Cassie is once more drawn to the pit, but she turns away despite the urgent whispers which rise from within. She cannot understand what they say, but she somehow divines their meaning: she needs to practice.

She has more important, if reluctant, business to conduct tonight.

She confronts the veil to her mother's mind and steps through. The gray pall is absent, as she is not interested in her mother's memories. Instead, she wishes to delve into Dorothy's dreams.

Here is the only place where Cassie can influence a mind. She cannot simply impose her will, and she is grateful for that. She must instead take control of her mother's dream.

It still feels like a violation. She wonders how long she had this ability and never realized it. She had been content to observe both dreams and replays of daily life. She wonders now if the latter could be altered as well to plant false memories of ...

Cassie shakes her head and frowns. She will not go there. Affecting dreams is bad enough.

Patterns and color swirl like an out-of-focus kaleidescope. Dorothy is between REM cycles, in the total quiescence of deep-wave sleep. In these cycles, Cassie can do nothing; the mind is effectively shut down.

She waits, and the colors spin and grow more vibrant as Dorothy rises from deep sleep. The shapes whirl around Cassie's head for another dizzying moment before coalescing and becoming the drawing room of her mansion.

Dorothy is here, wearing a bright blue suit with gleaming gold trim, her hair coiffed to solid, shiny perfection. Her ruby lips are curled into a radiant smile as she speaks with James, the head butler, resplendent in his best tuxedo, his shoes polished to a shine which reflects the contours of the window.

"Have all the guests arrived, James?" Dorothy asks in a voice of barely contained excitement.

"Yes, Mrs. Kendall," James says in a crisp voice, standing like a soldier before his commanding officer. "The President and the First Lady arrived just ten minutes ago."

Dorothy clasps her hands together and beams at him. "Excellent! I was so hoping he would take time from his busy schedule to attend. I have been waiting for this day for such a long time, James! This will be so good for her."

Cassie's eyebrows rise. She senses they are talking about her.

"Indeed, Mrs. Kendall," James says in a heartfelt voice. "We are all very grateful for this arrangement, as much as we will miss her."

Cassie tilts her head. Arrangement? Is this some sort of ceremony?

"I am sure he will take good care of her." Dorothy utters a relieved sigh. "Things will be normal again. Cassandra will become normal again. She will be protected."

"That is all any of us can hope for, Mrs. Kendall," says James in a far more personable voice than Cassie had ever heard him use with her mother.

"Very good, then. Please, carry on."

James snaps his heels together, bows, and heads out of the room.

Dorothy turns, and her eyes slide by Cassie. She has not yet made her presence known. After her first forays into Ned's dreams, she soon discovered she could control when she manifested, even if she were the subject of the dream.

"Such a wonderful day," Dorothy muses as she turns towards the window. "I have been working to this moment for years."

Cassie steps forward and peeks over her mother's shoulder, and her eyes widen as she looks through the window. Nestled in the valley is the town of Haven, but recognizable as such only from the landmarks. Hovering over it is a dark pall, like stagnant smog, the street lamps struggling to shine through it. Streets which Cassie recalls as being straight are twisted and crooked, and some of the taller buildings are bent at grotesque angles.

"And she will finally leave this awful place and never look back," Dorothy says with a relieved sigh.

Cassie wills herself to appear. "Mother?"

Dorothy whirls around and her eyes widen in shock. "Cassandra? Why are you not yet in your wedding dress?!"

Suddenly everything makes sense. Of course this would be what her mother wanted of her: a lavish wedding to someone of Dorothy's own choosing. "I'm sorry, Mother, I will dress in a moment."

"You will do so this instant!" Dorothy cries, stepping forward. "You have already delayed this ceremony, and I will not stand for it being anything less than perfect!"

"Mother, please, I need a moment of your time. I promise the ceremony will be fine."

Dorothy pauses, then sighs and folds her arms. "Very well, but make it quick."

Cassie's mind races. What she heard between Dorothy and James has piqued her interest. No, she has to stick to her original plan. She has a promise to keep.

Cassie takes a moment to collect her thoughts. She assumes that, in Dorothy's mind, this must be at least a few years later, since age of consent in that state is 18. "Mother, do you remember someone I used to know, a boy named Richie Gardner?"

Dorothy snorts and her nostrils flare as if something smelly passed under her nose. "I most certainly do. The day I stopped you from sneaking off to meet with that hooligan was the turning point of your life."

Cassie wants to ask what became of Ned in her mother's ideal universe, but it is another distraction. "He wasn't all that bad, Mother."

"He was a bad seed, Cassandra, from which nothing good could grow. He would have only held you back from reaching this very day."

"Mother, please, think for a moment: Did he ever do anything to me? Did he ever cause me any harm?"

Cassie senses a slight pause in her mother's response and hopes it means she is getting through. The pressure she exerts on her mother's mind is as strong as she will allow herself. If she applied all the energy she could muster, she could dictate the course of the dream like the director of a play; her mother would be no better than a marionette.

"Only because I put a stop to if before anything could happen," Dorothy responds.

"I went around with him for a long time before you stopped it. Nothing ever happened to me. I associated with him in school after that for--"

"What are you jabbering about?" Dorothy demanded. "I pulled you from Haven High after the semester was over and had you privately tutored, something I should have done a long time ago."

Cassie swallows. Is this the next thing her mother is planning for her life? "I meant all that time before you pulled me from the school. Not once did anything happen to me."

Dorothy again pauses, longer this time. "That may very well be true, but you must realize that I know what is best for you."

"I accept that, but only if you accept that Richie may not have been as bad as you thought."

Cassie pushes a little harder, and her mother's lips quiver. "M-maybe," Dorothy says, looking nonplussed. "But the fact remains that he was so far beneath your station that he was unworthy of you in any capacity."

Cassie utters a relieved sigh. This is a start. She will do no more tonight. She nods and forces a small smile. "Thank you, Mother. I will get dressed now and--"

Above their heads comes a thunderous romp of running feet. Cassie flinches when she hears several sharp retorts, like distant firecrackers, then shrill screams.

"My God, what--?!" Dorothy cries, running to the door. She is brought up short when James appears, his face a mask of horror which makes Cassie's blood run cold. "James, what's happening?!"

"It is utter chaos, Mrs. Kendall! It's happening again, just like it did before!"

"Oh dear God, no ... I heard a noise, James, it sounded like gunshots!"

Cassie gasps, her eyes wide and shimmering.

"Several Secret Service agents began firing at those who were affected before evacuating the President."

Dorothy raises her shaking hands and clenches them into fists. "Oh God ... oh God NO!"

James swallows. "M-Mrs. Kendall ... the door to the old playroom ... it's open ... it's ..."

His eyes suddenly slide towards Cassie. His eyes glaze over in a look of stark terror that sends ice down Cassie's spine. Without another word, he flees, and Cassie hears his running feet down the long hallway.

"James, no! I need you!" Dorothy cries. "It can't be her, she's been here the whole time!" She pauses, then turns towards Cassie. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Cassie gasps and stumbles back a step. She looks into her mother's eyes and sees only blazing fury and stomach-clenching horror.

"YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD SENT HIM AWAY!" Dorothy screams, her voice betraying both rage and terror. "YOU TOLD ME HE WAS GONE FOR GOOD!"

Cassie's lower lip trembles, and she shakes her head, as no words would come to her. Suddenly her mother's fury breaks down, leaving only fear. Dorothy backs up, her eyes shimmering.

"Why did you have to bring up Richie?" she gasps in a half-sob. "Why did you have to dredge up the past? None of this would have happened if you had left the past alone!"

Dorothy dashes out of the room. Cassie takes a moment to recover from her shock and follows. She takes no more than a few steps into the hallway before she stops, confronted with a vision which defies explanation.

The hallway is dark and sepulchral despite the fancy chandeliers which have been installed just for the ceremony, as if a gray-black miasma is suspended in the air. The secret door to the playroom stands open, and the pall is thickest here, like smoke pouring from a burning room.

Dorothy suddenly heaves a sob and collapses to her knees. "Oh God, not again ..." she moans. "Not again ... please, no ... no! ... NO! ... I ... uhng ..."

Dorothy is suddenly very still, and Cassie hears her own heart hammering. She recoils when her mother slowly stands. All the emotion which has been roiling like a boiling pot of water has abruptly trickled to nothing. She is utterly blank to Cassie now, as if she were no more than a mannequin.

Her mother turns, and Cassie's eyes widen in shock. Her mother's eyes are empty, just like Heather and Diane when Melissa had trapped their spirits in the box.

"What do you wish of me, Cassandra?" Dorothy says in an emotionless voice.

Before a horrified Cassie can say a word, the scene abruptly dissolves, and she is thrown back through the veil with such force it leaves her senses reeling. When she tries to pierce it, it will not yield, having become a solid wall.

The only explanation is Dorothy is awake, thus Cassie wills herself to be as well.

Cassie bolted upright in bed, threw off the covers, and dashed for the door to the bedroom. She opened the door a crack and peered down the hallway. She crept out of her room and tip-toed to the other end of the hall, crouching to avoid being seen over the railing which overlooked a large anteroom below, where a night-shift maid dusted furniture.

Cassie paused outside the wide double-door of the master bedroom and pressed her ear to it. After a few moments of hearing only her own thundering heart, she heard a faint sob and a sniffle, followed by the unmistakable baritone of her father. "Shh, Dorothy, it's okay, it was just a dream. Everything's all right now."

Cassie withdrew her ear and sat on the floor with her back to the wall. Everything was about as far from all right as they could get. She had not expected to find out something about the past. She was convinced now that something bad had happened when she was a child, and she was somehow a part of that, if not the cause.

Heather's eyes flew open at the first glimmer of dawn, panting as if still caught in the throes of her dream. She writhed and uttered a soft, ragged moan as moisture squished between her thighs, her pussy hovering halfway to orgasm. For a moment, she could not comprehend her surroundings, and in her mind's eye she was in her Mistress' bed.

She rolled onto her back and sat up, blinking rapidly. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, her pussy still aching and wet. Her eyes sought Melinda's bed and stared at the peaceful form bundled under the covers.

Heather swallowed as she watched the slow rise and fall of Melinda's bosom. Her sister was still sound asleep, and Heather could keep her that way. Mistress would allow Heather just enough of her old power to keep Melinda quiescent. The rest would be easy. Aunt Jo had Melinda sleeping in the nude now (because that's how all slutty little girls sleep). She could slide the panties up Melinda's legs and over her hips before she could rouse.

Heather had grasped the edge of the sheet and blanket and started to pull it away from herself before her hand began to tremble. She forced herself to let go and dropped her face into her hands. She shivered as she realized what a bad girl she was for continuing to defy her Mistress' desires.

Heather lifted her head. Her pussy pulsed with her heartbeat, still warm and wet at the vision of Melinda writhing as her new panties fucked her over and over without letting her cum.

Heather clenched her hands into fists and pounded them once against her thighs. The flare of pain pushed back the urge for now. She looked towards the window and sighed. She dared not try to go back to sleep now.

Keeping her eyes averted from her little sister, she slipped out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. She paused at the threshold, her fingers curling around the frame as she heard a light snore from Melinda. The setup was perfect. She would not have another chance that morning.

Heather forced herself past the threshold and flicked on the light. She lifted the toilet seat cover, paused, then flipped it up hard, where it banged against the tank and made her ears ring.

"Whu ...?" Melinda's groggy voice mumbled.

Heather closed the bathroom door just as Melinda stirred. After a few seconds she heard an irritated voice say through the door, "An elephant would've made less noise, bubblehead."

Heather let out a relieved sigh even as guilt clutched her. She understood what had happened. The urge had been building up all week; only the constant adrenaline rush of everything else which had happened had kept it at bay.

Heather gasped and smacked her forehead when she realized it was Thursday. She had forgotten she was supposed to go to Diane's for dinner that night, and she had yet to ask her mother for permission. At least now she had a new anxiety to occupy her mind and help keep her demons at bay a little longer.

"This was supposed to protect Melinda, dammit," she said in a urgent whisper. "Mistress was not supposed to t-touch ..."

She trailed off and nearly sunk to the floor when her legs gave out. She clutched the edge of the counter and struggled to lift her gaze to the mirror. She wondered if her mother had ever felt like this. If her mother had truly given herself to the Darkness not for power but to protect her daughters, had she faced a moment like this as well? Had her mother been played for a fool by the Darkness all this time?

Heather used the toilet and emerged from the bathroom feeling a little more in control of her emotions. She saw Melinda sit up in bed, the blanket slipping enough to catch a glimpse of her little sister's bare breasts. "You always bang around like that in the middle of the night?" Melinda snapped.

"It's almost dawn, runt," Heather grumbled as she headed towards her bed.

"That's not the point. Why are you awake?"

"News flash, Melinda: my bladder is not infinitely large."

"You almost never get up before the alarm goes off." Melinda paused, then in a more concerned voice said, "Are you okay?"

Heather sat down on the edge of her bed and let out a noisy sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't sound like it."

Heather looked at her little sister. Her pussy still buzzed with the desire to carry out her Mistress' wishes and effectively collar Melinda, but she could ignore it for now. "It's nothing you can do anything about," Heather said in a low voice. "And I should be asking you if you're okay. You hardly spoke a word to me last night."

"I know," Melinda said in a small voice. "After Aunt Jo and Mom are done with me, I don't feel like talking. Or thinking. Or doing much of anything." She sighed and tossed the blankets aside, drawing her knees to her chest. "I can't even wear anything to bed anymore! I don't know what else she could do to me except ..."

She trailed off, and in light of the shimmering look in her eyes, Heather let it remain unsaid: it had to be only a matter of time before Aunt Jo wanted to take Melinda away.

"I still say things would be better if Jason would--" Melinda began.

"Don't you dare say that again," Heather snapped.

"Get bent, Heather. I don't care what either of us is going through. You don't control what I can and can't say. If I'm going to wind up being someone's sex slave, I might as well be Jason's slave."

Heather bolted to her feet. "Stop talking like that. You sound like you're just waiting for Jason to fall."

"I don't want it to happen!" Melinda cried in a shrill voice. "But if it does, I'd rather give my body to him than--"

"Melinda, stop thinking it's going to be like your little slave games you used to do with him."

Melinda stared at her big sister, eyes glistening. "I know it won't be," she said in a tiny, quavering voice. "I don't want to be a slave. But if I have to be, I want some kind of choice. I want to feel like I was able to make my own decision."

Heather was torn. She wanted to make Melinda see the fallacy in her argument, but if this were the only thing which kept Melinda from giving up, she did not want to quash it. "All right, I really don't want to argue with you anymore this morning. I have my own worries."

"What worries? Oh, wait, this is Thursday, isn't it?"

"Brilliant deduction, runt."

"What's the big deal? You're just going over for dinner."

"Diane's mother is starting to suspect something is going on in Haven," Heather said. "And that she knows something is going on between me and Mis ... you know."

Melinda's eyes widened. "Maybe she can help us!"

"No, Melinda. Diane doesn't want to involve her, and I doubt she could do anything to help anyway. To be honest, I'm not as nervous about that as I am about impressing Diane's parents."

Melinda rolled her eyes and climbed out of bed. "You worry too much. So long as you and Diane don't start boinking each other right in front of them, it'll be fine." She trotted towards the bathroom. "If I'm going to have to be up early anyway, I'm going to get a shower. Maybe I'll finally get it hot enough so I don't feel like ice needles are coming out of the shower head."

"Stop exaggerating, runt," Heather said, but Melinda had already closed the door behind her.

Heather sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. She stared at her closet, where the jeans she had worn the day before sat on a hanger hooked to the doorknob. One of the pockets bulged. She thought about how Richie had been tasked to stop Jason from doing anything bad. She wondered if she needed someone to stop her from doing the same.

Jason wiped away the steam from the mirror over the sink and stared at himself, still naked and dripping water onto the bath towel under his feet. He let out a slow sigh. He could see it now. The swirls of inky black slithered around the outline of his body, slow and placid, as if dormant at the moment.

He tried to study the patterns, but their meaning eluded him. Either he was losing that ability, or he had encountered some sort of mental blind spot. At the moment, it did not matter. He almost wished he had been rendered blind to his own Aura. It might make events easier to accept.

His thoughts led him back to the Inn, and the Inn led him to Cindy.

The tendrils of his Aura swirled faster as they snaked around his hips and between his legs. His cock swelled as he contemplated what Stacy might have him do to Cindy next. He entertained every logical argument he could muster against it, but he loved having the chance to manipulate Cindy again.

He felt the head of his cock brush the edge of the sink and saw it had swelled to a full erection. He shook his head and frowned. Cindy was going to lose her boyfriend over this. He was ruining her life. She could be traumatized if she ever came out of it.

Yet thoughts of her obedience aroused him further, even as terrible as it felt to desire it.

He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "I'm over-thinking this," he said in a soft voice. "This is no different from getting aroused at cheating on a wife or girlfriend. You just don't act on it. Whether I want to act on it or not is irrelevant."

He had taken to talking to himself, as he no longer trusted which thoughts were his and which were planted. He thought perhaps forcing it through his speech center would help him sort between the two.

Jason's head whipped around as he heard a sound in the bedroom. His eyes widened, and he braced himself for his mother opening the bathroom door. Instead, he heard another soft and distant movement, a click like a door bolt engaging, and then silence.

Jason had remembered to bring a fresh pair of briefs into the bathroom, but they did nothing to hide his still rock-hard erection. He waited a little while longer, trying to distract himself with other concerns. His cock had begun to flag, but sprang back as soon as the Inn wormed its way into his thoughts again.

He sighed and emerged from the bathroom, his heart pounding. He paused with his hand still on the doorknob as he looked towards the closed door of his room.

"Good morning, son," said Henry in an even voice, standing with his back towards the door. He kept his eyes level with Jason's when he added, "If you would like to get dressed first before we talk, be my guest."

Jason gave his father a look of thanks and rushed to don his jeans. He abandoned all the usual barbs; he saw his father now as neither enemy nor ally, just an interested spectator who had delusions of involving himself. As he donned his shirt, he discovered he could still see the patterns in his father's Aura in every detail. Apparently, the limitation was applied only to his own.

"What is it, Dad?" Jason asked in what he hoped was a neutral voice.

"I just want to know how you are doing," Henry said. "This is the first time in a few days I could talk to you without your mother overhearing."

"She's probably not exactly happy about you closing the door. You know how she feels about that."

"I'll deal with the flak." Henry paused. "Is there anything you can tell me about what's going on with your job?"

"My job? What about it?"

"What are they having you do over there?"

Jason wished he had Cassie's ability to sense emotions. Maybe that would give him a clue as to his father's intentions. "Why do you want to know?"

"Please, stop answering questions with ..." Henry trailed off, then let out a noisy sigh. "All right. Part of the reason is I am your father, and I care what happens to my son, as hard as you may find that to believe."

Jason took the statement at face value. He no longer had the righteous conviction to dispute it. "So what's the other part?"

Henry paused for a long moment. "Research."

Jason frowned. "What kind of--?"

"I cannot answer any further, and with that one word I have already revealed far more than I should. Perhaps you can consider that while you are weighing whether I am a caring father or heartless monster."

Jason's mind raced, and his erection ebbed, though he barely noticed the latter. He had already suspected his father was involved with the government. Were they studying what was happening in Haven? Was this just some big experiment? Was his family just another bunch of test results?

"So, please, tell me: what are they doing to you, son?"

If Jason had not heard the heavy emotion in his father's voice, he would have told him to go to hell and find someone else upon whom to experiment. "It's hard to describe. It's like they're trying to get me to enjoy ... well, controlling others."

Henry's eyebrows snapped up. "Control others? You can do that?"

"No, not by myself." He paused. "Yet."

Henry nodded slowly, his face taking on an intense and thoughtful look. "I see."

Jason wanted to rail at his father for summing up all his problems with such a trite phrase. "That's all I can really tell you right now," Jason said in a tense voice.

Henry nodded. "I will do my best to shield you from your mother, but I can't be home all the time you are."

Jason picked up his backpack. "Dad, maybe you should be thinking about shielding her from me. Now, can I leave so I can get to school?"

Henry's mouth had dropped open at Jason's initial statement, and Jason could see from the man's face that Henry had a thousand more questions he could ask. Instead, he stepped out of the way.

Jason opened the door and blasted down the stairs. Just as he got to the front door, his mother called to him as she emerged from the kitchen. Jason ignored her and flew out the door and down the street.

Penny let out a long sigh through her nose and placed a hand on her hip, the other still gripping the back of one of the chairs arrayed around the kitchen table. "You know I don't like things like this on short notice, Heather. I already had dinner planned for tonight."

"Then I promise I'll eat the leftovers this weekend," Heather said with a hint of desperation in her voice.

"You always say that, but you know you just don't care for leftovers no matter how much you liked the meal."

"Then you and Dad and Melinda can just order pizza or something."

"Not when I've managed to keep all your diets balanced despite ... well ..."

"Despite whoring out Melinda to Aunt Jo and making Dad not see his hand before his face?"

Penny was already on edge. Driving Jason home every day was dredging up far more of the past than she cared to recall, and her Mistress did nothing to stop it. "You're not helping your case, Heather," Penny snapped, folding her arms.

"Look, I'm just tired of pretending that we still have a normal family, that's all." She paused and said in a lower voice, "If you're thinking I'm going over to Diane's to plot some elaborate scheme against you, you're barking up the wrong tree."

Penny uttered a small sigh and said in a lower voice, "Heather, I know about Diane's new ability, and so does the Darkness."

Heather's eyes widened, though Penny believed her daughter certainly could have guessed that it would know. Exercising such power was not something which could be hidden from an entity which sat at the confluence of the same lines Diane tapped.

Perhaps Heather was more surprised to hear her mother refer to the entity by the same name the Harbingers used. Penny was not so far gone she could not remember what it really was. These thoughts were still allowed, as long as her pussy grew warm and wet for giving a Harbinger grief, even her own daughter. Her hips swayed once, moisture oozing in her bare folds under her jeans.

"Fine, so you know. So it knows," Heather said, trying to sound uncaring and failing. "Big news flash there. Maybe you should be more worried if she was coming here, seeing how she fucked up your lame attempt to enslave her."

"Heather, don't go there."

"Don't tell me to ... I mean ..." Heather again forced her voice lower, having less success this time. "Okay. Truce. I'm on the level here. It's no more than an invite to dinner. That's all. Diane's mother doesn't know anything about what's going on."

Penny wanted to believe that. She wanted to let Heather go, if for no other reason than to give Heather a night off having to hear her younger sister being used like a sex toy.

She trembled and squeezed her legs together, her thighs quivering with delight at the thought of her daughter's tongue sliding inside her folds.

Penny saw Heather's jaw clench and her eyes grow hard despite holding her tongue. Before Penny could think of another meddling response, the decision was mercifully taken away from her. Let her go, the silky words of the Darkness slid into her mind. Let her have her silly diversion. It is best I know where Diane is at all times, now that I sense her ability growing stronger.

"All right, Heather," Penny said in a husky voice, her pussy throbbing faintly. "You can go to Diane's for dinner."

Heather had drawn back a step, her eyes wide. She nodded and fled.

Penny gripped the back of the chair and moaned. Her hips jerked as a full orgasm erupted in her pussy. A glistening stain expanded on the crotch of her jeans, and moisture ran down her legs and dripped to the floor. She let out a shaky sigh and uttered barely audible words of thanks to her Mistress.

So Jason reminds you of the past, does he?

Penny gasped and slowly slid towards the floor until she thumped to her knees on the cold tile. Her hips rocked as if humping a lover, her breath a heavy pant. The kitchen spun and shimmered in and out of her perception, until she glimpsed the inside of Stacy's office.

Remember that day, my pet? Remember when you became mine?

"Uhhng!" Penny moaned as her knees spread. Her pussy ran molten with unsatisfied lust until thin stains ran down the inside thighs of her jeans. She shivered in both the heat of desire and the memory of the first icy touch of Dark power as it wormed into her mind. She closed her eyes against both the rush of impending sexual release and the despair of feeling her will slipping away from her.

Oh, yes, I am allowing you to remember it again for a reason. A reason which will become clear in the near future.

Penny let out a breathy moan as her pussy gushed once more, soaking the thighs of her jeans. She shuddered as her orgasm reached up through her body and saturated her mind, and she saw herself speaking her first pledge of obedience to her new Mistress.

And like that day, a single tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

Richie's book bag lay by one end of the sofa, abandoned as had Richie's plans for sneaking out of the house before Cathy awoke. Instead, she had been waiting for him, having thrown the covers to the floor and lounging on the sofa with her fingers slowly swirling against her swollen and wet clit.

Now Cathy knelt on one end of the sofa, her head lowered and her back arched. She alternately panted and grunted as her body rocked back and forth to Richie's hard thrusts, each slap of his body against hers making her breasts sway.

Richie had not bothered to undress. He had simply lowered his pants and briefs and plunged his cock into her pussy from behind. His hands gripped her hips, forcing them to his rhythm. He tried to tell himself he was doing this for her benefit and not his, so she would not spend the whole day pining for his cock.

His father would no longer comment on his thoughts while he was having sex, as if the words had no power against the omnipresent Darkness. He swore he could see a faint black fog surrounding him, tendrils lashing at him whenever he felt an icy touch slide across the surface of his mind.

Cathy's moans became more strident, and Richie quickened the pace. The fog closed in around him again, waiting for that moment of vulnerability. He steeled himself against it as he had done every time before. Despite the absence of the voice, the strength of his father's presence was almost frightening, as if they were sharing the same mind.

Richie threw his head back as his cock strained just past the point of no return. He clutched the link to his father as he crested, burying his cock inside Cathy, his hands clenching her hips and holding her tight to his body. Cathy gasped and moaned, her hips grinding against him as she shuddered with the force of her own orgasm.

Again, the Darkness closed in, and thoughts swirled in his head of how wonderful it would be to have Cathy as his total and mindless slave. She was all but that now anyway, as dependent as she was on him for her sexual needs. This would only be taking a last, almost inconsequential step.

Richie clung to his father's words which had become the mantra by which he lived his life: don't be a dick.

As his orgasm faded and he withdrew his flagging cock from her, he felt the cold tendrils of Dark power withdraw, and the black fog dissipated. He had pulled through again thanks to his father.

This is fucking ridiculous, Richie thought at the retreating Darkness. Why the fuck do you keep doing this? You never get through, and I get some nice free fucks out of it.

At first he did not think he would receive a reply, thus he flinched when the silky words of the Darkness appeared in his head: Everyone has a breaking point, Richie. Even now Jason slowly falls to me. We'll see how resilient you are as you watch him slip away.

Richie clenched his hands into fists. "Fuck you, bitch," he muttered.

Cathy turned onto her back and gave him a stricken look. "Richie? D-did I do something wrong?"

"What? Shit, no. Sorry, thinking about something else." Richie pulled up his briefs and jeans and grimaced. He hated not having time to clean up. Everything was going to be sticky by the time he got on the bus. "Great fuck as always, Cathy."

Cathy smiled and draped a leg along the back of the sofa, her other foot on the floor, leaving her still-glistening pussy on display. "Sure you don't have time for another one?"

"I gotta get to school, for fuck's sake," Richie growled. He yanked his zipper up and collected his book bag.

Cathy nodded, looking disappointed. "Don't be home too late, please."

"Yeah, whatever." He slung the bag over his shoulder. "Now go put some damn clothes on."

Cathy blinked at him in surprise. "But you always like me going around naked."

"Look, just do it because I told ... no," Richie said. He frowned. "No, I won't play that game."

Cathy gave him a bewildered look.

Richie rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath. "Sometimes it's more fun to have you with clothes on and then I get to see you take them off. Or I take them off. Or something like that."

Cathy nodded and smiled. "Yes, I understand, but couldn't I put them on right before you get home?"

"No, you have to wear them all day. Um, it gets me more excited. And I don't know when I'll be home."

Cathy stood. "Okay, Richie, I'll do that. It's going to feel funny wearing something again. But please, don't be too late. I get so wet near the end of your school day that I'll probably stain my panties every time waiting for you to fuck me."

Cathy walked past him, and Richie fled before she could change her mind. He was almost to the curb when the voice broke its silence: About time you got a fucking clue. See what happens when you stop thinking with your dick for two consecutive seconds?

Richie let out a shaky sigh of relief. For the first time he had tried to think like Jason and had succeeded. He had finally realized that having Cathy remain naked all day only enhanced the idea of being a sex slave. If he could make her wear clothing, she would look less like a slave and more like an ordinary person who just happened to be rather enamored of his cock.

"I have to keep fucking her," Richie said. "Cassie said it was the right thing to do. The Dark bitch made it so she can't live without it. I'm still doing the right thing."

The tone of his voice went from declarative to pleading. He waited, but his father's voice had gone silent. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a torn piece of notebook paper. The original post-it note had been so tattered that he would have trouble reading the numbers soon. He had transcribed it to this.

He stared at the number until he heard the roar of the school bus in the distance. He folded it carefully and slipped it back into his pocket. I'm gonna call you later today, Richie declared as if in challenge. I'm gonna talk to you this time, so I can tell you that I did what you said. I stopped being a total dick.

Melinda hated the silence which accompanied the bus ride to school. She had noticed Jason had a more pronounced Aura, but Richie said he was still okay for now. Melinda would not have cared even if Richie had told her to stay away.

She snuggled up to Jason, wishing he could take all her problems away, even if it meant replacing them with total slavish devotion to him. Heather had reminded her that she had no idea what she really wanted to do with her life. She had no career ambitions, nothing which interested her above anything else. While "sex slave" was certainly not among her list of considered careers, it would at least take the burden of that decision away from her.

Melinda sighed and tried to feel otherwise. She tried to remember how she felt when they were all fighting for their turn at the House and Jason had used the power on her.

That was different, Melinda thought. That was before I knew I liked him so much.

She shifted her legs and shivered. Her sexy stockings made her pussy all warm and damp again, and her thoughts about Jason were not helping. If he had suddenly groped her breasts or thrust a hand under her jeans, she was not sure she would push him away.

She glanced at Heather, who gave her a wary look in return. She wished Heather would worry about herself for a change. There was nothing Heather could do. Melinda no longer cared what Heather discovered about their mother. Nothing she could learn would ever change her feelings. In her mind, her mother had used up all her chances to make amends.

Melinda finally could not take the silence, as it let her mind continue down more twisty paths of resentment or contemplate her sexy white stockings. "I know we can't talk about Harbinger stuff, but can we please talk about something? The quiet is getting to me."

"Okay, let's talk about your boobs," Richie said.

Melinda bolted forward in her seat. "My what?!"

Richie glanced at her chest as it settled from her movement. "Your boobs. They still getting bigger?"

Melinda frowned and wanted to give a snide retort. Shit, what the hell is the "mature" thing to do here? she thought.

"Hey, you're the one who asked for something to talk about," Richie said.

"Richie, you're not helping," Heather snapped.

"No, it's fine," Melinda said, causing both Heather and Jason to turn their heads towards her in surprise. "I can't tell if they've stopped. I'm just about up to Heather's cup size, though."

"Fuck, really?" Richie said. His eyes darted between Melinda and Heather. "I woulda said yours might be a little bigger now."

"A visual illusion," Jason said before Melinda could respond. "Because she has a smaller frame than Heather."

Melinda was grateful to hear Jason sounding like his normal self, but felt miffed that he had to over-analyze Richie's compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Nerd," she quipped, hoping her voice sounded good-natured enough. "Anyway, it can't be normal for them to grow that fast. I'd rather they not get any bigger."

"Don't you inherit something like that?" Richie asked.

"Yes," Jason answered. "I think she gets it from her mother's side, as Mrs. Sovert is ... well, endowed. So Melinda may simply be reaching her destined size sooner than she normally would."

Melinda wished they had not mentioned her mother, as it brought up the same disturbing question, and now she could not stop it from tumbling past her lips. "Jason, are you ... is my mother ... doing anything with you at the Inn?"

"No. I see her only at the end of the day when she drives me home, and that's all she does. She's never made any sort of advance towards me."

Melinda nodded and wondered why that did not make her feel any better. She folded her legs towards her and crossed her ankles, letting out her next breath as a short, husky sigh as her stockings rubbed against one another. "G-good," Melinda managed to croak.

"C'mon, dude, give us the lowdown on what's happening at the Inn," Richie said.

"Only you would want to get off on that!" Melinda piped.

"He doesn't have to give a fucking play by play, pipsqueak. If I'm supposed to stop him from messing with any of you, then I gotta know the score."

"Then you two go off and talk about it when you get to school. I don't want to hear--"

"Richie has a point," Jason said. "And ... I think you should all hear it so you know what to look for if I start losing it."

Melinda glanced at Heather, who gave her the most annoying look of all, the I-told-you-so look. Before she could give her own look in response, she felt Jason suddenly withdraw his arm from around her waist.

"She's having me control a girl who works at the Inn," Jason said in a halting voice.

"What do you mean by that?" Melinda demanded.

"Making her want me sexually. Changing her behavior around me, and making me like it."

"Huh?" Richie said. "How the fuck can anyone make you like something?"

"You have to ask that after some of the shit we've been through?" Heather asked in an irritated voice.

"Jason, you didn't ..." Melinda began, her eyes shimmering. "You resisted it, didn't you?"

"I wish I could, Melinda," Jason said. He sighed. "This is why I didn't want to talk about it. You don't need any more bad news. No, I couldn't resist it no matter what I did." He paused. "I like manipulating her. I'm even looking forward to doing it again."

Melinda's eyes widened. She swallowed as she stared at his Aura, the stark inky black whirling faster as if in increased excitement.

Jason raised his head and met the shocked looks of Heather and Richie. He had trouble meeting Melinda's eyes. "I don't feel great about it. In fact, I feel like shit, but the next step is to get rid of that, too."

Melinda glanced at Heather, who said in a low voice, "Are you really that hot to be Jason's slave now?"

Melinda narrowed her eyes and glared at her big sister, but Heather was only pointing out the truth that Melinda did not want to see.

"I'm focused only on her right now," Jason said. "I don't feel any urges to do it to any of you."

Melinda nodded but hesitated just the same before she settled against him. She heard him sigh and felt a small shudder pass through him, but he finally slipped his arm around her waist again and drew her close. She closed her eyes and sighed into his shoulder. "Shit, I don't want to have to keep second-guessing what I feel about you now."

"You may have to," Jason said. "I don't know how long it will be before I'm turned against the rest of you."

"Not gonna happen," Richie declared.

Jason turned his head. "Richie, I already said that I've failed all my attempts to resist--"

Melinda felt a jolt and looked up. She gasped when she saw Richie's raised hand clenched into a fist and Jason rubbing a spot on his upper arm.

"Because I'm not gonna let you," Richie said. "You start messing with anyone, you're getting a little visit from Mr. Fist. You got that, nerd-brain?"

Melinda wanted to rail against Richie's tactics, but the words died before they could reach her mouth when she heard Jason utter a heartfelt sigh. "Got it." He paused, and in a softer voice said, "Thanks."

Richie lowered his fist. "Yeah, you might not be so fucking thankful with the shit beaten out of you."

"You're not going to have to do that!" Melinda said. "We know what to look for and we'll--" She stopped when her voice caught. She swallowed to force down a sob. "We'll s-stay away from him."

Jason's arm tightened around her briefly, and the gesture almost made tears spill down Melinda's cheeks. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut to hold them back and snuggled up to him one more time, trying not to think about how it might be the last.

Mike staggered down from the cab of his rig and pulled back the hood of his coat, letting the frigid north Idaho air strike his face and chase away the morning grogginess. He looked off to what he guessed was the southeast, peering through the clear morning air past the highway and over a valley.

Not a cloud marred the crisp blue sky, a rarity for this area. He squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand, as if he thought his gaze could carry beyond the horizon. He sighed a fog of steam and turned away.

He had got what he had wanted. He was about as far as he could be from Haven without being home, or at least what he referred to as "home" for the moment. He would have much preferred to roam, holing up in cheap hotels on his off time, but his trucking company insisted on a permanent street address for their records. Thus he shared an apartment with a fifty-something woman in Oregon.

He leaned against the side of his rig and uttered another sigh. In another day he would be back at the apartment to take his next off time. Hopefully she'll be glad to see him. She might even be in the mood for a good fuck. She was only fair in looks, but she knew how to handle a guy's cock when she was of the mindset.

Maybe he could spill his guts about what has been plaguing him for the past few weeks. Maybe he could at least get a sympathy fuck from her, if she didn't throw him out for being stark raving mad.

Mike stretched his neck and winced. He rubbed at a seized muscle, but it refused to loosen. The bizarre dreams and daytime musings about his son had not stopped. That morning he had the strangest one yet. His son was taking some girl from behind, and he was asking if it was okay. Something about having to fuck her or something bad would happen to her, and he was desperate to know if his father would approve.

Then something about not being a total dick.

Mike shook his head. He couldn't make any sense of it. In the dream, he stood there and said nothing. The only thing he had seen which he understood was his son having sex. He had no doubts that Richie would have followed in his father's footsteps and started screwing girls as early as he could. He hoped the boy would have more sense than he usually showed and use some sort of protection.

He conveniently ignored the parts of those dreams which indicated the girl he was screwing was his own cousin. It was alien enough to him that he was sure it was some random artifact of his own anxieties.

"This is fucking nuts," Mike said. "They're just fucking dreams, that's all."

Yet he could not shake the feeling that Richie's friend Jason was in some sort of trouble, and Richie was supposed to do something to ... help him? Stop him?

Mike grunted a curse and yanked out his cell phone. He searched his call history and found the numbers which had plagued him with open lines and breathing. All were still showing as blocked.

For a moment he had the wild thought that his son had been trying to contact him, and he briefly considered unblocking them.

He snapped the phone shut and shook his head again, thrusting the phone into his pocket. No, this was stupid. His son had no means by which to get his number. This was just Haven messing with his head. The further he got away from it, the better.

He climbed up into his cab. What he needed more than anything else was some coffee. Then he could be on the road and make his last deliveries before heading over to the apartment for some decent home cooking and good sex.

A question persisted in the back of his mind, even if he did not give it conscious thought: why was his son so pants-wetting scared of what his father might say to him?

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