4 comments/ 16524 views/ 38 favorites The Afflicted Ch. 06 By: ShyChiWriter Votes and comments are always appreciated. Also, please do add the story or me to your favorites list if you are so inclined. Also, do check out my other stories here on Literotica. Thanks, as always, for reading. * * * * Frederique watched her children leave and wiped away more than a few tears. They were preparing to find the bank and take care of their temporary housing plans when Sigrid returned from a brief absence. "Mr. and Mrs. Dujobe, I was sent word that your quarters are ready. It would be my honor to escort you there right away" Palo shot Frederique a questioning look. They had not put in a formal request, and they had more to do - but there was subtext in Sigrid's tone that said this was not merely an offer, but something she would insist upon. Frederique gave a gentle nod to Sigrid that they understood. The tall blonde held a finger to her lips as she took them into a very small office, very small. It was confusing as to what they were doing there until she pulled a lever on the wall which opened a hatch in the ceiling of the office. "The tubes are small," she whispered, "but they can be navigated easily enough once you are used to them." Sigrid sailed up into the hole in the ceiling, followed by Palo and then Frederique. They ascended rapidly and Frederique heard a click behind her as the hatch they had passed through closed again. The flight was disorienting for both of them and they knew they would never find their way back again if they were to lose Sigrid. They made turn after turn, all of them able flyers and Sigrid leading the way with confidence. Perhaps ten minutes later, they slowed outside a small section of tunnel near an intersection. Removing a key from a pocket, Sigrid opened a hidden hatch which led to another tunnel. The tunnels they had been in had been plain and simply functional. This was no rough-hewn stone conduit, but a beautifully tiled tube which stretched for miles. Sigrid flew off in what they were to later learn was a northerly direction. After five minutes of rapid flight, they arrived at a widened area that had an ornate, gold-inlaid door. Sigrid took out the same key she had used to enter the tunnel and let them in - scanning the corridor once more before closing the door. The interior was no less opulent. They found themselves in a grand, arched corridor which seemed to borrow from every architectural style in an elegant way. Once inside, Sigrid breathed a sigh of relief. "My friends - I will admit that I am probably being overly cautious, but I want to take no chances with your safety." "Our safety in regard to what?" asked Palo, growing more frustrated by the minute. "We have certainly been having share of troubles with the Black Guard of late - but the more I thought about it, the more it concerned me that they knew of your ship so well, given the fact that Frederique was upon it. It struck me as odd that no Council representative or guard was there to meet you. Regardless of whether the harbor envoy was waylaid - someone of your stature should have been greeted upon her arrival. I looked into it, and discovered that the message of your arrival had been altered to say you weren't due for another day. It was just luck that a detail-oriented harbor watcher noticed the Siren and alerted some people." "Her stature..." said Palo, in a growing state of confusion over the obvious notoriety of his beautiful wife. "Frederique, what is it you did. People bowing to you, offering their necks... Why have I not been told of what it is you did?" "He still doesn't know?" asked a surprised Sigrid. "Not very much, no," said Frederique. "But I realize it is time. I will tell you as soon as our dear Sigrid here has shown us around this lovely place. Trust me Palo, I will tell all." She placed a soothing hand on her husband's muscular arm. "My other duties revolve around the property office," said Sigrid. "This place currently belongs to members of the Verplanck family, one of New York's founding dynasties. However, it hasn't been occupied for nearly ten years as there are very few who can afford it. The only people to visit it are the workers who check in on it every month or so for routine maintenance. This was just done. That means we are in a very safe place for quite some time. There will be more than satisfactory emergency provisions in the kitchen, and everything else should be in proper order." "Since your envoy in the harbor was obviously compromised, it is likely that only Reykjavik is fully aware of your situation." "Reykjavik?" inquired Frederique. "Yes, after the Tacito affair, security was raised. The Council center was moved from Copenhagen to Iceland. You can imagine it keeps the deplaceurs busy - but it also means security is higher than it's ever been. Speaking of security, let me show you around this place." She crossed to a panel where there were several brass gauges and levers. "This," she explained, pushing one lever up. "Is a jumper alert. To my knowledge, there are only three other residences equipped with such a system. Should anyone attempt to deplace into any part of this complex - an alarm will sound and mesh nets with gold fibers will shoot straight for the location of the intruder. The doors are impregnable; the air is internally refreshed and filtered." "Impressive," said Frederique. "With such security, is there a safe room?" "There certainly is, great lady," said Sigrid. "If you will follow me." She led them down the hall past a huge library and an opulent parlor. From there, they proceeded past a stunning statue that seemed to be a mixture of glass and marble, brass and glittering steel. The craftsmanship was truly amazing, but the subject was even more of a surprise. The statue was of a flying woman, her sword outstretched before her. The beauty of its lines and the figure was clear from a distance. As they drew closer, the beauty and the subject of the piece was surprising. It was Frederique. The look on her face was the most amazing. Somehow the artist had captured countless emotions in one frozen moment. There was a grim look of determination on the face of the Frederique in the statue. There was also anger in the depiction, yet a single tear flowed from her right eye as she aimed her sword at some grim destination. "Ironic, isn't it?' said Sigrid, "that this statue should be the key to the safe room I'm about to show you?" Frederique was overwhelmed at the sculpture. As for Palo, he looked at his wife and was more confused than ever. Sigrid reached up and touched two fingers to the lips of the statue. This caused a soft rolling sound and revealed a hole in the wall - which was more than two feet thick. "Come in," she urged. The safe room seemed like a plain room of perhaps twenty feet on each side and the same in height. However, when Sigrid pulled the lever to seal it shut again, an entirely different world appeared. The walls, the ceiling, and even the floor started scintillating with different colors and patterns. "Magnifique," gasped Frederique. "What a marvelous invention." "It was based on a note found in one of your first husband's old notebooks," said Sigrid. "It is one thing to keep the location of a room secret so no Jumper can ever find it. It is quite another to make the room so it never exists as the same thing for more than a few seconds." "My dear Christophe," said Frederique. "Such a wonderful mind he had." Palo had grown even more contemplative and almost surly. They stepped back out of the safe room and Sigrid walked with them back to the entrance, bidding them to seal the door and activate the alarms until someone from the Council arrived. "Oh, and one other thing," she said, coyly. "Enjoy the gymnasium." Upon saying that, she stepped out and closed the door. "Well? Should we look around?" said Frederique, smiling. "It's such a nice place. Palo, what's wrong?" Palo paced about - then finally gathered his wits and took Frederique's hand and led her to a divan in the parlor. They sat, side by side, and as Palo spoke he stared straight forward, not meeting her eyes. "When we first met, decades ago, I saw you and thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world. I still do. When you chose me as your mate and I learned of the Affliction - even with my misgivings about taking on this curse of the moon - I had no choice even then. I would have done anything to be with you. " "In the early times, I knew you bore some sort of grief in your heart and some sort of secret. When the council delegate arrived to approve me becoming one of you, he was very tight-lipped about you and your past. Always I thought that sometime, someday you would tell me of your past. Yet, the years rolled by and it simply became our life; our wonderful, lovely life with our children. Now, in the course of a month all of it has been entirely changed. Our children are lovers. Our simple home is forgotten. Now, the worst of all is you." "Why am I the worst?" said Frederique. "My father always said something," continued Palo, tears forming in his own eyes. "He always said there are two ways to lie. One, is to tell something that is untrue. The other, is to leave the important bits out. That's what you have done to me, Frederique. You have left every important bit out. I have lived the equivalent of an entire mortal lifetime with you and I know nothing about you. You are royalty, as far as I can tell. You are a heroine of a war I know nothing about. I am not threatened or worried by any of your fame or your achievements. I have always known you are a great lady. What I can't believe is that would keep so much from me. If you are keeping so many huge things from me, what else might you be hiding?" He had finally turned to face her and his heart went out for her at the tears she was shedding. "Oh Palo," she whispered. "You are right. It was not fair of me to hide so much. At first I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you. I had planned on telling you everything before we left Morocco. Then the orders came so suddenly for our move that I thought I would wait for the ship. Then, aboard the ship, Claude and Aimée occupied my every thought. But it is time. You are right. You need to know your wife. I promise you one thing; the most important thing. This..." and with that she placed his hand over her heart. "This belongs to you." "Very well," said Palo, tenderly kissing her. "I look forward to learning more about the great Frederique La Teilière." "Frederique Dujobe," she said tenderly. "Frederique who looks forward to exploring this fascinating house with her 'Dark-Skinned Adonis', as Sigrid put it so eloquently. Frederique, who looks forward to telling him anything and everything she has been keeping from him." * * * * The homes of the Afflicted, the 'belows' as the homes were sometimes called, were fascinating reflections of the unique traits of the species. Lives that can last centuries allow for more luxury in certain areas. Libraries were highly valued, the Afflicted were almost all keen scholars. Further, they certainly gained an appreciation of the finer things. The kitchens and wine cellars were usually provisioned with top-shelf items. Physically, there was not merely a hunger for sexual outlets. Exercise in general was of great importance. Swimming pools provided a great opportunity for concentrated exercise in a small amount of space so pools, large or small were a recurrent theme in most belows. There were individual tastes like the arts, such as sculpture or painting. Technology was very popular. Many of mankind's great inventions were often created by the Afflicted first and then 'leaked' to the public via way of a third-party, or by clever guidance and suggestions to human inventors. Science was also a particular specialty, especially in the medical realm. Of course, there was sex. The Afflicted were blessed with superhuman physiques and gifts. The Affliction also cursed (or blessed) its kind with a superhuman hunger for physical intimacy. Without the daily dose of a few drops of blood and a much larger 'serving' of sexual relief, the Affliction would cause one to grow morose and the more dangerous instincts would rise to the surface. Frederique and Palo wandered through their temporary home. They looked about in wonder at the opulence. This dwelling was a stunning example of a below constructed with New World wealth. The kitchen was a palace in of itself. The grand dining room could seat at least fifty and had likely hosted some amazing parties over the years. The library was massive and stocked with volumes and even scrolls in every language. "Why would they leave their books?" Palo asked as he perused the thousands of titles. "It's not unusual among our kind," said Frederique. "You see, when you have decades to read a favorite book, you will commit it to memory eventually. Also, since our collections are so rare, if we don't sell it to others among the Afflicted, we will raise troublesome questions if we try to sell them to mortal book dealers." "Here," said Palo, who had crossed to a writing desk. "Here is the answer, and it is just as you said." He lifted a note and read it. "To our lovely home's new occupants: We have decided to give California a try with new names and all that goes with it. We have taken a few of our most prized possessions, but felt an entirely new start was in order. We will miss our library the most - so if you don't mind, we might come to call now and again when we are in town. Our very best, the Verplancks." "P.S. We wish you many happy times in the gymnasium." The gymnasium?" inquired Palo. "Why should they also mention that?" "I think we'll just have to go and find out," said Frederique. They wandered past several well-appointed bedrooms with beds large enough to accommodate at least two lovers. They saw a bathroom with a tub that might as well have been a swimming pool. At last they came to an open door that led to a huge room that seemed it could be used as an indoor tennis court, a fencing room, a ballet studio, or anything one would wish to do on smooth wooden floor. "It seems nice, I suppose," said Palo, "but..." "Dear, look up," said Frederique. The door leading into the room that was open had a sign above it which read 'exercise room'. However, a door right next to it, which was closed, read 'Gymnasium.' Frederique and Palo stepped up to the door curiously and opened it. "Oh my word," muttered Palo, glancing into a room which was perhaps twice again as large as the exercise room. Heat wafted out at them - and the reason for the temperature was immediately clear. This was not a room where one was meant to wear clothing. Frederique instantly understood and began disrobing immediately. "Well?" she said, winking at Palo, "do you need me to spell it out?" Palo followed suit and they were soon entering the gymnasium - stepping into a world which few can imagine. The floor was padded in a soft, silky fabric. It appeared to be upholstered in large squares so that any single meter-wide square could be replaced with ease. (In fact, they later found this to be exactly the case, a hidden closet held spare tiles which could quickly be swapped out - though it was rarely necessary because the room was so large no one area got too much traffic... of any variety.) There were swings with velvet ropes. There were raised mattresses...with velvet ropes and rings to attach restraints. There were ample alcoves in the walls - some at ground level and some fifteen feet off the ground. Three beds were suspended high from the ceiling - with no mechanism in sight to lower or raise them. "They were obviously fliers," whispered Frederique, matter-of-factly. There was something about the room that made one whisper. There were special chairs and benches, restraints and swings - all of it with one and only one thing in mind. Perhaps the two most fascinating elements of the room stood in the center. One, was a huge column of glass with metal ribbings, within which was clear, warm water. It seemed the only way to access it was via the top. Its purpose confused them until Palo spied small tubes along the sides for one to breathe indefinitely below the surface - and in full view of whoever might be in the room. The other was a somewhat lifelike automaton, with one very lifelike appendage. Frederique appraised the life-sized robotic invention it with an expert's eye. Even the relatively staid Palo couldn't help but find the machine full of fascinating potential - his fascination with the possibilities quickly became evident - visibly so. "Frederique reached down and took him by that very same evidence and kissed him gently. "Some other time, yes?" she said. "Now, it is story time. Let's go up there." They flew up to the highest cave for lack of a better word. It was clear that the Verplancks had invested a great deal of time, thought, and money into the Gymnasium. No doubt they had revised and improved it over the years. The large room was clearly meant for larger parties and those more prone to exhibitionist and group tendencies. These little love alcoves were fully provisioned with padded floors, a bench running around the entire wall, pillows, and a sheer curtain which could be left open or closed - but even closed they allowed for a view to the larger room beyond. "Sit," said Frederique, leading Palo to a place where he could lean his back against the wall. She knelt in front of him, but it took no more than three kisses and two licks to have him ready. "Very good," she purred. "It is time for a story." "While we make love?" asked a bemused Palo. "We need this as well - we might as well take care of two things at once." She climbed up, straddling him on her knees, and slid his lovely, long tool inside. With one satisfied sigh, she settled there and began. * * * * "Once upon a time," Frederique said, quite simply. "There was a girl borne of two Afflicted parents. That girl was me. My mother was over a thousand years old and was the daughter of two of the first-bitten who had once lived on a tiny island in the Mediterranean. My mother lost her first husband in battle and in the year one-thousand thirty-five, married my father Georg La Teilière. He was one of the finest scientific minds the world has ever known. My mother was a flyer, but her true gift was that of warrior. She could shoot an arrow in strong wind, from any elevation, and find her mark up to a mile away given a great enough height. No one could cross swords with her and win. Long staff, quarter-staff - put a weapon in my mother's hand and there was no one who could best her - no one. Though we do not have royalty among the Afflicted, my parents were as close as one could imagine. They sat in various positions on the Council over their long lives and eventually settled in Paris where they decided to have children. "Alphonse, my brother, was first, followed five years later by me. When Alphonse awakened, it was discovered that Alphonse's gift was the very rare and highly valued skill of empath. It was lucky he had been borne of such noble and gentle parents, because an empath's power can be used in frightening ways. When powerful enough, and Alphonse was, an empath can reach into the mind of anyone they wish and even control their minds and bodies. "As for me, I was merely a flyer - somewhat of a disappointment to my parents." "After I awakened, I was enrolled at the Copenhagen Academy, the center of European education and government for the Afflicted at the time. Our class was a particularly promising one. Several of the Afflicted's great leaders emerged in the years to come who were part of my class. The Afflicted Ch. 06 "Our instructors were harsh, and they needed to be. Those were rough times with witch hunts still going on and the Black Guard just beginning to form. We needed to be tough and sharp, and we were. "We also needed each other. I have no shame in saying I broke many hearts while I was there, Palo. I was ravenous for companionship. I slept with nearly every member of our class, often more than one at a time. I felt that it was my duty to welcome any new boys to the Academy in the proper way. Let's just say that in my five years I had a great deal of fun. "I should mention that there was one student who I never shared myself with. His name was Tacito Fernandez and he was descended from Spanish nobility. His name didn't really matter, because we all simply called him the Weasel. "The Weasel was by far the most unattractive man I have ever met. When I say unattractive, I don't mean physically. He was slim and of average hight. I suppose he was all right from a pure physical perspective, but once you met him his looks were quickly forgotten. "None of the girls liked him. He tried seducing so many, but finally ended up settling on two of our class who were the most like him. There was Sanchia, a girl who had come from a poor family in Spain and was attracted by his mortal titles. The other girl was Kuzma, a Russian girl who the boys also couldn't stand. The three of them were among the few who stayed with regular partners, though not by choice. The irony was, The Weasel had very little in the way of gifts. He couldn't fly; he was physically weak for an Afflicted; his swordsmanship was so-so. The only gift he seemed to have was the power of persuasion over simpler minds." "Is the Academy where you met Christophe, your bloodmate?" asked Palo. "No," said Frederique, the first hint of sadness in her voice. "Though I tried to find someone, none of my wonderful classmates ever seemed quite right." "By the time I left, I had learned to become quite the fighter. Aurelius Scaurus, the gladiator trainer from Capua was our sword master. I was a slow student at first, but then something clicked in my head and how I began to learn. I'll never forget the day I bested four of our strongest swordsmen by myself. Scaurus wrote me a letter of recommendation to anyone who wished to hire me as a fighter. So, I returned to Paris. I signed on as a Council guard. I continued to learn to fight from our finest fighters and swordsmen, including my mother. I spent another three years in the guard, again, taking many lovers. However, I still did not take a mate." "Christophe came from the most surprising place. As I have told you, my father was a scientist and a collector. Shortly after my return to Paris, he became fascinated with clocks. He purchased every sort of clock he could find and began to study them. Any that were broken he would try to repair - and without much luck. Clock making, even then, was a fine art. He eventually sought out the help of the Compagnons, a society of tradesmen dedicated to furthering their craft. He found a young man, perhaps twenty-five or so, who had served his apprenticeship, been a journeyman, and was now toiling away in Paris. My father offered this young man some much needed cash to pay visits to our house at night and teach him some tricks of the trade. This young clockmaker's name was Christophe." "A clockmaker? You fell in love with a clockmaker? A mortal clockmaker?" "The heart goes where it wants to, my dear," said Frederique. "Speaking of, I must pay a little attention to the current owner of my heart." They had been moving occasionally as she spoke, but now they took an intermission of sorts to pay attention to certain pressing matters. Frederique began moving slowly and up and down Palo's rigid shaft and as she moved he was able to lower his mouth to her large breasts and elicit moans of pleasure from her as he flicked a ready tongue across her ever-sensitive nipples. Sooner than she expected, Frederique felt the tremor's begin. Pulling her husband close in to her chest, she gasped and cried out his name. "Oh Palo," she squealed into his ear. "I've needed this so much today. Oh my god!" She gasped again and involuntarily rolled her pelvis against him as the climax grew even larger. No longer capable of words, she moaned and pulled Palo to her even tighter. When the waves of pleasure subsided, she began riding him again, but he put his hands on her hips to stop her. "No, not yet," he insisted. "I want to hear more of the story." "Ooh, you do, my love? I must be quite the Scheherazade - I knew her, by the way." "She was real?" asked Palo, surprised. "Haven't I told you this? She was of the Afflicted. She was sent to distract King Shahryar. Of course she was never in any danger, but many details were true. If you notice in the tale, the king came to her at night. The Harem quarters were actually underground, built at Scheherazade's request. But, back to my story: Christophe the Clockmaker." "I was still staying with my parents. As you well know, purchasing and financing a below-ground dwelling is quite expensive so I chose to wait for a while before getting my own. So, my father he hired this shy, handsome young clockmaker to come to teach him horology." "Christophe and I began to talk, and from talking lead to more talking, and from more talking... well, you know how things go. Ironically, after bedding most of the available Afflicted men in Europe and having no luck in finding a mate, I was soon head over heels in love with Christophe, a mortal." "The petition went easier than you would have expected. Christophe was intelligent, bright, and a very, very gentle spirit. Galen was chief medical inspector at the time and he declared Christophe one of the finest candidates he had ever seen for our kind. No danger whatsoever." "So, we underwent the blood ceremony and I took him to mate. A few days later, his gift manifested itself. He was working on a clock. He had just put a highly complex mantle clock back together and realized that one gear was out of place. This meant disassembling the entire thing before he could get to the problem piece. At that moment he pondered whether he could manipulate the gears with his mind. He did. My Christophe's gift was that of a mechanic - he could look inside of anything and manipulate it. I saw him repair many clocks this way. He would look into the clock, the gears would shift slightly, and the gear in need of repair would float into the works, it would all reassemble, and the clock would be fixed. His way took seconds where a regular clockmaker would take hours. It was a beautiful and a terrible gift." "Beautiful, I understand," said Palo, "but terrible, how so?" "I will tell you a tale to illustrate. We were still young, still foolhardy. A year or so after we were married we decided to go out and have a good time with the mortals. We intentionally went to the worst neighborhood and the worst tavern in all of Paris. We got good and drunk, one thing led to another, and... well, we were just stupid. Next thing you know, I found myself pinned down by three men so strong that I couldn't even fly. Christophe was held down with a knife to his throat and a gang of twenty thugs was preparing to have their way with me. "Ten seconds later, every person in the tavern except the two of us was dead" "How?" asked Palo. "Remember what I said. Christophe could manipulate inside of things. What is the human heart, but a simple pump made of flesh? What is the jugular vein, but a soft pipe which carries fluid? With frightening ease, Christophe reached in and killed each and every one of those men. He shattered this one's heart, snipped this one's carotid artery, caused the next to have an aneurism. All with the same ease you or I might make slicing a piece of bread." "It left him quite shaken. Of course, we had to engage the Council to help us clean the scene. When they learned of Christophe's frightening power, a special committee was formed to decide whether someone so powerful should be allowed to live. Galen, the great physician, testified about Christophe's innate kindness. It was probably because of that very testimony that Christophe was allowed to live. The Council has put many of our kind to death over the years who had gifts so great and minds so unreliable that if they used their gifts it would reveal our kind." "Other than that horrible incident, our time in Paris was beautiful. We had so many friends, saw so many things. Christophe continued fixing clocks and inventing. Oh Palo, he could come up with the most amazing things. Many of his creations were centuries before their time. We travelled often, celebrated life, and of course made love as often as we could. "We talked about having children, but we always thought there was time." "Then the first sign came. I still blame myself for not seeing it. I was visited by a friend of mine from the Academy, Bronwyn, a Welsh girl. She was so lovely and so bright. Her mate had been killed in a freak accident and she had decided to come to Paris. At around the same time, the Weasel arrived on the scene. He had been living somewhere in Russia and relocated to Paris. He was just as arrogant and repulsive as ever. He invited Bronwyn out one night, and after that she was absolutely infatuated with him. 'Tacito this' and 'Tacito that'. 'He really has changed, Frederique - you should join us for an evening of fun.'" "I knew there was no way the Weasel and changed, so I ignored her requests and she soon ceased calling." "As I say, in hindsight, I should have seen the signs. There were a number of mortals disappearing - too many to be coincidence or from simple mortal crimes. These disappearances were different. Usually, if an Afflicted has gone wild or rogue, there are telltale signs that Council investigators can find. Spots of blood... or our specialists can search the rivers and find bodies that no ordinary police could ever discover. There were none. "There were other oddities: spouses acting curiously; people resigning positions; private parties where the people attending had little in common. As I say, all of the signs were easy to see in hindsight. "At last, the truth came to light. One day, Galen came to call at our house. Dear, sweet, perceptive Galen. He came to our house by daylight - obviously he was enshrouded and wearing smoked spectacles - but that was the only way he could be sure he wasn't watched. He searched our house thoroughly to be sure no one was there. Once he was satisfied, he examined each of us - laying his hands on us and peering into our blood, into our systems. Once he was sure we were secure. He told us the Weasel was building an army - a horrible, frightening army the likes of which had never been seen. "We asked him how this could be possible, and he explained. Galen's hands were shaking; I can still see him today. The question had always been what Tacito's gift was. "'It is binding', Galen explained. 'If someone is unfortunate enough to be infected with this man's blood, they will be bound to him eternally.' "The Council Guard had brought a woman to Galen. She was a poor streetwalker, a mortal who had recently been turned to the Afflicted with no approval from anyone. Galen looked into her blood and saw Tacito's signs within her. Galen began to surreptitiously examine others and discovered at least ten people so marked in his first evening of looking." "But how?" interrupted Palo. "How could he turn so many?" "All he needed was the first few," explained Frederique, "He caught Bronwyn in an unguarded state and took her when her defenses were down. With her at his disposal, he could allow her to lure men to a room where he was hidden - and as the man was in the throes of passion, he would bite them. Tacito's binding was absolute. Once even a drop of his blood entered someone's system, their only thought was to serve him. His numbers grew rapidly. If he could infect a husband, he would soon have the wife. Once you had a couple, they could lure their friends, and so on. "We knew we had to act quickly and began to set things in motion, though it required absolute secrecy and care because we had no idea of who we could trust or who might be turned. My father, Christophe, and Galen developed a machine that could detect in seconds if someone's blood was tainted by the Weasel. Any conversations we had required that both parties be tested. "Then one day... then one day..." Frederique trailed off, tears flowing from her eyes. "Oh Palo, there is a reason I haven't told you all of this. Even now it hurts so. Please make love to me. I need to feel you inside of me, I need to become one with you for at least a little while. After that I will finish my tale." Though Palo was anxious to discover the rest of Frederique's tale, he knew he must comply with her wishes. Lifting her and laying her gently onto the silky padded floor of their little love nest, he did just that. At first, he lay on top of her and they made love tenderly. However, with those tender, tiny signs that lovers learn from each other she let him know she wanted to lift her legs higher. She moved her legs so they were pulled into her chest - a position which afforded Palo the deepest penetration with his massive tool, which was often too painful for Frederique. However, it seemed this was what she wanted this day and she groaned in the painful pleasure of surrender with each surge deep into her belly. Even this wasn't enough; however, for next she lifted her legs high and placed them above his shoulders - allowing him the deepest penetration possible. She closed her eyes then, and let him push incredibly deeply into her. It seemed that was what she needed. She yearned for divine pain as a reminder of being 'here', in a place with a loved one far away from the events she had been recalling. When Palo cried out in ecstasy, she dropped her legs and pulled him tightly too her, crying out her love for him as he spilled into her. When their hearts were done racing and their breath had returned, Frederique lay on her side and pulled Palo into her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and nestling into his strong body. Staring out like that, she began her tale once more. "The plans proceeded well," she said in a low, hypnotic tone. "We gathered our forces as we were sure the Weasel was gathering his." "One day..." and here Frederique hesitated once again, "One day, Christophe came to me and gave me a gift. It was a locket, a simple, round locket. You have seen it before - I wear it now and again. Christophe ordered me to always keep it on, no matter what the situation. The next day, it was decided that Christophe should be placed in a safe room - a place where only Remy, our most trusted friend, knew of. It was decided by all, Christophe included, that it was better to not use his Gift at all rather than risk his falling into enemy hands. "There are a great many more details I could tell you - but I will get to the end of the tale and paint with broader strokes for now. Several days later, the war began. It was a full moon in Paris and Tacito's forces mounted their attack. We surprised them by being far more ready than anyone would have ever suspected and it seemed, at first, that we would triumph in short order. "Then came the frightening turn. We had ordered Remy to stay with Christophe - but he grew too worried and came to join the battle. Remy, a deplaceur, was taken and once he was bound to The Weasel, he took them to Christophe. "Where we had nearly won, the tide turned with frightening rapidity. Christophe was bound to the Weasel and all he needed to do was gain one view of a fighter and they would fall down dead with their heart stopped or a cord in their brain snapped. Even worse, the Weasel's forces captured nearly every deplaceur and day was approaching. We knew that if we did not defeat them before sunrise, we would surely fall. They had many mortal allies and they would be able to enter any building below and carry on the battle in daylight. "My father fell first. He had devised a shield which covered him from view, but he turned one bit too far and Christophe felled him. "I have told you of my mother's prowess, and do not doubt it because the fight she gave that night was unlike any ever witnessed on this earth. Not only did she put her sword to use, she also flew so quickly, never pausing, that no one could discern more than a blur. "I will not lie - I was not far behind her in regard to the skill I showed that evening. My sword arm was lightning; my flying was swifter than a hurricane wind. My mother and I cut a swath through their ranks and were making our way toward Notre Dame where the Weasel had established his stronghold. Then, fate turned against my mother and six fliers blocked her path at the same moment. Just a single instant was all that Christophe needed. I can still see the life leaving my mother's face and her body falling from the sky. "When my mother fell, I was also paralyzed. I hung there, motionless in the air in plain sight. I can still see Christophe's eyes staring at me with hatred from the front steps of the cathedral. Though I could not hear the words, the Weasel was cursing at him to finish me. Though it appeared he was trying, Christophe's gift was having no effect on me. "My mother and father were gone. My husband was turned by wicked blood into a mortal enemy. I had nothing to lose. Palo, if God does smile on our kind, he surely did that night. My blade found every heart and blocked every blow. A hundred of the finest fighters of every ability threw their full force against me, and still I didn't fall. As I was fighting in the air, I suddenly saw a path straight to the Weasel - I flew through the gathered Afflicted with such speed that there was no stopping me. "There was something else that couldn't be stopped. My dear Christophe, now bound to the Weasel, saw me coming and he jumped in front of his 'master'. It made no matter, my sword pierced both of their hearts. I never looked again upon the villain who nearly destroyed our kind except to slash off his head to assure he could never return. " "My husband, however, I held in my lap as he gasped out his final breaths. " "As I held him, his eyes looked at me with a mix of hatred for the woman who had killed his master - and confusion at the memories of his love for me. The last thing he did was to reveal his secret. He lifted his hand to my locket and smiled. It was the same smile I had seen countless times when he finished repairing a difficult clock, or creating a new one. "'It worked', was all he said." "You see, Palo, he had known. He had known that he might be turned, and as one final invention, my marvelous clockmaker had created a device which somehow protected me from his frightening gift. That tiny locket generated a field around me which his mind could not penetrate. "Without a leader and without the weapon of Christophe, Tacito's ranks quickly folded. I killed thirty more and I had to be dragged away, even as the rising sun was burning my face. "We met in the tunnels below that great cathedral, licking our wounds as we sat on the tombs of saints and kings. Luckily, we still had the devices for detecting those who were still bound to the Weasel - so we knew we could find them out eventually. "That meant nothing to me, however. The surviving leaders realized that there was no way I could be safe for any time in the foreseeable future. The victims of the Weasel were not bound by some magical spell that dissipated upon their master's death. They were bound by blood - Tacito's bite meant eternal love and loyalty for that despicable man. The Afflicted Ch. 06 "So, I was sent away. One of the Council knew of the small enclave in Morocco which was one of the few places he felt might be safe from any corruption from Tacito's followers. Only he knew where I was going, and I decided to travel alone. For two months, I flew through the night. For two months I hid in cellars with a sword always at my side. For two month I lived without blood or Afflicted companionship, drinking the blood of farm animals and sleeping with mortal men to get me through, fighting every impulse to take one of them to mate. "At last, I found our lovely friends in Morocco. Wives loaned me their husbands, or mothers loaned me their sons for over thirty years until... well, until I found you." Palo was quiet for a long while. They both were. It had been an emotionally draining experience for Frederique to tell the tale, and a frightening amount of information for Palo to process. "Why didn't you tell me this before," Palo said, finally, turning Frederique to face him. "Palo, I don't want you to take what I say the wrong way - but I lived in Paradise. Christophe and I lived for centuries together in absolute bliss. Just to say his name still pains me. However, it went beyond that. To protect you, I never mentioned the name of Tacito or the war. Morocco was so isolated, that our friend there were lucky enough to be sheltered from the war that nearly ruined our kind. I was ordered not to speak of my history, or even mention my last name, until I was sent word. When the missive came from the Council that we were to go to America, there were three encoded words at the bottom of the page. It is done. That meant that they had proof the last of Tacito's followers had been eradicated and I was safe once more. " Palo took her in his arms and looked affectionately into her eyes. "I am... how shall I say it... I am concerned for you that you have been hiding such a secret. Yet, I am proud of you as well. No wonder people here show you such reverence. I am so proud, so very proud of you, my love. I am also ready now to shed any selfish male pride because you are the better fighter. A woman who can defeat an army single-handed is one to be admired and nothing else. I am married to a warrior gueen. " They soon dressed and began exploring the rest of the house. An Afflicted abode is one which must be lived in for days, weeks at a time if necessary. It was evident the prior owners had taken every effort to insure their home could be lived in for years at a time with no desire of ever leaving. As they watched, a cloud of concern seemed to hover over Palo. "Darling, what bothers you?' asked Frederique. "It's just... something isn't making sense. I am confused by the Council." "What do you mean?" asked Frederique. "Sigrid is absolutely right. It makes no sense that no one was there to meet us when we arrived. To hide you away for nearly a century, and then have no one there to meet you?" "It's true," said Frederique, quietly. "I had expected to have some sort of escort to be there when..." As if on cue, a great bell reverberated throughout the house. They were near the entry and took a look through the viewer. Outside was a man whose face bore battle scars deep in his skin. Upon recognizing him, Frederique let out a gasp. "Oh my!" she said excitedly. "Open the door, Palo." The door opened and the gruff looking man stepped in. Once the door was closed, Frederique jumped into his arms. "Aurelius!" she cried, hugging him fiercely and kissing his cheeks with daughterly affection. "Frederique, my beauty!" he said, returning the affection in a way that ran contrary to his harsh demeanor. When he put Frederique back down, she kept his hand in hers and turned to Palo. "Palo, my husband, I would like you to meet Aurelius Scaurus, the finest warrior and fighting instructor the Afflicted has ever known." "So this is the man who won your heart after the clockmaker, eh?" said Aurelius, looking Palo up and down with an appraising eye. "Good of you to choose a fighter." He stepped up to Palo and grasped him by the forearm in a manner of greeting not popular for nearly two millennia. He also took Palo's shoulder in his other hand. "Palo, good to meet you." He continued to examine Palo with a steady eye. "Good shoulders, frighteningly strong arms. Favor the Arab swords I see - I'd wager to say I wouldn't want to meet you on land with a seight. You'd have me disarmed in less than ten minutes. But as for the air... yes, you'll need work. Frederique never was much of a teacher. Hell of a fighter, but not too good at passing those things along. We'll remedy that, Palo, never you fear." Frederique watched the exchange with amusement and Palo was taken so off-balance he couldn't do anything but stammer out a half-formed greeting. "Now Aurelius," said Frederique. "To what do we deserve the pleasure? Surely your visit isn't simply to offer my husband fighting lessons." "No," said the veteran of more wars than history could even remember. He was much more serious now. "Frederique, Palo," he said, "we have much to discuss." * * * * Aimée waited patiently in the pristine, white room. She was sitting in the plain cotton gown they had given her. To her surprise, Abby poked her head in the door. She was dressed in a plain white dress that seemed to accentuate her curvy body in all the right places. "Abby. What are you doing here?" asked Aimée. "I work here, didn't I tell you?" said the vivacious redhead. "With my skills as an empath, medicine is of course my chosen path. I serve here at the clinic two hours a day." "What are they going to do to me?" asked Aimée. "Oh, poke, prod, take some samples. Nothing too bad. You'll like Dr. Villepreux-Power. She can come off a bit gruff - but she's brilliant and has a wonderful heart underneath." "This doctor, what does she do? What's her gift?" "As a mortal, she was a biologist who studied the water - the oceans. So, when she became one of us, as often happens, she found that her gift was to look into fluids. Her gift is similar to Galen's." "Galen? The doctor who can look into the body? My mother spoke to me about him?" "Yes. The poor man. He is... how shall we say, he is letting go." "Letting go?" asked Aimée. "Yes. Galen was with the first Colony. He was brought to help cure the first Afflicted, but actually had himself infected when he saw the potential of the Affliction. However, after more than two millennia, he has wearied of this life. As people sometimes do, he seems to be fading from us." "Oh," said Aimée, not quite understanding. "So, this Dr. Villepreux-Power, she has the same gifts?" "Not exactly," explained Abby. "Where Galen can see the whole system, Jeanne - Dr. Villepreux-Power - she sees the fluids. We have microscopes that you can put blood beneath and see the individual pieces swimming around. Our lovely Doctor can see everything swimming everywhere and needs no tools to do so. Between the work Galen did in the past, Dr. Villepreux-Power, and a recent recruit, a Dr. Pasteur - we are making gigantic strides in understanding the Affliction. Oh!" Abby had trailed off, distracted. "Abby, what is it?" inquired Aimée. "Your brother is here?" "What?" said Aimée. "How can you tell that?" "With my gift," said Abby, shrugging. "If I know someone, I can sense their presence within a mile or so. If I know them well, I can detect them very far away. Jacob - well - I practically can tell where he is anywhere in the world. With Claude, because I 'met' him through you, I realized just now it was him." Aimée had thought that Claude was out of her mind - at least she had tried to convince herself of that. Blushing, she realized she had simply been fooling herself. The very thought of him in the same building dredged up a hundred, contrary emotions. "Abby," whispered the confused young woman, "can you tell... with your gift, can you tell if he's found someone else?" "Found someone else, or fucked someone else?" asked Abby. "Neither are questions I think I should answer for you - but I can tell you that his heart is not given away yet, if that helps." "It does," said Aimée. It meant a great deal, actually. She had an odd sense of possession over her brother. She knew, with the sexual appetite brought on by the Affliction that any expectation of fidelity was unreasonable. She also knew taking him as her bloodmate was not in the stars - but she at least wanted him to wait a while - and an odd part of her consciousness wanted her to be granted approval over who he might choose. They shifted their conversation to other topics. * * * * Claude was sitting in his own room, in his own white gown when a frightening pop sizzled the air just outside his door. At first, the sound of a deplaceur excited him - thinking it was Aimée. However, he realized that was a ridiculous thought. To his knowledge, Aimée had never been in this place, so how could she appear here. His door opened and he was met by a very strange sight. First to enter was a slender, warrior-like woman who had an air about her that said 'weapon', and his assessment was right. The woman's name was simply Mary - but she was most often referred to as 'Bullet' for she was one of the most feared and respected deplaceurs among all the Afflicted. Along with Brolly, she was the top guard and courier. Another woman followed her, and this woman gave Claude even more reason to pause. She was old. It is not uncommon for the Afflicted to see older people in their dealings with mortals, but even for Claude - someone new to 'civilization' so-to-speak - the appearance of such an elderly woman in an Afflicted institution was a bit odd. Even more strange, as the woman spoke and moved, her actions and youthful voice did not match her appearance. "Hello, young - Claude is it? My name is Dr. Villepreux-Power and I'm here to examine you as a newly Awakened entry into our society and also to collect the samples for our fluid library. I haven't much time, so let us proceed. Spit, please." "Pardon?" said Claude, bemused by this whirlwind of a woman who had breezed into the room. "Take this vial, and spit," she said, handing Claude a tube and stopper. "Stop it up when you are done." "Yes, all right but..." Claude was still entirely perplexed by the dichotomy between the woman's appearance and actions. "What are you gawking at? What seems to be the..." "Eh hem," said the Bullet, gesturing to her own face. "Oh, my goodness - I always forget," said the doctor. "Just one year. One year, young Claude, and I will be able to shed this all forever. She turned away from him, removed a wig and pulled off a terribly ingenious mask. When she turned back, Claude was greeted by a woman who would perhaps appear mid-thirties in mortal terms, with the same piercing eyes - but a face that matched her energy much more closely. "I forgot you were my first patient of the day. A little less than a year, and I will have my official 'death' and be able to step away from my mortal identity. It's been three years now since I joined the Afflicted. I'm very ready to leave the mortal world entirely behind. Now, back to business. Spit please." She was already pulling out a glass syringe and affixing a needle to the end. "Very well." Claude spit into the glass tube and stopped it up, handing it over to the Bullet. "What is that sharp thing..." stuttered Claude. "Mon dieu, do they tell you people nothing. My task is to compile a library of every member of the Afflicted and that is why I am here. I get your saliva, your blood, and two other samples of course. This is Bullet, my guard. Given the nature of your blood and Gifts, you can well imagine we don't want any fresh blood samples getting captured and let into the wild, so-to-speak. Now, time to draw your blood." Claude barely had time to react as the doctor pushed back his sleeve and inserted a needle into a vein. The syringe filled quickly and Dr. Villepreux-Power screwed off the needle and sealed a cap onto it. "Bullet, if you will," she said, handing it to the fierce-looking woman who labeled it and slipped it into a belt she wore around her shoulders that looked nothing so much like an ammo belt, though it held empty and full vials as opposed to ammunition. "There we go - two down, two to go." Claude looked up at her in confusion. "Two?" "Yes," said Madame Villepreux-Power. "Pop quiz. What other two fluids could I be thinking of?" "Well, piss, I suppose." "Yes, urine - and what would the other be?" "Other... No!" "Oui," said the brusque woman, smiling a bit of a wicked grin. "I'm guessing a young man like you would know how to produce such a thing. " "Here are these," she said, handing him two sterile jars. "Put one of each sample into each of them and I will return to give you a quick examination." "I uh... I'm not sure if I can fill these all the way," stammered Claude. The biologist/doctor rolled her eyes. "You don't need to fill them," she said. "Just up to the line for the urine and whatever you can with the seed." With that, she was gone and Claude was left to stare at the chamber pot in the corner, and contemplate the other thing they were asking him to do. * * * * By the time Dr. Villepreux-Power had entered Aimée's room, Abby had already gathered the urine, the spit, and the vaginal swab she knew the doctor would want. The doctor took the blood sample from Aimée and peered into it the vial. "Fascinating," the doctor said, peering into the vial. "A fascinating sample. Now, let me take a closer look inside of you." Dr. Villepreux-Power put her hand to Aimée's chest and the doctor's eyes blurred as she lost herself. In a way, she was swimming through Aimée's system, taking a microscopic look through Aimée's veins, arteries, and even the limbic system. "You're damned healthy," said the doctor, stepping away. "Quite the swimmer, I'd imagine. Your blood is fascinating, a mix of old and new strains of the Affliction which I've rarely seen. You've taken a lover, I see, a serious one." "How can you tell that?" asked Aimée, blushing. "Resonance, my dear," said the doctor. "The Affliction shines, in a way, and your symbiotic cells are well-aligned and poised to take the next step. You're so ready; I merely need to see the man's chart and I'd recommend the blood rite ceremony whenever you wish." "Yes, but..." Aimée trailed off, tears forming in her eyes. "It's her brother," said Abby, touching Aimée gently on the shoulder. "Oh dear," said the doctor, her voice softening as she looked to Abby. "Two pairs, no less. Well, I suppose you've been separated from him?" Aimée nodded. "Good," said the doctor, and then she took Aimée by both shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "Listen to me, young woman. These emotions you are feeling are just as much biological as they are emotional. Your body and your Affliction have taken the natural steps of fixating on a desirable, familiar mate. The only way you can break that fixation is by finding others. This sexual hunger of the Affliction is just as real as the hunger of your stomach. Don't be stupid and try to deny it because of 'love'. I know how hard this is for you - but let our brilliant Abigail be your guide - she will help you get past this." Aimée wiped away tears. "I'll try," she whispered. "I'm trying very hard to not sulk so much." "Good girl," said the doctor. "Now, I've still got Tokyo, San Francisco, and Tunisia to visit - so I need to finish my rounds here." Though it had seemed abrupt, Aimée actually did feel more comforted after what the doctor said. Being able to tell herself in scientific terms that her longing for Claude wasn't just in her heart -it somehow made sense. "She's a fascinating woman," said Aimée after the doctor left. "Oh yes, and absolutely brilliant. You have no idea," agreed Abby. "Once she... Oh dear!" Abby was blushing furiously. "What? What is it?" "Oh nothing," said Abby, "it's just, someone is in need of some assistance." * * * * "Come on - get up! Get stiff you bastard!" muttered Claude angrily as he looked down. The urine had been no problem. However, the second specimen... "What's wrong with you," he said directly to his half-flaccid friend. "Every day, I can't get you to go down. Certainly not around Aimée or Mother - and now that we're alone you're suddenly shy! Come on you god damned traitor!" Yet no matter what stroking he gave, no matter how hard he tried to imagine things - the sterile environment of the clinic and the isolated surroundings made it so he couldn't even get his one-eyed culprit even half-interested, or half stiff. Dr. Villepreux-Power entered the room and found Claude seated in a chair, his hospital gown covering his body. He tried to look casual. "Very good," she said, crossing to the urine sample and drawing up a vial's worth of the yellow fluid into a syringe. "Now for the other specimen." "Yes, I just thought we could perhaps do that another time." "Young man, until my dear friend Galen recovers from his depression, or another suitable doctor is found I am currently the primary physician in twelve clinics worldwide. I don't have time to jump back here when you find it convenient to do something I know young men your age do with amazing frequency. Even mortals. Abigail!" Abby had already left Aimée and had gone down the hall to wait outside the door. Bullet was waiting outside patiently. "Hello Bullet," Abby whispered. The warrior woman simply nodded in return. "You should tell him, you know." The woman's hard features softened and she shook her head 'no'. "How many men will you sleep with just to keep your need satisfied," said Abby, touching her gently on the arm. "You are of the greatest warriors of our kind; it isn't fitting of you to think of yourself as unworthy - regardless of the target." Two tears dripped down the stern woman's face. "Abigail!" said Dr. Villepreux-Power's voice from inside the room. "Tell him," whispered Abby one more time, before opening the door. "Abigail, there you are," said the doctor. "How do you get here so fast, it's like you're reading my... never mind, that's exactly what you're doing." "How can I be of assistance?" said Abby, calmly. "We have a young man having some difficulty with sample number four, my dear," said the doctor. "Please apply your unusual skills and assist him, if you don't mind." "I believe I can help things along, doctor," said Abby with a glint in her eye. "Very good," said the doctor. "Tokyo just has three patients today, I believe. I'll be back in twenty minutes or so. See that it is done, yes?" "I will," said Abby. All this while, Claude had been rendered entirely and completely speechless. Two minutes before, if you would have asked him to describe the perfect woman - he would have been hard pressed to decide between his mother and his sister. Frederique was like a mature wine, with all of its perfections brought about through experience. Then there was his sister Aimée, with her high breasts and athletic body. If his mother was the wine, his sister was the grape; fresh, crisp and full of the promise of life just beginning. Before him stood a new example. This redhead was a combination of the two ideal figures he had in his head. This... Abigail, had the doctor said? She was more round and voluptuous than Aimée, but still in a youthful way. Her breasts were straining at the white fabric of her dress. Her hips curved out in wonderful ways. Claude was not in love, but he was most certainly smitten. The Afflicted Ch. 06 As for Abby, she was pleased to meet the young man who she had visited in Aimée's memories. Further, she thought she should have a bit of fun with her new friend's brother. "Hello Claude," said Abby. "I'm here to assist you. First, come with me over to the mirror." There was a full length mirror in the room. Since she had to borrow others' eyes, she had not been able to see much of Claude because Dr. Villepreux-Power had been focusing more on her notes. She had a good sense of what Claude looked like from Aimée's memories, but she wanted to see first-hand. "There we are," she said, as they stood in front of the mirror. Claude in front, Abby looking over his shoulder. "Now tell me, Claude. What's been giving you difficulty about performing such a natural, enjoyable act?" "I...I was just embarrassed, I suppose," he stammered. "Oh you mustn't be," she said softly. Her head was resting on his shoulder now, her breasts were pushing against his back. His breathing was increasing and Claude felt like his heart might pound out of his chest. As for Abby, she was practically intoxicated with his presence. When she recalled memories from people, it was more often about the emotions. She could certainly retrieve specific images at times from others' memories - but it was more about the feeling of the experience. With Claude, she had a haunting familiarity with him because of her close bonding with Aimée. Seeing him through his own eyes, she could see that he was the picture of perfection: Broad shoulders, gentle face, and his skin was a captivating, chocolaty hue. Abby was flushed - and though the scientific side of her realized it might be a mixture of the intense memories she had recalled from Aimée's mind mixed with his physical attractiveness - scientific objectivity was out the window. "Claude, I'd like to put a question to you," whispered Abby, feeling particularly bold. "Yes?" stammered Claude. "I am an empath, Claude. I usually assist patients such as yourself by simply stimulating certain areas of their mind. I help them dredge up the most helpful memories for this situation." "So, what's the question?" asked Claude. "You see, on very rare occasions, I'm willing to help the patient directly. I don't mean to offend you by such an offer -but since time is of the essence, I'm willing to assist in any way needed." (In fact, Abby had never offered such assistance. Generally, she just sat apart from the patient and sent pleasurable sensations and memories that helped polish the young men off in short order.) "I'm... I'm not offended by that. I would be... I would be willing to accept your assistance, with gratitude." "Good," said Abby, stepping back. "But this must be very clinical, you understand that, yes?" "Of course," said Claude, trying to play it casual. "As I understand it," said Abby, unbuttoning her dress. "Young men are often aroused by naked images of the female form. Is that correct, young man?" Her dress had fallen, and now she stood in nothing but shoes, stockings, and garters. "I think... I think that is an accurate statement," said Claude, who had turned to gaze at her. His imagined view of what was below her dress was nowhere nearly as amazing as the real thing. "Good," said Abby. "I also understand, from my reading of course, that being naked in the presence of a young woman will often stimulate certain responses. Should we test that theory out?" "What?" said Claude, still transfixed by her beauty. "Oh! Oh, yes. We should...test that." He pulled the tie on the hospital gown's neck and let it fall. While Abby was flattered at the emotions and thoughts he had of her form (in fact, it was an absolute ego booster, the way he was responding to her), with him facing her she was being denied the sight of him. "Good," she said, turning him back around to the mirror. Again, she rested her chin on his shoulder, but now there was no fabric separating her full, round breasts from his back. They brushed gently along his skin before pushing more firmly against him. "Oh my god," whispered Abby very softly to herself at the sight of his muscular arms and chest, the hint of hair coming in at his sternum. And lower, her mouth practically watered at the sight of his beautiful cock. Her breathing had likely doubled in pace and she was sure Claude could feel her heart trying to jump through her ribs. "What was that?" asked Claude, who hadn't quite heard what she'd muttered. "Nothing. I believe the documentation on this subject says that manual stimulation of some type is in order, yes?" "Yes," panted Claude. Abby reached around from behind him and grabbed the thick, long shaft in her hand. It was all she could do to stop herself from turning him around and forcing him the ground so she could take him then and there. However, she did know that the semen samples needed to be pristine and unmixed with any other bodily fluids. All she could do was duck her head down below his shoulder and rest her cheek against his lovely, strong back. "Let us proceed," she said and began pumping his long muscular shaft in her hand. For Claude, it was undoubtedly the most erotic experience he had ever been through. Yes, he'd had lust-filled experiences with Aimée. Certainly the time he had been pleasured by both his mother and sister was beyond memorable, but there was something in this Abigail's touch that made his entire nervous system light up with electricity. Then came the images. Unbidden, he found images trickling into his mind of him taking Abby in every possible way. From behind, atop her in the missionary position, and so on. The images were both startling because of their intensity, but also because of their vividness. It was exactly like he was remembering making love to her - but that was an impossibility. What he didn't know was Abby's own fantasies were leaping the gap between them and entering his mind unbidden. She was so disarmed by his presence that she couldn't actually control exactly what she was doing. How long they stood there like that was hard to say, because it felt like forever that she was pressed against him, working his rigid shaft in her hand. However, it really wasn't more than a couple of minutes before the intensity of the situation led to Claude's balls tightening and a groan flying from his lips. "Oh, Abigail," he cried. She barely had the sense of mind to spin around him and grab the wide receiving beaker. "That's it, Claude," she cried. "Right here, right into here." His cock was so stiff, so upright, it was actually a bit of a struggle to get him to aim it downward, even with him angling his hips. Yet, Abby pushed down firmly and aimed it just in time as spurt after spurt of the creamy fluid splashed into the glass. Orgasms were a bit of a challenge for Abby. As an empath, she was naturally more susceptible to such emotional intensity. So, she had felt many male orgasms in her day. Nothing compared to this, however. Abby herself gasped at the desperate release of emotion and cum. "God yes, Claude, don't stop," she urged him. Another release came, and both of their knees buckled. Abby wondered how she was still able to even stand, let alone keep his glistening knob aimed into the marked glass. Again... and again... and again, Claude poured himself out. Abby was this close to telling this young man that she loved him. That she loved him? She was confused at the emotions boiling in her. It was the empathic link, she reasoned -but no. Bringing this handsome young man to such a climax was the most emotionally satisfying sex she'd had since... since Jacob. She knew that this was a result of her intimate bonding with Aimée, of her diving so deeply into her friend's memories. Yet, she didn't care. What she didn't know was that her empath's gift was running somewhat wild, that her swirling emotions were also manipulating Claude's very being as well. There was doubtless a strong chemistry between them. Add to that Abby's powerful gift, still not fully trained, and it did explain some of their instant connection. As Claude poured out the last gush of jism, Abby was indeed on her knees - weakened by the intensity of what had just happened. "There you are," she said, taking the beaker and setting it on the counter. "Abigail, I..." She pulled him roughly to her and kissed him ravenously. The sparks jumping between them were almost visible, so intense was the emotion. Claude's strong arms wrapped around her and she melted into the embrace. Again, there was no sense of time as their bodies sang out for one another. Abby cradled Claude's face in her hands and finally was able to pull away from the kiss. "I love you," muttered Claude. "What?" she whispered in surprise. "I said I love you," said Claude. "I know that makes no sense, but I do. I... I still love my sister, Aimée, but I feel just as strongly for you. I don't know why." "Oh Claude, I love you t..." Abby trailed off, growing suddenly pale. She couldn't make any sense of this. She wanted to blame it upon the fact that she had already slept with Claude. She had shared Aimée's memories and that had somehow jumpstarted her connection with Claude. But, that wasn't it. She had shared sex memories with many other girls, and when she'd slept with that shared lover, it had never been like this. "I have to go," she said. "I have more work. I must go now." She picked up her dress and hurriedly buttoned it. "But..." "I'm glad I could help, sir," said Abby, brusquely. "However, I have other things to attend to." "How can I reach you?" he asked. "You can't!" said Abby, a bit too harshly. "I live, elsewhere and I have dear friends who I must look out for and now I must go." "But..." Claude could not finish his sentence, because the beautiful redhead named Abigail, the girl who had just captured the part of his heart that didn't belong to Aimée or his mother... this Abigail was gone. * * * * "Come on," said Abby, bursting into the clinic room as Aimée was just finishing getting dressed. "We need to get back to the Academy. Classes start in less than an hour and I need a man first." "Oh, all right," said Aimée. "Did you see... did you see Claude?" "Only briefly," said Abby sharply. "But we really need to go." "Abby..." started Aimée. "What?" interrupted Abby, practically snapping. "What questions do you have? I said I barely saw him." "I know," said Aimée, confused at her friend's behavior. "I just wanted to tell you, the buttons on your dress aren't matching the right holes.." "I'll fix it later, come on!" * * * * Claude's head was spinning. Less than a day ago, he had been pining away for Aimée. Then he had lain with Hannah and it had been... well, he had been satiated, for lack of a better word, but he certainly hadn't formed any sort of attachment to her. Now this Nurse Abigail had seduced him, undressing herself, and had 'milked' him so sensuously - and then the kiss! He knew that his words had been rash, and out of her presence he didn't feel those emotions nearly as strongly. Still, the fact that this redheaded beauty had stirred such emotions in him truly stunned him. Now, she was gone. He dressed himself and waited patiently for the doctor's return. "Where is Abigail?" asked the doctor a few minutes later. "Gone," said Claude, glumly. "And did she..." "There on the counter," said Claude, emotionless. "Is this some sort of joke?" asked the doctor, looking at the beaker. "No," said Claude, "why would it be?" "There's too much," said Dr. Villepreux-Power. "Sorry. Take what you need." "This really came out of you?" said the doctor. "There's over a deciliter here, or a half cup as they'd say in these parts." "It doesn't look like that much," said Claude, still morose. "Trust me, it's a lot, young stallion." The doctor syringed up as much as she needed and then examined Claude's inner system as she had with Aimée. She looked up, surprised, at the similar traits in Claude's system - though there was a new resonance that puzzled her "Young man, may I ask, is your sister perhaps named Aimée?" "Yes," said Claude, coming up out of his haze. "How did you know?" The doctor repeated her spiel about biology, resonance, and so on and urged Claude to seek out others. "I will Doctor," said Claude. "And I'm surprised to say, I think it might be easier than I'd suspected." "If, " thought Claude to himself as he departed, "I can find Abigail again." The doctor took one more look at still very full container - young Claude had produced well more than ten times that which a healthy mortal could produce. "Ah, those stallions," she said to herself. She contemplated the delicious cocktail sitting before her and considered having a sip, then shrugged and placed the beaker into the cleaning bin. * * * * Votes and comments are always appreciated. Also, please do add the story or me to your favorites list if you are so inclined. Also, do check out my other stories here on Literotica. Thanks, as always, for reading.