Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mind Control, Cheating,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The entity that created life on planet Earth is displeased with how the species has turned out. It believes that the humans are hopelessly corrupt. In order to test this theory, it instills a moral, decent man with absolute power over the minds of others without explaining why. Will he abuse it? Will he pass the test? Or will he use the power for his own gratification?
It had no body, no physical shape. Many billions of years before, its ancestors, an advanced race of people, had evolved out of the need for physical form. As such it was as close to immortal as an entity could be. It drifted in a low orbit around the blue-green planet, a mass of pure energy, undetectable by any of the crude scanning devices that the people below utilized to sweep their skies and the vacuum of space around them for intruders. It felt those scanning waves sweeping over it constantly, day and night, from all corners of the world, and it disapproved of them. They were the instruments of paranoia, of mistrust, of irrational fear. It was not what it had hoped for at this point in the evolutionary process that it had set into motion thirty-six thousand planetary revolutions before.
In addition to the scanning waves it received the radio signals, the television signals, and, most recently, the digital signals that were sent from place to place by primitive equipment that allowed the signals to leak into space. It had the capability of entering their satellites, their databases, their "Internet" as they called it and absorbing the wealth of knowledge that they had accumulated so far. It knew what this species considered important, what its drives were, what it sought after and dreamed about. And the entity was not very happy with the direction that things were moving.
It was a young entity, as far as such things went, and this small, blue-green planet that the inhabitants called Earth, was only the second of its experiments. Though it was praised by its peers and betters for having designed an intelligent species that had managed to last so long on only its second attempt at seeding, it feared that the experiment of Earth would have to be terminated soon. Something had gone wrong somewhere along the line, probably in the original programming that the species had been given. This did not seem a race that would ever be able to achieve the ability to evolve beyond their bodies. It was a species that seemed incapable of developing the group morality required for such a thing.
This was a species that pretended to worship the principals of morality and goodness but that was destroying itself with greed and self-interest. This was a species full of corporeal entities that realized their own mortality but that instead of trying to pick themselves up, to move beyond the short lived bodies of flesh and bone, dedicated themselves instead to amassing large caches of worthless material possessions. To compensate for their mortality they had invented ridiculous legends of life after death, of heaven, of hell. They taught their children these beliefs from the time they were infants, drilling them into their heads and entrenching them before the children in question had a chance to consider other options. They fought bitter wars over these beliefs, killed millions of precious lives in the name of their gods with no concept of what it really meant to take a life. They willingly flung themselves into battle for these beliefs and for the greed of their masters, all the while under the mistaken impression that heaven awaited them. And they stagnated on their planet, breeding billions that would toil for a few revolutions and then die without ever trying to better themselves, confident in the fact that things would be better after death; as if betterment, evolution, paradise was that easy to achieve.
The only time that this species advanced forward in any meaningful way was during periods of war. The focus of their technology was a constant drive to place themselves in a superior position to other members of their planet. Their main focus was on power for their group and the denial of power to other groups. They deliberately denied basic life resources to some while amassing more than was possibly needed for others. They were obsessed with ruling, with power, and as a result there were more than 200 individual governments, all run by the wealthiest, by the greediest of the species and every revolution more appeared. They were moving in reverse these humans, de-uniting at the whims of the powerful instead of trying to unite for the betterment of all.
Worst of all this greed, this quest for power and personal wealth had spread from the elite to even the most common person. The children were taught the greed in school. The basic morals that ruled behavior had been modified to revere the greed, to seek out the wealth at all costs, no matter what the consequences to others.
Where had it gone wrong? How did these humans evolve into such a state? Where, in the original DNA programming, had the mistake been made? The entity had its suspicions of course. Though it was a young entity without much experience in seeding worlds it had the ability to be subjective about its own errors. The human design that it had come up with was a fragile species in the harsh environment that they had started with. They were born helpless, unable to walk or communicate. This had been a design necessity. To accommodate the large brains that the species required in order to achieve the intelligence necessary to evolve, the young had to be born underdeveloped, before their heads grew too large for safe egress from the females. It knew that it had designed the females very well, programming them with an instinctive and fierce desire to nurture and protect their young. If it became necessary to start over, it would not change a thing about the female's instinctive drives.
But the males, that was where it all fell apart.
Territorial instinct. That was more than likely the root of all the problems that the species now had. That was what would probably lead to the elimination of the species and a fresh start with a new design. This was a trait that had been vital in the early evolution of the humans. While the female's drive was to protect the young, the male's drive was to establish and protect an area to live in. In the early years this kept the females safe enough to give birth and the young safe enough to live and learn. It had worked admirably at first, perhaps too admirably. The males had been given too much of this instinct and not enough of the instinct to protect the children that the females had produced. The males, thanks to this programming and against the plans of the entity that had created them, had ended up becoming the dominant sex in the evolutionary pattern.
The entire history, the entire society of Earth was now based upon this territorial instinct and it was reflected everywhere. It was the reason that there were two hundred countries, with strictly defined borders, with tanks and planes and nuclear weapons guarding them. It was the reason that there was property ownership with recorded deeds, with fences around the property in question, with laws about trespassing upon that property. It was the reason that acquisition of power and money was the main focus of life; for what were these accumulations but the conquering of more territory?
The male members of the species were out of control, were perhaps incapable of further growth and while the female members of the species would perhaps do a better job, even they had become corrupted over the generations and instilled with the male traits. Nor were the males likely to ever forfeit their domination of the planet in favor of the females. It seemed that things had spun out of control on Earth. It seemed that there was no hope for recovery and further evolution.
But the entity had to be sure before it terminated an entire species. It had to know that the programming was so fouled that no hope remained and that termination was the only option. The question was how to determine that?
It had a companion, what would have been considered a mate had they had differentiated sexes and physical bodies. The companion was more experienced in these matters, had seeded more worlds with greater success. The entity sought the companion's advice on the matter.
The companion spent three revolutions pouring through databases and across Internet lines, learning all it could about the troubled humans. At last, it gave an opinion. "There is no hope for your ruling classes," it articulated, "they are corrupt beyond belief, every one of them."
"Yes," the entity agreed. "If there is to be salvation it will have to come from the common people. It is obvious that the ruling classes are steering the direction of the species into an inevitable collapse under the weight of their own greed. But what will happen after? Will the common people that survive the encounter, that rise to rebuild, will they be just as corrupt?"
"I believe that may very well be. I fear that you have a basic design flaw in your programming that makes it impossible for them not to be corrupted by achieving power over others. It is possible that even the most moral common person on your world will abuse power if given any. If that is the case, then it will be impossible for your species to evolve any more. If they cannot achieve unity and empathy for each other, they cannot advance. All they will be able to do is keep building up to a certain point in their history and collapsing back to rubble once more. It will go on forever."
"It would be kinder to eliminate them with a comet or an asteroid than to allow them to become locked into a vicious cycle like that."
"I agree," the entity replied. "But I must be sure that all hope is gone before I take such a step."
"Of course," the companion articulated. "I would suggest a series of experiments among your common people."
"Experiments of what sort?"
"Pick a few common members of the species and instill them with the power to control others. See what they do with it. I suspect that it will corrupt them horribly, no matter how moral they are before they are given the power. I suspect the corruption is in their nature. Try a few male members of the species and then a few females."
"The males will abuse the power in order to achieve sex," the entity pointed out. "I gave them far too strong of a reproductive urge."
"Yes, a common error in seeding among the inexperienced. A strong reproductive urge does advance the species more quickly but, as you have found, it has side effects later in the process. In any case, I have no doubt that your males will abuse the power so that they may satisfy their reproduction needs. This is not as consequential as what they do with the power in other ways. That will be the real determining factor."
"Thank you for your advice."
"I wish you the best of luck with your experiment. If it fails and you have to start over, don't be upset. You have already gone far past expectations. It took me five tries before I was able to develop a species that survived long enough to achieve powered flight. It took me another three tries before I was able to get one past the atomic experimentation age without having them destroy each other in a war. You have already done that on only your second attempt. You are to be congratulated no matter what your outcome is."
"Once again, I thank you."
"I will leave you to your work now," the companion said. "Let me know how it turns out."
The entity began looking for the perfect human to start the experiment with. For the first one, it wanted a male of the common class that had a strong sense of empathy for others. It wanted a person who realized the corruption that existed in the world and who was appalled by it. He wanted a person who sincerely believed that exploiting others, that pushing forth your own interests at the expense of others, was wrong. There were such people in the world, a great many of them (although none were in positions of power). If there were any hope for the species, it would lie with these people.
It took the entity nearly a revolution of pouring through computer records and files, of zipping here and there through the Internet before it decided upon the first candidate: Paul Woods. Paul was twenty-eight years old and lived in the city of Lincoln, Nebraska in one of the most powerful of the political divisions on the planet. He had a master's degree in World History and was currently employed as a teacher of children at a high school. He had a mate that also worked as a teacher at the same school. He had no children. Based upon the computer records of Paul Woods, he paid his bills and his taxes on time, never cheating on them. He did not smoke or drink excess alcohol (this was based on records from grocery store computers). He did occasionally peruse various Internet pornography sites and had rented the occasional pornographic film but these traits were to be expected from a male of the species. He had never been arrested, had never even been given a traffic citation, and he volunteered his time at a charity school for underprivileged children. His debts were about average for his class, which was to say that they were considerable. He and his mate had car payments to meet, several credit cards that were charged to the limit and a second mortgage on their house. Their total asset to liability ratio was a negative equation, just like many others of the working class. Paul, however, who had an IQ of 132, was smart enough to realize that such a ratio was a deliberate design on the part of the ruling and wealthy class.
Now that the entity had found its subject, it needed to be decided just how contact would be made and just how much knowledge the subject would be instilled with about the experiment. It decided that telling the subject why it was being given the power would possibly have a negative influence on the outcome. As for how to make contact, it figured that the direct approach was probably the best one. It entered the communications network of the planet and, moving at the speed of light, was inside Paul Woods' house less than a second later.
Paul Woods was sitting at the desk in his computer room, sipping out of a glass of iced tea and catching up on some schoolwork. Since it was Sunday, he was dressed comfortably though somewhat slobbishly in a pair of tattered sweat pants and nothing else. It was late spring in eastern Nebraska but the weather was unseasonably humid. There had been reports on the morning news that thunderstorms and even tornadoes might develop if the current weather pattern held. He had the window next to the desk open to combat the heat but the air was so still, so stagnant that he might as well have kept it closed. The only ventilation was a small electric fan that was plugged in on the nightstand. He had it aimed directly at his bare back although it was turned low so that it would not disturb the papers he had scattered before him.
Despite the unseasonable weather Paul was good-natured about it. He was one of those people that it was difficult to upset, no matter what the offense. His wife sometimes told him that he was the kind of person that, if mugged by an armed robber on the streets, would thank him for the experience. Maybe he wasn't THAT good-natured, but then again, maybe he was. God knew that his wife had tried her best to break through that gentle good humor. She had tried time and time again since their marriage. She seemed to take it as a personal insult that he would not fight with her when she wanted to argue and Terry Woods, the beautiful English teacher that he had met his own first year teaching, was a woman who liked to argue.
Paul knew that this tendency to chip, nag, and attempt to get a rise out of her spouse was a compulsion learned from her mother. He had often enough seen Barbara Vale, the mother in question, using the exact same tones, the exact same words on Mike Vale, Terry's father. Strangely enough, Mike always responded to the words with words of his own. Some of the most vicious fights he had ever seen married couples engage in had taken place at his in-laws' house. Though it had been difficult to accept at first, seeing such things over the three years he had known Terry had convinced Paul that Mike and Barbara LIKED having their daily knock-down, drag-out marital spats. They got off on it somehow. It was strange behavior, behavior that he had not been raised to either participate in or even conceive of, but it was true. And Terry, who HAD been raised with such behavior, seemed to feel herself short-changed because her husband would not indulge her impulses. He met her attempts to argue with him with simple, calm agreement or disagreement with whatever point she was trying to make. When she became belligerent, which happened frequently, he would respond with a weapon that never failed to bring the argument to a quick end. It was a weapon that she had no counter for, that she found difficult to tolerate: silence.
When things began to spin out of control, when her face would start to turn red from shouting, he would simply say: "I believe we've talked enough about this for now. If you wish, we'll discuss it again later, after you've calmed down." From that point on he would say no more to her, would not react to her in any way no matter what she said. He would simply stare blankly ahead, a thoughtful expression on his face, giving no clue that he even heard her words. She would usually increase the tone of her voice, letting her belligerence edge into the red zone. She would usually get right in his face, so close that he would feel her breath on him as she yelled. She would occasionally resort to the crudest, cruelest insults imaginable. She would make cracks about his manhood, about his worth as a human being, even about his prowess in the marital bed. But no matter what, he would simply sit there, letting her words pass over and around him. Eventually, and it usually happened quickly these days, she would give up and storm away. If the matter were something that REALLY needed discussing she would do as he asked and return later for a calmer talk about it. If it was just one of the petty things that she picked as the basis for arguments, things like how much gas was left in which car or who had left a towel on the floor, she would let it drop until the next time.
Terry, however, was not ALWAYS like this. If she had been, Paul would have divorced her or annulled the marriage long ago. The urge to argue was simply an unpleasant aspect of her personality, an idiosyncrasy that she possessed but that he had learned to live with. When she was not locked into this urge to fight, Terry was almost the ideal spouse.
She was very attractive his wife, the most attractive female that had ever shown an interest in him. A tall, nicely proportioned brunette with long, sexy legs, Terry was undoubtedly the subject of many a masturbation fantasy among the tenth and eleventh graders that she taught. The male members of the faculty undoubtedly shared these fantasies as well. He knew for a fact that the principal himself, a notorious lecher who was privately suspected of having illegal relations with several of the junior and senior girls over the years, had once propositioned her during a meeting. They still laughed at the thought that that arrogant, egotistic man could ever think that he would be given access to her treasures.
In addition to being attractive, which Paul had to admit was a very important factor to his visually stimulated male psyche, Terry was a very sexual creature. The passion she displayed for argument could be turned to a passion for physical pleasure and often was. Though they had been married for more than two years now and though they were past the so-called honeymoon phase, they still made love at least five times a week. Terry loved every aspect of sexuality. There was little that they had not experimented with since the first time they had made love on their third date. Terry enjoyed anal sex, oral sex - both giving and receiving - and sex in dangerous places. On their honeymoon, as they flew to Acapulco, she had enticed him into the 737's restroom somewhere over Texas and initiated him into the mile-high club. She had once given him a blowjob in the AV room at the high school where they taught. She had once pulled up her skirt, pushed aside her panties, and had him screw her in the glass enclosed elevator of a Las Vegas casino. He had once eaten her to orgasm from beneath a table while she manned a pastry booth at the annual PTA carnival.
But their sex life, as appealing as it was, was not what the main focus of their relationship was based upon. When she was not trying to fight with him, Terry was a woman that he could talk to, could share his thoughts with. Despite her faults he loved her deeply and was happy with her. Her urge to fight was something that had to be endured just as she was forced to endure his refusal to fight.
Currently, as he read through essays for his eleventh grade American History class, Terry was working at the kitchen table on a stack of English essays for her eleventh graders. It was the lot of teachers in this world to put up with low pay and to put in no less than ten hours each week of their unpaid off time to such tasks. When he was about halfway through his stack, she came in to ask him if he needed a refresh on his tea.
"No thank you sweetie," he said, offering her a smile and letting his eyes crawl over her body. She was currently wearing nothing but a half-shirt and a pair of white shorts.
"How goes your stack of fine literature?" she asked him, continuing into the room and putting her hands on his bare shoulders. She began to gently massage him. "Is it as fascinating as mine?"
"I'm sure it is," he said, leaning into her and letting his head fall momentarily back. "Especially the one I was just reading."
"Oh?" she said.
"It's from Carrie Miles," he told her, knowing that would require no further explanation. She had Carrie in one of her classes as well, probably had an English essay from her on her desk. Carrie was a gorgeous, airheaded stereotypical cheerleader. She had probably figured out by the age of twelve or so that her looks were going to take her as far as she needed to go in life and that it was therefore unnecessary to waste any of her precious brain capacity in the pursuit of knowledge. She appeared at school each day dressed in the latest seasonably appropriate name-brand clothing and she always had a throng of admiring boys around her. Though she would more than likely be next year's homecoming queen, head cheerleader, and student council president, though she was more than likely a future lawyer or doctor's wife, her intellect was about as sharp as a manhole cover. "Listen to this," he said. "The essay question was: explain the intolerable acts and how they contributed to the American Revolution. Pretty simple eh?"
"Seemingly," she agreed, letting her hands slide a little further down his back. "What did she write?"
"The intolerable acts," he read, "were some acts that were really really bad and that the people couldn't tolerate. That is why they called them the intolerable acts."
Terry giggled. "Really REALLY bad?" she mocked.
"Really really bad," he confirmed, giggling with her. "She goes on like that for almost a page. She calls them 'very very unfair', 'totally bogus', and towards the end, an 'abdominalization'. Never once however, does she mention a single specific act or a single specific year, let alone how they led to the revolution."
Terry shook her head, partly in concernation, partly in amusement. "Maybe I'll let you read her essay on Animal Farm later. It's almost as good."
"I hear she's also caught the eye of our esteemed principal," she said slyly. "How long do you think it'll be until she's invited to a private conference with him after school?"
"How do you know she hasn't already been to one?" he returned, spinning around in his chair. He let his hands grab the back of her thighs, let his fingers dig into the soft, familiar flesh. "And speaking of private conferences... " he ran his hands upward, until they were under the hem of her shorts, caressing the cheeks of her ass, "maybe we should have one of our own."
"Maybe we should," she said, clenching her buttocks in response to his words, tightening the flesh under his hands.
He leaned forward and put his mouth to the smooth flesh on her stomach, tasting her skin, sucking it. He probed her belly button with his tongue, swirling the tip around and making her sigh. Removing his hands from her ass, he brought them around to her front and popped open the button on her shorts. He grasped the zipper between his fingers, sliding it slowly downward, revealing the pink, frilly panties beneath, smelling the sharp, heavy odor of her musk radiating from beneath them.
Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her shorts he tugged downward, drawing them, and her panties, down her legs. Her sex was already wet, the lips glistening with a sheen of moisture. She stepped out of her clothes, kicking them across the room. She then hiked one leg up onto his desk, opening herself to him, twisting her body so her pussy and her neatly trimmed black curls were in his face. Her hands found the back of his head and pulled him forward. He let his tongue glide between her swelling lips, licking up and down while his hands alternately caressed her tight ass cheeks and her smooth inner thighs. From above him she moaned out her encouragement as she ran her fingers through his short hair, pulling him tighter to her when the circumstances required it.
He licked at her until her lips were ruby red and her clit was a swollen nub of flesh pulsating with desire. He then moved his mouth upward, taking the clit between his lips and sucking lightly upon it while his right hand slid into her crotch and plunged into her wetness.
"Ohhhh," she moaned, her hips beginning to undulate back and forth. "You know how to eat a pussy baby."
"Mmmm," he returned, increasing his suction. He slid the thumb of his hand through her wetness, saturating it with her juices and his saliva and making it slippery. He then slid it towards her rear until it was nestled against the bud of her anus. He pushed upward, feeling the tight membrane accept his intrusion and clench at him.
"Oh Goddd," she panted, twisting her hips to drive his thumb deeper. "Yesss, stick it up my asss!"
He sucked her clit and thumb-fucked her ass until she moaned out an orgasm, nearly falling to the ground from the tremors. When she regained control she pulled back and looked at him, a lustful glint in her eyes.
"You naughty man," she said. "Doing that to me while I'm standing up.
He simply shrugged, giving her a lustful smile of his own. She eyed the crotch of his sweats, which were tenting upward with his erection. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled them down, baring his six inches of turgid flesh for her. He stroked it absently, running his hands up and down while he waited for her to make the next move.
He didn't have to wait long. She straddled his lap and grasped him in her hands, running the head of his cock through her slippery lips, wetting it thoroughly. She then moved it backwards, until it was against the same orifice he had just had his thumb in.
"You like to ass-fuck?" she asked him, licking at his lips with her tongue. "Is that what you like?"
"It's okay," he said with feigned nonchalance and a slight shrug.
She smiled. "Okay? Is that what it is?"
"Yeah," he said, kissing back.
She sat down upon him, squirming a little, until the head of his cock slid into her ass. She then inched herself downward, engulfing him in her tight rectum. He moaned his approval at this action while she began to raise and lower herself, letting him go almost completely out and then slamming back down once more. Her hand began to play with her pussy as she did this, both increasing her pleasure and keeping his hardness lubricated within her. He kissed her neck, her face, her ears, tasting her salty sweat on his tongue as she squeezed and released him, over and over.
"You like to fuck my ass, don't you?" she whispered into his ear, biting at the lobe.
"Yesssss," he grunted, feeling his own hips acquiring the rhythm.
She managed to rub herself to another orgasm as their bodies pushed into each other. The almost painful contraction of her muscles against his cock triggered his own spasms. With a loud groan and a clenching of her body to his, he shot his load into her bowels, emptying himself.
They kissed each other tenderly afterward for a few moments, enjoying the closeness as his hardness wilted within her. Finally she stood, pulling herself free. "Wow," she said, kissing his forehead. "That wasn't bad."
He shrugged, giving her a smile. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "It was all right."
They took a shower together a few minutes later. For anyone who has done such a thing, they can relate to the fact that it is impossible for both parties in a mutual shower to cleanse themselves at the same time. There simply is not enough spray. As a gentlemen he let Terry go first, standing behind her as she soaped her alluring body and washed her hair. He let his hands move over her slippery mammaries, making her nipples and his own cock erect in the process.
"You're going to be doing me again if you don't stop it," she warned, pushing her chest into his palms.
He didn't stop. He simply continued his caress while pushing his newly erect dick into the junction of her thighs.
"You are such a pervert," she giggled, finishing her rinse and extricating herself from his embrace. She opened the shower door, letting in a blast of cooler air. "I'll hold off getting dressed for a few," she told him. "Meet me on the bed when you're clean."
"You got it," he said, grabbing the soap from the rack as she shut the door behind her.
His erection remained as he cleaned his body and his hair. When he was done he shut down the water and toweled off, making sure he was dry enough not to leave a large wet spot on the bed. He walked into the bedroom portion of the master suite, his cock leading the way like a divining rod. Terry, as promised, was lying on the bed. She was on her back, her legs spread, a buzzing vibrator in her pussy. So excited was he at visualizing this sight, that it took him a moment to realize that something was fundamentally wrong.
"All right baby," he said, tossing his towel carelessly towards the laundry hamper. "Let's get down to it."
He began to climb onto the bed and then he stopped, finally realizing the problem. He chewed his lip nervously for a moment, staring at his wife's body.
"Terry?" he asked carefully. "Are you all right?"
She did not answer, did not give any indication that she had heard him. Terry, in fact, was not moving at all. She was simply lying there like a photograph, frozen in place. The only indication that she was not a picture or a hologram was the buzzing of the vibrator. As far as he could tell, she was not even breathing! Was she having some sort of seizure?
"Terry!" he yelled, stepping forward, his erection wilting to nothingness.
He reached out to touch her leg, to assure himself that she was really still there. Before his fingers could make contact a voice called his name. It was a pleasant voice, though a commanding one. It seemed to come from no particular direction. He stopped, adrenaline flooding his body. He whipped his head around to face his intruder and saw... nothing.
"Mr. Woods," the voice said again, coming from seemingly nowhere, from everywhere. "Please come into your family room and this will all be explained."
He hesitated, looking around, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. He was very scared, very much out of his element. And what had happened to Terry?
"Mr. Woods," the voice said, "I mean you no harm. Your wife will be returned to the way she was momentarily. Please step into the family room where we will be able to talk face to face."
The alarm clock radio! The voice had come from there, he realized. But not just from there. It had also come drifting from beyond the bedroom, from the living room and the family room. It was almost as if it were issuing from all of the speakers in his house. But that was impossible, wasn't it?
"I promise you," the voice reassured once more, "no harm will come to either yourself or your wife. Please come to the family room and talk to me."
"What if I don't?" Paul asked with a trembling voice. He could feel fearful sweat forming on his forehead and dripping down his face. What in the hell was going on? Why hadn't he ever bought a gun?
"If you don't," the voice explained reasonably, "then I will disappear and take the gift I am offering you to someone else. Your wife will return to normal and you will go about your business. But you will spend the rest of your life wondering what happened on this day and just what the gift I am prepared to offer you was going to be."
Paul stood there for a moment, glancing from his frozen wife to the door of the bedroom, wringing his hands together obsessively. What to do? His mind was the cool, logical mind of an historian, of a teacher. He was having trouble accepting that a seemingly disembodied voice was really talking to him from the speakers in his house. Could it be a trick? Performed somehow with some sort of electronic device? But then what about Terry? How had that been done?
"Mr. Woods?" the voice said patiently. "Will you come in, or should I leave?"
Finally curiosity managed to pull slightly ahead of fear in his mind. With one last glance at his wife, he began to walk. Moving gingerly he made his way out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the family room of the house. The voice said nothing during the trip.
The family room was the largest room in the house. It was a sunken room, covered with expensive brown carpet. It could be accessed from the hall, from the living room, or from the kitchen by descending three steps. It had a pool table on one side and a complete wet bar on the other. A plush couch, love seat and recliner set was arranged in a semi-circle around an entertainment center on the far wall. The entertainment center contained a bank of electronic audio and visual equipment that was hooked into a digital surround sound system. The centerpiece of the entertainment center was a 32-inch television set. It HAD been turned off a few minutes before, had not in fact been turned on once all day. Paul and Terry generally kept their television watching confined to the night hours. But now the screen had come alive, displaying a picture of none other than President William Jefferson Clinton himself. Clinton was not sitting at the oval office or giving a press briefing on the lawn of the White House however. The image had no scenery whatever in the background, just a solid field of white. The face of the President was the only thing contrasting the background. The eyes seemed to be looking directly at Paul. Again he wondered if this was some sort of elaborate and sick joke.
"You'll forgive me if this manifestation of my persona offends you," the image of Clinton said, although not with Bill's voice. It was the voice Paul had heard in the bedroom and, like before, it still seemed to be issuing from every speaker in the house.
"Uh... " Paul said, staring, unable to think of anything else to say.
"You see," the image continued, "I really have no form that you would be able to see. Nor can I assume a visible form before you without actually entering your brain and manipulating your visual and auditory centers. I would never enter a human's brain without permission. That would be a horrid violation."
"Uh... " Paul continued to stammer, simply staring at the screen from the second step in the hallway. Was this really happening? Was he dreaming maybe? That had to be it. President Clinton's image talking to him? Only in a dream could something that weird occur.
"So what I have to do in order to be seen by you," the image continued, "without violating your mind is to violate your television and speaker equipment instead. The image of your president was chosen because it is a pattern that is frequently seen moving through your mediums of communication in this country and it is less effort to duplicate a commonly seen pattern." It smiled a bit. "A little bit of laziness on my part. I hope you'll forgive me. And, as I said, if the image of President Clinton offends you as it does some others, please tell me and I'll choose another."
"Uh... " He coughed, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a moment. He pinched himself on the arm, feeling pain. Could that happen in a dream?
"Would you like another image?" the image inquired politely once more. "I could switch to an earlier president perhaps? Or maybe a supermodel?"
"Uh... Clinton's fine... uh... yeah."
"Very well," the image said, nodding a little. "Mr. Clinton it shall be. You'll perhaps note that the voice is not your President's. In the case of audio duplication, it is easier for me to just simulate an average, typical voice pattern. If you wish, I COULD imitate Mr. Clinton's voice." It switched over to the southern accented voice so familiar to Americans. "How about this? Is this better?"
Paul chewed on his lip a little. Was this maybe an acid flashback? He had dropped acid once back in his early college days. It had been an interesting experience, not one that he had ever cared to repeat, but he had never had anything like this happen before. Nor did he FEEL like he was on acid. "Whatever is uh... easiest on you," he finally told the image of Clinton. "But uh, tell me. If you don't mind that is. What did you do to my wife? Is she going to be all right?"
"She will be fine," it said, switching back to the first voice. "I have placed a small electrical, magnetic resonance field around her that has frozen all of her nerve impulses in place. She can be kept like that indefinitely and then released without damage or memory of the event. To her it will seem like nothing has happened. I assure you, I will not harm her."
"Well what is it that you want from me?" Paul said, his voice a little more steady, though his fear was still quite palatable. "And who are you?"
"Who I am is not important," the image said. "Let's just say that I come from very far away and that I have evolved to the point where I have great power and where a physical body is not necessary. I am, in a way, a pure consciousness and, by your standards, I am very old. As for what I want from you, well, as I said a minute ago, I would like to impart upon you a gift."
"What kind of gift?" Paul said suspiciously, thoughts of Internet rip-off scams and telephone solicitors going through his mind. Nobody gave gifts for nothing in this world.
"I would like to instill within you a certain power Mr. Woods. I would like to give you the power to impose your will, whatever that will might be, upon others of your species."
Paul took a moment to digest that. The power to impose his will? "I'm not sure that I am following you," he said.
"What I am offering you," the image re-phrased, "is the ability to control the minds, the very thoughts of other people. To make any human being do anything that you wish. Anything at all. All you would have to do is suggest something to them or order them to do something or to believe something or to think something and they will. I am offering you absolute power over others Mr. Woods, the ability to do as you please in this world and to have any other person do as you please."
Paul took a step backward, feeling shudders going through his body. He had stopped thinking about solicitors and Internet scams and had begun thinking about deals with the devil. "And what... " he asked carefully, "would I have to give YOU in return for this... gift?"
"Nothing at all," the image said. "This is a no-obligation offer Mr. Woods. You will not have to offer me your soul or your firstborn child or anything else. If you accept my offer you will never see me or hear from me again. The gift will simply be yours to do with as you please; to do anything with."
"Really?" Paul said, knowing there had to be SOME sort of catch. "And why would I get the honor of having this... this power."
"Because," the image said simply, "you are an average human being with reasonably high morality. This is a gift I wish to give to an average human being and of all the average human beings in the world, you are the one I chose. I have no ulterior motives."
"How do I know that though?" Paul asked, his mind reeling, on overload. "How do I KNOW?"
"You do not," the image replied. "Please take no offense to my words Mr. Woods, but, on the evolutionary scale I am as high above you and your species as you are above an amoebae. If I wanted to fool you into doing my will, I could easily do so. I could have presented myself as a genie in a bottle, as a random occurrence, as a number of other things. Instead, I am telling you the truth. Truth is much revered among others of my kind and I hold with that decree. My offer is genuine and there is no catch. If you do not wish to take me up on this offer, I will understand, I will even respect that decision, and I will leave you in peace."
"And if I do take it?" he asked next. "What then? Will I have to go running around the world doing good deeds with it, or doing bad deeds? Am I supposed to be some sort of... superhero or something?"
"Only if you wish," it replied. "You may do anything with this gift, anything at all. It is a true gift, yours to use in whatever manner you see fit."
"Wow," Paul said, wiping a layer of sticky sweat from his forehead. "This is all pretty mind-blowing."
"I understand," the image said. "And if you would like a moment to think about it, I'm a very patient soul. Please, sit down on your couch and let your mind work the offer over. But I ask you to ask yourself: what do you have to lose?"
"What do I have to lose?" Paul asked.
"Precisely," it told him. "Think about what I did to your wife. I put her in a stasis field, an ability that is far, far beyond your species' scientific or spiritual capabilities. Do you not think that I could do anything I wanted to her? Do you not think I could do the same to you? If I were trying to harm you, if I were trying to kill you, I would have done so and you would not have even known it. I could stop your heart if I wished, I could scramble your brains, I could utilize the same power I am offering you and command you to kill yourself. But I have done none of that. You may not trust my words. That is understandable given the current state of your species, but if harm was what I wished for you, do you not think I would have chosen another way to harm you?"
"I suppose," Paul said, slowly stepping into the room. He sat down on the couch, allowing his legs to stop shakily holding him up.
"So please, allow me to give you my gift. We will then part company forever and you may begin using it."
In his very confused mind Paul concluded that the image of President Clinton and the voice of the average man was right. What did he have to lose? Chances are this entire vision was nothing but a dream or an acid flashback. But if that was the case, what was the harm? And if it was not the case... well... the things that could be done in the world with the power he was being offered. The things that could be accomplished. "All right," he said finally. "I'll take your gift."
Clinton smiled warmly. "Excellent Mr. Woods. Truly excellent. I am glad you saw things my way."
"So what happens now?"
"Now," the image said, "I will have to enter your mind for the briefest of time."
"Enter my mind?" Paul said nervously.
"May I point out," the image said, "that I could have done that at any time, with or without your knowledge. However, as I said earlier, I have a moral taboo against doing such a thing without the permission and full understanding of the human. In order to give you this gift, I must make a few... oh, shall we say adjustments to your neural pathways and your temporal lobe. You see, the ability I am offering, as well as many others, is locked away inside of every human's brain."
"You mean... " he said slowly, "that I could have done this all along."
"Not at your current state of evolution Mr. Woods," it replied. "Your species has many thousands of generations of growth to complete before you could even come close to the ability I will be giving you. While the ability is there in everyone, and always has been, you do not have the knowledge or the wisdom to utilize it. You have a conventional wisdom among your scientists and medical doctors that a human only uses ten percent of his or her respective brain. Unfortunately, this is not true. Though you currently use ten percent of the neural pathways you have been given, you use less than one thousandth of a percent of your actual brain capacity. Your doctors and scientists that tell themselves that they know how the brain functions are deluding themselves."
"Wow," Paul said again, amazed.
"But in any case Mr. Woods, I will need your permission to enter your brain and make these adjustments. They will be quick and painless and you will suffer no ill or debilitating effects. After I make the necessary adjustments, you will have the power until you die."
"It won't hurt?" he asked.
"It will not hurt," it said. "Now, may I begin?"
Paul took a deep breath, wavering a little. It wanted to enter his brain and make CHANGES to it. That was a very creepy thought. But it said it wouldn't hurt him. And the power! The things he could do if such a power was really given to him. "Okay," he finally said.
Clinton smiled. "Very well Mr. Woods. I will begin."
"How will you... ahhh," he said, startled as a brief burst of light, almost like a flashbulb going off, suddenly appeared before him. It lasted far less than a second. When it was over, the image of President Clinton was gone from the television screen. "What the hell happened?"
This time the voice did not come from the speakers in his house. This time Paul just HEARD it as if he was thinking aloud. "I am inside your brain now Mr. Woods," it said. "I entered by accessing your optic nerve and moving along the neural pathways. I have made no changes as of yet. I will ask you one more time, before I do, if you are sure you wish me to do this?"
"You don't have to talk," the voice told him. "Just think. Out of respect for your privacy, I am not accessing your memory patterns or thought processes. But I will hear your conscious thoughts as you push them forward."
"Really?" Paul thought but did not say.
"Really," was the reply. "So what do you say? Should I proceed?"
"Yes," he thought, again thinking of what he could do. "Go ahead."
"It is done," said Clinton from the television screen a second later.
"You're back in the TV?" Paul asked verbally, in surprise. "You did it that fast?"
"It does not take much Mr. Woods," it said. "Again, forgive my offensive tone, but your brain is really a rather simple device. All I did was activate a few pathways and a portion of your temporal lobe. The power is now yours."
"Wow," Paul said, shaking his head a little, still convinced he was dreaming or in the midst of a hallucinogenic flashback. "I don't feel any different."
"Why would you?" it asked him simply. "Nothing about you IS physically different. I have altered none of your memories or anything else. I have simply awakened a dormant portion of you."
"But... uh... how does it... you know... how does it work?"
"The power is tied into your verbalization," it said. "When you wish to employ the power, you simply tell the person what you want them to do or what you want them to think and you project your will towards them. You will see what I mean when you utilize the power. For safety reasons, I have tied it to your voice and I have made it require a conscious decision on the part of your waking brain. You will not be able to utilize the power without speaking and without the other person being able to understand you. You will also not be able to accidentally control someone. You must project consciously. It is not hard, but it does require some effort."
"I see," Paul said, although he really didn't.
"You will have to experiment for a while before you perfect your ability," it said. "My advice to you is that you do not try to be very complex at first. Do not attempt, for instance, to control an entire room full of people until you are experienced. Be warned, your words will be taken very literally when you use this power. Avoid the use of slang that has multiple meanings or you may have unforeseen consequences."
"Okay," he said.
"One other piece of advice and I will leave you to your experimentations."
"Learn to undue what you do," it told him. "And be careful. Remember at all times that you are still mortal."
"I will," he promised.
"Very well," it said. "I will leave you now. Enjoy your gift and use it wisely. When my image leaves your television set, everything will be as it was in your house. Goodbye Mr. Woods and remember my words."
"I... " he started, but before he could finish, the image was gone. The television was blank and the speakers were idle. From the bedroom he could hear the faint buzzing of Terry's vibrator once more.
"Paul," came her voice, sounding a little breathless. "Come on honey, I'm waiting for you."
His mind still reeling, still wondering if this had all been a delusion, he walked into the bedroom.
Terry was startled to see him approach from that direction. The hand that was pushing and pulling the vibrator in her vagina stopped on the in-stroke. "How the hell did you get in there?" she said. "I never saw you walk by me!"
He chewed his lip a little, looking at his beautiful spouse.
"How did you get by me?" she asked suspiciously.
"You saw me go by," he said. "Don't you remember?"
"You did not go by me!" she said, pulling the vibrator free. "Paul, that is so spooky. I just heard you step out of the shower a second ago! And now you come walking in from the living room? How did you do that?"
It occurred to him that this would be an easy, painless way to test whether or not he had really experienced what he had just SEEMED to have experienced. If he had this alleged power, then it should be easy to check. If he did not have it, then no harm would be done. He looked directly at Terry and said, "You saw me go by a minute ago. I told you I was going to check the door to make sure it was locked."
She looked at him as if he were crazy. "You said no such thing Paul," she barked, shaking her head. "You're kind of scaring me a little. This is like the Twilight Zone or something. How did you get from the shower to the living room in less than a second without me seeing you? How?"
It hadn't worked. Maybe it really was just a hallucination.
"Paul?" she demanded. "This really isn't funny."
He licked his lips a little. Project himself, the image of Clinton had told him. Project himself. He looked at his wife and, while repeating the sentence he had just spoken, tried to... to push at her with his mind, to command her to believe him. "You saw me go by a minute ago," he said. "I told you I was going to check the door and make sure it was locked."
And this time he felt something, some small force leaving his brain and moving towards Terry's. It was a slight sensation, hardly anything that he would have noticed had he not been concentrating all of his energies upon it. But it had been something.
Instantly the confusion disappeared from Terry's face. The hand holding the vibrator pushed it back into her wet pussy and began moving it. "Well," she said slyly. "Are you satisfied?"
"Satisfied?" he said slowly, his thoughts abuzz.
"I told you that I'd locked the door earlier," she said righteously. "And it was locked, wasn't it?"
He swallowed, feeling tingles running through his body at her words. Had it really worked? "It was locked," he said carefully.
"And I always lock it Paul," she said. "You should know that. I don't know why you even felt the need to check."
It had worked! He had told her that she had seen him walk by a minute ago and she believed that she had. She believed it! He really had the power! "You're right," he told her. "I don't know why I even bothered."
She smiled, spreading her legs a little wider. "So now that you know we're safe and secure," she told him, "why don't you get over here and take care of business? This little machine feels good, but it's sure not a real substitute."
Though with his mind on overload as it tried to cope with the fact of its new ability, and though he desperately wanted to sit down alone somewhere and think about the best uses of it, Paul stepped forward and climbed onto the bed. He would keep up appearances for the time being. He would not use this new power until he had a chance to think it through. And though he no longer felt like bouncing atop his naked wife's body, he climbed aboard anyway. It only took him a moment or two to get back into the mood.
He kept himself isolated from Terry as much as he could the rest of the day, locking himself in his computer room. He lay awake beside her most of the night, unable to sleep, unable to shut his thoughts down.
He had the power to control others! To make others do whatever he wanted them to do! He, in effect, had absolute power! Absolute! He could make himself the ruler of the Earth if he wanted to and if he applied himself correctly. He could be unstoppable. The question was: did he want to do that? Did he want to use this gift to rule the world? Did he want to use it at all?
As an historian he knew quite well what the perils of absolute power did to a person. Look at Stalin, at Hitler, at countless others. Look at the human pain and misery that they had caused with their own absolute power; a power that was not near as strong as what he potentially could do. Did he really wish to elevate himself to that level? He did not think so. Certainly not right now.
But what could he use his power for? He was smart enough, and honest enough with himself to know that he would not be able to resist the temptation to use the ability. Who could? But what was the best means of using it? How far should he go?
Paul Woods was basically a good man. He was as good a man as could be found in the day and age in which he lived. He had no desire to create suffering or to hurt others. He had no desire to rule the world. But he did have other desires, other problems. Could using the ability solve those? Of course they could.
For instance, he had some struggling students in his classes. Could a little jolt of their study habits, of their goals in life perhaps help them along? Was anything wrong with doing that? And he had an assistant principal that was a vindictive bitch that delighted in utilizing her own power over those beneath her. Could a little readjustment of her attitude really hurt anyone? Well... maybe. That one would require some more thought.
But why stop there? The Lincoln City Council was currently debating whether or not to allow fluoridation of the city's water supply. This was an issue that Paul, who had studied up on it, had strong opinions about. Could he maybe find his way to each of the council members, one by one, and just suggest to them that they should vote the way he felt about the matter? He could do that, could do it very easily. But what would the consequences be? Paul, as an educated and intelligent man had no illusions about how politicians, even small-time politicians like the Lincoln City Council members, decided how to vote on something. They voted for whomever had contributed the most campaign funds to them, for whomever's lobby group had granted the most perks. Politicians were bought people. What would happen if he went and forced them to change their votes if those votes had already been promised and given to someone else? And, putting that aside, what gave him the right to decide for all of the other people of Lincoln that what he thought was right was the way it should be? What about gun control, abortion, death penalty? He had strong opinions about all of those subjects and he felt he was right about them. But did that give him the right to instill his opinions upon others by utilizing his power?
"Jesus," he whispered to himself, shaking his head a little. This was undoubtedly some deep feces that he was treading through.
And then there was the question of discovery by either government or corporate agencies. It went without saying that either of those entities would do just about anything to get their hands upon someone like him. And while he might not be particularly easy to capture - any potential kidnapper could be easily directed to disregard his mission - his family would be. They could be held as hostages of fortune in order for him to be forced to do their will. Even if that extreme were not resorted to, wouldn't the mere existence of someone like himself be sufficient cause for concern for a governmental agency. Even if they elected not to try to use him themselves, wouldn't they at least have him killed before he could present a danger to them? Clinton had told him, had specifically warned him that he was mortal. He decided that his prime directive with this power would be to keep it concealed from all others. He would never let anyone else know that he had it.
"Learn to undo what you have done," he had been warned and he would take that warning seriously. He tried to think of an easy phrasing that would allow that and, after a while, came up with several.
Sometime around the point where the sky above the city of Lincoln began to show the first hints of lightening with the coming of dawn Paul came to a consensus of sorts. He would confine the use of his ability to very small things for now. He would, as the image of Clinton had suggested, just get the hang of using it and would not try anything major. Any big issues that he could effect, he would just let go for the time being. He would just let them go and concentrate on little things. He would learn and he would think about what else to do as he learned.
At 6:30 AM, just as Terry was getting up to start her morning routine, he picked up the phone and called in sick for his classes that day.
"What's the matter Sweetie?" Terry asked him, feeling his forehead with inside of her wrist, searching for fever.
"I'm just not feeling good today," he said. "I didn't sleep very well and I don't think it would be a good idea to go to work."
She fawned over him for the rest of the morning, asking again and again if he was okay, but finally left to hold vigil over her own students. She took his corrected papers with her as she went. Once the door was shut behind her he immediately fell into a deep sleep. He would not awaken until 12:30 that afternoon.
The street that Paul and Terry lived on was in a semi-affluent section of Lincoln. It was a pleasant, tree-lined subdivision packed with tract houses that all looked alike and occupied by solidly middle-class families. The neighbors were, for the most part, friendly and personable, a half and half mix of single and double income families. The majority had children, most of whom were still in the toddler or early school years age. It was a neighborhood where 4th of July block parties and annual Christmas parties took place, where everyone knew everyone by first name and gave friendly waves of greeting. It wasn't exactly Mayfield from Leave it To Beaver, but it was close.
Paul stepped outside at one o'clock that afternoon to collect his mail from the box in front of his house. He was wearing sweat shorts and a T-shirt as he walked barefoot across his lawn, his mind still quite occupied with thoughts of his new ability.
"Hi Paul," a familiar female voice called to his right. He looked over to see that Julie, his next door neighbor, was working in her garden. Her husband, Rich, was a civil engineer for the city and Julie herself was a housewife that stayed home and watched after their nine month old daughter. As one of the non-working mothers in the neighborhood, she had time to indulge a favorite hobby: her rose garden. Every spring it was the envy of the neighborhood. Such a masterpiece of botany did not come without a price however. Every afternoon from late winter through fall she could be seen out in front of her house during her child's naptime, pulling weeds and clipping branches.
"Hi Julie," he said, changing course and walking over to her. "How is your day going?" Julie was very pretty. She was a short, petite blonde in her early twenties. She was dressed in a pair of tan shorts that showed off her legs and a white shirt that allowed her perky breasts to bulge pleasingly outward beneath it. Her light blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and she had smudges of dirt on her forehead and arms. She smiled in a friendly manner when Paul approached her. As a typical male, Paul felt a tug of physical attraction whenever he saw her. This day was no different.
"Oh, just clipping a few branches out here while Kyla's sleeping," she said, standing up straight and dropping the shears she held. "How about yourself? What are you doing home today? Are you sick?" Her blue eyes probed at him inquisitively.
In addition to being attractive and a good gardener, Julie was also the designated gossip source for the neighborhood. Though she was usually not vicious about it, she could cite the job title, yearly income, type of motor vehicle driven, and just about every other vital statistic of any person in the neighborhood. When you had a conversation with Julie, it was with the understanding that anything you said could and would be passed on later to the other neighbors in other conversations. Paul knew that when she inquired just what he was doing at home, she was not expressing simple curiosity or making polite conversation. She was hoping that he would say something like: "Oh, Terry and I are going to divorce so I took the day off to consult with a lawyer" or "Terry found this strange lump in her breast and we have to go get it checked out".
"I wasn't feeling very well this morning," he said dismissively, no doubt disappointing her. "It felt like my body was fighting something off. I'm better now though."
"Well that's good," she said, as if relieved about the state of his health. "And how is Terry doing? I haven't talked to her in a few days."
"She went in to school this morning," he said, watching a drop of sweat as it tracked down the side of her face and disappeared beneath the hem of her shirt. It left a wet trail behind it. Julie really did have nice skin. It was the pale color of a natural blonde's but very soft looking. "She offered to stay home with me but I told her to go ahead and go in."
Julie shook her head. "I just don't know how you two do it," she said. "Teaching high school students in this day and age. Aren't you afraid that one of those school shootings will happen?"
Paul shrugged, having only half-heard her question. While he mechanically explained about how rare such things really were and about how the school they taught at was actually kind of upscale, he continued to take in the details of her body, of her face. Though he did not enjoy talking to Julie as far as the conversation aspect went, he always had enjoyed talking to her for the aesthetic aspect. She was just one of those women that you loved to look at, to imagine touching in intimate ways and, like every other male on the street, he took every oppurtunity that he could to chat with her.
During his brainstorm the previous night the thought of using his new ability for sexual pleasure had of course popped into his head on several occasions. How could it not have? It had been a heady thought that he could now have sex with virtually any person that he desired as long as he could arrange to have a face to face meeting with them. Anybody! Each time that the thought had surfaced however, he had pushed it aside, telling himself that the giver of the gift had probably not intended for him to use it to go around boffing everything with a vagina. And there was also the matter of his wife. He had taken marriage vows that he would forsake all others and he had always taken those vows seriously. Several times since being married, other women, some of them quite attractive, had propositioned him. What married man did not experience this from time to time? But he had never been seriously tempted to follow through. When it came down to it, adultery was wrong and engaging in it would do nothing but complicate his life. So, he had decided last night, he would continue to remain faithful to Terry. He would not use his gift for those ends.
Of course that decision had been made by a man who had just had two orgasms in the past eight hours and who had a relatively low level of sexual build-up floating around in his body. It is no wonder that it seemed such an easy path to follow at that time. Now, however, in the afternoon of a new day, while he was looking at a woman standing before him that he had always found very attractive, he felt that resolve already starting to slip. He could have her! He could have her right now and then tell her that it never happened, to forget it! He could have her with no consequences! He could take her inside of her house right now and fuck the living shit out of her, take her up the ass, have her suck his cock, do anything, anything at all!
"Are you okay?" Julie asked him carefully, seeing a strange expression on his face.
"Uh... sure," he said, casting his eyes away from her face, trying to control the lustful thoughts he was having. Shifting his gaze did not help. It simply meant that he was looking down at her exposed midriff. It was flat and pale, slightly damp looking from her sweat, the belly button a perfect pink hole in the center with a very fine fuzz of almost transparent blonde hairs trailing down from it into the hem of her shorts. "Uh listen Julie... "
"Yeah?" she asked, her puzzled expression becoming more puzzled.
"Do you masturbate a lot?" he heard himself saying impulsively, wondering just what he thought he was doing even as he did it.
She froze in place, her expression changing to one of shock and disgust. "What did you say to me?" she asked angrily. "You didn't just say... "
Oh shit! It hadn't worked! He had known that almost as soon as he spoke to her. The power that he had felt when he had talked to Terry, the power that he had felt projecting outward, he had not felt it with Julie. There had been no projection. Why not? What went wrong? Had the power deserted him? Had he ever really had it to begin with?
"Forget I said that," he barked desperately, pushing himself at her, convinced that he had just dug himself a grave. But this time he did feel the power leaving him.
And this time it did work. "Forget you said what?" Julie asked, her angry expression leaving and her puzzled expression returning. "What are you talking about?"
He breathed a sigh of relief. What had happened? The power WAS still there and did still work, but was it intermittent? Why hadn't it worked the first time?
"Paul," she said, confused, her eyebrows scrunched up. "Something strange is going on here. What... "
"Nothing strange is going on here," he told her, projecting. Again he felt the power at work.
"Oh," she said, her normal, ditsy inquisitive blonde expression coming back in an instant. "Well that's good to know." A little bit of the confusion returned. "What were we talking about now?"
He didn't answer her. It occurred to him where he had just made his mistake. When he had asked her about masturbation he had ASKED her something, he had not TOLD her something. The power apparently did not work for individual questions because questions were interrogatory and not commands. But what if the question was phrased as an order? Was it all just a matter of semantics? Hmmm.
"Paul," she asked. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Though he knew he should not be doing this, he could not seem to help himself. Suddenly, knowing this woman's personal secrets seemed like something he needed to do. Besides, he justified to himself, he was just testing out the power, seeing how it worked, wasn't he? There was no real harm. "Tell me Julie," he said, projecting as his did so, "do you masturbate a lot?"
The shocked expression returned to her face, shock and disgust at what he had said. He was exasperated. Now what? He had felt the power go out and he had phrased the question as a command by placing the words: "tell me" at the beginning. So why wasn't she answering now?
But she DID answer. "About three times a week or so," she said, the disgusted expression remaining and turning to one of disbelief as the words came out of her mouth. She shook her head and shuddered a little. "Jesus," she spat at him. "Why did you ask that? Why did I answer it?" Without waiting for a reply she turned and began storming towards her house.
"Wait," he commanded her, sending a strong projection. She froze in her tracks.
"Why am I waiting here?" she asked, fear in her voice now. "Why am I doing what you're telling me? What is going on?"
She was answering him now and was obeying him, that was true. But she was reacting just as if he did not have the power otherwise. Why?
"Paul," she said, trembling, near tears. "I don't know what you're doing to me but I'm going to scream if you don't let me go. I'll... "
"Be quiet," he commanded. "Let me think."
Her mouth snapped instantly shut though she continued to tremble in place.
She was reacting the way she was, he deduced after a moment's reflection, because he had not commanded her NOT to. She was answering him and doing as he said, but she was not liking it a bit. It seemed that Mr. Clinton had been right. This power thing would take practice. "Come here," he told Julie.
Without hesitation she turned and walked back over to him. She kept quiet as she did it, as per instruction, but her face was working on moving beyond fear and into horror.
"There is nothing unusual about our conversation," he told her. "It is the kind of thing that any neighbors discuss with each other. Nothing that I have said has been offensive or hostile. Nothing that I will say to you will be offensive or hostile."
The fear left her face in the blink of an eye and the natural, inquisitive neighbor expression came back. Okay, Paul thought. We're getting somewhere.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
She continued to stare at him pleasantly, not saying a word.
"Oh," he said, shaking his head a little. Another little mistake discovered. "You can talk now and I want you to answer all of my questions truthfully."
"Okay," she said, smiling. "I'm feeling kind of strange actually. You see, I feel like something has just scared the daylights out of me and I seem to remember you saying something scary to me a minute ago. But I don't know why I feel like that. All you asked me is how much do I masturbate, right?"
"Right," he agreed.
"That's a perfectly normal question, isn't it?"
"I suppose," he said, feeling a shiver of excitement surging through him. It was working! She thought that was a perfectly normal question!
"I can't imagine why that would upset me," she said. She shrugged. "Oh well. Probably just my blonde hair taking hold."
"Maybe," he said. "And are you a real blonde?"
"Yes I am," she said.
He nodded, feeling an erection begin beneath his sweat shorts as he contemplated the possibilities of what he was doing. The erection was countered by his conscious. He wasn't really going to further this encounter was he? He had had a little fun, had found out a little personal information about the gossiping Julie, but it needed to end right? Right?
"Tell me," he said, telling himself that he was just going to ask a FEW more questions and then let her go with orders to forget she had seen him today, "why do you masturbate three times a week?"
"Because it feels good to masturbate," she replied, "and that's the only time I get to have an orgasm."
"Rich doesn't give you orgasms?" he asked, a little surprised. Rich was a handsome, athletic former football player that could be seen jogging up and down the street every morning. He had once told Paul that he jogged thirty miles a week.
She shook her head a little sadly and then said: "He likes to have sex a lot, that's true, but he does it the same way every time. He just climbs on, does it for a few minutes, and then he's done." She explained this in the same manner that she would have explained how Rich did not do as much housework as she thought he should.
"Don't you ever have him eat your pussy or anything?" he asked next, feeling his erection grow. Pretty soon it was going to get noticeable.
"No. He's not like you," she said. "He thinks going down on a woman is dirty."
"What do mean he's not like me?" Paul asked surprised.
She gave a sly smile. "Terry told me once that you love to go down on her. She said you're pretty good at it."
"Terry told you THAT?" he asked, astounded.
Julie giggled a little. "She'd had a few glasses of wine with me at the time. Remember the neighborhood pool party over at Andy and Lynn's? That was when she told me."
He remembered that party. It had been the previous summer and Terry had indeed gotten good and drunk there. He even remembered her going off and having an extended conversation with Julie near the corner of Lynn and Andy's back yard. Julie had been swollen and pregnant with Kyla at the time.
"Did you tell anybody else about this?" he asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it for himself.
"Of course," she said simply. "I told all of the women in the neighborhood about it. I tell them anytime something like that comes to my attention. Most of them seemed pretty envious. You see, a good male pussy eater is pretty rare."
"Wow," Paul said, stunned by the knowledge that the entire neighborhood not only knew about his fetish for cunnilingus but also were envious of Terry for it. "And what about you? Are you envious?"
"Very," she said. "I've never had anybody eat my pussy until I came. I can't even imagine what it feels like."
"Uh huh," he said, pulling his shirt down as far as it would go to cover his hard-on, which was now poking out impressively. "And what if I would have offered to do that for you? Would you have let me?"
"No," she said. "It would be wrong."
"So you don't cheat on your husband?"
"I have twice," she said. "Once last year and once four months ago. The first time was with my trainer at the gym and the second time was with my dentist." She shook her head a little. "Disappointing both times. They weren't any better at sex than Rich is."
"Wow," he said again, in awe of her brutal honesty with him. "This is really amazing shit."
"Is it?" she asked. "How come?"
"Never mind," he told her. "Tell me, why wouldn't you cheat with me if you would cheat with a trainer and a dentist?"
"Because Terry is my friend and because you are Rich's friend," she explained. "It's one thing to cheat with a man that my husband doesn't know but it's quite another thing to cheat with a friend's husband."
"I see," he said. "But what if I wasn't Terry's husband and Rich's friend. What if you knew what you know about me but I was a stranger to your husband. Would you want to cheat with me then?"
"You wouldn't be able to keep me off of you," she said. "I'd give anything to have a man eat my pussy and make me come. Besides, Terry also told me that you're pretty good in other aspects of sex too. According to your wife, you're quite a good lay."
"I'll have to thank Terry for that sometime."
"I think you should," she agreed.
Paul looked at her for a moment, not speaking. His erection was now painful in his shorts and he was having very lustful thoughts about this woman he was speaking to. He looked at her alluring body once again, imagining stroking it, touching it, and licking it. What had seemed dreadfully wrong last night now seemed dreadfully right. After all, he could do it without anyone knowing he was doing it, without Julie herself knowing he was doing it.
"Take me into your house," he told her, projecting once again. "And again, nothing that I ask of you will seem the least bit unusual. You will comply with it all."
"Okay," she said, nodding affirmatively. "Let's go."
She led him into her living room and closed the door behind them. Their house was an exact copy of his. They had the same sunken family room off of the kitchen and the hallway. The only difference was the carpet and the décor. Rich and Julie's was set up with a less complex entertainment center but nicer furniture. She offered him a seat on the couch and then asked if he would like anything to drink or eat.
"Not at the moment," he told her. "Come and sit next to me."
She did so, plopping herself down on the couch. She looked at him expectantly.
"Tell me how you masturbate yourself," he said.
"Well," she explained. "Most of the time I just rub myself with my fingers while I'm in the bathtub. I always take a bath after I do my gardening but before Kyla wakes up. Usually that's when I'm horny too. You know, the warm water and the bubbles and all."
"I see," he said. "And what do you think of while you're doing it?"
"Men," she said. "Nice, gentle, hunky men that treat my body like it should be treated. I think of having men eat me a lot. Like I said, I've never been eaten well in my life." She smiled lustily. "That always does the trick."
"Show me," he told her.
"Okay," she chirped, popping up and leading him through the house.
They went up stairs and into the master bedroom, which contained the master bathroom. The bathtub was oversized, large enough for two. She reached down and turned on the taps, spending a moment adjusting the water. Paul looked at her ass as she did this, seeing the pale cheeks protruding from the bottom of her shorts. Unable to help himself he reached out and stroked one of her cheeks with his finger, feeling the soft, pale flesh.
She jumped, emitting a startled scream at the contact. She turned to face him, her face angry. "What do you think you're doing?" she yelled. "How dare you touch me there! I think you'd better leave right now!"
Shit. He had forgotten to modify her programming to accept that. Though he had commanded her to consider anything that he asked her to do to be acceptable, he had not asked her to allow him to touch her ass.
"Forget that I just touched you," he ordered, and instantly her face went back to neutral. She turned and began adjusting the water again. He took a few deep breaths, trying to think of a way to phrase what he needed to say. Christ this power thing was like walking through a minefield. "Julie," he finally said, projecting again, "nothing that occurs between us is unusual. You will react to whatever happens without regard to the social consequences. You will obey my commands and you will respond to what we do together as your body commands, not your mind. If it is pleasurable, you will enjoy it. If you want to do something, you will do it. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," she said, not even looking back. She made a few more adjustments to the water and then stood up.
She reached for a bottle of bubble bath but Paul stopped her, telling her to disregard that particular phase of her bath for this particular afternoon. He wanted to SEE what she did. She dropped the bottle and then began to remove her clothing.
"Oh yeah," he said to himself as he watched her.
She pulled off her shoes and socks, tossing the former towards the walk-in closet, dumping the latter into a hamper next to the sink. She then pulled off her T-shirt, revealing her perky tits that were clad in a plain white brassiere. Without hesitation she reached behind her and undid the clasp, letting the bra fall free. Her tits were about the size of softballs and were very firm. The nipples were not erect but were still nice to look at. He felt a surge of excitement blast through him as he watched. Julie, the woman he had lusted after, was undressing before him! He was looking at her tits! And they were just as nice as he had always imagined they would be.
She unsnapped her shorts and let them drop to her feet, revealing a pair of white cotton panties. She then grabbed the waistband of them.
"Wait," Paul commanded.
She stopped, her thumbs still hooked into the elastic, her eyes looking at him, awaiting the next command.
"Let me take them off of you," he said.
"Okay," she said, a little tremble in her voice. He saw her nipples suddenly stand up as she became aroused at the thought of him doing this. The command to let her body enjoy the sensations was working.
He sank to his knees before her and let his hands run up and down the outside of her legs a few times, feeling the firm, feminine flesh beneath his fingers. Goose bumps broke out on her at his touch and his erection became almost painful beneath his shorts. He was touching Julie in intimacy! He moved his hands over her skin and across the back of her thighs, up over the rounded portion of her ass, until his fingers were touching cotton instead of skin. Grasping the waist of her panties he tugged downward, baring her lower stomach and the top of her pubic hair. It was blonde, just a few shades darker than that on her head.
"This is really turning me on," she whispered from above him.
"Me too," he agreed, letting his hands continue their work. He slid the panties the rest of the way down, allowing her to step out of them. As they fell, the odor of her sex hit his nose. Since she had been outside in the sun working in her garden her scent was very powerful, almost eye-watering at close range. The smell was of musk and sweat mixed together, almost feral in nature. Her pubic hair was slightly damp around her vulva; the curly blonde hairs matted a little. Her lips were peaking out at him from the nest, slightly reddened and swollen from her arousal, moisture clearly glinting on them. He could not resist letting his finger slide between them, feeling the slippery wetness of her membranes.
"Ohh," she moaned at his touch, angling her hips forward, trying to force penetration.
He rubbed up and down a few times, spreading her juices around, watching as her clit peeked out from its hood. Her clit was larger than Terry's, a little pinker in contrast to her pale skin. He let his knuckle slide over it, making her jump and squeal.
"You like it when I touch your pussy?" he asked her, letting his finger slide between her folds. She was tight, very tight for a woman who had given birth less than a year ago.
"Yess," she sighed, twirling her hips around. "I love it."
"Does Rich touch you like this?"
"No," she breathed as he continued to finger-fuck her. "He just jabs it in a few times before he fucks me. He's not as gentle."
"Too bad," he observed.
"Yes, it is," she agreed, clenching at him with her smooth thighs.
Keeping his finger sheathed within her, he stood up, letting his other hand caress her breasts. His thumb rubbed her nipple, making it grow. "Do you ever think of me when you play with yourself?" he asked her, leaning down and kissing her bare shoulder.
"Yes," she told him. "Quite often."
"What do you think about me doing to you?"
"Eating me," she said, her words a little broken as he moved his mouth to her slender neck and began nibbling. "I imagine Terry loaning you to me for a day, about you having to do whatever I say."
"And what do you tell me to do?" he asked, biting her earlobe.
"I make you kiss me everywhere. I make you suck my toes, my legs, my tits, and finally my pussy. I make you eat me all day long, in every position."
"Would you like your fantasy to come true?" he asked her, adding another finger to her tightness, kissing his way across her face.
"Show me how you rub yourself first," he told her. "Make yourself come in the bathtub for me. And then I'll eat you alive."
"Oh yesss!" she cried, breaking free of the embrace. She climbed into the tub and immediately submerged her body beneath the water. She closed her eyes and began to run her hands up and down her body, over her breasts and over her inner thighs. "I am soooo horny right now," she told him.
"Let's see you do your work," he told her, kicking off his own shoes. "I'm gonna jack off while you do it."
Panting, she spread her legs obscenely, draping each of her feet on the sides of the tub. Her hand dropped into her crotch and her fingers began to rub, slowly at first, in little circles around her clit.
Paul quickly undressed, revealing his turgid member. It was dripping with pre-come, the veins bulging out. Standing over the edge of the tub he took it in hand and began to stroke up and down while he watched her pleasure herself. Her hand began to move faster, with more force and so did his. Water began to splash from her efforts. Her face flushed bright red and she panted uncontrollably. Her hips began to undulate up and down. By the time he felt the inevitability of his own orgasm building within him her hand was a blur between her legs, her arm muscles bulging outward at the forced pressure upon herself.
"I'm comingggg," she moaned. "Ohhhh Goddd!"
As she came, so did he. Bracing himself against the wall to keep from falling he felt the tremors moving through his body and began to shoot. Blast after blast of hot sperm flew from his member, striking her face, her neck, splashing into the water near her submerged breasts. Her tongue lapped at a globule that was on her upper lip.
"That was good," she sighed as she wiped the rest off her face with a washcloth. "I wish Rich would do things like that with me."
"Maybe I'll see what I can arrange for you," he told her. "But in the meantime... " He held out his hand. "Shall we move on to part two of our little deal?"
"I think we should," she said, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her from the tub.
She dried off quickly and then led him to her bed. It was neatly made with a patterned blue comforter on top. She lay on her back atop it, her head on a pillow, her legs spread widely, an expectant expression on her face. He kneeled on the other end at her feet, taking her left leg in his hands and bringing her foot to his face. It was a small, dainty foot with professionally manicured nails. He rubbed it across his cheek a few times and then licked at the top of it, making her giggle. Finally, staring into her eyes, he took her big toe into his mouth, sucking it, bathing it with his saliva while his hands stroked her smooth shaven calf. She trembled beneath him, making little squealing noises as her fantasy came to life.
He sucked her toes one by one, driving her nearly crazy with desire. It was obvious that her lower digits were a particularly erogenous zone for her. At last he left them behind and began to kiss his way up her ankle to her calf, alternating between licks and sucks, switching from one leg to the other. He spent a great deal of time on the back of her knees, an area that made her moan almost continuously as he licked it, and on her inner thighs, which he found particularly erotic. The skin there was baby soft and smooth. He licked up and down, kissing here, biting there, moving his mouth back and forth from one to the other and tasting that salty flesh. At last he worked his way up to the junction of her thighs and her crotch. He ran his tongue slowly through the groove here, feeling her pubic hair tickling his cheek, smelling her clean, fresh musk permeating the air.
Instead of letting his lips attack her slit, he simply let his nose slide briefly through it, wetting the tip and branding her scent upon his face. She spasmed a little at the contact and then giggled in delight as his mouth came down on her lower stomach. He worked his way to the side, kissing up her flank, over her ribs until he came to her armpit. His mouth licked here a few times and then he was nibbling and kissing across her shoulder, up her neck, finally reaching her flushed face.
While his hands went to work on her breasts he kissed her mouth for the better part of ten minutes, sliding his tongue inside where it swirled with hers on a film of saliva. She was a very good kisser. Not quite as good as Terry, but close. They sucked each other's tongues, each other's lips, alternating between teasing, playful kisses and deep, passionate ones.
Finally he began to work his way downward once more, kissing her neck and her ears before working to the top of her chest. He slowly let the back of his tongue trail up the swell of her right breast until he contacted the nipple. He took the hard nubbin between his lips, suckling it like a baby while she ran her fingers through his hair. He switched back and forth between her two breasts, sucking her nipples into half-inch protrusions before continuing southward down her abdomen and over her stomach. He tongued her belly button for a moment and then followed the trail of downy hair until his nose was once more moving through her nest of golden curls.
Her legs were still spread widely when he finally addressed her vagina. He positioned himself so that his face was hovering above her sex and her legs were draped over his shoulder. Her lips were swollen to an angry red thickness, her clit sticking out nearly a quarter of an inch from its sheath. Her odor was very strong in the air, the odor of lust, of desire. Slowly he lowered his face to her and let his tongue slide between those engorged lips, tasting the sharpness of her juices.
"Ohhhh," she grunted, in ecstasy at his ministrations.
He lapped gently at her, probing occasionally between her slippery lips with the tip of his tongue. He licked her up and down, spreading her with his fingers to enhance his access. When she began to buck up and down he slid a finger inside of her, quickly following it up with another. He moved them in and out, up and down, twirling them this way and that. His tongue began to stab gently at her clit, sliding over it, making it swell further.
"Yes, ohhhh yessss," Julie panted as he stimulated her pleasure center.
He began to suck lightly upon it, drawing it into his mouth as he had her nipple. The effect upon her was instant and dramatic. Her hips began to rise up and down; her fingers began to pull at his hair. He sucked harder, drawing the orgasm from her bit by bit until she was nearly screaming, her crotch nearly beating against his face.
When her tremors died down he lifted his wet face from her crotch and looked at her. She was still quite flushed, a wide smile on her face.
"Was that how I do it in your fantasy?" he asked her.
"Exactly like it," she told him. "Exactly." She reached down and hooked her hands into his armpits, pulling him upward, forcing his body to lie atop her. She began to kiss his face, lapping at her own secretions with her tongue, cleaning them from his skin.
He felt the tip of his cock nestled in her wet nest of hair. Her legs were still spread and it would only be matter of angling down and forward and he would be sheathed within her tightness. But he restrained himself.
He let her kiss and lick at his face and neck for a moment and then he stopped her. He gave her one more kiss and then her rolled off of her until he was on his back. His cock stood proudly up in the air, waiting its turn.
"Are you on birth control?" he asked her.
"Yes," she panted. "The pill."
"Good," he said, putting his hands behind his head. "I want you to get on top of me and fuck me now. Use your body to make me come in you. I don't want to have to move."
She smiled a little doubtfully, raising up to her knees. "I've never done anything like that before," she said. "Rich always has me lie on my back."
"I have every confidence in you," he said. "Now get to work."
Sliding one leg over his body she straddled him, facing forward. She grasped his cock in her hands and positioned herself so that she was hovering right over the top of him. She rubbed the head in her saturated slit a few times, wetting it thoroughly. She then put it right between the lips.
"Are you ready?" she asked him, a playful look on her face.
"Yes," he said. "Fuck me good Julie."
She sank down upon him, his cock sliding easily into her slippery tightness to the hilt. He groaned as he felt her pubis meet his, as he felt her curly hairs rubbing against his. She clenched her vaginal muscles knowingly, making her sheath even tighter, and then she slowly raised herself upward once more. She began to move up and down upon him, slowly at first and then with more speed as she got into the rhythm. He tried to lie still as she fucked him, tried to let her do the work, but her pussy felt so good upon his cock that he could not help but raise his hips upward on each of her downstrokes.
Coupled with the intense physical pleasure she was providing him, the forbidden aspects of what he was doing to her was adding intensity to the experience he couldn't have fathomed before. He was lying in Julie's bedroom, on the bed she shared with her husband, and she was fucking his cock while the taste of her blonde pussy was still in his mouth. That was so excitingly wrong, so nasty, so taboo.
He was only able to keep his hands behind his head for a minute or so while she humped atop him before the sight of her bouncing breasts got to him. He grabbed her tits, perhaps a little roughly but she didn't seem to mind. He squeezed them as she moved atop him, pinching the nipples between his fingers.
"Come on, faster Julie," he ordered her, "fuck me faster. Make me come."
She picked up her pace, sweat starting to run from her face now as her hips pistoned with more force. A wet squish and a drool of juices into his crotch accompanied each stroke.
"Faster, harder," he commanded. "You can do it. Fuck that come out of me. Fuck it out of me!"
Again she increased her force and speed. Finally he could take it no more. The sight of his beautiful neighbor pounding away as hard as she could, sweat flying off of her face, her juices pouring onto the bed, became too much for him. He felt his orgasm straining for release. Julie, sensing this, redoubled her efforts, moving her pelvis in circles in addition to up and down.
"I'm gonna come in you," he grunted, his pelvis thrusting back at her. "You're making me come Julie, you're making me come!"
"Yessss," she said, continuing to pump up and down, "Do it. Come in me."
He passed the point of no return and tingles began to run up and down his spine. His orgasm spread throughout him, tensing every muscle, sending waves of pleasure exploding throughout him. With a groan he began to shoot inside of her clenching wetness, sending his sperm splashing against her cervix.
"Oh Goddd, I can feel it!" she moaned, not missing a beat as she began to come as well. "I made you come! It's making ME come!"
Afterward she collapsed atop him, her breasts pushing against his chest, her face buried in his sweaty neck, his cock still nestled in her drooling vagina. They held each other in silence as their heartbeats returned to normal, as the perspiration evaporated from their naked skin.
At last she looked up at him, her face dry but her bangs still damp. "Why haven't we ever done this before?" she asked. "That was incredible."
He kissed her nose, letting his fingers stroke her smooth back. "I guess we just never thought about it before," he told her.
"We simply HAVE to do this again," she said. "How about tomorrow afternoon?"
"I'll be at work tomorrow," he told her.
"Oh," she said. "Well how about tomorrow night then? Maybe after dinner?"
"Won't Rich be home then?" he asked.
"Well sure," she said, the look of puzzlement back on her face. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't really think old Rich would appreciate me coming in and fucking his wife while he's home."
The look remained. "Why wouldn't he?" she asked. "It's just fucking. There's nothing unusual about that, is there? I don't see why he would mind you fucking me."
This was such a bizarre conversation, Paul thought, almost as bizarre as the one he had had with President Clinton the night before. But then it occurred to him why. He had programmed Julie to believe that nothing that they did in her house was unusual. To her, the idea of giving her body to the next door neighbor was as natural and common as borrowing a cup of sugar or a power tool. He certainly could not leave her like that.
"We'll see," he finally told her, his mind already starting to go over his exit order to her.
By the time he got himself dressed he thought he had it.
"Julie," he told her, projecting as he spoke. "The moment I walk out this door you will forget that I was ever here and that we ever talked to each other or saw each other today. In your memories this day will have gone as most of your other weekdays go. Your moral code and your ideas on right and wrong will go right back to the way that they always were. You will take a long shower, cleansing yourself thoroughly, particularly your vaginal area. If you feel soreness or if your receive any other indications that you had any sort of sexual contact today you will ignore them and not speculate on their origins."
"Okay," Julie said, smiling and kissing his face affectionately.
He thought for a moment. Had he left anything out? Had he forgotten some small detail that would come back to haunt him? He could not be sure but he also could not think of anything else to add. He would keep an eye on Julie over the next few days.
They shared one last kiss before Paul walked out the door. The moment it closed Julie found herself staring at it, wondering what she was doing there. Why had she gone to the door? She did not know.
"God," she said to herself, shaking her head a little. "I'm such a blonde sometimes."
She looked at the clock and saw that Kyla would be waking up any time from her nap. Where had her day gone? She hadn't even finished her laundry or her house cleaning yet. Well, she had better get on it right quick so she would be finished before Rich came home. But first, she really needed to take a shower. Though she had already taken her bath after gardening she still felt dirty for some reason. She began to walk towards the bathroom.
As she moved through the hallway she distantly noticed that her crotch was aching in a pleasant way and that she felt kind of... well wet down there. But it wasn't important. She dismissed it.
As she walked past the bed on her way to the bathroom she noticed a large white stain on the blue comforter. It almost looked as if... well, no that couldn't be it. She hadn't done anything like that.
As instructed she ignored the stain and went in to start her shower.