ACCUMULATOR (1) (mc/md/mf/sf)

The spring has arrived again. Hot, hot days, no air conditioning.

Maya Volkovna wonders what spring was like a century ago before the weather had changed so much, when things didn't get this hot until June or July, and the air wasn't so sticky with moisture all the time. When Half Moon Bay had been a quaint sort of suburban beach town and not a fairly large city with more than its fair share of people with barely enough money to live, and not enough mind to know how to manage to use it to become any less bored...with themselves...with everything. This is the Age of Boredom: it has been elevated to a Zeitgeist.

It's just the world around me...not me...but...couldn't it be both?

She'd already grimly resigned herself to her fate when she'd been in college, ten years ago, and knew that the only jobs available to history majors without stellar grade-point averages were jobs like the one she has now: teaching high school kids about modern history: 1900-2100. Most of these kids couldn't care less about any of it, feeling anything that happened before 2120 or so to be completely irrelevant to their experience. And those that do care...they depress her even more, asking questions she didn't know the answers to. College courses gave you the useless details, the minutiae instead of the bigger pictures.

They all wanted to know about what happened to the weather, and why. And all she could say was "No one ever really knew. It might have been the coal emissions. Might have been the pollution killing off the plankton and changing the atmospheric balance. Or it might just be an opposite pendulum-swing, bouncing back from the Ice Age all those millennia ago. Anything more you want to know, ask your science teachers."

She's been so short with the students lately. She seems to have caught the Anomie - the physical manifestation of living in the Age of Boredom...a multiform depression that's spreading fast as a bad flu amongst people of her age and class. When she turned thirty-six a month ago, she suddenly realized that she'd been spending the past eight years of her life with a husband she married mostly out of the vague notion she was supposed to marry someone, and the rest was essentially a matter of economic necessity. When it came to sex, she and he have so little attraction to one another that it's farcical. To his credit, he at least tries to make her happy, but he has no clue about how to touch her body or talk to her in a way that makes the juices stir down below. He imitates the cliche crap that he'll see the male leads in the most popular films and immersives doing, and even does that in such a forced, contrived way it makes her want to laugh - or cry - but never made her want to fuck.

Lately he's been bringing home gifts for her, and she'll find that they are flimsy panties or nighties made for girls half her age...that are just a teensy bit too small for her body...and hearing him drop hints more and more frequently about signing up for Gymbunny or going for jogs...saying "You'd look so nice in that outfit...just think...drop five, ten pounds maybe, and it'd fit you!" And she'd sign up for Gymbunny, and go on jogs, and when she'd hear him say "Are you really going to eat that?" she'd sigh and throw whatever it was she'd been about to eat into the bag for Streetfeeders to pick up and leave for the enormous swarms of earthquake-homelessed emigres from San Francisco, who are so numerous they're still filling the sidewalks of just about every every once-suburban street of all the smaller cities to the south years later.

None of it ever changes her shape. The exercise is good, and she eats as though the rationing is still going on, having developed frugality as a lifestyle in her radical revolutionary past. But the silly nighties still don't fit. And her husband doesn't seem to want to look at her any more, spending more and more time and money on pornographic immersives, where naturally, all women look unnaturally perfect.

She knows she certainly doesn't look bad. In point of fact, she looks damned good. She has very pretty curves, warm Slavic cheekbones, a smart nose, big round, dark eyes and hair that seemed to go with her eyes as if it had all been a readymade matched set. It's not even a fad to be skinny in this day and age; that was a hallmark of the late twentieth century that pretty much vanished once the climate had changed enough for the farmlands to shift and cause the food shortages to start happening. And even after that situation more or less stabilized, the "sexy round girl" aesthetic hadn't ever really died off. She's seen the way some of her male students look at her...it used to make her a nervous wreck, but now is finding she rather enjoys it. Not that she'd ever tell anyone.

As she cleans up her classroom after the last period of the day had poured out the door, folding ergochairs into the floor and powering down the deskcomps, she reflects dully about how her husband's little hints ought to matter nothing to her.

It's not as though he ever does anything to improve his looks. Or really had any to begin with...to her, anyway. She wouldn't even mind signs of balding or a beer belly at all - even though the former is at least partially curable now with those scalp implants. It's just that somehow he thinks she has a duty to remain preserved, but he does not.

Somehow, she thinks, sexuality could go beyond what bodies looked like. But did it ever? Would it ever?

God, I'm tired. So tired. So...restlessly...tired...

The door to her room opens, someone walks through it - all she sees is a silhouette, limned by the blazing afternoon sun. For a moment, he stands there with his arms reaching out to the sides of the doorway to lean against it, leaning his head to one side a little. A soft breeze ruffles through his long, straight-here-curly-there blonde hair and it flies out in little wavy rays like a halo made for a demon angel.

Maya sighs. She'd forgotten that Wednesday afternoon was the weekly detention hour for her unruly students, and that meant she'd have to hang around here another hour instead of heading home to her warm bath, a tranquix patch, and whatever good immersive she could manage to find before they'd all been sold or rented out.

The boy who's just come in is apparently going to be her only guest today. Everyone else'd been so well-behaved.

But Ferron O. (no one seems to have any last name on record - just an initial) has been another story entirely. A senior, who only just showed up in this town at the beginning of the semester, he seems to be constantly on drugs or electrostim, with a cocky, hopelessly anti-authoritarian attitude, and he has never read the assignments or participated in discussions. When a pop quiz was given he'd upload a blank page from his deskcomp...either that, or a few lines of gibberish - nonsense words, or whatever he in his demented state considered to be clever prose. Or else, he sends her something lewd...and that's been happening more and more often, it seems. And more and more...descriptively.

He comes into classes dressed in this dark "industrial gothic" clothing, shiny black skintights and chainmesh, sometimes with other obscure gear attached to him, like jewelry with arcane looking symbols embedded into it. Maya takes the blame for this herself: when she started class in the fall, she would wear clothing from the times that the class focused upon - the 20th and 21st centuries...and she encouraged the class to raid their grandparents' storage lockers and do the same, whenever the mood struck. For Ferron, this seems to be daily.

Sometimes he will really stretch...try to see just how far he can go, what can be gotten away with...maybe he'll wear a silverthread shirt with all the buttons open, or one of those bodysuits you can see right through, and see almost everything...or these terribly sexy tight pseudoleather pants like the ones he has on now...and then kick his feet up and lean back, watching with a huge smile as the kids around him stared . The attention would give him a great big boner, of course, completely visible underneath his tight clothing: head, shaft and balls. Everything! And a quite well-hung everything, too...not enormous, just the big end of average, and just so nicely shaped.

When he pulls this sort of stunt, it is as if Maya's explanation of whatever the class is supposed to discuss that day cannot even be heard by more than half of the other students in the class, who are too occupied with staring at him, or trying to get him to look at them. The girls will suddenly all be preening themselves and whisper-giggling to each other...and some of the boys will be trying really, really hard not to look affected, between quickly-stolen sidelong glances at the renegade show-off in the back row. When Ferron catches a stare, he'll smile all big right back, and whoever he's smiled at will swoon into a half-faint, essentially useless for the rest of the day,

It's a madhouse. Fighting for their attention with him around looking like that took a lot of energy.

Fighting to keep my own attention off him takes even more energy...but God, I'm not going to point THAT out to anyone.

Several times she'd complained to the school authorities, who wrung their hands of the whole thing. All schools are private, the government having ceased to fund education years and years ago, before Maya was even born. They have a vested interest in keeping every student on their rolls - too many rules and restrictions, and the kid's parents would just go find another school to send their money to.

The only acceptable reason for suspension is poor performance. This is where things start to get bizarre: Ferron has scored nearly perfectly on his midterms and finals - EVERY time. It's uncanny. He has to have been cheating: hacking into the school's netsystem somehow and getting the answers....copying from someone else...buying term papers from some undernet franchise. But that wasn't happening. Last week she decided to spring an essay question test that ostensibly "would count for half the grade"; it was just an experiment, to see what he would do. He delivered a flawless screen - as if he had been reading every bit of the class material about the topic of the question (which she'd just pulled off the top of her head that day) - a summary of the events leading up to the collapse of the two-party political system in the early 21st century, and how that collapse had affected later events of that century.

The kid's smart. Just doesn't want any of his peers to know it. And has zero tolerance for authority.

Which in this case, she knows, means her.

Ferron O. makes her nervous. Uncomfortable. She really doesn't want to deal with him right now. Not alone like this! Why does he even come here for this ridiculous "punishment" the school authorities had assigned him for going overboard with his disruptive antics? The school wouldn't expel him unless the checks stopped coming from his folks. Judging from all the obviously expensive weird little gadgets and other paraphernalia he brings to show off to everyone, that isn't really likely to happen.

I think I'm going to have a nervous breakdown if I don't get out of here...this place! This school! My life!

"Having a bad day, Ms. Volkovna?" he turns to her and asks. There's the tiniest twitch around his mouth - almost the beginnings of a smile.

"Uh, I don't know, really. Maybe."

She's shaken a bit by the timing of his words. Has it gotten to be that obvious: the Anomie? "The 22 Cent Syndrome", they call it on the newsfeeds. Such bullshit: same shit, different day. 20th century people suffered the same stupid thing. It's not as though boredom had been invented in the 2100s. It's just that...it's just that...the end of the world seemed so close, then, somehow. When it didn't happen then, and didn't happen in the 21st century, either...

What has this done to us all? When people thought the Apocalypse was coming...they dared to live, to enjoy themselves while they could. Now...

Ferron kicks his jackbooted foot at one of the clamped-down, folded ergochairs and it springs up from the floor. He eases his sleek form into it, pushes his slithery-feathery blonde waves off to one side to pull the deepdarks up from the band around his neck to allow the portable immersive goggle unit to slide over his eyes. Then kicks his legs up onto the desk next to him...striking his oh-so-casual pose, leaning back comfortably with his hands behind his head.

"Now? Now what?"

Maya loudly sighs. Did she just imagine that he finished her sentence for her again? She seems to keep hearing him do that. The heat must be getting to her, she thinks.

She walks down to where he's comfortably sprawled...reaches over to him and lifts up the deepdarks. "No, Ferron. No immersives. No undernetting. None of that. You're not in here on holiday. "

God, his hair feels so ...soft...

"Now, now...whatsoever are you trying to tell me here? Let me get this perfectly straight. I'm supposed to sit here and stare at a wall for an hour? This is supposed to be good for me? Miz V., where are we right now?" He stares up at her and she's forced to look at him in the eye for the first time today - wide, piercing and bright aqua-green, with an odd, malevolent slant. And see that mouth of his...the lips, soft and yet pouty and so insubordinate. Everything about him was insubordinate.

"I asked you a question."

"Uh..."

"Always telling us to pay attention and where are you spacing off to? I said, where are we right now?"

We are in hell. It's too hot. Inescapable. Filled with demons, who flaunt their hot young bodies at me like this and I can't even ever touch the-

"Skyridge High School. Half Moon Bay. California. Earth. Or maybe I'm on earth. Don't know about you..."

He has to be on something. Some weird drug that makes him...act like this. What will it be this week?

"My point," he continues, his tone sharp and yet subtly quiet, unaffected, "is this: We are at a school. The purpose of school is education. What I am doing with my deepdarks, which is not anything that need concern you, is most certainly more stimulating to the mind than doing nothing at all. Since I have given ample evidence that I am familiar enough with the material you are teaching, I am choosing to advance my education on my own initiative."

"So what is it you're immersing in, then?"

"Again: it is nothing that concerns you. In fact, it should concern you even less, because being that you have demanded me not to use the deepdarks - I will take them off." He shucks off the microputer eyescreen and lets it fall to his chest. And leans back again, looking much too smug for someone doing something compliant.

Great going. Could have just let him sit there miles deep into something or other and just turn around and forget he was even there, since in practice, he really wouldn't be.

Probably some hot new immersive fantasy game or non-spon music transmitter he's got that thing tuned into, she figures. And then he'd leave after the hour was up and she could go home. But now he has engaged her in debate. And not likely to let up on her, not now.

I've got to go back to my desk, grade term screens or something, anything to keep my distance.

She nods her head at him, quickly turning around to break the eye contact, goes back to her desk in the corner of the room, puts on her own glasses - not immersives, they look like regular sunshades, but with a polarizer to protect her eyes from the computer screens. There are now computers that don't do as much eye damage available, but the school - in its endless effort to cut costs, has given fifty-year old machines to the instructors - the kind which strain people's eyes, being that they already suffer from the change of UV radiation. She likes the glasses, with the dark triangular lenses that let her hide her face from people as well as machines.

But they cannot hide her mind from the invisible microprobes. They are zipping their way across the room, each one targeted at her. To her forebrain, backbrain. Hypothalamus. Another little swarm of them has been aimed at her pubic region. They're all electrical impulses that Ferron sends from his mind to her. He alone can be aware of them...and the information they transmit back to him.

She tries to concentrate on this week's crop of student homework files, most of them written by kids who are so dreadfully illiterate it literally hurts her brain to look at them. But it's not happening anyway. She can't even focus her eyes...much less her mind.

It's coming back, again. Too late to try to push it out now. It's been like this for a month now. Any time I make the mistake of getting too near him, or looking a little too long at his face...it happens. My mind just goes. It's happening again, now. Oh hell.

Maya can feel him looking at her. Even from behind. There's the almost-sensation of some kind of force striking her as if shot from an electron gun...particles and waves that slowly rise, and fall, and rise...

She turns around abruptly. It stops. But Ferron sits there smiling at her, innocently...but a purposefully-exaggerated parody of innocence. She can see the outline of his body's form through that flimsy iridescent netweb tanktop...when the light strikes it, it goes spectral-reflective like a bunch of tiny hologrammatic threads. She hates it for distracting her so much, but it's also the most beautiful, striking thing she's ever seen a boy wear. Sometimes the circles of his nipple areas barely show through the meshholes; it's specifically designed to leave exactly enough to the imagination, it seems.

After a short while she gives in to her imagination. She's been reading the same sentence of the report she's trying to grade over and over again. It's useless. The quivers start...the oscillations...her brain seems to have become a radio station playing that Neuratonal music she's heard of lately. There's a gimmick that revolves around it: supposedly it's all based on sympathetic vibrations that do funny things to the head.

And begins to imagine things...

.// ...Being grasped by his black-gloved hands with their long fingers holding her body tightly to his own smooth-skinned male form...Having that arrogant mouth of his kissing her all over - everywhere - with those beautiful thick lips...his impassive eyes drilling into her own in a way which would be so clearly communicating the other kind of drilling he could do, and then would do...

How he somehow is able - it isn't just her imagination! - to say things to her mind, without words, that tell her he knows she wants him to...to have Ferron's dick inside her, mad and throbbing... Ow!!! //.

She feels sharp little spikes of some kind of weird, freaked out power there which leave her feeling....empty and full of ache.

Okay. Once and for all. I. Am. Imagining! All. Of. This. Stuff. When am I going to just face it? My mind is sick from the Anomie, or whatever they're calling it on the net this month, and I need help. At least I'll make an appointment with a sounding board tomorrow.

Maybe a real psychiatrist would be better than the sounding board, which is essentially just an AI that acts a bit like one, a hundred-and-thirty year old Eliza knockoff, when you got right down to it. But it seems to have evolved enough to help out people - if they believe it will help them. Those that don't believe that the sounding boards are actually "living machines" or somesuch - they don't fare as well. Maya realizes glumly that she's not one of the faithful. Screw it, she thinks. Would rather just go insane in my own way...and doesn't everyone think about getting schlanged by cute seventeen year old boys, anyway?

With a start, she realizes she's breathing very heavily now. Hyperventilating. She could think of ten reasons to stop this madness, and only one not to. But that one reason: it was somehow SO much more important, imperative, even...and though she didn't even know what it WAS.

She leaps up from her desk.

"I'm...going to the ladies' room. I will be back in about...oh, 5 minutes."

She quickly passes her nemesis on her way out of the room, but it was as if she wasn't even there. He had his eyes closed and his head tilted to one side, as though falling asleep, or deep in a daydream.

I...I...I ...God! I want him so badly I want him to fuck me so badly. Something emanates from him, and I got too close to it again. All I can think about is how much I want his cock....but...not just that...it's that feeling he gives me that I am losing control...So blissful, to be without control...All these years of trying to keep my life under control have been killing me! I heard...thought I heard him calling me to come to him and he would free me of that, forever...

She sits with her head in her hands in the far stall of the ladies' room. She'd checked the door locks about 5 times, creepily realizing that by this time everyone else who worked at the school will have gone home by now. Maybe not the janitor, but he is a half-retarded electrostim addict who has about as many braincells left in his head as a bioelectric mopping machine. Which he essentially is. He would be no help at all if...if something were to get...out of hand--

That...that guy Ferron O....whoever he is...who ever heard of a student with no last name around here? He is half my age. But... some... part of him...isn't! What is it that clues me to that?

She figures it out almost immediately.

Teenagers are all nervous and clumsy about sex. All of them. The confident popular ones, too - it shows, they hide it behind their bravado - but she can see it.

Except Ferron really IS that sure of himself. Or sure of something. And his intellect. He's not 17 years old. No way is he 17. He just looks like it. Somehow. And then, doesn't. There's something ageless about him.

He's scary. He turns me on, hell yeah...but he scares the hell out of me...Where the hell did he come from? What's with that fin de millennium black stuff he wears? I have never told a soul that I've a fetish for that particular period style ...That "rivethead" look. I dunno why. It has always made me so hot.

One of those "take a walk through the last 200 years" immersive enviro-playground events for children...she remembers visiting that when she'd turned 13, and had taken the kids she was babysitting to it...and the night after she experienced it, she'd had her very first sex dream. There was a boy in it, stalking her through a labyrinth of alleys and streets and dark buildings...calling her name, saying something about a special kind of box which was full of some sort of energy or electricity...what had he called it...an orgasm accumulator? No, Orgone accumulator. Whatever that was...and he'd been wearing black, cold-looking slick stuff and mirrored shades that looked like the "Rivethead" or the "Cyberpunk" from that immersive would have worn.

It was just one of a whole slew of faces and frames in the "Subcultures of the Late 20th Century" section, along with the Goth (looked too theatrical) and the Raver (ehhh) and the Straight Edge Punk (Vindictive, Overstressed, Self Righteous) and NeoChrister (Ditto, with added heaping serving of self-effacing guilt). They were all just immersive people - just moving statues, really...pixellated caricatures, but they entranced her.

When she herself went to high school, she'd looked around her and realized there were no "subcultures" anymore. They were once bought after they were created and had existed. Now they were bought before they even got a chance to happen to begin with. What had made that happen to the world? She wanted to know.

Which was why, of course, she'd wanted to study modern history. Things like first sexual dreams do that sort of thing to a girl - make deep, personal imprints. Ferron seems to know what hers are, as if he was someone she'd once known well enough to tell her deepest fantasies to...but had somehow blacked out and forgotten. THAT is what REALLY frightens her about him. But oh, that is what also makes her burn for him...

On the toilet. Sliding her panties down, trying to breathe more slowly....she tilts back, lets her legs relax and slowly spread open, along with the doors of the magic labia...she puts a little of the electric sticky-sweet stuff that was slowly, warmly building in her sex hole onto her finger. Glides it along the edges of the hot spot - the increasingly pulsating little dot of power on her own body that was slowly taking control of every other part of her.

She is becoming subjugated by her own inescapable body heat...

Her mind is flooding with images...

The immersive, and the dream she'd had after it. People she'd known when she was younger...the year right after the San Francisco earthquake when she was living in one of its hundreds of burned-out buildings...in the cell of the revolutionary group called Untied State of Everywhere, when she'd been the group's leader's girlfriend. He was an anarchomaterialist firebrand with glasses, a goatee and long curls of hair dyed into zebra-stripes, to match his black and white moire'-pattern bodysuits...who was manically dedicated to violently overthrowing the United States of America on the grounds that for all practical purposes, with the Constitution having been abolished, there WAS no United States of America, and everyone was living in a mirage.

Living in a mirage indeed: her lover had been no exception. The new global government had already begun to coalesce even as the USE helped arrange the info-blackouts in Washington. All their victories had been Pyrrhic. In fact, they only succeeded in helping make the oppressive GAIA world government happen faster. Now she finds herself living in a world where there's such a lack of energy, such a resignation, and such far-range shortages of everything imaginable, including art and music, that GAIA instituted the Sponsorship Laws: artists and musicians who don't apply their talents directly to the economy by advertising a product or service - who don't become officially sponsored by people or companies who provide products and/or services - are forbidden to practice their art. Thankfully, with GAIA only in its second decade of operation, enforcement of this is still spotty, and an underground of "non-spon" music thrives. A subculture, at last. Though it's an edgy life, being in that scene: get busted and you look at a big chunk of your life spent in labor camps.

Her radical boyfriend had eventually ended up there. She never heard from him again. At that point her fear and caution had gotten the better of her...and she'd packed it up, what little there was, anyway - and Gone South.

To "go South" used to mean going insane. Now, in California, anyway, it means "going straight". She'd figured it was either that, or she'd end up like her boyfriend...in a camp somewhere herself, or dead. Turned out that her safe little Half Moon Bay life wasn't really THAT much different from a glass-walled prison.

Ferron's eyes...they're something like his eyes were...when he was all cranked-up and excited, when he was on a mission, doing some subversive thing or another. He always got so horny during USE actions. Always talked about how power was an aphrodisiac. God I miss that kind of energy. But this boy, he's got it, megawatts of it, gigawatts, hyper-gamma-megawatts!--

She lets herself slip further into oblivion..... /////////////...Ferron, that insane mysterious Ferron, is holding her up against a cold metal wall...her legs apart, panties pulled down to the floor, and her wrists pinned tightly under the iron grip of his hands...and he is leaning his face down next to hers, whispering strange words into her ears like the ones he sometimes writes on his quiz-screens...sounding like some sort of archaic language, and something like the sharp razor tones of German words that make no sense whatsoever, but God! They do something to her...Slipping his tongue around her earlobe, in sweet soft little circles inbetween slow hot breaths...increasing in rate as he presses against her body...Sensing his skin emanate that unbelievably hot boy-pheromone... feeling all that ultraconfident power and smug satisfaction in him up against her - God! how that turns her on, melts and shivers and sighs. And that power manifesting physically in the form of his swollen and raging hardon pressing savagely against her behind...the material of the pseudoleather being so thin she can even feel the sharp ridge on the underside of his boner through them, and the head of the thing all pointed and pushy, that heated power-missile starting to tear through his pants in its singleminded and unerring trajectory....her legs slipping further apart so he can align his device with its target and...and test the landing zone with a finger to see if it is ready...so ready, damn it! Her burning squishy slish is going to become its Ground Zero...He will demolish every defense in her and take over, turn her to a fallen nation ...and become its....Central...Ruling...Body!.....///////////////

Dizzily she comes to her senses, before she comes in some other way...She's been rocking back and forth on the toilet seat with her legs halfway in the air, rotating her finger, hovering gently over her clit (it's amazing how one hardly needs to touch that thing to bring it to sexual fever-bliss.)

If she doesn't stop what she's doing soon, she is going to orgasm so hard that there'll be another major California earthquake and it's gonna shake every wall in this pathetic place down in seconds. With aftershock after aftershock and nothing would be left standing--

With every bit of force she can muster she blanks her mind.

Stills her body, save for the little breaths of air that are still going on at the same dizzy rate...only slowly calming down after a minute or so.

There's something...very...bad...about this. I am not doing my job. I am letting this distract me too much. If I can't deal with this sort of thing properly, then maybe I should quit this fucking job and...oh, shit. Like I could really do that. Where would I find another one?

She pees quickly and dashes out of the ladies' room.

Only after returning to the classroom does she realize she's left her panties lying on the floor by the toilet. She shakes her head again and again, disbelievingly, feeling near-hysterical at this point.

Ferron is gone. Nowhere to be seen at all.

She sighs with relief that is only very superficially actually there.

He got bored and took off. Oh thank God. Now maybe I can actually get some of this infernal work done. Maybe none of this even actually hap--

Walking back to her desk, she pulls up her ergochair and, while leaning over and reaching out to scroll the deskscreen another page down. Absently wondering if she'll end up leaving a stain on the seat...

.// I must have made this up entirely. Maybe even imagined that he was here at all today. This is exactly what happened...I imagined every single bit of thi-

She lowers herself into the ergochair...and shrieks out loud.

Something warm is touching her. Moving. Slowly...She gasps, startled -- Adrenalin goes rushing through her at the speed of lightning. And melts as she realizes what's happening...

A hand is right there on her cunt...closing in on it - Ferron's hand. Of course. She can feel its elastic glove-like material. His finger is slowly but very deliberately making its way into her glistening wet pussyhole, using a sort of spiralling motion she has never ever felt anyone use on her before.

Eyes wide with awe and trembling excitation, she watches as the object of her desires slowly rises up from where he had been ensconced under her desk...he is creeping up on her...letting the fingers of his other hand run slowly up the inside of her thighs. He makes eye contact with her and at the same time stops the twisting in her cunt for a moment, feeling her so close to coming...

"Oh, please don't stop that, Ferron. It feels so good...It's like...you move exactly...in tandem with...where I think I want you to move--"

"Yes. That is exactly what I do. I know what you think, Maya. May I call you Maya, now? Because I'm not your student anymore. Now, it's time for you to be mine."

She is about to orgasm just from the sound of his voice! Nobody talks that way. It's surreal and slow and so dizzyingly assured. It silences her immediately.

"I. Know. Everything. About you. About your past and your present. Your special little turn-ons. And how much you are dying for my cock...dying to have all the power it holds fuck you into oblivion. Dying for me to take you down...to my world...Because that's what it does. It does lots of things. Things you have absolutely no idea about... " A spark of light or something seems to reflect from his right eye.

"I have decided it's now time to give you what you want so much. But before I do, you need to understand some things. " A penetrating stare, and he moves his hands upwards, letting their palms, wrapped in that slick black stuff she cannot identify, slightly press down on her mons veneris.

"What...do you mean?"

" Firstly, you should understand that it's already too late for you to ever escape my influence if I am anywhere near you. I know everything you think before you even do yourself. You just now thought something involving the phrase "delusions of grandeur". Correct?

Maya slowly nods...speechless.

"The way I understand the meaning of "delusion" is that it connotes a persistent and obsessive belief in a falsehood. Something that's not real. There. You were just thinking of how you wished I would touch you in exactly that place, and with exactly that pressure. This is not a delusion, Maya, and you know it. There's something else, too. Though for my own reasons I do not choose to do it very often, I can also cause changes in your thought to occur. What are you thinking of right now? Besides getting rammed by me forwards, backwards and sideways?" Smiles, slits his eyes a bit, in concentration.

After hearing those words she is thinking of very little else, actually. But suddenly an absurd vision is filling her mindscreen: a portrait of her own face but surrounded by huge sunflower petals, with her eyes crossed, staring at her nose upon which has landed an enormous bumblebee.

"Oh, good lord! Why am I thinking of that?" Her hysteria breaks down into pales of giggles. "That's way too ridiculous for me to have thought on my ow-"

"I'm already fucking you, you see. I have an invisible tentacle inside you right at this very moment. If you look inside your consciousness very carefully, you may see it, or feel its form and motions. It is abstract, but so is most of a mind, actually. You have a center, a sort of spherical core...and I'm pressing the tip of the tentacle against the outer surface of it. It's looking for the way in, and can find it effortlessly if I am distracting your mind by messing around with this sweet, tight body of yours, which responds so very perfectly to me...While you are in rapture that prodding tentacle is pulled right to the gateway to your core - you do this yourself, you see...you want it there. But once it pierces you, in that spot....."

"Then...what happens?"

"I'm getting to that. I have to explain your options first. You may choose egress now, if you wish. To stop this. Before it happens. If you choose to stop this, I will leave this room - and once I do, it will be as though I never was here; and you won't even remember me, except as some weird fantasy you had this afternoon. But I already know - and you already know, that this is not going to happen, because it's not what you want. "

"No...Don't go away. Please don't do that..."

"I can already see that you will never be satisfied with feeble minded humans again. I am what you want. My fuck. My power. My mind. And its probe. Inside you. All at once. Give up trying to deny it to yourself, it only makes you insane and unwell. "

Sure got that right!"

"But...please let me continue. I think you've already realized that I am not who or what you think I am. I'm a much, much higher being than yourself. I can do an almost limitless number of psionic things that other people can't. As you can already see..." He slit his eyes and twitched his mouth, brought his hand up to her sticky vulva again, brushing it against her very nonchalantly. She shivers with warmth...

"I have come to the conclusion that this power makes me a god. You have started to guess as much already, but you're not allowing yourself to believe it. Believe me, you won't doubt it very much longer. But hear this, and heed it well: you need to understand that you cannot, and will not, ever be even close to being my equal. And as such, you will have to accept a subordinate position in regards to me. What you are to me, and what you will become to me, is something you shall never be able to comprehend. You simply lack the necessary circuitry. "

"You think pretty highly of yourself, Ferron. Surely you have your limitations. What gives you the right to judge me so lowly?"

He ignores this as if not even hearing it. "Bottom line here: if you choose to...ah...involve yourself...with me, and I do believe this is what IS happening here - if you do this, you are, de facto, forfeiting your autonomy completely. It's like this: You lose your control....and I reach inside and take it. For my own purposes. And am not obliged to give it back to you. In point of fact, I cannot say for how long I will retain it. Perhaps forever."

"You're frightening me, Ferron. What the hell are you talking about?"

" I am simply stating the facts of the situation. You've been warned. If you object to this in any way, this is your last chance to get out. "

"Why do you have to be so----ahhhhhhhhhhhhooooouuu....." Her voice trails away, leaving nothing but mute sensation: he is lowering his face down and beginning to flicker and flutter his tongue around her clitoris. Doing it beyond expertly. His tongue knows where everything is, exactly - and is purposefully and meticulously attaining maximum sensation while deliberately preventing orgasm from occurring. Just letting her get so maddeningly close she feels like she will scream. She thinks she hears herself scream. Outside or inside?

Maya's sense of real and unreal has lurched out from under her. Everything she knows is in the immediacy of the moment. She senses a feeling like falling into an abyss, floating forcefully downwards...and yet crazily, also rising higher and higher as her body and mind escalate inexorably towards peak...

"Sorry, Maya. We can't have that, now...Not yet. Not until it's time to give it to you. And no...I won't let you give it to yourself. I can control that, too."

He gleams at her, deeply, deliberately...his long wavy hair falling down the front of his face, brushing against her inner thighs.

"So. Tell me...What is your choice? Once you make it, it will be irrevokable. What do you want right now?"

Oh God my panic button just buzzed REALLY hard - I've gotta stop this stop this stop this before I let this mad freak have his way with--

"I can't do this....I can't..."

"No one is forcing you to go along with these conditions. If you cannot handle it--I shall find another who will. There are plenty of souls seeking thrills in the Age of Boredom..."

" I can't -- But I have to!" she gasps, almost cries. "I want, I need, you....Need you to fuck me...To.. to use that hot long implement of yours on me...You are fascinating! I need you down there, and up here, all the places where you go, and do what you do there...whatever it is...you are...I can't stand it...What the hell are you? Why can you do this?"

"I can't really tell you that, Maya. Maybe someday you will find out, on your own. I'll tell you what I am NOT, though. I'm not an alien from another planet. I'm not the Devil, Satan, or any minion thereof. I'm not a subjective creation of your own mind - you just thought that - certainly a good guess. But no. My flesh is real - THAT much you certainly will find out shortly. I'm not some sort of paganist 'elemental; spirit...Not a spirit at all. And well..." he laughs, "...I'm definitely not a human being. That's all I can say about that for now."

"Please stop making me ache so much. You're doing that to me, you can stop it, right?"

"Can do, yes. Will do?? No. You don't seem to quite grasp the situation you're in, Maya. My will overrides yours. Whenever I want or need it to. As the arbiter of all situations involving myself and you from here on out, my control is total. Right now, I want you feeling exactly as you are feeling. Actually, scratch that. I want you feeling it more. " A few more quick, slashy swipes at her swollen moist place drive the point home.

She can no longer speak, too overdosed on desire to think clearly enough to form words.

"But don't worry your pretty head now. There's no point in worrying about something you can do nothing about. And every point in enjoying it. You see...there is a...purpose...to all this. A greater picture...a grand design...which you are just one part of...or, soon will be. Which shall become apparent. And amazing. Just think, Maya--you will make history instead of merely teaching it to screwy illiterate children in a world decimating itself with terrible government and slowly - literally! - dying of boredom. You would like that. In fact, you would love it. So bored you are with life, with this world and its ten billion ignorant fools. Is this not correct?"

Crawling up from the depths a bit more, he places his gloved hands on the globes of her breasts, thumbs brushing their little pointed nipples, causing them to get harder instantly. And he begins to speak in a slow reel - a hypnotic voice roll, in monotone just above a whisper, but below the volume of normal speech.

"Now. Relax. You will now let go of your control. It no longer belongs to you. You no longer belong to you. As long as I can alter your brain at my will, you are mine. Let's put it another way. I am an irresistable force....and you...you are a very...moveable...object. See?

He raises his right hand in the air and clasps it into a fist...then yanks it upwards into the air. At that moment, a weak electrical shock rolls down her whole body from head to foot. It isn't strong enough or long enough to cause pain or discomfort, but is so startling that she screams. Adrenaline rushes in, trailing the roll of the electric shock. And the ache in her cunt becomes a steady pulsation. All in the same one point five second lapse of time.

" Yes!" He exclaims breathily, positively beaming. "It gets me off so much to see, to feel my control over you, over that object that is you. Moving. To me. Under me. You are losing your fear, losing your defensive reactions. The power excites you so much. Awes you. Frightens you. Most of all, though, it makes you ache to get closer and closer to it...and to me. Piece by piece, you're falling down...Under my...supreme... command."

Maya is leaning back into her chair, her brain growing hazy, her vision lost in a dizzy sea of little spirals, as she feels the blazing hot sensation of the psi master above her pressing his chest against her soft, warm belly now. She senses more of that strange slick material touch her - like some sort of iridescent webbing. As if from a point on high above her body, she observes that it is flashing softly as late afternoon sun comes through the window in a thin little stream and hits it, spreading little spectral rainbow sparkles around him. Where the sunlight strikes his skin, it looks orange and lambent...glowing like lava.

He caresses her beautiful round breasts softly, putting the pointy little nipples in his mouth, sucking softly, like a lover would, sweetly smiling at her, knowing full well he has taken her over, and cannot be stopped--

DANGER!!STOP HIM--NOW! IN a few SECONDS!...Narrrrrrrrrrr! WHY CAN'T I JUST STOP THIS?!?!?! WHY?DO?I?WANT?TO?STOP?THIS???danger?what...

The inner warning voice melts away, with the exclamation points dropping off, twisting into the unsurity of question marks.

"Oh...now...you're gonna get it..." Ferron's lips pout, his nostrils flare and his pretty cheeks flush a little. "My...ah...electroweapon...it's all ready for you. All charged up and hot now, ready to find its mark. And I never miss my target..."

With a move like a bolt of twisting electrical current, Ferron suddenly vaults his whole body up from the floor, leaping up to pounce on her like a demon. She can see his fly's already open, the top of his pants unsnapped, and the most insanely beautiful prick she has ever seen sticking straight up from them....streamlined and arrow-headed. So efficient...so aggressive...so very bold.

She feels the hard rocket launcher head of that amazing organ of his, feels it rubbing and pulling against the outer fold of her opening. Little whines and squeals escape from her throat. He grasps her shoulders so tightly it almost hurts, but not quite. Just feels very hard...like the rest of him...pressing her button, jabbing at it in little side-to-side swipes. Pulling the tease maneuvers out as long as he can until she is literally weeping for it to do its thing. She is drowning in the hot emanations from his tensed body that is proving its control even further by not being in any hurry at all to deliver its charge.

"Oh, Maya...Look at me. Into my eyes. And feel me take you. Take you over. It will feel so good to fire this hot projectile as far as I can shoot it..."

The sweetness suddenly falls off his face, just as though it were a sheet yanked off of it. Ferron's green-blue eyes take on the rabid blaze of something sinister again. Terror mixes with desire in Maya, but they don't differentiate anymore...

"Which is all the way up to your weak little forebrain!" he snarls at her. "You're just like everyone else. Just too fucking easy to control! You don't have a single resistant force in your being. Just like all humans. You gave your entire being to me! Without a single defensive measure. "

She registers his change of mood but doesn't really notice it or care. "Please...don't wait any more, I'm begging you! I'm going to burn alive if you don't put that thing down there!"

"Oh, you want it now? Right this instant? If you knew what you've just gotten yourself into...You want this?" He twitches the power-stalk a little so that it tickles her. "This? Are you sure?"

"YESSSS, damn you! You insane control freak! What are you doing to me?"

"You are so impatient... I'm going to fuck you all right, but it'll be a little more than you expected. I pity you, senseless lost creature. But...not enough, not enough to spare you your ultimate fate at my hands....Not enough..." He is panting himself now, lost in his own strange ecstasy, "...to be very merciful in my...consumption of you...

"See...I...EAT power. I consume it. I am MADE of it. It comes through wires, it comes through lines, it comes through living bodies...and it comes...especially! from MINDS. I seduced you to devour you. Devour your power, your Orgone! Your elemental energies. Within just an inch of destroying you. Just an inch. I'm going to reach into you with that probe of mine, stick it straight into your brain and drain it dry...of ALMOST every last zizz-bit of it in your entire system. "

Suddenly aware of impending danger - the evil in his eyes says more than even his words - she vainly struggles to be free of him, but for naught. She's locked firmly down under him and all of his weight is upon her...but that's not what is really holding her. It's that thing in his mind, slashing back and forth like a scythe, knocking down all the thoughts having anything at all to do with moving her body to try to throw him off.

"Oh, don't worry, fool, you aren't going to die. I need to leave enough there for you to live. Of course. Or else I would not be able to thread your...connectors... into my incredible special multimental System...my sacred Websphere!...My profane Websphere!...My amazing geometric Accumulator that connects me to hundreds of minds, someday, thousands! Millions! - and allows me access to all their contents. Including their warm sweet delicious bioelectricity. Now you, too, will join the Accumulated Ones. You will wake up in a few hours and go about your life...as if nothing had happened. But every so often I will transmit a signal, and when I do, part of your life will just happen to be...Someplace Else. On a different plane of so-called Reality.

"Oh, the surprises that await you now! This here - my fucking you senseless...this is only the beginning...We will be getting to know each other very, very well....!" He madly cackles, and she closes her eyes. Gripped by fear, and...the creature on top of her, she is frozen solid as ice.

One final snarl, ejected from his sneering, flashing, fire-covered face: "You poor, dear, pretty thing. Naive thing. Silly, small human thing with the initiative of exactly NIL. I'll leave you with enough of the essential life-force to sustain you. That much mercy I possess.

I'll also leave you with a little advice, Maya: Never...EVER...trust a god!"

One deft twist of his hips, and he slams his well-aimed prong all the way down, perfectly aligned, as if it were specifically designed for the shape and contour of her concavity. Holding steady and motionless, staring down at her and watching her open-eyed, open-mouthed reaction...then swaying from side to side all cobralike in his own very special private bliss, feeling her body squirm helplessly, impaled on his bone-hard sex thing. It quests deeper with every thrust, as Ferron's other probing device - his twisty unfurling tentacle-like psi-feeler, rudely breaks through the bounds of her outermind and slips itself right down into the core, so quickly found and marked for assault. Twisting and turning like a worm inside her mind...then, it divides itself from one probe into many...tens, hundreds, thousands...multiplying itself like a virus, sucking up power through its hollow receptacles like a million tiny straws.

Maya slips into a feeling like floating on air...of being air...of almost disexisting completely. Slipping into the interim between consciousness and unconsciousness. Barely able to say:

"Oh Ferron...Oh Ferron!...You take me...so high! So sweet! So terribly...evil! Your...Your...Oh!" Slipping further, the last only a whisper: "You ARE a god!...Ferron...Ferron O.!"

"That's Ferron Orgone to YOU!" he hisses through clenched teeth.

And detonates...... sailing into an ionosphere of pure power surging to him, through him. Into him. Becoming part of him. Whole of him. Singing with the doppler-effect dronesound of moving electricity.

He now travels to his own Universe: Someplace Else. Where things happen at a thought. Where he is, in all fact, a God.

But not before forgetting to slip the Websphere connector socket through the hole in her mind that held that pulsing, sucking tentacle...and tying it into the neural net's threads. Not exactly an object, not exactly an idea. A little of both. No one could ever extract it but him. He's careful to thread it in there good and tight, so that it won't spill out. Ever.

He's good at that, too.

He's had a lot of practice.