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Robbing the Bunker

Ø The Mind Control Device

You can live through the same thing, day in and day out, and never know you're in a rut. Never, until the one day the Fates reach out and offer you the chance to do something different. That's the brass ring folks. And it only comes around once. Let me tell you about how those three lovely ladies changed my life.

§ A. Introduction

My name is Jack Lostridge and for years I lived in the quiet little Appalachian town of Mountain View. I spent my whole life there - born in the little hospital, went to school here, got a job there. The same with all of my friends. Most folks accepted this as the "way it should be." I was ready for a change. One day I got my wish.

I worked at a quiet little place called Victory Station. Once you drove through the gates and got past the armed guards, it was actually kind of pretty, in a Cold War-concrete kind of way. If you've ever seen pictures of the Maginot Line, that's what Victory Station looked like. Beautiful green scenery dotted with dark brown concrete tumors.

You see, Mountain View was tucked away in the beautiful green hills of Virginia, isolated from the rest of the world by winding roads and the fact that nothing ever happened there. The only reason the town existed at all was the once secret complex of bunkers the government had built and inhabited from WW II through the Cold War. During the Cold War, everyone had known that something was going on "round Victory Station." Anyone foolish enough to ask too many questions got visited by men in suits. Government agents, just like in the movies. The smart ones got quiet, the others weren't seen again. Rumors flew about people reading the mail and listening to telephones, but the Mountain View folks were patriotic Americans and they believed that this was their part in the war against Communism. They endured what inconveniences there were as badges of honor.

The government sold the bunkers to a private salvage firm a few years ago. The only problem was that certain records and blueprints were missing, meaning that before salvage crews could dismantle and retrieve equipment, "scouts" had to explore the dark passages and map out the extensive complex. That's where I came in.

After graduating from the local college, I didn't know what I wanted to do. So I did the same thing everyone else did and got a job at Victory Station. The idea that I got paid to crawl around a super-secret government bunker complex finding the lost treasures of some mad scientist was exciting at first. I made-believe that I was Indiana Jones. The money wasn't bad either. But after awhile, it got to be like any other unskilled job - menial and routine.

To make matters worse, I worked with complete morons. One week last fall, Sam "Kiss Ass" Parker reported me to the boss for smoking inside the bunker. Ordinarily this would have gotten me a slap on the wrist, but Sam made sure our boss George heard about my "safety violation" in front of a crowd. I got chewed out and put on "scout" detail.

Scout detail was where people got sent down into the bunker ahead of the salvage teams to map the lower levels and find areas that might yield high value items. Any excuse to not see Sam's face might have been viewed as a reward but scout detail was the company's way to get rid of troublemakers. Scouts worked in the dark, climbing down questionable stairs, exploring what might be booby-trapped rooms. All for less pay. What a deal.

So after Sam shafted me, I got assigned to scout out area K322 in bunker 7. I punched my time card, picked up my gear at the admin area, and hopped on the shuttle bus. I parked my 60 pound backpack next to me and sat back to enjoy the ride. Scouts carried everything with them: oxygen, acetylene, explosives and more. Everything you needed to open doors and cut through locks in the depths of deep, cold, concrete hole.

As we rode up the road I saw the entire complex. There were twelve bunkers in all at Victory Station, spread out along the narrow valley. Some were built back into the hills, like reinforced concrete caves. Others were low green mounds that looked like perfectly symmetrical hills. Tunnels interconnected them all, making the entire complex a gigantic rabbit warren.

Number seven was one of the big caves, so I entered through the airlock and signed in. The guards didn't even look at you on the way in, they were more interested in people trying to smuggle things out. I couldn't imagine what you'd want to steal from this place. Most of what we salvaged was wire or pipe and the company only got a few dollars on the ton, so petty theft was unlikely.

§ B. Into the Secret Lab

The freight elevator took me past the levels we'd already mapped. I walked down a few flights of stairs, my footsteps clanging in the dark. The bunkers were mapped on a big 3-D grid, so if you can imagine looking at a floor plan of a huge skyscraper, area K322 was in square K3 on the 22^nd floor. The only difference between bunker seven and a skyscraper was that the whole thing was underground and the first floor was the one closest to the surface.

Someone else had started this level so I didn't have to worry when I opened the stairwell door. I strapped on my breathing mask and lit my miner's hat. Stepping off the stairs, I turned on my tape recorder and started looking in rooms. It was a great job if you liked talking to yourself. You'd announce the room your facing, carefully open the door, and then walk around the room describing its contents. Some areas were industrial spaces, some were offices, and others were residential areas. If there was anything like a generator or some other high-value salvage item, you would mark it in your notebook and move on. What wasn't marked for salvage was wrecked and sold for scrap. Even the stairs and floors were scrapped, leaving only an emergency exit from the bowels of the bunker.

K322 looked like a routine office area from the first few rooms I looked in. One of the steel doors was locked, not an unusual event, so I pulled my "Master key" from my belt and let myself in. The "key" was a small acetylene torch I used to cut the hinges off the steel doors. Once the hinges were cut, I flattened myself against the wall and let the door fall. No explosions, for what I was being paid, I'm no hero.

Behind the door was an office area. I made a quick sweep and then started a thorough search of the area. Inside were a small reception office, a file room, and an open area that had lots of electrical equipment. It was obviously a research lab. Others had been found in the bunker complex, but this one looked as if it had not been evacuated and cleaned out as the others had. Books were still on shelves and desks looked like their occupants would return from a coffee break at any moment. The only eerie thing was that everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust.

§ C. Salvaging the Files of Dr. Brantwell

Searching this place was like walking through someone else's house. Everything was in the same place someone left it years ago. I started in the front office. It looked like your basic reception area. The pictures on the receptionist's desk showed a pretty blonde dressed in 1960's style. Her date book sat open to September 13, 1968. I also checked out the other offices. They were small with the gray metal furniture. What I noticed was that, aside from a small number of reference texts, none of the desks had notebooks, not even pads to take phone messages on. Most of the desks didn't even have drawers.

Crossing the hall, I found the file room. It was packed from floor to ceiling with gray file cabinets and wooden shelves. Row upon row of notebooks and boxes. Everything had a file and project number on it. Nice and neat. Whoever had taken care of this place had been anal to the max. I crossed the reception area again and moved on to the next room.

Beyond the secretary's desk was a large office. This office suite had nicer, wooden furniture. I had entered "suit territory." Everything inside spoke of Old World taste and elegance. I sat in the large leather chair behind the huge wood desk. The desktop looked neat, even with thirty years of dust on it. I reached down to the desk's file drawer and I met with the first surprise. It was locked. Now what kind of person keeps stuff in a locked drawer when his office is 14 stories underground behind several steel doors? So, like an inquisitive kid who had just found a locked drawer in his parent's room, I jimmied the lock and looked inside.

A collection of bound books sat inside the drawer. The books had dates that ranged from the thirties to the sixties. I took the oldest one, dated 1935, and went back to the stairwell for lunch. Sitting on the metal stairs was uncomfortable, but it beat eating dust. I quickly taped a plastic sheet over the door to stop any drafts and then took my break.

Reading the book while I ate, I felt like I was intruding on another world. The book was the diary of a Dr. Louis Brantwell, a research scientist from Europe. Skipping through entries, I found where he started the diary on the ship while coming over to America. Originally from Dublin, he'd spent his student years in England. From the way he wrote, it seemed that his true love was pure, scientific research. The process of discovery was what made him happy. He studied a lot about the human mind, wondering how much more he could do if not for the obstacles of bureaucracy and funding. On the ship, he was elated. His new job with the Miskatonic University Department of Physics would allow him to do his own projects as leader of a research team.

I look through the diary for a while and then glanced at my watch. I'd been reading for almost three hours. No wonder my butt was asleep! Brantwell's diary was so interesting I wanted to read some more, so I tucked it into one of the inside pockets of my big fireman's coat. Going back to the office, I tried to think of a way to get the other books out without getting caught. My backpack seemed too obvious, but was the only thing big enough for the four other books. If I had gotten caught, I would have lost my job. But then again, it wasn't much of a job to lose and this Brantwell guy was the most interesting thing to come down the pipe in a long time. As was usual for a Friday afternoon, the guard barely glanced at me as I signed out and lined up for the bus.

I spent the evening reading through Brantwell's diary. The first book covered Brantwell's time at Miskatonic through the end of World War II, a period of about sixteen years. During that time, his research had taken him into the area of metaphysics. He'd done his dissertation work on "The Electromagnetic Waves Generated by Human Brain Activity" but had branched out into time travel, weapons, and levitation belts while at Miskatonic. He seemed to have the imagination of Jules Verne, the invention of Nikolas Tesla, and the occult knowledge of Alistair Crowley. Reading the diaries on his couch, I concluded that Brantwell was a smart man, but not one that you would want to invite to a party.

After the War started, the government had approached Brantwell to continue his work. At first, he was elated, writing about how much work he could do now that he didn't have to teach or fight the Board of Deans for research funds. His tone changed over time, becoming angry with the bureaucrats that he had to report to. The Doctor didn't want to waste time implementing his discoveries as real world inventions. His love was pure science, not the "grubby work of engineers." Once he'd discovered what he'd set out to find, he wanted to move on.

His big project at the time was something called a Mind Control Device. An expansion of Dr. Brantwell's dissertation work, this project attempted to allow thoughts to be projected into people's minds. It was highly successful and the team was soon experimenting with human subjects. As a result of his new work, he had started to collect a group of followers. Some had joined him at the University, others when he worked at Victory Station. This "inner circle" as he called it led the individual projects within his lab. The names of Peter Lorimar, Michael Kent, and Sylvester Lavagre cropped up in the diaries over and over. These were his lead researchers on the Device and Dr. Brantwell wrote about their work like a proud father or mentor.

The diaries wrote in philosophic terms about the wonders and depths of the human mind, but also of the greedy demands the bureaucrats made on him. Rather than let him move into another project, they wanted him to create a device that would allow their agents to read other people's minds. Grudgingly the researchers complied but they became more furtive, annoyed at the requirements placed upon them.

I read the diaries all weekend, making notes on the files and folders Brantwell referenced. He seemed to be a cagey customer, writing about how his lab staff often planted "red herrings" in the lab reports to confuse and mislead his bosses. Guided by the diaries, I noted only material on the experiments that worked. The only thing I couldn't find in the diaries was who Brantwell worked for or reported to.

§ D. Experimenting with the Mind Control Device

Monday morning I was ready for work. I went through the usual routine and returned to bunker 7. I made a sweep through the lab area, working my way down the corridor past the conference room and into the supply area. After a few hours of searching to satisfy my taskmasters, I returned to the file room. Using the list I had prepared, I selected several files on the Mind Control Device. Brantwell had been careful to mix real information in with false leads, so it took me a while to assemble the notes and schematics of the Device.

The diaries indicated that this was one of Brantwell's most successful inventions, he'd even made a few prototypes. I figured if I wanted proof that Brantwell was more than a crackpot, this would be the device to try. The latest MC prototype was missing, so I took the next most advanced one. It was a head-mounted gizmo that looked like a wide headband studded with metal pads. A wire cord connected the headband to a metal box the size of a lunch box. I unhooked the two pieces, putting the headband in my helmet and the box in my toolbox. I hid the folder in a bag I'd suspended between my shoulder blades. Lying under my backpack, no one would see it there. I got back to the admin building easily enough, carefully transferring everything I've taken from the bunker into my gym bag. Just like last time, I made it home without any problems.

Sitting in my apartment, I tried to figure out how I was going to test Brantwell's Mind Control Device. I poured myself a drink and took another look at the diaries. The entries about the device were filled with psycho-babble and occult mumbo-jumbo. Brantwell described a person's brain like a house. The parts with the basic functions, like respiration and circulation, were the basement. Areas that control common functions were analogous to the living room or dining room. Personal things like memories were kept in the upstairs rooms.

All I had to do was strap on the device and it projected my thoughts into a subject's mind, just as if I was a visitor in their house. A burglar might be a more fitting description. Brantwell wrote that he had the most success entering other people's minds through the "basement" of their minds, working his way up the stairs and into their higher level thoughts. Once upstairs with the higher order brain functions, he would amplify the ones that suited him while dampening the others. Avatars symbolized a person's inhibitions, urges, and desires. They were representations of basic human emotions and could be manipulated to produce a desired effect. It all sounded very sinister.

I strapped the headband on and connected it to the metal box. The lab notes said that the box was the transmitter/receiver, the part that sent my brain waves and received the subject's so I could monitor them. The notes also said that the device worked best when it was pointed at the subject with no obstructions.

Great, I thought, all I have to do is invite someone in off the street and get them to stand still long enough for me to read their mind. I took a long pull from my glass.

I needed to see how the Device works before declaring this a success. Looking out the window I saw Annette, one of the girls that lived above the garage, talking with a guy in her apartment. I figured that was as good a test as any so I aimed the box at her through the window and ducked out of sight. Concentrating, I could hear what she was telling the guy. I narrowed my eyes and concentrated some more, actually seeing the door to her mind.

Entering her mind, I imagined the staircase Brantwell wrote about. I worked my way to the "living room" and could see what she saw. I toured her mind, finding her thoughts and habits, likes and dislikes. Drifting upstairs, I found her memories, urges, and inhibitions. It was kind of scary, being able to look into a person's mind this way.

I'd only seen Annette a handful of times, mostly to say hello to in the parking lot, but after just a few seconds, I could tell you about the boy she lost her virginity to and the way she that liked her pizza. Just like the upstairs of a house, Annette's mind had a hallway of doors. Doors were supposed to be inhibitions, suppressed urges, and hidden desires. I opened one and peered in. A small girl lay curled in bed, clutching a stuffed lion under one arm, sound asleep. Another door hid a dark empty room. The next one I came to was cracked open. An image of Annette, bare naked with a blazing look of lust in her eyes, lay on a bed inside the room. I pushed this door open and let her sex goddess avatar loose. The translucent image of Annette walked down the hall toward the stairs.

Normally she was sexy and playful in a coquettish sort of way, now Annette was horny. She looked at the guy wondering how to get him to make a move on her. His name was Jerry and she's hoped he was as good in bed as her friend Kaitlyn had told her. Unfortunately, Jerry just kept talking about his new motorcycle.

It was as if I was sitting in her living room watching TV. Her mind was some kind of movie, playing itself out in front of me. All that was missing was a soundtrack. I watched her impatience with her date grow, she wanted sex but still wasn't to the point of throwing herself on him. After a few more moments, I watched her give up on Jerry and make her move.

Taking a drink from her wineglass, Annette coyly spread her legs to give Jerry a good view of her panties. She could tell she'd been successful in capturing his attention when he stumbled over a sentence. Her avatar seemed to grow; its light burning brighter. On the couch, she scooted closer to him, hooking her leg over his.

"Go ahead Jerry. Take a good look," she purred into his ear.

Jerry slid his hand up her thigh. His fingers brushed against the skin at the top of her stockings. She leaned over and kissed him deeply. He put his glass on the table behind the sofa and pushed her dress straps from her shoulders. Her bare nipples were erect and throbbing. He leaned forward to suck them. Holding his head to her breast, Annette placed her other hand in his lap. From the size of the bulge Kaitlyn hadn't been exaggerating about the size of his tool. Sliding off his lap, Annette unzipped his pants and freed his throbbing cock. She licked the sensitive underside of his cock, running her tongue around the bottom of its ridged head.

It was the best skin flick I'd ever seen. I'd never seen a movie made from the girl's point of view and now I was watching one from the front row. It was as if a projection of myself was sitting in her living room watching and feeling the action. Not only could I see Annette giving Jerry a blowjob, I could see how it affected her. She was getting really hot, digging the feel of her tongue sliding around his big rod. When she ran her mouth down its length, I could tell it was the feel of the soft sensitive skin over the throbbing muscle that made her wet with anticipation. I was being bombarded by unusual sensations: the smell of a Jerry's crotch, the wet feeling of Annette's pussy, and her building anticipation of feeling him inside her.

Annette's experience told her that he was close to coming. I could tell that having him come in her mouth wasn't a problem but she didn't want him to come too soon and leave her without what she really wanted, his cock splitting her pussy. Jerry pushed her back on to the sofa, stripping off her panties and diving on her wet snatch. Whatever his assets in the dick department, Annette didn't think too much of his pussy liking talent. She left him down there long enough to let him get a good taste of her before pulling him up onto the sofa.

"Now fuck me." I could tell she was done with the preliminaries.

I watched as he put his thick, stiff cock against her hole. She tilted her hips to give him a better angle, gasping with delight as his bulbous head entered her. Slowly, he worked himself into her buttery soft love-tunnel by taking short, light strokes. After a few moments, Jerry had buried his prick inside her. He stopped for a moment to enjoy the feeling. Annette's hips moved, urging him to generate the friction she so desired.

"So deep. . . More. . . Faster." Her hands grasped his hips, tugging at him to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

He plunged his cock into her, driving it all the way in before reversing his course. At the apex of each stroke, he felt his shaven balls slap against her tight ass. Annette's small firm tits shook with each thrust as he fucked her slow and hard. He could feel his balls swell with his on-rushing orgasm. Annette wanted more, she rolled over on to her hands and knees, her ass sticking into the air.

"Now fuck me hard. I want your come inside of me." He didn't say a word as he positioned himself behind her.

From my vantage point, I could tell that Annette wanted to come and to get there she wanted his cock hard and fast. Jerry had been teasing her and, even though she'd enjoyed the feeling of his cock slowly gliding in and out of her tight, wet pussy, she was ready to feel him slam his meat into her.

Jerry's cock slid into her in a single stroke. Annette placed one hand on her mound, massaging her clit as Jerry started a strong, steady pace. I could tell that this was what Annette had been wanting all evening. His hands pulled her hips back to meet his thrusts. The impact of their bodies made a wet slapping sound. Her pussy fluttered as her orgasm built, clamping and releasing his cock from its silky vise. She could feel him start to tense up and waited for the warm rush of his come. Instead, he pulled out of her hot, twat and rolled her over. Her hand moved in a blur over her clit. As she opened her mouth to complain, the first shots of jism erupted from his cock. The sight of him jerking off over her sent Annette over the edge. Her thighs clamped down on her hand as the waves of pleasure overtook her.

Sitting in her mind, I felt as if I'd been pulled under a warm, tropical wave.

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the sofa talking. I switched off the device and went into the bathroom to cleanup. Caught up in Annette's feelings, I'd come all over myself without even realizing it. The device definitely worked. Now all I had to do was figure out how to use it first hand rather than as a voyeur.

Now that I knew the device worked, I needed to test drive it. I worked the next few days in a preoccupied daze trying to come up with a plan for using the MC Device. I mounted the device's headband inside an old baseball cap, sewing the band so that the metal pads made firm contact with my scalp and went looking for the target of opportunity that would offer me the chance to test the device.

I had gone all week with the MC Device in my hat, feeling frustrated that I couldn't proceed with the test. Every time I saw a woman I was interested in, the situation didn't allow me to concentrate or there were too many people around or something else happened.

I had decided that if I couldn't find anything that day, I would try a hooker. I left work with my cap on and the transmitter in my gym bag. I walked out of the admin area about to go cruising the local strip looking for the first thing that caught my eye, when inspiration came in a blinding flash. The boss' secretary, Francine, was walking up the steps into the building carrying some files. Everyone had always admired her red hair, blue eyes, and fantastic body. I stopped and watched her legs work under her tight white miniskirt under the pretense of lighting a cigarette. As luck would have it she struggled with the door, dropping some of the files in the process. I jumped forward to give her a hand.

Picking up the files together, we looked into each other's eyes. The clarity of her deep violet eyes shocked me. She smiled and thanked me as I helped her get through the door and pile the files on her desk. We started to chat, small talk about the weather and movies we'd seen on TV. Casually, I sat down on the waiting room couch and worked to keep the conversation flowing. She walked around the office, locking up, and turning off lights.

She was putting things away in the safe, her back turned to me offering me a fantastic view of her tight ass, when I snuck my arm into my gym bag. I rested my arm on top of my bag, letting the cord pass unseen down my sleeve to the transmitter. Quickly, I connected the device's cord to the transmitter and concentrated on my unsuspecting target. Francine was focused on the safe's combination and I made a swift, smooth entry into her mind.

I moved through her "ground floor" noting details about her. Entering the sensory areas of her brain, I noticed that she stared at me oddly, wondering why I don't respond to her question. I was so deeply connected to my projection I inserted my response directly into her mind.

She was puzzled. It seemed to her that she knew my answer without hearing my response. I started to panic. I could feel a force coalescing around me, keeping me from seeing things in her mind cleanly. I closed my eyes, willing my projection to push its way through the cloying resistance.

I struggled up the stairs of her mind, finally finding myself with her psyche. I opened the first door I came to, stepping inside and looking around. An image of Francine in a warm kitchen filled with talkative people filled the room. I guessed that this was her sense of family. In the next room an image of her lay naked on a forest floor, her chest heaving with racking sobs. A network of scratches and bruises criss-crossed her shuddering flanks. She huddled against a fallen tree, pitifully trying to escape the freezing wind that whistled through the barren, wintry scene. I suddenly knew why she had invited me, a passing acquaintance, in to be with her as she locked up. She was afraid of being lonely. Not just alone, you understand, I mean forlorn, in utter endless solitude.

Dispirited, I closed the door and checked the latch. I crossed the hall and approached the next door apprehensively. I opened the door slowly, unsure of what I might find inside. Unlike Annette's nympho-avatar, brazenly pursuing physical sex, Francine's sexual avatar was more reserved.

She wanted sex but she also wanted the seduction, the romance that she felt was an essential complement to the physical act. Her avatar was dressed in a sensuous, tantalizing, nightgown. The boudoir setting reminded me of Marlene Dietrich in a vamp seduction scene. I took the avatar by its hand and led it downstairs. I invited her to seduce me, stimulating her natural sexual drive and suppressing her natural cautions and inhibitions.

A flush crept up her neck. I saw her hesitate, her hand trembling as she played with the neckline of her jacket. The radio played a dance tune. Seeing an opportunity, I took control of her mind.

"Dance for me." I told the vamp in front of me.

A faraway look entered her eyes. Her body swayed to the radio's music. Placing her hands behind her head, she danced in a tight circle, turning around to show me her lithesome form. Her tight jacket stretched tight across her breasts, its white fabric emphasizing the flush that had crept up her neck and her auburn hair. She unbuttoned the jacket slowly, a button for each chorus of the song.

She traced the outline of her blue bra with her fingertips. A shrug of her shoulders dropped the jacket on to the floor. Slipping her index finger under the lacy fabric, she rubbed her nipple lightly. Thoroughly aroused, Francine posed in her bra and skirt.

There was no question what she had in mind. I had pushed her to this point with unspoken promises of carnal satisfaction and erotic bliss. It was time to get down to business.

Modeling her body, she flashed me glimpses of her thigh before turning around and showing off her shapely ass. Slowly she unzipped her skirt and gave me tantalizing glances of the cleft of her cheeks. Francine shimmied out of her skirt and danced for me in her thong bikini and bra. Her avatar reflected her growing excitement, slowly shedding it peignoir and reclining on the sofa in her mind's living room.

Just as she started to reach for her bra snap, she hesitated. A flash of caution had burst from a corner of her mind. You don't know him, you're in a public place it screamed, urging her to revert to her normal sensible self. Reacting quickly, I enflamed her vanity and suppressed her caution to get her to continue. Her desire won over her discretion. I sensed that there would be no further interruptions. She unsnapped her bra, massaging her breasts, and presented them to me. The paleness of her skin highlighted the flush of excitement that still spread across her slender neck.

I wasn't in control anymore. I didn't need to be. She was willingly doing everything I wanted her to do. I withdrew my mind from hers and let nature take its course. She felt the desire to show herself to me. She played with the waistband of her bikini, playing peek-a-boo with the wisps of pubic hair at the top of her mound. Turning and moving her hips in a slow, languid spiral she shed her thong bikini. As she came out of her turn, I saw her nude body for the first time. She leaned back on to her desk, spreading her knees and offering her moist pussy for my inspection.

Rising from my seat on the couch, I approached Francine. Sinking to my knees in front of the desk, I smelled her excitement. It was warm and sweet. Reaching forward with my tongue, I tasted her. She enjoyed it, leaning farther back onto the desk. I teased her pussy, carefully avoiding her clit with my tongue. My tongue drew circles around her hole, tickling her clit every few circuits to keep it stimulated.

Eager for my touch, Francine pulled my head into her crotch whispering "Eat me. Eat my hot red pussy."

Catching her eagerness, I ate her pussy with more vigor, lightly nibbling her clit with my teeth. Extending my tongue, I fucked her hot and ready twat. She was so wet, her juices ran down my chin.

Wanting to prolong this incredible moment, I decided to tease her a bit since I didn't want her to come too soon. I kissed my way up her soft body, finally lavishing attention on her generous breasts. They were perfect grapefruit sized globes, each nipple standing red and eager from her soft pale skin. I lifted each breast to my mouth, in turn, and sucked on its erect nipple. Meanwhile her hips sought mine, straining to reach release.

Deciding that it was time to satisfy her needs, I dropped my pants and I placed the head of my cock against her opening. Francine drew her knees up to her chest, inviting me to enter her. Her head craned downward to watch as I pushed my cock into her. The sensation was exquisite. Savoring the feel of her wet, tight grip, I pushed my hips slowly towards hers. The feeling was like parting thick, warm chocolate. Her cunt's silken tightness grasped me and drew my cock inward. As I reached my full depth inside her, we both groaned. I felt the limits of her cunt and knew that I was as deep as any man could go inside her.

I started a long, measured stroke, pausing at either end of the cycle. My pumping action drew her juices from the depths of her body, spilling down her thighs onto her ass. She wanted more and told me to go faster. Increasing my tempo, I tried to please her. My hips pumping faster and faster until my body slammed into hers with full force. Her eyes screwed shut in animalistic passion, she grunted in time with my thrusts. Holding her knees against her bouncing breasts, she gave me full ccess to her deepest recesses.

The primal parts of my brain took over. My body craved release and spurred me to thrust my cock piston-like into her love channel. The force of my thrusts caused my balls to slap against her ass, keeping time like an obscene metronome. The friction became too much for us. I felt my cum explode from my balls, as if my insides were being sucked out of my cock. We climaxed in a chorus of moans and wordless grunts.

We lay on the tousled desktop for a few moments, catching our breath and holding each other. A light dew of sweat covered us both, testimony to our exertions. A parting kiss held us for a moment. We climbed off the desk and struggled into our clothes. Francine went into the bathroom while I tidied up as best I could with a tissue. After we had collected ourselves, I smiled at her. Our bodies pressed together in a last kiss.

"We need to go." Her voice was almost a whisper, tinged with something that may have been sadness. Nodding, I gathered by gym bag as she turned off the lights. We walked together to the parking lot and said good night.

§ E. Modernizing the MC Device

I got home that night with my head swimming from my newfound power. Digging out the schematics of the Mind Control Device, I set about figuring them out so I could build my own. My degree was in electrical engineering so I dug out my old textbooks and got to work. Drunk with the knowledge that electronics technology had exploded in the last 30 years, I was confident that I could build, if not improve upon, Brantwell's design. It was like doing an obscure homework problem.

I identified the functions of each segment of the circuitry. Some were very basic: frequency amplifiers, filters, wave transformers, and bridges. All parts of a classic transmitter and receiver set. The challenges came in some of the specialized parts. The input/output ports to the sender's brain were highly complex. I struggled for many hours trying to translate the 1950's era vacuum tube drawings to current integrated chip technology. After several sleepless nights, I had a design that I was fairly confident would work.

My next step was to call up a buddy that still worked at the college in the Electrical Technology department. A few cases of beer and I had access to all the parts I needed. I drew my circuit boards long hand and then scribed them on to boards I bought at a local hobby shop. After a couple of weeks of not sleeping, I probably looked more like a mad scientist than Dr. Brantwell but it was worth the effort.

My Mind Control device looked more like an ornate necklace than the futuristic crown that Dr. Brantwell's team had produced. Signals were picked up from the sender's lower cortex, amplified and modulated for transmission, and then transmitted to the subject.

After three weeks of hard work, I went back to the lab and ran my device on the test bench. A few minor adjustments were necessary but everything performed within specifications. All I needed now was another subject.

I decided to start testing my device at the same place I tested the older device, I looked for a neighbor to eavesdrop on. I found my target. Annette had another guest. They looked as if they had just returned from a night on the town. He was in a suit. She in a long gold sheaf dress, her hair arranged in a sophisticated style atop her head. They embraced at the door. I took a quick peek inside her mind, eager to see what she had planned for the evening.

The Aphrodite-like image of her sexual avatar was all ready in control of her mind. I let the situation develop on its own, watching her give her date a long, deep French kiss. Going "upstairs" in her mind, I looked in on her recent memories. She had been more sexually aroused than normal, masturbating twice a day and even having some uncharacteristic one night stands. I realized that by letting her sexual avatar loose without its normal restraints, I had left her in that state after our last meeting. As I explored her memories, Annette dragged her date, a young law clerk named Victor, into her apartment.

Victor was more eager than Jerry had been, quickly responding to the sexual signals that Annette had been sending him all night. Annette got Victor into her living room where she allowed him to strip and fondle her. Spurred on by her unfettered desire, she hungrily pulled his cock from his pants and got him hard. While she sucked him, I set a control that urged her toward anal sex. She had buried that desire in the back of her mind, not pursuing it as much out of dislike as disinterest.

As they traded oral pleasures, I enhanced her curiosity, tantalizing her with curiosity. Turning around on all fours, she offered him her forbidden orifice. Victor, also under the influence of one of my controls, accepted the offer and slowly worked his long cock into her ass. I amplified sensations of pleasure and damped the feelings of pain and discomfort, spurring them on. They increase the pace of their fucking, I made sure that I played up the "forbidden pleasures" of their sodomy. I made Victor felt the tightness of her ass, while at the same time, she relished the fullness of his cock inside her nether hole. After a few moments of deep, steamy sex, he pulled his dick out of her ass and came on her tits. This time, I made sure to reset the natural restrictions on the avatars before releasing my dominance over Annette and Victor.

Letting them relax in each other's arms in the afterglow of their coupling, I sat down to analyze what I had discovered. I had been able to influence both of them to do something that they had not planned, or even wanted, to do. Making notes of my own, I recorded my sensations and observations of other people's minds. So far, I had been able to observe and enhance repressed desires as an observer. I needed some way of testing my device's ability to control others while I was involved in the scene.

The opportunity to experiment this test case came almost immediately. Lucy, the good looking woman who lived downstairs knocked on my door and asked me to help her fix her sink. Already horny from orchestrating Annette and Victor, I didn't think twice about following her back to her apartment. The sight of her long, tan legs disappearing into her miniskirt gave me all of the impetus I needed.

Slipping into another human's mind came easier now that I had practice. My goal was to entice Lucy, almost a perfect stranger, into heated passion. By the time we got to her apartment, I didn't even get a chance to look at her sink. In fact, we had not made it past her living room sofa before we fell into each other's arms, stripping our clothes off in hasty passion. A heated encounter ensued; her raw animal desire left me amazed at what simmered beneath Lucy's calm, responsible demeanor. There were moments when I wasn't sure that I was really in control as her lust swept me along like a raging river. It was as if I had broken a dam and was in danger of being drowned in the flood.

Spent, I lay beside her as she slept. I rolled onto my back and reviewed my progress. My device worked perfectly, allowing me to use Lucy's suppressed desires to lead her into a steamy afternoon in her bed. But the sex was only the short term benefit, more importantly I had discovered Lucy's hidden secrets. I kissed her forehead lightly and carefully got out of bed. I looked at her angelic face, framed by her long, tousled hair, and knew that I would be back.

I went back upstairs feeling very satisfied. I had gotten a to spend a few fantastic hours having sex with a beautiful, sensual woman. I had also done a thorough job investigating her mind. My Mind Control necklace was a single guy's dream, sex on demand with beautiful women without the dating hassle before or the emotional baggage afterward.

The next day, I decided a further test was in order. Remembering that Lucy had a repressed desire to make love to another woman, I decided to engineer an opportunity for her. Watching out my window, I waited until her roommate Kaitlyn came home and parked in the driveway. I entered her mind and looked around, noting where certain emotions and impulses were located. Gently, I pushed her mundane thoughts of work and grocery lists into the background. At the same time I let her sexual avatar out of its corner of her mind. I slowly aroused her, eventually causing her to seduce Lucy almost as soon as she entered the apartment.

Kaitlyn found Lucy changing in her room. Reaching around her roommate from behind, Kaitlyn nuzzled her face into Lucy's neck. Just as I had done with Kaitlyn, I brought Lucy's suppressed curiosity forward, encouraging her to live out her fantasy. A tender, gentle scene unfolded. Rather than the raw, demanding sex I had experienced with Lucy, she was tentative, almost submissive with the other woman. Watching the love scene through their eyes, I marveled at the differences between lesbian and heterosexual love. In a slow, languid pace, the two roommates teased, licked, and fondled each other to climax again and again. After witnessing and feeling their several earth-shattering orgasms, I was left weak and covered in my own cum. My modernized MC Device was a success.

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