STONE
Page 1
Birth
The
ease of his success made his head swim. This was not his first attack, but it
was easily the most notable. The papers would call for a city-wide data search,
and a turn-in -your-brother-fest would ensue by morning, but nothing would be
found to point to him. He was non-existent and omni-present.
He
looked for the next alley and found a quiet corner in which to await his ride
home. Not that anyone was coming to fetch him, but anytime now someone would be
by. It would be a quick 'catching' of a loose mind, and he would be on his
way. Youth and smug energy oozed from him as he watched the sidewalk for an easy
target.
And
here she came. The passive face of a city worker, almost his age in years, and
years behind in life. He felt no compunctions as he stepped out on the walk
behind her and paced her from a few feet back. When she turned off the walk and
into a cul-de-sac, rummaging for her keys, he reached out with what made him the
"new thing" he was, and caught her. She looked up just in time for him to
watch the change slide over her as he took her mind in his and shadowed it. The
mild bemusement was not the typical reaction, but the objective was subjugation,
not psycho-analysis. And she was not running, nor screaming for help; she was
subdued.
With
the most basic of commands, she turned and headed for the street again. As she
passed him this time she glanced curiously at him, looking him in the eye for a
second. Annoyed at this peculiarity, he squeezed her thoughts a bit tighter. He was getting sloppy, perhaps,
letting his success go to his head.
On
the street, they returned to her vehicle and she unlocked the passenger door,
holding it open for him chauffeur-style. He smiled to himself at the extra
touch. Power was meant to be used, and he was full of it.
She
chuckled softly, for no apparent reason, and he turned to look at her better.
Where was this feedback coming from? Had he tired himself in the building? This
was unacceptable. He reached out again, this time clamping down on her fully, no
leeway given. Looking at himself through her eyes, he started the car, and set
out. It was irritating to have to go to such extremes, but he would tolerate no
resistance. If necessary, he would open her mind and remove her. An unpleasant
but occasionally used solution.
Within
minutes, they were out of the main streets and on the highway. He was careful to
be one of a group of dull cars, drawing no attention, going with the flow of
traffic. It would be a long drive by her standards, surely; He was doing her a
favor by showing her what was beyond the bricks.
He
could feel the occasional movement of thoughts trying to escape beneath him, but
he avoided looking into her. He had no interest in who she was, what she felt,
etc. That was a bad habit best avoided by those who would keep out of guilt's
path. And if it became an absolute that he had to twist her later, for some
unseen reason, he'd prefer it be the first time. Those who had been
"twisted" more than once sometimes developed ... problems. And each
successive twist was more likely to stick, or tear the mind being twisted irreparably. Better not to unless he knew he would be shutting the mind off permanently when he was done. It was actively
unpretty to witness the creatures people became when twisted too far.
Not
that he was squeamish.
He
just saw no need to do or watch it.
The
scenery had changed dramatically while he mused, and when he made the last turn
before home, he let her see what lay outside her dull existence. Man had never
been kind to his mother the earth, but when he decided to sacrifice a place, he
gave in to his worst nature. All that showed this to be an earthly place was a
lone, twisted tree, bereft of all but a few leaves. The resemblance to a movie
set of the apocalypse was sharpest when she saw the remnants of the factory. It
settled into the ground as if stepped on. It was also their destination.
They
pulled close as the sun turned the clouds crimson above them. There was no
reason for him not to keep her overnight; traffic was dilute of an evening, and
she might be more easily noticed. Not to mention the possibility of a
self-congratulatory celebration. He would find excuses for her later, and send
her back with subdued memories of the explosion's aftermath.
No
harm, no foul. He/she/they parked out of sight and left the car.
The
first tremors began for her as she realized she was intended to stay here. The
door magically appeared behind a fall of rusted sheet metal and they were
inside. He found his control of her taking more of his energies with every step they
took away from it. By the time they had reached his space, it was a real battle
for him not to become claustrophobic himself with the backwash from his captive.
The first real doubts began as he tried to keep his head enough to find lights.
If he could not hold her, he would have to end her now. Her escape would mean
less if not for the events of the afternoon, and he couldn't let her
jeopardize the headway he'd made today. The Goal was in sight now.
The
light was at hand, and the fear ebbed a bit as illumination washed over and away
the fantastic images she was creating. He waited a moment to breathe; he'd
been holding his breath. Or had she? The line between them was not as sharp now.
There was no room to squeeze further, and it was time to change something.
At this level, her panic might keep her memories too acute to overlay
effectively, so could he trust them enough to let her leave? He was beginning to
realize how serious an error he had made, and the consequences loomed. His
choices narrowed with every possible flaw in his plans. Limitations he'd never
known he possessed became insurmountable when minutes before he'd
considered himself deified. Drowning in the loop of their combined fears, he
chose self-preservation, finding the willingness to sacrifice her came easily to
his over-taxed senses. A speeding arrow, his will shot out along the connection
he'd forged so indifferently, and split her thoughts wide.
He/
she saw a moment of wonder at a new awareness, then shock and revulsion.
Invasion. Rape of Self. No term in her experience was sufficient for this.
Primal screams of will shook him as she tried to rid herself of him. And he-
he had never run into anyone so self-aware. SHE knew very well where she ended
and he began, and had inner strength even if she was unaware of the weapons to
wield with it. Wildly flung and powerful, waves of pressure and demands for
release buffeted him as he struggled for self. A random thought slid by, almost
gone before he noticed, then he was grasping at it desperately.
If
he could not separate them, he could not kill her without damaging himself;
could he seduce her into submitting? In the effort to hide his thought from her,
he almost lost the greater battle, and ran out of time for consideration.
His
plea for peace, his offer of surrender was met with a immediate thrust of hate,
his pain and surprise loud in the small space; then the hostilities eased a
moment. The killing blow waited while he reeled, stunned by her instincts to
attack so, realizing a parallel to his own need. As did she, apparently, holding
him at bay, yet holding her assault, waiting. He gathered himself to himself,
wondering if she knew it freed him to attack her fully, knowing every moment's
delay meant she drew from him what she needed to defend herself.
When
he could think again, he envisioned his mind surrounding hers, first bars, them
arms as he he-directed the focus from imprisonment to sanctuary. She remembered
for him the lack of choice in her coming. He recreated desperation and being
hunted - he'd needed to escape. She re-felt for him the smug disdain that had
been the reality. He felt regret at her, remorse for the wrongs he had casually
committed; she held up the plans that had led him to keep her overnight. He
showed her herself in the alley with the sun on her face. Flattery bought him
nothing as she pulled the images of past 'celebrations' from him. And still
her defenses did not fall.
The
fight had accomplished his first task for him, however. Fear of confinement was
long forgotten in the greater battle. He closed his mind for a moment of
consideration. It was dark - she was in an unfamiliar place. If he was tired,
she would be exhausted. Time could be bought.
He
took a step back, found a second light switch. Her eyes never left him, though
he doubted she actually saw him.Inner
sight tended to override any other. When he opened his thoughts to her again, he saw for her
hands opening to release a butterfly, but left the winged beauty perched on the
fingers, flexing it's wings. And let her go.
She
staggered, the rigid stance faltering as she came back into herself. The floor
boomed as she went to her knees, but he hesitated to go to her aid. A half-made
gesture in her direction died as she heard his step, startled, and her grasping
hands missed their mark. Chin and elbow met the steel to a second loud boom. To
his credit, he winced and felt his first selfless regret as she whimpered and
panted. She should have been crying, should have passed out at release, should
have been knocked out by the fall, should have, should have, should have. The
question was now Why not? He had seen HER, and had no answer.
Was
she a New Thing as well? He saw no active evidence until his arrival, and then
only in passive measure. Was there simply a little hope for her kind after all?
But she was the first of so many not
to submit and forget. An anomaly, not a trend.
She
lay so still, except for the shuddering breaths. Perhaps shock would do the job
for
him after all? He watched a few more minutes, hoping to avoid physical violence.
But no, now she shifted, putting a hand to her chin, a hand to the floor to lift
herself, turning to look at him with that sharp clarity, now filtered through
experience. Did the cute dog bite, dear? Then don't pet him again, dear. No,
Mam.
When
his eyes couldn't meet hers anymore, he found she was dripping on his one
respectable rug. "Hold on." She
blinked at the sound of his voice in the stillness. His first
words
to her. He moved through the room,
found a rag. He considered handing it to
her, but determined she wouldn't appreciate him being that close and tossed it
to her.
She
tucked one end to the bleeding mess at the bottom of her face, used the other to
wipe
her
neck and dab at the rug. Curiouser.
He
was at a loss as to what direction to take now. He couldn't let her leave,
couldn't keep her here any real length of time.
Maybe he was
squeamish.What a time to find out,eh? And now she stood.Did he have a gun? He remembered looking at a few; had he bought one? The
only knives he had were old kitchen knives, as he had never thought he'd be
challenged here. She looked around slowly, glancing back at him often. Anything heavy he could swing? Now he felt the ludicrousness of his
situation. He had wanted to keep her; now he couldn't get rid of her safely.
He imagined himself bludgeoning her to death on the carpet of his sanctuary and felt sick and giddy. He realized he must have made
some sound when she turned around to
eye him indignantly.
"I'm
glad you're getting such enjoyment out of this. I'd hate to think you went
to all this trouble and got nothing
out of it," she stated with soft
measured tones. Speaking obviously
hurt, but the anger was not to be contained, nor the pride diluted. Perhaps she will be
beating me to death on my own rug, he thought dizzily.
"I
would like to leave now, if you're quite through. But I wouldn't want to
rush you," she told him.
"I
can't do that. But you Know that now, don't you? And you Know why, and what
I am, to a degree. My hands are tied," he responded slowly, watching for
her reaction. Her apparent puzzlement was puzzling to him in turn. No shock or
pleading, no understanding, either.
Her
eyebrow cocked, and she studied him a moment, so he continued. "We're at an
impasse here, it seems. You can't and won't stay, I can't let you go. Nor,
it seems as well, can I relieve you of the memories that make you a threat. I
admit to being impressed; I never met a stronger mind. I will regret the loss.
You are what I wanted to preserve in the world. But to save the whole, I am
willing to lose a few parts." He began to feel strong again, as he remembered
The Goal, felt it swell his soul with it's greater purpose, as he spoke the
words one more time in a life's litany. "I am close now, I feel the end of
the struggle approach with every newscast, every person that realizes the City
Planners can't keep them safe, every thought they think that questions the
order of the world around them." His eyes closed, and he saw the Vision that
pulled him in it's wake. He did not see her scan the room for a weapon, or see
her bend quietly to grasp the edge of his 'respectable' rug.
A
sharp pull, and he was tumbling back onto the floor, which rewarded him with the
same hollow "boom" it had given her,(lessened by the rear padding), as it
was an impartial floor. His obscenities were not as impartial, however. Nor was
the effort she put into lifting the chair behind him to swing at him. No movie
chair this. He rolled, and kicked her feet from beneath her.
This
was better, he thought. Fuck why she
would attack, fuck why she wasn't
weak, fuck it all. He was good at
this. This was where he'd started out, with basic, ground-level brutality. All
his hesitations (he wasn't squeamish)
were forgotten in the adrenaline rush. In the energy, he could almost forget she
was a she, smaller, weaker. He
could almost not care. And almost forget why almost was important. It felt good, and that was enough.
"I don't know or care what you think
you are," she screamed at him as she scrambled behind the various obstacles.
She could hear him vaulting the sparse furniture, and felt the floor shake as he
landed. Her hands landed on a loose pipe, the fitting still heavy on it's end,
but when she turned to swing, he was there, hand outstretched. She screamed
again in anticipation of the blow, but his hand fastened on her face instead.
"I have seen you from the inside. I will not allow you to jeopardize what I strive
for."He
pushed out for the second time, and twisted.This was
the second invasion, without warning, and without limit. In the place where
resistance had bent in the alley, her will folded and gave beneath the
onslaught. Somewhere something vital screamed in agony, but the hold was firm.
He felt her passing lament, then the silence missing before. Strong, but I was
stronger, he thought to himself. But then, there was no one else to think to
now.
He stepped back a moment, feeling his power, enjoying the low, electric
pleasure of her subjugation. It was not a good thing to enjoy, the crushing of a
strong mind, but he would not deny himself this. It ran through him like a wave.
Was it not a tribute to her, in its way? A worthy opponent; he wished the
circumstances had been different, the battle expected, that he might have
savored it. Already forgotten was the fear and self-recrimination of the battle
itself.
He
walked slowly on the way back to his chair. Better than any drug, his head would
swim this way for a while. He collapsed into the padding. Where to dispose of
the shell? Would she be missed? It was so hard to think of such things yet. He
lifted his head from the chair back and looked at her again. The face was not
slack, but with the other oddities, he could not find it in himself to be
surprised. Why waste the rush? His plans were altered, but she was here,
regardless of condition. So be it.
"Come
here." There was no inhabitant to respond, but it was an illusion he gave
himself. A stretch of mind, and there was movement in the empty body. He stood
it up, and pulled it to him. Balance aside, it was easy to imagine it on it's
own power, coming to him in slow shyness. He stood it before him, trying to
remember what its smile looked like. He leaned back, trying a few on its face
before deciding he didn't want a smile. A mild resentment passed over him. It
stole so much to be the driving force. An unaware but filled body could be
suggested to, and allowed to do as it was told. He could lay back and enjoy.
This was almost masturbation. Only filling it himself would be less satisfying;
as it was he would keep half a mind directing it. Two thoughts at once, the
puppeteering, and the enjoying, neither complete.
He
dropped it to its knees less than gently, and reached out to touch its hair.
So
tempting to consider it 'she', but he knew better. Its eyes were dull as it
stared ahead; he spared a thought to blink them a few times. Shiny wet, he
focused them on his face, looped the command. They followed him when he looked
down, finding closures on her shirt, popping the catches on her pants. Too
complex to have her undress; he wished her mobile enough to undress him. Again
the resentment. He did for himself,
leaned against the chair back, and considered. So many limitations this way. And
no hope she would dream of him later in unknowing longing for what she didn't
remember. Foolish, that, but young egos... And it was possible.
"Touch me," he whispered, and tried to lose himself in the illusion he created here.
A set of nerves fired, and the arm moved. The hand opened with urging, and
closed around him, warm and soft to his skin. City dwellers hands, without
callous. "Lower." He shifted her again, the long fingers cupping his balls,
curling around to the base of his cock. He sighed, feeling content for a moment.
"I need some recreation; what do you recommend?"
Would it be that hard to create a response? He followed the pathways,
found nothing prior in her memories that would suffice the occasion, and left
off. He would have to be satisfied with silence. Hell, some men paid for a quiet
partner. Here was a goldmine of it.
He
sat the shell on it's heels between his knees, and eased the balance over to
rest it on his thigh. Warm and soft. Nice. Quiet. And empty. Had it really never
bothered him before? Perhaps it was the almost-a-person quality to the face, as
if she were thinking on other matters. He adjusted the hold of the fingers, and
filled his mind with better things. A moment's work, and he had her mouth on
him, moving slowly. Loop the neurons, repeat indefinitely. His fingers found her
hair again, sliding through to her
nape, moving with her, wishing vainly for the ability to replace what was gone
for just an hour or so. The rush was going, pulled down by the efforts involved
here. He might look into her before
disposal, maybe he could find some reason for his difficulties with her. Such a
nice skin, soft hair, such a warm mouth. Perhaps he would be content with this.
But
no, this was not enough. Somewhere in there had to be something he could work
with. His head was heavy and hard to lift; he was startled to find her eyes
still on him. He closed them by hand before beginning the search through her
memories. No chance encounters, no short, steamy romances. In this
one thing, she had to be a norm? At every turn today, she had balked
him with strange behaviors, but here,
nothing? Unfair. He searched deeper, looking for anything. A wish, a dream, a repressed fantasy...wait. Hidden, buried and desperately forgotten under layers of more
social behaviors, something darker. It was uncertain, but he NEEDED, and it was
sure to be better than what was at hand, so to speak. Load and run. Pressing the
stimulus home, he set it in motion and waited. The shell resisted for a moment,
shudders taking it as the patterns adjusted to the situation. Then it moved.
He
feared for a moment as he considered what he'd done. With a filled, active
body he could turn what he dug up as he liked. Would an empty one respond the
same? Could he re-empty it in time to save his more 'delicate' skin? But it
continued as it had before, and he decided the 'overlay' had not taken,
after all. You learn...
But
then again, something had changed.A second hand came up to join the first, then moved to cup
his balls. Pleased with his discovery, he relaxed. And smiled when he felt lips
and tongue at his sack. Who had she
been? This was a puzzle more pleasant than the rest. Slowly the hands moved over
him, and gently the mouth caressed. And grew demanding. What a lovely surprise.He imagined her in the dark, wishing, and crying for having such a filthy
wish. If I had known, dear, if I had known... And the pleasure grew, her hands roaming his body now, pushing his shirt
open, her tongue teasing at his tip, then grasping at him. He gasped in the
waves, the realization growing with it that he was no longer in control. He
tried to push her away for a second's breath, and was himself pushed away as
she worked. His own hands were not his anymore either. Alternately pushing at her,
then resting on her neck, they betrayed him to passion's whim.
To
be helpless in such a manner might be novelty. To be helpless was
frightening. Yet his body was unaware that anything was wrong, by all
appearances. Skill or instinct kept her lips in all the right places; his eyes
closed of their own accord and he cried out in his blindness. Would she notice
when he came? His heart stuttered as his breathing almost stopped; could he
survive another round like this if not? But thought was fading, and he gave
himself over to the cries that filled his throat.
Something
in the sound filled a niche in program, and she whispered around his cock. The
third time he caught it, hearing "beg me" when he stifled himself long
enough. God, what was in her, for how long had she hidden it? This was real,
this was heaven and hell, joy and fear. How could he beg if he couldn't
breathe to talk?
"please,"
he gasped before she missed the cue. "I'm begging, PLEASE," as she found a new motion, carrying him higher.
"Please what," was the
heated reply from below.
Please
let me come or let me die, he thought. What better way is there? A willingness
to give all for the orgasm on the way stole over him. To die in such ecstasy
would be glorious. "Please,
NOW," he screamed, both hands in her hair, his body demanding. And she heard.
And she paused, and touched there,
just so, and his body buckled around
her. If he screamed again, he didn't hear it, lost in this.
Forever
had always been meaningless; now it became his whole reality. All he was
was trapped in the moment, drawn out long by mouth and hands. She held him, as
surely as he had held her, no escape and no pity, but he asked none. Bliss,
rapture, agony of joy. Forever. And when he breathed again, years had passed.
Must have. She moved softly against him, kissing and fondling, smiling softly to
herself. And while he gasped and sweated, she whispered a last time- "you're
welcome" and laid her head in his lap, her cheek on his beleaguered cock.
His
eyes opened to the ceiling above, and her warmth below. Had he dozed? He
didn't think so, but would suspect it possible. She hadn't moved, and he
slipped inside to see what was left.Empty once more, the shell waited, silent. The scenario, memory, fantasy,
whatever he had found had played out, and She
was It. Gone.
Then
sleep was an option, and here would do. Not that he was sure he could move, mind
you. When he woke there would be time to decide how to dispose of the remnant. A
second's shame hit him as he realized how absolutely he had botched the day
once his Goal had been satisfied. The understanding of Life
as a tangible thing to be lost weighed on him forthe frist time as sleep sucked him down. She had
been someone....and she'd thought he was
cute....
