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    Overleaf (The Book, Chap 7)

    1) I am not the author, that distinction and honor belongs to "Blackie", writing in the time of 1993-94.

    2) As a further note, once this novel is completely submitted, if anyone wishes a copy in MS Word format (or for that matter any other format that the MS Word 2000 or 2003 program is capable of translating it into), please PM me and I will be glad to send it to you.
    --------------------


    Overleaf

    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 heard 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 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 accouterments. 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 straddled 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 flaccid 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 spasmodic 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 pummeling 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.
    Last edited by SecretScribe; 09-02-2007 at 06:29 PM. Reason: Add caveat at top

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