
	Newsflash!! The serial rapist that has terrorized all of Jacksonville 
the past six months was captured earlier today by police at the home of local
residents, George and Martha Pruitt. The assailant, unknown at this time, had
entered the home by unknown means, immobilized the husband, and brutally raped 
the young woman. Unable to help his wife, the husband managed to reach a cell 
phone, and dialed 911, alerting police. The assailant was caught in the act, 
and taken away. The Pruitts were taken away to a local hospital to be treated.
Martha Pruitt died of her injuries later that day. 
	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	
	"This is Carmen Vasquez, with Channel 34 Action News! There's been an
update on the serial rapist case. Police have released the name of the rapist.
Dr. James Specten, head researcher for the international TransCorp Marketing
corporation, headquarted here in Jacksonville, was indighted on eight-six
separate counts of rape, assault and battery, and one count of murder in the
first degree. Specten, aged thirty-eight, faces trial later today in what
will no doubt be the next 'Trial of the Century' with a turnout expected
to make the OJ Simpson trial pale by comparison. If convicted, the Doctor
could face the death penalty, death my electrocution.
	A spokesperson for TransCorp Marketing, Marquita Queenland, pubilcally
renounced any ties with Dr. Specten, trying to put as much distance between 
the man and his former workplace. Sources tell us that Dr. Specten was working
on a top secret research project, a way to revolutionize the shipping industry.
Because of this fiasco, the company has placed further research on hold, 
and may decide to scrap the project altogether. More news as it develops! 
This has been Carmen Vasquez---"
	"Nice looking woman, don't you think Charley?" Dr. Specten asked his 
cellmate, as he flipped off the television. "Not that you are really in any
position to judge." That much was true. Dr. James Specten was a brilliant
scientist, an expert in physics and electromechanics. He was also a sadistic 
sexually depraved man with a taste for extreme dominance. He was physically
unassuming, standing about fice foot eight, one hundred sixty-five pounds. One
would not have expected him to last very long in the maximum security prison
locked in with a six-two, three hundred and ten pound serial killer, with an 
extreme penchant for violence. Charley certainly hadn't. Until he found himself
naked in their cell, squealing like a pig while his roommate ran him up the 
ass. 
	Charlie and the rest of the inmate soon learned that Dr. Specten had a
talent for dominating. A thorough study of hypnosis and brainwashing, Doc 
Specten made a public show of handling anyone that sought to provoke him in 
any way. Charlie had become nothing more than his own little fucktoy, cowering
fearfully in the corner, naked, still sweaty after their last romp. James
shook his head softly. It wasn't NEARLY as enjoyable dominating and fucking
his cellmate as it had been fuck and dominate all those lovely young women.
Oh well, in jail there were only men, and beggars couldn't be choosers. Still,
with a little luck he would soon be back out on the street, and THIS time he 
wouldn't get caught. This time he'd not get to carried away in the pleasure to
mindwipe his victims so they couldn't identify him.
	"Specter? Dr. James Specter?" the prison guard called out. A young woman 
was with him, and he recalled her from earlier as the district attorney. "Which
one of you is Dr. James Specter?"
	"Specten! With an 'N' not an 'R'!" James cried out. Whomever the court clerk
was he was personally going to fuck her good for not fixing the damn 'N' key. 
Every paper having to do with his case had smudged the letter 'n' to look like a
lowercase 'r' so everyone kept calling him Specter. Like he was already dead and
gone, a specter, a ghost! It infuriated him to no end.
	"Ah, yes," the woman said nasally, snorting in disgust at the sight of 
Charlie huddling naked in the corner. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment if
I could...perhaps in a PRIVATE room?" She eyed Charlie again with unease, and
chuckling with evil glee, James nodded. 
	"Sure. Alone in private sounds kinda cozy."
	"Alright, Doc," the guard said, unlocking the door and shoving James out.
"No funny stuff. I'll be in the room with you, and three more guards will be
standing right outside, ready to rush in and beat your ass at the first sign
of trouble! Now be nice for the lady and move it!"
	Grumbling sullenly, he complied, following the pair to a visitation room.
"Let me get to the point and let you go back to your cell," the young woman 
said. "We have enough evidence in this case to send you to the chair. The man
positively identified you as the assailant, and the woman's statement before
she died will no doubt push the jury to recommend the maximum sentence. You are
NOT going to walk on this one, Specter." SPECTEN! the doctor shouted in his head.
"So why talk to you at all? Simple. There are eighty-three other unsolved 
rapes going back over the past six months, and all the victims were too 
traumatized to recall who had raped them. We know it was you, doctor, but we
have no proof, and we have no evidence to support it. If you are willing to
confess to the other rapes, then we'll try and push for life in prison. You
won't get the chair, I promise you."
	James was a smart man. He knew he was between a rock and a hard place. A
man could always escape from prison if he was clever enough. There was no 
escaping from DEATH. He decided to deal. "If I confess, you'll cut a deal?
No chair? Is that an IRON-CLAD promise?"
	The woman smiled softly, extending her hand. "I give you my word."

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	
	
	' I give you my word, I give you my word, I give you my word.' Those
very words echoed through James' shattered mind as he sat on death row, awaiting
midnight. The trial had gone smoothly, efficiently, and quickly. He had confessed
to over eighty counts of rape and torture, one of which resulted in the death of
a young woman. However, the jury decided on the maximum penalty, and glancing at
the lawyer's face as he was literally dragged out of court kicking and screaming,
he saw her smile serenely at him, confident that she had gotten the last laugh.
	For a few days afterwards, moved into an isolated cell awaiting his date
with the chair, James became slightly unhinged. He ranted, raved, foamed at the
mouth, bit and clawed at the door and the walls, seeking some kind of escape.
Eventually, he calmed down, and relaxed, slipping into an almost dormant state, 
saying nothing, seeing nothing, merely staring straight ahead at the wall for 
more than five days. The warden feared he might starve to death, but just as the
time came to order medical assistance, he miraculously snapped out of it. He was
like a new man, the complete opposite of the old arrogant, cranky, overt James
Specten. The NEW James was polite and courteous to the guards and the inmates,
quiet and introverted, almost to the point of being withdrawn. 
	Inside his mind, however, the same evil James plotted and planned. During
his near breakdown, he'd had a moment of clarity. The final component to his 
research, that he had worked on so long ago, appeared in his head. Like a flash,
he knew how to fix it. His invention, his Transitions phasing device, model
four, or Trans-4 device as he called it, could literally transport matter from 
one place to another. The problem had been creating a flux inverter capable of
handling the massive amount of power used to disassemble and reassemble matter
without burning out. In that one moment of clarity he discovered the solution:
the components were irrelevant to the process, it was the orientation, or the 
shape of the inductor's flow that provided the catalyst for the process. Trading
favors and cigarettes with several inmates netted him the components he needed
to construct a small portable device. All that was missing was a power source.
	The day of his execution arrived, and surprisingly to all, James looked
forward to it. He had concealed the small device, the size and shape of a slender
metal rod, inside his ass. He had set the destination, and the time of his escape.
And at precisely midnight, the state of Florida would provide him with the power 
for his device. James smiled to himself as he was led into the room, his hands 
and feet strapped down. Whether or not his invention worked, this would be his
last night of incarceration. 
	The witnesses walked into the adjacent room, and James noted with disdain
that the female prosecutor was in attendance. She still wore that same superior
smile on her face, and inside his calm exterior, the mad doctor raged. The 
executioner placed his hand to the switch as the priest asked him for the
record if he had any last words. Speaking loudly and clearly for all to hear,
he said, "I just want you all to know, that I will STILL get the last laugh
on all of you. Especially you, Ms. District Attorney. When I get out of here,
you'll be the first one I fuck over but good!"
	The clock struck midnight and the handle came down. BOOM! A million volts 
of raw power coursed through James Specten's body, firing every synapse, every
neuron, every cell of his body with energy. The seconds seemed to stretch like 
hours, as the mad doctor could feel every cell of his being explode one by one,
his brain steaming and expanding like a hot dog in the microwave. Unimaginable 
pain filled his being, dominating him as he had dominated all those women, 
until it eclipsed him, shadowing his entire being in that one sensation. A
roaring heat started to fill his body, from deep within him, starting low in his 
chest and filling out slowly, and in the few seconds before his death, James 
cursed that he was living long enough to experience yet ANOTHER torturous pain.
As his unseeing eyes finally glazed over, and his body fell limp, the last 
thought on his mind was to wonder idly what had went wrong with the inverter.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	

	Judge Brian Turner shook his head softly as the prison staff removed the
body, taking it to the prison morgue. He turned to the lawyer, Brenda Gleeson.
"Well, one less psychotic on the street," he said in a tired voice. "Crazy to
the very end, I get the feeling that he was actually surprised when he died."
	"Crazy as a loon," Brenda agreed. "But at least he's gone now. I for one
can sleep better knowing that bastard is gone from this world."
	"CAN YOU, Brenda?" Judge Turner said, eyeing the young lady candidly. The
room was now clear of everyone except the two of them. "I admit that this was
a man I personally wanted to see fry. One of his victims was my next door 
neighbor, and a long time friend. And I know about your aunt. But we both know
that things went sour on the deal you made with this man, and I for one still
lose sleep over the fact that the system cheated him!"
	"Well, your honor, there may or may not have been an 'alleged' deal with
him, and he may or may not have been cheated. But officially the case is closed,
and neither side has any complaints. Not anymore, anyway," she said, gesturing at
the smoking remains. "If you'll excuse me, your honor, I have court tomorrow,
and I better be getting home to bed."
	Judge Turner sighed softly, shaking his head. Watching the young twenty
eight year old lawyer exit, he felt he could almost understand a man going crazy
and wanting to rape her. "She is a nice piece of ass," he thought to himself.
	Driving back home, Brenda switched on the local radio station, relaxing
as the sounds of Metallica's 'Whisky in the Jar-O'. She wasn't worried about 
the judge reporting her, or calling for a board of inquiry. If he had meant to,
he'd long since done so, instead of waiting until after the man was executed.
Still, it bothered her that he was concerned at all. To her, that bastard had
gotten exactly what he deserved, and she hoped Hell had a nice cozy little 
spot reserved and waiting for him when he finally arrived. A familiar smile
spread across her face as she relaxed, turning up the radio, as the guitars 
faded, and the next verse came on:
	"Bren-da, you were naugh-ty..."
	"Bren-da, you were sin-ful..."
	"So I'm gon-na get you..."
	"You're gon-na get an ear-ful..."
	"Don't think you can run..."
	"And don't think you can hide..."
	"And no you ain't a dream-in'..."
	"I'm gonna fill you with my sem-en..."
	"I'm gon-na...fuck you long and hard and deep..."
	"Fuck you in that sex-y twat!"
	"Yeah, fuck you in that pus-sy..."
Then the guitars cut back in as normal, the original song resuming as if nothing
unusual at all had happened. Brenda, her hands clenched in a death grip on the
steering wheel, managed to pull off the road and stop the car while she tried
to regain her composure. The lead singer of Metallica had been singing her a
threat, to HER! She had heard the song a few hundred times, and knew the lyrics,
the music, everything by heart, and the voice was definitely that of James
Hetfield. James...could it have been a message from ANOTHER James? James Specten?
	"No...no that's impossible!" she told herself, pulling the car back into 
traffic, continuing on her way home. "James Specten is dead. I watched him die
myself less than an hour ago. This was just some trick, probably something he 
had one of his friends outside of jail set up." Brenda calmed down somewhat at
the thought. He HAD said he'd get the last laugh, and if he knew how badly he
had just shaken her, he would no doubt be rolling in his coffin. "Stinking
bastard!" she yelled. "I hope you rot in hell!"
	Brenda managed to make her way home without any other surprises, and 
deactivating her security alarm, she entered her house, undressing tiredly as
she made her way to the bedroom, before dropping exhausted into bed. As soon as
her eyes closed, she drifted into a dark murky place, a place of dreams. She
found herself floating in the darkness, weightless. Soft whispers sounded from
somewhere outside the darkness, whispers she could not discern, but somehow 
still registered in her sleeping subconscious. Slowly a face began to form
in front of her eyes, a familiar face, still mostly hidden in the shadows,
but visible enough for her to recognize. It was the face of James Specten.
	"Nnn...No. No...you're...you're dead," she whispered softly in her sleep,
twisting and turning in her bed. The face in her dreams merely smiled. "You're
just...just a dream...not real...not real."
	"' Oh, you'd be surprised how real I am, Brenda,'" the voice in her 
head spoke. "' Thanks to you, I was forced to play my trump card, try an 
all-or-nothing chance at freedom. It worked...although not like I planned. My
invention transported me safely out of the prison to my laboratory---that is 
the ME that is my embodiment, my essence, my soul. My body remained behind, 
where it was fried to a cinder! But don't think me helpless, Brenda, oh no! 
In my line of work, you either adapt or you fail. I've chosen to adapt.'"
Brenda shook her head furiously, struggling still in her sleep. Sweat ran off
her forehead, even with the temperature a comfortable seventy-five degrees.
In her dream the man reached out and touched her cheek, and she shivered, the
touch feeling so real it was UNREAL. Still she could not awaken, could not 
open her eyes. 
	"' Oh no, my little victim,'" he gurgled evilly, running his ghostly
hands across her naked unmoving body. "' I don't want you waking up and
spoiling my fun just yet! You see, I've learned a few things in the past few
hours since my...separation. Like how I can basically influence your mind and
your way of thinking, just like rewiring a computer.'" She shuddered, letting
out a moan, her pussy starting to moisten. "' And you have some really really
BAD wiring in here, Brenda. Like this...what use is it for a hot young girl 
like you to want to be so dominant and controlling of everything around her?'"
*SNIP* Still asleep, Brenda's eyes flew open, and rolled into the back of her 
head in pleasure. "' And sexual orientation? Men only? How boring in this day
and age. And yet you think of yourself as a truly modern open-minded woman. 
Well, you'll be MUCH more 'open minded' now, I think.'" *SNIP* Brenda's body
began to shake and twist spasmodically in orgasm, twitching as if she had been 
electrocuted. Inside her mind she was screaming, in rage, in fear, in frustration,
as every change he made in her mind caused her body to writhe in sexual pleasure, 
but despite it all she was helpless to do anything but lie there.
	"' Let's see...oh no no no, this will never do. Taste in clothes'?"
*SNIP* "'choices in make-up and beauty aids'" *SNIP* "'sexual inhibitions
and feelings against exhibitionism,' *SNIP SNIP SNIP* "' all have to go.
Now, what does that leave us? Oh yes. One final piece of mental engineering to
install. You will learn to recognize me and anyone else I so choose, as your 
Master. I don't have a body...per sae, with which to carry out any discipling
but that will change soon enough. I want to make sure you're properly submissive
and compliant when the time comes.'" 
	A surge of warmth seemed to rise slowly inside her, from the tips of her 
toes to the crown of her head, filling her with such untapped pleasure that she 
felt her very being buckle under the onslaught. Deep inside, Brenda knew she was 
being changed, being redefined, by the ghost of the man she had sent to the chair. 
It frightened her, yet as each second passed, she found her fear giving way to 
the pleasure, being swallowed up by the desire to give in, even willing the 
changes to proceed faster. Soon Brenda was begging the spirit to corrupt her more, 
lead her deeper into depravity, to the point of no return. Her sleeping hands moved 
to her crotch, plundering her slickened thighs as the sweet torture continued, 
leading her into an excruciatingly slow rise to orgasm. Finally, sensing his work 
complete, the mental embodiment of James Specten released his hold on her passions, 
allowing the frantic woman to climax, and she came, and came and came, until her
body could take no more and she fell back into a peaceful restful slumber.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	

	The alarm went off at exactly eight o' clock AM, and Brenda quickly hit the
button, yawning and stretching as she came awake. Her hands touched the wet soaked
sheets between her legs and she smiled. "Wow, I must have had one very erotic 
dream last night," she thought to herself. Her fingers wandered unbidden to her 
clit, teasing the little nubbin gently, as Brenda sighed in pleasure. "Mmmmm,
that feels good. I wonder why I used to look down on masturbation all this time, 
this is sooo fucking great!" She stopped, confusion marring her features. Where
had that thought come from? It had been ages since she's had sex of any kind, and
NEVER with herself! Sex wasn't important to her, work and success was. Time enough
for other such pursuits later in life once she was established.
	"I need to shower and get ready for court," she thought to herself decidedly.
Rising from the bed, she went to her closet, picked out her clothes, and walked
to the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror for a moment, she smiled and licked her
lips. "Damn, baby, you are one hot little piece of pussy!" Hands closed around her
mouth in surprise. What the hell was going on? Was she losing her mind? Yet the
thought stayed with her, seeming to increase not decrease. She felt dirty, slutty.]
Moving into the shower, she began washing her body, rubbing the soap on and around
her lithe form, but soon descended into another round of auto-erotica, concentrating
on her supple breasts, and her hot steamy pussy. By the time the water turned cold,
her thighs were wet, not from the water, but from her own juices. Panting, shaking
with confusion and arousal, she managed to make her way back into her bedroom.
	"What's happening to me?" she asked aloud, almost expecting someone to answer.
She felt out of control...control...the very word sparked something in her. Brenda
was out of control. What she needed was someone to control her, someone to put her
back in her place, someone to use her like the wanton slut she was! These thoughts
and others began to gain momentum as she swiftly dressed, grabbed her suitcase, 
and made her way to the courtroom. 
	"All rise!" Bailiff Smith called, as Judge Turner walked into the room. The
fifty-two year old man, nodded to all as he climbed behind his bench and sat down,
gesturing for everyone else to do the same. Reviewing today's file of cases, he 
didn't immediately notice Ms. Gleeson sitting at the prosecution's table, but once
he prepared to call the first case he noticed. And he promptly dropped his gavel 
onto the floor below, resulting in a loud clanking sound that caught everyone else's
attention as well. 
	"Ms. Gleeson!" he sputtered. "Is this some kind of joke? If it is this is in 
very poor taste! Half an hour recess, everyone---Ms. Gleeson I'll see YOU in my 
chambers. NOW!" Brenda winced under the harsh words, wondering idly just what she
had done to piss of the judge so early in the day, while secretly enjoying the
forceful way he had ordered her to his chambers. Once the door closed, Judge Turner
turned around to face Brenda. "Okay, Ms. District Attorney, what is this all about?"
	"Huh?" Brenda said, dumbfounded. "What do you mean, your honor? What did I 
do wrong?" 
	"What did you do wrong?" The man shook his head. "Ms. Gleeson, I warn you 
that I will not tolerate you making a mockery of my courtroom. If you don't want 
to end up spending the night in jail for contempt, then you had damn well better 
explain your clothes!"
	"What? My...my clothes?" Brenda looked down at herself, as if seeing 
for the first time the ultra short black leather skirt, the thigh high kid 
leather boots, the black leather corsets, pronouncing her breasts so exquisitely, 
and the black studded collar around her neck. Turning red with shame, Brenda 
struggled to explain. "I'm...I don't know what came over me...I remember taking 
out my navy blouse and dress like always...I've never even seen these clothes 
before! Judge Turner, please you have to believe me!" It sounded lame even to 
herself, yet every word was the truth. Worse, her clit was throbbing like crazy, 
and she suspected that Judge Turner could smell her juices flowing like tapwater 
down her thighs.
	"I don't know what has gotten into you, Brenda," Judge Turner said softly, 
trying not to give in to the sinful slutty image before him, "but I cannot allow 
you to get away with such a blatant disregard for proper courtroom procedure. 
I'm afraid that I have no choice but to have you disciplined!" ' Discipline!'
Brenda moaned loudly, her legs buckling, as she slipped to the office floor 
in orgasm. "Brenda!" the judge shouted hauling her to her feet. "Get a hold of 
yourself! Do you want me to come up with a stiffer punishment?" 'Punishment!' 
This time, the mind-mazed lawyer let out a loud scream of pleasure, grabbing 
the judge's robe and ripping it wildly, exposing Brian Turner's underwear 
(she had always wondered what they wore under there) which she quickly pulled 
down, and pressed herself tightly against him, thrusting her hips, seeking to 
guide and force his powerful cock into her needy pussy.
	"Oh God, Judge Turner! Please...uhhh uhhh please! PLEASE! Punish me, 
spank me, discipline me, punish me! I was bad, so bad, so fucking naughty! A 
tramp, a tart, a little slut! I need you to fuck me, your honor! Please fuck 
the bad naughty little slut, punish her poor wet pussy! UGGHHHHH oh GOD!! Yes, 
please, Judge PLEASE!”
	Brian Turner, a bit surprised and appalled by the normally cold calculating
lawyer, finds himself roused by her words, his raging cock seeming to thrust of 
its own accord inside her pussy, fucking her like the whore she was, like the tramp 
she claimed to be. This was the fantasy he had dreamed about ever since he had first 
met Brenda Gleeson, and the realization of his dream coming true sucked away any 
thoughts of impropriety, as he gave in to his inner demons and fucked the girl for 
all he was worth, reaching back and spanking her ass randomly between thrusts. 
“Yes...yes, Brenda. You were a bad girl! A little tramp...walking around in my court 
like that! What a BAD BAD girl you are! I’ll redden that plump little ass of yours 
until you learn how to behave!”  His words driving her deeper into her lust, 
Brenda crossed her legs, locking her heels together and forcing Judge Turner’s cock 
in even DEEPER, screaming as she felt the tip touch her very core, before sliding 
out and thrusting in again just as deep, tickling her insides with pleasures she 
had only imagined in her dreams. Too far gone now, the once noble judge slipped 
a long slender finger into the whimpering girl’s sore red ass, sliding it in all 
the way to the knuckle, fucking her asshole as his cock worked her pussy. With a 
deep grunt of pleasure, Brenda began to cum, her body shuddering in orgasm, her 
pussy walls clenching the judge’s cock like a vice, causing him to follow 
close behind. Finally with one last heave, both fell to the floor, exhausted, 
clenching each other tightly, lost in the pleasure, as they drifted off to sleep.
	
	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	James Specten watched idly as the two lay on the floor, asleep. His 
influence on the judge’s mind had helped bring out his latent sexuality very 
nicely. Within minutes, the bailiff would enter, finding the two asleep together, 
naked, and the fiasco that followed would end with the Judge and lawyer both 
disbarred and disgraced. They would never outlive the scandal. Specten smiled 
softly to himself, his ethereal form residing for the moment in the judge’s 
computer. In time he would figure out how to fix the problem his transporter had 
caused, changing him into a being of mind instead of body. Soon enough, he would 
find a way to re-enter the physical world. But in the meantime, he was content 
to use his new found abilities to help him gain vengeance on all those who had 
wronged him. After all, being able to enter the mind and body of anyone at will 
had its advantages. Just then the door opened, and the court bailiff entered, 
staring at the couple in shock. With an unearthly laugh, James the SPECTER 
dialed himself back out, traveling by modem back to his lab.

>>>>> The End...for now!

