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Archive-name: Book12.txt
Archive-author: Blackie
Archive-title: "By the Book"
Part 12 of 20
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Copyright (c) 1993, Oogle Bird Enterprises.
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Betty was at the grocery store with Bambi.

Bob had told her to pick out a woman for him to screw tonight. Bambi
would make sure the choice came along.  She was to give the choice to
him as a 'gift' to show her obedience.

Betty felt completely humiliated. The embarrassment had kept her
panties dripping since they left the house.

The worst part was knowing he'd take the woman she chose, making
Betty watch. Thinking that, she had to struggle not to finger
herself. She had been directed not to orgasm until Bob said so.

She spotted a nice looking woman, about 32 by the fruit. Betty had
already discarded four other possible choices when she saw this one.

The woman was about 5'8" and was shapely. Her eyebrows were little
arches over deep brown eyes.  Her nose was long, leading down to a soft
red pair of lips.  Her hair was in a short pony tail, a dark blonde.

Betty realized she didn't want this woman to make love with Bob.  He
would enjoy such a choice.  She suppressed her own will for his.

She pointed the woman out to Bambi.

The three of them left together.

====

The man looked at the note he'd just received.

TARGET OBSERVED DOWNTOWN. TARGET MISPLACED.  ADDING MANPOWER TO
SECTOR.  REQUEST HIGHER PRIORITY AREA SCANS IN SECTOR.  JONES

He scrawled "OK' and his initials.  After a moment he added the word
"Maximum" after the OK.  He set it aside for operations.

He picked up another report on his desk.  Tyler was programmed and
ready to be turned over to Jezabel. Tyler would know he was being
punished, but he could no longer do anything about it.

Among other reports on political supporters, financial problems,
manpower requirements, and security background checks, there was
data from the airport. Some problem with a scanner, a freakish
misreading or such. He set it aside, unwilling for now to decide,
how to investigate the report.

He brushed his sleeve, straightening the creases.

===
                           _Censorship_


Many mind shields moved about in the neighborhood. Bob could feel the
mentally dead spots all over. At least a dozen he could sense
immediately.

Bob wasn't sure how they'd narrowed down the search to here, but the
reality was, they were here.

Guessing at what could happen, and hopeful the hunters would leave the
women alone, he'd written a note. It said he'd be gone a week or two,
they should keep the household in good order for his return. He
planted suggestions in their sleeping minds to keep them content
together waiting for him. No matter how long it took.

There were at least six hunters out back. He figured there were
another three or four on either side of the house. And out front...

A movie style CIA staff car look alike stopped in front. Two more
pulled up on either side of it. Several more of the nearly invisible
unreadable men got out of the dark boxy cars.

They gathered, one man, in a perfectly pressed suit swept his arm
wide and started up the walk. He flowed along in a smooth, unbroken
motion, headed straight for Bob's sanctuary.

His nightmares come to life, he was surprised there weren't any guns.
There didn't appear to be any way out. He could only guess what would
happen to him.  It didn't seem likely they'd walk up and say, 'Nice
to see you're telepathic. Good going kid. Keep up the good work,'
then leave.

The doorbell rang. Well, it did a silly four note thing, more like
chimes.  Only a week ago he'd thought it cute when he bought it.  He
glared at the little box on the wall until it chimed again.

Well, he thought, time to brace up and face the devil.  He opened the
door at a normal pace to avoid startling the unusual visitor.  He was
rewarded with no overtly hostile reaction.

"Hello."

The man wore a perfectly pressed suit, a red silk tie, and black
shoes, just recently polished. His crew cut made the roundness of his
features stick out. Wrinkles, chicken tracks, around the eyes placed
him around 40-43 as near Bob could figure.

"Hi Bob. I'd like a chance to chat with you. May I come in?" The man
didn't bother to introduce himself.

"I don't see how I could stop you with all the manpower you brought."

The man chuckled, but didn't look over his shoulders for support.
Perfectly cool, he stepped into the house.  Bob led him to the living
room.

"Well, this is a nice change. Your original furniture I gather." the
man said.  "Very unusual, most sparks just take what they like from
mutes.  Males often end up with poorly decorated domiciles. Very
strange affect, I'm not certain how to describe it. Kind of like late
american junk yard."

"I see." said Bob.

"Yup. You know we caught on to you very fast. Most sparks go two,
maybe three years before we find them. You wanna know how we found
you?," he paused, pulling a pack of cigarettes out. He went on before
Bob could form a reply, "the girl. Oh, not the harem girls you've
picked up, eh? That really is the best part of being a spark I guess,
the broads. Anyway, what was I saying? Right, the girl."

The man stabbed his thumb at his own chest.

"Our girl, the one we let loose. We lost her for a while when you got
to her, but you screwed up. You know how we found her? Give it a
guess."

Bob walked over to the window, peeking at the carefully deployed men
meandering around outside. His guest didn't mind.  A cigarette lighter
came out and was ignited.

"Please don't smoke," Bob said. There was no way to stop the man, but
the fellow looked at his cigarette and put it away. "I've no idea what
you're talking about."

The man laughed.

"Forget the bullshit. You've been plowing Kim and the two other women
you got living here regular as rain. You can do this because you pull
their strings. You also plow about three other women a week. Some of
them Kim brings to you for your leisure.

"The amazing thing is you ain't been stealing stuff too. We usually
catch the sparks by looking for swiped property, but you... You've
been careful to earn the money and buy what you want.

"No, you know what I'm talking about. Kim gave you away.  Not on
purpose, but almost as if she put a red siren light on top of your
head."

Bob resigned himself to being 'found'. He breathed a deep sigh, trying
to figure the angles. Nothing this guy had said mattered much yet,
sort of complementary. Sort of. Almost admiring, but hostile at the
same time.

"Okay, but why bother to talk to me about it? Why not just grab me
like you seem to do with the other, what do you call us?, Sparks?"

The man shuffled over to the window for a moment. Bob couldn't sense
it, but he guessed it was to let the men outside see he was still
well. The man took in a deep breath, and sighed, almost resigned too.

"I've been remiss. My name is Jones, Dirk Jones," the man clasped his
hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "You, despite our
advantage in organization, are very unusual.

"You see, we've been picking up the snatch you throw back to analyze
what you do. Oddly, we can't find any sign of your meddling, unlike all
most sparks.

"Most of the other sparks tend to go mad. I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let's see.

"The men men, it's
essentially the same MO. It's just a matter of time before we track
them down and catch them. Usually, when they find out there's someone
they have no power over, their marbles go rolling on the floor.

"Some get lonely, because they think nobody else like them exists. This
brings on a different kind of madness. It has the same net affect. You
watch them looking for their shooters on the floor.

"The women, they're a different story.  Depends on what they want. A
tiny fraction grab men or women for themselves and play. Them we can
catch quickly since they tend to be like the looney men.  Some of them
just use it to manipulate people they know.  Easy enough to find once
you see a pattern. Some women just want things and end up discovered
by our financial detectives.  Some try running around trying to do
good deeds," he laughed, "this brings us back to the god complex and
we can catch them.

"What we can't do is keep 'em. Most of them go around the bend faster
than shit through a goose. Kim's Harry for instance, managed to do
himself in. You've been different though.

"You seem pretty stable. You came up with a plan to become
economically solvent, without creating a statistical anomaly in the
crime data.  Somehow you don't leave a wide programming trail on the
women you've used, a more delicate touch, if you will. You kept your
own home and carefully concealed your new wealth.

"You only forgot a couple things."

Bob sat in the lounge chair. He looked up at Jones's face. He was just
a little curious.

"Which were?"

"You let the girl, Kim, remember her? You let her go buy and sell
things, big things like property with houses, in her own name."

"Ohhhh." Bob saw the stupidity. They couldn't miss records showing any
kind of detail, she'd had to use a real address too. How could he
overlook so simple an error? "So what now, again why talk to me?"

"Don't feel too bad. The airport jingle would've put us on to you in
another couple months anyway," came a consoling tone.  Jones was
sweating just a little.

"Airport jingle? What happened at the airport?"

"You took a trip. We take pictures of everyone going through
security. When you went through, our scanners acted up. We wouldn't
have actually checked on you for a few more months yet, but we always
follow through, even on the little stuff."

"Shit, so what do you want?"

"We're a big organization. There's always room for one more. But we
can't let a dangerous threat like some random spark run around loose
without some strings."

"And you propose...?"

"I'd like you to come to the Institute. See our facilities. You can
bring the harem with you, we don't care. You can even collect more if
you want, we'll even help. There any popular actresses you want? That
reminds me, where are your little marionettes?"

"The women are asleep. When I knew you guys were out there, I had them
lay down and made them sleep. I figured they might panic."

"Smart. Jesus Christ man, you make the other sparks look careless," he
appraised Bob again. "As I was saying, you come work for us, we'll
cater to your whims. All we want is a little help with our research,
and maybe help watching some people."

And probably they wanted him off the street. The watching people thing
bothered Bob.

Oh boy, thought Bob, gotta watch those enemies of the state.  Hell, it
might not even be the state, it might just be the enemies of the
Institute. Well, the guy may be sincere.  No way to tell with his
shield in place. I hope so, cause there's no way out of this mess for
now.

"You aren't going to let me sleep on it, are you?"

"Not exactly son, no. Would you if you were in my shoes?"

"What then?"

"Come see the facilities. You may feel a lot better about joining the
team, our team." Jones was pitching. Bob didn't like it.

"I don't have much choice."

"You do, but the other choice is more painful..."

====

Two women and a man were in a room with a large bed. The bed was huge,
designed perhaps to hold four or five people at once. Around the bed,
in the shadows, were about a dozen chairs. The chairs all faced the
bed.

The two women were asleep across the bed, but would wake in a few
minutes.

A uniformed messenger stepped into the room carrying a sheetan. He
tried to hand the sheet to the man.

"Never mind, what does it say?"

"Sir. The spark is coming willingly. The women don't seem to know
anything is out of the ordinary and the household hasn't been
disrupted yet. Jones says he's leaving the women alone for now."

"Very good. Let me know after attitude modification."

"Yes sir."

The messenger left, making a sharp turn, clicking his heels as he
marched.

====

They were escorted by two other cars. The drive was pleasant but long.
Bob thought they were either waiting for him to try something, or
trying to conceal the route they took from him.

While they rode, Jones told him about the Institute.

The Institute was over sixty years old now. The original founders had
been measuring brain activity secretly on an Army grant. Some rich
philantropist donated enough money to see they kept operating when the
congress cut them off.

The Institute had grown over the years. They had their fingers in a
lot of pies. Several investments had paid off, and now they were an
entirely independent operation.

Originally they were trying to ferret out spies with the mind scanner
they developed. They'd figured out how to scan, and what to do to
block scanning. But they couldn't seem to get a good handle on
implanting changes.

Kim had been an experiment, according to Jones. He claimed she was
socially disfunctional, so they had to try something. Bob figured
there was a lot more history they weren't telling.

Bob bided his time.

====

The man watched from the dark recesses of the room. The women couldn't
possibly know he was there. He liked having some control over what
the performance would be.

If he wanted, with their current programming, he could feel them up,
and they'd never know he'd done it. His smile was a wee bit wicked at
the thought. It was difficult, probably the most expensive process
for the Institute. But he insisted it be done.

These two women had never met before. They were due to wake up soon.

The one with the fiery red hair had a nasty tempter and a mean streak.
At least around men. This was Heather.

Heather wore sweats. She almost looked ready to go jogging. Her sneakers
were the finest available. The sweats didn't reveal much. Her height
was 5'7" and he knew her to be 36-24-34 in build. Couldn't tell the
measurements from here though. Her face was pale, with the carrot red
lips some redheads end up with. Her eyelashes were turning white and
accented the angry green eyes she wielded like weapons.

He knew from her records, she had been collecting female slaves when
she'd been caught. A regular bevy of Amazons mostly, but with a few
very feminine, delicate looking women too. He found in the psych
report she couldn't go long without sex. They'd kept her a week
without it, he knew this too.

The other woman was brunette. Her lips a dark red, the eyebrows
accenting downward towards her nose, which was long and narrow to just
above her lips. Her hair curled in spirals to the shoulders which were
rounded down her arms. This one also wore sweats, but they couldn't
conceal her larger bust. The nipples showed through from the strain
against the fabric.  She was 5' even, so the redhead towered over
her. She still seemed as if half her height was legs.

This one, named Jean, was picked up in a shopping spree. Amazing how
little she'd actually spent acquiring all the goodies she'd garnered.
'Born to Shop' was emblazoned on a bumper sticker of the car she'd
been driving. It was a sporty red model, no license plate. They'd
known where to look for her from the series of police reports on the
car which were canceled moments later by the officers making the
reports. It was suspicious when the 6th or 7th report came over the
radio.

Her psych report indicated she was uninterested in sex. Well, not
totally, but she'd been much more interested in collecting things from
the stores. She hadn't a boyfriend in over 2 years. And she had no
interest in women at all.

They had been let into the room and allowed to meet each other. The
observer was curious what would happen. There hadn't yet been any
experiments with two telepaths likely to be confrontational.
She looked around, finding herself on the bed. Another restraint
they programmed was an inability to get off the bed. She struggled
clumsily to get her feet, but the best she could do was stand up on
the bed.

She saw the sleeping red head. Jean shook the red head awake.

There was a moment of confusion.

====

They pulled up to an isolated mansion. The gabled windows above
towered over a carefully manicured yard, the yard as large as a
couple football fields. Bob saw two functional fountains.

The building rose four stories and was covered with clinging vines.
There were bushes all around. In isolated clumps around the
building, there were men and women being escorted by nurses.

The sign over the door read _Biltmor Rehabilitation Institute_.

"Isn't the real name, you know, but it looks better when the state
investigates us. They have a bad habit of doing stuff like that."

Jones led him through the large oak double doors. They went through a
large ornate entry hall, and down a long length of corridor to the
left.

Bob imagined the eyes on all the portraits in hall were following
them. Too many old movies and mystery novels.

====

Peters was considered a little odd by the standards of the other
techs.

He remembered vividly the day he attacked the tart with the huge
hooters. He'd really enjoyed the experience. Everyone told him it was
her fault. But beating her wildly while screwing her was the best sex
he could remember having.

Now, whenever possible, he would slip into one of the observation
rooms when one of the sparks was permitted their women. Today he
entered a dark room, well mostly dark. There was one lit wall. It was
a window wall, all glass.

On the other side of the glass was a comfortable looking room, King
size bed, dresser, arm chairs, a wall of books with a TV in the
middle. A phone was on the wall next to the door in the lit room.

In one of the chairs was a young man, age indeterminant, Peters
guessed 26 or 27. He was reading a book, Bob couldn't see what the
book was.

He looked over the empty plush seating in the room. Looking over the
log sheets he saw the patient, a spark, in the next room was actually
19. Psychiatric appraisal was this one would soon flip out, the well
known Diety complex everyone talked about.

They'd caught him a month before in a strip joint. He was
systematically beating the talent show girls. And they were showing
all the signs of really liking it. One or two, they wouldn't have
suspected he was a spark. Six he'd only just met was too much.

"Send one of them in." he spoke into the intercom. Then he took his
seat, front row, center.

"Yessir!" a static voice shouted back at him.

He flipped another switch. Every sound in the other room became
audible. The other side of the glass wall was mirror. The sparks knew
they were being watched, but the one way mirror arrangement let them
pretend they had privacy.

The page flip in the other room was very clear to Peters's ears, then
came the sound of a bolt being withdrawn.

The door inside the lit room opened. A radiant blonde, bright gold
hair, stepped into the room. The door latched and bolt slammed behind
her.

"Hello Gabriella." Jimmy said.

The girl had to be in her early 30s. She was lovely to behold. The
blonde hair was only part of it. She was slender, wearing a sleeveless
white cotton dress doing nothing to conceal the soft plush tits
she thrust before her, now that she saw her master.

Her legs were generous in length, giving the illusion she was half
legs. Four inch high heels helped in this impression. Her naked
arms were smooth looking, clear skin. Her fingernails tipped her
fingers in a soft red.

Peters could make out her eyes. They were blue, but somehow lacked a
person behind them. She was mechanical in her motions, silky perhaps,
but he could make out a slight jerkiness to her movements. She had
high cheeks, a slender chiseled nose, and her lips were thin, but
moist, as if begging for kisses.

Peters looked at Jones, who appeared to be doing an inventory of his
pockets.  He looked back to watch the two in captivity.

"Oh Jimmy, I've longed for you!" Gabriella sybe you're forgetting
something."

"My Lord!, oh I'm sorry My Lord, please forgive me." The girl's cheeks
were becoming damp.

"Well, just for that you better strip down for me."

"OH! thank you, thank you."

She reached both arms around back to pull down the zipper of her
dress. This made her boobs jut farther forward. Peters could make out
her nipples.

The gauges above the wall swung, shifting very fast. Peters knew the
spark was reinforcing his control over her. The telepathy suppression
fields would protect Peters though.

Jimmy immediately stood, reached out and pinched her nipples a bit
violently. She gasped loudly but kept her hands reaching to the
fastenings in the back.

Peters was frustrated by the wall between them. He would like to savor
giving the pain/pleasure she felt.  Take and enjoy her.  Peters's cock had
gotten hard. He pulled out a rag he'd brought and began to use it to
masturbate.

Her dressed was shrugged off of her shoulders, and only Jimmy's
abusing fingers held it against her bust now. She was struggling to
remain standing, enraptured by the touch, filled with delight.

Jimmy let the dress fall.

She wore no underwear at all. Her tits were tanned, from weeks of
sitting in the sun or under a sun lamp, no lines at all from a bathing
suit or bra.

The nipples stood out hard and pink from Jimmy's use. They were large
nipples, smaller but shaped not unlike nipples on an old style baby
bottle. Swollen, and raw from use, she was clearly thrilled at the
activity.

She stepped her feet over the dress and resumed a pose. Her ankles
turned just so, a series of pleasant little curves. Peters loved
their appearance.

Jimmy walked around her, tracing lines on her skin. He would stop and
hit her with his open palm on her bottom, stomach, tits, or legs from
time to time. As he went, the blows became harder, the sounds of the
slaps much louder.

Her tongue snaked out, possibly from joy, each time the stinging
smack resounded in the room. Red hand prints covered the visible
parts of her anatomy Jimmy had gotten to. Her panting was deeper with
each stroke she received.

"Good cunt." he said.

She beamed as the praise was understood. He sat her down at the edge
of the bed and took off his clothes. Her head drooped to her chest.

Gabriella was highly aroused, it was hard to miss it. The stinging
pain titilated her, bringing desire from her inner self. She was
trying to snaked her torso back and forth to grind her hips. She
rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder with her chin on her collar
bone. The moaning was only just audible.

Jimmy grabbed a fistfull of her hair. He pulled her head up and
forward into his crotch. The ripe red lips opened quickly and
engulfed his now rigid prick. She allowed him to control his rape of
her face, pulling and pushing her head with the handful of hair.

Peters could hear Jimmy's grunting as he forced himself further down
the girl's throat. A catch in the man's breath, a gasp, a wheeze
perhaps, and he pulled out, spraying the white fluid onto her face.

She gasped for breath. Choking and coughing her recovery. Dripping
liquid, at the tip of her nose.

She began to play with herself.  Jimmy was now completely unconcerned
about what she did. She lifted her legs up to place her ankles by her
head. Reaching a hand under and around one leg she supported her
back.  She played with her cunt with the other hand. Her arms and
shoulders were inside her knees.

She seemed to think it important she see exactly what she touched.
She was partly doubled up, shoving her fingers between the swollen
lips of her slit. Far more impressive than Jimmy's orgasm was the way
her muscles strained to bring about heightened response. Her face
contorted through a series of expressions, each an erotic step above
the previous one.

Peters was intent on her face now. Tears came from the corners of her
eyes, and one hot steamy 'yes' was followed by another. She was tight
with muscular exertion, and sweat was making her entire body glisten.

As she got closer to orgasm, she could no longer watch her fingers up
and smirked. He'd recovered from his treat, and was watching her with
greedy anticipation. As if he knew she was trapped at the edge of her
release.

"You wanna come cunt?"

"Oh Lord, I pray you let me come soon, I need it so badly. I've not
come in two days now, and you know my needs. God please, oh please
may I come?"

She continued to frantically masturbate. Her frenzied efforts were
putting her well into the ecstasy she sought. It was the final jolt
she seemed shy of.

"You may come now cunt." Jimmy almost blessed her. Peters could
imagine Jimmy making a cross motion to do so.

She leaned her head forward towards her slit again, as to watch. Then
suddenly she straightened out completely, screaming at the top of her
lungs.

Peters could hear it through the glass. The speaker, perhaps the
microphones couldn't quite take it, had cut out until she finished.
They cut out several times over the next five minutes.

He came in the rag he was using.

Jimmy seemed pleased, starting to play with her nipples again,
squeezing them in his fists. She had an exhausted aftershock, face
wrenched into another expression of ecstasy.

Peters turned off the monitor. He marked the observation sheet up with
no real new remarks. He glanced at the couple in the other room as he
left.

Jimmy was making the girl bow to the mirror, to Peters.

contiuned in part 13