4 comments/ 13658 views/ 3 favorites The Power By: sexstringwizard "Objection to form." Sean puzzles for a second at the objection but his years of litigation experience keep his face a mask to the witness, the ten other attorneys and the court reporter all packed into the opulent conference room at Smith Hightower overlooking Lake Erie. "I will repeat the question, or rephrase it for the witness," Sean says with an intentional hint of annoyance in his voice. "Mr. Penoyer, you knew the safety guard was off of the machine prior to using it correct." Once again from across the table Sean hears "objection, misleading." Sean is pissed. Trying to keep his composure he directs his chocolate brown eyes to the intermingler in what should have been a simple discovery deposition. The "objector" is sitting directly across from him on the other side of the elegant mahogany conference room table around which the participants of the deposition are seated. The objector glares back at him. Sean quickly appraises his adversary of the moment. She is young. At least younger than him by all appearances. She is blonde. Natural from the looks of her neatly trimmed eyebrows. He recalls that when she walked into the conference room she was petite, about 5'1," wearing high heels appropriate for a day in court or a night on the town. She has on a neatly tailored blue two piece suit. Her white shirt under her jacket is smartly pressed and devoid of frills. She is wearing makeup, but not a lot; just enough to enhance her striking hazel eyes. Her hair is curly and tied back with just two cascading strands framing her lightly golden tan face. The look on her face is serious and gives no hint of fear or hesitation. For some reason he notices her hands. At present they are tightly gripping a Cross pen as if at any moment she will lunge across the table and jab it into his neck. They are petite, devoid of jewelry and have a french manicured look to them. After what must have seemed like hours to all of the other participants in the room, Sean begins to speak. First he alerts the court reporter that what he is about to say is to be "off the record." "Miss . . .," he pauses realizing he does not even know her name. "Meyers, Baillee Meyers," she says with a hint of southern drawl. "Miss Meyers, I am not sure how you all do things down in Texas but you're in Pennsylvania now. This is a discovery deposition. If you open your mouth to spout out some stupid objection again I am going to get the judge on the phone and we will let her decide what punishment is appropriate for you. Do you even have a clue as to what you are objecting too? Maybe your firm should send someone more qualified next time to handle its depositions," Sean says with as much condescending attitude as he can muster. There is silence. A nervous clearing of the throat comes from somewhere at the other end of the conference table. Miss Meyers, continues to glare at him. Sean waits a moment to see if she will respond. She does not. Satisfied that he has asserted his dominance, he takes a moment to scan his notes. Just as he is about to ask his next question, Miss Meyers begins to speak in a clear and firm voice: "Sir, I do not appreciate your treatment of me in this room. I don't know how you conduct your depositions up here, but down in Texas we don't waste time asking stupid questions with obvious answers. If you want to keep wasting my time, my client's time and the time of all of these nice people go ahead. Ask your questions. I will object. Move on. Otherwise, we are through for today and I will permit you to question my witness tomorrow after you have had a chance to prepare properly for this deposition which I need not remind you was scheduled three months ago." Sean is boiling. He can feel redness spreading up his neck and onto his face. "Who the fuck does this little bitch think she is?," he thinks to himself. "Miss Meyers, I think we are through for today. It is late, we have the next two days blocked off. I don't want to create a scene. Maybe we all need a chance to unwind," Sean says with more than a trace of irritation in his voice. "That will be fine, sir," Miss Meyers says with a note of satisfaction. Quickly Sean gathers his notes up, throws them into his trial bag and slams through the oak panel conference room doors. He needs fresh air. As he rides the elevator from the 5th floor down to the main lobby his anger does not diminish. "What the hell is the matter with me," he utters aloud to no one else but himself. "I used to eat young pups like that for breakfast," he says with a sigh. He cannot help his mind from wandering to the events of the last year. Life had been good for Sean. He was a successful civil litigator. He had several large insurance companies and corporations as his own personal clients, and his progress to the top of his firm was almost a sure thing. He was fast tracking to becoming senior partner in the local office and taking a huge step up in money and prestige within the firm. Then it all came crashing down while idly searching on-line at home one lazy Saturday afternoon. Tina had been out shopping with her girlfriends. Being home alone was relaxing. The yard work was done and he was enjoying a frosted mug full of his favorite lager, Molson Canadian. He randomly began to search through various innocuous sites. Boring quickly, he decided to explore the history folder to see what new things Tina had been checking out on-line. Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to an address for a website called authorserotica. Sean at first was puzzled but assumed that Tina had been bored and had stumbled on something that caught her fancy. Sean thought a second about clicking on the link to see what it was about but hesitated. "Should he intrude and spy on Tina?," he wondered to himself. They had been married for 4 years and he had to be honest, things were better now than they had ever been. He stood up and actually left the office for ten minutes but his relentless curiosity drove him back before the monitor. Slowly he clicked on the web site. Little did he know how fateful this step would be in his life. Tina had been posting messages to various authors and visitors on the website. Utilizing his well-developed skills at finding people and information, he quickly established that Tina had been visiting authorserotica for quite some time. As fate would have it, Tina had not logged out when she last visited the site at 4:50 am the night previous. He quickly searched through all of her postings. While most were innocent and even playful, one name kept appearing in her posts - Miguel. As the elevator gently eased to a stop at ground level, Sean caught a quick glimpse of himself in the glass walls of the elevator. He was not happy with what he saw staring back at him. While his sturdy, athletic 5'7" frame and neat navy blue pin stripe suit portrayed a confident power, the specks of grey in his short, neatly trimmed hair and in his goatee, told a far more telling story on how hard this year had been on his physical, mental and emotional state. He was far too young to be going grey. He was only 32 for Christ's sake! Easing behind the steering wheel of his rented Lexus, Sean's mind wanders once again to the events of the last year. Sean's instincts as a lawyer took over in a never ending quest to locate the story of Miguel and explore just how far things had gone. He quickly located Tina's e-mail account through the website. After overcoming his initial shock at the fact that she had a secret e-mail account, he set to work at breaking into the account. With each keystroke the sense of pending doom tied his stomach into seemingly never-ending knots. He had to know. He was caught now in that horrible place between the fear of knowing and the fear of not knowing. It took him some time but he eventually lucked out on Tina's e-mail password. As the discussions played out before his frozen eyes it was clear that Tina's fascination with Miguel, while initially innocent and playful, had evolved into a full blown affair of the mind and soul. Her vivid descriptions of her need to seduce and fuck Miguel sent Sean into a rage. A few thousand dollars in damage later, he once again sat down before he computer. What to do? With trepidation he checked the last e-mail and his world changed forever in an instant. She was with Miguel today to finally physically consummate their theretofore affair of the mind, heart and soul. He lost everything in an instant. To this day Sean could not recall all of his actions for the rest of that fateful Saturday. When Tina arrived home, his confrontation of her was neither pleasant nor understanding. His rage was beyond measure. Tina rationalized her conduct on his never being home from work and his lack of attention to her needs. Bullshit. It was all bullshit. After throwing most of her belongings out the front window of their opulent townhome he called his friend Trish and set to work destroying the love of his life. The divorce was quick. The result was satisfactory. In the end justice was served. Last he had heard, Tina was on her own. Apparently, Miguel was not one of the characters from his stories as Tina was foolishly led to believe. Miguel was having to much fun seducing and fucking married women to be tied down to a broken down divorce'. Now that was justice in the complete sense of the word. His only regret was that he was never afforded the opportunity to kick the shit out of Miguel for ruining his life. As his car eases into the parking lot of his hotel, he quickly thinks back to the events of the day. Who the fuck was that little blonde bitch to embarrass him before his colleagues. Tomorrow, he would show her a thing or two about litigation. While lost in his train of thought as he enters the revolving door of the hotel, Sean fails to notice the figure bent down in front of him checking her luggage and blocking his path. When he does notice, it is too late. He literally walks right into her. His crotch strikes into the ass of the bent over female causing her to stand abruptly and screech "asshole!." "What the hell," Sean exclaims as he realizes that the figure he had just boned from behind was none other than Ms. Baillee Meyers. "Why don't you watch where the hell you are walking," Baillee says as she clearly recognizes her violator. Sean is taken aback for all of two seconds before he regains his composure. "Look Ms. Michaels, I apologize for bumping into you. I guess I was lost in thought and I was not paying attention," Sean says with all the sincerity he can muster. "I guess this just isn't your day asshole," The name is Meyers. I guess details just aren't your thing," Baillee says, her words biting with acidity into Sean's ears. Before Sean can utter another word, Baillee storms up to the check-in counter and demands the clerk to check her messages. Sean continues to stand rooted to his spot dumbfounded. He remains frozen as he watches Baillee proceed from the counter to the waiting elevator. Watching her walk away he notices for the first time that Miss Meyers is incredibly attractive. Even beneath the rigidity of her suit, her ass is a thing of beauty. Sean is positive that she is either wearing a thong or going commando. He also notices that she had removed her jacket. Her perfectly shaped breasts are forcing the buttons of her blouse into puckers revealing the elaborate lace on her white bra. Finally, Sean finds the energy to mutter under his breath, "what a shame that such a fine package has been wasted on a nasty, rotten bitch." Sean proceeds to check in and go up to his room. ****** After surveying his room, Sean runs through his notes and exhibits for the depositions scheduled for the next day. After an hour of intense work, he begins to notice a pang of hunger in his gut. Sean recalls that the clerk had advised that the hotel bar served food. After checking his voice mail messages, Sean throws on a silk button down shirt and a pair of Dockers and proceeds to the bar. After ordering the largest steak on the menu (aren't expense accounts grand), Sean eases back into his chair and begins to imbibe in the house zinfandel. As he is ordering his third glass of wine, his attention is diverted to the table across the bar from his perch. There sits Baillee Meyers, also alone. Baillee had donned a tight fitting blue cotton top cut out in the front exposing her ample breasts. She also appears to have discarded the elaborate lace bra judging by the protrusion of her aroused nipples. Her low rise jeans expose the small of her back each time she leans forward to speak with the waiter. Sean decides to summon the waiter over and asks him to get Baillee whatever she wants to drink from the bar and place it on his tab and to tell her that it is a peace gesture from him. As he finishes the last bite of his delicious steak he watches as the waiter approaches Baillee as he had requested. It was quickly apparent that peace is not going to be forged this evening. As Sean watches the waiter walk back towards him, his anger once again rises to the surface. "Sir, the lady said . . .," the waiter pauses as if embarrassed to continue. "Its ok, spit it out," Sean says reassuringly. "Sir, she told me to tell you to take your drink and shove it up your ass," the waiter mutters clearly embarrassed. "That's it!" Sean is tired of trying to be a nice guy. Maybe he just isn't cut out to have any type of relationship with women. Rising from his seat, he walks quickly over to Ms. Meyers. "Baillee, I tried to be nice, you spit it back at me. Expect no quarter tomorrow," Sean says with venom in his voice. Baillee turns slowly up from her dinner piercing him with her hazel eyes. There is a bemused smile on her full lips. For the first time, Sean notices that her blonde curly hair is no longer in the bun and is now flowing free over her shoulders and down her back. He also is intoxicated by her perfume. Subtle and not overpowering but definitely sexy. Without saying a word, Baillee grabs the glass of water sitting in front of her and slowly and deliberately pours it directly onto Sean's crotch. The icy water hitting his balls is in stark contrast to the steam Sean feels rising from his ears. Embarrassed and pissed off, Sean turns, and with as much dignity as he can muster, walks out of the bar and back to his room. Upon getting into his room, and after stripping out of his pants, Sean takes the chance to reflect on what had transpired this day. Not once, but twice this girl had made him out to be a fool. Sean logs into his laptop and decides to do a little research on Ms. Meyers so as to better size her up for the battle looming ahead the next day. A quick search of the on-line legal directories discloses the basics. Baillee Meyers graduated cum laude from the University of Texas School of Law in 2001. After clerking with a judge sitting on the United States Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals she launched her career with Bubba Watts, a large nationwide Texas based plaintiff's products liability law firm. She has been with Bubba Watts since 2002. Her bio on the firm website does not provide any additional information other than her date of birth and various awards and law school accolades. "Fuck it," Sean says to no one other than himself, "I have been at this longer than she has. I will eat her alive tomorrow. I will show her who has the real power." ****** After working for a few more hours and after trying to lie down and get some much needed sleep (sleep had been hard to come by after the Tina tragedy), Sean decides that he should try to blow off some steam in the hotel exercise room. Quickly, he slips on some athletic shorts, a t-shirt and athletic shoes and grabs his I-pod for some tunes and isolation. He is glad when he gets to the exercise room that it is still open. The sign on the door says that it will be open until midnight. Sean glances at his watch and sees that he has about 35 minutes to unwind and de-stress. Sean opens the door and peers into the room. It is empty. He sees a few weight lifting machines, a stair master and several treadmills. There also appears to be a sauna located in the back. Sean decides on a sturdy treadmill and begins a brisk walk lost in the guitar genius of early Van Halen. He has been on the treadmill for about 5 minutes and he is beginning to work up a slight sweat so he ratchets up the pace and begins a steady jog. Sean is unaware of the door behind him opening and someone else entering the room until he sees a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He is startled for a second. That feeling is immediately replaced with anger. "Can't she just stay the fuck away from me," he thinks to himself. Sure enough, Baillee Meyers is stepping onto the treadmill to his right. Sean appraises her appearance. Baillee is wearing tight, form fitting pink exercise pants which accent all of her assets. On top, she is wearing a white t-shirt with the word "flirt" emblazoned on the back in pink lettering. Her curly blonde hair is tied up in a neat pony tail exposing the back of her neck and the simple gold hoop earrings she is wearing. Sean cannot resist the temptation to try and get back at her for the misery she has caused him this day. "Are you trying to fuck with me or are you just an overall pain in the ass," he says with little kindness and a great deal of malicious intent. There is no response. "Hey blonde, what is your problem?," he asks with no real concern. Still no response. Sean steps back off of the treadmill causing the motor to rev up and hum. "Hey! I am talking to you," he says with anger rising in his voice. Suddenly, Baillee steps back off her machine and turns towards him. She takes several steps in his direction leaving only inches between their bodies. Out of her high heel shoes she is a good head shorter than Sean. Sean sees her formulating a response and gears up for the fight. "Let's get this straight." " I don't like you, you thought you could push me around and now you are pissed off because I got the better of you." "Deal with it," she says emphatically. Sean is fuming. It is high time someone knocks this chick back a peg or two. Sean can feel the anger rising as he steps even closer to her. Before he can respond, Baillee lunges towards him locking her lips on his open mouth. Instinct takes over. Her tongue is wet and playful darting in and out of his mouth. Sean, quickly recovers and begins to plunge his tongue deep into her mouth. His right hand comes up and grabs a handful of her blonde hair pulling her head even closer to his. A small whimper escapes Baillee. With his left hand Sean reaches around her waist and pulls her midsection towards his own. Sean is fully aware that his cock is becoming engorged. He can hear the blood pumping in his head. He did not see this coming. Slowly he begins to back Baillee up against the near wall. For a brief second he is cognizant of the hum from the treadmill machines in the background. "This is crazy," he thinks to himself. It has been a long time since he has had sex - not since Tina on the fateful night before that Saturday afternoon a year ago. Sean quickly tries to gain his composure and stop the swelling he is beginning to feel in his pulsating balls. As Baillee's back eases up against the wall, his hands take over. Sean always prided himself on being an attentive and affectionate lover. Perhaps due to years of guitar playing, his fingers have a dexterity that sometimes amazes even him. Bringing a women to orgasm with just his fingers is something he prides himself on. He always felt that a women's clit and vagina were like musical instruments that when touched the right way produce incredible music. Sean plunges both of his hands down the back of Baillee's athletic pants. She is wearing a thong. He takes in two handfuls of her tight, firm ass forcing her hips and pussy towards his swelling cock. The Power PROLOGUE The scientist anxiously nibbled on his fingernails as he sat waiting for the results of his test to finish being analyzed and printed. He looked around his compact and crowded room. His gaze lowered, settling on the papers strewn across the floor, then the high tech computer system sitting on his ornate wooden desk, and finally on the off-white printer sitting adjacent to his computer. The scientist leaned back on his swivel-rolling chair and stared at the whitewash ceiling, praying for his life. His eyes wandered over the bumps and cracks in the ceiling, wondering how his life had come to this. The printer screeched loudly, startling him out of his reverie and dragging him back to present. The scientist stood, stretching his stiff leg muscles, and walked over to the dilapidated printer. He grabbed the read-out from the printer and frowned. Tweaking his mustache with his spare hand, he read it again. Then it hit him. "SHIT," he growled. After tramping across the room to his phone, he mashed the keys that would direct his call to the boss. "Sir?" "What is it, Finnegan?" "I finished the data analysis." He paused. "…Aaaand…?" said the boss. "Well, sir, the read-outs suggest that the project may be more powerful than we anticipated." "Wouldn't that be a good thing, Finnegan?" "Well, technically yes, sir, but… I just have a bad feeling about this, sir. How do we know that we will have control?" The boss suddenly became angry, raising his voice over the phone. "Why are you questioning this now, Finnegan? Do you know how hard I've worked to get this cleared by president? I will NOT have some scientist who is getting cold feet at the last minute ruin this project when it is so close to coming to FRUITION! Now, you, Mr. Finnegan, are going to get your ass over here and prepare the testing area for the stage one of our process." "Y-Yes s-sir…" stammered the scientist quietly. "And Finnegan? You keep your worries to yourself? Understand?" "L-Loud and c-clear, sir." "Good. I'll see you and the rest of the staff in 0200 hours." CHAPTER ONE The soldier walked nervously down the hall, his limp that he'd receive from his years in service to his country more pronounced now than ever. As he slowly proceeded, the soldier had time to try to look into the slightly tinted windows in the doors of the rooms than they passed. Each time he passed a door, his mind seemed to play tricks on him, telling him that weird looking wisps of smoke or rapid movements were shooting across the small windows in the door. What do they do here? He thought to himself. More importantly, what did I sign up for? This place is creepy as FUCK. The nurse who was leading him down the hallway jerked his arm, telling him to keep moving. The soldier noticed that they were almost at the end of the hall. He started to wonder if he should go through with this. Oh god, oh god, oh god, what are they going to do to me? What was I thinking? This isn't going to help my life! It's going to KILL me! Desperately, he thought back on the last few months of his life. His wife had left him 5 months previously, telling him that their marriage wasn't working. "John. You need help. You pity yourself with your injured leg, and I can't deal with the fact that the man who went to war was not the man who came back from it. It's not your leg that's made you different John. It's your incapability of dealing with." He'd grown depressed and even gotten to the point where he thought about killing himself. John had grabbed the army pistol from his time in the service and put it to his head. But he hadn't been able to do it. So he'd figured out another way to kill himself. John had heard some rumors going around from his old buddies in the army that the government was up to something, so he'd called in some favors from his buddies that were still in the ranks, and found that they were quietly looking for volunteers for a dangerous experiment. When John found out about this, he'd gathered up his courage, contacted the right people, and joined the volunteering process. Two weeks later, he'd been contacted and told that he was a perfect match for all the criteria that they were looking for. He was physically fit, mentally stable (relatively), and, most importantly, he had no one that would care if something happened to him. (He had grown up an orphan.) The letter that had come in the mail told him that in a couple of months he would be contacted in person and brought to the facilities where the project would begin. Today was that day. A limo had pulled up out front of his house and a man in a black suit had rung his doorbell, telling John to get in the car. It had taken them a little under 40 minutes to reach their destination, a huge warehouse with a massive wrought-iron gate guarding the entrance. The driver had pulled over and typed in a long code, something with over 10 digits in it. At this point, John thought to himself Wow, the gov's really pulling out all the stops for this project. Wonder what it is. They pulled through the gate onto the wide gravel driveway, the wheels making a scrunching noise the whole way. The driver then pulled into the warehouse and told John to get out of the car. John complied, stepping out of the car into the wide-open space of the warehouse. Wait, he thought. Why the hell is it empty? What the fuck is going on? He looked around, seeing nothing, until he heard someone call his name. He peered around again, trying to find who was calling his name, until… "Mr. Davis?" "AAAHHH!!" John whirled around to find a beautiful, petite woman in a nurse's outfit standing behind him. "H-How…W-wh... How d-did you get there?!" John stammered. "Come this way please." She said calmly, completely ignoring John's confused look. "Who are you?" he asked. "Please, sir, just come this way." She said, gesturing to an elevator that John was sure had not been there thirty seconds ago. John just gaped. The nurse grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the elevator, slowly so as not to pull John off his balance. John was led like a sheep, too stunned to move on his own. The nurse had into the elevator, which had taken them down for what felt like years. It was when the doors slowly slid open, that John finally noticed how gorgeous the nurse actually was. She had long brown hair, drawn up into a bun that looked elegantly beautiful in combination with her outfit. She stood just under six feet tall, and was slim in all the right places. On top of that, her ample cleavage stood out from her chest and practically called out to John. The nurse noticed John watching her bosom as she walked, and began to swing her hips a little extra just for his benefit. He was going to be used in a dangerous experiment, and she felt sympathetic. As they approached the end of the hallway, a huge set of double doors that looked like they swung outward appeared. The nurse burst through dragging John into the most cliché laboratory he had ever seen. The floor of the room was tiled and well polished so that it gleamed brilliant white. Lining the walls were tons of equipment and computer monitors that blinked crazily. From the ceiling hung four dangling lights that gave off just enough illumination to see around the room. Above was an observation deck with a glass window from which two people were watching. The most prominent aspect of the room, however, was the chair sitting at the center. It was made of a shiny metal and the arms and legs of the chair had manacles. Covering the entire chair were dozens and dozens of electrodes. Most were attached near the head of the chair, but there were some covering the back, the arms and the legs of the chair. "Please, take a seat, Mr. Davis." The nurse gestured towards the gleaming metal chair. "You want me to sit in THAT thing?" John exclaimed. "Yes, and if it makes you feel any better, the manacles are there for your own good." John grumbled but slowly made his way over to menacing chair. John yelped because almost the instant he sat down, the manacles clamped down on his wrists and legs. From the shadows stepped a scientist in a white lab coat, holding a clipboard with seemingly thousands of papers held in it. He walked over and began to attach the electrodes onto various places on his body with the help of the amazingly beautiful nurse. "Is anyone going to tell me how this is going to work?" John asked. "You probably don't want to know." The scientist replied with grimace. John groaned. Once they finished attaching every electrode, the scientist and the nurse stepped back and looked at their handiwork. "I think he's set." The scientist then waved to the two people standing in the observation deck. One, a man in a green suit with various medals and ribbons pinned to his uniform, gave him a thumbs-up. The nurse walked over to what looked like a control panel and placed her hand an enormous switch, the kind you see on a circuit breaker. She looked directly at John and asked, "Are you ready? This will be like nothing you have experienced." "Fuck, just get it over with!" John was beginning to realize that he didn't quite want to die as much as he thought he did. The nurse flipped the switch and a bunch of lights and screens flashed on, each one presumably giving the scientist and the nurse information about how the test was proceeding. At first John just felt a slight tingling from all the electrodes hooked to his body. But as the time passed, the tingling became more intense, turning into a buzz. Then he began to feel little shocks all over his body. He yelped as they began to feel more painful. Finally, everything coalesced into an overall pain, all over his body, and John heard screaming. John realized that the person screaming was he. Suddenly, he felt his hands begin to burn. The feeling was unbearable, and there was nothing he could do about it. Imagine someone sticking your hands into lava, and then multiply that feeling by ten and you may have an idea for what this felt like. The feeling began to move up his arms, slowly, painfully slowly, so slowly John didn't even realize it until it was halfway up his arms. It began to accelerate, moving into his shoulders and down his spinal cord. John was no longer screaming his voice had become so hoarse. All that escaped his lips was a light wheeze that couldn't be heard over the shaking of his limbs. Ten minutes had passed, and John wanted to slip away into unconsciousness. But the fire was too much; it was keeping him alive, holding him in the now. After the fire consumed his spine, it moved upwards. As it neared his neck, John knew that it was now heading for his brain. However, he was numb to the pain at this point. It was only a tickle now. John felt it approach. It felt to him as if someone was trailing fingers towards the back of his head. Just do it already. Finish me off, why don't you. And then the fire reached his brain. John roared in pain, his hoarse voice now re-invigorated by a feeling that was thousands of times worse than what had come before. He began to seizure. His arms and legs flailed wildly, barely restrained by the clamps. His vision swam. His body felt hot one second, cold the next. "MAKE IT END!!!" John yelled. The nurse and the scientist dove to the floor as one control panel after another exploded, bursting into a billowing hot ball of flame. "AAAHHHHHHHHH!!" John screamed. And then it stopped. The control panel with the gigantic switch finally exploded, putting an end to the energy that had been flowing into John up until that point. He passed out. The scientist got up off the floor first. "Is he alive?" The scientist checked his pulse. "Oh… my… God… I… I can't believe it. He's… alive…" The nurse looked at the scientist. "So then it was a success? The project really worked?" "I-I believe so… ha… haha…. HAHAHA! It worked!" The scientist looked up at the observation deck. Over the loud speakers came the voice of the boss. "I take it that your maniacal giggling means it worked, eh Finnegan?" "Well, sir, he's alive. We have yet to find out if the procedure did what we wanted it to, but… I have no reason to suspect that it hasn't." "Very well then. Take Mr. Davis somewhere he can be fixed up." Aside to the man standing next to him, he said, "You'll be happy to know that our project was successful, Mr. President." "Yes, it does appear that that's the case… I just hope that's a good thing…" The Power Between My Legs This story happened because I read about a crazy Victorian who tunnelled under Liverpool, England and created amazing underground rooms during the late 19th Century. I was brought up there and thought back to my times in the late 60's when I had my first definitive view of a woman's cunt, thanks to Michelle, an out-and-out exhibitionist who showed her pussy off regularly as a young woman. Years later she recounted her tales of submission, but as I listened she held me captivated by her unwitting inner force. I realised that power had controlled her lovers and players. I've written this fictitious account from her perspective, using the language she used with me. It is about the power that was and is centred between her legs... * I'd always known that once my pussy hairs grew and my tits took shape, no male with any knowledge of female plumbing could resist a peek up my skirts. When I was 18 and in my last year of school I used to love sneaking into the toilets at the end of the day and stripping off my little white panties before heading for the bus. I was always soaking before I got them off. And no, I had not pissed myself. Golden showers were a pleasure I was to learn later. I digress. Back to my tale. My gusset was always soaking from the thrill of knowing that in a short while men would be straining to see my pretty bush and my prominent sex lips. I loved the feeling of fear that someone might complain and the excitement that five or six people, sometimes as many as ten, would be within inches of my snatch and mesmerised by its slick wetness. You see, what I used to do was catch an Atlantian one stop out of the depot at Liverpool. They were our new buses. The Corporation had spent millions on them and they were the latest in bus technology. I knew this because my dad used to tell me about his time bus spotting and how once these new charabancs came along that was the end of his hobby. There was no point. They were the finest buses, ever. And I thought so too. The old Routemasters had steep stairs, which meant they were great for people to stare up the mini-skirts of the day, but it was too bloody cold to stand on them half way up with a bare cunt. Now the Atlantians had enclosed doors. I could stand in my favourite spot, above the heads of the 'boys' of the Upper Sixth and the men who crowded the alighting platform behind the driver. I always put one foot on a step two above the other. I'd wait until George, the son of my butcher, sat on the bottom step. He always positioned himself there and no one ever jostled him out of the way. Mind you he was a big strong lad. I really liked him. He'd tip his head back and say something nice to me, his eyes unable to resist peeking under the grey pleats. I knew he was in heaven by the bulge that at first he had hidden on the earlier trips from school. Over time he became more emboldened and let me see the tent behind that satchel he strategically placed in his lap. My God! By the size of that tent his father had produced more than prize sausages. It had got me thinking, as I swayed with the rhythm of the bus, whether his dad would be worth a peek in the back of the shop. I wanted to see if he had a chipolata or a bratwurst. Whatever, I was always impressed by George's control. It must have been no mean feat to resist touching that monster and at the same time maintain a conversation with me as if he could not see my swollen clitty and sex. Of course the others had begun to cluster around him along with, after about a month of trying this, three very swarthy but handsome men from the foundry. They were uncouth, unlike the posh young men from the private school. However, I could see through their dirty blue overalls that although more subtle in how they played the game of looking up my skirt, their cocks were huge too. I wondered at times if they had showered before they left the factory. My mind used to imagine a dirty, grit-covered cock forcing between my legs. I would be dripping just standing there thinking about it. That particular day, which sits so well in my depraved little mind, I'd stripped off my knickers so fast I'd ripped them in my haste. Then I'd donned my mother's suspender belt and her best stockings. I knew she'd have grounded me for weeks if she had found out. She used to say you had to be over 21 and 'aware of the world' before you wore such man-enticing wear. She was right about the last bit, but I was damned if I was going to wait that long to entrap a man. And that day something more than unusual happened. You see, I'd been teasing them all for so long that looking back I can recognise that it was inevitable. You can't send ten virile young men home every day with raging hard-ons. Like all men they need their relief but at the time I was so naïve. That was the paradox. At one level I knew precisely what I was doing to excite them, but having got them there I was essentially clueless except in knowing that pleasure was derived from putting the biggest possible thingies in my young hole. I knew that from when I put my fingers there. The more I put in the greater the pleasure I used to get. One day I'd got right up to my wrist! Nowadays I know that is called fisting. In those times I just thought if a baby can come out of it, then a hand can surely go up it. Then, it was very tight and I broke my hymen one very bloody but fulfilling night. I am now extremely practiced at relaxing to let huge cocks and other objects enter me. I love it! Well, back to my story. My route used to take me past the park and my stop was at the end of the vast site and beside a thicket that had grown around the entrance to a subterranean banqueting hall. Yes, that may sound strange but some nutty eccentric had built under 19th century Liverpool a series of chambers and tunnels: including below a park a full dining and dancing hall. I knew about this because my father was with the surveying team that researched the Parks for historical records and had found it. This was the passion that had replaced the bus spotting. My father was obsessed with the history of this mad tunneller and I have to admit, so was I but for other reasons. When I got off this particular day I had not noticed something. I was so wet and horny from my latest exhibitionist trip that I had missed the fact that not one of the them had got off at their usual stops. When I alighted, so did a pack of ten males, all aroused and all with dangerous weapons between their thighs who dashed off ahead of me. Oh yes those erect cocks were deadly in the wrong hands as I was soon to find out. I walked across the park, swinging my hips self-consciously as I always did. I loved to feel the sway and know the reaction I would create in men and women who were behind me. Personally, my concentration was eventually distracted to my bare wet pussy lips that were deliciously rubbing against each other as I walked. I felt even more aroused this day, possibly aware in my sub-conscious of what could occur. I was just passing the entrance to the subterranean hall - my father had taken me there at the weekend, so proud of the work he had done, which was close to completion. Out of the bushes sprung one of the swarthy foundry workers. I gasped as I saw he was without his shirt, the muscles rippling and shiny in the heat of the summer sun. Next to him was George, wearing the most wicked smile but looking so adorable. He had no shirt either. "So slut, are we to get nothing but glimpses of your cunt?" "I, I don't know what you mean," I said, panic sending a shiver down me, yet thrilled simultaneously "Oh, come on whore!" said the swarthy man, whom later I got to know as Jack. "We've all seen your pussy and you know it. No one gets such a gushing cunny if they are not turned on by being watched." Jack's language was beginning to turn me on. But how did I play this? I was barely legal and terribly naïve despite the games on the bus and things girls had shared at school. I began to drop my head, suddenly feeling I needed to be obedient for this man. No one had taught me, I just knew, and I liked being that way. "Sorry, s-sir." I blurted out in a half whisper. "Follow me!" he snapped and disappeared between a clump of Rhododendrons. I got my hair tangled in the undergrowth, letting out an all-too-loud scream. Neither of them took my hand to guide me, I was just allowed to get scratched and hack my way through. I was taken down a long tunnel lit by an array of oil lamps. I discovered much later that they found this entrance thanks to George's uncle who was working with my dad on the survey. He had seen some shading on an aerial shot of the site. But for me at the time, I was swearing and cursing as my skirt got ripped and my blouse also torn. I had tears in my eyes and my legs were a mass of scratches too. Yet strangely, if I had listened properly to my body I'd have known I was ready to be humiliated and treated roughly by a man. And later, by a series of women too; though that is another tale for another time. It was amazing! At the end of the tunnel was a huge ballroom. Its walls were lined with mirrors and the place was absolutely spotless if a little musty. The floor was a stained oak herringbone design and in the ceiling were chandeliers that gave an eerie glow of candlelight. It was quite dim in spite of the myriad of candles and slightly menacing but thrilling. Like nothing I'd ever seen before. Nothing I'd ever seen was an understatement! As my eyes grew used to the subdued light I saw them. Ten strong males were standing, each in front of an old cane chair. Their cocks were rampant, erect and clearly only recently freed of clothes as they pulsed and bounced in the faintly stale air. I was immediately drawn to George. He was massive! What was I to do? One half of my brain was seized in fear. Were they going to rape me? The other was filled with utter desire and lust for those heavy pieces of meat. Not one of them was tiny. Yes, Simon was a little shorter than the others but I could see it had such girth that it would be like my fist had been. I found myself parading up and down the line, staring, comparing, then lightly touching and caressing. And yet still the undercurrent of fear, making my skin shiver and my head race with the alarm bells my mother had planted in there. Yes, I was going to be made very aware of the world. Jack stepped forward. "Right, Seline isn't it?" I was completely speechless. "Answer me, slut!" he shouted. I couldn't help it, I started to cry. "Shut up you snivelling whore!" I stopped immediately, totally obedient to his commands. "Yes Sir, I'm Seline," I whispered in total deference to him. I'd called him 'sir' because I did not know how else to address him and not due to knowing the BDSM conventions. And that is the moment I realised it. I was completely turned on by the subservience and reliance on Jack. I felt the trickle of juice down my thigh. A few words and I wanted him to totally control me. I was a bitch, a slut, a whore. Of course I was. I'd displayed my cunt openly to anyone who wanted to see. What more could I expect to be called? "Follow me." His voice was so authoritative. He was stark staring naked, his cock thick and long, slapping up against his belly as he walked. I kept my head down, instinctively obedient but also able to stare surreptitiously at the monster examples of young manhood. Now I was in deep. You see, for all my games and sex play I was a virgin. The only thing that had touched my vagina - and what a strange word I have always thought that was - was my fist and a few toys I'd fashioned from household objects, such as deodorant bottles and once a washing-up liquid bottle! As I followed, so the group formed around me, following too. George came in to stand at my left and Frank at my right. They were leading me to the far end of the ballroom. All I could hear was my breathing and the clip-clop of my shoes on the wooden floor. My breasts, which were full and shapely, rose and fell in sharp breaths. My stomach was churning, fearful yet excited. My cunt? Well, that was on fire. It wanted something, something that it had never had before and I knew I was going to get it, here in this strange subterranean vault. Then I saw it in front of me. It was an old school desk. Well, old style now though at the time so common. These were not like the modern ones with their separate table and chair. No, this had the seat joined to the desk by two rungs of iron. Bit like a sleigh I always thought. "Stand in front of it," Jack said, again in that firm, authoritative voice. How could I refuse him? "Take off your clothes." "But..." Suddenly I was very afraid. "Take off your clothes and give them to George." Now the voice was silky, enticing. How could I refuse? But how could I go on too? There were ten rampant cocks behind me, no protection for me, and why this desk? OK, I would do it. I was shaking. But I was also wet as anything. The juice was running between my legs. The stockings would have to be washed or mum would smell my young musk all over them. A wicked thought came in a flash, to leave them like that and dare her to comment. In reality they were not repairable from all the cuts and scratches but my mind was playing a game. Then the prod came. "Hurry up!" shouted one of the other factory workers. Ken was his name I came to learn. He was later to become a famous comedian, but for now he was just a man with a very hungry cock. When I turned, startled to look at him I could see the pre-cum (well, I know what it is now but I had no clue then) oozing form the tip. So I did hurry. Off came the blouse, already ripped so a few more buttons made no difference, and down came the skirt in a trice. Ok, now I know that it was not very seductive but I was a young eighteen-year-old slut with no idea what I was up to other than that slit between my legs was hungry and needed as much feeding as their cocks needed a good plunge. However, for all that I heard the gasps. I knew I was pretty and I thought it was that. I was such an innocent! It was really my trim little bush framed by the suspender belt that was turning them on. "Leave them on." It was George now, pointing to the belt and stockings. Tights were rare then, which is why men of a certain age are so turned on by the expanse of thigh between hip and stocking top. "Lose that bra," said another one of the boys. Oh, sweet Stuart. I got to know him too by name much later. He turned out to love cross-dressing. Amazingly manly but totally obsessed with women's clothing. I did more dressing up with him over the next few years than with my girlfriends, but that again is another tale for another time. I unhooked the front fasteners and let my globes spill out. I knew they were beautiful and loved this sensation as gravity took command. They bounced gently and stilled. "And address us as 'Sirs' when you speak." Now this order was very unusual to my young mind, even though I had automatically used it earlier. Here I was, still just a teenager, having to call others by such a formal name. I'd only done that for my teachers and visitors to my Mam's shop. I never found out who had had the idea of using domination, some of the cocks out there were only as old as me, but domme me they all did. "Yes, er, Sirs, erm, Sir." I was stammering and stuttering, being made to know my place. In reality I was revelling in it. My body just yearned for this type of attention. My real father had always been a disciplinarian and I had loved him to bits. My new one was a soft get with no backbone. I'd seen him sneak his looks under my skirt when I sat on the couch watching TV and I'd opened my legs to tease him, but he was too wet to do anything. Mum was the one in control even if she did appear to let him command her. For all her subservience to him, I knew she was in charge. I wanted to be like her. And I knew that I was on my way now to be that way too. I was subservient at one level, but I was to find out years later the subbie has more power than they think. What I did not know at the time of this adventure was how to use it. By now they had me naked, in only my suspenders and stockings and lying back against the cold oak of the desk. Jack produced some rope and I was hog-tied to the furniture with my pussy jutting out and on offer to whoever chose to have it. My back was arched and my arms tied by lengths of rope to the iron frame. My ankles had been tied too and were also attached to the frame. I reckoned that the men had modified the desk at the foundry, adding a set of loops in strategic places. There was complete silence. All that could be heard was the sound of heavy breathing. The atmosphere was thick with lust. I could smell my cunt's sweet aroma wafting up and I knew, If I could detect it then these horny men would be intoxicated by it. I felt more juice dribble from me. I was soaking. My nipples hardened at the thought, knowing that I was so vulnerable but like a siren attracting ships onto the rocks. I was at the centre. Everything was commanded by my cunt now, no matter what fine authoritative words they used. "Right, form a line and give this slut what she has been so desperately gagging for these last few months." There was no ceremony about it. Jack was on me, his cock in me in a flash. His teeth pulled at my nipples. His throat gave little groans that grew and grew in loudness and frequency. My God he was big! I could see that in comparison with the others. I remember thinking he was like a very pink cucumber. Yes he was huge. So was George and I could see him behind in the line. Jack was pumping and pumping away, his breath rasping and he was so animal on my body. I've him to thank for my fetish for rough working types dominating me. Then the others were complaining. "Come on Jack, we're fucking horny here. Can't you come or something?" Oh no, I didn't want him to come. I wanted him to go on and on in me. My cunt squeezed at his cock, loving the thickly veined shaft. He was filling me so well and I was having little orgasms one after the other. It was beautiful. My tits ached from his savage bites and sucks but I loved that too. I liked the cruelty of it and yet the pleasure I experienced as well. And as I looked around, I was blessed with the sight of so many young cocks, gleaming and proud. His hips bucked into me, his hard body pummelling my softness. And then he came with a thunderous roar and a groan. I felt the sudden heat in me, his cum splashing up inside and his teeth biting into my naked breast. "Thank you slut," he whispered in my ear, giving it a lascivious lick as he pulled out of me. I could feel his cum dribble down my thigh. Yes, these stockings were going to be ruined but in the best possible way I'd thought. Then George was on me. He grabbed my breasts, as if not sure what to do with them, pulling them, tweaking the hard nubs. His dick felt wonderful as it slid in on Jack's cum. He was such a massive boy, not fat but muscular and I could feel his hard body grinding against me. My thoughts were all about how I wanted him to really fuck me hard. Jack had been too gentle I realised for what I liked, for all his animal bites and scratches. No, George needed to be more like I was with myself, with my fist. The words just flew out of my mouth. "Yes, fuck me sir. Hurt me with your hands and your cock. Be cruel, please. Please sir," I was pleading loudly and urgently. "Please sir come hard into me." George looked startled at first but then he was on me. He was like one of his father's prize bulls. He stretched and pinched my tits, pulling them down to the sides as far as they would go, then grasping them and offering them to my own mouth. My, I'd never even thought of that but lapping his fingers with my teats trapped between them was heaven. He had found something new to do that was both cruel and exciting: the pleasure and the pain exquisite. The Power Between My Legs But he did not have the control of Jack. He was spent in next to no time and I was left bereft of those strong hands and that thick meat from between his legs. Still, it was early days with him and I was sure I would have many more chances to take his prick in me. I didn't have long to wait for more pleasure. Simon was in me next. He was like my fist, just as I'd imagined. He told Jack and George to get their cocks cleaned by my tongue as he was going to fuck me until I begged for mercy. Well, what do you know? Jack and George had drawn up some stools and were standing on them, offering me their now flaccid penises. I say that word because when they are soft they need an equally soft name. To me, only when they grow do they become aggressive and need a title that reflects their personality like dick and prick and cock. Oh and Simon's cock was so aggressive. It stretched, pounded and pummelled me as he rammed home so hard and roughly, but I was loving it and I mean l-o-v-I-n-g it. I was swearing like a slut, pleading for more and more, and my rude language had had the desired effect on Jack and George as they looked hard and dangerous and were filling my mouth to bursting. It was so erotic having two men with their balls dangling and slapping against my face and their cocks rubbing against each other in my mouth. When they all came I had cum pouring down my thighs and I looked like I was some demented nutcase foaming at the mouth. It was my first lesson in how different cum can taste no matter how similar the smell. It was like sweet and sour, though who was sweet and who sour took a few more sessions over the next weeks and months to find out. Yes, readers, this was not the end of my adventures. The others fucked me one after the other until both they and I were exhausted. By the end, I was running with so much cum, my mouth was aching from all the cocks and my tits were sticky and smelling of the bleach-like aroma of sperm. Only my anus had been spared the pleasure of their onslaught of sex. I was so sore and yet so gloriously happy. I had been truly dominated and yet I knew that without my co-operation and my naughty exhibitionism none of this could have happened. Jack was the Master in the relationship with me. Over the next few weeks that glorious summer he got me to do ever more subservient and degrading things. Through a bit of subterfuge, I got the key to the main entrance for the underground rooms and we had it copied. I had to secrete it in my cunt to get it out of the house one day on the orders of Jack, then it went to one of Simon's mates to be cut in under an hour and then was taken back. He must have been either disgusted at the strong smell of cunt juice or else taken to a new realm of horniness by the strong aroma of me on that big fat key. Whatever, the rooms became our private fiefdom for a whole summer term up to me going to university that autumn. Every day I gave them the sight of my naked cunt, teasing with new ways of flashing on the bus and even in the sixth form common room for the schoolboys in our secret club; well, young men really. And every day, without fail, we created some BDSM scene in those underground halls. I drank more cum than a sperm bank holds, my arse was rosey red many a day and my body had the marks of ropes and the cane. Yes I played the submissive and revelled in it. Yet who was really in charge? You know it was funny how I gained power. Nothing could happen without me, so even when the whole gang formed to fuck and humiliate or bind me they always knew they needed me. If I said no, there was no BDSM scene. I used that power mercilessly. I still have the wardrobe of clothes and paraphernalia that grew as gifts from them, the array of sexy panties and suspender belts, the bras that ranged from traditional to open-titted, the handcuffs and the gags. I'm in my sixties now, married to Stuart the cross-dresser I told you about and deliriously happy. I have had years and years of such good times. Our relationship has always involved others, including of course everyone from our subterranean club. With Jack living in Florida and George owning a huge ranch in Argentina as well as a meat empire, we're never short of a good holiday. Being bound to a ranch fence out on the pampas is something any woman should try at least once. But that is a story for another time, isn't it?