and talked while waiting for their drinks.  Anne-Marie gave 
him her cover story, that she was visiting the casino with her rich father, a real estate 
developer from Ohio who was playing high-stakes poker in a private room.  Alan gave 
her his cover story, that he was an international business consultant based in Geneva and 
New York, spending a day or two in Atlantic City because he had a few days off between 
one engagement in Philadelphia and another in New York. 

They ate and drank well.  The casino management had a bottle of wine brought up from 
the cellar.  "Lisa" excused herself and called her boss for instructions.

"He's not in any if the black books," Peter Milburn told her.  This meant they had no good 
reason to ban him from the tables.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked him.

"Code 14."

It was now Anne-Marie's task to get Carl back to the tables.  Statistics had shown that the 
more a player played, the worse his odds got.  Keeping him at the table was the 
paramount task then.

"It's still early," she told Alan as they rose from the dinner table.  She noticed that he had 
left a five hundred dollar tip, cash,  but tried not to stare.  "I'm going to keep playing.  
Want to join me?" she asked flirtatiously.  Alan knew what she was doing, and played 
along.  As he returned to the casino, a pit boss led him and Anne-Marie to the VIP Room, 
a smaller and quieter chamber right off the main floor.  It was like a smaller version of 
the main casino, but without the loud noises caused by the slot machines.  Alan sat down 
at the table and signed for $25,000 in chips, all in hundreds, and the room manager went 
to the cashier and drew them.  There were no limits at the tables in here, and Alan bet 
either one or two thousand per hand.  On hands he knew he was going to win he bet two 
grand about two-thirds of the time.  On hands he knew he was going to lose her bet one 
grand almost every time.  Soon he was up more than $200,000, and he increased his bets 
to either five or ten thousand.  Anne-Marie and the rest of the casino staff watched with 
increasing dismay.  As Alan passed the half a million mark she feigned fatigue and told 
him she was done for the evening.

As the dealer set to counting Alan's chips the pair chatted off to the side.  "So, what's 
your secret?" she asked him.  The scanner in the doorjamb of the floor manager's office 
showed nothing, but she wasn't 100% sure he wasn't concealing some sort of gear on him.  
As he played in the VIP room she watched his hands to see if they were entering data on 
a miniature computer.  One of the advantages of the room was that cell phones and other 
radio transmitters could not penetrate its walls, so had he been using a partner on the 
outside and been receiving signals he would have been cut off.  But he kept on winning.  
She had to find out how he managed to do it.

"Secret? What do you mean?" he answered her feigning innocence.  He smiled at her as 
he said this, and for the first time that night Anne-Marie looked at him as a person, not as 
quarry; she really hadn't noticed before how handsome he was.

"You just won hundreds of thousands of dollars tonight.  Do you 
have a system?"

"Well, in a way I do. Come, let's go to the bar and I'll explain it all to you."

She could barely contain her excitement; if he was counting cards or using some sort of 
device she would soon know, and perhaps get another raise if she exposed him.  She took 
his arm and they walked back out into the main room.  Alan asked the pit boss the way to 
the bar.  Anne-Marie said nothing, not wanting him to know she knew her way around 
the hotel and casino like the back of her hand.  Just as the reached the lobby he paused.  
"You know," he began, "I might not be too comfortable spilling my secrets in an open 
bar.  Let's go up to my room and have  drink up there."  She agreed.  Alan went to the 
front desk and checked in to his room.  They had set him up in a suite on one of the upper 
floors of the towering hotel.  When he pulled out his credit card the clerk told him it 
wasn't required, and Alan asked him to have his car brought up and his overnight bag 
delivered to the room.

* * *

Alan and Anne-Marie rode up in the elevator in silence, his eyes fixed on the floor 
indicator, hers on him, studying him closely.  She was excited; it was the thrill of the 
hunt.  He would, she was sure, willingly tell him how he managed to cheat the casino--
her casino--out of more than half a million.  She was anticipating the scene; after he had 
spilled the beans she would press the red button on her pager to alert the security office 
that he had confessed, then she would pull her badge and detain him until the backup 
arrived.  She didn't know two important details: one, the money Alan won was already 
safe in Switzerland because he had used his power of influence to override the manager's 
better judgment and had it immediately transferred; once money is wired to a Swiss bank 
almost no force on earth could dislodge it, and anyway, the instructions on Alan's account 
caused the money to be almost immediately transferred to another bank, this one in the 
Bahamas.  Usually in cases of suspected cheating no monies left the casino until the 
investigation was closed, and Anne-Marie was under the impression that this one was still 
open.  That was her second misconception: Alan had used his powers again to evaporate 
the suspicion of the manager.  Even if she pressed her panic button on the pager clipped 
to her waist no one would come; in any event, he wouldn't let her get that far. 

Alan poured her a drink, bourbon on ice, and one for himself and sat down next to her on 
the couch.  Her legs were curled under her, and her skirt had ridden up just above the 
knee.

"Well, Carl, We're alone at last," she said jokingly.

"Yes we are, Lisa," he agreed.  "What was that you wanted to talk about?  Oh yes, I 
remember now.  My secret method."

She pricked up her ears.  Her left hand moved unconsciously to her waistband, coming 
near to her pager.  "Please," she grinned at him, a look of triumph glowing on her eyes, 
"Do tell."

"It's rather simple really."  He paused.  Anne-Marie's mouth was dry with anxiety and 
anticipation.  "I simply go to a casino, and win gobs of money at the blackjack table.  At 
some point in the evening I will be invariably joined by a pretty woman such as yourself, 
and then I invite her up to my room so she can ask me how I do so well at the tables.  
Then I take her to bed."

"What the hell are you talking about?  I just want to know how you won all that money.  I 
have no interest in sleeping with you!  Just tell me how you did it."

He reached over and put his hand on her thigh before answering her.  "You have a lot of 
questions."

"Yes Goddamnit, I do.  Come on tell me!"

"Why do you want to know?  I mean, we spent almost this whole evening together and 
you barely gambled, so it couldn't be tips you're looking for, could it be?  Perhaps you 
have some other motive."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed.  His hand on her thigh was 
bothering her, but for some reason she neither recoiled from his touch, nor asked him to 
remove it.

"May I ask you a question, Lisa?"


"What?" she replied somewhat petulantly.

"How long have you worked in casino security?"

She tried not to flinch, but was unsuccessful.  "How," she whispered to him.  "How did 
you know?" Her eyes widened with a bit of terror.  Nothing in her training had prepared 
her for this.

"It doesn't matter, does it, Anne-Marie?"

"Who told you that name?  M-my name is Lisa."

"Yes, yes, yes, your name is Lisa from Cincinnati, and you are the personal assistant to 
your father the real estate king of the Ohio Valley.  You name is Lisa, not Anne-Marie 
Nicoletti from Pleasantville, New Jersey."

"What the fuck is going on here?" she replied archly.  "This is it for me.  I'm out of here 
RIGHT NOW."  But she made no move to get up, and no effort to remove his hand from 
her thigh.

"I don't think you're going anywhere," he told her as his hand began moving up and down 
her thigh.  He pulled her pager off the waistband of her skirt and placed it on the side 
table next to the couch.

"I'm, I'm warning you.  I'm armed."

He leaned over to her, his mouth scant inches from her ear, "No, Anne-Marie, you're 
not."  His hand slipped under her skirt and made its way to her stocking tops.

"Please stop this.  I don't want this. Please."

"You're free to go.  Just get up and leave."  She couldn't move.  Suddenly his hands began 
having an effect on her.  She felt her nipples harden underneath her bra, and the skin-to-
skin contact between her thigh and his hand started stirring delicious feelings inside her.

"Oh," she gasped, "That feels so nice.  But I don't want to do this. Mmmmm, please stop 
that."  

"Are you sure?" he asked her, punctuating the question by licking her ear.

She groaned briefly, but then got her wits about her.  "Yes.  Stop, please.  Take your 
hands off of me."

He stopped, his hand leaving her bare flesh, and she instantly she regretted it.  All of the 
pleasant sensations ceased, leaving her feeling numb and empty inside.  On the plus side 
she found herself able to stand up from the couch.  He walked her to the door; feelings of 
desire flooding her with every step.

* * *
 
Back in the elevator she was somewhat relieved to be out of there.  It was very 
unprofessional of her to be in such a situation with a suspected cheat.

Peter was still in his office when she got downstairs.  "Nothing," she told him, "He 
revealed nothing.  I still don't know how he did it, and it's driving me crazy."

"What are you talking about?"

"The guy.  You know, Carl? He wouldn't let on how he did it."

"Carl?  Carl Sutherland?  Oh, don't keep worrying about him.  I checked him out on the 
computer.  He's not in the banned players database, and his credit report says he's very 
rich, so we doubt he's a con man."

"Well Jesus Fucking Christ, Pete!  Why couldn't you tell me that before I went up to his 
room?  He had his damn hands, I mean, he, uh, tried to get his hands under my skirt."

"Why in the hell did you go up to his room?  Don't start making risky plays to get 
yourself more attention and promotions.  Please, we already think you're great, with a big 
future in the company.  And if you're going to go up to a mark's room at least let 
somebody down here know about it so we can have backup ready."

"But I did tell you, damnit!  Don't you remember?  We discussed it right here in this 
office not an hour ago.  Please, Pete, please don't tell me that I was up there all alone."  
He didn't answer, just nodded his head, and Anne-Marie suddenly realized that the 
thought of being alone in a room with the handsome Carl Sutherland, without backup 
waiting right outside was not an unappealing one.

Her shift over, Anne-Marie went to her car in the employee's lot, but try as she might she 
couldn't bring herself to start it up.  There was something magnetic about Carl.  Sure, he 
came on a bit strong, but she remembered the way she felt when he was touching her, and 
she was torn between wanting that feeling again, and her desire to be as 
far away from him as possible.

She was back in the lobby waiting for an elevator, and was startled when she heard the 
chime go off and saw the doors come open before her.  She had no memory of getting out 
of her car and returning to the hotel.  Her mind had instead been busy spinning 
rationalizations: since Carl was no longer a target of investigation she could go back to 
his room without jeopardizing her position.

* * *

"Well, I'm surprised to see you again after what happened just now," he said to her in the 
doorway, leaning casually against the jamb.

"Uh," she was embarrassed, "Can I come in?"

"Is this business or personal, Anne-Marie?" he asked with a smirk.

"Personal," she answered meekly.  He stepped aside and let her back in.  He had taken off 
his jacket and loosened his tie, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow.  The 
television in the sitting room was on, tuned to CNN, and she could see the bottle of 
whiskey on the table, both glasses still next to it.

"Why did you come back?" he asked her as he poured two more drinks, then sat next to 
her.

Taking it, she gulped half of it down.  Dutch courage, she thought to herself.  "I wanted 
to come back to apologize."

"Why the fuck did I say that?" she thought bitterly. "I was just doing my job."

"Apologize?  Why?  You were just doing your job.  I understand completely."  That 
relaxed her. She really wanted to ask him how he knew she was who she was, but she 
figured that by doing it she would appear to be weak.

"I lied to you." 

"Yes, I know that.  You told me your name was Lisa."

"Well, yes, that was a lie, too.

"'Too'?"

"You know, when you asked me that question before?"

"Which question?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper and she was sure she was never more red-faced in her life 
as she went on.  "'Are you sure?'  When you asked me 'Are you sure?' and I told you to 
take you hand off my leg.  I lied to you. I wasn't sure." She took his hand and placed it on 
her thigh again, and the feelings returned.  "No that's not right either.  I was sure--sure 
that I wanted you to touch me more."  She began to purr as he got under her skirt, and 
yelped when his fingertip reached her bare pussy.

"That's strange," she thought through her arousal.  "When did I take off my panties?"  But 
she chose not to dwell on it because the sensations coming from her moistening slit were 
much more pleasant to concentrate on instead.  He fingered her, his thumb resting on her 
clit, massaging it.

"The feels so nice, Carl. Ugh, don't stop, please."  He had removed his hand from her 
pussy and had started on her blouse.  His mouth was on her breasts, and she felt as if she 
was being fed an electrical current. "Oh!" she gasped when he gently bit down on her left 
nipple.  Her hands frantically shot to his chest, mad with desire, and she soon had his 
shirt off.  His chest was magnificent, and she pushed him off of her so she could grope it 
properly, first running her hands over it, and then her tongue; when he moaned back in 
response she felt extremely proud of herself.

He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom.  As she followed him she reached 
behind her with her free hand and unzipped her skirt, and when it fell to her feet she 
stepped out of it, never losing pace with him.  Closing the door behind them he turned to 
face her, and they kissed, their tongues wrestling furiously.  She dropped to her knees and 
opened his pants, then pulled down his shorts.  Instantly her mouth was around his 
erection.  He groaned again, and she was again flooded with prideful glee.  Vigorously 
she blew him, ecstatic when he came in her mouth.

He pulled her up to him so she was standing, and then he backed her up to the bed and 
laid her down on it before burying his face in her snatch.  His tongue was amazing, 
penetrating her, then licking her clit, then licking around her labia, before starting the 
cycle again by penetrating her.  She realized she had never been sucked this well 
before as she trashed wildly on the bed, her moans filling the room.  "Oh Sweet JESUS, 
that's so fu-fu-fucking good!" she screamed, her pussy shoved into his face, her hands 
clutching his head against her sex.  Before she had even begun to recover from her 
immense climax he had placed the head of his cock against her slit.  He looked in her 
eyes, and she nodded back, staring with unbelieving eyes at the amount of pussy juice--
her juices--smeared on his face.  He thrust in her and she gasped loudly, "Yesssss! 
Ohmigod, YES!" He built up speed, intending to do so slowly but she convinced him 
otherwise.

"Faster.  Faster!  Fuck. Yes.  Harder.  Please, FUCK ME HARDER!"  Her body was 
bouncing up and down off the mattress, her pale skin deeply flushed, and her light brown 
hair flying every which way.

"I'm glad you decided to come back," he said to her evenly, a malevolent smile on his 
face, but she didn't see it because her eyelids were clamped down in pleasure.

"OH! MY! GOD! I'm going to COOOOOME!" she hollered, her body convulsing in 
orgasm, her arms and legs moving about without control.  She was amazed and certainly 
delighted when he did not come inside her clamping pussy but continued to fuck her with 
the same hard strokes, and mere minutes after her first, she came violently once again.  
This time she could not speak, just grunt in passion.  After that he slowed down some, 
and she loved it just as much that way.

"Your cock feels so good," she groaned.  "I've never felt anything like this.  Fuck me, 
yes, fuck my pussy.  It's so wet.  Never been this wet.  Can you hear it?  Can you hear the 
squishing sounds you cock is making in my pussy? I LOVE IT," she screamed as her 
pussy clamped down around his erection yet again.  "A machine, you're a fucking 
machine.  A fucking fucking machine.  Get it?" she giggled despite her intense feelings 
arousal.

"Good one," he said through a laugh.

"Not as good as you. You're so fucking good that I'm gonna come again if you keep that 
up.  Ugh ugh Yeah!"  As her pussy walls tightened around his dick again he shot off his 
load and she howled in delight.

They fucked two more times before the sun rose, sleeping between encounters, and then 
he took her to the café in the hotel for breakfast.  She suggested it, telling him that if they 
stayed in the room they would only fuck more, not eat, and they were, she argued, both 
hungry from the evening's exertions.  After breakfast they went back to the room and 
fucked again.

He told her he would call her, and promised to come back to the casino soon, and for 
some reason, despite her past experience, she believed him.  He gave her his business 
card (another creation of Dr. Massimo's man in Manhattan.  The number on it was to that 
office in New York, automatically programmed to either bounce to Alan's cell phone or 
take a message, the outgoing announcement informing the caller, "You have reached the 
offices of Sutherland Consulting…"), but told her he spent a great deal of time traveling, 
mostly in Europe and the Pacific Rim, so it might take some time for him to get back to 
her.  He chuckled when she slipped the card into her bra.

It was still fairly early on Saturday morning when Alan drove out of the casino driveway.  
He had to get the car back to the agency in New York, and then drive back in his car to 
Westchester.  He was returning home $500,000 richer than when he had left.  Life was 
good.

Next Chapter: Graduation (Summertime, and the Livin' is Easy)

Chapter 12
Graduation (Summertime, and the Livin' is Easy)

At nine AM Alan threw the garment bag holding his cap and gown in the backseat of the 
car and headed to school.  It was the day before graduation, and though there were no 
classes scheduled for the seniors, there was a commencement rehearsal at noon. He 
planned on spending the morning hanging out with friends and cleaning out of his locker 
a year's worth of detritus.

As he was going through his locker, making ample use of the large wastebaskets placed 
in the hall for the departing seniors, Alan chatted and hugged many of his friends.  He 
probably wasn't going to see many of these people for years, perhaps not until his first 
high school reunion, five years away, though some of them he would see during breaks 
and vacations.

"Alan."

"Alan."

He turned and saw both Ms. Megan Kelly and Mrs. Kimberly Hall, approaching him 
from opposite directions.  Kim spoke up first.  "I, uh,  need to see you in my office.  
Could you spare a little time?"  

Megan noticed the twinkle in the guidance counselor's eyes, but said nothing of it. "When 
you're done with Ms. Hall could you come by my classroom. I, ah," she improvised, 
"Need some help moving some things."

Alan shut the door behind him and Kim pressed her body hard against him, her bosom 
mashing into his chest as she kissed him forcefully.  She pulled back, gasping.  "I know I 
said that we weren't going to do this again after that time you were nice enough to, you 
know..."

"Fuck you up the ass?" Alan grinned at her, and she returned the smile.

She lost her train of thought, savoring the memory of the day Alan broke her anal cherry.  
"Mmmm, that was such a nice morning."  Her eyes glazed over slightly and her body 
trembled against his. "I was wondering…"

"What?" he asked, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

"Well, since you're graduating and all, would you..." She trailed off again, and her body 
rubbed against him harder. He put his hands on top of her shoulders and pushed her back 
to arm's length.

He looked right into her eyes and he saw her need.  "Say it," he muttered as he continued 
to stare into her.

"Please," she gasped, unable to break eye contact.

"'Please,' what?"

"F-fuck me," she whined, her body trembling so much that Alan had to grip her more 
tightly.  "Please," she gasped, "I neeeed to be used."

Alan led her to the couch and sat down beside her, his hands stealing under her skirt; she 
wasn't wearing panties, and her pussy was shaved.  She began purring as he rubbed her 
pussy lips, and to his surprise his hand came against a small metal ring which was fitted 
through the hood of her clitoris.  "Hmmm, what's this, Mrs. Hall?" he asked her as he 
diddled with it.  Kim's face flushed instantly and she looked away from him.

"M-my h-husband got that for me," she said sheepishly.

"He got it for you, or you got it for him?" he asked her back, an eyebrow arched.

"I, uh, he, uh, he took me to New York for some, uh, f-fetish, uh, items, and we went into 
a shop that also did, uh, things like that."  She barely rose above a whisper, and he had to 
strain to hear her tremulous voice.  He slipped a finger into her and she gushed, her warm 
juices soaking his hand.  She brought her fist up to her mouth and gasped, biting down on 
her index finger.  The stimulation got her going, and she proceeded to tell the teenager 
about the things she and Mark, her husband, had been doing of late.  

The handcuffs he used to chain her to the headboard; the blindfold he covered her with 
during some of their hottest encounters; the spankings which excited her to no end; the 
gags, the sex toys; the times when he covered her body in oil and used her repeatedly; 
their thrice weekly shaving ritual; his forbidding her to wear panties; the sex in public 
places.

She became more and more animated as she went on, in part due to Alan's fingers, but 
mostly at the thrills she was reliving by recounting her experiences out loud for the first 
time.  Her orgasm ended her stories; Alan wasn't sure if she was out of things to tell or 
merely wrecked by the climax.  A drop of drool escaped the corner of her mouth and was 
slowly tracing a wet path to her jawbone.  He lifted her summer dress by the hem, and 
she raised her arms over her head to allow him to get it off.  She was wearing a satin bra 
with lacy edging, the same light green her dress, and garters and hose to match.  She 
noticed him admiring her lingerie, and informed him that Mark chose her outfit every 
morning now, both the underthings and the dress; she no longer wore pants. He reached 
behind her and unclipped her bra.

"Well, well, well," he chuckled softly, "Those look familiar." He nipples were adorned by 
two gold rings, with gold beads in the center, nearly identical to the pair he had bought 
for Kate.

She smiled at him, and explained.  "Mark and I went to three or four places before we 
found these.  He couldn't understand why I was being so picky about them, but after 
seeing Kate's I knew I had to have a pair like them."  She punctuated her remarks by 
pulling off his shirt and rubbing her erect nipples into his hard chest.

"A nice pair," he commented as he reached up to play with her rings.  She began to purr 
again, and then slipped to the floor, kneeling in front of him.

"May I?" she asked, her hands approaching his zipper.

"May you what?" he replied, his eyes boring into her.

"May I suck your cock, sir?"

"By all means, slut." She giggled at being called a slut.

She pulled at his zipper with mounting excitement, and gasped when his raging erection 
came into her view.  He lifted his butt off the couch, allowing her to pull his pants down 
to his ankles, and then she bent down to untie his shoes and take them and his socks off 
so she could slip his pants completely from him.  She kissed his feet as a sign of her 
submission.  Alan liked that.  "Lick them," he ordered, and she got to work.  He reached 
down and pulled her up by her hair, and she buried her face in his crotch, inhaling deeply 
and reveling in his scent.  He smelled so masculine, she thought giddily as her tongue 
made its way up and down the underside of his shaft, and around his balls.  She enjoyed 
pleasuring him this way, delighted at the sight of his penis rising to full mast and 
knowing that she was the reason why, but she really needed to take him in her mouth.

"May I suck your cock now?" she gasped, "Please, Sir, I need to b-blow you."  Her body 
was on fire, and she could feel the first tricklings of pussy juice slide down her inner 
thighs.  He nodded and she took him into her mouth, groaning around the head of his 
cock as she did.  She began to build up her rhythm, and in short order his cock was 
penetrating her throat.  It took mere minutes for her to deep throat him all the way, her 
lips nestled in his pubic hair.

He was impressed. "Wow, I can't believe you're taking me all the way.  It took Kate 
weeks to suck me as deep as this," he commented.

She popped her mouth off of his knob and smiled up at him, "As my husband is always 
saying to me, 'Practice makes perfect.'  This is nothing.  He's almost as big as you, and a 
lot of the times my arms are bound behind me when I suck him off."  She replaced her 
mouth on his enormous erection and resumed her sucking.

After five minutes she began to feel tired and confused.  Recently she had been able to 
get her husband off in minutes.  All of the aforementioned practice had made her into one 
outstanding cocksucker. She never minded getting Mark off quickly, secure in the 
knowledge that her well-trained  mouth could have him hard again in no time; but Alan 
was challenging her.  She was giving him everything she had, and he seemed nowhere 
near climax. It was both maddening and terrifying to her.  "Sir? Am I doing something 
wrong?"  He could see a tear forming in one of her eyes.  She didn't know about his 
abilities; he reassured her, the he pulled her up and laid her down on the couch.  Leaning 
over Alan took one of her ringed nipples between his teeth and bit down with moderate 
force; Kim heaved her body up at him, groin mashing into his, loving the sensations 
running through her breast, and feeling his hardness against her body.

Alan removed his mouth from her chest and settled between her legs.  She watched raptly 
as he placed the head of his gigantic cock against her dripping pussy.  Fluids were freely 
escaping from the entrance, and she arched her back to give him a better target.

"Yessssss!" she hissed as she felt him enter her.  She began to grunt in time with his 
thrusts, and after an explosive orgasm she began to cry.  "Thank you.  Thank you," she 
sobbed.  "It's SO good.  UGH.  I really needed this."  Soon after she came again, her 
pussy clamped down on his shaft, her juices fountaining out around his invading cock.

He pulled her up and sat her down on his lap.  Her head came down against his shoulder 
and she looked up at him.

"More?" he asked her jocularly.

"More," she whispered, dead serious.  She ground her butt into his thighs, and rubbed her 
back against her erection.  He cupped her ass cheeks in his palm and lifted her up so she 
was completely above it.  She reached down and placed it against her own sopping pussy 
lips, but he stopped her.

"No, slut.  Not this time," he commanded, and she understood instantly, shifting his cock 
back and her hips forward so that the head came to rest at her backdoor's entrance.  She 
sank down on his shaft slowly, and when she fully enveloped her he placed his hands 
over her hips and held her still.  Even though she had been taking her husband in her ass 
for many weeks, she was still startled at the sensation, and even more startled at how 
much she loved it.  Here, now, in her school office, with an eighteen year old boy buried 
to the hilt in her tightest passage, the feelings were indescribeably good.  The taboo 
natures of the coupling (both the anal aspect and the student-teacher aspect) ramped up 
the eroticism to a degree she had never experienced.  All of the pleasures she had had 
were because of that strange encounter with him lo those many weeks ago.  He was like a 
jailer with a key, releasing her from a prison of dreary sex into a depraved world of 
kinkyness and desire.

Alan pulled her head back and twisted his so he could sink his tongue into her mouth.  
She sucked on it frantically, lost in wave upon wave of forbidden pleasure as he began to 
lift and drop her clenching butt on his erection.  Soon she took over her own movements, 
allowing him to move his hands to other parts of her body.  He especially enjoyed 
playing with her new jewelry, and his hands on her clit were driving her up the wall.  Her 
pussy leaked juice, and it was dripping back onto his cock, providing further lubrication.  
Since her office had no windows and it being the middle of June it was quite warm, made 
warmer by the frenetic fucking within.  The insulation for the soundproofing usually kept 
it cool inside, but the steaminess of the two lovers managed to raise the temperature to 
the point that both were drenched in sweat.

As Alan was about to come he jammed three fingers up Kim's soaked and spasming 
snatch, and placed his thumb on her pierced clit, mashing it against the fingers buried 
within her.  She stiffened and let out a thunderous yell, her butt rippling around his 
squirting cock.  She slid off of him and curled up into a ball on the carpet, unable to catch 
her breath for a few moments.

"Clean me off," he barked at her.  Her butt had obviously been well trained.  Alan was 
almost to the point of passing out himself from their fun and games.  His chest was also 
heaving, and he was drenched in perspiration.  Once she had licked him clean she looked 
up at him with worshipful eyes, awaiting permission to speak.  He nodded at her.

"Are you staying in town this summer, Sir?"

* * *

As he made his way down the halls to Megan's classroom he was constantly stopped by 
classmates.  He gave his friends as much time as he could spare, signing many yearbooks 
and posing for pictures.  It was a quarter of eleven, and the commencement rehearsal 
started at noon, so he figured he had time to stop and chat a bit.

By the time he reached Ms. Kelly's classroom it was just past eleven.  She was standing 
at the slightly ajar door watching him walk towards her, and when he was within reach 
she grabbed him a pulled him through, locking the door behind them.

"This is so sexy!" she exclaimed.  "This is the last time we're gonna fuck in this room."

"Ah, it takes me back," he joked, smiling at her, and she cracked up.

"So, how was your 'meeting' with Kim Hall?" she smirked.  She was delighted at his 
blushing in response.  "I thought so," she giggled.  "Hmm," she said thoughtfully, "I 
wonder if she's into girls."

"I don't know about her," Alan shot back, "But I do know that I'm into girls!"  He held 
her at her hips and she leaned in and up to kiss him.

"I'm really going to miss this.  Leila and I have been talking about it, and we've decided 
to spend more time in Manhattan next year.  One weekend a month we're going to take a 
hotel room in the city and see some shows, go to some galleries, museums, perhaps a 
concert now and then at Lincoln Center."

"Oh? Is that all you're planning on doing?" he asked mischievously.

"Well, Leila is a big Mets fan, so we'll probably take in a game when we can," she teased 
as she rubbed her hands up and down the from of his pants, stimulating his growing 
bulge.  He pulled sharply at her skirt, popping the snaps and throwing it to the floor; she 
gripped his package in response.

"Oh, there is a certain someone we know is about to move to New York, and if we can 
find the time we plan to ring him up."

"Hmm, anyone I know?"  She sunk to her knees as she opened his pants and pulled them 
down with his shorts.  His hard cock sprung out at her, and before she brought her mouth 
forward to take it in she tried, with as much discretion as she was able to manage, to wipe 
a stray drop of drool from her lips.

"Why as a matter of fact, you do," she said hoarsely as she brought her lips to the head of 
his cock.

It was a delightful blowjob for Alan; the jocularity of their give-and-take caused Megan's 
attentions to be very playful.  Usually when she sucked him off there was a submissive 
quality about her.  Though not nearly as submissive as his Slave Kate, Megan enjoyed the 
way Alan used her masterfully, and showed proper respect to his dominant position.  
After all, he was her teacher as much as she his; he had opened up a whole new library of 
pleasure to her, not only with their own encounters, but with Leila as well.  Every night 
when she and her Asian girlfriend took to bed she thanked heaven for having Alan show 
her this whole new world.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her.  She was smiling, both with her mouth stretched 
around his dick and with her pretty green eyes, sparkling up at him.  She was absolutely 
entrancing like this, and he became lost in her happiness.  She truly loved doing this for 
him, and it showed both by the look on her face and the effort she was putting into it with 
her much talented mouth.  He had planned on fucking her after a little mouth play, and he 
wanted her on her desk, just like the first time three and a half months ago, but her 
enthusiasm was infectious.   He came in her mouth, not because he wanted to move on to 
the main event, far from it in fact.  He was worried about running out of time though.

Megan smacked her lips.  "Sit down for a second," she asked him as he began to 
maneuver her over the desk. "I need to ask you something."  They went to the couch in 
the back of the room and sat.  Megan had a faraway look in her eyes and said noting for 
the time being, and he allowed her her pensive silence.  He refrained even from touching 
her, not wanting to distract her; neither did he use his powers to read her mind.  He often 
used this power, but less and less with people he was close with.

"Leila and I have been talking a lot recently.  We've been discussing the future."  There 
was a lump in her throat, and the words were coming with difficulty.  "We're going to 
live together; she's giving up her lease and moving in with me."

"Great!" he enthused, "I know you're going to make each other very happy."

She smiled and continued, "We have a favor to ask.  It so weird.  You've already done so 
much for me--for the both of us, I mean."

"You seem very nervous, and that's unlike you," he said as he stroked her cheek. "Ask 
me. I might say yes, I might say no, but you seem like you're gonna explode if you don't 
ask."

She exhaled sharply before going on.  "I guess it all started last weekend.  Leila just 
found out that she had gotten in to medical school."

"Really? That's great.  Where?"

"Right here. I mean, in Valhalla, at the hospital where she works.  She'd applied last year, 
and was on the waiting list, and she just got the letter on Saturday.  And because of that 
great change coming to her life we got to talking, and after hours and hours of it we 
decided that I was going to quit my job and have a baby."

"Uh, and is that where I come in?"

"We went over this a hundred times. We thought about an Asian father, so the baby 
would be half and half, but we decided in the end to ask you first.  Hell, if you are OK 
with it maybe Leila could get pregnant later." She giggled.

"Look," she went on, somewhat nervously, "We're not asking you to make a lifelong 
commitment here.  The two of us could raise it by ourselves, and we would tell him or 
her only what you would want us to tell."  Her anxiety was beginning to get the best of 
her, and she was nearing a breakdown.

Alan leaned to her and pulled her close, kissing her cheek and ear.  She threw her arms 
around him and began to weep quietly.  He ran his hands over her body, smoothing her 
clothes, calming her. 

She looked up at him teary-eyed, "So?" she sniffled.

His mouth was right up against her ear, yet his voice was so soft she had to strain to hear 
him.  "I would be honored," he whispered.

"What does that mean?" she sniffed. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"Yes," he whispered, as he licked her ear again, eliciting a lovely groan from the redhead.  
She was so happy she began crying again, almost shattered in her relief.  He held her 
tight for a few more minutes, and Megan began to calm.

"When do you want to do this?"

"Today.  I'm ovulating," she looked up at him with eyes hopeful and slightly moist.

He checked his watch.  "I have to be at rehearsal soon.  I'll tell you what, we'll do it once 
now, and then we'll go back to your place and fuck again."

Megan lit up like a Christmas tree, and then sunk to her knees and bared his cock for 
another round of sucking.  She took him into her hot mouth, and glued her eyes to his.  
She really was extraordinarily sexy, he thought as she sucked him, losing himself in the 
beauty of her shimmering green eyes.

Fully erect, he pulled her up and laid her on the couch.  She groaned at his penetration, 
her eyes still locked to his.  The overwhelming surge of happiness she felt was not 
because of Alan's power; she was thrilled at the prospect of motherhood, and supremely 
content that her baby would be his.  As her orgasm approached she grabbed him around 
the neck and pulled him into a kiss, her moans echoing in his mouth.  She spasmed upon 
feeling his seed spilling into her; she knew.  She knew she was pregnant.  Alan collapsed 
over her, his weight pressing down on her, and she held him to her body tightly, 
whispering thankful babblings to him.

As he rose she blew him a kiss, but when he tried to help her up she demurred, wanting to 
remain in place so his swimmers could make their way to her ovum.  She was covered in 
sweat, and in the dim light of the room (the shades were, of course, drawn down) she 
shined.  Alan dressed for the commencement rehearsal, coming back to the couch and 
leaning over her to kiss her before he left.  

* * *

The run through of the ceremony went smoothly, and before he knew it he was in his car 
headed over to Megan's--now Leila and Megan's--house. Megan had surprised him, 
showing up at the rehearsal midway through and taking her place among the faculty.  The 
looks she shot him were anything but discrete, but nobody had noticed, so no harm, no 
foul.  Anyway, tomorrow was her last day, so she could be as bold as she pleased, he 
reasoned.

Entering the house he was grabbed by Leila.  Megan had called her from school, and she 
had taken the afternoon off to be with them.  She shoved her tongue down his throat and 
tasted him ravenously.  Alan expected further attack, but instead she broke away, and 
taking him by the hand led him to the bedroom.

Megan was on the bed, wearing a pink frilly nightgown, a short one which barely reached 
mid-thigh.  Leila slowly undressed him, but when Alan reached down to unzip her skirt 
she stopped him.

"This is about Megan, not me."

After she had removed all of his clothes she crawled across the bed to her lover and 
pulled the nightgown off.  She sat Megan up and got in behind her.  Alan got on the bed 
and moved in between Megan's legs, which were in between Leila's legs.  Slowly, very 
slowly, he penetrated Megan's womanhood.  Megan moaned; Leila sighed, her eyes 
sparkling up at Alan.

"Do it, Alan.  Fuck her.  Make us a baby.  Put our baby into her."  Over and over, as if a 
mantra.  Periodically Leila leaned forward to kiss him, exploring his mouth with her 
tongue hungrily, then starting again on her chanting.

Megan seized up in orgasm, her body giving a great heave towards Alan, and he again 
loosed his seed into her fertile womb.  Leila placed a pillow under Megan's ass and 
snuggled up next to her.

"Sorry I can't stay," Alan said from the doorway, fully dressed.  "My parents are taking 
me out to dinner in honor of my graduating," he explained.

Leila walked him to the door.  "I'm taking the day off to come to graduation," she told 
him after a long and passionate kiss.

* * *

Alan and his classmates sat on the stage.  Dr. Worthington, the principal, called each 
student forward one at a time to confer their diplomas.  Alan also received an award for 
special school service for his excellent stewardship of the school newspaper.  He saw his 
parents beaming from the field.

He would miss high school, he decided.  It was a pretty good run, better of late since he 
had received the Seed of Hyrcanus.  He milled around the grounds afterward, talking to 
friends and faculty; he was most pleased when he bumped into Geoff Sherman and his 
bully buddies, and tickled when Geoff's dad tried to rope his son into posing for a picture 
with him.  Geoff blanched and mumbled an excuse, and Alan moved on, noting that 
Walker Jackson still limped from their encounter in the bowling alley parking  lot.

In high school Alan was something of an important person.  He hadn't really thought of 
himself like that until he was called up for his award.  In college he would just be another 
freshman in a much larger pool of students, not a senior or a student leader.  It was a 
slightly melancholy transition, he mused.

Next Chapter: Flashback to prom night.  More summer fun.

Chapter 13
Promenade yer Partner, Round and Round...

"You look fantastic! Stunning!"

"Thanks, Mom," Pauline answered, blushing furiously.  It was the afternoon before the 
prom, and Pauline was at the salon.  Mrs. Van Devanter had been ferrying her daughters 
about town all morning and afternoon.  Kate was at the dressmaker's, which was Pauline's 
next stop.  Mom was going to take Pauline there and drop Kate off in exchange back at 
this salon.

Her usually billowing light-brown hair was up, held by lavender ribbons and the better 
half of a can of hairspray.  Her fingernails and toenails were lacquered to match the hair 
ribbons.  After some last-minute hemming and stitching her dress would be ready, also 
the same color.  She was giddy with anticipation.

This was all a bit new for her; she had never been a satin and lace type of girl.  No 
tomboy her, but she hadn't really been one to doll it up very often.  She preferred comfort 
to coture; not that she was ever indifferent to her appearance.  Rather she strove to find 
the happy medium between form and function, favoring nice skirts and pants, pretty 
blouses, eschewing short skirts and clingy tops.  But for the prom she went whole hog: a 
spaghetti-strap dress, open-toe shoes (dyed to match), this ultra-feminine hairstyle, and 
the nail polish.

* * *

"Gorgeous! Absolutely Gorgeous!" James Van Devanter enthused as his two daughters 
came down the staircase.  Pauline was resplendent in her lavender dress.  It was low-cut 
and tapered to the waist.  The bottom was separate, a knee length skirt under a pale 
translucent ankle length piece which sort of resembled a sarong.  It wasn't your typical 
prom dress, and that was what she wanted.  Kate was wearing a more traditional dress, a 
pastel yellow off the shoulder number, tailored up top to hug her lush figure, cut very low 
in the back, the hem coming to her mid-calf.  Her hair was French braided and up, two 
yellow bakelite barrettes holding them in place.  Mrs. Van Devanter had helped them 
with their makeup, and they both seemed to glow.  Their dad was clicking away like a 
half-crazed paparazzo.

Alan and Chad, waiting in the living room, came out upon hearing the fuss.  They had 
spent the last twenty minutes or so successfully avoiding conversation.  Chad had barely 
said two words to him since that day, weeks ago, when he confided in his counselor.  
After he pissed himself a few times he realized that it was pointless to try to tell anyone 
about what was happening between Kate and Alan.  The most embarrassing time was 
when he had shown up at the Van Devanter's knowing that Kate was not home.  The 
reason he was sure Kate wasn't home was because he had just dropped her off at Alan's.

* * *

It was a late-May Saturday night, the weekend before Memorial Day weekend.  They had 
been out on a date, a teen social at the country club; Kate's cell phone rang just as he had 
returned from the punch bowl with two glasses.  Kate was on her cell phone, and he 
could tell, just from her side of the conversation to whom she was speaking.

"Yes, Master." Pause. "i'll be right over, Master." Pause. "Yes, he's right here.  We're still 
at the club, Master." Pause. "No wonder You and Pauline left early." Giggle.  "i'm sure 
she was good, she is my kid sister, after all."  Throaty laugh, then calmly, "Yes, Master, 
we came in his car." Pause.  Giggle. A look from her which made him feel like the lowest 
form of life on the Planet Earth, followed by a short--yet derisive--laugh, which he was 
sure came at his expense.  "i'll see You soon." She hit the end button, terminating the call.

"Pity," she said to him, sighing wistfully.  "I was hoping to stay till the end of the dance, 
but when He calls, I go."  She picked up her purse and started out.  Try as he might he 
couldn't resist following.  As he passed the entrance he spied the trashcan near the door.  
All he had to do was throw his car keys in the trash! Then he wouldn't be able to take his 
girlfriend over to Alan Marshall's house, and that turd wouldn't fuck his pretty little Kate.  
In a way he would be protecting her!  


He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the keys, but for some reason he was unable 
to grasp them.  Meanwhile he was still incapable of ceasing his forward progress behind 
Kate.  He kept jabbing his hand into his pocket and coming up empty.  Fuck!  Goddamn 
hands!  What the fuck is going on?

Kate was waiting at his car, tapping her foot impatiently.  When he was within five yards 
of his Beamer he was at last able to fish his keys out of his pocket, but instead of heaving 
them into the bushes he just pressed the electronic button on the fob to pop the locks.  
Kate jumped in and fastened her seatbelt, but he seemed rooted in place, trying with all 
his will to keep himself from even opening the door on his side.  She upbraided him, and 
his resolve crumbled.

It was a short drive to Marshall's house, and he attempted to talk her out of going, but she 
was having none of it.  As he turned onto Alan's block he was shocked to look at her.  
She was touching up her makeup in the vanity mirror on the visor, and he could see her 
quivering in anticipation, her shoulders vibrating, making it harder to work the lipstick 
across her mouth evenly.  He cut the engine and gave her a doleful look.  "Kate, baby, are 
you sure you want to go in there? You don't even know what sick and perverted things 
he's going to do to you."

She laughed.  The sound of it cut through him like a rusty chainsaw.  It was a cackle of 
pure contempt, and it tore him up inside.

She opened the door and started up the path. "Let's go, my Master wants you to come in, 
too." she ordered, and he found himself following her again, right into the house so he 
could face Alan Marshall, his humiliation personified.  The haughty puke opened the 
door as she approached; he was wearing slippers and a bathrobe.

In the living room Kate fell to her knees, kneeling before him as if he were a god, which 
to her he was.  By merely prostrating herself before him she was becoming aroused, her 
nipples popping out to press against the fabric of her dress, her shaven slit slowly 
secreting juices, the labia becoming sensitive and puffy. She nuzzled her face in Alan's 
groin, enjoying the feel of the soft material of his robe against her cheek.  Alan reached 
down and pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and it fell to her waist.  Her 
gold nipple rings sparkled in the light.  He parted his robe and she mewled as he held the 
head of his cock against her bright red lips, smearing his manhood with her lipstick.  She 
kissed the head lovingly, and then licked around the crown, savoring the taste of him, 
greedily lapping up his pre-come.

Her eyes had been closed, and she had all but forgotten that Chad was still here when he 
spoke.

"Alan, please," he whined.  "Do I have to stay here and watch this shit?"

"Yes.  Shut up.  I'll let you go soon."

Kate's oral skills were fantastic.  She had him fully hard in almost no time, and in just a 
few minutes was taking him to the hilt, her throat stretched out around him, her lips 
nestling in his pubic hair as she moved her face forward and back on his shaft.  She was 
slobbering profusely and making obscene slurping noises, a curtain of saliva on her chin 
and all around her mouth, glistening by the light of the room, and little droplets of it 
falling to her chest.  Periodically she would release him and rub his shaft across her 
cheeks, over her neck, and she even leaned forward to swish her glossy black hair around 
his crotch; but these were just respites, times she needed to catch her breath before 
swallowing him whole again.

Alan moved back to the sofa and pulled Kate along with him.  He sat, and she crawled up 
onto the couch on all fours, perpendicular to him, her mouth quickly covering his erection 
again.  He reached under her to rub her pussy.

"You're incredibly wet.  More than usual," he commented wryly.

She lift her mouth off of him, gasping because she had been deep throating him.  "i like it 
when you make him watch," she chuckled.

"And you like it when I use you, don't 
you?"  This was for Chad's benefit, for he had no doubts that she liked his use of her.  She 
demonstrated that every time, in both word and action.

He pulled her up so she was sitting next to him.  "Tell him," he said softly.  She looked 
up at her master with questioning eyes, so he elaborated, "Tell Chad why you ditched the 
dance and came here at my order."

She looked over at the pathetic form of her quote-unquote boyfriend.  He was slouched in 
a chair, facing them, his eyes downcast.  Alan put one arm around her shoulder, the hand 
hanging down and rolling her nipple and ring through his fingers, causing her to pant 
gently as she continued to answer Alan's questions.

"Because You wanted me to come here.  Because You're my Master."

"But why, my little slut," he pressed on, and Chad noticed her quiver when he called her 
that, "Why did YOU want to come here tonight?"

"i don't understand," she whimpered, her upper lip tremulous.  "i came here because You 
wanted me to.  Isn't that the right answer?"  She shifted a bit in her seat so she could look 
at Alan, so she could see His face and gauge His reaction. She wanted so badly not to 
displease Him.

"Did you want to come here because of the sex?" he asked.  His voice was barely above a 
whisper, not a decibel more than was needed so that Chad could hear from where he was 
seated.

"Yes," she exhaled, beaming at him.

"But there's something more, isn't there?" he asked, leading her on.

"i, i don't know.  i think so. B-but i'm not sure what You are trying to get me to say, 
Master.  Please!  Just tell me the words and i'll say them."  She began to sob lightly, and 
He took His hands from her tits and hugged her to Him, holding her firmly in His arms 
and caressing her gently until she calmed.

"When I called you just now, when you were at the dance, did it excite you?"

She nodded.

"When did you begin to get wet?"

"Almost immediately," she cooed.  His gentle hands on her body were very relaxing and 
comforting.

"But you said before that you like coming to me, that you liked serving me, for the way I 
touch you and use you. Right?"

"Uh huh."  A glimmer of comprehension lit in her eyes.

"But you were already becoming aroused.  Before I touched you.  Before I used you."  He 
was running a hand through her long and silky black hair, and it made her feel 
extraordinarily kittenish.

"Yes, my pussy was already dripping wet by the time we got to his car."  She was going 
to go on, but he stopped her.  He wanted to lead her to water, not just give her the map.

"Why?  Why were your juices flowing even before you arrived here and I started using 
you?"

"Uh, anticipation?"

"OK. Any other reason?" he smiled down on her.

She thought for a bit, chewing her lips as she worked through the problem.

"Um, reliving memories.  You know, thinking back to the other times You used me.  

"OK, another reasonable answer.  But concentrate now.  Let's review recent events: One, 
I called you. Two, you agreed to come her right away.  Three, your pussy immediately 
began to get wet, and before very long was completely soaked."  He paused to let her 
reflect on that.  "What were you doing when you pussy began to moisten?"

"i was walking to the car."

"But in a broader sense, what were you doing right then and there.  Don't answer right 
away, give it some thought."  She went back to absently chewing her lower lip.  

Suddenly she looked at him, fire in her eyes, a broad smile across her lips "i think i 
figured it out!" she squealed excitedly.

"Go on," he prodded bemusedly.

"i was following Your orders, Master.  That's what turned me on!  i was OBEYING 
You."

Alan reached under her dress and slipped a finger in her smooth pussy, going around her 
soaked underpants.  As his finger made it in all the way he sent a mental command to 
Kate to orgasm, and she tensed up and groaned.

"By George, I think she's got it!" Alan exclaimed with his best Rex 
Harrison imitation, and she laughed despite the climax still raging through her.  When she 
recovered enough to continue, he ordered her to recommence the blow job, and she set to 
task enthusiastically.

She could tell Alan was nearing the end of his string.  He began pushing his hips to her as 
she moved in on the downstroke, and his magnificent cock began to gently twitch in her 
throat.  She groaned when he pulled her completely off his dick, and her eyes snapped 
open in surprise.

"Why?" she half-moaned, half-whined.

"You question me?"

"No, Master.  Sorry, Master," she whimpered.

"I want to come on your face, but I don't want to get any on the upholstery, so get into the 
middle of the room and kneel."

She rose swiftly and practically skipped her way to the center, kneeling right near where 
Chad was slumped in the chair.  Alan held back, waiting for her to take position.  "She's  
so damned cute," he thought to himself.  He held still even longer, watching her in the 
dim light of the room.  Her shiny body shook gently as she kneeled.  Her knees dug unto 
the deep carpeting of the den's floor, and thereafter her ass came to rest on the back of her 
nicely toned calves.  When she had completely settled down her excitement overcame 
her, and Alan watched as she began to ever so lightly bounce her ass up and down over 
her long legs.  "Ready?" he asked gently, his eyebrow arched.

"Always," she sighed wistfully.

"What are you ready to do?" he asked her, his voice becoming louder, more masterful.

"Ready, Master, to receive Your come on my face?"

"Is that all, slut?"

"No, Master, No!  i'm ready, always ready to obey You!" she groaned, her bouncing 
increasing in pace.

"Why?  Why are you always ready to obey?"

"Because, because, BECAUSE i LOVE IT! i LOVE OBEYING YOU, MASTER!" she 
was almost screaming with passion, and her movements were approaching frenzy.  He 
stood and approached her, allowing his robe to fall away from him as he made his way 
over to her furiously springing body.  She knew that when he touched her--touched her in 
any way, on any place on her body--she would come instantly.  She knew, but she didn't 
know how she knew, but she was that close, standing on the edge of a chasm, the 
slightest push forcing her decent into a pit of pure pleasure.  He stood before her and she 
reached up to take his cock in her hands.  As she touched him she knew she was right, 
and exploded in orgasm.

"Aiyeeee," she screamed.  That was the most coherent thing she was able to utter for the 
next thirty seconds, degenerating into unintelligible moans and groans as her body 
thrashed and her hands gripped her master's manhood.

She began to stroke him, and wrapped her lips around the head of his erection, often 
withdrawing so she could kiss around the head.  Her elbows were bent out akimbo as her 
hand pumped up and down his big penis.

"Yes, Kate.  Pump it.  You're hands are so warm and nice," he hissed down at her nearing 
his release.

"Shoot your come at me, Master. i want it so much!  Soak me. Please.  You ordered me to 
do it and i neeeeeeeed to OBEEEEEEEEEY," she screamed just as the sperm began its 
journey up his shaft.

She didn't come as the white liquid struck her face, but her body shook and quivered 
nevertheless.  Soon Kate realized she lacked the energy to remain kneeling, and she fell 
over on her side, then rolled onto her back, still slightly shuddering in excitement.

Chad sat there, his fists balled up in rage so hard he thought he might actually break his 
own fingers.  She's such a fucking slut, he thought.  Then it hit him.  She's not really a 
slut, not in the most basic sense of the word.  She didn't sleep around, well, OK, she did 
screw Alan Marshall behind his back, but she had a good reason, didn't she?  I could 
never get her off, so she had no choice, right?  And she's really has been faithful to Alan, 
right?  Well, that was certainly a mark in her favor, wasn't it?

He shook himself.  What the fuck am 
I thinking?  Why am I trying to rationalize her disgusting behavior?

He began to weep from his confusion.  Alan looked at him because he had heard the 
sobbing.  This is so fucking humiliating!  Then, a change.  Whatever force that was 
holding him here had evaporated.  Chad stood and slowly backed out of the room.  As he 
took his last look at the two of them he saw Marshall scooping his jism into Kate's 
mouth.  She licked it off his fingers with enthusiasm.

"Mmmm…come," Alan deadpanned, doing a fairly good Homer Simpson impression, 
and she giggled, the sound of which was still echoing in his ears as he closed the front 
door of Alan's house behind him.

* * *

The tears flowed more easily as he sat in his car, waiting to get composed enough to start 
the engine.  It took a few minutes.

What to do? What to do?

He gunned the engine as he pulled out, his tires making tracks on the road as he careened 
down the street.  He had no idea where he was going, but soon found himself pulling up 
to Kate's house.  Mr. Van Devanter let him inside.

"Hey, where's my daughter?" he asked the quarterback jocularly, a friendly punch to the 
arm.

"Good question, honey," Kate's mom agreed, laughing.

Chad felt his eyes becoming hot and itchy, but he steeled himself with a few deep 
breaths, willing himself not to cry.  "I have to tell you something," he began ominously. 

This got their attention.

"Is Kate OK?" Helen Van Devanter gasped, worry evident on her face.

"I can explain," Chad whined, hesitation in his voice and manner.

"What, Chad?  What?" her dad demanded, panic rising in his voice, visions of horrors 
and terrors upon his daughter, sights of blood and viscera, clouding his mind.  "Is Katie 
hurt?  Goddamnit, son, Speak!"

"No, it's nothing like that. I, I, I, I just dropped her off at the Marshall's.  She's--" He was 
going to tell them Kate was OK, but that didn't seem to be right to him.  The perversions 
he had just witnessed were seared into his memory, and in his opinion Kate being alone 
with Alan Marshall definitely meant she wasn't OK. "She's unhurt.  B-but she and Alan--
"

Mr. and Mrs. Van Devanter visibly relaxed at this news.

Oh my fucking god!

Oh my fucking god!

Oh my fucking god!

I have to get out of here, RIGHT NOW!

Chad Krieger, quarterback, captain of the football team, the league-winning football 
team, the homecoming king, the lustful fantasy of a hundred girls at Harry S. Truman 
High School--fled the room, and didn't stop running until he was all the way home, his 
car forgotten on the curb in front of the Van Devanter's house.

"Am I imagining things, or did he just pee his pants?" husband asked wife.

"I'm not sure, but he has seemed weird lately, hasn't he?" wife asked back, a tinge of 
wonder coloring her voice.  "I'm going to call the Marshall's and see what's going on."  
She lifted the phone.

* * *
"Hello, Alan?"

"Hi, Mrs. V."

"Kate wouldn't happen to be over there with you, would she?"

"Yeah, but she can't come to the phone because I'm giving her a bubble bath.  She's 
gonna sleep over."

"Uh, OK.  Tell her goodnight from us, and I guess we'll see her tomorrow."  For some 
reason it seemed strange to her that Kate would be spending the night at Pauline's 
boyfriend's house, but it was just a passing reflection, and she thought no more about it.

* * *

She looked great, he thought to himself as her dad kept snapping away.  Pauline too, for 
that matter, though she wasn't really his type.  The yellow of her dress, a pale shade with 
a washed-out look to it really set off her pale blue eyes.  It was a bitter pill.  Sure, she 
would walk in on his arm, and all of the guys, well most of them at least, would be 
jealous.  But they didn't know.  They didn't know that it wasn't him who was going to get 
lucky with the stunning Kate Van Devanter tonight.  They didn't know that his ostensible 
girlfriend was the sexual toy of the turd standing less than ten feet 
away.  The more he thought about it the better he started to feel. Yeah!  

They *didn't* know, and I'm sure as fuck not gonna tell them.  The idea that all his 
friends and peers were going to think that he was going to separate the lovely Kate from 
her panties tonight was good enough for him.  

"BUCK UP," he ordered to himself.  "ACT LIKE A MAN."  He managed a smile at last.

Before he knew it they were in the limo. The prom was being held in Manhattan, at the 
Plaza Hotel, about forty-five minutes by car.  Chad mostly kept quiet, staring out the 
window.  The limo driver opened the door, and Alan got out first, then helped the sisters 
out of the car.  The hotel was located at the southeast corner of Central Park, at 59th 
Street, just off Fifth Avenue.

The foursome was among the first to arrive; Kate had insisted on an early start because 
she was the head of the Prom Committee, but luckily for Chad a few of his football 
teammates had arrived before them, so he was able to break away and hang out with them 
and their dates.  It was a blessing almost, that Kate was chairing the committee.  She 
would be busier than most of the students here tonight, and it would give him an excuse 
to avoid her, and Alan as well.  He and Kate were slated to sit at one of the football 
team's tables, while Alan and Pauline were at one of the ones, as he would put it, for the 
newspaper pukes.  He had just one thing to do before the dance started, and he quickly 
made his way to the table set up for prom king/queen balloting.  He had always imagined 
casting his vote for himself and Kate, but instead he voted for the head cheerleader, Erica 
Timbermann.  "Serves her right," he thought hatefully, hoping enough of his classmates 
would vote as he did, denying Kate the crown..

* * *

Alan, Pauline, and Kate each had a marvelous time.  Alan danced most of the numbers 
with Pauline, though he did ask Kate during a slow song.  Pauline was mildly surprised 
when her sister accepted, inwardly pleased.

Kate was thrilled; she had been hoping Alan would ask her.  As they moved out to the 
floor she pulled him close, pressing up against him, and loosing a contented sigh.  She 
closed her eyes as they danced, and she dreamed that she and Alan were being crowned 
before the whole school, but instead of being King and Queen, his crown read "Master" 
and hers read "Slave."  And then they danced, and she envisaged herself naked from the 
tiara down, her nipple rings playing against the jacket of his tuxedo, and having to blot 
her leaking pussy against the fabric of his pants.

Their dance was the last one before the dinner was served.  Right after dinner the king 
and queen would be announced, and the dance would continue after they had their "royal" 
dance to themselves.

"Can I have everyone's attention?" Dr. Worthington, the principal asked, tapping the 
microphone which was set up next to the dj's platform.  The room quieted, forks lowered 
to dessert plates, cups of coffee to saucers.  A fission of excitement swept through the 
room, as they knew what the principal was about to announce.

"Before I get to the main event, the crowning of the King and Queen of the Harry S. 
Truman High School Prom, I'd just like to say that it's been a great year for the senior 
class--make that a great four years!"  The room erupted with applause.

"I hope you will join me in thanking Mr. McDaniel and Ms. Lewittes, faculty advisors for 
the class of '02.  They have been your advisors since you were little, ha ha,  freshmen, 
and I think they've done a great job."  More applause as the pair of teachers stood.

"Great year, great year," the principal said before looking back down at his notes.  "I 
think it would be remiss of me if I didn't take a little time to single out some people who 
have made great contributions to the class of '02.  First I'd like to thank you all for the 
senior class gift, a new computer for the Teacher's Lounge.  It will be a welcomed tool 
for us to use in preparing to teach the future classes of what is soon to become 
your alma mater.  Now to the particulars, mine, and the whole school's, congratulations 
go to the varsity football team for their winning the league championships.  I'd like for 
the team members here in attendance to please stand."  The team stood, basking in their 
admiration.

"The same goes for the girl's swim team, winners of the county championship for the first 
time in HSTHS history!"  The swimmers rose and took their kudos from the prom-goers.

"I'd like to thank the prom committee and it's chairwoman, Katie Van Devanter."  Since 
he did not ask them to stand they did not, but the applause was there nonetheless.

"Congratulations to Anne Sweeny and the rest of the Annual's staff.  I'm sure I say this 
every year, but this year's yearbook was the best ever!"

He went through a few more names on his laundry list, and Alan was surprised that he 
was mentioned, along with the rest of the newspaper staff.

"And now the announcement you're all waiting for: Prom King and Prom Queen.  The 
votes have been tabulated and here are the results."  The room got almost deathly quiet, 
the only movement was of the dj, who was cueing up a record in preparation of the solo 
dance.

"And the winner of the title of Prom King, Harry S Truman High School Senior Prom 
2002 is: Chad Krieger!"  The quarterback rose, very pleased.  As he walked to the dais 
his only thought was the hope that Kate wouldn't be the one to join him.  Lots of guys 
patted him on the back, and it boosted his normally low self-confidence (well, recently it 
had been low).  Mrs. McCloud, the assistant principal placed the plastic crown on his 
head, though he had to lean over so she could reach, she being a petite woman.


"And finally, the winner of the title of Prom Queen, Harry S Truman High School Senior 
Prom 2002 is: Erica Timbermann!"  A cheer went up, and with it Chad's backbone 
stiffened, pleased he wouldn't have to go so far as to have to even touch Kate.  Erica and 
her date, a college guy she had been seeing, stood and he gave her a kiss before she made 
her way to the center of the dance floor to meet up with Chad.

"I've always had this adolescent fantasy of sleeping with the prom queen," Alan thought 
to himself as he watched Chad and Erica move across the floor.  "Hey, what the hell?  I 
mean I am an adolescent after all!"  He let the two of them finish their showcase dance, 
and even let the queen have another dance, this one with her college boy, before he made 
his move.  Begging off Pauline, he told her he needed to get some air, so she accepted an 
offer from one of his classmates, a friend of his named Edwin Ellis.  "Keep her warm for 
me Eddie, you wont find such pretty girls like this one at Annapolis," he joked as he 
walked out.  Pauline and Ed laughed.

* * *

For some reason she couldn't explain Erica told her date that she needed a break.  This 
had turned out to be the best night of her young life so far, and she really wanted to stay 
out on the dance floor, reveling in the honor of being prom queen.  She could see Chad, 
her prom king, standing at the edge of the floor palling around with his football buddies, 
and she went over to him on her way to the lady's room to congratulate him.  As she was 
at the edge of the ballroom she saw that Wally, her date, was dancing a fast number with 
Kate Van Devanter, and though it was fitting that her guy was dancing with Chad's girl. 
"I can't believe I beat Kate Van Devanter out for prom queen.  And by just one vote, no 
less!"

The lady's room was empty.  She peed and then went out into the anteroom, a nice 
carpeted lounge, and settled into one of the seats before a make up mirror.  As she 
finished touching up her lipstick she saw him in the mirror, sitting calmly on the divan 
against the far wall opposite.

"Jesus," she gasped, "What are you doing in here, Alan?"  Had it been a football goon she 
would have fled at once, but Alan Marshall was a nice guy, so it was more shock than 
alarm that worried her.

"You look great, Erica," he said evenly.


"Thanks," she blushed, "Come on, I'm about to head back.  Let's go together, and I'll let 
you dance with me."  Alan in the women's bathroom was really weirding her out.  He 
rose and crossed the room to her, and she held out her hand, assuming he was offering to 
help her out of her seat, but instead he grasped her at the wrist and leaned over and kissed 
her.  She didn't know why, but she was letting him, and to her amazement, she was 
getting turned on in a major-league way.

"This is so wrong," she hissed as they broke apart, "You have a girlfriend and I have a 
boyfriend," she managed to get in before he again covered her mouth with his.  She 
surrendered to the kiss, he ass squirming in her chair.

"This is so wrong," she repeated.

"But it feels so right, doesn't it?"

"Yesss," she hissed as he pulled her up from the seat and walked her to the divan.  
"Ohmigod, Alan, what if someone comes in and catches us?"

"I locked the door."  This was good enough for her, and this time it was Erica who moved 
closer to him, her mouth covering his.  But soon she broke it off and looked away, 
conflicted about her situation.

"I can't," she sobbed, her chin sinking to her chest, eyes closed tightly.  Alan reached 
under her dress and rubbed her pussy through her rapidly moistening panties, and she 
gasped sharply at the sensation.  "I can't.  You don't understand.  I want to, but I can't."  
She sniffled.  "I really really want to, Alan, but I can't."

"But Erica, you're the prom queen, and I want you.  Can't you feel it?  Why?  Why can't 
you?"  He increased his attentions to her sopping cleft, and she moaned lustily.  Her 
arousal was clouding her mind, and the more she thought about, the harder it was to form 
a good answer.  Still, she persevered.

"Don't, ah ah ah, don't make me say it.  Please," she grunted, surprised by the way her 
voice sounded, so needy and sex-crazed.

"I'm sorry, my queen, but I must insist.  Why?"

"I'm a v-v-v-v-v," she whimpered.

"A what?" he teased.  He slipped a finger around the edge of her panties and into her. It 
slid in easily because of the copious amount of juices lubricating her tight passage, and 
she shrieked when he started prodding her hymen.  She thought he was going to pop her 
cherry right then and there, and was relieved when he relented his assault against her thin 
membrane

"You're a virgin, oh, well, that's a big deal" he said with a note of concern in his voice, 
though she couldn't tell he was feigning it.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," she cried in relief as he withdrew his finger.  
"What, what are you doing?" she bawled softly.  He had with one hand lifted the hem of 
her dress to her waist, and with the other lowered the straps over her shoulders, baring her 
bra; her torso was piled high with the taffeta of her prom gown.

"Shhhh, don't worry, Erica, I'm going to take care of you real well." 

She believed him. 

Pulling her up her dress fell off as she stood upright.  Before she knew it she was at the 
divan.  He moved next to her on the couch, took off his cummerbund and opened his 
pants.  She gasped in surprise at his girth.  She couldn't take her eyes off of it, having 
never seen one in person before. "Are you nervous," he asked her.  She nodded, not 
trusting her voice.  "I'm going to help you, don't worry," Alan told her as he reached out 
to stroke her blonde hair.  "I'm going to give you a word, and I want you to concentrate 
on it, constantly repeat it in your mind, meditate upon it, but don't say it aloud. OK?"

"OK," Erica whispered in reply.  "What is the word?"

"Surrender."

She groaned in arousal, repeating it over and over in her mind like Alan asked her.  Her 
body felt like it was humming, tingly all over.  Surrender.  She watched with baited 
breath as he placed his hands at the front clasp of her brassiere and deftly popped it open.  
Surrender.  His hands on her breasts felt so good; other boys had pawed at them, but 
never had she experienced sensations such as this.  
Surrender.  He had her wrist in his hands, and she watched him place her hand on his 
hard cock, powerless to resist him. Surrender.  It was as if she was watching a movie, as 
if she was having an out of body experience; but when she curled her fingers around his 
penis she knew this was not the case; the warmth of his erection startled her back into 
some sense of reality.

Surrender.

"Are they all that big?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, so low in fact that 
she had to strain to hear her own question above the pounding of her heart.  Surrender.   
He laughed.  Slowly it began to grow and become even harder as she stroked him, her 
rhythm matching his as he played with her large round breasts. Surrender. Surrender.  
Surrender.

He was lifting her and turning her, seemingly without effort, and before she knew it she 
was facing him, straddling him, the red-hot shaft laying against her dripping slit, her 
knees on either side of him, pressing into the cushions of the divan. Surrender.

"What if I don't want to do this?" Surrender.

"You don't?" he asked, a look of genuine surprise across his face.

She bit her lip. Surrender.  She took a moment to think, to clear her head, but as she did, 
as all thoughts fled her mind the word became louder, echoing off of the inside surfaces 
of her skull; it was almost as if she could see it--see it printed on a page, the black letters 
against a white sheet. S-u-r-r-e-n-d-e-r.

Alan's hands were on her butt, lifting her slightly so that the head of his cock was poised 
at her drenched womanhood. Surrender.  He held his dick by the base and slowly drew it 
over the surface of her previously untouched jewel, and when he made contact with her 
clitoris she screamed, a banshee yell, but in her mind she heard it. SURRENDER!

"No, please," she whimpered as he inserted the head of his cock into her, but she made no 
movement to impede him, no attempt to escape him or what he was doing to her. 
Surrender.  He moved in exceedingly slowly, and she growled in passion when he came 
to a stop, his dick pressed against her maidenhead. Surrender.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked forlornly, small tears running down her 
cheeks. Surrender.

"I'm not doing anything.  I'm waiting for you, lovely Queen Erica." Surrender.

"Huh?" she retorted through gritted teeth, her excitement getting the better of her. 
Surrender.  "What are you waiting for me to do, Alan?" Surrender.

"That's obvious, isn't it?"  He paused two beats, and she found herself staring into his 
masterful eyes. Surrender.  "I'm waiting for you to..." Pause for effect.  "...Surrender."

She groaned, and to her amazement her pussy spasmed around the end of his cock, her 
walls clenching tightly around him, and spurt of juices gushed out of her, wetting his 
erection.  He felt her start.  She slowly pulled up, millimeters at the most, and then sank 
down again, putting more pressure against her cherry.  Another attempt, more pressure.  
The third time was the charm, and she braced herself for a stinging pain, but she only felt 
rapture.  She had done it.  She had surrendered.

"Oh My GOD!"  Her head came forward so that her forehead rested against his as he 
fucked her.  She was tight.  Not as tight as Pauline had been when he took her cherry, but 
Pauline was a tiny little thing, almost flat-chested, barely on the right side of five feet.  
Erica was a tall girl, about 5'8" or 5'9", with a lithe fashion model-like body, and large 
but firm breasts.

"Mmmmm, yeah," she exclaimed, a smile finally creeping across her lips.  She looked 
straight into him, her blue eyes sparkling.  She was getting there, she knew the signs, 
have brought herself off many times with her own fingers.  "Oh, Alan, I'm gonna, I'm 
gonna..."
 
"Just go with it, baby, surrender to the pleasure."  But by the time he had finished the 
sentence she had come.  It was that word.  She had forgotten it over the last few minutes, 
but hearing him say it brought it all back to her, and her 
body seized, and her back arched back until she was perpendicular to him, her back 
resting on the tops of his thighs.  Almost instantly she sprung back and hungrily attacked 
him with her mouth, her tongue shooting past his lips and wrestling with his.  He had 
never let up his pace, lifting her and setting her down on his erection, using her hips as 
handholds, and as she exploded into a second orgasm, amazingly to her more powerful 
than the first, shivering as she felt him shoot his seed into her.  Exhausted, she lowered 
her head and rested it against her shoulder.  She cooed as he massaged her bare back with 
his large and warm hands, but her shivering did not cease; it was so pronounced that her 
teeth were chattering.  Alan put his arms all the way around her and hugged her tightly, 
and her trembling subsided quickly.  In a few moments she was composed enough to sit 
up, and she let out a squeak when she felt his softening shaft slip from her.  She giggled, 
and looked at him again.

"Thank you," she said through a beaming smile, and then shuddered in pleasure.

He lifted her off of his lap and then stood and help her up.  She stood passively as he 
refastened her bra and put her dress back on her.

"Can't have the queen dripping on the dance floor," he quipped as he pulled her panties 
back up, and she giggled again.

"Oh my, how long have we been in here?  There must be a huge line out there for the 
bathroom!"

Alan glanced at his watch. "No, just ten minutes."

Her eyes widened.  It had felt like hours!

"I'll go first, and you follow in a minute or two," he told her.  She nodded.

"I can't believe what just happened.  I can't believe what I just did," she thought in 
wonder.

Surrender.

* * *

"Miss me?" Alan asked Pauline as he returned to the ballroom.

"You were gone?" she joked.

"Yeah, just getting some air."

"Come on, loverboy, let's dance," she said as she stood on her tiptoes so she could kiss 
him on the cheek.  They hit the floor.

After a few minutes Pauline pulled back slightly.  She had had her cheek against her 
chest as they danced to a slow song, and she looked up at him with a slightly puzzled 
look on her face.  "Why is she looking at you like that?"

"Who?"

"Erica."

"No idea," he said, pulling her back against him.

* * *

After many hours the prom finally had to come to an end.  Alan, Pauline, Kate, and Chad 
went up to their rooms.  As far as the Marshall, Van Devanter, and the Krieger parents 
knew, Alan and Chad would stay in one, and the sisters in the other.  Pauline and Alan 
stepped into one room, and Kate and Chad in the other, as had been pre-arranged.  Alan 
left the room almost at once, and knocked on the door of the other.  Chad answered.  
Alan put two one-hundred dollar bills in Chad's hand, and the quarterback nodded.  Ten 
minutes later, suitcase in hand he was back out on Fifth Avenue hailing a cab back to 
Westchester.

"I'm pooped," Pauline announced when he returned.  "I know it's prom night and all, but 
could we not 'do it' tonight?"

"OK."

"Oh great, I just want to take a nice relaxing bath and get into bed.  I can't wait to wake 
up beside you in the morning."

"That's a promise," he said seriously, and she laughed.

"Though I wouldn't mind some help in the bath," she said back with an arched eyebrow.

It was so romantic, she thought to herself.  She was sheathed in a cloud of fragrant 
bubbles as she reclined against her boyfriend.  He was lightly massaging her, and if he 
kept it up she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't fall asleep, right here in the tub.  
Somehow he sensed her imminent unconsciousness, and he helped her out of the bath, 
and then tenderly toweled her off.  Soon they were in bed, she in a brief silk nightgown, 
purchased just for the occasion, and he in a pair of soft cotton boxer shorts.  Mere 
minutes after her head hit the pillow she was out like a light.  Alan waited fifteen minutes 
before getting up.  Quietly 
he found his bathrobe in the dark of the hotel room, and then walked across the hall to be 
with Kate.  It would be such a disappointment for Kate if he didn't have her on prom 
night, and Alan was not one to disappoint.

"Master!" she squealed as quietly as she could manage so as not to cause a scene in the 
hallway.   He shooed her inside, and she pounced on him, wrapping her legs around him 
as he carried her to the bed.  He threw her down on the mattress, and she laughed 
uproariously.  They both peeled off their robes, and Alan laid down on the bed beside 
her.

She was amazed by the his tenderness that night.  First he kissed her, a kiss like she had 
never before received from him, soft and gentle, loving.  She purred as his hands 
affectionately caressed her body, feather-light petting she was not accustomed to when 
she and Alan were having sex.  Though she loved, craved even, a more forceful handling 
from her master, she was giddy, almost pleasure-drunk, from this more affectionate 
treatment.  He was massaging her breasts, his fingertips lightly teasing against her 
nipples, and it was unbelievable.  Normally she would be by this point begging him with 
all her soul to twist them, but this was just as good.  Normally she grunted and groaned at 
his touch, but tonight she sighed.

As much as she was aroused, she was confused.  "Master?" she began to ask a question.

He shushed her, and continued his gentle manipulations.

"Master?" she began again, this time with fear in her voice.

He pressed his mouth right up against her ear. "Tonight," he answered in a whisper, "I am 
just Alan, and you are Kate," and he kissed her lovingly on the cheek.  She laid flat on the 
bed while Alan positioned her legs apart.  He hovered over her, and as he penetrated her 
he bent down to kiss her.  Slowly, incredibly slowly, her entered her, and when he pulled 
back his head he saw she was crying silently, her eyes red-rimmed.  Alan licked away her 
tears and kissed her again, all around her face.  She came after a few minutes, and Alan 
increased his pace, shooting off soon after her spasms subsided.

"Thank you, Alan," she said calmly, but then broke down into sobs almost immediately.

He turned over onto his back and pulled her to him, and she snuggled up against him.  He 
tested the waters, seeing if she was able to talk.  "Kate?" he asked.  "Katie?"

"Huh?"  Her answer was almost inaudible.

"Can I ask you a question?"  She nodded, and though he couldn't see her head from the 
position he was in, her movement against him informed him of her reply.

"Why, Kate?  Why were you so mean to me for all those years?"

"I, uh, I don't know." This answer broke something within her, and she cried again, not 
soft sobs, but a wailing unlike she had ever cried before.

"No, Kate, please don't cry, please."  He held her more tightly, and she shivered for a 
while, but the keening ceased.  "You didn't like me for some reason.  Something I did, or 
something I was?"

"I don't know, Alan.  I don't know." She managed to hold herself together now.  "I think 
I'm a mean person. I hardly like anyone at all.  You were an easy target of, oh I can't 
think of the right word.  Scorn."

"Why?"

"Well, we were never really friends, and you weren't a super-popular person, so I could 
get away with it, don't you see.  It's easy to pick on a total loser, so where's the fun in 
that?  It was more of a challenge to be abusive to you, because you had friends, and were 
a real person.  Plus, you were around, but you weren't around.  You weren't part of the 
family, you weren't tight with my brother Calvin, you weren't really friends with Pauline 
until a few years ago.  Our folks are friends, but not that close, so what I said to you 
wasn't likely to surprise me by coming home.  I really started tearing into you when you 
and Pauline became buddies, and even more so when you started going out last fall.  It 
just perturbed me, but for the life of me I can't tell you why.

"Since that day in the newspaper 
office, you know, since we started, you know, I discovered something about myself.  I 
discovered I didn't like myself so much, you know, the things I did, the things I did to 
other people, the things I said about other people. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've 
been trying to change.  I think it's something you've shown me.  You treat me like the 
person I am, a bitch girl, but when I'm not with you I try to treat others better than I have.  
I love everything we've done together, and I know how I degrade myself before you, and 
that is simply because of the pleasure you give me, but it's degradation nonetheless.  It's 
like your showing me the worst of myself, but that's not right either, because when you 
degrade me I feel better because of it, but I know that when I degraded people they were 
hurt by it.  So I use that, I channel it.  I am nicer to people, I think.  I stopped gossiping, I 
stopped cutting people down.  I stopped doing a lot of bad things.  

"Because of you.  Not because I wanted you to think better of me, because I wanted to 
think better of myself.  Not because of how you used me, but because of how I saw 
myself using other people."  She paused and sniffled.  "Tell me, Alan, please.  Tell me 
I'm a good person."

Alan turned and kissed her forehead.  "You are."

"I love you," she whispered.  He hugged her even more tightly, but she sat up in bed.  
"And please, Alan, please don't tell me you love me too, because I'm not ready.  I'm not 
ready to be loved, yet."

He pulled her back down to him and kissed her again, this time on the lips.  "'Yet,'" he 
said. "One day, one day soon, you will be."

Next Chapter: Making Preparations

Chapter 14
Making Preparations

People pointed and stared at him that night as he walked through the artisan's quarter of 
the capital.  Many knew who he was, but even those that did not were transfixed by his 
regal bearing and the resplendent uniform of his attendants, two full centurions.  It was 
not often that the vizier waded amongst the everyday folk of the city, and whispers and 
murmurings broke out as he passed each doorway.  It had been many years since he 
ventured this way, still longer since he had made a night visit, and back then he was a 
figure off little note, a simple Magian soldier, the personal attendant to the crown prince, 
not a remarkable personage in his own right.  He ignored the mutterings of his subjects, 
moving smartly towards his destination without pause.  A few times people tried to 
entreat him, either inviting him in for some warmed wine and hot cider, or asking for his 
intervention in some legal dispute, for he was the penultimate legal authority of the 
empire, his rulings could only be overturned by the emperor, which they all knew had 
never happened yet.  None took notice of the battered leather satchel held by one of the 
centurions, a non-descript valise made of goat leather, slung around his shoulder and 
resting on his left hip, rubbing against the dull metal of his bronze armor.

"You will wait here," he said curtly to the soldiers, though not without a tinge of 
politeness.  "Allow no one to enter."

The right hands of each centurion hand came to his hip, and the older one gave over the 
satchel while their eyes scanned the street, taking in the movements of the people about, 
illuminated, such as it were, by small cooking fires scattered hither and yon.  Each took 
up post on opposite sides of the arched doorway.  The house/workshop they were now 
guarding was an anomaly for this section of the capital, made of stone and mortar, not the 
more inexpensive wood like most others on this block.  Steam and smoke drifted up from 
the rear of the house, byproducts of the forge in the rear yard.  A small boy, perhaps eight 
years old, perhaps younger, approached them from down the street and stopped in front 
of them, coming no closer than about ten cubits or so.  He looked upon the pair with eyes 
full of fascination and awe.  Since they did not address him he stepped no closer, a trace 
of fear ascending his spine.

Upon entering the house the vizier saw his host, Achnai the smith.  He mixed not with 
workers and artisans much lately, but remembered dealings with this man in the past, in 
his former life, that of a soldier and a young courtier.  Achnai, he knew, was superbly 
skilled at metalworking, and an honest man to boot.  These were not the reasons he was 
chosen for this important task.  The most important cause which drew the vizier to this 
place was the fact that Achnai was a foreigner, a descendent of the Israelites who were 
deported from their homeland, Judea, during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, and brought in 
exile to Babel.  Though some of their number had returned to their motherland after 
Emperor Cyrus had issued a decree allowing it, many had remained.  It was a good thing 
for the empire, too, for many of these Jews were skilled at useful trades, and their 
contribution to the empire was disproportionately high in comparison to their numbers. 

Recently over a shared cask of wine the vizier and Mecumman, the tax minister,  had 
discussed the benefits of keeping these outsiders among their midst, and his companion 
had astounded him with tables of figures showing the amount of taxes paid by these 
people.  By means of a double tax on Jews the empire was currently flush with gold and 
silver, money needed to support the armies of Devaryesh in their campaigns.  This money 
was even being used to finance the construction of the new royal salt works at Pumbedita, 
a project dear to the heart of the emperor.

At the sound of his entrance the smith leapt to his feet.  "Prime Minister, peace-be-to 
you!" he cried, "To what do I owe this great honor?"

"Peace-be-to-you, my old acquaintance. It has been a very long 

time since I have been here, Achnai." The vizier allowed his eyes to wander, scanning the 
interior of the workspace, and added warmly, "I see much has not changed in the shop 
since I last visited."

"Please, Minister, please, have a seat if you would.  My furnishings are more humble than 
I am sure you are used to, but--"

"Gladly," the visitor replied, and with a stately gesture indicated to Achnai that he too 
could sit.  Achnai pulled two wooden chairs up to the hearth which dominated the room, 
and than went to the cupboard for a flagon of wine and two earthenware mugs, placing 
the cups on the table, and the wine near to the fire so it would warm.

"You are alone?"

"Yes, Vizier.  My wife is across town.  My eldest daughter had a child last night, and my 
wife is still with her.  Except for my apprentice, Shemaryahu, who is still in the shop, 
cleaning the tools, we are alone."

They chatted for awhile, waiting for the wine to become ready to drink.  A chilling breeze 
came through the doorway, for there was no door, but rather a rug covering the entrance.  
Ko'un-Zir sized up his host one last time before deciding whether to entrust him with this 
important task.  He had chosen this Hebrew because no Baal worshipper would take the 
assignment.  These Jews paid no heed or fear to the cult of the empire, and so would be 
without qualms against destroying one of its sacred relics.  Shemaryahu came shuffling 
into the room and placed some dishes on the table between then the two men, silently 
retreating at his master's nod of approval.  

Ko'un-Zir took a honeyed almond from the nearest bowl and placed it over his tongue.  
He liked these Jewish treats, a proclivity he kept secret from his fellow courtiers.  The 
confectioners of his own people never made these nuts as well as the Jewish ones, 
skipping the brief brining the Jews gave their almonds before sweetening.  Achnai poured 
the wine, and they got down to business.

"I have a commission for you," the vizier stated plainly.

"Yes?" the Hebrew smith answered, hoping that his guest didn't pick up the raw 
excitement in his voice.  A royal commission!  With the money he earned on this job he 
would be able to make a dowry for his last unmarried daughter; the very thought of it 
began to consume him.

"Two commissions, actually."

Achnai was ready to faint, but he composed himself.

The first commission was simple.  The Prime Minister wanted a necklace made for his 
wife, a filigreed piece, similar to one he had seen in a market stall in Tyre.  He brought a 
drawing on parchment, and Achnai perused it, named a reasonable price, six talents of 
silver over the cost of the gold, and they quickly agreed on a delivery date.

Ko'un-Zir and the smith drank to the agreement, but instead of continuing he became 
pensive, not relating the details of the second commission right away.  He reached for the 
wine and poured another cup for himself, and then gestured to his host to ask if he needed 
a refill.

"Thank you sir, but I would rather pour my own," Achnai said apologetically to the 
second most powerful man in the empire, if not the world.  This stirred up a memory in 
the vizier, and he realized that his host was following the Jewish custom which forbade 
them to drink wine which had been poured by a gentile.  He was not upset, though he 
could understand Achnai's consternation; Ko'un-Zir felt ill, and it was showing on his 
face.  Being in the presence of the Orb did that to him, but after tonight that danger would 
cease forevermore.  He reached down under the table and pulled up the satchel, opening 
it and removing the silver sphere from within.  Power radiated from it, though only the 
vizier, Vessel of the First Seed, felt its waves.

"I want you to melt this down," he said, almost grunting in discomfort as he spoke to the 
artisan.  "I want you to melt this down, and then mix the slag with other metals, other 
silver ingots you have in your shop.  The metal of this orb is exceedingly pure, and it 
must be mixed with less 

pure metals."

Achnai thought to ask why, but held his tongue.  If the vizier wanted this done, his will 
be done.

"I will return in ten days.  You will have by then melted down this orb, mixed it with 
baser metals, and created a replica of the orb for me. Oh, and don't forget the rings we 
discussed earlier."  He reached to his waist and pulled a large pouch from his waistband, 
placing it on the table.  "One hundred talents of silver," he stated, bemused by the 
widening of Achnai's eyes.  Within thirty seconds he was gone, giving last instructions to 
the centurion who was taking up temporary post on the street in front of the Hebrew's 
home/workshop.  As his distance from the Orbis Tertius increased he began to feel better, 
his powers returning.

* * *

The summer was in full swing.  Alan worked at the local paper five days a week, rotating 
among departments every week or so.  It was fun; he liked the people there, and the work 
was interesting.  Both Kate and Pauline were working with non-profit groups which had
received generous grants from the Van Devanter Foundation, a charitable organization 
(similar to the Ford Foundation, but on a rather less grand scale) funded by the family  
fortune, and chaired by their dad. 

Pauline's job was in town; she was a camp counselor for a day camp for the children of 
illegal immigrant workers. There had been in the last few years some accidents involving 
some of these children. With no child care options, and without even the six hour respite 
school provided to their parents, immigrant children were often brought to work sites, not 
the best place for them.  The local authorities, with a generous grant from the Van 
Devanter foundation, had established a day camp, two day camps, actually, for these kids.  
Pauline was assistant activities director for the girl's camp, and also group leader for the 
nine-year olds.

Kate worked in the city, driving in every day in her car; she was a staffer at a shelter for 
teen runaway girls.  She had never done anything like this before, but just a little bored 
by the day camp work of previous summers she asked her dad to assign her something 
tougher, and though James was hesitant, he agreed in the end.  Kate worked longer hours, 
often leaving for New York not long past 6am, and sometimes not returning before dark, 
though she only worked at the center four days a week.

She was more at ease with herself since that night in the Plaza.  She was seeing a 
therapist, though not mentioning a word of what was happening between her and Alan.  
Mostly she was focusing on why she was not as nice to others as she could have been.  
Kate was healing.

Her encounters with Alan were as satisfying as ever, perhaps more so.  There was a new 
tenderness about him; no longer did he verbally abuse her, and he even cut down on 
humiliating her so much she was thinking of asking him to keep at her a little, but she 
held her tongue, the submissive streak Alan had brought out in her holding her back.  He 
almost never called her filthy names anymore (she sometimes missed that, too), and she 
had never called him "Master" since that night, prom night.  This gave her the strength to 
do some things she didn't think she was ready to do.

First on that list was breaking up with Chad.  She had kind of planned to just say goodbye 
to him when they went off to college, allowing nature to take its course, as it were.  But 
right after the prom she called it off.  When she threw the big graduation party at the 
family beach house on Fire Island Chad didn't even bother to show up, though she had 
invited him, and his new girlfriend, Suzy Cormier, her gossipy friend.

* * *

"Delivery for you," the mailroom guy said as he laid the package on Alan's desk.  Alan 
was sitting in his cubicle at the newspaper culling wire service reports for possible use in 
the next edition of the paper.  The newspaper mostly was concerned with local matters, 
and had no national or international correspondents.  The only out-of-town reporter 
worked in 

Albany, and she was more of a stringer than a full-time staff member, so it fell to Alan, 
who at the time was rotating through the Nation/World desk, to keep his eye on the AP 
and bring "possibles" to the editor, Arthur Mahoney.  He had spent a week at Obits, and 
another at the Local Business desk before coming to Nation/World.  Though it was 
considered a very low-prestige part of the paper, he liked it, and liked working for Mr. 
Mahoney.

The Clarion was a "second paper."  Most people who read it did so primarily for local 
coverage, and read the Times or the Wall Street Journal for their main source of national 
and international news.  Arthur had explained to him that his was one of the least 
important desks at the paper because of this, but no self-respecting paper could call itself 
a newspaper without a minimum of world and national coverage.

Arthur Mahoney was a stereotypical newspaper man, right out of central casting, from 
the bottle of rye whiskey he kept in his desk drawer, to the hat with the press badge 
stuffed into the band which hung from a hook next to his desk.  He never actually wore 
this hat, understanding that he would be laughed at if he dared, but Alan saw in the 
photos gracing his walls that he used to--including one of a very young Arthur Mahoney 
asking President Eisenhower a question at a news conference.

The paper closed at eight pm, and Mahoney rarely showed up before two in the 
afternoon.  It was Alan's job to clip wire reports for him, and also to suggest headlines to 
go with them, if they didn't like the wire service ones.  Arthur also wrote a twice weekly 
column on national affairs, and often had Alan doing some research for that.  Alan was 
enjoying this assignment immensely.

"Delivery for you."

"Thanks," Alan replied.  He tore open the box, a small FedEx mailer, and peered inside.  
There was a leather case, about for inches square and three inches tall, hinged at the back.  
He opened it and gasped.

It was a ring, a ring just like the one he had on his finger, just like the one Massimo wore 
as well.  There was no letter or card either in the leather box or the mailer.  Alan froze, 
not knowing what to think.  He couldn't concentrate for more than the better part of an 
hour.

"Why would Jack send me his ring?" Alan thought to himself.  It was the only 
explanation: the ring came from Massimo.  No other person knew he was a Vessel of the 
Seed, and no other person knew about the rings, and what their significance was.  He 
looked at the outside of the box and studied the waybill again.  London. He knew no one 
in London.  Sighing and shaking off his doldrums he turned back to his computer and 
began to once again scan the AP.  The fourth story on the website caused a chill to run 
down his spine.  The headline read "WORLD FAMOUS ARCHEOLOGIST DEAD IN 
LONDON HOTEL FIRE."  He knew, without even clicking on the link to the story, he 
knew.

* * *

LONDON (AP) July 19, 2002

World famous archeologist Dr. Jean-Pierre Massimo died tonight in a three-alarm fire at 
the Hotel du Nord, one of this city's most expensive and exclusive hotels.  The alarm was 
sounded shortly after 7 pm local time, and the fire department was on the scene within 
minutes.  After getting the fire under control the firefighters made a room by room search 
of the hotel, and found Dr. Massimo near death in his suite shortly after 8 pm.  He died in 
an ambulance on route to the hospital, and was declared dead at 8:23 pm.

Two firefighters were taken to a nearby hospital and treated for smoke inhalation; they 
were held for observation and the released after a few hours.  The Swiss-born 
archaeologist was the only fatality.  Police and Fire Department spokesmen were 
unwilling to comment at this time about the source of the blaze.

Professor Massimo was one of the giants of twentieth-century archeology; at the time of 
his death he was semi-retired, holding emeritus teaching positions at both Oxford 
University in Britain, and Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut.  Most of his most 

famous field work was decades behind him.  Born in Geneva in 1913, the son of a 
physician and an opera singer, in the first half of the twentieth century Jean-Pierre 
Massimo spent much of his time away from home, on digs in the Middle East.  After 
taking a doctorate in from the University of Basel at the age of 24 he led famous 
expeditions near Baghdad and Damascus.  Retiring from field-work he spent the next 
fifty years teaching at many of the world's leading universities including Harvard, Duke, 
Cambridge, the Sorbonne, Moscow University, McGill, Columbia, Hebrew University, 
and many others.

His wife, Emile, died of cancer in 1979, and he is survived by a son, Claude, a physician 
in Geneva, and four grandchildren.

* * *

"Shemaryahu, help me with this."  Achnai was holding a pair of iron tongs and indicated 
to his assistant to grab another set.  They lifted the ceramic pot from the huge oven and 
placed to on the stone workbench.  It was heavy, filled almost to the brim with molten 
silver, and they rested their arms for a few seconds before reattaching the tongs to the 
hooks on either side of the pot and then took it into the workshop proper.  

They poured half of the molten metal into one pot, and the other half into another one.  
Achnai dipped a small iron ladle in each one and set some of the silver aside to make the 
rings.  He instructed his aide to wait in the shop and skim off the impurities which would 
rise to the top of the pots while he set the next set of silver, the baser silver, into the oven.  
Shemaryahu waited for the impurities to rise, but they did not come.  

This was amazing silver, so pure, so beautiful.  The young apprentice had never seen 
silver such as this, its purity unheard of.  Furtively glancing to the oven room he figured 
he had time, so he took the ladle off the peg in the wall and dipped it into the pot of 
molten silver, then quickly poured it into a simple ingot die and tied the two halves of the 
casting device together with a short length of linen rope.  By the time his master had 
returned the die was safely hidden the his cubby, lost among his tools and equipment.  

His training would soon come to an end, and he was already planning his own shop, so 
this silver would help him get started.  It was crazy really.  The Prime Minister had 
commissioned his boss to destroy and then forge one of the most sacred relics of the 
empire.  Achnai had not recognized the orb for what it was, but he knew, having seen it 
paraded through the streets up to the temple during one of the religious parades.  Crazy!

* * *

"Young man?  Are you OK?"

The feminine voice shocked Alan back into reality.  He had been sitting in his cubicle 
staring blankly forward for a while, and hadn't noticed anyone approaching.  He was 
surprised to see who it was; the publisher of the paper, Jamie McConville stood before 
him, impatiently tapping her foot.

"Sorry, Ma'am.  I spaced out for a minute."

"Quite alright," she said testily, as if to convey that she didn't really mean it.  "Is  Mr. 
Mahoney around?"

Alan didn't know where he was.  Some days he drove into Manhattan and had long liquid 
lunches with some of his old-time pals, usually at a tavern near Times Square.  Since Mr. 
Mahoney didn't carry a cell phone or pager Alan sometimes had to call the bar and ask 
the bartender to get him to the phone. A few days ago he didn't return before closing, and 
Alan had put the whole section together by himself.  He couldn't quite remember what 
the old man had said before, whether he was going into the city this afternoon or not, so 
distracted was he by the wire service report.  "I'm not sure, Ma'am.  Could I help you 
with anything?"

 Jamie McConville was a decent boss, as evidenced by her giving a position to a dinosaur 
like Mahoney, and another thing in her favor was that it was she, as publisher of the 
paper, that had awarded this prized internship to Alan, so he liked her.  Many of the 
others on the staff, the real workers, not interns like him, 
did not share this opinion. Oh sure, Mahoney liked her, but that was because she viewed 
him as a newsroom legend, and was always nice to him, and furthermore Mahoney and 
her dad were correspondents together in the war, so she always thought of him as Uncle 
Art.  One of her first acts since inheriting the paper upon the death of her father was to 
coax Mahoney out of retirement and hire him for the Clarion.  She knew he wasn't a top-
notch reporter anymore, but she liked the idea of having him around.  He could always 
make her laugh, something she was in need of because of her numbing, soul-suppressing 
marriage.

"No, don't bother.  If you see him or if he calls in from whichever bar he's wasting away 
the afternoon, tell him I need to talk with him."  She turned and made towards her office.  
Alan admired the view, her tight skirt framing her butt nicely.  He could only see a little 
of her legs under the length of her mid-calf skirt, but they looked nice.

Alan tried the bar in the city, but they told him that Arthur hadn't been in today.  That 
finished, he took his package into the bathroom and entered a stall, locking the door.  He 
placed the box on top of the toilet paper dispenser and sat on the seat.  Before doing 
anything else he re-checked the packing material, looking for some sort of note or 
message, but found none.  Examining the ring he saw that it was identical to his, and 
identical to the one Massimo was wearing at the time of their meeting.  

Now Jack was dead.

Conclusions?

This ring before him was most likely Jack's.  But why would he send it away?  Did he 
know he was going to die?  Was he missing something?  Was there a message that wasn't 
getting through?  Should he put the ring on?

He looked down at his hand, considering this.  He had on occasion tried removing his 
own ring, but each time the blinding glow and the roaring buzzing sound prevented him 
from leaving it off for more than a few seconds.   He had noticed that no one else could 
sense the glow or buzz from it; he had tried removing it once in school, and though he 
had been affected by the attempt, no one else even turned around.  In fact, no other 
person but Jack had even ever noticed that he was wearing it.  No one ever asked him 
about it, or even commented on its appearance. Should he just put the new ring on next to 
his own?  He tried that,  Nothing happened.

"Well, here goes nothing," the mumbled to himself as he took his own ring off his finger.  
Instantly he knew something was different.  In previous attempts his ring had began to 
glow at once, as he was slipping it down his finger, before it was even off.  This time, 
nothing of the sort happened.  He placed it in the box, next to Jack's (at least he thought it 
was Jack's) ring.

He reached into the leather box  with his left hand, and took the new ring between his 
thumb and forefinger, placing it gingerly into his right palm.

It began to glow faintly, not the blue glow he was accustomed to, but a rich scarlet red.  
With a healthy dose of trepidation he slipped on the ring.

Immediately he lost consciousness.

Well, not exactly.  It was more like a trance.  He could feel his whole body tingling, just 
as it had those many months ago in the hospital when the old and dying man had 
transferred the Seed of Hyrcanus to him.

"Alan," a disembodied voice called out to him.

"Hmmm?" he mumbled back, trough his trance.  He felt drugged.  He heard the voice 
again, calling his name.  Alan concentrated, and through his haze he recognized the 
voice, that of Jack! 

"I am here," the  voice answered.

"Where?" he grunted back.

"Do not concern yourself with that just now.  As you must know, I am speaking to you 
through the ring--"

"--But, but--"

"I'm dead, yes, but that, ahem, little fact is not so important now.  I need you to listen 
now, and listen carefully.  There is a danger present against us.  Someone is targeting the 
Vessels.  I have been sensing their presence for some time now.  This is 
why I sought you out and came to meet you at your house.

"Who?"

"I don't know who and I don't know how.  My only message to you right this moment is 
that you should be ever vigilant against danger.  Before I 'died' I transferred my Seed into 
my ring.  This is how you and I are communicating now.  One day in the future you will 
pass my Seed to another vessel.  Do not concern yourself about that just yet; you will 
know when to do it when I let you know.  In the meantime, place this ring on your left 
middle finger, and replace your ring on this finger.  I will be in communication with you 
later."

"So...I have two Seeds now?" Alan asked, confused.

"No, you only have your Seed, but you are wearing my ring, which had my seed within. 
From time to time I will contact you through it, and will give you instructions to carry 
out.  I will, at some point, need you to retrieve my research, so you can study it and 
'together' we can identify our pursuers, and then neutralize the threat.  Understand?"

"Yes, some of it at least.  Are you really dead?"

"My body, the vessel you are familiar with is dead, but since sensing this threat I began to 
take precautions, and make preparations for my death.  I will instruct you later in what I 
need you to do, but for now, live life as you have been recently, just beware of this new 
danger."

Alan passed out.

* * *

An hour later, while Alan was sitting at his desk, finally able to concentrate on work, 
Arthur walked through the doors, coming right over to their desk.  Alan told him that the 
boss was looking for him, and Mahoney went to see her.  He returned after about a half 
an hour, shaking his head sadly, but opting not to share what passed between the two of 
them.

"Your not in any kind of trouble, are you?  I mean, for being out drinking with your old 
newspaper buddies?"  Alan asked him.

"Nah, kiddo, nothing like that," Mahoney replied, the scent of Bushmill's heavy on his 
breath.  "We didn't discuss work.  Personal stuff."  He left it at that.

They picked their stories from the wire, including the one about the death of the famous 
archaeologist in London, an began cutting some for length, and rewriting the headlines of 
others.  Ninety minutes later they were done, and Mahoney went out, probably, Alan 
thought, to another bar.

Alan stayed at his desk.  Some nights there was something for him to do around the 
newsroom, and he was always eager to help.  He also liked using the paper's computer 
system; its internet connection, a T1, was much faster than his dial-up at home.

He did some mindless surfing, still preoccupied by the day's events, not realizing the 
lateness of the hour.

* * *

Jamie McConville sat at her desk staring out of the window, not really seeing the parking 
lot below.  A glass of white wine was in her left hand, and it wasn't her first.

"That fucking bastard," she thought to herself.

This morning as she was about to leave for the office the phone rang in her house.  She 
was gathering up various items, putting them into her purse, and decided to let the 
machine take the call.  Just as she was heading out the door, the caller began to leave a 
message.

"Hello, this call is for Mr. Rayford," the woman said.  Philip Rayford was her second 
husband, whom she married two years after being widowed upon the death of Gordon 
McConville; she and Philip were married now for four years.  "This is Lauren, the 
pharmacist at the Walgreen's on Brick Street.  I'm just calling to let you know your 
prescription is ready.  Have a nice day." Click.

Jamie sat in her car for more than five minutes debating what to do.  As far as she knew 
her husband was not taking any prescription medicines.  Did she have the right to invade 
his privacy and go see what the prescription was for?  One factor pushed her over the 
edge; it was the Walgreen's calling, not their regular pharmacy, which was a mom and 
pop store called Roth's.

Viagra!  "The son of a bitch hasn't laid a finger on me in months, and 
he's taking goddamn Viagra."  She might have chalked it up to the possibility that Phil 
was getting the pills for their own lovemaking, but that balloon was deflated when the 
pharmacist said, "Please remind your husband that this is his last refill."  His LAST refill.  
There had been others. Bastard!

Jamie had remained calm in the store, but by the time she reached her car, quiet tears 
began rolling down her cheeks.  As she closed the door an settled in behind the wheel she 
was bawling.  She wished she had never married the bastard.  She wished her father was 
still alive so he could hold her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all 
right.  She cried some more before she was able to start the car and head to work.  "Thank 
god I still have Uncle Art."

* * *


"Divorce the asshole," Arthur had said immediately, once she had managed to sob out her 
story.  He hugged her, and she wiped the tears from her face on the shoulder of his shirt.

Now here she was, eleven o'clock at night, holed up in her office afraid to go home, half 
in the bag. "For Christ's sake!  I'm some kind of pitiable cliché," she thought bitterly.  She 
switched to coffee.

Twenty minutes and two cups of java later she locked her office and turned to go out.  
She walked as steadily as her fuzzy head would allow.  She almost made it, too; just as 
she made the last turn around the end of the far row of cubicles she saw him, that summer 
intern kid.  Just the surprise of seeing him there, because she expected that she was alone, 
caused her to stumble slightly.  Worse still, the kid noticed.  There was a pile of phone 
books right outside a cubicle, and her alcohol-sodden brain didn't process the fact of them 
in time.  Coupled with the surprise of seeing Alan, she tripped, but caught herself, her 
hands grasping the wall of the cubicle opposite his.

"Mrs. McConville? Are you OK?" he asked, standing up and approaching her.  She was 
still off-balance, and he helped her regain her footing.

"Thank you, young man," she said wearily.  "I'm sorry about all of this."  She 
straightened out her skirt, and when she looked up she saw him watching her. She 
blushed almost imperceptibly.  "Oh my," she thought to herself, "Why hadn't I noticed 
before that he was so cute?"  Because she was married to a man she thought was faithful 
to her, as she was faithful to him, that's why, she reasoned.

"What, what is your name again?" she asked him, returning his stare.

"I'm Alan Marshall, the summer intern."

"Right, right, now I remember.  Sorry again.  How -hic- are you enjoying yourself this 
summer?  Everybody been nice?"

"Oh, yeah, everybody's been great, and I'm learning a lot.  Thanks again for the 
opportunity."

"You're welcome."  She paused, her eyes never leaving him.  Could she do it?  Was she 
really thinking about cheating on Phil with this, with this, well there was no other word 
for him.  Was she really thinking about cheating on Phil with this *boy*?  She was.

"Would it be too much of a bother if I asked you to drive me home?  I've had a little too 
much wine, and, well, you know," she asked him coyly.  She didn't think he knew she 
was coming on to him, and frankly, she wasn't sure herself.

Alan scanned her, finding out about her cheating husband, her plans to divorce him, and 
her desire to get back at him a little.  From inside her mind he could see that her husband 
was away on a business trip, in San Francisco, and that her twelve year old daughter was 
away at sleep away camp up in the Adirondacks.

"Sure, uh, Mrs. McConville.  No problem."

"Please, call me Jamie."

No one in the office, with the exception of Arthur Mahoney, called her by her first name.  
She didn't allow it.

* * *

"What can I get you? " she asked while standing next to the bar in the living room of her 
rather large house.  Alan thought the Van Devanters had a big spread, but this place was 
approaching mansion status.  This was her place, not Phil's.  She had grown up in this 
house, just 
her, daddy, and the servants.  Her alcoholic mother had abandoned them, skipping town 
with her boy-toy tennis instructor for Europe when Jamie was a sophomore in high 
school.  The irony of tonight--that she was tipsy and trying to seduce a teen boy--was not 
lost on her.

Alan could sense she was nervous, both in the regular way, and with his powers.  He 
could have cracked a joke at this point, pointing out that technically he wasn't old enough 
to drink, but didn't want to freak her out, something his abilities told him she was close to 
doing.

"Whatever you're having."

She poured a finger and a half of bourbon each into two glasses, then added a single ice 
cube into the each one.

"So, tell me about yourself," she asked, her face visibly flushing.  She coupled the 
question with her hand coming out to rest against his forearm.  He could hear her 
breathing accelerate as she waited for his reply.

"Not much to tell really," he told her.  She walked him over to one of the couches, the 
nearest one, before he continued after they were seated.  He told her about editing the 
high school paper, among other things, and she paid rapt attention seemingly fascinated 
by the mundane details he was sharing with her.  She licked her lips, making sure he was 
watching her as she did so.

She leaned into him, "Tell me more," she said softly, batting her eyelashes.  Flirting she 
was good at, though she had never been the aggressor, never been the seducer.  She was 
swiftly reaching her comfort limit, hoping he would pick up the hints she was dropping 
with her mood and body language and make a move already.  "I mean, for pete's sake! A 
man would have figured it out by now: a good looking, semi-intoxicated woman invites a 
man, a handsome boy, into her house, her empty house.  Make a damn move!" her mind 
was screaming out, hoping he would get the message.

Alan leaned into her, covering her mouth with his.  Jamie groaned, all the muscles 
relaxing, letting him pull her into the kiss.  It was as if the boy could read her mind.

"Is that what you wanted, Jamie?" he asked playfully.

"Yessssss," she hissed, her face inches from his, her whole view taken up by his nice-
looking face.  He kissed her again, his tongue exploring her mouth, the tip tracing the 
inside of her upper lip.  He sucked the whole upper lip into his mouth, then released it, 
moving down to the lower one, biting down on it softly. She groaned in arousal, unable to 
think coherently. 

"Is this what you want?" he put it to her again.  Jamie nodded, then pressed her lips to his, 
this time her tongue doing the exploring.  He stood, and then lifted her up, cradling her in 
is arms, surprising her with his strength.

"Which way?"

"Hmmmm?" she responded, lost in a haze of lust.

"The bedroom.  Which way to the bedroom?"

"Up the stairs.  End of the hall.  Hurry, please.  Let's go," she panted.  She craned up her 
neck to kiss him, wanting more than anything else in the world to feel his mouth on her 
again.

Up in the master bedroom he laid her gently on her frilly canopied bed.  Her breathing 
was fast, and she writhed about, wanting him on her, his body pressed against hers.  He 
stood next to the bed, slowly, undressing.  Jamie reached for the buttons on her blouse, 
but he stopped her.

"Don't do that," he ordered, his voice both commanding and soothing at the same time.  
As he shucked off his pants with his right hand, now naked only but for his shorts, he 
reached out with his right, brushing her hands away from her blouse buttons, and then 
opened her blouse, exposing her lacy bra.  She lifted her butt off the bed to allow him to 
unzip her skirt and pull it off of her, than laid down next to her, drawing her in for 
another one of those kisses she found so dizzying.  Jamie admired his body with both her 
hands and eyes, almost drowning in the sensuousness of his embrace.  She felt his hands 
on her back, unclasping her bra, and groaned into his mouth.  Before she knew what was 
happening his mouth 
was on her left breast, his tongue lashing her nipples.

Alan was surprised by the firmness of them for a woman so old; well, she wasn't so old.  
She was, by his guess, in her middle to late thirties, but that did make her the oldest  
woman he had been with thus far.  Her breasts were small, and very firm, with pinkish-
brown nipples and very small areolae; instantaneously they were erect, and Jamie gasped 
at the feelings of bliss shooting through her body.  He reached down and felt her flesh 
through her panties, her secretions soaking through the thin fabric.

"Take them off," she gasped.  He complied, and saw that her reddish-brown pubic hair 
matched that of her head.  He tossed them to the floor beside the bed and reattached his 
lips to her breasts, slowly working a finger between her folds, his fingers lubricating with 
her flowing juices.

"Ah ah ah ah," she whinnied, her vagina spasming around his invading digits.  "Please, 
I'm, oh my GOD--"  she moaned throatily as he began to move his fingers in and out of 
her, wiggling them as he did.

"Please, I'm going, ah ah YES, crazy.  I need you in meeeee!."  Alan slowly slid his 
jockey shorts down and tossed them over the side, and her eyes bulged at the size of his 
erection.  It was hard and an angry red.

"You want me to fuck you, to fuck you with this?" he asked as he held his dick lightly in 
his right hand.  She was transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from it.

"Yes," she whispered, "Right now."

"You're the boss," he quipped, lining the head up to her dripping slit.  He slid in, and she 
shrieked, her body shaking violently as he fed his whole length into her.  Her trembling 
continued, even when he stopped moving, resting his large cock in her buried to the hilt.  
She didn't orgasm just yet, but she was as turned on as she had ever been in her life.

"Fuck me, Alan, fuck me now," she pleaded, her lips quivering and dry.  As he began to 
pull and push she responded by trying to pace her hips with his thrusting, and her tremors 
became even more intense and herky-jerky.  After only a few minutes she came with 
tremendous force, her pussy walls clenching vigorously around his cock, and her screams 
filling the overlarge bedroom.  Amazingly, or maybe not (after all he was a boy and not a 
Viagra-popping asshole like her soon to be ex-husband), he held back, slowing his thrusts 
considerably, but now using the full length of his cock to pleasure her.  After she came 
down a bit from her climax she felt like she was floating on a cloud, relaxed to her core.  
It had been a long time since she had felt this way, not since the last time she and 
Gordon, her late husband, had been in bed.  The memory brought a tear to the corner of 
her eye, and she shut them, just relaxing and reveling in the sensations this boy was 
stirring in her.  He fucked her for a long time, giving her numerous orgasms, but unlike 
the first one, the ones which followed were small, gentle explosions.  As she gasped and 
shuddered again--she had lost count at this point--he came inside her, and she moaned his 
name aloud upon feeling him deposit his seed within her.

Alan rolled onto his back and settled in beside her, and she turned onto her side and 
snuggled up into him.  "Thank you," she sobbed quietly, her emotions run amok both 
from the shitty day she had just had, and the devastating impact of the lovemaking just 
concluded.  "I needed that more than you will ever know."  Her head was on his chest, 
and he bent his neck forward to kiss the top of her hair, sending a wave of peaceful 
contentment through her.  She began to purr as she laid on his body, shivering slightly 
from the evaporation of perspiration from her overheated body in the air conditioned 
bedroom.  

They laid together for a long time, and then Alan gently extricated himself out from 
under her and sat up on the edge of the bed, bending over to reach his clothes.

"Where are you going?" she asked him, her voice aquiver, as she trembled in the chill air 
of the semi-darkened bedroom.


He looked over his shoulder back at her.  "Uh, home."

"Please, can you stay the night?  I really can't be alone tonight."  Alan saw that she was 
nearing tears, so he dropped his pants and laid down next to her, just holding her until she 
stopped shaking.  They slept.

In the middle of the night, just before four o'clock, she woke him up, and they made love 
again.

Next Chapter: Danger from afar, plus, college orientation.

Chapter 15
Off to College

Can you get e-mail from a dead person? Looking at his inbox Alan concluded that you 
could.  

It was just shy of two weeks since he had learned of the death (maybe?) of his mentor, 
Dr. Jean-Pierre Massimo, and receiving his ring in the mail.  Jack had sent him a message 
through the ring, or, perhaps was using the ring to communicate from another plane of 
existence.  All he knew was that Massimo's Seed, his earthly manifestation of heavenly 
power, was within the silver band Alan now wore on his left middle finger.

The e-mail read:

Alan,

Please go to the savings bank on the northeast corner of 80th Street and York Avenue, in 
the Yorkville section of Manhattan.  I have a safety deposit box there in your name.  The 
branch manager has a key waiting for you, and with your powers, have him give it to you.  
Inside the box you will find compact discs which contain about one-third of my research, 
as well as all of the information (not much, regretfully) I have managed to glean about 
our opponents.  The information you will find on the discs will lead you to the rest of my 
research.

Buy a laptop computer.  It should have no Ethernet or other networking capabilities.  The 
data on the discs should never be uploaded to a computer which can be connected to an 
internet connection or even a simple telephone line.

Further instructions will be in the materials you get from the bank.

Jack

* * *

Following the instructions which he read off the card, which had been scotch-taped to the 
outside of the package in the safe-deposit box, Alan took it unopened to an office in 
midtown Manhattan, the same office he had went to to procure his fake I.D. that he used 
for his trip to Atlantic City.  The office belonged to a middle aged lawyer named Wilkins, 
a solo practitioner.

As he sat in the office's anteroom waiting for Wilkins to appear Alan studied his 
surroundings; the office consisted of four rooms, including this anteroom where the 
matronly secretary sat behind a polished oak desk.  Three rooms were arrayed behind her.  
The middle room was a conference room, a large oblong table dominating its center, the 
walls lined with bookshelves groaning under the weight of volumes of New York Code 
and Federal Registers.  The attorney's office was on the left of the conference room, its 
door closed at this time.  The other door was locked; where the doorknob usually would 
have been was a rather sophisticated piece of electronics, a complex lock with a 
reinforced keypad, plus a hand and fingertip scanner.  Unlike the doors to the other 
rooms, this one looked to be made of heavy-duty steel.

Wilkins ushered him into his office, the East River and the United Nations visible from 
the window.  "Please sit down, Mr. Sutherland. This whole thing is a complete shock to 
me.  If it wasn't for all of the work Dr. Massimo's death has caused, I fear these past few 
weeks would have found me staggered from the shock of it all."  Alan (in the guise of his 
alter ego, Carl Sutherland) nodded, and the lawyer continued.  "Dr. Massimo was my 
only client, the only client I have ever had.  He hired me straight out of law school and 
set me up in this office, so my grief is not just professional, but personal as well.

Alan offered his condolences, which were accepted graciously.

"Once I received official confirmation of his death from the British authorities I broke the 
seals on several envelopes Dr. Massimo had left for me in the event of his death.  Most of 
his estate will be transferred to his son in Geneva, but some of it will go to you, 
particularly certain items in his person collection of artifacts, as well as all of his field 
research notes, and most of his papers, too.  One of the subsidiaries of his personal 
corporation, Cyaxares LLC., will now be under your control.  Dr. Massimo instructed 
that upon his death all shares in it shall be transferred to you."

Wilkins placed the first document back into a folder and grabbed another off his desk and 
removed a second set of instructions.  "The 
office on the opposite side of the conference room was Dr. Massimo's
personal space for when he was working in New York.  It is now
yours."  Wilkins handed over yet another envelope to Alan, and Alan noted that this one 
had remained sealed, and was addressed to him.  "Instructions for getting past the 
security door," Wilkins informed him.

"Thank you.  Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"No sir, that is all," Wilkins told him, but Alan could sense by the tone in his voice he 
wanted to say something else; he scanned him briefly.

"Are you sure?" Alan asked him, and understanding the nervousness on the lawyer's face.

"Ah, well, uh, not to be indelicate at this sad point, and I know we don't really know each 
other so well, but, um, I was wondering if you were going to continue to, ah, retain the 
services of this firm for all of your legal needs."

Alan agreed and saw Mr. Wilkins relax visibly.  He had the lawyer send his secretary out 
to lunch; he wanted the anteroom clear when he tried the door of Jack's office.  Alan 
entered the code contained in the letter on the keypad.  A small screen appeared in the 
middle of the apparatus, a small metal panel sliding away to reveal it.  Alan spent the 
next  half hour or so answering multiple-choice questions by pressing on the keys of the 
keypad.
 
Jack had written a program to authenticate him, the questions asking for information only 
Alan, as a Vessel of a Seed would know the answers to.  When the computer in the door 
was satisfied that it was really Alan Marshall standing before it Alan was prompted to 
flatten his hand up against the sensor so his palm- and fingerprints could be recorded.  
The machine also asked for a new access code, and a voice print.  

Alan thought he as done, but the machine also asked for a "danger" code, a false 
password which would delay the opening of the door of the office by ten seconds, while 
small explosive charges in the computers detonated, obliterating the stored data on the 
hard drives, and incendiaries similarly caused all of the files in the file cabinets to go up 
in smoke, then triggered halogen fire extinguishers mounted in the ceiling.

At long last, Alan gained access to the office.  A windowless space, with a lacquered 
wooden table in the center, the tabletop half taken up by a large computer monitor; one 
wall was lined end to end with black metal file cabinets, heavy duty-looking ones, made 
of the same thick steel as the door, each also sporting miniature versions of the same 
locking mechanism.  The other walls were covered with maps and diagrams made on 
Massimo's expeditions; most were yellowed, and some even had frayed edges.  Alan 
rested the steel case he had that morning removed from the bank in Yorkville next to the 
monitor; he examined it closely for the first time; not wanting to attract too much 
attention in the bank, he had merely placed it in a canvas zip-up bag and left.  There were 
no hinges, no releases to press to pop it open.  He knew it wasn't a solid block of steel, 
not only by its weight, but also because he could feel the box's contents shift within, and 
anyhow, hadn't Massimo's e-mail message tell him that there were computer discs inside?  
Running his fingers over the whole of it Alan was confused; just as he was going to give 
up and start looking at the computer in front of him, he heard that voice.

"Don't try to open it with your hands.  It only opens at the command of the Seed's 
Vessel."

"Jack?"

"I am here," the disembodied voice uttered.

"Is there some specific command that I need to use to open the box?"

"No, just will it open, and it will be."

Alan looked at the box, and in less than a second he heard a pop.  The top of the box was  
raised and slightly askew, and he took the lid off completely and set it to the side.  Inside 
were the discs as promised, and he examined the jewel cases, reading the labels and 
putting them back in order.  Satisfied he was organized now, Alan replaced them in the 
box, refit the lid to the top, and 
locked it using his power.  He took a cab to a large chain electronics
store, and bought a laptop using the credit card with the name Carl Sutherland, his 
Atlantic City alias.  By the time he returned to Wilkins's office the secretary was gone for 
the day, and the lawyer's office door was shut.  Deciding it was safer to leave the original 
discs behind the impressively secure office door, Alan transferred all of their data to his 
new laptop, filed the disks in one of the cabinets, then placed his computer into the now 
empty steel box, and put the box in his canvas bag.  Exiting the building, he hailed a cab 
and told the driver he wanted to go to Grand Central Station; he had a nagging feeling, 
impossible to pin down, that he was being watched.

* * *

"Four to One, We have a visual. Out."  His partner picked up the telephoto and shot off as 
many pictures he could before the mark got into the taxi.

"Copy zat, I see him," a heavily accented voice said, his voice distorted by the speaker of 
the radio.  "Remember your instructions.  You and Eight are to follow him, and no more. 
Surveillance only.  Repeat, repeat, do not approach too close.  Out."

"That's affirm.  Four to One, I copy instructions.  Out."  He put the car in drive, and 
pulled out to follow the cab his target had just hailed.  He didn't know why he was 
following this man.  All he did know was that he had spent the last two weeks sitting in a 
parked car on Forty-sixth street between Second and Third, waiting for the signal for 
whom to follow.  Seven hundred dollars a day he was getting paid for this; nice work, if 
you can get it.  The agent he knew only as "One" had spent the last two weeks working as 
an elevator operator in this office building, waiting for the mark, whoever he was, to 
enter the office on the twenty-sixth floor.  Once he was identified it was his job, "Agent 
Four," to follow the mark home, and set up surveillance there. "Easy," he thought to 
himself, counting his money in his head.

"He's getting out," Eight said.  "Look, up there."  The cab had stopped, and the dome 
light on its roof was lit, indicating a now vacant cab.  Two pulled to the curb, twenty 
yards behind it, and Three jumped out, following the mark into the station.

Grand Central Station was teeming with people, this being start of rush hour.  Three 
followed the mark, figuring that he would head for the ticket windows, but instead he 
followed him straight to the platforms.  Must have bought a round trip ticket, indicating 
he lived in the suburbs.  He relayed this information over the radio.

"Shit!  Where in fuck did he go?" Agent Eight swore to himself.  Just as the mark neared 
the north side of the station a great group of people came streaming out of an arched 
passageway, interspersing themselves between him and the mark.

"Eight to Four, I LOST HIM," he said frantically into his radio, trying his best to keep his 
voice down.  "I'VE LOST THE MARK!"

"Find him, now," the voice answered back, not Four, but One.

Eight searched all of the platforms, and walked through all of the trains idling on the 
platforms.  He knew he had about a fifty-fifty chance; about half of the trains would pull 
out before he had a chance to search them.

Twenty minutes later it was all over.  He had failed.  He reported in.

"Return to base for debrief.  Out."

Ten minutes later he was at the base, which by coincidence was only a few blocks north 
of the station, in a non-descript office building on Lexington Avenue.  His fellow stalkers 
on the pursuit team were already there when he and Four came in together.  Four was not 
looking forward to this, but One could not have been more understanding or calm.

"I never really expected to track him down zo fast.  Who knew if he vas even  going to 
show his face at the lawyer's?  Ve've made good progress.  Starting in the morning ve'll 
deploy one team at the lawyer's, and two teams at the station.  Ve'll spot him again, and 
next time we vont lose him."

One dismissed his team.  The photos 
would be ready tonight.  The next day he'll start sending teams of
agents to all of the towns which are serviced by Metro-North, and have them shown 
around.  A train conductor, a station worker, someone has to know where he was from.  
One of his men had bribed the manager of the computer store, so at least he had a name, 
"Carl Sutherland," but a database search hadn't turned up any address other than c/o 
Stanley Wilkins, Esq., P.C.  The data team on the other side of the Atlantic would be 
tasked to investigate further.

He opened his laptop and wrote his report.  That done, he started the encryption program; 
this program took a long time to do its business, encoding his text with such complexity 
that the fastest code breaking computer in the world would need at least a month to 
unscramble it.  He leaned back in his chair and relaxed, his left hand absently playing 
with his necklace. 

 The necklace consisted of a thin chain looped through a hook on the top of a small silver 
sphere.  The silver was very pure, his boss had informed him, and he must under no 
circumstances remove it while on the mission.  Duplicates of his necklace were worn by 
all of the members of the pursuit team, and they were under similar instructions, 
forbidden to remove them until the end of the mission.

* * *

Alan found a seat.  It was still early in rush hour, and the cars were less than half full.  
Plus, he had reached the station just as the inbound train had pulled in, and he had almost 
fifteen minutes before the turnaround.  Sitting there quietly reading his newspaper he still 
had that feeling in the back of his mind, a feeling of being watched, or even chased.  He 
tried scanning all of the minds in his vicinity, but nothing jumped out.  He lowered his 
antennae, and went back to reading.  Had anyone been following him, his transformation 
from thirtyish Carl Sutherland to teenaged Alan Marshall would have surely thrown them 
off his trail.

"Guess who?" a familiar and singsong feminine voice called.   Kate had snuck up behind 
him and covered his eyes with her hands.

"Hi, Kate."

"Spoilsport," she pouted, coming around from the row of seats behind his and settling in 
next to him.  "I wanted you to guess!" she mock-whined.  "What were you doing in 
Manhattan?"

"I, uh, came in to have lunch with my dad.  Went computer shopping after."  Well, the 
latter was true.

"Cool," she said idly.

"Why are you taking the train?  I thought you drove in."

"Car's in the shop.  Busted fuel pump. Bummer."

"Sorry," he replied, genuine concern in his voice.  Kate loved that car.  Once she started 
college she would probably be experiencing withdrawal symptoms from not driving it.

The train pulled out, right on schedule, picking up speed in the tunnel.  Kate leaned over 
towards him, resting her head on his shoulder, her fragrant black hair tickling his nose.  
Alan rested his right hand against her thigh, feeling her warmth trough the fabric of her 
knee-length denim skirt.  She sighed contentedly.

Alan closed his eyes, unleashing his mind to delve within her thoughts.  She was thinking 
about the night of the spring break party, when she and Alan had fucked in the garden as 
the party continued around them.

The train slowed and then stopped in Harlem.  A few more people got on, but soon they 
were back at full speed.  Kate looked down the center aisle; a businessman was exiting 
the bathroom and heading back to his seat.

"Come on," she whispered to him, sitting up straight and taking his hand in hers.

"What?" he answered, a puzzled look on his face.  He knew what she was thinking, but 
decided to play the innocent.

"The bathroom," she said slyly, "I need to go to the bathroom."

"So?  I'm not stopping you," he replied, a small smile creeping across his face, letting her 
know he was on to her.

"I want you to come with me, to the bathroom," she said as she pulled him up off the seat.  
Fifteen seconds later they were inside, the door locked.  Though the cars of the 
commuter train were well air conditioned the bathrooms lacked a/c vents, and the warmth 
in the small chamber was instantly uncomfortable;  Kate began pulling at her clothes.

She reached to his waist and pulled his shirt out of his chinos, her hands busily exploring 
his chest and back as he leaned in to kiss her, sucking her tongue from between her lips
and into his mouth.  She growled softly, dropping her hands to his belt buckle and 
unfastening it.  He wriggled out of his pants letting them fall into a bunch around his 
ankles, and her hands attached themselves to his groin, rubbing his cock through the thin 
material of his underpants.

He turned her around so that she faced the mirror.  One of his hands went to take down 
his shorts, and the other stole under her skirt, his thumb hooking the waistband of her 
panties.  Her flesh was warm and 
quivering at his touch.

This was one of the parts she liked the best, when Alan took down her panties.  It made 
her feel so, so--her mind rolled around, looking for the right word--so "taken."  Once she 
felt the panties bunched around her ankles she lifted up and stepped out of them, then 
reached forward, putting her hands on each side of the small sink, bracing herself.

Once she was situated Alan took her smooth firm ass in his hand, caressing the silky flesh 
as she tried to stifle her moans.  He dipped lower, his fingertips dancing across her 
rapidly moistening slit.

"Hrmph, yeah!" she panted through her clenched teeth. "Touch me, touch me like that. "  
He gently explored her folds as she arched her back, pressing her ass into his hands.  She 
gasped again as he slowly inserted a finger up her, and contracted her muscles, bearing 
down to squeeze the invader with her tight vaginal walls.  She was about to come; Alan 
knew the signs well.  Right before her climax he withdrew.

Kate growled at the loss of stimulation.  She felt like a balloon about to pop from being 
over inflated, but just as she was about to explode the air began to be released from the 
valve.  It was maddening, though she didn't have long to wait.  Just as she thought she 
was about to lose her mind she felt the head of Alan's prick at her pussy.  She pushed 
back at him, hoping to trap the tip of it in her cunt, knowing it was a long shot.  He 
slowly ran the head up and down her sopping labia, and she shook and trembled in desire 
and anticipation.  Alan kept at this longer than usual, thoroughly soaking his erection 
with her juicy secretions; the wait was excruciating to her; Kate's trembling accelerated, 
and he could actually hear her teeth chattering as he sent her into a frenzy.

She gathered herself as best she could under the circumstances, trying to get composed 
enough the speak, to plead with him to spear her with his cock.  Even if he had not been 
able to read her mind Alan would have known what she wanted.  He saw in her eyes, 
which were glassy and expectant with arousal, her pupils extremely dilated, begging him 
to penetrate her.

"Here you go, baby," he whispered as he simultaneously pressed his dick into her 
steaming channel and leaned over her to place his mouth directly at her ear.

"Hrmph, oooooh yesssssssss!" she hissed back at him, thrusting her ass against his groin 
as he sunk into her to the hilt.  She knew she had to keep the noise level down, protected 
as they were only by the flimsy walls of the lavatory.  As he began to pump in and out of 
her she tensed, clenching her jaw shut, breathing deeply through her nose, and 
concentrating on staying quiet.  It seemed to be easier if she kept her eyes open, and she 
stared into the mirror.  The image of herself being fucked by Alan was an amazing turn-
on.  The strangled look on her features, contrasted with his calm visage was dizzying to 
behold.

"Oh God," she squeaked as she felt him probe at her anus.  Upon his penetration she 
came like a freight train, or more fittingly in this case, a commuter train, biting down on 
the side of her hand to squelch her screams.  She managed to keep 
quiet, but at the expense of some nasty looking bite marks on her palm and the back of 
her hand.  Alan was matching the pace of his fucking to that of his finger moving in and 
out of her ass.

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" she said quietly.

Alan looked up into the mirror, amused by the smirk on her face.  "What are you talking 
about, Katie?  
I'm not teasing you, I'm fucking 
you."

She grunted as Alan speeded his attack at her provocation.  "Do you know how long it's 
ugh ugh been since you put that great big dick of yours up my tight little ass?"  She 
punctuated the question by jiggling said ass.  "Before the goddamned prom."

Alan hadn't thought about it. "Really? Has it been that long?"  He and Kate had been 
taking it easy of late, well, easy for them.  He didn't really dominate her all that much 
since the night in the hotel room; Kate had broken down and confided in him that she 
was, at her core, an unhappy person.  Alan knew from scanning her mind that she was 
seeing a therapist, but since she hadn't mentioned it to him he hadn't asked her any 
questions about it.  Peering into her mind now he saw that she missed being used, being 
dominated.  She didn't quite want to go back to how it was, with her being a sex slave, 
calling him, "Master," and all that, but she liked it when he took control of her.

"Yeah, that long," she moaned.  Alan slowed his pace and began plumbing her deeper, 
and she shuddered in reaction.

"Hmmm.  So what are you trying to tell me?"

"F-f-fuck. Eeeergh! My! Ugh! Assssssssss!"

"Well, since this is your show, I guess I will," he replied as he withdrew from her sopping 
pussy.  Needing no further lubrication he placed the head of his dick at her rear entrance 
and slowly entered her tightest passage.

"Harder, faster, yes," she huffed while he took his time penetrating.  She gasped feeling at 
once his prick bottoming out in her ass and one of his hands on her pussy, fingertips 
playing across her painfully erect clit, and then moaned as she felt him pull out a bit, then 
fuck back into her.  She began to rhythmically contract and relax her sphincter, 
sometimes holding his cock so tight she could actually feel the blood flow pulse through 
his cock.

Kate began to buck wildly, her herky-jerky motions checked only by her need to keep 
tight hold to the sides of the small basin.  Stifling her desire to scream out at the top of 
her lungs when she climaxed, she let out huge gasps of air, her head shooting back, her 
long black hair whipping against his face.  "Come in me!" she demanded, worried that if 
he continued to fuck her ass she would pass out.  "Come in me, Alan, come in my tight 
ass!"  The tight passage was still spasming wildly around his dick, and he obliged, 
blasting a prodigious amount into her rectum; Kate relaxed and sighed contentedly.  His 
penis softened and slipped out of her, and she stood upright, pressing her back into his 
chest, slowly massaging herself against him.  He felt that she was a bit unsteady on her 
feet, so he wrapped his arms around her middle to stabilize her.

A few minutes later they were back at their seats, a few stations from home.  Kate called 
her mom on her cell phone to let her know she didn't need a ride home, that Alan would 
give her a lift.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" she asked.

"Going to the movies with Pauline."

"What are you seeing?"

"No idea.  I always let her pick.  She's got better taste in movies than me.  What're you 
doing?"

"I have to be back in the city at 6:30 in the morning.  I'll watch a little TV and turn in 
early."

"Do you like your work at the center?"

"It's challenging.  You know, 'There but for the grace of God go I,'  and all that.  Almost 
all of the girls there are abuse survivors, and they all have these dead eyes, like they've 
seen hell, or worse.  It's very depressing, but I try to help anyway I can."

"Why do you go in so early?"

"I work in the kitchens, supervising the girls who prepare breakfast.  
Sometimes I can even get one or two of them to open up and talk while we're working.  I 
think their defenses aren't so high in the early morning because they're tired.  That's why I 
volunteered for breakfast."

Alan got a flashback from prom night.  "You're a good person," he said in all earnestness 
as he put his arm around her shoulders.  Kate looked up and beamed at him.

* * *

"Nothing?" he asked incredulously.  "No one in any station recognized him from the 
photograph?"

Agents had spent the last two weeks 
scouring all of the stations, and nothing had turned up.  Agent One dreaded making this 
report to his boss, a man unkind to failure.  If it were up to him he would take the lawyer 
and interrogate him, but his instructions were to the contrary.  A team of agents had 
broken into the lawyer's office, but found nothing much of interest, though they weren't 
able to penetrate one of the offices within.  The only thing they had found was an 
appointment calendar on the receptionist's desk with that name, Carl Sutherland, entered 
for the time the mark had shown up.  A more thorough search on the name revealed little; 
the only address listed was the office itself, and the credit report showed lots of cash, but 
no hints as to its source.

He decided to reduce the size of his team; two sets of agents sitting on the office building, 
and three sets deployed at Grand Central Station in shifts.  If the trail picked up again he 
could always rehire the rest.

* * *

"Dude, your mom's on the phone.  Again."

Alan took the receiver from his roommate and had a brief conversation with his mother, 
centering on whether he had enough pairs of boxer shorts and socks.  Mom had just been 
shopping and bought him some more, and wanted to know if she could come down into 
the city and drop them off, and perhaps take him to lunch.  She worried about him not 
getting enough to eat.  Alan agreed, and he and his mom agreed on a day early next week.  
He hung up and turned to his smirking roommate.

"She's my mom.  She worries about me," he sheepishly explained.

"Yeah, my mom worries about me too, but you don't see her calling every day, do ya?" 
Soren shot back.

"Hey, for my mom it's a local call, so quit yer bellyaching.  You're just worried that she's 
tying up the phone and your girlfriend wont get through."  Soren threw a pillow at him, 
but it was a glancing blow, and failed to draw blood.

It was a few weeks into the semester, about a month after he came to campus (the first 
week was taken up by orientation).  Alan was having a blast; for the first time in his life 
he didn't have a curfew, didn't have to tell his parents where and with whom he was going 
out.  It was freeing.

Unlike many--or perhaps most--college freshman, he actually liked his roommate.  
Classes were tough, but exciting.  College was a whole different way of learning, mostly 
by its rhythms.  Instead of having every class every day like in high school, his college 
courses met two--or in some cases three--times a week.  Most of the material covered was 
not spoon-fed by teachers, but assigned as reading.

The biggest shock came in the last week.  On his first essay for his English composition 
class, a class for some obscure reason known here as "Logic and Rhetoric," he had 
received a C.  Never in his life had a gotten a C on a paper!  Sure, a B here or there, but 
this was unprecedented.  The TA had office hours in a few minutes and Alan planned on 
seeing her and asking her what the problem was.

The campus was swarming with students as he walked along College Walk, the 
pedestrian path that bisected the grounds.  His destination was Philosophy Hall, on the 
eastern edge of school, easily identified by a cast of Rodin's Thinker out front.  His 
progress was slowed by recent friends coming up and chatting.  Mike and Autumn from 
his biology section stopped him, and they made plans to get together for a study session.  

The TA was using an unused seminar room to meet with students; she had 
no office of her own.  A hand-lettered sign taped to the door read "Miranda Gorman," and 
listed her office hours. "It's always a pain, giving back the first assignments," Miranda, 
the TA told him with a sigh as he took a seat across from her.

"How so?" he asked her.

"All you young geniuses," she started, a mocking tone heavy on her voice, "Aren't used 
to getting bad or average marks.  Why, I'll bet you've never gotten a grade less than an A 
in your whole life, and you're puzzled at--" she glanced at her grade book and found 
Alan's line in it "-- at why I gave you a C.  Huh?  Am I right?"

"Well," he replied softly, "I can't lie to you; I did get some B's on some written 
assignments in high school, but those were lab reports for Chemistry and Physics.  But 
I've never gotten less than an A on English or History papers, and I was editor-in-chief of 
the school newspaper."

Miranda's eyes twinkled a bit at his admission.  The past four freshmen had claimed 
they'd never received less than an A on anything, ever.  "Hmm, an honest man.  Where's 
Diogenes when I need him?" she joked, assuming that the boy sitting across from her 
wouldn't get the reference.

"I don't know," he rejoindered, "Getting his lantern serviced?  It is nearing the end of the 
month."  Miranda broke up in surprised laughter.  They got down to business.  Alan 
pulled out his paper and she reread it quickly.  The problem turned out to be his 
newspaper experience.  A reporter tends to write in discrete paragraphs, so that if an 
editor decides to make cuts, whole graphs could be excised without compromising the 
readability of the piece as a whole.  Miranda impressed upon him the need to make his 
writing more flowing, paragraphs which built upon one another to form one big 
mountain, rather than a chain of small hills.  He thanked her as he stood to leave, making 
a small joke which she found very funny.

As she stood to walk him out he gave her a once-over, and she him.  There were no other 
kids in the hallway waiting to meet with her, so they walked out the main door of 
Philosophy Hall together, and then walked down the gargantuan steps of Low Library 
towards College Walk.

"Do you have classes tomorrow?" Miranda asked coyly as they neared the gates on the 
Broadway side of campus.

"No, I lucked out.  No Friday classes," he told her.  As he answered he looked at her, and 
though it was hard to read the expression on her face in the twilight of the hour Alan had 
other ways of reading her.  When he peered into her mind he was almost shocked by the 
images running through them.  Almost.

* * *

A few hours later, back at her apartment.

Alan and Miranda had met a bunch of her friends at a bar and grill of Broadway, sharing 
finger food and a few pitchers of beer.  It was your typical grad student outing, consisting 
of quaffing intoxicants and complaining about faculty advisors.  Alan didn't add much to 
the conversation, but held his own.

Silently they had walked together to Miranda's building, a small walk-up on Claremont 
Avenue.  She invited him up.  

He accepted.  

He knew what he was in for, and was looking forward to it.  Miranda thought she was 
going to surprise him, so he decided to play along and not burst her balloon.  She led him 
into her second floor apartment, a small two bedroom, the kitchen table groaning under 
the weight of papers to correct, books and journals, and research notes.  The couch was 
covered with junk, so she cleared space enough for the two of them and beckoned him to 
sit next to her.

"You seem--I don't know--older than a freshman," she said quietly as she ran her fingers 
through his hair.

"Older?"

"Yeah," she half said, half sighed.  "You kept up tonight.  The conversations in the bar."  
She leaned forward and kissed him softly on his lips, and he returned the gesture, his 
hands coming around her, lifting her blouse slowly upwards.  She batted his hands away.  
"Slow down," she hissed, "You're not in high school anymore.  Let's take our time."  She 
looked deeply in 
his eyes, and they sparkled at him.

She kissed him again, and Alan, after waiting what he deemed to be a requisite amount of 
time, started to lift of her blouse again.  Again, she swatted at his busy hands.  "I get it," 
Miranda chuckled, "You're ready."  She stood and took him by the hand and led him into 
what he assumed to be her bedroom, but once inside yet again she rebuffed his attempt to 
remove her top. "Patience," she counseled, her forefinger stroking his lips.  She guided 
him to the bed, and gently laid him down upon it, then straddled his waist and bent over 
to lock her lips to his again.  This time it was her hands lifting up his shirt, and he 
allowed her to remove it.  Now stripped to the waist she attacked his nipples with her 
mouth and teeth, gently nibbling on them, pleased by his soft groans she received in 
reaction.  Keeping his mind focused on his nipples she took one of his wrists in her hand 
and brought it up over his head so that his hands were hanging off over the end of the 
futon pad.  Working quickly she attached it to the restraint installed to the top of the 
frame, and a few seconds later both wrists were bound.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Quiet," she half-barked at him.  "Do as I say and you'll have a good time.  Don't do as I 
say and you wont.  Got it?  I'm in charge, and don't you forget it," she snarled.  Her eyes 
were shiny with arousal as she surveyed him prostrate on her bed.  She went to her closet 
and took some things out of it, not letting him see what she was getting, and then 
disappeared into the bathroom.

She was a different person when she emerged five minutes later.  Gone were the khaki 
pants, Doc Martens and flannel shirt she had before.  Now she stood before him as a bitch 
goddess in heat.  Her leather boots were thigh-high and stiff, black and polished to a high 
gloss.  Her panties were black and leather, though matte, softer looking than the boots.  
The bra holding her generous bust was of the same material as the panties, with holes cut 
in the cups to allow the nipples to peek through.  Her face was almost as shockingly 
different as her change in attire.  Her pale skin was even whiter than before, heavily 
masked by make up, and her lips were painted a great vivid scarlet.  Her wavy light 
auburn hair, which she had worn loose earlier in the evening, was pulled back into a 
severe bun, held in place by a clip.

"Oh my god," Alan gasped in feigned surprise, aware of her plans for this encounter as 
far back as she did, from the time the left office hours together.

The first thing she did was to take off his pants and underwear, shooting an appreciative 
glance at his large and rapidly expanding erection.  "Nice," she remarked as if evaluating 
a piece of meat at the butcher's shop.  Holding his cock with her fingertips she raked her 
nails up and sown the length until it reached full hardness.  "Very nice."

She moved up his body walking on he knees and placed her crotch in his face.  Alan 
could smell her excitement through the heavy material of her leather panties.  She 
reached under herself and popped the snaps at the crotch of her panties and jammed her 
pussy into his mouth.  "Lick it," she hissed, "Lick it good, and if you make me come, 
maybe I'll let you come."

He attacked her pussy with his lips and tongue, his task made a bit awkward by the 
restraints on his wrists.  Miranda began to thrash lightly against his head, small 
mutterings and moans escaping past her lacquered lips.  "The kid's not bad," she thought 
to herself as her arousal accelerated. "Not bad at all," as her gasps became audible.  He 
was concentrating on her clit, and the sensations were electrifying.  She was about to 
orgasm and her upper body shook in arousal, her nipples pointy through the openings in 
her bra.  She screamed, her cry echoing off the walls of the room.  Unable to keep upright 
her body fell forward, her hands flat against the wall in front of her to hold herself off of 
him.

"What a find!" she said under her breath after her gasping subsided.  
She lifted herself off his face and collapsed on the mattress next to him.

"Are you gonna release me now?"

"Maybe soon," she said, a smile on her lips.  She gently took his cock with her fingers 
again, teasing him anew with her nails.

* * *

The front door of the apartment opened with a squeak.

"Randa?  You home?  You'll never guess who I saw tonight!  Randa?"

"Who was it?" Miranda answered calmly from her bedroom through the half-opened 
door.

"That fucking creep, Steve Ganske.  He tried hitting on me ag--" Laura Drayton froze in 
the doorway, seeing her roommate, her part-time Mistress, geared up in her dominatrix 
outfit.  On the bed next to her was a guy she'd never seen before, sporting the largest 
penis she'd ever seen.  Laura lowered her eyes respectfully.  "I'm sorry, Mistress Randa.  
I'll shut the door behind me," she said reverently.

"No.  Go to your room.  Prepare yourself and come back immediately."

"Now we're in for some fun," Miranda said slyly to the bound freshman chained to her 
bed.  "Hmmm," she said languidly, one hand idly tracing patterns on his bare chest, the 
other still stimulating his manhood with her nails, "I wonder what my little teenager 
would like now."  She considered the cock in her hand.  "Make that not so little."  An evil 
look came across her face.  "Would you like me to, I don't know, suck your cock?"

"Yessssss," he whispered as she tightened her grip over his erection, the nails digging in 
slightly.

"I didn't say you could talk!" she barked.  "Let's try again.  Would you like me to suck 
your cock?"

He nodded.

"Pity for you.  I don't suck cock."  

The door to the bedroom opened and Miranda's roommate reentered.  Laura was wearing 
nothing more than stockings, a garter belt, and nipple clips; in addition to a dog collar, a 
blindfold hung loosely around her neck, waiting for her mistress to blind and bind her.

Miranda gestured to the door, and the shivering girl standing in it.  "Like I said before, I 
don't suck cock.  That's her job," she said wickedly. To Laura, "Come here, cocksucker, 
and show this boy how you suck a nice cock.  This is Laura, my cocksucker," she 
explained with an even voice after turning to face him again.

Alan thought he heard Laura moan, but couldn't be sure; his pulse was beating in his ears, 
his eyes fixed on his dominatrix teaching assistant.  Once Laura had knelt on the bed 
Miranda look her by the ears and steered her towards his groaning erection.  Laura 
quickly engulfed the helmet.  Alan groaned in response; her tongue was a frenzy against 
his hardness.  Miranda ordered him to be silent, and he quieted down.

"That's right baby.  Suck him.  Suck him hard.  Suck him good. Yeah.  He's got a nice 
cock, doesn't he, baby?"  

Laura nodded, half his dick swallowed down; Alan almost moaned again, but thought 
better of it. 

"Suck his cock until he comes.  He's going to come down your slutty throat, and you're 
gonna swallow it all.  You'll do that, wont you baby?  You swallow all of his man cream 
for me, yes?"  Laura nodded again, even more of him filling her throat.

"Don't miss a drop.  Ooh yeah, that looks so nasty, your nose buried in his pubes.  Good 
job.  Good job, baby.  Swallow it all when he comes, or I'll punish you.  Yeah, suck it 
like that.  Swallow all his nasty man come, his boy come, and then keep sucking him.  
Get him hard again.  Get him hard again so he can fuck your Mistress.  Do it, baby, do it 
for me, do it for me, do it for me, do it for me."

Alan, with his power to control his own orgasm, could have let this go on all night, and 
her was tempted to draw it out as Miranda continued her filthy litany of command and 
encouragement.  But all good things must come to an end, so he spewed into Laura's 
mouth, keeping the volume of his ejaculate low to spare Laura any punishment.  Laura 
pulled her mouth off of him and opened wide, showing Miranda her come, apparently a 
tradition between the two of them, and then made an 
over-dramatic show of swallowing it down before taking him in her mouth again, to 
make him hard for her mistress.  Alan quickly regained his erection, surprising both 
women.

Miranda pulled Laura off of him by her hair, marched Laura over to the corner of the 
room attaching her collar to a chain and covered her eyes with the blindfold, returned to 
the bed and then straddled him.  "You're gonna be a good boy now, aren't you?  You're 
gonna make me come, yes?" She half-groaned as she lowered herself slowly onto his 
dick, small gasps escaping her mouth; she had never been with a man so large.  Alan 
decided to toy with her, and using his powers blocked her ability to orgasm.  Up and 
down, up and down she stroked herself onto him, her excitement boiling, but for some 
reason she didn't understand, not boiling over.  "Fuck!" she moaned, frantic with sexual 
excitement but unable to climax.

"What's wrong, Miranda?" he asked her, the evil grin now spreading across *his* face.

"Mistress!  Call me M-mistress!" she barked back as best she was able through the haze 
of lust enveloping her.  Sweat was pouring down her face, down her neck and over her 
bust, soaking the leather of her bra.  Whenever he thrust up at her small droplets of 
perspiration dripped off her diamond-hard nipples and landed on his abdomen.

"No, I will not," he shot back with a harsh tone in his voice.

She slowed her bouncing, both because her mounting fatigue and the shock at this boy's 
defiance.

"Listen to me, son," she whispered through half-clenched teeth, "I thought I laid out the 
rules after I strapped you down.  I'm in charge here.  Now shut up and f-fuck me"  There 
was a horny weariness to her voice.

"You're in charge?  Then why can't you come? Huh?"  Alan brought his hands up and 
grabbed her breasts through her bra, squeezing them roughly, her nipples pressing 
insistently into the palms of his hands.

"How, <gasp> did you do that?" she shrieked, her eyes fixated on his unbound wrists as 
she ground her crotch into his.

"Magic," he snarled back, rolling her over and off of him and getting on top, then 
slamming his cock fully into her.  Miranda screamed incoherently.  He strapped her in to 
the restraints attached to the bed's frame; she was too week with exhaustion to resist.

"What are y-you g-g-gonna do to me," she asked fearfully.

"I'm going to fuck you," he said simply.  "I'm gonna fuck you to within an inch of your 
life, and then I'm gonna come in your mouth," he explained as he sunk his cock into her 
steaming and juicy depths.  And I'm gonna make you come so hard your toes are gonna 
curl up."

She groaned deafeningly loud. "NO!"  Alan stopped his attack, just the head of his dick 
resting inside the entrance of her pussy.

"No?  You don't want that?"  He gave her another inch, feeling her walls contract against 
his invader.

"No," she insisted, her mind a fury of contradictions.  He was in control, and she didn't 
like it, but what he was doing to her was so powerfully erotic the excitement was insanely 
arousing.  She could feel it, her juices dripping out of her womanhood to her ass and then 
onto the sheets.

"No?  You want me to pull out?  You want me to get dressed and leave?  Or do you want 
me to fuck your tight little pussy and then come in your slut mouth?" he taunted her 
writhing form as he slowly pronged her with an inch of his cock, slowly pushing and 
drawing out, feeling her rubbery pussy lips grasping his shaft in an attempt to keep him 
from escaping her warm depths.

She couldn't think straight, and the loss of control was terrifying to her, a Mistress, a 
person who tried her best always to stay in control.  "No," she grunted not knowing if she 
said that so he would continue or cease fucking her.  She was out of her mind with lust.

Alan took that to mean that she wanted him to stop, and he pulled out of her, an obscene 
slurping noise resulting as her gash gave up his cock.  He walked over to the corner 
where Laura was cowering and trembling and took off her blindfold.  
She looked up at him, her vision dominated by the sight of his twitching erection, 
covered in her Mistress's secretions.  It looked delicious to her and a drop of drool 
escaped from the corner of her mouth.  This man--this boy--standing before her had 
dominated her Mistress, her dominatrix.  He stared at her, saying nothing, and she moved 
her head as far forward as her chain would allow, licking the glowing pink head of his 
penis.  "Yummy!" Laura thought.  He took a small step towards her and she took his tool 
in her hand, rubbing it against her face and licking the shaft.

"Are you ready?"

Laura didn't understand the question.  She shrugged and continued to nuzzle his dick, her 
long blond hair tickling his most sensitive organ.

He pulled back and then knelt in front of her so their faces were level.  "Are you ready?  
To help me?"

Her pale blue eyes shimmered, wide as pools, and she slowly nodded her assent.  He 
reached behind her neck and released her from the collar, also detaching it from the 
chain.  After disconnecting the nipple clips he led her over to the futon, so they were in 
sight of the quivering Miranda, and stood her in front of him leaning forward so that his 
chin was lightly resting on her left shoulder, then whispered his instructions in her ear.  
Her eyes went wide with shock and arousal.  He left the room, leaving the door open 
behind him as he made his way to the refrigerator for a drink.

"What are you doing?" Miranda croaked loud enough for him to hear in the next room.  
"No, slave, stop, don't do that. I am your Mistress, damnit! Let me go, please."  Alan 
downed half a bottle of water before coming back in, and he saw that Laura had followed 
his directions perfectly.  Miranda was naked on the bed.  No bitch-goddess boots, no 
leather bra and panties, only the collar, the slave collar, the collar she had used to restrain 
Laura. The blonde graduate student sat at attention in a straight-backed chair facing the 
bed, her hands crossed demurely over her naked crotch. 

"Please Alan, please let me up.  I'll fuck you.  I'll I'll I'll I'll even let you--" she paused, 
the thought almost sickening her, "--come in my mouth, please?"

"I don't know, Miranda.  Laura here has been most cooperative, unlike some people I 
know, unlike some people in this very room, as a matter of fact," he retorted, toying with 
her.  "I think Laura deserves a little attention, don't you?  Watch carefully what I do for 
her, because if you're a good girl I'll let you have some too."  He winked at Laura as he 
said this, and she began trembling again at the thought of things to come.

He motioned for her to stand, and took her place on the seat, then pulled her quaking 
body onto his lap, his hard cock resting against her ass.  For the first time he stopped to 
take her in; she had a fantastic body, all curves, petite and very soft.  He'd be surprised if 
she had ever seen the inside of a gym.  There was no stringiness to her muscles, nary a 
right angle on her entire body.  She was the essence of femininity.  Her breasts were 
medium-size and beautifully shaped, capped by nipples so pale pink they almost matched 
her skin tone; a light dusting of freckles went from the bridge of her nose to the top of her 
bosom.  Alan had his arms around her waist and his fingers in her mound, one teasing her 
clit, the other stroking her lips, occasionally running through the neatly trimmed patch of 
yellow pubic hair which crowned her vagina.  Once she was sufficiently wet he would lift 
her and set her down on his dick, and that time was soon approaching.

Miranda looked up from the bed, her eyes wide and her jaw slack, taking in the sublimely 
erotic scene in front of her, wishing her hands were free, so badly did she want to play 
with herself.  At least they hadn't blindfolded her, though that was of small comfort in her 
current situation.

* * *

Laura was a squeaker.  She let loose a loud one when he penetrated her, groaning deeply 
as the whole of him made it way up her tiny pussy, a 
passage never nearly stretched so much before.  As he bottomed out she squeaked again, 
and yet more once he started lifting and dropping her, his hands firm on her fleshy hips.

"Yessss!" Laura gasped out.  "Fuck me like that, yes!"  Alan realized this was the first 
time she had said anything since shortly after entering the apartment.

"Looks good, don't it?" Alan said, addressing the bound Miranda on the bed.  Miranda 
licked her lips and nodded.  Watching Laura orgasm on the end of his gargantuan dick 
was one of the most thrilling sights she had ever seen, and judging by her roommate's 
moans she sure sounded like she was having the time of her life, and she wanted some of 
that for herself; the throbbing in her pussy was telling her so.

Before Miranda knew what was happening the pair had shifted.  He was doing her from 
behind now, Laura face hanging a few inches above her own.  Suddenly Laura dropped 
her head down and attacked Miranda's mouth with her own, and Miranda eagerly 
reciprocated, her horniness overcoming her fear over the loss of control, her tongue 
busily exploring her roommate's gasping mouth.  Alan reached forward and cupped 
Laura's forehead, drawing her away from her bound lover.

"Tell her," he ordered Laura curtly.  "Tell her this is the best fucking you've ever had.  
Tell her how it feels."

"Oh God yes!  So good.  So hard!  So long! So big in my tight little pussy.  The best! The 
best! The best! The best! The best!" she chanted mindlessly, her face a mask of 
unadulterated pleasure and lust.  Miranda felt the flow from her pussy increase.

"Oh my GOD!  It's happening! AGAIN!" the blonde submissive screeched as she 
exploded anew in an orgasm of epic proportions, collapsing half on the bed, half on her 
chained roommate, a cheek pressed into Miranda's own heaving tit.  Alan kept pumping 
into her, and in less then two minutes she exploded again, but less frenzied this time, as 
she was nearing the end of her stamina.  As he pulled his still hard cock, shiny and 
dripping with Laura's juices from her hot channel, the small girl have a last moan and 
passed out, her body limp against Miranda's.

Alan lifted her up and carried her to her room, ignoring the crazed look Miranda was 
shooting at him as they left.  After gently depositing her on her bed and pulling up the 
comforter to cover her, he quickly swallowed down the rest of the bottled water on the 
way in to Miranda's bedroom.

"So, what did you think of that?" he asked her sneeringly.

"Please," she huffed.  "Pleeeease."

"What do you want?  What do you want me to do?" he asked back, a mock innocence in 
his voice.

"Do that to me.  Please," she pleaded.

"Fuck you?"

"Yesssss.  I need it. Please.  I want you.  I w-w-w-want to c-come like that.  Like sh-sh-
she did."

"You'll be a good girl?"

"Anything.  Anything, p-please," she whined.

"You'll suck my cock?  Drink my come?"

"Yes!" she answered without the slightest hesitation.

He walked to the head of the bed and fiddled with her cuffs, releasing her from her 
bonds.  He laid down on the mattress, and pushed her upright.  "Show me.  Show me how 
a GOOD GIRL sucks cock."

She attacked him with her mouth, licking the underside with the flat of her soft tongue.  
She had absolutely no experience in this; growing up she had simply refused, and as a 
Mistress she had slaves for this task.  She improvised, mixing kissing and licking and 
sucking into an opera of lust.

He tapped her on her shoulder and she understood, taking the head back into her mouth, 
waiting expectantly for it to explode.  She needed not to wait long, and to her surprise she 
savored the taste of him.  He flipped her onto her back, spread her legs and knelt between 
them.  Amazingly he hadn't lost a whit of his hardness, and she gasped aloud when the 
head of his prick came to rest on the lips of her drooling pussy, nestling itself against the 
soft auburn curls which covered her pubis.

"Beg."

This was a game she had often played with Laura, so she knew what to do.  "Fuck me, 
please, fuck me.  I want to feel it in me, please.  I'll be a good girl, a good little girl, I 
promise, but please fuck me now.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Fuck 
meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," she howled as he filled her at last, her entreaties degenerating into 
incoherent grunting as he hammered in and out.  Her entire body shook violently as he 
gave it to her, her head bouncing off the pillow, her arms and legs flailing about.  Less 
than a minute after penetration she climaxed, her tight wet pussy grasping strongly at its 
invader, a shower of juices flowing briskly from her pussy, drenching his shaft and 
trickling off of his swinging balls.

"Come in me," she begged.  "Shoot your juice in my pussy, my good-girl pussy," she 
squealed.  "I have to feel it!"

Groaning himself, he came into her spasming channel, collapsing forward, covering her 
body with his own.  She embraced him, her arms coming around his back, her legs 
encircling his sweaty ass.

"So good.  So fucking good," she muttered mostly to herself as she drifted off into her 
dreams.

* * *

The following Wednesday in class Miranda handed back the next batch of essays to her 
students.  Alan flipped through the paper, excited that the comments were all positive.  
The grade however brought him up short.

D- Please see me at my regularly scheduled office hours, this Thursday, 5:30 to 7.

There was a smiley face under the grade.

Next Chapter: The pursuers close in.