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Message-ID: <37517asstr$1027581003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Stevinus <stevinus3@netscape.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/L5
NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 24 Jul 2002 19:58:54 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} New Story: Divide and Conquer 1 of 3 (mc mdom)
Date: Thu, 25 Jul 2002 03:10:03 -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

This is a sex story, bla bla bla. If you're not supposed to read this, 
please turn yourself in to the nearest Thought Control center for
reprogramming immediately. 

Some people with think this story stretches the definition of MC. No
waving watches, no magic rings, no ancient books. The story is inspired
in the style of Dierdre, and is targeted to those who consider the brain
the hottest sex organ. 

Let me know what you think.







Divide & Conquer Part 1 of 3 (mc mdom)

Kylie, Brenda, Meghan and Patricia were having lunch in their prep school's 
dining area when they heard Kristov and the giggling group of girls they 
dismissed as the Kristovettes came in the door.
	"Oh, God, there he is," said Patricia. "He is soo pathetic."
	Patricia was often the first to speak, in an attempt to make up for 
her poor self-perception. She went to the school on scholarship, and though 
she was far from overweight she was not as modishly slender as many of the 
other girls in school. Though none of the other three thought any less of 
her for that, inside Patricia believed they did.
	"Look at how he's dressed," said Kylie. "Who wears a suit to high 
school? And what is that, sharkskin?"
	The other girls laughed, as usual. Kylie was the leader of the group, 
smart and blazingly self-confident, and as beautiful as any student in 
school, with an aristocratic arch in her nose and beautiful red hair to her 
waist. But she refused to fit in with the popular crowd, instead attracting 
her own circle of girls who were interested in literature, mathematics and 
progressive politics. 
	Brenda looked at Kristov's flirtatious harem, each vying desperately 
for his attention. Kristov's girls practically had a uniform, with short-
shorts or short skirts and baby-doll tops that barely reached to the waist. 
Though the school's dress policy was liberal for a prep school, at least 
once a week a Kristovette was sent home for violating it, and it seemed to 
be a point of pride to them.
	"How could they be so weak?" Brenda wondered. 
	Brenda was often teased by her friends as a bit of a throwback. She 
liked to dress in styles that were popular in the 30s and 40s, with just 
enough of a modern air to make them look hip. 
	"It's really a lot easier for them I guess," shrugged Meghan. "All 
you have to do is make one person happy and do what they say. You don't 
have to know what you want or why you want it."
	Meghan was the tomboy of the group. She exclusively wore boy-cut 
jeans and loose T-shirts, and kept her blond hair short and practical. She 
had beaten up boys since grade school, and was the best soccer player in 
school, male or female.
	"Look," said Brenda. "Angela's with him."
	"Didn't you used to be friends with her, Brenda?" asked Kylie.
	"Yeah, I used to respect her a lot, but- oh God, you've gotta be 
kidding me!"
	Brenda used to be friends with Angela, and respect her. Brenda had 
always thought of her as a geek, skinny with glasses and in the top ten of 
the class. Now Brenda was sitting in Kristov's lap, and Kristov was running 
his hands up and down her long upper leg. It was hard to tell if she was 
enjoying it or not; she had a blank grin on her face that could have been 
shame or excitement.
	The incident was interrupted by Ms. Callavante yelling across the 
room.
	"Kristov, get your hand out of Angela's crotch. Angela, get off his 
lap and have some self-respect."
	"Do you think she's even embarrassed?" said Meghan.
	"I wonder if she knows enough to be," said Kylie. "It's like a 
brainwashing cult."
	"He is cute," said Patricia. "You've got to give him that."
	"No," said Kylie. "I don't. I mean, if you like that kind of Hugh 
Grant snarky overconfidence, I guess."
	"Or if you like that his dad is a multi-bazillionaire," said Meghan.
	"How did he make all his money?" asked Brenda.
	"Real estate," said Kylie. "He seduces rich bored divorcees and 
convinces them to buy land in the middle of nowhere for like ten times what 
it's worth."
	"Have you heard what he does at his parties..." began Patricia.
	"I don't believe that," snapped Brenda. "That's just stupid rumors."
	"I don't know, I've heard this from pretty good sources."
	Patricia went on to tell them what they had all heard. That Kristov 
has parties at his house when his parents are away (which was all the 
time), and that his girls come over dressed in their best dresses, and 
parade in front of him. And he tells each one to take her clothes off, 
until he picks his favorite for the night. And then has his way with her, 
while the rest watch jealously.
	"I'm with Brenda on this," said Kylie. "Look, Angela isn't that 
stupid. I mean, I hate to say this but even Charity is not that stupid and 
pathetic."
	That brought another laugh. Tall and perfectly blonde, Charity was 
Kylie's mortal enemy, as well as Kristov's favorite. She guarded her 
position in her social clique with the ferocity of a cougar. It was agreed 
by the four of them that never in history was a name so inappropriately 
bestowed.
	"Oh no," said Patricia. "He's coming over here."
	Kristov had gotten up from his table and was casually approaching the 
four. His gaggle had become quiet, and were whispering to each other, 
watching for the outcome. 
	"Can I just hit him?" said Meghan.
	"Just don't talk to him," said Brenda. "There's no law that says you 
have to."
	"You girls surprise me," said Kylie. "You give him more respect than 
he deserves. Just be polite and treat him like anyone else. Kristov, hello. 
So good of you to join us."
	"Oh, hi Kylie," he said.
	But Kristov barely looked at her. Like a lion trailing a herd of 
antelope, he seemed to instinctively pick out the weakest and strike.
	"Patricia, I've been meaning to tell you," he said, sitting down on 
the bench across from her, "you were so impressive in Julius Caesar. You 
know that play really doesn't have enough of a female presence, and to make 
Portia stand out it really takes a special actor. You made me want to grab 
Caesar and shake him, and say 'Don't go to the Senate and get killed when 
you've got a woman like this at home!'"  
	"Oh, um, thank you."
	Brenda looked at Patricia, her rounded ivory face overcome by a 
blush. Brenda had to admit he knew exactly what to say, managing to make 
Patricia feel smart and attractive at the same time. Brenda felt like she 
should say something that would end the conversation, or at least distract 
him. But she found herself strangely unable to speak. A look at Brenda and 
even Kylie told her the same thing had come over them, and they were 
reduced to watching Patricia try to defend herself.
	 "I really love Shakespeare," said Kristov. "And I don't really have 
anyone to talk with about it. What's your favorite - no let me guess. 
Love's Labours Lost."
	Well, Brenda wanted to say, anyone could have guessed that. The one 
where the men all make idiots out of themselves and the women won't sleep 
with them. But Brenda couldn't say it, and she saw Patricia nodding and 
smiling. Before she could say anything Patricia had given him her number, 
and he walked away smiling.
	"What in God's name are you doing, Patricia," Brenda said.
	"Brenda, I was just being polite," said Patricia. "I'm not actually 
going to go out with him or anything."
	"You didn't have to give him your real number," said Kylie. "You 
could have made one up."
	 "Oh, come on," said Meghan. "She's got caller ID."
	Kylie stuck her shoulders out and assumed Kristov's voice.
	"'I just love Shakespeare. I don't have anyone to talk to about it.'"
	The girls all laughed, but Brenda kept an eye on Patricia. She 
believed there was a part of her that wasn't laughing.
	
	They all forgot about it for a few days, but Brenda, who was the most 
sensitive of them all, noticed Patricia becoming more and more distant. Her 
criticism of Kristov, if anything, actually became more vocal, but there 
was an edge, a desperation, to the way she said it. 
	And then there was the next Thursday morning in first period.
	"Patricia," said Ms. Plummer, the acid-tongued World History teacher. 
"I'll put it down to your newfound interest in geography that I can see all 
of Ecuador and part of Guatemala under that skirt. But I think the two 
inches of demilitarized zone between the top of the skirt and your T-shirt 
is outside of international norms. Why don't you go home and change and 
we'll see you tomorrow, though I hope not quite so much as we're seeing 
today."
	The class laughed as Patricia stood up, but the boys were looking. 
Though Patricia's legs were not as slender as some of the other girls, her 
belly was convex and milky. Patricia had always hid her body in loose 
clothes, but it turned out she had more to show off it appeared. To the 
amazement of Brenda, Kylie and Meghan, Patricia walked to the door, stopped 
in front of Billy and reached and re-applied her scrunchy to her black, 
curly ponytail. The stretching motion moved her shirt up above her small 
ribs. She stood that way a moment, as if to prove a point. He observed the 
bare torso and smiled, then looked across the room at someone else.
	"Patricia, go!" snapped Ms. Plummer.
	From behind Brenda, Kylie extended a note.
	_Don't even mention her name to me again._
	
	The girls usually got together every weekend, but that weekend Kylie 
forbade anyone from calling Patricia, and Patricia did not try to get hold 
of them. When they got together the absence was palpable, but Kylie made an 
effort to pretend Patricia had never existed.
	"Aren't you being a little harsh?" Brenda finally said Monday, at 
lunch.
	"I don't see how I could be," said Kylie. "As a matter of fact, let's 
exclude every word that starts with 'P' from our vocabulary from now on."
	"Look," said Brenda, "I'm sure it's just some weird desperation thing 
she's going through. I've heard her talk about how guys almost never talk 
to her."
	"It isn't that she's not pretty," said Meghan. "It's just her low 
self-confidence. It's like an Achilles' heel that a guy like Kristov can 
pierce right through."
	"'Pierce' starts with a P," said Kylie. 
	"Kylie, I think you're taking this too seriously," said Brenda. "I'm 
sure she didn't..."
	Meghan looked at her and her eyes got wide. 
	"No, she wouldn't. Would she?"
	"You're not taking it seriously enough!" said Kylie. "Even if what 
she did in class were all she did, it is a betrayal of us and everything we 
stand for. To let her back into our group would be like admitting the 
Janissaries back into the court!"
	Just then they all looked and saw Charity approaching, a smug look on 
her face. 
	"Well," said Charity. "Do you think Patricia will give us another 
show like last week?"
	"If she learned how to dress like that," said Kylie, "it must have 
been from you."
	"And," added Brenda, "she hates it when people call her Patty."
	"Hmmm, funny," said Charity. "She doesn't seem to mind when Kristov 
calls her that. But then, you usually let Kristov call you what he wants 
once he gives you the Grand Tour, if you know what I mean."
	"What are you talking about," said Kylie.
	"Didn't you hear she was over at his house last weekend?"
	"You're lying!" snapped Brenda. "You just assume everyone's like you, 
happy being some self-possessed jerk's sex toy. Patricia may be a little 
confused right now, but she has more self-respect than that." 
	"Interesting theory," said Charity. "Would you like to make a bet?"
	"I'm not going to bet over something like that," said Brenda.
	"Oh. Well, I guess we'll never know, then."
	"Wait," said Kylie. "How would you prove it?"
	"Simple. We'll do a three-way call. You guys stay on the line and 
I'll call her up and ask."
	Brenda was about to tell Charity how eighth-grade that was, but to 
her surprise Kylie spoke first.
	"What do you want to bet?"
	"Well, let's say if she slept with him, you will come over and wash 
my car, inside and out. And if she didn't, I'll wash yours."
	"I wouldn't trust you to wash my aluminum cans before I recycled 
them," said Kylie.
	"You can wash my car," said Meghan. "And if you win, I'll wash 
yours."
	Charity seemed disappointed. It was Kylie she wanted under her thumb. 
But then she smiled, and shrugged. 
	"Okay, I'll settle for that."
	As she walked away, Brenda looked Kylie.
	"Are you sure this is a good idea? You didn't seem very confident in 
her before."
	"I shouldn't be doing this," said Kylie. "But I need to know."
	There was something desperate in Kylie's tone that scared Brenda, who 
realized that Patricia's betrayal bothered Kylie far more than she 
admitted.
	"Hey, if we lose I'll survive," said the ever-optimistic Meghan. 
"Nobody ever died of washing a car."
	
	They all went to Kylie's house that night, Brenda and Meghan telling 
their parents they needed to study Algebra II. Kylie was smart with her 
computer, and had set it up so that she could take a call and play it on 
the computer's speakers. Charity called right on schedule.
	"Okay, here's the deal," said Charity. "I want you to take the 
microphone off your receiver. No matter what, I don't want you to say 
anything, understand?"
	That didn't take too much convincing; all three girls were a bit 
embarrassed to be caught taking part in this middle school game. They all 
waited as Charity dialed and Patricia's cell phone rang.
	 "Hi Patty, it's Char," said Charity, after Patty answered.
	"Um, hi," said Patricia.
	Meghan, Kylie and Brenda looked at each other in shock. She would 
have chewed them out if they called her Patty.
	"Patty, I just wanted to say how sorry I am that Kylie is treating 
you the way she is. There's no way you could have known she'd be such a 
fair-weather friend."
	"That bitch!" snapped Kylie. "Put the microphone back on."
	"Kylie," said Brenda, who was just as mad as she was but took her 
word seriously, "you made a promise."
	"Yeah," Patricia answered. "You know, I used to agree with her when 
she said all this bad stuff about you. But now she looks at me like I'm 
dirt on the bottom of her shoe. All because I got kicked out of class one 
day. And of course the other girls just do what she says. It's not easy to 
lose all your friends all of a sudden like that. It's like you just cease 
to matter all of a sudden."
	Suddenly, Brenda realized Kristov's genius. By getting Kylie angry at 
Patricia, he made the girl all the more vulnerable, for lack of protection.
	"Divide and conquer," muttered Kylie, who had realized the same 
thing.
	"Well, look at the bright side," said Charity. "I saw Kristov on 
Sunday and he seemed pretty pleased with your get-together the other 
night."
	"Oh God," said Patricia. "What did he say?"
	"Well, he was pretty tight-lipped. To tell the truth, that's part of 
the reason I'm calling you. I want to know what happened."
	"I don't know if I should say," said Patricia. "Okay Charity, but 
this is top secret. Swear to God you will not tell anyone else in the 
world."
	"I won't breathe a word," said Charity.
	Of course, she wouldn't have to. Patricia proceeded to tell the 
story.
	
	Kristov had not been timid when he called Patricia. He had invited 
her over for a private dinner at his house. His parents were away, so it 
would just be him and her. Though it was bold on his part, she was lonely 
for lack of her friends. A private dinner for two seemed like an extremely 
grown-up sort of date to Patricia, which excited her. Of course, her 
parents would never agree to something like that, so Patricia said she was 
going to Kylie's. The girls got together so often the parents didn't even 
question it, and deep inside Patricia knew that if she called and said she 
was staying the night they wouldn't think twice. 
	Kristov lived in a huge ranch house with ten acres around it. There 
was a giant swimming pool indoors, and horses out back. Dinner was ready 
when Patricia arrived, and she didn't know if he had cooked it or not but 
it was very impressive: Cornish hens with pistachio stuffing, wild rice, 
and endive salad with blue cheese. Not to mention an extremely expensive 
looking bottle of champagne, which Kristov poured liberally.
	Unlike most guys Patricia knew, who mostly talked about themselves, 
Kristov asked Patricia all kinds of questions about herself, showing 
interest in everything she said. Flattered and beginning to become tipsy 
Patricia was surprised to find herself telling Kristov more than she had to 
anyone except Kylie, Brenda and Meghan. When he asked about the three 
girls, she broke down over what she saw as Kylie's abandonment.
	"How awful of them to treat you that way," said Kristov, touching her 
neck. 
	Patricia blushed.
	"I'm sorry," she said. "How embarrassing."
	"Not at all," he said. "Look at me."
	She had not noticed before just how deep and blue his eyes were. For 
what seemed like a long time all she could do was stare.
	"Now Patty," he said, "you don't really need those girls, do you?"
	A weight was lifted off her shoulders, as she realized she didn't.
	"They're not really your friends. But that's okay. Because I'll be 
your friend. Do you want me to be your friend, Patty?"
	Patricia nodded. She was going to tell him about her name, but 
suddenly it didn't seem as important as it used to be. His hand rested on 
her knee, in a comforting way, and she didn't try to push it away.
	"Do you have a boyfriend, Patty?"
	"No, not right now."
	"When?"
	"Last year. Andy Williams."
	"I remember. He was a senior. In Drama. Did he know how to make you 
feel good, Patty? I mean, really good?"
	"He would, I mean we would..." she trailed off. "I shouldn't be 
telling you this. You won't respect me."
	"But you really want to tell me, don't you? Go ahead."
	"We didn't do it. I mean, all the way. He would ask me to- put it in 
my mouth."
	"Did that feel good?"
	"No. It was gross. When he would - you know - he wanted me to swallow 
it."
	"What did he do to you?"
	"He'd touch me. He'd put his hand - down there."
	"Did that feel good?"
	"No. Not like - not like when I do it to myself." Patricia looked at 
the ground. "I shouldn't have told you I do that."
	"It's okay, Patty. All the girls I know do it. They told me."
	"They did?"
	"And most of them never met a boy who can make it feel that good, 
just like you. Would you like someone to do that for you?"
	She had been wrapped up in the conversation, and hadn't noticed his 
hand creeping up her knee, hardly faster than a minute hand on a watch. But 
as he said that the inside of her thigh lit up with sensation and she was 
aware of the location of his hand. She stood up.
	"I shouldn't be doing this," she said. "This is too much."
	Kristov didn't seem bothered at all.
	"If you say so, Patty. Every girl matures at a different rate. Not 
every high school girl is ready for a guy to make her feel that good. Maybe 
I should give you a ride home."
	Patty thought about home, sitting in her room alone with no friends 
to call.
	"I don't want to go home.  I just don't know. You've been with so 
many girls."
	"That's true. A lot of girls like me. They like to be with me. If I 
say I'm going to be with one girl, that means all the other girls never get 
a chance. That doesn't seem very fair, does it?"
	Though Patty sensed his logic was twisted, when she was with him it 
was like part of her brain was shut down. When she thought about it she 
couldn't see what was wrong with what he was saying.
	"No, I guess that wouldn't be fair. But then I think about, what will 
everyone think of me?"
	"That's important to you, Patty? What people think of you? More 
important than feeling better than you ever felt before? If so, then maybe 
I should just take you home."
	"No! No, please don't take me home. I want you to..."
	She murmured something under her breath.
	"What do you want, Patty?"
	"I want you to make me feel good. Really good. Like you said."
	"Like when you do it to yourself, Patty? Better?"
	"Yes. Like when I do it to myself."
	"Okay, Patty. But I need you to help me out. Can you help me out, 
Patty?"
	Patricia nodded.
	"Good, here's what I need. To make you feel as good as when you do it 
to yourself, I need to see you do it. What you do when you're in private."
	"No! I can't do that. Not here, not with..."
	"Patty, if I'm going to make you feel good, you have to trust me. Do 
you trust me? Of course you do. So you just have to show me. Show me what 
you do. When do you do it?"
	Patricia talked to the chandelier, as if Kristov was not there.
	"I do it in the shower. It's the only place that's really private."
	"How do you dress in the shower, Patty?"
	"I don't. I mean, I'm not wearing any clothes."
	"So take off your clothes, Patty. Just like in the shower."
	"Take off my - now?"
	Kristov tilted her head, and gave her the patient look of a teacher 
helping a student with a difficult problem, letting her figure it out for 
herself.
	"Do I have to?" she said.
	The silence continued, as they looked at each other. Patricia 
remembered the way she had exposed herself to him in class on Friday. Why 
did she want to do that? She could stop this, she told herself. She could 
have self-control. But she found she did not want to. 
	Patricia had worn her best shirt to the date, a blue sueded silk 
short-sleeved button-up over a pleated knee-length white skirt with navy 
leather platform mules. Suddenly it seemed very important what she took off 
first. She was going to show her body to a boy - the whole thing - for the 
first time. And she wanted to present it just right. Her breasts were large 
for a girl her age, she knew, and her upper body was slender, unlike her 
hips. She reached for the top button of her shirt and unbuttoned it to the 
third button, then slid it down around her shoulders, because she had seen 
that in a movie. It was easier after that, and in a moment her shirt was on 
the floor. 
	Kristov smiled encouragement.
	Patricia breathed deeply and unzipped her skirt, letting it pool 
around her ankles. Then to her embarrassment she realized that instead of 
attractive panties she had worn flowery underwear like a little girl. She 
looked down at her rounded hips in her bunched elastic-trimmed panties and 
felt like an idiot, and was on the verge of grabbing her clothes and 
running from the room.
	"Patty!" said Kristov firmly. "Look at me. Look at me now."
	His eyes were like a lighthouse in a stormy night at sea. Looking at 
them she felt safe, and knew there was no other way to go.
	"Patty, you think you're not beautiful, but you're wrong. You know I 
have seen a lot of girls, don't you? And I could be with a lot of girls if 
I wanted, couldn't I?"
	"Yes."
	"But I'm not. I want to be with you right now. Because you're very 
beautiful. You've got nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is like a 
classical painting. I want to see it all, Patty. Show it all to me."
	She slipped one bra strap over her shoulder, then the other. She held 
it in place for a moment, then turned it down and rotated it so the clip 
was in front. She unclipped it in front, and then dropped it to the ground.
	"They're very beautiful, Patty. Firm, and round, and so white. Now 
show me your treasure, Patty. Your secret place you've never shown a boy 
before. Let me see it."
	She hooked her thumb inside, and wondered if there was any way to 
turn around now, go back to the way it was before. But she didn't see how. 
She slipped her girlie undies over her hips and dropped them around her 
feet, standing naked in her platform mules. 
	"No, Patty, don't cover yourself. Don't hide your precious little 
gift. Open it up. Show me what you do."
	"I can't. I'm sorry, I can't. This is too much. I don't know what 
kind of person I am."
	"It's okay, Patty, be a brave girl. You've come so far. You never 
thought you could come so far. Close your eyes, and pretend you're in 
private. At home, in the shower, with no one around. You can do whatever 
you want to yourself. You can think whatever you want. You can touch 
yourself wherever you want."
	Patricia closed her eyes, and tried to shut him out. She breathed, 
and then licked her left forefinger and raised it to her right nipple. 
Breathing deeply she massaged it the way she liked, very lightly, like a 
breeze running over her body. 
	As she began to lose herself in the experience, she raised her right 
hand to her sex. She ran it along the outside, massaging the lips until 
they began to get wet. Then she slipped them inside, and her knees got weak 
and she had to lean her hips against the table. As she moved faster and 
faster she raised her left hand to her mouth and bit down lightly on her 
thumb. 
	Someone is watching me do this, she thought. But it didn't decrease 
her excitement. With her eyes still closed, she imagined his blue eyes 
locked to her as she slid up to her secret button, and she moaned. Then 
Kristov's voice interrupted her.
	"Patty, stop. Put your hands on top of your head."
	Her eyes sprang open, and she looked at him.
	"But..." she said.
	"Your hands on your head. Good. Patty, I need to know what you think 
when you do that. Can you tell me what you think?"
	Suddenly she felt incredibly exposed, like she was on live 
television.
	"I can't tell you that. Don't make me tell you that." 
	"Tell me Patty. I need to know."
	"I was thinking... It's so stupid. You're going to laugh."
	Kristov was silent.
	"I was thinking, you know in biology? When Mr. Anderson brought in 
the moths and butterflies, in the box? And they were pinned inside the box, 
so everyone could look at them. Sometimes I think about, well, some girl. 
And she's pinned, but not with a needle, you know? And she's laying in a 
box, and everyone is looking at her."
	"You're pinned like a butterfly," said Kristov.
	"No, not me. Just some girl."
	"Why not you, Patty?" Kristov stood and walked around behind her. "Do 
you think no one would want to look at you?"
	"I don't know."
	"I want to look at you, my little butterfly."
	Standing behind her, Kristov ran his hands down her belly, and her 
breathing became short and fast. 
	"I want to pin you in my box and look at you all day. Your little 
body, spread out where I and everyone else can see you."
	Kristov's hand came to rest where her hand had just been, and resumed 
its work.
	"Oh my God," she said. "What are you..."
	Patricia had sent herself to orgasm plenty of times before. At least 
she always thought she had. But what she was approaching with Kristov's 
ministrations was as different from what she had experienced as a gourmet 
double fudge brownie sundae was from a stale Little Debbie snack cake. She 
was sitting against the table now, holding on with both hands, otherwise 
she would have collapsed. He might as well have had his finger on the 
'reset' button for her whole body.
	Then he pulled away.
	"I have to warn you now, Patty, what you're getting yourself into."
	"Don't stop, please. Please don't stop right now."
	"You can still get out of this, Patty, but this is your last chance. 
Once I push you over the edge, you'll need this more than anything. You 
will do anything to get me to touch you. In other words, I'll own you. If 
you tell me to stop now, you can go free still. Otherwise, you won't want 
to."
	From the way her body felt there was no doubt that it was true. 
Patricia realized she had walked right into a gilded trap. And it was she 
herself who was going to pull the lever to lock her in. Because there was 
no doubt what she was going to say. Kylie, she thought, could resist the 
feeling in her body. Kylie was strong. Maybe even Brenda. But Patricia was 
weak. No stronger than Kristov's other girls, who she had ridiculed. She 
knew when she thought about that later it would make her sad, but now she 
didn't care.
	"Don't stop."
	"You will be mine?"
	"Yesyesyes please."
	"Say it. That you will be mine."
	"I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours, forever forever I promise please, 
anything. Please, put me over."
	When he touched her again she collapsed forward at the feeling, and 
he caught her around the waist. She knew she was wailing, loud enough to be 
heard in the next house, but she could barely hear herself. 
	Kristov lay her torso forward across the table, with her legs hanging 
down. As he came up behind her she knew what was coming, but she wasn't 
surprised. He had her, so he could take everything, even one of the most 
precious moments in her life. And then he was in her, and the sensation 
didn't stop. 
	And it didn't stop. For a long, long time.
	
	After the call had ended, the three girls sat around in the room, 
quietly. Kylie had the angriest look on her face Brenda had ever seen.
	"I'm sure she was exaggerating," said Meghan. "Most girls make a big 
deal out of their first time, like they were with God, or something. And 
then later they find out it wasn't such a big deal."
	But Brenda was more nervous.
	"What about Kristov's other girls then? He must do something. Maybe 
it's like some kind of Rohypnol or something, that makes you crazy."
	"It's nothing special about him!" snapped Kylie. "It's just the power 
of suggestion. If you tell someone something, and believe it enough, then 
they'll just fall over backwards if they don't have any self-confidence of 
their own. 
	"I should have expected that of her. I was stupid, and I expected her 
to be more than she really was. Listen, I don't want anyone ever talking to 
her again, _ever_. She's dead. Does not exist. Let her be another brain-
dead tramp like the rest, I don't care."
	And that's what got Brenda more worried than anything else. Kylie had 
more composure than anyone she knew. She had never seen anything make her 
as angry as this. But she didn't dare to ask her why. 
	

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