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From: "Pellaz har-Aralis" <wraethuthu@hotmail.com>
Subject: [REPOST] The Book Part 08/11 (mc, MF, FF, mdom, fem mast, exhib, lact, inc)
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I did not write this story, and I don't know who did.
I've tried to fix the paragraphing a bit, but I might
have overdone it a bit. (Though it *IS* a lot better
to read when the paragraphs aren't 500+ lines each.)
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alt.sex.stories message #2254 (#0) from Paul Seung Lee
<pslee@harp.aix.calpoly.edu>. Entered on 18-Feb-95, at 11:15:00.
Reply to message #2249 (There are more replies.)
Subject: the_book part8
=======================
_Overleaf_ (_The_Book_pt8)
The weather ruled the day. It had begun with hot steamy
sunshine, but by noon the rain came down in sheets. Just as
Diane had resolved herself to becoming soaked, the storm
abated. Puffy clouds were soon all that was left in the
sky.
Diane was a reporter. She was a good reporter. She believed
in the fourth estate as a branch of government. She was one
of those true believers who thought everyone had a right to
know everything, anywhere.
Her beliefs caused her some problems.
The worst problem was working as an employee for any real
News outfit. The papers almost always had editorial
policies she didn't like. She'd gone from print to
broadcast because she figured it would be different. The
reality of much harsher controls in the broadcast media hit
her hard.
So she worked pretty much freelance, kinda. Her job with
the 11 O'clock News for the KUTE network was fairly
nebulous. When she got stories they liked, she got paid.
Otherwise she was shit outa luck.
She got paid fairly regularly.
The story she was working on came from a strange tip. Some
guy called and said the Biltmor Rehabilitation Institute was
committing experiments on the inmates. Some kind of brain
research. He chatted with her long enough for her to find
out he worked for the Institute.
She tried a few phone calls this morning. Every time she got
through to someone important enough to know anything, she
was told the Institute didn't grant interviews. After
further research, she found no record of the Institute in
the state registries. No charter, no license, no known
clients, no credentials to support the lofty title.
Her sometimes boss, Mr. Magnum, managing editor, told her to
go get the dirt on them; he'd buy it. She smiled weakly at
this, since there was no way to get the dirt without
sneaking in.
So here she was, soaking wet, hot, and uncomfortable. The
damn place was like an old style fortress. Two sides of the
property were bounded by river, a third side had a sizable
swamp. The remaining side of the property had a 20 foot wall
along it, with superfluous closed circuit TV atop.
She'd moored the boat in the swamp. Scratching her left leg,
she regretted not wearing jeans for this outing. She could
feel every inch of her exposed skin screaming for just a few
moments of scratching.
Nothing deterred Diane. Her camera man was trailing behind
her. Jorge had never yet managed to keep up with her on a
story. He'd make it right beside her when it was time to
shoot, but she always broke the ground. This time in a more
physical sense than usual.
Jorge was a pretty nice guy. She'd worked with him now for
five years. He'd never made a pass at her either. For camera
men, that had to be a world's record. She was pretty good
looking, or she'd have a tougher time in front of the
camera. And all camera men tend, she believed, to be on the
make all the time. Except Jorge. Sometimes she wished he
was.
Jorge was a true blessing for her career too. He had to read
her mind sometimes to catch the angles he got on film. She
rarely had to edit out enormous quantities of footage he'd
taken.
He almost always ran the camera perfectly for her face
shots, and never let her profile look bad. Always, he
managed to stop filming just as or before any flubs she
made. Nice to have a psychic camera man. She smiled at the
thought.
Jorge was immensely interested in this story too. For the
first time he'd volunteered to do some of the research leg
work on a story she was working. Odd for him, demanding
every word the informant uttered verbatim, hanging over her
shoulder to hear what she'd learn.
A bird leapt into the air before her. She managed to avoid
jumping or screaming with surprise. Startled for Diane
meant 'drop for cover'. She remembered covering riots
downtown in her first year as a professional. The constant
hazard taught her caution rather than fear. It helped over
the years.
The wood she was trying to sneak through silently was
making every effort to shout out her location. If it wasn't
the damn birds, it was twigs, if not twigs, it was scratchy
underbrush. The moist earth beneath her feet would sink
away, leaving her 4-5 inches in the dirt, almost sucking
her sneakers off. The branches she chose to hold for
support gave way violently, shaking volumes of leaves
above.
When she finally got to the open fields of the Institute,
she was relieved to escape the jungle like swamp. Jorge
said nothing, just waited her directions.
There were statues standing about on a manicured lawn. The
water in the fountains sparkling in the intermittent
sunlight. Wait, those weren't statues. They were all
wearing white coats, white jump suits, or white whatever.
Jorge pointed to a few rows of coniferous bushes in a line
towards the house. House?, mansion more like. The thing was
four stories tall. The triangular shapes above the top
windows made the place look like the setting for a gothic
horror, except for the lack of gargoyles. Maybe the
frightful statuary would be there when she got closer.
They moved towards the bush line.
====
Bob and Miki lay hidden in the storage room all night. The
frantic sounds of search activity had force them to send the
remaining captive guards out to join in the hunt.
The room was only searched once, by a single guard, who was
easily convinced of its secure condition. Bob smiled, it
hadn't been as difficult as the first time to get through
the thought shield.
Amazingly Bob felt very horny. Odd reaction to being so
severely in danger.
He remembered a car accident years ago. During the incident
he'd only thought about how it would ruin his afternoon. The
time he'd been mugged, well some guy tried anyway, all Bob
had thought of then was how he'd be getting home.
The amazing thing was, he could probably take Miki. She'd
probably never be able to stop him. He figured Bambi had the
stronger will power, or talent, or whatever. He stopped
himself. There was a time and place for screwing around.
This wasn't one of them.
The search had moved on, they had probably concluded Bob and
Miki reached the outer grounds by now. It was time to try
again.
====
"uh, uh, uh, uh" sounds of carnal pleasure came from behind
one of the bushes.
Although amused, Diane wasn't the least bit interested in a
humping couple on the other side of the bush. She might've
been, if she knew one of the inmates was boffing away madly
with one of the sex slaves he was captured with. Although
how she would know is anyone's guess.
Curiosity overcame Jorge. He was also very amused, but kept
it to himself. He snuck a peek to see what the couple looked
like.
While he was snooping, Diane got a bit ahead. She lost track
of the camera man. When she turned to ask his opinion on
approaching the building, he simply wasn't there.
Damn, she thought, first time he's ever done that. Maybe the
couple in the bushes was worth looking into for a minute or
two. Jorge might finally be showing some sexual interest.
Naw, Jorge would catch up.
As she mused, a crackle of twigs directly behind her drew
her attention.
"My, my, my." A man with a pistol stood about four feet
away. "Where the hell did you come from lady?"
She realized she was a wreck. Her hair was matted from the
drenching rain, and mud of the swamp. The dress she wore was
tattered and torn from the underbrush. The guy couldn't help
but know she was out of place. Oh well, she had to try to
baffle him.
"I took a walk and got lost."
"Not without an escort you wouldn't. You were in the swamp.
Trying to sneak in for something? A boyfriend maybe? You one
of the sluts who follow their men into this place, eh?
Perhaps you..." THUNK!
The gunman dropped to the ground. Behind him stood Jorge,
his almost white blonde hair standing over her assailant
with a stick. The camera was missing, which made him look
naked to Diane.
"God, I'm glad you caught up."
"Wouldn't want you to get hurt." he said.
Bending over Jorge picked up the nasty looking weapon. He
turned it over a few times. Then he handed it to her.
"Dart gun. Probably tranquilizers."
"Makes sense," she answered, "they wouldn't want to injure
the inmates, after all."
Jorge pointed to the camera propped up in one of the bushes.
He walked over and popped the small red button keeping it
running.
"Great Jorge. You always manage to catch the angles for me."
She blew him a kiss. He ignored it. He never even flirted
with her. It was just as well, she guessed, but it might be
nice once in a while.
Diane moved to the next opening in the bushes, peering
ahead. Jorge was turning over the gunman.
Diane missed the motion as Jorge pulled what looked like a
hearing aid from the man's right ear. Turning it in his
hand, it popped open and a small battery dropped out. He
grinned and put the device, without battery, back behind the
man's ear. If anyone had been watching, Jorge would have
seemed to be examining the man's skull for permanent injury.
For an additional moment Jorge intently examined the guard.
Diane thought he was terribly decent, being concerned that he'd
hurt the man.
He hoisted the man to his shoulders and carried him closer to
a pair of closely grown bushes. With a little pushing and
shoving the man disappeared from the casual observer, for
now.
Diane looked approvingly at Jorge's work, flagging him to
hurry up.
====
Jones was uncomfortable. He all about Tyler. He figured the
same treatment could soon be his. He made a conscious
decision to try not to sweat. It wasn't working very well.
"Astounding, Mr. Jones. Simply astounding."
"Yes sir."
"There must have been a problem with the drug. Who was last
to see him?"
"One of five lab techs sir. We don't know which one. The log
sheet for moving the subject from the tie down room to the
sampling lab is missing."
"I see."
The pause dragged for a few minutes. The man in the large
leather chair turned away. Jones stood perfectly still,
hoping for salvation by being overlooked.
"This was a bad day for this Jones. We have guests coming,
you know." "I know sir."
"Important guests."
"Yes sir."
Another pause left Jones worrying about this compounding
aspect. How would it affect him?
"Jones, I want all the lab techs who could've been there
locked up."
"Sir?"
"Any one of them could be a time bomb. If the spark is
free, he may have done something to their minds. Ah, his
mind, the tech who let him loose. You said he was smart.
That makes him dangerous, in ways beyond what we usually
see. He's not just another lunatic with ESP."
"I will see to it, sir."
"Go. Report back when they find him. Oh, and the new girl, I
want her brought up to the lab to see what affect he's had."
"On my way."
He turned and started towards the door.
"And Jones, don't screw this up. Tyler really didn't please
Jezabel."
A series of chills went down Jones's back. He stepped up his
speed to perform for his master.
====
The Fates didn't seem to like Bob any more.
Although the search moved outside, there were plenty of the
guard type goons in the halls. It was annoying. Working
around the mind shields was difficult, and took time. Enough
time for someone to react and just shoot.
He didn't want a drugged dart stuck in his fanny. It didn't
appeal to him. Not to mention all the other unpleasant
possibilities afterwards.
Miki assumed the role of fairy tale princess. A quiet
'rescue me please' princess. He didn't mind. The arguments
over who was in charge never occurred. She just tagged right
behind him.
There were a small group of goons coming from around the
corner. At least he assumed they were, there were seven or
eight mind shields he could count.
Trying the door next to them, he led Miki into a dark room.
His ear to the door, it sounded as though the group was
about to come in here. Looking about he saw there was a very
large round wooden platform, and sections of room with
hanging curtains partially concealing a dozen or more
chairs.
He led Miki behind one of the curtains, hid himself behind
another.
====
There were several guests. Some from as far away as China.
Today the Institute was showing product to potential
clients. Each one had brought an unsuspecting secretary or
party official for the demonstration.
A man with Italian leather shoes bade them enter the theater
chamber. There were a few stragglers, yes, ten in all
entered the room for the pitch. He turned on the light over
the platform, and climbed up to stand stand dramatically
above.
"Gentlemen, take seats, I beg of you. We will begin sooner
if you are seated."
In the light it became clear this man carried himself with
an aristocratic bearing. He was unconcerned with anyone else
present, except in that they represented income. His suit, a
perfectly cut, hand tailored charcoal gray pin stripe,
accented his authority well. Hands behind his back, standing
as though at parade rest for a soldier he began to speak.
"I am Mr. Thadeous. I am the Institute."
"What you are here for today is a look at a new method we've
developed for brainwashing. We can use it to get information
from anyone, no matter how well trained. We can use it to
ensure loyalty to you, no matter how bad the subjects prior
record. We can control anyone for you, for a fee.
"The price will depend on your needs. All we need is for
the individual to be improved, yes improved, brought here
for the improvement."
"Mr. Thadeous, we are willing to bid on the process itself.
How much for the process?" came from an individual with a
brown suit on.
"It's not for sale, Mr. Vinocelli. Not at any price. But,
we can sell your organization the kind of protection you've
only dreamed of. Croupiers and dealers with scrupulous
attention to your profits. Girls who will not quake at any
request, and charge accordingly. But the process is our
property."
"I take it you will not make this product available
exclusively?" Came from a woman with jet black hair, wearing
an old style veiled bonnet.
"Mrs., um, Leclair, We are in this for the profit. We'd be
at odds with too many organizations cut out of the loop, if
they couldn't get the product we offer. At the same time, we
expect our customers to respect our proprietary interests.
Since it will serve you as well."
"If it works you mean."
"Which brings us to the purpose of this little
demonstration. Mrs. Leclair, We've taken your, volunteer
along with all the others, and performed the process. We
asked you to bring the volunteers simply to show how quickly
this process works."
He looked at his watch.
"Barely fifteen minutes have passed since they went to the
labs. Since you questioned our veracity about the 'product',
you may want to examine them yourself.
"This is not hypnosis, although it may resemble it. Nor are
we using drugs. We directly altered their minds with a
device we developed here for the purpose."
A lab tech led six people into the room. They each carried a
folding chair onto the platform. The tech unfolded each
chair and sat the 'volunteers' one at a time.
"Now, you should be aware the subjects can neither hear nor
see us. Nor can they feel anything we do."
He slapped one subject. Happily, this time there was no
physical reaction to his action. He'd worried about that
since taking Heather.
====
Bob was amazed. There was a real conspiracy underway. Not
something simple like his own, to enjoy his new found sex
life, comfortable in his life style.
This was a power play of far more insidious proportions.
Bob reached out to sense the six placid individuals on the
platform. All of them bore overwhelming changes from a
machine. One like the one they tried to use on him.
It hit him like a bolt from the blue. Their machines
produced none of the subtle manipulation that modified
Bambi. Her changes and controls were subtle enough to be
very difficult to remove completely.
Who adjusted Bambi when she'd been 'programmed' and set
loose?
Thadeous was still speaking about the advantages of improved
employees, agents, and even ex-enemies. Bob looked at the
man, seeing no hearing aid like device. He could clearly see
both ears, and neither bore any evidence of a mind shield.
And Bob had just probed the 'volunteers'!
The guest's volunteers were babbling continuously. All kinds
of embarrassing details. Things the Institute would know
nothing about. Yet legally questionable, and obviously
secret. Including personal plans to assassinate their
superiors, dealings with other agencies, and other common
human schemings.
But in general, not really harmful to the guests either.
"Stop." Thadeous said.
The men and women on the stage instantly ceased speaking.
"You can count on business with us," one man muttered. He was
carrying a large briefcase and fit no more than a non-descript
image. His accent placed him from the deep south. Bob could
imagine any of a number of incredibly fascist organizations he
might represent.
"I'm sold too," the lady named Leclair chimed in. Bob figured
there were at least three organized crime syndicates, one
south american country, a major international corporation, and
a terrorist group represented here. They would all be very
unhappy if he escaped.
On the other hand, what could he do about them?
In only a few short moments the entire audience agreed to do
business with the Institute. There were no dissenters, this
wasn't a bidding session. Price would be discussed elsewhere,
somewhere more comfortable.
Thadeous signalled the tech to remove the volunteers, and led
the guests from the room.
Bob didn't know whether to panic or breath a sigh of relief.
====
Damn him, thought Diane. She'd been separated from Jorge
again.
She managed to break a pane of glass, reaching through to
open the window. She stepped through, looking for all the
world like an inexperienced cat-burglar.
There was a red headed woman in the room. She was about 5'7"
with a reasonably well shaped figure. Her green eyes turned
in surprise on Diane. The woman was dressed in a hospital
green gown, with no shoes, stockings, or other acouterment.
She'd been brushing her hair.
She was very pretty, thought Diane. Her full red lips were
incredibly moist and well shaped. Diane stepped forward,
reaching for the woman's hands.
"Hello pretty," came a sweet cotton candy voice, melting in
her ears. She could listen to that voice for hours, she was
certain. Just looking at this woman made her realize how
long she had gone without sex.
The red head was so voluptuous, so incredibly tasty to
watch. Diane could never leave her new love, she was so
perfect. She devoured the woman with her eyes for only a
moment, though.
Then she plunged her tongue into the other woman's mouth,
savoring the delectable flavor of sexual passion burning
there.
She could feel a hand reaching around to undo her dress. She
assisted, shrugging off the ragged clothe. Her body exposed,
suddenly her matted hair worried her. Would the red head
dislike her because of her poor appearance?
No, the white hands were gently rubbing her breasts, sending
bolts of pleasure throughout her body.
She threw herself into the pleasant haze of sex, giving
herself to this mysterious woman.
====
Bob and Miki, slipped into the hallway again. Almost right
on the tail of the demonstration party.
But Bob simply took them across the hall and through the
door there, which was ajar. He shoved her to the side of the
door, looking about this new room quickly.
He saw no one in the new room, but he heard the sound of
running feet. About a dozen men dashed into the room with
the stage. Bob left the door as it was and looked about. He
scanned about for a good hiding place.
He couldn't find one.
A guard opened the door that wasn't latched and looked
around in the room. There was nothing unusual. The place
looked just fine. No one in here.
"Not this room." the guard announced to his unseen buddies
behind. He pulled the door closed and latched the outside
deadbolt.
Bob breathed again. If any more than one guard had looked in
here, they'd have found the fugitives. One he could get a
control on, two he wasn't ready to try.
Miki nuzzled up against Bob.
It looked like they were stuck again for a while. Bob might
not need to do anything to Miki to have some fun. They could
kill an hour or two here until the search moved back outside
again.
====
Jorge had lost Diane.
He was confused. He'd always been able to find her again if
she zipped out of sight too fast before.
He set the camera down. He didn't want to hurt Diane's
feelings, but there would be no News story from their little
jaunt. He opened the casing where the film was and pulled
out a metal foil packet of some sort.
Unwrapping the foil carefully, he removed a small red
object, about the size of a coin. He refolded the foil and
replaced it in the camera casing.
The coin sized object was a red, almost amber like
substance. On one side was a man's profile with a
superimposed triangle. On the other a stylized lightning
bolt.
He removed his watch and slid the coin into a slot designed
to hold the coin against his skin. The back of the coin
seemed to fit the pattern of the watch, or was it the other
way around. In any case, the coin appeared to be part of the
watch now.
He strapped the watch back on, without looking at the time
at all.
The camera was now tucked out of sight, behind a planter in
the garden. He examined the leaves he'd covered it with and
finally pronounced to himself the adequacy of his work.
He began to look for ways into the building.
====
Bob pulled Miki to him.
She came much more willingly than he'd expected. Well, here
they were in the middle of a nest of vipers, or some kind of
really bad guys, and they were hiding out, snuggling,
getting fuzzy together.
He could understand himself. He needed an escape from the
surrounding reality while they hid, but her?
He tried to probe her mind.
{Hi!}
{Hi yourself} whispered the voice in his head. {Do you think
we can safely kill an hour or two rubbing our bodies
together for warmth?}
{Maybe, does that appeal to you right now? aren't you
scared?}
{Yup, but I'm having this urge to screw. It gets worse every
time we find a relatively safe hiding place.}
He thought about it and wondered if she was picking up his
horniness without knowing it. Seepage of his thoughts
worried him, a little. He looked inward to see if he was
losing control.
He found nothing, so he slipped as subtle and covert a probe
as possible into her mind. She was horny too. But he
uncovered a thin, almost invisible trace of control.
Examining it closely, he saw it was his own. Unconsciously,
to his surprise, he had taken her. She was his, and nothing
she could do would change the fact.
He let their lips meet. A moment later their tongues
introduced themselves. It should be a peaceful break from
being chased about the premises.
He needed the break.
====
The door had been left open.
Several doors had been left open. Jorge was bemused at the
guards running hither and yon, searching for someone. Some
strange event was happening here.
He acquired a lab coat from a surprised, and now unconscious,
technician of some sort. With a clipboard and a pocket full of
pens, everyone seemed to accept him without any trouble. Also,
the little false hearing aid gizmo behind his right ear leant
an air of authenticity. His almost white hair didn't seem to
bother anyone.
Trying to find something, anything, leading to Diane's
whereabouts was tedious work. If he intruded in the wrong
place, someone would know he wasn't one of 'them'.
He felt the pounding of running feet through the soles of
his shoes. After agonizing whether to bluff, or hide, he
chose the later action. A door to his left popped open
quickly, permitting entry to a nicely furnished private
room. Very much like the sanatorium you might expect if you
were a visitor.
He closed the door behind, listening for the running feet to
pass.
The room had a single window, with plush red curtains. The
walls were done in a style of wallpaper you often find in
old houses, faded beyond recognition. There was a dresser
with a small mirror above, a chair and a bed.
He saw a woman, in her early 30s, sitting on the bed.
====
When Jorge was fifteen, he still lived as a native of
Denmark. They'd lived near Skagen, at the northern tip of
the country. He'd played quite a bit in the caves his father
told him about along the cold Kattegat.
The caves, according to his father, had been used to hide
Jews from the evil men who corrupted the soul of the German
people and brought the invading armies into Denmark.
That was over long before Jorge first climbed into the caves.
Yet he knew intimately how the Underground developed cocaine
laced handkerchiefs to deaden the noses of the dogs used to
search. And he warmed with pride when he thought of King
Christian wearing the Star of David rather than allow his
people, however few, to fall to the devil marching with the
German armies.
Jorge often came to see where his father had played so
important a role in saving so many people. Where the fishing
boat had left for Marstrand or Lysekil in Sweden, a long and
grueling voyage. Dangerous because the Kat was pretty brutal
on occasion.
Sometimes he would sit for hours on the rocks inside,
watching the tide grow into the mouth of the caves. The sea
beckoned to him, calling for him to travel. But he sat and
thought of Edda, three years older than himself, and his
travel lust waned.
She was lovely. Her waist length braid of blonde hair
accented the sway of her hips. Her eyes glistened with joy
when she spoke, and every movement of her hands was
accompanied with a happy carefree skill.
He wanted to tell her of his love, but he was dreadfully
frightened. After all, he was only a child, although he felt
he was a man.
One day in the caves, escaping his frustrated tongue tied
desire, he stumbled across it.
A locket, an old remnant from one of the refugees of war.
No, maybe not, the chain was embedded in the dirt and rock.
In the rock above were several strange runes he'd never before
seen. With his lamp shining directly on the runes, he almost
thought he could read them.
After struggling to make out the meaning for a time, he
pulled at the locket and the chain snapped. The locket came
free with what pieces of chain remained attached.
He could not open the jewelry in the cave, so he shoved it
in his pocket and fled for home.
On the way he found Edda walking in the sunshine, having
been off on a picnic. She was beautiful, wearing an old
traditional style dress and white blouse, embroidered in
colorful red, yellow and blue.
"Hello Edda."
"Why hello little Jorge."
He burned red with fury. She should see him as a man!, as
her man! He was unsure enough he thought of turning to
leave. Being called 'little Jorge' was not what he wanted to
hear from her.
In some strange way, all this interesting thinking came out
in runes similar to the ones on the walls of the cave.
"Oh Jorge, where have you been? You're shoes are wet!"
"I went to the caves. They're peaceful. It gives me a chance
to sit and think."
"Do you think you could take me there?"
"Sure, when do you want to go?"
She looked over her shoulder at the friends she'd been out
with. They waved at her.
"Let's go now," she decided.
In a cul-de-sac hollow near the caves they stopped together
and listened to the rolling of the sea. She was silent,
almost reflective. He admired the roundness of her chin, the
pink high points of her cheeks, and the smile she had shown
him on their walk. "I haven't seen much of you lately," she
said.
"I've been exploring the caves."
"I like seeing you Jorge."
Not little Jorge, but simply 'Jorge'. He wondered about her
out of the ordinary behavior.
She leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulders. His
uncertainty was growing. He enjoyed the presence of the soft
golden hair against his cheek. His arm wrapped about her
shoulders, holding her close.
The birds of the sea made their skreeing sounds.
Edda lifted her head, eyes closed, slightly puckering her
lips for a kiss. He breathed out slowly, and joined his lips
to hers. A moment later he found himself surprised again as
the laughing pink tongue she had embarrassed him with
verbally, was exploring his mouth.
Her right hand found its way to his leg, and crept up to his
crotch, feeling his manhood right through the fabric of his
American jeans. The cock under her hand swelled immediately.
After she'd rubbed his cock through the jeans for a time,
she gathered his left hand in her right. Pulling gently, she
led the hand over her breast. He could feel the softness of
the fleshy mound, and the lines of her bra. He also felt a
hard little bump at the peak. She gasped in air as he played
his fingers across the hard little bump.
Her hand worked his pecker through the cloth, and soon he
had spilt out his sperm inside his pants. He was
embarrassed, she seemed disappointed.
"What are we doing?" he asked. His release had relaxed his
concern a bit.
"Making sure you know I love you," came the reply.
Her smile quickly perked up. She shucked off her blouse and
bra, exposing for him the enticing redish brown nipples of
her somewhat generous bosom.
She took off the bright red skirt and lay it down in the
soft grasses. Then she set to work undressing him. She
worked her soft red lips over his naked skin as she revealed
any more than an inch or two of it. Her tongue danced along
the recesses of his crotch, staying for now, away from his
prick.
Soon her fingers, with their unadorned but almost perfect
nails, caressed the folds of his balls and phallus. Still,
he remained soft until her lips came to the flacid penis,
sucking in past her teeth the head, working the tip of her
tongue into the opening at the end.
His organ rose, stiffening with each glorious plunge she
made towards his torso. Soon it had achieved a rigid
hardness he couldn't recall ever attaining before.
Edda stradled his body with her legs, lowering the fur
covered triangular patch of her groin towards his prick.
"Ohhh, yess!" she muttered as the organ entered the cavity
she had proffered. Her head rolled down, chin on her chest.
Her arms she placed on his chest to support her body, which
now began to rise and fall along the length of his cock.
She was moist inside, he thought, and so deliciously warm.
His length was plunging in and out as his own hips tried to
pump deeper into the tunnel above. He watched with interest
as the two breasts waved up and down. The nipples were
forming oval shapes in opposite directions as she
concentrated more and more on the pleasure she was
receiving.
"uh, oh, god," she mumbled over and over. The blonde braid
waved like a whip as her head spun first one direction, then
the other. The breathing was deeper, the panting continuous
as she went into overdrive.
"OH! YES!" she cried out. He thought the entire town nearby
could hear her voice. She bucked out, thrusting her glorious
chest forward above his head, then she bucked back, forcing
him deeply within her while tucking her head down again. She
did this four or five times.
As she screamed out her happy release, he felt the muscles
in his groin tighten, it felt so good to feel the rapid flow
of semen up through his groin and out the tip of his penis.
He knew she'd given herself over to him completely now. The
pounding of his heart was a reminder of how strong the
orgasm had been.
She sank down across his body, joining her mouth to his in a
lengthy sloppy kiss.
Later, as they nestled together, she asked him what they'd
name the baby. This jolted him out of the reverie he was in.
Fortunately no baby came. He was able to convince her
without to much trouble how bad it would be to have children
before they were ready. Soon, she was on the pill.
They played at sex for a few more hours before returning
home.
The next time, they used a bedroom in his parent's house
when they were away. He entered her and they remained
physically joined for hours, even after his organ shriveled
down to a flacid lump of flesh.
They performed every conceivable method of reaching orgasm.
He was amazed how much Edda knew. When she offered him her
ass he was shocked at first, then intrigued. The tightness
was an exciting experience, which he would always relish.
Over the next four years they could rarely be found
separately. There were so many ways she would let him take
her, so many places.
It was a bit of a scandal, an older girl chasing after a
teenager. But they had some great fun together, even after
he realized it was the secret symbols of the runes giving
her to him. Not some secret longing for him she might have
had.
The runes gave him the power to make her come too. Her
orgasms became so dramatic and powerful under his control,
she frequently couldn't be roused for an hour or two
afterwards.
Her body was completely his property, her mind a part of the
deal. For quite some time, anything he said went. He took
her to parties, sometimes screwing her in front of total
strangers, forcing an orgasm from her when she was too
nervous to believe it possible.
In time he came to understand he didn't really want her. Not
if she was completely under his control. He found he could
control almost anyone. Every attractive girl in town was his
at one time or another. Edda even watched out for
interlopers on a few occasions.
He gave Edda the freedom of not wanting him anymore. They
drifted slowly, but amiably apart.
There was an absence for a long time in his life, a hole,
some missing piece of him. He began to travel. With his
unique ability to see into and control even a stranger's
mind, he could go anywhere, do almost anything he wanted.
There were new worlds to explore, new adventures. Every day
contained an interesting exploration, and new romances he
could tailor to suit his immediate desires. Married or
single, no woman could resist his talent. None denied him
access to their sex.
He rapidly lost count of the number of women he'd had. But
he really hadn't lost any interest in sex.
Until he was much older than fifteen, anyway.
====
The woman on the bed was Edda. No, not really, but similar
enough to be a twin.
There was the long golden hair in a braid, down to her
waist. Her eyes sparkled with the same happy fire. Her
fingers moved with the a skillful grace as her hand covered
her open and surprised lips.
He could feel her thought tendrils trying to grab him. She
was trying to make him see how important it was to free her.
But she couldn't see, couldn't know. Her best chance for
escape was not from controlling him.
She was startled again. Her probe for control was thrust
aside like so many spiderwebs, a fragile gossamer set of
threads.
He explored her mind with the far more practiced skill he
brought with him.
She was unhappy. The strange men in their lab coats had
spent the first few days of her stay poking and prodding,
taking blood samples, and a battery of physical exams. She'd
been kidnapped bodily from the middle of the grocery store.
When they got her here they kept asking her about how she'd
learned to read minds. She knew they'd used drugs, but she
had no idea what kind. Only, now and then they gave her
something to make her feel good.
She was told they found her because of all the poor folk
she'd helped. She helped some homeless people recover from
bizarre little problems. She couldn't know the homeless
people she'd been helping were considered hopeless but
functional cases. Released because of the lack of room and
probability they'd never change. They started turning up
recovered, started finding jobs, living more happy, content
lives. The Institute began looking for the common factor.
The common factor, one fairly ordinary housewife with a
penchant for being present at the time they began to
recover.
Every day they'd tried to coerce her to reveal something
about how her talent worked. Every day she tried to tell
them, but couldn't. Every day was the same, trapped here in
this comfortable prison.
They hadn't come today, but now this nice almost white
haired, bronze hued man was here, and he didn't have one of
those nasty noise makers to keep her out of his mind. But...
He made her sleep.
====
Jorge came to New York to see the City. He was excited to
find a new pool of resources for his fun.
He'd spotted a short but well stacked woman on sixth avenue.
Her face was fairly ordinary, but the legs and her shape, oh
my.
As he was following her uptown along Sixth Avenue, strange
the way New Yorkers referred to north as uptown and south as
downtown, a strange thing happened.
Some crazy driver turned his white mustang south onto Sixth.
He was zipping along too, in heavy traffic. All, of course,
going uptown but him. For the first two blocks he weaved in
and out of the oncoming vehicles, but then he bumped up the
curb onto the sidewalk.
The next two blocks the car was on the sidewalk.
Jorge and the woman he'd been following were walking in that
last two blocks. He managed to pull her aside, watching two
interesting events springing from the silly stunt with the car.
First was the cop on the sidewalk trying to stop the car by
his physical presence. Astonishingly, he'd tried to impose
himself in the path of the oncoming vehicle. At the last
moment he seemed to decide it wasn't worth his life to try
ticketing the determined kid behind the wheel. He dove
aside.
Second was the passengers in the car, except for one of them
the four kids along for the ride were having a great time.
One of them in the back seat looked for all the world as
thought the world was after him specifically. He had the
frightened look of someone in the paranoid stages of pot.
The cop was face down, and looked angry. The car had turned
at the end of the sidewalk, going the right way now on the
street it had found.
Jorge smiled. These things seemed to happen more often in
New York.
He took the woman to her home.
She rewarded his heroism at assisting her avoid the little
event of insanity in her otherwise normal world, by offering
him coffee. He decided the coffee wasn't enough.
Alicia, her name, started dancing for him, taking off her
clothing, one button at a time. She was small and wiry. But
her tits were large for her figure. The clothing dropped one
by one, into a neat pile beside her.
His cock plunged into her tuft of hair and flesh in her
groin, and he felt a relief at the normalcy involved with
this violation of her body. He enjoyed the power he had over
her, making her orgasm several times while he rode her.
He could feel, as often before, the tightening muscles of
cunt, trying to grip him tightly. But not as tightly as he'd
like tonight. So he rolled her over, and took her other
hole. She screamed at first about not doing it, about how
disgusting he was being, and how it would hurt.
But as he knew, it took but a few moments to change her
mind, and soon she enjoyed it too.
After he finished his own pleasure, filling her with his
semen, he changed her to become sexually desperate for his
attention. Then he enjoyed having her do things for him.
Like make dinner in the nude, sit at his feet, sucking his
cock while he watched a Kolchak the Night Stalker movie on
channel 9.
He gave her orgasms as she walked about, cleaning up dinner,
and even just changing the channels on the TV. If he took it
into his head to do so, he simply forced another jolt of
sexual release through her body. It was fun to watch as she
stood naked before the front window, knowing anyone could
see.
He loved watching her total helplessness, listening to her
beg him to give her a break, then beg for the spasmotic
orgasm she could feel coming.
About the time he got dressed again, a key opened the front
door. In walked a man, in jeans and sneakers, wearing a
turtleneck sweater.
For a moment they stared at each other. They stared because
they'd both made a cursory attempt to spin a web of control
over each other.
The man looked at Alisia, who was presently on the floor of
the living room, jolting through another rending and frantic
coming. Her body was thrashing about with the pleasure, and
her sweat was pouring out as she moved.
"I see you've had Alisia."
"Yes, but women are easy targets. I had no idea anyone else
had the talent."
"There are a number of us here in the States."
"Really?"
"We do have something of a working group. There's a long
history of our, er, cooperative." Alisia finished her
pummelling orgasm and looked at the two men with a certain
anxiety.
"Why don't you go get dressed slut," said Jorge. She hurried
off to do his bidding.
"Yes, well I'm not too upset about you using my slave, but in
the future, it would be well to check for influences other
than your own. At least if you want to stay in America."
"I can agree to that. There's plenty of women available
here."
"One more little thing. Watch out for other people with the
Voice. Not all of them are tolerant of strangers."
"Might have guessed, in fact I would think it was the norm."
Jorge said. Jorge started towards the door.
"We should talk about the Cabal before you go."
"Cabal? What is the 'Cabal'?"
"A group of telepaths who have banded together. We mostly try
to ensure that telepaths keep their fingers out of politics.
The last time we failed to catch someone manipulating the
economic and political arena in this country was in the
'50s."
"Why should any telepath care?"
"Visibility could bring on a witch hunt. None of us want some
morons trying to mob us, or worse, ending up in a lab
somewhere, being dissected for science."
"I hadn't thought the possibility significant."
The other man laughed aloud. Alisia came back, dressed in a
sexy tight black evening gown. Her makeup had been refreshed,
and she just about leeched onto Jorge's side. He was somewhat
embarrassed, being caught sampling another man's woman like a
thief.
"He wants me back, love. Don't let him take me," Alisia
begged of Jorge.
"Don't worry, I can fix her, or if you want you can just keep
her," the stranger said.
"No, you keep her, she served her purpose." replied Jorge.
She shuddered, thinking how much of a slave she'd become.
"You think about the Cabal," he handed Jorge a card. "If
you're interested, give this number a call. If not, be warned
to stay out of trouble. We won't tolerate anyone threatening
our safety."
Jorge left, peeling the slave he'd possessed from his side.
She became fearful, perhaps panicky as she was handed over
to the other man. She calmed quickly though in the man's
arms. The door shut smoothly behind him. Soon she would
never want to leave the man Jorge had spoken with. She had
no Voice, and that made her no more than property to them.
A week later he called the number.
====
Jorge tried to open the door to the hall again. No luck, it
was now locked.
He went to the window, but dozens of guards were working the
grounds, in some cases beating the bushes. He chuckled to
himself, wondering if they'd found his earlier handiwork.
Looking around, he realized the room was sealed tightly. The
air vents were far to small for even a cat to slip out,
unlike nearly every movie he'd ever seen. This didn't stymie
him immediately.
He began a systematic search of the room for a tool to pry
the door open. He move the Edda look alike aside and took
the bed apart. Using a bar of metal formerly a support in
the bed, he began attacking the door.
He noticed his head was getting a bit fuzzy. When he looked
around, he realized how easily they could gas the room.
There must be microphones in here somewhere. He was not
free. Too late now. It's over.
He was sleeping.
====
Bob finished sharing his pleasure with Miki some time
before.
He made a decision, that for Bob, was quite courageous. This
establishment had to be dismantled to ensure his safety.
Every record they had about him would be destroyed before he
left. He wasn't going to be a hunted animal for the rest of
his life.
He developed resolve sitting there in their hiding place.
--
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