Chapter 333: Homing Runaways

I need to have my computer go through and break out what each corporation owns to let me see how many places I now hold. Do I have a lot in town from those taking their children to Steve’s clinic?

The guy and gals in white coats didn’t question how I could settle down those they were transporting to rubber rooms for observation. I had a gift, they said, of knowing how to, temporarily, debilitate people without requiring sedatives.

“Man, you are a lifesaver,” said one of the white coat guys. “I’m cool with taking down adults with a tranquilizer dart, but kids are a different kind of patient altogether. I can’t often tell if it is a kid having a violent meltdown or one that is Jason Voorhees crazy. So far, we had ten kids that we came to sedate to take for observation only to find that they were ones in the family who weren’t batshit crazy, and no one knew it before today.”

During a lull in their duties, I showed them both the straight forward method to mostly do what I did to the two guys earlier. The woman had a natural ability to learn techniques to slow down people, but the guy didn’t have the right amount of finesse to pull it off. He did ok, but the woman was able to do it every time after a bit of practice.

From what I had seen, most people taken away from their families went to the funny farm or a psych ward at the hospital for evaluation. The rest seemed evenly split between regular police, detectives, some unnamed federal agency’s lackeys. When both parents, if both came here today, went off with cops or people in white coats, the kids stayed in a cubicle.

While Molly’s friends completed getting to the root of the problem, mom announced that the last turkey and ham were in the slicers. She asked that everyone enjoy the various cookies, cakes, sodas, and other stuff while everyone finished. We appreciated everything they did yesterday and today.

“Girls and boys, women and men,” mom started. “When I came here Tuesday morning, I had a plan to split my supplies between the two days and get as many food containers packed up for delivery as we could each day. With my son’s help, we would load the cooked sides, dessert, and meat into their appropriate locations in a commercial-grade, automated container filling machine. For those here, yesterday afternoon saw how I hadn’t planned to have help arrive who volunteered in every place we needed them. As I mentioned before, we do have something for the adults and those over sixteen to thank you for the long hours you put in to help feed those in your community who needed it. My son’s friends are amazingly resourceful. While you worked to prepare the food containers, they scoured every city, county, state, and federal child labor laws. Being volunteers keeps me from violating any of those laws by allowing you to work past the maximum number of hours per day in which a child can work. If we paid you wages, we violated those laws. We can award prizes to recognize your hard work. To not run afoul of tax law, we were limited to what we could provide. Did I mention my son’s friends are amazingly resourceful? I doubt there are any among you, other than identical twins or triplets, who will have the same things as anyone else. After checking with your parents or guardians, you are each getting a cell phone with one year of pre-paid, unlimited data, text, and talk, including international for those who use it. I know some of you are already considering where you will sell it as soon as you leave. Did I mention my son’s friends are very resourceful? Throughout the day, they have obtained your fingerprints with your faces for facial recognition. While you will be allowed to unlock it and allow someone to use it, no one else can do anything with it. If you sell it, the first time someone attempts to access it will cause it to hard brick itself. These are your phones as a thank you for your help, and to get you a way to get assistance when you need it. To further ensure thieves don’t target them, your names are laser-etched into the phone body itself. You can remove the cases provided, but my son’s friends selected or created, each so that it is unique to you. It was crucial to me that you have the means to contact those you trust when you need to do so. If you chose to sell any of what you will soon receive, that is your choice, but I don’t believe you will, at least not immediately. Some items weren’t practical, or safe, to give you here. You will find notes inside telling you how to arrange to receive them.”

A girl near me grumbled out when she opened her box. It had a high-end laptop backpack and a purse on the top. The girl told said that she didn’t need another pack and never used a handbag. The two pairs of fancy heeled shoes got a similar grumble. Now the top-of-the-line graphical calculator got a shrug, versus a complaint. She had the same reaction for the tablet, as it wasn’t the best available. I didn’t recognize the next group of items, but she took the time to check them out without saying anything. Below that was the latest iFruit laptop with a five-hundred-dollar gift cart to the fruit market.

That got her excited, and then something she thought about made her face drop.

“Unless I keep these with me every second of every day, including in the shower, they’re gone the first time I let them out of my sight,” she said sadly. “What is the point of seeing what remains at the bottom?”

My implant pinged me with a burst of information about this girl and what remained in the box.

I moved behind her, reached my hand around her body, and pulled out the thin, sealed folder with her full name on it.

After pulling her chair back, lifting her out of her seat, sitting down, and setting her in my lap, I told her, “This is yours, and if you aren’t going to open it, then I am. One of my friends has an IQ that is too high for them to measure. She will not give you a box with these nice things in them if someone is going to take them from you the first time you look away from them. Why don’t we see what someone packed up for you in such a thin folder?”

“Let me see. I never took the ACT or SAT, but it looks like you didn’t miss any questions on either, but you already knew that, didn’t you? That is why you act like you are an imbecile to hide how smart you are,” I said. “I don’t know why you have five certified copies of your birth certificate or a freshly printed Social Security card, but there must be a reason. Ah! Here’s why.”

I knew what the next few papers contained, but teased her by saying she didn’t want to know, did she? She started trying to pull the folder from my hands, but I wouldn’t let her.

As I removed the first, I felt her start shaking a bit in fear. It was a copy of the final paychecks, dated today, for both of her parents. I had more in my wallet than the combined amounts from both checks. The next letter also had today’s date. It was a note from a law firm representing the building where they live. While they volunteered here today, the building had everything removed from their home. The locks were already changed, and they took out a restraining order against everyone in her family to keep them from the property.

“Why did your friends do this to us? What did we ever do to them? We worked our asses off to help out those having bad times like us, and this is what we get?” she asked me, too stunned to shed any tears.

I put the folder down and hugged her as I said, “If you have done something to them, they won’t give you a laptop that sells for over three-thousand dollars. Most of my friend’s associates are as Autistic as her. Why don’t we find out what remains in the envelope?”

She didn’t expect to see her school records going from her current year in eighth grade back to kindergarten. The only B she had in middle school was for gym class, and that was because she hurt herself and didn’t meet the gym coach’s requirements for that grading period. Below that was a psychological profile created today. It said what she and I both knew, she didn’t belong in eighth grade, or even high school, given her ACT and SAT perfect scores. I didn’t read more than the first paragraph. Next were psych profiles for her parents, each one noting that they were both grossly underemployed due to some stupid shit they did in high school. Neither knew that their home state legislature repealed a set of laws and created a new one that correctly addressed what they intended for the original to cover. All of those charged and prosecuted incorrectly under the old law, the new one cleared them of any wrongdoing. Better yet, a class-action lawsuit against the state, on behalf of those who are now innocent of the original law’s charges, each received a large settlement, with interest, for their estimated lost wages. The restitution and accrued interest were tax-free. The next document showed the large settlement amounts waiting on her parents to claim them.

“Fuck me,” she said. “I mean, like, right here, right now. I only need to pull my panties to the side. I’ve had to fight to keep my cherry, but I turned fourteen over the summer. That’s old enough.”

I reached slid my hand quickly inside her panties, flicked the man in the boat until he drowned before slipped away in the rapids, and then pulled my hand out to get to the next document.

“Old enough, sure. Wet enough, check. The Right place, at the right time, with the right guy, nope,” I told her. “Maybe in eight years after you finish grad school if it even takes you that long.”

One of Molly’s friends came by to put something in my hand and something else in the girls. My fingers told me that it was a man-in-the-machine manufactured clit and vagina stimulator that someone tuned to the specific frequencies to bring her to instant orgasm from her clit, g-spot, and honey hold, in any combinations he chose. No one was looking, so I lifted the girl enough to slide her panties off. The skirt had enough room for me to spread her legs to give me the space I needed to place her new best friend. Using the place in my head, I carefully pivoted the curved tip though the small hole in her cherry to put the slightest amount of pressure on the nerves connected to her g-spot, but not on it. When correctly placed, where the curved tip ended at the bottom end of the magic pleasure box, it had a rubbery-dome that pushed against her virgin barrier as a cushion to keep any sudden hits from tearing her cherry. I had her hold her pussy open as I wiggled it between her pussy lips to have the small, rubber-covered tips push up on the sides of her hard clit. She removed her hands. I gave it a few wiggles to seat it so that her pussy lips and sides of her plump mound hid it from view. She barely noticed me slip her panties back on.

“Don’t even try to figure out how this works. Accept and enjoy it, since it only fits in your pussy and won’t work on any other. I saw that it has something that goes around your pee hole to let urine pass right through. If you open your lips when you go pee next, it will have you pee more like a guy instead of spraying everywhere. I’m sure you will figure it out,” I told her. “Here are your instructions and remote.”

Another of Molly’s friends dropped off a cloth bag that had everything she needed to charge and clean it.

I took the remote from her hand and got it where she could see what I was doing. First off, I pressed the clit button to send her off into pleasure land until I released it, or the timer expired. I next triggered her g-spot switch, doing much the same as for her clit, but it would pause until her pussy stopped squeezing, and then make her cum again.

“Now, I am going to fuck you, or at least make you feel like I am,” I said.

They had guards over the clit, g-spot, and vaginal orgasm buttons, but the one like a dick was where it might trigger accidentally. The place in my head showed me how the frequencies it sent tricked her brain into thinking a dick was entering her when the button was down and pulling out when released. If held down for ten seconds, it began fucking her in her mind. Beside the button were up and down arrows. They increased the fucking speed. I only had the button down for a minute when she came. She snatched the remote from me and put it down inside her bra next to her small tit.

“So that solves your need to have a real dick inside you until you are ready to start that kind of relationship,” I told her. “Ready for the last papers?”

Next came the stack of acceptance letters to every school she put on her ACT. Stapled to each, they had some legal stuff about how at fourteen, she couldn’t live in the dorms, so she had to live off-campus with a family member or guardian. It had a second section stating that due to her age, she was permitted to take half the regular course load and not lose her scholarship, which was in effect until she graduated grad school if she went there for grad school.

“With the money that my parents got in that settlement. We don’t have to worry about them needing to work while I go to school,” she said. “We can even replace everything the apartment building just threw out.”

“But wait, there’s still more,” I teased.

On the last three pages were signed job offers for her parents at a multi-national company. They were the ones that got her parent’s final paychecks and packed those things her family would grab if they had to get the hell out of Dodge and never return. When she picked which college that she was going to start attending for the Spring semester, that is where her parent’s new jobs were. The company was providing housing until her parents found a home they wanted to buy or rent.

“I have to thank your friend or one of her friends,” she said, hopping up to head for the nearest of Molly’s helpers.

I grabbed the girls arm in time and looked for one of Molly’s friends that liked people hugging them. I found a boy standing near the back.

“I will pack everything up. Take your remote with you, or you are likely to lose your new lover trying to thank that guy with more than just a hug,” I told.

She took off at a run toward the boy, and I packed up her box for her. I saw her parents heading over, so I gave them the box. Her mom watched her daughter and kissing the boy I pointed out to her. The girl’s mom got to them just in time to stop her daughter from raping the guy, not that he looked like he would mind it one bit.

“I want one of those,” a girl at the other end of the table said as she looked up from her phone.

I sat down next to her, turned to face her, and said, “You are good at hiding it, but I watched you make yourself cum six times from your clit and four inside your cock massager in six minutes. Keep your gift hidden, kiddo. You are one a billion that can do that by just touching yourself for a second. Most boys and girls have to play with themselves for a while to get only one, and none of them are as strong as those you give yourself. Oh, yeah. You still have a little girl’s body, and one of what they got wouldn’t fit inside you anyway.”

She made it look like she was hugging me, but instead, she got her small hand inside my pants to touch my dick. I watched her try and try to make me cum, and I’m not her first attempt, only to pull her hand out a few seconds later. I did not need to reach under her dress to do what I planned.

Next time don’t try things with someone who can see you push in energy to make yourself cum.

I sat down in the chair, kissed her forehead, and told her that I only made it feel like it will when she had tits and hair covering her pussy. She smiled before leaning forward to put her head on her arms as she took a little nap.

“Do you babysit,” a woman asked me as she pointed to her daughter. “I saw her go do to you what she does to anyone she likes a lot. You didn’t even flinch at her antics.”

“You’ve never complained once about her talent, and neither have I. She keeps it a secret,” the man said softly.

The mom moved in closer to say, “All we have to do is for me to line him up and me to sit down on his dick. She is so in sync with us that we don’t even have to be naked, just my husband up inside me. I know it is wrong to nearly everyone, but the three of us share a powerful, continuous orgasm until she passes out in exhaustion. We’ve never seen it not work on someone. I know you didn’t touch her between the legs, and she didn’t touch herself, but something wore her out in a few seconds.”

“I’ve met some people who can do what she can, and I’ve learned how to resist,” I told her. “She will learn to be more careful as she gets older and interested in boys, girls, or both. If it works like the others, your daughter overcharged herself trying to make me cum, and when nowhere it to go, it hit her instead. You two happen to carry the gene needed to make her able to do that. Keep an eye on her baby brother, the one you haven’t told her about, yet. All your children will be able to do it, but it works differently in boys because they don’t know they have it. He is going to have a lot of friends wanting to have play dates, and you won’t need to worry about baby sitters.”

I watched the shock on her face and her husband looking very surprised as well.

She hugged him as she said, “His mom did say that his friend’s friends are very resourceful. You’ve been so busy at work that I didn’t want to say anything until I hit fourteen weeks along. I know how much it hurts you each time I miscarry.”

They have a lot to discuss. I need to be sure that all is well. Tomorrow is going to be a zoo.

The kids all had their boxes of goodies and began leaving with their parents. Molly and her friends left around the same time. Mom hired people to clean and be sure everything is back how it was when we arrived on Tuesday morning. She checked over the remaining supplies to find out what we were going to need for tomorrow. One of the frozen meal plants got into the holiday spirit and was bringing in already sliced turkey and ham for as many people as came to eat.

Another company planned to make commercials for their turkey fryers somewhere in the southeast. Hearing about what we did the last two days, through the grapevine, it seems, they moved their entire commercial production crew to be outside the big building where we are serving Thanksgiving lunch and dinner tomorrow. They were donating all the turkeys they cooked. Dad said it was for a tax write off to offset the cost of making the commercials, but who cares?

Mom didn’t find out until tonight that three youth correction centers received trays of the meals we had prepared over the last two days. As part of the rehabilitation program that they used, their inmates pealed hundreds of pounds of regular and sweet potatoes. They already cooked a large amount of fresh green beans. Their budgets didn’t allow for them to have turkey or ham, so they had planned to provide chicken patties. As with any jail, they had some kids that were already career criminals, violent inmates, and miscreants, but they also had a group of well-behaved, honest, good kids there because it was safer and a better environment than their homes. Each facility was sending some of these good kids over to help out serving and cleaning tomorrow. These jails did all they could to give a few hours of freedom when they were able.