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Message-ID: <30772asstr$992283003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cats_sara@yahoo.com (Sara H)
Reply-To: cats_sara@yahoo.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 10 Jun 2001 09:18:01 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} Breath of Spririt - MC, FF, MF, F-dom, nc - by Sara H
Date: Mon, 11 Jun 2001 14:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

*If you are younger than 18 years
If sex is taboo to your neighborhood peers
If offended by words full of sexual sleaze
Do us both a favor and skip this please.

Please ask permission before posting this story elsewhere.

(c)2000 by Sara H

Many thanks for the encouragement through trying times, and for
the inspiration so many of you given me.  This story, which
promises to be much longer than this beginning chapter, takes
inspiration from many mainstream authors and many of the authors
I have met here.

-Sara*

----

Breath of Spirit

by Sara H

Categories: FF, FD, MF, MC

----

Part One

*No one should spend their vacation in the rainforest, that's
for sure,* thought Stacey, as she walked through the humid,
misty umbrella of trees.  For nearly three weeks, she had been
following her hired guides in search of Kalabuzdi, a legendary
witch-man in the area who was said to have a potion that would
"protect the lungs," loosely translated. More accurately it was
"save the spirit-breath." Asking what this meant, she had been
told that several people had been cured of cystic fibrosis, lung
cancer, and emphysema by this inhalant. Promising, indeed.

Stacey was a field agent for Sanderson Pharmaceuticals. Usually
these legends had some true-to-life basis, and it was her job to
separate myth from fact, and get agreements to harvest or
produce the refined drugs, should they prove useful. It was
actually miserable work, but the financial rewards were enough
that she would be able to retire at the age of thirty-two. She
was twenty-eight now.

Her current assignment was looking fruitless, however, and her
patience, after months of preparatory work and several weeks of
wandering, was running a bit thin. Finally, the small party
decided to camp for the night, and Stacey settled into her tent,
logging the day's events in her journal. It had been a
particularly grueling day, and as she finished her entries and
observations, she fell asleep in her folding canvas chair.

Suddenly, Stacey snapped awake.  How long had she been
sleeping? She walked outside and stood straight. Looking up at
the canopy of trees in the bright moonlight, she thought how it
looked like a great hall in the moonlight.  The branches began
to undulate, creating patterns of raised triangles and
rectangles, moving in and out, like the breathing in her chest,
but infinitely more intricate and complex.

It occurred to her that she was either dreaming or under the
influence of some hallucinogenic agent, but the thought was thin
and flat, and turned sideways and slipped away. Her body seemed
suddenly stiff and she turned, seeking the safety of her tent,
but it was gone, along with the rest of her hired associates.
Had she been walking? It didn't seem so, but the surroundings
seemed foreign and surreal. She shivered as she felt a cool wind
rushing past her face.

Her thoughts **turned** again, and the memory of her purpose in
being here was modulated to a pitch too high to understand. It
was a hair on her head, inconsequential, as hard to find as one
particular hair would be; it was nothing, it was less than
nothing; she didn't even know it existed.

The undulation of the trees was becoming more pronounced,
moving in subtle undercurrents into everything around her, and
she fought to remain still. Her body, however, was beginning to
sway and move in concert with it, and her thoughts were becoming
rhythmic and disjointed... trying to think cohesively but only
managing phrases that made no sense to her even as she thought
them.

She spun and saw a large mirror where she thought her tent...
no, where the mirror had been. Yes. The mirror.  Her eyes
dilated and wide as saucers, so wide that her eyelids hurt, she
stiffly walked to the shimmering glass.

She saw her self in the mirror, fascinated as it began to warp
and bend, joining the orgy of movement around her. She saw her
fingers begin to open and close, and looked down to see her
hands. She saw them flexing over and over... she held them up,
and saw her skin rippling, falling into the primal decadence
dancing around her.  She felt her jaw working now, and her
legs... her body in some kind of dance, some kind of thrall of
deep bestiality, but even that simple recognition was beyond her
racing mind.

She was vaguely aware that it felt... *erotic* but the thought
passed as she was consumed by the dance of her body, pleasure
beginning to pulse through her like repeating blasts of heat
from a white hot cauldron, searing her brain, ripping open her
thoughtless mind, the undulations guiding her, seducing her,
transforming her... the heat of her loins irresistible,
spreading through her like beautiful poison, calling outward
through her passion-inflamed screams of lust...

*Kalabuzdi looked down at the writhing form of the female
pinkskin. Although she had no strict western concept for it, the
witch-woman knew that stealth was a good and proper thing to use
against the invasion of the ignorance of the world outside the
forest.  She had made her own legend into a fearsome male, and
had kept the truth of Breath-of-Spirit hidden in the subtle
misdirection of great fortune. This one would soon be surely a
wonderful Breath-Maker...

As she watched her family-tribe carry the strange pink-skinned
woman away to her new and soon to be permanent home, Kalabuzdi
smiled for the first time in many ages.*

----

Risa Latham watched the films that had been returned to her by
the covert CIA operatives in Africa for what was likely close to
the thousandth time.  She watched as the camera entered the
thatch hut deep in the rainforest, and panned around the inside
walls, guided by an unseen cameraman.

There were ten women standing with their backs to the outside
walls, their faces painted colors that were starkly bright in
the dark space.  She estimated that the floor was about sixteen
feet square, with a floor of compressed dirt and grass mats. 
Through the camera's microphone, she could hear the sounds of
deep, intense breathing.  Even from a room thousands of miles
away, and months after the fact, she got an eerie sense of
ritual that she couldn't quite place.

There was something she *could* place, however. It was the face
of the woman who now lay in a quasi-catatonic state in Risa's
isolation laboratory. It was the face of Stacey Newman,
scientist and pharmacological researcher, who had been missing
for nearly six years.

Risa's attention returned to the film which, up to this point,
looked like a standard field investigation video journal.

She watched as the agents, dressed in camouflaged fatigues,
approached one of the women.  She unconsciously leaned forward
as she watched - this was where things got interesting.

The woman's eyes opened, strangely pearlescent in the glow of
the camera lights, almost like those of a cat or other creature
of the night. She looked directly at the man and, almost as if
she recognized him, her eyes widened as she breathed in deeply. 
As her chest reached its fullness, her lips, as if in slow
motion, pursed into the tightened "o" of someone blowing out a
candle.

As her breath blew into the face of the man, Risa watched as he
staggered back, shaking his head as if he had been given a sharp
blow.  He fell to his knees, looking as if he were about to pass
out, but instead, unzipped his pants and pulled out his erect
penis, his hand stroking with as much intent as his vacant eyes
no longer showed.

Then, all the women in the room breathed in, an exact
reproduction of the scene so recently displayed, and breathed
outward in a great sigh of unison.

Other agents appeared in the field of view, stripping out of
their clothes, in every appearance no longer aware of their
surroundings or mission, much less the fact that they were now
being filmed. All of them had cocks as hard as Risa had ever
imagined, and they surrounded the first agent, masturbating, and
chanting something softly as they compulsively pumped their
turgid poles.

Unexpectedly, the camera fell to the ground, showing nothing at
all but relentlessly recording the sounds as the scene
continued.  In less than two minutes, the bare feet of the
cameraman scurried past the vigilant lens, and the chant
increased, the sounds of masturbation and voices mixing in the
spell of the powerful aphrodisiac air.

Finally, and as always, Risa could make out the chant.  *"Kah-
lah-buhz-dee... Kah-lah-buhz-dee... Kah-lah-buhz-dee..."*

And, completing a ritual that had begun with her first viewing,
Risa exploded into orgasm, whispering the mysterious name in
unison with the agents in the field...

----

Risa stood in the isolation suit, watching Stacey as she slept.
At least, sleep was all she could think to call it. It was more
like a period of dormancy, a time when the blank, staring eyes
closed, and Stacey's metabolism slowed for recuperation.

When she was awake, she would eat when given food, drink when
offered water, but it had to be fed to her by nurses. It
couldn't be called consciousness in any typical sense.

When roused, Stacey would breathe to them - long, wispy breaths
full of *something.*  Whatever it was, it didn't make it through
the suits, and it was airborne. Risa was fascinated.

Using human volunteers (having found that no animals were
affected by Stacey's breath), the scientists in Risa's charge
managed to find filters that would not allow the substance to
pass.  Whatever it was it was incredibly powerful, evidenced by
the fact that it took two weeks of constantly circulating air to
collect a usable sample.

Analysis of the compound revealed its origin, which was a
witch's brew of some exotic chemical compound mixed with
Stacey's own DNA, which was ejected through the lungs into the
surrounding air, affecting anyone nearby. Eventually, the
compound broke down, making long-term study difficult, if not
impossible.

After interviewing several rainforest locals and the agents who
survived the final raid where Stacey was found, a picture began
to emerge.  Apparently, a witch-woman named Kalabuzdi would
cause a victim to ingest a substance that would create blissful,
libido enhancing hallucinations, and at the same time alter the
genetic structure of that person. The result was permanent
psychosis and the "substance" which, according to all the tests
Risa had run, was manufactured in the victim's own body.

Technology was not up to the task of reversing the process. The
victim was, in essence, a prisoner to her own genetic code. The
biggest mystery though, was in the transference of "Kalabuzdi
worship" and sexual abandon to those who inhaled the
intoxicating breath of Stacey and those who shared her fate. It
wasn't logical or reasonable, but there it was, nonetheless.

Deep inside, Risa fought the temptation to remove her headgear.
There was something about the way the subjects reacted that
stirred a darkness deep within her. It was as if her primal self
was calling to her, seducing her, begging her to share, to be
set free. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she turned to
the task at hand.

It was time for an experiment.

Risa pulled out the pictures of the assassinated Kalabuzdi and
held them before Stacey's wide, unblinking, pearlescent eyes.
"Stacy," intoned Risa, "Kalabuzdi is no more. Kalabuzdi is dead.

"There is no place left for those who worship Kalabuzdi. Only
those who move forward can survive. This means you, I hope,
Stacey."

Risa had half-turned to walk away when she noticed a twitch at
the corner of Risa's eyes... and she turned back. "That's it..."
Risa whispered. "Fight it. Come back..."

Without warning, Stacey's eyes filled with fear and dread. She
began to jerk her head around, her eyes quickly moving from
place to place in the room.

"You're in a special hospital Stacey," soothed Risa, her
concern showing in her face.

"Who... arrrrre... you..." Stacey choked out through her long
atrophied vocal cords.

"I'm Risa, your doctor," replied Risa, by rote.

"Reeeeesssssssssssaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." rasped
Stacey.

Before she even had a chance to think, Risa reached up and
unfastened the clamp that held her airtight helmet to her suit.
Whether it was compassionate instinct or something altogether
different, it was too late to turn back. The seal had been
broken.

Risa finished removing her helmet and sniffed the air. *"No
unusual smell,"* she noted.

Stacey began to make a gurgling noise and Risa's doctor's
instincts took over.  Grabbing Stacey by the shoulders, Risa
looked into her eyes for signs of trouble.

She never even saw the blast of air from Stacey's pursed lips
coming.

----

Risa lifted herself from Stacey, her pussy still tingling from
the ministrations of her beloved's tongue. She didn't need to
think... she knew what had happened. She shivered as delicious
waves of pleasure undulated through her in complex patterns,
crashing her lusts together in new and insane ways.

Ways that she now embraced without hesitation.

As she left the confines of the isolation laboratory, she
looked at the coffee cup  sitting on the table outside.  The
name "Denise" was hand painted on its white surface. Risa seemed
confused for a moment, and then she visibly relaxed. She placed
a finger on her tongue and wiped her newly tenacious spittle
around the rim.

Smiling, she turned and beckoned lovely Stacey, and they walked
out of the outer lab together. Neither spoke, nor did they even
acknowledge each other, their newly born relationship of
Mistress and slave evidenced only by the fact that they were
walking in the same direction.

Risa thought of her new purpose, of her first slave... the
first of many yet to come. She thought of Denise, the cute young
nurse who would be having her first cup of coffee of the day in
less than seven hours.

*"What a wonderful Breath-Maker she will be."* She smiled for
the first time in ages.

====================================

Part Two

*Risa slept and dreamed. She was lying on the grass in a
meadow, looking up at the sky.  There was nothing to do, nothing
to be, nothing calling her. Totally in the present, there were
no distractions - not even thought.

She watched as the sky began to swirl; a gentle whirlpool of
color, reaching down to her, as she felt herself become the
focus on the bottom of an ocean of air. The swirling began to
quicken, and then slowed and pulled away again.

Somewhere inside of herself, she realized her breathing was
pulling on the sky. As she breathed inward, the swirling sky
quickened and lowered, like a soft tornado, reaching nearly to
her nostrils. She became aware of a craving to breathe it in.

She discovered that if she breathed in hard and quickly,
letting it out slowly, that the swirling sky did not diminish as
much... she began to breathe to pull it into her... her body
pulling and pulling to get the taste of... *>something<* inside
of herself.

Then, as if a light came on, she breathed in... and there was
no need to breathe out. Her lungs became a vacuum, pulling in
the essence of the sky in one unending, glorious breath...*

In a moment of realization, she felt that she was in her own
bed, and saw that she was blankly staring at the ceiling. She
did not remember falling asleep, or waking up. It was more a
vision or a waking dream that had consumed her, drawing her in,
to show her something mysterious and wonderful. She felt, for
the first time in her life, both satisfied and full of clarity.

Looking back at the events of the last few days, Risa was
somehow, innately, beginning to understand the mysterious
process. The "rules" were complicated and a bit convoluted, but
the reality of her experience made it much easier to
understand... inevitable to accept.

The most important of these, at least to Risa, was a rite of
ascension through the death of Kalabuzdi, as there had been with
those who came before her. Upon her death, the next person
"infected" by a Breath-Maker would rise to become the next
"queen."

Rationally, Risa could still tell that it sounded tenuous at
best. Yet here she was, her blood burning, her need to create
her tribe coursing through her veins more strongly with every
moment. Through the rapture that she felt increasingly washing
through her, Risa had a brief moment of realization that she was
as much trapped in her destiny as Stacey was, along with
everyone Kalabuzdi had "recruited". Then, the moment was gone,
her opinions no longer of any consequence, stronger compulsions
now chanting endlessly inside her rapidly surrendering mind. 

And, for lack of a word that fit, she felt... hungry.

Stacey still lay beside her, her pearlescent eyes of green
staring upward at nothing. Risa was not one for automatons, for
mindless robots of flesh. Although Stacey was capable of
bringing Risa to shattering orgasms thanks to her oblivious
ministrations, Risa found herself wanting someone who could
interact... improvise, provide surprises. Besides, Stacey's
current state made it impossible for Risa to return the favor.

Knowing instinctively what needed to be done, Risa kissed
across the face of her loving, enslaved researcher, and pressed
her lips to the subtle moistness of the girl's own facial
labia... and breathed a piece of the sky into her.

Now, there was nothing that Risa could do for Stacey but wait
for the change. In the meantime, she had work to do, and she
picked up the telephone, dialing a number she could just barely
remember.

----

Dr. Jessop didn't know what to say.  Her old classmate Risa
Latham was on the phone, telling her what had to be the
strangest story she had ever heard. While slightly incredulous,
she listened patiently and intently, on the chance that it might
be true.

Once the closest of friends, in the time since medical school
and residency they had managed very little contact except
through email and websites. Time had done to them what it does
to so many, and they had lost track of each other except for the
occasional note. Dr. Jessop knew that Risa had gone to work for
the government, bypassing what had promised to be a lucrative
career. Specializing in associative disorders, she had been a
brilliant young co-intern as well as personal confidant.
Distance and time had not changed her affection.

And now, quite suddenly, here was Risa, telling her a story
that sounded a little like something from a third-rate science
fiction novel.  It was full of government conspiracies to kill a
patient they thought was dangerous, a patient that Risa had
helped escape. Regardless, if true, she had no choice but to
help her friend, and the patient in question.

"Risa, if this is some kind of silly joke..." began Dr. Jessop,
but Risa cut her off.

"No, really, Pam... I've never been more serious in my life!"
blurted Risa.

"But why would you need a gynecologist? I don't think I have
the skills to help you with this case. Besides, I don't have
half the knowledge you had even when you were in school,"
worried Pam.

"Whatever this is, Pam, it's systemic. A gynecologist has as
much training as any other doctor, and I need help - Stacey is a
very ill young woman. I wouldn't be surprised at all to find
that she's been given some kind of slow-acting poison or other
nasty chemical agent. You've just *got* to help me figure this
one out..."

"Okay, Risa, count me in.  But if I get caught in something
illegal, I'll say you forced me at gunpoint." The smile in her
voice carried easily over the telephone line.

"Agreed, Pam," laughed Risa. "Thanks... you don't know how much
you're helping my goal - er - of helping this patient! We'll be
right over!"

With that, Dr. Pamela Jessop hung up the phone, a shadow of
both interest and concern crossing her face. *How very odd,* she
thought, as she walked out of her office.

----

Pam looked at the woman lying on the examination table. If she
had fostered doubts before, they were erased now. The girl was
definitely not well, and there was something not quite natural
about it. In truth, she had never seen anything like it, at
least in real life. *So much for cheap science fiction,* she
noted.

Of course, there were the eyes... pearlescent and green, as if
she were shining a light into a cat's eyes at night. There was
something else, too, buzzing around in the back of her mind, but
she couldn't quite place it; something nagging at her thoughts.

She began her examination by checking for motor reflexes,
response to stimulation and other signs of present
consciousness. Stacey could react to guided manipulation, such
as holding her head where Pam placed it, but did not appear to
have reflexive reactions based on external stimuli. Pam noticed
the odd mix of vulnerability and strength, and found herself
almost feeling a kind of muted admiration for the unresponsive
woman. Vulnerable because she had no protection, strong because
nothing seemed to affect her. It had a kind of mystique,
almost... *erotic*, although Pam was not sure the adjective fit.
Even so, she let her eyes wander up and down the naked female,
and was slightly surprised to find her hands shaking.

Looking in Stacey's ears, but finding nothing, Pam moved
quickly to her eyes. Although they seemed cloudy with green
iridescence, they reacted normally to light. Next she looked
into the girl's nostrils, and into her mouth and throat, but
couldn't find anything that would indicate an infection. Feeling
the girl's breath against her face, the doctor felt a surge of
warmth move down her body and let herself enjoy the intimacy of
the moment... immediately feeling guilty and returning to her
objective analysis.

The swimming thoughts in the back of her head were getting
annoying now... clearly stronger... they were almost audible as
she continued to look over the green-eyed researcher, noting
that Stacey's state almost seemed like a form of autism. She
took a step back and shook her head. Letting her eyes again
creep down Stacey's body, Pam realized her nipples were becoming
erect. The strange hum in her head was starting to throb, and it
was affecting her ability to think clearly. Her hands moved to
her breasts, as if to rub dirt off her lab coat, and she
shivered as the touch sent sparks of pleasure to her moistening
folds.

*What a sexy woman,* mused Pam, blushing as she caught herself
flushing with the tendrils of unfamiliar arousal. She paused at
the foreign feelings of sapphic desire and, blinking her eyes a
few times, somehow managed to get her wandering thoughts back to
a professional level.

Almost.

Pam pulled out her dictation recorder and began to speak into
it. "Subject is thirty-four years old, Caucasian, with
associative disorders similar to autism, which appear to be
caused by being so damned cute -  um, I mean caused by non-
biological agents, at least on first examination." Pam frowned
to herself at the distraction and nuisance of her wandering,
rebellious thoughts. *But so nice,* the voices inside her
whispered.

"The condition doesn't appear to be natural - perhaps caused by
a chemical agent ground into her... her... cunt by searching,
needy fingers - no, strike that. Introduced to her orally, from
the... the lips of my hot little slit - I mean, by pill or
perhaps even hypodermic."

*What the fuck is wrong with me?* Pam shouted inwardly, before
attempting to relax and continue. "Stacey is possibly under the
influence of some mind altering... mind altering..." Pam fought
to find the right word now, feeling profoundly shaken and dizzy,
"...ORGASM! Fucking HOT orgasm from a slick little burning
pointed tongue like mine!" she suddenly blurted out.

Now visibly shaken, she quickly turned off the dictation
machine and tried again to collect herself. Her brain was alive
with harmonic phasing now, her thoughts coming faster than she
could keep pace. Thoughts of sex... so delicious... so nasty...
so wonderfully perverted... *Dear God I have to quit this... I
have to finish my initial report... analyze... observe...
fuck... tongue...cum with her... help her... cum... burnnnn... *

Her heavily dilated eyes now gazed at Stacey with dread and
pure burning lust, locked in an unholy marriage of thoughts that
were dissipating like sprinkled confetti around Pam's exhausted
defenses. Her nipples were a blazing torrent of need, a need she
was unable to ignore... *pulling* her... ripping into her eyes
and mind and pussy and clit and body and soul like a sexual ball
of hot plasma.

Struggling to gain control of the raging wildfire within her,
she breathed slowly and deeply to try and ease her building
passion. Desperately she tried to push down the lascivious,
brazen thoughts, but her years of trained analytical objectivity
betrayed her, abandoned her, and she could not call it back,
could not remember how.

She tried to scream away the lustful, intruding thoughts that
were taking over her mind, but all that would come forth was a
sound she only knew by her effort was her own.  She could hear
her moans as they left her mouth, rippling down her body and
through the charged air... and still she fought for control, for
something to grasp that would pull her up from the deadly
quicksand of her explosive fucklust.

Then she found it, the branch she needed, the saving grace of
reason... only to have it turn and ravage her with a thousand
million tongues of mocking sexual depravity and wanton pleasure.

Looking in vain for anything familiar to save her from the
sensual avalanche, she blindly turned on the dictation machine
again, and began to babble into it, "Secondary causes of... slut
cumming mind fire... inoculation of... anal violation...
ecstatic mucous membrane... medically necessary... tongue
fucking... no... treatment of same... hot flowing juices...
cumming hard... nerve endings... no control... cummmmm
together... "

Somewhere deep inside, with the last remaining part of her that
knew she was in trouble, she fought to find safety. Her fear was
a sandy beach washed with waves of unquenchable desire. Her eyes
filled with panic and desperation, but it was impossible to tell
if it was desperation to back away, or to plunge carelessly
onward; in fact, they were exactly, irrationally, the very same
thing.

Pam staggered back in confused, raw heat, her mind splintering.
Looking up, it appeared that the light on the ceiling was
glowing with orange and green streamers cascading away from
it... making her sex begin to emit a stream of electric jolts in
concert with the colors that were both compelling and alien...
powerfully relentless and irresistible.

Her legs began to buck with the culmination of the attack on
her pleasure centers, her fingers and toes out of control with
ecstatic spasms. Too disoriented to think, too possessed to
move, the last tiny fragment of self-preservation suddenly leapt
out from a pocket in her mind, crashing her body to the floor
and forcing the door open, even as her body caved in to the
orgasmic mind-numbing fire that was the apex of the assault. Her
moans transformed to unearthly screams of universal passion and
bliss, and her eyes saw only the pinwheeling colors of
unstoppable pleasure that was now her world...

As her mind began to clear from the rapturous episode, Pam
looked up to see Risa standing in the doorway above her.
Expecting to see alarm in her friend, some sign of help, she
shriveled as the reality of her situation swept over her...
manifested in Risa's wide, knowing smile.

Risa reached down to take her friend's hand, and, helping her
slowly to her feet, guided her back to the table.  Pressing Dr.
Jessop gently over, she guided the pliant doctor's head until
her lips were a scant half-inch from Stacey's own.

"It's easy, isn't it, Pam," reassured Risa. "All you have to do
is breathe..."

----

Pam screamed, biting into her fist again as she came so hard
that she saw stars dance. Every time it was better and better...
a gift from Risa that she could not deny herself. How long had
it been since she gave herself to her Mistress? Certainly at
least a week, but time had no real meaning to her at this point.

Just the thought of Risa... beautiful, irresistible Risa...
made her juices flow even more strongly and her hot pussy yearn
for another release. But Mistress had given her a duty, a solemn
purpose she would have to accomplish before she could play again.

She got up from the examination table in her office, the musk
of hot sex and arousal wafting behind her. She caught a glance
of herself in the mirror, and stopped to stare, taking a brief
moment to reach inside her lab coat and sharply pinch her
nipples. *"So obscene,* she thought, *so hot...*

She recognized the Heat-Giver in the reflection not as Pamela
Jessop, but only as the property of her Mistress, and felt a
shiver run through her body at the unspeakable honor of what she
had been allowed to become. She slowly, reluctantly, let her
hands fall to her sides in obedience to her mission.

She turned and left the room, walked out to the reception desk,
and looked down the list of patients. Checking through the
statistical questionnaires, she found what she was looking for.
"Sheila Crandall?" she called. A young woman of perhaps twenty,
with long brunette hair and a cute roundish face stood and
walked to the door that led from the waiting area the
examination rooms.

Pam smiled at the nervous woman, and said, "Just go on into
Examination Room Three, and I'll be with you in a moment." 
Satisfied the woman could find the proper room, Pam slipped into
the nearby stockroom for a moment. Picking up a douche, she
remembered how long it had taken to collect enough of Mistress'
juices to mix effectively with the cleansing wash. She laughed
for a moment, remembering her curiosity about Risa's choice of a
gynecologist to help her. Actually, it was perfect.

After knocking on the door and entering the room where Sheila
waited, Pam instructed her to go into the adjoining bathroom and
use the douche, prior to the examination. Sheila objected
slightly, "But I used one before I came in, Doctor."

"And I *do* appreciate it, but those products leave chemical
traces that can corrupt any tests we do, if needed, and this
will neutralize anything that might give us a false result." Pam
shrugged, "It's really no big deal, and it'll just take a
minute, okay?"

Sheila nodded, apparently satisfied, and went into the bathroom
to use the adulterated douche, while Pam went outside, checking
her watch.

Risa's sexual lubricants were the most potent of her mind-and-
body altering secretions. After only ten minutes, Pam prepared
herself to go in and harvest the new Breath-Maker. While true
that it would take another day for Sheila to begin producing the
Breath of Obedience, her mind would already be in the throes of
deep and permanent change.

Even though she knew what she would find, she felt a rush of
sexual pleasure race through her as she saw the partially
transformed Sheila, writhing on the floor in a will-shattering
orgasm that would become her only experience until Mistress
decided to bring her back to consciousness, if ever.

Unable to stop her own burning passion, Pam slipped two fingers
into her slick, satin wellspring of bliss, thumbing her clit,
pressing and bruising it, taking herself farther and farther
into ecstasy as she watched Sheila's motions become more and
more obscene. Pressing her other finger into her hot, clenching
asshole, she let herself free into the unbound worlds for which
she now constantly ached.

Pam felt her toes curl and her belly quake as she let the hot,
pure waves of blissful worship and sexual abandon take over her
body and soul, sending her into the realm of Kala - Spirit -
where she found the Will of her Mistress guiding her, the Will
of Kalarisa, pulling her ever deeper into need and surrender,
shaking her soul with orgasmic creation, higher and higher,
until she could remember nothing but Mistress... Kalarisa... and
she passed into the oblivion of obedient rewards....

----

When she regained consciousness, Pam walked over to the still
writhing Sheila, and placed the finger covered with her own
sexual nectar to the young woman's lips. Instantly, Sheila
calmed, and her eyes opened, staring blankly upward, her orgasm
internalizing, the writhing still uninterrupted in her newly
remade mind.

Pam noted that her eyes were already beginning to show signs of
the green crystals, a sign of who and what she was, and forever
would be: Breath-Maker for Mistress Risa and her Heirs.

Taking the newborn Breath-Maker Sheila by the hand, she raised
her gently to her feet, and guided her down the hallway to what
had once been Examination Room Five, but had since been emptied,
needed for a higher purpose. Pausing outside the entrance, she
relished the sound of deep, unison breaths that issued softly
through the door.

Pam opened the wide door and guided Sheila to a place on the
wall, backing her up to it, and looked around.  Sheila was
joining five other Breath-Makers, ranging in age from sixteen to
thirty-eight. Unable to help herself, Pam breathed deeply of the
air that had consumed her will, relishing the even deeper
surrender she felt galloping through her mind. Soon, as the
Breath-Makers matured, it would only take seconds for the
transformation from woman to Heat-Giver to transpire.

Reluctantly leaving the Breath-Makers to their unified task,
Pam returned to her office and private examination table, where,
placing her feet in the stirrups, bodily offered homage and
obedience to the woman who was now the reason for her feeble
existence... and as she began her climb back to the spirit-
world, she softly joined the chant which was becoming her
mantra... 

*"Rrrrrrreeeeeessssssssssaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh..."*

=======================================================

Part Three

It would be the epitome of understatement to say that the lab
was in an uproar. The disappearance of both Stacey Newman and
Risa Latham was mysterious at best.  Even with the security
cameras, it was hard to tell exactly what had happened. Men with
infrared devices and fingerprint brushes had turned up plenty of
evidence, but nothing of use. Likewise, the bio-technicians had
found nothing that was not already known.

Pete Duncan, Director of Security, watched the surveillance
tape again, searching for any clue that he might have missed. He
watched as Dr. Latham entered the isolation room where Stacey
lay and began an attempt, the last in a long series, to
communicate with the catatonic patient.

There apparently had been a breakthrough. It appeared as if
Stacey had finally capitulated. With no real warning, she
reacted strongly, seeming alarmed and disoriented. Dr. Latham
obviously had tried to comfort her, and even had some success as
the patient calmed. They appeared to be talking when Stacey
suddenly appeared to grow agitated again, possibly from choking.
Up to this point, it all made sense. But then, suddenly, Dr.
Latham reached up to remove the helmet of her isolation suit,
going against all safety protocols, especially considering what
they had discovered.

The doctor reached over to shake Stacey's shoulders, obviously
concerned about something... and then straightened, her
movements strangely slow and deliberate. Her hands reached to
the side zippers of the suit, and slowly Dr. Latham shed the
protective shield that had been her safety net. Her clothes came
next, and Pete watched as she shed the jumpsuit, bra and panties
that were her only clothes when working inside the bulky
protective gear.

Outrageous, and it only became more so as the raven-haired Risa
climbed up on the table and perversely straddled Stacey's
partially open mouth. Pete watched as Dr. Latham's hands fell
forward to the edges of the table, eyes closed, her upper body
leaning towards Stacey's feet, her hips slowly sliding to and
fro, but building steadily in fervor and speed. Within moments,
her hips were grinding uncontrollably, her back arching and
reversing with impossible agility, and the wanton, obviously
crazed doctor screamed and bucked so forcefully that Pete could
almost hear it despite the lack of sound on the tape.

Then, inexplicably, Risa became nearly still, her body
quivering as she tensed. After nearly ten minutes of shivering
and drooling in place, her mouth closed, her eyes opened, and
she dismounted the patient, whose tongue, still extended and
writhing, became still and returned to its dark cavern. *Must've
been the 'big O' to end all 'big O's'*, thought Pete, shrugging
off the dark sense of voyeurism he suddenly felt.

Bringing the young patient to her feet (an action that had
initially surprised Pete... he would have expected atrophy),
Risa dressed the woman in a hospital gown, and herself in her
recently discarded jumpsuit. They left the lab through the
previously sealed escape door, and were lost for a moment until
picked up by the hallway camera.

Risa and her charge walked the rest of the way out of the
building virtually unnoticed, with only the cameras as witness
to their departure. Whatever had happened to Risa had not
affected her ability to think... she had quite handily bypassed
the rather daunting security of the protected facility.

Pete unconsciously rubbed his swollen prick. This whole thing
was so fucking *weird*.  It was like watching something from his
worst security nightmare and a triple-x video at the same time,
and it had only happened six hours ago.

There was a knock on the door and he quickly jerked his hand
away from his crotch and gruffly called, "Come in!"

It was Denise Masterson, whose help he hoped would prove
useful, since she was the only person other than Risa Latham
intimately involved with the work surrounding the enigmatic case
of Stacey Newman.

"Find anything?" asked Pete, his eyes wandering over the
assistant. *Great hooters, nice ass... but a face that's a bit
too horsey for my taste*, he thought for the hundredth time,
despite his "gender sensitivity training."

"Well, we *did* find a pinhole in the left armpit of Risa's...
I mean Dr. Latham's isolation suit, which would perhaps explain
her initial variance from protocol - and the properties of the
patient's breath would, at least in part, help to explain her...
increasing impropriety," Denise blushed. She had seen the tape,
along with a handful of other people who had been called in at
three in the morning.

"As for why they left, or the differences in the effects of
Stacey's genetically altered breath on Risa as compared with
other test subjects, I have no clue, Mr. Duncan. Of course, I'm
still trying to find something that will tell me more than the
videotape." Looking down at the swell in Pete's crotch, she
added, "Besides, the tape is a little... um... distracting,
don't you think?"

*Damned intrusive bitch*, thought Pete, turning red, but he
said, "Well, I suppose. I hadn't really noticed." Taking the
tape from the machine, he handed it to her, saying, "Take this
over to the vault in Building One for the time being. I haven't
had time to make a copy yet, so don't lose it, whatever you do.
We'll need it later for the report, and it may help piece
together what's happened. Other than your pinhole, it's the only
solid evidence we have."

Denise nodded and took the tape, and added, "I was just on my
way to finally get a cup of coffee. I haven't had a chance to
wake up with all the hoo-ha of this thing. Can I get you a cup?"

"No thanks, I've already got some," Pete answered. "Actually,
once you drop it off, why don't you go home and get some rest?
You've done all you can for the moment. It's really time for the
men's work now, anyway." Pete grimaced as the words came out.
The last thing he needed was a sexual harassment suit on top of
a security breach. *Well, if she didn't have such luscious tits,
she probably wouldn't have the job anyway*, he added, silently
rebelling against the Gods of PC.

Denise left the security office and walked down the hall to the
break room. *What an asshole*, she thought, smiling grimly. *For
all that he tries to hide it, he's just another macho lech with
a little power... and bullshit!* Pulling her regular mug out of
her lab coat, she poured herself a cup and took a sip. She
looked at the stoneware mug with her name painted on it. It had
been a gift from Risa after working together for two years.
Tears formed in her eyes and she silently cursed, *Why couldn't
it be fucking PETE who took off instead of Risa?*

She decided she really must have been more tired than she had
thought. The walls seemed to be moving as she sat there fuming.
Almost like they were breathing... She stood and grabbed the
elevator to the first floor, trying to clear her head.

As she left the building for her car, she felt a wave of what
she thought was drowsiness wash over her, nearly making her keel
over. *God, I DO need to get some rest, and despite his
bullshit, for once, Pete's being human. Soon as I get this tape
over to Building One, I'm definitely due for a visit to my
boudoir...* she thought. By the time she drove the several miles
to the gate that led to Building One, she had completely
forgotten about the delivery. As she headed home, more from
instinct than awareness, all she could think about was bed and
sleep.

And Risa.

Denise walked in the front door of her small house and
staggered through the living room to her bedroom, shedding her
shoes as she went. She tried to unbutton her blouse, but her
fingers simply weren't listening to her brain. Besides that, her
body was tingling in an odd way... not that she minded... it
felt awfully nice.

Falling onto the bed, she rolled onto her back, and stared at
the ceiling as it began to undulate, like the break room, as if
it were breathing... 

*Wonderful*, she hummed, *fucking wonderful...* as her body
began to writhe with building pleasure. Her thoughts filled with
images of painted faces, melding with Risa's face... faster and
faster they danced, like a tornado, ripping out the past,
leaving an empty vessel... and now she was dancing, too... *god,
it feels like... like...*, she gasped inside her mind, as the
first tendrils of impending orgasm swept over her body.

Very soon, she would have no thoughts at all.

----

"God *damn* it! Goddamnedfuckingcocksuckingcuntheaded
*bitch*!!!!" Pete ranted inwardly. At least in his head, he
didn't have to edit his words or opinions. *This would *never*
have happened twenty years ago. Fucking woman doctors and woman
bosses and woman screw ups. Give me a man every time. Give me
someone I can depend on*, he continued, the stress of his
situation wilting the more tame and reasonable attitudes he had
been forced to adopt, outwardly.

Denise had not dropped the tape at the vault in Building One;
in fact, she hadn't even *been* to Building One. "I'm already in
deep enough shit with this fiasco - I don't need some horsey-
looking BITCH to fuck it up even more!" he shouted from his
office to no one in particular.

Not only that, but there was no answer from her home phone, her
cell phone, or her pager. He knew from experience that it was
probably something like a flat tire, or running out of gas, but
she would have likely called in that case. All that was left was
the probability of the typically scattered brain of a woman, or
the less likely possibility of foul play. Not that he cared
about either one, really; he just wanted the fucking videotape
saved. Without it, he was dead meat. It was the only solid
evidence he had that anything strange had happened, and, more
importantly, that he could not have prevented it from occurring.

As he considered his course of action, he became increasingly
angry that he had to deal with Denise's typical lack of focus on
top of his larger, looming problem. With mixed feelings of
satisfaction and regret, he decided to call the head office to
speak with the Human Resources Department.

Pete dialed the number on his speaker phone. "Veronica? Listen,
as of five p.m. today, I want Denise Masterson terminated.
<pause> No, not killed, you idiot, just fired. Usual purge of
records or ability to reference. Okay? Oh, and the same for Risa
Latham. I don't think she's necessarily done anything we can
prosecute her for, but her status is now officially *persona non
grata*. Got it? <pause> Thanks." *What is it about women today*?
he silently grumbled.

He picked up the phone again and quickly put it back down.
"Fuck this shit - I'm going to find that irresponsible bitch
myself," he muttered as he stormed out of his office.  The
slamming door didn't even raise any eyebrows. Pete was upset
again.  It was business as usual.

----

Outside the door to Denise's house, Pete stood for a few
minutes, considering how he should handle the situation. Not
only had Denise made it home, but the door was ajar, allowing
anyone to just wander in. Luckily, at least in his opinion, that
included Pete Duncan.

He stepped carefully into the house, looking around. While he
was fairly certain that Denise had just been a typically
careless, irresponsible female, he wasn't stupid, and it was not
inconceivable that there had been foul play.

Pistol at the ready, he went from room to room, checking for
signs of intrusion. *No sign of the fucking tape, either*, he
thought. Finally making his way to the bedroom, he pushed the
door wide open and felt his jaw drop, quite literally.

On the bed, flat on her back, was Denise Masterson, still
partially clothed. She was writhing, hands gripping the air,
nearly foaming at the mouth, her mouth silently working as if
trying to moan softly. Her eyes, green-tinged and wide, seemed
to be looking at a spot on the ceiling, or maybe nothing at all.

For the first time since this investigation began, he was truly
horrified. All thoughts of anger dissipated in fear and panic at
the lewd display. He was turning to go to the phone when a wave
of intense arousal hit him full force.

Like a needle on a compass turning to north, his suddenly rock-
hard prick spun him around. His eyes washed over with lust and
he realized he was in pain... struggling to think... to focus.
Suddenly it hit him, and he knew... realized completely... the
pain was the clothes keeping his manhood trapped... As he
released his turgid single horn from his slacks, a wave of
pleasure nearly knocked him over as the air touched his skin.
His hands, following a new craving, ripped his remaining clothes
off to get to more of the addictive, blissful feeling of
nakedness, as he fell to his knees.

Then, for a moment, the feeling seemed to lessen, and he
remembered the tape, Denise, and why he had come here. Sensing
the danger he was in, he attempted to stand but only managed to
lunge for the door. He crawled across the room, *almost...
got... almost... there...*

Somewhere in his addled mind, he heard the front door open and
close, and footsteps. "Here!" he yelled, "Don't come!
Dan...ger...ous..." he screamed as he felt his motivation wax
and wane. His eyes fell to the carpet, which was suddenly very
interesting and... *arousing...* as colors began swimming
through its fibers. His cock was screaming to him now, begging
for his hand, telling him to just *feeeeel* how good it could
be, like never before, like how it could feel in the deepest of
wet dreams...

"Looking for this?" came a laughing, familiar voice. It was the
sound of heaven. It was the source of life and purpose. Of love.
His eyes jerked upward, against his will. It was the voice of
Risa Latham.

And she was holding the tape.

"You know, Pete, everyone at the lab has always hated your
chauvinistic bullshit. Oh, you've tried to hide it, but it
always finds a way out of you. Even the men have been
embarrassed at your sexist comments and attitude. I think they'd
like what you're going to become. And I don't think anyone will
miss you at all."

Pete listened, drinking in the words. He simply couldn't help
it. They were the fabric of the universe.

"Do you know what the real definition of chauvinist is? It's
someone who stubbornly holds on to a lost cause. You might know
that if you ever checked a dictionary.

"In your case, it's particularly appropriate, don't you think?"
grinned Risa.

Pete felt his head nodding up and down, and felt his surprise
shift to wonder at Risa's amazing wisdom.

"Now you," continued Risa, "would have run away, leaving poor
Denise to suffer." Pete watched as Risa reached into a small
bag, and pulled out a vial full of an amber liquid. She opened
the small bottle and poured the contents into her hand and
fingers, spilling it freely. Her fingers shone as if wet from
the nectar of hot, molten sex. Pete felt drool drip off the
bottom of his chin, unable to move or speak. Risa walked over to
Denise and touched her finger to Denise's lips, and Pete heard
rather than saw the girl quiet and lay still. "Breathe deeper,
Pete," winked Risa. Pete obeyed without even truly hearing the
words.

"Pete, I am merciful; I know you can see that. You likely
deserve to die. But your efforts in the past at equity, while
pitiful, are perhaps evidence that you *might* be reclaimed. Is
that what you would like? Is that what you truly want?" Pete
nodded again as he felt tears begin to roll down his face. For
the first time since childhood, he felt ashamed. Ashamed of who
he was, ashamed of his arrogance, ashamed even of the turgid
pole that was screaming its need to fuck.

"You will bond with me, Pete. You will fuck me. Your puny life
will have real purpose which you will never need to doubt or
question. Once we are bonded, my life will be your life. My
death will be your death. Joy. Pain. All. And perhaps for the
first time, you will feel complete surrender and love.

"Much better, don't you think? You may speak, Pete."

"Yesss," said Pete, in rapturous agreement. He had no choice.

"Now, I know you want to fuck me. I know you want it more than
anything you have ever felt," Risa crooned, watching Pete
shudder in agreement. "But you must prove yourself worthy."

"I have a list of things for you to accomplish. You will not
remember this meeting until you have accomplished them. Then you
will return to me to complete our bonding. There will be nothing
more important. Do you understand? Good boy.

"First, you must destroy the tape, and forget that it ever
existed. Then, you will forge papers showing the transfer of
Stacey, Denise and me to a privately held laboratory. You will
pretend that you have found these papers, and out of the
embarrassment of having created a crisis where none existed, you
will resign. You will do this in a way and in a time that raises
no suspicions.

"If you are caught, and cannot convince your persecutors of
your innocence, your heart will stop. Truly stop. You will not
breathe. You will not think. You will quietly die. You know this
is true, don't you?"

"Yes," replied Pete, filled with the clarity of Risa's commands.

"You were not here. I was not here. None of this exists until
you can return. Go."

Risa smiled suddenly as she watched Pete stand, and added, "Be
sure to stop by home and put on some clothes. This seems only
natural, right? You always have to go home when you lose your
clothes..."

"Right."

"Go."

Risa watched the naked Pete Duncan get into his car and stared
as he drove down the street and turned the corner. *Not the only
corner he's turned today*, she smiled to herself.

Then, turning to her first new Breath-Maker, she finished
removing the tangle of clothes her assistant still wore and,
lifting herself to the bed, straddled her young protege's
slightly open mouth, and said, simply, "Lick..."

----

Pete Duncan, former Security Director for Isolation Building
Two, felt the rapture of Denise's breath on his body again. The
tasks he had been given had been easier than he could have
imagined. Risa, glorious Risa, had been right. No one had seemed
to mind that he was leaving, and had barely looked over his
report long enough to accept his humble resignation. The only
sticky problem he had was when Risa's and Denise's friends and
associates asked how to contact the pair. "Classified," he would
answer, "on a 'need-to-know' basis."

And now, he felt his arousal swelling to new heights as Risa
approached him. His cock had never been so hard, so completely
solid, and shivers ran through him from the tip of his purple
glans, through his asshole, all the way to the base of his
skull... and he knew deeply that it would only get better.

He watched as Risa removed her clothes, her movements fluid and
graceful. Her skin was completely smooth and without blemish...
not even hair graced any part of her svelte, perfect form from
the neck down. Pete felt his consciousness reaching out from the
vessel of his body; he could almost see the vapor-like twisting
as his consciousness twined with Risa's in the ether-space
between them. Risa's eyes closed as she savored the coming
moment... the moment that she would complete the Circle of
Spirit. After this, the tribe would only add to its depth... all
parts would be as they should.

Risa closed her eyes, following an ancient ritual of centering
that was revealing itself to her with each new moment. She felt
her insides and mind *shift* into something more... something
existing in multiple worlds. Primitive and elegant and mystical
and physical and spiritual combined to form a new whole,
previously unknown outside of the tribe of the Kala, the world
of the Kala, the spirit of the Kala... a world which existed in
many places at once, and nowhere at all.

As she opened her eyes, Pete saw the deep turquoise of
something new in Risa... it was as if light was shining from
them, bathing everything in turquoise heat, infecting every
molecule in the room with lust and wild, primitive abandon,
everything centered on the inviting, relaxed, heavy-lidded Risa.
He felt his mind falling into line, like the falling of
dominoes, and it was as if they floated toward each other,
called by the ecstasy of destiny beyond choice...

Risa pulled him towards her, backing herself up to a wall, her
eyes burning into him closely now, making his own vision hot and
flushed.  Standing solid and tall, he allowed her to lift
herself upward... her swollen, flooded cunt sliding down his
belly and finally finding the tip of his swollen member.

Holding herself there, she whispered, "Now we bond. Now you
become Guardian of Kala..."

Her pussy lowered slowly over his incredibly distended
steelflesh pole... he could feel the incredible heat in her as
it quivered and clenched against him.  Her lips met his and he
felt her breath flow into his lungs and he could see his cock,
like a candle, melting, but not getting any smaller, waves
moving downward along the shaft as he began to pump.

His mind was moving everywhere... and memories started to blow
through, almost of their own accord... he was driving a busy
street at night in the rain... walking in a field in the
morning, iridescent dragonflies clutching the tips of the grass
as they still slept... chasing a friend in a game of cops and
robbers... all memories he cherished... he watched as they
dissipated like fog in sunshine, never to return.

With every scene that washed away the pleasure increased... the
molten waxy waves moving further and further into his body,
until he was offering every nook and cranny of his mind and soul
to the voracious turquoise dream-eating of Risa... every lost
reality making her more real, more erotic, more perfect, more
worthy of his obedience...

He realized that he was embracing his own slavery, surrendering
his own past, but by the time the thought came there was nothing
left to argue about. There was only the bliss of Risa, of
surrender, of slavery, of obedience.

He felt his balls pulling up hotly, his whole body melting and
growing with the wax now, reshaping who and what he was as the
heat in his balls prepared to make his very essence the gift
that would seal his destiny to... *Risa... *

The turquoise heat filled his mind, his body, his every thought
as he pumped faster and faster, more and more urgently coaxing
the hot cum that was the last of his will out of him, planting
his will in... *Risa...* the friction was unending, perfect,
better than any dream or fantasy... everything was Risa and Risa
was everything...

He felt Risa's body shift slightly... and he *came* so hard
that he nearly pushed Risa through the wall with his body... he
screamed the scream of the dying, the lost, and the depraved...
and reborn, in pure ecstasy... his will spilling into her, her
pussy coaxing every last drop of cum-will from his spent tool.
He could feel her cumming, body *undulating,* her cunt absorbing
his semen, absorbing *him,* owning him, Risa, her cunt, her
words... his life... owning his soul in life and in death...

As the bonded couple slid down the wall to the floor, Risa
tried to grasp a handhold, but merely waved her hand in the air
as the sweat dripped from her face and body. Her face bore the
exhaustion of bliss, of completion. When she finally opened her
eyes, they were once again clear, as they were before the
bonding began.

Finally, she wrestled herself free, standing before the man who
had been Pete, but was now a shell, an extension of Risa's will.
"Guardian," she said. She shivered in pleasure as Guardian
looked up at her with deep turquoise eyes. "You are the first of
my protectors. Though there will be others, you will always be
cherished."

Guardian knelt in honor and obedience. As for his happiness,
Risa had been right. But then, Risa always was, and always would
be... right.

----

Risa watched her tribe sleep, before falling into the sleepless
visions that were coming more and more frequently. Soon, she
knew, she would no longer require sleep at all. She could let
her spirit rest in Kala while she worked in the world of humans.
She did not regret the end of her life as she had known it.
Soon, she would know the bliss of the Turning, when she would be
not simply Risa, but Kalarisa... like the native girl Buzdi,
before Risa.

And as she was entering a new realm of existence, she would be
taking others with her... and, there would be changes coming.
Although the Kala had limits, how it was made manifest in the
"natural world" was very much within Risa's domain... so long as
balance was maintained.

She thought of Stacey, and the torture of the unending orgasm
of the Breath-Makers, and wondered how she could change things
to both serve the Kala and her own compassion... and she felt a
mist begin to cover her eyes...

*Risa dreamed. She was lying on the grass in a meadow, looking
up at the sky. There was nothing to do, nothing to be, nothing
calling her. Totally in the present, there were no distractions -
not even thought...*

 



*Fin*  - yet to Come: "Keeper of Dreams"

----

*Please send any comments or feedback to cats_sara@yahoo.com.
Please mention the name of the story on which you are commenting.

- Sara*

-------------

"The rumors of my celibacy have been greatly exaggerated."

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Sara_H/www

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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