Chapter 16
Prey

"Hey, Paul, I could lose my job for this, you know," the paunchy middle-aged  retired 
NYPD detective said sotto voce to his former colleague as he hesitantly pushed a plain 
white envelope across the Formica tabletop.

"I know, Mike, but this should make it right," Paul Riley, known on his current job as 
Agent Nine, replied to his former partner as he passed a paper bag containing a hundred 
hundred dollar bills under the table.

They were sitting in a diner in lower Manhattan, not far from where the towers once 
stood.  The nervous man was now employed in the corporate security department of the 
most-popular cell phone carrier in the metropolitan area (rhymes with "horizon").  The 
day before they had met at a bar in midtown, and the agent had given his old buddy a cell 
number he wanted traced, including the carrier frequency for that phone, and the billing 
information.  Once they had this data they could send out a few vans with sensitive 
antennae and get a location for the target by triangulating the signals they monitored.

The break had come a few days earlier; Agent One, the team's leader had decided that 
they had exhausted their leads.  The target had not been spotted during long weeks of 
mind-numbingly boring surveillance-- neither at the lawyer's office nor at Grand Central 
Terminal.

After consulting with his boss in London, Agent One and a team of three other agents had 
broken into the law office again. They couldn't gain access to the steel-doored room, and 
the attorney's office itself contained nothing of use to them, but the secretary's desk 
yielded an important clue.  Her desk calendar, the calendar upon which she logged her 
boss's appointments and calls, showed an appointment with Carl Sutherland (a name 
which they knew to be a pseudonym) at the exact time they had first spotted the target; 
more importantly there was a phone number next another, more recent entry in the call 
log, 914 area code, indicating that this Sutherland lived in one of the suburbs north of 
New York City, in Westchester County, most probably, but perhaps Rockland or Orange 
counties, or even one of the other more distant suburban regions.

Further investigation--there was no entry for the number in the reverse directories, and 
Agent One had called the number itself the outgoing voicemail announcement indicated it 
was a cell phone, and this complicated things, making it harder to pin down their prey.  
This was why One had dispatched Nine, the retired detective to meet and bribe his old 
friend from the force, ten thousand up front, another ten when the info was delivered.

* * *

"Hey," Soren greeted him as Alan returned to their room on a cloudy Saturday morning 
in October.  Alan could sense the dejection in his voice.

"What are you doing back?"

Soren had left Friday morning and taken a train home; he was from Rockville, a suburb 
of Washington, DC, and his girlfriend was a freshman at the University of Maryland, 
about halfway between the nation's capital and Baltimore.

"My girlfriend wanted me to meet someone: her new boyfriend.  His name is Charlie, and 
he's a senior.  Pre-med.  Isn't that great?" he asked facetiously, grimacing.

"Oh shit.  Jeez man, that's terrible," Alan commiserated.  "Come, I'm taking you out for 
brunch."  Soren demurred.  "Seriously," Alan insisted, "Come on, we're going to La 
Rosita."

La Rosita is a Cuban coffee shop on Broadway and 108th Street.  It's cheep and delicious, 
and Alan ate there at least once a week.  After a brief bit of haggling Soren agreed; it was 
one of his favorite eateries too. The crisp autumn air made Alan wish he had worn a 
jacket, but since it was a relatively short walk he decided not to run back into the dorm 
for one.  Soren, Alan could sense by scanning his roommate's mind, was on the cusp of a 
serious depression.  His now ex-girlfriend, Debra, had been his first serious relationship, 
and he seemed devastated by the loss; they had spoken on the telephone almost everyday 
since school had begun.

After their cafes con leche had 

arrived Alan started the conversation, because his roommate had said nothing for a long 
while.

"Look, don't blow a head gasket over this, dude.  I can spout off all of the clichés: long 
distance relationships almost never work out; she's your high school girlfriend, and those 
relationships aren't meant to be permanent; there are plenty of other fish in the sea; etc.  
But you don't want to hear them, so I'll leave it at that and not try to chew off your ear.  
What I do want to say to 
you is this: these are supposed to be the most fun years of your life.  Don't fall into a funk 
about some girl who broke your heart.  I know it sucks for you, and I know you loved 
her--" Soren looked up at Alan and stared him in the face, a questioning look in his eyes, 
"--Yeah, I heard you on the phone, I could tell by the way you talked to her, and about 
her that you loved her, but you have to move on.  Now, I don't mean go out and marry the 
next girl who rocks your world. Just go to parties, drink beer, flirt, you know?  I'm not 
going to let you stew in the room for the rest of the semester.  Anytime I have someplace 
to go, you're coming with, and I wont take no for an answer. OK?"

"m'kay," he answered morosely mumbling into his coffee.

Two middle-aged men with short haircuts and flesh-colored wires snaking out of their 
jackets and into their ears came in an took a table near Alan and Soren.  They made an 
effort not to look directly at the two teens.  One of them sat facing them, not looking their 
way, while the other sat opposite, observing them in a mirror on the wall in front of him.  
He put his hand on his cheek and whispered into a microphone his sleeve.  No one in the 
coffee shop took any notice.  A surveillance van was parked across the street on 
Broadway.

Soren digested this little speech as he ate his eggs, rice, and beans.  He was still very 
quiet, trying to hold back the tears.  On the way back to the dorm they had stopped at a 
corner waiting for the light to change, and Soren put his arm around his roommate, 
around Alan's shoulder.  "Thanks," he croaked, a half of a smile forming on his lips.

Alan smiled inwardly as he gave his roommate a pat on the back.  "Lock up your 
daughters: Soren's on the loose!" he joked, and was rewarded with Soren's hearty 
laughter.

* * *

"Yes, I understand, Your Lordship.  Your instructions will be carried out to the letter.  
We will take the boy on the first of December.  Surveillance teams have him covered 
twenty-four hours a day.  It will not be a hardship.  I will call again if there are any, ah, 
unusual developments."  Agent One was consciously avoiding saying the word 
"problem." 

"You do understand, Tadeusz, the penalty for failure," the voice on the other end of the 
phone said, the arctic coldness--intensified to a great degree by the clipped tones of an 
upper-class British accent--of his voice easily transmitted through the international 
circuits.

"Yes, Your Lordship, I understand."

"You are doing an adequate job.  Continue down this path."

Tadeusz Karick hung up, shuddering slightly.  He knew very well the consequences, for 
he had executed the leader of the failed London team, the team that had failed to capture 
Massimo.  A bullet to the back of the head would ruin your day, and he resolved not to be 
the next recipient of such a treatment.  He had done a great deal of "wet work during his 
dozen year's service with the StB, the Czech equivalent to the KGB, and he had hoped his 
now freelance status meant murder was a part of his past.

He gave another shudder, thinking of that terrible summer night just a few months ago; 
he had coaxed the last "Agent One," a disgraced former commander in the French Surete, 
his true name unknown to him even as he rested the barrel of his pistol, silencer attached, 
against the back of his head, pulled the trigger, and then shoved him into the Thames.

Two mornings later, sitting in a cafe and sipping coffee, his stomach lurched violently as 
he spied the front-page photo in the morning's 

paper, a picture of two bobbies standing near the riverbank holding two long poles with 
hooks at the end, fishing out of the water the corpse 
he himself had deposited in those waters.  He didn't want to, but found himself compelled 
to read the article anyway.  Yves-Marc Didiere.  "Shit! I didn't want to know his name," 
he had thought at the time.  "There but for the grace of God go I."

Now Karick leaned back in his office chair, looking out the window and zoning out while 
watching the cars crawl downtown in heavy Lexington Avenue traffic, hoping that his 
second-in-command wouldn't be tasked with the job of dumping him into the river--in 
this case, the Hudson.

Little did he know that his date with a nine millimeter headache was forthcoming, no 
matter the outcome.

* * *

On the other side of the Atlantic the photographs and reports were being closely 
examined by the man Karick referred to as "Your Lordship."  The former Czech 
intelligence operative had good reason to address him that way, for the man who 
employed him was indeed a member of Britain's upper house, a hereditary Lord whose 
mother's second husband just happened to be Jean-Pierre Massimo's father's second wife.  
The London team had bollixed the job, though the death of Massimo, his step-brother, 
was hardly saddening for him.

"Alan Marshall," Lord Thornbow thought to himself.  "I should have known."  All of this 
could have been avoided if Swindon-Smythe had contacted him sooner.  This Marshall, 
this boy, is a much fatter target than Jean-Pierre ever was.  Probably new to his powers, 
unsure of himself.  A satisfied grin crept across his leonine features.  Soon, very soon, the 
power would be his.  He pressed a button on his desk, and his assistant, Mr. Patel, entered 
through a side door.

"You have reviewed the files of all the New York team members?"

Patel nodded, he was a man of little talk.

"I have just spoken with Mr. Karick in New York.  We will be taking action on the first 
day of December, in the late evening.  That is the last day of a four day holiday weekend 
in America.  Thanksgiving.  You will depart two days earlier.  You know what you must 
do."

Mr. Patel bowed in the formal fashion and withdrew.  The day before they grabbed the 
boy all but three members of the New York team would be dismissed, sent packing with 
extremely generous cash bonuses.  Karick and two others would take the boy to their 
secure location, a warehouse in the Bronx.  There, Mr. Patel knew, they would meet their 
end; he himself would do the deed.  After that he would transfer Alan Marshall to another 
van, and set the warehouse afire as he left, then proceed to the second secure location and 
rendezvous with Lord Thornbow.

He checked the files of all the men on the overall team, and picked the two others to 
accompany Karick; about half the squad was made up of former NYPD officers and 
detectives.  None of them would die in this operation, because their murders would be too 
conspicuous.

* * *

Kate was in her dorm room, studying for a French quiz, when her roommate came in.

"Hey, Kate."

"Hey, Scarlet, s'up?" she answered back casually.  Scarlet had been acting sort of weird 
lately.  When they first met in person at the beginning of the semester, after spending the 
summer e-mailing and IM'ing back and forth, they had really hit it off, hanging out 
together and going to parties together, but about a week ago the amount of time they had 
been spending in each other's company had been trickling off dramatically, and it wasn't 
due to course load.  Even when they alone together in their room over the last seven days 
or so Scarlet seemed distant, Kate thought.

"Nuthin' much, you?" she said diffidently.

"Same old, same old."

Scarlet went over to her desk and started on her own coursework.  The radio played softly 
in the background, and neither spoke or moved from their desks for the better part of an 
hour.

"Listen, Kate, there's something I have to tell you, but I've been 

hesitant because I'm not sure if you'd take it well," her roommate said nervously, 
breaking the awkward silence between them.

Kate put her book down slowly and swiveled her chair to face her.  She could see the 
tension written across Scarlet's face.  "What is it?" she asked guardedly, thinking she had 
offended her in some way.

"There's no easy way to tell you this, and I will totally understand if you don't want to 
room with me anymore, but," she paused, sighing portentously.

Kate looked at her, suddenly very worried, no longer that she had done something wrong, 
but now simply worried about Scarlet.  "You can tell me, I promise.  Are you in some 
kind of trouble?  Can I help? What?"

"No, no trouble." She paused again, her throat suddenly becoming really thick with 
anxiety.  "I've decided to become a L.U.G."

Kate was puzzled, and worried.  "Lug, what's a lug?"

"Not a 'lug.'  An L.U.G., a Lesbian Until Graduation.  See, the thing is, I like boys and all, 
but I've recently found out that I'm bisexual, and while I'm in college I'm only going to, 
uh, do it, with girls.  That way I can concentrate on classes, not guys."

"Whoa!  What brought this on?  And when exactly did you find out that you were bi?"

"Are you upset?  It sounds like you are.  Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! I'm really really sorry.  If 
you're uncomfortable I could put in for a new room," she exhaled rapidly, unable to look 
Kate in the eyes.  This was unfolding just as she had feared; she should have waited until 
later in the semester.

Kate put up her hand to stop her. "No, no no, it's not that.  It's just a lot to take in all at 
once.  I'm just curious as to when this all happened, and no, I don't want another 
roommate, so just relax on that score," Kate assured her.

Scarlet visibly relaxed.  "Well, you could say to some extent I've always had certain, um, 
feelings towards other women, but I never acted on them before I came here.  The place I 
come from is fairly conservative, and I would never have acted on those, um, tendencies, 
there."  Scarlet was from small-town Ohio, not a place that looks too kindly on most sorts 
of sexual experimentation.

"I see," Kate said, hoping that she would continue without further prompting; trying to 
frame a question that Scarlet wouldn't think was judgmental was taxing, to say the least, 
and Kate really, really, really didn't want to come off that way.

Scarlet said nothing for about half a minute, gathering her thoughts. "You know Jessica, 
that girl from my seminar?  Jessica Starmer?"

Kate knew her.  Tall and blonde with large breasts and a curvy behind, a very pretty face.  
She nodded.

"We were talking, Jess 'n' me, and she just kind of brought it up.  We got lunch after 
seminar last Thursday. She has a very serious boyfriend back in L.A.  He's a senior at 
UCLA, and he's planning to go to law school out there, so they'll be on opposite ends of 
the country for the next four years.  So I asked her, like, 'How can you stand it?  Being so 
far apart for such long periods of time.'  And she said, 'Phone sex.'  And I laughed, and 
asked her if that was enough, you know, like as a joke.  And there was this twinkling in 
her eye, and then she explained what being an L.U.G. meant, and I almost choked on my 
veggie burger!  Then I asked her, 'What does your boyfriend think of you having sex with 
other girls?'  And she's all, 'What do you think we talk about when we have phone sex?' 
And then we both cracked up.

"So we talked some more, and I admitted to her that I had had sexual feelings towards 
other women--OK, she wormed it out of me--but that I was sure I wasn't completely lez," 
Scarlet said softly, almost whispering, a dopey grin on her face.  She stopped for a good 
thirty seconds before mustering the courage to go on.  "So I went back to her room--her 
roommate was at a class--and we, um,  did it."  Her eyes were sealed shut in 
embarrassment for the last part.

Kate and Scarlet talked for the next hour.  She assured her roommate she wasn't offended 
or anything, 

and that she didn't mind continuing sharing space.

"I had a feeling, like, you'd be cool with it," Scarlet said near the end of the conversation, 
a slight smirk across her face.

"Why is that?" Kate shot back teasingly.

"I can tell you're into some kinky shit."

Kate's face reddened.  "Oh?" she said stiffly.

"You deny it?" Scarlet asked playfully.

"Why would you think that?" Scarlet could see the tension spread thought Kate's whole 
body, especially her face.

"It's just something about a girl with pierced nipples and a shaved vagina that set me to 
thinkin' I'm not dealing with a future nun here," she joked, winking, and watched in 
satisfaction as the color of Kate's face matched her own name.

"You've seen that?" Kate asked in half a state of shock; she thought she had been extra 
careful in concealing this from her roommate.  "Anyhow, I'm not Catholic."

Scarlet giggled.

* * *
 
"So, it didn't freak you out?" Alan asked her later that same day, the early afternoon sun 
shining through the window. The two of them were laying in Alan's bed, his softening 
erection slowly slipping from her depths as he held her, spooning her from behind.  Even 
though he was picking up the thread of conversation from before they had fucked, Kate 
knew what he was talking about.  She had told him about Scarlet right before they had 
started up, but that conversation had been interrupted by the commencing of the 
"festivities."

"Which part?" she asked. "The idea of lesbian sex? The idea of living with one, sorta? 
Am I worried that she'll try to make move on me?" she giggled, considering her situation.  
"Nah, it's just the surprise of it all.  Hey, my sex life is nothing to tell momma about, 
either."  She punctuated this with a laugh.

They spoke quietly for a few more minutes, and then disengaged.  Kate cleaned herself 
down below with some tissues she grabbed off of Alan's desk, and began to dress.  "I 
spoke to Pauline this morning.  She's getting kind of serious with Brian Lacy, but I think 
she didn't want me to tell you."

"No, I know about them.  He's a great guy."

"That sounds a little forced, Alan."

"Not at all," he assured her sincerely.  "Pauline and I, as you surely know, decided that 
we would each see other people.  It's not as if we were married or anything.  We only 
dated five months, for God's sake.  I love her, but some of that is a brother/sister-type 
thing.  She was always my friend first, and my girlfriend second, even during senior 
year."

Kate chuckled, "Alright, alright.  You convinced me.  If you're lying, you hide it very 
well."

"Well, not to change the subject or anything, BUT, what are you doing for the rest of the 
day?"

"Library.  Paper due on Thursday.  Dinner in the dining hall. You?"

"Same.  Which library?"

"Lehman.  Paper's for Poli Sci."

"What a coincidence, mine too.  Go get your stuff and I'll meet you downstairs."

"Deal," she replied, a smile forming.  Sex with Alan was great, OK, better than great, but 
she also liked spending time with him. Kate returned after a short while and they walked 
to the other end of campus, out the Amsterdam Avenue gates and up a few blocks to 
Lehman Library.  They filled each other in as to the topics of their respective Poli Sci 
papers, and then Alan told her about his conversation with Soren earlier that day.

"I might know some people," she said thoughtfully, her mind sorting out a list of 
potential candidates for Alan's roommate's rebound relationship.

"Cool," he said back, oblivious to the van slowly following the pair of them up 
Amsterdam.

They found a big table in a quiet corner of the library, set their stuff down and headed off 
into the stacks, each in separate directions, reuniting at their table after about a half an 
hour or so.  They put in a good two hours of work; Alan finished up first.  Sitting back in 
his chair he stretched his back, regarding Kate closely; she didn't look up from the texts 
she was 

concentrating on.  A slightly wicked thought entered his mind, a very small seed of a 
plan, though germinating rapidly into a full-bloomed course of action.  He entered her 
busy mind and made a few modifications, both to her mind and to her body, among other 
things ramping up her latent (though since Scarlet's revelation, much less latent) curiosity 
about girl-girl sex.  

She looked up, catching him staring at her face, and she blushed.

"What?" she asked playfully, twirling a finger coquettishly through her raven-hued locks.  
She giggled.

"Oh, nothing really.  I'm all done here. How much longer do you have?"

Kate told him not much longer, and Alan volunteered to photocopy the articles she 
wanted to take back to the dorm for later consideration.

* * *

Later that night in bed Kate awoke with a start, shaken by the potency of her wet dream.  
In the dream Kate was reliving her encounter with Alan and Kim Hall in the latter's 
guidance office.  

Alan had thrown one helluva good ass fucking at her that morning, but her dream kept 
spinning her back to the interplay between herself and Mrs. Hall.  On that morning all 
those months ago she had stripped Mrs. Hall out of her clothes and played with the older 
woman's nipples, then Alan had sprayed their faces with his yummy come.  In the past 
when her mind had revisited that particular episode she glossed over the parts when she 
and Kim Hall had touched each other, but now they were front and center, rolling 
feverishly around all corners of her brain.

As quietly as she could Kate got out of bed and peeled off her sticky panties, tossing 
them into the small hamper she kept by the door.  As she was pulling on a dry pair she 
realized the flow of juices secreting from her burning hot pussy had not abated, so she 
crept back into bed bare beneath her long cotton nightgown. It was just as well; she really 
needed to frig herself off anyway, knowing somehow she would never be able to sleep 
without first finding release.  Thank God Scarlet had come home drunk this Saturday 
night/Sunday morning; if she was lucky she would still be able to make a little noise 
when she came.

Barely two minutes later Kate was astounded by the sheer brute force of her climax, and 
even though she was doing her best to stifle her howls she froze in terror when she saw 
Scarlet start to stir.  Her nipples were so hard, and seemed to her so scorchingly hot that 
she thought she could actually feel the metal of the rings which pierced each one start to 
soften. It was to her great relief that her slumbering roommate merely rolled over and 
continued to snooze.

Kate was still gasping for breath a few minutes later, flat on her back.  "JESUS 
FUCKING CHRIST, that felt good," she thought to herself.  After catching her breath she 
slowly reached under the blanket and ran a hand over her still-drooling pussy.  Maybe 
forgoing panties was a mistake; as her orgasm hit Kate had felt an enormous spray ('A 
spray!' she marveled) of come shoot out of her slit.  Her nightgown was soaked with her 
warm girl juice, practically from the waist to the hem, for the fabric of it had been 
bunched up on her thighs just below her crotch.

In the end it took more than five minutes for her to even gather up the stamina to sit up in 
bed, and more to make it across the room so she could have her sopping nightgown join 
her drenched panties in the hamper.  She hadn't enough energy to strip off the moist 
sheets from the bed, so she reluctantly slipped back in between them; immediately her 
fresh nightgown began to become sodden from the residual dampness on her bedding.

She need not have bothered.  Four more times before the sun came up she was jolted out 
of similar dreams, each time to find herself soaked from waist to toes with fresh gushing 
torrents of warm sticky girl come, each time having  to masturbate before falling back 
asleep, bringing forth yet more streams of ejaculate, never once working up the strength 
of will to get out of bed and change.

She woke early, making sure she was 

up well before Scarlet.  Her sheets and blanket were tacky from all her semi-dried 
spendings.  She hadn't planned on doing any laundry that day, but nevertheless she 
stripped the bed, even flipped the mattress, bagged up sheets and blanket with the 
contents of the hamper, and took it all to wash.  If she was lucky she would be back 
upstairs before Scarlet woke up to her hangover.  She considered  taking something to 
read in the laundry room, but didn't.

She had some serious thinking to do.

Waiting for the elevator she jerked with the realization that in one of her dreams she was 
making love, no, fucking Scarlet, and in another she was fucking someone named 
Mistress Randa, though she didn't have the slightest clue as to who she was.

"Are you going to use that washer?" a girl she didn't know was asking her impatiently.

Kate snapped out of her trance.  A minute before she had opened her laundry bag while 
standing in front of this machine, and was instantly transfixed by the delicious odor 
emanating from within it.  Who knew pussy juice smelled so fantastic?  Surely not Katie 
Van Devanter; at least not until today.

She had some serious thinking to do.

After setting off the washer on its cycle she stepped out for some much needed fresh air.  
Though it was chilly out Kate felt very warm on the inside.  She sat on a bench, her mind 
racing a million miles per hour.  She thought if she sat perfectly still she would be able to 
ignore the gooey wetness in her panties, a wetness threatening to escape out and seep 
straight through her blue jeans.  Thirsty, so very very thirsty; that was her next order of 
business.

She had some serious thinking to do.

* * *

"Patel?"

"I am here, Your Lordship."

"Report."

"It is ready, Your Lordship."

"You've done well, though I expected nothing less."

"You are far too kind, Your Lordship."

"I will see you in New York."  Lord Thornbow replaced the secure telephone unit's 
receiver to its base.  He pressed a button, and a liveried servant entered holding a silver 
tray with a crystal glass and a decanter of brandy.  The servant placed the tray before his 
employer on the desk, bowed curtly and left.  They did not exchange words.

Next Chapter: A Thanksgiving weekend to remember, or perhaps not.

Chapter 17
Captured for a Time

The plates were long cleared from the table, and the men sat around the living room, a 
football game shining off the screen of the television, volume turned low so as not to 
disturb the baby resting in his cousin Jack's arms.  Jack was married to his cousin Nina, 
and Shara was their first baby, though number two was a work in progress, more than 
seven months along inside Nina's belly.

Nina sat down next to Alan on the couch, across from her husband and Alan's dad.  She 
ruffled his hair as she did when he was a kid and she was his babysitter.  "So," she said 
with an accusatory tone in her voice, "You move to the city and we see all of a grand 
total of ONE time since September?  I don't know whether to be hurt or insulted."

"Sorry Nina, been busy, but the phone works two ways.  You haven't called me.  I'd be 
glad to come over, especially if you're cooking." Before the first baby was born Nina was 
the sous-chef at a very well regarded French bistro in Tribeca.  Now she was a stay-at-
home mom, and loving it.

"Pig," she snorted.  "I'll call you."

"After the new year," he insisted gently.  "Exams start in about two weeks."  She agreed. 
Alan was impatient for the whole gang to go home.  They had eaten at four, and it was 
nearing eight.  

He had plans to stop by at Megan and Leila's that night, but it would be bad form to 
sneak out while the guests were still hanging around.  Leila still took and occasional shift 
as a PT, despite her med school status, because she liked doing it.  She was thinking of 
doing her residency in sports medicine. Since school was on break for the holiday and a 
lot of people went away for Thanksgiving, the hospital had begged her to work both 
Thursday and Friday, so the two of them had remained in Westchester.  It was just as 
well for Megan.  She had yet to tell her parents that she was bisexual, and for that matter, 
bisexual with a live-in female lover, and for that matter, that she was pregnant out of 
wedlock.  Every time she was working up the nerve to tell her folks she could just 
imagine her father having a heart attack, her mother a stroke.

Alan pulled up to their house and parked shortly after nine.  Megan answered the door.  
"Welcome to the farm," she greeted him with a chuckle.

"Farm?  I don't get it."

"You've come to see me--the cow--haven't you?"  Megan took a step back from the 
doorway, and Alan could see her stomach. She was showing her five month pregnancy, a 
bulge visible from underneath her sweater.

"You look beautiful."

"That's what I keep telling her! Hi, Alan," Leila said coming over and kissing him on the 
cheek. 
After he sat down Leila returned from the kitchen with a glass of wine.  The minute he 
had drained it she took it back from him and went back to fill it.

"You don't have to get me drunk," he laughed.

"Megan insisted," the trim Asian woman confided, "If you're drunk you wont think she's 
fat."  Leaning closer she lowered her voice to a stage whisper, "She thinks she isn't pretty 
since she started to show.  It's up to us," she added with a twinkle in her liquid brown 
eyes, "to convince her otherwise."

With that she stood and took his hands, pulling him up and guiding him up to the 
bedroom; Megan followed closely behind.  Leila stood behind him, turning him so that he 
was facing Megan and sat him on the end of their bed.  As she worked her hands at his 
shirt buttons she stared over his shoulder at her red-haired lover.  "Tell her Alan.  Tell her 
how lovely she is."

"You're gorgeous, Megan.  You always were, and you always will be."  Megan gasped, 
her hands playing with the top button of her blouse, but too afraid to unbutton it, afraid 
that if he saw her naked he would recoil in shock.  He approached his former teacher; 
Leila had unfastened all the buttons, and as he stepped to Megan she had held on to his 
shirt, so he was topless as he approached her.  Gently he removed her hand from her 
neck, grasping the top of her blouse, and with a deft touch popped open the 
neck button and pulled the blouse over her head and off her.  She pressed her body to his, 
and he could feel the smooth hardness of her belly.  He dropped his arms down from 
around her neck and rested his palms against her pregnant abdomen, making gentle 
strokes all around it, and at the same time lowered his mouth to hers.

They kissed for a long time, distracted only by Leila undressing them;  once she asked 
Megan to step out of her skirt, and then took off Alan's shoes and socks, then his pants 
and underwear.  Alan led Megan, clad only in her panties, over to the bed, and sat down 
on it, pulling her into his lap.  She groaned as he fondled her breasts, now more sensitive 
due to the hormones of pregnancy, her head lolling back to rest against him as the 
pleasure began to overtake her, little hums and gasps escaping past her trembling lips. 
Leila joined them on the bed a minute later, completely nude, taking charge of the 
situation.

Alan laid back on the mattress, and Megan straddled him, Leila kneeling behind her, in 
between Alan's outstretched legs.  Holding Megan by her now more meatier hips she 
guided her onto his erection and then pulled her down so she sunk 
down all thy way.

"Ooof!  Ah, ah, MY GOD, it's been sooooo loooooong!" the redhead exclaimed, her 
passions rising as she felt Alan fill her completely, a feeling complemented by the 
incredible sensation Leila was causing by strumming her hardened nipples.  She could 
feel the softness of Leila's breasts pressed into her back as she rode up and down on 
Alan's hard cock, and the very idea of it still excited her.

"Tell her again," Leila demanded of him, "She still needs to hear it. Tell her again, and 
again, and again.  She wont listen to me," she ordered him, her eyes boring into his with a 
frightening sense of determination.

"You're so pretty," he gasped up at his pregnant partner. "So pretty, so pretty, so pretty."

Megan began to cry, tears spilling down her face and over her heaving bosom.  "Thank 
you," she squeaked (hormones again, she thought to herself), a split second before her 
body seized up as she orgasmed.  Alan came in her, and she quivered at the sensation of 
it, then collapsed and rolled off of him, a stewing morass of emotion.  As she laid beside 
him her hands danced up and down his chest, and watched Leila take his manhood into 
her slurping mouth, cleaning him of their combined juices, and getting him hard for 
round two.

Once he was ready she gave him a swat on the side of his butt, and her sat up and moved 
off to the side of the mattress.  Leila positioned herself over the supine Megan so that 
they were face-to-face, her wiggling behind a tempting target for their teenaged lover.

As Alan sunk into her she lowered her face, and pressed her lips against Megan's.  Leila 
moaned, and Megan snaked her tongue past Leila's hot lips.  He began to thrust in and out 
of her clenching pussy, enjoying the sound of loud slurps that her tight passage emitted; 
her syrup coated his dick from tip to root, the excess falling in dribs and drabs on the 
bedspread, pooling between its folds.

Leila's moans and groans increased in fervor and loudness as Alan increased the pace and 
force of his fucking. As Leila bucked her throbbing pussy back against his throbbing 
cock Megan was finding it difficult to maintain her lip lock with her Sapphic partner; to 
deal with this she placed her hands on Leila's temples, holding her fast.

It was a good thing, too, for just as Megan gained a grip on Leila's bouncing head an 
enormous climax exploded throughout the Asian woman's sweaty body.  Alan climaxed 
as well, and they collapsed into a sweaty mess on the top of the bedspread.

"Mmmmm," both women purred.  Alan settled himself between them, caressing each one 
lightly.  He stayed the night.  Megan drifted off first, Leila's soft cries echoing in her ears, 
"Yes, my ass, so g-good, ahhhhh!"

* * * 

The train was crowded for a Sunday evening, filled mostly with college students like 
himself returning to 
school.  He didn't see anyone he knew in his car, so he used to time to study.  He had a 
term paper due for his history intro class, and his outline was complete as the train pulled 
into the Harlem station.  He hailed a cab on 125th Street for the very short trip back to 
Morningside Heights, and stared blankly out the window as the cab headed west to 
Broadway.

"Excuse me," Alan heard the heavily accented voice behind him say.  He had just 
dismissed the cab at the corner and turned towards campus.

"Yes?"

"Vhich vay is to Columbus Avenue? I'm a bit lost, I thinks."  He had a piece of paper in 
his right hand and held it up for Alan to see, an address scribbled on it.

Alan turned forty-five degrees and gestured south and east.  Columbus Avenue 
terminated at 110th Street, one block east of Amsterdam.

"You need to walk down Broadway a few blo-"

He didn't finish his sentence.

The foreigner stepped forward and held him up, preventing Alan from collapsing to the 
pavement.

His partner pocketed a small white device, a jet injector filled with tranquillizer, just as 
the van pulled up to the curb.  In a matter of seconds Alan was inside and the van was 
pulling away, headed for the Triboro Bridge, and then on to the Bronx.

Karick dialed a number on his cell phone and spoke immediately upon hearing an answer 
on the other end. "Team Alpha to base.  Extraction successful."  He thumbed the END 
button, not waiting for a response.  He had a bad feeling, growing worse the further north 
he went.  Just a few blocks shy of the rendezvous he reached into his pocket and 
depressed a button which caused the cell phone to ring, though no call was actually 
incoming.

"Yes," he said into the device for the benefit of his vanmates.  He paused for a few 
seconds and said, "Understood," and then keyed the END button.  "Let me out here," he 
instructed the driver.  "I haff to go back to ze office and clean out all of ze files.  I'll take 
the subway."

* * *

Mr. Patel folded his own phone closed, and then placed it in his pocket, his left pocket.  
He felt his jacket's right pocket, double checking that his pistol was there, and properly 
situated for swift removal. He rubbed his hands together, his breath visible in the 
unheated expanse of the warehouse, wishing he had a nice cup tea to keep him warm.  A 
light snow sprinkled, though not enough to accumulate.  "All the better," Patel thought to 
himself.  Snow keeps people inside, and the fire he was about to set would not be 
discovered for a few extra minutes due to the reduced street traffic.  The only problem 
was the homeless; upon arriving at the warehouse a few hours earlier he had to scoot 
them out from the squatting places.  He could have brandished his weapon, but thought 
better of it.  Hundred dollar bills were a much better method, and the six bums had gladly 
accepted them as an inducement to vacate.  He just worried about more showing up.

While in the middle of these musings he saw the headlights of the van coming up the 
alley, where the side entrance of the warehouse was located.  "Money," Patel thought.  
"That's when I'll take care of it."  He would wait until they were distracted by the wads of 
cash he would place in their hands to "take care of business."

"Where is One?" he asked the two before him.

"He told us he had to go back to the office to shred the files.  You didn't know?" one of 
them explained.

Patel shrugged, not wanting to let on his frustration.  Karick was smart, demanding half 
his payment upfront and deposited into a Swiss account.  He must have suspected that he 
would be terminated upon completion, so he took what he had already been paid, and ran.  
"Well, we didn't hire him because he was stupid," he thought.  His Lordship would not be 
pleased by this complication, but there would be time enough to rectify this later.

After the van had pulled in through the loading doors Mr. Patel directed the team to strip 
Alan Marshall of all his clothes and possessions and place him in the second van.


"These rings," one of the agents said with a tone of exasperation.  "They wont fucking 
budge."

"Let me see," Mr. Patel said impatiently, but he was no luckier than the soon to be dead 
man. "OK, well leave them.  I'll cut them off of him later."

"OK," the agent responded, not really caring, and looking forward to his payoff.

Mr. Patel reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and withdrew two packets of 
cash.

Two minutes later he was pulling out of the warehouse, the first smoke wisps rising 
behind him; he tapped his jacket and felt both packets, replaced.

* * *

Alan came to his senses sometime later.  He was moving, he could feel.  His was--for 
some reason he didn't understand--naked but for a straight jacket and a length of rope 
binding his ankles together, flat on his back on an rattling ambulance gurney.

He was very groggy.  His whole body ached.

He tried his powers against his bonds.  No joy. Underneath the gurney, though he 
couldn't see it, was a large sphere of pure silver, slightly less then the diameter a 
regulation basketball.  The waves coming off of it served to deaden his abilities.  He 
struggled for awhile longer, but fatigue and a nasty headache got the better of him.

The van came to a halt; Alan's eyes popped open, but all he could see was the inside of 
the roof of the van.  He heard the front door open, and expected to hear the back door 
open shortly, but it did not.  Two men were standing just outside of the rear of the van.  
They were on a gravel driveway, Alan could sense by the sound of their footsteps.  They 
spoke for a few minutes, but he couldn't make out the words.

After a period of time indeterminable to him he heard one of the men reenter the van and 
pull into a garage.  The back door popped open, and the opener was surprised that Alan 
was conscious.  Alan felt something against his neck, and he dropped off into 
unconsciousness once again.

* * *

Mr. Patel cut the engine inside the garage and directed his underlings to remove the boy 
from the van and roll him into the mansion.  Using the connecting door he entered the 
house and made his way to the living room.

"Report," Lord Thornbow demanded.

"Success.  He's being moved now.  The men have their instructions."

"Any problems?"

"Well, he was awake when we opened the van just now, but that isn't such a problem. 
Our friend Karick did not show at the warehouse.  I'll put some of my people on it."

"Agreed," his boss replied, pouring the Indian man a small brandy. "You have done well, 
as always, Mr. Patel."  If all went as planned Karick would not be a problem, living or 
dead. He clinked his glass against that of his servant and they sipped.  His Lordship 
picked up the receiver on his desk phone and pressed for the intercom.  A few seconds 
later they were joined by another.

"Neil, please come in.  I'd offer you a drink but you have work to do. The boy is in the 
basement.  Mr. Patel will show you the way."

"Yes, Your Lordship, straightaway.  Thank you again," Dr. Neil Swindon-Smythe said as 
he bowed and allowed the swarthy man to show him to the dungeon.

* * *

"Dungeon" wasn't exactly the word Alan would have used to describe the room to which 
he was confined.  It more closely resembled a hospital room; the walls were white and 
antiseptic, and he was still, of course, lying bound in a straightjacket on a hospital 
gurney.  Furthering the scene was the IV bag on the stand next to the bed, a catheter in 
his arm slowly feeding fluids to his veins.  He didn't know what they were giving him, 
but he felt debilitated.  It was morphine, dulling his senses, reaction time, and mental 
defenses.

The only thing out of place, that made him know he wasn't really in a hospital (besides, 
of course, they way he got to where he was) was a small silvery-looking sphere 
suspended from the ceiling in a clear mesh net.  It was slightly smaller around than a 
basketball, and it was brilliant in the fluorescent lighting of 
the room.  Had his mind been unclouded by the morphine he would have been able to 
discern wave upon wave of mystic energy emanating off of it, enveloping Alan in a 
virtual downpour of powerful heavenly radiation.

Dr. Swindon-Smythe stopped at the alcove just outside the boy's cell and spoke to the 
guard and physician outside the door who had been monitoring the CCTV.

"Any movement?" the archeologist asked.

The guard shook his head.

Swindon-Smythe swiped his keycard through the reader mounted on the wall near the 
door and waited for it to click open; he entered, the doctor trailing him.

"Wake him up," Swindon-Smythe directed.

"First I'll switch him from the straightkacket to the regular restraints," the doctor said, not 
waiting for assent to do so.

The doctor retrieved a canister of oxygen and some tubing from the closet and placed a 
mask over the semi-unconscious prisoner's face, turning the valve open to full blast.  
When he saw this was having effect he briefly lifted up the mask and waved some 
smelling salts under Alan's nose.  This did the trick.

"Well, well, well, we meet again, young man."

"You!" Alan groaned softly.

Swindon-Smythe didn't answer; instead, he walked back out into the alcove and pulled a 
small rolling cabinet into the cell.  From it he pulled a few small talismans and fetish 
items of the cult of Ahuramazda, some of them recently unearthed by teams digging with 
the financial backing of Lord Thornbow, others stolen from museums, private collections, 
and even government storehouses, over the last few years.

The scientist arrayed the small items around the room in no particular formation, at least 
as far as Alan could tell.  There really wasn't a pattern; Swindon-Smythe was just 
spreading them out around the room to see if any would react to be being in close 
proximity to a Seed carrier.  He doubted they would.  His walkie talkie crackled from its 
cradle on his waist. "Yes, my Lord?"

"The rings.  Remove them."

Swindon-Smythe didn't bother to answer; he knew he was being observed through the 
camera.  He signaled for the doctor to return, and he came in carrying shears designed to 
cut off rings, something found in every hospital emergency room, and something the 
doctor knew how to use.

SNAP! 

"Shite!" the doctor swore.

"What happened?" Swindon-Smythe asked, looking over the doctor's shoulder.

"The tool just snapped apart.  I've never seen something like that happen before."

"You cut him."  The doctor had poked Alan after he lost control of the shears after they 
came apart violently; there as a small jagged laceration on his middle finger, about a two 
centimeters long, and it was oozing steadily.  It took the doctor just a few minutes to 
clean the wound and drop three stitches into Alan's finger.  It usually took longer, but 
since the boy was on a morphine drip he didn't have to give him a local.  The two men 
withdrew to the anteroom and Lord Thornbow joined them presently.

The doctor had a small medical saw, the kind used to remove fiberglass casts, and he said 
it would take a bit of time to get it down from the truck and brought to the cell.  Lord 
Thornbow ordered him to proceed, and the doctor shuffled up the steps to retrieve it.

"Will it prevent us from succeeding if we can't get the rings off of him?"

"I'm not sure, my Lord.  He obviously had the powers when I first met him at the 
museum last spring, and that was before he had acquired the ring, so it's hard to say.  
We're flying blind with most of this."

Lord Thornbow nodded ruefully.  "When the doctor returns tell him not to bother just yet. 
Tomorrow, if we still can't remove the rings we'll just have to cut his fingers off. Begin 
the interrogation."  This was a mistake.

* * *

Years of careful planning were coming to fruition for Lord Thornbow.  The acquisition of 
the abandoned silver mine in southeast Turkey was the key.  It had taken him many years 
to pull that one off.  First, years and years of study of 
the ancient legends.  The scientific analysis of the metal had led him there.

He had met Jean-Pierre Massimo at Oxford; he was a young student and Massimo was a 
fortyish lecturer.  His mother, recently widowed had visited him from London the same 
time that his professor's father had been staying in England, and the two had hit it off.  At 
first he had liked the his new step-brother, but there was always something about him, an 
easiness with which Massimo navigated life's oceans, that was troublesome.  

He had taken his course in archeology and became fluent in Arabic because of it; it was 
no great surprise that the intelligence services came calling after him after he had 
received his degree.  Massimo was disappointed in his choice, hoping his new stepbrother 
would follow in his footsteps and lead a major dig or two, but it was not enough to 
rupture their relationship seriously.

Twenty years he spent in MI6, though very little of it in the field, and when he was in the 
field it was as a "legal" agent, attached to an embassy or a consulate, covered as a cultural 
attaché or some such, running agents and informants.  It was in the mid-1970s that his 
background in antiquities first came to play in his career.  He was well aware of the 
legend of Paishiya'uvada, having read some texts on it in university.  Most of them were 
vague in details.

A few months after he was posted he was in the shopping district, browsing in his 
favorite antiquities shop he came upon a scroll.  Mustafa, the proprietor, seeing what he 
was examining told him that it was probably worthless, but nonetheless a fine example of 
a pre-Mohammedan Arabic legend scroll.  His Muslim clientele was mostly uninterested 
in such things, and he offered the diplomat a fair price.  Thornbow examined it more 
closely, and studied the title, "The Scroll of Hyrcanus," and that name rang a bell.  He 
bought, paying Mustafa two hundered pounds; it was money well spent, as it turned out.

* * *

Alan played the innocent.  No, he told Dr. Swindon-Smythe  ("Call me Neil"), he had 
never heard of Hyrcanus.  Jean-Pierre Massimo.  Who's he?  Powers?  Mind control?  
Telepathy?  Telekinesis?  Fairy tales and fantasy.  His inquisitor wasn't buying it.

"Tell me, Alan, where did you get those rings?"

"What rings?" the captive teen asked groggily.  No one had ever noticed them before, 
except of course Jack Massimo, but he had been a fellow Vessel.

"The rings on your middle fingers.  One on the right, one on the left.  Come now, son, it's 
me you're talking to.  I remember when you stole one of them from the Met.  What 
interests me now is the other.  Where did you get that one?"  Swindon-Smythe gestured 
to Alan's right hand, indicating the Ring of Hyrcanus, though he was asking about the 
ring on the other hand, the Ring of Cyaxares, the ring Jack had sent him.

"Stole?  I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

Swindon-Smythe sighed and walked to the door of the cell.  He stuck his head through it, 
said something Alan couldn't hear, and the doctor entered shortly.  Sodium pentathol was 
injected into the port on the IV, and the doctor placed an EEG monitor on the table next 
to the gurney and then began applying the contacts to Alan's head; he punched some 
buttons on the IV pump and the morphine drip was halted.

The doctor and Swindon-Smythe stepped out into the anteroom and waited for the 
pentathol to take effect.  The debilitating effects of the new agent was different; he was 
no longer so weary, though his head became more fuzzy.  As his fatigue lessened he 
began to be able to make out the waves coming off of the orb hanging over him.  They 
looked like a disturbance radiating in a pond when a pebble was thrown into it, the orb 
being the pebble.  The waves were pale yellow in color, and their frequency was lazy.  

He tried to move, and found that he could angle his neck to the side enough to see his 
hands.  The rings were glowing too, one blue, the other red, each emitting colored fields 
which covered their respective 
hands like mittens of tinted radiances.  The ring which was Massimo's was glowing 
brighter, its color field larger and stronger.  Alan again tried to use his powers to release 
him from his bonds, and he concentrated on the leather restraint holding his right wrist.  
He was unsuccessful; he couldn't tell if it was because of the yellow waves or the drugs.  
He couldn't concentrate hard enough to make the buckles release.  They twitched a little, 
and Alan saw that whenever they did his rings glowed more strongly, but it wasn't nearly 
enough to loosen them.  After just a few minutes he was out of breath with effort and his 
head hit the pillow with moderate force.  His breathing was improving, thanks to the 
oxygen and cessation of the morphine, and he took in great draughts of air, building up 
stamina for his next attempt.

Swindon-Smythe and the doctor reentered and approached him, the doctor taking up 
station at the EEG and Swindon-Smythe on the other side of the bed.

"Anything?" Swindon-Smythe asked the physician as his colleague considered the 
tracings.

"Nothing interesting.  Looks like a normal set of brainwaves.  If he is altered in some 
way, I can't tell."

"Oh well, it was a long shot."  Swindon-Smythe gently patted Alan on his cheek to get 
his attention.  "The rings.  We were talking about the rings."

"Water," Alan croaked.  "Please."

Swindon-Smythe held a cup up to Alan's mouth and allowed him a couple of sips.

"Tell me about the rings."

"Rings?" Alan said numbly, not trying to dissemble.  His mind was fogged by the various 
drugs coursing through his system.

Swindon-Smythe placed his hand on the top of Alan's head and turned him so his right 
hand was straight in his view, paused for a few seconds and then rotated his head to the 
other direction so Alan could view his other hand.  Alan saw the rings, but was more 
attentive to the glowing aura each one was emitting.  Massimo's ring was glowing even 
brighter now, the luminescent field edging closer to the surface of the shimmering surface 
of the silver orb suspended above the gurney.

"You stole one of them from the Museum.  I was there.  I opened the case for you.  Do 
you remember?"

"Yessss," Alan answered, sounding a bit drunk.  "Museum," he mumbled.  "Case."  The 
drugs were working now.

"Now we're finally getting somewhere," Swindon-Smythe thought to himself.  He looked 
up at the camera in the corner of the cell and nodded.

"Tell me about Paishiya'uvada," he put to Alan.

"Seeds," Alan mumbled.  "Seeds of Paishiya'uvada.  There used to be seven.  Five now.  
No, four."  The aura of Massimo's ring was millimeters from reaching the orb.

"What is the Seed?"

"Power.  Hyrcanus was the son of Devaryesh.  Used power of Seed to defeat his Uncle 
Smerdis who had taken throne from, from Devaryesh.  Devaryesh had Hyrcanus killed 
because he had the power.  Used orb," Alan explained languidly, his eyes shifting to take 
in the sight of the orb suspended above him, and saw Swindon-Smythe follow his gaze.  
"Used orb and chalice of Ahurmazada--"

"You mean 'Ahuramazda,' don't you?"

"Whatever."  The aura from Jack's ring was slowly enveloping the silver sphere and the 
waves radiating off of it were losing strength and frequency.  Alan could feel himself 
recuperating, though he knew somehow the process would be a slow one.  "Hyrcanus had 
a servant.  As he died he gave Seed to him.  Ko'un-Zir.  Kanteer. Ko'un-Zir had Orbis 
Tertius destroyed.  Made rings for Vessels from metal."

"What is a Vessel?"

"Person who has Seed called Vessel.  Vessel of the Seed of Paishiya'uvada.  Please, 
water."

"And you are a Vessel," Swindon-Smythe said as he held the cup against the prisoner's 
lips; it wasn't a question. Alan said nothing, knowing that by denying his status he would 
be tortured, and by confirming it he would be killed.  It startled him to realize that he 
knew this because he was reading Swindon-Smythe's thoughts.  He was getting better.

They talked for another hour at 
least, though Alan couldn't be sure how long, his sense of time adversely affected by the 
medications.  As his bearings returned slowly he became much less forthcoming with his 
answers.  At one point the doctor stepped up and injected more pentathol into his IV port, 
but Alan was able to counteract it.

Frustrated, Swindon-Smythe picked himself up from his chair and left.  The waves 
coming from the orb had ceased, choked off by the aura streaming from Massimo's ring.  
After he was alone for a few minutes he heard Jack's voice again.

"Jack?" he said aloud, his voice raspy.

"Don't say anything.  There are listening devices in the room.  Just listen."

"OK," Alan whispered.

"I know you're feeling better.  I can sense it."

Alan nodded slightly.

"When they give you more drugs you will be able to neutralize the effect, but you must 
act to all outward appearances that you are still dopey.  In a few hours," the voice of Jack 
Massimo said, though it went silent as the doctor reentered.  The doctor looked Alan 
over, and check to see that the stitches were holding and the wound showed no sign of 
infection.  He left.

"In a few hours," the voice went on, picking up from where they had been interrupted, 
"You will escape.  They are going to cut the rings off your fingers, and failing that they 
will amputate them to get the rings.  We cannot let that happen.  You wearing my ring is 
the only thing keeping both of us alive.  Understand?"

"Yes," he mumbled quietly.

"Get some rest.  I will help you."

Alan fell asleep.  The guard outside his room watched him slumber on the closed circuit 
system, reporting to Lord Thornbow every fifteen minutes that the prisoner was secure.

* * *

"It seems to me the matter is simple.  The power of the Seed is passed from one person--
Vessel, if you will--to the next at the time of death.  Why don't we just kill him?"

"Neil," Lord Thornbow replied thoughtfully, "What if it's not as simple as that?  What if 
the Vessel has to pass this on willingly? I understand the risks are greater by keeping him 
alive, but if you keep at it he will, eventually, give us the information we need.  Once I 
know what I need to do to get his power, the Seed of Paishiya'uvada, we will kill him, 
and wash our hands of it."

"Yes, your Lordship," the younger man replied, though not entirely convinced.

"He's fighting it."

"Yes, I noticed that.  I'll talk to the doctor about upping his drugs.  Perhaps we'll try the 
hallucinogenic therapies if he continues to stonewall."

"If the doctor agrees.  He's the expert with this."  Lord Thornbow took on a pensive cast.  
"How do you think he's doing it?  He can't be using his abilities, assuming he does indeed 
have them.  If he is a Vessel the orb should be absorbing his power, right?  We do know 
that much."

Swindon-Smythe, who had fashioned the Fourth Orb himself, and was justifiably proud 
of his work, thought it unlikely that Alan Marshall could be using his powers in such 
close proximity to it.  "I followed the instructions in the scroll precisely.  I used only the 
silver you provided, and we double-tested it.  It is chemically identical to the small 
spheres in the necklaces.  I don't see how it could not be functioning."

"Yes, I agree," Lord Thornbow said moodily.  "It's been a long day for me, travel and all.  
I will see you in the morning, and will expect a report.

"Goodnight," he said, leaving the study and going upstairs to the bedroom.

Swindon-Smythe hastily beat his way back to the dungeon.

* * *

Alan was feeling better.  The doctor was stending next to the bed, checking the readout 
on the EEG monitor, and then took his pulse and blood pressure.  He made some 
notations on the chart and began to leave the room.  He paused at the door, and stood 
stock still for more than a minute.

Alan was reaching out with his mind, struggling against fatigue and the aftereffects of his 
exposure to the orb's radiation.  "Stay," he thought, 
trying to keep the doctor in control.

"What are you doing," Neil Swindon-Smythe asked the doctor, his voice testy.  "Close 
that bloody door," he ordered as he approached the entrance to the cell.  Alan's spell was 
broken.

"Ah, sorry.  Just lost in thought," the doctor said as he stepped aside to allow Neil to 
enter.

"Go get some coffee, it's been a long night, and we need to stay focused."  The doctor 
left.

"You're looking better.  I see the water has helped.  Are you ready to answer more 
questions?"

Alan nodded, closing his eyes in concentration.  He reached out with a tendril of thought 
to probe Neil's mind, asserting the start of some semblance of control.

"How did you get the Seed you have?  How did you become a Vessel?"

"I think you've made a mistake.  I only read about this Seed stuff, you know, in books and 
stuff.  It's a story.  A fairy tale. You can't possibly believe it," Alan said wearily.

"It's a story.  A fairy tale.  Yes, I don't believe it," Swindon-Smythe said back, his voice 
rote.

"Your awfully sorry for bringing me here," Alan Obi-Wan'ed.

"Yes," Swindon-Smythe agreed.  "Awfully sorry," he said, nodding, as he began undoing 
the restraints.  Alan sat up in bed.

"Where did you put my clothes, Neil?"

"Don't know," Neil replied distractedly and truthfully.

"Go find me some."

Swindon-Smythe left the room and made his way upstairs, to his own room and pulled 
his suitcase from the closet.  While he was gone Alan got out of bed and removed the 
surgical tape holding the IV cathter to the crook of his elbow, and then removed the EEG 
contacts.  Just as he finished he heard the cell door click open, and he turned, expecting 
Neil had come back with some things for him to wear.

"What the FUCK are you doing?" the guard bellowed.  He had watched Alan 
on the monitor, and wasn't sure something was really wrong until he had begun to 
remove the IV and the contact pads.  He was standing in the doorway, his handgun held 
in a two-handed grip.

Sindon-Smythe stepped between Alan and the guard.  "It's all right," he said calmly.  The 
guard shrugged and put his gun back in his holster.  Alan had the guard get into the bed 
and Swindon-Smythe attached the restraints and covered him with the blanket.  Alan 
looked around the room, and saw noting that would hold the orb, so he stepped out into 
the anteroom and poked around until he found a gym bag.  It belonged to the guard, and 
he brought it back into the cell and emptied the its contets onto the floor of a closet.  The 
guard was struggling in his bonds, so Alan sent out a command for him to fall into a deep 
sleep, and instantly he was still.

The orb was heavy, and it was a bit of a struggle for him to manuver it into the bag, but 
Neil helped, and soon it was zipped closed.

"We're going," Alan said tersely to Dr. Swindon-Smythe, and they made their way up the 
stairs into the main house.  There were two more guards upstairs, but soon they too were 
sleeping.

"Where are we?"  Alan asked as he started the car.  Neil was in the passenger seat, the 
bag with the orb in the trunk.  It was snowing hard and windy, the wind making the flakes 
swirl violently in front of them, and visibility was low.

"New Jersey.  Hunterdon County."

Alan wasn't familiar with the area.  Neil told them they were about an hour and a half 
from New York, though that was in regular conditions.  He thought it would take longer 
in the snow, and he was right; I-78 was a mess.  Alan watched the sun come up over the 
Manhattan skyline as he drove  It took more that two and a half hours before they reached 
the Holland Tunnel.  Alan drove to Wilkin's office and let himself in, Neil following 
closely behind.  He locked the archeologist in his office with the steel door and told him 
not to touch anything, an order reenforced with the power of the Seed.  Neil laid down on 
the floor and dozed off.  The sun was just starting to come over the horizon on this 
Monday morning, and it had been a 
long day for him; he was exhausted.  Truth be told, the last few weeks had been just as 
exhausting, and he was grateful for the chance to rest.

Wilkins showed up a few hours later.  Alan explained that he had a friend staying in his 
office for the time being, and the lawyer lent Alan some cash, since his wallet was now 
burnt up in a Bronx warehouse.  Wilkins agreed to arrange for Alan to get all of the 
papers and credit cards lost in the incident replaced, and he and Alan arranged for a more 
permanent place to stash Neil Swindon-Smythe.  The corporation Alan owned, Cyaxares 
LLC., had a number of properties, so that would take care of that.

Alan was still worried, and he still knew next to nothing about the abductors beyond Neil.  
When school broke for Christmas they would sit down for a long together and hopefully 
Alan would get some information out him.  Also added to his checklist was polwing 
through Massimo's research notes, and spending a fixed time each day honing his 
abilities.

As he hailed a taxi to take him back to campus he saw a slightly familiar face looking his 
way from across the street, and it wasn't until he was paying the cabby that he figured out 
who it was.  The foreign guy who had asked for directions last night.  A shiver crawled 
up his spine.  He was still being watched.

Karick did not pursue him from the office, figuring that he was headed back to his 
college.  He would approch him later, and confess all.  He had a strange premonition that 
Alan Marshall was the only person on the planet who could keep him alive.

Next Chapter: Training

Chapter 18
Training

Karick and Swindon-Smythe sat in the small office and waited for their boss to arrive.  
As the newest employees of the Cyaxares corporation they were unsure of what their jobs 
would entail.  Both put their coffee cups down as they heard the outside door of the suite 
open, and stood when Alan and Mr. Wilkins entered.  Alan gestured for them to sit, and 
they did.

Karick figured his job would be primarily concerned with security; he was, after all, a 
former intelligence agent.  Swindon-Smythe was less sure.  The last month had been 
rough on him, mostly imprisoned in the secure office two doors down from Wilkins's 
own space.  The new office was just a few floors down from his former jail, in the same 
building in midtown Manhattan, almost all the way east, near the United Nations.  Three 
or four evenings a week, as his end of the semester schedule allowed, Alan had come to 
question him, and though he did not want to betray any of the secrets of his former 
employer, Lord Thornbow, all of the confidences came pouring out of him in a torrent of 
candor; he knew why he was unable to hold back, and it softened the blow.

Karick had approached Alan, at home in Westchester, two days after Christmas.  He had 
watched Mr. and Mrs. Marshall leave the house, all dressed up for a night out, and then 
knocked on the door.  Alan had answered, and they stared at each other for more than a 
few seconds, and something weird happened inside Karick's mind, something he didn't 
quite understand even now, two weeks later.  All of the details of his operation against 
the boy came spilling out of him as they sat in the den of the Marshall house.  In the end 
Karick was worried that Alan was going to have him eliminated, but these fears turned 
out to be groundless; instead an offer of employment was proffered and promptly 
accepted.  Alan gave him two weeks of leave to gather up his wife and daughter, and with 
the new identities provided by Mr. Wilkins, relocate them out of harm's way; as Karick 
sat in his new office across a table from his boss and his boss's lawyer the tan he had 
acquired in Australia, where he got his family settled, was only just starting to fade.  He 
felt fit and alive, a stark change from the past year which had mostly been spend sitting in 
cars and offices on stake-outs, first watching Jean-Pierre Massimo, and then Alan.

Alan had breezed through his exams and papers; his power allowed inhuman bouts of 
concentration coupled with the ability to eschew sleep as was his will.  He spent a 
minimum of two hours of each day honing his mental abilities, and slept only every other 
day for three hours, with short naps after exercising his mind powers.  He began with a 
process he called memory mining, for lack of a better term.  Until then he had mostly 
limited himself to using the powers of Paishiya'uvada to compel people to do his biding; 
he got information from his subject by compelling them to speak to him truthfully.  Now, 
with barely an effort after hours of tiring practice he could actually dig into people's 
minds, finding all he needed within them, and without their needing to be questioned.  All 
of his other free hours had been dedicated to plowing through Massimo's notes.  He also 
practiced planting false memories into others, but for some reason found that more 
difficult.

When Karick had returned from Down Under two evenings earlier Alan had spent a good 
deal of time inside his head with his new skill; Swindon-Smythe had been "mined" 
previously, and what he had learned from him, coupled with what had come out in the 
interrogation sessions had at once chilled him and reassured him.  Thornbow, though 
very knowledgeable about the Seeds of Paishiya'uvada and the Orbis Tertius, possessed 
far far less than what was contained in Massimo's files.

The meeting went quickly; Karick indeed was put in charge of security, primarily Alan's 
personal security, and Swindon-Smythe was assigned the task of retrieving the rest of 
Jean-Pierre's research, scattered as it were across the globe in four locations.  Alan left 
the details to be 
spelled out by Wilkins, who in addition to his lawyerly duties was now the CEO of 
Cyaxares LLC, ostensibly an international consulting company dealing in all things 
concerning archeology; Alan was the president of the company, but the lawyer was going 
to do most of the work.  

The company did in fact have a number of fairly lucrative contracts with various Middle 
Eastern and Central Asian countries, most prominently with the government of Israel, and 
had a staff of fifty or so antiquarians and researchers, based out of an office in Rome, 
though they spent most of their time in the field.  The head of operations, a former 
university professor named Bernard Lawson, had flown in the week before to meet Alan 
and Wilkins to update them on the current status of the company's projects and contracts.  
Alan had been impressed with the man's erudition and management skills; Lawson 
agreed to the contract extension he and Wilkins offered him.

Karick began assembling a team to keep Alan from being kidnapped again, and another 
to begin surveillance on Thornbow.  Alan had insisted, and Karick had agreed (though it 
made the task more difficult) that Alan's security be as unobtrusive as possible.  He 
wanted guards, he just didn't want to see them.  He also agreed to have a miniscule 
transponder implanted subdermally, so that if he ever was taken again the security would 
be able to track him electronically, and he had a panic button installed on his cell phone.

By the end of the week Swindon-Smythe was ready to leave.  His appearance was altered 
by Alan.  Formerly he was a slight man of average height, dark brown hair and brown 
eyes.  Now he stood six feet even, light blue eyes, light brown hair, and a broad beefy 
frame.  Wilkins arranged for papers in his new name, Harry Medford; his flight to Lisbon 
left Saturday morning.  A town car picked him up from his corporate apartment.  Alan 
expected him back in a month, for after Portugal he was headed to Damascus, then to 
Singapore, and finally to San Francisco; in each city the arrangements would take a week 
or longer to deal with; his orders were to contract with bonded couriers to fly from New 
York and meet him in each city once he had retrieved his bundle, and customs officials 
had to be bribed.
* * *
 
Kate was looking forward to going back to school.  It wasn't that she disliked being 
home, but the freedom of college living agreed with her.  It was somewhat startling that 
first night home when her parents asked her where she was going as she was preparing to 
leave after dinner.  She was just so used to coming and going as she pleased without 
informing them; she didn't resent it, and in fact her relationship with her folks had never 
been better, a combination of the two of them seeing her as an adult now that she was an 
undergraduate, and Kate's own regimen of self-improvement.  She kept up with her 
volunteer work, and was in general far more nice to people then she was before, less 
inclined to judge people by their social standing and popularity.  

This "new" Kate was working for her, and she had far more friends then she used to have, 
and the quality of her friendships was much better than in the past.  Take Scarlet, 
example; the "old" Kate would have barely tolerated her as a roommate, to say nothing of 
a friend.  OK, she was a nice enough person to be sure, but she didn't dress as fashionably 
as girls she used to pick as friends--she wasn't as cool.

But she liked her.  A lot.  Maybe too much. Especially since Scarlet's revelation that she 
was bisexual and confining her partners to other women for the duration of her college 
years.

The dreams were getting to her.  Every so often Kate had wildly erotic dreams about 
being with other women sexually.  The first was the night after Scarlet told her that she 
was a Lesbian Until Graduation.  So potent were these dreams that whenever she had 
them she awoke to drenched bedclothes and sheets.  Each time she was jerked out of her 
slumber by these powerful fantasies she had to masturbate, further wetting herself with 
vaginal 
secretions.  She had asked Scarlet what she should get her for Christmas, and her 
roommate had asked her to consider girl-girl sex.  They laughed, Kate nervously, Scarlet 
jokingly, but Kate was indeed considering it.  She had, since last March, always used 
Alan as her jerk off fantasy, but more and more the thoughts of sex between her and 
Scarlet, or her and other attractive girls she knew, were intruding .  Sometimes they even 
popped into her mind when she was having sex with Alan, especially when he went down 
on her.

Now, with just three days remaining before the dorms reopened on Monday, she was 
almost going out of her mind with anxiety.  It was becoming harder and harder for to 
deny the fact that she was attracted to girls, and the conflict brewing within her soul was 
almost sickening.  It was early evening, and she was waiting to hear from Alan.  His 
parents were leaving for a long weekend in Caribbean and she was going to drive over 
after they left for the airport.

"You're biting your nails again, sis," Pauline called over from the other side of the Van 
Devanter's living room.  "Anything the matter?" her sister asked, putting down the paper.

Kate ceased and desisted from chewing a cuticle, and look over at Pauline.  She was 
dressed up for a date with her new boyfriend, Brian Lacy, waiting for him to pick her up.

"Nah, s'nuthin.  I'm OK."

"Good," her sister responded, punctuating this with a warm smile.

"Thanks for asking.  So how are things with you and Brian going?"

"Really good.  He's such a gentleman, maybe too much of a gentleman."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know.  He's very nervous around me, around girls in general.  He might be a 
really handsome guy, and a jock n'all, but he could barely work up the nerve to hold my 
hand at the movie on our first date.  I'm loosening him up though," she added with a 
giggle.

Kate giggled too. "How loose?"

"Well," Pauline laughed, "last week at the movies he managed to put his arm around me, 
but he did recoil when I put his hand on my boob."

"Maybe he's gay," Kate joked.

"No, I'm pretty sure he's not.  After awhile he did put his hand back, plus he's a real good 
kisser.  It's kind of a nice change, you know, being the assertive one, you know after 
Alan.  God, Alan was so commanding.  I gave him my virginity before I even knew what 
was hap--"

"You what!" Kate shrieked bemusedly, knowing that Alan had fucked her.

"Oops!  Little too much information there, huh, sis?  Oh well, wasn't a secret or anything, 
just don't tell mom or dad."

"So how was he, Alan, I mean?" Kate asked, her high level of interest shining across her 
face.

"Unbelievable," Pauline sighed, not knowing that Kate was one person who really could 
believe it.  Pauline was lost on her reverie for a few seconds, broken only by the sound of 
the doorbell ringing and Conchita letting Brian inside.  "If I can't bring Brian along soon I 
might just give Alan a call.  I'm kidding, of course, I'd never do that to Brian, but the 
thought is very tempting."  She exited to the giggling all around.

Kate sat around for most of another hour waiting for Alan to call, reading the latest New 
Yorker.  She was going to give that guy a piece of her mind.  The nerve! Stealing the 
innocence of her underage sister!

* * *

When she pulled into the Marshall's driveway Alan was waiting there, and before she 
could cut the engine and get out of the car he opened the passenger door and slipped in 
next to her.

"Where are we going?"

"Video store and take-out.  OK?"

"Sure," she said, a small smile on her lips.  "What do you want for take-out, pizza or 
Chinese?" she asked when she stopped at the stop sign before the turn onto Westervelt 
Road.

"In the mood for some Thai?  There's that new little place on State Street that I've been 
wanting to try."

In response she punched him in the arm.

"What he hell was that for?" he asked, grinning, The blow not being  very hard.  "OK, 
OK, no Thai.  
Pizza?"

"Thai is fine," she mock-snarled.  "That was for Pauline.  She sorta let it slip before that 
you took her virginity, and I had to pretend I didn't know."

"Oh.  That.  It was last spring. Does it bother you?  I didn't hurt her."

Kate paused before answering, biting her lip.  "No, not really.  I mean, she was your 
girlfriend and all.  I mean, when I slept with you I actually had a boyfriend, and I never 
thought what we did was wrong.  Well, I did at the beginning, but that soon passed," she 
chuckled.  "She said you were unbelievably good, and I held my tongue at that.  I know 
how good you are."

"You're giving me a swelled head!"

They got a movie first, and then to the Thai place where they got green curry with 
chicken,  pad thai, and sticky jasmine rice.  Back at his house Kate unpacked the bags 
while Alan was in the kitchen retrieving dishes, flatware, soft drinks, and glasses.  They 
started the movie and sat in the den, eating off the coffee table.  When the food was 
consumed they paused the tape and did the dishes together.  When they went back to the 
couch Kate curled up in his arms.

"So how was she?  Pauline, I mean.  We, uh, never really talked about it before," she 
asked as the end credits rolled up the television.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked suspiciously

"Yeah.  I promise, it wont bother me."

Alan took his time in framing his response.  "Uh, different than you."

"Good answer.  Very," she paused searching out the right word, "Diplomatic."

He laughed. "I'll show you 'diplomatic,' lassie," he bellowed as he grabbed her and 
pushed her off the couch and then chased her up to his bedroom, Kate cackling all the 
way.  She stopped short at the entrance and Alan crashed into her, sending the pair of 
them tumbling through the doorway and falling over onto the carpeting.  Alan picked her 
up and stood, throwing her onto the bed, and she loosed a giddy scream.  Almost 
instantly he was on top of her, caressing her body through her clothes, his lips plastered 
to hers.  They made out for a while, and then Alan rolled onto his back while the two of 
them caught their breath.

"What are you in the mood for tonight?"

"Surprise me," she said looking into his eyes, her own twinkling.

"Wait here," he said after a short kiss and then got off the bed and went over to the closet, 
and Kate slipped out of her clothes.  He pulled a small bag from the closet and carried to 
his bed stand.  The first thing he pulled out was her old butt plug, a device Kate hadn't 
seen in months, since high school. She giggled, but her arousal increased just by looking 
at it.  Not asking her permission to insert it he gave her a light smack on her thigh, and 
she rolled over dutifully.  He slowly pushed it up her hairless pussy, hearing a throaty 
moan in response.  Once it was sufficiently lubricated he worked it up her tightest 
passage, and she couldn't help but to pant and purr.

"Feels so good, Alan.  Yesssssss."

"What did you call me?"

"Master," she quickly corrected.  "Feels so good, Master."  He couldn't see her face 
because she was facing away and face down, but she was lit up like Shea Stadium for a 
night game.

He gave her a playful swat on her rear and ordered her to turn over and put her hands up 
over her head.  Before she knew what was happening each of her wrists was attached to 
separate restraints which Alan then tied to the headboard with a length of cord.


"Hmmm.  This is new, Master.  I think I'm gonna like this," she whispered.

"I'm sure you will," he shot back, slowly drawing his fingers across her moistening pussy, 
eliciting a soft groan.  Alan laid down on the bed, his mouth inches from Kate's wet cleft.  
The sensation of his warm breath against her nether lips was insanely maddening to her, 
the teasing of the act almost unbearable.  Her pink nipples firmed up, the rings shining in 
the soft lighting of his bedroom.

"Please," she whined.  "Lick me, please."

"'Lick me please, Master,'" he 
reminded her, tapping lightly on the protruding end of her butt plug to emphasize his 
point.

"Yes," she gasped.  "Maaaaasterrrrr."  Her entire body began to heave as best it could in 
the bonds as Alan stuck his tongue in her, tracing light patterns over her labia, but 
exasperatingly he was avoiding her hot clit for the most part.  To make matters worse for 
her, just as she was about to reach her peak he stopped and withdrew his head from 
between her thighs.

"Hmmm," he said languidly as he inserted one of his fingers halfway up her tight pussy 
before using it to slowly stir her juices around.  "I wonder."

"Wonder what? Master," she managed to say through her panting and gasping.  So close! 
So very close!

"Well, you seem to like it when I play with your pussy, don't you, slave?  When I lick it."  
Kate nodded vigorously.

"I wonder," he repeated, trailing off.

"Ah ah ah. W-wonder what, M-master?"

"When I was eating you, what were you thinking about?  Who were you thinking about?"

Kate flushed, redness spreading all over her face and chest.  He knew!  How the fuck did 
he know?  As Alan licked and played with her just now she wasn't thinking about him, 
but rather Scarlet.  The shame of the idea of being with her bi roommate was furthering 
her arousal, and somehow Alan sensed this.  Son of a bitch.  "What are you talking about, 
Alan, I mean, Master?"

"You were thinking of Scarlet, weren't ya?"

"No," she gasped.  Alan had increased the rhythm of his manipulations upon saying 
Scarlet's name, and she realized that her lie was pathetic.

"Admit it," he cajoled, sinking another finger to her soupy channel, and Kate groaned in 
response, afraid to speak lest she spill the beans.  "Come on, say it.  You think about 
Scarlet eating your pussy when I go down on you."

"Noooooo," she moaned, and Alan slowed his fingering.

"Say it, and I'll let you come, slave."

"P-p-please, please let me come," Kate gasped.

"Admit it, slave, you fantasize about being with Scarlet.  It makes you wet."

Kate's eyes shot open, thinking about all the soaked sheets and panties she had washed in 
the last month.  An orgasm of epic proportions was building within her, and she shook 
her head from side to side in an attempt to deny what Alan was suggesting.  Droplets of 
sweat flew off the ends of her hair, spraying about his bedroom, but her mouth gave in at 
last.  "Yesssss, Scarlet," she screamed, her body racked with tremors.  Juice spurted from 
her folds, drenching Alan's hand as she shook and trembled in orgasm.  Her thighs 
clamped together, trapping his hand in her hot pussy while she cried in release.  The 
shakes finally passed and Alan extricated his hand from her pussy, and had positioned 
himself next to her on the bed, gently kissing her face, licking the drool of from around 
her lips.

"Feel better?"

She nodded.

"The truth always feels better, doesn't it?"

She nodded again, looking down across her body in the process.  Her thighs were 
glistening with her girl-come, gleaming from her pussy straight down past her knees.  It 
already began to feel sticky down there, and she would have liked a shower, or, at the 
very least, the opportunity to wipe herself down with a towel, but she was still tied to the 
headboard, and thought better of asking Alan--tonight, her Master--for the chance to 
clean up.  She let out a satisfied sigh and looked at his face.

"How, how did you know?" she asked, her embarrassment written across her once-again 
blushing face.

"When the subject is 'What turns on Katie Van Devanter' I consider myself an expert," he 
retorted with a laugh, and she laughed with him.

"Yeah, you push my buttons like no one can."

"So, are you going to?" he asked a little while later, breaking off a hot and heavy kissing 
session.

"Am I going to, what?  Master."

"Scarlet," he said, grinning slightly.

"Are Scarlet and I going to, uh, do it?  Is that what you're asking, Master."

"'Do it?'" he repeated back to her, 
his gaze level and slightly intimidating.

"Uh, make love?"  She could tell by his expression that this wasn't the phrase he was 
wanting to hear.

"Fuck.  Are you and Scarlet going to fuck?"

"I, uh, I will if you, like, want me to, Master."

"No, Kate, no.  No taking the easy way out here.  I know it's easier for you to do things if 
I order you to, or if you can rationalize that way, but it's me, Alan, asking you, Kate, if 
you plan on having a sexual encounter, if you plan to fuck Scarlet. Forget 'Master.'"

Kate bit her lip, her mind racing a mile a minute.  As she spoke her lips began to tremble, 
and her answer came in the barest if whispers.  "I want to. I want to f-fuck Scarlet.  I want 
her to eat me out.  To eat my pussy, and to eat hers."

Alan wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye, but that was the full extent of her 
crying; had had expected more.  "OK," he whispered back soothingly, and held her 
around her torso, kissing her upward-extending bound arms softly until she was still 
again.  He touched her face and she inhaled sharply.  "Now back to the fun, my little 
horny slave."

"Yes, Master, yes," Kate exclaimed as he got on top of her and pushed his cock into her 
sopping wet snatch.  She came in less than a minute, her pussy walls clenching down on 
his hot shaft, more and more girl juice squirting out of her pussy and around his dick, 
soaking both of them where they were joined.  Alan dropped his head down to her pink 
nipples and sucked on them, toying with the gold rings with the end of his tongue, and 
this set her off again, her mind awash with the sensations of the moment and the 
anticipation of what waited for her back in the dorm when she and her roommate returned 
from break on Monday.  "Coming, Master, coming again, OH GOD YES!" she growled 
as his fucking took her on that magic ride to ecstasy again and again, her body convulsing 
in release every few minutes until her stamina failed her and she could only quiver and 
moan as Alan continued to screw her.  Her last feeling before passing out was a monster 
of an orgasm she experienced simultaneous to shooting his come into her wet passage.  
She awoke a while later, her arms released, cuddled up with Alan spooning behind her, 
his crotch wedged into her so that he was putting a small amount of pressure on the 
protruding end of her butt plug, and she ground her ass back into him, enjoying the 
sensation of fullness in her bottom.  She knew he had awakened when she felt him start to 
play with her nipple rings.

"I'm gonna call my parents and let them know I wont be home until morning, OK?" she 
asked, and he agreed.

Clicking off her cell phone she got back into bed and snuggled up to him, and he spooned 
her as before.  His hands on her breasts were extremely arousing to her, and it was a 
small struggle to make conversation.

"I wonder what it'll be like, uh, fucking Scarlet."

"You'll never know if you don't try."

"Sometimes I think I'm a pervert," she sighed.

"Oh, and what does that make me?  Hmm?" he said, pinching her nipples until they 
hardened under his fingers.

"Boys are," she paused, thinking this through, trailing off. "Guys are different.  Your 
fantasies are supposed to be, well, uh, more, uh," but she couldn't articulate what she was 
trying to say.  "What bugs the shit out of me is that I like it so much.  When we went 
back to the Master/slave thing I really liked it!  I was so wet just thinking about the plug, 
and following your orders, and I loved it, but a small part of me thinks that its wrong.  
And the worst part is, I'd do it all again at the drop of a hat.  Scarlet even picked up on it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was kind of funny, see.  The day she told me about being a lesbian--I mean bi-- 
she said she thought I wouldn't get too upset by it, and I asked her why, and she said any 
girl with nipple rings and a shaved vagina is kinky to begin with, so a little lesbianism 
wouldn't betoo much to deal with.  SHE KNEW!"  Kate sighed before going on, "Am I 
kinky?"


"Everybody's kinky, in their own way.  Don't worry so much.  You don't want to be my 
slave, always, do you?  I mean, you like college and making friends, right?"

"Right."

"And if I asked you to give up everything in your life to serve me forever as my twenty-
four hour a day full-time slave, all thoughts centered around me, you'd turn that down, 
right?"

"Hah!  But I know you would never ask me to do something like that!  You're a nice guy, 
and nice guys don't pull shit like that, tempting as that offer might be."

"So you'd think about it, huh?"

She giggled and reached up, pressing her palm against his forehead, pushing him slightly 
away.  "No!" she laughed, "As much as I like you, and like being your occasional slave, 
no."

"Good," he breathed, hugging her tighter. "You're just a slight submissive personality.  
You want this sometimes, but not at the expense of a 'regular life,' right?"

"Yeah.  It's amazing.  I never knew before you showed me that day back in high school, 
in the newspaper office.  And now, I've been having these dreams, dreams about other 
women, sexual dreams, and not just about Scarlet."

"Who else?"

"Mostly about Mrs. Hall.  About that morning in her office, remember?"

"I remember."

"And someone else, a Mistress.  Fuck, I'm so fucking kinky."

"Profane, perhaps, but not so kinky."

"I know," she said sheepishly.

"Does it feel good?  When we 'play' together?"

"Uh huh."

"Is it hurting anybody?"

"Nuh uh."

"Are you living your life as you like living it?  Do you like school, friends, your 
volunteer work, all that?"

"Yeah?"

"And sometimes, once in a while, you like having your cute little tush filled with a plug, 
and you like calling me 'Master,' and you like obeying my commands.  And now you're 
thinking about having sex with other females, just to see if you like it, to see if the 
experience matches your fantasies.  Have I summarized the situation correctly?" he asked 
jovially.

"That's about it, yeah."

"You're a healthy young woman, with a health sexual appetite, and a healthy dose of 
sexual curiosity.  You just finished your first semester at one of the best colleges in the 
country, and you got a 4.0.  You have a sister that loves you, parents who adore you, a 
group of runaway teenage girls who think you walk on water because you take an 
afternoon a week to spend time with them and help them.  You have me, and I think 
you're the bomb, one of the best people I know.  You have a roommate who wants to 
jump your bones.  Life is good for you, Kate.  You know this."

She was crying silently.  "I know.  Sometimes my mind just spins out of control.  The 
therapist I was seeinglast year wanted to put me on some kind of anxiety pill, and I turned 
him down, but you put stuff in such good perspective.  You're better than any pill," she 
sniffled and rubbed her body into hers.  "I feel like such an asshole.  There are people out 
there with real problems, and I'm just some whiny trust-fund girl with a slightly confused 
sexual identity.  Fuck me all to hell!"

"Everybody's got problems," he assured her.  She sniffled in response.  Alan held her, 
lightly caressing the parts of her body available in their position, and she calmed.

"Yeah, and my problems are smaller than most.  Thanks for showing me that, I mean it."

"Glad to be of help, slave."

"Ooh! Playtime again, Master?"

"You betcha, toots."

She rolled over to face him and pushed him onto his back then shimmied down his body 
until his hardening manhood was level with her mouth.  He groaned as she took him 
between her lips, and he sucked in his breath as she swallowed him to his root.

"Oh yeah, baby, a nice healthy blowjob," he moaned as she bobbed up and down on his 
straining erection, and she chuckled around his cock at the word "healthy."  Kate looked 
up into his eyes, staring at him, daring him to look away, and he was somehow unable.  
Her eyes were piercing as her black hair bounced to 
and fro to the rhythm of her fellatio, and he was transfixed by her beauty.  Only when he 
shot his load into her sucking mouth was he able to close his eyes, and that was because 
of reflex.

Amazingly, to Kate, he stayed hard, and she squealed when he reached down and gave 
her a light spank on her pretty ass.  She got the message and rolled onto her hands and 
knees.  Alan teased her, slowly withdrawing, and then reinserting the butt plug until she 
was panting and mewling in arousal.

"Please!" she gasped, and he did not disappoint, at last pulling the toy from her ass and 
replacing it with his cock before the aperture closed all the way.  She screamed upon its 
entry, not in pain--for her ass was well used to taking his length--but rather in excitement.  
So wrong this all was, taking Alan in her butt, but it felt so good, so right, like he said, 
healthy.  Kinky, too. 

It was healthy to explore her sexuality this way, not to mention satisfying.  And now he 
was reaching around her crotch, his hand diddling her soaked pussy, bring forth manic 
yelps as his fingertips made contact with her oily clit.  The shudders came without 
warning, presaging an orgasm of almost excruciating power.

"Y-yes!  Fuck me!  F-fuck my tight little whore slut ass, Master!  I'm I'm COMING!  
COME WITH ME.  Fuck yourself into my slutty ass, MASTER!"

As they reached orgasm together Kate screamed unintelligibly and was no longer able to 
support her body's weight with her arms, collapsing to the mattress, causing his still 
spurting dick to spray semen across her back. It pooled in the small of her back, and with 
her last bit of strength she reached behind herself and scooped some into her hand, then 
began drowsily licking it off.  She fell asleep with her thumb in her mouth.

* * *

Alan turned of the lights after tucking Kate under his covers, showered and went to the 
basement.  He needed little sleep so he decided to devote a few hours to training.  From 
the documents he had studied from Jack's CD-ROMs he had written up a preliminary 
exercise schedule based on a long document, Jack's "Seed Journal," Massimo's catalog of 
his use of his powers, a very handy document, Alan had found.  Tonight he was 
concentrating on TK, the movement of objects with his mind.  This had been one of the 
fist powers Alan had experiment with after receiving the Seed of Hyrcanus last spring, 
but after reading the "Seed Journal" Alan had seen how rudimentary and clumsy those 
efforts had been.

When he noticed the sun breaking through the windows he went back upstairs and settled 
down next to the worn out body of Kate.  He found himself fatigued after his training 
sessions, and though he usually required only a few minutes of rest to recuperate, he 
drifted off to his first real sleep in a few days.  He needed it, he realized.  Even Vessels 
need to recharge.

Next Chapter: Kate's (new) first; reports from the field.

Chapter 19
Kate's (new) first; reports from the field.

"You're such a coward," he said in between bites of his pizza.  He, Kate, Scarlet, and 
Soren were splitting a pie at V&T, a college favorite across the street from the Cathedral 
of St. John the Divine.  Soren had stepped away to chat with some people he knew at 
another table, and Scarlet was in the lady's room.  Kate had just admitted that she hadn't 
acted upon her attraction to her roommate, despite the fact that she had resolved over 
vacation to do something.  It was the first Thursday night after the start of spring 
semester classes, and every time she tried to screw up the courage to approach Scarlet in 
a sexual manner she lost her nerve .  She had tried to be more provocative around her, 
mostly by dropping her reticence over being naked in her presence.  Scarlet had gotten 
many peeks at Kate's smooth pussy and pierced nipples these past ten days or so, but had 
not made a move on her.

She sipped her Diet Coke, red-faced.

"What's the hold up?" he asked

"I don't want to talk about it here, OK?"

"'Kay.  Later," Alan answered, amusement dripping from his voice as he took another 
bite.

After the pie had been demolished, the foursome made their way back to campus.  Scarlet 
didn't say anything explicit, but Kate knew she was meeting Jessica tonight in the latter's 
dorm room, so she invited Alan to her room to study and hang out.  It was still fairly 
early, not even eight o'clock when Alan arrived, his knapsack slung over his shoulder full 
of books.  They settled on her bed with her head nestled under his shoulder, Kate plowing 
through a book for her lit class and Alan did some reading for history.

* * *

"Scarlet's with her, uh, friend.  All night." Kate told him, not looking away from her text.

"Oh?"

"I just can't work up the guts to, you know, come on to her.  I flirt a little, but she hasn't 
clued in or anything.  It's kinda strange.  I thought she was in to me."

Alan sat up and Kate repositioned herself do they were facing each other.  "You have a 
block when it come to initiating sex."

Kate agreed.

"And you're also on the, shall we say, submissive side of the spectrum."

Kate nodded.

"Would it help if I introduced you to someone?  I mean, are you holding out for Scarlet as 
your first?"

"No.  Would you?  That would be great."

"This person I know is exactly what you're looking for.  And, maybe if I ask her, she and 
you can work on your dominant side together."

"Who is she?" Kate asked, her breathing accelerating.

Alan paused before answering, deciding whether or not to tell Kate he had been sexually 
involved with his English instructor, but after a brief thought he went ahead.  "Her name 
is Miranda.  She was the grad student who taught my L&R section last semester.  She is a 
dominant, well mostly, and she has a submissive lover, Laura.  We hooked up in the fall.  
She had never been submissive to a man before.  Before she met me, that is."

Kate giggled, and Alan fished his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket.

"Y-you're calling her n-now?"

"Why not?" he replied with a wink.  "The night is young," he added, consulting his 
watch, seeing it was half past 8 pm.  "Neither of us has class tomorrow, and she probably 
doesn't, either."

She waited with baited breath as Alan dialed the number.  She could only hear his side of 
the conversation.

"Hello, Miranda?  It's Alan.  Ha ha, yeah.  Good times, good times.  Speaking of which, I 
have a little, ah, situation I think you can help me with.  Are you busy now?  Great.  Be 
over in a few.  Bye!"  He turned to Kate, who was a bit shell shocked by the possibilities 
before her.  "Katie, get your coat. No, wait, first you have to change."

"Change?" she asked, her voice tinged with fear.

"Yeah.  Take off all your clothes," he said over his shoulder as he walked away from her 
and towards her closet and bureau.  By the time he had turned back around, a lace bra and 
panty set in hand, Kate was standing in the center of the room, trembling in her naked 
glory.  He passed her the skimpy lingerie and turned back to continue pick her outfit.  A 
tight canary yellow sweater went on next, no blouse underneath it, and though she 
objected at first to the skirt ("Jeez, Alan, I can't wear a skirt, it below freezing out!") she 
nonetheless donned just-above-the-knee length garment.  No hose, but a pair of cute 
ankle socks and a her nice sneakers. 

"W-where are w-we going?" she asked breathlessly as he took her hand and they started 
to the elevator bank.

"It's not too far.  Actually, you're closer to her apartment than I am."

* * *

Miranda lived in a small building on Claremont Avenue,  The back of Barnard's vest-
pocket campus abutted Claremont.  Alan lived closer to the center of campus--in Carman 
Hall, just opposite Butler Library--on the other side of Broadway so it took the pair less 
than five minutes to reach Miranda's.  

Kate was somewhat surprised seeing Miranda.  She had expected either a very lesbian 
looking type person, butch haircut and a muscular physique, or a dominatrix-like 
appearance.  She was just a pretty woman, about an inch or so taller than herself, with 
very attractive reddish-blonde hair, a trim figure with nicely rounded rear end.  Kate 
spied her perky breasts capped with hard red nipples poking through a tight white t-shirt.  
After taking their coats, Miranda ambled over towards the kitchen and motioned with her 
head for Alan to follow her in.

"Who is she?  Is she your girlfriend?  She's so gorgeous," Miranda babbled.

This was a tough question for Alan.  He had never really reconciled who he was to Kate, 
so he answered carefully.  "Uh, she's sort of my girlfriend.  We're not officially dating, 
but we spend a lot of time together.  We went to high school together."

"Oh, trying to get into the panties of the high school crush, huh?  Well, how do I fit into 
this whole situation?  I'm confused."

"Oh no, I've had Kate many many times.  She's, uh, my part-time slave."

Miranda sucked in her breath, her eyes glistening with desire.  "How do I get to be your 
part-time slave, Alan?" she asked coquettishly, her eyelashes batting to beat the band.

"Yeah, well, anyway," he started, changing the subject.  "Katie has never had a lesbian 
experience, and she wants to, but doesn't quite know how to get started, so naturally, I 
thought of you.  She's also, as you can guess, submissive, another reason why we're 
here."

"My lucky day," Miranda sighed.  "Laura's gonna kick herself for going away skiing 'til 
Sunday night.  So how should I play it, hmmm?  Bitch Goddess Slave Mistress?  Or just a 
regular seduction?  Just the two of us, or are you going to play as well?"

"Go with the seduction bit, and I'll play it by ear on the joining in."

Alan went back to the couch and sat next to Kate, and he took her hand in a reassuring 
manner; her palm was slightly sweaty.

Miranda handed both of them  bottles of Stella, and took a mean drag from her own.  
They spent ten minutes or so chatting, and Kate started to relax as she got to know her 
host.  After a little while Miranda took position on the couch next to Kate, and now Kate 
was sandwiched between Alan and Miranda; she had not released her grip on Alan's 
hand, and was still a bit nervous.

All of a sudden Miranda leaned over and kissed Kate gently on the lips, and felt the 
freshman girl stiffen slightly.  Alan felt it too, as the strength of Kate's clasp on his hand 
hardened.

Miranda was staring into Kate, and when the latter opened her eyes as the kiss broke Kate 
could see the intense expression showing on Miranda's face. Kate had a desperate desire 
to please, her natural submissiveness coming to the fore, so she leaned into Miranda and 
tried to kiss her, but the redhead pulled back and gently placed her hands on Kate's 
shoulders.

"Relax, Kate, let me," she whispered as she brought her head forward and slipped her 
tongue slowly into Kate's mouth.  Kate was taken aback by the sheer softness of the kiss, 
it was gentle and undemanding.  Feeling more and more comfortable as the seconds 
elapsed she turned into Miranda, and was embraced her softly around her middle, hands 
tracing placid patterns on Kate's back.  When Miranda broke the kiss Kate sighed, and 
brought her arms around Miranda, running her palms over the smooth cotton of 
Miranda's t-shirt, testing the flesh underneath.

Miranda was really turned on by Kate, from her looks to her smell, to how her mouth 
tasted on hers.

"Hey there, Stud," Miranda winked at Alan, "How 'bout leaving us two girls alone for 
awhile?  Just a little while."

And with that she showed him to the door.

"What's this?  A change of plans?" he asked in the doorway.

"I know what I'm doing, so trust me. Come back in a couple of hours.  Then we'll have 
some fun together.  All together," Miranda promised, pressing her spare set of keys into 
his hand right before she closed the door on him.

"Now where were we?" she asked Kate with a smirk as she came back into the living 
room and rejoined her on the couch.

Kate's head was spinning, dizzy, lost in the breathtaking erotic haze her first timid 
attempts at girl-girl contact had put her in.  Miranda took her in her arms again and they 
touched foreheads, their eyes boring into one another.

"Kiss me again," Kate breathed, almost trembling at Miranda's proximity, tilting her head 
to the side to allow Miranda to complete the act.  Kate felt warm, and she could feel a 
similar heat coming off her partner, and was swiftly again rapt to Miranda's attentions.  
She offered no protest--neither verbal nor physical--when she felt Miranda's hand on her 
knee, journeying up her thigh towards her crotch, and she gasped in Miranda's mouth 
upon feeling fingertips tenderly stroking the fabric of her panties, gingerly manipulating 
the flesh beneath.

With a satisfied smirk on her face Miranda noted that the silky material was warm and 
damp.  She pressed harder against Kate's clothed pussy, and she felt the outer lips of the 
black-haired girl's pussy bloom open, causing a gush of juice to flow out and soak the 
fabric under her fingers.

"MmmmMMMmmmMmm!" Kate moaned, closemouthed, her lips still ensnared against 
Miranda's.  As they ground their mouths against each other's, as their tongues dueled 
against the other, slowly swirling in battle, Miranda felt Kate's hot breath pelt against her 
face, forced through the small apertures of Kate's small nostrils.

It was Kate who broke the kiss, jerked back at feeling the other girl's fingers snake 
around the edge of her panties and into her soupy pussy.

"Yess!" the dark-haired teen hissed, grinding her pussy against the invader.  Miranda 
peppered her face and neck with little kisses, and massaged Kate's chest through the 
sweater.

"You like that, don't ya, baby?"

"Yes.  Please.  More," she managed to blurt through quivering lips. "More."  And before 
she knew it she and Miranda were in the bedroom, on the futon, Kate topless and 
pantyless, her skirt hiked up around her waist, flat on her back with Miranda sitting next 
to her.  Miranda leaned over and kissed her, one hand fooling with a nipple ring, the other 
calmly exploring Kate's hairless snatch, fingers teasing in and out, often stopping for a 
minute or two just to sport around with the engorged clit, then plunge back into the 
steaming depths.  Miranda took her time, bringing Kate time and time again to the brink 
of release, and then pulling her back.

A fog of lust and passion enveloped Kate, and she lost herself in the enormous turn-on of 
it all.  Her mouth on Miranda's became frantic, and without knowing what she was doing 
her hands grabbed the bottom of the older girl's shirt and began to tug it upwards.  
Miranda leaned back, breaking off the kiss and titty play, but making very sure to keep 
her fingers buried in Kate's sweltering twat as she did.  Kate made swift work of 
Miranda's top, tossing it over the side of the bed, and then propped herself up enough to 
reach Miranda's right breast with her frenzied lips, trapping a garnet-colored nipple 
between them and sucking hard.

"Oh yes, baby, like that, just like that.  You're doing wonderful, baby, my baby girl.  You 
like the taste of my nipples, of my little titties, yes.  Like that, baby, just like that."

It was a novel experience for Kate, though she loved it, surprised by the level of her ardor 
in the act. Not only that, but it was turning her on, big time.  Even thought Miranda had 
temporarily abandoned her interest in Kate's ringed nipples they remained hard as rocks, 
and the fingers in her pussy were bringing her closer and closer to climax.  As he licked 
and sucked the older girls breasts she moaned, increasing the vibrations thereby 
enhancing Miranda's pleasure; in response Miranda upped the tempo of her 
manipulations of the teen's pussy, thereby amplifying Kate's moans, leading to faster 
frigging, etc. etc.

It was a vicious cycle, soon coming to its denouement.

"Aieeeeeeeeeeeiieeeeee," Kate screeched, loud enough to wake the neighbors.  Her head 
snapped back, a pop audible as her mouth released the stiff nipple it had been lavishing. 
"Oooooooooooooh! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," she squeaked, her pussy flooding with girl come 
to the overflow, then soaking Miranda's hand and wrist as the latter continued to 
masturbate her, painting her smooth pubis with creamy juices.  Miranda brought her head 
down and planted delicate little kisses all over the writhing sweaty teen; when Kate 
regained enough strength she grasped Miranda's head tightly in her hands and dragged 
her lips up to her mouth and kissed her ravenously.  They necked for quite some time, 
and then helped one another out of what remained of their clothes.

As they cuddled Miranda languidly drew her fingers through Kate's smooth wet pussy 
lips.  Kate felt the tingly sensations spread throughout her body yet again, her mind 
drifting inward upon itself, quiet mewls escaping past her lips; she barely noticed right 
away that Miranda had brought those moist fingers to her mouth.  "I'm tasting myself," 
Kate thought in wonder, her mind only slightly registering the import of the act.  Her 
tongue made a few tentative journeys out of her mouth and was soon avid to the task of 
cleaning her own juices off the hands of another.  Sure, many times since first submitting 
to Alan she had sucked him off after he had fucked her, but lately she had noticed that her 
secretions had increased in output to a dramatic degree.

"Tastes nice, doesn't it, baby?" Miranda purred, and Kate nodded dumbstruck in 
response, her mouth now filled with the redhead's dainty come-soaked digits, 
worshipping them with her lips and tongue, actively missing them when Miranda 
periodically removed them to gather more juices from her still dripping gash.  Now 
instead of just sticking her fingers in Kate's mouth Miranda was rubbing the juices all 
over Kate's face, then she lapped the juices off the younger girl's face, and Kate shook in 
arousal.

Miranda reached down and spread Kate's pale slim legs and descended between them.  
Kate could feel the other girl's hot breath caress her pussy and she shivered slightly at 
what was to come.  Ever so slowly Miranda drew near to the damp slit before, her cheeks 
rubbing against the inside of Kate's quivering thighs, savoring feeling of the silky skin.

"Ooh!" Kate yelped as she felt the first contact of Miranda's tongue on her outer lips.  
Miranda's licks were feather soft as she soothingly explored the denuded gash, swirling 
her tongue about, avoiding the hardened clit which crowned the opening.  It was 
different, very different from what Alan did when he ate her out; tranquil yet shockingly 
exciting at once.  Gradually Miranda picked up the pace and range of her explorations 
until Kate was driven into a frenzy of excitement, her body shimmying and shaking all 
over the place, her butt bouncing off the futon mattress and up into the enthusiastic mouth 
consuming her.  She gasped when Miranda at last favored her clit with a few firm licks, 
running the tip of her tongue over and around it in a circular patters.

"That feels sooooooo goooooooood," she moaned as Miranda added a finger to the 
equation, at first just rubbing the outside of her pussy, and then slowly, slowly, slowly 
pushing inside all the way.  She was rapidly approaching orgasm, and Miranda could see 
the signs, from the blush spreading over Kate's whole body, to the acceleration of her 
respiration and bodily tremors.  Suddenly the finger abandoned Kate's cunt, and she came 
at an instant as Miranda forcefully shoved it up her little asshole.

"OH GOD YES!" she roared, her tightest passage spasming uncontrollably around the 
older girl's finger, her pussy squirting copious fluid over Miranda's still attacking tongue.  
"Coming, COMING, COOOOOMING!"  Her body jerked around the bed so much she 
actually flipped over, and Miranda stayed with her, her finger still buried up her tight 
rump, pumping in and out with a steady cadence.  Just as she came down from her 
orgasm her body seized again when Miranda began diddling her clit rapidly with her free 
hand, and she exploded anew, screaming out incoherently as she shook and shook in 
release.  Miranda rose up and kissed her hard, and Kate's tongue eagerly explored the 
other girl's face, lapping up the shiny secretions which covered it with a glossy sheen.

They rested until Kate recovered.  Miranda pulled her up se that they were sitting, facing 
each other; neither of them spoke.  Miranda reached out and began to massage Kate's 
nipples, and Kate, after brief consideration, began to treat Miranda's nipples likewise.  
Miranda moved her hands down to Kate's pussy, and Kate mirrored her, and when 
Miranda pulled her fingers from Kate's gash and licked the juices from them, Kate 
followed suit, giving her her first taste of another pussy besides her own.  Miranda tasted 
different, and very pleasant.

Miranda laid back on the bed and opened her thighs in invitation, and ever so slowly Kate 
found that her mouth was drawing near to the red-haired fringed pussy.  First she touched 
it, drawing her fingers up and down through the pouting pink lips, and before she knew it 
her face was mere inches from it, the aroma of Miranda's excitement almost dizzying.  
She withdrew her fingers and leaned into it; her nose made first contact, brushing against 
the hard clit, and Miranda sighed, her body relaxing, thighs spreading wider to allow 
Kate to get her face all up in there.

Miranda gasped when she felt Kate's tongue begin its tentative explorations, just the tip 
of it touching her pussy, and the gasps turned into moans and groans as the tonguing 
became more adventuresome.  Her hands snapped down, gripping Kate's black mane 
gently, holding her mouth to her crotch.  "Yes, baby, like that.  Good girl.  Lick me.  Put 
your mouth on me.  Good girl, good girl," she hissed, and Kate took the cue, jamming her 
tongue in as far as it would go.

It was an exceedingly pleasant experience.  It was much different from sucking Alan's 
cock, which was hard and unyielding.  Pussy was soft and silky, and Kate was not only 
licking she was rubbing her whole face into it, smearing juices all over.  She brought her 
right hand up and inserted one, then two fingers in Miranda's quivering channel, and her 
mouth settled on her clit, first just kissing it gently, then taking the flesh between her lips 
and swirling the point of her tongue over it in ever increasing speeds, and at last closing 
her mouth over it and sucking.

Miranda exploded in orgasm, her upper body bucking and bouncing wildly off the futon 
mattress, her thighs clamping shut around Kate's head, trapping the younger girl into 
place.  Kate didn't mind, and kept at her, jamming her slippery fingers in and out of 
Miranda's still-gushing twat.  The fires of passion with in the older girl rose up once 
again, and as her orgasm consumed her she beat her fists against the mattress; once the 
climax had passed she pulled Kate off of her and hoisted her up so they were face to face.  
Their tongues dueled, and Miranda licked all her feminine secretions off Kate's face.

* * *

Alan let himself back into the apartment.  The bathroom door was open, and he could 
hear the shower running; he stripped down to his shorts and pulled the curtain aside.  
Kate and Miranda were washing one another and looked at him as the curtain opened.

"Hey there," Miranda said seductively.

"Hi," Kate squeaked as Miranda ran a hand over her pussy.

"Mind if I join you?"

"It'll be a tight fit. Why don't we adjourn to the bedroom?"

Alan had helped Kate dry off, and on their way back he pulled Kate aside.

"How was it?"

"Great!"

"Did you eat her?" he asked, and Kate's blushing in response told the answer.

The room reeked of sex, the smell of pussy tickling his nose.  Miranda was reclining in 
the bed, propped up by a pillow when Alan and Kate entered.  "So, what should we do 
now?" she asked with an evil grin.

"I want her to eat you while I fuck her from behind," Alan decided, pushing Kate onto the 
bed so she was facing Miranda's pussy, her ass up for him.  Kate got down to business, 
and had Miranda screeching in no time.  Alan buried his face in Kate's pussy, his lips 
lapping up the trickle of fluids that were coming out of her engorged gash.  Kate 
shuddered when she felt Alan lick around the ring of her anus, but kept eating away at 
Miranda nonetheless.  The two girls orgasmed together, and Alan knelt behind Kate and 
teased her opening with the head of his shaft, rubbing the tip against her pussy lips, and 
from time to time inserting it in her just an inch before withdrawing.

Kate's mouth was a frenzy on Miranda's hot pussy, Alan's teasing stoking the flames of 
her passion.  Miranda came again, her legs curling around Kate's head, locking in place 
again, and Alan shoved his cock into Kate's pussy, half his dick entering with the first 
thrust. Kate's head shot back with such force that, amazingly, she broke free of Miranda's 
legs and screamed. "OH GOD YES, FUCK!"  

Alan kept feeding her cock and soon he was fucking her with the full length.  Kate 
lowered her head and rested the side of it against Miranda's crotch and belly.  "Fuck me 
Alan, fuck me good.  FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  He kept at it until she climaxed, girl 
juice shooting out around his cock and dripping on the bedding, adding itself to the 
moisture already there.  He rolled Kate on to her back next to the other girl, still shivering 
and trembling, and approached the recumbent Miranda.  She sat forward and immediately 
began slurping at his cock, soaked with Kate's spendings.

"Mmmm, I love sucking cock, but only your cock," she purred between licks.  Kate 
watched them with drowsy eyes.

"I know how you feel," she put in.  "I never liked going down on a guy before I began 
sucking his cock."

"I <slurp> never went down on a guy before <slurp> Alan.  He <slurp> made <slurp> me 
<slurp> do it, and <slurp> I couldn't <slurp> <slurp> believe <slurp> much I <slurp> 
<slurp> <slurp> <slurp> liked it."  She pulled back for a second, and added, "But never 
for anyone else.  I even liked eating his come! <slurp>! <slurp>! <slurp>!"

"Oh yeah, I know!  I love his come!  I never swallowed before he first made me.  I also 
love it when he comes on my face, although I'm not too picky about where he comes.  In 
my mouth, in my pussy, in my ass, it's all good."

"He fuck you in your ass?" Miranda asked.  She had ceased her oral attack and was 
slowly jacking him with her right hand as she turned her head to look over at Kate.  Her 
mouth and face were covered with saliva, and it shined in the light of the bedroom.  "He 
does?  Do you, uh like that?" Kate turned bright red and nodded vigorously.

"I thought that was just for the guy," Miranda continued.

"No," Kate shot back, interrupting.  "I love it there.  I come every time," she said, pride 
brimming in her voice.

"Every time you were assfucked, or just with Alan?"

"She's only assfucked with me.  I took her cherry back there."

"Do you want to try it?" Kate asked, a smile forming on her lips.  Miranda was shocked 
that it was her, and not Alan, asking the question.  She had never had anything larger than 
a finger in her ass (which she loved), and the thought of taking Alan's monster up her rear 
passage was fear provoking, but, on the other hand, Kate did seem so enthusiastic, and 
her enthusiasm was infectious.  She nodded, to Kate, not to Alan.

"Oh, goody!" Kate laughed, clapping her hands.  "I'll help!"

"What do I do?" she asked Alan.

"Kate's the director of this little play, so ask her," Alan replied, grinning over Kate.

Kate had Alan lay on his back and she had Miranda lay face down.  After licking around 
her rosebud for a few seconds she went into the bathroom and looked through the 
medicine cabinet for some sort of lubricant.  She found a bottle of cream and went back 
into the bedroom.  Miranda had repositioned herself and was laying on top of him, and he 
was lightly rubbing and pinching her distended nipples.  She reached between them and 
began rubbing lube on Alan's erect penis, and then, without any warning to Miranda, 
shoved a slippery finger up her upturned ass.

"Ooh!  That feels good!" Miranda cooed as Kate slowly fingered her ass while at the 
same time planting little kisses all over the skin of her bottom.  Kate's other hand began 
work on massaging Miranda's pussy, and before long the red-haired girl was writhing in 
ecstasy.

"I think she's ready," Kate announced, and helped Miranda turn over and straddle Alan's 
slippery cock, facing away from him.  She maneuvered the older girl so her tight rosebud 
was resting against the tip of the hard cock below her.  Just as his dick pierced the tight 
anal ring Kate snaked out her tongue and licked all around Miranda's dripping slit, which 
caused her to relax her ass muscles and take a few inches of Alan in her ass.

"Oh, JESUS!" Miranda moaned.

"Feels good, huh?" Kate asked.

"I, uh, think so, yeah!" she grunted as Kate pulled her down so that more of her tightest 
passage could consume the length of Alan's cock.  When she bottomed out Kate held her 
still and began licking her again.  She wanted to fuck Alan, but Kate's grip holding her in 
place, her ass impaled unmoving on the monster of a cock, was strong, so she 
concentrated on the magic Kate's busy tongue was conjuring.  "She's really getting good 
at that!" she thought in wonder as Kate mouthed her dripping gash.

"Ohmigod!  Ohmigod!  Ohmigod!" she screamed as a force-five hurricane of an orgasm 
consumed her.  Kate released her handholds at her hips and began, with Alan's help to 
slowly raise and lower her puckered hole on his erection.  Almost immediately Miranda 
exploded again, her sweaty body falling back to rest on his.  Kate moved to the side of 
them and plunged her tongue into the older girl's mouth as her fingers diddled Miranda's 
bloated clit.  Alan was gently moving his dick in and out of her clenching asshole as 
Miranda regained her bearings.

"Turn me over," she hissed, then directed Kate to lay back and open her legs.  Alan got 
behind her and plunged his cock up her butt with one stroke as her mouth descended 
upon Kate's pussy.  As he increased the speed and strength of his strokes Miranda's 
tongue became a whirlwind of passion as she gave Kate a thorough licking.  The black-
haired girl screeched and clamped her thighs around Miranda's head.  Miranda screamed 
in Kate's pussy as she came again, setting Kate's fires anew, and Miranda was still 
gasping in release as she felt Alan empty his balls into her quivering rectum.  He 
collapsed on top of the pair of them, and then they rearranged themselves to get 
comfortable.  He hadn't slept in more than two days, and his eyelids were heavy.  Kate 
had gone to the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth, and the two women were 
taking turns swabbing down his semi-soft cock.

He slept.

Kate and Miranda each gave his cock a few quick licks and snuggled on opposite side, 
and soon they too were slumbering.

* * *

"Excellent,  I'll see you on Tuesday," Alan said into his cell phone, and clicked off.

Neil had just arranged for the last of the data to be shipped to New York with no 
questions asked, and would be back in New York the next morning.  His assignment was 
to study the research full-time, Alan joining him when his schedule allowed, but three 
afternoons a week minimum.

Next Chapter: Resurrecting Dr. Jean-Pierre

Chapter 20
Resurrecting Jack (part 1)

As the spring semester's end approached Alan was as busy as he had ever been.  Between 
preparing end of term papers, studying for final exams, his regular meetings in midtown 
with Wilkins and the others, the birth of Megan's baby (Marshall Philip Kelly ("Phil"), 7 
pounds even), and his daily readings of the complete files and notes of Jean-Pierre 
Massimo, left him little time for leisure.

To make matters worse, for some unknown reason he was losing his ability to get by with 
scant amounts of sleep.  He still required less than the average person, but now he was 
sleeping everyday, sometime for more than four hours at a stretch.  His other abilities 
were unaffected, and if anything, becoming sharper.

The documents that Neil Swindon-Smythe had recovered were a treasure trove of 
information about the history of Hyrcanus and a few of his fellow Seed Vessels; also 
extremely useful were Jack's personal journals.  Alan had learned a number of new tricks 
reading the diary.  Now he could pass through doors, as if he was a ghost, and he could 
also turn invisible, not only to people, but to cameras and the like.  He was always able to 
make others not see him by using his mind control powers, but this was more useful in 
this day and age, with surveillance cameras ever-present; though each of these trick took 
enormous mental effort, sometimes leaving him drained for hours after his training 
sessions.

In the back of his mind Alan was worried.  He hadn't "heard" from Jack Massimo in 
months, since the night of the kidnap.  If Jack was out there somewhere he still had no 
idea where, and the silence was troubling.  On top of all that the dreams he was having 
were sort of freaking him out.  He knew that they contained clues to where Jack was and 
how to restore him, but he couldn't cipher the clues in a fashion that made any sense.  The 
one thing he was sure of was that he needed to go to Europe to figure it all out, to retrace 
Jack's last steps on earth.  Once the semester ended he was headed off, and he was lucky 
to have Mr. Karick as a guide.  Who better to help him go back over Jack's last days than 
the man who had been assigned to watch him every minute of every day? As he thought 
this through he arched his back, stretching the muscles, hearing the vertebrae click back 
into alignment, and he sighed.

He was reading at his desk, the laptop open, its screen glowing in the darkness of the 
room as Soren slept soundly in his bed.  He was reviewing the text of the Scroll of 
Hyrcanus, his namesake, for perhaps the hundredth time.  He was tired, his eyelids heavy.  
He persevered for another thirty minutes and then snapped the laptop closed, unplugged 
it, replaced it in its steel box, and used his mind to seal the box shut.

Crawling into his unmade bed he collapsed even before he could undress and pull the 
covers over himself, but he did not sleep.  A dull buzzing sensation fell over his restless 
body, and out of the corner of his eye he began to sense the unearthly glow emanating 
from Jean-Pierre Massimo's ring.  With his last ounce of strength he lifted the hand which 
bore this ring and held it right in front of his face, and the glow increased, nearly blinding 
him in rush of pure white light.  The vision began.  He saw it through Jack's eyes, heard it 
through Jack's ears, smelled it through Jack's nose.

Florescent lights, white walls, and the smell of antiseptic assaulted his senses.

* * *
29 June 2002

He could feel them getting closer; more to the point, he couldn't feel them, and that was 
more worrying than anything.  

As he made his way through the highways and byways of his adopted hometown he 
could sense the voids in his power, the null points in his perceptive abilities.  He had just 
left the offices of his financial managers in the City of London, his car just a few feet in 
front of him, idling at the curbside when he saw a man across the street watching him.  It 
was nothing new; people had been watching him for the better part of a century.  But this 
watcher was different.  He had no mind to him.  No mind that he could probe and read, 
and after reading minds, probing the innermost thoughts of nearly all the people he had 
encountered over these last decades, the reality of being in close proximity to an 
impenetrable consciousness unnerved him.

He could feel them getting closer.  More to the point, he couldn't feel them, and that was 
more worrying than anything.

* * *

A hospital.  

The Cancer Ward.  

A stench of death, of impending mortality, pervaded the whole of the corridor.

"I'm very sorry, sir.  Visiting hours have ended," the nurse said, trying to edge him to the 
bank of elevators.  He was undeterred.

"A terrible way to die," he said, evenly, his eyes a million miles away.  Emile had died in 
a place like this, the twenty-year old memory still afresh in his brain.

He had been lecturing, in the States.  He hadn't even know she was ill.  All of their phone 
conversations and letters, and she hadn't even broached the subject.  Brave was she as she 
faced the final journey, braver than he would have been in her place.  Had he known the 
solution would have been child's play. 

His flight landed and he had made immediately for the hospital.  The doctor, a model of 
Swiss efficiency, had laid the facts before him.  "One week, Dr. Massimo, perhaps less.  I 
am sorry, there is nothing we can do for her now.  We will see that she is as comfortable 
as can be, and let nature take its course."

It was too late for him to do anything about it.  Damn it all to hell!  If he had only been 
here in Geneva a month ago he would have been able to reverse its progression.  But 
now--now it was even out of his hands.

"Yes, sir, a terrible way to die," the nurse repeated, shaking him back to the present.  
"But, you'll still have to leave.  Visiting hours have ended."

He reached out with a mind probe, relieved that his powers were not failing him in his old 
age, and took control of the woman beside him.

He scanned her brain for information.  He was looking for a patient, one in a situation he 
could use to his advantage.

He closed the door to Mr. Dickinson's room and sat on the bed next to the dying man, 
laying hands on him like a shaman, a faith healer of old.  He concentrated, using all his 
will, all his strength.

From the private bathroom off to the side he heard the bathtub overflow and went in there 
to turn off the taps.  Water helped.  Water made it easier.  He eased himself into the tub, 
fully clothed, and submerged beneath the surface of the water.  Through the hazy, 
shimmering surface of the water he stared at the tiled ceiling for a few seconds, and then 
closed his eyes and concentrated.  A few seconds later he broke the through the surface, 
his lungs taking in great draughts of air.  Dripping wet he made his way back into the 
room.  As he passed the mirror he was only slightly startled by his new appearance which 
was now identical to the dying man laying in the bed.

Dickinson opened his eyes and they almost popped out of his head at the sight of 
Massimo.  He thought he was having an out of body experience, like when in the movies 
a person dies and a shadow of them emerges and walks around the room.  His double 
(Massimo) walked up to him and covered Dickinson's eyes, and he was asleep again.  
Massimo concentrated again, and in almost an instant Dickinson's appearance was 
transformed to match that of Jean-Pierre Massimo. Water helped.

* * *

The suitcase was the last of his things left in the dorm room.  All the rest of his stuff was 
packed in his dad's car. He was leaving for London in three days, with a security team 
headed by Mr. Karick, and he figured it was better to pack his bag before he moved back 
home.

As he was taking a long last look around his room his mom popped in and came over 
right next to him.  "So, sweetie, are you ready?" she asked, reaching up and ruffling his 
hair.

"Yeah, mom, let's go," Alan replied kissing her on the cheek.

"It's a shame you're only going to be home a few days before you leave for your job in 
Europe," she sighed.


"I'll be back in a month or so, so there'll still be two months that I'll be home," he said 
back, putting his arm around her shoulder.  With his free hand he grasped the handle of 
the suitcase and they went out together.

That evening his family and the Van Devanters, plus Brian Lacy (Pauline's boyfriend) 
went out for dinner at an Italian place a few towns over from where they all lived.  
Pauline looked very happy with herself, both over her impending matriculation at 
Harvard (coupled with Brian headed for MIT), and generally with her lot in life.  She 
would be spending the summer again working at the local day camp, this summer as the 
head of girl's half; Kate was going to be working again with runaways, this year taking 
groups of them on Outward Bound expeditions sponsored by her family's foundation.

After dinner Alan and Kate begged off further family activity and went for a drive.  The 
made their way aimlessly around the town for awhile and then stopped for coffees.  Kate 
found them seats while Alan was at the counter.  There was a long line, so it took more 
than a few minutes for him to join her.

"Miss me?" he asked, a goofy smile across his face as he settled in next to her on the 
couch in the Starbucks.

"A little."

"Really?  I was joking."

Her face took on a furtive look and she glanced away for a moment before replying.  "I'm 
going to miss you.  When I'm away.  When you're away."  She turned her head again, not 
want to see him as she asked her next question.  "Are you, you know, going to miss me?  
This summer?"

He thought about it for a moment.  Despite their rocky start and past history he knew that 
he was developing feelings for her, had been, in fact, for quite some time.  He knew Kate 
loved him, and it wasn't due to any changes he had made to her.  He knew form as far 
back as senior year, prom night to be exact, when she had sobbed and broken down and 
blurted out her growing feelings.

He was going away, perhaps for a month, perhaps longer, and he knew within himself 
that he was going to miss Kate, miss her company, in bed and out of it.  The past year and 
a half or so had seen a startling transformation in her, and though some of it had been at 
his instigation, much of it had come from inside her.  He unlocked her in a way, and by 
that freedom she was able to grasp at the things that made her unhappy, to grab them at 
the root and pull herself out of her destructive patterns, destructive patterns she 
subconsciously knew would have, if not gone checked by Alan, turned inward on herself 
to a higher degree.  Alan understood perfectly the role he played in her transformation, 
but it did nothing to stanch the feelings they shared for each other.

"Yes, Katie, I'll miss you."

She put her hands on him and leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he said cryptically.

A few minutes later he stopped the car and parked.

"What are we doing here?  How are we getting in?"

He thought quickly and made up a story. "I still have the master key from when I was in 
charge of the newspaper."  When the had reached the double steel doors he made her turn 
her back, ostensibly to keep a look out.  He jingled his own keys a bit while he used his 
mind to unlock the doors.

"This is really weird, being back in high school, and all," she commented as they moved 
through the dark and silent halls.  He had her "keep lookout" again as he forced open the 
door to the newspaper office, and within seconds of stopping at the previously locked 
door they were within.

She pressed up against him, on her tiptoes, trying to place her lips against his, but she 
found herself unexpectedly rebuffed.  "What's the matter?" she asked, a quizzical 
expression across her pretty face.

"Can we talk first?"

"Uh oh, that doesn't sound good," she said quietly.

"No, it's nothing like that, I swear," he replied, guiding them to the ratty old couch which 
was pushed against the back wall of the room.  They sat and turned towards each other.  
He took her hands in his.

"This is where it all began," he said distractedly, his eyes roaming the room, frequently 
stopping at the desk where he first took her.  Kate shivered at the memory of it and he 
squeezed her hands tighter.  "I just wanted to say, to tell you," he began, losing his thread.  
There was silence for an uncomfortable interval. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry.  For, uh, doing that 
to you.  That day."

She leaned into him, her head resting on his chest, her ear pressed against his shirt.  She 
could hear his heartbeat throbbing.  She blinked a few times, successfully stemming an 
impending flow of tears.  "It's OK," she mumbled loud enough for him to hear,  "Really, 
it's OK."

"No!  It's not OK.  When I think back on what I did then I feel, well, bad about it."

"No.  Stop.  You're trying to tell me something, and you're using this whole mea culpa 
thing to avoid it," she told him as she sat up straight and looked him right in the eye.  
"Spill."

"Do you remember prom night?  In your room, afterwards?  What you told me?"

"Y-yes," she stammered through trembling lips, her eyes moistening.

"I-I-I think I feel the same way."

"You, you, you l-love me?" she asked as the waterworks opened up.  He nodded.

"I think so."

"Good enough for me," she giggled through her tears, kissing him passionately.

"But that doesn't change the fact," he began, interrupting her kiss, "That I was wrong 
when we, uh, did it that first day."

She put her hands on his cheeks, drawing his gaze to hers; she was expecting this scene 
for awhile, and had a speech ready.  "I don't care about that.  You've never heard me 
complain."  She paused, thinking back on that day.  Her pussy began to ooze at the 
memory.  "I didn't like you.  I never did--before that day, I mean.  You were a nice 
enough guy, but I thought you were a wimp.  I was with Chad then, and my naïve little 
self thought he was, to use the phrase, all that and a bag of chips.  I was," she choked up a 
little here, "a very, very, very unhappy person, only I didn't know it then.  Looking back 
on that period in my life, before, uh, THAT day," she shuddered for a second before 
continuing, "I was a bitch, especially to you, and I hated myself.  What you did to me that 
day, I mean, what WE did that day, well, there's no other way to put it--you rocked my 
world.  I mean, of course sexually.  You know that, right?  That was the best I had ever 
had, but like a factor of a thousand," she giggled.  "But I was, uh, rocked, in like other 
ways too.  Wimpy Alan Marshall (sorry), so powerful, so, so so--I don't know what.

"I was a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and I was making a bad transition, and you 
pulled me back from the brink.  By, ah, dominating me like that, you made me a little girl 
for just a bit longer, and I was able to, to, I don't know, self-reflect, something, 
something.  I mean to say that by being your slave, your submissive I was finally able to 
focus on Kate the person, not Kate the popular, Kate the status seeker.  You took away a 
small part, OK, a large part of my identity when you made me a slave to your lusts.  

"But looking back on me at that time I really didn't have an identity to speak of.  I had an 
identity as the hunky quarterback's boyfriend.  I had an identity as the girl who was 
invited to every cool party. I had an identity through the fancy labels in my clothes, the 
cool car I got when I turned seventeen, the big house my parents lived in.  Those things 
were of me, but the weren't me me.  You know what I'm talking about?"  

He nodded, waiting for her to continue; even someone who wasn't a telepath could tell 
she wasn't quite done.  She began to gently rub his cheeks as she went on.

"And you!  You were alright.  Not too cool, not too nerdy.  A regular guy.  You seemed 
happy about who you were, and in a way I was jealous of that.  And I hated you for that. 
And then, and then, that day in this room.  OH MY GOD!"  

They both broke down in hysterical fits of laughter.

"I mean, I know you weren't, uh, that you didn't do that for MY benefit!  You DID get a 
nice, uh, ride," she said with a twinkle in her eye.  

He chuckled

"Where in the hell did that come from.  Why did I follow you then?" she sighed.  "Oh 
well, the mysteries of the universe, I guess.  But, and this is a big, humungous, gigantic, 
enormous, vast, BUT, I'm really really really really really really really really glad it 
happened.  So quit yer grousing, and stop beating yourself up already, OK?"

She kissed him, hard.

"OK," he said pulling back for a second, a wry grin creeping across his features.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked, turning a little red-faced.

"I'm happy," he said, evenly.

"Happy?"

"Happy to know you.  Happy to have you.  Happy you have me.  Pick one."

She devoured him again, her tongue wildly exploring his mouth, her hands rapidly 
exploring his body, touching all of her favorite parts.  She was hungry for him, and was 
impatient in her clothing.  She pulled away from him and peeled off her shirt, and 
practically tore off her bra, then guided his hands to her quivering chest, sighing deeply 
as he began to touch her all over her exposed skin, as he was not content to confine 
himself to her generous breasts, but tickled her flanks and caressed the smooth skin of her 
stomach and back.

When she thought she could take no more she stopped his hands by grasping him at the 
wrists and pulled away so there was a foot of space between them on the sofa.  Hurriedly 
she shimmied out of her pants as she watch him disrobe.  The room was hot and humid, 
the air conditioning system in the building switched off until the morning, and she could 
see the fine sheen of sweat covering his well-built form.  She was perspiring slightly 
herself as she jumped on top of him, her pantied-covered pussy rubbing hard into his 
exposed shaft.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?" she answer languidly, concentrating on the feeling of his hardness sliding up 
and down her crotch, enjoying the feeling of it spreading the stickiness under the thin 
cotton fabric.  "W-what?"

"I hate to sound crude, but, why are you still wearing your panties?"

She giggled lazily.  "You know why."  A slight gasp escaped as the head of his dick 
rubbed right against her clit.

"Am I missing something?"

"Silly Alan, I left them on so you could take them off.  I <pant> like it when you <pant> 
take them off.  Take off my panties, you silly boy, now <pant>."

Slowly he eased them down as far as he could in their position, and Kate wiggled them 
off the rest of the way.  Now his erection rested skin to skin against her dripping gash, 
and she began to hump up against it, saturating the surface of his cockflesh with her 
plentiful girl juices.  She put her palms down on her shoulders and hoisted herself up a 
bit, looking deeply into his eyes.  He knew what she wanted and took hold of his slippery 
manhood, lining the tip of it against her gushing cleft.  Slowly she sank down on him, 
devouring his manhood with her body.  As she came to rest fully impaled she loosed a 
quiet moan and rested her head on his shoulder, content not to move.  She could feel his 
hands on her back and flanks lightly rubbing her skin, and she shivered in arousal.

After a few minutes of just being held Kate reared back and started to slowly bounce and 
twirl back and forth on his shaft, and he helped her out by holding her at her hips and 
leisurely lifted and dropped her down on his dick.  Her moans became louder as she 
began to jerk her hips down, smashing her crotch into his, but neither of them said a 
word, they just stared into each other's faces. Hard as it was to see in the dim light of the 
empty office Alan could still make out the passion painted across her delicate features.  
Kate let out a fast yelp, and hugged him tight as her wet channel spasmed around him, 
and he came with her.  They held one another a while longer.

* * *

"Have we changed?"

"Hmm?  What are you talking about, sweetie?" Alan asked.

It was twenty minutes later, and he was driving her home through the town's dark and 
deserted streets.  

Alan was paying more attention to flicking his hi-beams on and off that Kate in the seat 
next to him.

"What are we?  You know, boyfriend and girlfriend? Lovers?  Master and slave?"

"Weeeeelllll," he began, drawing out his words exaggeratedly, "I cannot assume to speak 
for you, but in my mind you're my girlfriend.  OK?"

She sniffled and wiped a tiny tear from the corner of her eye.  "OK," she whispered.  She 
paused a few seconds.  "But what about, you know, the other girls?"

"Yours or mine?" he shot back with a wicked grin.  

She laughed.  "I think I just walked right into that one.  OK, then it's settled."

"What's that."

"You are my boyfriend, I am your girlfriend, but both of us can have girls."

He laughed.

* * *

Alan had never been to Europe before; his family vacations had usually been inside the 
continental U.S. and Hawaii, with occasional forays to Mexico, and once to the West 
Indies.

It was a shame really that he wouldn't get a chance to play tourist; his business in Europe 
was business.  They were in Geneva, their second stop.  London had proven fruitless; 
visits to the hotel where Massimo had been killed hadn't turned up anything, and his 
office at Oxford had similarly yielded nothing of importance.

Claude Massimo met the trio (Alan, Karick and Swindon-Smythe) in his office. After an 
exchange of pleasantries they got down to business.

"Please, please, sit down.  You are Alan Marshall, yes?  I didn't know you were coming, 
but I've been expecting you nonetheless.  Please, sit.  Do not be puzzled.  It's rather 
simple, you see."  Dr. Massimo leaned over and twirled the combination lock on the safe 
concealed in the credenza behind his desk and quickly righted himself holding a small 
metal box, about four inches by eight, as deep as it was wide.

"When our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Wilkins from New York, flew over last year to help 
me settle my father's estate, well, that was the first I ever heard of you, Mr. Marshall.  I 
take it you and my father were close?"

"We, uh, had a special bond."

"I don't mean to be indelicate, but, ah, how shall I state this? Ah, by, uh 'special bond,' ah, 
does that make us half brothers?  I'm sorry to ask, but knowing my father as I did I am 
well aware that there are unacknowledged half siblings of mine peppered across the 
globe, and, uh," he petered off in half embarrassment.

"No, Doctor, nothing like that, but for various reasons I would rather not elaborate upon I 
cannot comment further."

"Oh.  Fine fine.  And uh, is Mr. Sutherland, Carl Sutherland joining us?  I'm somewhat 
curious about him."

"No," Alan stated plainly, not wanting his host to know he and Sutherland were one and 
the (almost) same.

"My father was a very wealthy man, and he left me a large amount of money, and more 
to charities and institutions and such.  I begrudge this Sutherland person nothing, but I 
found it very strange that such a large portion of my father's estate was given to a man I 
had never met, never even heard about before his passing.  I was just curious."

Alan looked the man over, inside and out, and decided he was just nervous.  He was more 
interested in the box, hoping Alan would open it in his presence.

"Do you know what it is?" Claude Massimo asked.  "I tried opening it," he admitted with 
a furtive look on his face, "But it seems to me to be one solid piece of metal."

"Just a little project your father and I were collaborating on."

Later, back at the hotel Alan opened the box. Neil was right by him, Karick watched the 
door. 

"What is it?" Dr. Swindon-Smythe asked, his voice ripe with anticipation.

"Empty.  Just a piece of paper, parchment, I think.  Blank," Alan answered, showing him.  
The box was steel, lined with green felt, peeling at the edges.

"Let me have a see," Neil said, taking the parchment and examining it.  "Old, maybe 
centuries old.  Perhaps," he began, drifting off into thought, "Perhaps it is like the box 
itself. Could you, ah, do that magic bit you do, like opening the box, like.  You know, 
unlock the message on the paper like you unlocked the box?"

"Good idea!" Alan said excitedly, but to no avail.  The paper remained blank even after 
Alan concentrated over it.

"It might be chemical," Karick said, coming in from the suite's other room.  "I know a 
man, documents expert--we used to work together ages ago.  He might be able to help."  
He unpocketed his cell phone and began to make calls.  A few hours later they were on 
an evening train to Paris.

Next Chapter: Resurrecting Jack (part 2)