Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Humor, Extra Sensory Perception, Polygamy/Polyamory,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Okay, so the job sucks, you can’t quit and one tiny little indiscretion (I swear she said she was nineteen!) gets you posted to the farthest known edge of the Empire. The place is called Pigsford for Gods sake! So there you are stuck in the boonies for the next decade or so with nothing to do and one day you catch sight of a girl with one of the most perfect asses you have even seen… Maybe things are looking up for once!

The Imperial Talent Agency's Director of Personnel grinned evilly at the twenty-five year old man squirming in the chair on the other side of his desk. Rumor had it he had picked his position over other more glamorous jobs because it allowed him to discipline, i.e. torture, the indentured recruits on a whim without any fear of reprisal. The rumors were based in fact. Thurston Beauregard was a small, petty man locked in a fat, slovenly body. He had thirty years with the Agency which meant he was a lifer, one who stayed by choice, very much unlike most of the agency personnel like the young man sitting across from him.

Physical torture wasn't his style. He much preferred to mentally dissect his prey and pin them to the examining table until they screamed at the inherent unfairness of the system. Their cries for mercy were sweet music to his ears and much more satisfying than mere screams of pain. Besides, the Agency would never let him go so far as to physically torture them he was sure ― pretty sure, anyway. There was also the fact, he had to admit, that almost every recruit they conscripted could and probably would beat him to within an inch of his life if he ever actually touched them.

"Well, Cranson, you finally fucked up big this time," he chuckled. The subject of his barb looked slightly morose but did little more than shrug. Beauregard frowned and pursed his lips; he had hoped for more of a reaction. His prey was taking this far too lightly. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he barked.

"Nothing," was the sullen reply.

"Nothing? You don't even deny the charge?"

"Of course not," came the disgusted answer. "If I did, you'd have a truth-teller here in a heartbeat. I'm not going to get caught lying to a superior."

Beauregard frowned even more. Lying to a superior was about the worst crime there was in the agency. Being caught doing it would at least add years to your indenture or at worst get you time in SA (Suspended Animation). With SA they brought in a specialist who put you in a trance that left your body frozen in time. You didn't breathe, didn't feel, needed no food or water ― it was like you were frozen in a block of ice. Unfortunately your mind didn't freeze with the rest of your body. You were completely awake and able to perceive everything around you. Those whose minds survived the torment said it was like continuously feeling you were drowning but being unable to do anything about it, not even scream. The very few that didn't come out gibbering idiots said they would have much preferred being beaten every day than to be put through it again.

Naturally Beauregard was hoping Cranson would have lied and become eligible for this discipline. Unfortunate, but it looked like he had to do it the old-fashioned way.

"What you did was reprehensible and disgusting," Beauregard continued as if Cranson hadn't said anything. Marlin Cranson tended to agree with the fat bastard's assessment although after discovering more facts post-incident he allowed that maybe he wasn't entirely at fault in the whole fiasco. "You showed a remarkable lack of judgment." Marlin agreed whole-heartedly with that. "And an inability to conform to the minimum moral standards required in polite society." What he didn't add was that it was illegal, but the only reason he didn't was because technically what occurred wasn't against the law, just frowned upon strongly.

"Because of this the Inspector General has decided to overlook your more egregious behavior and has mercifully only requested you be posted somewhere else so this entire incident can be forgotten." Marlin understood that to mean since they couldn't put him in SA, jail or something even worse, the IG wanted him buried under a rock somewhere.

"Marlin, Marlin, Marlin," Beauregard shook his head sadly. You could almost see the crocodile tears running down his fat cheeks. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Gee, I don't know," Marlin grumbled sarcastically. "Take me away from my home; mark me as a mutant and freak to ninety percent of mankind; steal the best twenty years of my life; make me a virtual slave with almost no pay, no benefits and of course no retirement leaving me at the end of my faithful service old, broke and, oh yes, the best part, still hated by nearly everyone I happen to meet. Why don't we start with that and see where it takes us?"

"Cranson," Beauregard puffed importantly. "It is an honor and a privilege to be chosen for the Talent Agency. Only a few are selected and the service you provide to the empire is invaluable and well respected. Even if you don't appreciate the honor you've been afforded I can tell you for a fact your country needs and values your service."

"Sure it does," Marlin laughed. "Having a truth-teller auditing taxes sure helps squeeze that extra penny or two, like blood out of the stone. I'm sure having a mind-reader weaseling about out among the unwashed masses helps ferret out those nasty little revolutionaries too. And of course let's not forget the future-seer keeping our benevolent leaders safe when that bloodless stone, now starving because you've squeezed him for everything he has and has lost the family farm, thinks about sticking a knife in their ribs." Marlin shook his head in disgust. "You slap cuffs on my arms and drag me away from home while my parents gape at me like I'm some kind of monster, force me to work for twenty years for wages that would make a slave scoff and then talk to me about honor? You can have it."

"You have Talent, Cranson," Beauregard growled. "Without the protection of the Agency you would be a danger to the normals of our land and though their own ignorance they would be a danger to you."

"Some protection," Marlin taunted. "I understand being torn apart by a lynch mob is still the leading cause of death for our field agents. That and suicide from loneliness."

"These unfortunate incidents do happen at times," Beauregard admitted. "These atrocities are fully investigated and the perpetrators are found and always brought to justice."

"Fat lot of good it does the field agent who's spread out like a bacon stain on some village green," Marlin growled.

"Be that as it may," Beauregard smiled and steepled his fingers. "I think it's time we put your considerable Talent to useful service."

"Considerable Talent?" Marlin snorted. "I just barely triggered the Talent level necessary to be drafted into this chicken-shit outfit."

"Quite enough, I assure you," the smile broadened. "After all if it wasn't good enough it wouldn't be the minimum. I think what you need is some seasoning. Some time as a field scout would suit you perfectly."

"A Scout!" Marlin blurted incredulously. "You have got to be fucking kidding! I have nothing a Scout would need!"

"Quite the contrary, dear boy," the smile widened into a grin and the grin gave way to a chuckle as a fat finger stabbed down into the file sitting on the desk. "In fact I believe your major Talent is divining and quantifying the Talent level in others. Just the thing for a Scout."

"But I have to be practically within arm's reach," Marlin blubbered. "They'd tear me apart!"

"Oh I doubt that," the chuckle almost became a laugh. "I believe you also have a lesser Talent for making people trust you, which should come in handy."

"That's not a Talent, you bastard!" Marlin choked. "People trust me because I don't lie to them. It has nothing to do with Talent!"

"Either way it should help." Beauregard's chuckle passed right through laughter into cackling. "Here's you assignment and instructions. Make sure you get there on time or I will have you put into SA for a few days, or weeks." He shoved a paper towards the gaping youngster. Marlin picked it up and looked at it.

"Pigsford? Where in hell is Pigsford?"

"I don't know and believe me I don't care," Beauregard answered barely containing his mirth. "All I know is my staff spent days finding the absolutely furthest spot in the empire from here and this is what they came up with. I do know it's been years since we've had a field agent in that area so it should be interesting. There it is. Now get moving, Talent Scout Cranson. Service to the Empire!"

"Fuck you!" Marlin growled as he stamped out of the room followed by peals of laughter. Luckily insubordination was not an SA-able offence.

"Furthest spot in the Empire," Marlin muttered under his breath as he watched the countryside slide past the train window. "Bumfuck Nowhere is what the bastard should have said." They hadn't stopped or even passed a town big enough to be anything more than a wide spot in the road for hours. For the most part it was trees, fields and every once in a while an isolated farm. He was deep into the second day of a two-day train ride with a couple of hours at least of travel by coach before reaching his final destination.

"I'm sorry, young man. Did you say something?" a matronly lady sitting in the bench across from him asked.

"Oh," he answered shaking himself after being jolted out of his cocoon of self pity. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I was just talking to myself."

"Hopefully not arguing with yourself," she added with a pleasant smile.

"Well, I do that occasionally," he admitted, smiling back.

"Do you often lose your argument?" she asked in jest.

"I can be rather persuasive," he said settling back on his own seat. "But I will admit I can also sometimes be an obstinate stinker, but I usually find I can bring myself around to reason with a little persistence."

"I assume you are unmarried if you find you must argue with yourself very often," she nodded knowingly. "Find yourself a good woman and you won't have to worry about that."

"I've never heard of the benefits of marriage put quite that way before." He barked a laugh. "But it would make things easier I will admit. If I were married it would already be assumed I was wrong no matter which side of the question I happened to take."

"So wise and already partially trained," she answered with a glint in her eye. "That's refreshing in one so young. It usually takes years before a man is finally willing to confront the inevitable facts of life."

"Be that as it may," he laughed. "I think I'd rather argue with myself for a while longer and be right at least half the time."

"Why you make it sound like you have a say in the matter, young man," she said reaching over to pat him on the knee as if giving sympathy.

"Of course I do," he said emphatically and then added with a little less certainty, "Don't I?" She just smiled at him, settled back and took up her knitting without answering.

The elderly woman got off at the next stop and he missed the companionship of even this friendly stranger. Luckily the next station was also the end of the rail line and his final stop before what he sarcastically thought of as the thriving metropolis of Pigsford. At least I'll get a good night's sleep, he thought.

Naturally the room at the local inn that had been reserved for him by the Agency was the smallest, dirtiest and ― true to form ― cheapest in town. Resigned to another restless night on a lumpy, straw-filled and probably bug-infested mattress he set out in search of something to eat that he could afford with the pitifully small amount of travel money they had provided.

The town, aptly named End-of-the-Line, didn't offer much in the way of choices so he picked a couple of men dressed in workman's clothing and followed them thinking if they could afford their meal maybe he could also. Luck was with him and they turned into a rather plain but surprisingly clean eatery where he found a spot at an empty table.

Soon an immensely fat man in a stained apron waddled over to him. "What can I do you for?"

"What do you have for tonight?" Marlin replied. "I'm starved but unfortunately I don't have a tremendous amount to spend."

"A poor scholar on the road, eh?" the owner said cocking an eyebrow at Marlin's clothes that had "city" stamped all over them without being overly ostentatious.

"Poor in fact," Marlin laughed. "As for being a scholar ... Well, my teachers would probably disagree on that point. Let's just say I'm a searcher with very little coin."

"Searcher? A searcher of what?"

"I'll know that when I find it," was all Marlin would say.

"Weren't we all like that when young," the owner nodded sagely. "Well, we have pork roast, pork steaks, fried pork, salt pork and ham. If you don't like pork there's the mutton stew; there's not much pork in it."

"What?" Marlin uttered confused.

"Just a joke, my friend," the owner chuckled. "It's all good but you get the most with the mutton; a good portion with a half loaf of bread and all the berry juice you can drink."

"I'll have the mutton then," Marlin nodded.

"Good choice. I'll send the girl over with it in a moment."

As promised a slim girl in her early twenties soon weaved her way between tables carrying a mug, pitcher, large bowl and bread. Marlin's grumbling stomach was looking for a good meal when his Talent awoke as the girl plunked everything down in front of him.

"Shit!" he hissed. She looked surprised and took an awkward step back away from him.

"I'm sorry, sir. Didn't you order the mutton?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, I did," he sighed. "And it smells delicious. I just hope I actually get to eat it. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

"I don't know where you heard it but I don't do that!" she exclaimed angrily.

"It's not that, I assure you," he said holding up his hands soothingly. Although you might wish it were, he muttered to himself. "But it is important."

"Well, all right," she said looking at him suspiciously. "Over there, the hallway to the jakes," she jerked her head in a direction towards the back of the restaurant. "You go first and I'll follow you as soon as I can." Marlin nodded and casually stood up and headed back towards the indicated passage. It led to the outside and the privies as was normal in the rustic parts of the empire. Great, he thought, outhouses. I forgot about that bonus. He waited only a few minutes and the girl followed him out into the cooling dusk.

"I'm here," she said sharply. "I promise you though if this is what I think it is I'm going to scream and you'll be lucky to get away with your life."

"Your virtue is safe with me," he said. It was the truth; the girl was plain as a stump and he doubted even in his most desperate he would have made a play for her. Marlin was no stranger to the gifts of women ― one of the reasons he was in the situation he found himself ― but he did have pretty high standards. Reaching into his inside coat pocket he pulled out the slim leather folder and flipped it open to display the infamous and instantly recognizable badge with the Talent Agency's emblem.

"I think you know why I wanted to talk to you," he sighed.

The girl quickly put her hand over her mouth and stifled a shriek. Backing away she muttered "No, no," over and over.

He could tell she was just about to turn and run when he spoke again. "It won't do you any good," he said calmly. "Running that is. They'll find you no matter where you go. If you run it just takes longer and it pisses them off." She hesitated.

"Yeah, I know you have a Talent," he continued. "I don't know what it is and truthfully I don't care so you don't have to tell me. My job is to find the Talented and send them in to the agency, nothing more. And believe me, I'm not going to do one damn thing more for them than I absolutely have to."

"You could tell them you never saw me," she said hopefully. "I can disappear and you'll never see me again."

"Nope, no can do," he said shaking his head. "As you'll find out trust isn't one of the Agency's biggest virtues." He paused for a moment musing, "In fact I don't think they have any virtues at all. Anyway, every so often they audit their field agents with a truth-teller. They'd find out in a heartbeat I hadn't reported you. Aside from the fact they would then make my life even more miserable than it already, is they'd have a mind-reader pull you from my head and give it to a tracker. I can tell you right now once a tracker is on your trail you can never hide. I don't care if you're on the other side of the world, they'll track you down. So, if you run I'm not going to stop you but I will send in a report and when you don't show up they'll send a team out to get you.

"Sorry," he added with a shrug.

"You don't seem to enjoy this very much," she said looking at him. She seemed more relaxed now that the shock had worn off a little.

"Hate it," he admitted. "I hate doing this to you, I hate the Agency and I hate everything about it. But there's not a fucking thing I can do about it. Maybe if I were braver I'd do something about it but I'm not; I'm no hero. Since I'm not, I'm just going to do my job, keep my nose clean for the next thirteen years, eleven months and five days ― not that I'm counting ― and run like hell once I'm granted my freedom."

Her shoulders slumped then suddenly perked up again. "But what if I'm married, have children?"

"Doesn't matter," Marlin said shrugging again. "I'm sorry if you are but they really don't care. If you're between the ages of eighteen and forty-five and still breathing, they'll take you. Blind, crippled, deaf or mute it doesn't matter. You could bring your husband and children with you of course, even those pricks aren't that big of monsters. He'd have to get a job in the capital or wherever they posted you, though. Believe me, it's almost impossible for one person not to starve on what they pay us, two would be impossible."

"So, if I go in quietly..."

"When," Marlin quickly corrected.

"If I go in quietly," she continued as if not hearing him. "Would I have to bring anybody? Like say some pig-fucking farmer's boy that smells like the shit he has coming out of his ears that my father has betrothed me to?"

"Oh, he could follow you, I suppose," Marlin mused. "But I will say, grudgingly, the Agency does protect it's own from the normals, at least in the cities. If your future hubby is a normal and you don't want to see him, you won't.

"Normal ― that's a joke," he snorted.

"Would it be so bad, being normal?" she asked.

"Oh, it'd be great!" he said. "What I wouldn't give to be normal. The problem is what you call normal. Most people think normal means Talent-less but to tell the truth there aren't many people who have absolutely no Talent whatsoever. Most don't have enough to reach the level to where the empire requires them to enter the Agency, but they still have some. I should know, my Talent is feeling just how much Talent someone has, one of the reasons I got this God-damned job.

"So, I'm afraid you really don't have much choice," he continued. "Take the trip back to the capital and report in yourself or have them track you down. Who knows? You might actually enjoy it. Some do, maybe even most do. I have to admit I'm one of the more extreme examples of their disgruntled employees. I'm sure a lot actually like being around others with Talent and away from the prejudice the rest seem to have against us."

"But you don't," she stated.

"I resent being forced to work for them at wages and under working conditions they set," he shrugged. "I would have been just as pissed off if I'd been drafted into the army. At least here my attitude is tolerated so long as I do my job."

"What do I do?" she asked shoulders slumping. Marlin pulled out his pad of official stationary and wrote down an address in the capital along with a scribbled note giving her free passage under the Agency's protection.

"Show this at the train station," he said. "They'll get you out of here as quickly as they can. Ask anyone with the railroad for help with food and lodging. Don't expect them to be happy or even treat you well but they will help. Lord help them if they don't!"

"You won't tell anyone here about this?" she asked anxiously. "I don't want anyone to know I'm a witch. I've hidden it well so far, but being a witch around here isn't a good thing."

"None of their business and now it's none of mine," he said kindly. "You do what you think is best but remember my advice. Right now I'm going back in there and finish my meal before it gets any colder. By the way, we usually don't like the term, witch. Talented or Gifted, yes; maybe even the Lucky-Few-Chosen-by-God, but not witch"

"Thank you," she said simply.

"I really do hope you will thank me later on, but I doubt it," he sighed.

"You're kind of funny," she giggled. "Kind and funny."

"Thanks," he said sadly. "I really do wish you the best of luck."

Before retiring to his lumpy mattress for the night Marlin wrote the required contact report and stuck it in one the Empire's emblazoned envelops he had in his luggage. The next day he dropped it in the mail slot at the train depot before heading out to the coach station for the final leg of his journey.

The coach ride was even more uncomfortable and slower than the train ride and he considered it a mixed blessing that he was the only passenger on the trip. He didn't want to deal with the inevitable questions that would arise. Who was he? What was he doing and why in the hell was he going to Pigsford? Good questions all. What he needed was a cover story. One would think the Agency might have provided one and probably did for its other scouts in the field. He doubted this slight oversight had been unintentional. Of course he could have asked during the one hour briefing that covered what and how to report; as if he hadn't already received the basic training back when he first "volunteered". There were the usual threats of eternal damnation if he exceeded his travel and subsistence allowance; he figured one meal at any decent inn would do that for the month, but nothing about how to conceal what he was doing.

Marlin stretched out, put his hands behind his head with legs crossed at the ankles and thought. He had his Agency badge but that wouldn't be the best thing to flash around. Whether it would be any worst in these parts as it would in the capital he couldn't guess, but he had to assume it wouldn't be any better. There was his Empire identification card; it ID'd him as a government employee and his civil service rank, close enough to the bottom to make any difference moot, but it didn't give his affiliation. Maybe he could do something with that. If he could come up with something innocuous enough maybe it would hold up to passing scrutiny. But what to become?

A tax assessor, maybe? They moved freely throughout the countryside with access to anything they wanted. He could visit the farms and towns meeting and evaluating the people there without them knowing they'd even been appraised. It had some merit, but it also came with a lot of disadvantages. Aside from the fact that tax assessors were hated just as much if not more than someone from the Agency, he just didn't fit the profile. He'd met a few of the field agents from the Imperial Treasury and without exception they all struck him as arrogant, prissy sons-of-bitches who dressed in expensive clothing and traveled with an entourage of assistants most of who probably doubled as bodyguards. His own well-kept but obviously lower quality garments wouldn't fit the picture aside from the fact his bevy of sycophantic ass-kissers was nonexistent. Besides there was undoubtedly a tax assessor already assigned to the area with whom the people were well acquainted. No, that wouldn't do at all.

So, who could move around without suspicion and impunity? An itinerant scholar like the innkeeper had assumed he was? Actually that would be a job he felt he could really like, if he had a life. He wasn't entirely accurate when he'd told the innkeeper his teachers might disagree about his ability to be a scholar. In fact he mused fondly remembering his final evaluation upon leaving school before being "volunteered" for Imperial service.

"Brilliant and capable with a sharp, insightful mind. Unfortunately he is also as lazy as the day is long with the uncanny propensity to set low standards for himself which he continually fails to meet. Mr. Cranson's potential and capabilities are exceeded only by his complete lack of drive, ambition or desire to conform to the social norms of polite society."

A stinging, hurtful and mean-spirited assessment, Marlin thought as he grinned to himself, and completely accurate. But then why should he have busted his ass to do better? He'd known since he was twelve he had a Talent and even though he couldn't use that Talent to assess himself, he was firmly convinced it was strong enough that the Agency would come looking for him when he turned eighteen, which they did.

He knew damn well they had their agents wandering through schools all over the city; he could see the brilliant white glow of their aura as they visited pretending to be a building inspector or education evaluator or some other such rubbish. He could see them so he knew they could see him. He'd probably been on someone's list since he was a youngster. The terms of Imperial service in the Talent Agency were well known so there really wasn't much to strive for. Why break your back if you already knew you were going to be just another low paid freak in their circus? Instead he concentrated on doing the minimum amount possible necessary to avoid beatings at home and chased skirts.

At least I'm good at that, he smirked to himself. If you can't have money or a respectable job even a somewhat normal life sex is a reasonable alterative. And the funny thing was he was good at it. It wasn't that he was particularly handsome, pretty average in that department, or tall and muscular, and suave and debonair was right out. But he was honest and he did truly like and enjoy the company of all the girls and women he'd ever been with. He never wooed them with false promises of undying love or anything else he wasn't prepared to give, for that matter. No, he just liked women, loved being with them and felt comfortable with them. This sincerity seemed to shine through and for some reason women loved it.

He found it remarkably easy to find his way into their hearts and as a result their beds, without really trying. Most of them knew he was seeing others but that didn't seem to matter. What he really found amazing was that almost to a one when their relationship ended as it inevitably did, they parted as friends, often friends with special benefits.

Marlin never thought of this as a Talent, just the result of treating someone with respect and honesty. There were TA agents that had the ability to determine what a person's Talent was, alike but separate from his being able to tell how much someone had, and of course he had been thoroughly evaluated by them in his early induction phase. They had always talked about his ability to quantify another's Talent but never said anything about an ability to influence others.

Of course they hadn't said anything about his other minor Talent so it did seem possible they could have missed it. Truthfully Marlin didn't care whether his knack with women was a result of his natural personality or artificially enhanced through Talent. It got him close to and friends with dozens of incredibly beautiful women and laid more times than he could count. Why bother asking where this boon came from?

So, itinerant scholar was out. It would tie him down to one place too much anyway. Military recruiter, agricultural agent and another half-dozen jobs passed through and quickly out of his mind. Finally he sat upright and smiled lazily to himself.

The perfect cover, he thought, absolutely perfect!

Edited by Morgan

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