Chapter 1

Six hundred meters above an unremarkable street in an unremarkable town, a rather ingenious machine soared silently through the crisp morning air. The Raptor-EF was nearly invisible to the human eye and virtually transparent to most forms of radiant energy above .08Mhz, which is another way of saying it had the radar cross section of a butterfly. A very skinny one, at that. But the Eager Fox, as it was affectionately known, was special for another reason altogether.

"Remarkable," Gene said, smiling as he watched the monitors. "I love this fucking bird,"

"Can we clean up that audio?" Carol wondered. "It sounds like an obscene phone call."

It wasn't really a request. She didn't like to ask anyone for anything, especially that slutty NSA geek with the Coke bottle glasses and a severe acne problem. Of course, neither Carol nor her specialized staff were even remotely associated with the National Security Agency, she only took what she needed from whichever agency happened to have it and nobody dared complain.

"The wet slurping sound? That's not us," the girl replied, and that's exactly what she was. "It's coming from Subject Amanda."

"Look at her go," Gene sighed. "I should have been a cop."

A large, curving wall deep beneath the Library of Congress embraced a single gigantic screen surrounded by dozens of lesser displays. Gene glanced at the infrared and could actually see the two bodies, male and female, warming rapidly. Ultra-violet turned the inside of the vehicle, in this case a police cruiser, as bright as the surface of the full moon, and quite as pale. Microwaves detected the electrical signature of the subject, her aura, you might say, which provided in graphic detail the dramatic increase in her biochemical processes. Ultra-microwave was the best, however, looking through the glass and metal as if the subject sat in a convertible.

Computers enhanced the imagery, interpolated and translated all available data from more than a dozen sensors, offering a Blu-Ray quality picture of Subject Amanda sucking a policeman's penis. An array of listening devices filled the room with the sloppy, wet sounds of a woman in lust with cock. Occasionally the cop would groan softly, whispering encouraging words to the woman he held on his rather modest erection.

"That's it, baby," the speakers sighed. "Work that tongue. Fuck yeah! Play with my balls, bitch."

"Hmph." Carol frowned. "What have we got on that asshole?"

"Got him on seven," one of the geeks replied, an older man who reminded Carol of her father. He had a habit of dropping his pencil whenever she happened to be walking past him.

"Patrick James Mahoney, huh?" she read the policeman's file aloud as it scrolled across the monitor. "Wife and two children? Call IRS and have them audit this pig."

"He's a nobody," Gene said, but the look on Carol's face stopped him cold. They'd been married for nearly thirteen years and research partners even longer than that.

"I don't like him," she said. "Tell Revenue to freeze all his assets until they're done with the audit."

"You're in a mood," he sighed.

"And tell them to take their time with it," Carol added. "I don't like people fucking with my work."

"I've never noticed before, but your eyes are amazing when you get angry."

"Makes your dick hard, doesn't it?" She glanced at her watch. "Speaking of which, I'm due at the White House in twenty minutes."

"Say hi to the President for me." Gene leaned forward to kiss his wife's cheek, but she held up her hand.

"Not in the office," she reminded him. "That's what you have Tammy for, remember?"

"Tammy?" He cleared his throat. "I really don't think..."

"No, you don't," she agreed. "Keep an eye on the kids. This won't take long."

Carol left the control room using the elevator, a very secret one, as you can imagine. It had only two stops, the bottom and the top, and required a key, magnetic ID card, valid palm print and retinal scan, and a voice authenticated password that changed every twenty-four hours before it would move an inch either way. If all of that failed, the twelve armed guards, six at the top and six at the bottom, were encouraged to use deadly force on any unauthorized intruder. Unlike Langley, Fort Meade, and even the White House itself, there had never, ever been a successful breach of this facility.

"Tammy?" Gene crooked a finger at the pimply faced girl wearing Coke bottle glasses. "Could I speak with you for a moment? In private, please."

"Of course, Professor," she answered, ignoring the knowing smirks of her fellow technicians.

They were just jealous, she knew, and not only because she enjoyed the Deputy Director's special attentions, but the sixteen-year-old girl had just been published in the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists ... Again! That was number three for her and while Tammy Giles, Ph.D. would never win a beauty pageant, her mind was the intellectual equivalent of Miss Universe, and Gene knew it.

"I think your wife's getting suspicious," she whispered, reaching under her skirt to push down her lace panties. Even smart girls want to look sexy, after all.

"Nah." Gene shook his head as he unzipped his trousers. "She's guessing. Just play it cool."

"How am I supposed to do that," the girl asked, teasing the much older man with a smile, "when you make me feel so hot?"

He sighed, looking past the angry red pimples scarring Tammy's pasty face and into her blue eyes. They were miraculous eyes, clear and cobalt and shining just for him. They seemed to ripple beneath the thick lenses of her glasses and he was half-tempted to remove them, but the poor teenager would be blind as a bat and she wanted to see the man who was fucking her.

"I love you," Gene said, kissing Tammy's mouth and tasting the Hot Pocket she'd eaten for breakfast. Ham and Cheese, their favorite, and the girl's lips parted easily for his tongue.

She reach down to feel the swollen manhood standing stiffly from Gene's pants and it never failed to amaze her. Looking at him, one might expect the rather short, plump former President of MIT of having a rather short, plump penis, but he didn't. Gene was not only blessed with an IQ comparable to Ty Cobb's lifetime batting average, he also had a cock only slightly smaller than the Hall of Famer's favorite bat ... Well, maybe not that big, but to the relatively inexperienced Tammy, it seemed like it.

Gene's hands roamed Tammy's body through her clothing and then under it as he pulled her sweater upward. She had a boyish body, to put it gently, with a small round ass, narrow hips, and awkward knock-kneed legs. She was pigeon-toed as well, something he found decidedly cute, much like the way Tammy would suck her thumb when she wasn't thinking about it. Actually, thumb sucking was encouraged in her case because it meant she was dreaming up something serious, but as her tongue fluttered around Gene's, she was dreaming of something else.

"Put it inside me," she gasped. "Fuck me, Gene! I need your cock!"

"Up here," he agreed, taking Tammy by the waist and lifting her onto his wife's desk. Her tits jiggled beneath her scrunched up sweater and like the rest of her slender form, they weren't terribly impressive.

Her boyfriend didn't mind, however, and Tammy cradled his balding head in her arms as he kissed one pink nipple and then the other. His long, thick cock jutted forward, all nine ridiculous inches of it, with the smooth glans kissing Tammy's buttery soft vulva. She had a gorgeous pussy, he thought, miraculous like her eyes. Such a tiny mouth she had down there, surrounded with a thin brown bush of fine pubic hair, and it could be almost painful forcing his cock inside.

"Ohhhh..." But once he stretched Tammy's hole around his large prick, her vagina opened for him easily. The taut muscles of her sex gave Gene's aching cock a hot, moist massage as he pushed himself deeper. He nursed on her tits, licking and nibbling her nipples as they grew stiff with excitement.

"Jesus! That guy's got a big dick," Sylvia breathed, glancing at the closed door of her office just to make sure.

Her clit thrummed nicely and the Project's Security Manager had three fingers working her sopping wet pussy. She had private access to all surveillance and she never missed a chance to see Gene put that horsecock of his to work. Being a former army captain turned CIA field agent, one of the paramilitary ones, not a faggot spook, Sylvia didn't have a lot of use for eggheads as a general rule. She much preferred automatic weapons, but a cock like that? Oh yeah, the butch size queen could definitely find a hole for that fuck monster to hide in.

She double checked to make sure her computer was copying the live feed onto its hard drive. The scene was being captured elsewhere, most notably at the National Security Archives where it would be filed between John Kennedy rimming Marilyn Monroe's asshole, and Newt Gingrich giving head to a teenage boy separated from his tour group. Sylvia didn't know that, nor would she care if she did, only the fact that she'd have her very own personal copy mattered.

She hit the print screen button, capturing a good shot of Gene's happy face and most especially his huge cock pulled nearly completely free of Tammy's hungry cunt. She tapped the key again a second later, when the man was balls deep inside the girl, and Sylvia winced in sympathy.

"Fuck! I bet that hurts good," she sighed, adding a forth finger to her own sloppy hole.

Sylvia could well imagine Gene's prick bruising her cervix and she definitely had enough evidence of his infidelity to make her dreams come true ... She hoped.

A blissfully unaware Tammy clung to the man with her arms around his neck, her lips close to his ear as she panted desperately the dirtiest words imaginable. She loved talking that way during sex and Gene had to admit that he enjoyed listening to the vulgar obscenities dripping from her innocent tongue. The idea that any woman, let alone a girl of Tammy's tender years, would beg him to "Dig a cum ditch!" only made his cock that much harder for some reason.

"I'm cumming!" she squealed loudly, the pitch of her ecstasy perfectly in tune with the resonate frequency of the large glass window behind her. A few more decibels and it might have shattered, but as it was her co-workers only looked at each other and shook their heads.

"I can't believe he fucks her!" Sally whined to no one in particular. She was twenty-two and surprisingly attractive for a statistician, but Gene had never shown the slightest interest.

"I can!" Barry said, sharing a look with his best and only friend, another mathematician named George.

"Tammy?" the man replied. "She's pretty fuckin' ugly."

"Yeah, but you'd do her."

"In a fuckin' heartbeat." They both nodded, grinning as Sally scowled.

"You guys are sick," she decided. "And stop swearing all the time."

On the other side of the plate glass, Tammy had fallen onto her back, laying across Carol's desk with her legs wrapped tightly around Gene's hips. She crossed her ankles and pulled against him, meeting his thrusting cock with her quivering pussy. Her orgasms arrived quickly, one after another as she stared at the ceiling and quite unknowingly into a well hidden surveillance camera. Such things were everywhere, as mentioned previously, and no less than five cameras and four microphones recorded their lusty union onto three separate hard drives in three separate locations. Their sex would be classified Top Secret Compartmented Information with access limited to less than a dozen people in the entire world, including Gene's wife, of course.

"Jesus! That guy's got a big dick," George said in a moment of near-perfect synchronicity. "Whoops. Looks like the show's over."

He gestured towards the big screen where Subject Amanda was being led away from her carelessly parked Volvo by her mother, Subject Jennifer. Behind them, Officer Mahoney waved from the cruiser's open window as he pulled away from the curb. Of course, to all outward appearances, and as far as any of the neighbors knew, it looked as though the daughter was dragging her giggling mother across the lawn and into their typical suburban home. That was the beauty of the ReAssigned Personality Effect, or RAPE, as Jeff liked to call it - The effect left no physical evidence behind. No fingerprints, in clandestine parlance, and as the development lead, he'd pretty much invented it.

"Should we pull the bird?" the driver, an air force captain, wondered. "She's got juice for another three hours on station or..."

"Bring her home," Jeff decided with an upward glance. Technically it was Gene's call, but the man was obviously busy. "Let's bring up the house, and isolate the subjects on seven. It's gonna be a long night."

He smiled, watching as the other technicians went to their tasks without question. Jeff didn't really outrank anyone in the room, Carol didn't operate that way. The Project Director liked a simple hierarchy: She was in charge, Gene was her deputy, and everyone else did what they were told. But RAPE was Jeff's baby and so this time around he got to give the orders. Even Sally had to concede that, although soon enough it would be her turn.

They all had their pet projects and Sally's was nearing completion. She didn't spend all her time watching computer monitors, after all. Her program, the Synthetic Neural Arrest Protocol, also known as SNAP, showed real promise in the simulations she'd run and had been ready for live trials with a human test subject for several weeks already. Unfortunately, Jeff had brought his program online ahead of schedule and SNAP would have to wait a little longer for Carol's valuable attention. It didn't seem very fair to Sally, especially since she'd been called away from her labs to support the very same project that had bumped hers.

She turned her head, intending to give Jeff a frosty glare, but only blinked instead.

"Check it out, George," Jeff said, grinning as the two men huddled shoulder-to-shoulder around one of the nearby workstations.

"You and your cartoons," George sighed. "You're twenty-years old, dude."

"Anime," Jeff corrected him. "This is different. It's a game I hacked, see..."

"You're still hacking?" Sally snorted. "When you get hair on your balls, it means you're growing up."

"He still lives with his mom," George told her with a shrug. "Hey! How do you know if he has hair or not? Have you been checking out my balls too?"

"Shut-up!"

"Both of you shut-up," Jeff said. "Look! Here she comes."

"Oh my God!" Tammy gasped, looking flushed and somewhat disheveled as she tried to fix her bra through her sweater.

"You put Carol in a computer game?" Sally almost smiled, but decided that looking over her shoulder would be a better idea.

"I call it a First Person Fucker."

"How did you do that?" George wondered. "She's perfect."

"She likes to swim," Jeff explained. "I put some cameras in her fitness club..."

"You what?" both girls exclaimed at the same time.

" ... in the locker room," he continued. "You know, NASA has an excellent 3-D modeling system. It's just amazing what ... Oh! This is the good part."

Four pairs of eyes stared at the monitor as an exquisitely rendered model of Carol Lewinski performed a slow, bump and grind strip tease. By the time her lab coat hit the floor, there were six people watching. Gene arrived fresh from a private shower just in time to see his beautiful wife loosing her upturned breasts and pink, pointed nipples.

"What the hell is that?" he asked, dumbly.

Nobody bothered to answer, not with Carol's animated twin bent over at the waist to give the audience a perfect view of her luscious, round ass. Her panties were coming down, slowly, with a sluttish wag of her deftly rounded hips. The stockings she still wore contrasted sweetly with Carol's smooth, pale flesh. By the time she was ready to turn around, even one of the marines had joined the crowd, craning his neck to get a better view of the...

"Surprise!" Jeff said, clapping his hands and laughing like a little boy. Computer generated Carol had turned around to reveal a long, fat cock and heavy, cum-filled balls.

"Ah!" Tammy squeaked, glancing at a stunned Gene. She'd seen that penis before, and very recently!

"I, uh..." Gene looked at his watch. "Tammy, let's go to my office and, uh ... review your project status, um..."

"Again?" She blushed happily, all too aware of the hot, sticky mess barely contained within her panties.

Likewise, most of the spectators suddenly remembered that they had pressing business elsewhere. The four members of Carol's A-Team, as she called it, might be immune to her wrath, but they were the exceptions. Nobody wanted to be even remotely associated with Jeff's little joke if their boss got wind of it, although more than a few of the technicians wondered how they might get a copy for their own very private amusement.

"You're such a child," Sally said, shaking her head sadly as Jeff and George exchanged high fives. "If Carol ever finds out..."

"Ahhh..." Jeff shooed the girl away with the back of his hand. "She's just jealous. Don't pay any attention to her."

"Well..." George cleared his throat. "She might have a point, dude."

"Yeah! On the top of her head. Hey, Sally ... How about you let me scan your body into the computer, huh?"

"How about you let me kick you in the nuts?" Sally retorted.

"Come on, it's not like you haven't been fucked by Carol before!" Jeff cajoled. "What's your project called again? I forgot. Crackle? Pop?"

"Oh man!" George laughed. "That's cold."

Sally balled her hands into fists and glowered at the boy because that's really what Jeff was, after all. He'd graduated high school at eleven, a year younger than Sally. His first paper had been published at thirteen, his first doctorate awarded at fifteen; again, beating Sally's achievements by twelve and eighteen months, respectively. Jeff wasn't going to let her forget it either and she detested his gloating smile and constant teasing. If only Carol hadn't pushed SNAP aside to make room for that stupid RAPE project. It wasn't fair!

"I'm telling you, Sally's first paper was published on the back of a cereal box," Jeff said, loudly repeating an old and favorite joke.

"You'd better shut-up," she hissed.

"Or what? You're going to take your ball and go home?"

"She looks kinda pissed," George whispered. "Let's go upstairs and get a sandwich or something."

"Well, guess what?" Jeff continued, smiling. "Nobody wants to play with your ball, Sally. Carol's got RAPE now, and I gave it to her, so you can just pack up and go home. This is the big leagues, baby, and you're not even on the bench."

"Okay, let's go," George said, physically taking his friend by the arm and dragging him towards the elevator.

"You're not even a cheerleader!" Jeff yelled. "At least Tammy's getting some action around here. What do you get, Sally?"

The elevator doors closed before the enraged girl could muster a coherent reply. She spun on her heels, willing herself not to start crying until she'd reached the restroom and was safely locked inside the last stall.

"Good morning, Mr. President," Carol said, pasting a smile over her beautiful face despite her disappointment.

She'd wanted to meet the most powerful man in the world alone, but that's not an easy thing to do. The National Security Advisor was eating a jelly donut and brushing powdered sugar off her skirt. The CIA Director was pretending to look through a red striped folder while he studied Carol's long legs and three inch heels. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, an air force general, stole one of the Presidential pens when he thought nobody was looking. Since the President was a Democrat, the general wasn't often invited to the Oval Office, but his grand-daughter wanted a souvenir, so ... He cleared his throat and sat at attention.

"Carol," the President said, returning her smile. "Thank you for coming. Coffee? Tea?"

"No, thank you, sir." She took her place on the plush sofa, keeping as much distance as she could from the CIA Director.

"Now then..." the President said, taking a plush chair across the coffee table. He didn't like to sit behind his desk, not for something this important. He wanted to be up close and personal as he listened to what Carol had to say.

"Mr. President," Carol began, "I'm required by law to brief you within 72 hours of initiating the test phase of the project, but I think the less you know the better."

"Deniable plausibility." The Chief of Staff nodded. "Good idea."

"But I don't know anything," the President said with a frown.

"That's comforting," the general said to no one in particular.

"Well, Mr. President, if I may?" Carol didn't wait, but launched into the dog and pony show with all the enthusiasm she could muster. "At zero-three-hundred hours this past Tuesday, we initiated a reassigned personality effect targeting two civilians, a mother and daughter. We are currently monitoring their physical and emotional response and I'm pleased to report that the only adverse effects of the rape are those we've already anticipated."

"What effects are we talking about?" Director Central Intelligence wondered.

"As expected, they initially displayed symptoms of stress, disorientation and mild confusion. Subject Amanda, the child, recovered quickly and exhibits a certain euphoria that seems to manifest itself sexually. Subject Jennifer took longer, but her behavioral pattern conforms to our models and we expect her to fully rationalize within the next 48 hours."

"Rationalize?" The National Security Advisor arched an eyebrow.

"The adult subject has begun to manifest a sexual proclivity, much like her daughter, and we expect her to normalize relations with her husband," Carol explained. "For whatever reason, transition seems to stimulate sexual function in the subject. This stimulation, in turn, promotes the acceptance at an increased rate."

"So..." The General chuckled. "You've built a nymphomania machine?"

"What we've built is the perfect disguise," she answered, somewhat testily. "A device which will allow us to infiltrate any government, any organization that poses a threat to the American people, at the highest possible level."

"I want one," the CIA Director breathed, rubbing his sweaty palms together.

"Is that ethical?" the President asked himself aloud, already knowing the answer. Ethics had no place in government.

"That's a question best left to poets and philosophers, sir." The National Security Advisor licked her fingers.

"Perhaps." He rubbed his jaw. "I can't say I'm very comfortable testing this on our own civilians."

"We require a real world test," the Director of Central Intelligence explained. "There's only so much we can do in the lab and, uh ... We're monitoring every, um..."

"Possible contingency," Carol finished, frowning at the DCI. No blowjob for you, she decided. "We have the subjects under constant surveillance. Their every move is monitored, every person they come in contact with is screened, and we're prepared to terminate the experiment at a moment's notice. There's absolutely zero risk of exposure, Mr. President."

"Good, good," he agreed, nodding his head. "And, uh ... When we're operational with this thing ... Do we have a list of targets?"

"Do you really want to know?" Carol asked, her tone suggesting that would be the last thing a sitting first term President could possibly want.

"No," the Chief of Staff quickly stepped in. "The President is very satisfied that the project is proceeding in accordance with the country's best interests."

"Right," the President said, smiling as he stood up. "Thank you for your time, Carol. I know you must be awfully busy. Grab a donut on your way out."