Chapter 1

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Crime, Superhero, Paranormal, Incest, Brother, Sister, First, Violent, .

Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Two siblings, Bob and Beth Argo, develop an unusual sense so that they can sometimes read the emotions of people under great stress. Early on, this sense helps them to fight crimes and gets them pegged as the Killer Bs. This is the story of their advance through high school and their later life fighting crime and sometimes terrorists for Homeland Security. 10 chapters.

My sister Beth and I, Bob, are twins, and we are almost enough alike to be classified as identical, except for the difference in gender. We were about as normal as it was possible to be up until we were 11 years old. That was when Beth started to change. She slowly started to fill out and no longer looked so much like me, other than what was between our legs, of course.

Beth also started to get what seemed to me to be a bit on the moody side as she would sometimes stare at someone and get a far away look in her eyes. After a few seconds she would shake off the effect and smile at me like my sister of old. This went on for about eight or nine months before I started to get what must have been the same kind of feeling.

We would be walking around in a mall or a store and suddenly I would see a person who would grab my attention and hold me enthralled for a few seconds until I could break loose from the virtual lock up. Beth would look at me and say, “Well, Bob, I see that you are starting to get the same feelings as I do. What in the world could be causing it?”

Several times we would bring up the subject of this effect on us to our parents, but all we would get was a mild but loving brush off as we were told “not to worry about it.” Our parents were convinced that it was just a phase we were passing through upon our entrance into puberty. This was enough to shut us up about the strange reaction to some people, but the feelings never went away.

Later on, maybe a year or so, we started to get the same kind of feelings when we would occasionally touch an inanimate object. The feeling would go away as soon as the physical contact was broken. Okay, this was weird because our parents never seemed to have similar reactions to people or physical items like we did.

I should point out that our father was a security specialist and our mother was a mechanical engineer/inventor. Both of them were very good at what they did, and that was going to have considerable effect on our later lives. However, they were as clueless as every other parent when it came to the foibles and feelings of their offspring. Nevertheless, we could not have asked for more loving or devoted parents, though we did not always realize it at the time.

Dad’s salary and royalties from Mom’s inventions let us live very comfortable lives, and neither Beth nor I were ever going to have to worry about where our next meal was coming from for the rest of our lives. Oh, we both had chores assigned from back when we were about 6 years old, and we learned how to work as did our much less affluent friends. We received an allowance which we were forced to live within, or it seemed that way, at least.

There were an equal number of boys and girls in the neighborhood, and Beth and I had the usual group of friends of our own gender, but we twins did tend to hang together more that was usual for a brother and sister. In fact, we spent more time with each other than we did with other kids, but we never felt anything but good feelings as a result of this. We just fit with each other better than we did with anyone else.

I suppose this was largely fostered by our parents who were “progressive thinkers” for the time. Beth and I were so closely bound that we even shared a bedroom and bathroom without interference from our parents. We often showered together and were able to watch each other change from children to teenagers with the interesting things that were happening to our bodies. In fact, we often fondled each other while in the shower because it felt so good to both of us. As we grew older, we got to the point where we were totally uninterested in any one else of the opposite sex. Of course, our parents noticed this, but did nothing to block our progress in this direction.

By the time we were 15, we were so close to being a man and a woman that we knew all that we needed to know about ourselves and the opposite sex, though we had not done any more than touching each other. The sex education classes in school had made considerable progress since their inception, so we knew what sex was all about, but we had not pushed each other to the ultimate act as yet.

It was a few weeks after our 15th birthday that we learned what was so unusual about ourselves. We were walking home from the school bus stop and decided to visit a nearby convenience store for a soft drink because the weather was now warm enough to make us sweat just from the short walk in the sun. We walked in and the first thing we saw was a young man walking toward the cashier. We were both immediately struck by our feelings of “wrongness” about this guy, but we did not know what it meant.

We simply stood in the doorway and stared as the man walked up to the cashier and suddenly pulled a knife. He demanded the money from the cash register and threatened the cashier with the knife. Neither one of us had any trouble connecting our feelings with the fact that this man was doing something criminal. We didn’t know what to do, so we just stood where we were.

The cashier did the smart thing and handed over the money, whereupon the crook turned in our direction and ran toward us. He was still holding the knife, so we jumped out of the way. Beth was a little slow to move so the crook waved his knife at her. That was too much for me! As he ran by, I stuck out my foot and tripped him, causing him to fall head first into the glass door. It was tempered glass so that it did not shatter into sharp pieces, but his head hit the glass hard enough to knock him unconscious. He was not harmed directly by the broken glass, but he fell on his knife and stabbed himself in the chest.

The cashier had tripped the silent alarm to call the cops, but I used my cellphone to call 911 for EMS (Emergency Medical Service) for the knife wound. The crook was still breathing, but he was bleeding profusely, so I was worried for his health. I had been told not to disturb someone with a knife wound because that might make it worse, so we just left the wounded man where he was until the medics arrived. Fortunately, they and the cops showed up at the same time, so there was no complications with everybody important to the case seeing what had happened.

The EMS medics took care of the wounded man, and one of them told me that the stab wound had only cut his skin and had not penetrated far enough into his chest to cause any serious damage to his internal organs. That made me feel better because I was not really very bloodthirsty at that young age. However, I was very happy that the crook had been caught and retribution had been taken for his threat aimed at my sister.

We went through a lengthy questioning by the detective who finally showed up, but he did give up on us when he saw the surveillance tape which covered everything that had happened. This was a new system that was fully digital and could play back the recording immediately. We gave our full names as Robert and Elizabeth Bedford, and it was such a slow news day that we wound up on TV with the robbery recording. We had to laugh when we were dubbed the “Killer Bs” by the news staff.

I had called Mom and Dad while we had been waiting for the EMS and cops, so they were there during the whole questioning episode. They took us home, and we were kind of pissed off that we never did get our ginger ales that we had originally stopped for.

That evening, we watched the TV news report of the robbery attempt, and Beth and I were both thrilled all over again by the experience. That brought up the subject that we wanted to enroll in a self defense class because such incidents were becoming more and more common. Mom and Dad were surprisingly easy to convince that we did need some sort of training on the subject, and Dad suggested that we enroll in a Krav Maga class.

Mom said, “But, Honey, that is such a brutal means of fighting. Do the kids really need it?”

“Yes, they do. The streets are getting more and more dangerous on a daily basis, and they might as well learn the best technique while they are about it.”

“Well, Okay, if you think so. But I don’t want my babies to try to fight their way through life.”

I said, “Mom, Dad is right. If we are going to learn to fight, we should learn to do it the best way possible.”

She was finally convinced, and it was planned for Dad to call the dojo to set up training for us as soon as possible. Beth and I were looking forward to the training. We seemed to know even better than our parents just how dangerous school and the streets had become.

Later on, as we were lying in our beds, Beth said, “Bob, did you get more information than usual when you encountered that crook today?”

“Yes, I sure did. I felt like I knew exactly what he had planned for the robbery. The problem was that I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Yeah, I felt the same way. I hope the training in Krav Maga will help us to know the right thing to do.”

“Beth, how did you feel while the attack was going on?”

“I felt thrilled, no, exhilarated, by the experience. Frankly, I would like to do that again.”

“What do you think of us becoming a couple of vigilantes looking for trouble that we can stop once we get enough training?”

“I think that would be a great idea! We could become real “Killer Bs.”

We laughed at that and went to sleep shortly thereafter. The next morning we were still in agreement on looking for trouble. We were sure that we could depend on our strange feeling to guide us to trouble if we just pushed it a little bit.

The next six months were busy, busy, busy as we worked hard on our Krav Maga training. Beth had to admit that I was a little better at the fighting bit because I was stronger, but I had to admit that she was better than me on making our feelings work for us. It looked like the two of us would make a potent combination if we worked closely together.

By now we were actively looking for trouble, both at school and out in town. Our first chance to test our new skills was on a trip home from school. We were walking past an alley when we both felt a strong blast of malice coming from its depths. We immediately turned into the alley and ran to its back end. There we found four older boys or young men threatening a girl whom we knew from school. We could tell from their emanations that rape was the object of the game the boys had planned. The girl knew it too, and she was petrified with fear.

We dropped our backpacks and waded in. We had no doubt what the boys had in mind, so we did not think that it was necessary to give a warning. Besides, this was not the first time the gang had perpetrated a rape. I don’t know who was more irate, Beth or me.

The boys were so intent on their victim that they had not noticed us when we first showed up. However, our initial charge at two of the boys was enough to get their attention. A solid elbow to the kidney area was enough to put two of the miscreants down. I chopped my next man in the side of the neck with a forearm and damned near broke his neck in the process. Meanwhile, Beth kicked the last of the boys in the balls hard enough to lift him off the ground. His scream suggested that she had smashed one or both of his balls.

All four of the bastards were now writhing on the ground in serious pain, so there was nothing else for us to do except to call 911 for EMS and cops. I made the call while Beth tried to comfort the girl who was about to burst into hysterics. Fortunately, the EMS was on the ball and showed up in time to help the girl. They took her to an ER (Emergency Room) while two other ambulances were dispatched to look after the would-be rapists. Just after the first ambulance left with the girl and before the cops arrived, Beth took the opportunity to kick the other three boys in the balls. Even if she did not break any balls, the boys were not likely to be engaging in rape for some time.

I called our parents before the cops arrived because I was afraid that we might be in trouble without a camera to back up our side of the story. They showed up just before the cops, so we were ready when the cops arrived. As before, we went through a lengthy interrogation, but it was not so bad this time because a TV crew arrived with the second set of ambulances. The rape of high school girls had become a common thing, so the TV crew was anxious to cover an incident when the good guys had won.

We were immediately connected with the other TV coverage, and the interviewer started calling us the Killer Bs from the start. We explained what happened, but we left out our detection of the aura of impending rape. Instead, we simply said that we had heard the girl call for help. I was sure that the girl would not remember the situation well enough to refute my assertion, so I did not worry about the little white lie.

Dad was proud of us, and Mom was worried about us, but both of them congratulated us for saving the girl from the potential rape. At this point, Mom did admit that it was a good thing that we had taken the course in Krav Maga. She also commented that she hoped that all eight balls had been burst!

Again, we enjoyed watching the TV interview that night, and the TV commentator did say that the city would be a safer place if more people would emulate the Killer Bs. Beth and I thought that was kind of nice. Mom did comment that she wished that we had some means to combat the bad guys that did not mean that we would be so close to them. She admitted that conventional guns were out of the question, but she said that she was going to look into the issue. Hell, if Mom felt that way so strongly, I knew that she would have some sort of solution to the problem ready pretty damned soon.

We did not have any more experiences like that one for a few weeks, and we both were beginning to fidget for lack of exhilarating action. It was at this time that Mom called us into her workroom to show us what she had been working on so diligently. What she had was two pistols that fired “bean bags” instead of bullets. The propellent was compressed air carried in a small bottle attached parallel to the barrel.

The bottle held enough air for 10 shots, and the pistols, though single-shot, were easy to reload rapidly, so we could probably get by with that setup. The bean bags were rather small polyethylene bags loaded with glass marbles. Mom had calculated that the marbles would impart enough force to the chest or back to break ribs, but not enough force to penetrate skin. Therefore, they should fall into the range of toys and not lethal weapons. Beth and I were ecstatic to receive the guns and carried them in holsters at our belts. They were not concealed, so that would get us around that problem.

Now we just needed an opportunity to try them out. That came up during the next week. Again, we were walking home from our school bus stop when a gang of six bullies descended upon us. I was the only boy walking with four girls. We had made the mistake of cutting through a block devoted to wet lands, so there were nothing but trees and bushes on the property. There were two ponds separated by a narrow path and a small island. All of this was invisible from the streets because of the trees and bushes.

I happened to be in the middle of the pack, so it was a girl who first encountered the gang of older boys. They were standing on the little island and had lined up so that they completely blocked the path. She was a bit petulant when she ordered the boys out of the way, and that only increased their attitude of “not being pushed around by a bunch of girls.”

The leader of the gang grabbed that girl’s left breast and twisted enough to force her to her knees. “Ain’t no bitch going to tell me what to do!” he said in what he must have thought of as a manly voice. We all heard him, and Beth and I immediately were jolted to attention. Here was a job for the Killer Bs! The boys were now moving to surround us, and we had to act quickly.

Beth was in front of me in line, so she was immediately confronted by a boy who was at least 8” taller than she. She did not let that slow her down one bit. She lowered her head and charged the boy, catching him in the solar plexus with a butt that would have gotten anyone’s attention. He dropped to the ground as he gasped for air, but he did reach out to grab the hem of Beth’s skirt as he fell. That jerked her off balance, and she fell beside him. The fool kept pulling and popped the buttons at Beth’s waist. Her skirt came off as far as her knees, and her panties were exposed for all to see.

This seemed to inspire the other boys, and they started pulling at the clothes of the other girl’s. The air was filled with the sound of ripping cloth, screaming girls, and laughing boys. I guess that I was ignored for those few seconds because I was dressed like a male. For whatever reason, the boys did not attack me, and that gave me time to pull out my new gun.

I managed to get off three shots, breaking a lot of ribs, before I was unable to reload because of the pressure on me from the uninjured boys. Fortunately, Beth had rendered her attacker unconscious with a blow to the side of his neck, and she had kicked off her skirt which was in her way. She drew her gun and shot the two boys who were attacking me. That meant that we were now in command of the situation, and the girls were going around kicking every one of the boys of the gang as hard as they could in the balls.

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