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Archive-name: Book16.txt
Archive-author: Blackie
Archive-title: "By the Book"
Part 16 of 20
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Copyright (c) 1993, Oogle Bird Enterprises.
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New Mexico was hot but dry. 

Las Cruces lies at the southern tip of the San Andres Mountains, along
that part of the Rio Grande north of the Mexican border. To the
northwest Jorge had seen Elephant Butte and Caballo Reservoirs as his
plane came in. The expanses of water seemed out of place in the arid
climate.

The Voice he was to visit was reputedly involved in local politics.
The bent to control the world was the worst problem he dealt with on a
regular basis. Charles seemed genuinely pleased with his work though.

He settled into a hotel, rented a car and started off to the local
address he'd been given. The address wasn't hard to get to, just a
little north, out of town. It was a ranch, very western in appearance,
as though someone was living partly in the past.

The ranch was large. Guards at the gate tried stopping him at first,
but they agreed quickly he should go on by. They soon forgot him
completely.

The porch out front was gray brown. He climbed the steps and looked 
around. The wood clumped at him as he walked about looking in the 
windows. The door in the middle of the porch had a button at the side 
for the bell. He ignored the bell.

Entering the wooden ranch house, he noted its appearance. Rustic
style was the main decor. Bull's horns, old saddles, retired pistols,
wagon wheels, spurs, and occasionally an antique picture of a cowboy
adorned the walls. The only carpet was a narrow and worn red strip of
clothe up the stairs.

He was met by a surprised servant in the dining room. The servant
forgot him quickly, returning to dusting the furniture. The table was
large enough for twenty or more. The dusting would keep this person
busy for some time.

Jorge went up the stairs and found the place empty. He settled into a
bedroom, sitting in a large chair by the front window. He waited. The
sun watched him through the window. He imagined the dim light in the
long winters in Denmark.

A short time later a pink convertible pulled up. A woman in stylized
western clothing, right down to the boots, stepped out. She looked
over at his car and almost danced as she hopped up to the house.

Sounds of human voices rose from downstairs. He smiled. He knew the
cleaning would still be occupying the poor servant. No, she hadn't
seen anybody. Was there really a car out front, she hadn't noticed. He
imagined the conversation ending with, what was obviously justified
concern on the modern cowgirl's face.

Resounding clopping came from the stairs. The boots thudded along in
the hallway as she walked through rooms on the second floor. She
stepped through the door, seeing Jorge for the first time. His
slacks, t-shirt and loafers must have seemed out of place, she was
staring.

"Just how did you get in here?"

"I'm waiting for someone. You wouldn't know Pat Morick, would you?"

"I'm Pat Morick, but you better have one hell of a good reason for 
being here buster, or you're in a lot of trouble."

"Oh my," he hadn't expected the Voice to be a woman. On reflection
she 
through the window.

She wore heavy jeans, a western yoke shirt with a string tie serving
to accent her chest's curves. The boots were up her calves three
quarters of the way to her knees. The hips a bit wide, but seemed to
match the bone structure she carried. The shoulders were wide too,
holding the shirt out almost square without padding.

Her face was pink, with dimpled cheeks, a pug nose, wide lips and
alert angry eyes. Sun bleached hair trimmed to the shoulders, she
wore it held back by a pair of clips on either side. Her hands were
clenched into little fists, braced atop her hips.

"You've been naughty, Pat. The Cabal doesn't like political
entanglements. It gets the wrong kind of attention."

He smiled at her and lashed a mind probe forward, symbols of control
to implant in her brain.

She gasped. Her body flung back against the wall as though he'd struck
her, hands to the side to support her stance. It was only a snap
muscle reaction causing her backwards motion, physical force from him
causing none of her movement.

She lowered her head and concentrated a stare on him. His initial
probe failed to gain entry. Now he slapped aside a counter thrust.
She needled with jabs at his barriers.

To prevent outside interference, he got up, walked to the door and
closed it. It came as no surprise to him he could do this while they
dueled. Yet she seemed unable to deal with physical movement while
engaged in the mind battle. He sought about for any distraction to
cause her attack to slow down. He needed to resume his own.

She furiously surged energy waves of thought at him. He could make
out crude control symbols in her attack, but couldn't do much more
than stop them. Her brain was well protected by her own frantic
efforts.

Charles was the only Voice he'd met so far with this kind of strength.

An idea crept up as his attacks against her mind failed again. Time
stretched out. She managed to stand again, trying to strike him with
her fists.

While the main bout was thrashing in their minds, he grabbed hold of
her slender wrists. They were strong, but her skin soft to the touch.
He dragged her bodily to the bed. She barely had enough control over
her actions to put up a resistance. It was weak resistance, but
resistance none the less.

"Get off me asshole!" she screamed. "Keep your filthy hands off me!"

"You can submit and make this unnecessary," he snarled back. "I don't 
need you for sex, but I'll use any weapon to control you right now."

Clawing his face kept him away from her shirt for a moment. He was
able with one hand to pin her arms above her head. With the other he
drew her face to him as he forcefully kissed her mouth. She bit him,
drawing a little blood.

"Bitch!" he snapped.

His anger rose within. But also some compassion. He didn't like doing
it this way, but to control her mind he needed somehow to distract
her. He wouldn't fail, causing Charles to use an assassin, he simply 
would not.

Symbols for sexual pleasure were a simple matter. Remembering he 
didn't plant them in the brain most of the time, he began adding 
surging heat to her loins. He forced the tickling sensation of lust 
through her chest, and successfully drove visual desire into her 
eyes symbols.

She felt the betrayal of her body. The pleasure overcoming her painful
physical resistance. Separation of mind and body, a step aside, as 
though a broken network was trying to reconnect itself. She still 
controlled her actions, but no longer was her sense of feel her own.

"Okay motherfucker, you want to screw? We'll screw. But you won't like
it much once I've got you!" a wildcat snarl verbally snapped at him.

She began to trying to bite him, the battle of mental energies
continuing. The rape of her body was only a secondary front to the
rape of her will he was trying to commit.

Kissing her became a battle itself. Her tongue tried to bruise his,
teeth gnashing at any penetration he made to her mouth. She'd
converted her own desires to acts of violent arousal, a severe counter
rape of him. Although giving in to the sexual aspect of the combat,
she was determined to fight for dominance in the act of sex as well.

He pulled away her shirt, tearing it into long strips of clothe as he
attacked her. Her breasts, still strapped into the bra she wore,
stretched the fabric remaining, nipples aroused to hard nodules. Her
hands, now free, began to tear away his t-shirt.

Boots clattered to the floor behind him. Her humping body lunged
against his groin, whether to injure or excite he couldn't tell. He
fumbled with her snaps and zipper at her waist. She tried to twist
their bodies to attain superior position on top.  The nipples were
erect from the exertion of wrestling against him.

She clawed at his back to pull him against her. Her teeth plunged
into his shoulder as her excitement grew more evident. He slapped her
face for the brutal biting. But the bright red palm mark seemed only
to excite her more. Jorge was puzzled by this, but the psychic battle
was still lashing away and he couldn't afford to wonder much.

She believed he'd lose control using physical force. She was
accustomed to being vicious and brutal. He, she believed, was not.
This could give her the edge she needed, if she could draw the
violence out of him.

She whimpered with the next blow he delivered. Finding her hands
pinned again, she tried squirming around to get out from underneath, 
only to find his free fingers were twisting her nipples. The heat this
sent through her body elicited a deep moan of pleasure. 

Her body yielded in pleasure to him. He struggled to avoid the
temptation to give in to the brutality she encouraged. She continued
to claw him, whenever she could get a hand free.

"yesss!" she whispered, arousal reaching her voice. The violence was
remarkably bringing her lust to a boil. She seemed to enjoy being
combative, thriving on the thrill, the power, the struggle.

The mental violation was moving slowly as well. His successful probes
were surface in nature, only now gaining control over the helpless
body beneath him. She remained in control over her mind behind the 
body, but physical resistance was ebbing completely. 

Her movements became more supple. The eyes she focused on him hazed
with lust. He could feel heat rising within her. A hint of
humiliation rose inside her, losing her control of her now helpless
body.

She was panting and gasping for breath, both excited and frantic. The 
adrenaline rush, coming from both fear and lust, gave her a boost.

Her legs opened to him now. The pink wet opening exposed for his use. 
His own cock was still somewhat limp, but he could feel it hardening 
as he felt her gyrations beneath him. He no longer needed to hold her 
arms pinned. And her thin, almost bony, fingers began massaging the 
trunk of his prick.

He could still hear her mind voice ordering him off her body, but her 
mouth, swollen from passionate and lust driven kisses, widened into a
smile.

"Yes," he made her say, "Yes I want you. I want to be your sex toy."

He could feel a deepening sense of humiliation seep through her inner
mind, overcoming barriers remaining. He plunged into her, feeling the
moist tissue engulf his prick as her eyes rolled closed and he forced
moans from her throat. As he reached the depths of her vagina, another
phallic thought probe breached her mind. She was now his, only the
tiniest vestige of resistance remaining.

The power he had over her was strong, an aphrodesiac of great
proportion. He pummeled against her groin, watching her face contort
with unexpected pleasure.

"Yes! Yes! YES!" her mouth cried.

He no longer had to actively control her body to elicit response. She
joined willingly in the act now. Knowing only slightly it was his will
she served.

She screamed, physical orgasm penetrating to where he'd planted his 
controls. Her body was completely clenched, red tipped fingers tightly
fisted against her eyes and mouth. She was almost totally overcome 
inside.

With his cock still wet from her, he rolled her over, making her
kneel. Determined to overcome that last holdout at the back of her
now little mind, he forced his entry into her ass. She squealed in
pain. His dominance needed a further step to strip her of her last 
hold on herself.

"NO! You'll hurt me!," she cried out. Her last little iota of control
rose up, trying once more to batter back his ownership of her body.

"You deserve to be hurt, remember? You wanted me to hurt you just a 
minute ago. It's what you want." 

"Yes. Yes I want it," he forced her to say. "Please, use me again!"

Again the humiliation rose within and he fostered it with reinforcing 
symbols inside her. The deeply hidden nugget of self she'd withheld 
cracked. She cried on the bed underneath him, thedings
his manipulation had created within her.

He began to move in and out, forcing her body to feel pleasure from
being used. He let her come again, screaming with joy, before he
allowed his own heat to rise. He owned her completely now. There was
no last reserve.

With a sudden plunge, his seed entered her ass. She seemed lost in 
exhaustion when he finally grunted out his orgasm. It was a good 
release. A great way to end the brutal battle.

He started to change her, engineering a new personality.

====

Jorge found a phone and made a call.

"You got the one in New Mexico?" came the familiar voice.

"Yes Charles. I wish you'd tell me in the future what gender the
Voice is."

"Come now Jorge, where's the fun in that?"

"She's controlled by me now. She's almost as strong as you or I. We 
can probably use her in our duties."

"Really?"

"Really. I had to take her. She wouldn't submit willingly, and now 
she's totally available for our purposes."

"I've seen her picture. Have you...?"

"Yes, and I will again, but you won't."

"Now Jorge, you know I don't force my partners. God forbid. Not even
using the Voice. I even find it a little disturbing when you do."
There was a pause. "Your next assignment is in Texas. Pretty close to
where you are now, a little south."

"Oh yeah?"

"El Paso..."

====

A foul taste in his mouth woke him up.

Bob looked around the room he'd confiscated for concealment. The room
was a partial shambles. It appeared a construction crew at work wasn't
finished and left furniture in place as they fumbled about.

Among a handful of other objects there was the bed he was sharing
with the naked girl at his side. She was smiling with the innocence
of one whose problems would be solved for her.

He traced a finger along her pert breast, allowing himself to rub 
the nipple with the palm of his hand. She started to smile, stretching
and exposing her other breast to his perusal. She blinked open her 
eyes, inviting him to use her again by spreading her arms wide.

He was slightly disgusted. Partly with himself, for allowing himself
to take her, mostly because of the situation. It would have been
great fun if he were less harried by fear. But then, maybe he'd take
her again now.

Miki seemed to be thriving on the threat of capture. She writhed
beneath the hands as they milked her nipples. Her head was moving in
rhythm, chin jutting out, as he worked a pattern of manipulation into
the action.

He moved so his hips were above her head. Tilting her face all the way
back, he could enter her mouth. With her neck stretched out, he had an
easy entry deep inside past her tongue. The twitching tongue in her
mouth was caressing the top of his prick as he worked in and out of
her.

With his balls bouncing against her nose and eyes, the sense of being 
deep in her throat was impressive. He could see her hips bucking as he 
pushed in past her lips. Her hand worked into the folds of her soaking
wet flesh. 

As she sucked at him, he could feel familiar heat growing in him. The
surge was coming, moving beyond stopping now. She swallowed, and
swallowed again as a second, lighter surge pulsed through his cock.

He pulled out of her mouth. She fingered herself, unaware she used to
hate the idea of masturbating. A moan came from the puffy red lips,
and her tongue licked, putting pressure against herself. He blocked
her from coming though, so she became more frantic in her attempts at
self fulfillment.

Using his talent on himself, he sent arousal signals through his own 
prick. A second hard on came very quickly. She seemed genuinely 
surprised, perhaps not knowing how much control was possible.

Lifting her tight legs over his shoulders he teased at making entry to
her hungry pussy.

"Oh please, I want you in me. I need it now."

"You say the nicest things. How about telling me how good I am?"

"You're the best. No one's ever been better. I love your prick inside
my cunt. Can't you tell?"

He chortled. It was unnecessary to force her to praise him, but power
was so satisfying. And underneath the layer of controls he'd placed
she felt a thrill submitting herself to him.

The enlarged prick slipped smoothly into her soaking wet cunt. The fit
wasn't tight,He worked
his way in and out. While he did, she thrashed about, struggling for
release. He pulled the nervous system stops out of the way, allowing
her to pump the sexual energy throughout her body.

Her orgasm was strong, but she muffled the screech trying to come out.
Energy sapped from her body, she began to go limp. He pumped in a 
last time, using the symbols to draw forth a spurt of his semen within
her. It wasn't the best, but still, it was a good release, a jump 
start orgasm for the morning. 

Pulling out, he sat up at the edge of the bed. He stared off into 
space for a few minutes. The woman behind him began to snore again. He
grinned thinking how exhausted he left her.

He stank.

There was a bathroom. Trying the door, it opened. The plumbing
appeared to be complete, so he tried the water. It was working well
enough so he started the shower.

Clearing away some of the junk by the bathroom door kept him busy
while the water warmed up. Rummaging about turned up a few clean
towels. A well used hunk of soap shortly drew attention to itself as
well.

The warm water brought feeling back to his skin, muscles relaxed 
from the cramps developed in the uncomfortable strange bed. Rivulets of 
water tickled his senses, the dream quality of flowing water allowed 
him escape for the moment.

He imagined escaping with the water through the drain.

====

The helicopter rose in the bright morning light. The four story 
building below shrank rapidly.

He couldn't take any chances. The spark remained on the loose. It 
wasn't clear how the spark had gotten loose, but the assumption had
to be made; there was a flaw in the mind shields. A new development, 
and a fearful one. 

The new wild spark was more dangerous than the visitors with their
guns yesterday. This threat allowed no counter action if he remained 
here. Thadeous felt forced to flee.

He left Jones to fend for himself. The man knew an awful lot about
the operation. Yet someone with both authority and initiative had to
be left in control until the spark was found.

Having a spark break in was frightening too. Something was wrong, but
the records here were limited to discovering, catching and studying
the sparks. None of the Institute's other activities would be
unveiled.

He spent the night worrying. The helicopter too late, the spark might
slip into his room at any moment. Yet nothing had happened, and the
flight was underway.

He would move the operation to the Colorado facility. If the spark
were caught, operations could resume as before. He wasn't counting on
this possibility.

How would he tell Jezabel?

====

"Mr. Jorge Dansen."

Cobwebs parted from his eyes to display a man in an immaculately
pressed suit. The sounds hadn't yet sunk in, his ears uncertain he'd
actually heard his surname. He couldn't turn his head for some reason.

"Jorge? Ah, we are awake now aren't we."

"wherindafugami?"

"Hm, Oh, where are you? At the Institute of course. You present us 
with a most unusual problem. We've never had a spark break in before. 
They all seem to want to break out. Can you imagine their gall, trying 
to leave us?"

"waddafugyawant?"

"Oh my. Hopefully your eloquence will pick up once the gas wears off
a bit more. Your woman, the reporter, " Jones paused a moment, "she's
become amorously attached to one of our inmates. An unexpected
pleasure for us. The red head she likes is one of my boss's current
favorites, so maybe she'll get an interview after all. Shame it'll
never make the evening news though."

"'leven 'clock, different from ev'ning news."

"No matter, she won't be leaving us any time soon. All she wants to do
is screw Heather. I watched them for a while myself. She's fun to
watch by the way."

"allyoudo?, watch? cantchagetitup?"

The angry glare was piercing. Jones walked out of view. Jorge now
realized he was tied down tightly. Very tightly. Trying his talent
resulted in serious pounding pains at the back of his skull. Not that
it mattered, the man from the Institute wore a device behind his ear,
easily identified in this place as a mind shield.

Jones came back after a mumble voiced discussion.

"Where is Bob?"

"whawho?"

"Come now, you can't convince me yowo must be working together somehow. 
Where is Robert Lawrence?"

"whoinhellis Robert Lawrence?"

"You aren't helping yourself any," Jones waved to someone out of
sight, "Take him to debriefing."

The sound of hard leather on tiled floor, clack, clack, clack...

"Oh Jorge," Jones paused.

"whaddafugyawantnow?"

"My. I arranged to sample your woman later, of course, I'll probably
be far less subtle than you and cause her some injuries. You sure you
don't want to tell me something before then?"

"gofugyermudder, icangetanudderone."

"If that's how you feel about it," he waved again.

Jorge felt a motion and realized for the first time, he was on some 
kind of hospital gurney. He tried to move, but was frustrated by 
strong straps. There was one across his forehead. No wonder his head 
couldn't move.

The wheels clicked as they moved across tiles on the floor beneath. 
The rhythmic sound felt like being beaten. 

What was debriefing?

====

Bob reached out.

A barrier at the exterior of the building blocked him. He had to poke
and prod around shields for a bit to find a hole. Somehow they seemed
to be unable to perceive where overlapping shields didn't actually
meet. Better yet, someone forgot to protect the floors below. 

An exit turned up for the mind probe. It amused him the plumbing 
probably took a similar route after all.

He stood in the running water, and reached a long thin needle of
thought towards Bambi. It was a difficult strain. Finding her mind
engaged in leisure, he ignored what she was doing and planted a
suggestion. No, a series of suggestions.

He wasn't sure he could do it, but casting about from her mind he 
found a dozen mind shields around the house. Carefully he insinuated 
controls around the odd shapes of the shields, compelling the owners 
to new tasks.

While he could still manage it, he found Mary and issued some 
instructions to her as well. The Institute had only one man watching 
her. 

With strain, he pushed the needle of thought to Fran, giving her duty
at the bank. The Institute, probably acting on profile information,
left her unwatched. If he was free, they probably reasoned he would
return home or to Mary. Not the dozen or so housewives he might have
used.

He sucked in air. The water had gotten cold. 

He shivered as he dried himself.

====

Jones walked into Diane's new room, adjacent to Heather's.

It was the usual Institute arrangement, a queen sized bed, a dresser,
a lounge chair, some bookshelves with an assorted reading collection.
There was a tightly closed window, but no bars.

Jones smiled, subjects in these rooms never needed bars. Conditioned
to remain, exceptions whose unnatural lust for the coven leader kept
them passive, awaiting commands.

He was disgusted. What gave these animals the right to have this
power? He should be the one, not them. He would find a way in time.
Even Thadeous would bow before him, worship at his feet! For now
though, he could bide his time.

As long as he found Bob, the little creep. Thadeous might separate
him from his hide if the spark escaped. He would not tolerate Bob's 
continued freedom. Anyone failing in the duty to find Bob would suffer
the most sever sanctions.

He'd been an Institute man for almost fifteen years now. He knew the
woman who sat before him was a threat only until Heather had had her.
She was harmless now. Diane was compliant to his every wish now,
Heather saw to that.

Her poise was stoic. Not defiant, but stern, committed to servitude,
yet remaining aloof. The lounge chair held her well, looking deep and
comfortable.

"Bob, Robert Lawrence," he said.

"Pleased to meet you Bob." His eyes lit at this response. 

"You mean you never heard of Bob?"

"Should I know you?"

"Not me, you twit, Robert Lawrenc was
necessary.

"Yes, well you'll never leave here again, I assure you."

"I wouldn't leave Heather. She needs me."

He grinned. Heather had turned her out, like many of her coven
members before, to work the streets for Heather's comfort. Only
Heather had no idea the harlots couldn't get paid for their service
here.

"She'll be here as for as long as you will."

"Good, I don't want to be without her."

"Well, right now you'll take care of me. And we're going to have some 
fun, aren't we?" He unstrapped his belt.

"You paid for it, er, if you're not Bob, who are you?"

"Just call me 'Master'."

"Yes Master."

There was no pleasure in it for her, but Jones didn't care. She was 
doing this for Heather anyway. She'd be pleased when Heather told her 
how good she'd been.

Heather wouldn't do that, he decided. He'd find a way to convince 
Heather she hadn't been paid.

contiuned in part 17