Anthea s baby 1
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The BookChapter 7: Censorship free porn video
Many mind shields moved about in the neighborhood. Bob could feel the mentally dead spots all over. At least a dozen he could sense immediately.
Bob wasn't sure how they'd narrowed down the search to here, but the reality was, they were here.
Guessing at what could happen, and hopeful the hunters would leave the women alone, he'd written a note. It said he'd be gone a week or two, they should keep the household in good order for his return. He planted suggestions in their sleeping minds to keep them content together waiting for him. No matter how long it took.
There were at least six hunters out back. He figured there were another three or four on either side of the house. And out front...
A movie style CIA staff car look alike stopped in front. Two more pulled up on either side of it. Several more of the nearly invisible unreadable men got out of the dark boxy cars.
They gathered, one man, in a perfectly pressed suit swept his arms right and left. They parted like the sea before Moses. The man with an unruffled G-man look started up the walk. He flowed along in a smooth, unbroken motion, headed straight for Bob's sanctuary.
His nightmares come to life, he was surprised there weren't any guns. There didn't appear to be any way out. He could only guess what would happen to him. It didn't seem likely they'd walk up and say, 'Nice to see you're telepathic. Good going kid. Keep up the good work, ' then leave.
The doorbell rang. Well, it did a silly four note thing, more like chimes. Only a week ago he'd thought it cute when he bought it. He glared at the little box on the wall until it chimed again.
Well, he thought, time to brace up and face the devil. He opened the door at a normal pace to avoid startling the unusual visitor. He was rewarded with no overtly hostile reaction.
"Hello."
The man wore a perfectly pressed suit, a red silk tie, and black shoes, just recently polished. His crew cut made the roundness of his features stick out. Wrinkles, chicken tracks, around the eyes placed him around 40-43 as near Bob could figure.
"Hi Bob. I'd like a chance to chat with you. May I come in?" The man didn't bother to introduce himself.
"I don't see how I could stop you with all the manpower you brought."
The man chuckled, but didn't look over his shoulders for support. Perfectly cool, he stepped into the house. Bob led him to the living room.
"Well, this is a nice change. Your original furniture I gather." the man said. "Very unusual, most sparks just take what they like from mutes. Males often end up with poorly decorated domiciles. Very strange affect, I'm not certain how to describe it. Kind of like late american junk yard."
"I see." said Bob.
"Yup. You know we caught on to you very fast. Most sparks go two, maybe three years before we find them. You wanna know how we found you?," he paused, pulling a pack of cigarettes out. He went on before Bob could form a reply, "the girl. Oh, not the harem girls you've picked up, eh? That really is the best part of being a spark I guess, the broads. Anyway, what was I saying? Right, the girl."
The man stabbed his thumb at his own chest.
"Our girl, the one we let loose. We lost her for a while when you got to her, but you screwed up. You know how we found her? Give it a guess."
Bob walked over to the window, peeking at the carefully deployed men meandering around outside. His guest didn't mind. A cigarette lighter came out and was ignited.
"Please don't smoke," Bob said. There was no way to stop the man, but the fellow looked at his cigarette and put it away. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
The man laughed.
"Forget the bullshit. You've been plowing Kim and the two other women you got living here regular as rain. You can do this because you pull their strings. You also plow about three other women a week. Some of them Kim brings to you for your leisure.
"The amazing thing is you ain't been stealing stuff too. We usually catch the sparks by looking for swiped property, but you... You've been careful to earn the money and buy what you want.
"No, you know what I'm talking about. Kim gave you away. Not on purpose, but almost as if she put a red siren light on top of your head."
Bob resigned himself to being 'found'. He breathed a deep sigh, trying to figure the angles. Nothing this guy had said mattered much yet, sort of complementary. Sort of. Almost admiring, but hostile at the same time.
"Okay, but why bother to talk to me about it? Why not just grab me like you seem to do with the other, what do you call us?, Sparks?"
The man shuffled over to the window for a moment. Bob couldn't sense it, but he guessed it was to let the men outside see he was still well. The man took in a deep breath, and sighed, almost resigned too.
"I've been remiss. My name is Jones, Dirk Jones," the man clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "You, despite our advantage in organization, are very unusual.
"You see, we've been picking up the snatch you throw back to analyze what you do. Oddly, we can't find any sign of your meddling, unlike all most sparks.
"Most of the other sparks tend to go mad. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's see.
"The men believe they've become God. They take the power they have and start using it on the mortals around them. Women, men, it's essentially the same MO. It's just a matter of time before we track them down and catch them. Usually, when they find out there's someone they have no power over, their marbles go rolling on the floor.
"Some get lonely, because they think nobody else like them exists. This brings on a different kind of madness. It has the same net affect. You watch them looking for their shooters on the floor.
"The women, they're a different story. Depends on what they want. A tiny fraction grab men or women for themselves and play. Them we can catch quickly since they tend to be like the looney men. Some of them just use it to manipulate people they know. Easy enough to find once you see a pattern. Some women just want things and end up discovered by our financial detectives. Some try running around trying to do good deeds," he laughed, "this brings us back to the god complex and we can catch them.
"What we can't do is keep 'em. Most of them go around the bend faster than shit through a goose. Kim's Harry for instance, managed to do himself in. You've been different though.
"You seem pretty stable. You came up with a plan to become economically solvent, without creating a statistical anomaly in the crime data. Somehow you don't leave a wide programming trail on the women you've used, a more delicate touch, if you will. You kept your own home and carefully concealed your new wealth.
"You only forgot a couple things."
Bob sat in the lounge chair. He looked up at Jones's face. He was just a little curious.
"Which were?"
"You let the girl, Kim, remember her? You let her go buy and sell things, big things like property with houses, in her own name."
"Ohhhh." Bob saw the stupidity. They couldn't miss records showing any kind of detail, she'd had to use a real address too. How could he overlook so simple an error? "So what now, again why talk to me?"
"Don't feel too bad. The airport jingle would've put us on to you in another couple months anyway," came a consoling tone. Jones was sweating just a little.
"Airport jingle? What happened at the airport?"
"You took a trip. We take pictures of everyone going through security. When you went through, our scanners acted up. We wouldn't have actually checked on you for a few more months yet, but we always follow through, even on the little stuff."
"Shit, so what do you want?"
"We're a big organization. There's always room for one more. But we can't let a dangerous threat like some random spark run around loose without some strings."
"And you propose... ?"
"I'd like you to come to the Institute. See our facilities. You can bring the harem with you, we don't care. You can even collect more if you want, we'll even help. There any popular actresses you want? That reminds me, where are your little marionettes?"
"The women are asleep. When I knew you guys were out there, I had them lay down and made them sleep. I figured they might panic."
"Smart. Jesus Christ man, you make the other sparks look careless," he appraised Bob again. "As I was saying, you come work for us, we'll cater to your whims. All we want is a little help with our research, and maybe help watching some people."
And probably they wanted him off the street. The watching people thing bothered Bob.
Oh boy, thought Bob, gotta watch those enemies of the state. Hell, it might not even be the state, it might just be the enemies of the Institute. Well, the guy may be sincere. No way to tell with his shield in place. I hope so, cause there's no way out of this mess for now.
"You aren't going to let me sleep on it, are you?"
"Not exactly son, no. Would you if you were in my shoes?"
"What then?"
"Come see the facilities. You may feel a lot better about joining the team, our team." Jones was pitching. Bob didn't like it.
"I don't have much choice."
"You do, but the other choice is more painful..."
Two women and a man were in a room with a large bed. The bed was huge, designed perhaps to hold four or five people at once. Around the bed, in the shadows, were about a dozen chairs. The chairs all faced the bed.
The two women were asleep across the bed, but would wake in a few minutes.
A uniformed messenger stepped into the room carrying a sheet of paper. He walked over to the man. He tried to hand the sheet to the man.
"Never mind, what does it say?"
"Sir. The spark is coming willingly. The women don't seem to know anything is out of the ordinary and the household hasn't been disrupted yet. Jones says he's leaving the women alone for now."
"Very good. Let me know after attitude modification."
"Yes sir."
The messenger left, making a sharp turn, clicking his heels as he marched.
They were escorted by two other cars. The drive was pleasant but long. Bob thought they were either waiting for him to try something, or trying to conceal the route they took from him.
While they rode, Jones told him about the Institute.
The Institute was over sixty years old now. The original founders had been measuring brain activity secretly on an Army grant. Some rich philantropist donated enough money to see they kept operating when the congress cut them off.
The Institute had grown over the years. They had their fingers in a lot of pies. Several investments had paid off, and now they were an entirely independent operation.
Originally they were trying to ferret out spies with the mind scanner they developed. They'd figured out how to scan, and what to do to block scanning. But they couldn't seem to get a good handle on implanting changes.
Kim had been an experiment, according to Jones. He claimed she was socially disfunctional, so they had to try something. Bob figured there was a lot more history they weren't telling.
Bob bided his time.
The man watched from the dark recesses of the room. The women couldn't possibly know he was there. He liked having some control over what the performance would be.
If he wanted, with their current programming, he could feel them up, and they'd never know he'd done it. His smile was a wee bit wicked at the thought. It was difficult, probably the most expensive process for the Institute. But he insisted it be done.
These two women had never met before. They were due to wake up soon.
The one with the fiery red hair had a nasty tempter and a mean streak. At least around men. This was Heather.
Heather wore sweats. She almost looked ready to go jogging. Her sneakers were the finest available. The sweats didn't reveal much. Her height was 5'7" and he knew her to be 36-24-34 in build. Couldn't tell the measurements from here though. Her face was pale, with the carrot red lips some redheads end up with. Her eyelashes were turning white and accented the angry green eyes she wielded like weapons.
He knew from her records, she had been collecting female slaves when she'd been caught. A regular bevy of Amazons mostly, but with a few very feminine, delicate looking women too. He found in the psych report she couldn't go long without sex. They'd kept her a week without it, he knew this too.
The other woman was brunette. Her lips a dark red, the eyebrows accenting downward towards her nose, which was long and narrow to just above her lips. Her hair curled in spirals to the shoulders which were rounded down her arms. This one also wore sweats, but they couldn't conceal her larger bust. The nipples showed through from the strain against the fabric. She was 5' even, so the redhead towered over her. She still seemed as if half her height was legs.
This one, named Jean, was picked up in a shopping spree. Amazing how little she'd actually spent acquiring all the goodies she'd garnered. 'Born to Shop' was emblazoned on a bumper sticker of the car she'd been driving. It was a sporty red model, no license plate. They'd known where to look for her from the series of police reports on the car which were canceled moments later by the officers making the reports. It was suspicious when the 6th or 7th report came over the radio.
Her psych report indicated she was uninterested in sex. Well, not totally, but she'd been much more interested in collecting things from the stores. She hadn't a boyfriend in over 2 years. And she had no interest in women at all.
They had been let into the room and allowed to meet each other. The observer was curious what would happen. There hadn't yet been any experiments with two telepaths likely to be confrontational. This was something he wanted to see. He'd tried very hard to make this confrontational.
The brunette began to wake up first. She looked around, finding herself on the bed. Another restraint they programmed was an inability to get off the bed. She struggled clumsily to get her feet, but the best she could do was stand up on the bed.
She saw the sleeping red head. Jean shook the red head awake.
There was a moment of confusion.
They pulled up to an isolated mansion. The gabled windows above towered over a carefully manicured yard, the yard as large as a couple football fields. Bob saw two functional fountains.
The building rose four stories and was covered with clinging vines. There were bushes all around. In isolated clumps around the building, there were men and women being escorted by nurses.
The sign over the door read _Biltmor Rehabilitation Institute_.
"Isn't the real name, you know, but it looks better when the state investigates us. They have a bad habit of doing stuff like that."
Jones led him through the large oak double doors. They went through a large ornate entry hall, and down a long length of corridor to the left.
Bob imagined the eyes on all the portraits in hall were following them. Too many old movies and mystery novels.
Peters was considered a little odd by the standards of the other techs.
He remembered vividly the day he attacked the tart with the huge hooters. He'd really enjoyed the experience. Everyone told him it was her fault. But beating her wildly while screwing her was the best sex he could remember having.
Now, whenever possible, he would slip into one of the observation rooms when one of the sparks was permitted their women. Today he entered a dark room, well mostly dark. There was one lit wall. It was a window wall, all glass.
On the other side of the glass was a comfortable looking room, King size bed, dresser, arm chairs, a wall of books with a TV in the middle. A phone was on the wall next to the door in the lit room.
In one of the chairs was a young man, age indeterminant, Peters guessed 26 or 27. He was reading a book, Bob couldn't see what the book was.
He looked over the empty plush seating in the room. Looking over the log sheets he saw the patient, a spark, in the next room was actually 19. Psychiatric appraisal was this one would soon flip out, the well known Diety complex everyone talked about.
They'd caught him a month before in a strip joint. He was systematically beating the talent show girls. And they were showing all the signs of really liking it. One or two, they wouldn't have suspected he was a spark. Six he'd only just met was too much.
"Send one of them in." he spoke into the intercom. Then he took his seat, front row, center.
"Yessir!" a static voice shouted back at him.
He flipped another switch. Every sound in the other room became audible. The other side of the glass wall was mirror. The sparks knew they were being watched, but the one way mirror arrangement let them pretend they had privacy.
The page flip in the other room was very clear to Peters's ears, then came the sound of a bolt being withdrawn.
The door inside the lit room opened. A radiant blonde, bright gold hair, stepped into the room. The door latched and bolt slammed behind her.
"Hello Gabriella." Jimmy said.
The girl had to be in her early 30s. She was lovely to behold. The blonde hair was only part of it. She was slender, wearing a sleeveless white cotton dress doing nothing to conceal the soft plush tits she thrust before her, now that she saw her master.
Her legs were generous in length, giving the illusion she was half legs. Four inch high heels helped in this impression. Her naked arms were smooth looking, clear skin. Her fingernails tipped her fingers in a soft red.
Peters could make out her eyes. They were blue, but somehow lacked a person behind them. She was mechanical in her motions, silky perhaps, but he could make out a slight jerkiness to her movements. She had high cheeks, a slender chiseled nose, and her lips were thin, but moist, as if begging for kisses.
Peters looked at Jones, who appeared to be doing an inventory of his pockets. He looked back to watch the two in captivity.
"Oh Jimmy, I've longed for you!" Gabriella spoke. He saw her move forward to about six feet in front of Jimmy and stop. She posed for his appraisal.
"Jimmy? maybe you're forgetting something."
"My Lord!, oh I'm sorry My Lord, please forgive me." The girl's cheeks were becoming damp.
"Well, just for that you better strip down for me."
"OH! thank you, thank you."
She reached both arms around back to pull down the zipper of her dress. This made her boobs jut farther forward. Peters could make out her nipples.
The gauges above the wall swung, shifting very fast. Peters knew the spark was reinforcing his control over her. The telepathy suppression fields would protect Peters though.
Jimmy immediately stood, reached out and pinched her nipples a bit violently. She gasped loudly but kept her hands reaching to the fastenings in the back.
Peters was frustrated by the wall between them. He would like to savor giving the pain/pleasure she felt. Take and enjoy her. Peters's cock had gotten hard. He pulled out a rag he'd brought and began to use it to masturbate.
Her dressed was shrugged off of her shoulders, and only Jimmy's abusing fingers held it against her bust now. She was struggling to remain standing, enraptured by the touch, filled with delight.
Jimmy let the dress fall.
She wore no underwear at all. Her tits were tanned, from weeks of sitting in the sun or under a sun lamp, no lines at all from a bathing suit or bra.
The nipples stood out hard and pink from Jimmy's use. They were large nipples, smaller but shaped not unlike nipples on an old style baby bottle. Swollen, and raw from use, she was clearly thrilled at the activity.
She stepped her feet over the dress and resumed a pose. Her ankles turned just so, a series of pleasant little curves. Peters loved their appearance.
Jimmy walked around her, tracing lines on her skin. He would stop and hit her with his open palm on her bottom, stomach, tits, or legs from time to time. As he went, the blows became harder, the sounds of the slaps much louder.
Her tongue snaked out, possibly from joy, each time the stinging smack resounded in the room. Red hand prints covered the visible parts of her anatomy Jimmy had gotten to. Her panting was deeper with each stroke she received.
"Good cunt." he said.
She beamed as the praise was understood. He sat her down at the edge of the bed and took off his clothes. Her head drooped to her chest.
Gabriella was highly aroused, it was hard to miss it. The stinging pain titilated her, bringing desire from her inner self. She was trying to snaked her torso back and forth to grind her hips. She rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder with her chin on her collar bone. The moaning was only just audible.
Pansy
- 18.09.2021
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