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Snuggle Ch. 01

By: blacknight99



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Author's Note: This is a work of fiction. It might interest the reader to know that I've based the premise on an actual newspaper article that was very much like the one I put in Chapter Two. 

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Chapter One

Incentive

Alright, let's face it. You probably decided to give this little narrative a try because you thought it might contain some hot sex ... and maybe a little lurid erotic mind control. Okay. I can promise you some of that. It's here, right in these pages. But this time, you're going to encounter more. Lots more. A few years ago, I never actually believed that truly evil men existed ... or that real terror would touch those around me. I had always figured that, eventually, the bad guys lose and the good guys win. They don't, of course. Bad guys win all the time. Well, most of time, anyway. And us good guys? Well, I'm here to tell you, that with a little hard work, pure intentions and perseverance .... Yeah, sure. Only in your dreams. Right?

And then again, maybe ....

I am a nerd. Now, if you're like most people, that term conjures up a certain image. Hollywood hasn't helped, of course. But, like most preconceptions, the image is wrong. The word itself has mixed definitions. A standard dictionary will declare a nerd to be stupid in one line, and intelligent (if single-minded) in the next. Most people who qualify for nerdom wouldn't be able to define it themselves. I, however, came across the perfect meaning myself a few years ago.

I was shanghaied into going to a wedding with a girlfriend. Yes, nerds have girlfriends. Well alright, she wasn't exactly a real girlfriend, but we had been out on three or four dates. Women love weddings. Weddings are planned by women, arranged by women, orchestrated by women specifically FOR women. Guys are more or less just along for the ride. I did not react well ... I never do at those sorts of things. I didn't know anybody else there, and I wound up just loitering around the periphery of the reception room, watching, while the women and their ensnared gentlemen all did the "chicken dance" and hokey pokey and other inane acts of revelry.

As I stood there, drowning in my misery, I noticed another guy just standing around, too. This fellow, however, did not fit anyone's definition of a nerd. He was tall, muscular, young, handsome ... the type of man that single girls fall all over themselves for ... but since he appeared to be out-of-touch with the gaiety around him, I thought I'd wander over and strike up a conversation. He wasn't very talkative. I finally pried a few facts out of him. He was a "Naval Aviator" ... a pilot ... one of those gung-ho idiots that fly jet aircraft into the decks of aircraft carriers and hopes something stops him. He had driven out from Norfolk with his wife. The bride was her cousin.

I felt an urge to ask all the questions that I suppose most people would ask a guy like that. You know ... how does somebody actually DO that sort of thing? Is it scary? How much training does it take? That sort of thing. But, of course, those were probably the types of questions he was trying to avoid, standing off from the crowd the way he was doing. Instead, I said: "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself very much. You don't like parties?"

He glanced at me and shrugged. "Oh, I love parties. I was at a great squadron party just last week. But nobody here really speaks my language."

And I thought: Bingo. That's it. That's me. That's the definition. A nerd is someone who's socially withdrawn because nobody around him speaks his language.

Now, you're probably going to point out that it's a two-way street ... and you'd be right, of course. I really SHOULD have tried to speak in terms of chicken dances and hokey pokeys. But my language of cyber cryptology, CERT/CC and OWASP is so very much more interesting. I'm certain that if some other pilot/nerd/Adonis had shown up at that wedding reception, that quiet fellow I talked to would have been great company, with his left hand chasing his right through immelmans and barrel rolls and split-S's as he related tales of dogfights and bomb runs. You just have to find somebody that speaks your language.

Fortunately, I know somebody that speaks mine. It took me long enough to hook up with him. I never really hit it off with any of my college roommates ... until I answered an ad to share an apartment my senior year. Frank was different. While we didn't share the same major (he was in computer graphics, I was into security software applications), he could not only SPEAK my language, he'd listen. He also became the best friend I've ever had.

We started off small enough, selling little programs, gimmicks, applications, services. I'd help him market some new avatar or cartoon character; then he'd help me test some new security idea for a personal phone app ... that sort of thing. It wasn't until we'd been working together for two years that we came up with an idea that would combine both fields. It was sort of a stroke of genius, actually. I thought of it, of course. Don't ask him, though ... he'll tell you it was HIS idea. Whoever. We immediately realized it was a completely new concept. And ... we realized it was going to be worth a lot. A whole lot. We worked hard on the thing ... day and night ... weeks, and months. And when we finally figured out how to get over the last hurdle, it all just seemed to click ... one of those true "Eureka" moments.

Since you probably don't speak the language, let me describe it like this. There are dozens of elements in a computer game. In just about every case, however, there are two overriding factors that make or break it as far as sales: writing and graphics. There wasn't much either one of us was going to do about writing, since neither of us were writers. But Frank was good with graphics. And I mean, he was really good. Once a game is published, however, the graphics code is pretty much up for grabs. Anybody can take a background graphic (just as an example) and with a little massaging, turn it into a background for a competing game. The image might LOOK completely different, but the code would be roughly the same. In other words, you might spend months putting together a masterpiece, but with very little effort, your competition could rip it off and use the code YOU slaved over. We figured out how to protect it. The magic, of course, was not so much with the encoding as with the decoding. With a little compression, we could fit BOTH onto a standard game DVD, with plenty of room to spare for the game code itself. It was all done using a variable algorithm that never repeated. I'm not going to get into specifics, other than to say that if another company really, really wanted to defeat this encryption, and if they could come up with the money to buy time on a quasi-opportunistic supercomputing distributed-array to figure it out, it would still take eight or nine months to hit the proper code sequence. By that time, the original game would be obsolete. And every disk used a different code.

We were going to be rich.

My biggest error (and, looking back, I made so MANY errors) was that I'd taken a couple courses in contract law, and I figured I could handle any deal myself. Frank (friendly, innocent, loyal Frank) simply took me at my word and entrusted the entire project to my "expertise." I decided to sell the rights for fifteen million dollars. I just sort of pulled that figure out of thin air. The truth be known, I really had no idea what the thing was worth. My next biggest error was that I decided to approach Apocalyptic Arrow Arts & Electronics, the largest privately owned game manufacturer in the world. I was so absolutely sure that nobody could reverse-engineer the process, that we downloaded a popular public domain game, applied our concept, and sent off a DVD to Rankin Toddworth himself ... yes, right to the head of the company. I was right about them not being able to crack our code, by the way. What I was wrong about was Toddworth. I'd heard rumors ... that he was a ruthless, unscrupulous businessman. But I had no idea what he was capable of doing. I had no idea that ANYBODY was capable of what was to follow.

It didn't take long. Two weeks later, we received a phone call from a lawyer here in town who said he wanted to see us. He came to our apartment and presented us with a very official-looking contract which would grant them exclusive rights to the process ... and there was a certified check for three million bucks. I suggested to Frank that we turn it down flat and make no counter offer. Frank was actually, physically drooling over that check, but he stoically took my advice. The lawyer, on the other hand, didn't even blink an eye. He thanked us for our time and left. Just like that. I didn't get much sleep that night. As the days ... and then the weeks ... dragged by, I felt as if I'd probably made a huge mistake.

But fifteen days after we first saw him, the lawyer paid us a second visit. Instead of another offer, he asked us to sign for delivery of a large, thick envelope ... and he left again. Just like that. I swear, I could never be a lawyer. The envelope bore a formal request to visit Rankin Toddworth, Esq., at his home in Danbury, Connecticut. There were airplane tickets (first class, of course) from Denver to New York; there was an envelope containing fifteen thousand dollars cash (for incidental travelling expenses); there was a cell phone with several numbers programmed in; and there was a list of instructions about who to call (and when) for limousine services, both here in Denver and then in New York. Mr. Toddworth looked forward to meeting us in person and discussing our "kind offer" regarding our computer process. Dinner on Thursday night (two days hence) would be "black tie casual," and rooms in the house would be at our disposal for the night. His personal chef's specialty was veal cordon bleu.

Now, that should have been a red flag right there. Frank is absolutely ecstatic about veal cordon bleu ... his all-time favorite dish. Looking back on it now, it should have been obvious that Toddworth had had us investigated. I mean, anybody who cuts a check for three mil and has it delivered by a guy like Mister "Just Like That" certainly has the dough to scout out a couple nerds in suburban Denver. He probably knew everything about us, from the color of our eyes to when we took a crap (I would soon learn that at least the former was true). But the cash, of course, was the real incentive. Neither of us owned a suit, and we had to look up "black tie casual" on the internet before heading to the mall for clothes and luggage. I don't think it ever really dawned on us to turn the invitation down.

By the time we landed at Kennedy and got in the limousine, I finally broke the code. Champagne on the way to DIA, Champagne on the flight, Champagne now. We were going to be blitzed by the time we got there. Frank reluctantly agreed, and we swore off. It was a full two hour drive to Danbury, even though the traffic was relatively light that time of day (or at least, that's what the driver told us), and the sun was very low when we finally turned into the gated driveway of the Toddworth mansion. It was quite a place ... right out a gothic novel. Anybody would have been impressed, but especially two nerds from the Midwest. 

Toddworth himself answered the door. "Mr. Rustman, I presume. May I call you Randy? And you must be Frank Green. Wonderful to meet you both. I'm sure you smell dinner. Gooswin is outdoing himself in the kitchen. This is Bains. He'll show you to your rooms in the East Wing. You only have forty-five minutes, I'm afraid. We'll party a little tonight ... enjoy ourselves. Business tomorrow, after we get to know each other. See you soon!"

I'd never owned a suit that fitted me like that one. We'd gone to a tailor and spent $550 apiece for them so they'd be done in time for the trip. The tailor had taken one look at us, told us not to argue, and had chosen shirts and ties, as well (for an extra hundred bucks each, but we hadn't resisted). He wrote us a note, telling us what brand and type of shoes to get. Damn, we looked sharp! Our rooms were next to each other, but didn't adjoin, and each had its own bathroom. There was a mirror at the end of the hall, and when we looked at ourselves in it ... well, it just LOOKED like we were in the big league, you know? Frank's a bit on the gangling side, tall and thin and sort of awkward. I'd tried my best to put a little muscle on him over the past year or so ... my Dad had bought me a Stairmaster when we moved last time, and I'd been using it pretty religiously. So had Frank, at my insistence.

We got lost getting back downstairs, but eventually, we found Toddworth in a huge den, sipping a drink with another man, who he introduced as Ephraim Yarnell, a personal friend (and lawyer). He mixed us martinis, which neither of us particularly liked, though I'm sure they were made with the absolute finest ingredients. Yarnell left us for awhile, and Old Man Toddworth started walking us around the room, telling us about the artwork on the walls, the books in the bookcase, the trophy head above the mantle ... things like that. The truth of the matter is that we weren't all that impressed, but what are you going to do but listen and nod, you know what I mean?

And then suddenly, there was Yarnell, the lawyer again. And with him were these two gorgeous girls. And Toddworth was saying "Ah ... please let me introduce Janie and Kendra. Girls, this is Frank and Randy. Gentlemen, please let me be clear about this. You are certainly under no obligation, but I expect my guests to be comfortable and happy. Whether we decide to do business or not, these ladies are yours for the night. Do with them what you will. They are here to serve only you. Shall we go into dinner now?"

Well, boil my grits (as my grandfather used to say)!

Alright ... I told myself when I decided to write this narrative that I was not going to spend too much time on descriptive phrases. But let's face it; that one moment in time is what this story is all about. It all started right there. To say that you could have knocked Frank and me over with a feather would not be too much of an exaggeration. These girls were beautiful. They were foxy. They were stunning. And ... they were strange. From the very first second, there was something strange about them ... something you couldn't really put your finger on ... but something that only got stranger and stranger as the seconds and minutes ticked by. Still, some factors overcome the importance of others ... and strangeness is evidently easily overcome by beauty.

Other than their striking elegance and magnificence, the girls had absolutely nothing in common. One was tall, the other short. One was white, the other black. The tall one was slim, had long blonde hair, pale complexion, small breasts and slender hips, and she was dressed in a dark blue silk halter-top dress that hugged her body like a second skin. And the first skin was obviously as smooth and tactile as the fabric that covered it. The only things that were NOT smooth were her nipples, which were very prominent and seemed to point accusingly at us. The short girl had a close-cropped short afro hairstyle that accentuated her long neck and amazing skin, which was a cross between light chocolate and burnished copper. Her breasts were very generous, considering her height, and she wore a short dress of green velvet ... the kind of material that's so rich and soft that your natural instinct is to touch it. Her eyes held a spark of raw intelligence that seemed to light the whole room. It took me a long moment to realize that I noticed those eyes because they were directed toward me, and no one else. They studied me, scrutinized me ... I swear, they seemed to almost worship me. I glanced nervously around, only to find that Janie, the blonde, was doing almost exactly the same, only to Frank. Frank, for his part, was just standing there, openmouthed, trapped in her gaze.

And then slowly, the weirdness began to manifest itself. The girls were close. Very close. Their shoulders and arms and hips and legs were touching all along the length of them as they stood side by side. They were holding hands, but because Kendra was so much shorter, her arm was slightly bent. Their fingers interlocked, but seemed to move slightly, caressing gently. Toddworth and Yarnell had walked away from us, I assumed toward the dining room, leaving the four of us staring at each other. Without a word, Kendra reached out toward me with her free hand, cleared her throat, and said: "I suppose we should go in to dinner." And oddly, as her hand extended toward me, Janie's hand reached out toward Frank, exactly the same. Instinctively, I took Kendra's hand in mine ... just as Frank took Janie's ... and then (and only then) did the girls let go of each other and move apart.

I turned to follow our host, and as I did so, Kendra turned with me, her hand clutching mine. The oddness of the past few seconds left me with a bizarre impression, and I shook my head a little to clear it. I took my hand out of Kendra's to hold the dining room door open for her, and with a suddenness that shocked me, the girl reached up and clutched my upper arm with both hands. I glance down at her, puzzled, but she averted her eyes and simply followed as I got my feet moving again and led her into the large dining room.

Inside, Toddworth was speaking, indicating where we should sit ... Frank and me on one side facing the girls on the other. Kendra didn't move to go to her seat, and neither did Janie, so that I suddenly wondered what the proper protocol was in such a situation. After a few seconds, I walked around the end of the table a bit clumsily, Kendra still clutching my arm, until I had maneuvered her to her assigned place. I pulled out her chair with the arm she wasn't trying to strangle, but still she refused to let go until Janie was within striking distance, and their hands shot out toward one another's and touched. Finally, the grip on my upper arm was relinquished, and, a bit dazed, I walked back around to my own chair.

The food was very good. I remember that much about the meal, but not a heck of a lot more. Toddworth prattled on and on, but I can't tell you what he said ... I was too wound up in trying to figure out what was going on ... who the girls were, and what was behind their odd behavior. I had the strangest desire to lift up the table cloth and peer under the table; certain that if I did, I'd catch them playing footsies. They were always touching. Their shoulders and upper arms were in constant contact, and from time to time, when the meal paused between courses, they held hands, as if it the most natural thing in the world. Toddworth asked a general question ... I wasn't really paying attention, but I perked up as Kendra answered it, saying that the women's translations were far superior to the men's ... and Janie said that the best was the Julie Rose translation ... but Kendra countered that Isabel Hapgood's was better, and most certainly better than Wilbour's or Denny's. I didn't find out until later that they had been talking about Les Miserables, by Hugo. Then, as an extension of that, he began quizzing them about Jules Verne. Frank mentioned that he always thought Verne wrote in English, which made both girls giggle. Kendra smirked a little, but Janie couldn't seem to bear Frank being embarrassed, and explained patiently something about translators working for the Royal Geographical Society in England and some other stuff. The way Frank was looking at her, I don't really think he was listening, either ... he just seemed content watching her lips move.

Toddworth announced that it was time for cigars and brandy in the "drawing room," but as I rose, I mentioned that I had to visit the bathroom. Yarnell pointed down a hall and told me where it was, and I prodded Frank as a signal. When he didn't seem to notice, I prodded him a little harder. He issued a small "ouch!" but finally got the message and excused himself, as well, though his eyes never left Janie's. She was blushing, for some reason, and I noticed she was squeezing Kendra's hand hard enough to make her shorter companion wince. I lead the way down the hall, anxious to talk this whole thing over, but as soon as we were out of earshot, he was yammering away like little kid.


Snuggle Ch. 01



"Holy shit, Dude! Can you believe those girls?" He suddenly sobered. "Randy, I gotta tell you, I haven't been with a girl in a couple years. I'm a little nervous, man."

I gawked. "I didn't think you'd EVER been with a girl."

"Give me a break, Dude. Of course I've been with a girl." He paused to reflect. "I mean, it wasn't really planned or anything ... but it was nice. I mean, I thought it was nice. And I guess she did, too, because she wanted to go out again, and we ...." He stopped and regarded me again. "Fuck that shit, man. I need to think about THIS! About Janie! I mean, what if she ...?"

"Snap out of, Frank!" I ordered, exasperated. "The girls are hookers! They're paid to make you THINK they're enjoying it! That's just what hookers DO! We've got to keep this in perspective. We've got a hell of a lot of money riding on this!"

Frank's face darkened. "Don't call her a hooker, man."

I deflated a little and took pity. How was I going to reason with that level of lust? "Aw, Frank. Think about it. He told us the girls were ours for the night. 'Do with them what you will,' he said. They were standing right there, and they never even blinked at that. THEY know the score. Why don't you?"

His shoulders sagged, and he took a deep, mournful breath. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He shook his head slowly. "But, Dude ... the way she LOOKS at me! There's something there, I swear! And Randy, she can TALK. I mean, she doesn't just talk, she SAYS things! Do you know the last time I met a girl I could talk to?" He sighed. "A guy can dream, man."

I sighed and put my hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead and dream. You deserve it. But I need you to keep a grasp on what's real, too." I paused, considering. "And there's something wrong with those two. Have you noticed it?"

"What do you mean?"

"They're always touching. They're never separated."

He grinned. "I think it's sort of hot. Do you think they're lovers?"

I shook my head. "Even if they are, they're taking it to an extreme." I shook my head. "No, the way Kendra looks at me ... the way Janie looks at you ... there's something about it ... a hunger. And I think it's more than sexual. They're hungry for ... US. Not just sex ... but US." I paused again. "I have a nephew ... my sister's kid. Four years old. He really loves it when I come to visit. I read to him all the time. He just wants to BE with me. When he sees me, his whole face lights up. THAT's the look. That's the way those girls are looking at us! They want to BE with us ... and yet ... they never let go of each other. It's just really weird."

There was nothing left to say, and so we made our way back to the dining room. The others had left, and we followed the sound of male voices through two more rooms before we found them, standing in front of a blazing fireplace. The girls had gone to powder their noses. Frank and I both declined the proffered cigars, accepted huge snifters of cognac, and tried to stay away from the bluish billows of Cuban smoke coming from Toddworth and Yarnell while keeping up the semblance of conversation. Finally, the girls strode back into the room, hand-in-hand, of course, and as if by mutual consent, they made a beeline toward us. As they arrived, they finally parted, Kendra immediately snaking her arm through mine, while Janie seized Frank's hand.

"Tell me why you're here." Kendra spoke softly, so that only I heard the question, and she tugged my arm gently in the direction of the love seat under one of the huge windows, away from the two older men by the fireplace. I followed instinctively, watching, bemused, as Janie steered Frank toward a couch in the corner.

"As if you didn't know," I answered.

She looked genuinely confused. I didn't think she could fake an expression like that. "But I don't know," she said, still keeping her voice low. "Do you write video games for Mr. Toddworth? Are you a professional writer, too?"

That had me flummoxed, and I decided to ignore it. "That was a pretty neat trick just now, coyly separating Frank and me."

She looked down and blushed. Yes, she blushed; no doubt about it. I didn't know black people COULD blush; but now, thinking about it dispassionately for the very first time in my life, I didn't know where I picked up that misconception. My first impulse was to take her in my arms and comfort her, but I resisted. "I suppose it was pretty obvious," she said, speaking in the general direction of her feet. "I'm sorry if I made you feel ... uncomfortable. But in the bathroom ... well ... Janie wanted to be alone with Frank. She's got it in her head that he's ... uh ... well, she thinks he's pretty special. She just wants a chance to get to know him. And she asked if I could ... um ... distract you, I guess. And now, I feel like a real horse's ass, making you sit here and talk to me. And ...."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" I exclaimed, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender ... which was a little difficult, because Kendra still had her arm entwined in mine. "I'm sorry. I really apologize, no kidding. I'M the horse's ass, not you. It's just that Frank and I are trying to sell some code to Toddworth, and ... well ... being a natural born horse's ass, I just sort of assumed that everyone in this house is the enemy."

She looked up at me with huge, questioning eyes. "Code? Like with spies?"

I barked a laugh. "Computer code, Kendra. For video games."

She nodded and lowered her eyes again. "Of course. I'm stupid."

I hooked a fingertip under her pert little chin and turned her face toward mine, realizing immediately that it was a mistake. Our faces were scant inches apart, and for some reason, I got the impression that we were like two magnets getting too close to keep apart. I swallowed nervously, before saying: "Of all the people here tonight, you are the least stupid person, by far. That stuff about translators ...."

"Mr. Toddworth set up the questions, knowing that we knew the answers," she responded, gazing deeply into my eyes. "I don't know why he did that. He was trying to impress you with us for some reason. He knew that Janie and I met while taking a foreign authors class in college." She studied me intently. "Are you going to kiss me now? I didn't think it would happen so soon. I'm not sure I'm ready yet."

I pulled away from her a little to study her, but she tried to stay close, clutching my arm to do so. I looked at her questioningly. "Not ready?" Her expression didn't change. She was trying to see something in my eyes, staring incredulously, longingly. I took a deep breath. "Look ... Kendra ... please forgive my confusion. I'm really puzzled here. I've never been with a professional lady before."

She kept studying me. "Professional? A woman writer, you mean?" And a moment later, her eyes widened to huge circles as she suddenly understood my meaning. "Professional!" she gasped. Tears immediately flooded her eyes, and as she finally lowered them, embarrassed, they overflowed and spilled down her cheeks like rivers that had crested their banks. She abruptly tried to stand, but she couldn't without relinquishing her hold on my arm, which she didn't seem capable of doing.

I stumbled to my feet, more or less so that she, too, could stand. "What the hell?" I muttered, wishing immediately that I hadn't said it out loud. She turned to go, but couldn't. She wanted to leave me, but seemed incapable of breaking our physical contact.

"Please take me to your room now," she said between clenched teeth. "Let's get it over with. This is what he wanted. This is why we're here. Let's just do it."

Somehow, every time I opened my mouth I stuck my foot in it, so I resolved to say nothing else until I had her alone. I forcefully turned her toward the door, jerking my arm free of hers, in the process. At the same time, I wrapped my other arm around her waist and pulled her to my shoulder (into which she immediately buried her face). In this posture, no one could see she was crying ... it just looked, more or less, like she was being overly affectionate. "Folks, if you'll please excuse us, I think we'll turn in for the evening," I announced to the room in general. I steered her toward the hallway. My eyes sought out Frank, but he and Janie were engaged in a serious smoochfest on the couch, and he obviously hadn't heard me.

"Have a great time, Randy!" Toddworth laughed. "I know it's going to be a memorable night. Kendra there will do absolutely anything you want. Anything at all. Isn't that right, Kendra?"

She made a sound into my shoulder ... a sort of whimpering groan, and I increased our pace until we were well clear of the room. "What an unmitigated asshole!" I hissed. I tried to think violent thoughts about him, but my entire consciousness was taken up by the amazing texture of the velvet dress my arm and hand were enjoying. Her stomach and sides were firm, yet soft, and I was afraid that if I left my hand there too long, it would happily take root. She was wearing a very subtle perfume that made me want to nuzzle the side of her neck, seeking the spots she'd applied it to. When we came to the stairs, I didn't pause, steering her upward, but when we'd finally reached the upper hallway, I stopped. She seemed content, for the moment, just to be led; and now, unresisting, she allowed me to turn her toward me as I supported her, holding her by the shoulders. The tailor had insisted on handkerchiefs to finish off the ensembles, and I fished it out of my breast pocket. Silk makes lousy handkerchiefs. It wasn't very absorbent and primarily, it just smeared the tears around her cheeks.

"Kendra, I'm really, really sorry for what I said down there. I'm trying to act like somebody I'm not. The last thing I want to do tonight is make you sad. I'm extremely confused right now, that's all." I took a deep breath, which didn't help because the air was tinted with her perfume. I couldn't seem to grasp a coherent thought. "I should probably just take you to your room. Where is it?"

She blinked up at me, uncomprehending. "I ... I'm not sure. I'm a little lost. We've been ... um ... downstairs." She couldn't make herself meet my questioning gaze, and suddenly, she snatched the hanky and wiped her face while lowering her eyes nervously. "You ... you don't want me?"

I didn't seem to be able to keep a low moan out of the sigh I issued. "Of course I want you. You're just about the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen. But ... I don't think I could forgive myself if I made you cry again, and I don't seem capable of opening my mouth without saying something brainlessly idiotic."

She looked up at me again, wonder in her eyes. "You ... you think I'm pretty?"

"Think you're pretty?" I was gawking, openmouthed. "Jeez, Kendra!"

She blew her nose into the handkerchief, then gasped and stared at it. "Oh, my God! I can't believe I just did that!" She seemed panicked. "I ... I'll wash it out for you! I'll ...."

I started laughing and couldn't stop, and after a few long moments, she joined in. As beautiful as she was, a smile only multiplied the effect. Finally, shaking my head, I said: "Please come in. Let's talk about things," and I let go of her and moved off to unlock the door to my room. In the next instant, her laughter had stopped, she gave a startled little cry, and she sprang after me, grabbing my right arm with both of her small hands. I took a deep breath and regarded her curiously for a moment, then smiled patiently and physically moved her left hand down until I could take it in my right one.

The anxiety drained from her slowly. "I ... I dropped the handkerchief. I need to pick it up." She looked back at it, contemplating the dilemma. She couldn't retrieve it unless she let go of me.

"Leave it," I suggested, just to see what she'd do.

"No, please. I ... I mean, if you don't want it, I do. Please?" I walked her back so that she could reach down and pick it up; then, being careful not to break physical contact, I unlocked my door and led her into my room.

I turned her toward me again once the door was closed, and once more, she showed no resistance. As long as my hands were on her, she exhibited no anxiety whatsoever, and now she raised her face to mine and treated herself to her new favorite pastime, which was staring into my eyes with a mixture of intense interest, curiosity and emotional longing. I wasn't going to be able to take much more of this.

"It's going to happen now," she said softly. "You're going to kiss me. It's going to happen."

"What's going to happen?" My voice was hoarse, and I didn't seem to be able to speak above a whisper.

"Something catastrophic," she answered simply, as if that made sense. "Something undeniable. Something permanent."

"I ... I don't understand. Do you want this?"

"Oh, yes. I've been waiting for it my whole life."

I shuddered a sigh. "Kendra, you're speaking in riddles. You act as if ...." I stopped abruptly at her expression. She was smiling up at me, and she looked ... happy. My heart skipped a beat.

"Silly boy," she chided. "Riddles have simple answers. But ... I don't. It will wait. I'll answer all your questions. Later. Just ... don't let go of me." She was still holding my hand.

"Then let lips do what hands do," I muttered, lowering my face to hers.

"Oh, God. He quotes Shakespeare," she whispered; and she closed the final two inches of space between us herself, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to mine.

As you might have guessed, I'm not the world's foremost expert on the human kiss. Still, on a scale from one to ten ... well, I just don't see how any kiss could possibly ever beat that one. That set the mark. Despite my bending down toward her, she was on her tiptoes. Using her arms, however, she lifted herself off the ground long enough to let her entire body fall naturally against mine. From our feet to our lips, every single part of me seemed to pressing against every single part of her. Her lower tummy was moving sinuously against my groin, and I began to stiffen noticeably. Her breasts flattened against my lower chest while my hands roamed freely over her back and sides. The velvet had been thick enough to hide the fact that she wasn't wearing a stitch underneath, but now her nipples began thickening and growing hard. I lost track of time, but it must have gone on for two or three minutes, at least, before I started swaying slightly. I was the only thing keeping both of us upright, but I was not only getting tired, I was starting to feel dizzy.

As I broke it off, she remained clutching me around the neck, her chest heaving, her breath coming in deep gasps. I tried to pull back and look into her eyes, but she kept her face buried in my chest and the side of my neck. "Was that catastrophic?" I asked gently.

"Oh, you have no idea," she whispered gently. I felt something wet on my neck.

"Aw, Kendra ... you're crying again! What did I do wrong this time?"

She forced herself upright and drew away from me just far enough to pull my tie off. "No more questions, Randy." Her eyes were sparkling with tears, but she was smiling. "I need you to take me now. I need to please you. I need to surrender to you."

I shucked off my jacket and tossed it on a chair, then started removing the shirt she had already finished unbuttoning. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled. I toed off my shoes, since she had just done the same with her high heels. The difference in our heights was acute now.

"First Shakespeare and now Lewis Carroll," she remarked. "Do you know any American authors?" It appeared the tears had stopped.

I ran my hands up and down her sides. "I really love this dress ... but how do we get it off?"

She turned in my arms and pointed back over her shoulder at the top of a zipper, which was hidden by the rich fabric. I pulled it down slowly but steadily until the top of her bare ass was in view, then I pushed the garment off her shoulders. She lowered her hands and let it fall to the floor, and all of a sudden, she was completely nude. She spun slowly to face me. "I'm shy," she whispered.

I swallowed hard, a combination of nervousness and suppressed lust. My hands were on her waist, but now that her breasts were right there, I couldn't keep from stroking my way up to them. "You're perfect," I husked. "Just perfect."

Her hands were on my arms, but now she let them encircle my body and pull me to her. I didn't want to let go of those breasts, but I did, and I held her, pulling her to me, smelling her hair, which had obviously been recently washed with lilac shampoo. "Randy ..." she said softly, "it's ... um ... been a long time for me. I ... I was never really any good at it, anyway. I never knew what to do. I ... I want to make this good for you. I wish I could make it perfect ... but ... but you might need to tell me what to do. I'm sorry."

I backed off until I could look into her eyes. "What has that son of a bitch done to you? Is he blackmailing you or something?"

"No," she pleaded. "I want this! I want it more than I've ever wanted anything! Please take me! Please!"

Exasperated, I backed off and peeled off my pants, underwear and socks. She kept her hand on my arm while I did that, then stepped forward to press her body against mine again. I stroked her neck, her face, her back. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around my cock, which had been sticking her in the stomach, and I groaned loudly. "Kendra ... I ... I don't have any protection. It never dawned on me to bring something."

That made her pause, though she didn't let go of my shaft. "Do we really need it? I'm on the pill; and I had a blood test with my last physical. I'm okay." Again, something was wrong with this picture. She seemed to have no thoughts at all about her own safety; she only seemed intent on pleasing me.

I'd had just about all the mystery I could take for awhile. It would have to wait. I bent down abruptly, hooked my arm below her tight little butt, and hoisted her up into my arms, spinning toward the bed as I did so. She squealed and laughed, then quieted, her arms around my neck, and she sighed deeply. "You're romantic. Somehow, I knew you would be." I lowered her to the bed, slid my body beside hers, and I kissed her again.

My hands began to wander, seemingly of their own accord. Her breasts were spectacular, and her nipples were dark and fat and very hard. I slid one hand down between her legs, and she opened herself to me immediately, without any reluctance. She had shaved all her pubic hair, and she was dripping wet. I slid a finger inside her, and she suddenly cried out, stiffened and convulsed in what appeared to be an orgasm, as the walls of her cunt clutched and contracted against my hand. I drew my head back and regarded her inquiringly. Her eyes were shut tight, and she was shivering all over. "A bit of a short fuse?" I asked, smiling. 

She peeked at me with one eye and blushed. "I ... I can't help it. You touched me just right and ...." She froze as my hand moved upward along her gash, across her clitoris. "Oh, God, Randy! Here it comes again! UGH! Ahhh! Ahhh!"

The base of my palm was on her stomach, the muscles of which rippled and clenched, while her body strained against my hand. She seemed to have no control at all, and if we hadn't been having sex, I would have sworn she was having some sort of seizure. Her hands clutched my arms so hard that her nails were digging into me, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out. She couldn't be faking something like this, could she? And if so, why, when we were just getting started? I'd barely touched her.

At last, she reached down and pulled my hand away from her pussy. "Please," she panted. "Please ... no more. Let me rest a minute. I ... I can't take any more right now." She was breathing hard and still shaking.




Snuggle Ch. 01



"Are you always so ... um ... quick on the trigger?"

She peered up at me, panting. "No. Never. I ... I don't know what happened. I've never ... cum with a guy before." She looked away from me for a moment. "Not that there have been very many." She took a deep breath and seemed to settle down. "Oh gosh, Randy, just look at you!" She reached down and took my cock in her hand again, then stroked it a few times. "I've neglected you, poor baby!"

I groaned. "After that little exhibition, I'm surprised you CAN touch me without results that are ... how did you put it? Catastrophic?"

She giggled. "Tell me what you want. I need to please you. I need to obey you. Tell me!"

"Obey?" I asked, incredulously.

"Never mind," she said spryly. "I know what you want." She scooted herself down on the bed until her face lined up with me, and without hesitation, she licked me a few times then engulfed me with her mouth.

"Holy shit, Kendra!" I whimpered. I almost lost it, but she pulled her lips free after only a few seconds.

"I've never done this before. I've read about it, of course. Will you tell me if I'm doing it right?" And she sucked me back into her voracious mouth.

I couldn't suppress a shudder. "How the hell should I know? This is a first for me, too." I paused to pant like a dog. "Just off the top of my head, I'd say you've figured it out."

She giggled around my shaft, which felt, by the way, fantastic. She stopped yet again and regarded my prick seriously. "I want you to cum in my mouth. I'll swallow it, I promise ... no matter what it tastes like."

"Will you really do anything I tell you to?" I asked softly.

That made her look up at me. "Yes! Anything, I promise!"

I reached down and ran my fingers into her hair, then gently pulled her away from me. "Then you can swallow later. I want you now."

She nodded and crawled back up into my arms. "Yes ... please. Take me. Please."

I pushed her gently onto her back and moved above her, between the legs that she spread wide for me. She reached down, grasped me again, and guided me to her drenched opening, letting go as soon as the head was in and throwing her arms around my neck. I pressed downward, slowly, relentlessly, until I was buried all the way, then I paused and waited. It wasn't going to take much more to make me blast inside her, and I wanted to delay things as long as I could.

But that wasn't going to happen. The walls of her cunt squeezed suddenly with a strong spasm, and she tilted her head back and cried out. Her inner muscles clutched me again, paused, and then did it again. "SO DEEP!" she screamed at the ceiling. "Oh God, Randy! You're so deep!" And she launched back into another of her rollicking, crazy orgasms. That, of course, was all it took for me, and I felt my balls contract as I shot what felt like a gallon of jizz into her, throbbing and squirting for what must have been close to a full minute. I felt it oozing out of her, onto the sheet. She seemed to quiet down before I did, but she held me tightly, pressing her pelvis up toward me whenever she felt me throb again, until I finally stopped and lay heavily atop her. At last, I started to rise.

"No, please! Please stay inside me. Stay just like this!" I collapsed back onto her again, but she seemed to cherish my heavy weight. I'd finally caught my breath after another couple minutes, and I lifted myself up onto my elbows. I slid one forearm under her neck and began stroking her face with the fingertips of my other hand. She sighed. "Do you feel that? How close we are? You're still inside me, and I've never felt so close to another human being in my whole life." We were silent for a few minutes. Finally: "Randy?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you won't leave me tonight."

I smiled down at her. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Promise?"

"Of course I promise." She looked so serious that I couldn't help but kiss her. Then I kissed her again.

"Oh my gosh! You're getting big again!" She started to gyrate her hips, thrusting up at me. "Do me again. Please?"

I laughed out loud, then abruptly rolled us over so that I was on my back. I hadn't slipped out of her, and despite giving a little shriek at my sudden maneuver, she settled atop me almost triumphantly, sitting up, her palms on my chest, and she began smoothly riding me, up and down with a steady rhythm. I was pleased that I was going to last awhile this time. She came. After another few minutes, I reached down and began stroking her clit, and she came again. As I finally started feeling my loins begin to boil with my approaching discharge, I reached up and grasped both nipples between thumbs and forefingers, rolling them, and she came yet again.

When it was finally over, she collapsed atop me, and in less than a minute, I realized she was asleep. I rolled us onto our sides and held her. Very soon, I was out like a light.

I don't know what awakened me. She was nuzzled against me, holding me. The light was still on, and very slowly, very carefully, I extracted myself from our tangled arms and legs and slid out of bed. The clock on the bed table said 4:45. I switched off the overhead light, but the blinds were open, and moonlight washed across the sleeping nude in my bed almost caressingly. I watched her sleep for a long time, then I turned and tiptoed into the bathroom. I don't know how long I was in there ... but it couldn't have been much more than sixty seconds. I sat to pee, afraid that the sound might awaken her otherwise ... I even decided not to flush. And when I came back out again ... she was gone.

I stood at the foot of the bed, staring at it, uncomprehending. The bed was still there. The moonlight was still there. Her dress was still on the floor near the chair at the side of the room. Where the hell had she gone? I turned and cast a look at the closed door, wondering if I could have possibly missed hearing it. I was just about to call out for her, when I heard a strange noise. I cocked my head, listening intently, and finally, I heard it again. I raced to the bedside stand and fumbled the lamp on, which, at its lowest setting, did not provide all that much illumination.

And there she was, curled up in a fetal position in the corner, sitting more or less upright, her feet moving, shoving against the floor, pushing, as if to ram herself further into the narrowest confines of the walls, away from the center of the room. Her eyes were clenched shut, and she was shaking violently. A thin, keening sound was coming from her, deep in her throat. I've never witnessed anything quite so ... pathetic. I didn't know what to do. Was she still asleep? Having a bad dream? Should I make a noise, or would that scare her? Quietly, I crept up to her on hands and knees, and I reached out, laying my hand on her shoulder. I kept my voice low. "Kendra?"

Her eyes opened and stared at me. Her mouth was open in a grotesque pantomime of a scream, but she had no voice, and for a moment, I wondered if she was breathing. And then in an instant, she sprang at me, knocking me over backwards, barely missing the edge of the bed. She threw her arms around me and clasped me so tightly I couldn't speak.

"You left me!" she croaked.

I twisted my neck far enough to draw breath. "I didn't leave you. I just went to the bathroom."

She was shaking violently. "You left me! I woke up, and you weren't there! You left me!"

"Kendra, I didn't leave you. I was in the bathroom." I struggled to get the two of us to our feet, but it was difficult because she refused to relinquish her hold on me. There were tears now. Lots of them. Had she been so scared that she was unable even to ever cry?

"You ... I ... We ... were touching. And ... and then ... you were gone! You weren't there! And ... and there was no one to touch! I ... I couldn't touch ...."

I pulled her over to the bed, sat down, and drew her in after me. Somehow, I was able to grab a couple pillows and prop them up against the headboard so that I could sit, holding her. I soothed her, petted her, stroked her ... touched her. Neither of us spoke for long, long minutes. Finally, I could delay it no longer.

"Kendra, what's the matter with you?"

She took a deep breath. "The way I figure it, we have acute monophobia, a crippling obsessive-compulsive disorder and severe anxiety complex."

I tried to draw away from her far enough to see her eyes, but she wouldn't let go of me. "We? Janie, too? Both of you with the same condition?" She nodded silently and I continued. "How long have you ... um ... had this problem?"

"I thought it had been months, but we just found out that it's only been a couple weeks. And that's not the half of it. I wish you weren't a part of it, but you are."

"Me? What do you mean?"

"I'll have you know, Mr. Randy ...." She hesitated. "I don't even know your last name."

"Rustman," I said quietly.

"Rustman," she whispered; then she said it again, as if she was testing the way the word felt on her tongue. She sighed deeply. "I am in love with you, Mr. Rustman."

I stroked her bare back. "Let's not rush things, Kendra. We've only known each other for seven or eight hours."

"But that's not true. I've known you for much longer. I've known your face ... the color of your eyes." Finally, she looked up at me and smiled at my expression, then she lowered her head again so that I couldn't see her face as she dropped the bombshell. "I was forced to love you, Randy. He programmed me to love you. But ... oh God ... it's real. I love you. I do. I love you more than anyone or anything else in the whole world. I'd die for you." I didn't know what to say to that. "You don't need to worry, though. I know you don't love me ... and I don't expect you to reciprocate or understand. We'll go our separate ways." She paused again. "But you're the one, Randy. I'll never love anyone else like I love you. You're the love of my life. Now and forever."

Suddenly, there was a horrible scream from a room nearby. I lurched upright and started to get out of bed, but Kendra put her hand on my leg. "Don't get up. It's okay, I think. It's Janie." The scream came again. Once more, I moved to get up, but again she stopped me with a gesture. "Does Frank get up to use the bathroom like you do in the night?"

"How the hell should I know?" I groused. "We have separate rooms and separate bathrooms."

The scream didn't come a third time, and quiet claimed the big mansion again. "There," she said. "It's alright now. He's with her again, or she would keep screaming." She sighed. "She probably scared poor Frank to death."

I took a ragged breath. "Will you really do anything I tell you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then tell me," I ordered. "Tell me now."

And there, in that dim room, in the wee hours of the morning, a scared, beautiful, naked girl snuggled against my body and told me her story. It was a tale of sweet innocence, unimagined passion, unshakeable friendship and unspeakable horror.

To Be Continued



Snuggle Ch. 02



Chapter 2

Kendra's Tale

There are battles to be fought ... but we have come so far, with so many heroines along the way. From Sojourner Truth to Harriet Tubman to Rosa Parks. We owe them; all of us, black and white and brown and yellow. My generation owes so very much, though each of us must choose whether or not we want to repay that debt ... and how. As for me, I will go as far as I can. It's hard. There are obstacles every step of the way, but I will keep on. I owe them that.

It's easy to take things for granted ... when you have them. I've always had them. Daddy went into public service once he had his law degree. He met my mother overseas, brought her back to the States, and joined a fancy law firm. I've been in private schools my whole life. It was in college, at Cornell, that I added several new heroines to my list. Gwendolyn Brooks, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison. And I decided I would try to honor my predecessors the way they had honored there's ... by being unique. I would write ... in my own words, in my own style.

And yet, for all my talk, there are a couple obstacles that I simply can't seem to get over. The first is the hardest to swallow. I do what I love, and I love to write. Unfortunately, I'm either not that creative, or more probably, just not that good. Not yet. Not by myself. Fortunately for me, I'm not alone. I'll come back to that in a minute.

And secondly, it's very, very hard to BE a strong personality, when you don't HAVE one. It's not that I haven't tried. It's just not who I am. I like to judge a person on how he or she relates to Dracula. No, not the monster ... the book. It's something most people have read, sometime in their lives; and in it are four wonderful characters. Men will imagine themselves as either Jonathan Harker or Van Helsing, depending who they most admire ... the patient observer or the self-described expert who's not afraid to take drastic action. Most women imagine themselves to be Mina: strong, gentle, reverent and chaste. But me ... I lie in bed and imagine myself as Lucy; the girl who, when confronted by evil desire, eventually surrendered her body and her soul.

The first time I had sex, I was drunk. It was all a cliché, really. It happened after the senior prom. He had brought a bottle along, and he had "car problems" after parking in a lovers' lane; then he goaded me with the booze and coaxed me into the back seat. I didn't like it. It hurt like the dickens, and eventually, I think I just wound up noticing things that annoyed me: his clumsiness, his breath, the mess ... that sort of thing. I swore off sex. Never again. That little resolution lasted about ten months. Our sorority (my freshman year) was invited to a frat party. It was almost the same scenario ... drunk, enticed, disappointed. And ... never again, I told myself. I held out for almost a year that time. It was another party. But this guy (a football player) got rough. There were bruises. And ... there were pictures. An assistant coach took them when I started squawking. I'll give you gals out there a little tip: you can't fight a college athletic organization, so don't even GO there. Before I had a chance to make a case, they were already lining up a case against ME, threatening to expel me for prostitution. The very erotic pictures all seemed to prove them right. I quickly saw the writing on the wall and the whole thing was dropped. Never again, I said. And this time, I made it stick. Of course, I had a little help.

The help was Janie. I don't know how we hooked up ... or really, at first, why. We met in a Foreign Authors class the second semester of our sophomore year. I'd seen her around campus, but of course, she's just the type of person you notice. Guys would follow her around like a line of ducklings, and she'd toss them little smiles instead of bread crumbs. The thing that caught my attention was the fourth straight A+ paper that was handed back to her. The first words I ever spoke to her were after class while she was holding that paper. "Are you sleeping with the prof?" I asked. (Have I mentioned my uncanny predilection for tact?) Instead of getting angry, she threw back her head and laughed out loud. Then, amazingly, she folded her arm in mine and turned me toward the door. "Let's get some coffee," she suggested.

And we've been together ever since. She is, without any mental reservation or purpose for evasion, the most intelligent woman I have ever met. But, oh my, she hides it well. The first thing we did was start studying together, and my grades all improved ... even in the classes she wasn't taking. We moved in together that summer, and I found that I was no longer simply running MY life ... WE were running OURS. I had never even considered sticking around for grad school, but for her, it was a given ... not just for her, but for US.

As different as we were physically, we were alike inside. Janie's problem was sex. With me, she was like a female Einstein: logical, calculating, witty and sharp. With men, she was the typical dumb blonde. She literally never said "no" to a guy. Like me, she never seemed to be satisfied by the sex; I think she just got off on the submission ... and maybe on the humiliation. She was constantly being left emotionally drained and physically abused. Midway through our junior year, I'd had enough, and I told her so. The solution was simple, actually; like everything, it became a problem to figure out for "us," and not just her. We formed a mutual protection society. When we wanted to go out, we went out together, either on a double date, or more and more frequently, the two of us alone; and eventually, men ceased to be a part of our lives altogether.

Now, we were two healthy young women. We had certain needs ... and no, we didn't turn to each other for sex. We each had BOB (Battery Operated Boyfriend) for that. We were very pragmatic about it ... very realistic. If I heard a buzzing sound in the night, I didn't think anything about it ... and I most certainly never mentioned it. Sometimes, that was difficult ... Janie is a "moaner," and is often quite ... well ... vociferous. But overall, it was just a necessity, like hygiene. A fact of life. Another aspect of our day-to-day existence. It was basic knowledge between us that someday ... well ... someday Mr. Right would come along for each of us, and we could dream about him when we were in bed alone with BOB. When that day finally did come, we'd face it. We'd be alright. But for now, we needed to get on with life.

After graduation, we joined the staff of the school paper together doing editorials. Then we published an article in a magazine together ... and then another, and another. At Janie's insistence, we started taking screenwriting classes, beginning with an undergrad course and then moving to some advanced classes. Finally, we started sending "spec scripts" to various TV shows, producers and studios. After a year of this, we attracted the attention of an agent; and finally, finally, we sold a feature script to the Sci Fi Channel. Then, of course, came the first re-write, and then the second re-write: delete this character, add that scene, change the location, turn the leading lady into a young girl ... and on and on. By the fifth re-write (the final, by contract), the thing bore little resemblance to the masterpiece it had once been ... but they shot it! They actually shot it! We were in IMDb! We had done it!

"Writing teams" are becoming more and more popular. As far as publishers are concerned (and producers, studios ... everybody), a team is treated like a single person. If a team is hired for a TV staff writer's position (for example), they get one individual salary that they have to split ... the same salary that is paid to each of the other "individuals." In other words, a "team" might be in it for the money, but they're not in it to get rich. Still, there is no source of satisfaction quite like the rush you get when you see your stuff in print or on the screen.

We had never really considered video games before we got the call from our agent telling us that Rankin Toddworth himself had requested to see us. We were absolutely stunned, but we shifted immediately into high gear and tried to figure the thing out. First, we researched Toddworth, who, most people seemed to agree, could be classified somewhere between wildly eccentric and downright cruel. We had told our agent (who was in Los Angeles) that we'd meet with the old man right away, but after another hour, we were both balking at the whole idea. And then, a lawyer showed up and asked us to sign for a thick envelope. It contained instructions for travel, a cell phone, and fifteen thousand dollars in cash (for "expense money," the letter said -- whether we decided to sign a contract or not). See you tomorrow, the letter said. Pack for a few days, because if we did sign, we'd go right to work.

Janie still didn't want to do it. I did. We flipped a coin. Isn't it amazing how dramatically your life can change just because a coin comes up tails?

After the "decision" had been made, Janie jumped in with both feet. She visited the campus library and the bookstores in search of information about writing video game content. Then we went out together and bought new suitcases, new clothes and travel necessities. The limo would pick us up at ten o'clock the next morning, since it was a four or five hour drive from Ithaca to Danbury. All the way there, we studied ... and we got more and more uneasy. Just about everything nowadays was a "shooter" game, and apart from the background "universe," which was mostly a graphics function, there wasn't anything even resembling the type of writing we had been doing. I announced that if it was a "D&D" themed game, we were sunk, since our required reading list would number in the dozens ... if not hundreds of gaming books, and neither of us would even know where to start.

The house, of course, was awe-inspiring, inside and out, and the grounds were not only immaculate, they went on for as far as the eye could see. Mr. Toddworth answered the door himself, and though he was certainly cordial, we both got the impression that he was studying us intently. This went well beyond the "undressing us with his eyes" routine, though I think there was some of that involved, too. He complimented Janie's "grace and poise," and he told me I had a nice figure. I pretty much decided that "dirty old man" was the thing nestled between "eccentric" and "cruel," at least in his case. He told us that the butler would show us to our room (we both noticed that the word was singular), that dinner would be served early this evening, and could we be ready by five? We gaped at him nervously, but said we could. Were we supposed to bring fancy dresses?

I had packed a light cotton summer dress, and even though the temperature had turned cool, it would just have to do. Janie didn't even bring a dress, but with her shape, she could make a pair of Dockers adequate for the Met. The fact that we were both in the same room (with only one double bed) really had us stumped. Did he think we were lovers or something? Whatever. What's just one more little hardship? We were in the business of persevering. We spent our remaining time helping with each other's hair and makeup. I thought we looked pretty damned good, myself.

We were aghast, however, when we found our way to the drawing room and saw Toddworth and another man wearing tuxedos. The new guy was younger than our host ... probably around fifty, I guess, and he looked like a young Sigmund Freud, replete with full, short, gray-shot beard. Toddworth introduced him simply as "Dr. Arnold," and we both just assumed that he was a full-time private physician. We were served Champagne punch cocktails, but disappointingly, no appetizers. Because of the time the limo picked us up, we had eaten nothing since breakfast, and very quickly, the drink started going to my head. The butler arrived to tell us that dinner would be delayed fifteen minutes due to a failure of one of the burners on the kitchen stove; and after taking the man aside and whispering some pointed instructions in private, Toddworth apologized and told us there was simply nothing else to do but have another drink.

Janie was visibly wobbly on her feet, and I wasn't much better, so I maneuvered her to the couch by the bay window and carefully sat us down. This seemed to dismay the two menfolk, however, and they worked together to drag a chair over and position it facing us. The doctor sat in it and contemplated us carefully. "Do you know what type of degree I have?" he asked us.

"A Doctor's Degree?" Janie guessed, and she giggled. I looked at her wide-eyed. She couldn't be that far gone after only two drinks! "A Doctorate in Doctoring," she announced, and guffawed.

"Janie!" I admonished ... but then a laugh bubbled up out of my mouth. I bit it off with an effort. "I'm really sorry, Doctor. We haven't had much to eat today, and the drinks were ... um ... very good. What type of doctor are you?"

"I'm a clinical psychologist, my dear. I specialize in hypnosis."

Janie very suddenly stopped her laughter, and she regarded the man with seeming wonder. "Really?" she said, swaying slightly, bumping her shoulder against mine. "I've never been hypnotized. I've always wondered what it would be like."

"It's the most wonderful feeling in the world, my dear. You'll be completely relaxed ... completely open and honest. You'll feel euphoric and happy."

She swayed back and forth. "I don't know. You'll make me bark like a dog. You'll control me."

He chuckled. I got the feeling that he didn't WANT to appear condescending; he just couldn't help it. "You might be open to suggestion ... intelligent people usually are ...but a person can only be 'controlled' if she really wants that."

I wrinkled my brow in thought. There was something about that statement that didn't meet the criteria of "Philosophy 201: Introduction to Logic." For a moment, I thought I had it. All people want to appear intelligent. Intelligent people are open to suggestion. Therefore, all people want to be open to suggestion. However, after I decided to go over that in my head one more time, I found I'd lost my train of thought.

"Okay," Janie declared. "Do me."

"Janie!" I whispered harshly. "I'm not sure this is the time or situation to go around giving up emotional control."

To my surprise, she bristled. "I think I've been holding down my share of the 'situation,' Ken!" she barked. "You don't think I deserve a wee bit of euphoria?" I must have looked as shocked as I felt, because she was immediately conciliatory. She blinked those big green eyes at me and said: "Sorry, babe. I didn't mean to snap. It's just that I've always been really curious about this. You don't mind, do you?"

I tried to take in my surroundings, which was difficult, because the room was spinning. Toddworth, who was inclined against the wall off to our left, was leaning forward expectantly. The good doctor of psychology was also leaning toward us, his elbows on his knees, his eyes glittering. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. Little Miss Hamlet, however, didn't seem capable of figuring it out. "Okay, Janie. I'll stay awake and make sure ... um ... he doesn't turn you into a chicken."

"Oh, that's alright. I AM intelligent, after all, so I must be suggestible, right Doc?"

The good doctor looked startled, and I couldn't help but feel a little vindicated for my previous thought ... whatever that had been. I shook my head to try and clear it. He took out a small penlight, pushed a button, and it started blinking slowly, a soft, pulsing red. "Just watch the light, my dear," he intoned softly. "Relax and watch the light, and soon, you'll be in a deep, deep trance. It's going to be the best feeling you've ever had ... the best feeling in the world. Relax for me, and just let go. Follow my voice, and let go. You deserve this. You've always wanted it, and now you can have it."

I watched her intently. Already, her mouth was hanging slightly open and her eyes had glazed over. "It's time to get sleepy now. The more relaxed you are, the sleepier you become. It's only natural to want this. You're going to sleep SO deeply. You can just let your eyes close, whenever you want to. Just let it happen." Her eyes slid shut, but he continued. "And you see the light, blink ... blink ... blinking, causing you to relax even more." Okay, that didn't make a whole lot of sense. Why would he be going on and on about seeing the blinking light, if her eyes were closed? "And now, as you watch the light blink, blink, blink, you are so relaxed, and so sleepy. Do you see how the color of the light is changing?" That made me turn and look at it myself. It was still red, though. "The light is changing to a wonderful, multi-colored sparkle. Can you see it?"

"Yes," Janie said, her voice low.

I wrinkled my brow and studied the light harder. "So relaxed, now. So relaxed and sleepy. The more relaxed you are, the better you can see the pretty, sparkling colors. Do you see them?"

Again, she answered yes, but her voice had a strange echo.

"You deserve a little nap," he continued. "You deserve to feel this relaxed ... to feel the wonderful sleep that is coming for you. So relaxed. So sleepy. Do you see the pretty colors?"

"Yes." There was an echo, no doubt about it. Some indeterminable time later, I thought I had the answer. "Yes, I see them," I said aloud. And I could, too. I thought I'd take a little nap. I deserved this. I deserved to feel relaxed like this.

"Close your eyes and sleep," he said. I felt wonderful. I don't remember anything else, but I remember that I felt wonderful.

I struggled up and up and up from the deepest sleep imaginable, even though I still felt exhausted and a part of me didn't want to wake up. Beside me, Janie was doing the same. We were in some strange bedroom without windows. There were three doors on separate walls, one of which was partly open, revealing a bathroom. The walls themselves were bare, and the whole thing looked ... plain. We were alone, but the door facing us was opening, and the doctor was coming in carrying a tray with two plates and two big glasses of water. "I'm afraid you slept through dinner," he told us. "I had the butler prepare your meals."

He put the tray down on a low coffee table, and we sat on the edge of the bed to eat. The plates, when uncovered, had a very sparse amount of food. "Is this all?" Janie asked groggily.

"We're very hungry," I explained. "May we have more?"

"I'm very sorry, but that's all there is. Perhaps you can drink plenty of water."

I sighed. There were only a few mouthfuls, but he was right, there was lots of water. We each drank a full glass. "What is this place?" I asked, looking around.

"Just one of the estate bedrooms," he answered. "I asked for privacy, because you were both such extraordinary subjects. He said he'd let us use this room." He paused, as if he'd had a sudden thought. "Here, let me show you." He pulled out the little penlight and set it to blinking again. "Look at the light and relax. Relax. That's it. Sleep, now. Sleep."

Janie gave a soft sigh and tumbled back onto the mattress. I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the blinking light, but I definitely knew something was wrong. Dr. Arnold continued to intone "Sleep. Sleep," on and on, and finally I just gave up. He was right about one thing: it DID feel good to be hypnotized ... and this time, it felt even better. This time, I had an orgasm.

Again, we awoke at the same time, and again the doctor was coming in, bearing a tray. We sat, groggy and disoriented, and viewed another very meager meal, which consisted of about half a scrambled egg, half a piece of toast, and a single strip of bacon on each plate. Janie groaned that she was SO hungry, and wolfed it down while I tried desperately to figure out what was wrong with this picture. While she wasn't looking, I put some of my food on her plate, then drank some of the orange juice that accompanied the meal. I felt really ... fuzzy.




Snuggle Ch. 02



"Are ... are you holding us here against our will?" I asked the doctor.

He expressed surprise. "I'm shocked that you'd even consider such an accusation," he answered. He pulled out that damn penlight again. "I'm only trying to help each of you find your true potential." It started blinking again. "And you DO like it, don't you? You like the way you watch the light and relax. Relax. Now, Sleep. Sleep."

Janie was out again, but I tried hard to reason this through. The more he intoned "Sleep," however, the more difficult it was to concentrate. Finally, after losing my train of thought entirely, I succumbed and lay down beside her. I had another orgasm ... but that's all I remember. When we next awoke, however, we were both completely naked.

"Oh, HELL no!" Janie yelled, covering her breasts with her hands as the door opened. But the doc hardly seemed to take notice, and he set the tray with the two plates and two glasses down in front of us exactly like he'd done before. The incentive of food outweighed the need for modesty, and she used her hands to force the morsels into her mouth, actually whining when it was gone. This time, she looked at me suspiciously when she found another few bites on her previously empty plate, but said nothing and guiltily ate it.

"You can't keep us here," I told him savagely. "We have friends and family. They'll be looking for us."

He smiled pleasantly. "As I said before, I'm only attempting to help you reach your full potential. And ... as a matter of fact, you've each called your families and told them that you're working for Mr. Toddworth on a project, and that you won't be able to call again for some time."

The shock or such a statement suddenly became obscured in my mind. He was pulling out the penlight again. Suddenly, I thought I knew what was happening to me ... but before I could voice my thoughts, Janie asked: "Why are we nude? Why did you do this?"

"It helps create the mood for submissive reception of my suggestions of self-acceptance and mental actualization," he said. Ah, so it wasn't just my muddled brain. He was talking in double-speak. By this time, the light was blinking, and he began chanting his stupid "Relax," and "Sleep" mantra. What had that thought been? It had been so important. I slept. I came.

I awoke. It was the same scenario exactly, but this time, when I had the idea, I kept a firm grasp on it. Unfortunately, I'd already eaten the food. "You son of a bitch," I hissed at him. "You're drugging us. THAT's how you're doing this." He grimaced slightly and regarded me seriously before pulling out the penlight. I was especially dismayed when I felt Janie, beside me, topple over, asleep ... but I swore I was not going to be such easy prey. I kept my eyes locked on his, rather than on the light, and I tried my damnedest not to listen to him, but he just kept on and on while lifting the blinking light to his eye level and I again lost my train of thought and surrendered.

I came again. But this time, I DO remember what happened. Because this time, I tried and I tried ... and I woke up. I was lying on my back beside Janie in the bed, and I heard a voice, detached and distant, coming from somewhere beyond the room. I got up and went to the door, listened with my ear against it, then tried it, only to find it locked. I tiptoed over to the other door, gently cracked it open and peered inside. It was some sort of operating room, with medical devices and heavy machines all around. Dr. Arnold was bent over a desk, speaking into a phone. "Yes, I just spoke to Toddworth, and he concurred .... I'm sorry if you're inconvenienced .... The blonde's okay, it's the other one. I don't think I can control her any longer .... I understand that they both have to be done together, and I'm sorry the timetable is being moved up, but I need you now. Right away .... I'm sorry, I have absolutely nothing at all to do with the money. You'll have to take that up with Toddworth .... Yes, goodbye."

He rose, and I retreated quickly back to the bed, taking my place beside Janie; but he never came into the room (I was watching through eyes that were closed to slits). Eventually, though, I heard a door close somewhere, and rising once again, I checked the door to the other room carefully. He wasn't there, so I crept in and looked around.

The place smelled antiseptic, and was clean and shiny new. A wheeled gurney seemed to be the central feature of the room, but one end of it was literally surrounded by bulky objects ... above, below and on either side. Atop these, and on both side of them, were computer monitors, all slanted to face what must have been a control panel, which sported two keyboards and two joysticks.

Confused, I went to the desk where I had seen Dr. Arnold talking on the phone. I can't believe I didn't immediately pick it up and try to call for help ... my mind must have still been muddled from whatever drug had been in the food. Instead, my attention was drawn to several file folders sitting on the desk's surface, one of which bore Janie's and my names. It wasn't very extensive ... most of it was from our "profiles" on file with our agent in Los Angeles. After our sophomore year, Janie and I had taken all the same classes, one of which was a clinical psych class where, as one of our projects, we "evaluated" ourselves using various types of standard psychological tests. How had he gotten his hands on this stuff?

All the other folders had to do with a woman in Chicago. One of the first things in the top folder was a short news article from the Chicago Tribune dated about three years before. I still remember it verbatim. I don't think I'll ever forget it.

"WOMAN SUES CITY. CLAIMS ACCIDENT FORCED HER INTO PROSTITUTION.

"A South Chicago woman, injured in a bus accident in June, is making the strange claim that the injuries she sustained have forced her into a life of sexual dependency and prostitution. 

"The woman, referred to in the formal suit as "Ms X," insists that since the mishap, she has been unable to be physically separated from another person without experiencing severe panic attacks. Without family or friends in the area, she claims that she has been forced to move from man to man in order to maintain physical closeness; her only stipulations in the mostly one-night liaisons were that the man spend the entire night with her, and that afterwards, he remain with her, holding her hand, until a substitute could be found.

"She claims that she has lost all that she had, including her job and apartment, as a result of the accident. She is seeking $20 million in damages. The City Attorney's Office calls the claim preposterous."

Most of the other folders contained medical mumbo-jumbo and what I assumed to be brain scans, circled in some places, notes written in marker in others. 

I smelled him first. That's the first indication I had that I was no longer alone. A harsh, sharp, nauseating, medicine smell. I dropped the folder I was holding and started to spin around toward him, but I was too late ... he'd slid an arm around my bare stomach and pulled me back against him. The smell became overpowering. Instinctively, I took a deep breath to scream, but instead of air, all my lungs inhaled was the horrid smell. I raised my hands to claw at the hand covering my mouth, feeling cloth, but I lacked the strength to do any damage. I started kicking back at him, but my feet, of course, were bare; and by now, I could barely lift them.

"You've been naughty, Kendra," Doctor Arnold said in my ear. "I've only had your best interests at heart, but you've been exceedingly uncooperative." I couldn't keep my hands up anymore, and they fell to my sides. "I'll make you a deal," he continued. "If you be a good girl and go to sleep, I'll take away the bad-smelling cloth. Do we have an agreement?" I tried to nod, but I have no idea if I did. I did sleep though. No orgasm this time. Guess I'd been a bad girl.

When I finally awoke, the room was the same, but the scene had changed dramatically. I was in a chair against one wall, and I couldn't move. My arms were attached to the arms of the chair by some sort of tape, and apparently, so were my feet to the chair's legs. There were two figures that slightly resembled space creatures in a "B" movie, draped in greenish cloth and bulky stuff that covered their bodies, both front and back. They wore helmets that covered the tops and back of their heads, and a faceplate that sort of resembled a welder's mask, only the place for the eyes was transparent. Their feet were wrapped in those paper slipper things they use in hospitals. In stark contrast was the nude figure on the hospital gurney. Janie was lying face-down, her arms by her sides, Velcro straps around her back, her hips, her thighs, her ankles. As I watched, the bulky machines that surrounded her head were moving away, though cloth pads obscured the back of her head.

The standing figure spoke with Dr. Arnold's voice. "You're not going to monitor extraction?"

"It's all computerized," was the gruff answer. "It's going to come out exactly the same way it went in. As long as she's perfectly still, everything will be fine." He sounded condescending ... maybe a little pissed off.

There was a humming noise, and a machine just above her head began extracting a long, thin needle out of the back of her head through a hole in the cloth. I gaped as needle kept coming ... and coming. There seemed to be no end to it; and to me, it was an absolute impossibility. It must have easily been twelve or fourteen inches long. From its angle, it should have stuck several inches through the front of her face. I made a noise. It was the first I'd noticed that there was tape over my mouth.

"Ah. Little Miss Nosey is awake," the gruff voice proclaimed.

He wasn't looking at me, though. Now that the needle was all the way out I saw that it wasn't really a needle at all, but something flexible and wiggly. He man moved his chair up to Janie's head, where he began working with various tools and devices. For awhile, it appeared that he was using a screwdriver. And then he was working with a needle and thread. The whole process took maybe ten minutes. Finally, he pushed his wheeled chair back away from her.

"She's all yours, Doctor." I could hear a sneer as he emphasized that last word. Then he seemed to reconsider. "That's the first time I've ever operated on a patient who was under hypnosis. I have to admit, I'm impressed. Perhaps you should consider a second career in anesthesia."

"It's not going to work on her, though," Dr. Arnold said, nodding in my direction.

"That's alright. I'll take care of this one." The surgeon stood, walked over to a cabinet and started fiddling with something while the shorter figure pulled all the Velcro straps off of Janie's limp body, then he wheeled the gurney out of the room. When the space monster by the cabinet turned to face me again, it was holding a hypodermic needle. He walked up to me, bent down and looked me in the eyes.

"I had Broadway show tickets for tonight. I was going to take a lovely lady I met at a party. I was thinking, maybe, I'd get lucky, you know? But then ... YOU happened." He straightened up and took a step back. I couldn't take my eyes off the needle. "You obviously read my folders," he resumed. "You know what's going to happen to your girlfriend now. And so ... I'm going to give you a choice. Number one, you can voluntarily hold out your arm for me while I inject you with this; in which case, you and your blonde friend will remain together ... possibly forever. Or ... you can refuse, in which case, I'll inject it into your neck, and do the procedure, anyway." He stepped closer again, put his face mask beside my ear, and spoke in a voice only I could hear. "But, Toddworth knows the odds. Some failure is inevitable in science. With a slight error, I could turn you a walking turnip. And as for your friend? Toddworth will do whatever he has planned with her alone, and I can promise you ... as God is my witness ... you will never see her again." He let that sink in for a second. "You probably read that news article. Do you think she can survive without you?" And without further comment, he reached down and savagely pulled the tape from my mouth.

"You son of a bitch!" I screamed, only to be struck dumb by the sight of a scalpel, held inches from my face. Sure, I tried to sound brave, but my wide eyes and tear-drenched cheeks might have been giving away my true feelings just a little. Nervously, I watched the scalpel descend to my right wrist, where, with a single swipe, it cut through the tape. Slowly, I twisted it until it was free, then I raised my hand, flexed my fingers several times, and tried to wipe away some of the tears, which were coming too hard now to staunch. I looked up at the mad doctor again, who was still standing above me holding the hypo. "You son of a bitch," I whispered again, and I held out my arm toward him, wrist upward. Without further preamble, he plunged the needle into my arm. "Ow ow ow!" I exclaimed through gritted teeth as he pushed the plunger home.

Once that was done, he suddenly seemed to be in a huge hurry. Using the scalpel, he sliced through the tape restraining my other wrist and my ankles, pulling the tape clear almost brutally, then he turned away and started fiddling with something near all the machines. I simply couldn't believe that he'd free me and then just leave me sitting there! I decided ... to hell with it. I was going to run. Naked or not, I was going to escape and find some help. All I had to ... do ... was ... move. I wanted to cry out, but I couldn't open my mouth. Somehow, I realized that I couldn't even blink my eyes. And then slowly, slowly, the REAL problem hit home: I couldn't breathe.

"I need a little help in here, doctor!" the goon in green hollered. This brought some sort of immediate action, but I couldn't see it. I mean, I could still see ... but I could move neither my head nor my eyes in their sockets. I felt myself being hoisted up and plopped onto my side on the padded gurney. Fingers were suddenly in my mouth, prying it open. Oooh, I wanted SO much to bite him! But that, of course, wasn't happening. Something else was in my mouth now, pressing against my tongue, holding it down. He put strips of tape over my mouth then; four of them, at least ... maybe more. Something was pinching my nose. And all of a sudden, my lungs were flooded with air. If I could, I would have sighed in relief ... but it took another half minute to realize that I was virtually in the same situation; for not only could I not inhale, I couldn't exhale, either.

I felt hands playing with my breasts ... and then just below them. Something started beeping rhythmically, and I realized that he'd hooked up a heart monitor. Then, I was turned over onto my stomach, and he began securing my head to some sort of cushioned indentation at the end of table. I'm not sure how the thing in my mouth worked. My eyes were open, but they were less than an inch from the surface of the table, and I could see nothing at all. I felt a hand on my bare back push down hard, and the air in my lungs was finally expelled. When the hand left, pressurized air filled them again. Hands continued fiddling with straps and things around my head, as, once again, I found that I could not exhale. I began to see stars. I was about to die of asphyxiation, even though my lungs were full of air.

Dr. Arnold's voice: "What did you give her? My God, is she conscious? Is she cognizant?" I heard someone's frustrated pacing while other straps were applied. "What kind of fiend ARE you?"

"At the moment, I am one pissed-off fiend," was the reply. "Now, if you'd like to help out a little, you could press the lady's back ... like this ... once every six or seven seconds. You'll know if you aren't doing it right, because the heart monitor will flat line when she dies."

The straps were being put around my lower back now, my thighs, my ankles. "This is INSANE!" Dr. Arnold's voice half-screamed. "Do you have any idea what kind of psychological impact this might have on her?"

"Don't be ridiculous. This is nothing, compared to the psychological results of operation itself. Anyway, serves her right, as far as I'm concerned." There was a long pause. "And ... we're ready to start. You'll feel a little sting, my dear." Holy shit! A little sting? It felt like he'd jammed a hot poker into the back of head! "And ... here comes another one." Okay, that one ... whatever it was ... wasn't nearly as bad as the first one, but it still hurt. There was another pause. "And one more." It took me awhile to realize he was through with whatever it was he was doing. I hadn't even felt the "one more." I heard metal scraping against metal somewhere, and I realized he'd picked up something from a steel tray. "And now ... a little pressure." Something was definitely happening back there, but I couldn't tell what. And then, I heard it ... like somebody knocking gently on a piece of very hard wood. He was tapping on my skull.

"And now, my dear, we fire up the machines." I heard several switches clicked, and electronics could be heard, the sound rising in frequency before leveling off in a constant, high-pitched hum. "You've no doubt noticed the sheik style of clothing the two of us are wearing. These devices put out quite a bit of radiation. You should feel no ill effects from the amount you're about to absorb, but I wouldn't recommend getting a chest X-ray, MRI or CAT scan in the next year, if you can avoid it. And now, if you'll excuse me, this thing is a little loud."

I would have jumped if that were at all possible. It sounded like a dentist's drill. Then it smelled like being in a dentist's chair while he was drilling ... the smell of burning bone. Finally, it stopped. "Could you hand me that number eleven, please, doctor?" There was a pause. "The scalpel." Another pause. "No, the pointy one. Thank you." Water was coursing down my neck, then I heard air hissing. "I can't go all the way through with the drill, you see. Bone chips don't mix well with God's greatest creation." There was a long period where the only sound was scraping. "Done," he announced. "Clean as a whistle. Nice color, by the way ... sign of a very healthy brain. Oh ... and nice boobs, too. I forgot to compliment you on those. Now to position the probe." Small electric motors were being activated to my left and right.

"Aaannd ... we're off!" he said triumphantly. "Our destination, my dear, is the left lateral amygdala. Ever heard of it? .... What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? .... Well, no consequence. Now, if it were up to ME, I'd have gone through the roof of your mouth, but our employer wanted something a little more ... cosmetically acceptable. As a result, I go in just about anywhere else I want, and travel along the outside of the brain itself through the layer of fluid that protects said organ. I plan to make a right turn about half-past your left ear. Don't be shocked if you hear it. Now, nestled somewhere just below the level of your eyes, we find two of those grey squiggly things that make up your brain ... but these are oriented as almost-circles, standing upright. Those make up the hippocampus. At the forward end of each of those almost-circles, there's a little node. That's the amygdala. It reminds me, a little, of the head on a penis ... but perhaps I just have a dirty mind."

I don't know what I was expecting when he gave me that shot ... but it sure hadn't been this. I have never felt so utterly, absolutely, thoroughly helpless. I wished he would shut up, but he was obviously getting off on instilling as much terror in me as he could. I tried to reason calmly. There was nothing I COULD do ... not even breathe on my own, and so I should resolve myself to just hang on. If only he would shut up! His words were being obscured, now, by some piece of equipment, way off to my left, that ... for some reason ... was increasing dramatically in pitch and amplitude. Soon, perhaps, I wouldn't be able to hear him at all if that thing (whatever it was), kept getting louder. But then the sound crested and began tapering off, and it modulated in pitch, slightly, like the Doppler shift of a passing train. Oh, God! It was the probe! It wasn't some piece of equipment, far to my left; the sound was coming from inside me! Inside my head!




Snuggle Ch. 02



"I like to think of those little jewels the way you might view postal workers, only they deal with emotions instead of letters," the doctor continued gaily. "A message comes into the brain, and little Mr. Amygdala puts it in the proper out box. He says: 'Oh, I remember this feeling, this is happiness. I'll just route it to the happiness department.' Or the sad department. Or pleasure. Or pain or fear or joy or terror or bliss. You name it. How, exactly, does it do that? How does it work? Physically, we don't have a clue. I only know that after I'd finally, finally tracked down that woman in Chicago, and after I'd finally given her the most extensive series of CAT scans I could legally give her, the only abnormality I could find was a small lesion on her left amygdala. How she had actually gotten it without sustaining catastrophic brain damage, I have no idea. Nor do I have any idea how that particular injury resulted in severe monophobia and panic. But it did. And, when I duplicated that injury in a test subject, it did again. And again." He paused. "Ah ... there you are, you little beauty." He was quiet for almost a full minute. Not having to hear that bastard speak was definitely being filed under "bliss" in my brain.

"Done!" he announced triumphantly. Things started happening all around me after that, with sounds occurring to my right and left, as well as directly over and behind my head. Mentally, I tried to take stock. I hadn't felt anything throughout the whole affair, with the exception of what must have been a shot of something to deaden the nerves in my scalp. For the time being, I did NOT feel panicked ... with the exception of the unspeakable dread that something foreign quite literally had been running around in my brain ... but, of course, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. On the other hand, Dr. Arnold still had his hand on my bare back, forcing me to exhale every six seconds. When he stopped, would I start freaking out?

I felt my face being pushed downward pretty hard. He was doing something awfully harsh back there, and I remembered the screw driver-looking thing he'd used on Janie. Then, he was quiet for a long, long time, before uttering: "Damned kinky hair! The blonde's super-fine hair was bad enough. Fuckin' stitches are below my pay grade!" But Dr. Arnold didn't comment. It's the first time I realized that he hadn't spoken during the entire process.

Finally, it seemed to be over. Hands were pulling the Velcro straps from my body, then I was being brusquely rolled over onto my back. Finally, Dr. Arnold spoke: "Won't that hurt her wound?"

"Naw, the stitches are close, and it's covered. And it won't hurt the entry point ... that screw's titanium. Keep up the compressions, though, doc ... we don't want to lose her after all that! I just made it a whole lot more fun for you, that's all."

I felt a hand between my breasts, and was forced to exhale, and then, six seconds later, again. In another minute, I felt a prick in almost the same spot on my right arm as the needle that had started this whole nightmare. Almost immediately, I blinked. I had never even considered that blinking would be such an enjoyable pastime. I looked from one of them to the other, and saw that they were both still dressed in their monster costumes. Dr. Asshole was pulling the tape from around the tube in my mouth, and finally, I was breathing on my own again.

"Pleasure meeting you both, I'm sure," he said, as he turned toward the hall door. He was unceremoniously taking off the various articles of protective clothing and throwing them on the floor. When he removed the helmet, he didn't look back at us, and to this day, I have no idea what he looks like. He had brown hair ... and I remember from the hypodermic ultimatum that he had brown eyes, but that's about it. "The girl I cancelled the date with said I should call her when I got out of surgery. I think I'll take her up on it. Bye now."

"Oh, Kendra, I'm SO sorry you went through that," Dr. Arnold said, stripping off his mask and setting it on one of the benches.

I tried to make sure my lips and tongue were working properly before I attempted an answer. "That's not true, Doctor. You were the one that needed this ... to help control us. You don't seem to have any trouble dishing out terror, you just don't want to get up close and personal." He didn't respond, and I sighed. "Thank you for helping me breathe," I whispered, as I tried to struggle into a sitting position.

He put a hand on my shoulder to keep me prone, then wheeled the gurney into the bedroom and helped me into bed with Janie. I snuggled against her as he pulled a sheet over us. "Would you let me help you sleep?" he asked, pulling out the penlight.

I considered it. "Yes, please. But Doctor ... don't make me forget. I don't want to forget. Okay?"

He nodded, and started the light blinking. Almost immediately, I was asleep. I had an orgasm. I guess I was back on the good-girl list.

To Be Continued 



Snuggle Ch. 03



Chapter 3 -- A Friend Indeed

Kendra's Tale Continues

When I awoke, I was no longer in bed ... I was huddled on the floor of a hallway, outside a plain door. There was no one else in the hall. No one in sight. No one anywhere. No one at all. Somewhere, somebody was screaming. As I watched, the hallway began to lengthen, pulling away from me in all directions, even in the narrow axis, so that the opposite wall was soon a mile away. So much room. So much space. And no one there. No one anywhere. I decided the screaming was not going to stop. My greatest fear from the operating room had been my inability to breathe; and now, it was happening again. The hand that I had raised tentatively toward the door knob in front of me was diverted to my throat, clutching at the knotted muscles in my neck, trying to get them to relax enough to allow a single breath. There was no one to help me. No one at all. And I knew ... for absolute certainty ... that I was about to die ... all alone. 

Then the door opened, and the screaming got much louder. Hands were trying to coax me into standing, but that feat was patently impossible. I had doubled-over in my fear and despair, and my stomach muscles would not relax. He tried to lift me under my arms, then used my breasts as handholds and picked me up, half dragging me back to the bed, where Janie lay shrieking. By degrees, as I was able to relax, I held her closer ... and closer. She was shaking like a leaf. 

Maintaining my proximity to her, I rolled slightly and looked back over my shoulder at Dr. Arnold. "Please, sir," I said plaintively. "Please ... don't do that again. I ... I'll be a good girl. But, please don't do that to her again. Don't make her suffer. I'll do whatever you want, I promise, but please don't hurt my friend!"

He cocked his head and looked down at me quizzically. "Kendra ... I don't think I've ever met a girl quite like you. You defy standard categorization." He smiled almost sadly. "Here is your breakfast. There are no drugs involved, I promise. I will leave you two for awhile. When I return, we will continue your hypnotic conditioning." And he turned, and was gone.

Janie's arms were around me now, and her violent shaking had calmed, somewhat. We had never been in this position before, of course, lying naked while facing each other, our breasts pressed against one another's. She took a ragged breath. "What ... what the hell just happened to me?" she stuttered.

I didn't move, but held her comfortingly. I felt her fingertips begin to explore my back. "I can tell you," I said softly. "I know."

She pulled away from me slightly until she could study my eyes. "You did something crazy-stupid, didn't you?"

I gave her a brief smile. "I don't know how long we have. We should talk ... we should eat."

She kept gazing into my eyes. Her fingertips were tracing light little circles down my spine toward the top of my butt. "Ken ... have you ever thought about the two of us ... like this?" And when I didn't answer right away, she added "... I have." I opened my mouth; then I closed it again. I didn't know what to say. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her right now. "No," she answered for me. "No, of course not. That's okay. Really. Thanks for being honest with me."

I grinned. "I didn't say a word."

"Oh yes you did." She sat up, then push-pulled me until we were able to sit on the bed's edge. It was a regular breakfast ... and regular portions. It tasted wonderful. Our daily pills were sitting beside our plates ... vitamin tablet, birth control pill, the supplements we always took, C, E, fish oil. As we began eating, I told her everything I could remember about the previous night (I assumed it had been night, and that this was morning, but there was, of course, no way to verify that). She stopped me frequently, asking pointed questions about very specific things that I often had to struggle to answer. To this point, she hadn't even noticed the small bandage stuck to the back of her head. She examined my story like she examined my bandage, with care for every detail, and eventually, I came to realize how much I relied on her. I didn't know what to do anymore; and so, like always, I was laying it all out for her and asking her to make the choices for me.

When all my words were said, when all the questions that could be asked had been answered, she looked at me compassionately, holding my hand. From the moment I had gotten in the bed, we had been touching. She took a breath. "When he hypnotizes you ... do you ... you know?"

"Do I cum? Yes. Unless chloroform is involved."

She nodded in thought. "He knew our psych profiles before we came. So, he was obviously looking for two submissive females ... and they were shocked because you loved me so much that you openly rebelled ... you knew I was too weak to ever do it myself." She thought some more and went on before I could comment. "We have to assume he wanted women who were sexually attractive ... young ... and I'm guessing intelligent, too. Our resumes don't make us sound like dummies, and we ARE grad students, after all. But WHY? Are we being conditioned to be Toddworth's whores? Most perverts get off on the ACT of breaking women ... but he's been nowhere to be seen. And ... why the hell haven't we been raped yet? It appears to be a plot hatched by men, so sex has GOT to be involved. But since they're conditioning us, then why aren't they conditioning us FOR sex? The orgasms I feel when he puts us under seem to be more as a reward." She glanced at me and I nodded agreement. Her face hardened. "Do you think we can take him?"

"You mean, attack him?" I was shocked. "I ... I never even considered it."

"I'm sure we've been conditioned NOT to consider it. But those were positive reinforcements. They can be more easily overcome."

I squeezed her hand gently. "You've just experienced their rendition of negative reinforcement," I whispered.

She thought again, then nodded definitively. "Then that settles it. THAT'S what we face if we try to escape. That's the stick that we'll get if we don't accept the carrot. I can't take that again. And, if you feel the same thing I just felt, I know you can't, either." She patted my hand in both of hers. "I know that this goes against your personal creed, Ken, but we're defeated. Completely and utterly. There's no recourse but full surrender." She shrugged. "It happens, from time to time, to the best-intentioned of armies. And now, it's happened to us. But, as long as we're together, we'll get through whatever is coming and ... we'll be okay."

Having reached the same conclusion, I nodded. "Then the next big problem is ... bathroom."

The solution to that one was simple, but unpleasant ... at least at first. When you begin to see the necessity in a situation, you start to accept the outcome with no comment. We held hands. While we were in there, and seeing fluffy towels laid out for us, we decided to shower together, wearing shower caps to keep the bandages dry. We always touched. We were never apart ... even for an instant. When we emerged, Dr. Arnold was standing there, waiting for us.

"Ready, ladies?" he asked, smiling.

We stood facing him, the towels wrapped around us, holding hands. "Yes sir," I said softly. "We're ready to surrender now."

Things moved very swiftly after that. Well, actually, since time had little meaning for us, I don't know that's true ... but it certainly seemed like it to me. When we awoke, we were always in each other's arms. When we GOT up, it was usually either to eat or to be immediately put back to sleep. I never fought, I never resisted, I never argued ... and we never had to deal with another crippling panic attack. I always surrendered and slept when he ordered, and I was always rewarded with a nice orgasm.

The next night (I assumed it was night), I awoke lying on my back, my right arm around Janie. The side of her face was pressed into my right breast. I remembered our conversation from the day before, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd really let her down. Why hadn't she TOLD me she had those sorts of feelings for me? I tried to decide if I was disgusted by the idea, and I had to admit that I wasn't ... I just wasn't particularly turned on. But ... obviously she was. How long had she kept it from me?

"Janie? You awake?"

She snuggled into my breast a little more. "Mmmm. Yes. What do you need?"

"You're on my arm, and I need to scratch an itch."

"Sure. Where?"

"Between my legs." She hesitated, then slowly reached down. I spread my legs wide for her, and she started gently scratching my right thigh. "Higher," muttered. When she started scratching my lower tummy, I moaned. "Make me cum, Janie."

She raised her head, and I assume she was looking at my face, but it was too dark to see. "Oh, no you don't, Ken! I'm not going to be responsible for you going all lez against your will. I've never done it myself. I was just wondering what it felt like, that's all."

I smiled. "Liar."

"What do you mean?"

"You love me, dummy! Why didn't you tell me?" She started to respond, but stopped herself. I decided to try a different tack. "Please don't make me do it myself, Janie. I need it so bad. Do it for me ... please?" When she hadn't answered in more than a minute, I reached down with my left hand and began stroking myself. THAT made her move. She gently slapped the offending fingers away, and began rubbing my slit with long, slow rhythmic strokes that slid lightly over my clitoris with every upstroke. "Holy cow!" I groaned, shuddering. An intense shiver spiked through my body. 

"You're sopping wet," she commented.

"I ... I can't help it. Oh, God, Janie. I can't believe ... I'm going to cum already! Suck my nipple. Please ... please suck my ...." And that's all she wrote (as they say in the writing biz). It was glorious. I saw stars. No shit.

Then, of course, I had to do her ... which she steadfastly refused to let me do. So I kissed her. Nice kiss. It went on for awhile. I reached down and touched her while it was happening. And she was mine. I sucked on those long, hard nips of hers, and she went off like the Fourth of July.

And so now, when we spent time between "conditioning sessions," holding each other isn't the only thing there was to do anymore. It felt great ... and, it felt good to be in love. We talked about it. Neither of us had ever cum so hard ... or so quickly. It was Janie that first mentioned it ... that this whole thing could have been a result of the hypnosis ... of the conditioning. I'd thought about it, but I didn't want it to be true. Now that we'd discovered it, the last thing either of us wanted was for it to stop. Should we just ignore the prospect? No, she answered firmly. But ... we should accept it. Whatever it was ... conditioning, a natural course of events between us or a divine gift from heaven ... it was OURS now, and nobody was going to take it away from us!

We were changing in other ways, as well; and while we knew it was happening, we seemed powerless to prevent it. Dr. Arnold was becoming ... a friend. The amount of power he held over us was staggering. He had the ability to reward us with indescribable peace and physical pleasure ... or punish us with crippling psychological torment. But in return for our mental and emotional surrender, he always gave us the former, and never the latter. Janie and I talked about it, sometimes. She said it was a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome, where hostages began to empathize with their captors ... but knowing that didn't seem to lessen the effect. Now, with only a few words, we would go into trance, and we were always rewarded with a gentle, pleasurable orgasm for complying.

He sometimes hypnotized us individually. He would have me look in the other direction, and he would whisper in Janie's ear while showing her the blinking light, and I would feel her hand relax in mine and know that she had gone under. He would have her open her eyes then, and he'd talk to her gently but emphatically; and, after she shivered in ecstasy, she would be so ... blank and open and trusting and receptive. And, when he did that, my greatest feeling was one of envy. I'd often wind up begging him to please, please do it to me, too. I KNEW it was wrong, but I wanted it SO much. Twice more, I thanked him for what he did while the evil surgeon was operating on me, pressing on my back and helping me breathe. He had quite literally saved my life, I realized now; and when I talked to him about it, I couldn't help getting emotional and crying tears of joy that he had been there to rescue me. When he wanted to hypnotize me first, I'd always pay attention and surrender right away, so Janie could see me the way he would often let me see her. When that happened, after we awoke in each other's arms, she would be ravenous for me, and she'd scoot down and lick me, and I'd cum SO hard.

One night in bed (I assumed it was night), we discussed the thing that had been gaining an awful lot of room in whatever space the Mad Surgeon had left over in my head. "Janie, have you been having dreams about a guy?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. "A specific guy. You, too?" I nodded. She couldn't see me in the dark, but I'm sure she felt me. My face was using her chest as a pillow. "The same guy every night?" she continued. I nodded again. "Must be our new master ... the guy they're going to sell us to ... the guy that all this conditioning is for."

I thought about that. "Good," I said. "I like him. I like him a lot."

She laughed. "Honey, if they conditioned us for the Hunchback of Notre Dame, you'd like him just as much."

I smiled. "I always liked Quasimodo ... but I really like the idea of ... HIM."

"Those feelings are implanted, Ken."

"Yes ... but they're real. Real for me. And ... I know they're real for you, too. When you see him ... see him for real ... you're going to fall for him like a ton of bricks. You know you are."

She sighed. "You're right, of course. I was always the slut. When we met, I'd roll over for just about any guy that asked, remember? You saved me, Ken. If it wasn't for you coming into my life, I'd be in some home for battered mothers somewhere."

I laughed. "We saved each other." We were quiet for awhile then. "How are we going to share him?"

She found that especially funny. "You pretty little fool! WE are not going to share HIM at all. He is just going to take us ... one at a time or together ... whenever and however he wants. We won't have any say in the matter at all."

The concept of "taking us together" was especially enthralling. We talked well into the night about it (I assumed it was night). We did the next night, too ... and for just about every night thereafter (I assumed they were nights). The dreams were evolving. His face was more and more vivid. He laughed and smiled and held my hand. His very touch would sometimes make me cum. But he would never kiss me. The dream would always stop short of that. And one thing more ... when I dreamed about him, Janie was never there ... and I was never in her dreams.

And then ... suddenly, it was time! Dr. Arnold came in clapping his hands and telling us it was time to start getting ready. He held me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes. "You're going to meet you're new master, Kendra!" he gushed, and despite myself, I was more excited than he was. He turned to Janie: "You're going to meet him! This is it!" And, she couldn't keep the smile from her lips.

He carried in cases containing make up and various cosmetics, combs, brushes, shampoos, conditioners, and dozens of other things. The prize items, though, were the dresses! They were a cross between simplicity and decadence, and the label made me gasp. They must have cost a fortune!

He left us, and we toted bottles and "tools of the trade" into the bathroom, where we spent half an hour in the shower. We shaved ourselves smooth, including between our legs, then we lathered, scrubbed, shampooed, cleansed and ... every once in awhile ... kissed. Back in the room, while she did my hair, I found that, if I put my hand back slightly, I could touch her thigh, never losing the contact we both needed. Neither of us required much makeup ... just a hint of it here and there, to accentuate our eyes and whatever we considered the other's best attributes. The nails took longer.

And finally, it was time for the dresses and shoes. Everything fit perfectly. There was no underwear. This was a particular problem for me, since my dress was short, and if I was ever put into a position of having to bend over while facing away from him, he'd be able to see clear up to tonsils.

The door opened, and the doctor beamed at us both. "Wonderful. I'm very proud of you." He seemed to have prepared a little speech in his head. He thanked us for our "cooperation," and he promised us that we would not be disappointed, now that we had each committed ourselves to our new master. Then he cautioned us that Mr. Toddworth was still officially our owner, and that he had absolute power over us until that ownership was transferred. Tonight, each of us would allow her new master to possess her for as long as he wanted. We were to do anything ... and perform any act that was demanded of us. When we nodded our understanding, he kissed each of us on the cheek. He told us that someone would be here shortly to fetch us. Then he told us goodbye, and he was gone.

We didn't want to sit on the bed, because we didn't want any wrinkles in the backs of the dresses, so we stood, side-by-side and watched the door expectantly. Finally, it opened, and a pleasant-looking older man was there. The sight of us literally seemed to take his breath away, but he quickly got himself under control, introduced himself as Mr. Yarnell, and asked us to please follow him. It's the first time I realized that we were in the basement of the mansion. He led us down a long corridor, then up a flight of stairs and through a door into a kitchen. As he turned toward the main entrance of the cooking area, Janie suddenly pulled me to a stop. "Excuse me ... Mr. Yarnell?"

The man paused and looked back us. He was a nice, agreeable gentleman. He looked ... fatherly. "Yes?"

Janie pointed to the surface of a table. "Is ... is that today's newspaper?"

He came back to us and looked. "Yes, I believe it is. Would you like to see it? I think there's a copy in the den."

She shook her head slightly. "No, I was just curious. Thank you."

He gave us one of those smiles usually reserved for four-year-old daughters who want to know why the sky is blue, and he turned toward the door again. I looked at her quizzically, and she stabbed a painted nail savagely at the upper corner of the paper. Finally, I saw the date, and my eyes widened in utter disbelief. "Two weeks?" I gasped.

"Twelve days," she corrected, and began pulling me after Mr. Yarnell. I was absolutely flabbergasted. We thought we had been there between two and three MONTHS. She leaned toward me and whispered. "This isn't just about human trafficking. This is too specific. There's more to it. This is about someTHING, not someBODY. We're meant to be a bribe, or a payment, or a ...."

And she stopped dead ... in speech, as well as forward movement. And I looked up. And there he was. Mr. Toddworth was introducing us to him, but with a sense of horror, I realized I hadn't been listening, and I didn't know his name. I was moving forward again, my hand still in Janie's ... but then her hand was gone. I usually panicked when I felt her hand leave mine, but this time, it was okay. This time, my hand was in his. I smiled at him, and said something inane about going in to dinner or something. He seemed to be devouring me with his eyes, and I don't think I've ever blushed so hard. And finally, finally, I glanced over and saw that he was not alone. Two of them. There were two of them. We hadn't both been conditioned together for a single master ... we had each been conditioned for one of our own. What a glorious joke the doctor had played on us! What a complicated monster he had proven to be!




Snuggle Ch. 03



The evening was a blur. I was constantly being led ... by protocol for the food ... by Toddworth for the conversation ... by Janie, who, in the bathroom, begged me to take "my guy" and separate them, so that she and Frank could be alone ... and finally, by him. But he was not the demanding master I had envisioned him to be. In fact, he seemed to be completely lacking in the finer arts of animalistic rutting and brutal misogyny that I had experienced before in men. I was very confused.

And then he kissed me ... and the whole world changed forever.

To Be Continued 



Snuggle Ch. 04



Chapter 4 – Intellectual Property

Randy's Narration Continues

The sun had risen long ago, and as she was finishing up her dissertation, she had begun idly stroking my shaft, as if she couldn't think of anything better to do with her fingers. As the final words left her lips, they, too, seemed to be at a loss for something to do; so they parted one last time, in order to be put to better use than mere speech. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. I shuddered and moaned loudly, gritting my teeth, resolving to myself that I was going to enjoy this for awhile, and not blow up like jostled nitroglycerin. Strong, thin, delicate fingers were kneading my balls, and her head began rising and falling. What she seemed unable to get into her mouth, she now grasped with her free hand, stroking me while sucking like a vacuum. Perhaps ... just perhaps ... if we kept practicing this daily for few decades, I'd be able to hold out as long as I wanted. But not today. I erupted with such force that it came spurting out both corners of her mouth.

She coughed ... swallowed ... tried to snatch the next squirt out of mid-air with her mouth ... coughed again ... and finally, she wound up licking the sides of my cock ... trying to clean it, I guess. I reached over and grabbed a fistful of tissues from a box on the bedside table, next to the lamp. As I rubbed at all the mess, she looked up at me miserably. "I'm sorry. I tried to swallow it all. But ... I didn't know there would be so much."

I laughed gaily and pulled her up to me, wiped a few places on her face that still had my cum clinging to it, and I kissed her. I really liked what happened to her when I kissed her. Her whole body seemed to melt into mine. Finally, I pushed her back gently and looked into her eyes. "That was wonderful," I told her earnestly. "I feel great!"

She searched my eyes to see if I was kidding. "Really? You really liked it?"

I laughed again, then I hugged her for awhile, then I kissed her for awhile. And then, I got out of bed, making sure to keep a gentle hold on her hand. She scampered to join me, and I walked to the dresser by the door and picked up my cell phone, then led her back to the bed again. I had worked hard on various apps during the past couple years. Some of them had been very simple ... just to get the hang of app writing for various platforms. One of my first attempts at closed source app coding had been a simple blinking dot that I could change colors for and move to various parts of the screen. I wasn't sure the thing was still on my phone, but eventually, I found it. I explained all this to her as I searched for it, and she seemed enthralled, watching intently.

Finally, I had a dot in the middle of the screen, I changed it to red, and I adjusted the frequency to one blink per second, then I slowly began to dial it up. I could tell when I'd hit the right rate, because she gave a little gasp and she looked dazed. "Will this work?" I asked her.

She blinked slowly, seemingly having trouble opening her eyes after closing them. "Oh, yes. You're going to make me go to sleep."

I nodded, but she wasn't looking, so I said: "Yes. Can you tell me how to do that?"

She smiled. "Just tell me to relax. Then order me to sleep. I can't WAIT to surrender to you!"

I smiled at that. "Okay. Relax, then. Just relax." I saw her shoulders slump noticeably. When she hadn't moved in awhile, and not knowing what else to do, I shrugged and said: "Sleep." It was as if I had turned off a switch. We had been sitting together on the edge of the bed, looking at the phone, but now, she toppled over backwards, out cold, a picture of naked innocence. From what she had told me, she must have been doing this five or six times a day, so I assumed that she'd go under from force of habit. As she lay on her back, she suddenly shivered all over, and a dreamy little smile curved the corners of her mouth.

"Can you hear me, Kendra?" I asked gently.

"Yes, Master."

I had to smile at that ... just a little too cliché. "Did you just cum?" I asked her.

The smile broadened a little. "Oh, yes. I'm a good girl."

I shook my head in wonder. "Sit up," I ordered, and she complied immediately. "Open your eyes." Again, she did so right away. She stared straight ahead. I slowly stood. While seated, our thighs were touching; and now, as contact was lost, she seemed to have no adverse effects. Somehow, I didn't think there would be. I went and got a chair at the side of the room and returned, placing it in front of her, then I sat and faced her, inches from her, but not touching.

"Wait until I tell you to touch me," I ordered firmly. "Don't reach out until I give you the command to do so, do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"I'm not your master ... I'm you lover," I told her firmly, and she smiled broadly. "I want you to repeat after me, understanding the words as you say them: When I see you, I am with you. Say it."

"When I see you, I am with you."

"And now, I want to say it over and over ... and as you say it, I want you to believe it. You should believe it because it is true. Say it now." She began repeating the phrase, searching my eyes as she did so. She seemed serious ... earnest. I let it go on for several minutes. Finally, I held up my hand, and she stopped. "And now, I want you to repeat it again, over and over, but this time, I want you wake up, slowly, a little at a time, until you are awake. You can still see me. I am still with you. You can reach out and touch me ... but there is no need. Why is there no need, Kendra?"

"Because," she answered "when I see you, I am with you. When I see you, I am with you." She kept going, chanting her assigned line in this production. After a minute, her eyes achieved more focus, more of that sparkling interest that so captivated me the first time I saw her. She started smiling, and then slowly, she stopped talking and just looked at me. Still, we were not touching, though less than three inches separated our knees and our hands. "Randy ... this is ... wonderful. Can we show Janie? Please? She'll be so excited!"

"Sure, let's go," I answered, holding my hand out to her. She took it, and we stood. In the closet, we found a thick terrycloth robe, and though it was way too big for her, she put it on, rolling up the sleeves. I decided to get dressed ... but that proved difficult. Though we wound up laughing about it, she found that she could keep her hand on one part of me while I dressed another, and after discovering this formula, the thing went pretty quickly.

It was still too early, evidently, to encounter anyone in the halls. At our knock, Frank said to come in. Frank is not a pretty picture in the morning, but I guess any picture is improved if you wrap it in a nude blonde. At Kendra's insistence, we demonstrated the fact that she could now put a full three inches between herself and the nearest person (as long as she was staring me in the eyes and chanting a slogan). Janie immediately became very sober and very thoughtful. "Can you do that to me?" she asked me pointedly.

I considered for a moment. "No," I told her. "But I can teach Frank how to do that to you." In response, she studied me with eyes that burned with curiosity and intelligence. Then she smiled. I got the feeling that Janie and I were going to be great friends.

I told them that I wanted to talk to Frank alone for a few minutes, and, after a moment's hesitation, he nodded and got out of bed. This not only left Janie without physical contact, it left Kendra with an eyeful. Slight chaos ensued, but things got back to normal rather quickly. He apologized profusely as he pulled on a pair pants, but seemed very confused when Kendra told him to please turn around. Still, he complied, and one hand at a time, she pulled the bathrobe off while keeping an extended hand available to her friend. Then she stood for just a second, nude and magnificent, smiling brightly at me, and she slid under the sheet into the bed. Frank caught his breath when he turned around and looked, seeing them for the first time in each other's arms. I must confess, the sight was ... titillating.

Back in my room, I filled him in on the basics, explaining that I didn't have time to give him the full version. As I expected, he was too emotional to catch the gist of my suspicions. He wanted to rush Toddworth ... one of those "You knock him down and I'll beat him over the head with chair leg" sort of plans. I patiently explained to him that attacking old men was not in the business plan of today's up-and-coming entrepreneurial enterprises. And anyway, we still weren't sure what it was he was after. We hadn't heard his latest offer, though I could well imagine what it would be. Let's just call the cops, Frank suggested. But again, that wouldn't work ... and Toddworth knew that we'd figure that out. He had primary control over the girls ... he HAD to. And, he had is lawyer with him. He held all the cards at this point. And anyway, the whole crazy story smacked of Buck Rogers and Killer Kane.

I'd never seen Frank this intense. "I ... I love this girl, Randy. And ... she loves me! No girl has ever told me that before. And she MEANS it, I swear to God!"

I lay a hand on his shoulder. "She's been programmed to love you, Frank. Is that who we really want? Some girls who were FORCED to love us?"

He studied me dejectedly. "Shit. You're right," he mumbled. "But I'm sure not going to leave them here."

"Remember why we came here, amigo," I told him.

"To hell with that, Dude. We're not going to negotiate the amount of a payment when the girls' fate is hanging in the air."

I groaned. "Frank, you idiot, the girls ARE the payment ... or at least part of it. Don't you see that?"

He obviously hadn't, and was struck dumb by the concept. There was a knock on the door, and the girls came in, Janie in her dress from last night, Kendra in the white terry robe. But to my amazement, Kendra let go of her friend when they reached Frank, and she took the full two steps to me, flinging herself into my arms. She kissed me. "Come into the bathroom and zip me up," she whispered in my ear. We stopped to pick up the green dress, which we now both suddenly wished we'd taken the time to hang up last night. She wanted a little more than my help with the zipper, of course, and from the sudden moan on the other side of the door, pretty much the same thing was happening out there. Somehow, fifteen minutes later, we finally all emerged from the bedroom, fully clothed, and we made our way down to breakfast.

Toddworth and Yarnell came in after about half an hour. The lawyer greeted us cordially, and he especially took time with the girls, chatting about this and that while Toddworth fidgeted. Finally, the old man seemed unable to take it anymore. "Why don't we go into the conference room and discuss our business gentlemen. If you'll both follow me please ...."

"The ladies will be joining us for this discussion, sir, if you don't mind," I replied.

He looked at me placatingly. "No place for girls at a man's business meeting, son."

I stifled an urge to call him "Pops" when I responded. "If I cannot bring who I want to our negotiations ... sir ... then I'd feel at a distinct disadvantage before such a meeting could even convene." I got up, walked over to a side table and helped myself to another cup of coffee, trying to show nonchalance I did not feel. "The girls ARE a part of this ... aren't they?"

Yarnell's eyes narrowed, and he glanced quickly between Toddworth and me. "What in the world are you two talking about?" It was the first time I considered the possibility that the lawyer might not be a part of this plot.

Toddworth obviously didn't like to be contradicted, but he refrained from yelling at me. "I don't know what he's talking about," he mumbled to his friend.

"Wonderful," I said happily. "If that's the case, please call a cab for the ladies and send them on their way. Kendra, your parents live in the city, don't they?" She turned big, questioning eyes toward me and nodded. "Home to Mom and Dad, then," I responded gaily, and looked again at the two men. "We'll start our meeting just as soon as they've left."

Toddworth's jaw was clenched. "Very well," he told the room as a whole. "A small demonstration, then. Ladies, if you will please give me your attention ...." They were on the opposite side of the large breakfast table from the man, and Kendra naturally turned back toward him. I was still standing by the coffee pot. I couldn't see their faces, but I could see the blinking light in the man's hand. "Relax," the old man ordered. "Sleep." And then, as if they were a matched, choreographed pair, the girls pitched forward, one hand holding each other's and the other still in their laps. Frank was in time to catch Janie before she could fall all the way, but Kendra's forehead impacted hard on the mahogany surface of the table. From the look in his eyes, I think Toddworth was as stunned as anybody in the room at the suddenness of the thing.

I was shocked by two things after that. The first was my own inability to move more swiftly than an old dude like Yarnell, who was around the table in a flash, attempting to assist the fallen girls. The other was what a take-charge type of guy he was, and I was sort of left out of the whole thing, while he dabbed Kendra's unconscious face with a wet towel and barked orders to the butler. Toddworth, meanwhile, was making ineffective entreaties to his friend to leave them alone. Finally, after Yarnell had pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911, I couldn't hold back any longer at Toddworth's dilemma, and I threw back my head and laughed out loud at him.

"Wake up!" Toddworth ordered with a loud snap of his fingers. Immediately, both girls sat up, causing Yarnell to recoil in utter surprise. Slowly, ever slowly, realization of what might be going on came to him ... but first, he had to address all the actions he had set into motion. He turned away and spoke firmly to the emergency operator he had reached on his phone, then he tried to attend to Kendra again.

She smiled up at him, laying a hand on his arm. "Thank you, sir. I think I just fell asleep for a minute." She narrowed her eyes and reached up to her forehead, touching it gently. "Ow!" She was genuinely confused.

Yarnell spun on his friend, obviously mad as hell. "Relax?" he thundered. "Sleep? Wake up? What have you done to these young women? Some cheap sideshow hypnosis routine?"

"Oh, you would not BELIEVE ...." I said, coming up behind Kendra's chair and putting my hand on her shoulder. She took the hand and nuzzled the side of her face in my palm.

"Ephraim, you are here to protect MY interests in this matter," Toddworth hissed. "The women are incidental. I need that process. I've taken steps that will help me acquire it. Now, you need to see that I'm protected, and that I get what I'm paying for!"

They looked like two Banty roosters facing each other before a fight. Without looking away or backing down, Yarnell nodded. "Alright, Rankin. Consider your interests protected."

I gave them both a sour look. Lawyers! I should have known. "My ultimatum still remains," I told them. "You can either send the girls home in a cab, or you can let them attend our little meeting. I refuse to negotiate otherwise."

Toddworth actually sputtered. But, finally he nodded and turned toward the hall. "Alright then! This way!"

I helped Kendra up, but instead of turning to follow them, she grabbed my hips and pulled us together, so that we were pressed together all along the front of us, and she lifted her face to mine. "You do know how to make a girl's heart go pitty-pat," she told me, looking into my eyes. I took a breath and tried to calm myself. Before I could comment, however, she was talking again. "Now, quickly, what kind of 'process' is this?"

"I can't explain it in terms you'd understand," said earnestly.

Janie spoke up for the first time. "We're not dummies, Randy. Tell us what it is!"

Somehow, I kept from grimacing. Typical non-scientist's answer. I sighed. "It's a variable, non-repeating algorithmic security code structure that attaches itself to graphical computer game content and masks overall arrangement and composition."

Kendra studied me with those sparkling eyes and nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

The two men were waiting down the hall in front of an open door. "You can't tell me that you understand what I just said," I accused.

"I think understand all I need," she told me. And we went in.

There were three copies of a contract on a large table, two on one side and one on the other, and Frank and I each sat down in front of one on our "side." The girls sat in chairs next to ours and craned their necks to see. Toddworth sat in the largest chair in the room, opposite us, while Yarnell sat with the other copy in front of him. There was a gold-plated Cross pen on top of each document. I took a deep breath and opened my copy. Toddworth was to get exclusive rights to the process. Frank and I were to get, altogether, three million dollars plus "agreed-upon, unspecified properties."

"Oh, my God," Janie muttered. "Unspecified properties ...."

"As you can see, gentlemen," Toddworth remarked loudly, "I have greatly increased the amount from my previous offer. I'm sure you'll find it ... satisfactory. Now, if you'll both please sign, you can all go home ... happy."

I closed the contract and sat back in my chair. But before I could comment, Kendra said "Take it."

I blinked at her. "What?"

"Take the deal, Randy," she said, and she looked up at me with those big brown eyes. She was trying to keep something from me ... some emotion ... but I couldn't figure it out. Finally, she laid a hand on my arm, leaned into me, so that only I could hear, and she whispered: "Do you love me, just a little?"

And time seemed to stand still. I was trying desperately to put this all in perspective. Yesterday, from the very beginning when we met them, Toddworth had made it clear that the girls were here to influence the deal. Usually, things seem improbable for very good reasons. Did "mind control" actually exist? Were evil mad scientist brain surgeons real? Neither Frank nor I had ever even been with a two-bit hooker before. Imagine what we'd be like in the hands of two actresses who looked like THIS! They could have us believing anything they wanted. Anything at all. They could have faked the whole thing. They could have made us love them. And it all came down to this moment. It was all happening right now.

Was it faith? Maybe it was just the NEED for faith ... faith in somebody I've only wished for all my life. I nodded to her, and she nodded back, secure in the knowledge that she'd known I wouldn't refuse her. I looked over at Frank, who was, of course, nodding in agreement. Faithful old Frank.

"Okay," I said. "We'll do it."

"With a few minor corrections," Kendra said, sliding the contract to herself and picking up the pen.

"What?!" Toddworth thundered. "I told you, this deal is final!"

She ignored him. "First, amend the header to say "Binding Letter of Agreement."

"Now see here!" the old man fumed.

Yarnell wasn't fazed at all. He was already writing on his copy. "Done," he said. "Next?"

"This was a final offer!" Toddworth screamed, spittle spraying. "I wanted this done now! Right here!"

The lawyer regarded him under narrowed brows. "What part of 'Binding' don't you understand?" I couldn't read what was in the man's eyes, and evidently, all of a sudden, Toddworth realized that he couldn't, either. "Rankin, we've done this dozens of times. You know how his works. Now, let me do my job."

Kendra picked up the conversation immediately. "Under paragraph three, add the words "within the guidelines of the Millennium Copyright Act.'"




Snuggle Ch. 04



Yarnell set his pen down and leaned back, crossing his arms and frowning. "Kendra," he said gently, "the contract is written within the guidelines of ALL laws. It isn't necessary to list each one individually."

She seemed suddenly unsure of herself. "Can't we add it anyway," she asked him plaintively. "It might not help anything, but it doesn't hurt, does it?"

He canted his head slightly as a sort of shrug. "Alright ... but call it the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998." He paused. "... or is it 99? Just leave off the date. We know what you're talking about. What's next?"

"Wait a minute!" Toddworth groused. "What the hell is she talking about?"

He looked around at all our blank faces. "I THINK that she's trying to reiterate that whatever this is that's being sold here is an intellectual property. I don't know what it is myself, but I, too, assume that it will be treated like one. An intellectual property can have its rights sold away, but the property itself will always belong to the person who created it." We were still giving him dumb stares. "Look," he continued. "Let's say this thing you're selling is song. You sell Mr. Toddworth here the exclusive rights to that song. You are then prohibited from selling or giving it to anyone else. BUT ... the song is always yours. You can go on the road and sing it yourself, anytime you want. Make sense?"

"We can use the process ourselves," I said, never having considered that.

"Exactly. You just can't sell or give it to one of Mr. Toddworth's competitors. Now, anything else?"

"Pending approval of counsel," Kendra said. "That's all." She closed the contract and sat back, grinning at the men across from her as if she'd just beaten them at their own game.

"Name of counsel?" Yarnell asked, his pen poised.

Kendra was smiling, obviously feeling smug with herself. But when I didn't answer immediately, the smile quickly faded, and she looked questioningly up into my eyes. I gave her a helpless little shrug, and her mouth fell open. "Randy! I can understand you trying to negotiate a contract yourself, but you don't have a lawyer?" She faced forward and tried to come to grips with that. Then she nodded solemnly to herself, looked up at Yarnell and said: "Bow, Barrow and Bow, Third Avenue, New York."

It was Yarnell's turn to hesitate. After a moment's thought, he said: "Very well ... a couple small changes of our own. Please strike all of paragraphs seven and eight. That's all then. I'll show you where to sign."

"Damn it, Ephraim! What's the meaning of this?" Toddworth boomed.

"They'd never let it get by, Rankin. A firm like BB&B would tie you up in so many knots over something like that, you'd NEVER get to use your ... process or whatever it is. We tried. It didn't work. Call it luck." He rose and came around to our side of the table. Kendra was still puzzling over the two paragraphs, but seemingly couldn't figure them out. He lined through them, initialed them, checked the other pages and pointed to where Frank and I were to sign. Then, he walked the things around to let Toddworth sign. The old man clearly wasn't happy.

"Now," he said. "that concludes my business here. And it concludes my services to Rankin Toddworth. I resign forthwith."

Toddworth barked a laugh. "Don't be absurd, Ephraim. We have a contract."

The lawyer only smiled. "Rankin, I've been writing loopholes in your contracts for thirty years. You don't think I wrote a few into my own?" His face was set in a mask of total disgust. "What you've evidently done to theses women is inexcusable. I always knew you had a mean streak ... but this is the last straw. I don't want anything to do with you or your company!" Then he turned toward us. "I'm driving into the city. Can I give you a lift?"

He had a Lincoln Town Car, and we all fit very nicely, with me up front and Janie holding hands with each of the other two in the back. Frank's and my suitcases and computer bags were in the trunk, but the girls had no qualms about leaving whatever they had brought. They just wanted all of us to get away from the mansion as soon as possible. Yarnell only had one bit of advice, he told us. "Young lady," he said over his shoulder to Kendra, "I know you meant well by mentioning the first law firm you could think of ... but Bow, Barrow and Bow is going to charge you a FORTUNE for reviewing that contract!"

She smiled wanly. "I was hoping they could do it pro bono," she said.

He laughed aloud. "Let me tell you something, Ms. ... um .... I'm sorry, I never caught your last name."

"Barrow," she told him, quietly.

He laughed so hard I started worrying we might have an accident. When he finally had himself under control, he shook his head in wonder. "I just have to say, this: I'm guessing that Rankin Toddworth spent a considerable amount to close this deal. Chances are that your process is worth FAR more than you think it is. But he also grossly underestimated one thing."

"What's that?" I asked.

But it was Janie, in the back seat, who answered. "He underestimated the value of the property," she said. And she squeezed Kendra's hand hard and shook it for emphasis. They both had tears in their eyes.

I won't go into the old "meeting the girlfriend's parents" routine, except to say that I liked them both very much. The next day, we rented a car and drove to Ithaca, where we helped them pack and we sent off all their stuff in a moving van, headed west. Then we drove to Syracuse, where we caught a flight that connected through Chicago to Denver. The girls shared a bedroom in Ithaca, and so our apartment was the first time we'd had a chance for a little privacy since our stay in the mansion. I wasn't sure at all how Janie and Frank would do in the cohabitation department ... definitely a Type-A versus Type-B thing there ... but amazingly, he had no qualms at all about her "tidying up" the place. I can't tell you how often in the past he'd accused me of violating his "space" because I'd picked up a crushed soda can.

I told Kendra I'd take her out for a romantic dinner, but we never made it. She said she was hungrier for me than for food. Our lovemaking was very slow, very tender and particularly gratifying. I marveled at just about every part of her; and most of all, I marveled at her patience. I mean, a girl has GOT to get tired of a guy playing with her breasts, but (at least for now) she not only tolerated it, she seemed to be enjoying it. When I entered her the first time that evening, I took her with long, slow, powerful strokes, and once again, she came twice before I reached my peak and spent inside her. I found it hard to envision such bliss in life. After the first time, we debated doing it again or going out for dinner, and we decided to order a pizza instead. She decided there was enough time for a blow job while we waited, but believe it or not, there wasn't; and when the doorbell rang, we had to scramble to throw on something, since she had to go to the door with me to get it. Finally, she had one of my long sleeved shirts on (with at least a couple buttons done), while I sported an old pair of jeans.

I guess it was pretty obvious what we'd been doing when we answered the door, but we lived through the embarrassment, somehow. I paid the guy, even though it wasn't the amount they'd told me it would be. Then I peeked at the pizza ... and it wasn't the right order. Come to think of it ... it wasn't even the right pizza company. That's because it was Frank and Janie's. Ours arrived just as they finally emerged from THEIR love den, she sporting a lovely ensemble featuring a pair of Frank's gym shorts and a tee shirt, and he in his ratty old robe. There was nothing else to do except break out the beer and have a party.

But things tend to happen after three or four beers; and the girls decided to use this evening to "take a stand" in our relationships. I should have seen a big deal coming when Kendra started crying, just trying to verbalize the thing. The whole train of thought evidently went something like this: Their love for us had more or less been conditioned into them through hypnotic mind control. We were aware of this. We were nice guys ... but we were just guys, all the same. ERGO, at some point in our relationships, we were going to do something incredibly stupid, like trying to "undo" their love for us. Anyway, that was the gist of it. I swore to them that we would not. Kendra wailed that she couldn't be sure. I told her that we'd sign another contract, by golly! But when we tried to write on a piece of paper with a ballpoint pen, it kept skipping on spots that had pizza grease on it. So, I grabbed her, threw her over my knees, pulled up her shirt tail, and signed her bare ass while she squealed and laughed.

I had a ton of things to do the next day. I talked to a local corporate lawyer, and began setting up the framework for a privately-held business; and I started arranging things that were best for the money, tax-wise, when it arrived. I also visited a private investigator ... a local guy, but one who was part of a national franchise. I won't go into detail, except to say that after a LONG time and a LOT of money, his firm was primarily responsible for the arrest of Dr. Gustaf Weinerberger, who was later indicted by the state of Connecticut for performing unlicensed medical procedures on young women. Maybe you've read about it. It was really big in the supermarket tabloids for awhile; forced, surgically-oriented mind control to make women more pliable and suggestible through "controlled panic attacks." Right up the tabloid's alley. Weinerberger fled the country while on bail, but not before the state had frozen all his financial assets, which were listed in the millions. The investigator believes he now resides in Brazil. They're still working on it.

And as for the REAL monster in this melodrama, the good "Doctor Arnold" is apparently going to escape any type of legal scrutiny whatsoever. We DO know that is not his real name ... but that's about all we know. Toddworth certainly isn't talking, for obvious reasons; and there is no paperwork trail leading back to him at all. What is really confounding is that the girls don't seem to care. Near the end of their captivity, the "doctor" evidently had them so bamboozled, that they (to this day) feel a great empathy for the man. I think, deep down, that each one credits him with finding the one true love in her life and making that love possible. Complete and total brainwashing was a small price to pay. That's what I THINK they think, anyway. As a man who made his living through "mind control," he obviously knew his profession very, very well.

When I got home that day, I found that Frank had bought five new sketch pads ... the precursor to a major project in the "Frank Universe." The girls were working by themselves, with a stack of yellow legal pads and pencils, outlining some idea. And ... if you haven't guessed by now ... THAT was the beginning. The result would eventually become "Blood on the Streets of Barcelona," last year's number-one grossing adventure video game, produced by F&R Software. Before that project was all over, we would have 22 full-time employees (and contract certain services from 19 others), rent a whole building in Aurora (which we're now in the process of buying) and we'd be featured in tech magazine articles around the world.

We settled on Aurora because that's where we found the house ... a huge duplex that we modified by tearing out some walls and building "common rooms," both upstairs and down: a living room on the first floor and a massive office area on the second. That's where most of the preliminary work on the game was done.

If you haven't heard of it, it was a pretty neat idea. The girls wrote fifteen different mysteries, and the solution from one unlocks and leads the player to the beginning of the next. Those "beginnings," however, are generated at random. As a result, it is virtually impossible for two players to work through the thing in the same order (actually the odds of an exact repeat are 1 in 1,307,674,368,000). The game was rated MA17+ (mature audiences only), mostly for sex. There are two main characters, pretty female detectives, one black and one white. They are very intelligent, but both have a habit of getting themselves into compromising sexual situations. Each has sex three times in the course of the game, always being seduced by a suspect (not counting one episode where they have sex with each other). They each wind up in a bondage situation twice. Frank did the nude sketches from modeling sessions with Janie and Kendra, along with literally thousands of digital photos used for creating animated graphics done by the art staff in the office.

While we were still beta-testing, we chose the best console that would support it, then we hired a team of four to take it cross-platform from PC/MAC. When we presented it to their corporate president, it was already in his format. He couldn't turn it down. But after viewing it, he wanted a lot more than the game ... he wanted exclusive game console platform rights for all our future products. That little deal was worth twenty mil. That launched us. And sequels were also guaranteed because the original graphical code was secured by our process. The game sold for $49.99, and they literally couldn't keep them on the shelves ... ALL the major retailers sold out within weeks, and we've just ordered a seventh production run.

There are those of you that wouldn't like our lifestyle, and would openly condemn it. Most people want their space. The very concept of "constant physical closeness" would be abhorrent to them. There are tens of millions of people out there with physical, mental or emotional handicaps; but when imperfections are filtered through the eyes of a lover, they can be rendered inconsequential. She needs me, and so I am there. She needs my touch, and so I touch her. She needs my love, and oh, God, I love her! For the rest of my life, I know that when I sleep, I will snuggle. Trust me; I can think of a lot worse prospects in life.

We've worked hard with the hypnosis thing. We do it almost every day. Kendra, and Janie, too, have gotten to the point where they can be separated by up to a couple feet; but they have to KNOW that all they need to do is reach out to reclaim contact. We're still working on it. For now, we claim success in terms of one more inch. There are a few strange aspects about the hypnosis that are still with us. Every time they go under, they cum. And, the multiple orgasms during sex are still a very real part of their lives. If those are being generated "mentally," they certainly can't differentiate. As far as they can tell, they are very, very real ... and very, very enjoyable. (Hypnosis was also the solution to the "potty problem." We simply put them under and tell them that we were still "with them" until they have finished. And, of course, the reverse is also true. If I want to get up in middle of the night, I just wake Kendra up, immediately "put her under," and suggest that I'm still with her in bed while I leave for her for awhile.)

The girls have always worked together in the big office at home, their desks 90-degrees from each other; so that all they have to do is reach out to touch. Kendra will do anything I ask ... anything ... with one exception. Every five or six days, she comes to me (or she calls me at the office) and asks if she can "take a nap." That's a code phrase, of course; what she's really doing is requesting my permission for them to spend the afternoon in bed together, making love. Janie makes the same requests to Frank. We've both told them over and over that they should just do it and stop asking. But they continue to do so, and it's apparent that they will always beg us for approval and acceptance of their love. Now ... I've always assumed that a little spirited afternoon delight would probably dampen a person's sexual ardor for the remainder of the day ... but just the opposite is true. On those evenings, Kendra is an insatiable wildcat in bed with me. Frank reports the same is true with Janie. Go figure.

Do bad guys win? Sure they do. All the time. And this time was no exception. Toddworth must have made a bundle off of us. I lie in bed some nights and dream of revenge ... think of ways to hurt him ... to make him suffer. It's especially tempting for someone who knows a little something about hacking and getting around computer security protocols. But, in the end, as I hold the woman I love, I can't help feeling sorry for the old fool. Not only did he lose his last remaining friend in the course of the deal, but it never even occurred to him that those two beautiful bodies on his operating table downstairs might be more than just a form of payment. They were, in fact, the "intellectual properties" with the greatest value.

The double-wedding last June was a relatively small affair, all things considered, with only a few friends, our immediate families and our employees in attendance. I thought it was a wonderful party, and I had a great time ... but then, half of the people there spoke my language.

I even did the chicken dance.

The End