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The King's Creed Ch.01

By: Noble_Truth



Well hello there... 

It's been some time since I posted, but I'm glad to be back. 

This story is the first part of direct sequel to Jonathan Creed. If you haven't already read that, go do that now. You'll be absolutely lost if you don't. 

Jonathan is a hard character for me to write, because I have a high ideal for what his character should be...sometimes it is hard to meet that ideal...but I hope I've managed to with this post. 

I would like to give my utter, humble, and most sincere thanks to Lady Ver for editing this story for me. She took a story that was rough around all of its edges, and polished it into what you see here today. Any and all remaining errors are mine. 

Now, let's get cracking. 

-Noble Truth 

Chapter 1 

The window was open, and the sounds of the city danced into my bedroom moving to a beat both familiar and sublime. A car alarm shrilly blared its unheeded warnings in a back alley as a news helicopter thudded over a city made of glass and dreams. Brave birds attempted to share their songs from their rooftop perches, while the horns of angry cabbies occasionally raised their voices, eager not to be forgotten. My drapes fluttered gracefully in the city breeze . . . carrying with them the stench of urban life. 

New York City is my home and my prison . . . depending upon my mood . . . depending on my job. In a fold of leather resting on my bedside table, an ID card and a badge identifies me as Jonathan Creed, FBI agent. In the past two weeks, a beam of happiness had disrupted me from wallowing in my own depression. 

In the bathroom of my townhouse was a girl named Sarah Gale. She is new in my life. Circumstances brought us together . . . but we have made the best of our situation, and it is because of her . . . a girl who claims to be my slave . . . that I see myself with different eyes. Sometimes, when I see her look at me with adoration . . . with worship . . . I believe that I can fill the role of 'Master.' But roles change. Sometimes they deepen and become an inseparable part of you, and sometimes they disappear, leaving nothing in their wake but emptiness. 

I was lying on the bed when the phone rang. 

The melodious, unassuming ring jarred me from my musings. I had been contemplating life, a dangerous subject to be sure. But nonetheless, I had been contemplating something that a dear friend and mentor had once said to me. He had said that a normal life wasn't worth having, and I agreed with him. 

The phone ringing seemed like a normal enough occurrence, though, and I thought it best that I answer it despite the fact that I wasn't expecting any callers. 

"Hello, this is Jonathan Creed," I said. 

"Um? Hello? Mr. Creed, it's Rachel." 

I groaned inwardly. Rachel Lebrie was my newly appointed assistant. Mr. Jones had decided that due to my 'excellent' work apprehending the corporate criminal Ronald Turner, I was due for a promotion. 

Personally, I didn't really think I did much in the way of 'apprehending' Turner. It would be more accurate to say that he 'apprehended' me, and I just happened to get away and raise a few alarms in the process. 

Regardless, my new promotion meant two things. 

A bigger office that was the size of a bedroom rather than a closet and an assistant whose purpose would be to answer my calls, deal with annoying subordinates seeking my help, and keep track of me. 

I really hated that last part of her job description. If Ms. Lebrie was calling me, then it meant I was needed at the office . . . after I had specifically told Jones, my supervisor, that I would be taking two weeks off. 

"Ms. Lebrie," I said rather curtly, "is this urgent? I'm five days into a much needed vacation and would prefer not to be disturbed." 

I smiled to myself. This particular disturbance was preventing me from checking in on my showering red-headed slave. 

Ms. Lebrie cleared her throat and worked up her courage. "Yes, sir, I know that. But we've had an unidentified caller attempt to reach you via your private FBI number." 

My private FBI number? Well, shit. 

There were very few people who had my private contact number, and none of them called 'just to chat.' All of them were underground contacts who were in situations where it was not in their best interest to call a public FBI telephone number. 

I sighed. 

"Did he leave a name?" I asked. 

"No, sir," Rachel replied earnestly. 

"Did he say what he was calling about?" 

"No," she said again. 

"Did he leave any kind of message at all?" I asked exasperatedly, feeling forced to drag the information out of her. 

Rachel nervously cleared her throat again. 

"Um, yes, sir. He asked for you personally and said that it was urgent you call him back immediately." 

Strange, I thought to myself. But I could envision one or three of the more eccentric people on my rolodex acting in such a way. In the background I heard the shower turn off. If I hurried I could enjoy a very wet and slippery moment with Sarah before breakfast. 

"Rachel, have someone else call him back. Tell him I'm indisposed or something." 

I moved to hang up the phone. 

"Mr. Creed! Wait!" Rachel shouted into the phone. 

I reluctantly pulled the receiver back to my ear. "Yes, Ms. Lebrie?" I said frostily. 

She was slightly out of kilter from yelling. Her desk was positioned just outside my door in the big room called 'the bullpen.' Twenty people were probably looking at her funny right now because she had just shouted. 

That was probably why she started whispering. 

"It's just . . . Mr. Creed, I already had Mr. Scott try and call him back. He lasted two seconds on the phone when your man told him in no uncertain terms that he would only talk to you. He said something about you knowing 'the deal.'" 

The connection clicked in my head. There was only one person who had such a 'deal' with me. Pietro Moretti, a powerful figure in the New York mob, and probably one of the highest profile information sources I had at my disposal. 

I was a little more than surprised that he had called. I usually had to hunt him down when I needed information. Moretti liked to pretend I didn't exist. If he wanted to talk to me, it was important. If Pietro thought it was important, then I needed to talk to him. 

"I'll need about forty minutes to get to the office, depending on traffic," I said. 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Creed. Would you like coffee waiting for you? Or perhaps today's news vid? 

"No, Rachel. I don't intend to stay long." 

"Very well, Mr. Creed." 

"Goodbye." I dropped the phone onto the bed and sighed. Hopefully, this could be resolved quickly, whatever it was. The bathroom door creaked open, and a wall of steam rushed into the bedroom. 

"Who was that, Master?" 

I turned. 

Sarah's fiery red hair was tied up in a towel turban . . . woven in that special pattern only girls know how to make. Apart from that, she was naked. Her neural processor, serial number X18, had altered her appearance. It had taken a beautiful teenage model and turned her into a pale, flawless goddess. 

The gentle swell of her bust glistened with residual moisture, and her bare, shaven vulva pouted deliciously at the juncture of her legs. Her green eyes peered up at me sparkling with mischief. 

Sarah's neural processor had a slave fantasy written on it. I don't know the specifics, or how exactly it made her feel, but the long and short of it was that this delicious teenager wanted... demanded, to be my slave. 

And I had promised her I'd try and be the Master she desired. 

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. 

Before she got in the shower, we had talked about my being sterner with her. We talked about my treating her like a real slave. I would have to go back to work . . . but I didn't want to go before I addressed this properly. 

You can do this, Jonathan...be the Master that she needs. 

Something clicked in the back of my head, and a rush of energy poured into my veins. Thoughts, emotions, and ideas expanded from nothing out of the recesses of my consciousness. I was her Master . . . she should be happy to serve me . . . there was nothing more desirable than a perfectly submissive, pliant slave girl . . . and this little redhead would be mine. 

I could feel blood rushing to my cock. Suddenly, the thought of dominating Sarah, of subjecting her to my will completely, made me crazy with lust. I wanted to make her dependent on me. I wanted to make her anticipate my orders and control her like a junkie anticipates heroin. 

I opened my eyes and peered down at my girl. 

Sarah's mouth opened slightly in shock. Whatever she saw on my face hadn't been there a moment ago. 

"Why are you addressing me on your feet, girl?" I said softly. "Does a slave think herself good enough to stand in her Master's presence?" 

Sarah dropped her eyes to the carpet and shivered. 

"No, Master," she said shakily. 

"On your knees, girl, and take that towel out of your hair . . . I'm already going to punish you. Don't provoke me further by wearing clothes I haven't approved for you." 

My voice sounded very, very cold. 

Sarah slid gracefully down to her knees, her eyes carefully on my feet. "But, Master, my hair won't dry correctly without the towel." 

"It will dry naturally, girl," I said mercilessly. "If you behave for the next few weeks, perhaps you will earn that towel as a privilege." 

Sarah whimpered and took the towel out of her auburn locks. 

"Yes, Master." 

I nodded. 

"Good girl," I said. I put my hand to her cheek, and she nuzzled her head into my palm. "Next time when you are in my presence, I expect you to stop whatever you're doing and kneel. I will give you your orders then." 

"Yes, Master." 

I took my hand away from her face. 

"The only words you are allowed to say without permission are 'Yes, Master.' If you wish to say something else, you will ask me first." 

Sarah's eyes widened at the sudden influx of new rules. 

"Do you understand, girl?" I asked impatiently. 

She nodded. "Yes, Master." 

"Good. Now, to answer your question, that was my new assistant. She needs me to pop into the office for a quick phone call." 

"Master, may I speak?" 

"You may." 

"How long will you be gone, Master?" she asked huskily. 

"Why do you ask, girl?" I said. 

Sarah looked flustered; a subtle red flush crept up her neck and colored her cheeks. The back of my head tingled and a realization dawned upon me. 

"You're not horny, are you, my little girl?" 

Sarah sucked in a tiny gasp. I watched her beautiful pale flanks inflate. 

I smiled. 

"If I reached down between those legs of yours, would I find you wet and ready for me? Is my slave having trouble controlling her sweet cunt?" 

Sarah quivered at my harsh language. The regular Jonathan didn't talk like that. He didn't degrade women in a voice as calm as a summer breeze. 

"Answer me, girl." 

"Yes, Master, I am . . . very aroused." 

"And you'd like to know if I have time to satisfy your little urges before I go to the office . . . is that right?" 

She nodded again. 

"What's made you so hot and heavy, little girl? You may speak." 

Sarah's voice was unsteady and laden with lust. 

"Y . . . you . . . Master . . . your being so firm with me . . . and I feel like . . . like . . . nothing more than a little disobedient slave girl." 

I smiled. 

"Continue." 

Sarah took a shaky breath. "Well, it's . . . it's just that . . . I want this all the time. I feel so . . . servile . . . It's making me drip. Please, Master, fuck me before you go. Please, I'll do anything." 

I laughed. "You'll have to get used to this treatment, girl. I'm going to be treating you like this as often as I can . . . and you'll have to control yourself. You can't beg for sex every time I demand service from my slave . . . from my property." 

Sarah gasped. 

"Climb up onto my lap, slave. I need to administer your punishment before I go." 

Sarah nodded dejectedly. 

"Yes, Master." 

I sat down on the bed and patted my thighs. Sarah slowly draped herself over my legs. Her beautiful bare ass wagged enticingly on my lap as she wiggled around trying to make herself comfortable. 

I slapped her ass. "Stop squirming, slave. I don't have all day to do this." 

Sarah cried softly, a slight pink glow appearing on her bottom where my hand had struck. 

"I'm going to give you twenty swats today, Sarah. You will count them out. Do you understand?" 

She nodded miserably from across my legs. 

To begin, I gently rubbed up and down Sarah's sides. Goose flesh emerged along her legs, and she began to grind her pelvis into my thighs. 

I pressed a palm down into her back to stop her. "None of that now, Sarah. You've got a punishment to endure." 

"Yes, Master," she said, her face dangling off my lap. 

I patted her on the head and began kneading the soft flesh on her buttocks. Sarah moaned and wiggled. 

Smack. 

"One . . . Master," Sarah said with a whimper. 

Smack. 

"Two . . . Master." 

Her cheeks began to glow a bright ruby red. 

After the eleventh blow, Sarah started to weep gently. Her hands strayed back to her bottom in an attempt to shield herself. 

"Hands back down at your sides, girl," I said sternly. 

"But, Master, it hurts. It hurts so much . . ." 

"Of course it does, my girl. This is punishment, not pleasure. Now, hands back down . . . You have nine more left." 

Sarah choked back another sob but slowly dropped her hands away from her assaulted posterior. 

Smack. 

"Twelve, Master." 

Tears fell freely from her eyes, but I didn't stop. Something in the back of my mind was leading me. It was telling me that this was needed to deepen our relationship, to firmly establish the Master and slave relationship that we both desired. 

"Twenty, Master," Sarah said between sobs. 

I soothed her assaulted flesh with my fingers, and she moaned slightly. I let my hands drift farther south . . . and lightly touched her pussy. Her sex was so wet it was dripping down her leg. What I had mistaken for sweat was actually the evidence of her extreme arousal. 

I gently nudged her, indicating that she should get off my lap. Almost like liquid, Sarah poured off my lap and sunk to her knees on the floor in front of me. Tears were still clinging to her face. 

I couldn't let up. Something was telling me not to. Something was dragging me into the role we both needed. 

"Thank me for disciplining you, girl," I said gruffly. "Thank me for taking you in hand." 

Sarah looked down at the carpet, her auburn hair falling around her face and caressing her cheeks. 

"Thank you for punishing your slave, Master. I'm sorry . . . I won't do it again." 

I nodded. "Good." I stood up. "I have to get ready to go into the office." 

Sarah grabbed my leg from her place on the floor. "Oh, please, Master, let me suck you or something . . . Please let me serve you. Let me give you pleasure." 

My pants tightened as my cock inflated. 

No . . . something said . . . not now . . . delayed gratification . . . make her realize that she will serve you when you ask her for it . . . make her beg for her orgasm . . . and then refuse it anyway. 

"Let go of my leg, slave girl," I said softly. 

Sarah looked up at me, confused, and let go of my leg. 

"Girl, look under my bed for a box." 

Sarah made to stand, but I gently pushed her back down. "Crawl, please." 

Her face turned red again, and she began to pant lightly. She moved on her hands and knees to the bed. I watched as her pink, punished ass waved delectably in front of me. I glanced at the watch on my bedside table. Ten minutes had flown by. 

"Hurry, girl," I said. I had said I'd be in at the office in forty minutes. I still needed to shower and shave. 

Sarah emerged with an open box and a puzzled expression. I took the box from her and fished out my recently purchased implements. Sarah's eyes widened when I fished out a pair of leather handcuffs and a shiny metal bullet vibrator. 

"Tell me, Sarah, when I left . . . what were you planning on doing?" 

Sarah reddened for what must have been the fifth time this morning. 

"Well?" I asked. 

"I . . . I was . . ." she trailed off. 

"You were going to masturbate, weren't you?" I asked brutally. 

Sarah nodded miserably. She looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. 

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" I said lightly. "Hands behind your back, girl." 

Sarah groaned but obediently turned around and presented her hands to me. I clicked the cuffs around her wrists. 

"But . . . Master, why can't I masturbate?" Sarah said plaintively as she rubbed her legs together. 

I spoke the words as they appeared in my head. 

"Because your orgasms belong to me now, Sarah. And I like you in this state . . . when you're wet and needy and sexual. I'm going to keep you like this for my pleasure." 

I smiled wickedly down at her. 

"Don't you want to please me, dear slave girl?" 

Sarah shuddered. 

"Yes, Master," she said quietly. 

"Good," I said. "I'm going to put this vibrator in you. You are under no circumstances allowed to come. Do you understand?" 

She nodded. 

I bent down and eased the little silver bullet into her weeping sex and turned the dial to 'low.' It began buzzing quietly inside my little slave girl's vagina. 

"If I come back and that vibrator isn't still securely seated inside of you . . . you will be punished." 

Sarah nodded. She was already bucking her hips, trying to get the stimulation she needed to orgasm. 

"I'll tell Carol you're restrained up here so she can free you in case of an emergency." 

Sarah barely heard me. Her face was flushed with sweat and her red hair clung damply to her face. Her legs alternated between closed and open as she lost control of her higher functions. 

I chuckled. "Good girl." 

I went into the bathroom and closed the door on her whimpers. 

My shower was brief. The water was hot, but it did little to clear my head. I still felt raw energy thrumming through my veins. A small part of my brain was horrified at the degrading treatment I just put Sarah through. 

She was a girl whom I'd come to love. Yet a stronger part of me was at peace. My wish was granted. I had acted very much the part of the Master, but 'acted' was the wrong word . . . I had become her Master. 

I wondered briefly if that was a role I could slip in and out of. Surely something couldn't feel so real without leaving a mark. Without leaving something behind. 

I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower stall. Slapping some 'Bristler' on my morning stubble, I watched as the tiny hairs fell off my chin and cheeks. I did a brief check to make sure I got it all and then carefully washed the gel off, making sure not to let any get near the hair on my head. 

I toweled myself dry quickly and stepped back out into the bedroom. 

Sarah was on the floor panting, the little silver vibrator on the carpet next to her buzzing away. 

"Well, well..." I said. "Disobeying me so quickly?" 

Sarah moaned and looked up at me with eyes that spoke of lust and submission. 

"I swear I tried to keep it in, but my legs wouldn't stay still... and... and..." 

"Did you orgasm?" I asked sternly. 

Sarah shook her head furiously "No, Master ... I swear..." 

For some reason, I knew beyond a doubt that she was telling the truth. 

"If I didn't have to go, I would punish you right now, but since I'm in a hurry and you can't seem to obey on your own . . . perhaps I'll help you keep our little silver friend inside you." 

I rummaged once more through the box and produced some leather panties with cinchers on the sides. 


The King's Creed Ch.01



"It's not an actual chastity belt," I said, "but it would be near impossible to get these off without your hands." 

Sarah looked at the leather garment with undisguised horror. "Please ... Master ..." 

I ignored her and slipped the little silver bullet back inside her messily wet and sticky snatch. She groaned as it sunk inside her still buzzing. I slipped her legs into the leather panties and pulled them up so that they sat over her crotch. Then I adjusted the little clips on the side, tightening them, so no amount of wiggling would allow her to get free. I made sure the leather gusset would hold the little bullet and then stood back to admire my handiwork. 

Sarah lay against the wall moaning and bucking in abject helplessness and frustration. 

I turned and went to my closet. 

It was a strange sensation to go through the normal process of donning my suit and watch while listening to the stifled little squeaks of pleasure emanating from my slave girl in the corner. 

With one last glance at my subjected redhead, I stepped out of the bedroom fully attired. 

*** 

As soon as I left the room, that curious energy that had been hammering inside me drained away. I had to grab the banister for support as my vision swam and my legs wobbled. 

Curious. 

It took me ten seconds to gather myself, and then I made my way down the stairs. 

I had given Carol the downstairs guest bedroom. 

Carol was another woman with a chip in her head. She was about twenty-six, two years older than me. She had long brown hair and a cute face. She wasn't the goddess that Sarah had been turned into, but she did all right for herself . . . that is, until you got to know her. 

She had been nothing but a nuisance for me since she took up residence. 

I had come close to ordering her to behave herself, but I felt guilty using her absolute obedience to me in that way. I could easily become her oppressor if I wasn't careful. I could replace her father in that regard. 

I knocked gently on her door. 

"Carol?" I said. 

"Yes?" she called out irritably from the confines of the guest room. 

"Sarah is . . . um . . . restrained upstairs. If there's an emergency—like a fire or something—you'll need to help her." 

I heard a snort on the other side of the door. 

"Yeah, yeah . . . I'll let the little slave slut out if something happens," Carol said in a harsh voice. 

I clenched my fists outside the door. I had the power to make her join the little slave slut on the ground with nothing more than a few words, but I wouldn't. 

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. 

"Thank you," I said politely and descended the rest of the stairs. 

Breakfast was an orange and some instant coffee, and it would have to be eaten on the go. I opened the front door, closed it behind me, and treaded down the steps in front of my house. I got into my car door while balancing coffee and orange on my lap . . . and finally situated myself inside. 

I steeled myself for the New York City traffic and pulled away from the curb. 

Chapter 2 

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened to reveal the FBI bullpen in all its glory. Cheap suits in chairs answered phone calls while holo machines buzzed and computers hummed. 

I still didn't like the place. 

With a purposeful stride, I managed to skirt most of the agents loitering around the coffee machine and sneak past Jones' office without his seeing me. I wasn't used to having to walk this far, but my old office door had a different nameplate decorating it. 

That nameplate read Special Agent Karen Smith. 

My new office was all the way across the bullpen, on the very opposite side of the elevator. Apparently, when you catch someone as nasty as Ronald Turner, the brass thinks that you might just be due a promotion. I was now something called a Supervisory Special Agent. 

Promotion meant that I would now be doing no actual field work. It also meant an office the size of a cheap motel room rather than a broom closet. 

I also got an assistant. 

Rachel Lebrie was perhaps just a tad shy of being movie star pretty. She had blonde hair that curled into ringlets at the bottom and blue eyes that were as clear as a spring sky, and almost as innocent. 

Needless to say, I was incredibly skeptical when she introduced herself as my new assistant. I was sure she was a stripper, that I was about to be embarrassed and aroused in an office filled with government employees. 

But no, she was extremely professional. I had only worked with her one day before my vacation began. However, from what I could tell, she wore conservative clothing and was good at her job. It beat me what made a girl that pretty want to work for the government, but I didn't really consider it my business. 

This morning she was sitting at her small desk outside my office in what could only be called a pantsuit. Her hair was slightly frazzled. I noticed two empty paper cups in her trash. If they were any indication, she had had one more cup of coffee than usual. 

As I got closer, she spotted me. The relief on her face was almost unbearably visible. 

"Mr. Creed, I'm so glad you're here," Rachel said as she stood to greet me. "I promised I wouldn't call you on your vacation if I didn't think it was important." 

I brushed past her on my way into my office. 

"I understand, Ms. Lebrie," I said, perhaps a tad colder than was warranted. For some reason, I always felt odd around Rachel. It went beyond my mere attraction to her. 

"Tell me exactly what happened and exactly what you did," I said. 

Rachel took a breath and let it all out. 

"Well, Mr. Creed, I had just arrived when I heard your phone ring. I thought it was odd that the call didn't go through my extension, but I thought maybe it was a personal call and I didn't think anything about it. But the calling didn't stop, and it went on for five minutes. Finally, I thought it might be really important and that it was something you'd want to know about. I didn't feel comfortable answering your phone, so I got Agent Scott to do it." 

She stopped and looked up at me, trying to gauge my reaction. 

I shrugged. 

"Go on," I said. 

Rachel nodded. "Well, Agent Scott got really nervous when he realized it was the private line for informants, but he tried to answer anyway. The man on the phone heard it wasn't you and hung up. When Agent Scott tried to redial, the man told him to have you call him back and no one else." 

Rachel suddenly looked up at me and studied me very closely. "He said something about you knowing 'the deal.'" 

I nodded and sat down at my desk. It had to be Pietro. No one else had made such a deal with me. I picked up my phone. 

"That will be all, Ms. Lebrie. You did the right thing." 

Rachel nodded slightly and with one last curious look at me, departed. 

The phone only had time to ring once before it was answered. 

A gravelly voice croaked, "Agent Creed?" 

"Yes, it's me, Pietro," I said. "I'm sorry I was so difficult to get a hold of." 

"You sound like Creed, but still . . . what's our password?" 

I snorted into the phone. Paranoia had its place, but Pietro had far too much of it. 

"Fenway Park," I said tersely. 

"Old or new?" 

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. 

"Don't test me, Mr. Moretti." 

A long chuckle crackled its way into the earpiece. 

"Good, I was afraid I wasn't going to get to you in time. There is a very short window for this information." 

I sat up straighter. "Wait, Pietro . . . is this the one?" I said slowly. 

He gave a small, humorless chuckle. "I'm pretty sure this will be the one, Jon. The big one and the last one. Then it will be your turn to hold up your end of the deal." 

I twirled a pen around my fingers. 

Pietro Moretti and I made a deal five years ago. 

Five years ago, Pietro was in one of the biggest cocaine smuggling operations New York had ever seen. He would have spent time in a government hotel until he had gray in his hair had he been convicted. That's where I came in. 

Pietro wasn't the one to blow the whistle on the smuggling. But he stayed out of jail all because of me. I brought him in for a little questioning, and I turned the cameras off. I told him that I had just gotten out of a room with his boss, that his boss had shipped him and his little ring up the river for a lighter jail sentence. 

But I had seen this as an opportunity. No one outside of the boss knew Pietro was involved. I told him that I would withhold his name from the bust list if he agreed to be my informant, and that he would be my informant until I believed I'd been repaid. 

I skimmed him off the top of a large smuggling conviction, an action that is similar to embezzling. I told him when I thought I was repaid I would use his information to get the FBI to treat him as a witness, and that he could then go into witness protection where he could leave his life of crime free of charge with all his ill-gotten gains. 

"What is it, Pietro? Tell me what's got you so excited," I said. 

"Well," he said slowly, "it's got to do with those fancy human computer chips that you boys found out about a little while ago." 

"Neural processors? How do you know about those? We haven't released any specifics to the public! How can they have anything to do with . . . with . . . anything?" 

I could almost hear Pietro's smile. 

"Well, apparently there were mob warehouses simply full of these things. At first, they were rounded up when the payments for the space stopped coming, and no one knew what they were. But now . . . now, the serious players know what they've gotten their hands on." 

"Are they selling them?" My fingers were clenching my phone hard, and my knuckles had turned white. 

"They sell some. But what concerns me more . . . is that they've started to use them." 

"Do they even know how to use them?" I asked, slightly terrified. 

"Yeah," Pietro said. "Some of the boxes came with instruction manuals." 

"Christ . . . Mafia with neural processors. Sales to parties unknown." My thoughts were racing a million miles per second. This was not good, not good at all. Neural processors were considered illegal technology. Any distribution would be treated as cyber terrorism by all law enforcement agencies. 

"Yeah, I thought that might be your reaction," said Pietro. 

"But . . . but why would they use them? These things are used to control people. No one would willingly submit to having one put in." 

"Yeah, the first few were forced, but after a while, one batch turned out to be some sort of superhuman thing. The guys that got those chips in their heads were all sorts of scary. They could move faster and shoot better and shit like that. Ever since they discovered that, well, let's just say some boys have warmed up to the idea of having superpowers." 

My fingers tapped a nervous beat against my desk. 

"Anything else?" I asked, almost fearing the answer. 

"No . . . no, that's it. The only other thing I've got for you is an address on the east side of the island were one of the warehouses is." 

I wrote the address down. 

"Pietro . . . I think you've finally fulfilled our deal," I said softly. 

"Yeah, I kinda figured this would be the one," he said grimly. "No way am I gonna be of use to you after this. The families are starting to pressure soldiers to get these things in their head . . . so they can be 'spitted,' is the term they use. Apparently, they get mind zapped by whoever puts a dollop of their spit on the back of their neck." 

I was familiar with the concept. 

"I'll put the paperwork in, Pietro. You better come into the office. I'll have Special Agent Smith take care of your arrangements. It's best if I don't take too personal an interest in your witness protection." 

I moved to hang up the phone. 

"Hey, Creed," Pietro said. 

"Yeah?" 

"I owe you a thank you. For a Fed, you aren't all bad." 

"Good bye, Pietro." 

I hung up the phone and then picked it right back up again. 

*** 

The wheels were set in motion. The office was alerted. There was a new game afoot, and it reeked of the last game we had just played. 

Balls were up in the air again. Pietro was being bundled away to a house in California. Agents were hitting the streets sniffing out leads, and a team was being brought in to barge into the warehouse. 

Why do these things always start in warehouses? 

I kicked my feet up on my desk and took out my cell phone and punched in my home number. Carol picked up the phone. 

"Hello, Creed residence," she said curtly. 

I cleared my throat. 

"Hi, Carol. It's me." 

"Oh, what do you want?" she said. 

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. 

"I'm coming back soon, but things have gotten a little hectic. Let Sarah out of her straps and tell her to make herself comfortable. She must need to go to the bathroom by now." 

There was an awkward pause. 

"Huh, anything else?" 

"No," I said, dropping the phone like it was a snake. 

I sunk my head into my waiting hands. Another headache. I'd been getting them a lot recently. Maybe I needed to start taking REC even when I wasn't coming off a bender. Or maybe Carol gave me headaches. Yeah...that was probably it. 

*** 

Before I could leave, I had to sit down with the men in charge and organize a battle plan. Certain things had to be taken care of. People had to be alerted. Washington would probably send over more agents. The CIA in Langley would want to know. And the White House would need to be alerted. Basically, the United States was about to reopen all its books on neural processors. 

I wasn't surprised then when I walked into Samuel Jones' office to find him on the phone. Leaning against a decorative bookcase, Jim Brown was sifting through emails on his cell. 

Jim smiled at me from over the top of his phone. 

Jones threw down the phone in disgust. "I really hate talking to Washington," he said. "Those guys don't think anyone who isn't part of the Washington bureau can wipe their own ass without their help." 

Jim and I both raised eyebrows. 

Jones waved at us both to sit down. 

As we sat, Jones said, "They're treating this like a national terrorist threat. A special squad of terrorist agents will be arriving from Washington tomorrow morning." 

Jim cleared his throat. "So, we're just to step aside? Let Washington do all the heavy lifting?" 

Jones nodded. "They might draft people into their task force, but essentially, yes. We are to render aid in any way but not to interfere." 

"That sounds a lot like stepping aside," I said. I couldn't tell if I was relieved to hear that, or frustrated. 

Jones shrugged. "Look, I know that you were the one to bring us this information, and I'm glad you got a hold of that Moretti character when you did. They'll probably give you a commendation and then tell you to go twiddle your thumbs." 

Jim looked up at the ceiling. "Why are they bringing in a terrorist unit? This sounds like run-of-the-mill mafia smuggling, not terror-inducing bomb threats." 

Jones picked up the phone again. "Look, I don't know why, but when a new type of crime turns up, like the internet—or now these neural thingies—then the FBI decides how to classify the crime. This one got terrorism. I don't make the rules." He paused. "Now, I've got at least fifteen more phone calls to make to prepare the Agency for Washington's arrival. Tie up any loose ends you might have until this situation is resolved." 

Jim and I nodded and left. 

Jim stretched and yawned as we made our way to the elevator. The yawn turned into some sort of odd sounding groan, and he ran his hand through his receding blond hair. 

"I guess I'll try and round up interview time with Dr. Briggs and Mr. Turner again, though they both were less than useful last time," Jim said. 

I pushed the button for the elevator. "They've got no reason to be. Briggs managed his insanity conviction, so we can't touch him, while Turner's staring down an eighty-year conviction with no chance of appeal." 

"Still, maybe I can manage some sort of deal with one of them. I'll have to talk with Jones again. This is above my pay grade." 

The elevator doors slid shut, and we both leaned against the elevator wall lost in thought. 

*** 

I staggered in through my front door. It was only one o'clock, but it felt like I had put in a full day. I was supposed to be on vacation, after all. Carol was sitting at the kitchen counter reading. She glanced at me over the top of Hello magazine. I had noticed a lot of those lying around since she had come to live here. 

"Hi, Carol," I said, trying to be friendly. "Did you have a good day?" 

Carol shrugged and returned her eyes to her magazine. "Not bad, I suppose. I still can't find a job that I like though." 

Carol insisted that she find a job in a hospital somewhere. She was legally Dr. Carol Pearson. 

"You don't have to rush into a job you might dislike," I said generously. "Take your time." 

Carol snorted. "I'm hoping to find something soon, Jon. If you haven't noticed, I don't like being here." 

I sighed. 

"I'm not keeping you here, Carol, and you can go anywhere you please. I've told you a thousand times I'm not pressing charges for abducting me. Your knee is in a cast and you can walk with crutches. Nothing is keeping you here." 

Carol glowered at me and tossed her magazine onto the kitchen counter. "You ass, you know exactly what's keeping me here." 

I raised an eyebrow . . . I was this close to using my unfair advantage. 

"The chip?" I asked softly . . . letting just a little bit of my beast's voice creep into my tone. 

She didn't seem to notice my attempts at menace. "You're damn right! You know the terrible headaches I'll get if I'm separated from you for prolonged periods. Although it might be worth it." 

That seemed a bit extreme. 

"I know about the headaches, dear. Sarah gets them, too. But, please, enlighten me why it might almost be worth such pain just to be out of my house." 

Carol just shrugged. 

"You did break my leg after all. I apologize if I'm not over the moon about you." 

I clenched my fists. 

"I saved you from slavery from your father." 

She stood awkwardly on her good leg. 

"You saved me from his mastery for yours!" she screamed. 

There was a pause. 

"I'm going back to bed," Carol said. "I'm sorry I shouted." 

I didn't say anything. I watched her make her weary way up the stairs. I went to the pantry and pulled out a loaf of bread. I threw a couple slices in the toaster. I poured myself some orange juice and had myself a mid-afternoon breakfast. 

"Master?" 

I turned. Sarah was in the doorway to the kitchen. Her long red hair hung gloriously around her face and trailed its way to her lower back. She was completely naked, and her youthful breasts proudly pointed upward. 

I smiled at her. 

That was all the invitation she needed. Her face lit up and her green eyes sparkled as she padded her way over and sank into my embrace. She nuzzled my neck with her mouth and nose. 

"I know you told me to kneel in your presence," she said, "and I will if you want me to, Master. But I just wanted to feel your skin against mine." 

I put my hand on her shoulders and softly trailed my fingertips down the curve of her back. 

"I appreciate that thought, my girl," I said kindly, "but it's not your wants that matter now, is it?" My nubile little redhead shivered in my arms. 

"No, Master," she whispered. 

"Go up to our room and kneel in front of the bed. I'll be up in a moment to deal with you." 

She smiled slightly. "Yes, Master. Of course, Master." She gracefully slid off my lap and padded softly up the stairs. 




The King's Creed Ch.01



I let out a huge breath and adjusted my pants. Sarah really was becoming something else. She was taking to her role like a duck to water. I drank the last of the orange juice and put my glass in the sink. Then I began to make my way up the stairs. 

As I walked, I could feel that same languorous energy seeping through my limbs. This energy made my actions calm, smooth, and firm. With that energy, my darker thoughts came to the fore of my mind ... Like twisting vines hidden in an otherwise normal garden, they had become firmly entrenched in my mind. 

"Master Jonathan," a cold voice said in my head, "we're needed upstairs." 

The last tension of the day dropped from my body . . . and it was replaced with a curious state of mind. For a brief moment, I nearly paused . . . and thought about what was happening. 

"No thinking," said the voice. 

We are needed upstairs. 

*** 

We entered my bedroom without noise. Sarah looked up at us from her position on the rug. Her smooth, pale legs were slightly spread and her supple shoulders were pulled back. She was proudly . . . or arrogantly, thrusting her breasts up at us. 

She looked so confident in her beauty. But it wasn't hers. We owned her. That beauty was ours by right . . . by the right of our power over her. 

"Touch your forehead to the floor," we said softly, almost lyrically. 

Yes . . . that was it. Our words were like the first lyrics in an even greater song. A ballad of our ownership sung in the language of commands and unquestioning obedience. 

Sarah quivered and slowly placed her head against the floor. 

We walked behind her. Her ass was high in the air. We extended our hand and gently caressed the soft skin of her buttocks, before smacking it with a cupped hand. Sarah grunted, but our dear slave stayed in position. Casually, we ran our hands over her sex. Our finger came back damp with her excitement. 

"Sarah, wouldn't you agree that you're becoming a real slut?" we asked coldly. 

A red flush crept up her neck. 

"Yes, Master." 

We smiled. Such a good girl responding in the way we had commanded. We spoke again. 

"Did you know that sometimes all you are is a cunt, a piece of ass, nothing more than my personal whore?" 

She shivered. She wasn't used to us talking like this. She was used to the other me. 

"Yes, Master." 

We helped her up onto the bed and laid her down on her back. Then we placed a pillow under her ass. This raised her hips so that her perfectly naked sex was tilted upward...like an offering. We tied her wrists and ankles to the bedposts using a rope from the box under the bed. Then, using a larger rope, we tied her torso to the bed. 

"How do you feel, Sarah?" we asked softly. 

"Vulnerable, Master," she answered. "Maybe a little frightened." 

We smiled. 

"A little fear can be a very good thing." 

Bending over, we ran our fingers softly over her sex. We spread her lips and felt her soft slickness. We snaked our tongue out to taste her pink folds. Sarah moaned, her sex opening and swelling with our attentions. Without warning, we brought our hand cruelly down on her exposed flesh. 

Sarah stifled a small scream and sucked in her breath. 

We swatted at her pussy several more times. She cried out and whimpered with each blow. Then suddenly, we stopped and leaned over her hot wetness and covered it with kisses until once again the little redhead was moaning with passion. 

We reached under the bed and retrieved a dildo, placing its enormous head against her sex. Slowly, we inserted the huge phallus into her. Sarah whimpered a little, but she could not close her legs to stop us. We drew it in and out until it was coated with her juices. We could hear her steady breath fall. With a wet noise, we withdrew the dildo and set it down upon the bed. 

We then retrieved a small riding crop and whipped her bare mound, smacking her spread pussy with sharp blows. Sarah began to cry hot tears of passion, pain, and confusion. We eased the intensity of her beating so it was more of a caress than a sting. 

She moaned and arched herself just slightly back into the leather of the crop. 

"Please, Master," she whispered. "May I?" 

"No, dear girl," we said fiendishly. "This punishment is because you cannot set aside your own needs." 

We pressed three fingers into her. We relished the feel of her as she gripped and clenched at our invading digits. We drew our fingers out slowly. Her breathing shifted into sweet pants as we pressed our thumb against her clit. 

"Please, oh please . . . Master." Her voice was quivering with need. 

We rotated our thumb ever so slightly as we pressed down on her button. Sarah went rigid and still for a moment . . . and then the dam broke. We couldn't deny our excitement as we listened to her cries as she jerked and arched in an unrestrained orgasm. 

"What a naughty girl," we said as we watched her toes curl and twitch. "You didn't have permission." 

"I'm . . . so . . . sorry . . . Master," Sarah whimpered between gasps. 

"I'm going to use you now," we said. 

Sarah nodded, her eyelids drooping. She looked wrung out. 

We hurriedly removed the last of our clothes and tossed them into a bundle in the corner of the bedroom. We then climbed onto the bed and straddled her at the hips. Slowly, we eased our large cock into her reddened, defenseless, owned cunt. She was an object . . . nothing more than our fuck toy. 

If it pleased us to beat her and fuck her, that is what we would do. 

Where are these thoughts coming from...Is this truly who I am? 

I paused for a brief moment, but then the sweet energy that hummed in the deepest parts of me pulled me back under. 

We were this girl's Master. 

We slowly picked up our pace. Soon, we were thrusting with careless roughness, and Sarah's entire body was shaking and vibrating underneath us. We roughly grabbed her hips and dug in with our fingers. 

Sarah gasped in pain as we roughly pulled her ass into our already brutal thrusts. She began to cry softly as her body was forced to endure and enjoy our treatment. Soon, however, we could feel our climax coming. We truly did want to hold on longer, to savor the feeling of that hot, open cunt massaging our cock. 

But it was too good. With a deeply satisfying groan, we spurted our essence deep inside Sarah. Our previous strength left our body. 

We tumbled off our bound slave girl. Her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and her eyes were closed. Tears clung to her cheeks and lashes. That was the last thing we saw when sleep pulled at us and made us close our eyes. 

My energy deserted me, and my poor Sarah moaned her dark pleasure into my ear. 

Sleep took us both, and as sleep often does, it kept other thoughts at bay. 

Chapter 3 

I was dimly aware of the bedroom door opening. 

My lethargy held me paralyzed. Through the haze of sleep, I dismissed the noise as part of a dream I couldn't remember. 

"Good God," came a female voice, "is there no end to this depravity?" 

I jerked awake suddenly. Sarah groaned slightly as my movement disturbed her bound, sleeping form. I glanced up. Carol was standing in the doorway, my cell phone in one hand and a look of disgust on her face. I could feel a warm blush creeping its way onto my cheeks. 

Carol spoke through gritted teeth. 

"Your cell phone rang, Jon." 

I nodded. 

I stood up, distinctly aware of my state of undress. I grabbed my boxer shorts and quickly slipped them on and glanced embarrassedly in Carol's direction again. She had set the phone down against the doorway and was wobbling back down the stairs again on her crutches. 

"What a dear," I muttered to myself. 

I put the phone to my ear. 

"Hello?" I said. 

Jim's voice crackled on the line. 

"Hey, Jon. We just got through with our raid on the warehouse. It was a no go. The processors looked like they were moved the day before. Somehow, they must have gotten wind that we were coming." 

"Do you think someone knew Moretti was going to sound the alarm?" I asked as I tried to wiggle into my pants one-handed. 

Jim sighed. 

"I have no idea. He's currently in transit to his California safe house. We'll have to contact him when he gets there to see if he knows anything more." 

He paused. 

"Jon, that warehouse was the only thing that gave credibility to Moretti's story. The boys upstairs are going to investigate him and his confidential informant status." 

Shit. 

"Which, by the way, I noticed he doesn't have a CI form on file here at the agency. Why is that?" Jim asked. 

"Because he wasn't acquired through the proper channels, Jim," I said slowly. 

Another pause. This one felt distinctly more . . . agitated. 

"Shit, Jon. I know agents do that all the time, but you do not want this to get dragged through the mud." 

"I know, Jim, I know that . . ." I trailed off, my voice somehow not conveying the proper sarcasm that I was shooting for. 

"Well . . ." Jim said, ignoring my churlishness, "just ride out the rest of your vacation. The new task force probably won't want anyone getting in its way. So unless they call you, I'd just stay out of the office for a while." 

"I don't think Moretti would lie to me. He'd have no real reason to," I said cautiously. 

"I don't know what to tell you. Enjoy time with Sarah, and for God's sake, man ... I overheard Carol. Try and keep this whole weird thing you two have going on under control, OK?" 

I glanced at Sarah's bound form. Her red sex and pink posterior were still raised lewdly by the pillow underneath her ass. I think I saw a tad of my 'spendings' leaking out of her. 

"I'll keep that in mind." 

He sighed again. 

"Goodbye, Jonathan." 

I clicked the off button on the phone and set it on the dresser. With my hand freed, I was now able to button and zip my pants properly. I moved over to the bed and slowly began undoing the ropes that clung to my slave girl's sleeping body. 

Just looking at her made my passions rise again. I could feel that dark, delicious energy seeping down my spine. 

I glanced at the clock. It was six thirty. I probably needed to fix dinner . . . or have one of the conveniently nearby females fix it for me. I made all the money around here . . . Why did I have to fix dinner? 

I chuckled at my internal dialogue. My mother would be ashamed. 

I once more looked down at my slumbering slave. If only she would wake up, we could maybe have a little fun before dinner. All of a sudden, the curious energy that had been circulating through my body left me. My legs went weak for a moment, and I had to grab a bedpost for support. 

Sarah bolted upright in the bed, her eyes wide and aware. 

"I'm awake, Master!" she said as if answering a question. 

I raised an eyebrow. 

Sarah looked up at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. 

"I didn't say anything, my dear," I said slowly. 

Her pale forehead furrowed, and her beautiful face gathered into an adorable pout. 

"But I could have sworn you ordered me to wake up! It was like when you give me one of those commands. My body gets all hot and my brain makes me do what you say, whether I want to or not ..." 

She trailed off, and I watched her sitting there tangled in the bedsheets. 

Strange . . . I had been thinking she should . . . 

No. 

I refused to believe I had just given a sleeping girl a mental command to wake up. This was not science fiction . . . Psychics were for carnivals and episodes of Dr. Who. I decided to play for time to let my incredulous brain process the information. 

"You can't resist the commands I give you?" I asked. 

Sarah shook her pretty head. Her glossy red hair moved with her like a mane. 

"No. Recently, I can't resist them at all. When you first imprinted me, I could resist what you told me to do. It was like wading up a strong current . . . difficult, but I could do it." 

"And now?" I said. 

"Now I would compare it to trying to lift a building," she said with a small, nervous laugh. "I can't do it. Your words . . . they hit me with such a force . . . obeying you is the only option." 

"Oh . . . I can't say I knew that," I said in barely a whisper. 

Sarah's green eyes looked up at me, with what I could only name as worship. 

"Don't worry about it. Every time I obey you, my body gets all warm . . . and this feeling of submission... of slavishness, comes over me. It burns in my belly and feels so right." 

She looked down quickly. 

"I enjoy nothing more than doing as you say, Master," she said. "What you did when you got home . . . I want more of that . . . I like it when you remind me I'm a slave. I like it when I feel powerless before you." 

Yes, came the slithering voice of my other. 

Yes, this girl will do very nicely. We will strip her of all free will before we are done with her. 

I shivered slightly. The energy I had felt before was trickling back in. Those words echoed in my skull. Those horrid . . . and terribly exciting words. 

"Master?" Sarah said. 

I snapped my attention back to her. 

"Yes, my dear girl," I said softly. 

"So, did you command me to wake up?" she asked. "I didn't know you could do that while I'm asleep. That would be pretty cool." 

I shook my head slowly. 

"No, I simply thought about you waking up . . . and you did." 

Surprise flitted across her face. I watched as her eyes dilated and her breathing became audible. 

"Oh . . . Master, that is unbelievable. Do you really think you can do that? Command me with . . . with your thoughts?" She spoke as if the very idea was the greatest thing she had ever heard. 

"No," I said. "It was probably just a coincidence." The energy subsided, and a huge ache erupted in my skull. I turned and cradled my head in my hands. 

"Come on," I said after a moment passed and the pain subsided, "you're making dinner." 

"Yes, Master," was Sarah's only reply. 

*** 

I swirled whiskey around in a glass while I watched Sarah turn the steaks over in the pan. I brought the glass to my lips to hide my smile. Sarah's pale and still slightly pink rear wiggled at me as she busied herself with the cooking. 

I had allowed her to wear an apron to protect herself from grease spatter . . . nothing else. The fiery whiskey trickled down my throat. Yes . . . for the moment, life was very good. 

A small chuckle escaped as I put my feet up on the table. I could tell Sarah was enjoying the current division of labor as well. Every once in a while she would turn and look at me, her face flushed. She licked her lips a lot, and I didn't think it was because she was hungry. 

My perfect scene of domestic bliss was shattered as I heard the thump of Carol's crutches on the stairs. I briefly entertained the thought of making Sarah put clothes on. In some ways, I suppose it wasn't fair to make Carol witness all these things when she truly did have to live here. 

This is your house. That girl belongs to you as much as the redhead does. Your attitude concerning her is pathetic. 

I shook my head to clear my mind. 

Sarah was looking over at me with a concerned expression on her face. 

"Yes, girl?" I asked. 

The redhead shook her head. 

"Nothing, Master. It's just . . . for a moment, I felt like you were upset." 

"It's nothing," I said calmly. 

"Of course, Master," she said, going back to watching the steaks. 

The last thud on the stairs told me that Carol had finished her descent. I turned in my chair to look at her at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Hey, Carol. We're just cooking steaks and potatoes. They'll be ready soon." 

Carol wasn't looking at me. Instead, she was staring directly at Sarah's bare bottom as she cooked in my apron. 

"Jon," she said quietly, "are you trying to get me to slap you?" 

I raised an eyebrow. 

Make her bow and scrape . . . She is insolent . . . She is willful . . . She'd be happier on her knees. 

"What is it now, Carol?" I said politely. 

Carol pointed an accusing finger at Sarah's naked ass. 

"You obviously missed a few lessons in political correctness, so I've been generous. But this is too far . . . especially with another person in this house! I don't enjoy looking at a naked girl while I eat!" 

It would be so easy . . . 

"Carol," I said patiently, "you know Sarah wants this. You know her chip makes her want this." 

Carol looked at me for a long time. Almost unconsciously, she brought her hand up to the back of her head. 

"I know what it's like, Jonathan . . . to have a chip make you do things you don't want to do . . . to know things you don't want to know . . . You don't know what it's like." 

"Thanks to you, Carol, I have a chip as well," I said slowly. 

She grimaced a little at that but kept going. 

"Yeah, but what did it do? Nothing. A chip that was supposed to make you lose your mind didn't do anything except hack into mine to steal me away from my father. So I'm sorry if I'm not pouring out sympathy for you, Jon, but your chip did nothing but help you! You don't even have to obey anyone!" 

I tapped the table. 

"There is nothing on your chip that is bad, either," I said, my voice gaining volume. "All yours has done is given you access to medical knowledge most people need to spend four years in school for." 

Carol wobbled right up to me and got in my face. 

"I still have to obey . . . I still have to be next to the man who put my father in jail and broke my leg!" 

"ENOUGH"! 

The voice in my head had screamed . . . except it wasn't just in my head . . . my mouth said it aloud. The voice was cold, the sensation strange. It wasn't as if something had taken over my body. I was still in control. It was just like a different me was suddenly . . . me. 

But that didn't make sense. 

Carol staggered backwards slightly. 

"What?" she said, looking slightly confused. "Jon . . . What's wrong with your eyes? They look . . . different." 

"You will sit down, Lydia," my new voice said. "For the rest of the night, you will speak when spoken to, and you will call me sir. AM I UNDERSTOOD?" 

Carol collapsed onto a chair and looked down into her lap. Her face was perspiring, perhaps with shame . . . perhaps because she was putting everything she had into resisting my commands. Then, her shoulders sagged and the tension left her face. 

"Yes, sir," she said meekly. 

"Good," I said, my old voice returning abruptly. Again, I felt a curious sensation of energy leaving my body. Except, this time, it was far greater. I felt weak. 

Very weak. 

I glanced over at Sarah who had been quietly working throughout the encounter. She had three plates filled with steak, potatoes, and peas. 

I nodded at her. 

She quietly moved around the table and set the three plates. She poured water for each of us out of a jug and then quietly took her place at the table and looked at me. 

"Thank you, Sarah," I said with as much warmth as I could muster in my black mood. 

Her cheeks flushed. 

"Of course, Master," she said huskily. Then her voice became quiet, too quiet for me to hear. "I live to serve," she whispered under her breath. 

I didn't know what to make of that. That voice didn't sound like role play. That whisper was lead-heavy with her personal convictions. I was in way over my head. So I decided to ignore it. Instead, I turned to my plate. To my own amazement, I discovered that I was absolutely ravenous. 

I cut off a huge hunk of steak and crammed the whole thing into my mouth. I realized I was being slightly uncouth, but eating suddenly seemed to be the highest thing on my 'to do' list. I could feel my thoughts narrow down until they were entirely focused on bringing food to my mouth. It was a curious sensation. It was a focus that I had never felt before. 




The King's Creed Ch.01



Then, I was done, and my plate was empty. The strange tunnel vision that I'd been experiencing dissipated as I leaned back in my chair. I gingerly set my knife and fork on the table and looked up at the women. 

My gaze met two astonished faces. I looked down at their plates. Neither of them had taken a single bite. That wasn't an exaggeration either. They literally had all of their food still sitting in front of them. 

Perhaps I had overdone it a little. 

"Sorry I ate so fast. I was just really hungry all of a sudden," I said apologetically. 

"Master," Sarah said slowly, "I don't think I've ever seen someone move that fast before." 

I rolled my eyes. 

"Ha-ha, very funny, my pet. I ate so quickly that my hands were a blur . . . There's a fat joke in their somewhere." 

Sarah looked down, chastised. 

"But they were, Master," she said quietly. 

Carol made a small, muffled noise. 

I looked up. 

"Something to add, princess?" I said harshly. 

"Uh," Carol said, hesitating, "they were blurs, sir. I saw you move that fast . . . when . . . well, when we were in the basement . . . with my father. You moved that fast then as well." 

This was getting out of hand. 

"All right, so I ate my dinner fast, for which I'm sorry. But there's no reason to make such a fuss. I apologize that you guys were so grossed out you could do nothing but watch me eat for a minute straight." 

Sarah fixed her forest green eyes on me. 

"That wasn't a minute, Master. It was more like ten seconds . . . It was incredible." 

"Oh." It was all I could think to say at the time. My vision blackened at the edges, and I had to grab the table for support. 

"Master?" 

"Sir?" 

"I'm not feeling so well," I said dizzily. 

*** 

I came to lying on my stomach. 

I vaguely felt that my shirt and pants had been removed, and I was lying on top of some covers that didn't quite feel like a bed. I also noticed I was naked. A soft, feminine hand rested gently between my shoulder blades. 

"Master," Sarah said softly, "are you feeling better?" 

I nodded into the sheets. 

"Just a fainting spell. It was a long day," I said wearily. 

Sarah pressed her naked body against my back. I was painfully aware of her soft breasts pushing into my skin. 

"I know, Master, but it pains me so much to see you uncomfortable," she said. 

"Thank you, Sarah dear," I responded. "I'm lucky to have you." 

"You'll always have me, Master. I belong to you . . . I serve you." 

There was something about the way she said it. As if the words were as true and certain as the rising sun. 

"I'm going to give you a massage now, Master. Just let me take care of you." 

"A massage?" 

"Yes, Master. Let me rub your back . . . It will help you sleep. I've been told I'm good at this." 

So many things I still didn't know about my angel. 

"I've got some oil here, Master. I've heated it in the microwave." 

"You didn't have to do that," I said softly. 

"Please, let me do this . . ." she said, need creeping into her voice. 

I acquiesced with a nod. 

My red-haired beauty put her hands on my legs and pushed them so that they spread and my knees locked. Tingles marched their way down my spine. 

"I'll begin with your back, Master," Sarah said. "The oil is hot enough to hurt as it touches your skin . . ." 

My lower back quivered as heat erupted on my skin. 

I groaned softly into the bedding. 

"Close your eyes, Master," Sarah cooed. "Don't think about anything except my hands on your skin and the heat of the oil. Those are the only two things that matter." 

I could almost hear the tender smile in her voice. 

"My hands will relax your muscles. The heat will open your pores." 

Sarah started to gently knead the oil up my back, her soft female fingers comforting my weary muscles as her hands danced over my shoulders and dug into my scapula. And my breath went in, and my breath went out. 

The oil stung every time . . . but it was a good sting . . . a cleansing sting. 

Sarah moved herself closer to me as the massage continued. She climbed onto me by swinging her leg over my torso. I could feel the soft flesh of her legs as they settled onto my back. She was naked, and I could feel her weeping sex as she pressed it against me. 

"I just can't seem to get enough of you, Master," Sarah said softly. "Skin to skin, and it's still not enough." 

Her musings didn't interrupt her glorious work on my back though. 

She used the heel of her hands to press down on the muscles that connected my neck to my shoulders. Something gave just underneath the surface sending a wave of pleasure up my neck. My mind drifted in and out of consciousness, and still my woman continued her work. Her hands moved carefully yet powerfully as she took the flesh of my shoulders and gripped them tightly. While she worked, she gently moved her naked sex back and forth over the rise of my butt. 

She moaned slightly to her own rhythm as her fingers trailed my flanks seeking out knots and slavishly attending to my pleasure. She paused every once in a while to get more of the heated oil. And my breath went in, and my breath went out. 

With a small moan, Sarah climaxed quietly as she sat on my back. The strength left her fingers, and I felt a small puddle of girl-cum accumulate along the ridge of my back. Sarah gently lowered her body so she was once again pressed against my back. 

"I'm sorry for climaxing during your massage, Master," she said with a whimper. "But I couldn't help it . . ." 

With one lazy arm I reached around and pulled her off my back as if she weighed nothing. She moved effortlessly inside the crook of my elbow. I pulled her into my side and silenced her by putting her head right against my side. She moaned and snuggled into me like a content kitten. 

Her breathing became regular, instantly, as she sailed into uninterrupted sleep. 

Then, I succumbed to sleep as well. 

Chapter 4 

Unconsciousness is such a strange thing. We sleep because we must, but the act itself holds so much mystery. Science has uncovered the physical aspects involved. I've read about REM sleep and brainwaves and electrical impulses. 

I've read about the new sleep chambers created by NASA . . . and how they can stimulate the segments of the brain that control sleep using light therapy and sound. I know these things, and yet many still struggle to sleep. Some even struggle to stay awake. 

And everybody dreams. 

We lie down each night and embrace a small death. We lay unmoving, as our minds press frantic images upon us that . . . for all intents and purposes, are hallucinations. 

I awoke with a start. 

It wasn't a normal awakening. I didn't drift up from slumber . . . nor did any audible alarm clock ring. I simply awoke, abruptly and perfectly . . . as if I were a machine programmed to start at a certain time. Perfect, clinical clockwork. 

My body felt good. That massage had worked wonders. 

I took a deep breath and sighed. 

The house was quiet. It was the dead of night. Sarah lay next to me. Her beautiful red hair was fanned across the sheets, and her pale breasts rose and fell softly next to me, her whisper-soft breath escaping her parted lips. My eyes trailed across her face. She looked troubled. 

It was then I noticed that we were not in my bed. 

Sheets and pillows had been laid down in the middle of my living room floor to create a makeshift bed. The stolen bedding didn't really ease the hard press of the wooden floor, and I could tell the dainty professional model had never before slept in such conditions. 

My leather couch would be more comfortable. 

I slid my arms under her warm body and lifted her like a child. Her slight weight came up easily in my embrace. Sarah's throat gave a low hum of pleasure as her face turned in sleep to press against my chest. 

Small moments are where true love lies. 

The walk to the couch was easy, and in no time at all I had Sarah on the sofa with a blanket and pillow. Hopefully, her own sleep would be more comfortable now. I gathered up the rest of the bedding and stowed it in the laundry room. I found my clothes from the previous day hung up on the coat rack and slipped into them. 

Now I had nothing to do . . . which meant I was going to start thinking . . . and that would take me nowhere I wanted to go. 

I plodded into the kitchen with thoughts of having some granola and a sleeping pill. The time above the microwave read 3:04. My microwave was exactly four minutes fast . . . so it was 3:00. Strange. I didn't feel tired, or buzzed, or hyper. I was rested and focused. 

I knew what would fix that . . . 

I sat at my kitchen table and poured some whiskey into a coffee mug. Behind my off-white drapes, a city that shared my insomnia glittered proudly in the night. If I strained my ears, I could hear the car horns and club music that permeated the city's nocturnal crowd. 

Hmm . . . enhanced hearing as well . . . no . . . dammit, stop thinking. 

The first mug of whiskey disappeared before I knew it, and pouring a second was as easy as breathing. For a few blissful moments, I managed not to think for a while. 

A car alarm shattered my composure, the repetitive beeping waking the neighboring dogs who joined their barking to the city's nocturnal symphony. The thoughts returned with a vengeance, and I was suddenly confronting that which I wanted to ignore. 

Something was happening to me. 

I wasn't stupid . . . far from it. 

I was simply scared to confront the changes I'd been noticing in myself. My mind didn't want to go over these new abnormalities it kept discovering. Ronald Turner's threats of being a brain-dead zombie kept floating to the surface of my thoughts. What if that were still coming? What if my mind couldn't handle the extra stress this chip forced on my brain? 

I had told the FBI that Turner had put a chip in me, but I claimed that it failed to activate. Turner wouldn't know any better, and Carol had said nothing to give me away during questioning. 

More whiskey slipped down as I speculated. I was having trouble finding my usual buzz. 

Then there were the calculations. 

I still remembered those moments of unending clarity. Every aspect of my surroundings had been laid bare to me. It was almost like seeing the future, written out plain in the cold longhand of probability and percentages. 

I had known what I needed to do and how to do it. The chip had turned me into a supercomputer . . . an omniscient being. Escaping imprisonment and killing two armed thugs had been child's play. 

I owed this chip my life . . . But now it was changing the life it had saved. 

I didn't want these changes. I didn't want anything to do with neural processors. 

But then you would have never met Sarah, fool, my beast whispered. Don't be so melodramatic. 

I winced. I loved that girl so much it ached. I wish I could fool myself into thinking we might have met in a coffee shop by chance . . . and had fallen in love that way. The fantasy fell apart before it had even started. 

It would never have happened. 

Still, I wished I could do something for her. Sarah needed a life that wasn't so tightly wrapped around mine. Her separation headaches needed to be properly resolved. And I really needed to try and figure out how to focus more on the love in our relationship and less on the dominance and submission. 

You like the dominance. 

Shut it. 

I managed three coffee mugs of whiskey and no buzz before I decided coffee wouldn't be a bad idea. Time had crawled by at a maddening pace as I brooded at my kitchen table, but I had finally decided upon a few courses of action. 

I would call Jim as soon as the office opened and ask him to bring me any diagnostics on the neural processors we currently had. 

It would be foolish to expect too much. The FBI had yet to lay hands on a neural processor that wasn't currently attached to a brain stem, but I knew that a few of the women we had originally saved had agreed to a few noninvasive fact-finding tests. 

With the dawn of Photon-Radio Screening or PRS, it was much easier to find accurate information about the human body than with the rudimentary x-ray or CAT scans. The diagnostics should be fairly informative. 

I needed to know the basics of how these things functioned. 

"Coffee," I said. "French Roast, black." 

A small whirring in the corner of my kitchen started up immediately. 

"Voice command understood . . . brewing . . ." came the mechanical voice of my coffee maker. 

My ears picked up a gentle rustling in the room next door. I listened to the pitter patter of bare feet on hardwood draw closer to the kitchen. 

I turned to greet my awakened redhead. 

Sarah smiled softly at me. The morning's first sunbeams had just found their way through my drapes, and they illuminated her as if she were an angel. She gracefully sunk to her knees and stared down at my feet. 

"Good morning, Master," she said. 

Every time my mind wavered, all it took was the sight of this beautiful, trusting girl to turn my resolve to ashes. Her entire posture oozed submission and tranquility. Firm breasts sat like high teardrops on her chest, and true red hair trailed down her flawless, alabaster skin in artful waves. 

The meekest man could look upon her like this . . . and desire to dominate her. 

I reached down and cupped my hand around her cheek. My fingers traced the outline of her jaw as I tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. 

"Good morning, dear," I said. 

My voice was the cold baritone of the beast. It came so naturally now. 

A small shudder moved over Sarah, and I knew my tone wasn't lost on her. She leaned into my extended hand and kissed my wrist. 

"I'd like to thank you for my massage last night, little one," I said kindly. 

She kept her eyes down, but her smile grew. 

"It was an absolute pleasure, Master." 

"Brewing complete," came the harsh mechanical voice of the coffee maker. 

That thoroughly destroyed the mood. 

"Real life has a way of destroying the magic," I said through a small laugh. "I think the formality of our positions has been satisfied for now. Stand up, love. Let's get you some breakfast." 

Her green eyes flicked up to me. I offered her a hand, and she put her slim fingers in my grasp. I effortlessly hauled her up and into a full, standing embrace. 

*** 

Sarah insisted on making breakfast. 

A huge omelet that must have been made of at least four eggs was placed in front of me, accompanied with toast and strawberries. This was all food I didn't remember buying. I gaped at Sarah at the ridiculous amount of breakfast she had whipped up. 

"You need to keep up your strength, Master," she said with a sweet smile. 

"Hmm," I grumbled. "What are you eating, Ms. Gale?" I asked teasingly. 

Sarah shrugged and held up an apple and chocolate milk. 

"Chocolate milk?" I asked with a snort. 

"Protein shake, Master," she answered warily. 

"Models really do starve themselves, don't they? Why don't you have some of this big breakfast?" I said with a raised eyebrow as I pushed my plate over to her. 

She sat down across from me and bit into her apple. 

"I'm a girl," she said. "I don't need to eat as much as you. I'm also trying to stay skinny." 

The most beautiful girl in the world, and she still had these self-image problems . . . Or maybe this was simply what taking care of yourself looked like. I wouldn't know. 

"Have you been picked up by that other agency yet?" I asked through a mouthful of toast. 

Sarah nodded. 

"They called to confirm if I could do a small perfume shoot this afternoon . . . I told them yes." She peeked up at me from under her lashes. "Was that okay, Master?" she whispered. 

I sighed and set down my fork and knife; primarily so I could talk with my hands, but also so I wouldn't stuff myself anymore. 

"Sarah," I said firmly, "I told you that I would never dream of interfering with your professional life. I keep my word." 

She smiled at me and took another bite of her apple. 

"Thanks, Jonathan." She blinked and shook herself. "Sorry, Master. I shouldn't call you by your first name. I don't know what came over me." 

Was there still a war going on in there? Had the real Sarah Gale briefly been free of the neural processor's influence? 

"Forgiven," I said gently. 

Sarah looked slightly startled still. 

"That was the first time since I've had this chip where I didn't get a headache from calling you by your first name . . . Why is that?" 

"I honestly have no idea," I replied. 

I paused. Thinking. 

"Sarah," I said, "I believe that I'm going to ask Jim to swing by this afternoon with some files about these chips. I know some scientists have already been going over the structure of the processors, but I think I might have an insider's perspective . . . Don't you?" I ended that last part with a smile. 

Sarah giggled. 

*** 

"This is entirely against protocol, Jon," Jim said again as he handed me another file from his messenger bag. "We could both do some serious time in the darkest hole the government can find if these got out." 

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to come in?" I asked as I shifted uneasily on my doorstep. 

Jim raked a hand through his blond hair and looked past me into the house. For a brief moment he looked like he was considering it. The man looked dead on his feet. 

"Sarah's gone off to a modeling shoot, and Carol won't come out of her room," I added. I knew that the situation regarding my recent house guests left Jim uneasy. 

"No, Jon, I can't . . . really, I can't," Jim said in a rush as he glanced back at his idling car, one of the new luxury Lincolns that only needed its solar cube replaced every six months. 

He was already zipping up his bag and shrugging it back over his shoulder. 

"I really only came down because I know it's never a good idea to refuse you help . . . even when you can't come into the office," Jim said. 

"The task force there already?" I asked. I wondered if they would make trouble over how I had handled Pietro Moretti. 

"They swooped in last night looking to prove something," Jim said as his mouth turned down into a frown. "They asked for every file we had on the processors, booked an interview with their creator Dr. Elijah Briggs in the insane asylum, and told everyone else to sit on their hands until they tap them in." 

Shit, they were every bit as bad as we thought they'd be. 

"How's Jones taking this?" I asked. 

Jim shrugged. 

"Like you can expect, I suppose. He was planning on releasing the details of the UniCORP case this coming Friday in a press conference, but the task force insisted on keeping the processors classified from the general public." 

What did we gain from keeping it classified? A few more weeks of avoiding panic? How would people react when they discovered that not even their minds were safe from technology's grasp? I tucked the files under my arm. I was itching to read them. 



"Thanks for doing this, Jim," I said. "I'll make sure to call you with anything I can think of. Keep me informed about what Moretti says about his botched information." 

Jim nodded. 

"I'll do that . . . and Jon?" 

"Yes?" 

"People over at the Bureau—and the military—are getting pretty worked up about these chips. Be glad that yours was a dud." 

A dud . . . yes, of course. 

I smiled as genuinely as I could. 

"They are pretty scary, aren't they?" 

*** 

Nothing . . .These files told me nothing. 

Perhaps to someone who had never experienced the neural processors these files would be shocking. But I had already intuited all these pages had to offer. 

Processor fused to brain stem and spinal cord by nanofibers. Unknown how the information relays are transferred between organic thought and artificial design. 




The King's Creed Ch.01



Subject's processor is inactive due to the receptor unit's destruction via a synthetic, magnetized solutions administration. Active chip needed to study differential brainwaves. 

That last part bothered me. The FBI only knew of two people with active chips: Carol and my Sarah. They might ask Carol and Sarah to offer themselves for study. Hopefully, they wouldn't make them do anything . . . but the government has a funny way of "asking" for things. 

I closed the last file and rubbed my eyes. 

Through the door I could hear crutches thudding on the staircase. 

Please just walk by, I thought to myself wearily. I don't have time for your shit right now. 

A small shudder twisted its way down my body. 

The sound of the crutches on the stairs paused . . . and then continued on its way. I heard the door to Carol's room slam shut, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered . . . and feared . . . that my chip had done something. But back to the matter at hand. 

What would I do if I was on the new task force? Would I believe the testimony of an undocumented confidential informant? 

Let's assume that, yes, they would at least take the claim seriously . . . What then? If I was in their shoes, I would do two things. 

First, I would put my ears to the ground and try and see if anything extraordinary had happened in recent crimes committed throughout New York . . . something that could be explained by the neural processors. If nothing turned up, I would extend my reach to the major urban centers throughout the United States. If I still didn't turn up anything, I would have the case closed and Moretti put up for review. 

Second, I would try and cut a deal with Elijah Briggs. The Justice Department and the military might even get involved. These chips represented a new field of human advancement . . . and the government would want them. The military would especially want them. These things could be powerful weapons, and the United States was always looking for an edge against the Asian Pacific Coalition. 

It had only been a little over two weeks since the chips were discovered . . . plenty of time for more balls to go up in the air. 

*** 

The book in my hands was long forgotten. I still turned pages when my eyes reached the bottom of a page, but I couldn't tell anyone what I had supposedly just read. In reality, I was just sitting around wishing Jim would call me. I wanted to discuss tactics with him as I had thought of plenty of viable avenues to proceed with our current situation. I didn't want to call him, though. I didn't know if he would be in a meeting with Jones—or worse—the task force, when I called. 

No, he knew I would be able to help, and he would call me. 

Crutches creaked on the stairs again. 

This time they were more insistent. The floor of the house shuddered slightly as Carol's determined stride made its way to my study. I suppose I couldn't put this off forever. 

The door to my study burst open, and Carol stood there. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from the effort of climbing the stairs in her condition. Brown hairs tangled down her face in a disorderly mop. 

I slipped into my role as the 'Master' without even thinking about it. 

"Please, come in, Carol," I said in my frigid tones of dominance. 

She blinked and took a small, startled step back. The angry brunette shook herself and regrouped her anger. 

"This can't go on, Jonathan," Carol said with venom in her voice. "I can't go on like this." 

My faced softened. 

"I would help you if I could," I replied wistfully. "I really would. I'm not a bad man . . . In any other circumstances, I would never keep you against your will." 

Carol bit her lip, and a strange look lit her eyes. 

"I know you made me turn around earlier," she said. 

I stood up and walked around my desk. With two steps, I was in front of her. 

"What do you want me to do, Carol? I can't change the way things are." 

Her eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched tightly on the crutches. 

"Funny," she said in a deadened tone. "My father used to say something just like that ..." 

I cocked my head to the side. 

"Your father can't hurt you now," I said. "You don't have to worry about him making you do things you don't want to do." 

All expression left Carol's face. 

"I suppose you're right." She looked past me to my desk. "Might I ask what our mighty and benevolent government is doing to keep others from my fate?" 

I sighed. The back of my head was starting to feel . . . uncomfortable. It was like that feeling I used to have when I walked onto a murder scene, right before I saw the body. It was like an instinct that knew something was wrong, even though the rational mind had no evidence for it. 

"Carol," I said, trying to ignore the sickening feeling, "I assure you, the government is working very hard to make sure no more people have to go through what Sarah and you have gone through." 

She nodded, but the strange blank look she wore remained. 

"When do you tell the rest of the world about these . . . these . . . sick devices?" she asked. 

I winced. 

"We were going to do it this Friday, but we aren't anymore. I suspect the military will want a year or two to study and manufacture technology similar to these chips before they allow the information to become unclassified." 

"I see," Carol said simply. She turned around and moved slowly out of my study. I waited until I heard her crutches on the stairs before I sat back down at my desk. 

That could have gone better. 

Chapter 5 

For the rest of the morning I gazed down at the pages on my desk, hoping that some unnoticed detail within might give me a brilliant idea. But . . . no such luck. I briefly entertained the idea of getting drunk, but then I remembered I had finished my last bottle this morning . . . and I hadn't even felt a thing. 

Three coffee mugs of whiskey should have gotten me good and drunk. That was another anomaly. 

I stood up and stretched. 

Maybe I should rustle up some lunch. 

I went downstairs and wandered into the kitchen. Sarah wouldn't be back until two, and I doubted Carol would want to join me for lunch. I rummaged in my cabinets and marveled at all the different foodstuffs I now had. Colorful cans and different bottles of spices lined my shelf-space like festive little soldiers. Sarah had bought a whole lot of food. I picked up one spice bottle labeled 'Truffle Salt.' 

Some of this stuff was pretty expensive. I hadn't given Sarah any money for all these groceries. I felt guilty that she would feel like she had to spend her own money on food for my house. She was only nineteen after all. I didn't have any idea how much she made with her modeling, but no teenager should be blowing all their money on 'Truffle Salt.' 

I shook my head. 

Since I was all alone, I decided upon an old staple of my diet. It was pushed way back in the pantry behind all the new purchases, but I finally found my cereal box full of granola. I dumped out the remainder of the box into a bowl and followed it with some milk. 

These past five days after escaping from Ronald Turner, Sarah had been cooking practically all my meals. Admittedly, her cooking was a far sight better than mine, but I had missed my little raisins and oats. 

I heard the clunking of crutches coming down the stairs. 

Carol stepped into the doorway of the kitchen with her purse over her shoulder. 

"I'm going to my doctor's appointment, Jon," she said stiffly. 

I nodded. 

"All right," I said. "Can you drive by yourself?" 

She nodded. 

"I'll see you later then," I said awkwardly. That strange sickening sensation had returned. Carol turned without saying a word. I heard her leave through the front door, and I listened to her car start and then drive away. 

Now I really was alone. 

Two weeks ago, this would have been the most normal thing in the world. I had enjoyed being alone since before I could remember. But now, I felt strangely lonely. I glanced at the clock. It was 1:50. 

Hopefully, Sarah would be home soon. 

*** 

At 2:00, I heard a car pull up to my curb. 

I pulled back the shades at the kitchen window and peered outside. 

A gray and heavy wave of clouds had rolled in from the bay, and the sky had turned dim and overcast. In this midday gloom, I watched Sarah fluidly rise from the backseat of a taxi and hand the man a small bundle of bills. The cabbie drove away as she turned to the house. 

She saw me peering through the window, and a small smile touched the sides of her mouth. Her eyes lowered to the ground demurely a moment later, and my mind and body tightened with need for her. She looked elegant and graceful as she walked up the steps to my townhouse. 

Her pale face was perfectly framed by her red hair and the small black beanie that she had it tucked into. Her hands were pressed into a thigh-length tan pea coat. So delicate . . . It was hard to stifle all the wonderfully brutish and crude fantasies I wanted to impose on her. 

The front door opened, and I pulled away from the window. I stood in the middle of the kitchen...waiting for her. 

I didn't have to wait long. 

She emerged from the hallway. Her red hair, free from the hat, tumbled down her face and back in naturally artful ringlets. Her slender arms were bare without her coat, and all she wore was an elegant, sleeveless white dress. 

Without saying a word, Sarah reached down to the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head. A wave of energy jolted down my spine. My mind was aflame with a hot, dark lust that demanded I take this soft creature and mold and move her like pliant clay. 

I shivered. She had only been gone for a few hours . . . and yet my body was burning for her like I hadn't seen her in a year. Sarah looked like she was equally affected, if not more so. Her bright green eyes were dilated, noticeably so. 

Normally, the naturally occurring dilation as a result of arousal isn't noticeable, but Sarah's pupils were enlarged and glimmering with an unrealized film of tears. 

Her pale fingers shook as she fiddled with her cream-colored lingerie. The fastenings on the back of her bra eluded her for a few long moments. Then, they came undone. The straps and cups slid from her body, and her breasts spilled free. Her tiny pink nipples were pointed and hard... like they were straining to be touched and sucked. 

Her thumbs tucked into the lacy band of her panties, and she slowly slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them and kicked them to one side. 

Then, with the poise and grace of falling water . . . Sarah sunk to her knees. She kept her eyes lowered, and she clasped her hands behind her neck. My eyes took in the supple lines of her arms and raised breasts. My gaze lingered on the pale flesh of her underarms and the gentle swell of her bust. She was perfection. 

I savored the moment, utterly enraptured by the woman in front of me. 

In the subtle registers of human hearing, I heard her whisper-soft breath flowing in and out through the press of her lungs and the sweet curve of her throat. Only when the first moment extended into two... then into a minute... then into two minutes, did Sarah look up. 

She had confusion in her eyes and a question on her lips. 

"Master," she said softly, "is something wrong?" 

I looked down at her, and I could feel the energy thrumming in my veins, like an insatiable beating drum hammering out a staccato of the roughest desires. For some reason, I wanted her to understand what I was feeling. 

I wanted her to know... not simply be told... that if I didn't stand perfectly still, I was going to be unable to stop myself. I gazed hard into her eyes thinking these dark thoughts. 

"Oh . . ." Sarah cried, as her eyes widened and her body flushed. Her hands clenched furiously atop her thighs as her entire body shook and flushed red. She hunched over, clenching her flat stomach tight as she bowed her head. 

Then, she tipped over onto her side as her body trembled in uncontrolled spasms. 

Suddenly, seeing Sarah in such a broken state freed me from whatever insidious hold had paralyzed me. I rushed down to the floor and put my hand on her back. Her skin was flush and hot to touch. 

"Sarah!" I shouted. "Sarah, what's wrong?" She didn't respond, and I became frantic. I tried to turn her over so I could see her face. 

"Sarah, please answer me!" 

In great gasping breaths, Sarah answered me. "I'm . . . fine . . . Master . . . just . . . give me a moment to . . . catch my breath." 

After a few tense seconds, she turned over. Her body had calmed, but there was a wild look in her eyes. It was a look that spoke of a horrible hunger . . . and a terrible fascination. 

She knows, I thought as I gazed into her eyes. Somehow . . . the chips must have done this. The chips had somehow transferred this knowledge. Where did this rabbit hole that we had fallen down lead to? What insanity would we have to deal with? 

"I'm sorry, Master," Sarah said as she wrapped her naked arms around my waist. "I'm sorry for scaring you . . . but when I looked into your eyes . . . your pale . . . blue eyes . . . I saw something. I saw one hundred different scenes that all played out the same way." 

Sarah buried her face against my chest and squeezed my middle tightly. 

"Every single time you were so rough . . . so mean . . . so cruel . . . but it didn't matter." She took a breath. "It didn't matter because no matter what type of punishment you blessed me with, I could take it every time. I was so submissive for you. I yielded everything to you, and it was perfect." 

I smiled and brushed her hair behind her ear. 

"I'm glad you're all right," I said. I was embarrassed that my voice sounded shaky and hoarse from yelling. "You gave me quite a scare." 

Sarah wiggled her body closer to me and giggled. "All those images did give me quite a scare, Master," she said lightly. "You did some very bad things . . . over and over." 

I sighed. "I don't know what comes over me. But every time I see you, the urges get even harder to ignore. What was once a hazy sort of fantasy has splintered into a thousand crystal clear perversions. Sometimes I worry that I'm losing myself." 

Sarah nodded against my chest. "I know what you mean." She paused, then said, "It was our chips that allowed me to experience those thoughts . . . wasn't it? 

I nodded. 

"There is no other explanation. In addition to perverting our minds, they seem to somehow allow . . . data transfer of some kind." 

Sarah laughed. "I wonder if I can get my email on it," she said. 

I smiled. 

"Master? Speaking of perversions, where is Carol? Do we have time to . . . umm . . . act out one or two of the . . . scenes . . . that I saw?" 

I smiled. 

"Yes, I think we do, my dear. Carol just left to get her leg seen by a doctor." 

Sarah's mouth turn down into a frown. Her brow bunched in confusion and concern. "Did something happen, Master? Did she hurt her leg again?" 

"Umm," I said, wondering what she was talking about. "Not that I know of. I assumed she just needed to go get her leg checked or something." 

Sarah shook her head. 

"That's odd. She went to see the doctor just yesterday while you were at the office. She shouldn't need to go twice in two days." She paused. "I hope her leg is healing okay." 

The last of Sarah's sentence rang in my ears like a church bell. I closed my eyes with a wince. 

Her words tumbled through my mind, where they spun and danced into a discernible pattern. I felt the warmth in my fingers and feet withdraw as cold shot up my arms and legs. All around me the world began to crystallize. The normal flow of thoughts firmed and solidified, like a peaceful river suddenly and unnaturally freezing into cold, clear ice. It was so simple. How could I not have realized before? 

I opened my eyes . . . and saw. 

It was as if all my life I had simply been looking . . . but now . . . I was seeing. It was as if my mind had only been half awake . . . as if I had been blind. 

But now there was nothing but clarity. 

I had felt something like this before when we were kidnapped, but not to this magnitude. 

Sarah's face looked sharp and defined as I looked down at her. I could see every pore on her cheeks. I could see the spaces in between her lashes. I could sense the machinery attached to her spine. Somehow, I knew that if I wanted to, I could mentally reach out . . . and work my will through that machine. I could broadcast . . . and it would receive. 

I gently set Sarah down on the ground. 

"Sarah," I said calmly, "Carol has most likely stolen some documents from my office. Wait here while I go check." 

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but I was already gone. 

I glided through my house with astonishing swiftness. My body felt as light as a feather, and every single step I took was maximized for efficiency. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. 

When I came upon the landing, I saw my study door ajar. 

I didn't bother to go in. There was no point. I never left my study door open. I had all the confirmation I needed. I calculated that there was a ninety-seven percent chance that Carol had stolen the classified documents on my desk after entering my study unchaperoned. 

A sharp, scalding anger erupted in my mind. 

"CAROL, GOD DAMMIT!" 

My voice echoed off the beams and banisters of my house. I felt like a walking flame as I thundered back down the stairs. Despite my body's visceral reaction to this sudden betrayal, my mind was still crashing through calculations and probabilities. No mathematical equations seemed unsolvable . . . numbers and algorithms arranged themselves into patterns effortlessly within my brain . . . and then those numbers melted away, and in their place was a plan. 

Sarah stood in the center of the hall, her green eyes streaked with tears as she watched me bound down the last of the stairs. 

"Master?" she said forlornly. "Did she take them? Please, I'm sure she didn't mean—" 

On any other day at any other moment, the sight of Sarah Gale crying would have made me stop everything I was doing . . . but I couldn't stop. 

Those documents weren't supposed to have left the Bureau. 

"Sarah," I said with a forced calm, "the documents that Carol has taken contain information about the neural processors. She most likely feels the government is trying to hide its existence from the general public for nefarious means. She also feels that she has been wronged beyond repair." 

Sarah looked at me with her mouth agape. 

"How do you know all this, Master?" 

"The chip," I said simply. "Lately I've been noticing anomalies within myself. You've noticed a few as well . . . like when I ate my dinner last night." 

Sarah nodded. 

"And when you shot those thugs that that creep Ronald Turner hired." 

"Listen closely," I said. "Carol is most likely taking the documents to the nearest credible news station. That would be the KNI News channel headquarters in West Midtown. It will take her approximately thirty minutes to make that drive. I'm going to try and stop her." 

"Are you sure, Master?" Sarah asked. Her breathing had slowed, and her tears had been replaced by a hardened, focused stare. 

"Yes. You stay here. If I don't return, that means I've been arrested. There is a small crawl space under the pool table in the basement . . . hidden by a trap door. Hide there until after the FBI sweeps the house." 

"Yes . . . Mas—Jonathan," she said, a slight quiver in her voice. "Be safe . . . I love you." 

"And I you . . . I hope I haven't just ruined your life." 

Then I was out the door.