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From: "Knave of Hearts" <knave_of_hearts@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Robbing The Bunker <*> (MF+ mc, ScFi)
Date: Sat, 24 Feb 2001 22:10:03 -0500
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 Robbing the Bunker
(c) 1998, Knave of Hearts
 See more of my work at:
   http:www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Knave_of_Hearts/www/index.htm

* The Mind Control Device
* 
You can live through the same thing, day in and day out, and 
never know you're in a rut.  Never, until the one day the Fates 
reach out and offer you the chance to do something different.  
That's the brass ring folks.  And it only comes around once.  Let 
me tell you about how those three lovely ladies changed my life.

* A.  Introduction
* 
My name is Jack Lostridge and for years I lived in the quiet 
little Appalachian town of Mountain View.  I spent my whole life 
there - born in the little hospital, went to school here, got a 
job there.  The same with all of my friends.  Most folks accepted 
this as the "way it should be." I was ready for a change.  One 
day I got my wish.

I worked at a quiet little place called Victory Station.  Once 
you drove through the gates and got past the armed guards, it was 
actually kind of pretty, in a Cold War-concrete kind of way.  If 
you've ever seen pictures of the Maginot Line, that's what 
Victory Station looked like.  Beautiful green scenery dotted with 
dark brown concrete tumors.

You see, Mountain View was tucked away in the beautiful green 
hills of Virginia, isolated from the rest of the world by winding 
roads and the fact that nothing ever happened there.  The only 
reason the town existed at all was the once secret complex of 
bunkers the government had built and inhabited from WW II through 
the Cold War.  During the Cold War, everyone had known that 
something was going on "round Victory Station."  Anyone foolish 
enough to ask too many questions got visited by men in suits.  
Government agents, just like in the movies.  The smart ones got 
quiet, the others weren't seen again.  Rumors flew about people 
reading the mail and listening to telephones, but the Mountain 
View folks were patriotic Americans and they believed that this 
was their part in the war against Communism.  They endured what 
inconveniences there were as badges of honor.  

The government sold the bunkers to a private salvage firm a few 
years ago.  The only problem was that certain records and 
blueprints were missing, meaning that before salvage crews could 
dismantle and retrieve equipment, "scouts" had to explore the 
dark passages and map out the extensive complex.  That's where I 
came in.

After graduating from the local college, I didn't know what I 
wanted to do.  So I did the same thing everyone else did and got 
a job at Victory Station.  The idea that I got paid to crawl 
around a super-secret government bunker complex finding the lost 
treasures of some mad scientist was exciting at first.  I made-
believe that I was Indiana Jones.  The money wasn't bad either.  
But after awhile, it got to be like any other unskilled job - 
menial and routine.  

To make matters worse, I worked with complete morons.  One week 
last fall, Sam "Kiss Ass" Parker reported me to the boss for 
smoking inside the bunker.  Ordinarily this would have gotten me 
a slap on the wrist, but Sam made sure our boss George heard 
about my "safety violation" in front of a crowd.  I got chewed 
out and put on "scout" detail.  

Scout detail was where people got sent down into the bunker ahead 
of the salvage teams to map the lower levels and find areas that 
might yield high value items.  Any excuse to not see Sam's face 
might have been viewed as a reward but scout detail was the 
company's way to get rid of troublemakers.  Scouts worked in the 
dark, climbing down questionable stairs, exploring what might be 
booby-trapped rooms.  All for less pay.  What a deal.

So after Sam shafted me, I got assigned to scout out area K322 in 
bunker 7.  I punched my time card, picked up my gear at the admin 
area, and hopped on the shuttle bus.  I parked my 60 pound 
backpack next to me and sat back to enjoy the ride.  Scouts 
carried everything with them: oxygen, acetylene, explosives and 
more.  Everything you needed to open doors and cut through locks 
in the depths of deep, cold, concrete hole. 

As we rode up the road I saw the entire complex.  There were 
twelve bunkers in all at Victory Station, spread out along the 
narrow valley.  Some were built back into the hills, like 
reinforced concrete caves.  Others were low green mounds that 
looked like perfectly symmetrical hills.  Tunnels interconnected 
them all, making the entire complex a gigantic rabbit warren.

Number seven was one of the big caves, so I entered through the 
airlock and signed in.  The guards didn't even look at you on the 
way in, they were more interested in people trying to smuggle 
things out.  I couldn't imagine what you'd want to steal from 
this place.  Most of what we salvaged was wire or pipe and the 
company only got a few dollars on the ton, so petty theft was 
unlikely.

* B.  Into the Secret Lab
* 
The freight elevator took me past the levels we'd already mapped.  
I walked down a few flights of stairs, my footsteps clanging in 
the dark.  The bunkers were mapped on a big 3-D grid, so if you 
can imagine looking at a floor plan of a huge skyscraper, area 
K322 was in square K3 on the 22nd floor.  The only difference 
between bunker seven and a skyscraper was that the whole thing 
was underground and the first floor was the one closest to the 
surface.

Someone else had started this level so I didn't have to worry 
when I opened the stairwell door.  I strapped on my breathing 
mask and lit my miner's hat.  Stepping off the stairs, I turned 
on my tape recorder and started looking in rooms.  It was a great 
job if you liked talking to yourself.  You'd announce the room 
your facing, carefully open the door, and then walk around the 
room describing its contents.  Some areas were industrial spaces, 
some were offices, and others were residential areas.  If there 
was anything like a generator or some other high-value salvage 
item, you would mark it in your notebook and move on. What wasn't 
marked for salvage was wrecked and sold for scrap.  Even the 
stairs and floors were scrapped, leaving only an emergency exit 
from the bowels of the bunker.

K322 looked like a routine office area from the first few rooms I 
looked in.  One of the steel doors was locked, not an unusual 
event, so I pulled my "Master key" from my belt and let myself 
in.  The "key" was a small acetylene torch I used to cut the 
hinges off the steel doors. Once the hinges were cut, I flattened 
myself against the wall and let the door fall.  No explosions, 
for what I was being paid, I'm no hero.  

Behind the door was an office area.  I made a quick sweep and 
then started a thorough search of the area.  Inside were a small 
reception office, a file room, and an open area that had lots of 
electrical equipment. It was obviously a research lab.  Others 
had been found in the bunker complex, but this one looked as if 
it had not been evacuated and cleaned out as the others had.  
Books were still on shelves and desks looked like their occupants 
would return from a coffee break at any moment.  The only eerie 
thing was that everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust.

* C.  Salvaging the Files of Dr. Brantwell
* 
Searching this place was like walking through someone else's 
house.  Everything was in the same place someone left it years 
ago.  I started in the front office.  It looked like your basic 
reception area.  The pictures on the receptionist's desk showed a 
pretty blonde dressed in 1960's style.  Her date book sat open to 
September 13, 1968.  I also checked out the other offices.  They 
were small with the gray metal furniture.  What I noticed was 
that, aside from a small number of reference texts, none of the 
desks had notebooks, not even pads to take phone messages on.  
Most of the desks didn't even have drawers.  

Crossing the hall, I found the file room.  It was packed from 
floor to ceiling with gray file cabinets and wooden shelves.  Row 
upon row of notebooks and boxes.  Everything had a file and 
project number on it.  Nice and neat.  Whoever had taken care of 
this place had been anal to the max.  I crossed the reception 
area again and moved on to the next room.  

Beyond the secretary's desk was a large office. This office suite 
had nicer, wooden furniture.  I had entered "suit territory."  
Everything inside spoke of Old World taste and elegance.  I sat 
in the large leather chair behind the huge wood desk.  The 
desktop looked neat, even with thirty years of dust on it. I 
reached down to the desk's file drawer and I met with the first 
surprise.  It was locked.  Now what kind of person keeps stuff in 
a locked drawer when his office is 14 stories underground behind 
several steel doors?  So, like an inquisitive kid who had just 
found a locked drawer in his parent's room, I jimmied the lock 
and looked inside.  

A collection of bound books sat inside the drawer.  The books had 
dates that ranged from the thirties to the sixties.  I took the 
oldest one, dated 1935, and went back to the stairwell for lunch.  
Sitting on the metal stairs was uncomfortable, but it beat eating 
dust.  I quickly taped a plastic sheet over the door to stop any 
drafts and then took my break.  

Reading the book while I ate, I felt like I was intruding on 
another world.  The book was the diary of a Dr. Louis Brantwell, 
a research scientist from Europe.  Skipping through entries, I 
found where he started the diary on the ship while coming over to 
America.  Originally from Dublin, he'd spent his student years in 
England.  From the way he wrote, it seemed that his true love was 
pure, scientific research.  The process of discovery was what 
made him happy.  He studied a lot about the human mind, wondering 
how much more he could do if not for the obstacles of bureaucracy 
and funding.  On the ship, he was elated.  His new job with the 
Miskatonic University Department of Physics would allow him to do 
his own projects as leader of a research team.  

I look through the diary for a while and then glanced at my 
watch.  I'd been reading for almost three hours.  No wonder my 
butt was asleep!  Brantwell's diary was so interesting I wanted 
to read some more, so I tucked it into one of the inside pockets 
of my big fireman's coat.  Going back to the office, I tried to 
think of a way to get the other books out without getting caught.  
My backpack seemed too obvious, but was the only thing big enough 
for the four other books.  If I had gotten caught, I would have 
lost my job.  But then again, it wasn't much of a job to lose and 
this Brantwell guy was the most interesting thing to come down 
the pipe in a long time.  As was usual for a Friday afternoon, 
the guard barely glanced at me as I signed out and lined up for 
the bus.

I spent the evening reading through Brantwell's diary.  The first 
book covered Brantwell's time at Miskatonic through the end of 
World War II, a period of about sixteen years.  During that time, 
his research had taken him into the area of metaphysics.  He'd 
done his dissertation work on "The Electromagnetic Waves 
Generated by Human Brain Activity" but had branched out into time 
travel, weapons, and levitation belts while at Miskatonic.  He 
seemed to have the imagination of Jules Verne, the invention of 
Nikolas Tesla, and the occult knowledge of Alistair Crowley.  
Reading the diaries on his couch, I concluded that Brantwell was 
a smart man, but not one that you would want to invite to a 
party.

After the War started, the government had approached Brantwell to 
continue his work.  At first, he was elated, writing about how 
much work he could do now that he didn't have to teach or fight 
the Board of Deans for research funds.  His tone changed over 
time, becoming angry with the bureaucrats that he had to report 
to.  The Doctor didn't want to waste time implementing his 
discoveries as real world inventions.  His love was pure science, 
not the "grubby work of engineers."  Once he'd discovered what 
he'd set out to find, he wanted to move on.

His big project at the time was something called a Mind Control 
Device.  An expansion of Dr. Brantwell's dissertation work, this 
project attempted to allow thoughts to be projected into people's 
minds.  It was highly successful and the team was soon 
experimenting with human subjects.  As a result of his new work, 
he had started to collect a group of followers.  Some had joined 
him at the University, others when he worked at Victory Station.  
This "inner circle" as he called it led the individual projects 
within his lab.  The names of Peter Lorimar, Michael Kent, and 
Sylvester Lavagre cropped up in the diaries over and over.  These 
were his lead researchers on the Device and Dr. Brantwell wrote 
about their work like a proud father or mentor.  

The diaries wrote in philosophic terms about the wonders and 
depths of the human mind, but also of the greedy demands the 
bureaucrats made on him.  Rather than let him move into another 
project, they wanted him to create a device that would allow 
their agents to read other people's minds.  Grudgingly the 
researchers complied but they became more furtive, annoyed at the 
requirements placed upon them.

I read the diaries all weekend, making notes on the files and 
folders Brantwell referenced.  He seemed to be a cagey customer, 
writing about how his lab staff often planted "red herrings" in 
the lab reports to confuse and mislead his bosses. Guided by the 
diaries, I noted only material on the experiments that worked.  
The only thing I couldn't find in the diaries was who Brantwell 
worked for or reported to.

* D.  Experimenting with the Mind Control Device
* 
Monday morning I was ready for work.  I went through the usual 
routine and returned to bunker 7.  I made a sweep through the lab 
area, working my way down the corridor past the conference room 
and into the supply area.  After a few hours of searching to 
satisfy my taskmasters, I returned to the file room.  Using the 
list I had prepared, I selected several files on the Mind Control 
Device.  Brantwell had been careful to mix real information in 
with false leads, so it took me a while to assemble the notes and 
schematics of the Device.  

The diaries indicated that this was one of Brantwell's most 
successful inventions, he'd even made a few prototypes.  I 
figured if I wanted proof that Brantwell was more than a 
crackpot, this would be the device to try.  The latest MC 
prototype was missing, so I took the next most advanced one.  It 
was a head-mounted gizmo that looked like a wide headband studded 
with metal pads.  A wire cord connected the headband to a metal 
box the size of a lunch box.  I unhooked the two pieces, putting 
the headband in my helmet and the box in my toolbox.  I hid the 
folder in a bag I'd suspended between my shoulder blades.  Lying 
under my backpack, no one would see it there.  I got back to the 
admin building easily enough, carefully transferring everything 
I've taken from the bunker into my gym bag.  Just like last time, 
I made it home without any problems. 

Sitting in my apartment, I tried to figure out how I was going to 
test Brantwell's Mind Control Device.  I poured myself a drink 
and took another look at the diaries.  The entries about the 
device were filled with psycho-babble and occult mumbo-jumbo.  
Brantwell described a person's brain like a house.  The parts 
with the basic functions, like respiration and circulation, were 
the basement.  Areas that control common functions were analogous 
to the living room or dining room.  Personal things like memories 
were kept in the upstairs rooms.  

All I had to do was strap on the device and it projected my 
thoughts into a subject's mind, just as if I was a visitor in 
their house.  A burglar might be a more fitting description.  
Brantwell wrote that he had the most success entering other 
people's minds through the "basement" of their minds, working his 
way up the stairs and into their higher level thoughts.  Once 
upstairs with the higher order brain functions, he would amplify 
the ones that suited him while dampening the others.  Avatars 
symbolized a person's inhibitions, urges, and desires.   They 
were representations of basic human emotions and could be 
manipulated to produce a desired effect.  It all sounded very 
sinister.

I strapped the headband on and connected it to the metal box.  
The lab notes said that the box was the transmitter/receiver, the 
part that sent my brain waves and received the subject's so I 
could monitor them.  The notes also said that the device worked 
best when it was pointed at the subject with no obstructions.  

Great, I thought, all I have to do is invite someone in off the 
street and get them to stand still long enough for me to read 
their mind.  I took a long pull from my glass.

I needed to see how the Device works before declaring this a 
success.  Looking out the window I saw Annette, one of the girls 
that lived above the garage, talking with a guy in her apartment.  
I figured that was as good a test as any so I aimed the box at 
her through the window and ducked out of sight.  Concentrating, I 
could hear what she was telling the guy.  I narrowed my eyes and 
concentrated some more, actually seeing the door to her mind.

Entering her mind, I imagined the staircase Brantwell wrote 
about.  I worked my way to the "living room" and could see what 
she saw.  I toured her mind, finding her thoughts and habits, 
likes and dislikes.  Drifting upstairs, I found her memories, 
urges, and inhibitions.  It was kind of scary, being able to look 
into a person's mind this way.  

I'd only seen Annette a handful of times, mostly to say hello to 
in the parking lot, but after just a few seconds, I could tell 
you about the boy she lost her virginity to and the way she that 
liked her pizza.  Just like the upstairs of a house, Annette's 
mind had a hallway of doors.  Doors were supposed to be 
inhibitions, suppressed urges, and hidden desires.  I opened one 
and peered in.  A small girl lay curled in bed, clutching a 
stuffed lion under one arm, sound asleep.  Another door hid a 
dark empty room.  The next one I came to was cracked open.  An 
image of Annette, bare naked with a blazing look of lust in her 
eyes, lay on a bed inside the room.  I pushed this door open and 
let her sex goddess avatar loose.  The translucent image of 
Annette walked down the hall toward the stairs.

Normally she was sexy and playful in a coquettish sort of way, 
now Annette was horny.  She looked at the guy wondering how to 
get him to make a move on her.  His name was Jerry and she's 
hoped he was as good in bed as her friend Kaitlyn had told her.  
Unfortunately, Jerry just kept talking about his new motorcycle. 

It was as if I was sitting in her living room watching TV.  Her 
mind was some kind of movie, playing itself out in front of me.  
All that was missing was a soundtrack.  I watched her impatience 
with her date grow, she wanted sex but still wasn't to the point 
of throwing herself on him.  After a few more moments, I watched 
her give up on Jerry and make her move.  

Taking a drink from her wineglass, Annette coyly spread her legs 
to give Jerry a good view of her panties.  She could tell she'd 
been successful in capturing his attention when he stumbled over 
a sentence.  Her avatar seemed to grow; its light burning 
brighter.  On the couch, she scooted closer to him, hooking her 
leg over his.

"Go ahead Jerry.  Take a good look," she purred into his ear.

Jerry slid his hand up her thigh.  His fingers brushed against 
the skin at the top of her stockings.  She leaned over and kissed 
him deeply.  He put his glass on the table behind the sofa and 
pushed her dress straps from her shoulders.  Her bare nipples 
were erect and throbbing.  He leaned forward to suck them.  
Holding his head to her breast, Annette placed her other hand in 
his lap.  From the size of the bulge Kaitlyn hadn't been 
exaggerating about the size of his tool.  Sliding off his lap, 
Annette unzipped his pants and freed his throbbing cock.  She 
licked the sensitive underside of his cock, running her tongue 
around the bottom of its ridged head.

It was the best skin flick I'd ever seen.  I'd never seen a movie 
made from the girl's point of view and now I was watching one 
from the front row.  It was as if a projection of myself was 
sitting in her living room watching and feeling the action.  Not 
only could I see Annette giving Jerry a blowjob, I could see how 
it affected her.  She was getting really hot, digging the feel of 
her tongue sliding around his big rod.  When she ran her mouth 
down its length, I could tell it was the feel of the soft 
sensitive skin over the throbbing muscle that made her wet with 
anticipation.  I was being bombarded by unusual sensations: the 
smell of a Jerry's crotch, the wet feeling of Annette's pussy, 
and her building anticipation of feeling him inside her.

Annette's experience told her that he was close to coming.  I 
could tell that having him come in her mouth wasn't a problem but 
she didn't want him to come too soon and leave her without what 
she really wanted, his cock splitting her pussy.  Jerry pushed 
her back on to the sofa, stripping off her panties and diving on 
her wet snatch.  Whatever his assets in the dick department, 
Annette didn't think too much of his pussy liking talent.  She 
left him down there long enough to let him get a good taste of 
her before pulling him up onto the sofa.

"Now fuck me."  I could tell she was done with the preliminaries.

I watched as he put his thick, stiff cock against her hole.  She 
tilted her hips to give him a better angle, gasping with delight 
as his bulbous head entered her.  Slowly, he worked himself into 
her buttery soft love-tunnel by taking short, light strokes.  
After a few moments, Jerry had buried his prick inside her.  He 
stopped for a moment to enjoy the feeling.  Annette's hips moved, 
urging him to generate the friction she so desired.

"So deep. . . More. . . Faster."  Her hands grasped his hips, 
tugging at him to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

He plunged his cock into her, driving it all the way in before 
reversing his course.  At the apex of each stroke, he felt his 
shaven balls slap against her tight ass.  Annette's small firm 
tits shook with each thrust as he fucked her slow and hard.  He 
could feel his balls swell with his on-rushing orgasm.  Annette 
wanted more, she rolled over on to her hands and knees, her ass 
sticking into the air.  

"Now fuck me hard.  I want your come inside of me."  He didn't 
say a word as he positioned himself behind her.  

 From my vantage point, I could tell that Annette wanted to come 
and to get there she wanted his cock hard and fast.  Jerry had 
been teasing her and, even though she'd enjoyed the feeling of 
his cock slowly gliding in and out of her tight, wet pussy, she 
was ready to feel him slam his meat into her.  

Jerry's cock slid into her in a single stroke.  Annette placed 
one hand on her mound, massaging her clit as Jerry started a 
strong, steady pace.  I could tell that this was what Annette had 
been wanting all evening.  His hands pulled her hips back to meet 
his thrusts.  The impact of their bodies made a wet slapping 
sound.  Her pussy fluttered as her orgasm built, clamping and 
releasing his cock from its silky vise.  She could feel him start 
to tense up and waited for the warm rush of his come.  Instead, 
he pulled out of her hot, twat and rolled her over.  Her hand 
moved in a blur over her clit.  As she opened her mouth to 
complain, the first shots of jism erupted from his cock.  The 
sight of him jerking off over her sent Annette over the edge.  
Her thighs clamped down on her hand as the waves of pleasure 
overtook her.  

Sitting in her mind, I felt as if I'd been pulled under a warm, 
tropical wave.

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the sofa talking.  I 
switched off the device and went into the bathroom to cleanup.  
Caught up in Annette's feelings, I'd come all over myself without 
even realizing it.  The device definitely worked.  Now all I had 
to do was figure out how to use it first hand rather than as a 
voyeur.

Now that I knew the device worked, I needed to test drive it.  I 
worked the next few days in a preoccupied daze trying to come up 
with a plan for using the MC Device. I mounted the device's 
headband inside an old baseball cap, sewing the band so that the 
metal pads made firm contact with my scalp and went looking for 
the target of opportunity that would offer me the chance to test 
the device.   

I had gone all week with the MC Device in my hat, feeling 
frustrated that I couldn't proceed with the test.  Every time I 
saw a woman I was interested in, the situation didn't allow me to 
concentrate or there were too many people around or something 
else happened.  

I had decided that if I couldn't find anything that day, I would 
try a hooker.  I left work with my cap on and the transmitter in 
my gym bag.  I walked out of the admin area about to go cruising 
the local strip looking for the first thing that caught my eye, 
when inspiration came in a blinding flash.  The boss' secretary, 
Francine, was walking up the steps into the building carrying 
some files.  Everyone had always admired her red hair, blue eyes, 
and fantastic body.  I stopped and watched her legs work under 
her tight white miniskirt under the pretense of lighting a 
cigarette.  As luck would have it she struggled with the door, 
dropping some of the files in the process.  I jumped forward to 
give her a hand.

Picking up the files together, we looked into each other's eyes.  
The clarity of her deep violet eyes shocked me.  She smiled and 
thanked me as I helped her get through the door and pile the 
files on her desk.  We started to chat, small talk about the 
weather and movies we'd seen on TV.  Casually, I sat down on the 
waiting room couch and worked to keep the conversation flowing.  
She walked around the office, locking up, and turning off lights.

She was putting things away in the safe, her back turned to me 
offering me a fantastic view of her tight ass, when I snuck my 
arm into my gym bag. I rested my arm on top of my bag, letting 
the cord pass unseen down my sleeve to the transmitter. Quickly, 
I connected the device's cord to the transmitter and concentrated 
on my unsuspecting target. Francine was focused on the safe's 
combination and I made a swift, smooth entry into her mind.  

I moved through her "ground floor" noting details about her.  
Entering the sensory areas of her brain, I noticed that she 
stared at me oddly, wondering why I don't respond to her 
question.  I was so deeply connected to my projection I inserted 
my response directly into her mind.  

She was puzzled.  It seemed to her that she knew my answer 
without hearing my response.  I started to panic.  I could feel a 
force coalescing around me, keeping me from seeing things in her 
mind cleanly.  I closed my eyes, willing my projection to push 
its way through the cloying resistance.  

I struggled up the stairs of her mind, finally finding myself 
with her psyche.  I opened the first door I came to, stepping 
inside and looking around.  An image of Francine in a warm 
kitchen filled with talkative people filled the room.  I guessed 
that this was her sense of family.  In the next room an image of 
her lay naked on a forest floor, her chest heaving with racking 
sobs.  A network of scratches and bruises criss-crossed her 
shuddering flanks.  She huddled against a fallen tree, pitifully 
trying to escape the freezing wind that whistled through the 
barren, wintry scene.  I suddenly knew why she had invited me, a 
passing acquaintance, in to be with her as she locked up.  She 
was afraid of being lonely.  Not just alone, you understand, I 
mean forlorn, in utter endless solitude.  

Dispirited, I closed the door and checked the latch.  I crossed 
the hall and approached the next door apprehensively.  I opened 
the door slowly, unsure of what I might find inside.  Unlike 
Annette's nympho-avatar, brazenly pursuing physical sex, 
Francine's sexual avatar was more reserved.  

She wanted sex but she also wanted the seduction, the romance 
that she felt was an essential complement to the physical act.  
Her avatar was dressed in a sensuous, tantalizing, nightgown.  
The boudoir setting reminded me of Marlene Dietrich in a vamp 
seduction scene.  I took the avatar by its hand and led it 
downstairs.  I invited her to seduce me, stimulating her natural 
sexual drive and suppressing her natural cautions and 
inhibitions. 

A flush crept up her neck.  I saw her hesitate, her hand 
trembling as she played with the neckline of her jacket.  The 
radio played a dance tune.  Seeing an opportunity, I took control 
of her mind.

"Dance for me." I told the vamp in front of me.

A faraway look entered her eyes.  Her body swayed to the radio's 
music.  Placing her hands behind her head, she danced in a tight 
circle, turning around to show me her lithesome form.  Her tight 
jacket stretched tight across her breasts, its white fabric 
emphasizing the flush that had crept up her neck and her auburn 
hair.  She unbuttoned the jacket slowly, a button for each chorus 
of the song.

She traced the outline of her blue bra with her fingertips.  A 
shrug of her shoulders dropped the jacket on to the floor.  
Slipping her index finger under the lacy fabric, she rubbed her 
nipple lightly.  Thoroughly aroused, Francine posed in her bra 
and skirt.

There was no question what she had in mind.  I had pushed her to 
this point with unspoken promises of carnal satisfaction and 
erotic bliss.  It was time to get down to business.

Modeling her body, she flashed me glimpses of her thigh before 
turning around and showing off her shapely ass.  Slowly she 
unzipped her skirt and gave me tantalizing glances of the cleft 
of her cheeks.  Francine shimmied out of her skirt and danced for 
me in her thong bikini and bra.  Her avatar reflected her growing 
excitement, slowly shedding it peignoir and reclining on the sofa 
in her mind's living room. 

Just as she started to reach for her bra snap, she hesitated.  A 
flash of caution had burst from a corner of her mind.  You don't 
know him, you're in a public place it screamed, urging her to 
revert to her normal sensible self.  Reacting quickly, I enflamed 
her vanity and suppressed her caution to get her to continue.  
Her desire won over her discretion.  I sensed that there would be 
no further interruptions.  She unsnapped her bra, massaging her 
breasts, and presented them to me.  The paleness of her skin 
highlighted the flush of excitement that still spread across her 
slender neck.  

I wasn't in control anymore.  I didn't need to be.  She was 
willingly doing everything I wanted her to do.  I withdrew my 
mind from hers and let nature take its course.  She felt the 
desire to show herself to me.  She played with the waistband of 
her bikini, playing peek-a-boo with the wisps of pubic hair at 
the top of her mound.  Turning and moving her hips in a slow, 
languid spiral she shed her thong bikini.  As she came out of her 
turn, I saw her nude body for the first time.  She leaned back on 
to her desk, spreading her knees and offering her moist pussy for 
my inspection. 

Rising from my seat on the couch, I approached Francine.  Sinking 
to my knees in front of the desk, I smelled her excitement.  It 
was warm and sweet.  Reaching forward with my tongue, I tasted 
her.  She enjoyed it, leaning farther back onto the desk.  I 
teased her pussy, carefully avoiding her clit with my tongue.  My 
tongue drew circles around her hole, tickling her clit every few 
circuits to keep it stimulated.

Eager for my touch, Francine pulled my head into her crotch 
whispering "Eat me.  Eat my hot red pussy."

Catching her eagerness, I ate her pussy with more vigor, lightly 
nibbling her clit with my teeth.  Extending my tongue, I fucked 
her hot and ready twat.  She was so wet, her juices ran down my 
chin.  

Wanting to prolong this incredible moment, I decided to tease her 
a bit since I didn't want her to come too soon.  I kissed my way 
up her soft body, finally lavishing attention on her generous 
breasts.  They were perfect grapefruit sized globes, each nipple 
standing red and eager from her soft pale skin.  I lifted each 
breast to my mouth, in turn, and sucked on its erect nipple.  
Meanwhile her hips sought mine, straining to reach release. 

Deciding that it was time to satisfy her needs, I dropped my 
pants and I placed the head of my cock against her opening.  
Francine drew her knees up to her chest, inviting me to enter 
her.  Her head craned downward to watch as I pushed my cock into 
her.  The sensation was exquisite.  Savoring the feel of her wet, 
tight grip, I pushed my hips slowly towards hers.  The feeling 
was like parting thick, warm chocolate.  Her cunt's silken 
tightness grasped me and drew my cock inward.  As I reached my 
full depth inside her, we both groaned.  I felt the limits of her 
cunt and knew that I was as deep as any man could go inside her.

I started a long, measured stroke, pausing at either end of the 
cycle.  My pumping action drew her juices from the depths of her 
body, spilling down her thighs onto her ass.  She wanted more and 
told me to go faster.  Increasing my tempo, I tried to please 
her.  My hips pumping faster and faster until my body slammed 
into hers with full force.  Her eyes screwed shut in animalistic 
passion, she grunted in time with my thrusts.  Holding her knees 
against her bouncing breasts, she gave me full ccess to her 
deepest recesses.

The primal parts of my brain took over.  My body craved release 
and spurred me to thrust my cock piston-like into her love 
channel.  The force of my thrusts caused my balls to slap against 
her ass, keeping time like an obscene metronome.  The friction 
became too much for us.  I felt my cum explode from my balls, as 
if my insides were being sucked out of my cock.  We climaxed in a 
chorus of moans and wordless grunts.  

We lay on the tousled desktop for a few moments, catching our 
breath and holding each other.  A light dew of sweat covered us 
both, testimony to our exertions.  A parting kiss held us for a 
moment.  We climbed off the desk and struggled into our clothes.  
Francine went into the bathroom while I tidied up as best I could 
with a tissue.  After we had collected ourselves, I smiled at 
her.  Our bodies pressed together in a last kiss.  

"We need to go."  Her voice was almost a whisper, tinged with 
something that may have been sadness.  Nodding, I gathered by gym 
bag as she turned off the lights.  We walked together to the 
parking lot and said good night.

* E.  Modernizing the MC Device
* 
I got home that night with my head swimming from my newfound 
power.  Digging out the schematics of the Mind Control Device, I 
set about figuring them out so I could build my own.  My degree 
was in electrical engineering so I dug out my old textbooks and 
got to work.  Drunk with the knowledge that electronics 
technology had exploded in the last 30 years, I was confident 
that I could build, if not improve upon, Brantwell's design.  It 
was like doing an obscure homework problem.  

I identified the functions of each segment of the circuitry.  
Some were very basic: frequency amplifiers, filters, wave 
transformers, and bridges.  All parts of a classic transmitter 
and receiver set.  The challenges came in some of the specialized 
parts.  The input/output ports to the sender's brain were highly 
complex.  I struggled for many hours trying to translate the 
1950's era vacuum tube drawings to current integrated chip 
technology.  After several sleepless nights, I had a design that 
I was fairly confident would work.

My next step was to call up a buddy that still worked at the 
college in the Electrical Technology department.  A few cases of 
beer and I had access to all the parts I needed.  I drew my 
circuit boards long hand and then scribed them on to boards I 
bought at a local hobby shop.  After a couple of weeks of not 
sleeping, I probably looked more like a mad scientist than Dr. 
Brantwell but it was worth the effort.

My Mind Control device looked more like an ornate necklace than 
the futuristic crown that Dr. Brantwell's team had produced.  
Signals were picked up from the sender's lower cortex, amplified 
and modulated for transmission, and then transmitted to the 
subject.

After three weeks of hard work, I went back to the lab and ran my 
device on the test bench.  A few minor adjustments were necessary 
but everything performed within specifications.  All I needed now 
was another subject.  

I decided to start testing my device at the same place I tested 
the older device, I looked for a neighbor to eavesdrop on.  I 
found my target.  Annette had another guest.  They looked as if 
they had just returned from a night on the town.  He was in a 
suit.  She in a long gold sheaf dress, her hair arranged in a 
sophisticated style atop her head.  They embraced at the door.  I 
took a quick peek inside her mind, eager to see what she had 
planned for the evening.  

The Aphrodite-like image of her sexual avatar was all ready in 
control of her mind. I let the situation develop on its own, 
watching her give her date a long, deep French kiss.  Going 
"upstairs" in her mind, I looked in on her recent memories.  She 
had been more sexually aroused than normal, masturbating twice a 
day and even having some uncharacteristic one night stands.  I 
realized that by letting her sexual avatar loose without its 
normal restraints, I had left her in that state after our last 
meeting.  As I explored her memories, Annette dragged her date, a 
young law clerk named Victor, into her apartment.

Victor was more eager than Jerry had been, quickly responding to 
the sexual signals that Annette had been sending him all night.  
Annette got Victor into her living room where she allowed him to 
strip and fondle her.  Spurred on by her unfettered desire, she 
hungrily pulled his cock from his pants and got him hard.  While 
she sucked him, I set a control that urged her toward anal sex.  
She had buried that desire in the back of her mind, not pursuing 
it as much out of dislike as disinterest.  

As they traded oral pleasures, I enhanced her curiosity, 
tantalizing her with curiosity. Turning around on all fours, she 
offered him her forbidden orifice.  Victor, also under the 
influence of one of my controls, accepted the offer and slowly 
worked his long cock into her ass.  I amplified sensations of 
pleasure and damped the feelings of pain and discomfort, spurring 
them on.  They increase the pace of their fucking, I made sure 
that I played up the "forbidden pleasures" of their sodomy.  I 
made Victor felt the tightness of her ass, while at the same 
time, she relished the fullness of his cock inside her nether 
hole.  After a few moments of deep, steamy sex, he pulled his 
dick out of her ass and came on her tits.  This time, I made sure 
to reset the natural restrictions on the avatars before releasing 
my dominance over Annette and Victor.

Letting them relax in each other's arms in the afterglow of their 
coupling, I sat down to analyze what I had discovered.  I had 
been able to influence both of them to do something that they had 
not planned, or even wanted, to do.  Making notes of my own, I 
recorded my sensations and observations of other people's minds.  
So far, I had been able to observe and enhance repressed desires 
as an observer.  I needed some way of testing my device's ability 
to control others while I was involved in the scene.

The opportunity to experiment this test case came almost 
immediately.  Lucy, the good looking woman who lived downstairs 
knocked on my door and asked me to help her fix her sink.  
Already horny from orchestrating Annette and Victor, I didn't 
think twice about following her back to her apartment.  The sight 
of her long, tan legs disappearing into her miniskirt gave me all 
of the impetus I needed.  

Slipping into another human's mind came easier now that I had 
practice.  My goal was to entice Lucy, almost a perfect stranger, 
into heated passion.  By the time we got to her apartment, I 
didn't even get a chance to look at her sink.  In fact, we had 
not made it past her living room sofa before we fell into each 
other's arms, stripping our clothes off in hasty passion.  A 
heated encounter ensued; her raw animal desire left me amazed at 
what simmered beneath Lucy's calm, responsible demeanor.  There 
were moments when I wasn't sure that I was really in control as 
her lust swept me along like a raging river.  It was as if I had 
broken a dam and was in danger of being drowned in the flood.

Spent, I lay beside her as she slept.  I rolled onto my back and 
reviewed my progress.  My device worked perfectly, allowing me to 
use Lucy's suppressed desires to lead her into a steamy afternoon 
in her bed.  But the sex was only the short term benefit, more 
importantly I had discovered Lucy's hidden secrets.  I kissed her 
forehead lightly and carefully got out of bed.  I looked at her 
angelic face, framed by her long, tousled hair, and knew that I 
would be back.

I went back upstairs feeling very satisfied.  I had gotten a to 
spend a few fantastic hours having sex with a beautiful, sensual 
woman.  I had also done a thorough job investigating her mind.  
My Mind Control necklace was a single guy's dream, sex on demand 
with beautiful women without the dating hassle before or the 
emotional baggage afterward.  

The next day, I decided a further test was in order.  Remembering 
that Lucy had a repressed desire to make love to another woman, I 
decided to engineer an opportunity for her.  Watching out my 
window, I waited until her roommate Kaitlyn came home and parked 
in the driveway.  I entered her mind and looked around, noting 
where certain emotions and impulses were located.  Gently, I 
pushed her mundane thoughts of work and grocery lists into the 
background.  At the same time I let her sexual avatar out of its 
corner of her mind.  I slowly aroused her, eventually causing her 
to seduce Lucy almost as soon as she entered the apartment.  

Kaitlyn found Lucy changing in her room.  Reaching around her 
roommate from behind, Kaitlyn nuzzled her face into Lucy's neck.  
Just as I had done with Kaitlyn, I brought Lucy's suppressed 
curiosity forward, encouraging her to live out her fantasy.  A 
tender, gentle scene unfolded.  Rather than the raw, demanding 
sex I had experienced with Lucy, she was tentative, almost 
submissive with the other woman.  Watching the love scene through 
their eyes, I marveled at the differences between lesbian and 
heterosexual love.  In a slow, languid pace, the two roommates 
teased, licked, and fondled each other to climax again and again.  
After witnessing and feeling their several earth-shattering 
orgasms, I was left weak and covered in my own cum.  My 
modernized MC Device was a success. 

* F.  Suspicious Sam
* 
Back at work, Sam was one of George's snitches and my hated 
rival.  I can't remember when Sam started hating me, or even why 
we continued to dislike each other after working together for 
several years, but we did.  It was mostly petty stuff, I'd avoid 
him and he'd snitch on me.  Our boss, George knew about it and, 
as long as it didn't interfere with work, left us alone.  Now Sam 
knew that I was being punished with the scout detail to the lab 
level.  But I guess her got a suspicion that I wasn't bringing up 
a lot of inventory reports from the level I was supposed to be 
surveying.  Sam confronted me one night at quitting time, 
accusing me of being lazy and sleeping on the job.  I laughed at 
him, telling him that he should worry about himself rather than 
about my work habits.  Looking over to the admin building, I saw 
George standing in the window, watching the whole scene.  I 
nodded toward him but he turned away from the window without 
acknowledging either Sam's scene or my nod.

****

George was looking at the inventory slips Jack had submitted for 
that week.  Since most of the items were electrical equipment, 
George was happy because that indicated a lot of wiring, which in 
turn indicated profit.  He initialed the slips and put them in a 
routing envelope.  He shrugged on his coat and left his office.  
On his way out, George walked through the distribution room.  
Facing a wall of pigeon hole boxes, he ran his eyes across the 
tags which noted which offices each box belonged to.  He dropped 
the envelope containing Jack's inventory slips into the only 
distribution box without a nametag.  For a moment he wondered who 
emptied that box and read the inventory slips, but then he 
remembered Larry.  

Larry had asked those same questions.  At first it had been a 
joke between the supervisors, "I'm dropping off distro to the 
Black Hole."  But then Larry had started poking around, hanging 
out near the distro room and watching who came to pick up the 
envelopes that had no routing names.  Pretty soon Larry had an 
accident.  He was OK, as long as you don't unplug his respirator.  
The doctors say he's got the brain of a lizard.  George concluded 
that it was easier to do what your told and not ask silly 
questions.

The distro boxes were emptied as usual.  The courier loaded 
everything into his car and made his rounds of the offices and 
buildings on his route.  The envelopes from the box with no name 
were taken to a big mailroom in a complex of buildings in a 
nearby city.  A mail room worker placed them in a plastic tub and 
sent the tub along a conveyor belt.  The tub entered a long 
tunnel between two buildings but, when it left, it was empty.

Deep beneath the office buildings, inside a window-less office 
brightly lit with fluorescent lights, a man behind a desk opened 
the envelopes and read through them, making notes on a computer 
while doing so.  He finished the stack, leaned back, and 
stretched.  Picking up his coffee cup, he headed for the break 
room.  On the way back from the coffee machine, he stopped into 
one of the many anonymous cubicles in the blank, sterile area.  
Knocking lightly on the cubicle's entry, he looked in at the 
young lady who sat there.  

"I think you'd better take a look at what they've found in Bunker 
area Seven Kilo Three Twenty Two.  It might be one of the hot 
spots the boss was looking for."  

She thanked him with a word and started tapping commands into her 
computer.  She scaned the information that was displayed and then 
picked up her phone.  

"Take a look at Seven Kilo322.  Possible green light."  

Without waiting for a response, she hung up the phone and resumed 
working at her computer.

* G.  A Busy Week
* 
I spent the next week smuggling lab reports, notes, and 
schematics out of the lab and into my garage.  I didn't have time 
to read through everything so I skimmed everything looking for 
more clues about the MC Device.  Trying to identify the focal 
point of each investigation was impossible.  I was amazed at the 
breadth of the lab's researches and the sheer number of projects 
that had run concurrently.  Every conceivable area was included: 
mind control, time travel, fantastic weapons of destruction, and 
various occult topics.  The reasons for these inquiries were 
unclear but the fact that there had been results was undeniable.  
I was able to smuggle several schematics out of the lab in 
addition to the prototype MC Device I had retrieved earlier.  
Soon, my small apartment was crowded with piles of bound reports 
and notebooks and tubes of diagrams and blueprints.  The lab 
reports often held false trails, some seemed deliberate, that 
caused me to study the reports into the wee hours of the morning.

One Saturday morning I lay dazed on my cheap, ratty couch.  My 
brain was fried from the stress of weeding through the voluminous 
library in the lab, getting the material out of the bunker, and 
trying to make sense of the techno-occult lab reports.  I was 
roused by a light knock on the door.  Struggling off the couch, I 
stumbled through the mess to the door.  Opening the door I saw 
Lucy standing on the doorstep, nervously shifting from one foot 
to the other.  

I invited her in, wondering what would cause her to come up this 
early in the morning.  She had never visited me, either before or 
after our incredible afternoon.  I had been too busy to 
choreograph another session so we had confined our social 
interaction to greetings in the parking lot.  Playing the host, I 
made myself busy offering her a place to sit and a drink.  At the 
same time I tried to chase the image of her begging Kaitlyn to 
make her come from my mind.  I was shocked when she mentioned, in 
a small voice, her last visit to my apartment.  

Until that moment, I had not realized that she could remember 
what had happened while she was under my control.  It had never 
dawned on me that I had left my "victims'" memories intact, 
recording the details of their actions.

Other details crystallized.  I had briefly wondered if Francine 
had been avoiding me at work but I had been too busy to pay 
attention.  Kaitlyn had left noisily earlier that week.  Was this 
backlash from the lowered inhibitions?  When Lucy spoke frankly 
about her embarrassment, I realized that I was holding my breath.  
Seeing her, so vulnerable and open, I felt close to her.  I 
admitted to having been consumed by work the last week but 
apologized for not calling or taking the time to talk with her.  
I confessed that our passionate encounter had been spur of the 
moment but that I hadn't meant to hurt her.  All of this was 
true, I told myself.  I had only omitted what had instigated the 
encounter, my MC Device.

Not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable in my messy apartment, 
we went on a picnic.  Lying on the warm grass, she spoke openly 
to me while I told half-truths to hide what I knew.  I felt like 
an A-1 heel.  I had sifted through this woman's most intimate 
memories and desires, all so that I could manipulate her into my 
bed.  I had touched her soul for selfish, base reasons and now I 
winced with regret. 

The afternoon progressed in sensitive conversation with Lucy.  
Her visit ended with another amazing sexual encounter, this one 
without the need of "the necklace."  She kissed me farewell and 
went back to her apartment, every twitch of her hips promising 
more delights in what they had now established as a purely 
physical, but friendly and honest relationship.  

* H.  Tidying Up the Details
* 
Realizing now that The Device's victims could still remember what 
they had done under its influence, I made an effort to make 
amends with Francine.  She, like Lucy, was deeply embarrassed by 
her actions but was equally ready to try again and reach the 
heights of pleasure she had experienced the first time.  Once 
again I felt hypocritical making platitudes and half-truths while 
Francine confessed intimate details about her love life with past 
boyfriends and her husband.  Freed of the guilt she had 
internalized, she stood and moved around her large, imposing 
desk.  No male could have ever mistaken her intent.  We adjourned 
to a locked conference room.  Things progressed rapidly from that 
point, making lunch pass more swiftly than I would have wished.

I spent the afternoon in Brantwell's office in the bunker writing 
reports and arranging the lab to make things look like nothing 
had been removed.  Volumes of reports Brantwell had derided in 
his diaries as false leads were catalogued and readied for 
shipment to the surface.  As I left work that evening, I dropped 
my reports into George's box.  

George stepped out of his office and asked me to come in and sit 
down.  George complimented me on all the good work I'd done 
recently.  I was immediately on guard.  George only took the time 
to compliment people when he had something unpleasant to say to 
them.  

George hid his thoughts behind a coffee mug for a second and then 
told me that I would receive another assignment tomorrow.  Acting 
nonchalant, I said that one job was like the next, but that there 
was still more to do in the level I was working on.  He seemed 
relieved that I was taking the news so well, but said that I was 
going to survey another area of the same sector.  I agreed in a 
noncommittal way, still waiting for the bad news to hit.  George 
made some small talk about sports but the interview was clearly 
over.  I waited a polite amount of time and then excused myself.  

That's when George dropped the other shoe, "Oh by the way, on 
Monday make sure you drop by the staging area to get your 
partners.  They start at 8."

All the way home I stewed over this new development.  I knew I 
was being set up, but which one partner would be the spy?  Or 
would they both be spies?  The thought that they were just two 
new workers never entered my mind.  There had been something in 
the reports, even my carefully sanitized ones that had sparked 
someone's interest.  And now I was being saddled with a keeper.  
My stomach soured as paranoia flooded my mind.

I pulled into my apartment's driveway. Lucy and her friend Andrea 
stood in the driveway chatting.  I greeted them distractedly, 
walking to the stairs on autopilot.  I almost didn't hear Lucy 
invite me over for dinner.  Remembering my manners I quickly 
accepted, asking for just enough time to shower and change. 

Twenty minutes later I was at Lucy's door, cleaned and changed.  
Lucy explained that she had invited Andrea over for dinner and a 
movie but that there was plenty of food for a third person.  She 
hugged me, commenting that I looked like I could use a decent 
meal.  Since I was wearing the necklace, more out of habit than 
any plan to use it, I saw through her ruse immediately.  

Her plan was to stage a threesome with Andrea and me; something I 
was quite eager to take part in.  Even though I had taken part in 
her tryst with Kaitlyn, I was surprised that Lucy's greatest 
desire was to explore her lesbian fantasies with her friend while 
I watched.  Throughout dinner I explored their minds, setting 
controls and prompting impulses.  I should have felt guilty but I 
didn't, rationalizing that I was just helping Lucy get what she 
wanted.

After the dinner dishes were done, I waited for events to take 
their course.  I didn't have to wait long.  As the girls settled 
on the couch to watch the movies, I literally watched Lucy's mind 
work.  Her imagination raced to develop a way to start her 
fantasy.  I decided to help out with my necklace.  First, I 
planted suggestions and impulses into Andrea's mind enflaming her 
desire to have sex with Lucy.  The next part was trickier; I had 
to "motivate" both women into letting me watch.  

Working slowly, as their concentration was on the movie, I fanned 
their passions and lowered their inhibitions.  When the movie 
ended, I excused myself and went to the bathroom.  Waiting an 
appropriate amount of time I tip-toed back quietly, stopping in 
the doorway to see the girls sitting on the couch facing each 
other.  

As I spied on them, Lucy reached forward and lightly touched 
Andrea's breast.  I could see my implanted suggestions at work as 
Andrea responded by leaning forward and kissing Lucy full on her 
lovely mouth.  The intensity of the kiss seemed to break the ice.  
Their hands roamed over each other.  Andrea took the lead, 
undressing Lucy and pressing her back against the arm of the 
couch.  As the girls warmed to the occasion, I entered the living 
room and sat on the chair opposite the couch.  My presence 
energized them.  Andrea started to perform for me, positioning 
herself and Lucy so that I could see exactly what they were 
doing.  Using the filthiest, most graphic terms Andrea described 
the texture and taste of Lucy's vagina.  Lucy soon succumbed to 
the attention Andrea was lavishing on her clitoris and orgasmed 
loudly.  Still hot with desire, Lucy quickly traded places with 
Andrea and returned the favor, licking and kissing her way from 
Andrea's lips to her very wet pussy.  

I had seen Lucy eat pussy before but sitting in the same room 
with her acting like she was a cheap porn star was incredible.  I 
unbuttoned my pants and freed my swollen cock from its confines.  
I lightly stroked my cock, surprising myself when I came.  Lucy 
worked more slowly than Andrea had, working both her tongue and 
fingers in and out of Andrea's cunt.  Andrea came more quietly 
than had Lucy, grinding her hips against Lucy's fingers.

As Andrea relaxed after her orgasm, she looked at me with a 
hungry stare.  Lucy looked back over her shoulder from her place 
between Andrea's legs, "Your turn big boy."  

They quickly stripped my clothes off before turning their 
attention to my cock.  I lay back enjoying the double blowjob.  
The girls got me hard and slick with their mouths before Andrea 
threw her leg over my hips and mounted me, Lucy helped by guiding 
my turgid cock into her wet hole. We fucked furiously for a few 
moments, all that was necessary for me to cum inside her.  Lucy, 
wanting her turn, positioned herself so that she straddled my 
face and sucked my cock while Andrea licked my balls.  They got 
me hard again with their expert nibbling and sucking.  Andrea got 
up onto the back of the couch and spread her legs wide, inviting 
Lucy to eat her again.  Lucy crawled between her friend's legs on 
all fours and began to lick Andrea's pussy.  Seeing Lucy's ass 
wiggling an invitation, I obliged by entering her from behind.  A 
long slow fuck ensued, ending in all three of us coming for a 
third and last time.

* I.  The Day After
* 
After cuddling for a while, Andrea, Lucy, and I unstuck our 
bodies from each other.  The girls went to Lucy's room and I 
snuck back upstairs to my apartment.  My head throbbed, like a 
massive hangover after a night of drinking cheap tequila.  
Pitching forward into bed, I fell unconscious.  

Dreams came to me; slowly coming into focus like the light of the 
sun becomes clearer to a diver ascending from the depths.  In my 
dreams, I was climbing stone stairs.  Drums boomed out the 
cadence as I marched out of a torch lit staircase.  The crowd 
roared in anticipation as I stepped onto a broad, paved 
courtyard.  My guards forced a corridor through the cheering 
throngs of people.  

Details became clearer.  The people were short and wiry, dark 
skinned with straight black hair.  I continued across the open 
space toward a giant, stepped pyramid.  Marching stiffly up the 
stairs the smell of incense grew stronger, almost overpowering me 
as I reached the top.  There, standing behind a tremendous black 
altar, stood a man who was undeniably a high priest of some 
sanguine religion.  The tall, feathered mask that hid his 
features was his only raiment.  Streaks of drying blood ran down 
his thin chest and drew streaks along his skinny thighs.  I 
hesitated at the sight of the long black dagger in the priest's 
hand but was shoved toward the altar from behind.  Unable to 
fight back, I was dragged on to the altar, strong hands pinning 
my wrists and ankles to the smooth, warm surface.

I woke, a damp towel on my head.  Struggling to sit up, I saw 
Andrea came into the room. 

"Are you OK?  You don't look so good."  There was a note of 
concern in her voice.

She gave me something cool to drink and sat on the edge of the 
bed beside me.  She explained, somewhat embarrassed, how she had 
come upstairs after lunch hoping for a little "reprise" of the 
previous evening's fun.  She had found my door open and me passed 
out on the bed.  When she found she couldn't wake me, she stayed 
and played nurse.  It was now Saturday evening, I had slept a 
whole day.  We had a quiet evening together, Andrea ordering 
pizza while I nursed the fading echoes of his monster headache.

On Sunday, my head felt more normal.  I sat down with a pot of 
coffee and the stack of Brantwell's private diaries.  There had 
to be some connection between "the necklace" and my vision.  Much 
more intense than a nightmare, I could still remember the smell 
of the blood and incense as I stood in the breeze atop the 
pyramid.  I still didn't have any idea how my dream fit into the 
situation, but there was bound to be a clue somewhere in the 
diaries.  

The closest I came to an answer was a circuit diagram of a later 
generation MC Device with a "signal amplifier" in addition to the 
other circuitry.  Apparently the brain couldn't put out enough 
power on its own to broadcast control signals to one person for a 
long time or more than one for shorter periods, I reasoned.  To 
give the controller this expanded capability, the researchers had 
developed a feedback circuit to amplify the controller's brain 
power.  In other words, the controller used power derived from 
the returning brain waves of his subjects.  This way he had to 
supply less energy and could, therefore, broadcast for longer 
periods of time or to more subjects.  Since it was late, I put 
the diaries away and decided to spend the next week modifying my 
"necklace" before trying it out.

* J.  New Partners mean Paranoia
* 
Monday morning I went to meet my new partners.  My stomach 
fluttered as I walked into the break room, the fear that one or 
both were company spies gnawed away at my insides.  Our 
assignment was to explore the area adjacent to the lab that had 
been used as personal living space for researchers and staff.  I 
remembered some of the more mysterious working accidents in the 
complex.  People that had asked questions or somehow made waves 
had often fallen victim to strange and debilitating accidents.  

The rumor around the coffee pot had been that the company was 
looking for something in the bunker.  The salvage operation was 
merely a front for some dark, unspoken mission.  Why else would 
teams be sent after file rooms and labs rather than the big 
transformers and wire closets where the valuable copper and gold 
wire could be found?  I had always been disliked by Sam and 
George, so usually they let me work alone.  No witnesses and 
dangerous settings meant lots of deniability if the company 
wanted to get rid of a troublesome employee.  Since I wanted to 
be alone anyway, it seemed the perfect arrangement.  Now that I 
had found another lab I was assigned partners, completely out of 
character for George.  Normally he would have just sent me to 
another area - still a solo.  To keep me on the same level, 
investigating what was obviously living quarters with two 
"newbies," was definitely suspicious.

I stuck my head into the staging area and waved at the 
supervisor.  

He looked at his list, "Clarke and Forrest."  

Two heads perked up in the crowd.  The supervisor nodded toward 
me, indicating where they should go.  I introduced myself as we 
walked down the hall.  The guy's name was Bert Clarke.  He was a 
well-built six-footer who didn't look much past high school age.  
The girl was Ernestine Forrest, a petite brunette who looked like 
she didn't weigh 100 lb. soaking wet.  They made some jokes about 
Bert and Ernie.  It was so cute I wanted to gag.  I helped them 
draw their equipment and board the bus.  Entering the bunker, we 
spent the day working through a dorm area, opening closets and 
looking into empty drawers.  In contrast to the lab that I had 
just finished, this place looked like it had been abandoned in an 
orderly fashion.

During breaks, I got Bert and Ernie to talk more about 
themselves.  I found out that both were locals, about my own age, 
with stories similar to my own.  Without enough money to leave or 
prospects if they stayed in town, they had taken jobs with the 
company to build a stake before leaving town.  

Bert had been working in on a salvage crew in one of the other 
bunkers in the complex.  He said that it had been a warehouse.  
His crew was one of many that had spent the days opening and 
cataloging the contents of the crates that were stacked from 
floor to ceiling.  Some crates were taken away in trucks, other 
just moved to the other side of the warehouse.  

Ernie had been a forklift operator, a coveted job, before getting 
into a disagreement with her supervisor.  She wouldn't talk much 
about it.  I suspected her immediately.  Moving from driving a 
forklift to spelunking in a steel cave was quite a move down the 
company's pecking order.  She was either a spy or had pissed 
somebody off.

That night, I packed Brantwell's papers into boxes and took them 
to Andrea's apartment, hiding them in a crawl space above her 
garage.  I worried that someone might break into my apartment, 
looking for some of the things I had stolen from the bunker.  
Security was definitely tighter at work, the guards more vigilant 
than before.  I wrapped my first necklace in a plastic bag and 
hid it in the toilet reservoir.  The second I hid in the bottom 
of my mailbox.  It was the old-fashioned key-lock kind and the 
postman used the big mailbox on the street anyway.  Once 
everything was safely hidden I plotted my next move.

After work, I tinkered with the necklace, adding the feedback 
circuit mentioned in Brantwell's papers.  I finished late 
Saturday afternoon and tried the necklace on.  Immediately, I 
could feel the increased power of this new design.  Without 
trying, I could "feel" people's minds.  I eavesdropped on Lucy as 
she made dinner and Annette as she got ready to go out to a club.  
I changed and got ready to go down to Lucy's.  Perhaps I could 
get a decent meal and some "stress reduction."  

To my surprise, my doorbell rang.  Looking out the window I saw a 
young, cute brunette.  I hadn't finished opening the door when 
she produced a pamphlet and a laminated card, quickly introducing 
herself.  

"I'm Stephanie and I represent Students International, an 
organization... " 

She had her sales pitch memorized and there was no getting a word 
in edgewise.  Letting her talk, I swiftly inserted my controls 
into her mind.  Instead of manipulating the avatars in her mind, 
as I had done with Francine and Lucy, I restricted my tinkering 
to her base instincts.  Never leaving the basement of her mind, I 
separated her conscious thoughts from her sub-conscious impulses.  
I found her sexual desires and primitively aroused them.  I 
smiled smugly as she stumbled in her well rehearsed speech.  
Sweat appeared on her upper lip and her nipples pointed through 
her blouse.  The influences I sent her were crude, appealing to 
instincts as old as mankind. This approach lacked all of the 
subtlety of my previous experiments but was proving to be much 
quicker.

"Why don't you come inside?" Asked the spider to the fly, I 
finished mentally.  

Once she was inside, I blocked her inhibitions while freeing her 
subconscious desires.  Courteously, I invited her to sit but she 
stood, momentarily confused by her feelings.  Taking her by the 
hand I pulled her down to the couch.  Sitting beside her, I ran 
my fingertips lightly up her thigh.

"This is better, isn't it?"  

She answered by leaning back and spreading her legs, an unspoken 
invitation to reach higher inside her thighs.  Simple and 
straight to the point, this method also produced immediate 
results.  I pushed her basic erogenous urges, making her pant and 
squirm like a bitch in heat.  Leaving one hand glued to her 
crotch, I unbuttoned her blouse and helped myself to her pert 
tits.  Her breath came in ragged gasps, punctuated by animal 
groans.

Excited by her reaction, I pushed her miniskirt up to her hips 
and pulled her white cotton panties to one side.  She invited me 
to taste her, guiding me to the target with a hand firmly on the 
back of my neck.  Leaning forward I accepted, licking her rapidly 
moistening cunt.  Once we'd made physical contact, events 
progressed rapidly.  I ate her, she sucked me, then I fucked her 
pussy.  We climbed over the couch as if it were a jungle gym, 
shifting positions to allow me to stick my cock in her from 
different angles.  She'd come once or twice, but these made her 
try harder to reach the pinnacle of release.

I had her bent over the arm of the couch, fucking her savagely.  
Taking advantage of a pause in the action, she reached back and 
cupped my balls.  I thought she was ready for another position 
change.  The surprise came when she asked me not to come inside 
her.  

"Fuck my ass," she said spreading her ass cheeks and offering me 
her bottom.  

Pressing the head of my cock against her tight brown bud, I 
slowly worked my thick cock into her tight sphincter.  I let her 
set the pace, giving her plenty of time to relax her muscles to 
let me enter her.  We fucked slowly, until I felt myself ready to 
come.  Pulling out of her, I stood and jacked off, shooting my 
load onto her face and breasts.  A classic skin movie cum-shot.  

She smiled shyly as she gathered her clothes and pamphlets, my 
cum still dribbling off her chin. "You sure know how to show a 
girl a good time."  A quick kiss and she was gone.  

Satisfied with my modification, I wrapped the necklace in a 
plastic bag, taped the entire thing until I was sure it was 
waterproof, and then hid it behind the sewer flush out.  My 
apartment being on the top floor, I knew it wouldn't be washed 
down the pipe and it was the last place a burglar would think to 
look.  I went to sleep confidant that I now had the tool that 
would enable me to leave my lousy job and this boring town 
forever.



* K.  The next day
* 
I finished out the week still leery of Bert and Ernie.  But now 
that my necklace was working, I felt confidant that my time in 
the bunker was coming to an end.  Half in celebration and half in 
curiosity, I decided to take a trip to the big city and 
experiment with the necklace some more.  I checked into a 
business motel and went out to get something to eat and find some 
playmates.  

At a small grill in the club-section of town, I found two 
secretaries eating dinner.  While they ate I scanned their minds.  
Waiting for my chance, I struck up a conversation.  It was so 
strange, having a conversation with someone and all ready knowing 
their answers.  We went back to my hotel for drinks.  

I decided on the slow subtle method.  Based on my experiment with 
Stephanie the door to door sales girl, I found that I felt more 
satisfied and less tired after manipulating avatars and controls 
than I did when I explicitly torqued a girl's sensations.  I 
started by investigating their desires.  Some sage once said, 
"Give'em what they want."  I used it like my mantra.

I worked slowly, letting them relax, and finally got them back to 
my room.  I had discovered that Ellen, the smaller blonde, had a 
lesbian fantasy.  Her friend Mary had one as well but was more 
inclined to play a submissive role.  I invited them to sit on the 
couch and settled myself on the edge of the bed ready to direct 
the action. 

Rather than try to control their every move like a puppeteer, I 
decided to use some of the techniques Brantwell had written 
about.  I set commands in their minds, alternating between Mary 
and Ellen to build their excitement and my control over them.  At 
the same time I worked on dampening my own sexual responses.  I 
didn't want to cum too soon or I wouldn't be able to participate 
in the three-way I had planned for after the girls get finished 
warming each other up.  

Ellen started things off by sliding to her knees on the floor.  
Pulling aside Mary's panties, she stuck her tongue in Mary's 
slit.  The physical stimulation on her sensitive clit reinforced 
my suggestions, encouraging her to be more aggressive with Ellen.  
Hot and ready, Mary didn't give Ellen much chance between her 
legs when the larger blonde pulled Ellen onto the couch.  

Mary was much more decisive then her friend.  She held her friend 
down and teased Ellen's nipple by lightly flicking them with her 
tongue.  Ellen squirmed with pleasure, grasping Mary's head to 
try and spare her sensitive nipples but Mary used her size and 
strength to push her hands behind her head.  After Mary was sure 
that Ellen was warmed up, she moved down her firm, tan stomach to 
lavish her attention on Ellen's wet snatch.  

I wanted to push the pace of their show, so I amplified the 
sensations that emanated from Ellen's lust swollen pussy.  Ellen 
cried out, arching her back to push herself tighter against 
Mary's agile tongue.  Mary, sensing that her friend was close to 
a climax, augmented her tonguing by sliding her fingers in and 
out of Ellen.  

Ellen's body tensed.  Her eyes were screwed shut.  She gulped 
breath in hoarse groans.  The only movement of her lithe form was 
the violent trembling of her hips as she clamped down on Mary, 
trapping her friend against her snatch as her orgasm came in 
waves.  

Once Ellen's fantasy was realized, she turned to me.  Mary 
followed her gaze to my thick, rigid cock.  Without any need for 
further prompting, they climbed off of the couch and came over to 
the bed where I sat. Pushing me back, Mary straddled my cock, 
Ellen guiding it easily into Mary's ready love canal.  I 
continued to fight with my own urges, enjoying the pleasurable 
feelings of Mary sliding up and down my pole while blocking my 
body's urge to release my cum.  By denying my own orgasm, I made 
myself last longer with these two nymphs.  

Ellen made everything harder by running her tongue around my 
balls and ass hole while Mary had slid to the top of my cock.  It 
wasn't long before Mary came and slumped against my chest.  I was 
still hard, my cock starting to ache with the need for release.  

Rolling her off my cock, I commanded Ellen to turn around.  
Taking her from behind, I abandoned all pretense of slow, teasing 
sex.  I released the controls in my own mind, pounding my cock 
into Ellen's pussy with frantic desperation to find orgasm.  My 
balls slapped against her pussy lips, stimulating her at the same 
time as I neared my climax.  I felt my balls tighten and I drove 
my cock hilt deep into the short blonde, pinning her against my 
hips as my seed spurted into her hot, wet void.  The fury of 
their lovemaking left us all spent.  I checked their minds, 
making sure that everything was back where it should be before 
wishing them goodbye. 

My mission a success, I spent the next day lounging around my 
hotel room reading Brantwell's diaries.  I noticed that most of 
the diary entries during WWII dealt with the MC device.  Once 
that had proven to be a success, albeit limited by pre-transistor 
technology, Brantwell and his Inner Circle moved on to the next 
challenge: Time Travel.  In his diaries, Brantwell explained that 
the intense dreams experienced by MC Device controllers after 
straining themselves were actually "windows" to another time or 
dimension, he wasn't sure which.  He wrote about trying to 
develop a means to control trips through these windows. 

While he extolled his successes, his diary entries also become 
increasingly critical of the "clerks."  Apparently the nameless 
suits he worked for wanted the Doctor to continue to develop the 
MC Device, which they wanted to use for Cold War purposes, and 
stop "wasting time" with Time Travel.  In frustration, Brantwell 
made vague hints about the preparations that he was making to 
leave the clerks behind.

I got home around dinnertime on Sunday.  Opening the door I found 
my apartment is a shambles.  Someone had broken in and trashed 
the place.  I ran to Lucy's place and called the police. The 
police detective, Sgt. Neil, had stayed long after the uniformed 
officers had taken their statements.  He seemed very interested 
in my background, chatting for a while about my plans and 
ambitions.  

A few hours later, after making statements and signing reports, I 
went back upstairs to start cleaning up.  Lucy, thoughtful as 
ever, brought up some dinner and helped me straighten things up 
after the detective finally left.  We had the place livable 
before too long and went to bed.

I camped out at Lucy's that next week, since the burglars had 
been thorough enough to slit and disembowel my mattress.  The 
next weekend I ran into Bert while shopping for some cheap 
furniture to replace what had been smashed during the break-in.  
While Bert seemed suitably sympathetic, I couldn't help but 
wonder if my new partners had something to do with my recent 
burglary, the first in the many years of living in Mountain View.

Still bitter over the break-in, I decided to test Bert and Ernie.  
They had seemed friendly enough but I couldn't help shake the 
suspicion that they were company agents.  The coincidence of our 
meeting right after I unearthed the MC Device was too pat.  My 
only challenge would be to get them to a place where I could use 
my necklace.  

I didn't want to try anything at work, just in case.  Instead, I 
arranged a night out at the movies with them.  Sitting in the 
dark theater, I probed their minds for ulterior motives.  It was 
almost a disappointment when I found them to be innocent, normal 
twenty-somethings.  I relaxed once I knew that I could trust my 
new partners.  

Mulling over some of their fantasies, I reverted to my old horny 
self and set about choreographing a three-some with them.  I 
didn't see much of the rest of the movie, spending my time 
setting controls and suggestions in their minds.  There wasn't a 
lot of work to do, both Bert and Ernie were average, lusty young 
people and it wouldn't take a whole lot of encouragement to get 
them to hop in the sack.  

The movie ended and we left for a few drinks. I ordered some 
beers and made chitchat while I waited for an opportunity to try 
out my latest experiment.  Brantwell had written about using 
planted suggestions.  These were controls that lay dormant in the 
subject's mind until an event or a phrase triggered the desired 
response.  During the movie I had found that Ernie could be more 
easily motivated toward a threesome than Bert, so I planted some 
suggestions in her mind, leaving me free to concentrate on Bert.  

We stood in the crowded bar while we drank our beers.  As we came 
to the point when we would either order another round or leave, I 
mentioned that I usually watched a certain TV show at this time 
but couldn't since my TV had been stolen.  The name of the show 
was Ernie's trigger phrase and I watched with great interest as 
the planted suggestion activated.  She seemed to get a far-away 
look in her eyes for a moment, as if remembering something from a 
long time ago.  Then she turned to put her beer bottle on the bar 
and brushed her hand against Bert's crotch in passing.  From my 
vantage point inside Bert's mind, I almost laughed out loud as 
his mind raced to try and make sense of what had just happened.  
It was pure comedy watching Bert trying to decide whether Ernie's 
contact with his crotch had been an accident or a come-on.

Right on cue, Ernie invited us both to her place to watch TV.  I 
eagerly accepted, anxious to see where this would go since I 
couldn't risk taking control of Bert in a public place.  Bert 
agreed as well, although he was wondering how long I would stay 
so that he could get Ernie alone.

We arrived at Ernie's apartment and crashed on her living room 
furniture.  It was a tiny student apartment, actually a few rooms 
of an old house.  She gave us a quick tour and I noticed that the 
bathroom was unusually big for such a small apartment. Bert made 
a joke about her renting out the bathroom since it was bigger 
than his apartment.  She said that the landlord had fixed up an 
old bedroom to make the bathroom, which was why it was as big as 
her bedroom.  

We went back to the living room and settled down to watch TV.  
With the lights off, I was able to concentrate on them and get 
them ready for the next step in my plan.  Bert and I sat on the 
couch, with Ernie on the floor in front of the table.  By the 
time the first commercial came on, I had gotten Ernie set to show 
both Bert and I for the time of our lives.  She stood and 
stretched like a cat, making sure that both Bert and I got a good 
look at her lithe form.  She massaged her rear end through her 
jeans, claiming that her butt had fallen asleep on the floor.

I excused myself to get a beer, turning up Bert's interest a 
notch with a quick surge of power.  Ernie went into her bedroom 
to "get into something more comfortable."  Again, I almost choked 
trying not to laugh at the thoughts that ran through Bert's head.  
He was still too shy, however, for what I had planned so I 
started working on him some more.  This was the first time I'd 
tried to arouse another man and I was having some problems 
finding the right places to put my controls.  While most guys are 
horny ol' goats, Bert had a streak of modesty in him that, quite 
frankly, was getting in my way.  Finally, I abandoned the idea of 
subtlety and clamped down on his conservative inhibitions.

By the time Ernie came back out of her room in a pair of 
sweatpants and a loose old T-shirt, I thought Bert's dick would 
rip a hole in his pants.  Ernie joined me in the kitchen and 
asked if anyone wanted an ice cream sundae.  She was pulling 
things out of the refrigerator when she spilled something on her 
shirt in a very clumsy "accident."  Turning to face Bert, she 
smiled coyly and yanked her shirt over her head in a single, 
smooth motion.  His jaw hit the ground as she stood brazenly 
displaying her pert breasts.

"I guess I need to wash up."  She grabbed his hand and led him 
into the bathroom.  I followed along, ready to get the show 
started.

There was plenty of room for all of us in the bathroom.  Ernie 
leaned into the tub, turning on the water and giving both us guys 
a good look at her ass at the same time.  Satisfied with the 
water temperature, she stood and hooked her thumbs into the 
waistband of her sweat pants.  

"I'll scrub your back if you'll scrub mine."

A quick yank and her pants hit the floor.  I waited to see what 
Bert would do, hoping that my controls would stay in place.  I 
stood with one hand on my belt, ready to drop my pants and join 
the fun, watching the internal struggle in Bert's mind.  Years of 
Sunday school and clean living battled with raging animal desire 
in the corridors of his mind.  Finally, only after he made a 
conscious decision to take this opportunity and live with his 
regrets later, did he start unbuttoning his shirt.

I shucked my clothes in a pile against the door and watched Ernie 
help Bert undress.  She was on her knees in front of him, undoing 
his belt and pulling his jeans down to his ankles.  His stiff 
member sprang out his briefs and poked her in the cheek.  She 
giggled and started nibbling at the sensitive seam along the 
bottom of his cock.  He spread his feet shoulder width apart and 
let his head fall backward; his eyes closed tightly in ecstasy.  

Before things went much farther, Ernie stood and led Bert into 
the shower by his stiff schlong.  I followed them, pulling the 
curtain around the tub.  Ernie had resumed her oral attention to 
Bert's thick manhood and I placed my hand gently against her 
soft, sensitive mound.  Feeling her press her hips against my 
hand, I spread he nether lips with my fingers, opening her for my 
own turgid cock.  I placed its head against her wet hole, 
pressing softly but insistently for entrance to her private 
delights.  I worked my way inside her slowly, relishing the tight 
grip her cunt had on my cock.  I held her hips, holding her still 
so I could work myself inside her.  Finally, I had sunk the 
length of my shaft inside her. 

Relishing the feeling of my balls against her pussy lips, I 
quickly checked on Bert.  He had completely given himself over to 
the passion of the moment.  Once again, my controls had opened 
the door but native instinct had filled the gap and carried the 
matter to its conclusion.  Releasing him and Ernie from my 
dominance, I stopped distracting myself with having to control 
them and let myself enjoy this new type of situation.  The three 
of us traded positions in the tub, Bert and I taking turns in 
each of Ernie's receptive orifices.  I left them tired and 
spent., my back sore from the awkward positions I'd assumed over 
the last hours.  

We showed up to work the next day as usual.  Bert was a bit 
uncomfortable at first but I set him at ease on the bus ride to 
the work site.  After a little blushing, he and Ernie rode to the 
bunker holding each other's hands.  I led the way down the stairs 
into the lab wondering at the aftermath of a session under the 
influence of the MC Device.  As it turned out, Bert moved out of 
his parent's house and into Ernie's apartment a few weeks later, 
so I guess some good comes out of everything.

After work I continued to study Brantwell's diaries and lab 
reports.  I was careful to keep most of his things in the hiding 
place above Andrea's garage, but I relaxed a little after I 
realized that the burglars hadn't taken anything of value.  
Brantwell's work had progressed on the Time Travel device after 
the war, becoming his main project by the early 1950's.  He 
theorized that the same brainwave energy that allowed his MC 
Device to broadcast impulses into another person's mind could 
also open small passageways between "worlds."  Since the actual 
power in the brain wave transmissions was low, he sought the 
circumstances that would make actual physical travel possible.  

Dr. Brantwell had several groups investigate this problem at the 
same time.  Some of the same people that had helped him make the 
MC Device a success were prominently named in these 
investigation.  Throughout the 1950s and most of the 60s, 
Brantwell's researchers experimented with what they called Time 
Travel.  After several years of hard, frustrating work, Sylvester 
Lavagre's group actually succeeded in sending a person through a 
rift to another world. Lavargre's technique involved using a 
special crystal.  

The crystal's structure made it resonate when it was bombarded 
with brain energy waves.  To travel between worlds, a crystal was 
placed on a person's chest.  The traveler lay in the center of a 
circle of a group who concentrated on the crystal using the 
transmitters from MC Devices.  The crystal would resonate energy 
in a spherical field and whatever was inside that sphere was sent 
through to the other world. 

Or so they thought, since they couldn't bring anything back from 
the destination.  After sending several people through to the 
other world, the group of travelers was able to send someone 
back.  They described the new world as Camelot, a place of 
knights and castles.  Brantwell was ecstatic.

The diaries of the 1960's dealt with the advances his researchers 
made with Time Travel.  They succeeded in developing a means to 
navigate between worlds and built a machine that only needed one 
person to operate it.  They built maps of the various worlds they 
found, sometimes using one as a staging point for farther 
destinations.  Along the way, researchers died or were turned 
into brain-dead vegetables but Brantwell pressed on, resolved to 
perfect the Time Travel device.  In 1969, just before Armstrong 
landed on the moon, Brantwell wrote that his Time Travel device 
was complete.  It was the sphere, 6 feet in diameter, of platinum 
wire.  At the center, mounted on a pedestal, was the drive 
console containing the crystal and the means to aim its cargo at 
a specific world.  

The last entry in Dr. Brantwell's diary was November 1969.  It 
was "And now to start again, someplace else, free to be myself."  
I read that and felt cheated.  Cheated like the person that reads 
a good book, only to find that someone has removed the last 
chapter.  I set the diary down.  I knew I had to find Brantwell's 
Time Travel machine.  There were prototypes mentioned in the 
diaries.  One could take me away from Mountain View.  Then I 
could start again, free.

I knew the machine wasn't in the lab.  I hadn't found anything 
that big in any of the rooms.  We worked down to the storage 
level of Bunker 7 hoping to do some poking around but Sam was put 
in charge of my team, so I was watched too closely to do 
anything.  As I passively watched the company's salvage teams 
label and crate everything in the bunker, I wondered how long it 
would be before someone realized that Brantwell had fooled them 
and they came looking for him.  

After work my active love life continued.  I went through 
different phases, experimenting with sex and mind control at the 
same time: 2 girls and a guy, 2 guys and a girl, lots of girls.  
The only time I got scared was when I realized I was thinking of 
my partners as "subjects" rather than people.  

This feeling was especially sharp one morning after having 
Francine, Andrea, and Lucy over for a romantic and tasteful 
dinner.  A nice quiet evening that started out over hors d'oevres 
ended in a pile of clothes and naked limbs on the living room 
rug.  The runaway power of the controls I had placed in their 
minds frightened me.  Anguish gnawed at my conscience, but I was 
unwilling to give up everything that we had together and go back 
to being lonely.  Over the next few weeks, I slowly removed the 
controls I had placed in their minds, satisfied that our special 
friendship would last.

One night, Lucy and Andrea brought me dinner and introduced me to 
Sue, Andrea's aunt.  Although she was in her early forties, 
exercise had kept her small, tan frame as sinuous and firm as a 
twenty-year old.  Her body was one wiry muscle.  

Despite all of my earlier conscience pangs, I saw an opportunity 
for another sexual experiment that was too good to pass up.  I 
went to the bathroom to prepare as the girls returned downstairs 
to get things ready.  Removing the necklace from the sewer pipe 
and fastening the clasp behind my neck, I scanned the vicinity 
but found only familiar voices in my head.  

Lucy and Andrea had brought Sue along because "she needed a man" 
and they felt I could amply satisfy her needs.  Dinner led to a 
mini-orgy.  I took special pride in satisfying all three women 
and orchestrating Sue's first bi-sexual experience.  What pleased 
me most, however, was that I could orchestrate such a large group 
without straining myself or placing completely restrictive 
controls on anyone.

* L.  Getting ready to leave
* 
Despairing of finding the Time Travel Machine, I made plans for a 
more mundane escape from Mountain View.  My plan was to go to my 
cousin's hunting cabin for a few weeks and then make my way to 
the city, where I could start afresh.  I started by collecting 
things I will need, buying things with the credit cards I 
intended on leaving behind.

One day I came home as usual, but there was something wrong.  I 
searched my apartment, trying to find what ever it was that 
looked out of place.  It took me a while to put my finger on it, 
but I finally noticed that some of my books had been disturbed.  
It shocked me to realize that the first break-in had been a 
deliberate warning, to scare me.  

This burglary was all business.  Someone was looking for 
something particular and they were being very careful.  Thankful 
that I returned all of the diaries to their hiding place, I began 
to intensify my escape plans.  I packaged the diaries and 
schematics in small, waterproof containers, ready to be moved.  I 
made and reviewed lists of what I'd need to live in the woods for 
a few weeks.  I also read more about Brantwell's Time Machine, 
teasing myself about making "a clean getaway."  I'd even selected 
a world called Hole-in-the-Wall as my hideout.  The Wild West had 
always appealed to me and, if I could only find the Time Machine, 
it was within my grasp.

I was getting caught up in my plans to leave.  One night, 
everything stopped.  While I had been at a gun show one Saturday 
morning, Lucy surprised a burglar in my apartment.  I found her 
body in my living room, a small bullet wound behind her left ear.

I called 911 immediately.  The police came and questioned 
everyone.  I sat in a squad car, numb and blaming myself for 
involving her in a situation I couldn't control.  After the 
police left, I sat in my living room.  Her death had accelerated 
my plans, I was going to leave that night, before anyone else 
could get hurt.  I knew that the burglaries were professional, 
high school kids don't use silenced 9mm's and that's what the 
sergeant told me was the probable weapon.  

Not wanting to be next, I called Bert and asked for a favor.  
Bert's uncle ran the local army surplus store which had most of 
the items on my list.  I quietly offered Bert a few hundred 
dollars in cash to let me have a "private shopping spree" in his 
uncle's store.  Bert, a true friend, wanted to help but thought 
that I might be trying to run away from my grief over Lucy's 
death.  He agreed to help and talked me into stopping by Andrea's 
on the way to the store.  

When we got there, I found that Bert had assembled the whole gang 
to show their support.  Andrea, Sue, and Ernie all tried to 
console me, offering tea and sympathy for my loss.  I was touched 
and ashamed that I had once used mind control on these people.  I 
told them the story of the lab, focusing on the time machine and 
barely mentioning the other devices.  Looking at their faces I 
could tell they didn't really believe me, but I pushed on and 
told them my plans to hide in my cousin's cabin while I studied 
the diaries.  

My theory was that Brantwell traveled from whatever world he was 
on to Mountain View, discovered that I had found his lab, and 
then tried to stop me. Once I could find the machine, I could 
find Brantwell and discover who killed Lucy.  The rest was pure 
revenge.  None of it would have stood up to close scrutiny.  
Brantwell would be over ninety by now.  The others were now 
completely skeptical of my sanity.  All except Ernie.

She said that, based on my description if the time machine, she 
might know where it was hidden.  She had moved a lot of crates 
around the bunker complex warehouses as a forklift driver and she 
remembered some large cubes in the back of one level.  The large 
packing crates had been too big and heavy to lift.  At the time, 
she'd been told to let them be.  I guess that the company was 
searching for the MC Device, something small.  I still don't know 
whether my friends decided to look in the warehouse to humor me 
or because they believed me.  I'm not sure it mattered.

* The Time Machine
* 
* A.  Making the trip
* 
With the prospect of finding a real time travel machine close at 
hand, we discussed what we would do with the machine.  I told 
them what I knew about Brantwell's travels, how I thought the 
machine worked, and where we could go.  Different motives for 
traveling surfaced immediately.  Andrea and Sue wanted to go in 
hopes of finding out more about who killed Lucy.  Bert and Ernie 
were interested because time travel sounded more interesting than 
their routine lives.

I was all for going to the warehouse immediately and looking for 
the Machine, but cooler heads prevailed.  Bert reminded me about 
the guards.  Sue pointed that we didn't have any appropriate 
clothing for the Wild West.  The clothes slowed me down more than 
the guards.  The diaries had notes about the importance of 
blending in with the local culture and the lethal consequences if 
this went wrong.  

It took us almost a week to get everything together.  Andrea 
found costumes from an amateur theater group and some friends 
that were re-enactors.  Bert collected the camping gear, Ernie 
got the food, and Sue brought two pistols.  During the week I 
scouted around for a likely place to break in to Victory Station.  

Breaking in was no easy matter.  Victory Station is surrounded by 
a double chain row of chain link fences, both topped with razor 
wire, fifteen feet a part.  Vehicle patrols rode around the 
perimeter and inspected sites at random intervals.  All designed 
to keep people out.  The only way to get in was to never leave.  
Our plan was to show up to work with our stuff on Friday, visit 
Hole-in-the-Wall over the weekend, and show up Monday morning 
ready to punch the clock.

Since we couldn't leave our cars in the parking lot over the 
weekend, we all rode the bus on Friday.  It was pouring rain, 
which was good for us.  The guards were less likely to inspect 
the shuttle buses and everyone was walking around covered by 
umbrellas and coats.  Our gym bags were full of clothes and gear. 
Sue and Andrea, armed with fake IDs, kept their heads buried in 
their coats.  We held our breath going through the gate.  No 
search, so far so good.  Getting to the admin area, we signed in 
and got on a shuttle bus. 

Ernie led us off the bus and into the warehouse bunker she 
thought the Time Machine was in.  Bert took Sue and Andrea to 
hide in one of the tunnels as Ernie and I located the crate.  It 
was still were Ernie last saw it, sitting alone and neglected in 
the midst of a scattering of crates and boxes.  We opened one 
side and I crawled in.  Quickly Ernie resealed the crate and left 
me to inspect the Machine while she hid with the others.  

I sat in the dark for a moment, feeling the cold metal cage 
against my forehead.  I laboriously crawled around the bottom of 
the crate, feeling above my head for the door catch.  Luckily I 
was close and sprang the hinge, pushing the door inward.  
Standing up in the door of the Time Machine, I turned on my 
flashlight and took my first look at Brantwell's most miraculous 
invention.  The Time Machine looked like a wire mesh sphere with 
a silver metal birdbath in the middle.  

Using the project files, I studied the birdbath-looking console.  
Using the necklace I probed the crystal and was shocked to see a 
blue glow emanate from the console.  Quickly, I stopped, I needed 
to wait for the others and save my strength.  I set the dials to 
the settings that would take us to Hole-in-the-Wall, turned off 
my light, and got some sleep.

I was in the middle of my second nap when the sound of Bert and 
Sue removing the top of the crate woke me up.  Shining the 
flashlight at Bert, he cheerfully explained that it was less 
likely that anyone would notice the top was un-nailed than if we 
removed a side.  His enthusiasm for adventure was contagious and 
the rest of the group crawled into the Time Machine ready to go 
and in good spirits.  It was more like taking a road trip to 
another city than a plunge into the unknown to another world.  

As everyone put their gym bags under the seat, I told them to 
relax and touch the center column.  The metal felt cold under 
their fingertips.  I flipped the switch and everyone felt a 
tingling sensation traveling up their arms.  The tingling 
enveloped us bringing with it a feeling of disorientation and 
dizziness.  Ernie and Andrea fainted, slumping against the 
central pedestal.  I concentrated harder, willing the blue glow 
to intensify and expand.  Bert and Sue struggled to keep their 
feet as they fought the urge to black out.  My eyes lost focus.  
The world went dark.

* Welcome to Fry, Arizona Territory
* 
We awoke to find ourselves in a rocky desert.  The machine had 
landed, if that is the right term, against a large rock and 
tipped sideways.  I helped pull the others from the machine and 
climbed to the mouth of the canyon to see where we were. 

 From the canyon, I looked down on a small village. We had done 
it.  I could tell that this was Hole-in-the-Wall.  

I turned to the group and said, "This is it.  That town must be 
Fry.  We've done it!"  

We pulled our costumes out of our 20th century gym bags and got 
ready to join the Wild West.  It was then that I remembered what 
we'd forgotten.  Water.  We must either go into town for water or 
go straight back to our own time.  

We looked as clueless as we felt.  I just hoped no one had the 
sense to ask us what 5 people were doing out in the desert and 
why we were on foot.  I walked along, frantically trying to come 
up with a cover story, approaching the small clump of buildings 
the Brantwell diaries had called Fry.  If we had done everything 
correctly, we were in a parallel world that approximated mid-
1800s Arizona.  The only problem I had was that Brantwell had 
also wrote that time moved here at the same pace as it had done 
in our home world.  This meant that everything Brantwell and his 
researchers knew about this world was thirty years old.  

I told everyone to keep their eyes open and stick together.  We 
had only planned this as a fact finding mission, the real search 
would begin once we knew a little more about the mechanics of 
Time Travel.  We wandered toward the town, as inconspicuous as 
five people can be.  Entering the town from the south, we had 
almost reached the middle of town when three drunken cowboys 
tumbled out of a building and into the street.  Two of them 
shared a bottle while the third pulled his pistol from its 
holster and started shooting at a tethered dog.  

Before I could stop her, Sue rushed across the street and hit the 
drunken shooter.  Suddenly realizing that they weren't alone in 
the street, the other two cowboys drew their pistols and pointed 
them at Sue.  The cowboy Sue hit got back to his feet and 
unsteadily advanced on the rest of the group.  It was a classic 
Mexican standoff.  There were more of us but they had guns.  We 
all froze in the middle of the street waiting for someone to 
blink.  Or shoot.  Or die.

Just when the cowboys were concentrating on us, Sue disabled one 
of her captors with a quick kick and yelled for us to run.  Bert 
and Ernie turned and ran back the way we came.  I saw them dodge 
into a barn as I took off running.  To my left, Andrea ducked 
into the back of a nearby building.  The cowboys watched us 
scatter with frustration as they had their hands full wrestling 
with Sue.

I ran across the street into the hotel.  Looking around the 
hotel, I desperately searched for a hiding place.  I spotted a 
door toward the back of the lobby and moved quickly towards it.  
Trying to look like I belonged there, I opened the door and 
stepped inside.  

Turning and slumping against the door frame, I suddenly realized 
I wasn't alone in the room.  The other person was a tan, green-
eyed brunette.  She was one of the most beautiful women I have 
ever seen.  As she stepped from the inner room, she saw me and 
froze.  Watching her I realized that she must have heard me enter 
and been expecting someone else.  Who ever that was, he was one 
lucky guy because she was stark naked. 

"Wha da hell jew want?" Her heavy Mexican accent made it hard for 
me to understand her, but it forced me to concentrate on 
something other than her marvelous tits.  She reached back inside 
to the other room.

I stammered an apology and tried to leave.  I turned to open the 
door but froze at the metallic sound of her cocking a pistol.  I 
turned back toward her slowly, making sure to keep my hands 
visible and away from my body.  She stood in the other doorway 
unsuccessfully trying to cover herself with one hand, the other 
being occupied with pointing a large revolver at my chest.

Thinking quickly, I remembered that I was wearing the necklace.  
My biggest problem was buying enough time to use it.  I held my 
hands out away from his body, signaling my peaceful intentions.  
At the same time, I slid inside her mind and started activating 
her basic sexual instincts.  I didn't have time for romantic 
seduction so I resolved to use primal lust instead.  

I slowly moved across the room, intensifying the sensations of 
desire in her mind.  My thoughts made her think that she wanted 
me more than any other man she'd ever known.  I hammered the 
erotic centers of her mind.  She would have died right there if I 
had told her she couldn't have my cock.

I saw her nipples swell and her breath start to come more 
raggedly, but the huge black muzzle never wavered from my chest.  
I continued to advance toward her.  Confused, she walked backward 
into the bedroom.  I knew that everything in her mind was telling 
her to do something: scream for help, shoot me, anything.  
Instead her body was screaming with heat, the need to mate with 
me like an animal.  

She backed into a chair and fell into it.  The pistol lay loosely 
in her hand on the chair arm.  I knelt in front her and parted 
her thighs.  The pistol almost touched my forehead but one look 
at her lust swollen labia told me she wouldn't use it.  I leaned 
forward and licked her pussy like my life depended on it, 
stopping only when she tugged me from her crotch by my hair and 
told me to fuck her.

Our coupling was fierce.  I had opened a door that had been 
closed in this woman's mind, one that she had strained against 
for years.  Casting down the walls of Victorian propriety, my 
newfound lover was a sexual dynamo.  The atmosphere of the moment 
spurred me like a powerful aphrodisiac.  I don't know what turned 
me on more: the power I had over her, her incredible physical 
beauty, or the fact that I didn't even know her name.  We fucked 
on every piece of furniture in that hotel room, ending up in the 
middle of the room's big feather bed sweaty from our exertions.

Afterwards, as we lay in each other's arms catching our breath, 
she introduced herself as Senora Inez Plum, wife of the hotel 
owner.  He had been gone for several weeks on business and she 
had wanted to surprise him on his return.  The heat of the moment 
had passed.  Her shyness started to return and I busied myself at 
the wash basin as she jumped into a shift.

Once dressed, she seemed more comfortable.  Inez gave me some of 
her husband's old clothes, chatting about town gossip and current 
events.  Listening to her talk, I looked around the room.  
Picking up the scattered newspaper from the floor I felt a silent 
thrill when I saw it was dated May 12, 1862.  Whatever 
distraction I had from the discovery evaporated when Inez 
mentioned the impending arrival of French soldiers to Fry.  Since 
she had already confirmed what I knew from Brantwell's diaries, I 
tried to remember enough high school history to recall if French 
soldiers had ever been in the Arizona Territory.  That's when I 
realized that there was something that I had expected that she 
had never mentioned, the Civil War.

*  *  *  *  *

As Jack ran for the hotel, Andrea had dove for cover in a nearby 
house.  She stood in the narrow hallway when she heard someone 
call to her.  When Andrea didn't answer, a blonde head poked out 
of a nearby door.  

"Come on girl, shake a leg."  The blonde grabbed Andrea's arm and 
dragged her into the room.  

Talking nonstop, the blonde girl introduced herself as Peaches 
and explained that she was one of the Sheriff's "regular girls".  
She had been expecting a new girl on the weekly stage but since 
Andrea seemed to have shown up early, so much the better.  
Peaches threw Andrea some "decent" clothes to wear, continuing 
her narrative about what the Sheriff liked to watch.  His tastes 
boiled down to dirty talking lesbians licking and fingering each 
other.  Peaches instructed Andrea on what they needed to do to 
make the performance go well.  

Andrea tried to interrupt several times, each time getting cut 
off by Peaches' admonitions.  "Not now girl, we're going to be 
late."

The only interruption to Peaches' instructions was a slight pause 
as she caught sight of Andrea's shaven pussy.

Dressed like Wild West showgirls, the girls went through a 
connecting door into a larger room.  Some gas lamps, effectively 
disguising their audience, lit a chaise lounge.  A gravely voice 
told them to "get on with it."  Peaches posed Andrea in front of 
the lounge and started to undress her from behind, commenting 
lewdly on Andrea's figure and what Peaches had planned for the 
audience's benefit.  Her narrative was thoroughly pornographic 
and complimented what her hands did to Andrea.  Once most of 
Andrea's clothes lay on the floor, Peaches laid Andrea on the 
lounge and they crawled all over each other, licking and sucking 
with abandon.  

Peaches tongue was as well schooled as her stage instincts.  She 
maneuvered Andrea around the chaise, positioning everything so 
the hidden audience could see.  Andrea leaned back and allowed 
herself to enjoy Peaches' oral stimulation.  The showgirl had 
brought her close to climax several times but always stopped 
short of letting her orgasm.  Ready for the finale, Peaches 
pulled a dildo from underneath the chaise and fucked Andrea with 
it.  

They could hear their observer start to stir.  A tentative knock 
on the door interrupted and spoilt the moment.  A voice at the 
door urged the Sheriff to come to the jail quickly.  He left in a 
rush, the sound of several coins thudding on the rug punctuating 
the closing door.  Peaches and Andrea gathered their clothing and 
retired to the other room.  Frustrated from not reaching climax 
and embarrassed at having performed center stage in a sex show, 
Andrea wondered how she was going to rejoin the group and get 
back home.

*  *  *  *  *

Across town, Bert and Ernie had taken refuge in a barn.  Bert 
pushed Ernie up into the hayloft and tried to climb up after her.

A reedy voice came from behind him, "Ya'll stay still.  Fetch tha 
other'n down from there, I want to see ya both."

Bert raised his hands and slowly turned around.  In the doorway 
was a thin, teen-age boy with an old double barrel shotgun.  
Keeping one eye on Ernie as she climbed out of the loft, he 
accused Bert of being part of the "Sheriff's gang".  Motioning 
with the shotgun, he made Bert kneel and then tied him to one of 
the posts. 

Ernie thought quickly, thinking the boy might be getting ready to 
shoot Bert.  Deciding to divert the boy's attention and let Bert 
work free from his bonds, she cleared her throat.  The boy looked 
up from the knots binding Bert, seemingly noticing that she was a 
female for the first time. 

"We can straighten this out.  We just need to talk a bit."  Ernie 
exaggerated the sway of her hips as she closed the distance 
between herself and the boy.

She cocked her head to one side in her best coquettish pose.  
Seeing that he was listening, Ernie started talking about how she 
and Bert were new in town, all the while unbuttoning her dress.  
Shrugging the dress off her sholders, she moved closer to him.  
He reacted just like any normal teenage boy and stared at her 
pert nipples showing through her thin shift.  

Soon her dress lay in a puddle around her ankles.  When the boy 
didn't move, she stepped out of the dress and moved toward him.  
The boy remained motionless, as still as a statue except for the 
growing bulge in his shorts.  

Finally Ernie stood in front of him completely naked, "See, I 
told you I was unarmed."  

Drawing his attention to the bulge in his pants she knelt in 
front of him and unbuttoned his pants.  Fishing his turgid cock 
from inside the old fashioned union suit, she seduced him there 
on the barn floor, stopping only after he shot his load inside 
her.  They were lying on the floor when Bert, who had freed 
himself during the boy's deflowering, appeared at her side.  Bert 
helped Ernie up from the barn floor.  They looked up to see the 
still undressed boy pick up his shotgun and point it at them.  
Bert laughed and showed the boy the shotgun loads he removed from 
the gun while the boy was concentrating on Ernie.

With the threat of the shotgun removed, the trio sat down and 
introduced themselves.  The boy told them that his name was 
August Witbier and that his parents had been taking to jail by 
the Sheriff because they knew something that the Sheriff didn't 
want them telling the French.  Ernie became very interested in 
this and asked many questions about Augie's father's job as a 
land surveyor for the Territory.  Augie told them that the 
Sheriff was a crook and that the French were coming to take over 
the town since the Yankees had left to go east.

*  *  *  *  *

While all of this is going on, Sue was a guest of the local jail.  
She had expected to be raped, but was surprised when her captors 
throw her into a cell and then left her alone.  A white couple, 
dressed in thin cotton pajamas, and an old Indian squatting on a 
threadbare blanket occupied the other two cells in the small 
adobe jail.  After a few moments one of her captors returned with 
a well-dressed, middle age man. From the silver star he has 
pinned to his vest, Sue guessed that he was the Sheriff.  

She told the Sheriff that she had been trying to stop the drunken 
cowboys from shooting the dog and that everything was all an 
innocent mistake.  He sat behind a desk, smiled, and invited her 
to step from the cell.  She stepped in front of his desk, 
expecting to continue their conversation, when a cowboy grabbed 
her from behind.  Using some of the self-defense classes she had 
taken she threw him off, but couldn't evade the other two who 
pinned her arms behind her.  Without looking at the cowboy Sue 
had kicked in the groin, the Sheriff ordered his men to take Sue 
"to the cross."  

The cowboys dragged Sue, kicking and screaming, into a back room.  
She saw what looked like a large wooden "I" propped against the 
wall.  The men fastened shackles to her wrists and ankles, 
forcing her spread-eagle on the wooden frame.  

Then the one she kicked pulled a large Bowie knife from its 
sheath.  "The boss wants to see the goods, sweet thing."  

His foul, whiskey-laden breath almost made Sue gag, but she was 
determined not to show them her fear.  The cowboy expertly cut 
her clothes off, making lewd observations about her tan lines and 
underwear.  He was most appreciative of her shaved mound.  

As he finished, one of his partners called to the Sheriff, "She's 
ready."  

The Sheriff entered leading the woman from the other cell by a 
leash.  She was completely naked, wearing only a heavy leather 
collar around her neck and leather shackles on her wrist.  The 
Sheriff tugged her to her knees in front of Sue.  Holding her 
head up by her chin, he made the woman, whom he called Maggie, 
describe the sex acts she would perform on Sue for the Sheriff's 
benefit.  

Satisfied, the Sheriff let go of her and stepped back to observe.  
Maggie rose from her crouch and began to kiss and lick Sue.  Her 
foreplay was frantic because if she hesitated, the Sheriff struck 
her with a leather riding whip.  Both the kissing and the 
whipping seemed to excite her and soon Maggie was rubbing her 
crotch against Sue's legs.  The Sheriff stepped behind Maggie as 
she ate Sue's pussy and unbuttoned his pants.  He locked eyes 
with Sue as he put his cock into Maggie's pussy.  He fucked her 
savagely, coming quickly.  Wiping his cock with a towel, he told 
Sue that he'd be back for her later and dragged Maggie from the 
room by her leash.

*  *  *  *  *

* Gathering the troops
* 
Throughout the afternoon I got as much information and local 
color as I could from Inez Plum.  Once I knew a little more about 
what was going on, my next concern was to find all of the other 
members of the group.  Once we were back together, all we had to 
do was get Sue out of jail and go home.  As unrealistically 
optimistic as that plan was, I was most worried about Sue.  Civil 
rights wasn't a burning cause in the 1860s and I had visions of 
prison rape scenes in my head as I stepped out of Inez's room, 
intending to make a tour of the town. 

Reaching the hotel lobby, I saw Andrea walk in from the street.  
We sat down at a table in the saloon and began to talk about our 
adventures.  She told me what she knew about the Sheriff, 
especially his voyeuristic tastes, and her new friend Peaches.  
Without knowing where Bert and Ernie were, I decided to take Inez 
with for a walk around town.  

It was late afternoon and many of the town's residents were 
beginning to promenade in the street, socializing with each 
other.  As we passed the scene of the abortive dog-shooting, I 
surveyed the area.  Discovering that Inez's husband owned the 
bordello the cowboys had come out of, I asked Inez about the 
small barn close by.  She shook her head sadly and told me the 
gossip about the Witbiers.  She said that the Sheriff felt that 
Mr. Witbier was spying for the Yankees, but everyone in town knew 
that that was only an excuse since the Sheriff obviously lusted 
after Margaret Witbier.  She lowered her voice, crossed herself, 
and told me that she had heard the Margaret was now a sex slave 
in the jail, servicing the Sheriff and his men.  

"I pray for her." That was all Inez would say about Mrs. 
Witbier's jail sentence as we returned to the hotel.

While Inez was busy overseeing dinner preparations in the hotel, 
Andrea and I strolled around the edge of town, surreptitiously 
working our way toward the Witbier's barn.  Sneaking inside, we 
were greeted with the business end of Augie Witbier's shotgun.  I 
introduced myself and was about to try and disarm the boy when 
Bert jumped down from the hayloft.  We congratulated ourselves on 
surviving this far, but wondered what to do about Sue.

Andrea came up with the plan.  She and Peaches would lure the 
three guards into the saloon after dinner.  While the guards were 
distracted, Bert, Ernie, and I would break into the jail and free 
the Witbiers and Sue.  The only unanswered question was where the 
Sheriff would be, but Inez had assured me that he always took his 
meals in the hotel.  Although Augie wanted to go into the jail 
shooting, I didn't want any gunplay.  I told Bert and Ernie to 
keep lookout while I went into the jail, unlocked the cells, and 
got the prisoners out.  He didn't tell them about my plans to use 
my necklace rather than the 9mm that I carried.

We heard the hotel's dinner bell ring right on schedule and put 
the plan into motion.  Andrea and Peaches got the guards to come 
to the saloon for drinks.  I positioned Augie on the hotel 
balcony where he could watch the front of the jail.  Bert and 
Ernie watched the street that ran behind the jail.  Once the 
guards had left, I calmly opened the jail's door and walked in.  

The men in the cells sat quietly.  The white man apparently 
sobbing on his cot. The Indian stared at me impassively.  I heard 
noises from the back room and stealthily crossed the room.  
Looking in through the doorway, I saw the top of a man's head 
over the back of a large leather wingback chair.  The Sheriff was 
enjoying a show before dinner.

The Sheriff sat in his leather chair, instructing Maggie on how 
to prepare Sue for the evening's entertainment.  As the Sheriff 
talked, I entered his mind.  Rather than exciting him, I worked 
in the basement of his mind to put him to sleep while he watched 
Maggie eat Sue.  The whiskey he'd been drinking made my task 
easier and soon he was snoring in the chair.  I stepped into the 
room and took the shackle keys from his watch chain.  I unlocked 
Sue, told her to bring Maggie, and then returned to the outer 
room to unlock the cells.  

I had just completed this task when I heard the thunderclap of a 
pistol shot from the back room.  Running into the room, I saw a 
naked Maggie Witbier standing over the Sheriff with his pistol in 
her hand.  The back of his head was missing and the wall behind 
his chair covered in blood and brains.  Her eyes were vacant and 
I was afraid of what she might do next.  Sue, who had been 
recovering her wallet and jewelry from the cupboard, swiftly came 
to Maggie's side and took the pistol from the woman's unresisting 
hand.  Draping her in a blanket, Sue and I led the trio of 
prisoners to the appointed meeting place, the town's General 
Store.

The street seemed quiet enough, reasonable since the Sheriff's 
cronies often paraded around shooting their firearms into the 
air, and the rest of the group joined them in a few moments.  
Bert looked in awe at Andrea.  He reported that he had watched 
Andrea and Peaches "entertain" the Sheriff's men.  He said that 
the cowboys were still in the hotel bar but wasn't sure how long 
they'd stay.  I was shocked that Andrea, quiet, church-going, 
nurse from a conservative town would have planned and been the 
center attraction in a four-way orgy.  Andrea blushed and told me 
not to worry about the cowboys since Peaches was still there "to 
keep them occupied."  

Moving on to bigger problems, I told everyone that we needed to 
pack for a long trip.  I told the Witbiers that they needed to 
leave town as soon as possible, now that the Sheriff was dead.  
Andrea, reverting from town slut to trained nurse, took me aside.  

"Listen Jack, Maggie Witbier is in shock.  We can't leave her 
alone.  And look at her husband."  George Witbier stared blankly 
at the store's stove.  "He's no pillar of strength right now.  We 
need to take them with us."  Sue chimed in, reminding me that we 
needed to for clues that would point us at Lucy's killers.  

* Looking for Clues
* 
As the others rushed around, looting the General Store for items 
they would need, I sat George Witbier in a quiet corner.

"George.  Listen to me George."  He seemed to come back to 
reality slightly.  "We've got to find a hiding place.  They're 
going to come looking for us George.  George do you hear me?"  

I got no where.  He had surrendered to the despair.  Looking 
around, I started to think about how to get the group back to the 
arroyo where we'd hidden the Time Machine.  I jumped as I felt a 
hand on my shoulder.  The Indian, forgotten until just then, was 
standing behind me.  Looking me in the eye, he offered to hide us 
in the canyons behind the town.  

By late evening the small town was crawling with Sheriff's 
henchman.  Houses were invaded and storage areas ransacked by 
groups of torch-bearing cowboys.  I kept watch through the 
store's front windows.  George sat with me, more so I could keep 
an eye on him.  Their activity was very loud and public, but 
George Witbier remarked that John Foster, the Sheriff's chief 
deputy, was just trying to "look good for his bosses" in hopes of 
taking the Sheriff's place.  Inside the store, everyone scurried 
around getting things together. We borrowed clothes from the 
Witbiers or Inez Plum.  

Before we left, Sue wanted to explore the Sheriff's house.  
Around midnight,  Sue, dressed in some of Maggie Witbier's old 
clothes, decided to burglarize the Sheriff's house.  Taking the 
keys that I had found on the Sheriff's watch chain, she made her 
way behind buildings to a small frame house next to the town 
bank.  

Using a knife, she pushed the latch open on a window and crawled 
into the house.  She found herself in the Sheriff's bedroom.  It 
had already been ransacked, clothes were strewn across the floor 
and the mattress had been slashed, its ticking spread on the 
floor.  Stepping in to the adjoining room, she saw that his 
library had been given the same treatment.  

The only item left untouched was the safe in the corner behind 
the desk.  Still looking around, Sue saw pictures of the Sheriff 
and people she took to be business associates.  Framed in a 
typical Victorian gilt frame, one picture was remarkable.  It 
showed the Sheriff being presented with a large broadsword by a 
slim, mustachioed man.  Hanging directly above it was a 
broadsword, complete with jeweled hilt and scabbard.  Sue 
continued her search, but the files she found were routine, 
dealing only with local matters.  

Finally, she sat behind the large wooden desk, untouched mainly 
due to its size, and inspected the drawers.  As she expected, 
they had also been ransacked.  Looking around she spied the desk 
blotter, tossed into the corner.  Just as she had done in the 
past with people's computer passwords, she looked in the corners 
for the safe combination.  Voila!  It was right where she had 
expected it to be.  

Using the combination she quickly opened the safe and checked its 
contents.  Two books were inside: one a common ledger book, the 
other a small leather bound diary.  Sitting behind the books was 
a jewelry case.  The jewelry case contained an amulet and a 
signet ring.

The sound of a door slamming open interrupted her burglary.  She 
scooped up the books and case into a small satchel and shut the 
safe door, dashing for the bedroom to make her escape.  Before 
she could crawl back out the window, she heard someone coming 
toward the bedroom door.  She froze, hiding in the armoire beside 
the window.  

"Evie!...Evie show yourself.  Bitch!"  The voice belonged to the 
cowboy she had kicked in the jail.  She quietly closed the 
armoire door, hoping that he wouldn't come into the bedroom.  

The bedroom door burst open, "Evie, where you hiding?  When I 
find you I'll horse whip your skinny ass!" 

Not finding Evie, the cowboy turned and kicked open the door 
across the hall.  From the sounds Sue heard, Evie had been hiding 
in there.  By cracking the armoire door slightly, Sue could see 
across the hall into the room where they were.  The cowboy was 
interrogating a skinny, red haired woman, apparently Evie, 
slapping her forcefully when her answers were not what he 
expected.  Sue felt herself start to get angry.  Grabbing the 
girl by the hair, the cowboy held her on her knees and wrenched 
her head back, exposing her slim white throat.  He pulled out his 
Bowie knife, the same one he had used to cut Sue's clothes off in 
the jail, and traced it across her throat.  

"Nothin's changed, Evie.  You're still a slave.  The only 
difference is that I'm the Watcher now."  

Evie shivered.  The cowboy ran his knife along her shoulders, 
cutting her dress' straps.  Her thin shift puddled on the floor 
leaving her naked from the knees up.  

"Now you're going to take care of me the same way you took care 
of him.  Aren't you?"  

He emphasized his words by tracing his knife's tip under her 
breast, a thin red line became visible.  

His words became a snarl.  "Who's in charge now, Evie?"  

Her voice was thin and breathless.  "You are Mr. Foster."  

"That's right, girl."  

He stuck his knife into the door frame above her head.  Still 
holding her by the hair with one hand, Foster unbuckled his pants 
and fished his stiff cock from inside his long johns.  

"Now do what you do best and I'll only give you ten lashes for 
hiding."  

Evie immediately gave Foster an expert blowjob, making numerous 
explicit comments about the size of his member.  Apparently 
satisfied, Foster dragged Evie by the hair across the hall and 
onto the bed.  Sue, hiding only a few feet away, held her breath 
and hoped that the armoire didn't creak.  

Roughly slapping Evie's legs apart, Foster took her on the 
squeaky bed, finally coming inside her with a shout.  Satisfied 
for the moment, Foster pulled his shrinking prick from the girl 
and once again dragged her by the hair into the hallway.  Sue 
heard him say something about food and then pots rattling.  
Praying that the door hinges didn't squeak, Sue left the armoire 
and crawled back out of the house.

Returning to the General Store, she was just in time to join us 
in following the old Indian to this hiding place in the canyon.  
I asked if she had found anything but Sue said she'd have to show 
me when we had more time.

* In the Hunting Cabin
* 
We left town immediately.  After a few hours of walking in the 
dark, we arrived at the hunting camp led by the Old Indian.  The 
camp was in a small, sheltered fissure of a canyon.  During the 
short trip to the camp, Maggie had become more withdrawn, 
refusing to let anyone but the Old Indian touch her.  Once at the 
camp, George and the Old Indian set up camp.  I investigated the 
cave, finding a small cell in the back that the Indian had used 
as a sweat bath.  I got the idea to cure Maggie with some mumbo-
jumbo, the sweat bath, and my necklace.

With the Indian's help, I set up the bath and invited Andrea and 
the Witbiers inside.  Using the necklace I relaxed them while 
fueling Andrea's natural lust.  I started by making George talk 
about what was bothering him.  He was mad that Maggie wouldn't 
tell him about what the Sheriff was doing to her.  I then made 
Maggie tell her side.  She told how she hated the Sheriff for 
what he did to her, but how, at the same time, it excited her in 
new ways.  She said she still loved her husband but no longer 
felt worthy of him.  She described the acts that made her feel 
"dirty" or "bad."  I invited her to do these to George and 
Andrea, joining in when everything was in full swing.  After we 
had finished, we dried off and went into the main cavern to eat.  

Over dinner we compared notes.  I was excited that we had 
concrete proof that we were in a separate dimension.  George's 
mind had vivid memories of the South's great victory at Bull Run, 
followed by their capture of Washington and President Lincoln.  
England and France had become CSA allies, while Germany and 
Russia signed treaties with the USA.  With both CSA and USA 
weakened from their disrupted economies, France and Mexico 
reclaimed vast territory in the Southwest.

After dinner, Sue went to the back of the chamber with me to sit 
down and discuss what she found at the Sheriff's house.  She 
showed me the books and pictures she had stolen from the 
Sheriff's safe.  I recognized a man in one of the pictures as 
Detective Neil.  The ledger book recorded amounts of silver 
bullion the Sheriff gave to Michael, presumably Detective Neil, 
and the number of suspects turned over for interrogation.  The 
entries were regular, spaced 1 week apart.  The diary included 
notes on travels to other dimensions made by the Sheriff before 
being assigned to this post.  

His duties in Fry included watching for strangers that passed 
through the gate and accounting for the bullion mined in the 
illegal silver mine.  Each week, he would deliver the box of 
bullion to Michael, who was the steward for "Lord Peter."  What 
really caught my interest was the matrix of origins, coordinates, 
and destinations for the Sheriff's Time Machine.  The Sheriff had 
been a meticulous traveler, recording how to get there but also 
places to stay, how to dress, and where to get equipment in each 
world.  All that remained for me was to find which location hid 
Peter and then find Lucy's killers.

That night I figured that they have only one or two days before 
Michael came to check on the Sheriff.  Everyone took turns at a 
lookout post that guarded the road from the arroyo to the town.  
My only worry was that the French would arrive and complicate 
things.  

One afternoon, while on lookout with Sue, she asked me about the 
look of concentration I had when I put the Sheriff to sleep.  She 
wondered if I had some kind of telepathic power.  I flinched, her 
guesses coming too close to the truth.  Trying to make light of 
her comment, I told her that it was all a coincidence.  The 
sheriff had been drunk and just passed out.  Sue didn't buy it 
and I knew it.

* Michael Arrives
* 
Three days after we arrived in Fry, Andrea and Augie noticed a 
man who matched Michael's description.  The town was in a flurry 
of activity.  People were stocking up on basics, getting ready 
for the impending arrival of the French.  Planning quickly, we 
decided to capture him as he met with John Foster.  Sue showed me 
how to get into the Sheriff's bedroom.  

We hid in the same armoire Sue had used earlier and waited for 
our prey.  Soon after we settled into our hiding place, we heard 
Foster and another man walking through the house.  Foster's tone 
was deferential, almost defensive, as he tried to answer the 
other man's questions.  As they searched the Sheriff's study, 
Foster called the othe rman "Lord Michael."  My heart stopped.  
If Detective Neil saw us, we'd be dead.  Fortunately, other 
events took over.  

Looking around, Michael found that the safe was empty and 
concluded that Foster had done something with the silver and the 
amulet.  He accused Foster of being careless, losing the 
"rutters," as he called them.  Foster shrank against the wall, 
his eyes wide with fear.  Stepping to the middle of the room, 
Michael turned and faced Foster.

"Lord Peter will be most displeased to hear that you cared more 
for the quim of some slut than for his rightful tribute."  His 
tone had all the power of a death sentence.

I was amazed when Michael, who wore an older, head mounted MC 
device, narrowed his eyes and concentrated on Foster.  Foster 
grabbed his head and, as his eyes rolled back into their sockets, 
he crumbled to the floor.  This showed me a new side of the 
device, the ability to harm.  

Michael prodded Foster's body with his toe.  Satisfied that 
Foster was dead, Michael looked around and appeared ready to 
leave.  Suddenly, from behind the kitchen door, Evie hit him over 
the head with a whiskey bottle.  Michael joined Foster on the 
floor, knocked unconscious.  Evie ran out the door and into the 
street, giving me a few precious seconds to rifle Michael's 
pockets before escaping.  

Foster's deputies arrived soon thereafter and arrested the still 
unconscious Michael, lynching him immediately in the town's 
central square.  As I saw them throwing the noose over the 
gallows, I couldn't help muttering," And may God have mercy on 
your soul."

Sue was mad.  She had wanted to capture and question Michael 
about his involvement in Lucy's death but I was unwilling to use 
the necklace to question someone as obviously experienced as 
Michael.  Instead I went to the arroyo and found Michael's Time 
Machine.  I read the settings on the dials and cross-referenced 
them with the Sheriff's travel diary to calculate Michael's point 
of origin.  Sue pointed out that the coordinates allow for three 
possible origins, not to mention all of the places that Michael 
could have been that the Sheriff hadn't.  I wasn't worried, 
however, calmly explaining that the contents of Michael's pockets 
(a set of keys, some mail, and an address book) reinforced and 
confirmed my solution.

Back at the hunting cabin, I announced my plan to go to Peter's 
world.  Everyone volunteered to come with me.  I mentally noted 
the varying motives of my fellow travelers, but told the Witbiers 
to stay and rebuild their lives.  The Sheriff's diary indicated 
that Peter's headquarters was in a place similar to 1920's New 
Orleans.  The plan was that we would travel as 5 male laborers.  

While the girls were busy altering Augie's clothing to fit 
themselves, I read through the correspondence we had found on 
Michael.  Like most business travelers, Michael had traveled 
light.  Keys, money, his address book, and some mail were all 
that his pockets contained.  I thumbed through the date book and 
found one of the days noted with "Peter's Masked Ball."  I only 
hoped that the date hadn't passed.

By the next morning, everyone was ready to go.  The sight of the 
girls checking their weapons before boarding the Time Machine was 
unnerving.  I hoped that our single shot .45's would be a match 
for whatever Peter carried.  We climbed into the machine.  I set 
the dials and we disappeared from the canyon in a ripple of 
shadow.

* Peter's World
* 
The trip to Peter's world was short.  No one experienced the 
discomfort they had in traveling to Fry.  We had just started to 
experience the tingling sensation when the machine abruptly re-
materialized in a large open space, like a warehouse.  The amount 
of silver Michael had usually transported was small, so I had 
hoped that there wouldn't be a reception party.  

Luckily the warehouse was empty except for a shiny black car.  We 
loaded up in Michael's Model A Sedan and looked for a clue to 
tell us where we were.  Using a map found in the glove box, we 
found Michael's house in the French Quarter in only a short 
while.  His keys let us into his house and found his 
housekeeper/slave, Yvonne.  

I had Bert tie her up and put her into her rooms until I could 
question her.  I intended to probe her for Michael's mind 
controls that I was sure would be there.  I hoped that they would 
give me some clues on how Peter used the MC Device.  I was afraid 
that, with the thirty odd years of practice he had on me, Peter's 
mind control techniques would quickly overwhelm me.

The girls, meanwhile, found appropriate clothing, money, and 
other necessities that we would need during our stay in 1920's 
New Orleans.  During the search, Bert found the invitation to 
Peter's Masked Ball.  It was in two nights.  That was our chance 
to meet Peter face to face. 

While everyone worked on the logistics of getting around town and 
to the party, I went to Yvonne's rooms and experimented.  I found 
that Michael had her "programmed" for lesbian and group sex in 
addition to her housekeeping/cooking/bodyguard duties.  

She told me all about Peter's parties with relish.  She explained 
that they were like Roman orgies, each room and niche in the 
Garden District mansion housing had its own sex show, the 
diversity of which boggled my mind.  I took careful notes on the 
layout of Peter's house, sure that I would need to know my way 
around.  While she talked, I searched through her mind.  Some 
things I found were readily explainable, others were not.  Rather 
than risk hurting her, I left her tied up and returned to the 
main house.

After everyone had settled in to Michael's house, I sat in the 
courtyard mulling over a plan to capture and question Peter.  Sue 
was positive that Peter was behind Lucy's death.  She said that 
she would rather skip the questioning and get right to the 
execution.  

I decided that, given the bulky nature of Peter's MC Device, it 
was unlikely that he would use mind control during a public 
party.  I told the group that we needed to come up with something 
that would earn us a "private audience" with Peter so that we 
could get him alone.  My idea was to dress Sue in a leather 
dominitrix outfit with Bert and Andrea as her submissives.  I 
suggested that the highlight of the act would be Sue doing them 
both with a strap on.  I would act as the chauffeur and Ernie 
would stay and guard the house.



* Peter's Party
* 
The party was in full swing when we arrived.  Inside the house 
was an orgy.  Various groups performed sex acts in the alcoves 
and rooms, guests milled about discussing what they saw.  We 
walked around noting people.  I found Peter immediately.  He was 
a well-dressed man surrounded by sycophants.  He seemed to enjoy 
watching the festivities rather than joining in them, leading me 
to conclude that Peter was the type that got his kicks from 
controlling the emotions of others rather than by participating 
in the act itself.  

Sue led her two assistants through the party on leashes.  Playing 
her role to the hilt, she haughtily stalked up the stairs seeming 
to size up her competition.  The trio found a room where another 
dominitrix was performing with a slave girl.  Rather than wait or 
look for another room, Sue took the opportunity to join in, 
showing the crowd her strap on before entering the slave girl 
from behind.  This was obviously something the crowd found new 
and exciting.  Sue's act had them groping each other, some 
disrobed and groveled at her feet, begging to enter the scene.  

Sue had Andrea brought forth on a leash and made her eat the 
other dominitrix, drawing gasps of disbelief from people in the 
room.  This brazen pornography shocked the jaded 1920's crowd.  
Sensing that she had their attention, Sue concentrated on using 
Andrea as the center of attention.  Drawing her forward, Sue 
pushed her hips forward and made Andrea suck her dildo before Sue 
entered her.  

Soon, as I had hoped, Michael arrived to survey the scene.  He 
appeared to be impressed and, after the act was over, made his 
way to Sue and invited her back into another wing of the house 
for a smaller "more select soiree."  To my consternation, 
however, Peter also asked Sue about Michael.  I wasn't sure how 
he'd made the connection between her and his missing steward, but 
Sue handled herself beautifully.  She told Peter that she and 
Michael were acquainted and that Michael had left instructions 
for her to receive his invitation if his business trip kept him 
from attending.  Peter seemed to accept this but I couldn't quell 
the alarm I felt.

The private party was a much smaller event, held on Peter's 
terrace.  Slaves paraded around dressed like Arabian harem girls, 
while Peter and his guests lounged on overstuffed pillows.  As 
before, the scene was decorated with slaves performing sex with 
guests while Peter watched.  What was different, I noted, was 
that Peter had added a turban to his costume, obviously 
concealing an MC Device.  I concluded that Peter was actually 
orchestrating some of the action. 

I hung back and waited for the look of concentration of Peter's 
face that would indicate he was trying to use the Device to 
control someone.  As soon as I saw it, I slipped into Peter's 
mind and looked for a weakness.  Inside, I roamed the now 
familiar "house" setting of another person's mind.  

What I found disgusted me.  Peter had overshadowed his tremendous 
intellect with an addiction to the power and hedonism the Device 
gave him.  His memories told a story of a man fallen from grace.  
Feeling ignored by women, he had started by using them, 
singularly and then in groups, to explore his own fantasies.  
Growing bored easily, he had sunk into perversion experimenting 
with men, women, and children in various combinations and 
activities.  I left Peter's mind quickly, the vision of some of 
Peter's more spectacular debauchery still vivid.

* The Showdown
* 
I clamped down on Peter's sleep impulse, trying to put him down 
as I had done with the Sheriff.  Peter, free from the alcohol 
that the Sheriff had been drinking, fought back.  We had a 
virtual showdown in the passages of his mind as I tried to 
disable him while he tried to trap me in the labyrinth of his 
mind. 

Only seconds had passed, but we had fought to an impasse.  
Searching for a way to get the upper hand, Peter activated a 
control he had inserted into Andrea's mind during her 
performance.  She jumped on me, clawing at my eyes like a wild 
cat.  I disengaged my mind from his, unable to maintain my 
concentration while Andrea raked her nails down my face.  I 
yelled to Sue to tackle Peter.  Our only hope was to get the MC 
Device off his head.  Peter, freed from my attack, tried to 
resume concentration but Ernie got to him first, ripping the MC 
Device from his head.

Bert wrestled Andrea off my back, pinning her arms behind her 
back.  Her eyes rolled and her mouth frothed with insane anger.  
Seeing his trump card subdued, Peter looked up from the floor and 
gave a little smile.  

He said a word.  Andrea stiffened and then pitched forward, dead.  
Peter had gained the upper hand, due to his experience using the 
"dark side" of mind control.  He turned and pointed toward Sue 
but was too late.  Ever the quick thinker, she hit him over the 
head and knocked him unconscious.

Peter's guests stared at us in disbelief.  Most thought that we 
were acting out some kind of rape fantasy.  Ignoring them, we 
carried Andrea and Peter into an alcove.  Drawing the curtains, I 
took a quick breath before continuing.

While Peter was incapacitated, I continued looking through his 
mind, wary of the traps that Peter might have set.  I found that 
Peter had been looking for information on any improvements or 
other devices that Brantwell might have left in the bunker.  
Brantwell had grown to distrust Peter in later years and, with 
his usual secrecy, had taken to dropping false clues to mislead 
even his assistants. .

I was disappointed to find that Peter had not been the one that 
killed Lucy, even though he had been there.  The actual killer 
had been Michael.  When I told the others what had happened, they 
were deflated by this revelation.  Momentarily at a loss for what 
to do next, we sat in stunned silence.  Sue, ever the one to act 
on impulse, broke the tension by killing Peter with a bullet in 
the crotch.  The echoes of the gunshot still rang in the air as 
Sue turned to me and announced that she was ready to go home.

We jumped out a low window and escaped to Michael's house through 
the dark New Orleans streets.  Collecting our gear, I felt the 
accusing stares of my friends.  I poured a drink and tried to 
explain what had happened.  I gave the Reader's Digest version of 
mind control, but the sight of Peter bleeding to death on the 
patio tile had sapped everyone's ability to ask questions.  We 
all just wanted to return to our nice, normal, mundane lives.

We returned to our world, not via the bunker warehouse, but to a 
lonely spot Michael had used during his visits.  We found the car 
he had stashed for his own transportation in a small storage shed 
and awkwardly stood around, everyone unwilling to be the first to 
break the silence.  Looking at the digital clock in the vehicle, 
Bert told us that the two weeks we had spent on the other planes 
had passed here as well.  

We said our farewells and then split.  Bert and Ernie went back 
to their jobs sated by the excitement for the moment, both ready 
for their next adventure.  Sue and I stood alone in the dark 
storage shed.  She admitted that the thrill had gotten to her and 
that she wasn't sure that she would be able to return to her 
mundane, 9 to 5 existence.  I reminded her that we hadn't found 
Brantwell yet and as long as he roamed free, others might try and 
take advantage of his devices.  

Sue smiled and said that she'd order the pizza while I packed.  
We hid the travel machine into Michael's storage shed and left 
for my apartment, already preparing for the next trip.






Knave of Hearts
Visit my website at ASSTR (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Knave_of_Hearts/www) or at Geocities(http://www.geocities.com/Knaveofhearts2000/)

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