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The Program Ch. 01

By: ewebie



 Ok, I'm back. This is the first instalment of what looks to be a bit of a long one. I want to know what you guys think of it. Is it worth continuing? Characters seem interesting? I have the plot all worked out in my head, and it's just a matter of getting it on paper (or computer screen as the case may be). The only bad news is that it's going to be VERY slow posting. I'm sorry, life is a little crazy right now and will be until June-ish, but hopefully, there will be fairly regular updates to this story.

All feedback is welcome :)

Thanks for reading!

~ewebie 

~~o~~

Bill punched a few keys and stared miserably at the screen. Some days it just didn't pay to be a twenty-eight year old programmer. His program wasn't working. He had been through hundreds of lines of code in the past two hours and couldn't find the flaw. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, shifting his glasses up onto his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. If his boss hadn't been in such a rush to get this done, they wouldn't be scrambling to fix all these errors. He sighed and reached for his mug of coffee only to find it empty. He growled and slammed it roughly onto the desk.

A small eep of surprise sounded behind him and he spun around in the chair, his defensive posture softening when he saw Taylor standing at the entrance to his cubicle. He smiled gently. "Sorry, Taylor. I didn't see you there."

Shy did not begin to encompass Taylor Peters. She was petite with red-brown hair that was forever pulled back in a low, messy ponytail. Her clothes were old and baggy, concealing any hint of a womanly figure and giving her the look of a little girl that raided her big brother's closet. He put her somewhere around twenty-one, but with her wardrobe and size, she had an ageless appearance. Regardless, she had to be younger than he was. He would swear her eyes were green, but they were perpetually hidden behind shaggy bangs and thick-rimmed glasses and she'd only met his gaze once or twice, seeming to choose talking to the floor over the people around her. At the moment, she clutched a stack of papers to her chest, the large flannel shirtsleeves covering all but the tips of her fingers.

Bill blinked. He could have sworn she just said something, but he had to strain to hear her. "Sorry, can I do something for you?"

"I have some memos that I need you to sign," she repeated, obvious effort on her face in an attempt to raise the volume of her voice.

He smiled again, the honest warmth in his voice seeming to put her at ease. "Sure, let's see what you've got." He felt bad for Taylor. There weren't many female programmers, and those he knew from school were all socially awkward or painfully shy, and since there were so few of them, they tended to be even more introverted. Combining that with being the new kid in the office left her destined to run papers until she proved her worth. To be fair, he'd only been here two months longer than she, and that was just six months now, but his boss had taken an instant liking to him. He accepted the pile of papers she handed him and hunched over the documents, flipping through them quickly.

Bill scrawled his name at the end, tucking his copy into a file on his desk, and turned to hand the signed copy back to Taylor. She wasn't where he'd left her. He almost turned a complete circle to find her staring at his computer screen, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She stopped, squinting at the screen. "Taylor, what are you doing?"

She jumped and quickly backed away from the computer looking as though she wanted to melt into the carpet. "Sorry," she whispered, gathering her papers and darting out of the cubicle.

He shook his head. That girl was like a skittish mouse. She had a habit of sneaking up on him and he'd never hear her coming, but the second he spoke to her she'd disappear. Turning back to his work, he skimmed the changes she'd punched in and his jaw dropped. It was perfect. He ran the program, checking for any glitch and there was none. He ran it again, ran a diagnostic, and ran it a third time just to be sure. Holy crap, that mouse had just saved his skin. He backed up a copy of the program onto his USB drive and picked up the phone to let his boss know that the program was ready to roll. After relaying the good news, he dropped the phone into its cradle and leaned back into the chair.

"What did she want?" a voice startled him from behind.

He jumped. What was with people sneaking up on him today? "I had to sign off on something," he muttered watching Chad's line of sight follow Taylor on her dash back to her cubicle. "What's up, Chad?"

"Man, I'd bet you she's one hot piece of ass." He grinned broadly.

Bill frowned. "Stop it, man. She's what, twenty? That's skeevy."

"It's legal. Under those clothes, I bet she's all curves," Chad quirked a brow and finally turned to face Bill. "Plus, all those timid little ones are hot as hell in bed. She's probably a nympho."

"Seriously, Chad, you need help." Bill shook his head. Chad already had a reputation in the office, and Bill found it less than appealing. If Bill had his way, he would never work on another team with Chad. Unfortunately, Chad was his immediate supervisor and team leader. It was a decision that Bill deeply regretted wasn't his to make.

"You're such a Boy Scout, Bill. You need to loosen up." Chad clapped him on the back. "What were you on the phone about?"

Bill raised a brow, glaring until Chad took a step back out of Bill's personal space. "I was calling Matthews. The code is done."

"Done?"

"Done."

Chad let out a whoop. "You know what this means?"

Bill frowned. "What?"

"Par-tay."

Bill shook his head. "You have a one track mind."

~o~

Everything in the office seemed to kick into high speed. With the repair of the code, there was little left to do but launch. But Bill found he suddenly had a lot of time on his hands with little to do. There was supposedly a new project coming up soon, but management had yet to assign the engineers anything to work on.

He worked on a few of his outside projects, bringing his laptop in to finish a few of his personal ideas. He became so wrapped up in his work on Friday that he found it well after hours before he packed up to leave. Stuffing his laptop and a few files into his case, he shouldered the bag and started out of the abandoned office.

The muffled sound of a voice reached his ears and he perked up. He had always been one of the last to leave, and the idea that anyone was left working when he was gone irked his pride a little. He followed the sound, weaving through the cubicles before finding the source. He chuckled to himself as poked his head into Taylor's cube. Her screen was angled away from the entrance, so he couldn't see what she was working on, but she had headphones in and was humming along to the music. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the cubicle, watching her work.

After a minute or two, he cleared his throat, "Taylor?" She nearly jumped clear out of her skin, turning mid air to face him. Her eyes were the size of saucers and her mouth formed a perfect 'o' shape. She scrambled to rid herself of the sound blocking earphones. The look of surprise on her face was endearing, and Bill found himself slightly pleased with the result of startling her. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Her face flushed and she became suddenly interested in his shoes. "I didn't know anyone was still here," she whispered, her hands had disappearing into the depths of her large hooded sweatshirt.

Bill smiled and twin dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. "I'm actually on my way out. I heard you singing and couldn't help my curiosity." She glanced up and met his gaze for a fleeting moment before twin spots of colour appeared on her cheeks.

"I didn't think anyone would hear me," she said softly.

Bill dropped to squat on his haunches, managing to catch her gaze. "You want to grab some dinner?" She chewed on her lower lip, twisting her fingers in a very childlike manner. "Come on," he prodded. "I hate eating alone."

A fleeting smile crossed her lips, but she shook her head. "No, thank you though."

"You sure?" his smile broadened when she shook her head again. He straightened and readjusted his bag. "Alright, but next time you're working late on a Friday, let me know. I know a place that does some great Chinese delivery." He was pleased to see a smile on her face when he turned to leave. He even suspected he heard her say a soft good-bye.

~o~

Bill choked on the champagne as his boss clapped him on the back. "Well done, kid. You just saved me a few months of work and a few years of stress off my life." 

"Thanks, Mr. Matthews," he grinned; the festivities and alcohol combining to make him just a little giddy.

"Nah, call me Jason." His boss raised his glass and clinked it against Bill's. "Next step, kid, is getting you into a suit." Bill grinned and nodded, feeling very much like a kid with the way his boss was treating him. "Tell me, Bill. How did you fix that code? It's been giving us trouble for months now."

Bill shrugged. "I had a bit of help, and I was staring at it for weeks."

"Well, I like your dedication. Good work, kid. Keep it up. Now enjoy the launch party." He clapped Bill on the back again and wandered off into the crowd.

Bill tried to stomach the idea of more champagne, but he'd had enough already. Truth be told, he wasn't much of a drinker. He wasn't much of a socialiser either, come to think of it. Sure he was more social than the other engineers, but that didn't say much. He preferred a much more quiet, personal atmosphere than a boardroom packed with half-drunk middle management that he didn't know. With a sigh, he set down his glass and wandered back toward the cubicles. He hadn't seen Taylor at the party and she deserved a break as much as anyone.

He popped his head into her cubicle, mildly disappointed to find it empty. He slapped the opening with his palm, now aimless. Something caught his eye; Taylor's coat was still draped over the back of her chair, her bag stuffed under the desk. That was strange. She rarely strayed from her cubicle, and with no reason to be running errands, he wondered where she went.

A clatter from the back offices had his head snapping up. He squinted, spotting one office with the light still on. He frowned and headed toward the light. The door was slightly ajar, and the closer he got to the office, the more he was convinced something was wrong. Noise of a scuffle followed by the distinct sound of a slap reached his ears and he shoved the door open.

Bill froze. It took a minute for his mind to catch up with the scene he saw. Chad bent over the large oak desk, one hand on his belt and the other pressed firmly against Taylor's chest, pinning her down in front of him. A large red welt was slowly darkening on her cheek.

"What the fuck, man?" Chad shouted. "Get the fuck out!"

Bill blinked, shaking his head to try to focus. "Chad, what the hell?"

"Can't two people have a good time without some asshole interrupting?"

Bill furrowed his brow, glancing at Taylor. For the first time he could remember, she met his gaze head on. Her eyes were red-rimmed, wide, and panicked; her lower lip trembled; and her clothes were in disarray. "Taylor?" he asked softly, holding out his hand.

She didn't hesitate. She pushed ferociously until she could scramble out from under Chad, rushing to Bill's side and clutching his hand. He edged in front of her, putting himself between her and Chad. "You should know that she came in here looking for me," Chad stated blandly. When Bill didn't respond the silence in the room stretched out, no one willing to speak first. Chad straightened and turned, leaning his hip against the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. He cocked an eyebrow, "So. What are you going to do, Boy Scout?"

He sucked in a breath. "You're drunk."

"Probably." Chad said with a wry grin.

"We're going to leave," Bill told him. "And you're staying here."

Chad waved his hand dismissively. "Do what you want." He turned away from the door, planting his hands on the desk.

Keeping Taylor behind him, Bill backed from the office and closed the door behind him. Once outside the office, he turned to find Taylor ready to fall apart. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and she jumped, raising her eyes fearfully. "Hey, it's ok," he whispered, reaching to catch the sides of her oversized flannel shirt and button it over the tank top she wore beneath. "Do you want to get out of here?" She nodded vehemently.

A few minutes later saw Taylor tucked in the passenger seat of Bill's car as he pulled out of the parking ramp. "Do you want me to take you home?" he asked softly.

"No," she whispered staring absently out the window.

He shot a worried glance her way. "I can take you to my place, if you want," he offered. She bit her lower lip, her brow knitting. She thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Ok, but if you want to leave, you only have to tell me. I promise." He saw her nod and turned back to the road.

When he finally opened the door to his apartment, he dashed in ahead of Taylor, frantically snatching articles of clothing, old pizza boxes, and dirty dishes to hide them from sight. It was the first time in a long time that he felt self-conscious about the bachelor state of his apartment. He turned to find Taylor still standing uncomfortably in the door. "Taylor, you can come in. I know I have a couch here somewhere in this mess." He ushered her to the sofa, turning to close the door and heading for the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink? I think I have some soda."

Taylor sat gingerly on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her and gazing around his apartment curiously. "Do you have a beer?" she asked softly.

Bill glanced up from behind the open fridge door in surprise. "Beer? Um, sure." He rummaged in the fridge; pulling out two bottles of beer and popping them open before returning to the couch. He settled next to her and handed her a bottle, waiting for her to take a sip before asking, "Are you ok?"

She glanced up and nodded without thinking. Bill sucked in an angry breath catching sight of the welt on her cheek. He slid a finger under her chin, tilting her face to the side to get a better look at the mark. Her cheeks coloured under his scrutiny and she pushed his hand away, fidgeting with the bottle she clutched in her lap.

"Damnit, Chad," he cursed under his breath, heading to the kitchen and retrieving an icepack and towel. He struggled to choke back a fit of fury. When he got his hands on Chad, he'd be sure to return the favour, but the welt would bruise if they didn't get ice on it soon. "Here," he said gently, squatting in front of her and carefully holding the ice against her cheek. "Just... Just hold that there for a few minutes."

She nodded mutely and heaved a sigh. Bill gave her knee a squeeze, forcing a smile even though he could feel her tense under his touch. She blushed, "I'm fine."

~o~

Bill kicked the blanket off and sat up on the couch, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't sleep. After finishing a six-pack between the two of them while watching a bad late-night movie, Taylor had asked to use his shower. He had a feeling that she'd been wanting to shower since she'd arrived, but it wasn't until the alcohol kicked in that she'd shown the courage to ask. He wished he'd told her no, or at least encouraged her to go straight to sleep.

Instead, he'd let her take the shower and borrow some clothes. And then she'd come out of his room wearing a pair of his shorts and a long-sleeved tee shirt. His clothes were huge on her; she'd had to roll the sleeves to keep her fingers free, and had rolled the waistband of the shorts, exposing her slender legs up to mid thigh. Her hair was loose, the shaggy ends curling around her face and spilling over her shoulders and down her back. The wet tips soaked the shirt, making the worn, white cotton even more see-through. Chad had been right about one thing: she was nothing but curves. Petite, curvy, innocent, sexy... 

He groaned as he realized the image was burned into his mind. She's just a kid, he thought miserably. Quit being a pervert. He fiddled with the blanket still strewn across his lap. Sleep seemed out of the question now, but he didn't want to wake Taylor. He sighed and fished his laptop out of its case; maybe he could get some work done.

At first, he thought he had imagined it, but then he heard it again: a soft, muffled cry from his room. "Taylor?" He was on his feet before her name was off his lips. He stopped in the open doorway, bracing himself against the frame. She was curled up on her side, her legs kicked free of the sheets, and his eyes quickly moved up her legs, along the curve of her hip. Her hands were balled around the sheet and her hair fanned out around her shoulders and across the pillow. Bill bit back another groan; he wasn't going to forget this image any time soon either.

Her brow furrowed and her body tightened, curling into a smaller ball, her hands fisting in the sheets. A small moan escaped her lips, followed by a series of unintelligible words. She jerked with a sudden cry, and Bill pushed off the doorframe. She must be having a nightmare, he thought, settling carefully next to her on the bed. "Taylor," he whispered.

Taylor whimpered, her face contorting as if in pain. "No," she moaned. 

It was the first word Bill could identify, and it worried him. "Taylor," he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Mick," her body tensed and something that sounded like a sob shuddered through her.

"Taylor," Bill shook her. "Come on, wake up."

"No!" she shrieked, her eyes shooting open. Startled, she grabbed his hand from her shoulder, torqued his wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back.

"Jesus, Taylor," he blurted out. As suddenly as she had grabbed him, she let him go, a horrified expression crossing her face. She scooted back on the bed until she collided with the headboard, and managed to make herself smaller by pulling her knees up to her chest. Bill rubbed his wrist absently and sighed, reaching out to comfort her. "Hey, it's ok. You were having a nightmare."

Taylor's wide-eyed stare would have broken his heart if the quivering of her lip hadn't caught his attention first. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Hey," Bill forced a weak smile, "it's alright." He flexed his wrist back and forth to show her. "I'm more worried about you. I'm sorry I startled you," he set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Are you ok?" She took a shaky breath, glancing nervously around the room before nodding slowly. Bill furrowed his brow, aware of the small shudder that ran through her. "I'm wholly unconvinced."

Taylor reluctantly met his questioning gaze. "I have nightmares all the time, it has nothing to do with Chad," she said softly with another shudder.

Bill took her shoulders and guided her gently toward him. She rested her head against his shoulder, sniffing quietly as he wrapped an arm around her. He could feel her still trembling, chilled by the air on sweat-dampened skin and the lingering torment of her nightmares. "Cold?"

She nodded and a shiver racked her body. He released her, frowning when she drew her knees back up to her chest. He pushed himself backward on the bed, scooting toward the headboard and past the top of the quilt. "Come here," he said gently, relieved when she untangled her limbs and crawled onto his lap. He tugged the blanket up her back and folded his arms around her, resting his chin on the crown of her head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she mumbled, smoothing her fingers across a wrinkle in his shirt.

Bill tilted his head to the side, trying to gauge her mood by the expression on her face. "Who's Mick?"


The Program Ch. 01-06



Chapter 1: How the Program works - exam, selection, installation, observation and accessories

The Headmaster of exclusive Ansonia Academy was sitting by the fireplace in the Faculty Lounge with his younger colleague from a sister prep school in New England. They were drinking sherry at tea time, alone. In his mid-forties, the Headmaster was wiry, with stiff gunmetal hair and a bristly, trim moustache.

"The key to the Program's success and efficacy is that it's based on planning, attention to detail, and a slow accumulation of details," he explained. "On Orientation day, we give all the incoming students a lengthy multiple choice questionnaire that I devised. I explain that it's a vital factor in determining their stay over three years.

"Upon completion, I throw the boys' exams in the rubbish bin and carefully review the girls' answers. The senior girl we're looking for doesn't have to be beautiful, just 18, pretty, and involved with sports or dance so she's in excellent shape. Preferably, a girl who has attended an average public high school, not an exclusive, prestigious and expensive prep school like Ansonia. One who is on full scholarship as well, but tends to low self-esteem, does not know the other students, is inexperienced and shy. And it helps if her family lives far away so there's not too much contact."

"Do you ask questions regarding obedience and docility?" the younger man asked.

"Oh yes. One of them goes something like, 'Do you think that authority figures: 1. Should be generally ignored or resisted, or 2. obeyed because they are intelligent, responsible and perform their jobs well?'"

"What about openness to punishment or discipline, and sexual history?"

"There's a section for each. The discipline section asks whether the parents have ever spanked or whipped the child, how frequently, whether the punishment made the girl feel corrected, etc. The questions about sexual history—oral sex, intercourse, bisexual experience, etc., occur during the personal interview.

"I interview about a dozen candidates and observe their body language and responses. Our criteria are so detailed that it's not hard to choose the best 'applicant.' Of course, since we have only one girl per year, we don't have a huge pool of graduates, but I'm pleased to say that this year we have our best girl by far in the history of our program." The Headmaster sipped some of the expensive, aged sherry.

"First of all, she is both beautiful and extremely sensuous. Tall (5 foot 8 inches), slim, fit, with very short straight hair, glossy and almost black. Incredible blue-gray eyes, a wide mouth with thick lips and silky, tawny skin. She has a sultry aspect, perhaps because of her long eyelashes and thick lips, that make her appear to be pouting sometimes. You could say that her hair, body and complexion look like a combination of Winona Ryder, Demi Moore, Halle Berry and Natalie Portman when they were all young, but unlike them in their younger days, her affect is not naïve or innocent."

"Family?"

"Her mother is poor and divorced and the father is completely out of the picture, a convenience for us. No siblings. The mother lives on the opposite side of the country, and it's time-consuming and quite expensive to fly here.

"The girl—her name is Janice— is shy, and since she's so hot-looking the boys and other girls think she's a snob and leave her alone. So she was not only lonely and insecure, but also craving a father figure. Her questionnaire stated that she thought teens her age, especially boys, were often selfish, arrogant and obnoxious, so she preferred the company of adults, who were much more mature, interesting and attractive. She's also the most sensual and submissive girl we've encountered, with a deep craving for humiliation and discipline.

"What about her history of discipline and sex?"

"At first, she'd been spanked, but then her father moved onto whipping. She would remove her panties and skirt or pants and kneel on her bed. Sexually, she was amazingly naïve for her age, a virgin who had never even given oral sex, just hand jobs. I actually prefer them that way—a clean slate with no bad behavior to correct or bad experiences to process. But she was on the pill."

"Once she's been selected, how do you explain the Program?" the young man inquired.

"In my office," the Headmaster continued, "she reads a lengthy legalese contract, explaining that the Program is proprietary and confidential, that she cannot divulge it to her family or friends, and that any breach will result in immediate dismissal from the Program and an end to her full scholarship. It states that I will be her faculty advisor, tutor and dorm monitor. The pot is then sweetened, explaining that she will receive a large room with a view, a stipend, a clothing allowance, a large screen LCD TV—with cable porn channels that the girls quickly discover, free plane tickets home for major holidays, and many other generous benefits.

"Naturally, any girl is thrilled to sign. We move her into a spacious dormer suite in the top floor, directly above my apartment. Naturally, she has a roommate who we assign, knowing they won't like each other. In the first days for first semesters, somebody always gets ill or homesick and leaves permanently. The moment that happens, we transfer the roommate to the departed girl's room and both Janice and the transferred student are happy."

"What is the suite like?" asked the young colleague, now taking discreet notes.

"It's beautifully appointed. Most of the furniture is an elegant black, to contrast the girls' skin. The dining room table and leather chairs, plus the sofa, easy chairs, large coffee table and oversized ottoman, all have hooks or rings or eyelets at their bases to secure ropes and ties. The shower enclosure has clear glass for an unobstructed view. In the bedrooms, we built large walk-in closets and installed four-poster beds with slatted canopies. Of course, each room has been equipped with inconspicuous, state-of-the-art cameras that can record a good image in surprisingly dim light."

The colleague looked up from his notepad. "And once the girl's been installed?"

"I explain that the program includes special study courses. One is an art tutorial, The Body Throughout Modern Times." I don't mention that the course begins with one of the large format books of teen nudes by a controversial photographer, and continues with the erotic tableau photos of Helmut Newton, filled with nude European women, leather, crops and whips. I also outline a Women's Literature study that begins with Anais Nin, "Lady Chatterly's Lover" and "Men in Love," and eventually ends with "The Story of O." For the Film Studies course, the dormer library is stocked with sensuous films with female nudity like "Henry and June, The Unbearable Lightness of Being," and eventually concludes—months later—with "The Story of O."

"How does the training begin?"

"The first days of prep school are exciting, so we introduce elements from the beginning. On her first evening in the dormer, Janice received a gift bag. I explained that proper couture is one of the essentials to a successful career, and that we train our students in fashion, comportment, posture, politeness and so on. She knew that her clothing was dowdy, dated and full of polyester. The initial gift bag included a sheer silk blouse and skirt; a gossamer weight bathrobe; a lady's razor with a small pamphlet about how important it is to remove all body hair, with an illustrated tutorial about shaving all pubic hair daily; and, nestled amidst some expensive eye liner, mascara, blush and lipstick, a modest 4-inch dildo. I explained that the senior girls put together this welcome bag for select new girls. There was no lingerie for a reason I'll explain in a minute.

"Before saying goodnight, I explained that the entrance to her dormer was old and did not lock properly, but that campus security was superb and that she was extremely safe in this particular building and the top floor. I complimented how wonderful it was to have her and left.

"On my monitors, I watched Janice as she excitedly went through the bag. She stripped off her coarse top and unattractive pants, revealing a cheap, heavy cotton bra and panties, and was pleased with her new outfit. Apparently she didn't realize the sheerness of the blouse because of the tacky white bra she wore. Then she removed the skirt and blouse, carefully placed them in the closet, and sat at her brightly lit makeup table, playing with the makeup. After a few minutes, tired from the excitement and activities of orientation day, she washed up and went to bed.

"Since the dormer had no curtains or window shades, and there was a tall lamp next to the walkway outside, a fair amount of light penetrated the dormer at night. Janice was surprised about how visible she was, but felt securely private since the dormer was on the fifth floor and there were no other buildings visible. So the camera did an adequate job of showing Janice as she climbed into her luxurious, comfortable bed and opened the dildo box.

"I observed as she examined the accessory—her first ever, almost definitely— and pulled off her ugly panties. I was impressed at how widely she spread her long legs, revealing sparse pussy hair and wet labia that were as thick puffy as her oversized nipples. She started rubbing her breasts and massaging those amazing nipples.

"After teasing the dildo around her big clit, she stroked the head up and down her slit and slowly pressed it in, moaning, sweating and writhing. Licking her big lips, massaging her breasts and pulling her nipples, it didn't take long for her to orgasm. After, she withdrew the dripping dildo from her snatch and sniffed, sticking out a long, tentative tongue to taste her juices. Then she pulled off her bra and quickly fell asleep."

Chapter 2: Measure twice, initiation, erotica, first punishment

"In the morning, I knocked very early and waited until she opened the door. I had awoken her. Her hair tousled, sleepy-eyed, wearing her new robe, she looked fabulous, oblivious that the sheer robe and the morning light streaming through the large windows behind her showed clearly that she wore no pajamas. Being half-awake made her even sexier. I explained that it was Ansonia policy to personally wake students on their first day of class.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"You're welcome. I'll be back this afternoon after your swim period to begin our Women's Lit and Women in Film studies."

That afternoon, we spent fifty minutes on D.H. Lawrence. Before moving on to film, I recommended a break. "The senior girls didn't include any pajamas, lingerie or swimwear in your welcome bag because you left your measurements blank on your application. Why?"

She blushed. "I haven't measured myself for six months, and I've. . . developed. So I don't really know."

"Alright, let me see the swimsuit. Go put it on." She returned in a couple of minutes wearing an unflattering bikini with a loud pattern, head depressed in embarrassment. The full cups and wide cut panties covered way too much of her satiny skin.

"Well, that won't be hard to improve upon. Come along." We went into the bedroom together. "Stand at the foot of the bed and remove that horrible bikini." She looked at me, confused and flustered. "Miss Slatter," I said, feigning irritation, "we do things properly at Ansonia. No half measures. I've measured plenty of girls, it's no big deal, and your lingerie and swimwear will be beautiful, so we need to get it right. Fine clothing is expensive, and I know you'll look fabulous in it. Besides, your back will be turned to me. And I can assure you, I've seen plenty of bottoms during disciplinary sessions."

She stood in front of the bed's railing, tense. "We don't have all day," I said, reaching out and unclasping the top. Awkwardly, she drew the straps off her shoulders and pulled the big cups off her breasts, throwing the top on the bed. Impatiently, I grabbed the panties and pulled them down to just above her knees, a humiliating place to leave them. I could her breathing deeply with embarrassment. I began to grow harder the moment her tight, gorgeous young ass came into view.

"Damn, I forgot the tape measure. It's in my jacket at the dining room table. While I get it, remove those stupid panties. Then, to make it easy to measure you, raise your arms to horizontal and hold onto the bedposts for support." The tape measure was really in my pocket, but I wanted to give her a minute's privacy to adjust to the idea of being nude and assuming a posture.

I walked out, looking behind me as she grudgingly shuffled her legs and feet till the panties dropped to the floor. I pretended to shut the bedroom door behind me, but the bedroom and bathroom doors had been precisely hung to slowly swing open. Once the door had reopened, I watched as she raised her arms and grasped the bedposts. She was magnificent.

I walked back in and pulled a small metal tape measure out of my pocket. "Very good," I said. Rather than a supple fabric measure, I had chosen this one because the stiff metal would be uncomfortable and also cold on her breasts and nipples. Without touching, I stood behind her and lifted the measure over her head, resting it on her lovely breasts.

"Oh!" she said, startled by the cold metal. I dragged the measure down her breasts till it was hanging in front of her huge nipples, now hardening and pulled until the metal pressed against the nipples. "Uh," she said, but made no complaint as I drew the ends together over her spine and muttered about doing this accurately. Then I pulled harder, the metal pressing harshly into her nubbins and beginning to compress her breasts. I could tell it hurt, but she made no complaint, just uttered "Uhhh."

"I've got it now, 35." I released the tape and her breathing relaxed. Then I proceeded with her slim waist and gorgeous hips. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" I asked.

"No sir."

"You may lower your arms." I advised her to study hard and we'd see each other tomorrow.

"Thank you sir," she said as I left. When I brought the new clothing a few days later, she squealed with delight and kissed me on the cheek. She loved the bikini, in white to contrast her tawny skin and daringly cut for her. The lacy pastel panties, in blue, pink, yellow, green and orange, were all bikini cut and the bras, in matching pastels, were all half cup with plenty of lace.

An interesting detail is that none of the lace on either the bras or panties covered much of a girl's privates. But Janice fell in love with them before she noticed that revealing design detail, and then shrugged it off as being a French style thing. The baby doll nighties were as revealing as her sheer bathrobe, in pastels to match the bras and panties. Each bra and panty set included matching stay-up stockings. "Ooohh, stockings too!" she said. "Would you like to see me model the bikini?" she asked eagerly.

"What a sweet idea. Please. But why don't you take a quick hot shower, so you can see if the fabric and fit are comfortable when wet." She cocked her head, thinking this was an unusual request, but since I gave two logical reasons, she acquiesced. When she stepped out of the shower, the mirror had completely fogged, so she wrapped a towel around her and returned to the living room.

When she returned, she was a sight, shiny black hair dripping, her skin a healthy complexion, smiling as she pretended to be a runway model walking back and forth in front of me. I chuckled and applauded. She unwrapped the towel as a slow tease, placing one leg behind her in a cute curtsy. It was obvious that she was becoming prouder of her body and less self-conscious about showing it. "You look lovely," I said. The innocent girl had no idea that the thin white fabric had been chosen because it became virtually transparent when wet.

I unabashedly stared at the heavy 35C tits capped with the dark aureole and even darker, stiff nipples, plain as day. "Does it fit and is it comfortable? I hope so, because you look ravishing." I was specifically referring to her thick labia, pressing against the soaked, transparent material.

"It feels tight all over, sir, but I like it too much to let it go." I should hope it was tight, since it was intentionally a size too small for her voluptuous body. "Of course, it's a lot briefer than what I'm used to."

"Alright, put your towel back on, take it off and I'll hang it to dry while you get dressed." She was becoming used to my odd requests, and this seemed harmless, so she obeyed, contorting herself underneath the towel, and handed me the wet pieces. Good, I had prevented her from seeing her tits and pussy exposed in one of the bedroom mirrors.

Over the next weeks, Janice liked her teachers, was doing well in her classes, and with a daily workout schedule, was losing her tiny amount of body fat. I made sure that she called and e-mailed her mother frequently. She seemed cheerful, well adjusted and content to not have friends on-campus, which suited me perfectly. Like anyone else, she attended various concerts and other events, but didn't hang out in the student union.

We proceeded with her tutorials. At first she'd sit in a chair while I was on the couch, but that immediately proved to be impractical when we studied art books and watched DVDs, so we sat together on the leather sofa.

She was excited by the pioneering sexual frankness of D.H. Lawrence, and bought a vintage 1920s dress at an off-campus boutique that she wore without bra or panties during our sessions. It was a virginal, risqué look, since the dress had areas of revealing lace. Janice explained that she'd always loved wearing costumes, and I took this as a good sign, since soon enough she would be wearing nothing but a black silk bustier, or a white waist cincher, or a brocade underbust corset with heels, or a bondage leather harness, or black ropes binding her luscious tits and pussy lips so they bulged.

She watched "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" several times. After the first viewing, Janice idolized the character Lena Olin played and was so turned on by the scene with Olin wearing a black bowler and lingerie, that she bought a black lace bra and panty set at an expensive lingerie boutique in town. She even bought a bowler at the store where she'd purchased the 1920s dress. The second time, she watched clad in just hat, bra and panties. Once the sex scenes began, it didn't take long for her to masturbate herself to multiple orgasms.

After "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" her syllabus featured "Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!" She was fascinated by the bondage bed scenes with Victoria Abril and watched them repeatedly, always bringing herself off.

Her art course progressed as well. After the controversial photography book of teen nudes, we studied Helmut Newton's work. Fascinated by the nude scenes with bondage gear, she asked lots of questions, trying to hide an excitement that was charmingly obvious.

She began frequenting BDSM sites on a daily basis, bookmarking sites for erotic clothes and bondage gear, and reading stories filled with harsh scenes of domination, sucking and fucking.

During this period, she also received another gift bag, also ostensibly from the caring but invisible and anonymous senior girls. This assortment contained a small black vibrator that, along with the earlier dildos, quickly saw nightly use. Despite this frequent self-pleasuring, it was clear that, being highly sexed, her level of frustration was increasing weekly.

One evening I indulged her pleading and permitted her some dessert sherry. She quickly guzzled four glasses till I admonished her to stop. She said she figured that I wasn't married, and assumed I didn't have a girlfriend either. I explained that I was a lot like her, independent and highly selective, preferring females not my own age. She explained that she wanted to do something for all my kindnesses. "That's not necessary," I said. "Because I'm so selective, I prefer buying things for myself. And there aren't any objects that I want. I prefer gifts of a non-material nature."




The Program Ch. 01-06



"Headmaster, I know that you like me, since you're always complimenting me, saying how hot and sexy I look. . . ." I said nothing. "And I know you get excited when I'm wearing a costume, or showing off half-dressed, because I see the. . . hardon in your pants."

"This kind of talk is inappropriate, Janice."

"I may not have a lot of experience," she continued, ignoring me, "but those two boys at the mall said I gave them the best hand job ever. And they couldn't wait for me go down on them with oral sex."

"Miss Slatter, please get to the point."

"I want to give you pleasure," she stubbornly insisted, and pushed away the coffee table, slid off the couch and knelt on the floor.

"I think you better stop right there, young lady," I said, softly but sternly. As if deaf, she moved between my legs and spread her knees as wide as she could.

"Headmaster, I'm begging you to let me show you. I'd like to give you a hand job. You'll see I'm not just good at studying and scholarships."

"What has gotten into you?" I asked—but made no move to stop her.

She began undoing her tight blouse and shrugged it off her shoulders. The tops of her exquisite tits, heaving with arousal, were exposed above the skimpy half bra, framed by pale blue lace. "Maybe I can convince you by showing you some skin? Don't you like seeing my breasts? Don't all men like seeing this? I like showing you."

"Miss Slatter, what do you think you're doing?" I hissed. She didn't pause for a moment, just unzipped and removed her skirt, showing the sexy lace tops of her blue stay-ups and tiny bikini panties. 

"Turning you on, Headaster. Look at your pants." My enormous hard-on was indeed tenting my slacks. "And I can touch myself." One hand caressed a breast while the other poked inside the tight small panties.

"I said that is enough!" I said, fiercely, but she leaned forward and brazenly began unbuckling my belt, her breasts brushing against my knees.

"If you don't stop, I'll be forced to punish you," I warned, but she tugged my pants down to my ankles.

"Look, I even have lubricant for your cock," she announced proudly and pulled a bottle of lube out of a skirt pocket.

"I'm warning you for the last time." She just laughed saucily and leaned forward to remove my boxers. I had strung out the scene as long as possible. Now she would receive her first major punishment, in tandem with agonizing pleasure, and understand who was the master and who the submissive.

A second before my raging cock sprang free, I grabbed the hair at the top of her head and jerked it up. "Owww!" she yelled, her momentum interrupted, squeezing those sexy lips together in a full-blown pout. I pushed her back till she was leaning on the coffee table and stood, kicking my pants from my feet and ankles. She must have thought I was going to make her suck me, because a flicker of fear passed across her face.

"Get up." Once she stood, I grabbed her bicep and led her to the closest dining room chairs. They had been designed to a perfect height, her groin, as was proved when I pushed the small of her back down over the leather chair top.

"Are you going to spank me?" I laughed, pulling four cuffs and a tawse from the dining room table drawer and fastening them to her wrists and ankles.

"Spanking is for children." I tied her wrists to rings at the bottom of each chair leg. "No, you were warned multiple times," I reminded her, tying off the ankle bindings. "You will be punished with a leather tawse."

"What's that?" she asked as I stripped off her blue panties, leaving her long legs framed in the frilly stockings.

"It's like a small paddle, but the thick leather is a bit flexible." I placed the tawse on the chair seat, inches from her face, and let her smell the pungent leather as I gazed at her pouting pussy lips, so thick and low-hanging, below a gorgeous dark rose ring of slightly puckered skin. Her slit was already damp. "You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself by yelling, so put this in your mouth." She opened her meaty lips and I inserted the panty, wet with her juices. It hardly filled that wide slash of a mouth, but would muffle her cries.

I struck her back first. She moaned but never screamed. When finished, I returned the instrument of her punishment to the chair and massaged a soothing oil onto her back, explaining that I regretted the necessity for harsh punishment, but the crop or cane would have been far worse. She groaned as my strong fingers worked the oil into her inflamed skin, constantly moving her torso in excitement. I retrieved the tawse and laid into her thighs. She grew even more excited, hips and thighs twisting alluringly, cunt juices now glistening from her labia. I repeated the oil-based massage.

It was time to alter the technique. I beat her tight ass harder than her back and thighs, until it bloomed with red mottling. But after every hit, I massaged the spot with oil. So every moment of pain was contrasted with a moment of relief. She sniffled but never begged for mercy, her pelvis pumping back and forth against the leather chair.

After a half dozen blows, I struck the thickly hanging lips. This time she screamed, as much in shock as in pain. "Oh my God, please Headmaster, don't whip my pussy!" she desperately implored until I replaced the tawse with my oiled fingers, rubbing the outer lips. "Ohhh, oh yes, ummm" she moaned, for the pleasure/pain switch had been thrown.

The second hit was further down, but she didn't scream, hoping for relief, which I quickly applied. "Oh God," she uttered as I stroked the length of the engorged lips till the oil mixed with cunt juice dripped onto the floor.

I dropped the tawse down in front of her face so she would be forced to smell her cunt juice mixed with the oil. "Open your legs wider." Did she guess what was next? She moved her limber feet apart and I pushed a pillow from the couch under her belly, exposing more of her mons. Instead of striking the final spot, I soaked my fingers and gently stroked the hood of her fat, protruding clit. She screamed in unbridled joy, thrusting her groin back at me, hips swiveling with craving for release. "Yes!" she cried. "Please, please!" But I had stopped. In the stillness, she realized what was coming.

"Oh God, please, not that!" Frenziedly, she pulled at her wrist bonds, but the heavy chair barely moved. I pushed back the flaps of the hood and squeezed the engorged clit itself. The incredible sensation was now mixed with fear. I pumped her entire fat shaft harder and faster as she ascended toward a fearsome orgasm, mumbling, thrashing and gyrating in her bondage. On the brink, I savagely struck the defenseless, exposed clit a half dozen times.

Her entire body seemed to lift off the chair, muscles and tendons stretched tautly, as her head jerked back in an extreme climax that even impressed me, savagely jerking her pelvis up and down until, over the space of a minute, she slowed down and hung limply.

I pried the saturated panties out of her slack mouth, fixed myself a drink and admired the sweat-drenched and greasy body, spotted with the evidence of her discipline. I already knew she was a budding exhibitionist, so she didn't say a word when I spent several minutes photographing her prostrate form from a number of angles, including close-ups of her inflamed, swollen clit and raw red cunt lips.

Refreshed, I was ready for the final portion. I yanked up Janice's head and held a glass of sherry at her lips, which she downed. "Thank you Headmaster," she croaked hoarsely.

"Will you defy me ever again?"

"She shook her head. "No sir. Could you untie me now?"

"I can untie your hands." I undid her wrist straps, which she immediately rubbed. The skin was tender from when she strained against the ties during her orgasm. I moved the pillow from her belly to the edge of the table and lifted her head until her forehead rested on the pillow. She was confused.

"Sir, will you untie my legs now?"

"No Janice, because your lesson in obedience is not yet over."

"Wha?" she asked groggily.

"Since you insisted on playing with not only your pussy but also your tits, they will be thrashed as well." There was silence while she weighed the consequences of resistance, realizing that I might also give her a second orgasm.

"Yes, Master." it was the first time she had used the abbreviation of my complete title, Headmaster. We had entered a new chapter. I unclasped the pretty bra and drew it off her, enjoying the spectacle of her heavy tits hanging down between the table edge and chair back.

"Do I need to gag you again?"

"No sir." I went to her bedroom, opened the night table drawer, and removed her dildo. Back in the dining room, I inserted it between her raw and tender cunt lips. She sighed with pleasure and began humping her mons against the chair as I smacked her pendulous tits very hard, alternating each hit with a caress of or stroke of the heavy orbs. Almost immediately, she entered "sub space" and loved every moment.

Soon her oiled tits were so wet that the liquid ran down her long nipples and dripped onto the chair seat. I regretted that there was too little space between the sensitive bottom side of her tits and the chair surface with which to swing the tawse. Oh well, some other time. Moreover, I longed to clamp and weight her huge nipples, but I knew that the Program took time and could not be successfully rushed. It followed a gradual timetable and I especially would not risk anything, considering the spectacular specimen I was brutalizing and pleasuring.

But between each slam of the tawse into her tits, I did begin kneading, squeezing, bending and stroking her nipples, which immediately made her pre-orgasmic. When she was on the brink, grinding and twisting the dildo into the chair, I applied the tawse directly to her nipples, watching the tit globes ripple and shake with the agonizing impacts. Finally, she screamed, but it was brief, because she came in another imposing frenzy, her head whipping back and forth as drops of sweat flew off.

When she had stopped, I dropped my shorts, twisted her lax head to face me, and shoved my cock into her limp mouth, fucking her face for only a minute or two before I spurted a long-waiting flood of jism into her. When the tenth spurt had shot into her, I released her head, which flopped down. My cum had accumulated in a pool on the roof of her mouth. Since her head and torso were upside down, the roof was the lowest portion. I watched as her tongue extended down into the hot cum and swirled around in it, savoring the taste, the only movement her exhausted cum slut of a body could muster. After photographing her again, with special attention to the pendulous tits and dripping nipples, I staggered down to my apartment, leaving her hanging over the chair.

Chapter 3: Hardcore erotica, accoutrements, daily restraints, a plea for punishment

After that dining room scene, everything changed. Janice showed me complete respect and adoration, mixed with a tinge of apprehension about my disciplinary potential. I tested her servitude in various ways. For example, I would arbitrarily ask her to change an outfit, or to switch midday into a revealing baby doll, or to remove her bra and panties as we were driving to an expensive restaurant in a neighboring town. Sometimes I ordered her to masturbate in front of me, using a combination of fingers, a dildo and a vibe.

If she needed shoes, knowing that part of her sluttishness was an exhibitionistic streak, I accompanied her, making sure she wore her shortest skirt without panties. Sitting in front of a young male salesman, teasing him with split-second flashes, she was the perfect mix of humiliation and excitement.

When I presented her with a new six-inch dildo and larger anal plug, I ordered her to break her hymen, which she did later the same night. By this time she was watching "The Story of O" in tandem with reading the novel. I assured her, that, even though Corinne Clery (the actress who played O), was hot, gorgeous and sexy, Janice, with her far bigger mouth, lips, tits and nipples, plus her longer legs and more enticing rump, was far more alluring. Besides, in the period when O was filmed, women didn't shave their mons, whereas Janice's dutiful daily shaving kept her thick, long labia prominently visible when naked.

She loved jewelry, so she started wearing bondage accoutrements. Her breasts and pussy lips were frequently roped. She wore different sorts of nipple clamps, mostly butterfly, although all were heavy duty to accommodate her massive nipples. Weights were added, then a chain connecting the nipple clamps. Or her nipples were cinched with leather shoelaces, also tied to weights. Her breasts were bound with wide rubber bands, rope, leather and Velcro strips. I lined some new full cup bras and several panties with the coarsest sandpaper, abrading her mercilessly as she wore them to classes.

In the dormer, she grew accustomed to ball and penis gags. At night, her neck collar was usually tied to the headboard. One of her favorite tortures was the breast press, since the metal rods and horizontal wood boards made her big tits bulge obscenely. Everything was carefully photographed in different positions and styles of lighting.

The next step was to force her to wear items to morning classes. On a Monday, I began with straps tightened at the base of her breasts, bulging her tit flesh and keeping her nipples semi-tumescent in class. Once she'd accepted that humiliation, on Tuesday I had her wear a small dildo. For Wednesday, she took a small anal plug, and on Thursday, mild pussy clamps. For Friday? She wore all four items and didn't get to concentrate much on her lectures.

One day, Janice brazenly asked if I would please flog her, since the multiple movie scenes of O being beaten excited her deeply. She recounted the scenes in detail: O with her hands tied above, whipped shortly after her arrival at Roissy; O's savage beating and fucking by the young man Sir Stephen gave her to; O's flogging at the women's retreat, strung between two pillars. Janice wanted to know how it felt, and whether it might be exciting. And she relived the two massive orgasms when she'd been tawsed at the dining room table. "Why should I?" I asked.

"Because I know it would please and excite you," she said. And when you were done, with me still tied, you might want to fuck me."

Chapter 4: first cropping, breast bondage, double blowjob

It was a few months later, and Janice's training was proceeding spectacularly. When I thought she was ready, I said that the Vice Chancellor was looking forward to meeting her and that he had suggested dinner at the dormer on Saturday night. The food would all be provided from the executive dining room. All she had to do was look great, set the table and be a cooperative host. Janice was excited to entertain and immediately asked what to wear. I responded that her white blouse and black skirt with heels would be fine.

On Saturday morning, I instructed the housekeeper to clean while Janice was at the gym, and to include all of her bras and panties in the weekly laundering. At 4:00 pm, I walked into her apartment—I had stopped knocking a few weeks before, in hopes of finding her undressed and embarrassed. She was in a panic, freshly showered and wrapped in a bath towel, and rummaging through her dresser. "Hello?" I ventured.

"Oh, Headmaster!" she exclaimed, whirling to face me, unconscious of her wet hair, shoulders and towel. "I'm so glad to see you. I can't find any underwear!"

"I suppose the housekeeper took it for washing and it will be back tomorrow. But no worries, I've been holding a treat for you, on the occasion of your first dinner party." I showed her the beautiful gift box I'd been holding behind my back.

She recognized the name of the French lingerie designer on the box. "You're a lifesaver!" she said, impetuously holding her damp body against mine and hugging me.

"See you at 7:00," I said and left. When Janice opened the box, it contained two sets of stunning bra, panties and garter belt, one in black and the other in white. She felt like a young woman, receiving her first garter belts with matching stockings. But she took too long on her hair and makeup, so it wasn't until 6:45 that she tried on the black panties and saw they were much briefer in front and rear than her pastel sets, exposing much of her ass cheeks.

She was even more taken aback when she put on the black bra. Unlike her half-cup pastels that revealed so much of her breasts, this was only a quarter cup. The tag said it was also called a shelf bra. Staring into the mirror, she felt ashamed that her nipples were left totally bare, but she also felt daring and racy. Besides, it was late and there was nothing to be done about it. And she had to spend time arranging her stockings and black garter belt for the first time.

I arrived at 7:15 with fresh flowers. She had lit a number of candles and the dormer looked good. Saying I'd never seen her look so grown up, beautiful and sexy, I bowed, clasped her hand high above her head, and invited her to take a twirl. Gracefully, she whirled around, the light short skirt rising up to reveal the stocking tops and bottom of the garter straps. I grew a little hard. She saw me staring at her legs. "Do you like your new gifts?" I asked innocently.

"Yes sir, I do, even though they're very grown up." She twirled back under my arm, faster, so the skirt exposed the tops of her legs and a bit of her panties.

"Lovely," I said, realizing she had done it intentionally. So my submissive student was also an exhibitionist.

This impression was confirmed when the Vice Chancellor arrived. Janice seemed a bit put off by his hard eyes and steely good looks. But she relaxed a bit as he and I sat on the leather living room couch while she served us vodka martinis. She had unbuttoned the top two buttons of her tight blouse, exposing cleavage as she leaned far over to set down our drinks. As he and I were about to toast the evening, Janice stood in front of us, looking forlorn. "What is it?"

"Couldn't I please please have a small drink, Headmaster?" The Vice Chancellor and I exchanged looks and he nodded.

"Alright, but just one, and it will be small," I warned, getting up to make pour a double amount of vodka into a highball, covering the alcohol by making a White Russian. The three of us toasted and Janice sat in the chair facing us, automatically spreading her legs and showing her sexy, lacy new stockings.

"Mmmm, delicious!" she said, sipping the sweet concoction.

We chatted generally for a few minutes until Janice had quickly consumed all of her drink. I asked her to move closer, from her chair to the coffee table. She stood quickly, swaying from the quick intake of her cocktail. I grabbed a wrist to steady her and led the girl to our side of the coffee table, where she sat on the edge, feeling a bit dizzy and forgetting the standard sitting position.

Gently, I placed a hand on the inside of a thigh and pushed outward. Reflexively, she spread both legs as wide as possible, the short skirt rising to reveal the elegant stocking tops and rested her hands on the table surface behind her. The Vice Chancellor looked at the big tits above the shelf bra and the dark nipples thrusting against the taut, thin white silk.

When he complimented her that she looked lovely and was becoming a young woman, Janice blushed proudly. I mentioned that she was wearing brand new lingerie, including, for the first time, a garter belt. "Really?" the Vice Chancellor asked. "I'd love to see it." Janice frowned, her thick lips—coated creamily from the White Russian— compressing in the cutest pout.

"Janice?" I prompted her. She bit her lower lip, so much like a girl. I reached out and gently slapped her cheek. "A host is supposed to take care of her guests." I slapped the other cheek. "The Vice Chancellor just wants a peek."




The Program Ch. 01-06



She must have swung from embarrassment to exhibitionism, because her head jerked up and she looked at the Vice Chancellor as she slowly raised the skirt, exposing the black straps on top of the smooth, olive thigh skin. Staring at her, the Vice Chancellor said, "Now that I've seen the straps, show me the belt." Her eyes darted to me but I simply stared back, stone-faced.

She raised the skirt until her panties were visible, her slit and bulging lips pressing against the tight, gauzy material. As the saying goes, the air was thick. In the waning summer light, we could see the moisture glinting on her freshly shaved mound. Did she realize we could see her clearly? Breathing deeply, she raised the skirt higher, showing the tight belly between the low waistline of the panties and the garter belt. "Thank you, Janice," the Vice Chancellor said, "you look magnificent in such fine lingerie. "You may cover yourself now." We talked more, but the tone of the evening had clearly been set.

A delivery boy brought dinner, which Janice put on plates and served. The Vice Chancellor and I had glasses of red wine, which Janice looked at longingly. "If I serve you a single glass of white wine, do you promise to behave for the remainder of the evening?"

She nodded vigorously, so I poured her a glass of sweet Chenin Blanc, which she enjoyed. When Janice cleared the plates and glasses, I spied her surreptitiously pouring and drinking another glass of white in the kitchen. When she emerged, the Vice Chancellor and I were again sitting on the couch and I motioned for her to sit as before on the coffee table. Once she'd spread her legs, the Vice Chancellor said, "Now Janice, show me the last piece of your new lingerie ensemble." Again, she looked at me for support that was not forthcoming. "That was not a request," he added.

"Come, come, Janice, you heard the Vice Chancellor," I said. She did not respond, so I leaned forward and slapped first one breast and then the other. Still, she sat unmoving, except for the heaving of her chest. Apparently it was all right to show her pussy, since it was covered by panties. But with the shelf bra, her nipples were completely exposed. "You're not only disobeying your superior, one of Ansonia's most important officials, you're offending a guest and embarrassing me."

"If only I had my pastel bra," she whimpered, since it was a half bra. It was unclear to me whether the cocktail and wine had made her more spunky and resistant than usual.

"You're breaking a promise you made only minutes ago during dinner, to be obedient tonight. This is my last warning," I spoke quietly. "You will be punished, and I don't mean with a spanking." Janice recalled the photos in the Helmut Newton books that she'd studied so intimately. I stood, reached behind her, fastened her wrists together with a black velvet wrist cincher, undid the last three buttons on her blouse and handed the Vice Chancellor a crop. Janice's eyes widened when she saw it.

Still reclining on the sofa, the Vice Chancellor reached out with the crop, placed the leather tip in her bare cleavage, and with agonizing slowness, moved the crop outward, pushing the fabric. The tip pushed into her breast and scraped hard directly across the nipple, until the blouse fell off her shoulder. The Vice Chancellor gasped at the erotic sight of her dark, thick and long nipple stalk. He glanced at me, impressed and excited. I smiled and nodded slightly. "You are an exceptionally beautiful girl," he said. Janice's eyes were lidded and she was perspiring.

He repeated the disrobing on the other side. "There's just one problem. Your beautiful big tits are so large I can't see the bra very well. But I have a solution." From his pocket he pulled four black leather strips that contained metal rings. One, the widest, he fastened around Janice's elegant neck, the ring positioned in front, a leather strap hanging from it down into her cleavage. He wrapped two tightly around the middle of each breast, till the young flesh bulged on each side of the leather straps. A horizontal strip across her cleavage connected the two bands. Janice moaned in discomfort, incredulous at how her body was being used.

Finally, the Vice Chancellor connected the vertical strap on her collar to the horizontal strap and began tightening. Janice groaned in amazement as her heavy, distorted breasts were lifted several inches off the bra. "Ah, much better," the Vice Chancellor said. "A bra as lovely as your tits. I think we're ready for your punishment now."

I grabbed the seminude teenager by the arm and raised her up, leading us into the bedroom till she faced the foot of the bed. I untied her hands and the crumpled blouse fell off. The Vice Chancellor retied her wrists in front and, lifting her arms, tied them to a hook in the ceiling that she'd never really noticed while I dragged the panties down her hips and legs and threw them aside. The Vice Chancellor pushed a leather bridle gag into her mouth while I secured her ankles wide apart and strapped them to rings sunk into the dark wood floor. Stretched taut, she looked incredible, a light sheen on the flawless young skin. We viewed the thick, heavy and protuberant labial lips, glistening with moisture.

The Vice Chancellor held two pairs of clamps in front of the girl's tits, now heaving with fear and excitement. "Since you refused to show us your fat nipples before, Janice, I think we should hide them now. One pair is to hurt those proud nipples, the other is to inflict pain on your equally big cunt lips."

"Oh God. . . oh my God," she murmured. The nipple clamps were the adjustable type whose screw could be tightened severely, but left the entire nipple exposed. The metal cunt clamps were each three inches wide, so one clamp could effectively crush the entire length of one labia. The Vice Chancellor handed me a nipple clamp and together, we screwed the clamps into the base of both nipples as she began mewling in pain. We kept turning until the dark chocolate stalks bulged from the relentless pressure and she screamed, trying to wrench her tits away from us.

I was concerned that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. "Calm down and try to breathe into the pain," I advised her.

"Wonderful," The Vice Chancellor said. Now for your cunt, my dear." He got on his knees in front of her, staring at the big lips. They were so thick he had to make an effort to force open the heavy spring so that the jaws would open enough to slide over the labia. It was a good thing that her lips were so wet with juices because the Vice Chancellor had to force the heavy metal onto her slick flesh. This time our bondaged beauty really yelled, legs scissoring in fresh pain.

Pleased, the Vice Chancellor stood and addressed the glazed, pain-filled eyes of my charge. "Are you ready to receive your punishment, Janice?" he asked. She nodded dazedly and, walking behind her, he struck the strip of skin beneath the garter belt and her ass.

She cried out, swaying as her breasts shook and a cruel red stripe bloomed on the unblemished skin. "You'd better steady her from the front," the Vice Chancellor said. I stood in front of her, ogling the sweating and squeezed breasts, the nasty nipple clamps, naked cunt and severe labia clamps, her pussy encapsulated by the lacy garter straps, and placed a hand on her flat stomach. Her eyes looked at me with resignation.

As the Vice Chancellor raised his arm and swung, I heard the crop whistling before it cracked onto the top part of her tight ass. My hand prevented her body from jerking forward as much as before. This time, rather than scream, she moaned, while twin strands of saliva emerged from the corners of her mouth and I slid my hand down to her abdomen.

The third cut dug into her meaty upper cheeks. In front, the drool had reached her banded breasts. Her body was incredibly turned on, so I was not surprised to see a streak of pussy juice at the inside top of her thigh. But I was deeply impressed by her ability to take pain. She had only cried out once, at the first stroke. "Half done," the Vice Chancellor said, tracing her new marks with his fingertips as my hand lowered to just above her mound. He struck the center of her ass and my hand cupped her pussy. The saliva had run across the leather breast straps and down to her rock-hard nipples.

She jerked in alarm, eyes wide with fright. shame and arousal, as the fifth blow landed on the lower part of her ass. My finger moved into her slit, which was completely drenched. The saliva had now started to run off the thick nipples onto their vicious clamps. "Here comes the last." A final cut struck the tops of her thighs as I placed a second finger between the imposing clamps into her wet slit, noting how the insides of both thighs were now streaked and glistening.

"You did exceptionally well, my dear," the Vice Chancellor said. "You should be proud, now that your body looks even more beautiful with welts marking you. Here is a special salve to help soothe your marks. It has aloe, menthol and more. I trust you're still holding her, Headmaster." He squirted the cream over her rear, each squeeze making a lurid sound. Janice's body jumped as the cold, thick white goo sprayed over her inflamed ass. She felt a gob strike the top of crack and begin to slide down between her cheeks.

The Vice Chancellor carefully smoothed the gunk into her weals as the bound girl moaned through her gag, taking care to work it into all of her cheeks. He glanced at me and nodded as he inserted his greasy finger between her cheeks, reveling in the sight of her dusky, rose-shaded nether ring. Janice groaned "Aaggghhh!" in well-deserved panic, wriggling in her bonds, as the Vice Chancellor coated his pinky finger from the bottle of salve and pressed his fingertip directly into her sphincter.

As expected, the girl screamed and leapt forward, allowing me to sink both fingers several inches into her cunt. All three of us remained still for several moments while, on the brink of orgasm and desperate to cum, she decided whether to debase herself even more.

I was hardly surprised to see her push her hips back into the Vice Chancellor's finger and groan in ecstasy as she pumped her groin back and forth, sinking my fingers and the Vice Chancellor's inches deeper. He nodded at me, and I removed all four clamps, scraping and forcing the labia clamps off her swollen cunt lips, till she climaxed in a series of jerking, twisting spasms.

We removed our fingers as she hung limp in a stupor, the bridle gag dangling from her thick lips until it fell onto her saliva coated breasts and dropped to the floor. The Vice Chancellor examined her front, beaming with pleasure and excitement. "Well, that went handsomely, eh? Judging from all the cunt juice on her thighs, she certainly seems to like the crop and has a high pain tolerance. And what a bonus to find her so anal-erotic. Let's let her rest for a few minutes and have a drink before we conclude our little play."

In the living room, we drank brandy. The Vice Chancellor turned to me. "You did say she'd given hand jobs to a couple of boys at once?" I nodded. "Good. We can only hope she'll be as talented at her first double blowjob. Personally, I have no doubts. She is the most beautiful and the hottest that you've ever found for us."

"And by far the most submissive. She has a need for humiliation as well. I think we've got the whole package here—and for another 2½ years! Delicious brandy. Shall we continue?" He nodded. "Just give me a minute alone with her. I think it will be worthwhile."

"Take your time. I'm content to sip my brandy."

In the bedroom, I was staggered anew by her wonderful appearance, the shackled ankles, long legs encased in stockings, streaks of white cream on top of livid stripes crisscrossing her inviting ass. Her head still hung low, so I grabbed her short black hair and pulled, raising her head from her collarbone and her breasts from the bra. Her eyelids fluttered open.

"My dear, you have no idea how beautiful and exciting you are. Look in the mirror." She turned to the floor length mirror and stared for several moments at her abused ass. "These are the precious marks of a young woman. They show beautifully on your smooth skin. It's like getting a tattoo, but far more elegant, a proof of your submission.

"I guess they do look kinda cool," she acknowledged.

"How do you feel?"

"Umm, my arms and breasts are a bit sore and of course my ass is killing me."

"Did the salve help?" She nodded. Was that the best orgasm you've ever had?"

"Oh yes, Headmaster, by far, but I don't understand why."

"That's simple. You like to be restrained by various means; you're naturally submissive to forceful older men; you can tolerate a severe level of pain; and that pain excites you sexually. Plus, you are what is called 'anal erotic.' Do you understand? She nodded, overwhelmed by this lengthy description of her fundamental nature and what it would mean for her future. "Are you prepared to cooperate further? Because I would hate for the Vice Chancellor to come back and punish you even more."

"More?" she asked innocently. "I thought we were done. What more could he do?" Then she saw me looking at her breasts, straining against the tight leather bands. "Oh my God. . . ." she muttered.

"Yes, the Vice Chancellor particularly talented at what's called 'breast discipline.' Now, if you serve us well, I'll remove the bands from your tits as a reward." Little did she suspect that we were hardly done with her breasts for the night.

"Oh yes sir, please sir." I unhooked the collar strap from the cleavage strap and removed the Velcro breast straps, revealing the bruised and reddened skin beneath. She sighed as the brutalized breasts sank down onto the quarter bra. I grabbed the salve and squirted the thick white salve on both breasts, then rubbed it in firmly as she resumed her moaning. "When you used to do hand jobs, did the boys climax on you?"

"No sir, they'd cum in their shorts or into tissues I had."

"Do you understand how great your nipples look, their dark color contrasting with these lines of white lotion?"

"I–I guess so sir." I untied her wrists from the hook above and her ankles from the floor rings. But instead of grabbing her by the arm again, I led her by the leash toward the bedroom door and watched as she walked into the living room, slippery breasts bouncing slightly, window light a half moon reflecting off her firm, oiled ass cheeks.

We walked to the ottoman and I instructed her to assume the kneeling position, strapping her ankles to the feet of the ottoman, refilling her wine glass, which she thirstily consumed. "We're ready sir," I called to the Vice Chancellor.

"Don't you look lovely?" the Vice Chancellor murmured, looking down at her. His eyes roved over her submissive body, patting her tousled hair and flicking the distended nipples, greased with salve and saliva. "Glossy hair, perfect skin, luscious tits, giant chocolate nipples, long legs, and a big wide mouth made for sucking cock." She was getting more excited as he spoke. He pushed two fingers into her mouth, probing inside, removed them, and squeezed her thick parted lips as if she were a pet.

"Headmaster tells me you like to service two at a time. Hand jobs are nice, Janice, but you're much too mature and talented to limit yourself. No, tonight you're going to suck both of our cocks, and you'll blow us both at the same time. Do you have an issue with that, or shall I grab a cane, bind and beat your big tits right now?"

"Please don't cane my tits, sir. I'll be pleased to suck off you and Headmaster."

"That's better. You might even get to cum again, like that intense cum you had in the bedroom." We removed our shoes, socks, pants and shorts. "Since you like it in the ass so much, put this inside you." He held out a new dildo and anal plug, both longer and thicker than her beginner's models. The butt plug dripped with fresh lubricant. Her jaw dropped at the humiliating order, but she slowly took them and, her face contorted, pushed the dildo up her leaking cunt and the butt plug past her rear opening and all the way in, her eyes already glazing with arousal.

"Begin with your hands." Janice spat into both palms and began gently rubbing our cockheads. After a minute, she caressed our sacs and lowered her head to noisily slurp all around our balls. Only then did she start licking the Vice Chancellor's long cock. She was a natural, a gifted cocksucker with an acrobatic, teasing tongue, and strong lips that pulled and sucked.

We each smeared long trails of pre-cum across her forehead and down a cheek to her chin, on whichever side was closer. After a minute she turned to me and continued to switch every thirty seconds, soon thrusting her mouth on our members and experimenting with swallowing virtually all of our shafts till her gag reflex kicked in.

Cleverly, our anal slut had crossed her ankles so that they held the base of the anal plug on the floor. Every time she leaned forward to go down on one of us, the plug was sucked almost out of her ass. Every time she drew back, leaving her lips wrapped around only the cockhead, she forced the plug in as far as it could.

After only a few minutes, we were both getting ready to shoot. The Vice Chancellor held in his palm a small, simple, metal clit clamp, the kind that had a spring and no adjustment. Seconds before we shot, the Vice Chancellor pushed her head off his cock and, groaning with impatience, she resumed jerking our shafts, knowing we were almost there. Bending down, he opened the clamp and released it on her clit. She screamed in agonizing pain, a shattering climax flooding her as we began spraying her flushed face and tits with jets of hot jism, experienced enough to aim the splatters accurately.

She fell forward in a heap at our feet as we milked our cocks of the remaining ropy strands of cum that fell into her hair. The Vice Chancellor grabbed the back of her hair and roughly yanked her up, lowering her back onto the ottoman so he could enjoy the view of her front. Like a bukkake veteran, she was covered in cum, snaking through her hair, dripping off an eyebrow, bubbling in a nostril, flowing from a nipple.

He pulled the dildo and butt plug halfway out of her cunt and asshole, accompanied by the loud sounds of her labial lips relinquishing the dildo, and left them hanging obscenely in the air. She leapt up several inches in anguish, her body jolting forward and shuddering, her hands flapping, when he removed the clit clamp, her little cock a livid, lurid red.

"A delightful evening," the Vice Chancellor said, wiping his cock across one of her thighs and dressing, "a remarkable slut. Well done, Headmaster, well done. I will strongly recommend a serious bonus for you this year!" I bowed slightly in acknowledgment. He departed, thrilled with the evening.

I left Janice as she was in the moonlight, ankles still bound to the ottoman. On my way out, I inscribed a handmade card for her to see in the morning, thanking her for a wonderful evening and recommending she take tomorrow off and attend a couple of campus events, such as a dance performance and a theater reading. The card rested on a new laptop, prettily tied with black straps of leather and velvet.

Chapter 5: cum slut, morning marks

The next day I decided to leave her in peace, since she had plenty to recover from and plenty to process. But I did leave a message hoping that she was fine and urging her to call me if she liked. At teatime, I reviewed the day's tapes and saw a number of remarkably surprising scenes. When Janice awoke in her bed, it was almost noon. I wondered how degrading it had been last night to untie her ankles from the ottoman. She arose groggy and obviously sore, her entire face and breasts covered with dried discharges of the Vice Chancellor and myself. The only parts of her face that could be seen were her eyes and lips. Similarly, only her one-inch nipples protruded through the encrusted sheath of cum on her breasts.




The Program Ch. 01-06



Janice crawled to the foot of the bed, staring at herself in the vanity table's large mirror. Craving an even better view, she walked shakily to the bench in front of the table and mirror, licking her thick lips. She moved her hands over her face, feeling the dried jism, and drew her fingers across her breast flesh, exploring the texture of the hardened spunk.

Suddenly she slapped one cheek and then the other, causing several pieces to break off and fall to the slack leather bench. She looked at them, dissatisfied, and suddenly slapped both breasts—hard—watching as larger flakes descended. Their size seemed satisfactory, for she leaned over and picked up the two largest pieces.

It was thrilling to watch her place the piece of stiff cum on her extended long tongue. She closed her eyes and I could see her cheeks bulge out as she swirled her tongue around, savoring the taste. When she opened her eyes, she carefully examined her face and tits. Perhaps she was looking for a difference in coloration between the Vice Chancellor's semen and my own, so she could compare the flavor?

Not able to discern any variation, she turned to examine her ass, slowly moving her long fingers over each of the long, horizontal marks. Naturally, I was quite hard from this most erotic display, and it was far from over.

Now she spread her fingers fanned out across both striped cheeks and she pulled them apart to see her rosebud. Still spreading her cheeks, she bent down to get a better look between her legs, the dark rose ring practically winking at the hidden lens that was only three feet away.

To my amazement, when she left the bedroom she did not go immediately to the shower, but instead examined the instruments of her subjugation on the coffee table used on her the previous night, left there on purpose as a humiliating reminder. She touched the breast cinches and fingered the crop, then gathered up the dildos to wash in the bathroom.

After making coffee, she sat down gingerly at the dining room table—still naked—to drink and read about the day's performances on campus. Every now and then, she would break off a piece of cum and eat it. I was stunned.

Besides being an utterly gorgeous teen sexpot, our sub was also a veritable cum slut. After letting several flakes melt on her tongue simultaneously, she grabbed a breast and shook it over the coffee mug till a half dozen pieces fell into the black liquid. She watched as they dissolved, but the color was not light enough.

So she shook the other breast and took a sip, concentrating on the flavor. Only when she had drained the mug did she shower, after which she applied fresh salve to her bruised cheeks, dressed conservatively—she knew not to call attention to herself on campus—and left for the day. The new computer still lay untouched.

Since I'm so fond of anal intercourse, and since my teen slut was so anally excitable, I decided to fuck her ass first, providing her with a lifelong orientation to being butt fucked.

And then there was the planning for a visit from Janine, Janice's gorgeous single mother, who looked like an older sister. I'd have to inspect all the photos of Janine and ask specific questions regarding her lifestyle. After all, might there not be a gene that mothers pass on to daughters for being a submissive slut, open to anal, cum, pain and humiliation?



The Program Ch. 01



Taylor's eyes widened again. "What? Why?"

He shrugged, running a soothing hand along her arm. "You yelled the name during the nightmare." Taylor chewed the inside of her lip for a moment, but said nothing, burying her face against his shirt. Bill sighed and tightened his arms around her, wondering what he was supposed to be doing. Her fingers flexed, moving from where her palms had been resting flat against his chest to twist into the fabric. He thought she was shivering again until she drew a shaky breath and tried to choke back a sob.

Oh crap she's crying, he thought in a panic. He hated when girls cried. It made him feel completely helpless and clumsy, as anything he had ever tried in the past had only resulted more tears. "Shh, Taylor, don't cry," he whispered, running his palm along the flat plane of her back. "Please don't cry."

She tightened her grip on his shirt, shuddered, and continued to cry silently. Bill smoothed her hair, tucking the stray strands back behind her ear before tipping her chin up so he could see her face. She shook her head, taking a deep breath. "I'm s-sorry," she hiccupped, wincing as more tears poured from beneath closed lashes.

"Oh, Taylor," he sighed, catching her face between his palms. He swept the tears away with the pads of his thumbs, giving up that task when he couldn't keep up with the pace of her crying. Instead, he tugged the hem of his shirt free and dried her cheeks, as she seemed to regain some control. Every time she met his concerned gaze, her eyes welled again.

"Sweetie," he said gently. "You're exhausted." She sniffed and nodded. He gave her a small smile. "I think you just need some rest."

He watched as she worked through an internal debate, her expression conflicted. Her eyes pressed close as she released a shaky breath, her fingers tightening reflexively in the fabric of his shirt. "Will you stay?"

If he had any thoughts of refusing her, the pleading look in her eyes banished any hesitation. "Sure," he whispered, pulling her down to rest against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I'll stay as long as you like."

She shifted in his lap, snuggling into his embrace. He suppressed a sigh as her fingers carefully released his shirt, her hands lightly searching for a comfortable resting place. He listened as her breathing slowly evened out. And only when he was sure she was asleep did he loose the groan that had been building deep in his chest. This girl was going to be the death of him.

Bill woke the following morning with a warm feeling and a pleasant weight on his chest. He shifted and a soft murmur issued from beneath a pile of ruddy curls. He glanced down and sighed. In sleep, Taylor could have been eighteen, her cheeks flushed, her hair in a messy fan around her face, and her peach lips parted slightly. Bill had to tamp down the urge to groan; he didn't want to wake her if he could help it.

Taking his time, he slowly extracted himself from beneath her and crept to the bathroom. He needed a shower, most likely a cold one, but at this point any shower would do. After the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back into the bedroom, freezing momentarily when he was met with a sleep-clouded, green stare.

Taylor's eyes widened before she remembered herself, flushed, and her gaze dropped sheepishly. Bill's mouth pulled into a lop-sided grin, "Hey there, sleepy-head."

Taylor cleared her throat nervously. "Morning," her voice was still heavy with sleep, and Bill felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach.

"I uh," he rubbed the back of his neck absently. "I'm just going to grab some clothes. Do you want coffee or something?" He ducked into the bathroom to pull on his pants and couldn't hear her mumbled reply as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Sorry?" he popped back into the bedroom.

Taylor blushed again, "A cup of coffee would be great."

"I'll have breakfast ready in a minute. Take your time getting up." Bill hurried from the room. Nothing good would come of seeing her curled up and comfortable in his bed. 

When Taylor emerged from his room, she seemed to have settled back into the jumpy, mousy behaviour that dominated her time in the office. He was tempted to be disappointed, but it proved the only reason he could motivate himself to drive her back to her car. And for the duration of the car ride, Bill couldn't help but sense that there was something Taylor wanted to say. But she didn't. He promised to check on her on Monday, and assured her that if Chad gave her any problems, he would handle it. Then Bill watched her clamber into her car and pull away. And for the next two weeks, things seemed to continue as if the night had never happened.

~o~

It was a bad day, bad enough that by noon, Bill wished he had stayed in bed. It had started off with a broken alarm clock. To be fair, the clock was broken because he had thrown it across the room. He had thrown it across the room because the alarm hadn't gone off on time, and the alarm hadn't gone off on time because the power in his apartment was out... The power in just his apartment was out, no one else lost power, only him. He had changed the broken fuse and was forced to take a freezing shower since all the water in the heater had cooled overnight. It was nearly nine before he was heading down the stairs to his car. Then his car wouldn't start. He was fit to be tied.

There was a very important board meeting at ten, and it was the career opportunity that Bill had been waiting for, struggling for. Hell, he had moved to this firm because they actually listened to the ideas of their programmers and even financially backed the good ones. Missing the meeting wasn't an option. He gave the car one final chance to start and grumbled with the straining engine as it failed to turn over.

He fished out his cell phone. It would be cutting it close, but he could ring for a taxi and get in just before ten. An angry squawk issued from the speaker of his mobile and the screen blinked out. He stared at the phone and barely suppressed the urge to hurl the thing out the window, but remembering the shattered alarm clock on his bedroom floor, he thought better of it. He tried to turn it back on with as much success as starting the car. With a barely contained curse, he slammed his car door shut and pounded up the stairs to his apartment to call from a landline.

Finally in a cab, finally on his way into work, Bill sighed. This was definitely not his day. But when he thought it could only get better from there, he was very much mistaken. And right about the time he reached his cubical to grab the copies of his proposal, he began to find out how wrong he was.

Bill reached his desk with only five minutes to gather his papers, his thoughts, and himself before he was due in the boardroom. He took a deep breath and turned, ready to let a room of middle management determine his fate. Taylor appeared at the entrance to his cubicle. Her cheeks were flushed and she skidded to a stop. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of him. "Bill," she sucked in a breath.

He raised a brow. "Taylor?" She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as if unsure of what to do. She blushed and met his eyes fleetingly before glancing over her shoulder toward the main office door. Bill scooped up his stack of paper. "Look, Taylor, I have a meeting that I'm two seconds away from being late for. Can we have lunch or something?"

Taylor's forehead wrinkled. "Yeah. No. I don't know." Her fingers twisted together, half hidden in the sleeves of the oversized sweatshirt as her eyes fixed shyly on her shoes. "Bill..."

He smiled gently. "Sweetie, is the next thirty minutes going to change what's bothering you?"

"No," she whispered.

"Ok, then we'll do lunch, and we'll work this out. Alright?" he dropped a hand to her shoulder to give her a comforting squeeze, but she apparently was surprised by it. Taylor squeaked and jumped, her arm knocking his papers into the air and creating an impressive shower of documents. "Shit."

Taylor fell to her knees quickly grabbing stacks of the papers and piling them on the floor in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm so sorry." In her rush the papers were wrinkled under her fingers, and Bill caught her hand.

"I'll do it," he slid the papers away from her, carefully restacking them, salvaging what he could. Thankfully, they didn't seem to be too far out of order, and he'd taken the extra minute to have them stapled. He couldn't imagine the disaster that would have been if none of the packets were adhered in some way. He dropped the final paper on the stack and sighed, a glance at his watch telling him he wasn't late yet.

He set the papers on the desk and prepared to push himself back to standing when he heard her sniff. He glanced up to see a tear slip down Taylor's cheek. A fit of frustrated anger was quickly masked by a wave of guilt that twisted his insides. "No, Taylor, it's ok."

She swiped at the tear almost absently with the back of her sleeve and shook her head. "Never mind," she sniffed, scrambling to her feet.

Bill shot up before she could leave and snagged the hood of her sweatshirt, tugging her back into the cubicle. She let out a small squeak of protest and swatted at him as he tried to wrap her in a hug. "Taylor, stop," he said calmly. She stilled, her head hung, a mess of mahogany waves hiding her face from his view. "It's ok," he told her, wrapping his arms around her slight frame. She fit so well against him that he was tempted to remain as he was, his chin resting on the top of her head.

A door slammed, and Taylor nearly shot out of his arms. God, why was she so jumpy today? A glance over his shoulder reassured him that the door slamming was, in fact, not the board room door and he still had time to get in there. "Look, Taylor," he held her shoulders carefully, stooping to look her in the eye. "I really need to be in this meeting, but I'll be out in no time. Do you want to stay here until I get back?"

He couldn't read the look in her eyes, but it was something he'd never seen before. She nodded slowly, releasing a heavy sigh. He smiled and chucked her lightly under the chin, drawing a small laugh from her. "Ok?" he asked. This time Taylor met his eyes and there was no mistaking the expression, though it was completely out of place on her. He barely registered the change in her demeanour before she had snagged the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

His first thought was that Taylor was much stronger than she looked. His next thought was that he was really going to be late for the meeting. Then his brain seemed to stall all together as her teeth nibbled playfully at his lower lip. He groaned, his hands rising of their own accord to pull her against his body. With one hand holding his shirt, Taylor ran her other hand over his shoulder and her fingers wove into is hair. Even if he wanted to escape, Bill didn't think he would be able to free himself from her hands. But he didn't want to free himself. Her lips were soft and warm as they moved against his in a way he could only describe as demanding.

The next few moments of his life were a blur, no doubt more confused by the spinning sensation brought about by the kiss. But as everything had been a pleasant, fuzzy haze, the room was thrown into chaos with a series of concussive blasts. The tinkling of glass preceding the first explosion would only be recognized after the fact, but as the shockwave of the first detonation gushed through the office, he dropped to the ground, pulling Taylor with him.

He pressed his eyes shut, wrapping a protective arm over his head and cradling Taylor beneath him. He flinched as a second then third explosion of sound burst through the office, only raising his head tentatively when the silence became oppressive. 

Smoke had filled the room, an acrid smell that reminded him of the smoke bombs he used to play with as a child. There was definitely screaming somewhere in the office, but there was no way to tell where it was coming from. He pushed himself back up onto hands and knees. "Are you ok?" his voice more of a shout than necessary over the ringing in his ears. Taylor nodded and scurried out from under him.

The smoke hung unnaturally in the air, and Bill found himself coughing. A series of loud shouts and barks broke the silence, but the voices melded together creating a discordant din of unintelligible sounds. He reached for Taylor, but his hand closed over empty space. He frantically sought her and caught sight of her doing the last thing he'd expected. She stood at the entrance of his cubicle squinting into the smoke. "Taylor?"

He could have sworn she smiled when she glanced over her shoulder. "Keep you're head down," she muttered and dashed out into the gloom.

Bill stared into the empty space. What the hell just happened? Nothing made sense. He shook his head; maybe he would wake up in a few minutes and find that this whole day had been nothing more than a dream borne of bad Taco Bell. But as his eyes came back into focus he still saw the heavy smoke. Perhaps it was ill advised, but Bill couldn't stay put. He dashed out into the smoke after Taylor.

The darkness was disorienting, and Bill found himself feeling along the edges of other cubicles to avoid crashing into things. Another series of shouts off to the right, none of which he could discern, were quickly followed by a crash and grunt of pain. "Taylor?" he shouted. The sound of running feet had Bill struggling to see through the fog, and he made out the distinctive pink shirt and dark tie that he'd seen Chad wearing that morning fly past him at a dead sprint.

Another shout very close by, "James!"

"Got it!" Taylor hollered back, as her grey sweatshirt flew past Bill.

Bill stumbled after her.

"Where did you think you were going, asshole?" Bill flinched at the tone in Taylor's voice.

Chad's answer was equally violent. "What the fuck do you think you're up to? You shouldn't mess with the big boys, girl."

Taylor's laugh was humourless.

Bill pulled up short as Chad landed face first on the ground a few paces from his feet. Taylor landed on his back, twisting his arm to keep him pinned down. "Wilson!" she shouted into the fog, pulling a pair of handcuffs from beneath her sweatshirt and efficiently securing Chad's hands.

Confusion was the least of Bill's problems, but it seemed to govern his actions for the time being. He took a step closer, "Taylor, what the hell is going on?"

Her head shot up and her eyes widened, but she never softened her grip on Chad's shoulder. Her eyes flit almost imperceptibly to the space over Bill's shoulder before meeting his gaze. What was that look? He wondered. Her mouth moved for a moment, but there was no sound. What had she said? Then she flinched, pain exploded from the back of his head, and everything went black.



The Program Ch. 02



 First, thank you all for the feedback. As you may know, I don't take down any of the comments (good or bad). And yes, that scene was a little camp, though I don't think the phrase "pea-brainedness" is one I've ever heard before in relation to my writing. But, different strokes for different folks. I had a lot of encouraging feedback, and thank you for waiting so patiently. I really wish I was one of the Lit prolific writers that could update daily, but sadly, my real job keeps me busy the majority of my waking hours.

Chapter 2... Ok, I mentioned that I was going to play around with the narrative voice in this story. So, here's the deal. Please don't email me and tell me that this has "already happened." I know. This is the beginning of the story from Taylor's point of view. I hope you understand why I feel it's necessary to give them both a voice. The overlap will shrink with time and (all going to plan) there'll be a single narrator by the end.

Things do get a little more exciting in this chapter... I think. And it's longer than the last one. I hope you enjoy it. As always, all feedback is welcome.

Thanks for reading!

~ewebie 

~~o~~

Taylor clutched the stack of papers and scurried from the room with her head down. She kept her gaze locked on the floor, the dull pattern of the office carpet somehow managing to further irritate her as it passed beneath her scurrying feet. Keep your eyes down, she told herself. Her hair spilled across her face making it even more difficult to see where she was going, but it was better this way - her hair would hide the angry flash in her eyes.

Never before in her life had she felt so much hatred for a supervisor. She admittedly was a bit of a difficult employee, hard to please, possessed a general dislike for most authority. So to rank Jason Matthews at the top of the loser list was really saying something. Matthews was not only an idiot and piss poor manager, but a sleazy bastard to boot. Plus, he was an asshole. Speaking to her as if she were a small child. "Taylor, honey, sugar, do you think you could get the programmers to sign that they've received the memos? I know it's tough to get around to all of them, but it would be such a big help. Thanks sweetie. You're a trooper." Prick. 

She continued to mutter softly until she reached her cubical, only narrowly avoiding Chad. The only person in the office she hated more than Matthews was Chad VanTerran. He was a good-looking man, a clean-cut, all-American, Abercrombie model in a three-piece suit. But he was a mean son of a bitch that had a way of looking at her that was just plain creepy. Even being in a room with him made her skin crawl. Matthews may be sleazy, but that made VanTerran a morally bankrupt, leprous degenerate. There was nothing he wouldn't do, and she suspected that was part of the reason she was here.

Once she felt sufficiently calm, Taylor collected the memos and scampered back into the corridor, tripping over her baggy pants and nearly colliding with a colleague. "Careful there, hon," he said, catching her under the elbow. With a glimpse, she recognised him as one of the older programmers in the firm. At nearly fifty, he was practically a dinosaur in the field, but he was genuinely well meaning.

She mumbled her thanks and reached to tuck her hair behind an ear. The sleeve of her over-sized, flannel shirt tangled over her fingers and the motion looked more like swatting at her face. Patrick was a dead man. It was his idea that she dress this way. Which one was his favourite sweatshirt? That big, ratty MIT one... When this was all over, burning it would be satisfying. She muttered a curse and went on her way.

Getting the signatures wasn't a hassle. Most of the programmers at the firm were career nerds that spent their lives at a keyboard in their cubicles, living a cross between fanboy dweebiness and Dilbert bitterness. The majority of them were so starved for female attention that even the hint of a smile from her was enough to make them stutter. If they only knew what she was really like, their brains might just explode.

Taylor paused when she reached Bill's cubicle. For some reason, Bill Martin was the only person in this office that held her attention in any way. He was a mess of contradictions. He worked the desk job of a programmer, pouring over code for hours at a time. Yet, at six-two, he towered over her with well-sculpted shoulders and a physique maintained by a strict gym schedule and, as rumour had it, boxing matches. He had a beautiful body that seemed unnecessary and unnatural in a computer geek, but he wasn't conceited. He was, perhaps, the only truly good person in this warped company.

Enjoying the view, she watched as he ran through another line of code. He hadn't found the glitch yet, and it had given Taylor the time to finish up all her other objectives. But enough was enough, her boss wanted the program in working order asap. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he leaned back in the chair, lifted his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even tired, he was definitely easy on the eyes. But he was stuck and she knew it. She was probably going to have to help him along.

He slammed his coffee mug down on the desk, breaking her reverie. She jumped, releasing a small squeak. She flushed immediately; she was so deep into this cover that she was almost acting on impulse. It was shameful. "Absolutely pathetic, Taylor," she chided herself softly.

He blinked at her, "Sorry, can I do something for you?"

Oh God, she thought, I hope he didn't hear that. Well, she was supposed to be mumbling, so roll with it. "I have some memos that I need you to sign." She tensed her shoulders hoping he would buy it.

Bill smiled and she breathed an internal sigh of relief. He hadn't heard her; plus, he was cute when he smiled. Cute? she thought. Really, Taylor, get a grip. "Ok, let's see what you've got."

She handed him the memo, waiting for him to turn his back. When he was sufficiently distracted by the paperwork, she slipped behind him and commandeered his keyboard. She had studied the lines of code, picking out the glitch a few weeks ago. She knew where it was and how to fix it. Taylor's fingers flew across the keyboard, clearing lines of programming error in just seconds.

"Taylor, what are you doing?"

Fuck! She jumped away from the computer and tried to look contrite. "Sorry," she whispered. She snatched the papers from his desk and darted from the cubicle. On her way back to her desk, she brushed past VanTerran. She could feel his eyes following her until she turned the corner. Ew. She felt like she needed a shower.

Dropping into her chair with a sigh, Taylor neatly stacked the papers on the corner of her desk. She'd bring them to Matthews later. For now, she only hoped that Bill had the sense to look over her changes and recognise them for what they were - perfect.

~o~

It was as if the entire office had been thrown into chaos. Taylor knew that there had been pressure from higher-ups to finish the program, though most of the programmers were oblivious to such things. Her kind had been given an in-work vacation of sorts, most of them wasting time with online gaming. She took the opportunity to check in with Patrick. 

It may have been a risk, but Taylor had strung together a series of encryptions to run from her USB key that would allow her to code in and chat with Patrick. Just to be safe, she waited until everyone had left for the weekend to do so. With the office empty, she popped in her headphones, turned up her ipod, logged in, and set up to chat.

Peters007: Patrick, get your lousy butt to your computer.

NP7430: Taylor, what the hell are you thinking?!

Peters007: Don't shit a brick, it's safe. Run a check if you want.

NP7430: It better be, or it's your ass.

Peters007: Right, right.

NP7430: Love the screen name... Almost as much as I love seeing you in my sweatshirts. You know you look like you're sixteen.

Peters007: Fuck you, Patrick. The program is set to launch. How much longer am I stuck here?

NP7430: I'll let you know.

Peters007: Oh, come on! I want to get back to my apartment. This life sucks.

NP7430: Poor baby. Why don't you play nice with your office buddies?

Peters007: I'll kill you.

NP7430: Empty threats.

Peters007: Did you feed my cat?

NP7430: What cat?

Peters007: Patrick, I swear, I'll castrate you with a rubber band and a rusty spoon.

NP7430: Hm... I think I may have fed the fur ball.

Peters007: Seriously, I want to end this. Can't I just pick up the big wigs and get out of here?

NP7430: No.

Peters007: How about VT? Can I kill him?

NP7430: James, you're pushing your luck. Just sit tight and play the quiet girl.

Peters007: You know I will punish you for this, right?

NP7430: Bring it on. Just don't trip over those baggy pants, hm?

Peters007: You'll give me warning before d-day?

NP7430: Of course. It won't be much, but we'll make sure you're in the loop.

Peters007: Fine, next time, I get to pick the apartment I stay in though.

NP7430: Fat chance. Wilson says to watch your back.

Peters007: I know he's watching my ass.

NP7430: Make sure to wipe this from your end.

Peters007: Consider it done.

NP7430: And no more hacking into my computer.

Peters007: No promises. I'll hear from you soon?

NP7430: Done.

Taylor hadn't really registered that she had been humming to herself until she had finished clearing all evidence of the chat from her computer and was pulling the key from the port. The music was familiar, comfortable, the one thing she didn't have to pretend to like. It made her feel more like herself.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. "Taylor?" She nearly jumped out of her chair. Shit! She spun quickly, tugging the headphones from her ears. If she had been caught, there weren't many options. It was Bill. He was leaning casually against the entrance to her cubicle, watching her with what looked like amused curiosity. He couldn't see her computer screen from where he was standing and she felt her heart begin to slow back down to normal. A small grin quirked the corners of his mouth. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Didn't mean to scare me? How long had he been standing there? Jesus, Taylor. How careless can you be? Growing quickly bored of berating herself, she noticed his smirk and a wave of anger washed through her. Arrogant bastard had scared her shitless and found it amusing? Her cheeks flushed with ire, and she tamped down on the wicked retort that tried to burst from her mouth. Rather than meet his gaze when she was so angry, she looked at the floor and carefully controlled her voice. "I didn't know anyone was still here." She shifted her USB key into her palm and tucked her hands into her sleeves. If he didn't notice, she wouldn't have to hurt him.

She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, trying to get a read on what he was thinking. The smirk bloomed into a full smile and she couldn't help but notice the twin dimples that appeared on each cheek. Ok, maybe he didn't notice anything. But why was he sticking around? "I'm actually on my way out. I heard you singing and couldn't help my curiosity."

She glanced up. He wasn't suspicious, he was flirting. He was flirting, and he was watching her. The thought carried a warm sensation down into her stomach. Suddenly, his soft brown eyes only threatened her self-control. She blushed and looked at the floor. Say something... "I didn't think anyone would hear me."

He dropped to a squat in front of her, trying to catch her eye. Great, he was going to be charming too. "You want to grab some dinner?"

Yes. Ugh! Keep your eye on the ball, Taylor. This is not the time to be distracted by a pretty face, or a gorgeous body, or someone that's obviously in to you... Fake indecision. Come up with something quick! She bit her lip and twisted her fingers together.

"Come on. I hate eating alone."

Bill, I would eat you alive, she thought, smiling at the image that flashed through her mind. "No," she shook her head to clear it. "Thank you though," she added quickly.

"You sure?" he asked. Taylor wanted to say yes, but found herself shaking her head. "Alright, but next time you're working late on a Friday, let me know. I know a place that does some great Chinese delivery."

She thought about the half eaten cartons of Chinese that comprised most of what was in her fridge and smiled wryly as he turned to go. "Next time," she whispered.

Once he was gone and she found herself alone in the office, she let out a frustrated groan. Now was not a good time to like someone in this cesspool. What was worse, men rarely affected her, and never on the job. Never. But there was something about Bill that got under her skin. She didn't even know him. What was it? Did he remind her of someone? She groaned again. Forget about him. Eye on the ball.

~o~

Patrick had been specific. He wanted a copy of the program, the complete program, the program that was due to be released to the public in two weeks. She told him that she'd get it. Easier said than done, though. The master copy was probably in one of the managers' offices, and they lived in their offices. It had taken some planning, but on the night of the company launch party, enough people would be sufficiently distracted and drunk. No one would notice her. No one would ask what she was doing. Everyone would assume she was just working or too shy to join in the festivities. Perhaps this cover did have its uses.

With the party well underway, Taylor made her way back to the managerial wall of offices. As impressive as the heavy oak doors looked, the locks were a joke. She picked the lock on Matthews' office first, slipping into the dark room and shutting the door softly behind her. 

It only took her a minute to case the room and even less time to growl with disappointment. Cracking the password on his computer proved to be easy and futile as well. All that was on his hard drive were useless memos and porn. What a waste. So Matthews was even more of a figurehead than she had originally assumed and that left VanTerran. If he was the brains of the operation, the world was doomed.

She was cautious, leaving Matthews' office as though she'd never been there and relocking the door. VanTerran's office was the next one down the line, but somehow it seemed more threatening than Matthews'. She shook off the feeling; pull it together, Taylor. The weight of her semi-automatic at the small of her back made her feel better, and she squatted down and picked the lock just as easily. Patrick would kill her if he knew she was carrying a gun, but it was so easy to hide under the baggy flannel shirt that she couldn't help it. Besides, this was the first time he'd asked her to do something risky and, frankly, illegal since she'd been assigned the mission.

She closed the door and flicked on the lights, quickly taking in the room. It was spotless, clean, cold. There wouldn't be anything of value here unless it was on the computer. VanTerran was significantly more diligent with security than Matthews was, and she spent a few minutes hacking the computer. Thankfully, it was worth it.

"Yatzee," she whispered, finding exactly what she was looking for. Slipping her USB key into the port, she held her breath waiting for the program to download. As soon as she had it, she cleared any evidence of her actions from the computer and turned the screensaver back on. She pocketed her USB key and stood, checking to see that everything was where it belonged.

It seemed so easy, she thought as she replaced the desk chair and turned to leave. Too easy. Halfway to the door, it swung open and Chad VanTerran glared at her from the doorway. "What have we here?"

Taylor froze. Damn! Instinct had her reaching for her gun, but she quickly realised how bad an idea that would be. It wasn't as if she could just shoot him here in his office. "Um... I, uh. I," she stuttered. Come on Taylor. Think! She gestured ineffectively and felt her face turning red. Damn this fair skin. "Mr. Matthews, he wanted me to get a file." Pathetic. Didn't you train for this shit?

The door was closed over, and VanTerran crossed the room quickly, aggressively. Taylor back-pedalled, bumping into the desk. She gripped the edge, suddenly worried that her cover was about to be blown wide open. He stopped only inches from her. "A file? Really?" he sneered. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and winced. Nothing good would come from him being drunk. "Why are you really here?"

There was an edge of malice in his voice that sent a chill down her spine, and Taylor nearly pulled her gun. "I-" she glanced up to see the expression on his face and instantly regretted it. He didn't suspect her of anything; he wanted something. She swallowed hard. Shit.

His hand came up to cup her chin, keeping her from looking away. "Be honest now. You were here looking for me." It wasn't a question. Taylor's brain began to work furiously. She couldn't just leave; he was blocking her exit. She couldn't pull her gun; it would blow her cover. Could she scream? His other hand traced a line down the side of her neck and hooked in the flannel shirt at the first button. "Tell me you were here looking for me."

Damnit! She could just punch him. Knee him in the balls. Hell, if she wanted, she could wipe the floor with him. But... It would blow her cover. "No, I-"

"Don't tell me no." His voice was soft and deadly as he pried the first button of her shirt open. She opened her mouth to object and he swallowed her protest, mashing his lips against hers. Taylor choked back a wave of nausea, pushing against his broad chest ineffectively. He caught her under the elbows, pulling her closer.

Taylor felt his hand slid around to her back and remembered her gun. If he found the gun, she was screwed. She didn't doubt that he knew how to use a gun or that he'd kill her for no other reason than she had the gun. She kicked and missed, knocking over his rubbish bin. Her hands and arms were trapped, so she did the only other thing that came to mind - she bit down on his lip, hard. He snarled, snapping his head away from her and glared. In that moment he looked more dangerous than any of the underworld scum she'd dealt with before.

She didn't even see him wind up, but she certainly felt the anger as he struck her across the face. Her head snapped around and small, coloured spots danced in front of her eyes. Before she could loose a scream, he slammed her back onto the desk and pulled her shirt open, revealing the fitted, white tank top beneath. A sick feeling settled in her stomach as one palm roughly grabbed her breast. Hours of training, a black belt in judo and karate, krav maga training, and nothing prepared her for this. She had to pick between her own personal safety and blowing a mission by defending herself, which didn't bode well for her personal safety either. Taylor heard a sharp intake of breath. VanTerran froze, and she quickly struggled to twist to face the door.

Bill stood stock still in the doorway, his eyes narrowing at the scene. For a fraction of a second, Taylor was actually worried he would walk out. But then she saw the horror on his face and nearly released a relieved sigh.

"What the fuck, man?" VanTerran shouted. "Get the fuck out!" Taylor winced as his fingers pressed down hard against her chest, her gun digging into her spine. He wasn't going to let her go. Jesus, what kind of an idiot was he?

"Chad, what the hell?" Bill asked, his voice practically begging for a reason to believe that he was misinterpreting what he was seeing. And then Taylor realised that Bill was sober.

"Can't two people have a good time without some asshole interrupting?"

Taylor's eyes flicked to VanTerran's face. Was he serious? There was more violence flashing behind his eyes than Taylor ever wanted to see again. She glanced at Bill and he met her stare, a powerful mix of emotions playing across his face. "Taylor?" he asked, holding out his hand.




The Program Ch. 02: Power Transfer



Jess looked over her new pet. He was prepped with the ball gag in his mouth, collar and leash, anal hook strung up to the collar and locked in a chastity cage with a humbler. Eric was hers to do as she pleased. She stood over him fully clothed fighting the urge to strip down and just enjoy his hansom body. No, she has to have some restraint... she recalls back to THE PROGRAM, an insert from femdomtraining... 

—-Failing to dominate your mate completely will keep the relationship in a "pretend" state where your pet will only submit partially. Make him understand now, that the rules have changed, and there is a new boss of the house, and that you will obey, listen, suck, and fuck as your told. For there to be a complete exchange of power, you HAVE to maintain the role thru-out. 

You have years of patterns, behaviors, and reactions that all have formed part of you.

In this training session, you are going to unravel the pieces that do not work for you, and replace them with a strong, dominant woman who gets what she wants... Your man has become your complete boy toy, with no restrictions on how you use him. 

The part that most women do not understand in female dominance when they first get started, is that it is as real as you want to make it. If you are just indulging in your husband's fantasies, and not really taking control by pushing your man into doing uncomfortable things, then you are really again, just being controlled by him.

In order for female dominance to become real, you must make it real, by forcing him to do things that he does not want to do. You will either be done with all of this, or you will have the breakthrough, where you truly have brought your man to his knees in full servitude to you for the rest of your life.

Consider it like breaking a horse in. Or training a dog. Men are no different. They can be trained to submit to your will on all matters but you do have to "break him in".

What sounds better to you?

Indulging your man's fantasies... or taking control of your man, your life, and your reality.

I know what I choose. Join me, and make your man your bitch.

Take him, break him, mold him, and have a relationship with him, that few ever get to experience. A relationship that puts you on a pedestal, with him serving you as you wish. 

This is your world now. You are dominant, and your man is your submissive. He asked for this, but he didn't realize what it meant. Too bad. Either you take him now, or your window of opportunity will pass you by. —-

Take him, break him, mold him... Those words continued to resonate thru her head. Yes, she will not allow this window to pass. She will break him and mold him... 

She nods her head then speaks, "Get up on the bench."


Eric complies and climbs over to the bench. He knows she is in control, he can tell from her voice this is not the little sub he knew, a switch had been flipped. 


"First we'll see how tight this little asshole of yours is, and do some stretching."


His eyes widen and he moans, as her finger begins sliding inside him and then she adds another after a moment, making him squirm even more. As she fingers his asshole he feels the pressure inside.


She giggles, " such a good little pet".

"I think I should give you the opportunity to be a good pet and please me, don't you?" she asks as she removes the ball gag. "Yes mistress" he replied dutifully. 

Jess replaced his ball gag with a dildo gag. "You have 5 minutes to make me come with this". She pulled a chair over to him and slid her panties down. Sitting down just in front Eric could see her exposed pussy just within reach. She grabs his head and guides the protruding dildo into her. He starts moving in and out of her, feeling the hook being gently pulled tighter inside of him but he tries to focus on her. 

In and out Eric moves his face, touching her moist clit with his nose each time he pushes deep. She is turned on by his predicament and restriction making her close to reaching her climax very quickly. He can feel his cock filling the cage it is in completely trying to grow harder. Three minutes in she pulls his head deep into her as she cums. 

"Gooooooood boy" she says with a gentle smack to his face. 

She starts to drill him on the positions he has learned "Nadu"... He knees down and spreading his legs sets his hands into position... good. "Sulu"... He pauses and then mumbles he forgot. 

"You earned yourself a couple punishments. First for forgetting, than for not addressing me properly. You will learn." She grabs him and forces him down onto the bench leaving his ass and balls exposes once again. He hears a whooshing sound followed by a whack. The whip leaves a stinging burn to his ass, and a few smaller pieces of the whip hit his balls. Then again and again. His legs shake from the pain and stretch out and he moans. 

"Now I told you that you needed to remember those positions didn't I" she exclaimed with one more whack of her whip. Another loud moan escapes his body. She unties his hands only to turn him over onto his back. As she spun his body he could feel the hook push deeper into him. She tied his hands behind him leaving the front of his body and his caged cock fully exposed. She attached another leash to his cage. Then she attached 2 nipple clamps with a chain connecting each of them to his nipples. 

Jess grabs Erics throat, looks down at his mouth with the dildo gag in it and spits onto the dildo, lubricating the gag with the spray landing on his face. She climbed ontop of his face inserting the member into his. She began bouncing up and down, pulling on the lease attached to his cock cage. She bent down, licking his his dick thru the cage. She could see his dick swelling in the trapped cage pressing against the steel. 

She went back to riding his face as she reached over to her chair. "aww my poor pet, all squished in that little cage, let me give you something to take your mind off things and teach you how to respond properly." Click click... the sounds of a lighter echoes in his ear. He thinks he knows what is about to happen next but worries that he is correct. 

A single drop of candle wax hits his body he instantly jumps in pain. She gets turned on even more and sits deep on his face as she drops 3 more drops down his chest... "Didnt I order you to say thank you mistress" she commands. Muffles of thank you mistress come from under her dripping pussy. "Good pet, now lets try this again" She drips another single drop onto his stomach, "Thank you mistress" is muffled from his gag. He is learning she thought to himself. The same pattern went on for four more drips. One on his leg, than the other leg, than 2 more closer to his groin. She could feel herself about to cum again. She is extremely turned on, unsure if it's from his pain, his submission or her power. Regardless she loves it as she drips 2 more drops near the base of his cage, they hit his cock and he squirms & shakes as he tries to mumble thank you mistress. She shakes and tighten her thighs around his head as she cums allowing one more drop onto his cage." Well I think you learned how to properly respond now pet" she says as he unhooks the mouth gag. 

She unhooked his hands from the bench and gave a tug on his leash, "come now pet, time to put you in time out for 5 minutes, I will let you earn another chance to make me cum again as you start to think about the positions I taught you". She watches him crawl behind her, she can slowly feel the exchange of power and is starting to like it. 

Stopping she orders him to stand. He obeys. She grabs rope that is hanging from a hook in the ceiling and ties each of his arms to each rope, stretching his arms upward and outward. This is your learning area. You will be spending more time here down the line but for now you can just look at these positions so you will get them right the next time I give you a command she said as she strung his arms up. She grabs the final rope and loops it thru the hole in the anal hook. She pulls the rope thru the loop pulling Eric up on his tip toes. He felt as though she was pulling him up from his insides. She secured the rope in a way he must stay on his tip toes or have his ass stretched even more. Oh what a sight she thought to herself, she had her pet strung up in an amazing and vulnerable manor, exposing every inch of his body that she loved so much. He griminesses in pain and concentration trying to stay on his tip toes to lessen his predicament. 

She runs her hand up and down his body, grabbing a piece of his little love handle pulling it as she clips a clothes pin onto him. Than another and another. Than on to the next side. One, two and three. He moans in pain, unsure which area had become more sensitive, his balls in the humbler with clothes pins attached, his cock pressing again the steel cage, the hook stretching his ass second by second, the nipple clamp chain hanging on his chest or his masters newest instrument of pain, the clothespins on his side. He now sees that she is taking all of her pent up ideas and frustrations out on him. 

She walks away leaving him there as she begins to prepares his next torments. She returns with that evil whip. WHACK, a swing lands clear on his ass knocking off a clothespin and forcing him to jump forward pushing the hook into his ass even more. "Ahhhh" he moans, trying to maintain his rugged and tough demeanor while dealing with the pain. "Wrong" she exclaimed, "its thank you mistress, I though u learned this, I guess we will try again". She swings the whip around and softly strikes the balls protruding from below his ass. His body jumps down with the whip again stretching his ass as the hooks steel frame gives no give. "Thank you mistress" he squeezes out in a low voice grinding his teeth. "Louder" Jess orders with a hit to his chest this time. "Thank you mistress" he proclaims with force and a little attitude of annoyance. She strikes him one more time on the ass causing him to move forward and thank her again. "Good pet" she exclaims stepping back. She puts down the whip and picks up her camera, this is something to cherish, his chest and ass red from the whip, the venerability that he is in... oh what an amazing shot she thought to herself. After letting him hang there for a minute she undid the ropes and he fell to the floor at her feet allowing his calf muscles to finally relax. 

She tugged on the rope forcing him to crawl behind her to the bench. She sat down on the bench and asked if he wanted a moment to rest, she shook his head yes. She told him to come over by the bench and lay down with his stomach on his knees. She than stretched her feet out on-top of his back with her heels resting on his ass. She stroked his head gently... ahhhh this was close to what she wanted, him nice and affectionate... but passages from THE PROGRAM continued to stick in her head. 

Jess stands up and begins to take her clothes off. She brings over a strap on harness with a 7 inch pink dildo attached to it. Stand up my pet she commands Eric. He slowly gets to his feet, unable to fully stand because the humbler restricts his stance. She slides the harness on him and tightens it in place over his cock cage. "At least you get to fuck me now, aren't you happy" she asked as she untied the rope that looped from the hook to his collar holding it in her hand over his shoulder. She tugs it pulling the hook deeper into him. "Thank you mistress" he wails. 

She bent over the table pulling his body close to hers and inserting the dildo into her. "You did such a good job before pet now you have another 5 minutes to make me cum again" she said with a grin as she pulled the rope that was attached to the hook over her shoulder forcing the hook deep into him again pulling him closer to her. He tries to fuck her like his is accustomed to but is quickly handicapped by the humbler and hook in him. He can only move slowly as each deep stroke into her stretches his balls further away from his body. He want to please her because than sight of her beautiful body turns him on so much he jest wants to please here and maybe his torment will end and he will be able to cum. He wants to hear her moans. But his performance is sub-par, he knows it, and she is beginning to realize it. 

Jess tries to encourage him like a true dom, "Fuck me pet" she exclaims pulling the rope again. She keeps jerking it hoping he will fuck her how she wants to be fucked. She begins to get angry by the poor lay she is getting. "Your not going to make me cum like that" she said angrily with one last firm tug on the rope pulling the hook deeper into his ass as it has ever been. He moans out of pain and disappointment. 

She pushes him back and steps to the side as she bend him over the table. "Fucking disappointment, hold this in your mouth" she instructs as she shoves the rope into his mouth. She walks around to the front of the table cuffing his hands together than tying them in front of his head to the base of the table causing his under body to lay stretched across the table. She ran her hand down his spine as she walked around behind him to take off the strap harness he had on. "Im going to remind you how to fuck, and you WILL make me cum" she said angrily as she placed the strap onto her body. At this point she was beginning the most important part of THE PROGRAM. It was in chapter 5 that described the importance of using the strap to take control of the relationship and your man. 

—- Fucking your man in the ass is the most important part of THE PROGRAM because it embodies all the core principles of becoming a female dom. Each time you fuck him in the ass, he will feel humility, submission, the exchange of power and will force him to listen and respond to anything you say.

Make him do very degrading things during your sessions. 

You should always make suck your strap on for lube before you fuck him. At first just push it in his mouth. Than graduate up to forcing him on his knees like he does so often to you. 

He will hate this, and you will feel very powerful with his inability to argue with you, or protest.

If he does, of course you know what happens. He gets punished extremely hard.

When he is in the kneeling position, and you enter your strap on into his mouth, grab the back of his head and slowly start fucking his face. Think of the times when you were doing this for him. Realize now, that you want him to feel true submission.

Start fucking his face hard. Make him gag on it. Plug his nose with one hand, and fuck hard with your body and watch him gag. This is great humility training. It should be your goal to do this EVERYTIME you put on the strap on. It goes hand in hand. You need lube, and he is to provide it.

If all this humiliation becomes too much for him, and he wants to quit. PERFECT. You are doing a great job. The is the part where you are not just indulging in your husbands fantasies, and begin really taking control by pushing your man into doing uncomfortable things, where you are not just being controlled by him.

You must make it real, by forcing him to do things that he does not want to do. This is where you will have the breakthrough, where you truly have brought your man to his knees in full servitude to you for the rest of your life.

This is the stage where you have to "break him in". No longer just indulging your mans fantasies... but taking control of your man, your life, and your reality.

Take him, break him, mold him, and have a relationship with him, that few ever get to experience. —-

"Are you ready to please me pet" She said as she pulls the rope out of his mouth and places her hand on the hook. She slowly begins to pull the hook out of him to the point the ball is reaching its exit. He feels an extremely tight pressure on his ass as the steel ball is forcing his ass back open to be able to exit. He feels a stinging pain as she finishes pulling the hook out of him and than he is relieved by the freeing feeling of not being violated anymore... A feeling that quickly subsides as he became tense thinking about what was to come. 

She set the hook down as she walked around to the front of the table. Grabbing his head she moved the 7 in dildo protruding from her hips towards his mouth. Knowing what she wanted him to do because he has been on the opposite end of this many many times while questing it in his mind he just stares. She gives his face a quick smack looking him in his eyes exclaiming "open your mouth". She brings her face to his and kisses him passionately. "Just wanted to enjoy your virgin mouth one time" she says with a pat knowing this will be the first of many since today is officially the first day of many of her establishing her dominance. 

He gradually opens his mouth realizing it's the only way to get out of this predicament. She pushes her fake cock into his mouth, the look of disgust & humiliation on his face is priceless. As she moves in and out of his mouth she can feel the tension in his jaws and see the looks of defeat in his eyes as she hold his head. "Such a good pet". Jess was beginning to feel the high of taking control, the high of being so powerful, and she loved it. Pulling it out after seeing him gag a few times than she grabbed the ball gag. "You will need this so your not so loud" she said as she tightened it around his head. 

She walked behind him and began caressing his ass. He heard the clicking sound of a lid opening and felt a few drips of lube onto his tight hole. As she gazed at the sight of Eric helpless, all hers for the taking, she opened up his cheeks and began to slowly push inside. She struggled at first, finding the right angle to get inside of him, but soon he felt his tight ass open up and except her cock inside of him. Slowly she began to move in and out as she grabbed his hips, inching deeper and deeper inside of him with each thrust. 

She was getting very wet. She could feel the the tightness of the harness around her but her pussy juice seemed to be running out the sides in tiny little streams. They ran in slow beads down the inside of her thick, beautiful thighs. She felt the power described perfectly in THE PROGRAM. His moans only turned her on that much more, making her that much wetter. She put both her hands around Eric's waist and bucked her hips once with a single powerful upward thrust. Once was all it took. The entire dildo went up Eric's asshole. The pink "balls" of the sex toy were pressed against Eric's purple real balls. The dildo made a suctioning thok as it went in his butt and her perfectly shaped pelvis connected with force against his greasy butt cheeks. He was able to wiggle away a little, she grabs the leash attached to his collar. Pulling him back onto her dildo. 

A quick smack to his ass Jess aggressively asks "Are you my bitch!" with another tug on the leash. "Yes Mistress" moans Eric. "Good pet, just relax I'm going to keep fucking my bitch in the ass until I cum, you want me to cum no matter what right". With another moan he is able to push out another yes mistress. He is feeling humiliated, violated, broken down but at the same time turned on and excited by her control, especially her enjoyment. He is feeling a rush from her satisfaction that is overcoming all his pain and other feelings. Is this what subs feel? Does this mean that he is truly becoming one, getting pleasure from her satisfaction over anything else? He thought to himself while she continued to fuck his ass and say things like "Thats my good pet... take all of it for me... be a good little bitch and make me cum..." 

As she continued to fuck him, speeding up with a greater force he tried to run as he moaned but there was no escape. She let go of the leash reach down grabbing the humbler, this was the perfect leverage she needed to fuck him right and prevent him from trying to inch forward. His moans became louder making her wetter as not only was his ass being penetrated but his balls were being stretched with each thrust. She felt an amazing rush of power, strength and control. 




The Program Ch. 02: Power Transfer



As her lovely ass clenched with one final violent thrust she rammed the dildo as far into Eric's ass as she could. "I'm coming!" she gasped triumphantly. She felt the orgasm overrun her entire body and collapsed on top of him. She kissed his check and back as she laid there still inside of him for a minute. Both of them were physically and emotionally overwhelmed by the experience. She had fucked his ass for almost 15 minutes. It had seemed much longer to them. It felt wonderful for her to finally take the strap on off. As untied him and took out his gag allowing him to fall to the floor at her feet. She walked over to him and standing over him, stroked his head. She could tell that the first part of breaking him was successful. He was already more affectionate as he hugged her leg. Much more submissive as he laid at her feet. 

She told him she was going to unlock his cock and let him cum since he did so well but first was going to insert a butt plug in him. He looked up as if he thought about objecting but the desire to cum and to please her overrode any objection to anything she could do at this point so he just quietly said "Thank you mistress" He was in a sub space. Now she just had to push him deeper into it so he would stay there. She place lube onto the plug that was slightly smaller then the dildo she had just fucked him with, she felt like being a little nice this time. She told him to arch his back and than she inserted the plug into him. He gasped as his ass swallowed the plug and formed around its hilt. She began telling him pieces of what she had learned from THE PROGRAM as she unscrewed the humbler and unhooked his cock cage. "Now pet, I know it is a little uncomfortable at first, even awkward or humiliating, but you will get better at it and be able to take more. You will even be able to eventually cum from me fucking you in the ass because you will enjoy pleasing me so much... She went on, I know this first hour and some minutes have seem like a lot, and with me putting this in your ass might seem like over kill, but I promise its necessary for you to know that your body belongs to ME. Every inch, every crevice of it I get to use to serve me and please me. So I can use any hole anytime I want, anyway I want, and the faster you accept that the easier things will be. It is all apart of your training to train you to enjoy pleasing me at any cost. You will become more affectionate and a better man as a result, trust me. 

She had unhooked his humbler, and the top piece of his cage but could not get the bottom ring off because he was still semi erect. She just left it on not wanting to deal with the hassle. As Jess walked over to the chair with his leash in hand he followed behind like a trained dog. She sat down and he laid at her feet. His balls and cock feeling so free, so pent up, so sensitive. She let her fingers run down Eric's attractive body. As she began to caress his member it grew in her hands hard as a rock. Jess sat him down onto the chair, tying his hands down behind his back. She opens her mouth and begins to tease his cock with her mouth. The warmth of this goddesses mouth drives his instantly to the brink of cuming. Not yet Jess said as she continued to stroke his cock but moved her mouth away. She was trying to experiment with edging but what she didn't know was how pent up Eric was. 

Within seconds his dick began to throb in her hands as his cum shot out. She pointed it back towards him shooting his kids onto his chest. She looks at the cum that landed on her hand, stares at him and licks it off her hand. She takes her finger and scoops another glob of cum off of his chest, "Your turn now" she says staring him in the eye and holding the back of Eric's head. Obediently listening he opens his mouth, she places her finger in his mouth dropping his own cum onto his tongue and running the remaining liquid onto his lips. He gags on the salty and warm liquid she put in his mouth. It was a horrible taste that had to be acquired or something because she had always swallowed his cum without hesitation and he can barely get a few drops of it down. 

She reaches down to grab about scoop of cum off of his body, and grabs a bigger clump with 2 fingers. As she approached her mouth and a few drops drip he gags and shakes his head no. He couldn't take anymore. He had reached his max and could take the humiliation and taste of eating his own cum. This was unacceptable for her so she gave his face a smack with the same hand that had the cum on it, rubbing the cum over his face and lips. "We will just have to train you better pet" she said in a cruel tone. Clearly he wasn't broken enough but we will get there she thought to herself. 

She scooped the rest of his cum off his body and put it in her mouth and swallowed. She reached over and gave him a passionate kiss. 

She went behind him and began to cuff his hands together and untie him from the chair. She pulled him to the ground by his collar. "We will just have to have some more fun until you cum again so you can try to be a better pet" she said with an evil grin. 

He wanted to protest, his desire to please was mostly diminished since he came, but she was taking control and he was cuffed with a collar/leash on and a plug in his ass, so he was still under her power. And after all, he did agree to three hours... Just didn't think SHE would actually want/be able to go that long. 

He could only ponder what was next in this long long session as he laid naked and helpless by her feet.



The Program Ch. 02



Oh thank God, she thought. She pushed at VanTerran's chest, putting more force into it than necessary, and he reluctantly shifted back a few inches. It was enough for her to wriggle out from under him, and she put as much distance between herself and that man as quickly as possible. Bill caught her hand and stepped protectively in front of her.

"You should know that she came in here looking for me." Taylor blinked at VanTerran and realised that he actually believed that. In his drunken, twisted brain, he believed that Taylor had been looking for him. The thought made her sick to her stomach. "So. What are you going to do, Boy Scout?" VanTerran asked casually.

Taylor shuddered. She heard Bill's sharp breath, "You're drunk."

"Probably."

"We're going to leave," Bill said, edging Taylor toward the door. "And you're staying here." It was said so simply, as if there was no other way for it to be. Taylor felt a deep sense of gratitude wash over her.

"Do what you want," VanTerran waved as if giving his permission for them to leave.

Taylor didn't even see VanTerran from that point on. Bill backed out of the room, keeping her firmly behind him. She was glad. The idea that she had let things escalate so quickly scared her, and that reaction pissed her off. She was done being scared. She had sworn no prick like VanTerran would ever scare her. She would kill him if he ever touched her again. And she never would use herself as a sacrificial lamb for her cover either. With the door closed, Bill turned and set his hands on her shoulders.

She jumped out of instinct, tensing and eying him warily. Her nerves were raw and she wasn't expecting the contact. "Hey," he said softly. "It's ok." He caught the sides of her flannel shirt and pulled them closed, swiftly buttoning her shirt. There was something about that action that twisted a knot in her stomach. It was almost familiar. His eyes were gentle, soft, concern apparent in the brown depths. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Taylor didn't trust her voice, anger still elevating her pulse; she nodded instead. She didn't want to have to think about what had happened, so she trusted Bill to take care of things for the next few minutes, her mind shutting down in self-preservation. Staring out the window of his car, she toyed with the strings of her jacket and watched the lights of the parking ramp fade.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," she said quietly without thinking. God, he was being so nice to her. But she didn't want to go home. No, scratch that. She did want to go home. But she wanted to go to her real home, not her fake, empty, lonely, drab apartment.

She could feel Bill glance at her. "I can take you to my place, if you want."

Taylor bit her lip. Now wasn't exactly the time to crash his apartment. Not now, when she still had her gun. Not now, when she was carrying the entire program on a small chip in her pocket. But where was she supposed to go? What would a normal person do? Would a normal girl want to go home? Of course not. She'd want to stay somewhere safe. Bill would be considered safe. Reluctantly, she nodded. She'd never had to maintain this cover anywhere outside the office. This could be difficult.

"Ok, but if you want to leave, you only have to tell me. I promise."

Taylor nodded absently. Maybe it wouldn't be that difficult. When Bill parked the car, Taylor was pleasantly surprised to see a set of red brick apartments sprawling at the edge of a wooded area. For some reason, she pictured new, modern, and efficient, but this was warm and somehow quaint.

She followed him up a flight of stairs and watched as he fumbled with the locks. He opened the door and visibly flinched, rushing in and tidying up the remnants of his bachelor living. There was something amusing about it. Taylor had to stifle a laugh. It was actually endearing. The apartment wasn't actually that messy, and it was very homey. 

Bill juggled a pile of dirty clothes, but turned and realised she was still standing in the doorway. "Taylor, you can come in. I know I have a couch here somewhere in this mess." The couch wasn't hard to find, but he seemed intent on tending to her, so Taylor let him lead her to the sofa and sat on the remarkably comfortable cushions. "Do you want anything to drink? I think I have some soda."

She pulled her feet up beneath her. Actually, I want a drink, maybe some whiskey, she thought. Feigning interest in the space she had already catalogued in her mind, she figured a beer would have to do in place of hard liquor. "Do you have a beer?"

"Beer? Um, sure." He sounded hesitant. He probably didn't think she should be drinking. And in reality, Taylor knew she shouldn't be drinking. But she really needed a drink. She accepted the bottle and took a sip as he sat next to her. It seemed the boy had good taste in beer, or at least he'd outgrown the college light beer of choice, abandoning it for a good lager.

"Are you ok?"

Taylor froze with the bottle just touching her lips. It was as if he had waited for her to take a sip before asking. She nodded and shot him a look that was supposed to convey her desire to never speak of it again. Instead she saw his expression change, his normally gentle expression becoming rather fierce and his brown eyes flashing. When he slid a finger under her chin she had to tamp down the urge to shiver. Ok, touching needed to stop. She felt herself blush and pushed his hand away, focusing on balancing the beer bottle on her legs.

"Damnit, Chad," he muttered. Taylor watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an icepack wrapped in a towel. He was angry. She could see it in the tension in his shoulders, in the way he had to glance away to wince. He sighed and squatted in front of her holding up the ice for her cheek. "Just... Just hold that there for a few minutes."

As the ice hit her cheek, she felt just how swollen it already was. Damn, she thought, Patrick was going to kill her. How was she going to explain what happened? And for that matter, what the hell was she supposed to do in a situation like that? She supposed she could have just punched VanTerran and then convinced him that he imagined it in his drunken state. She sighed, why couldn't she have thought of that earlier?

Bill's hand slid onto her knee and gave a squeeze. She saw the pity on his face and tensed in a self-righteous sense of irritation. But his palm was warm and gentle, just resting on her knee. She blushed, she couldn't help it. "I'm fine."

She knew he didn't believe her, but there wasn't much she could do about that. When he sat on the couch near her, she actually relaxed a little. He wasn't next to her, just near her. It was nice, and she needed another beer.

It took two hours before Taylor would admit that she really wanted to take a shower. No matter how she distracted herself with the bad movie on the tv or beer, she felt a little dirty. When the time came, she'd make sure VanTerran was put away for a long time, and maybe she'd punch him a few times too. That would make her feel better. But until then, she needed to feel clean. She cleared her throat. "Do you think I could take a shower?"

Bill glanced over, his face inscrutable. "Um, sure."

Taylor turned on the water for the shower and leaned against the counter as it warmed up. She had suppressed the urge to laugh when Bill had given her a "tour" of the apartment, found clean towels, told her how to work the shower, and red faced, had mumbled something about clothes before leaving her in peace. She jumped as her phone vibrated in her pocket. "Hello?"

"James, where the fuck are you?" Taylor flinched at the scolding in Patrick's voice.

She sighed, "Hi Patrick. I'm fine. How are you?"

"Don't sass me. Wilson said you haven't checked in. Where the hell are you?"

Taylor tried to keep the irritation from her voice. "Things didn't go exactly to plan, alright Patrick? I'm staying at a friend's place for the night."

"What! Absolutely not! That's totally unacceptable."

"Two things, Patrick. One, fuck you. Two, get off my back. I have the program. I'll meet with Wilson tomorrow and he can bring it in. I'm assuming we'll be shutting down soon, and I can get the hell out of here?"

Patrick growled, "You're really pushing your luck, James. If this leaks, you're ass is on the line."

"You spend far too much time thinking about my ass," Taylor muttered.

"Wilson will be there at two. Have it ready."

"Remind him not to wear a suit. He's supposed to be a tech guy, not a lawyer."

Patrick chuckled. "I will if you promise you'll be wearing clothes when he shows up. Made quite an impression last time." Last time, Taylor had just gotten back from a run, was about to get in the shower, and Wilson was an hour early. She grumbled and hung up. Now she really needed a shower.

~o~

 "Stick with me, kid." Mick grinned around the toothpick perpetually in his mouth and ruffled her hair.

"Cut it out," she poked him in the ribs. With a chuckle, he threw his arm companionably around her shoulder.

Her earpiece clipped in and she suppressed the urge to jump. It was hard to keep a straight face when it sounded like someone was in your head. "Eye on the ball. The mark should be in your sector now."

Taylor tilted her head to the side as Mick stooped and whispered in her ear. "Three o'clock, yellow tie." She flushed slightly as he pulled her against him and kissed the side of her neck. She giggled, finding the role of a young and affectionate couple an easy fit, and she used the opportunity to spot the mark. Mick's hand slipped down her back and came to rest in her back pocket. This time her blush was honest. The things she was going to do to him when they were done here.

She shot him a warning look and retrieved his hand, towing him across the street, using the windows of the local shops to follow the mark as he moved from the steps of the office building to the busy street. Mick kept their pace leisurely, but always well within range of the man moving erratically down the road.

"Does he seriously think he's being stealthy?" Mick whispered in her ear. She had to choke back a laugh. "I mean, there isn't a person on this street that isn't looking at him."

"Be nice," she swatted at his arm. "He's scared shitless."

"Still..." he trailed off, squinting as the mark stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Fuck, I think he made the van."

Taylor lowered her voice and tilted her head to be as close to her mic as possible. "Patrick, we've got a problem, I think he's going to run."

"Shit," Mick muttered as the man turned and sprinted toward them. "We've got to keep him in sight. Give yourself a reason to run, hm?"

"Got it," Taylor whispered before raising her voice. "You're cheating on me?! I can't believe you!"

Mick winked. "It's not like I'm in love her!" he shouted back.

"You bastard!" she screeched. The mark nearly collided with her as he rushed past. Taylor slapped Mick in the face and turned, running away from him and following the mark.

"Cute, James," her earpiece chirped.

"Don't cute me anything, Patrick. Just move that damn van. We're going to have to pick him up on the fly."

Behind her, she heard Mick shout, "Baby, it was just one time! Come on! Don't make me chase you."

Taylor released a convincing sob and started to run faster, turning the corner and catching sight of the mark ducking into an alleyway. She relayed the position and slowed just before reaching the alley. Poking her head around the corner, she saw no one and cautiously started into the narrow space. Mick caught up with her and she felt instantly better with him at her back. She pulled her semi-automatic and crept through the dingy passage.

Something clattered to the ground and she crouched defensively, sighing as a rat scurried under the dumpster. "Ew," she breathed, rising again.

"Don't like this, Taylor," Mick muttered.

"Van is relocated." The announcement from Patrick was completely unnecessary, as Taylor and Mick couldn't miss the giant black van that now blocked the far side of the alleyway.

"Where the fuck did he go?" she whispered angrily.

Mick tilted his head toward his mic, "Do we have eyes anywhere?"

Two suits appeared at the far side of the alley and Patrick clipped in. "Don't shoot each other, they're with us."

Taylor cleared her throat, "Mr. Ransford? I know you can hear me. We'll protect you if you'll just turn yourself in."

Mick shifted closer to Taylor. "I don't hear anything," he whispered.

"Shush!"

"Tell you what, Ransford," Mick said loudly. "You have two choices. One, you come with us, you get protection, you get to live. Two, we leave, you run, you get hunted down and that whole living thing goes out the window."

"Mick!" Taylor snapped. "Not helpful!"

"It's tough love, babe." He shifted his shoulders, a little uncomfortable under her glare. "I'll show you some later," he muttered when she turned away.

Her head snapped back around. "Mick, so help me, I'll shove this gun so far..."

"Eyes up!" the earpiece barked. "Where is he?"

Mick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the rubbish and bin lined walls of the alley. He couldn't see him. He glanced down to the far end of the alley where the two suits were picking their way around the trash. "I don't think he wants to talk to us."

The angry scream shattered the tense quiet of the alley. "You're with them!"

Taylor turned, seeing the flash of the mark's gun a moment before Mick gave her a shove, knocking her down to the dirty pavement as the man opened fire. She gasped as the first shot grazed her arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh from just below her shoulder. A searing pain lancing down to her hand and up her neck. Angrily, Taylor recovered faster than Mick and squeezed off two rapid rounds, striking the mark in the shoulder. The man fell to the ground with a cry, cradling his shoulder.

"I knew you were wasted behind a desk." Mick's voice was gruff and he coughed.

Taylor spun around and managed to catch him under the arms before he collapsed. "No," she breathed, dropping her gun and easing Mick to the ground. She heard the van doors open and close, booted feet pounding across the pavement. "I need a medic!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"It's not that bad," he whispered. "You look all worried."

"Why aren't you wearing a vest?" she pleaded. 

"You're bleeding."

"Damnit, Mick. What were you thinking?" She pulled off her coat and held it to the gaping hole in his chest.

He gave a weak smile. "What's the point of rubbing against you if I can't feel it?"

"Shut up, Mick," she said softly, swallowing over a lump in her throat. He didn't look good. 

"God you're beautiful." He coughed weakly, winced, and sighed.

"Mick?" Taylor called, reaching to find a pulse. Too weak. "Don't do this to me, Mick." His chest stopped moving under her hands. He wasn't breathing. "Mick, come on, stay with me." She cupped his face between her palms, slapping his cheek. "Mick! God damnit, I need a medic!" She released the wound and started chest compressions. "Don't leave me, Mick! Do you hear me!" She gave him two breaths and resumed compressions.

"Agent, you're bleeding." A medical team arrived. "We'll take over." Taylor wouldn't move. "Someone get her out of here!" Paddles appeared. Mick's shirt was cut open. His colour grew paler.

Taylor shrieked in rage when Wilson heaved her up off the ground. "No!"

"Taylor, you've been hit," he snapped at her, dragging her toward the van. 

"No!" She flailed. "Mick!"

"I've got no pulse here," one of the paramedics announced.

"No!" 

Taylor felt the grip on her shoulder and her eyes flew open. She grabbed the hand and twisted, locking the arm behind the back in one smooth motion.

"Jesus, Taylor," he exclaimed.

A wave of panic washed over her. Mick? No, Mick was dead. She scrambled away from him, crashing into the headboard. The collision seemed to knock her from the dream into lucidity. Not Mick... Bill. The ache that hollowed her chest made it suddenly hard to breathe and it felt like she was losing him all over again. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cursed herself for drinking beer when she was already upset. She could handle hard liquor. She could handle wine. But somehow beer always messed with her head.

"Hey, it's ok. You were having a nightmare."

Taylor raised her eyes, looking at Bill as though he'd said the most absurd thing on earth. Yes, a nightmare. The same nightmare she always had. Except this wasn't her imagination. This was her life. "I'm sorry," she whispered, finding her throat ready to close up. She tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart before she began to hyperventilate.

"Hey, it's alright." He smiled at her and it tore her heart to shreds. That was why she liked him so much. He had Mick's smile. Not fair. "I'm more worried about you. I'm sorry I startled you. Are you ok?" His hand came to rest on her shoulder and Taylor sucked in a breath. The warmth from his palm, the gesture was just so... So like Mick. But he'd asked a question. She looked around, reminding herself of where she was, and nodded absently. Thank God she'd tucked her gun safely in her bag. She shuddered; Lord only knows what would have happened had it been under the pillow. "I'm wholly unconvinced," he muttered.

Taylor didn't want to look him in the eye. She was completely raw. But it was inevitable. "I have nightmares all the time," she said softly. "It has nothing to do with Chad." It's worse than him, she thought, another shudder running through her body. God, she felt sick.

Then he did the worst possible thing. He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her body up against his. She tensed, thinking to push him away, but she couldn't find the strength. She closed her eyes and let her head drop onto his shoulder. Why did he have to smell good? Just like Mick. She shivered. Stop it, Taylor! His hand ran down her arm, raising goose bumps along its path. "Cold?"

She nodded and he moved away. Acutely aware of the cold, she felt the loss of his comforting warmth. The image of Mick lying on the ground flashed through her mind and she was afraid she'd vomit. She pulled her knees up against her chest again and tried to breathe properly.

"Come here." His voice was gentle but commanding. She didn't think she had it in her to do anything but listen to him at this point. She reached his side and was wrapped in first a blanket then his arms. Her mind was shouting for her to pull herself together, but her body needed the comfort, the human contact. She hated let anyone get this physically close to her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His voice rumbled through his chest when he spoke and the timbre was soothing. "No," she whispered. She felt something like safety wash over her and it was unnerving. She traced the path of a fold in his shirt with her finger, trying to distract herself however possible.

He shifted and she could tell that he was studying her. "Who's Mick?"

Oh God, how does he know? "What? Why?" She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his; the warm chocolate colour echoed the strange amber that she'd always seen in Mick's eyes.

He shrugged. "You yelled the name during the nightmare." His hand continuously stroked up and down her arm and for the first time in a long time, Taylor admitted to herself that she was lonely. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything, afraid of what she might blurt out. That's when the tears welled in her eyes and she panicked. She hated crying. She never cried. And certainly never cried in front of someone else. She buried her face against his shirt, the warmth and scent of him wrapping around her and becoming overwhelming. Her fingers twisted in his shirt as she tried to hold back the tears, but they wouldn't be stilled.




The Program Ch. 02



Then Taylor cried. Once she started, it was hard to stop. Bill held her, whispered things she couldn't hear. Finally, she found herself calming. Bill slid a finger under her chin, tipping her face upward. "I'm sorry," she squeezed out between hiccups.

"Oh, Taylor." His hands were gentle, sweeping the tears from her cheeks. When they were both messy, he used his tee-shirt to dry her face. "Sweetie, you're exhausted." She nodded; it was easier than explaining. "I think you just need some rest."

She didn't want him to leave. A ball of fear coiled in her chest and she knew she needed him to stay with her. He's not Mick, she told herself. She couldn't care. Reminding herself to breathe, she asked him to stay.

"Sure," he whispered. "I'll stay as long as you like."

Taylor curled up with her head against his chest, the sound of his solid heart beat soothing her fears. He's not Mick, but he's real. Maybe I have been alone for too long, she thought. But then she realized that it would be impossible. He can't know what you really do, she told herself. Which means he doesn't know you at all. He thinks you're Taylor Peters. He may not even like you. But he was still there, holding her carefully, and maybe for tonight, she'd just pretend that it was normal.

~o~

When she woke the next morning, it was in the warm hollow of a recently vacated bed. She rubbed her eyes to clear the gritty feeling that always followed crying, groaned, and pushed herself up, casually sweeping a mess of hair from her face. As she raised her eyes, Bill emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. Wow. Oh holy hell, she was staring. She dropped her eyes and felt her cheeks colour.

He grinned, "Hey there, sleepy-head."

"Morning." She flinched inwardly, her voice sounding rough from the late night, the beer, the crying, and from lack of use.

She thought she saw him blush when he rubbed the back of his neck. "I uh, I'm just going to grab some clothes. Do you want coffee or something?" He retreated to the bathroom before she could answer and a chuckle bubbled up from her stomach. "Sorry?" he came back into the room.

She flushed guiltily, hoping he hadn't heard her laugh. "A cup of coffee would be great."

She suffered through a full breakfast, something that she probably needed more than she cared to admit. Then Bill drove her back to the office to pick up her car. Taylor sat quietly for the ride, mulling over the events of the past day. She wished she could rewind and repeat the past twenty-four hours. She'd have done it all differently. She wouldn't have let VanTerran get the jump on her, for starters, and then this whole thing about staying at Bill's place...

When she climbed out of Bill's car, she tried to ignore the fact that the entire trip had been a slightly awkward silence. It was better that way. If she didn't say anything, she couldn't make a mistake and she wouldn't be lying. He waited for her to start her car before giving a wave and pulling out of the parking lot. 

Taylor felt of twinge of what could be guilty regret tighten in her stomach. Bill actually was a good person. How many good people existed in the office? She'd done most of the research herself and when the vast number of profiles just made her sick, she'd stopped. Bill was new. He was the only addition to the company in the past five years save for herself. But then, even a company like that one needed fresh blood every now and then. Perhaps one of the two of them was supposed to wash out, the other would take over for one of the older programmers that was ready to retire. He didn't belong there.

She parked her car outside the low-budget, sad excuse for an apartment that Patrick had put her up in and rolled her eyes. I hate my life, she thought bitterly. But self-pity was not a normal emotion for her and perhaps it left her distracted, because she didn't notice flutter of the window shade in her apartment.

Trudging up the stairs, she fished her house keys out of her messenger bag, carefully checking the safety on her gun before dropping it back into the bag. Inside, her apartment was dark, the blinds perpetually drawn. She dropped her keys in the bowl next to the door and locked the three deadbolts. Her bag was tossed into corner and she shed her jacket, leaving it in a small pile on the floor.

A large, strong arm wrapped around her waist and her feet kicked up into the air as a second hand clamped down over her mouth, preventing a scream. "You're losing your touch," the deep voice growled in her ear.

Taylor bit down on the palm and smiled wryly as the hand snapped away with a hiss. As her feet came down toward the ground, she dropped her weight onto the instep of the man's right foot. He grunted angrily and shoved her into the door. Taylor hit the solid wood and rolled to the side, ducking an incoming blow and bringing her knee up into his stomach. He oofed and hunched over, winded, or so Taylor thought. She pulled a switchblade from the pocket of her jeans and headed toward the fire escape.

His hand darted out, catching her wrist and twisting. Taylor gasped and felt herself pulled back against him, her arm trapped in his grip, wrapped across her chest. She swallowed carefully as she felt the cold line of a blade press against her throat. "Don't even think about it," he said heavily.

Taylor cleared her throat and tapped the point of her own knife high on the inside of his thigh. "Is it worth living without your little friends?" He sighed and released her, carefully putting his knife away. When she turned around to face him, he gave a sheepish grin. Taylor folded her switchblade and frowned. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I got bored waiting."

Taylor tossed the blade onto her counter and rolled her eyes again. "You're early. Wait outside next time, you oaf." She kicked off her sneakers, letting them fall near the door with as much attention as she gave her jacket.

"After last time, why would I wait outside?" He raised a brow suggestively and gave her an once-over. "I have to say I'm a little disappointed this time."

"Fuck you, Wilson," she snapped.

He laughed and tugged on her ponytail, "In your dreams, pumpkin." Taylor snarled, taking a swing at him. He dodged her easily and gave her a light spank. "Now where's my data key?"

She pulled the USB key out of her back pocket. "Type six encryption. Keyed to Patrick's middle name, that should make him smile." She gave an overly sweet smile before throwing the small key at him.

He caught it and tucked it in his pocket. "Someone must have had a rough night. What's the matter, princess? You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" Taylor scowled at him. He snapped his fingers, "Oh, I know. Woke up in the wrong bed this morning."

If looks could kill, Josh Wilson would have dropped dead on the spot. "Get out," she snarled. 

Wilson laughed, "Oh, poor baby had a rough night." He grunted as she launched herself at him, her shoulder colliding solidly with his stomach. He dodged most of her swings, but when she swept her leg out and caught him behind the knees, he stumbled. He stopped playing nice and put her in a headlock. She squeaked and dug her nails into his forearm, twisting her body and throwing an elbow into his gut. His grip slipped for a fraction of a second and she spun from his hold. Her socks slipped on the linoleum floor and she found herself thrown into the door again.

He pinned her in place with his body. "Calm the fuck down, Taylor. I'm only giving you a hard time."

"Go do that somewhere else then," she pushed against his shoulders, but he refused to release her.

"You have a job to do, and so do I." He raised a brow. "Don't shoot the messenger for doing his job. Besides, it's not like this job is any harder than the other ones."

"This job sucks and you know it," she spat. "I'm sick of it. Let's just get it done."

"I don't know what managed to get under your impenetrable skin, but shake it off. You're not a rookie, Taylor. So quit acting like one." He met her glare with stern stare of his own. "Now get your shit together."

"My shit was just fine until you showed up. Stop breaking into my apartment."

"Ok, first, it wasn't that much of a challenge to break-in. You need some real locks in this place. Second, your shit hasn't been together for a while now." He ducked as she tried to slap him. "Stop it!" he growled.

She planted a foot on the door and used it as leverage, throwing her full weight against him and knocking him to the floor. She dropped her weight onto his stomach, but he caught her hands before she could strike him. They grappled before Wilson threw her off and rolled on top of her, capturing her wrists and pinning her to the floor. She shrieked with rage and tried to throw him off of her, but it was no use. "Get off!"

"Calm down," he ordered.

"You calm down," she snapped back.

He stared at her, trying to keep from laughing. She looked like an angry teen in the baggy clothes and when she started to pout, he revised the thought; now she looked like a petulant child. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're only sixteen."

Taylor's face was flushed from the wrestling and yelling, but she still managed to turn a deeper shade of crimson. "Pervert."

A smile fleetingly passed across his lips before his mouth descended upon hers. She squeaked in protest, fighting to free her wrist from his grip. He wouldn't release her, his lips moving firmly, commandingly against hers, and Taylor felt some of the fight draining from her. Wilson released her wrists, keeping her pinned with one hand on her shoulder, the other dropping lower to find her soft skin beneath the oversized sweatshirt.

Taylor pushed ineffectively at his chest. He was like a solid wall. He swallowed her gasp when his hand slid under her shirt to cup her breast. She arched against his palm, moaning as he chuckled against her lips. The arrogance of it sparked a new fit of anger. He did this to her every time and it pissed her off. No one got under her skin like he did. No one made her feel more guilty about the job than he did. No one could actually get her to care about anything except Wilson. And that really aggravated her. She dug her fingers into his hair and tugged until he pulled his mouth away.

Wilson cocked a brow, "I can leave if you'd like."

Of course she wanted him to leave. The sooner the better. His thumb feathered over the already hardened tip of her nipple and she bit back another moan. "You're such an asshole."

He laughed, the reverberations passing through his chest to each place their bodies touched, and Taylor shivered. "So you do want me to leave."

He was exasperating. "Oh fuck you," she hissed and grabbed the front of his collar, dragging him back down for a frustrated kiss. 

He moved his weight to the side long enough to work her flannel shirt over her head and off her body. He groaned at the sight of the small, nearly see-through tank top. "Shirts like this should be illegal." He hooked one finger under a strap and tugged on it, testing the strength and teasingly brushing along her skin.

"Then arrest me."

He pressed a series of kisses down the side of her neck. "I think I left my cuffs in the car."

Taylor rolled her eyes and slid her hands down his back, tugging the polo shirt free of the waistband of his pants. Her fingers wandered under the shirt, carefully extracting Wilson's service pistol. "What, are you afraid I'm going to pull a gun on you?" she asked, releasing the clip and tossing it off to the side.

"You did pull a knife on me," he mumbled against her shoulder, running his tongue across the exposed skin.

"You broke into my apartment." She tugged his shirt up to his armpits and growled when it caught there. "Off!"

"Yes ma'am," he pushed back onto his knees, straddling her hips. When she tried to sit up, he pushed her firmly back down.

"Hey!" She wrapped her fingers around the hand that held her pinned to the floor. "Damnit, Wilson!" She tried to work herself free.

"Pipe down," he grinned, tossing the shirt aside. "I'll get to you in a minute." Her shriek of outrage caused him to chuckle. He reached behind himself and tugged both of her socks off, nearly being kicked for his tickling fingers. He narrowly avoided being slapped before he caught her wrists and pinned them firmly to the floor in one large palm. "Now what are you going to do?" he asked coyly, his lips tracing the soft skin under her jaw line. His other hand climbed the ladder of her ribs, his thumb tracing the underside of her breast.

"I wish Patrick could have gotten me an apartment with carpets," she muttered, heat curling in her belly, making it difficult to think clearly. She squeaked as his palm came down sharply on the outside of her thigh. "Ow!'

"No shop talk," he growled, his fingers massaging the reddened patch of skin through the baggy fabric of her jeans.

Taylor expertly shifted her weight and rolled on top of him. "Don't tell me what to do." She found his mouth with hers and latched on, kissing with all the fervour and desire that kept him coming back for more. She knew that they both needed this and they both hated themselves for it. Their tongues became the weapons in their interminable battle for dominance, fighting for control as their bodies heated to the touch of the other's skin.

Her fingers made quick work of the button fly of his jeans, her hand sliding under the denim to stroke him through the soft cotton of his boxers. He groaned, his fingers digging into her hair and holding her mouth captive before pausing to catch his breath. "Take off my pants," he said, the tone of his voice precariously balanced between an order and a plea.

"The ones you're wearing? Or the ones I'm wearing?" she purred, making fun of her current wardrobe salvaged from boxes of Wilson and Patrick's college paraphernalia.

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he tried to shake off the lust filled fog that clouded his brain. "Smart ass."

"If I'd have known it was that easy to get into your pants..." Taylor didn't have a chance to finish the thought. Wilson rose, easily lifting her weight and tossing her over his shoulder.

"That's enough out of you," he groused, planting a hand firmly on her rear and heading toward the bedroom. He stepped out of his shoes and sock before easily kicking open her bedroom door.

Taylor laughed sarcastically. "Me Tarzan, you Jane."

Her callousness was like a dousing him with a bucket of cold water. He dropped her roughly on the bed and backed toward the door. "Damnit, Taylor. You have a snide answer to everything don't you. Why do you have to work so hard to keep everyone out?"

Taylor suppressed the wave of anger and hurt that threatened to overcome her. Her face went blank for a fraction of a second and then she smiled. She slid off the bed and smoothly dropped her jeans to the floor, revealing a pair of lean, toned legs and a lacy, pink thong.

Wilson swallowed hard, trying to hold on to his anger for another minute. She was beautiful, almost perfect. But she lived the job and she was good at it, probably too good. And she was very good at manipulating him; he took another retreating step backward. "You wear those all the time?" he managed to ask, his eyes drawn to the pale scrap of lace.

"Mmn," she hummed, drawing the tank top over her head and dropping it casually to the floor. "They match the bra." They certainly did match the bra, and Wilson had to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and grabbing her. She closed the space between them with fluid, predatory steps. "And just think," she whispered, running the tips of her fingers across his exposed chest. "I have quite a few pairs of lace panties that are the only thing I put on before I wear your clothes all day long." He shivered and she smiled wryly, reaching behind him to shut the door. Her palms slid down his sides, resting on his hips for a moment before pushing his jeans down to the floor. "Sometimes," she pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "I don't wear anything."

Wilson closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. She was going to get her way again, and he didn't have the willpower to stop her. His eyes opened, and he stared down at her with a heated, blue gaze. Taylor saw the look and her stomach clenched in anticipation. "Fine," he snarled, taking her roughly in his arms and kissing her with maddening skill.

She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and slid them to the floor. It was the last coherent moment she had. He spun her, pushing her back into the door and filling his palms with the lace covered mounds of her breasts. Her hands wrapped behind his neck, holding on as he reacquainted himself with the curves of her body. She didn't notice when he unlatched her bra, only sighing as he removed her hands from his neck to allow the pink lace to drop to the floor.

He turned her to face the door, pressing both of her palms against the wood. "Keep them there," he whispered in her ear, trapping her in place with the solid frame of his body.

She pushed back, the curve of her spine pressing against his chest. "Or else what?" she purred.

He leaned against her, letting her feel his weight against her, his erection pressing against her lower back. He purposefully removed his hands from hers, one cupping her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other splayed across her stomach, pulling her securely against him. "Or I'll go get the cuffs," he murmured, kissing the corner of her jaw.

Wilson could feel the shiver that ran through her, and he smiled. He feathered kisses down her neck and across her shoulders, swirling his fingers ever downward along her stomach and belly to slide under the lace of the thong, finding the neatly trimmed curls that protected her folds. He slid a finger between her lower lips, groaning with the heat and wet he found there.

Taylor gasped as he dipped a finger inside her. He had her strung so tight that she couldn't form words anymore. His lips latched onto her neck and she felt her head tilt, allowing him more access. His fingers were relentless, one hand caressing her breast in time with the other as his fingers stroked in and out of her. His teeth grazed her skin and her breath caught in her throat. "God, Wilson," she ground out, her fingers curling against the wood of the door.

"I hope you aren't too fond of these," he muttered. She felt his hand pull free of her, and with a slight sting, she realised he had ripped her panties off.

"You're buying me new ones," she panted as his palm pressed against her belly, giving her no room to escape.

"Fine." He kicked her feet apart and thrust into her from behind in one swift move. He gripped her hips firmly, holding her still as he slid back out.

She gasped as he tormented her with slow, full strokes, pulling almost completely out of her before plunging back in. She tried to push back, tried to speed him up, but he held her fast. She moaned, the frustration becoming a tangible thrill as her muscles tightened. Wilson released one of her hips, catching a fist full of her breast, massaging, tweaking, and pinching her nipple as he increased his pace. Taylor pressed back into him, meeting his thrusts hungrily, locking her elbows to keep them from buckling.

"Now, Taylor, you're actually going to do as I tell you," he growled against her neck, his palm squeezing her breast in time with his thrusts.

"As if," she rasped, reaching one arm over her shoulder to tangle her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He laughed and bit gently on her earlobe. His second hand released her hip, delving into her folds to find her clit. She jumped with a soft cry and tensed. He hummed against her neck. "When I tell you to cum, Taylor, you're going to cum." His finger drew lazy circles around her clit as he continued to thrust into her. She panted, trying to find the breath or will to argue with him, but couldn't. He shoved into her hard, lifting her up onto her toes as he drove into her again and again. He waited until he could feel her control hanging by a thread.




The Program Ch. 03



 Sometimes I do wish I could just get rid of my day job and write. It would probably give me fewer grey hairs... I'm too young to be going grey. But I love my job, even if it is ridiculously time-consuming. So until I win the lottery, sign a multi-million dollar book deal, or somehow randomly find myself swimming in cash, we're all doomed to slow updates from me.

Chapter 3... Sadly lacking any great sex. Don't worry, there's definitely more to come. A bit of time to flesh out the characters, a bit of time to set up the rest of the story. But I do like to keep things interesting. I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks for reading!

~ewebie 

~~o~~

Bill groaned, the lurching motion made his head hurt. He pressed his eyes shut in an attempt to calm his stomach. Nothing good would come of being sick. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting with the constantly changing light.

"Hey there, boy scout."

Bill blinked, a pair of familiar green eyes coming into focus. "Taylor?" He furrowed his brow. "Where are your glasses?" She looked like the same Taylor he knew. She smiled and the crease in his brow deepened; Taylor didn't smile like that. He glanced around, the sight of buildings flashing past the tinted windows of the SUV left him nauseous and he turned his head, the motion irritating what had been a dull throb emanating from the base of his skull. He winced.

"How's the head?" she asked softly, her fingers stroking through his hair. It felt nice, soothing even. "Sorry about that. I hope Wilson didn't hit you too hard. It was the only way we could keep you from becoming suspect."

Wilson? Bill blinked again. What was that about being suspect? He tried to remember the morning and it made his head hurt. It was more like a lucid dream than reality. No one expected their peaceful company to be raided with bombs and smoke and people in flack-jackets. Wait, Taylor was wearing a black flack-jacket. He sat up quickly, the sudden change in altitude caused his head to spin and made him wish he were still lying in her lap. "Suspect?" he croaked.

"VanTerran was going to think you were a plant if we let you walk free. That wouldn't have been the best thing for the longevity of your life." His brows knit together. Plant? Taylor tilted her head to the side and raised a brow. "You know, you weren't even supposed to be there. I did just about everything I could think of to be sure you didn't make it in today."

"Everything you could..." Bill shook his head for a minute. "Wait! You killed my car?!"

Taylor gave a small laugh. "And cut your power, and deactivated your cell phone. You know, you're quite persistent when you want to be." The small smile on her face irritated and confused him further.

"Why would you do that?" he demanded.

Taylor shrugged. "It would have been easier if you weren't there. Now we're going to have to revise our plan."

"What plan? Taylor, what's going on?" he pleaded.

She had the courtesy to look contrite. "Look, Bill. I know that you're confused, and I promise I'll fill you in when it's appropriate. But for now, it's better that you don't know."

"Don't know what?" he exclaimed.

A large man, sitting shotgun in the SUV, cleared his throat and twisted toward Taylor. "Want me to knock him back out for you?"

Bill couldn't help but hear the amusement in the man's voice and he felt his cheeks colour. Taylor rolled her eyes, "No, Wilson, thank you. He'll be fine." Wilson, Bill thought. So that's the guy that hit me. Or, sucker punched, more like. He decided not to like Wilson. 

"You know," Wilson eyed Bill. "He looks kinda like..."

"Shut up, Wilson," Taylor said softly. "Besides, we're nearly home."

Bill shot a glance at Taylor, "Home?"

She smiled, but the expression seemed cold. "Langley."

~o~

Bill sighed and rolled the Styrofoam cup of coffee between his palms. He'd made the mistake of trying the sludge that someone had put in front of him, and it wasn't a mistake he'd make again. He glanced up at the two-way mirror and frowned. He'd been sitting in the interrogation room for at least two hours and hadn't seen a glimpse of a human being since he'd been told to take a seat. Taylor had disappeared when they entered the building, striding away in a heated argument with Wilson and leaving him to the care of a guy that reminded him of a linebacker in an Armani suit.

This whole thing was surreal. Yesterday, he knew exactly where he was going in life, he knew where he was working, he knew what he was supposed to be doing, and he knew the people around him. Now, he had to admit that he knew very little. It was frightening. And he was so hoping that he'd wake up in his apartment and this whole day would be nothing but a bad dream. Maybe he'd eaten something weird before he went to bed... No more Taco Bell, he told himself. With another sigh, he rested his forehead on the backs of his arms and closed his eyes.

The door clicked open and Bill snapped to attention, eyeing Wilson as he walked into the room. He wasn't as big as Bill had originally thought. Probably an inch shorter than he was, but Wilson was broader. And his presence was intimidating. "Mr. Martin, I'm Officer Wilson." He looked up from the file he was carrying and tossed it on the table.

Bill rubbed the back of his neck absently, "I think we've met."

Wilson raised a brow. "I suppose we have. Now, Mr. Martin, I have a few questions for you. As I understand it, you've been working for one Jason Matthews and one Chad VanTerran for the past few months. What exactly have you been doing for them?"

Bill furrowed his brow. "You mean, what's my job?"

"Sure," he said with a sardonic smile. "Let's start there."

Bill shifted under Wilson's gaze. "I um, yeah. I'm a programmer. I write code."

"And what have you been working on recently?" Wilson perched on the side of the table.

Bill shook his head, "I dunno. There are usually about ten different people writing code on any given program. I work on firewall and security, mostly."

Wilson snapped his fingers and stood. "Good. Excellent. So then you should be able to explain why, with all the security you put on this program, your company is set to siphon off money from each and every user that purchases it. You should be able to explain why the failsafe firewall has a backdoor built into it. And you, who wrote all this code, really ought to know why the bank accounts that are set to receive all this money are all in your name."

Bill felt his eyes grow wide. "I'm sorry?"

"You're going to be," Wilson muttered.

"Wait," Bill objected. "Wait, you think that I..." He gestured ineffectively.

Wilson tapped the file on the table. "Frankly, it wouldn't make any sense at all for someone else to do you a favour like this."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Bill cried.

Wilson smiled. "I'm sure you don't."

"No, honestly, I've never heard about this before."

"So, you just wrote the code and didn't realise that you put in a backdoor, hm?" Wilson picked up the file and flipped through it. "Doesn't sound plausible for someone from..." he raised a brow. "Notre Dame? How unethical."

"No. No!" Bill shouted. "My code was perfect. None of that stuff was in there."

"Settle down," Wilson snapped.

"Why? Are you going to hit me again?" Bill knew it was a bad idea to shout as he rose from the chair, but he was way too frustrated with the day to think about it. "This is bullshit. I gave in my piece and that was that. There's no crime in doing my job!" 

"Actually," Wilson set a hand on Bill's shoulder, pushing him back down into his chair. "The crime is the fact that this money leaves the country. It makes it my business. And last I checked, there aren't many legal places to be funnelling money in," he consulted the file again. "Afghanistan."

"What?!"

Wilson leaned over the table, his nose only inches from Bill's. "That makes it my problem," he growled. "Now, I'm going to let you think about this for a few minutes, but funding terrorism is an act of treason and that carries a life sentence. Do you understand me? The rest of your life in a tiny box about a quarter the size of this room."

Bill couldn't seem to get his voice to work. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Life in prison? He hadn't done anything! Panic gripped him and he thought he might pass out. Wilson picked up the file and tapped him on the shoulder with it before leaving the room. The sound of the lock clicking into place was like a punch in the gut. Bill dropped his head into his hands. There was no way this day could get any worse.

~o~

Taylor crossed her arms over her chest, the movement accenting her breasts in the snug, blue, button-down shirt she had changed into. She leaned against the wall and watched the video feed of VanTerran as he watched Bill's grilling. VanTerran wasn't going to break and she knew it. It pissed her off. Matthews had practically cried when she confronted him. He didn't know anything though, and he wouldn't rat on anyone else. Stupid fucker. VanTerran wasn't going to feel guilty that someone else took the fall. He needed his cage rattled.

Wilson returned to VanTerran's room and hauled him out of the chair, perhaps he was a little more rough than necessary and a smile flicked across Taylor's face. She slipped into the hallway. As Wilson walked VanTerran around the corner, she pretended to examine her nails. "Hey douche bag, how's the nose?"

VanTerran froze, the expression on his face animus and cold. "I should have known," he hissed.

Wilson seemed to know what she was doing and took a step back. Taylor smiled. "Aw, that's cute. You probably should have. Instead, I get to put you in prison for the rest of your life. And that makes me happy."

"You little bitch," he growled. "You have nothing on me. I'll be out of here before the day is over. Then I'll kill you." VanTerran straightened, shaking Wilson's hand from his shoulder.

"Aw, now that sounds like threatening a CIA Officer. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do that." Her voice was saccharine sweet, but her eyes were hard.

"You're just bitter that I wouldn't fuck you like all those other little girl interns we've had."

So that was why there were no female employees. If he was trying to get under her skin, he succeeded. Taylor's eyes narrowed. "I don't go for guys with dicks the size of my little finger."

She could see the vein in his forehead bulge as his face changed colour. She knew she had him just before he snapped. He lunged, grabbing her shoulders and trying to wrestle her to the ground, but Taylor was ready. She drove her knee into his groin and let him drop to the floor. She pressed the pointed heel of her boot into the soft skin under his chin to make sure he was paying attention. "Don't ever touch me again."

She withdrew her foot and turned to leave. Wilson snorted as he hauled VanTerran back to his feet. "I'd listen to her. She bites." Taylor strode down the hall, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. Wilson watched her leave, an appreciative glint in his eye. As amusing as it was to see her in his clothes, he loved to see her in her own, well-fitted pantsuits. Later, he sighed and gave VanTerran a shove down the hall.

Taylor took a moment to straighten her shirt before unlocking the door and walking into Bill's interrogation room. He didn't look up from where his head hung in his hands. "Look," he croaked. "I wish I could help you, but I honestly don't know what's going on."

She actually felt bad. Poor guy had been through the ringer twice today and it wasn't even time for dinner. "You look like you need a cup of coffee."

His head snapped up and he blinked. "Taylor?" The hesitation in his voice and the sceptical look in his eyes actually evoked a pang of guilt. "What..." he sighed and shook his head. "Treason?"

"Not here." She indicated with her head. "Let's take a walk."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No," she smiled gently. "Come on. Coffee." She turned on her heel and headed out into the hall, sure that he'd follow soon enough. He wouldn't want to stay in that room anymore than he'd want to stay in a prison. His shoes thudded on the floor as he dashed to catch up.

He followed in silence for a few minutes, looking up and down the hallways curiously. "So, I'm not under arrest?"

Taylor laughed. "No, you're not. Here, this is my office." She opened the door to the plain, unadorned room. "It isn't much, but I've got some fresh coffee." She handed him one of the starbucks cups and gestured to the open chair opposite her desk. He hesitated, as if he were afraid the chair would eat him. "Sit, please." She smiled as he perched gingerly in the chair. "Look, I know you're confused. Everything said here is entirely off the record. So, what do you want to know?"

Bill stared at her blankly and she worried that he was broken. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, took a sip of coffee, leaned forward on the desk, and laced her fingers together. "Ok then, how about I start?"

Bill nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "Please?"

"You were, unfortunately, working for a company that had its hand in some very bad things not restricted to theft, money laundering, and funding some unsavoury people." 

"I didn't know," he interrupted. "Taylor, I swear."

She gave a small smile and held up her hand. "I know, Bill. Your job was what you were hired for: simply writing code. And you did that. The small extras had nothing to do with you, they were added after you submitted."

"Then, what was all that about me being a terrorist? And accounts being in my name?" he exclaimed.

"That was a show for VanTerran," she said bluntly. "There are actually accounts in your name. There's one for every employee of the company. It's a deflection to share the blame. Again, I'm sorry if Wilson was rough on you, but it had to look convincing. If I'd debriefed you, your reactions wouldn't have been as honest. We needed honest."

"Honest? I honestly thought I was going to jail," he blurted out.

"I know. I'm sorry." She knew he'd be frustrated, but she was also hoping he'd understand.

A loud beep interrupted their conversation as the intercom buzzed to life. "James!"

She rolled her eyes and pressed a button on her phone. "Yes, Patrick?"

"Meeting starts in five. Get your butt in here or I'll kick it halfway to Milwaukee."

"Fine." She pressed another button and the intercom clicked off. She sighed again, and gave Bill a weak smile. "Look, I'm going to have Larson come and debrief you, then you're free to go."

"Go?" he sputtered. "Where? It's not like I have a job anymore."

"Larson will fill you in. Don't worry, Bill. We're not going to leave you hanging." She stood and straightened her shirt.

"JAMES!" The voice squawked.

"God damnnit, Patrick, I'm coming!" she shouted. She sighed and gave Bill a small smile. "Sorry, he can be rude."

Bill furrowed his brow. "James?"

She chuckled and held out her hand. "Officer Taylor James of the CIA." She grinned as he tentatively shook her hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

~o~

Bill finally understood what people meant when they referred to being 'Down the rabbit hole.' First of all, Larson, the guy Taylor sent in to debrief him was the same linebacker that had abandoned him in the interrogation room. Bill didn't trust the guy, but he didn't have much choice either. He was fully debriefed then given a nice little vacation package for the next month. When he came back, they would have lined up a job for him. Apparently, not everyone in the company would be getting the same treatment, but no one else had been summarily knocked unconscious either.

What really bothered him was Taylor. He couldn't get over her. He really thought he knew her. This only confirmed the fact that one, women were complicated and two, he was way too trusting. Then again, VanTerran had been fooled too, so maybe it was ok. Maybe she was just really good at her job.

Larson was studying him carefully from the other side of the desk and it made Bill uncomfortable. "So?"

Larson frowned slightly. "You seem familiar. Have we met before?"

Bill shook his head. "I'm sure I'd remember you."

"Must have one of those faces, hm?" Larson slid a piece of paper across the desk and tapped the bottom with a pen. "I just need you to sign here."

Bill glanced up, his train of thought broken and squinted at the paper. "What is it?"

"Standard non-disclosure agreement. You don't talk about what happened, to anyone, period. And you don't sue over that little bump you've got there." Larson leaned back in the chair and Bill was pretty sure that the big man was capable of squishing his head with one meaty palm.

"I suppose I'm not allowed to leave without signing it?"

Larson laughed. "No, you're not. But really, it's pretty standard. And frankly, you'd never get away with suing us anyway."

Bill frowned. "I feel like I should have a lawyer read over this or something."

Larson shrugged. "Be my guest. Officer James drew up the papers herself, though. So I'd bet my right arm that every 'i' is dotted and every 't' is crossed."

He felt like he shouldn't trust Taylor. He felt like he was being foolish. But something told him to just get it over with. He wouldn't walk out the door until they were satisfied that he would keep his mouth shut. Bill sighed and signed on the dotted line.

"Thank you, Mr. Martin." Larson took back the pen and filed the document. "Come with me and I'll show you out."

Bill's brows shot up. "Out, like, out out? Like I can go home out?"

Larson nodded. "Unless you want some more of Patrick's coffee."

Bill shook his head vehemently. "No, thank you. Home would be perfect."

Larson smiled. "Well, alright then."

~o~

Taylor rested her chin in her palm and drummed her fingers on the immaculate table. She was bored. Tired and bored. Tired, bored, and fidgety. She wanted to go home. It wasn't enough to be back in her own clothes, she wanted to go home and shower and feed her cat and sleep in her own bed. But Patrick was being anal again. Ripping apart each and every second of the mission. Did it go perfectly? Of course not. But nothing was perfect. This was a damn close approximation to perfect though.

"James, why did you feel the need to strike the prisoner?" Patrick asked.

God he was annoying some times. "Why have I felt the need to hit you in the past, Patrick?"

Patrick frowned. "Officer James, please answer the question."

Wilson nudged her under the table and she shot him a dirty look. They all wanted to get home. "Fine," she muttered. "The bastard had it coming."

"He had it coming?" Patrick snapped. "You broke his nose!"

"And I'm proud of it. First of all, he was trying to run." Taylor shrugged. "Secondly, the fucker tried to touch me. I don't like people touching me. And he was a douche bag. He deserved it."

"I assume that the touch you're referring to is the same as in your previous report?"

"Yes. The same. He would have raped me if he could. Happy?"

Patrick opened his mouth to rebuke her, but the door swung open. "What?!" he spun on the officer standing breathless in the entryway. "Monty, what do you want?"

"James, did you leave anything important at the apartment?" the young man asked.

Taylor frowned. "What, like the front?"

Monty nodded. "Anything of value?"

"No," Taylor shook her head. "I think I cleaned it before I went in. There was never really anything there though. Why?"

Monty winced. "It's gone."

"What's gone?" She was on her feet.

"The apartment. Burned to the ground about an hour ago." Monty saw the look on her face and regretted what he had to say next. "It gets worse."

"Tell me," she commanded.

"I ran a check through the different services. There are at least seven people from the company missing or dead, three turned up shot. I don't have the details, but I'm sure they'll look like gangland murders. Two of the partner companies have gone off the grid. It's like they didn't exist. And there have been four other house fires this afternoon. I'm not positive, but I think they're all employees'."




The Program Ch. 03



"Mother fucker," Taylor's eyes flashed. "When did we release VanTerran?"

Monty winced again. "About an hour ago."

"That son of a bitch is cleaning house," she snapped.

"There's no way anyone could put something like this together this quickly," Patrick interjected. "Even someone well connected."

"It's not from scratch. He must have had the plans in place. It would only have been another two weeks before the money rolled in." Wilson frowned thoughtfully. "I mean; I figured he was calculating, but this is crazy. At least we still have Matthews in custody."

"James, you did the profile. Was this anywhere in the realm of possible?"

Taylor stared at the table for a minute. "Yes," she said finally. "He has connections to people that dangerous enough to get this done. We've got to pick him up. No, wait! Monty," her eyes widened. "Did we cut Martin loose?"

Monty glanced at the faces around the room for a second. "Um, yeah. I think so. Maybe two minutes ago. I saw Larson walking him downstairs."

"Fuck," Taylor took off like a shot. She ran at a dead sprint down the hall, weaving around the officers going about their daily activities. She reached the railing and slammed into it, searching the foyer for Larson or for Bill. "Larson!"

The large man tucked his cell phone into his breast pocket and looked up, "James?"

"Where's Martin?" She headed for the stairs, her heels skidding on the polished floor.

"I just checked him out. He's probably still on the front walk taking in the sights." Larson jerked a thumb over his shoulder as Taylor nearly collided with him. "Why? What's wrong?"

Taylor pushed past him and out the front doors. The sunlight was blinding and she panicked, shielding her eyes to search for Bill. There were clusters of tourists and office workers milling about the front of this building, the surrounding offices, and the lawn. "Martin!" she shouted. He turned, no more than fifty yards away.

"Taylor?"

She shoved past a few of the tourists. God tourists were annoying. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back toward the old headquarter building. "You have to come with me."

He tugged his arm free. "Taylor, I signed the damn forms, alright? I don't know what else to tell you."

Taylor glanced nervously around the open courtyard. There was a lot of open space surrounded by a lot of tall buildings with too many windows. "Bill, seriously, inside. Now."

He furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Damnit, Bill," she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door.

It sounded like a cough. Maybe if someone had sneezed a few feet away. But a puff of concrete exploded from the ground no more than a foot from where they were standing. Taylor cursed and shoved Bill behind the nearest pillar. They were too far from the doors. HQ would go on lock down. They'd be stuck outside. Fuck!

A series of shouts and screams came from the clumps of tourists as two more shots buried in the sidewalk. The civilians scattered, their movement making it difficult to see anything in the distant buildings. Taylor only knew the vague direction of the shooter and it made her nervous. She pulled her service pistol and her phone. "Call Wilson. Tell him what's happening." She pressed the phone into Bill's hand and took a small step back. "And for the love of all that is holy, don't you dare move." A chunk of the pillar exploded near Bill's head and he flinched, clutching the phone to his ear. Taylor cursed again and adjusted her position, keeping the pillar directly between her and the probable location of the shooter.

"James, where the hell did you go?" Wilson snapped on the other end of the phone.

"No, this is Bill. There's someone shooting at us." He tried to keep the panic from coming through in his voice, but the shouts of the other people rattled him almost as much as the exploding concrete.

"What?!" Wilson paused on the other end. "Put the phone on speaker!" Bill found the button for speaker and turned it on. "Taylor, what the fuck is going on?"

Taylor had her gun pointed roughly at Bill, imagining the trajectory through the pillar. "Now isn't a good time, Wilson," she said coolly. Her head bobbed out to the side and back to centre. She didn't see the shooter, but she damn well saw the barrel of the sniper rifle. Two more bullets buried themselves in the pillar behind her. Well, the guy was persistent, she'd give him that. Maybe two shots in the shooter's area and she'd buy them a bit of time.

"Damnit, James! Tell me what's going on!" Wilson shouted.

Taylor dropped the safety from her gun and Bill almost dropped the phone. "Taylor, don't shoot at me!"

"Shut up," she hissed. "I'm not going to shoot you. Just don't move." She tightened her grip on the pistol and dove out to the other side, her body completely leaving the shelter of the pillar. She rolled, coming up on one knee and squeezed off two shots before rolling back and righting herself.

"Did you just shoot someone?!" Taylor had to smile at the tone in Wilson's voice. He must be damn near having a heart attack now.

She took another brief duck to the side and didn't see the gun anymore. "I don't think I hit them, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't!"

She shook her head, holstered her weapon, and took the phone from Bill, switching the speaker off. "Wilson, send a team over to the Asotherm Building. There was a sniper, sixth or seventh floor, nothing fancy. I'm going to take my chances and come back inside." She gave Bill a small smile and patted his chest. "No, he's fine. Yeah, sure, if you want. Nothing says stealthy than a mob of suits." She grinned. "Ha! You know me. Do me a favour and make sure Patrick doesn't get the chance to have paperwork ready for me. I really want to go home."

Bill slid down the pillar, dropping heavily to the sidewalk. He was still breathing heavily and looked a little green around the gills. Taylor squatted in front of him. "You ok?"

He nodded then shook his head. "I dunno. I guess I'm whole, right?"

She chuckled. "Bill Martin, one. Chad VanTerran, zero."

~o~

Bill had actually thought he was going to wet his pants. When he left the headquarters building, he had assumed he'd never see Taylor again. Then, she came running after him and, in a completely un-Taylor manner, she ordered him around. He was being difficult when he didn't listen to her, but he'd never make that mistake again.

He didn't really understand what was happening until he had his back to a pillar and there were chunks of marble exploding near his head. Toss in what sounded like an extremely agitated Wilson on the phone and Taylor with her gun out... God it was a wonder he hadn't vomited on the sidewalk.

And worst of all, Taylor had taken evasive action in a pantsuit, made elegant use of a firearm, and she didn't bat an eyelash. It was as if nothing had happened. She was right back on the phone, cracking jokes with Wilson. Who the fuck was this girl?

Bill splashed another handful of water on his face and inspected himself in the mirror. A small spatter of cuts near his left temple from the flying chunks of concrete stood out against the pallor of his skin. He looked awful. But, he was alive, and that had to count for something. He quickly dried his hands and face and stepped out of the bathroom.

Larson was waiting for him. "Hey kid, I've got a present for you." He handed over a duffel bag and laptop case. Bill gazed at him warily and the man smiled in response. "We sent someone to your apartment. Pardon the intrusion, but we snagged some clean clothes, a few personal effects, and your laptop. A few other items that will be hard to replace have been carefully stored, so there's nothing really but the bare furniture left."

"Why?" Bill hefted the bags onto his shoulder.

"He's been burning homes. He got Taylor's apartment and that's what tipped us off. We're staking out yours, but just in case we get distracted or he gets around us, you won't lose anything."

"Oh." Bill followed the man down the hall. "So, where do I go?"

"Tonight, you're bunking here. We have a series of reses attached to the building. It isn't much more than a room with a bed and a bathroom, but it's better than the alternative." Larson pulled a swipe key from his pocket and handed it to Bill. "This will get you into the kitchen and the TV room, as well as your room for the night." He gave him a broad smile. "Think of it as a night in a shady motel. It's about the closest thing to it without the dirty sheets."

Bill tried to smile, but all he felt was exhausted. "Thank you."

"I think James will be in tomorrow to pick you up. We'll move you to a safehouse until we get this all squared away." Bill nodded and dropped his bag on the bed. It was a small room, but it was better than being dead. Larson gave him a pat on the back. "Get some sleep, kid, you look like hell."

Bill managed a weak smile before Larson left him alone. God, he was tired. He didn't even bother to change, only removed his shoes and tie and collapsed on the bed. His mind seemed to be whirring at a hundred miles an hour, but he couldn't make heads or tails of the images that spun past. The only thing that seemed to come into focus in the middle of everything was Taylor. She was good at her job. Cool, calm, collected. She dressed business, acted business, was all business. And she saved his life.

He sighed and closed his eyes, the storm of images continuing, but he couldn't stay awake any longer. He fell into a fitful sleep, the chaos of the day dominating his restless dreams.

~o~ 

Taylor wrapped the large fluffy towel around her body and padded out of the bathroom leaving wet footprints on the tiles and hardwood floors. She snatched her hairbrush from her dresser and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed to brush the tangles from her hair. A small, dark shadow appeared at her side and she smiled. "Hey there Lexis." The little, black cat purred contentedly as she stroked it. "I missed you too honey. Did Patrick feed you enough?"

The cat meowed loudly and Taylor laughed, "Alright, alright, I'll get you some more food." She scooped up the kitten and carried her toward the kitchen. A knock on her door had her pausing mid stride. She frowned and unlocked the door, opening it just wide enough to see into the hallway. "Oh, hi." She stepped back and held the door open.

Wilson had an approving grin on his face as he stepped into the apartment. "Oh, hi," he repeated back. "Couldn't keep your pants on, I see."

"Couldn't break into this apartment I see." Taylor set the cat down and headed for the kitchen. "Close the door, you'll let all the cold air in." She took her time feeding Lexis and pouring two glasses of wine. "Tell me you have food in those bags," she said as she stepped back into the sitting room.

Wilson had made himself at home, settling in the corner of the sofa. "I do have food in these bags," he smiled, accepting the wine she held out to him. "How long has it been since you had some decent sushi?"

"Oh my God, I love you." She flopped on the couch next to him. He tugged gently on the towel over her exposed cleavage. "Hm, I think I love you too."

She swatted at his hand. "If you want to do anything of the sort you'd better feed me first. I haven't had anything but coffee since breakfast. Even the cat has been fed."

Wilson twisted a wet strand of her hair around his finger. "Fine, but you'd better put on some clothes if you expect me to wait. Because this towel is totally unfair."

She gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, but you have that sushi ready to eat when I get back." Halfway to her room and without breaking stride, she dropped the towel on the floor and continued into the bedroom. She could hear Wilson's groan as she shut the door. 

Rather than waste time actually dressing, Taylor pulled out a silk robe and twisted her wet hair up, pinning it in place with two hair sticks. Feeling aptly clothed, she returned to the sitting room. Wilson had laid out small plates of sushi on her coffee table. "That is not clothing," he said dryly.

"It's not a towel. Deal with it." She settled in the armchair next to the couch and picked up a piece of what she hoped was a Philadelphia roll and popped it in her mouth. It was heaven. 

Wilson frowned when she reached for a second piece and caught her wrist. "Don't eat with your hands; I have no idea where they've been."

Taylor huffed and leaned back on the chair, crossing her arms. "Look, Wilson, I'm starving. So you have about thirty seconds to give me an alternative or I start biting."

"Brat," he muttered with a smile, producing a pair of chopsticks for her. He watched her while they ate, and while she noticed, she tried to ignore him. She was hungry. By the time she'd eaten her fill, she'd also had enough of his staring.

"Alright, Wilson, either take a picture or quit it. You're really starting to bug me."

Wilson sighed. "Look, Taylor..."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't do talking. We've been through this."

"How do you know I want to talk?"

"You have this look on your face. So either get out of your pants or just get out."

He was amazed at how cold she could be when she tried. "Is it really that simple for you?"

Taylor stretched her arms over her head with a sigh. No, of course it wasn't simple. It was far from simple. But right now, she didn't want to think about it. She didn't really want to think about anything. Thinking hurt. And Wilson provided a great escape from that. He always had. She saw how his eyes followed her movement, followed the folds of her robe as it slipped from her shoulder when she brought her arms down. He was just as simple as she was. "Why," she asked, rising to stand in front of him, "would you want things to be complicated?"

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders as she leaned close to him, the tilt of her body giving him a fantastic view into her robe. He shifted uncomfortably. "I never said I want things complicated," he choked out.

She took her time straddling his lap, letting her hands wander over his chest as she settled. "This," her fingers brushed through his hair, "is not complicated."

"Taylor," he groaned, his palms resting on her hips.

Her lips brushed across his before feathering light kisses along his jaw. His breath caught in his throat as her teeth grazed his earlobe and she smiled. "See, simple." Her hands slid the knot out of his tie and tugged it clear of his shirt, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.

"Taylor, stop," he whispered. She didn't. Her fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt as her lips returned to his. Her kisses were light, fleeting, teasing. She made him chase her and he hated himself for it. He had sworn to himself over and over again that he would stop. She was like a bad drug that he couldn't shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. They needed to talk. He needed her to understand. The silk of her robe brushed against his bared chest and he shivered. "No, stop," he tore his mouth away and held her at arms length.

Taylor's brow arched perfectly. "What?"

Wilson sucked in a breath. "I can't do this, Taylor. I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Do what?"

"This." He sighed and searched for the right words. "Look, Taylor, I care about you. I really do. You're brilliant, and sexy, and you can put most snipers to shame. But you have this wall around you that makes it impossible to get close to you."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Do you need to bring this up every time?" She pushed against his shoulders to leverage herself out of his lap but he held her in place. "Let go, Wilson."

"No," he said simply. "We're going to talk this time."

She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Oh God, he actually cared. She felt a little bubble of panic well up in her chest. That was not part of their deal. They were there for each other as teammates, or as a way to blow off steam, or to listen to a rant, or to yell about Patrick. But he wasn't supposed to care like that. The feeling of panic aggravated her. "You know the deal, there's no business," she hotly. "Now let me go."

"This isn't business. This is about you and me." He captured her hands and held them firmly to her sides. "I don't think I've ever said this to anyone before, but you bring out the absolute worst in me."

Taylor's eyes flashed. She didn't need this. Not today. All she had been looking forward to for the past few months was a shower in her glorious bathroom, her fluffy towels, a real meal, and sex in her king-sized bed. She didn't have to be that simpering Taylor Peters anymore, and she wasn't going to indulge this little fit that Wilson seemed to be having either. "How dare you," she hissed.

Wilson smiled wryly. "Don't get me wrong, Taylor. You bring out some great qualities as well, but when I'm alone with you, like this, you seem to just bring out the worst." Taylor tried to free her hands to hit him, but with the way she was sitting, it wasn't likely to go her way. "Nuh-uh," Wilson muttered, flipping her onto her back and pinning her down on the couch with his weight.

Taylor shrieked and tried to kick him, but the couch left her no room to move. "Get off of me!"

Wilson kissed her softly, pulling back just before she tried to bite him. "See, this is what I'm talking about. I am not a violent person. I don't want to fight with you. Not everything in life is a battle, Taylor. So I'm not going to fight with you anymore. And I don't want to just fuck you anymore."

Taylor glared. She was seeing red, she was so angry. "What? Fuck you!" she snapped. "I didn't force you to do anything. Don't blame your shit on me." With a huff, she turned her head to the side and stared into the corner of the couch.

"Taylor," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I feel as though this is mostly my fault."

"It is," she hissed.

"Not how you think." He kissed her cheek. "I thought I was doing the right thing, being there for you. I thought I was comforting you. And I kept telling myself that you'd come around, and you'd heal, and you'd go back to being you. But all you were doing was building walls. I promised Mick I'd look after you, and here I am fucking that up too."

Taylor clenched her jaw and pressed her eyes shut. Why was he doing this? Their arrangement was perfect. Why couldn't he just leave it alone? "This isn't about Mick," she said angrily.

"I know that there's stuff in your past that you're not proud of. And I've never asked you about it. I don't need to know. I've never pressed you about Mick either. But he was my best friend. I lost just as much as you did. Taylor?" he held both of her wrists in one hand and slid his palm along her cheek, tilting her face back to meet his.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she said coldly.

"Only because you won't tell me anything."

"And this is your solution? Bully it out of me?" She twisted her wrists in his grip.

"If that's what it takes."

"I've been doing just fine. You know I had to pass the shrinks to come back to active duty."

"No business. That's your rule, not mine."

"Asshole."

"I'm not taking that bait, Taylor." His smile was so sincere, so endearing and encouraging that it only made her want to cry. He could tell by the catch in her breathing that she was holding back. "You've been eating that guilt forever. Let it go."

"It won't change anything." She was too tired to maintain her anger.

He kissed her forehead. "It will change only what you decide to let it change."

"You'll hate me," she whispered.

He laughed. "Honey, if I don't hate you now..."

"Let me go," she said quietly. This time, he obliged, sitting back in the corner of the couch and letting her do as she pleased. Apparently, that was pacing. Taylor stalked back and forth on the hardwood floors, her bare feet barely making a sound. She stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Why now?"




The Program Ch. 03



"Why not now?"

She growled. "But things between us have been fine."

Wilson sat forward. "They have not been fine. Though, I suppose that would depend on how you define what's between us. Because at the moment, there's really nothing there."

"But," she flushed. She didn't want to define the sex they'd been having on and off for the past year and a half.

He saved her from that fate. "Oh, there's sex, but that's it. There's no emotion in it. Well, none beside this anger you seem to have."

"I'm not angry at you," she argued.

"I don't care what you're angry at." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But I can't believe you're not lonely."

She stared at him silently, internally debating what to say and how to say it. Nothing eloquent seemed to come to mind. "Did you know we were sleeping together?"

Wilson shrugged. "Yes and no. Mick never said, but I knew him well enough to know anyway."

Taylor resumed her pacing. "Did you... Did he ever explain how we knew each other?" 

She was more hesitant now, and Wilson found himself more attentive to her body language. Her pacing wasn't angry, it was nervous. "Not fully. Just that he knew you before college. Mick had a lot of friends back home that I never met. When I first met you, you were still finishing up at MIT. It was one of my first recruiting runs."

"Mick paid for my college," she said bluntly.

Wilson raised a brow. Now he was intrigued. "He never told me that."

"No one was supposed to know." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He was... I don't want to say like a brother, more like a saving grace. I didn't have much of a family to speak of."

"And Mick what? Found you on the streets, took you home, and decided to keep you like a stray?" Wilson shook his head. "Come on, Taylor."

"No! Fuck you," she said angrily. "God... No... My stepfather..." She stopped and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. "He got me out of a bad situation, alright." 

Wilson stared at the rigid line of her back. Damn, he was in over his head. He had no idea that things were running this deep with her. She seemed to calm herself down and started speaking again with a cold detachment that made him frown. "Mick and I hadn't seen each other for five years, but we had been in touch. Then he recruited me into the company. He told me that I was wasted on a desk job. He trained me. And then we just... It was a natural progression, I think. But then, Mick liked to take unnecessary risks in a lot of ways."

Wilson pushed himself up off the couch and moved to stand behind her. "It's part of what made him who he was, right?" He set his hands on her shoulders and felt the tremble that ran through her body.

"I didn't take it well. I know," she said softly. "I was horrible to you. I was awful to Patrick."

"Patrick deserved it. And that's why you were given the time off."

"No, I was ordered out. It was medical. The stress got to me..." She shuddered and a small sob escaped her lips.

Wilson wrapped his arms around and she practically slumped against him. "Hey, Taylor, it's ok. Everyone knew you and Mick were close. You needed time to heal." He guided her back to the couch. "No one blames you for that."

Taylor fleetingly met his gaze then studied the folds in her robe. She couldn't stop talking now. It was as if she had opened a floodgate. There was no turning back. "I lost the baby," she heard herself say, her voice barely a whisper.

"What?" Wilson stared. He didn't think he'd heard her right. Baby? Mick would have mentioned a baby. Hell, Mick would have been thrilled. So then, he musn't have known. "You never told him."

She shook her head miserably. "I had just found out. He wouldn't have let me in the field. Then with the hospital, and the GSW, and the funeral, and then..." she trailed off.

"Jesus, Taylor." Wilson shut his mouth quickly before he said something he'd regret. God, it all made sense. The way she disappeared for a few months, they way she had thrown herself into her work when she came back, the wall she built around herself, the fact that she never seemed to have any friends outside of the job. She must have been living in some kind of hell. And what did he do? He antagonised her every step of the way. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. She wasn't the job, the job was all she thought she had.

Taylor couldn't stand the silence. She had hoped Wilson would understand. But Mick had been his best friend. She'd hoped his outburst was just surprise, but with the ensuing silence, her hope for compassion faded fast. He'd made himself quite clear. He was angry with her. She knew she shouldn't have said anything. "Damnit," she muttered and stood, intent on resuming her pacing. "I shouldn't have told you."

Wilson reached out and snagged her arm, "What the hell are you talking about? Taylor, you need to tell me these things."

"Why?"

He felt himself colour under her scrutiny. The same old wall seemed to rise between them and he felt her pulling back. "Because. Damnit." Her eyes narrowed. That was smooth. He yanked her down into his lap.

There was a thudding noise that narrowly preceded the tinkle of broken glass. Taylor's head snapped around and she barely had time to recognise the small hole in her wall before she was on the floor, Wilson sprawling on top of her, and a shower of cotton and feathers filling the air as her couch and cushions exploded in the fusillade of bullets.



The Program Ch. 04



 Wow... I never thought it would take this long to get the next chapter up. My apologies to all who were waiting. Things got a little out of hand with my real job and still no lottery win, sad. But, things have cleared up a bit, so I should have a bit more time to write for the next little while. Yay!

Now, I wrote this chapter in pieces, so I hope it flows as well as I think it does. But it's nice and long (my thanks to you for waiting). Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy it!

Thanks for reading!

~ewebie 

~~o~~

The hardwood floor hit harder than Taylor expected and she grunted as her shoulder became reacquainted with her sternum. It didn't help that Wilson landed on top of her. She sucked in a difficult breath as her eyes welled. "Damnit, Wilson!" she coughed when she found her voice, pushing at his shoulders to wiggle out from beneath him. A constant spatter of bullets tore into her couch and she moved to grab the cordless phone from the coffee table. The phone exploded before she could reach it. She shrieked and snapped her hand back.

Wilson's arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her back down into the shelter of the thickest part of the couch. "Do you have a death wish or something?!"

"Where's your gun?"

He tilted his head toward the coat rack where his suit jacket was hanging. "Not that it'll help, but where's yours?"

She frowned, jumping slightly as a puff of cotton exploded through the couch. "Bedroom."

"Under your pillow, eh?" He laughed. It may have been a bit of an inappropriate response, but he'd been shot at before and this was almost ridiculous.

"Bite your tongue," she hissed. "Where's your phone?"

"With my gun."

"Well that's great," she snapped, her eyes darting around the room, looking for her cell phone or any sort of helpful tool. 

Wilson frowned when she stared at the food and raised a brow. "You can't possibly be hungry."

"Can you reach the soy sauce without losing a finger?" She shot a look over her shoulder as he snatched the full bottle from the table.

"Dare I ask?"

"No. Just do me a favour. Roll over and play dead."

"What?!"

"Better ideas? None? Didn't think so. Now roll over and play dead. Just make sure that damn sniper sees you fall, but be out of his sights once you're down."

Wilson glared at her for a moment. She was certifiable. But he didn't have any good ideas. "Fine." He inched forward and waited for another bullet to pass through the couch. He lurched forward, his arms passing over his head in a wave and caught himself against the floor. "That work?" he asked quietly, inching back. He slipped between her and the couch, keeping low, making sure his feet didn't stick out from behind their shield. 

"Brilliant. Don't move." Taylor pulled the lid off the bottle. Wilson's phone began to ring in his coat. "I think that one's going to voicemail," she muttered. With the next round of bullets, Taylor poured the soy sauce onto the floor slowly, letting the dressing form a pool that spread out into the centre of the room.

Wilson blinked. Maybe it did look a little like blood. "You are either absolutely insane or ridiculously brilliant," Wilson murmured.

"Shush!" Taylor's face twisted into something of a grimace as she listened for any more shots.

They lay on the floor for a good five minutes before daring to move. There were no more bullets, but neither of them wanted to risk exposure yet. Wilson's phone finally stopped ringing and a new ring startled them both. "Is that your phone?"

Taylor nodded. "It must have fallen under the couch."

Wilson's eyes narrowed and he glared down at her where she laid huddled on the floor. "You have to be kidding me." He dug under the now destroyed piece of furniture, producing her cell with an angry frown. "It was there the whole time?"

"Apparently." She took it from him. "James." The expression on her face changed as she smiled bitterly and her voice became saccharine sweet. "Oh hi, Patrick. You did, did you? No, I'm well aware that we have a problem. How? Oh, I don't know, maybe because I'm huddled behind my BULLET RIDDEN COUCH!" Wilson winced. When she was this angry, she was not someone to trifle with. Her voice dropped back to a softer level, "No, the only reason I'm alive is that the fucker thinks I'm dead. No, I won't go check! Yes, that would be lovely. Oooh, a whole team? Really, Patrick? How sweet. You do that." 

She shot a glance at Wilson. "No he's not dead. Actually, he's here with me. Do me a favour and make it seem like the team is reporting to a murder scene. I think being dead will be easier than being alive right now. Yeah. No. Where the fuck do you think I'm gonna go? Fine. Just make it quick."

When she hung up the phone and turned, Wilson's face was only inches from her own. She started. "Don't do that."

He grinned, caught her chin in his palm and kissed her hard. "Don't move," he murmured against her lips. "You're supposed to be dead."

"You're going to be dead," she growled. 

It was an empty threat and they both knew it. Wilson chuckled and kissed her again. "How long did Patrick say it would be?"

Taylor sucked in a breath as his hand snaked into the folds of her robe. "What are you doing?" 

He grinned and continued to caress her bare skin. "Maybe I'm celebrating being alive after such a dangerous, near death experience," he whispered, kissing the exposed skin of her neck.

"Well, stop it," she swatted at his hands. "You're the one who said you didn't want to do this anymore."

He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled. "Alright then, we still need to finish our talk."

Taylor groaned and wrinkled her nose. She seemed to contemplate it for a moment, then she frowned. "No, I don't think so. Get off of me, you lug." And she gave him shove that knocked him clean off of her.

~o~

Bill woke with a start, still exhausted and completely disoriented. The knock on the door repeated and he managed to croak out, "Yeah?"

Larson stuck his head in the room. "Sorry, kid. Shit's about to get heavy out here and I think you might want to get up now."

"What the heck time is it?" Bill asked, more tired than angry.

"Just after five." Larson paused and looked down the hall before glancing back at Bill. "James is on the war path, and I'm not entirely sure you should still be in bed when she gets here. Just some honest advice. Up and at 'em."

When the door closed again, Bill fumbled for the light. He winced as it flicked on. He was still exhausted. With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and jammed his feet into his shoes. From here on out, he was going to go with self-employment. No job was worth this shit. He headed toward the kitchen. Coffee, he needed coffee.

Two minutes of struggling with the pot and he was ready to give up and go back to bed, or maybe he'd risk the instant coffee in that rather old looking container. But the door slammed open and Taylor stormed in, tossing a duffel bag into the corner and setting a small carrier and coffee holder on the counter. "I don't give a fuck what you want, Patrick!" she yelled over her shoulder. 

Bill opened his mouth, but nothing came to mind. She was obviously upset about something and the tone in her voice seemed wholly unnatural based on the Taylor he knew. But rather than making her unattractive, the anger seemed to make her glow. Her dark hair contrasted sharply with the pallor of her skin, and the emotion had brought a heated flush to her cheeks. His eyes flicked down momentarily and he couldn't help but realize that pantsuits fitted to a woman like Taylor were probably the cause of most workplace affairs. Maybe self-employment was overrated.

She eyed Bill for a moment. "Don't do that," she muttered, pulling the instant coffee out of his hand and tossing it back in the cupboard.

An unassuming man who Bill could only describe as average height and normal build followed Taylor into the room. Bill placed him somewhere near fifty, and in a neat, grey, pinstriped suit and glasses, Bill thought the man looked like an accountant. His voice was mellow and calming in spite of Taylor's tone, "James, you can't just leave the cat in the offices, that's a terrible idea and you know it."

Taylor spun around. "Lexis isn't staying here, you're taking her home with you."

"What? No." Patrick adjusted his glasses. "The last time I did that, you almost didn't get her back, I won't let my daughter grow attached to her again."

Taylor frowned. "Gee, Patrick, how about I leave her at my place and you can stop by and feed her until I go home." Bill stepped back. He could feel the anger radiating like heat off of Taylor. "Oh, yeah, that's right. My apartment was SHOT TO PIECES!"

"What?" Bill flinched. He hadn't meant to say anything. He was better off not seen and not heard. Taylor turned on him, her eyes flashing green. Damn, Bill thought, his stomach clenched involuntarily, though whether it was from fear or attraction, he couldn't quite say. Colour slowly crept up his face. 

Taylor seemed to deflate when she took in his dishevelled appearance. Patrick cleared his throat and Taylor sighed heavily. "Morgan Patrick, Bill Martin. Patrick is my boss," she stepped back allowing the two men to shake hands.

"Mr. Martin, I'm sorry for all this. And let me apologise for the rather sharp tongue on my officer, here." Patrick's voice couldn't hide the teasing nature of his statement, and Bill instantly liked the man. Taylor narrowed her eyes angrily at Patrick. "You know, James, he looks an awful lot like..."

She stepped between them. "Enough, Patrick." She turned to Bill and pressed a warm Starbuck's cup into his hand and turned him toward one of the doors. "Fresh brewed. Showers are through there. I need you awake and working in half an hour."

Bill half expected her to pat him on the butt on his way out of the room. He took a sip of the coffee and smiled, "I can do that."

~o~

Taylor paced the conference room like a caged beast. It bothered her that Patrick was so calm. No, it actually pissed her off. "James, grab a seat," he said carefully.

"You grab a seat," she snapped back. When Patrick chuckled at her, she fixed him with her best withering stare. Maybe she could make him burst into flames in that chair.

"Taylor," he cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. "Please sit."

"I think better on my feet," she muttered.

"You're making me dizzy."

"Wouldn't want to do that," she was practically snarling. She needed to go for a run and blow off some of this pent up aggression before she actually offended Patrick. "Not like you've had a bad night."

"Taylor," he said more firmly. "Stop it."

She turned to face him and saw the contrite expression on his face. For someone so exacting as Patrick, he looked ruffled. She noticed that his shirt was wrinkled, his tie was just off centre, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She sighed, "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," he said evenly. "This never should have happened."

"How the fuck did this happen? NCS files are supposed to be impenetrable." She flopped into one of the chairs and drummed her fingers on the table.

"That's the problem. We don't know. This has never happened before. I need you to work on it."

She looked up suddenly. "Don't we have a whole department that does that sort of thing?"

Patrick nodded slowly. "But we can't let news of this get out. Plus, and I hate to blame other people, if someone made a mistake that opened us to this hack, I'd bet on it being one of the guys down there. Our officers are too careful to do anything so stupid."

Taylor resumed drumming her fingers on the table. "Why me?"

"I trust you."

"I'm going to need full access here, Patrick."

"I trust you."

She furrowed her brow. "Yeah, I don't know if I want that responsibility. You know what you're asking me to do?"

Patrick rose and smiled gently. "Taylor, you're the best we have up here. There is no other choice. And frankly, there's almost no way you could be further invested in the company."

"That's a nice way of saying I have no life," she snorted.

Patrick turned her chair to face him and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Taylor, I love you like you're one of my own. You know that. Like the violent, foul-mouthed daughter I never had."

"Three days with Claire and I'll have her swearing like a sailor."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "No."

She sighed. "Fine. I need the entire network off line. Absolutely no access outside of this building. I'll be as fast as I can. Send a warning to the international offices and route them through Interpol. I need three terminals with unrestricted access, let's put them in this room. I'm going to have Martin work with me on this. I need Wilson as a runner. And that can be the extent of it. You, me, Martin, Wilson. It stays in this office."

"You sure about Martin?"

Taylor nodded. "The man is a boy scout. And I need his experience. I've been out of the tech business for the past few years."

"Fine. He's in."

"Anything in your file you want to warn me about before I store it away in my bedtime reading file, Sir?"

Patrick smiled and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "That's my girl."

~o~ 

Wilson spun slowly in the chair, "What do you want me to do again?"

Taylor glanced up from the keyboard and shot him a grin. "You're supposed to entertain me, be my moral support, and make sure I don't run out of coffee."

"Coffee will stunt your growth. Oh, wait, too late," he smirked as she shot him a dirty look. He glanced down as he felt something brush against his leg and scooped up Lexis. "I see Patrick is letting you keep this little thing here."

"Actually," Patrick said from the doorway. "I'm going to take the fur-ball home with me tonight. I have Mr. Martin with me and I've briefed him on the situation if you want to get started."

"Already on it, boss." Taylor gestured Bill to one of the terminals with a tilt of her head. "I'm tracing back all the access to my file. Eventually I'll find one that doesn't belong."

"How long is that going to take?" Patrick asked.

Taylor stopped typing for a moment and turned to face him. "That all depends."

"On?"

"Well, how careful the hackers were, if they were destructive, how much was accessed, and whether you want me to clean the system first or ID the files accessed first." She glanced at Bill. "We could split the work and get through it faster that way, but it'll take an hour or two at bare minimum. Then however long it takes to gird up the security to prevent it from happening again."

Patrick adjusted his glasses and smoothed his tie. "You know we can't be offline too long. Just get it done as fast as you can however you can."

"Aye aye, Captain." Taylor spun back to the terminal and her fingers punched keys as data flashed across the screen. 

"And Wilson," Patrick eyed his officer. "I know neither of you slept much last night, but keep her sharp."

"Y'sir." He grinned at Taylor. "Hear that," he swatted her thigh. "Stay sharp or you answer to me."

Taylor grumbled, "Go to hell, Wilson."

"Still sharp, sir," Wilson told Patrick. Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Hey, boy scout." Taylor leaned around her computer screen.

"Yeah?" Bill had watched the exchange with growing curiosity and confusion.

"I'm already elbows deep in the files themselves. I've started a program trace on that terminal. Do me a favour and figure out how the hell they got in?"

Bill's eyes grew wide. He was a good programmer, and security and firewall was his specialty, but this system was above and beyond his experience. "Really?"

Taylor grinned. "You're better at it than I am. Get cracking."

"Ok," he said hesitantly, taking a moment to familiarise himself with the system. "Here goes nothing."

"Oh, and Wilson?" Taylor lifter her mug and shook it. "I'm empty. Splash of milk, two sugars."

Wilson groaned and pushed out of the chair. "Fine," he snatched the mug. "But Lexis is coming with me." Wilson stomped from the room with the small cat draped over one shoulder. He'd probably come back with that horrid instant coffee from the kitchen, or maybe worse, some of Patrick's sludge. But sending Wilson kept her from losing her place. Taylor let page after page of information fly by as she followed the line of commands that had opened the NCS profiles.

"If everything is under control here," Patrick waited for a nod from Bill. "Then I'll leave you to it."

"Oh fuck me," Taylor whispered, the colour draining from her face. "Wilson!" she shouted.

"What's wrong?" Patrick was at her side in a matter of moments. She pointed to the screen. "Taylor, I have no idea what I'm looking at."

"This," she pointed to the screen, "is my list of the information hacked last night. I'm not done, but..." Wilson returned to lean over her other shoulder and looked at the screen. "This," her finger tapped under one of the names, "is Wilson's personal profile."

"What?" Wilson watched as a stream of information ran across the screen.

"Danny," Taylor whispered.

Wilson froze. "Why would they..."

Patrick gave him a shove toward the door. "Go, I'll have a team at your back in five minutes."

Wilson was out the door before Bill could formulate an appropriate question, and he watched as Patrick stormed neatly out of the room. "Taylor, what's wrong?"

"Pick up," she muttered into the phone. "Pick up, pick up, pick up." She shook her head as she cradled the receiver to her ear. Bill could hear as the call connected. "Danny?" Taylor shot out of her seat. "Danny, hi, no, where are you right now?" A small flush of colour filled her cheeks as she visibly relaxed. "I need you to stay there. Do you understand me? No, Danny, I'll explain later. I need you to lock your door and stay away from the windows. Josh will be there in a few minutes. Do not open the door for anyone else. Clear?"

Taylor ran a hand through her hair. "Good. Just, be careful. I'll see you soon." Taylor choked out a laugh. "No, you're right. This is terrible. I've got to give Josh a call. Don't answer your phone after this. And..." Taylor trailed off as the voice on the phone piped up. She laughed again. "Right, got it. See you soon."

As the call disconnected, she was already punching in a new number. "Wilson. She's in the offices." She paused. "No, I told her that. No, no, yes, Wilson, listen. Door is locked, she's not going to open it for anyone but you. Just floor it, ok?" The corner of Taylor's mouth pulled into a small grin. "Yeah, yeah. I'm on it. Be safe."

She dropped the phone into the cradle and sat back down, massaging her temples with her fingertips. Bill waited for her to sigh before finally opening his mouth. "Who's Danny?"

Taylor glanced up; she'd forgotten he was there. She straightened and glanced at her computer screen before answering him. "Danny is a friend of mine. She works for one of the NPOs on the hill. Because she's political, she's got a file too. And they hacked it."

"So," Bill furrowed his brow. "Then, she has to come here?"

"Better safe than sorry," Taylor gave a shrug. "Anyway. Wilson will be there in about a minute, given how fast he drives. And he'd rather cut off his own arm than let someone hurt Danny."

Bill's brow furrowed as he contemplated what Taylor had said. Strange that Wilson seems to be the one that's so protective of one of Taylor's friends. "Do I have a file?"

Taylor laughed, stopping suddenly as he frowned. "No, why would you have a file?"

"I don't know," he muttered.

"Listen, Boy Scout, you're cleaner than a new bottle of bleach. You don't have a file, though, you probably will when we're done here." 

"Anyone in your file that you'll have to go get?"

She frowned and looked back at her screen. "No."

~o~

Wilson stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Damnit, Danny, the office will run without you for the rest of the day."




The Program Ch. 04



"Don't start with me, Josh," she snapped from her desk chair. "First you have Taylor call and scare the hell out of me, then you show up here and tell me that I have to leave. No. I have work to do."

Wilson glared. "Danny, you have about five seconds to grab your purse and get in the car, or so help me..."

"So help me, you'll what?" She turned and glared right back at him, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. "I'm twenty-seven years old. And you know what? You don't scare me anymore."

He rolled his eyes. "God, what did I do to be cursed with such stubborn women? You and Taylor are like two peas in a pod," he accused. "Last warning, Danny. Out, now, or I carry you out of here kicking and screaming."

"You wouldn't," she crossed her fingers. He could be bluffing.

He glanced around the office and picked up her bag, tossing her keys and phone into it. "Anything else you need, say it now."

"You can't!" she objected. "You'll cause a scene!"

"No," he stooped to meet her eye to eye. "You'll cause a scene. And you're the one that works here, not me. It's no skin off my ass. Last chance."

Danny crossed her arms. "You're bluffing."

Wilson shrugged, dropped her bag, and hauled her over his shoulder. She shrieked and tried to kick him, but only managed to kick her shoes off. He stooped, grabbed her shoes with his free hand and dumped them into her bag. Bag in one hand, the backs of her knees in the other, he grinned. "Keep kicking and screaming if you want. It's only your co-workers you'll scare."

He nodded to her boss as he headed out the door. "Family matter." The older man smiled and laughed, turning back to his stack of files.

"You are shameless!" she said with a huff.

"No, you know what's shameless? This skirt." He shifted, bouncing her against his shoulder as he dug in his pocket for the car keys.

"It's a business skirt," she objected.

"It's indecent."

"It comes down to my knees!"

He pulled open the front door of the Tahoe and dumped her unceremoniously in the front seat. "That wasn't what I was talking about." He dropped the bag at her feet and tossed her shoes into the back. "Stay."

She crossed her arms. "God, you're a pain in the ass."

He laughed and shut the door, darting around to the other side. The sooner he was back to Langley, the better he would feel.

~o~

"Hey, Taylor," Bill called around his console. "Does this look familiar to you?"

Taylor leaned over his shoulder and squinted at the codes. "Well I'll be damned," she whispered, punching a few keys. "You know what that is?" Bill nodded and she groaned. She pressed a button on the phone. "Patrick."

"Yeah?"

"How many people had access to the program when I sent it in?"

There was a rustle of papers followed by Patrick's voice, "About fifteen. Why?"

"It's in here. Either someone put it here intentionally or they put it on a personal laptop and it jumped when they brought it into the office or logged in."

"Tell me you're kidding," Patrick's voice was incredulous.

"Sorry."

"Can you fix it?"

She glanced at Bill. "I think so. We can't unaccess the files, but we can certainly keep it from happening again."

"Do it. Let me know when you're set."

She clicked off the phone, returning her attention to Bill. "Here," with a few more commands on his keyboard, she brought up another page of code. "This is your original coding. I want you to clean out the additives so there's no more access. Then," she drummed her fingers on her lips in thought. "Then I want you to see if you can write up a security program that can block this shit. Can you do that?"

Bill grinned. "With pleasure."

"I can put together the framework for the security, but that's about as much as I'm good for. How long do you think?"

"I can have this clean in a few minutes. The security will take a while, but I'm sure I can get something that runs in an hour or two."

A wide smile spread across her face and she impulsively kissed his cheek. "Brilliant."

Bill felt his face go red and he shrugged. "It's nothing."

~o~

Taylor had only just put her head down next to the keyboard. Her eyes were tired, her neck was sore, and she was mentally and emotionally drained. She just needed to close her eyes for a minute. Only a minute.

She started as a hand came down on her shoulder. She jerked to the side, grabbing the offending hand and twisting. Wilson yelped, turned out of her hold and catching both of her wrists. "Jesus, Taylor. I'd hate to see what would happen if I didn't try to wake you gently."

Taylor scoffed and relaxed. "How about you try not sneaking up on me." When he grinned, she shook her head. "Jerk. Where's Danny?"

He bobbed his head toward the door. "I sent her to the res. I figured she could make herself at home until we head out to the safe house."

Taylor rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, about that. We might have to change those plans."

"What? Why?"

She frowned, turning back toward her computer terminal. She brought up a list and gestured. "That's why. Of the information they hacked, they managed to find a list of safe houses we use. Not all of the CIA, but our team in particular. We're going to have to find a new one, like now. And that's only the half of it. Our exit strategies... Specifically yours and mine--worthless."

Wilson sighed. "Anyone else's?"

"No, thankfully." Taylor propped her chin in her hand. "But we're screwed." His hands came down on her shoulders again and his thumbs pressed into the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck. She groaned, "You missed your calling in life."

He chuckled. "Where's Martin?"

"I sent him to the res. He managed to piece something together to keep the program from hacking us again, and there should be a block to keep it from reinstalling itself. I figured he deserved a break. How'd you get Danny here anyway? Did you have to hog tie her?"

"Oh ye of little faith," he muttered, digging his fingers into tightness he found in her back. "She just needed some convincing."

"You didn't tell her that she wasn't going back to work tomorrow, did you?"

"Ok, fine. She still needs some convincing."

"And you're buttering me up to do that for you, huh?" Taylor closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his stomach.

He chuckled. "Everyone needs some convincing. Is it working?"

A small smile turned the corners of her mouth. "Just keep going. I'll tell you when it's worked."

Ten minutes later, Taylor managed to free herself from Wilson's hands and stood. He smiled wryly. "You know you look like hell."

She stretched and yawned. "Being dead is overrated. The hours are hell, and I don't think the pay is worth it. Now where's this sister of yours. I haven't seen her in ages."

"James!" Taylor jumped as the speaker on the phone blared with Patrick's voice.

"Yeah?"

"My office. We have a problem."

Taylor's brow furrowed as she glanced at Wilson. "Jesus, what now?"

~o~

Bill was finding it difficult to actually pay attention to the news. He had flicked through the channels and settled on one of the twenty-four hour news networks just before the woman had stormed into the room yelling into a cell phone. Rather than getting up, Bill thought it better to stay well enough out of sight, and watched her from the couch.

He wouldn't put her much taller than five-six, and she was decked out in an expensive looking, well fitted skirt and blouse. He watched as she tossed jet-black hair over her shoulder. There was a relatively firm exchange before she exploded, "I don't give a flying fuck what they asked for, Paul! Yeah, well, tell them no!" She slammed her phone shut. Bill was struck with a strange sense of recognition; there was something distinctly familiar about her. She heaved a sigh and muttered to herself as she turned to glance around the room.

Her eyes landed on Bill and a small blush suffused her cheeks. She smoothed her skirt and seemed to gather herself before crossing the room and extending her hand. "Sorry about that."

Bill rose and took her hand, momentarily surprised by how firm her grip was. "No problem," he grinned, seeing a pleasant twinkle in the woman's shockingly blue eyes. "Bill Martin."

She smiled back. "Danny Wilson. Pleasure to meet you."

~o~

"You should sit," Patrick said firmly. Taylor glared but took a seat next to Wilson. Patrick cleared his throat. "I know you interviewed Matthews earlier today."

Taylor nodded. "He said he had evidence against VanTerran, but that's all I got out of him. He didn't really know anything."

"He's dead," Patrick said flatly.

"What?!" Taylor exploded out of her seat. "He was supposed to be kept here! Who authorised his release?"

Patrick sighed, "No one. He was killed in his holding cell here on campus."

Taylor felt the colour drain from her face. "But..."

Patrick nodded. "There's someone working for VanTerran inside the NCS."

Taylor dropped back into her chair and rubbed her forehead. "We have to move Martin. And we have to do it now."

"I know. You've been thinking about new safe houses?"

Taylor nodded. "I have one that should work. It's not in the system, but we'll need some relief officers. There's no way Wilson and I can do this solo." She glanced at Wilson. "Plus there's Danny too. If we can keep together, it'd be better."

Patrick shifted his glasses. "Let's try and keep this in house."

Wilson frowned. "How do we know it isn't someone on our team?"

Taylor looked at him sharply. "Our team?"

"I've considered it," Patrick said softly. "But there's no way around it. I'd rather keep it restricted to one team. If there is a leak and it's coming from our team, we'll know rather quickly."

"Sounds a bit risky, don't you think?" Wilson murmured. "I mean, these are people's lives we're talking about. My sister..."

"Do you have a better idea?" Patrick asked calmly. Wilson sighed and shook his head. "Then we're agreed. James, I want you to set up this safe house of yours. No one needs to know about it until you and Wilson are set up there. You can pass on the details when it's time for a shift change."

Taylor nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

"I need both of you to re-file exit strategies before you go. Can we be ready to move in two hours?"

Taylor nodded slowly. "I want to go through Matthew's personal effects too."

"I'll get you the clearance, but we move in two hours." Patrick rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "I know I'm asking a lot of you both, but be safe."

"Aye aye, captain," Wilson grinned as they stood. Taylor stalked to the door, her mind already churning through the problem of a new exit strategy. 

"And keep an eye on that one?" Patrick tilted his head in Taylor's direction.

"I heard that," she muttered as she exited the office.

Wilson shook his head and followed her out of the room. "What do you want to do first?"

Taylor glanced up and shrugged. "I'm going to toss Matthew's stuff, see if I can find anything. You have an exit strategy in mind?"

Wilson frowned. "Sort of."

"It can't be Mick's," she said softly.

"It's not."

"Mick's is the last resort."

He nodded, "I know."

"Then you go figure out your stuff, I'll come find you when I'm done downstairs." Taylor rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. "And do me a favour, you tell Danny what has to happen."

"I'd rather eat my shoe."

"I'll feed you mine if you don't."

He grinned. "Any time, any where."

"Child," she scoffed. "Go think."

~o~

"Wilson? As in Officer Wilson?" Bill suddenly knew why she looked familiar. She had the same dark hair, the same blue eyes, and the same slightly annoyed look on her face. Cross your fingers she doesn't hit like him too, right? he thought wryly.

Danny rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you work with him. Just when I was thinking you were cute." She sighed and dropped gracefully into an armchair.

Bill flushed, "Not exactly." He sat on the couch cautiously. "I mean, I don't work for the CIA."

"And yet you're acquainted with my brother." Her eyes narrowed and Bill shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "You certainly don't look like an officer, and you damn well aren't dressed like one. You're not wearing a badge, so you don't work in this building. And you're not old or fat enough to be an outside consultant. So that begs the question, what are you doing here?" 

Bill frowned. "Well, I..." He stopped short as she grabbed his hand and flipped it over in her lap, her fingers trailing over his palm.

"Definitely work with your hands, or at least you aren't afraid of a little hard work," she murmured. Bill felt his face go red, the sensation of her fingers sending a warm tingling up his arm. "And these calluses look like, well," her eyes flit up to his face, a small smile turning the corner of her lips as she saw the discomfort in his eyes. "Maybe an athlete."

"Heh," Bill laughed nervously as the woman leaned in closer.

She reached up and adjusted his glasses slightly. "The glasses are a nice touch. They make you look a little like Clark Kent."

The sound of someone clearing his throat had Bill jumping out of his seat. Wilson crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door jam, his eyes angrily narrowed at Bill. "Well this looks cosy."

Bill took a step back. He didn't like the look Wilson was giving him and he certainly didn't fancy getting hit again. Danny leaned back casually in the chair. "Oh, Josh, give it a rest." She turned to Bill, "Sit, really, his bark is worse than his bite." Bill glanced between the two. He didn't want to get in the middle of anything. Danny chuckled. "You weren't lying, you really don't work here."

"No he doesn't." Wilson rolled his eyes in a manner reminiscent of his sister. "Danny, we need to talk." She groaned and Bill took another step back. "Sit down Martin, you need to hear this too."

~o~

Taylor closed the door to her office as she left and locked it. She hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours and her head was absolutely pounding. But everything was ready to go. It hadn't taken long to file a new exit; she always had three or four of her own to fall back on. Call it paranoia, call it preparedness, she wouldn't be left hanging. She shifted the duffel on her shoulder and studied the small pin she held in her hand. It was the only thing from Matthew's belongings that caught her attention. There was something about it that seemed out of place. She'd give it more attention later. For now, they needed to get out of here. So she headed to gather Wilson and their guests. She heard the yelling from down the hall and groaned. Goddamnit Wilson. She braced herself and shoved the door open. 

The scene almost made her laugh. Danny was standing toe to toe with her older and taller brother shouting him down. Poor Bill was making himself as small as possible in the corner of the couch, but he was trapped there in close proximity to the shouting siblings. 

"You can't do this to me, Josh! I have a job. I have a life!"

"Damnit, Danny, you're not listening. This isn't a choice!"

Taylor leaned over the back of the couch and whispered in his ear, "They're like children aren't they?"

Bill nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to face Taylor. "Are they always like this?"

Taylor grinned. "You should see them fight over the tv remote." Bill gave a nervous chuckle and turned back toward the two warily. Taylor straightened and took a deep breath. "If you two don't stop this bickering, I'm grounding you both."

Wilson froze with his mouth open, a small blush touching his cheeks as he ducked his head with chagrin. But Danny was far from fazed. She turned with a gleeful shriek and launched herself at Taylor, wrapping her in a huge hug. Taylor oofed as Danny collided with her, but laughed and returned the hug with enthusiasm.

"Taylor! How the hell are you? I haven't seen you in ages! I keep telling Josh that we need get together, but he never listens to me." Danny released her and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Taylor gave her a wry smile. "What's that look for?"

She sighed, "We're going to get a chance to spend that time together now, Danny." Taylor watched the smile wash off of her friend's face. Damn, Danny was going to start arguing again. It was the only thing Wilson had to do, and he couldn't even convince his own sister to listen to him.

"Don't tell me you're in on it with him," Danny scowled. "This is ridiculous. There's no need!"

Taylor rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Normally I'm with you on that Danny, but my apartment was shot to shit last night. They risked a sniper outside the front door of this building to hit Martin. There are over thirty people dead or missing right now, and I can't bear the thought of you becoming one of them."

"Your apartment?" Danny blanched and turned back to her brother. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? What about your place?"

Wilson frowned. "I didn't want to scare you. And I don't know. I haven't been home yet."

"Where have you been then?" Danny demanded.

Taylor rested a hand on Danny's shoulder. "With me, thankfully." Danny cocked an eyebrow and Taylor had to fight the blush that threatened to colour her cheeks. "Tell you what, you ride with me to the safe house. It'll give us a chance to catch up and your thug of a brother a chance to cool down."

"Hey," Wilson interjected.

"Oh thank God!" Danny grinned. "Josh drives like a maniac."

"Hey!" Wilson objected again.

"No worries, Danny. Martin," Taylor gave him a small smile. "Sorry, you're with the maniac."

"Hey!" Bill and Wilson both exclaimed.

Wilson scowled at Bill. Danny set a hand on her brother's chest and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Be nice, I like that one." Wilson's scowl deepened into a glaring frown. Danny patted his cheek, "Do it or I'll tell mom on you."

Taylor chuckled, which earned her a glare from Wilson. "Come on Danny, let's get to the car. We wouldn't want the guys to get first pick." 

Wilson turned his stare on Bill. "Keep away from my sister, buddy."

Bill's eyes widened and he held his hands up. "Your sister scares me almost as much as you do."

Wilson's eyes narrowed angrily. Taylor ushered Danny from the room and shot a glance over her shoulder in time to catch Wilson glaring at Bill. "You boys play nice," she called. Wilson grumbled in her wake.

"They going to be ok?"

Taylor chuckled. "Wilson won't touch him. Don't worry."

Weaving through the numerous corridors of the headquarter building, Taylor led Danny to the parking ramp and pointed to one of the ten black, tinted Tahoes lined up to leave. "How can you tell that one is yours?" Danny asked sarcastically.

Taylor gave her a smile. "That one is the prettiest."

Danny laughed and climbed in the passenger side as Taylor hopped into the driver seat. "Where are we going?" That earned her a scowl. "Never mind," she huffed.

"Come on, Danny. You know the rules. Now give me your cell phone before I have Josh come remove it from you." Taylor held out her hand and waited for Danny to produce the phone. "Thank you," she smiled when, grudgingly, Danny relinquished it. "You can have it back when we get back. In the mean time, you can have this," she handed her a small nickel sized pin.

"What's this?"

"Panic button. I want you to put it somewhere it can't be seen but you can reach." Taylor made a bit of a face. "I don't think you'll have to use it, but just in case, I want you to have one."

"And where, exactly, do you suggest I put it?" Danny raised a brow.

"I say the elastic of your panties or the front of your bra."

"What makes you think I'm wearing panties?"

Taylor laughed. "Just put it somewhere and don't take it off. Please?"

Danny crossed her arms. "I still say you're over reacting with this one."

"You wouldn't say that if you saw what my apartment looks like right now." Taylor pulled her hair back in to a low ponytail and set a pair of sunglasses on her forehead.




The Program Ch. 04



"Yeah, speaking of," Danny twisted to eye Taylor. "What was Josh doing over at your place?"

"We were reviewing the case we'd just finished," she answered easily.

"Like a debriefing?" Danny asked sceptically.

"Yeah."

"De-briefing?"

"Yeah... No," Taylor caught the joke and suppressed a giggle. "Oh hush."

"Come on," Danny goaded. "You're my friend. You can tell me."

"Sorry Danny. He's your brother and my partner. Strictly business."

"You're no fun," she pouted, straightening in her seat as Taylor started the engine. "Wait, why aren't we all riding together? I thought we were going to the same place."

Taylor handed her a baseball cap. "Put that on and buckle your seatbelt." She adjusted the mirror and grinned at Wilson and Bill in the car behind them. "We are, but there are procedures we have to follow. It's safer this way. All of these cars will leave in a line and break off at different points. Everyone will change cars at least once before some come back to HQ, some will meet elsewhere, and we will land at the safe house."

Danny raised a brow, "Sounds expensive with current gas prices."

Taylor grinned, "Beats the hell out of getting killed though." She shifted the shades from her forehead to cover her eyes. "Here we go."

The ten SUVs filed out of the underground garage, moving in a perfect line down the street to the interstate. Once at the highway, they split into two lines, half heading north, half heading south. Danny tried to catch a glimpse of her brother in one of the other cars, but the tinted windows, and multiple similar looking agents made it impossible.

"So, I haven't had a chance to catch up with you in ages. What have you been up to?" Danny asked casually. "That Bill Martin is cute."

"Be gentle with that one, he's actually a nice guy." Taylor checked her mirrors compulsively to make sure they weren't being followed.

"I've never known you to go after the nice guys," Danny jibbed.

"Oh hush, it's not like that. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he's in the same sort of trouble as you are." Taylor shot a glance at her. "But I don't know you to go after the nice guys either."

Danny shrugged. "Maybe I've turned over a new leaf. But be honest, doesn't he remind you a little bit of Mick?"

Taylor sighed. "Everyone seems to think so. I don't know. He's nothing like Mick; he just bears a vague resemblance."

"Hard to be around him?"

"Yes."

Danny studied Taylor for a moment; realising Taylor had given away as much as she ever would. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that," Taylor replied cryptically.

"Anything neat you can tell me about?"

Taylor shrugged, "A little bit of practice at the gun range, a little bit of running, a little bit of abusing the internet, a little bit of saving the free world. You know, the usual. How 'bout you? How's the PIRG?"

"Saving the natural world, battling one polluting shit-bag after another."

"I thought shit was natural. Or are they plastic bags?"

Danny couldn't keep from smiling. "Bags, boxes, doesn't matter. They're all horrible, destructive, annoyances."

"The polluters or are we talking about your love life now?"

"I have to go with the former, the latter is imaginary anyway." There was a long pause before they both erupted in a fit of giggles. God, it was good to talk to Danny again. It had been nearly a year since Taylor had been able to meet her for dinner, or rather, it had been nearly a year since Taylor could bear the company. Maybe Wilson was right. Maybe she was closed off. But Danny and Taylor fell right back into their friendship with a comfort and ease that made Taylor think that Wilson didn't know what he was talking about.

They had met in college. While Taylor was at MIT, Danny was at Harvard and they had met on a night out. At the time, Danny's boyfriend was in the same social circle as Taylor's boyfriend. Neither of the boys had survived, but Danny and Taylor had grown close. When Mick and Wilson had come to recruit her, they ended up finding her over at Danny's place. She and Mick had gotten a laugh when Wilson threw a fit over the clothes Danny was wearing out that night. Truly, Wilson, Danny, and Mick had been her family.

One by one, the other SUVs exited the highway until she and Taylor were on their own. "That was surprisingly organised," Danny said wryly.

Taylor chuckled, "It's the Feds that are horribly chaotic. You have to worry about them. CIA is a wholly different breed."

"So what now?"

Taylor glanced in the mirror. "Two more miles, then we're going to change cars." She paused to make sure Danny was listening. "Here's how it works. I'm going to pull into a parking lot next to one car. You get out, and get right into the passenger seat of the other car. Don't stop. Don't look around. Just out and in."

"Yessir," Danny smiled.

"Seriously, Danny. I'll be two seconds behind you. Then we drive off. If all things go to plan, we won't have to change cars again and it's a bit more time before we reach the safe house."

"Out, in, sit, stay... Got it."

Taylor tried to frown but couldn't manage a convincing scowl. "Once we change cars, you can take a nap if you'd like."

"And I always thought I was the bossy one," Danny smothered a laugh.

"I've been working with your brother for a few years now." Taylor nudged Danny with her elbow, "Of course I have to be bossy."

~o~

Taylor stretched out on the couch with a sigh and closed her eyes. She was still tired, and her shift was just about over. But as nice as it would be to let down her guard a little, she wasn't ready to call an all clear. The tension in the cabin set her nerves on edge. Danny had decided that she liked Bill and made no effort to keep her attraction secret. Bill seemed wilfully oblivious which meant that Wilson was in a terrible mood. He took his frustration out on Taylor, but since they had declared a business only relationship, he tended to just yell and scowl at her. No one wanted to stay in the small cabin anymore, and no one had a choice.

Wilson dropped into one of the chairs and rested his chin in his hand. "Nothing?"

She shook her head without opening her eyes. "Not a peep."

"Being dead sucks," he muttered. "Now I know what all those witnesses were complaining about. I wish I had a good book or something to read."

"I wish I had something to shoot."

"I forgot to ask, did you find anything in Matthew's belongings?"

Taylor waved her hand aimlessly. "Not really sure. There might have been something, but I'll let you know when I get a better look."

The silence in the room stretched out between them. "So," Wilson began.

"So?"

"Feel like talking?"

Taylor opened her eyes to glare. "I think I've done quite enough talking. Besides," a pan clattered onto the stove in the kitchen as Bill began to make some food. "I have nothing to say in front of the mixed company."

"Only business. Yeah. I forget these things since it was a no-business rule for so long."

She growled at the sarcasm in his voice. "You know what, why don't you go..." Taylor heard the soft beep and froze.

Wilson saw the look on her face and raised a brow. "Larson?"

She held up the walkie-talkie with a shake of her head. "He hasn't coded in yet." Taylor rose and squinted out the front windows with a scowl. They had gotten in two days ago. Larson's team had relieved them for twenty-four hours, and Taylor had managed to sleep for the first time in two days. Now as their shift was wrapping up, Taylor was just starting to feel comfortable, like maybe they had successfully hidden themselves away. But that soft beeping noise only indicated that someone had breached the perimeter, and in the middle of the West Virginia woods, there was no reason for another human to cross their boundary.

Wilson frowned and another tone sounded. "I don't like it, but it's your call."

Taylor shifted nervously and picked up the walkie-talkie. "Larson?"

"Yeah?" his voice crackled over the radio waves.

"I'm tired, when's dinner?"

He laughed into his receiver, "I've got some Chinese takeout coming, you like spring rolls, right? I'm about fifteen minutes out yet."

Taylor's eyes darkened. Damn. If it wasn't Larson, they were in trouble. It was about ten minutes to the cabin from the perimeter and Larson knew better than to cross it without warning them. They were going to have to leave, fast. "Thanks, I may grab a nap until you get here." She turned down the volume on the walkie-talkie. "Where's Danny?"

Wilson tipped his head toward the stairs, "Napping."

Taylor pulled her service pistol from the holster at her side and clicked off the safety. "Kill all the lights downstairs, hit the upstairs timers. You take Danny, I'll take Martin."

"How much trouble are you going to be in when this house goes up in flames?" Wilson asked with a wry grin.

"Oh, fuck-off, Wilson. I don't want this any more than you." Taylor shifted her shoulders. "Out the door in two minutes. I'll give you a one minute lead."

Wilson gave a nod, then snagged her elbow before she could dash from the room. "Be careful."

Taylor rolled her eyes, "Yeah, I always am."

He smiled, "Good." And dipped his head to kiss her before she could protest.

She freed herself and jumped back as though she had been burned. "Damnit, Wilson. Two minutes. Get moving. And if things fall apart, we fall back on Mick's path."

He nodded, all trace of good humour gone from his face. "If all else fails, that's the plan." Wilson disappeared around the corner.

Taylor closed the blinds. "Hey Martin, get in here a second." 

Bill popped his head in the room. "I have some soup on the stove. What's up?"

Taylor sighed, "Grab your bag, we're leaving."

Bill's eyes widened just before the lights on the ground floor clicked off. "Leaving?"

Taylor gave him a nudge toward the stairs. "Please, Bill, we're on a tight schedule."

He nodded and ducked out of the room to grab his small bag as Wilson came back down the stairs carrying Danny in his arms. He grunted slightly as he shifted her to a more comfortable position. "Heavy sleeper."

Taylor snorted. "Ok, out the back. Don't touch the front cars. I'll see you..."

"When I see you," Wilson finished. "Don't waste time."

Taylor nodded and peaked through the blinds. "Still clear out front, get going."

Wilson brushed past Bill on the way out of the front room and heading to the basement. Bill watched him go with confusion plastered on his face. "Taylor, what's going on?"

"Shh," she gestured with her pistol. "Count down from sixty, quietly."

"Sixty... Fifty-nine... Fifty-eight..." Bill began counting as the house settled into silence. Taylor didn't move from her post by the window. She heard the faint sound of Wilson starting the car engine and breathed a sigh of relief as he was quickly out of earshot. "Thirty-two... Thirty-one... Thirty..."

A louder tone sounded and the lights upstairs clicked on, casting light across the front drive and woods. Still no sign of movement. Taylor strained her ears and heard the hum of an engine. It was a big engine. More than one big engine. Damn, things were going to get messy.

"Nineteen... Eighteen..."

"We're going, come on," Taylor grabbed Bill's elbow and pulled him toward the basement.

Taylor heard the hiss just before the blast and she hit the floor, dragging Bill down with her. The front windows tinkled to the floor in pieces as the fiery mess that was one of the cars out front clattered back to the ground. She scrambled up and shoved Bill down the stairs, sparing a glance out front as two large SUVs came into view on the small entry drive. Fuckers just blew up the car! Somehow, it didn't scare Taylor, it only served to piss her off. Well, wait until they came inside looking for them.

She followed Bill down the stairs, closing and locking the door behind her. "Come on." She grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her, not bothering to turn on any lights. The second door on the left opened into a closet, the back of which opened when Taylor flipped a switch. Bill didn't ask, he didn't want to know. The door slid shut behind them and Taylor paused to punch a code into the pad next to the door. "We have about thirty seconds, so keep up, ok?"

"Yeah, no problem," Bill muttered, chasing her down the hallway.

At the end of the long corridor, Taylor gestured him down. He acquiesced without argument and watched as she unbolted the door and pushed it open carefully. Taylor eased herself out of the small opening and scanned the area. It looked clear. "Up, come on. Be quiet though." She stuck her hand down and pulled Bill up. "The car is just over the rise," she gestured with a not of her head. "Go, get in the car, and don't look back."

Bill glanced down at her face, "But, what are you...?"

Taylor scowled and gestured. "Go," she hissed.

This time, the explosion knocked them both clean off of their feet. A concussive blast spread through the woods as the bottom floor of the cabin erupted in fire. Taylor reflexively curled into a ball and covered her head and ears, cursing herself for being behind schedule.

Bill gasped as he was thrown to the ground and groaned as he tried to right himself. Taylor heard him and pushed herself up, "GO!" She whirled to face the cabin, scanning the blaze for signs of movement. Three men rose from the ground next to the cabin, all armed with what looked like small machine guns. Shit! 

Taylor heard the first two bullets whiz past and was returning fire without thinking. One hostile down and she spun, chasing after Bill. She heard the remaining two reload and realised that Bill was too exposed as he ran up the hill. Fuck. She launched herself at his back as they opened fire again.

Taylor and Bill both grunted as they landed on the rough ground, partially sheltered behind a stump as the forest was peppered with bullets. "Stay down," she barked. Rising on one knee to return fire again. She clipped another one. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't holding his gun anymore. She grabbed Bill's collar and pulled him back up. "Keep low and go!"

Bill didn't think, he ran. He ran as hard as he could, not pausing until he was pulling open the car door. His door shut as Taylor pulled open the driver's side, squeezing off another two rounds over her shoulder as she started the car. Her door wasn't even closed as she floored the accelerator.

Bill pulled on his seatbelt and braced himself on the dash as they crashed through the woods. There was no road, but somehow, Taylor managed to avoid any of the trees as if she had picked a path out in her head. Taylor winced as the car bounded in and out of another pit. The front of the car tipped down as they cleared the trees and faced an open hillside. Bill gasped and grabbed the door bar as they barrelled down the incline and swerved violently onto the abandoned freeway. Taylor fought with the vehicle for a moment before righting the car and accelerating down the highway as if nothing had happened.

Shooting a glance in the rear-view mirror, Taylor breathed a sigh of relief and swiped the hair clear of her eyes. "Are you ok?" Bill swallowed hard and blinked at her. "Are you hurt?" she demanded.

Bill glanced down and rapidly appraised any bodily harm with his hands. Finally, he let out a laugh. "No, I... I think I'm fine."

Taylor blew out a breath. "Good."

"Good?" he asked incredulously looking over at her.

She shrugged, "Good is better than dead." She gasped and released a breath.

"Taylor?" Bill asked nervously.

"I'm fine," she ground out, gritting her teeth.

Bill's eyes widened as he caught sight of the blood on her hands. "Taylor?"

She groaned and her head bobbed forward, the strain on her face evident as she struggled to keep her eyes open. The wheel slipped in her grip and the car veered sharply toward the embankment.

"Taylor!"



The Program Ch. 05



It took a while to get this section written. It may sound weird, but it's easy to write quick action, it's more difficult to write through a slow point. I have chunks of the rest of the story written (from when they got stuck in my head), so it's all about connecting the pieces. It's not over yet!

As per usual, all feedback is welcome!

Thanks for reading,

~ewebie 

~~oo~~

Bill was becoming exceedingly good at counting his blessings. He had survived an armed assault on his place of work, he had walked away from a sniper, and he'd spent two hours in a car with Officer Wilson and lived to tell about it. All things considered, he was having a rather lucky few days. But today left him with the distinct impression that his luck was turning in a bad way.

He had hoped that after a night's sleep, Taylor would be a bit more gentle, less rough around the edges maybe. He was disappointed. Even after she had her morning coffee, she was sharp and easily irritated. It didn't help that Wilson seemed intent on pissing her off whenever he could. Though, Bill suspected that Wilson was annoyed more at his sister than at Taylor. But Taylor made an easier target.

Danny seemed to be the only one unaffected by the moods in the cabin. She was perky, chipper, god-awful sexy and unwaveringly intent on Bill. He'd be hard pressed to turn her down if he wasn't in constant fear of bodily harm should he even look at her funny. Bill was next to positive that Wilson wouldn't hesitate to knock a reminder into his head.

Yesterday, Larson and another Officer named Remy had arrived in the early evening to relieve Taylor and Wilson. The two were built the same, big and bigger, squeezed into suits that looked uncomfortable. Bill didn't really like them all that much. They weren't very friendly and generally treated both Bill and Danny as if they didn't exist. Whether or not that was normal, Bill hoped he'd never know. As it stood, Larson and Remy should be on their way to the cabin now to relieve Taylor and Wilson, but Lord only knew what kind of food they'd be bringing along, and he was hungry. 

Bill wandered into the small kitchen and started to heat up some soup. He could hear Taylor and Wilson exchanging words in the main room, words he was quite sure he wasn't meant to be listening to. He suddenly wished Danny were awake just so he'd have the company, company that was easy on the eyes. Whew boy. If Wilson knew what Bill was thinking...

"Hey Martin, get in here a second."

Bill turned, the tone in Taylor's voice had his hackles up. It was as if all humour left her voice, leaving it robotic. He leaned into the room. "I have some soup on the stove. What's up?"

He could tell that the news was bad before Taylor opened her mouth. Her shoulders were rigid, her back as straight as a board, and as she sighed and twisted to face him, he was keenly aware that she was gripping her pistol in a decidedly aggressive way. "Grab your bag, we're leaving."

He hadn't been expecting that. He thought everything was going well. Each light on the ground floor switched off and Bill sighed to himself. It seemed that for the past few days, whatever he had been thinking had been wrong. "Leaving?" he managed to croak out.

Taylor was pushing him toward his room and he nearly bumped into Wilson. "Please, Bill, we're on a tight schedule." There was nothing to do but follow her direction, so Bill felt himself nod and hurried into his room. Thankfully he never unpacked, not that there was anything to unpack. He threw the small bag over his shoulder, the strap across his chest and hustled back into the room as Taylor was talking to Wilson. "Still clear out front, get going."

Bill shrank back as Wilson brushed past him. Was he carrying Danny? What the hell was happening? "Taylor, what's going on?"

She shushed him using the back of her pistol like her index finger. "Count down from sixty, quietly."

That was just about the creepiest thing he'd ever heard from Taylor. "Sixty... Fifty-nine... Fifty-eight..." The quiet in the house was unnerving. Taylor was unnerving. This whole situation was unnerving. What the hell were they waiting for? Weren't they supposed to be leaving? He heard Taylor heave a sigh. "Thirty-two... Thirty-one... Thirty."

A loud tone preceded the lights upstairs switching on and Bill started. Wasn't everyone supposed to be gone? He heard the sound of an engine approaching and something told him that this was the reason they were fleeing. "Nineteen... Eighteen..." He was getting worried.

Taylor grabbed his arm roughly and tugged him toward the basement. "We're going, come on." He didn't have to be told twice. Bill only managed a few steps before an explosion rocked the small cabin and Taylor dragged him to the floor. He hit the floor with a thud and rolled toward the basement door. Catching himself, he pushed up onto his hands and knees and shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. 

Taylor shoved him unceremoniously toward the stairs and Bill had to catch himself on the railing to keep from tumbling to the basement. Jesus, when Taylor was in action mode, she was really in action mode. But he supposed it was better than being blown up. He found his feet and his bearings only to have Taylor grab his hand and drag him deeper into the basement. He couldn't see a thing, so he prayed she knew where she was going. She opened the door to a closet. Apparently, she didn't know where she was going.

Bill felt himself gape as the back wall of the closet slid open. What the hell kind of cabin was this? You know what, come to think of it, he didn't even want to know. Taylor pulled him through the door and played with the keypad on the wall. When the door slid shut she spoke again. "We have about thirty seconds, so keep up, ok?"

Thirty seconds until what? You know what, he didn't want to know about that either. "Yeah, no problem," he took off after her. He didn't want her to be more than an arm's length away. When she stopped, he stopped. When she turned and motioned him down, he squatted down. Then she disappeared out of a small door.

Her hand jabbed back through the door. "Up, come on. Be quiet though." Bill wiped his sweating palms on his jeans and took her hand, half climbing, half being dragged out of the corridor. Taylor bobbed her head to the side. "The car is just over the rise. Go, get in the car, and don't look back."

Go and leave her here? "But, what are you...?"

He flinched as she glared at him. There you go again, Bill, questioning her orders. Just shut the hell up and listen to what she tells you. She pointed emphatically and hissed, "Go!"

He didn't have time to obey. Another explosion rocked the cabin, and he felt himself lifted clear off of his feet. He gasped as the heat and blast knocked the wind from him and he hit the wooded floor. For a moment, he saw stars and heard nothing but static. He shook his head, trying to gather his senses and groaned as he pushed himself back to his hands and knees. He barely found his feet before Taylor yelled at him, "GO!"

He didn't argue this time, he ran. Just over the rise, he told himself. Just over that hill. He pumped his legs, losing his footing on the loose ground. It wasn't that he didn't hear the shots, but he didn't want to look. He kept running. Another ten feet to the top. Keep running, he told himself.

His breath left with a whoosh as he thudded to the ground again, and it took a moment for him to realise that Taylor had tackled him flat out. He rolled to right himself only to have her yell at him. "Stay down!" He looked up to see her firing back at the cabin. The sound of the shots loud enough that he could feel them in his chest. God, he was going to need therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.

Taylor had a hold of his collar and was dragging him back up. "Keep low and go!" she barked.

Up, down, left, right. Tell me to jump and I jump, Bill thought wryly as he tore off for the car. Just over the rise he saw it, a small four-by-four. What the hell, anything was better than being shot at in the open. He practically dove into the jeep, pulling his door shut and dropping his bag at his feet as Taylor, half in, half out started the car and shot over her shoulder.

The last thing Bill thought to do was to buckle his seatbelt, then he was holding on for dear life as Taylor plowed through the forest. Where the hell was she going? He squeezed his eyes shut and started to pray. If he made it out of this alive, he'd go to mass everyday, not just on Sundays. His stomach dropped as the front of the car tipped down. It felt like the top of the first hill of a rollercoaster, when the cars would just hover for a minute then plummet toward the earth.

He grabbed the handle by the door and gasped. They were going to die. Holy shit, they were going to die. The jeep barrelled down the hill straight at the strip of road and Bill winced as the front bumper bounced off of the asphalt. They swerved violently between the two lanes and maybe up onto two wheels for a moment before Taylor managed to right the car and accelerate down the freeway.

Bill pushed down the urge to vomit and tried to calm his breathing. How many near death experiences was that now? He should have known that Taylor was trouble. But she was talking. "Are you ok?" He blinked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. Ok? Am I ok? Should I be ok? He wasn't sure if it was worry or frustration that he saw in her eyes when she demanded, "Are you hurt?"

Am I hurt? He finally understood the adrenaline high that people spoke of. His hands were shaking, but he felt like he could run a hundred miles if need be. He patted his chest and torso, his legs, his arms, his face. No... Holy crap, I'm still whole. "No," he choked out a laugh. "I... I think I'm fine."

"Good."

He turned sharply. "Good?" That's it? Good? He didn't know what to expect, but surviving that seemed to merit more than just 'Good.'

Taylor shrugged, "Good is better than dead."

He blinked at her. She had a point, didn't she? Then she gasped and doubled over with a wince. "Taylor?" he asked nervously. 

"I'm fine," she said through clenched teeth.

Bill almost thought his heart stopped when he saw the bright red blood on her hands, it was enough to create a smear on the steering wheel. Oh God. "Taylor?" He watched as her head bobbed forward again with a grimace and her eyes rolled back in her head. No, he thought. No, no, not good. The wheel slipped from her grip and the car veered sharply toward the embankment. "Taylor!"

He was thrown against the divider for a minute, and Bill reached blindly across her, grabbing for the wheel. "Brake, Taylor!" he shouted. "For the love of God, stop!" That seemed to snap her out of it, and her hands tightened on the wheel. She slammed on the brakes, the jeep skidding along the sandy embankment before coming to a shuddering halt.

Taylor let out a pained squeak and gripped her side, doubling over against the wheel. Bill reached across her and put the car in park, "Hang on, Taylor." He was at the driver side door in a flash and pulled it open, horrified to see the blood soaking her left side. "Taylor?"

"Help me into the back," she grunted. He didn't know how she managed to speak so clearly through the obvious pain she was in, but he didn't argue. She left a bloody handprint on his shoulder where she gripped it. She was losing too much blood. She dropped flat onto the seat and groaned, stretching to reach something in her pocket.

Bill tore off his button-down shirt and pressed it against what he assumed was the source of the bleed, and judging by her wince, he was damn close. "Taylor, what can I do?"

"Drive," she croaked.

"What?!" he tried to get a better position to apply pressure.

She grimaced and took the shirt from him, holding it down against her side. "Drive. I'll call for help." He looked about to argue again. "Please, Bill," she gasped. "Please!"

He felt the blood drain from his face. He had never heard Taylor plead like that, and it scared him. "Where am I going?"

"Just go. I'll get you directions." 

He didn't like it, but his most recent experience had been that Taylor knew what she was doing. He jumped into the driver's seat and tore off down the freeway. He heard Taylor groan and glanced over his shoulder as she pressed a cell phone to her ear.

"Doc," her voice was strained as she struggled to keep her breath. "Cascade." She moaned as Bill was unable to avoid a large pothole in the road. He winced and tightened his grip on the wheel. "Shot," she grunted. "Eighty-eight, heading east from West Virginia." Her voice wavered, "I... I can't. I'm giving the phone to my friend. He's driving. He's one of the good guys." By the end of her statement, she was barely speaking above a whisper.

Bill twisted to retrieve the phone, taking his eyes off the road as long as he dared. Once he had the phone, her arm dropped weakly to the seat, and his brow furrowed in concern. He pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"What's your name?" the voice on the other end demanded without preamble.

"Bill."

"Biil, you can call me Doc. In a minute I'll give you directions to a motel, but in the mean time keep heading east, I need to know a few things about how she's doing. Is she sitting up?"

"No," Bill struggled to keep the panic from his voice as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. "She doesn't look good."

"Is she breathing regularly?"

Bill held his breath trying to hear her in the back seat. "Yeah."

"How does it sound?"

"Short, shallow and fast."

"Any wheezing? Does it sound like there's anything in the way?"

"No, it's clear."

"Blood loss?"

"A lot." Bill risked turning around to gauge how Taylor was doing. "She's pale as hell."

"Did you get a look at it? Do you know where she was hit?"

Bill frowned. "No." He may have taken the time to do so if Taylor hadn't been so insistent that he just start driving. "I don't know. Left side?"

"Is she still conscious?"

"Yeah." He saw her shiver in the mirror and reached back to give her shoulder a squeeze. "Hang on Taylor."

"Ok, I'm going to give you directions and I want you to follow them exactly. I'm already on my way to meet you."

Bill listened carefully as the man gave him driving directions to a motel no more than twenty miles down the highway and instructions for when he arrived. He swallowed hard. Thank God he wasn't squeamish around blood.

~o~

Taylor felt her stomach roll and she gritted her teeth, releasing her seatbelt before doubling over in pain. She clutched her side, pressing her eyes shut. Bill's voice broke through the haze as he pulled her door open. She groped with her free hand and gripped his shoulder, "Help me into the back."

Every breath was agonising. She dropped flat onto her back on the rear bench and tried to reach the cell phone from her pocket, biting back a scream when Bill's hand came down against her side. "Taylor, what can I do?"

"Drive," she pressed her eyes shut and fought off nausea.

"What?!"

His hand pressed down harder and she struggled to move his hand, gripping the fabric over the wound, wincing. "Drive." She sucked in a shallow breath. "I'll call for help." She opened her eyes, struggling to bring his face into focus and grimaced at the look of hesitation there. She knew they were short on time, it was getting harder to keep her eyes open, everything was spinning. "Please, Bill," she tried to grab another breath and shooting pain lanced down her side. Oh God. "Please!"

"Where am I going?" his voice was hesitant.

"Just go. I'll get you directions." She winced as the door closed. Her left side was wedged against the back of the seat and she struggled to free her left hand to hold down the cloth Bill had pressed against her wound. Her right hand fumbled in her pockets until she found her phone.

The jeep lurched forward and Taylor squinted at the numbers on her phone, slowly picking out a number she had committed to memory years ago. As it rang on the other end, she let her head drop heavily onto the seat and cleared her throat with a groan.

"Hello?" a man's voice answered. 

"Doc," she squeezed out.

"James?" There was a pause. "Code in?"

"Cascade." The car rocked as Bill tried to avoid a pothole and a moan escaped Taylor's lips.

"James, what's wrong?"

"Shot." she grunted and tried to gather her senses. It was getting harder to concentrate. Safety first, she thought, tucking her pistol in the waistband of her pants. Slowly and carefully, she eased her right shoulder from the holster and pulled it off of her left, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor of the car. She took a breath and everything lurched; she had to swallow down the urge to vomit.

"Where are you?"

"Eighty-eight, heading east from West Virginia." Taylor couldn't keep her voice from wavering and blackness washed through her field of vision. "I... I can't. I'm giving the phone to my friend. He's driving. He's one of the good guys." She held her hand out, offering the phone to Bill.

He twisted, taking the phone and giving her arm a squeeze. "Hello? Bill. No, she doesn't look good. Yeah, short, shallow and fast. No, it's clear. A lot. Pale as hell. No, I don't know. Yeah..." Taylor tried to listen to the conversation. She tried to focus on Bill's voice, but it grew distant. A cold sweat broke out over her skin and her head started swimming. "Hang on, Taylor."

A series of obscure thoughts flit through her mind and she couldn't seem to focus on any one of them. No one else had ever met Doc or spoken to him, for all that they knew. She was breaking so many rules. They were going to have to fall back on Mick's plan. Mick had been shot to death too, the thought caused her chest to constrict and it was even more difficult to breathe. Darkness pressed in, gradually crowding out any thoughts. The last thought that she had before slipping into unconsciousness was if she didn't make it, Josh was going to kill her...

The jeep stopped sharply, and Taylor was jerked back to consciousness. She had no idea how long she had been out, but the ache in her side hadn't dimmed and her side was warm and sticky with blood. Bill opened the door and helped her slide to the edge of the seat. "I can walk," she muttered. She was being stubborn and she knew it. But as soon as her feet were on the ground, she swayed violently and her vision swam.

Bill caught her before she could fall, carefully lifting her. Taylor winced as her wounded side pressed against his chest. She clutched his shirt, pressing her eyes closed as he carried her up a flight of stairs and into a dimly lit room. He set her gently on the bed and swiftly unbuttoned her shirt. "You're wearing a vest?"

"You sound surprised," she coughed and winced.

"Fuck," he whispered, tugging at the Velcro, trying not to move her.

"Like a Band-Aid," she ground out. "All at once, it'll hurt less."

"I'm sorry," he said softly and yanked the Velcro open. Taylor cried out, curling into the fetal position. Bill slipped the bullet-proof vest off her good side, leaving her in a small camisole, and eased her onto her back again. With the vest off, it was easier to breathe, but she could still feel the blood seeping into the cloth. Bill slipped her shoes off, setting them on the floor and covering her feet with a blanket. He stood, eyeing her for a moment before disappearing back out the door.

Taylor tried to maintain her fragile consciousness by counting the various water stains on the ceiling. She shivered and swallowed hard, refusing to let her eyes close until Bill came back. She was horribly vulnerable and she didn't like it. The pain was worse this time, but now that she thought about it, last time the bullet had only grazed her. She gave up on the ceiling and began listening carefully for Bill's return. She heard him start up the stairs at the same moment she heard the click of the lock from the room-adjoining door.




The Program Ch. 05



Instinct kicked in with a fresh shot of adrenaline and Taylor reached for her gun, pulling it from the waistband of her pants and propping herself up on her left elbow. The immediate lancing pain brought a cold sweat to her brow and a tremor to her hand, but it sharpened her vision as she aimed at the adjoining door. She swallowed hard. She wasn't sure if she could maintain the position she was in, but she was too scared to let herself lie back down. If whatever was on the other side of the door wasn't friendly she sure as hell wanted to be able to shoot.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bill come in the main door and shut it softly behind himself. Turning, he started at the gun in her hand and dropped the bags he was carrying. "Taylor?"

She shushed him, feeling her whole body tremble with effort as she squinted at the slowly turning handle. Taylor braced herself for a team of people to smash through, but instead the door opened slowly, carefully, and a stocky middle-aged man stepped through. She blinked heavily and tried to focus, "Doc?"

The man smiled gently from behind bifocals, "James. Long time no see."

Taylor released a breathy groan and dropped heavily onto her back, replacing the safety on her pistol before dropping it out to the side. As the adrenaline wore off, her side began throbbing and she clutched at it with her right hand. Bill hurried to her side and removed the gun, setting it on the nightstand. Taylor tried to narrow her eyes at him, but the frown was lost in a grimace and she closed her eyes against the pain. She didn't like it when she couldn't reach her gun.

Doc settled on the bed next to her and gently cupped her cheek in his palm, turning her to face him. She was relieved to find his hands cool and dry; it was soothing against her alternately fevered and chilled skin. "Come on sweetie, let me get a look at those big green eyes of yours." Taylor swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and she struggled to open her eyes. Doc's face blurred in and out of focus and she grunted, squinting before giving up and letting her lids drop again.

His hand slid down to her neck, taking her pulse. She could hear him muttering to himself as he continued to take her vitals, but she couldn't find the strength to move. She heard him sigh. "Taylor, you know the drill here."

She swallowed and nodded.

"You want the shot now or later?"

She clenched her jaw. "Local now, fun stuff later."

"You aren't going to knock her out?" Bill demanded.

"No," Doc sighed. "It's too dangerous to use full anaesthesia outside of the hospital, and in emergencies like this, I travel light."

"Local," She croaked again, opening her eyes to glare at Bill. Apparently if she was angry enough she could still see straight. "I'll probably pass out anyway." She saw the colour drain from his face and wondered if he would be able to stand what had to happen next. Somehow, she couldn't seem to care. It hurt too damn much. If he couldn't cut it, he could leave.

"Local it is," Doc said softly, brushing the hair back from her forehead. Her eyes flit back to him and her composure faltered, tears welling in her eyes. Doc smiled gently again, watching her face. "Bill, would you go get a cool, damp washcloth?" Taylor felt the bed shift as Bill rose and she winced again. "Hang tough, kiddo," he said gently. "You know I'll take care of it."

Taylor felt her lip tremble, but nodded slowly. "Just do it."

Doc nodded grimly. "Let's see what we're looking at." Taylor let him move her left hand over her head, gritting her teeth against the pain. He carefully freed her fingers from the blood-soaked cloth pressed to her side and shifted that hand over to her right side. Taylor released a shaky breath, trying to keep her breathing even.

Bill's fingers wrapped around her newly freed right hand and gave a gentle squeeze. She tried to give him a smile but it dissolved as Doc lifted the cloth and pushed her camisole up her side. Bits of the fabric stuck to the dried blood, tugging at her skin and she grunted as he quickly pulled it free. "Ok, local first," Doc said calmly. "You're going to feel a pinch."

She furrowed her brow turning away from Doc and concentrating on the warmth of Bill's hand. She grimaced as the needle went in, tightening her grip on Bill and biting back the urge to cry out. "You're doing good, Taylor," Doc whispered as he pushed her pants lower on her hips. "I have to clean this up, and it's going to sting. I'll be as quick as I can."

Taylor nodded, pressing her eyes shut tight. She took a few deep breaths before the cold alcohol touched her skin. An intense burning fired up her side and across her chest. She gasped and cried out, tears welling in her eyes as she grabbed Bill's arm with her free hand. It was all she could do to keep her hands from interfering with Doc's work. "Breathe, Taylor," Doc commanded softly. She sucked in a breath and groaned. Each time she moved, even to breathe, sent shards of pain through her body. She moaned as he wiped the edges of what now felt like a foot wide hole in her stomach. God, how were her organs even staying inside?

She felt something cool against her forehead almost sighed at the sensation as Bill wiped the sweat from her brow and cheeks. When he stopped, she noticed the warm trickle of blood running down her side and the room lurched. It was like she had the spins from drinking too much. "Easy part is done, Taylor."

"Easy part?" she heard Bill ask.

"I have to take the bullet out. Taylor?" Doc waited for her to respond. She mustered a quick, sharp nod. "This is the worst part. But keep breathing."

She felt the tip of Doc's instrument pass through the hole in her skin, but the cold sensation was completely lost in the sudden urge to vomit. Taylor screamed, her hands digging into Bill's as every nerve in her abdomen set on fire. The sensation of nausea seemed to move up from her stomach into her lungs as her chest constricted and she couldn't breathe. The pain was absolutely exquisite and absolutely everywhere. She fought the darkness that followed the wave of sensation up her spine to her head, but it was too much. Bill's hand was still gripping hers and she slumped into unconsciousness.

Bill's eyes shot up from where he had been watching Taylor's face and he met Doc's steady gaze. "I think she's unconscious," he whispered.

Doc nodded. "I'm surprised she held out that long." He frowned. "I need you to hold her down, the bullet is in pretty deep and I can't risk her moving suddenly."

If it was possible for Bill to lose anymore colour from his face, he did. "Hold her down?" he asked.

"Straddle her hips and hold her hands down. She's may be unconscious, but that doesn't mean she won't move anyway." Doc leaned back, waiting for Bill to comply. Bill clenched his jaw, the still apparent pain on Taylor's face giving him the nerve he needed, and managed to follow Doc's directions. 

Doc pulled out a mini flashlight and held it in his teeth to get a better look at the wound as he dug in with forceps. Taylor whimpered, her arms and shoulders tensing, but she didn't fight. The sloshing sound of the doctor's exploration turned Bill's stomach, and he worried he might be sick. Finally, Doc released a triumphant grunt and held up the intact bullet. Setting down the flashlight, he sighed, "Damn good thing this is whole. I wouldn't want to be searching for shrapnel."

Bill hung his head for a moment before shifting to sit next to Taylor. He picked up the washcloth again and dabbed her face and neck. Doc cleaned the area again and pulled out a suture kit, setting to the task of closing the wound. "How long has she known you, kid?" he asked quietly.

"Few months, not that long really." Bill started to clean the blood from Taylor's hands. While he was sure she'd appreciate it when she woke, it was more for his benefit. He didn't want the grisly reminder anymore.

Doc chuckled. "You know, she trusts you anyway."

"I'd like to think I deserve it, but I get the feeling there are things she just doesn't tell me," Bill said wryly. Like the fact that she's a spy, or that she could kick my ass at any moment, or that she had done a full background check.

Doc smoothed an adhesive over the stitches and taped down clean gauze. "You want to know what it is? I'm sure she hasn't let anyone else tell you."

Bill looked up, "Will she be mad you told me?"

"You ought to know the score here too. You're new enough to the game, but it's only fair." Doc rummaged in his bag, producing a small IV cannula and set about finding a vein in Taylor's arm. He glanced up at Bill momentarily before inserting the needle and taping it down to her forearm. "You're the dead spitting image of her ex-partner."

"Really?" Bill sat back, toying with the washcloth. "How much of a spitting image?"

Doc grinned. "If I ran into you in an alley, I'd think you were a ghost." He pulled a Saline pouch from his bag and attached it to the IV line. "Ok, time for the clean-up. She's clean enough; I want you to put her into the adjoining room, hook the bag on the bedside lamp, get rid of her pants, cover her up, then come help me in here."

Bill recognised the tone, it was the same one that Taylor used when she meant business. He carefully lifted her from the bed and wondered if there was some sort of training they got in how to order people around. When he felt she was comfortable enough and unlikely to injure herself, he returned to help Doc. "When you said ghost, did you mean that her partner is dead?"

Doc looked up from the bundle of bloody sheets and clothes he held in his arms. "Yeah, Mick died in the line of duty. The fucker that shot him clipped Taylor too. She... She didn't do too well with it." Mick, Bill thought, recognising the name. Well now it made sense why everyone thought he looked so familiar. "The shit of it is that Mick wasn't wearing a vest, dumb bastard. I mean, people can still get hit with a vest on," Doc gestured toward the other room. "That was dumb, stupid luck. But better in the side than in the head. Here, help me with this." He handed Bill a pile of sheets. "Did you clean the car?"

"Yeah, I took everything out. It's all in the small bag over there and the big one that Taylor had in the back." Bill followed Doc down to the jeep and loaded the evidence of Taylor's injury into the back hatch. "What are you going to do with this?"

Doc cocked his head back toward the rooms and Bill followed silently. With the door closed, Doc pulled a few things from his bag and handed them to Bill one-by-one. "Have you ever given meds through an IV line?" At the look on Bill's face he gave a smile, "I'll show you, don't worry. This is the morphine. I can only give you this one dose. Give it to her in about an hour. It'll help her sleep and make it easier when she comes round. These two are vicodin. When she's conscious, one then the second six hours later. There's food and drinks in the mini-bar, you need to get about eight ounces into her every six hours. Extra dressings for the wound, don't bother to change it for forty-eight hours unless it's bleeding. If she spikes a fever, grind up four Tylenol, mix with some water and get it in her. Did you get all that?"

Bill carefully recited back the instructions, committing them to memory. Doc smiled lightly. "Good. I'll be back in three days to check on her. By then, I'm sure she'll be an angry little pain in the ass. Grab the stuff you brought from the car and I'll show you how to give that morphine." Again, Bill did as he was told, following Doc into the next room and listening to the new instructions. Then he was gone. He took the jeep.

Bill locked, bolted and chained the door to the room and the adjoining door. He was exhausted. Worse, he was covered in sweat and blood. With a sigh, he trudged to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.

Clean and exhausted was only a little better, he decided, and he pulled on the clean pair of jeans he'd salvaged from the jeep and gave Taylor the dose of morphine. Some of the lines on her face softened, but for the first time he could remember, she actually looked her age. He checked the clock; it was nearly three in the morning. With a sigh of defeat, Bill dropped face first onto the bed next to Taylor and promptly fell asleep.

~o~  Mick was shot! Panic welled in Taylor and she choked off a scream. There was blood everywhere. Nothing she did seemed to stop the blood. "No! Mick, stay with me!" It was like the blood was pouring out of her hands. She couldn't breathe. Wilson hauled her away and she thrashed. "No! I have to save him!"

"Taylor hold still!" he ordered.

"No!" she screamed. Oh God, it hurt. The blood just kept coming. It was all over her hands and arms. She couldn't breathe. It hurt. 

Wilson pinned her to the ground. "You'll hurt yourself. Just stay still." 

She groaned, her side was splitting open. It hurt so bad. "Mick," she cried out. "Please, Taylor, you have to calm down." It wasn't Wilson holding her down, it was Mick.

Her eyes welled. It was Mick. He always said he'd be there. Oh God. It was worse than the pain from losing the baby. It felt like her insides were turning out. "Mick," she gasped, reaching for him. 

He was warm. He wiped her brow. "Shhh, Taylor, it's alright."

But Mick was dead. He was shot. He was dead. That's why she'd lost the baby. "No!" she screamed, pushing at his shoulders. "No, you're dead!"

But he was still warm. His shoulders were solid. She didn't have the strength to move him. She gasped again, fingers of pain gripping her side. "It's ok, Taylor," he spoke softly. And she was in his arms. He rocked her gently. "You're ok," he whispered.

She moaned as the pain dulled to a steady ache, twisting her fingers in his shirt. A warm feeling flooded through her and she went limp, darkness engulfing her again.  ~o~

Bill grumbled and pushed himself up from the bed. The crack of light peaking through the curtains was blindingly bright and it was wearing on his already frayed nerves. He used two fingers to open a gap in the curtain and squinted into the late afternoon light. Everything outside was quiet. Hell, they were in the middle of nowhere West Virginia, of course it was quiet. The parking lot was nearly empty, with only two beat-up pickup trucks on the far side. Occasionally, a semi rolled past the motel on the freeway, but they were few and far between as well. He could see the logic in being isolated, but it gave him the heebie-jeebies.

With a sigh, he let the curtain drop back into place and he turned toward the bed. Taylor seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and thank God. After only a few hours of sleep, he had woken to hear her crying out in her sleep. She had been running a fever, moving restlessly, and muttering. He had been worried that she'd hurt herself with how much she was thrashing, but he couldn't seem to wake her. She was locked in a fever and pain induced delirium and it had taken two hours to calm her down.

In her delirium, Taylor had repeatedly mistaken him for Mick, of that Bill was certain. He wasn't sure he was glad to understand why. He rubbed his eyes and settled on the bed next to her. There was a light flush to her cheeks, which beat the hell out of the ghostly pallor that had been there the night before. The bottle of Gatorade next to the bed was only half empty, and Bill wondered if he should try to get more liquids into her. But she actually looked peaceful. He rested the backs of his fingers on her forehead and gave a tired smile. The fever was gone. He'd let her rest a while longer, in the mean time, he was starving.

Doc had made sure there were enough supplies in the room to last the pair a few days, and for that, Bill was grateful. He pulled a ham and cheese sandwich out of the fridge and flicked on the news. For some reason, he expected to hear about the crazy things that had been going on in the past few days, but of course there was nothing. There never would be anything. That was the point, wasn't it?

He crumpled the wrapper from the sandwich and tossed it in the bin. Taylor muttered something, shifting slightly in her sleep. Bill furrowed his brow. Well, now was as good a time as any. He sat on the bed and shifted her gently into his lap, cradling her head against his arm. "Come on, Taylor." He set the rim of the Gatorade bottle against her lower lip. "Just take a little sip."

As the liquid trickled into her mouth, she swallowed convulsively. He managed to get a decent amount of fluid into her before she started sputtering. He set the bottle down and waited for her to stop coughing before laying her back against the pillow. He had already given her the IV doses of medication, so he followed the instructions Doc had given and carefully removed the IV line. She whimpered, her brow creased and her fingers wrapped in hem of his t-shirt.

Bill eased her fingers free and swept the hair from her forehead. She murmured incoherently, but the worry left her face. She looked like a kid. He had just started to regard her as an officer, an adult, and now she looked like the twenty-ish programmer he first met. She was tough as nails, but looking at her now... A wave of protectiveness washed through him. It didn't matter how tough she was on the outside, she was in trouble right now. Besides, Bill was beginning to suspect that her resilient exterior was bravado.

His mind flit to Danny and Wilson. He hoped they were faring better than he and Taylor were. It occurred to him that he could use Taylor's cell to try and reach them, but he was pretty sure she'd throw a fit if he did. If for no other reason than he didn't know the protocol for establishing contact, he could wait a little longer.

Bill relocated to the other side of the bed and stretched out. It wasn't late, but he was still completely exhausted. He watched the world news as it blinked across the screen, but he didn't really care. For some reason, it all seemed so small in the grand scheme of things. His life had been completely turned upside down and it was going to take getting used to. He fell asleep with the tv on and got his first decent night's sleep in a week.

It was near seven in the morning when Taylor groaned and coughed, squinting in an attempt to keep her eyes open. Her head felt like it was full of cotton and when she tried to lift her hand to rub her eyes, she was frustrated to find her arm was heavy, or her muscles were weak, or body was just unresponsive. She let out an irritated sigh and glanced around. Where the hell was she?

"Hey." 

She started, turning her head to find herself staring into a pair of warm brown eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. Mick? No, wait... Bill. Man, they looked alike. But this wasn't his apartment. What? She furrowed her brow, but still couldn't piece together how she ended up in this place. Bill propped himself up on one elbow and smiled gently, relieved to find her eyes clear and lucid. Taylor cleared her throat. "Where are we?"

Bill's fingers grazed her cheek, the touch so gentle that her eyelids fluttered. "I think you're fever is gone," he said softly. "We're in a motel that Doc picked, somewhere off of eighty-eight. I think we're in Virginia, but I'm not really sure. I wasn't paying that close attention."

Taylor frowned and tried to sit up, only to be met with crippling pain from her side and she dropped heavily back down on the bed. "Fuck," she breathed, wrapping an arm protectively across her stomach.

Bill scrambled up to his knees, "Hey, careful." He reached over her shoulder for a few extra pillows and helped her sit up. His hands were firm yet gentle along her back as he eased her against the pillows. "You've had a rough go of it."

"How long was I out?" And where are my pants? Taylor thought as she noticed her state of undress and struggled to pull the sheet up to her shoulders. Normally something like that wouldn't bother her, but she felt uncomfortably exposed in the camisole.




The Program Ch. 05



Bill sat back and scooped up a new bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of pills. "About thirty-six hours. You're supposed to take one of these every few hours, and you have to drink that whole bottle." Taylor wrinkled her nose and he chucked her under the chin, "Don't give me any attitude either. I haven't slept much in the past few days."

She saw the dark circles under his eyes and immediately regretted the look she had given him. "Sorry." She winced, it wasn't like her to be apologetic. God her side was aching. She swallowed one of the pills with a swig of Gatorade. "How long until Doc comes back?"

"He should be back tomorrow, but I don't know when exactly." Bill ran a hand through his hair. "He took the jeep, so I think we're stuck."

She had to remember that she was talking to Bill and not to Mick. "Did you get the bag from the back?"

"Yeah, it's in the closet."

"Good. He'll bring us a new car," she said quietly. "If they ID-ed the car, the further it is from us the better off we'll be." The conversation lapsed into silence for a moment as Bill watched her carefully.

"You ok?"

Taylor shifted as a blush crept across her face. "I uh..." She looked away. God, this was embarrassing. She hated to ask anyone for help normally, but this was just excruciatingly awkward. She glanced up and found Bill regarding her with concern and that increased her embarrassment. "I have to use the toilet, but... I don't think... I can't walk there without help." The last few words slurred together into a nearly incoherent mumble.

Bill blinked, "Sorry?"

Taylor felt her face go red. Damn her fair complexion. "Help me up?"

"I don't think that you should..."

Taylor bit her lip, "Bathroom."

"Oh," Bill shot up. "Oooh."

She was glad she was on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom, because the less time she spent stumbling across the ugly orange carpet, the less dignity she'd lose. Bill caught her elbow and helped her to her feet. "I think I can walk," she muttered once she was stable. Bill kept a hand at the small of her back the whole way to the bathroom door. She gave a weak nod. "I um, I can make it from here."

Bill let her go. "I'll be right outside the door if you need me."

Taylor closed the door and leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath. Oh God, she was just wearing her underwear. The blush that had just faded reappeared and she pushed off the wall with a groan. What she wouldn't give for a pair of pants. After relieving herself she made slow progress to the sink and washed her hands and face. The action of bending over to rinse her face brought with it a wave of pain that left her panting. "Bill?"

He was at her side before his name was off her lips. "Let me help you get back to bed."

"No," she waved her hand. "I want to brush my teeth. I just don't think I can stand." It really irked her to have to keep repeating her need for help. And she was still in her underwear and small tank. Bill stepped behind her and placed his hands on the counter, his arms creating a warm frame around her. It would have been easier if he was a jerk, but he was so nice to her.

With his support, she managed to brush her teeth. Feeling something close to clean and having removed the film from her teeth, Taylor dumped the toothbrush on the counter and leaned back against Bill. He kept her on her feet as he reached around to turn off the faucet then helped her back to the bed. She grunted as she dropped back against the pillow. "Thanks."

"Maybe you should get some rest?"

She sighed. "And what are you going to do to entertain yourself?"

"I'll just watch a movie or something." She thought about it. Even though she was just up, sleep sounded good. She needed the rest. She needed to function. God, she hated being injured. Bill sat on the other side of the bed. "I bet if you closed your eyes, you'd be asleep before I find something worth watching."

She grumbled. Bill Martin was trouble. "Fine." She tried to find a comfortable position on her back and settled into the mattress. The drugs were kicking in already, and the pain in her side had eased. And Bill was right; she was asleep in a matter of minutes.

Taylor woke again late in the morning to her stomach growling and her head much clearer than it had been before. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and eased herself into a sitting position.

Bill was stretched out on the bed next to her and he grinned when she looked his way. Something about the look he gave her made her blush and she turned a deeper shade of red when her stomach made another loud noise. Bill laughed. "Are you hungry at all? There's food in the fridge."

Taylor contemplated the idea of solid food, wondering if her stomach could tolerate it. She reached for the bottle of Gatorade and the tremor in her arm convinced her that eating would be a good idea. She couldn't afford to be laid up. She had to think about Bill too. God forbid someone found them. They needed to move soon anyway and she had to be able to function. "Yeah, I could eat."

Bill clambered from the bed and buried himself in the small fridge. "There's ham, turkey, chicken..."

"Chicken would be great, and can I get my pants and gun back?" Taylor asked wryly.

Bill glanced up. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?"

Taylor snorted and the movement aggravated her side. "No."

"Your pants are pretty much ruined, but I didn't toss them." He pulled a sandwich out for her and let her start as he retrieved the large bag from the closet. "What's in here anyway? It's heavy as hell."

Taylor took a large bite out of the sandwich and washed it down with some Gatorade and one of the pills. "It's my just-in-case bag." She ignored the rebellious clenching in her stomach and took another bite.

"Is that a shot gun?"

"No," she muttered. "But that would have been a good addition. Hand me my pants?" When he obliged, she set down the sandwich and checked the pockets, pulling out her cell phone and a small dime sized pin.

"What's that?"

Taylor frowned, "I pulled it from Matthew's things. It just struck me as... off." She turned it over in her hand, staring at the back. "I mean, I've never seen a tie pin with..." She squinted at it. Was that a catch on the back? "There should be a knife in that bag, can you get it?" She accepted the switchblade from Bill and used the tip to pry at the strange indent in the back. With a small twist of the blade, the pin popped open and Taylor gave a laugh of triumph.

"Is that memory chip?" Bill asked from Taylor's side.

"I think so." She peered at the small chip. "I can't remember ever using one like it, though. You think you can figure a way to read it?"

"I can try. I think my laptop survived the last getaway attempt." He shifted off the bed and started searching for his bag.

Taylor cleared her throat, "Bill, gun?"

"Drawer of the bedside table." He pulled his laptop from the bag.

She pulled the pistol from the drawer and gave a sigh of relief. She thought more clearly when she had her gun. "I'm going to call Wilson, let him know we're alive."

Bill glanced up from where his laptop was booting up. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Good idea? Of course it was a good idea. They needed Wilson right now. "What do you mean?" she narrowed her eyes.

Bill looked down at his keyboard nervously. "I'm just saying that somehow, our last safe house turned out to be not so safe. And I'm guessing that someone is responsible for that."

"And you think it's Wilson?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't know, Taylor. I just know that someone had to have done it."

"You don't know him like I do." She resumed dialing the number for Wilson's exit cell. Wilson was probably worried sick.

"I don't know any of them like you do," Bill murmured. "But it has to be someone."

Taylor thought about it from his perspective. Ok, so Wilson would have to be in realm of consideration. But, it's Wilson. "I'd trust Wilson with my life, Bill."

"Do you trust him with mine?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I know you don't know these people, but I work with them every day. I'll entertain the idea of it being a member of my team. I'd even go so far as to maybe, possibly imagine that Patrick could be involved. But not Wilson. He's too moral. He's... He's a lot like you, Boy Scout. And frankly, we don't have a choice. We have to trust him."

Bill sighed and nodded. "I trust you."

Taylor glanced up, but Bill had returned his attention to his laptop. She frowned and struggled out of bed, digging in the bag for the spare set of clothes she always kept in there. It was a struggle, but she managed to get the black fatigue pants on and buttoned before dropping back on the bed. Ok, this pain and exhaustion thing was not going to work. She tucked her gun into her waistband and picked up the phone.

It was answered on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Wilson?" she waited for him to give a safe code.

"This is Wilson. Code Ash."

Taylor nearly sighed with relief. "Wilson, this is James. Coding in under Maple."

"Jesus Christ, Taylor, where the hell are you?"

"We uh..." Taylor faltered. She couldn't tell if Wilson was relieved or pissed. 

"We ran into a problem. We'll be about two days out."

"Two days? Taylor what happened?"

"I told you, small problem." She rubbed her forehead absently. "We'll be there. You two ok?"

"Yeah," he muttered and she could picture Wilson running his hands through his hair. "You sure everything's ok?"

Taylor chuckled, but kept herself from laughing out right. "I've been better, but we'll make it through. Any news?"

"No. We've cut ourselves off. I was waiting to hear from you. You have anything?"

"No," she shot a glance at Bill, but he was busy muttering at his computer. "I'll be honest, I don't know who to call."

"You called me."

"Of course I called you," she said angrily.

"Calm down, Pipsqueak," he laughed.

"You calm down," she mumbled. Getting angry was making her side more painful and she took a few calming breaths.

"Ok, tell you what. Danny and I will sit tight and wait for you to get here. We can figure out where to go from there."

"Sounds good. Be safe, Wilson."

"You know I will. Just get here in one piece, ok?"

Her bitter laugh probably confused him more, but she couldn't keep it in. "You bet." She took a minute to collect herself as she mulled over the plan forming in her head. If Doc showed up in the morning, which was more than likely, they could be on the road by ten. It wouldn't take more than the day to get out to Wilson and Danny. Then they could figure out what to do from there. She sighed and swiped her palm across her eyes. Thinking was exhausting. "Any luck with the chip?"

Bill shook his head. "I think it's encrypted. I've managed to get it hooked into one of my USB cards, but I'm only getting gibberish."

Taylor pushed off the bed and made her way slowly to his side. "Did you try using some of the company's encryption codes? I doubt Matthew's was very creative."

"I don't have any company stuff on my laptop... Otherwise, I'd try."

She pointed to his menu bar. "If you don't have any of their stuff here, what is that doing on your desktop?"

Bill stopped what he was doing. "Taylor, I swear I've never put anything..."

"Fuck!" She didn't wait for him to finish. "Turn it off! Who brought you your stuff?"

"I dunno." He powered the small PC down.

"Bill," she took him by the shoulders. "Think! Who brought you your stuff?"

"I- I don't remember!" he stuttered.

She tugged the wires free of the computer and flipped it over, quickly prying a panel off the bottom. "Son of a bitch," she breathed, pulling a small transmitter from the laptop. Without wasting a second, she dropped it on the table and smashed it with the butt of her gun.

"Was that...?"

Taylor tried to remember how long the thing had been turned on. Maybe ten minutes. If they were lucky, they had thirty minutes. If they were unlucky... "Bill, we have to move. Now!" A surge of adrenaline hit her system hard and she felt her head clear. Everything was crystal clear.

"We don't have a car," he objected.

Taylor dropped to the floor next to her bag and tossed out a vest for Bill. "Put that on. Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"A gun?" he went pale.

She winced as she pulled on a tee shirt and manoeuvred into a vest of her own. At first, she was scared the vest was going to restrict her movements, but the Kevlar acted like a brace, keeping her back and side straight and prevented her from bending her side. Maybe Doc's stitches would last. "Here," she passed a spare pistol to Bill. "Hopefully, you won't need that, but just to be safe."

"Taylor, I don't think I should..."

"Quit thinking!" she snapped. She couldn't handle him not paying attention. She pulled on her holster. They were up shit creek and she was looking to steal them a paddle. "Listen. I need you to trust me. Do what I tell you, when I tell you. No hesitating, no second guessing, no thinking. Clear?"

Bill nodded.

"Good. Now, pack the supplies Doc left into your duffel. Take your laptop, anything worth anything from the room. Put the liquids in the big bag, you're going to be carrying it." Bill nodded again and followed her instructions. Taylor pulled a pair of boots from the bag and tugged them on, lacing them quickly and tucking a second gun into her holster. "Doc left vicodin, right?"

"Yeah, bedside table."

She took two and tucked the bottle into her vest. She'd probably be needing more before this was over. She glanced out the front window; there were two rigs parked at opposite ends of the lot, and the motel appeared to be an 'L' shape coming off of the interstate. If they did this right, there'd be no need for guns. If she miscalculated...

"Done," Bill said brusquely.

She didn't take her eyes from the window. "In the bag, there should be a small, hard plastic container. I need that. Then go into the bathroom. There should be a large access panel under the sink. Get the cover off. Did you notice if there was anyone in the room below us?"

"No, I don't think so..." 

"Good." She held out her hand for the container and shot a glance over her shoulder as Bill disappeared into the bathroom. Once he was out of sight, she extracted the C4 and placed two sizeable charges on the front wall. With one on the door and one just below the window, they were far enough apart not to set the other off. Taylor placed the detonators, double checked her work and dragged the bags into the bathroom.

With the access panel off, there was a narrow crawl space for the pipes, ducts, wires, and just enough room for a person to repair all of them. She smiled grimly. "Now here's the hard part. Do you see the plaster on the other side of the ducts?"

Bill nodded, "Yeah." 

"I need you to kick that open."

"Kick it open? Like with my foot?"

"Yup. If you can't, we'll have to shoot through, and I'd rather not draw the attention." Taylor stepped back and watched as Bill gave three solid kicks before the plaster gave way into the room below. "Think you can lower me down?"

She was grateful for his strong and secure grip as he lowered her through the floor. She grunted as she hit the ground from the short drop, but she didn't stumble. The vicodin must be kicking in, she though. She quickly peeked out the window as the squeal of tires reached from the interstate. Right on time. She pulled the bags out of the way as Bill dropped down into the room. "We've got to move fast. Grab the big bag."

Bill shouldered the large duffel as Taylor secured the smaller bag carefully over her shoulder. She spared a final glance out the window as two large, black SUVs screeched to a stop in front of the lobby and what she counted as eight large men hustled out of the vehicles. Here goes nothing. She took two steps for momentum and kicked in the adjoining door, putting another room between where they actually were and where these goons thought they were.

As Bill followed her into the room, she grinned. Jackpot. Why the honeymoon sweet would have an adjoining room, she'd never know. And why anyone would want to spend more than five minutes in a room as tacky as this... But it worked. And this room had a window out back. "Martin, we're going out that window," she gestured to the back wall. "When we get out, we walk up to the front desk and to the front door like there's nothing wrong. There's a rig parked next to the front door. I want you to walk behind it to the back tire and stay there. Clear?"

Bill nodded. "And you?"

"I'll be with you the whole way." She hoped her smile was reassuring. She'd be with him most of the way, but it was better she not tell him that. "Let's go."

Out the window, around the back of the building, into through the small door, down the hall next to the lobby, everything was going smoothly. Taylor pulled up short, stopping Bill from entering the lobby and drawing her pistol. One of the men from the SUVs was in the lobby talking to the man behind the desk.

"No, the only room that's occupied is 29." The man behind the desk punched a few more keys on his keyboard. "I don't think I was here when they got here, but that's it. No one else checked in."

"And you're the only one here?" the large man in the suit asked.

"Yup, Viv won't be in until noon. And if I didn't check them in, she'd be the one that did." He smiled politely. And Taylor shook her head. This was about to end poorly. "You want to call up to the room?"

"No, that won't be necessary." The suit pulled a gun and shot the receptionist from point blank range. Taylor grimaced and turned away, that was unnecessary. She caught the look on Bill's face and managed to clamp a hand over his mouth before he could make a sound. The suit pulled out a walkie-talkie, "They're in room 29. Lobby is clear."

Bill jerked and Taylor shook her head. Oh shit, he was going to vomit. His face went pale and he pressed his eyes closed. "Deep breath," she whispered. "Just take a deep breath." She locked eyes with him and waited. He swallowed and nodded slowly. When she removed her hand, he took a steadying breath and braced himself against the wall.

Taylor gave him a nod and turned back to the lobby. Her eyes narrowed. The suit had stopped by the front entrance and was looking around carefully. Shit. If he would just leave, she could get them out of here, but they were running out of time. She slid the safety off her pistol and held her breath. She didn't move until she heard the click of the front door. "Stay here," she said softly and quickly made her way to the reception desk.

The suit was walking toward the SUVs with his back to the lobby, thank God. Taylor stooped and checked for a pulse, not surprised to find the clerk very dead. Damn, what a waste. She sighed, did it make her a horrible person that she could look at this without flinching? Bill certainly couldn't. She gritted her teeth against a cramp in her side and stood.

The sound of a bullet ratcheting into the chamber of had her breath catching in her chest. "I knew I heard something."



The Program Ch. 06



 Oh my goodness... I've been a delinquent storyteller. For those of you who have been waiting for this forever (and for all the gentle nudges you've sent me), my apologies. I feel that at this point, I owe you an explanation beyond the standard "I got busy" reason.

In all honesty, I did get busy. But... I'm always busy. Here's the thing: I love to write, but writing is not my job. I wish it was, but unfortunately, I've invested myself in something that tends to demand much more time and energy and has increasingly taken me from writing in my spare time (mostly because I lost any semblance of spare time). I had hoped to finish this story before my life became as crazy as it was, but alas, not everything goes to plan.

After exams in the spring, my entire summer was spent studying for a test called the USMLE (commonly referred to as "The Medical Boards"). That finished just before I had to ship back med school. I'm not in lectures, I'm in the hospitals working fulltime. Most time not in the hospital is spent studying or eating or sleeping... but mostly studying. It's a never ending thing (as those of you still in school know). And to complicate things further, I'm on rotation away from home without internet access... * sigh * But I shouldn't complain. I love this life (I would like a little more time for writing).

In addition to that, I just ran a marathon... What is wrong with me? I'm some kind of crazy. Anyway, I've been trying to find the time to polish this chapter off, edit it, and post it in the middle of all the work, studying, running, and other such life things.

My apologies again for the delay. And for anyone who sent me an email or a message begging this to be finished, I do try... I really do try... I hope you enjoy it. And the wait for the next chapter should not be nearly as long.

As always, thank you for reading,

~ewebie 

~~o~~

The sound of a bullet ratcheting into the chamber had her breath catching in her chest. "I knew I heard something."

Taylor's eyes locked on the muzzle of the gun aimed at her head. 

Fuck.

Her gun was in her hand, but down by her side. The suit had already aimed, his finger on the trigger, safety off; there was no way she'd get a shot off. And he was too far away for her to try to disarm him. Not to mention the reception desk between them.

Oh Fuck.

"You know, you look exactly like one of the targets. Funny." The suit re-levelled the gun to the centre of her chest.

Taylor closed her eyes. Somehow, a seedy motel wasn't exactly her ideal place to go. Josh was going to be so pissed at her.

"Taylor!"

Her eyes snapped open as Bill rushed into the lobby.

Holy Fuck!

She didn't even take the time to aim, and the two guns erupted simultaneously as she squeezed off a double-tap. The suit twisted awkwardly, dropping to his knees before crumpling to the floor. Bill staggered back a step and collapsed. 

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Taylor spun behind the wall, cursing loudly and expecting the other goons to rush the lobby. After a steadying breath, she convinced herself that they were too far to have heard the shots, no one was coming, and she rushed from behind the desk to where Bill lay still and prone on the floor. Oh God...

She dropped to her knees and rolled him onto his back, searching desperately for a wound. There was no blood. Why wasn't there any blood? Bill coughed weakly. The vest! Oh sweet Jesus, Bill was wearing the vest. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently. "Bill!" 

Bill coughed, gasped, sucked in air, and coughed again. He forced his eyes open and squinted at Taylor, the pain in his ribs making his eyes water. Taylor laughed with relief and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him on the floor.

The hug hurt and Bill grunted as her weight came down roughly on his chest. "Ow." Taylor pulled back and laughed again, prying a slug from the centre of his vest. Bill groaned again, "These vests don't do anything. That hurt like hell!" He forced a smile and a grin bloomed across Taylor's face in response. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows with a wince and was gauging how hard it would be to get to his feet when Taylor reached out, took his face between her palms, and pressed her lips to his.

Bill started, managed to swallow the gasp that threatened to escape, and groaned instead. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest with the adrenaline that rushed through his veins. It was a high unlike anything he'd experienced and heat flooded his body. He grunted and wrapped an arm around her slim frame, holding her against him. Her lips were so soft, so inviting. It wasn't like him to be so bold, but what the hell, he held her tighter as her tongue slid between his lips, teasing the inside of his mouth and coaxing a moan from him. 

He'd been thinking about this ever since he'd caught her singing to herself. And in spite of his complete inability to get a handle on who she really was, she was always gorgeous. Who was he to stop her? Now her body was draped across his, her mouth moving against his, and her fingers wrapped in his hair. His arm wrapped tighter around her waist and she squeaked, breaking the kiss with a gasp for breath as her face paled. "Oh God, Taylor, your side," he whispered. "I forgot."

Taylor startled him again by chuckling, a rosy glow returning to her cheeks, "You scared the living hell out of me." She pushed herself back onto her knees and stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and helping him sit up. "If you ever do that to me again, so help me, I'll kill you myself." 

Bill blinked at her where she stood, offering him a hand up. What the hell just happened? Did she really just... Did he? And how was she just standing there so... nonchalant? She tilted her head to the side, "Come on, boy scout, we have to get out of here."

Bill declined her hand. Because he didn't want her to hurt her side, he told himself, shaking off the small voice of rejection that nagged at the back of his mind. He pushed himself up and took a second to find his feet as the adrenaline had left him with the shakes. The adrenaline, or getting shot, or seeing someone else get shot... Taylor stooped and relieved the suit of his gun and radio, slipping the gun into the waist of her fatigues and the radio into a pocket. "Do we have a plan?" Bill asked cautiously, trying to avoid looking at either of the bodies on the floor.

When Taylor grinned, it was a purely feral expression. "Oh yeah. Go behind the truck, I'll pick you up."

"Pick me up? Taylor, we don't have a car," he objected.

"Grab the bags and get moving. I'm going to steal one." She didn't wait to see if he followed; she was back in action mode. She checked the front doors, they seemed clear. "Ready?" Bill nodded. Taylor smiled, pulled a switch from her pocket, triggered the first detonator, and pulled Bill out the door.

It was sudden chaos in the parking lot as two men were thrown from the balcony outside of their former room. The remaining goons rushed forward to recover their comrades and rush up the stairs toward the room. Bill pressed his back to the tire of the truck. "What was that?!"

"A distraction." She smiled and peered under the truck. "Stay here. I'll be back in a sec." Taylor crawled under the carriage of the semi and carefully timed her movements. The remaining five suits were either on or up the stairs, all focused on the tatters of the door or the two fallen suits. She dashed to the side of the nearest SUV, sending up a thanks as she found it running. Moving slowly, she inched up to the driver's side and climbed in. She kept her head down, but managed to get into a driving position.

Taking a deep breath, she triggered the second block of C4, threw the car in reverse and backed around the semi. She unlocked the doors, rolled down the window and sent a smile Bill's way before the second wave of debris had settled. "Get in."

~o~

"Are you sure they'll be here?" Bill asked timidly as he slowed the car next to the tall beach grass. They were in their third car since leaving the motel. Taylor had insisted on ditching the SUV as soon as possible. Then after heading north-east for over an hour, she had pulled into a large Walmart parking lot and "borrowed" another car, but not before swapping license plates with the car next to it. By the time they were moving again, they were heading south and Bill was behind the wheel.

Taylor's energy level had dropped sharply with the rise in pain from her side, and rather than drain herself dry, she'd consented to allow Bill to drive, telling him to stay on the same highway and wake her when they reached the Carolinas.

She nodded slowly. "It's our exit strategy. We both know it. If they're not here, something went wrong for them too. But Wilson said they were already here." She didn't want to consider the possibility that something had gone wrong since they last spoke. She needed Wilson right now. She didn't know if she could trust Patrick or Larson, or even if they were alive, but Wilson would know what to do. He had to, because she had never felt this helpless before. Well, she could run. She was good at that. She had money and passports and contacts across the globe. But there was Bill to think about. What the hell was she supposed to do with him? "See that white cottage? Pull in there; we'll hide the car later."

"That one on stilts?" Bill stared at the small house. After the cabin in the woods, he wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but this wasn't it. It looked like a Nantucket cottage built a storey off the ground. "Isn't this a little exposed?"

Taylor snorted. "You've never been to the Outer Banks before, have you?" When he shook his head, she smiled. "How many houses do you see around here?"

"Three."

"Yup, and I know the people that live in all three houses. I know the people that work in the local shops, that run the B&Bs, that own the marinas, that drive the ferries. The tourists don't come down to Frisco except to see the lighthouse. There are two ways to get here and two ways to get out: the road, and the ferry. People here like their privacy. And the locals will be suspicious of anyone asking questions."

Bill furrowed his brow as he put the car in park, quickly turning off the engine. "Is it dangerous that you're known around here?"

"Yes and no. People around here don't know my last name and I haven't been here in years. It's not even in my file." She climbed out of the car and reached into the back to pull out the smaller duffel. "Isolation didn't work so well last time, so I'd rather not do that again. But, it is a little risky. That's why this isn't an approved exit. It's our fall back, mine and Wilson's." 

"Are you ok to carry that?" Bill winced as soon as he'd asked the question. Taylor had been a little brusque with him since they'd first changed cars. He couldn't tell if she was upset, angry at him, or just in pain. Regardless, dumb question. He knew better than to antagonise the short angry female.

Taylor shot him a dark look, dropped the small bag and hoisted the large bag up onto her shoulder. "I just slept for two hours, I'm pretty damn sure I can walk a flight of stairs with this." She probably would have been better off not carrying anything. Bill could carry them both, or Wilson could come down and get it. But she was stubborn. She held her breath while she climbed the stairs, refusing to show how hard it actually was.

She slowed just before opening the door and knocked loudly. "Wilson? Wilson, it's me, I'm coming in." She pushed the door open and pulled up short in the entryway, staring down the muzzle of another gun.

"Oh thank God," Wilson blurted out, lowering his pistol. Taylor smiled weakly and dumped the bag on the floor as Bill came in behind her and shut the door. "What took you so long?"

God, he was a sight for sore eyes. Suddenly, her side was aching and she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to stay on her feet and more than anything, she actually wanted to cry. She glanced down at the bag to make sure she hadn't just dropped it on anything important and before she even heard him move, Wilson had her wrapped in his arms. Taylor gasped as his arms tightened around her and tried to push away. Wilson released her immediately, reaching for her shoulders as she staggered back. "Taylor, what's wrong?"

Bill dropped the small bag quickly and managed to catch her from behind; helping her right herself as Wilson took her elbows. "It's her side," he said quietly.

Wilson drew her carefully against his chest, blue his eyes flashing dangerously at Bill. "What is she doing carrying that if she's injured?" he hissed angrily. Bill held up his hands defensively. He wouldn't have let her carry the bag if she actually listened to anything he said. Wilson should know that. Wilson ignored the gesture, scooped Taylor up and carried her out of the room.

Bill sighed heavily as his shoulders drooped. For less than a minute, he had been grateful to see Wilson. Now he just wanted to crawl into a hole. He didn't think he could tolerate another angry glare. The tentative touch at the small of his back had him nearly jumping out of his skin and he spun around. "Danny?"

Danny smiled wryly. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

Bill shook his head. "No, no worries. I'm just wound a little tight."

"That was a warm welcome," she said, a small bob of her head aimed at the door her brother had closed roughly.

He held his hands out. "I tried to take the bag away, I swear, Danny. I never would have let her carry that, but she was insistent. I'm sure you've seen Taylor when she makes up her mind. And she's armed."

Danny was laughing softly. "Don't sweat it, Boy Scout. As stubborn as Taylor is, Josh is just as stubborn. He's probably more pissed at her than at you." She took his hand with a smile. "Come on, you can tell me all about it. You hungry?" And she led him from the hallway.

~o~

Wilson set Taylor down on the edge of the bed. "Are you alright? Can I get you something?" Taylor gazed vacantly around the room for a minute, her eyes coming to rest on the sole picture adorning the wall. Her eyes narrowed. She shook her head and stood stiffly, tugging at the Velcro of her vest. Wilson caught her wrists, "No, let me."

"I can do it myself," she snarled and tried to wrench her hands free. Wilson swiped the Velcro open and released her so quickly that she stumbled backward. Her frown turned into a grimace as she pulled the vest off over her head and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor.

"Taylor," Wilson began, concern plastered on his face.

She cut him of with a wave of her hand, pulling the spare gun from the back of her fatigues and setting it on the dresser. "I'm fine, leave me alone."

"You're bleeding," he said softly, trying to turn her toward the bed.

"No, I'm not," she grumbled, twisting away again. She silently berated herself for sounding like a child. She was just so exhausted. She pulled the second gun from her holster and dropped it next to the first before dumping the holster on the floor.

"Taylor." Wilson was getting frustrated with her and she knew it, but she couldn't stop. She sighed heavily and took a step toward the door. Wilson growled and planted a hand on the door, his weight preventing her from opening it. 

"Damnit, Wilson. Get out of my way." She had wanted to get here so badly, but everything Wilson did was pissing her off and now she felt trapped. God, she always knew what to do. She hated needing other people; they always let her down. Why was now so different? She needed out of this room. She tugged at the doorknob ineffectively and her hands slipped from the knob. She fell back against Wilson with a grunt, the sudden movement sending a wave of pain through her.

Wilson caught her from behind, gently pulling her against him. "Just stop," he said quietly, tucking her into the curve of his body.

"Let me go!" she snapped, struggling against his arms.

"Taylor stop!" he caught her wrists in one hand and dropped onto the bed, tugging her down on his lap. She tried to push free, but he held fast. "Taylor, calm down."

She shoved against him, but he wouldn't let go. "Ow," she gasped, not even sure what was actually hurting anymore. Instinct had her panicking. She wanted out. She couldn't breathe. She twisted, trying to wrench her wrists out of his hand and pain lanced up her side causing her to double over with a whimper.

Wilson sighed heavily and eased her upright, cradling her against his chest. Taylor shuddered and buried her face against his shoulder. Coming here was a mistake. They had picked it because Mick had kept the place when it was willed to him, because Mick had willed it to a unique third party that left both her name and Wilson's name off of the deed to keep it from their files, because the only time she had felt safe as a teenager was when Mick brought her here for the summers, and because it was still supposed to be a safe place. Hell, the framed picture of her and Mick was still on the wall. She wasn't going to feel comfortable here. This was a terrible mistake.

"Shh, it's ok," Wilson whispered.

Taylor was horrified to feel the tears running down her cheeks and her fingers dug into Wilson's shirt. What happened to being in control? She was always in control. Get a grip, Taylor, she told herself. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, she eased her grip on Wilson's arm and pushed back the tears. One large palm stroked up and down her back and she sighed. "I'm fine."

"Will you let me take a look at that?" he asked.

She nodded. "The extra bandages are in one of the bags in the hall." While Wilson left to retrieve the med kit, she dug her bottle of pills from the pocket of her vest and sat on the side of the bed, dropping her head into her hands. The sensation of complete exhaustion closed in again and she shut her eyes against the returning impulse to cry. She needed rest. She was dead on her feet now, and they were damn lucky she'd made it as far as she did without collapsing.

Wilson closed the door softly when he returned and squatted down in front of her, resting a hand on her knee. "Let me patch you up, then you can rest while I scrounge up something for you to eat." She gave a small murmur of assent as his fingers tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Ok, arms up."

She obeyed, gingerly lifting her arms so Wilson could pull the dirty, bloodstained tee shirt over her head. It wasn't like her to be so compliant, but she didn't feel much like arguing. "Don't lose that, I don't have anything else to wear," she mumbled.

He chuckled. "It's so filthy, I'm going to burn it. You have clothes here." His hand slid under her knees and he laid her back on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat at her right side and she watched as he peered at the bandages. "This might sting a bit when I pull off the tape."

She turned her face away and swallowed hard. "Like a band aid, Wilson. Fast and all at once." She tucked her left hand behind her head to keep it out of the way.

"Sorry," he whispered, placing a steadying hand on her hip and snapping the bandage off as quickly as possible. Taylor's brow furrowed and she grunted sharply, but she didn't move. He produced a warm washcloth and carefully cleaned the dried blood from her side. "Who stitched this?"

"Doc," she croaked.

"Someday, I'd love to meet the guy. He does great work." Wilson's fingers gently checked the skin around the stitches. "What did he say about taking these out?"

"Four days. I called him from somewhere in Virginia, and he said they should come out clean, but not to get them dirty in the mean time."

"And any instructions beyond that?" Wilson used a small disinfectant wipe to clean the wound.

She snorted. "Yeah. He told me to take it easy."




The Program Ch. 06-11



Chapter 6: like mother like daughter, big-titted mother visits, office discipline

In September, at the beginning of Janice's junior semester, she informed me that her mother, Janine, was intent on visiting during Thanksgiving. I was dismayed, since a parent's visit meant lots of preparation and inconveniences. Janice assured me that her mother would not be dissuaded.

Seeing how disgruntled I was, she showed me a photo. I was surprised, to put it mildly. Although she was only 36, Janine looked more like an older sister of 26 than a parent. And the daughter was a spitting image. The mother had lustrous, straight short black hair, huge eyes and even fuller lips. Her expression was a combination of a sly smile and an enticing look. I wondered if a negative could be turned into a positive. . . .

I asked if there were more photos. After a moment, Janice nodded and brought me a stack of shots. They were made to post on online dating sites. Janice had been the photographer. There was a large variety: head shots, full body, casual and elegant clothing, light-to-elaborate makeup, indoors and out. Janice was naturally gifted and inventive with a camera. There was no denying that Janine was hot, with a bust that appeared even larger than her daughter's, voluptuous hips, and a tall, toned body. Then the shots became more interesting.

In one set, Janine was smiling or laughing while washing the car on a Saturday, wearing short shorts and a tight tube top that revealed her great tits and slender long legs. Holding a large, soapy and dripping car sponge, her chest was covered with suds that continued in a trail down her flat abdomen and onto the zipper of her shorts. To say it was suggestive does not do it justice. But her light expression kept it from being too tawdry. Following were shots of her bent over the hood, legs spread, and leaning backward over the hood, legs again spread.

Janice explained that her mother had drunk a double rum and coke before the series, and that she hadn't published the lewd ones on any Web sites. But the two of them had such a good time playing around that they proceeded with another session the very next day. Again fortified with a strong cocktail, Janine was lying on a chaise lounge in a brief black bikini that revealed even more of her incredible body. Intriguingly, in one shot her arms were stretched above her head, but the image ended before her wrists. To me, the pose was suggesting that her hands were bound.

In another set, she posed in her bedroom, wearing a sheer black baby doll and assuming various lurid positions. Janice explained the final image. Since she worked out almost every day, Janice had suggested a photo that would display her mother's buffed arms. Janine sat on a bench, propped against the scrolled ironwork railing at the foot of her bed. Large dark nipples tented the thin baby doll fabric. Her arms were stretched horizontally, the taut muscles plainly visible, but like the bikini photo, the picture ended before her wrists. I asked Janice if there was any tension on her mother's arms, and Janice replied that, in order to accentuate the muscles, she'd tied her mother's hands to the bedposts with stockings.

"How did she react when you suggested tying her?" I asked.

"She thought it was strange, but didn't object," Janice said. "I teased her about leaving her like that, but I didn't. After we finished, she was unusually quiet or subdued for the rest of the day." After Janice answered a detailed series of questions about her mother, I formed a plan.

On the last day of school before Thanksgiving, I dispatched the staff's car and driver – with Janice – to pick up her mother at the train station. As the vehicle approached, my driver was stunned to see the gorgeous, incredibly sexy woman who was waiting for them. When Janice climbed out of the car to hug her mother, the driver was even more surprised to see how remarkably similar they appeared.

The two women entered my office after the students had been dismissed and the faculty and staff had departed. In person, the mother was stunning, even better than she appeared in the photos. Above an elegant full skirt, she wore a short, tight waist-length jacket. Beneath the jacket, all that was visible of the blouse was a collar extending up to her neck.

After Janice took a position standing against the wall, legs spread and hands clasped behind her, Janine sat and I kept looking back and forth to compare the two. Janine laughed and acknowledged that my reaction was typical. She had a wonderful, throaty laugh, all the more appealing because of the wide mouth and plump lips. Since it was 4 pm, I offered her a sherry, which she accepted with pleasure and quickly finished.

We spent several minutes discussing Janice's progress – the usual stuff, including academics and sports. "She looks wonderful, Headmaster, more womanly somehow, tanned and fit. And even her legs look trim than I remember."

"Yes, she's doing well with soccer and lacrosse. Janice, raise your skirt and show your mother how fit your legs are." There was a moment of silence as Janice stood unresponsively. She knew exactly what I meant about how high to lift the short uniform. "You've just earned your first punishment."

Reluctantly, the girl moved her hands from behind her back and ever so slowly lifted the skirt to her waist, exposing her taut long legs and French cut, black lace panties. "Janice!" her mother gasped, shocked at the display and surprised that her daughter wasn't wearing some regulation, coarse and heavy plain white cotton panties.

"That's all right, Janine, I've coached plenty of teams in my time and am used to seeing student bodies." Janice continued to hold the skirt at her waist. "Besides, we're traditional at Ansonia but because we value sports and dance so highly, we admire the human form. It's nothing to be prudish and old-fashioned about." I refilled her sherry glass. Now uncomfortable, the beauty quickly consumed the second glass.

When I asked about Janine's journey, she said it was lengthy, with multiple transport segments and connections, but acceptable until near the end, when she waited a tiring half hour at the station.

"Was your train early?" I asked. That would be a first!"

"No, Janice was late," she answered. I turned to my student, at right angles to us, her hands clasped behind her, eyes lowered.

"Have you any explanation for that rude behavior, after your mother came across the country at great expense, time and effort?"

"No, Headmaster."

I turned back to Janine. "How would you have treated this inconsiderate behavior at home? Ignored or indulged it, like so many modern parents?"

"Oh no, Headmaster, as a child she was punished," Janine clarified. I waited, eyebrows raised. "She was spanked fairly frequently."

"I prefer that you, as her mother, administer the discipline yourself, rather than me."

"Oh!" she said, flustered. "Do you mean here—and now?"

"Why not? We find it's far better to deal with a discipline situation immediately."

"I see. . . yes, I suppose that makes sense," she said, acquiescing to my position and authority, her nervousness now beginning to be underscored with a tinge of excitement at the prospect of making her pouting and rude daughter submit before a stranger.

"Perhaps a cup of our special tea would fortify you?"

I went to my outer office, where the water quickly boiled in the electric kettle. I brewed a pot of strong English tea with milk, adding several shots of strong dark rum, and placed a large mug on the side table next to Janine's chair. She drank and, intrigued by the taste, swallowed more. "Headmaster, it's delicious!" Apparently she didn't realize it was liberally laced with rum. "How do you make it?"

"Oh, it's an Ansonia secret. Now, let's proceed, Janice." Grudgingly, the girl trudged to her mother and lay across her lap, automatically spreading her legs.

"You'll be much more stable, Janine, if you take a wider stance with your legs." Cooperatively, Janine spread her long strong legs until her daughter's mons was under one thigh. Without being asked, Janice raised her skirt in the rear. "Continue," I said to the prostrate girl. Deeply humiliated, but before Janine could object, my submissive pulled down her panties. Janine was not only surprised at this development, she stared at her nubile daughter's rump, stunned by the fading marks that extended across it. As if in a trance, she lifted her arm and extended her hand, tracing her fingers over the stripes. "Janine," I said, to pull her out of her shock. Slowly she lifted her eyes to mine. 

"Spanking is for children, Janine. Here at Ansonia we're not afraid to use the proper instruments on young women. And why hurt your own hand with spanking? If it's the first time you're using an instrument, I suggest ten to twelve strokes with a leather tawse. It's easy to use when sitting and much more mild than a whip or cane."

"I see," she replied, hastily swallowing more of the altered tea, clearly affected by the caffeine and rum.

"And why don't you pull up your skirt. That way, Janice won't slip and slide on its fabric." Becoming ever more obedient, the now perspiring beauty and her half-naked daughter adjusted themselves while Janine raised her skirt, revealing lovely gray stay-ups that looked as if they might be French. The moment Janice settled back, her mother immediately felt the excited girl's wetness on her naked thigh. I waited while the dazed mother processed the fact that her daughter was literally dripping with excitement. I could only hope that the mother was now dripping as well.

"Janine, you appear to be over-warm. May I suggest you remove your jacket? Ansonia's heating system is ancient and the rooms are frequently overheated." I made no mention of the small, quiet black space heater under my desk, aimed at her chair. She appeared to be uncomfortable at this suggestion.

"That's not necessary, Headmaster."

I did not relent. "You'll become much warmer when you begin. I'm afraid I insist. We wouldn't want you to faint from exertion, would we?" Several seconds passed.

"Yes, Headmaster," she conceded. May I please have another cup of tea?" While she slowly unbuttoned her jacket, I poured another cup. Returning to my desk, I now understood her reluctance. While the high collar of the blouse gave the impression of conservative, the white blouse was actually the lightest silk, displaying a demi bra underneath in the traditional European style. Except that the bra was black, expensive black lace.

"What a lovely blouse. As is your daughter's expensive blouse, which will become soiled – or even ruined – during the discipline. Janice, remove it."

Panicked, Janine asked, "Is she wearing a bra?"

"Of course. A full bosomed girl such as Janice wears a bra whenever she leaves her apartment for classes, meals, athletics or events." Mollified, Janine avoided the embarrassing sight of her daughter stripping by turning to the side table and raising her mug as the humiliated Janice, still lying across her lap, unbuttoned and removed her blouse.

"Was Janice a screamer when she received punishment?" The mother nodded mutely, drinking deeply as Janice dropped the blouse on the table. "Open the drawer and you'll see something to quiet her, as well as a tawse." She slid open the drawer, seeing two black leather objects, a bridle-type gag (a four-inch wood dowel covered with leather) and the tawse. She held the gag in front of her daughter's open mouth and inserted it. I stood and refilled Janine's almost empty mug with a third serving. Since I'd drunk next to nothing, she would be consuming three liberal doubles of the disguised rum. "Drink up while it's still warm," I urged her. Dutifully, Janine swallowed more.

"Now there's only one more item and then we can begin." I removed a long leather strap from the same drawer as Janice extended her arms horizontally in front of herself, hands clasped. I bound them and began fastening the strap to the arm of a heavy chair near her.

"Headmaster, is that really necessary?" Janine asked in a quivering voice.

"Yes, of course my dear. Otherwise, Janice would be thrashing about." I sat down. "If you press down on the small of her back, it will also stabilize her and reduce the twisting about. Please begin." Hesitantly, the mother applied pressure to just above Janice's ass – which only forced the girl's pussy into the mother's thigh – and laid the first stroke into her daughter's ass. It was so tentative that upon impact, Janice neither moved nor made a sound.

Janine looked up at me immediately. "That shouldn't count, it was just a test." I nodded. Then I watched as mother struck daughter with increasing severity, as Janice began moaning, squirming her sweating body, abused ass and drenched pussy against Janine's thigh, as Janine's thin blouse became plastered to her bra. The girl raised her chest up, stretching the leather strap attached to her wrists. Finally, Janine saw that Janice's bra was a shelf bra, completely exposing her tits with their thick distended nipples. Infuriated at the lewd lingerie, Janine redoubled her strikes, expanding them to Janice's upper thighs, until the suffering girl's moans changed into guttural grunts of pain and arousal. At the twelfth blow, Janice lost all control and orgasmed, shaking feverishly and crying as her groin bucked obscenely on her mother's thigh, collapsing limply on Janine's lap as the climax passed.

Janine gulped her tea, amazed at how she'd just beaten her teen daughter to an orgasm. She turned back to me, dripping with sweat, eyes slightly glazed. "How dare she wear that bra?" she asked indignantly, apparently unaware that I'd been viewing every swirl of lace on her tight bra.

"Then finish her punishment," I said, daring her to continue. "The tradition here is to discipline the offending area. Janice, turn over." My well-trained student flipped over, twisting her wrist strap, naked tits heaving above the quarter bra, long legs kept wide apart. Now Janine realized that her daughter's pussy was completely shaved. "Place your hand on her lower belly to hold her." Unquestioningly, Janine put her hand on the sweating, lean abdomen, her long fingers covering the lurid sight of Janice's engorged one-inch clitoris. Enraged by Janice's indecent bra, sopping pussy and violent orgasm, Janine repeatedly struck the defenseless girl on her big tits while I watched the long fingers descend until they were first touching the surface of Janice's slick, wide labia and slit. Then Janine's middle finger sank into the opening. By the time Janine switched from hitting the tawse on Janice's tits to directly impacting the girl's obscene nipples, all three fingers had sunk into the slit and Janice arched up in a second shouting, shaking orgasm, finally sprawling on the slippery lap.

Janine was gasping, for she'd climaxed as well. Janice slid off her lap in seeming slow motion and landed on the floor, sniffling, arms stretched so tightly by the leather wrist strap that her marked and swollen tits with their inflamed nipples lifted completely off the shelf of the bra. The bridle gag slipped out of her slack mouth and slid down her sweaty chest to her belly. Since Janine's legs were spread as wide as possible and her skirt was bunched at the waist, I gazed at her thighs, liberally smeared with cunt juice, and her sheer black panties. Despite the lace, I could see – for she was also shaved except for a token, one-inch long and quarter-inch wide strip – her glistening pussy lips bulging against the imprisoning, stretched fabric.

Chapter 7: what's good for the submissive daughter is. . . .

I walked over in front of Janine, straddling the prone Janice, and lightly slapped both of the older woman's cheeks to bring her around. "You certainly pounded her tits with the tawse, didn't you Janine?"

"Yes, I suppose I got carried away," the sweating beauty admitted groggily, thirstily finishing the remains of her tea in several swallows.

I walked to her side, hands clasped behind my back. "You were so harsh that it looked as though you had no idea how it felt to Janice." She put on the blouse. "At this institution, we can only punish fairly and justly when we're aware of how much the other suffers. Janine, have you ever been punished like that?"

She'd been wondering where I was leading. "No. . . ." she said, puzzled.

"And you don't believe in a disciplinarian – or any teacher – acting from a place of inexperience or ignorance, do you?" I was now standing behind her.

"Of course. . . of course not," she said, warily.

"Then I think those lovely tits of yours should have some of the same treatment." I yanked her blouse down off her shoulders and wrapped it around the chair frame, imprisoning her arms. "And who better to administer it than somebody who knows exactly how it feels – your daughter."

Janine yelled. "No, you can't do this!" she said halfheartedly as I untied the straps from Janice's wrists and bound the mature beauty's spread ankles to the outside of the chair legs. I filled Janine's empty mug with the last of the tea, lifted a leather strap from the table's drawer, picked up the greasy gag from Janice's belly and helped the abused girl to stand, handing her the tea. Dehydrated, she gulped it all, her bruised tits still exposed above the quarter bra, her skirt till tucked into her waist, pussy completely visible.

Janine was seething, her chest heaving, struggling in the heavy chair, rocking it slightly, muttering about how "improper" our sordid scene was. To make it even more perverted, I shoved the spit-drenched gag into Janine's thick lips – curiously, she didn't resist – and fastened it with the new strap. I knelt between her legs and ever so slowly, pulled the bra straps off her beautiful shoulders, feeling the smooth skin. She looked at me beseechingly, the beginning of saliva appearing at the corner of her mouth, but she knew I could tell that she was very excited. Staring into her big eyes, I unfastened the bra's center clasp and lifted the lace cups off to the sides, exposing her large tits – 36C, I guessed, just slightly large than her daughter's – with their thick and elongated dark nipples. "Incredible," I murmured, first lifting the heavy tit flesh, then flicking the chocolate stalks back and forth.

I stared at her groin and she mewled into the gag, a sliver of drool extending from her gagged lips, while she shifted her butt on the chair, fearing the next step in her twisted debasement. "We don't permit double standards, so just like with Janice, we'll have to remove those pretty panties. But since we don't want to untie your ankles. . ." I removed a penknife from my pocket and slit the waistband, drawing off the damp garment. "Most beautiful," I sighed, stroking the thick labia, "but sitting there, I don't see how Janice can both beat your tits and also give your cunt relief, as you did for her. After all, fair's fair."

Saliva now dripping off her chin and splashing onto one of her tits, the mother looked despairingly at Janice, who was gloating over her nude and bondaged mother. "What do you think, Janice?"

"We could be nice and fasten a dildo to the seat of the chair." Janine yelled and twisted at this degrading suggestion.

"An excellent idea," I said, getting a medium dildo with an extended base and black tape from a drawer. "Lift up," I ordered, and Janine used those long strong thighs to hover a foot above the chair while I fastened the dildo to the chair's wood seat. Looking down, two strands of saliva now splattered onto the chair. After a couple of minutes, Janine's thighs began scissoring with the strain of the awkward position and she sank down onto the dildo until all of its six inches drove into her, groaning deeply.

I slapped her tits until she looked at me. "Janine, the vicious way you struck Janice's nipples did not escape my attention. So to maintain parity, we're going to hurt your nipples as well. But since you're the older, more experienced slut, you should have a higher threshold of pain. Rather than the tawse hitting your nipples a few times, they're so big and beautiful that they deserve constant attention." I removed two tiny chrome spring-mounted clothespins from my pocket. "They're small enough that they won't get in the way when your tits get hit." I wiped some saliva off a tit and smeared the drool on a huge nipple, savoring the feel. So did Janine, who closed her eyes to contain her arousal.




The Program Ch. 06-11



With some difficulty, I applied plenty of pressure to the clothespin so the jaws would open a half-inch, the minimum required to encompass the thick diameter of the nipple. Never before had I seen any nipple device sink so deeply into the base of such a wide nipple stalk. Nor had I ever seen three-quarters of the nipple extending beyond the clothespins. The trapped parent cried out and shuddered as the sensations shot from nipple to cunt. As I applied the second clothespin, her hips had begun subtly rocking back and forth, hoping I wouldn't notice that she'd begun fucking the dildo.

"Very nice." I grabbed Janine's short black hair and lifted her head back so her glazed eyes looked directly into Janice's, as the semi-nude daughter lifted the tawse into the air for the first hard strike. The vengeful girl ferociously struck her mother's swaying tits as Janine unabashedly pumped her legs to move on the dildo. The tied and clamped mother's swaying tits quickly bore the red marks and bruised swelling of the breast discipline. After 24 blows, as Janice struck the tawse directly onto the nipples, extending so far out from the clothespins, Janine ground her groin into the dildo, thrust her head back, and screamed, bounced and twisted in a spectacular cum.

Exhausted but elated, Janice stood there, breathing heavily, dripping with sweat and smirking with pride about the pain she'd inflicted during the depraved session. She was pleased to see that her mother's nude body was not much better than her own, and that her mother was as much of a submissive pain slut as was Janice.

"Well done, Janice. I'll leave you two to gather yourselves and walk to your apartment. Your mother's luggage has already been delivered there. Give her a hot bath and answer any questions she will have. Tomorrow, tell her the day's program follows my explicit instructions. First, shave her thoroughly, then teach her the positions for standing, sitting and kneeling. Make sure she wears one of your shelf bras and French cut panties, plus stockings, a garter belt and heels. I know they'll be a size too small for her. Add a collar and place one of those thick black rubber bands at the base of each of her tits, then show her the campus.

If she gives you any trouble, slap her face. If she's still difficult, slap her tits. I'll meet you both for dinner at 6:00 pm." Janice nodded. "As a special treat, I'll let you remove the clothespins now, but leave her gagged until you do. And Janice," I added, smiling into the slut's eyes, try not to be late for tea?"

Chapter 8: mother's submissive training begins, another hot cum slut

When I arrived for dinner, Janice answered the door. "Did she give you any trouble?" I asked. Janice nodded.

"Last night she asked a zillion questions. This morning, she let me shave her and I wound up licking, sucking and fingering her clit and cunt till she came. But I had to slap her face in order to teach the positions. After I dressed her in my lingerie, I had to slap her breasts so she'd wear the collar. And I had to bind her hands behind her so I could put the rubber bands on her big tits."

"Alright, go ahead and eat dinner at the Student Union." She left. Janine sat at the dinner table, very still. I told her how gorgeous she looked in her sheer blouse and new collar. Squirming, she thanked me, already afraid yet excited, and swallowed her white wine. For dinner, I'd ordered shrimp in a thick white lobster sauce because the viscous sauce looked so similar to cum. I went to the kitchen to finish the preparations. First I made a plate for myself. Then I removed a large container from the rear of the refrigerator and secretly added cum to the remainder of the sauce, increasing it by 50% and loading my new submissive's plate with the mixture. I microwaved both plates and served them as I sat at the head of the table.

"Have you ever had shrimp with lobster sauce?" I asked Janine.

"No, we don't have a Chinese restaurant in our town." she said, tentatively tasting her first forkful.

"Do you like it?"

Intrigued, she washed down the oyster/cum sauce with wine. "It's similar to something I've had before, but I just can't place it" she said, scooping up a soup spoon of sauce and concentrating on the flavor as she swirled it around her big mouth. "It's a little tangy and a bit salty," she added, licking her thick lips. She proceeded to eat with gusto, lifting large forkfuls as strands of the white gunk connected the fork to the goo on her plate. "I like it."

The moment she'd cleaned her plate, I said, "I knew you'd love the sauce, Janine, because I doctored it." She froze with a wave of overwhelming humiliation. "Yes, the dish you just polished off with such relish was 50% cum."

She groaned, realizing the truth. "How could you do that to me?"

"So I could prove to you that you're a cum slut. Just as your orgasm yesterday showed us what a pain slut you are." Janine swallowed, consumed by degradation. I pushed her empty plate aside and shoved the half-full tureen of sauce in front of her, lifting a full serving spoon or ladle in front of her face. She stared at me, mouth agape.

"You must be joking," she sneered, clamping shut her mouth.

"On the contrary, you've just earned your first punishment." I stood, retrieved two wrist cuffs and fastened them on her, pulling her arms behind the chair and fastening them as she made a token attempt to break free. With her tits thrust forward, I unbuttoned her blouse and drew it aside, feasting on the sight of her luscious breasts, still marked from yesterday's tawse and displayed above one of her daughter's shelf bras. "Very nice. You see how much better it is to have your tits exposed?" I undid her skirt and pulled it down and off her long stockinged legs, revealing a garter belt and skimpy sheer panties. By now her prominent clit and fat labia glistened with arousal, crushed inside the tight panties, so I undid the garter straps and pulled off the panties, leaving them at her feet.

I put the tureen into the microwave and reheated the degrading sauce. Back at the dining room table, I thrust two fingers into the tureen and slapped the hot sauce over her expanding, lengthening nipples. She moaned as the hot application tortured her fat nipples. Then I added two clover clamps to the bulging, dark chocolate stalks. She groaned more loudly and I attached a heavy chain to one of the weighty clamps as she squealed in torment. I then grabbed the clamp and twisted it inward 90 degrees so that the clamp faced her other breast. She screamed in pain. As I twisted the other clamp inward she cried out again and I joined the chain to the second clamp while she licked her lips, trying to adjust to the pain. 

"Are you ready to obey?" She nodded. Once again I lifted the overfull ladle to her mouth, sauce dripping from the spoon onto her bare tits. This time she opened her mouth and accepted the entire spoonful. "Don't swallow," I warned, and reloaded the spoon, the overflow dropping onto her clamped nipples, but she again refused.

So I bound her ankles to the outside of the chair and stroked her bulging cunt lips. For the first time, I placed two clamps on her swollen, sweating labia. She screamed at the pain and debauchment, jerking in her chair, but was careful not to swallow. I stroked the protuberant clit.

"Argghh," she gurgled, succumbing. As I deposited another load onto her tongue, she struggled to accommodate the doubled amount. When I moved the third load to her mouth, she shook her head violently and closed her lips. This time I pulled each of her slippery cunt lips outward till she yelled in agony, and used wide duct tape on each thigh to hold them. She appeared to be temporarily stunned by this lurid pose, so I removed a six-inch vibrator from my jacket, turned it to high and, first pulling on her clit, forced the device all the way up her dripping snatch.

As she was at the edge of orgasm, I quickly grabbed her short hair and yanked back her head as she opened her mouth in acceptance. When I poured in the third ladle, she panicked as the slimy sauce slid down her throat and choked. Her gag reflex kicked in and she spewed the sauce out of her wide mouth and thick lips, the thick mass rising in a spreading spray above her upturned face, then cascading down to submerge her forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth and chin beneath the disgusting mess, while she came in a climax that was even more animated than the one yesterday in my office.

I released her hair and her head fell forward, the sauce flowing down in rivulets onto her tits, staring at her groin as I removed the tape and labia clamps, buzzing vibrator and turned it off. After loosening her ankle and wrist restraints, I pulled on the nipple chain. She yelped as the imprisoned nipples were strained and she scrambled to her feet, feeling even more humiliated as the sauce continued to drip. I grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it on the floor at the foot of my dining table end chair. "Get down," I ordered. She knelt. "Turn around, spread your knees and lean forward onto your hands."

My new pet complied as I greased two of my fingers and the six-inch vibrator and marveled at her ass and thighs, the pouch of her sex opening as her knees extended outward. I greased the dark ring of her ass and inserted two fingers into her anus. She only grunted. I pushed them all the way in without much trouble, wondering if she was as anal erotic as her slut daughter – just more experienced in taking cock there. Once I removed my fingers, she actually mewled in disappointment, but I cut her short by driving the vibrator, on low speed, into her rectum while she cried out in excitement. "Turn around."

It was a delight to see her obscenely drenched face return to view, as if she'd won the prize in a bukkake contest with a half dozen studs, her hips moving from the sensations in her ass. "Now get back on your knees only and blow me while you jerk off your clit." Dutifully, she knelt, the nipple chain swinging painfully, and proceeded to lovingly lick my balls, tongue my cock and suck it, my rod disappearing into those thick lips made for sucking, while she was spurred on by the arousal shooting from her vibrating ass to her cunt, juicing wetly as she rubbed and squeezed her big clit. And she was doing an even better job of sucking than her very talented young daughter.

After just a few minutes, without prompting, she began deep-throating my shaft while slapping her clit and cunt lips. "When I cum, don't swallow," I warned. She nodded her agreement and I released a massive load into her wide mouth. Her arms widened and she squealed at the number of cum shots and the volume of seed I was depositing. Then her second orgasm hit and she jolted her pelvis and screamed, grunting maniacally. A dozen gushes later, I was through, extracted my cock, and reached for an unused tumbler on the table. "Pour it in here," I said, holding the glass beneath the mouth of the sweat- and sauce-covered beauty.

The big lips separated and an enormous amount of cum spilled out, filling the tumbler. She eagerly swallowed whatever residue remained as I pulled the vibrator from her grasping ass and shut it off. I unhooked the nipple chain and she sighed in relief. But when I removed the nipple clamps, she hissed in pain, rocking back and forth in a near-silent agony as she massaged the screaming nipples. I ripped the tape off her thighs and she held her vulva as the brutally stretched labia returned to a more normal size. I granted permission for her to go to bed but forbade any face cleaning. "Yes, 'Master," she said, sated from her cum and humbled by the shamefully degrading acts she'd performed without much, if any, persuasion.

In the morning, she appeared at the table in her baby doll, her face encrusted with my cum-based sauce. "Kneel and kiss it." Sinking to her knees, she opened my silk robe and pajama pants and extracted my cock, applying lingering licks and kisses. "Good girl. Now sit." It wasn't until she was sitting at her place that she noticed last night's tumbler in the middle of her place mat, still steaming slightly with 100% cum from the microwave.

She looked up at me with a smoldering and willful expression, so I jumped out of my chair, yanked the baby doll over her head, bound her wrists, raised and attached them to a hook in the rafter above the table, pulled the panties off, and forced a penis gag into her lips, buckling its straps behind her head. I then applied her first caning to that high, enticing rump. The pain was so severe that she bit down on the prick crammed into her mouth, which surprised her with the big bursts of hot semen that spouted out, seeping from the corner of her lips and running down to her perspiring tits. After a dozen strokes, her ass was covered in lurid welts and she'd drained all of the cum out of the gag, so I caned her tits three times. I lowered her arms from the suspension and pushed her back onto the chair, ignoring the scream as her ass made contact with the leather.

Then I fucked her, slipping between the thick lips of her shaved pussy and all the way into her sopping cunt, cumming quickly as she thrashed beneath me. After pulling out, I stretched her clammy nipples till she sat up in the chair and forced her face so it was immediately above the glass, then pushed down till her nose and lips sank into the spunk. She wondered if this was the most degrading act she'd ever performed, but this time, she licked and swallowed dutifully. She liked the taste and swallowed a larger mouthful. Emboldened, she ingested another load and defiantly drained the glass, proudly raising her head as the hot cum dripped off her nose, lips and chin onto her chest.

But I wasn't finished. A small lake of my jizz had drained out of her twat. In a closet, I found a leather belt that had been lined on one side with coarse sandpaper. Wrapping the belt around her tits from behind, facing her, I pulled her back into the back of the chair, the sandpaper abrading her big tits and vulnerable nipples. To the accompaniment of her cries for mercy, I severely tightened the belt until her squashed tits ballooned out above and below the leather cinch. My cum lay in a pool on the black leather seat. I scooped it up with a soup spoon and pushed load after load into Janine's mouth, humiliating her into eating the cum from her own cunt. Then I left her there to consider her new position in life.

Chapter 9: an offer mother can't refuse

The next afternoon, Janine was sitting at my desk, wondering why I had left a note for her to dress in a new outfit and be at my office at 5:00 pm sharp. She had no idea that her sessions—both in my office and at her daughter's suite—had been videotaped. The Chancellor, Vice-Chancellor and dean had reviewed the tapes this morning. To say they were impressed and pleased would be an understatement. They almost acted like schoolboys in their excitement and enthusiasm, congratulating me on discovering this gorgeous, voluptuous slut, inexperienced in SM but a natural submissive with an immense appetite for humiliation, subjugation, suffering and sex. They unanimously agreed to extend an employment offer.

She looked stunning in the ensemble, a gray pinstripe Armani suit, white blouse and three-inch heels. Underneath was an expensive set of French (or Italian) lingerie: bikini panties, shelf bra, garetr belt and stockings. She conspicuously moved her legs apart and positioned her feet outside the chair legs, forcing the short skirt to ride well up her thighs. I watched approvingly. But she was apprehensive, so I served her another large mug of hot tea, filled with a triple shot of strong dark rum.

"How do you like your new suit?"

"Oh, it's gorgeous, Headmaster. I've always loved Armani but could never afford it before." She decided it would be better not to mention how the undershelf bra, lifting and projecting her breasts, made her feel more exposed than if she had not worn a bra at all. Or how the incredibly tight blouse and tight jacket pressed on her nipples, still sore from the abusive sandpaper, keeping them semi-hard and continuously aroused.

"Well, all that's about to change. Janine, the executive staff would like to make you an offer." She took a sip, wary. "We'd like to hire you immediately as the executive assistant to the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor. Their office suite is adjacent to this one, and includes a sitting area. Across the hall is the executive boardroom, where you'd also provide . . . service. The senior faculty have large, robust appetites and are quite demanding—and rewarding—when it comes to their personal assistant.

"First, we would fly you home first class. Of course, we'd pay all the relocation expenses, and we have an excellent moving company that would pack and unpack all your belongings. If you prefer to keep your car, a driver will bring it cross-country. Or we can help with a very low-cost loan here for the purchase of a new car here.

"Once your house sold you'd return here—first class, of course—and settle. We're prepared to offer double what you're now earning, with a generous raise after six months and again after a year. If the senior administration likes you half as much as I do, they tend to be exceedingly generous with gifts. Plus, we offer the best benefits available in academia, and that includes the finest medical, dental, vision and pension plans. And if you accept our offer today, you will receive a liberal signing bonus as well. All of this is possible because Ansonia is the most prestigious school of its kind in he country, with correspondingly the most expensive tuition, the most graduates who proceed to Ivy League Academys and universities, and the largest endowment of any prep school."

"Double what I'm currently—" she repeated, perspiring slightly. She looked slightly dazed by the suddenness and generosity of the offer.

I held up my hand. "Wait a bit before you comment or question." Amazed, she took more tea. "The position would not be taxing for someone of your professional experience. And it's ideal for your other. . . shall we say. . . natural talents. The hours are only 8 am–4 pm, although we'd expect you to exercise for a couple of hours in the morning or afternoon. There's a considerable amount of evening entertaining for visiting professors; speakers; senior staff from Academys, universities and other prep schools; as well as alumni who are major donors."

I decided not to mention how she would be made available to a dozen of the largest donors and to any of their upperclassmen sons who might be currently enrolled. All things in due time. Yes, we would keep this slut very busy indeed.

Janine felt overwhelmed and drank more, trying to process everything, the hot tea making her quite warm. I continued, "In addition, we—the senior staff—do a fair amount of traveling to other educational institutions and conferences, both domestic and foreign. For example, we have longstanding relations with sister schools in the States and also in England, Germany, France, Switzerland and Italy. You'd be expected to accompany us on some of those travels, which would naturally include. . . how can I put it . . . socializing during the evening. . . being a generous and accommodating managing secretary. Besides, your daughter tells me you love travel and would love to go to Europe for the first time." Janine nodded eagerly.

"Your personal time off would be four weeks the first year, six weeks the second and eight weeks the third. We include a very generous wardrobe stipend and other perks as well." Janice thought about being able to replace her entire wardrobe with truly beautiful designer clothing.

"You would live with your daughter in her current suite, a uniquely advantageous arrangement for a mother and daughter, especially two who are so similar. Janice would help to train you in Ansonia's methods and traditions, as you would be called upon to obey in helping with her areas of . . . special education." Janice had trained the mug, her mind spinning. By now she was sweltering. "Well, there you have it. Why don't you take off that nice new jacket before you respond?"




The Program Ch. 06-11



"Yes, sir" she agreed, pulling off the top to reveal a silk blouse so thin and tight that her breasts and black nipples were lewdly visible.

"Why me, Sir? And what about the woman I'd be replacing?"

"Frankly, my dear, we've never met a woman with your array of extraordinary sensuality and beauty, business skills, capacity and temperament, and . . . aptitude for special learning. We could say the same for Janice. The combination of the two of you living together at Ansonia is simply too remarkable to resist. It's very thoughtful to inquire about your predecessor, who requested a transfer to one of our sister schools in England."

"What exactly would my special duties be?" I stared back at her and she squirmed in her seat, the huge nipples pushing harder against the scandalously thin silk. "I mean, I'm sure I would do my best to . . . satisfy the staff, but would they also . . .?" 

"Also apply corrections? Discipline you? Yes, Janine, they will, at least once a week and probably more. Not only the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor, but also the Dean and myself as well." I didn't see the point of even more disclosure at this time, how she would be abused by select visitors, donors and even by several upperclassmen. "But I would never make this offer unless I was sure that you would . . . welcome these kinds of punishments."

"What sort of . . . instruments will they use, sir?"

"They will use a flogger, tawse, whip, crop and cane. However, I can assure you that they are not interested in tattoos, piercing or branding. However, they do have a proclivity for body modification."

"What is that?"

"In your case, it refers to extending or enlarging certain body parts." She was intrigued, fear and excitement mixed in her eyes, waiting for more details. "Although your nipples and labia are already very large, we would like to develop them further, via the application of clamps and increasingly heavy weights. You will also wear a progressively larger series of butt plugs during many workdays. And since your lips are already wide and thick, we will have our nurse give you collagen injections regularly."

"But if these parts are already . . . well developed, as you say, then . . .?"

"It's just the . . . fetish or special interest of the group. Better than branding and piercing, wouldn't you say? They want to look at know and see that your big thick lips are made to be wrapped around their cocks, sucking, blowing and deep-throating."  

"Well, Janine?"

"Sir, this is an incredible opportunity for me and my daughter. I'm flattered to accept and only hope that I won't disappoint any of you."

"I'm pleased that you've accepted. Let's toast." I walked to the bar area, opened the small refrigerator and removed a bottle of Cristal and two chilled flutes.

"Oh my!" she said excitedly, "I've never had Cristal before." Deliberately, I stood in front of her and quickly uncorked the champagne. A spout blew out and fell on her chest while I silently complimented myself on my perfect aim. Her front was drenched, bringing her tits into full view. "Oh!" she yelled and laughed, already high from the rum.

"Easy come, easy go!" I added, laughing along with her. I raised my glass. "To our new exec admin!"

"To Ansonia!" she toasted, and began drinking. "Hmm, that's so delicious!"

"Bottoms up!" I prompted, although I was careful to sip only moderately as she swallowed her glass. "Take off that damp blouse; it's new and expensive."

"Oh!" she said, staring down at her chest drunkenly, only now remembering that she was no longer wearing one of her standard bras.

"That's your first directive as an employee, Janice, and we expect prompt compliance."

"Well, I guess it won't matter much, considering how wet I am and the kind of bra I'm wearing." While I refilled her glass, she unbuttoned the sodden silk, pulled it off her shoulders and down her arms, her eyes cast down with the shame and excitement of once again being exposed in my office.

"Your tits have recovered quickly; the cane marks only show faintly."

"Yes sir, my skin has always healed quickly."

"Take off your skirt and panties. We're going to conduct a demo to see how you react to body modification."

"Yes sir," she obeyed, unzipping and removing the skirt, undoing the garter straps, pulling the sheer panties, now sticky with excitement, off her moist mons and down the long legs, then refastening the garters to the smoky gray stockings. Meanwhile, I'd removed four clamps, four weights and two thin black cords from the coffee table drawer.

I thrust three fingers up her drenched cunt and she had a mini orgasm immediately. After removing my fingers and coating her nipples with pussy juice, I applied a cloverleaf clamp to each nipple and pussy lip. She sucked in her breath with pain, a better reaction than yesterday, so she was already adapting to the brutal clamps. She'd also had her lips stretched, so she watched attentively as I attached a black cord to each pussy clamp and pulled them toward the stocking tops. "Arrgghh!" she groaned in pain as I tied the cords to small metal rings, custom-sewed into the stocking tops, distending the lips by almost an inch. "Now comes the new part, your test."

Her eyes widened as I extracted four weights from the drawer. She jerked, bucked and mewled in pain as I clipped them to the nipple clamps, both of us staring at how they pulled the huge nipple stalks by a half inch.

Leaning over, I reached underneath the chair, unlocked and swiveled open a circular plate in the seat, revealing a sizable hole directly beneath her groin. Once the remaining pair of weights were hanging from her pulled pussy lips, dangling down into the opening of the seat, I shoved four fingers into her cunt. She came in a full-blown orgasm, writhing uncontrollably as the merciless weights swung wildly, her twisting body yanking the clamps and punishing the nipples and lips much more severely. It was a perfect union of pain and pleasure.

I unzipped, pulled out my cock, straddled the chair, grabbed her ears and pushed my cock into her slick mouth, pulling her head back and forth as I face fucked her, my prick pushing between the big lips that would soon be even larger. After only a minute, I shoved back her head and erupted onto her face. After a couple of drenching bursts I aimed downward and hosed her clamped tits, tight belly and mons, coating the pussy clamps, and finished by shooting all over her thighs.

I refilled her glass but she was too stunned to hold it, so I poured it into her mouth. She gulped it down gratefully. "Stay here," I ordered. I left her there, drenched with sweat and inundated in cum, to suffer the weight clamps for an extended time and walked to the student union, where I enjoyed a leisurely cup of coffee and spoke unhurriedly with several students before eventually returning and releasing her.

Upon my return, she gazed up at me with dazed eyes, the office reeking of fresh cum. Wordlessly, I unhooked the pussy clamps from the stockings and roughly pulled her up, pushing her a few feet to the coffee table. She groaned, the four weights swinging from the tortured nipples and lips. I pulled on both nipple clamps, indicating she should get onto the table, where I bound her wrists together and fastened the cord to a ceiling hook embedded in a low-hanging beam. Janine was now kneeling, her arms stretched tautly above, revealing their superb muscle tone and glistening smooth skin, as I removed the pussy clamps and weights. Fresh jizz dripped from her chin, nipples, labia, clamps and weights onto the black wood table.

She cried out as the circulation returned to her abused lips, while I slowly pushed my cockhead between the red and swollen pussy lips into her hot wet cunt, slamming the tawse into the side of one heavy breast and then the other, watching over her shoulder as the nipple weights swung violently. When I judged that her tits were sufficiently beaten by the tawse, I switched my thrusts into hard, deep jabs and began smashing the tawse into the grossly swollen clit that was practically begging for abuse. I fucked and beat her harshly until we both came again.

I went to my private washroom to clean up, then removed the nipple clamps and weights, but left her sagging from the ceiling cord. Sitting at my desk, I looked up from time to time to watch a stream of white spunk course out of her cunt and fall to the table. Thirty minutes passed. After completing some work, I finally released the nipple weights and clamps. "Thank you, Headmaster," she hissed in pain. I undid the wrist bonds and she collapsed in a gorgeous heap on the table, the tawny, smooth skin now reddened, marked, covered with cum, contrasting with the ebony color of the table. "Thank you, sir," she whispered, groggy from the bondage.

"You did very well, Janine. You may clean up, dress, return to Janice's suite and pack. The three of us are going out tonight to celebrate your hiring.

Once Janice agreed to the terms for her employment and slavery, she booked a first class flight for the next day to return home, give notice to her employer and landlord, sell her car, and move here. I booked reservations for a private booth at the upscale, private restaurant that the senior staff frequently used.

You'll find a handsome new clothing ensemble to wear on the trip. Our driver and I will take you to the airport at 8 am."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter 10: mother gets dildo DP, services the chauffeur

Mother and daughter applied makeup, dressed up and were pleased to be taken out to a fine dining establishment. We were seated in a private both with traditional, heavy red velvet curtains that enclosed the entire space. As we were making our way through a bottle of wine, I informed Janice that tonight's scene would go beyond our breakfast encounter, which I detailed for Janice's benefit, explaining that her mother had eaten cream of wheat, not knowing it had been heavily laced with jizz, and then, despite her resistance, had been forced to hold load after load of spunk in her mouth, after which her labia had been stretched and tied off for the first time. I detailed how Janice had reached her limit and choked, showering herself with cum, and how luridly debased she looked inundated by it.

"Mother, you are such a disgustingly outrageous slut!" Janice blurted, whereupon Janice swung around on the settee and slapped her daughter, hard.

"Stop it!" I said in a quiet but forceful voice, getting up and leaning over the table to separate them. "You will both be punished for this behavior." Then I described in lurid detail the scene that was to follow that night at their apartment. Janice's face was gleaming at the prospect of inflicting more pain on her pain/cum slut of a submissive mother. Janice's face was frightened at the new abuses she would be made to submit to, witnessed – and abetted by – her sadistic slave daughter.

Dinner, which included a second bottle of wine, followed without incident. On the drive back, I told Janice to sit in front next to me while Janice took the rear. At the apartment, I instructed Janice to prepare her mother and went to prepare myself and gather the implements.

When I returned to the living room, the women had moved the kitchen counter stool into place in the middle of the space. Janice was standing alone in front of it, her ankles bound to the outside of the stool, spreading her gorgeous stockinged legs, bare thigh tops and plump nude mound, beneath which her lips had already spread open and swollen in anticipation. Her arms had been stretch up and out, then secured by rope to the rafter and hooks above. Her ¼ cup bra remained, although the breasts were exposed. They began rising and falling with dread as I entered, my hands full of implements.

I could hear Janice making noise in the kitchen, where she was probably loading the penis gag to capacity with hot cream. I laid out the assortment of whips, clamps and vibrators on the coffee table in front of the squirming mother, warm track lights trained on her body. A fresh coat of slight perspiration gave it a lovely gleam. I admired the remnants of recent discipline that banded her thighs, tits and ass. Her resistance had been dulled by the wine, but she still looked at me with a combination of fear and defiance, so I fed her a Black Russian, which she gratefully gulped before Janice returned from the kitchen, inserted the head of the thick penis gag and fastened it around her mother's head.

To warm up Janice for her ordeal, I took the flogger and worked over her thighs and mons while Janice concentrated on her abdomen and tits, accompanied by mild moans and gyrations. I concluded with a dozen increasingly strong blows directly against her vulva, her groans more pronounced as Janice applied black bands to the base of those big sweaty tits.

While the girl pushed the gag another couple of inches into her mother's wide mouth, I clamped the heavy cunt lips. In coordination, the gloating girl clamped heavy cloverleafs on the turgid, oversized nipples as I pulled the thickly hanging labial flesh down and out till I tied off the clamp strings on her stocking tops. Janice emitted a long low cry of pain.

I ordered Janice to insert the heavily lubed anal dildo halfway in coordination with me shoving the 8" dildo up her cunt. Janine yelled at the double invasion and started to twist as both dildos were turned to the low setting, gurgling in pleasure and rocking her hips. Janice mauled her tits, squeezing, twisting and pinching which I squeezed, pulled and twisted the huge 1" clit till it enlarged another ½" and reddened. Janice tried to back off from the double assault but had nowhere to escape. When I clamped the clit, she screamed in her first orgasm, but we didn't pause.

We notched the dildos to medium and began cropping in earnest. As before, Janice focused on everything from the waist up, the riding crop leaving vivid marks, while I slashed at the thighs and distended outer lips. We were almost there. Janice added a heavy metal chain to the two cloverleafs while I raised the clit clamp and tied off its string on the new tit chain. Janice and I turned both dildos to high, she forced the anal one in to the base and viciously cropped the clamped nipples while I cropped the exposed, stretched clit. As Janice exploded in a frightening climax, by far the most forceful I'd ever seen her withstand, Janice pressed the spring loaded button at the base of the penis gag and a mouthful of heated cum shot into the mother's mouth as she cried out in supreme pain and climax.

The slave mother bucked so viciously she knocked the metal stool sideways onto the carpet and collapsed in her bonds, her head falling forward. We turned off the dildos, watching streams of the unswallowed jism escape her thick lips and run around the thick penis gag, rivulets running down to its base and moving across her breast bone and marked abdomen till they swirled around the stretched clit and ran around the base of the dildo in her cunt.

While Janice and I both had a leisurely celebratory drink, occasionally interrupted by the sputtering, coughing and moans of her abused mother, we observed our handiwork, pleased at our coordinated teamwork. "You did well," I said. She blushed with pleasure as she removed the clamps form the tortured nipples, clit and lips. Once Jenette's painful cries had subsided, she removed the penis gag and dildo but left the anal dildo where it was, fully embedded.

"Your mother leaves in the morning. Perhaps I'll perform the same scene on you tomorrow night?"

Her eyes widened in fear. "Yes, Headmaster" was her only reply.

In the morning, Janice was subdued, stunned by the degrading, violent scene she'd undergone at the hands of her daughter and new employer. She kept fingering the fresh marks on her tits, belly, thighs and even her mound. Even more, she was humiliated by her submissive depths and increasing need for greater pain to find release. She'd not only withstood extreme abuse, it had made her cum over and over, from small to overwhelming, way beyond any climax she'd ever before experienced.

She dressed in her new uniform: a dark, full skirt so it could be easily and quickly lifted to the waist or removed entirely; a matching dark tunic or jacket; and a gossamer white blouse.

I accompanied her on the limo drive to the train station. As we departed the campus, driven by Guy, my longtime French chauffeur and aide-de-camp, I handed her first class tickets and a daily stipend of several hundred dollars, warning her not to once pleasure herself while she was away. I handed her a small box and told her to open it. Inside were four anal dildos in different sizes. "You are to wear each one for a week, at least 12 hours a day." She nodded. I also explained that if she did not return by at least five business days before the beginning of the fall semester, she would be most severely punished. "Yes sir," she replied.

Without forewarning, I raised her loose, full skirt to her waist, exposing her magnificent legs and groin to my driver, Guy. Her head jerked up to see if he was looking and immediately saw him staring at her striped thighs in the rear view mirror. He didn't flinch and she knew better than to say a word. But that was only the beginning.

I told her to remove her skirt and panties. After discarding the skirt, she hesitated for only a second before raising her hips and pulling the tight, see-through French panties from the big lips that were already becoming damp and swollen. "Spread your legs." She gazed straight at the driver's eyes in the mirror as she opened her long legs. I pulled two labial clamps with short chains from my jacket and fastened them to her. "These are for novices, so they don't hurt much and aren't heavy. And they're not metal, so you can wear them through the security scanner."

She was stunned by this development – ordered to wear slave chains while traveling in public. Yet that didn't stop her from defiantly, even proudly looking at my driver, who by now was smiling in encouragement. "You may remove them once you land in Chicago for your transfer."

"Yes sir" was all she could manage to eke out.

"Now let's do your tits." Staring at Guy, she was beginning to enjoy her forced exhibitionism. She quickly unbuttoned her jacket, revealing the standard issue sheer white blouse. The heavy tits were plainly visible, lying on the shelf bra, the dark nipples already swelling from the debasement of exposure. She undid the blouse and pulled it aside, amazed that she was agreeing to expose her heavily flogged and cropped tits in broad daylight.

I rolled the huge buds between my fingers and clipped plastic clamps to the dark stalks. She inhaled in discomfort as the jaws sank into the flesh, but they were for beginners, not heavy-duty devices.

"Guy, do we have time?" I asked. He checked the dashboard clock and nodded. "Bien sûr. We have an extra 10 minutes."

"More than enough," I agreed. He pulled over at a rest area and parked at the far end. It was quite early in the morning and we were the only vehicle there. Guy climbed into the passenger compartment, opened the jump seat that faced to the rear directly opposite Janice, sat down, undid his trousers and withdrew his thick cock.

"Service him," I ordered. Without hesitation, Janice kneeled in front of him and began gently licking his cockhead and shaft. "We don't have time for that." Guy pulled on her nipple clamps and she got the message, doing a full-tilt blow job. Guy smiled at me, pleased with the sight of her enormous thick lips encircling his girth. He slapped her breasts continuously with his meaty hands till he grunted and shot off inside her mouth. 

When done, Guy pushed her head off his dick and zipped up. "Mercí, Boss," he said. She turned to me, cheeks bulging, inflamed tits and chains swaying, her beseeching eyes pleading with me about her next command: to swallow or do something else.




The Program Ch. 06



"I love a medic with a sense of humour." He spread a cool antibacterial cream on her side and smoothed a fresh bandage over the wound. Wilson was quiet for a long while, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of the bandage. "You were lucky," he said finally.

Taylor opened her eyes and saw the concern on his face as he stared at her stomach. "I know," she said softly.

"I mean, an inch higher, or an inch closer to midline..."

"And it probably would have hit the vest properly," she finished, trying to ease the guilty look on his face.

Wilson forced a smile and fleetingly met her gaze. He heaved a sigh and turned away, occupying himself with the removal of her boots. He set them on the floor and stood, searching in the nearby dresser for a clean shirt. "I think your clothes are all in the other room, so you'll have to settle for one of my shirts."

Taylor eased herself into a sitting position, and received a reproachful stare for her efforts. "Don't baby me, Wilson. We're in a whole heap of trouble and I need to be functional." She knew she wasn't actually convincing. Who was she kidding? She was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open.

Wilson sat in front of her on the bed and scowled. She raised her arms so he could slide the oversized tee over her head. He smoothed the shirt down her back and continued to run his palms slowly up and down her back and arms. She let her head drop against his shoulder. "I'm not babying you, I promise," he grumbled sarcastically. "But you can hardly see straight. And I think Doc is right about this one-you need to rest."

Taylor nodded reluctantly, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. A soft laugh rumbled through his chest and his hand came up to cup her face in his palm. She felt her body start to go lax; his presence was so warm and reassuring that her guard was dropping. He was right; she did need rest. She'd be no use to anyone until she could think straight and act quickly, and she was sure she'd worn out all her reserves just to procure the SUV earlier in the day.

She felt Wilson shift, his body cradling hers and his hand sliding from her cheek to the back of her neck. Then he kissed her. Taylor's surprise melted quickly away along with any thoughts of resisting as his lips pressed gently against hers, caressing and coaxing a response. His mouth was firm and insistent, drawing a breathless moan from her. She struggled to keep a coherent thought in her mind as she panted to catch her breath.

This wasn't supposed to happen anymore, right? He said he didn't want to do this, didn't he? She was too tired to fight with him, and too dazed to think about it clearly, but the confusion and hurt flickered in her eyes as he pulled back to fill his lungs as well. His brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

She stopped chewing her lip and glanced down to where her hand was resting flat against his chest. "I thought you... You said you didn't want to do this again," she whispered haltingly.

It definitely took him a minute to understand what she was referring to. Then he laughed. "Taylor," he drew her against him and kissed her forehead. "Jesus, if it weren't for the stitches I would take you over my knee and spank some sense into you."

She scoffed, "You wouldn't."

Wilson grinned, dumped her backwards on the bed, and his hand dropped to her hip, pinning her to the sheets. She had just enough time to suck in a breath before his lips were on hers again, gently tormenting her, sending quivers through her stomach and causing her brain to stall completely. His mouth inched down to her jaw, kissing a fiery trail to her ear. He nipped at her earlobe and she found herself clinging to his shoulders. "I would. I'd spank you until my hand was redder than a fire engine." He found the spot just behind her ear and teased until her breaths were coming in short gasps. "And then I'd love you until you couldn't see straight."

Taylor groaned. It was a good thing his hand was keeping her immobile or she'd have thrashed her stitches open. Her fingers wove into the short hair at the back of his neck as he moved over her, his mouth finding hers. She moaned when he finally eased out of the kiss and her grasp, sitting back and shifting awkwardly around the evidence of his arousal. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked at him quizzically.

A lop-sided grin stretched across his face, "Like I said, if it weren't for the stitches..." Taylor muttered in indignation, her face colouring with twin patches of pink. "As it stands, you need sleep. I think you'll actually go cross-eyed if you keep trying to glare at me like that." 

The backs of his fingers grazed her cheek and she sighed in resignation, her eyes closing. "You're a jerk."

He chuckled. "Jerk? That's the best you've got?"

Taylor grumbled, swatting at the side of his head and cuffing him lightly on the ear. "Asshole."

"There's the Taylor I know and love. Get some sleep; I'll fix something for you to eat. Knowing you, you'll be grouchy if we don't feed you soon."

"You would get me all riled up and leave me all alone," she grumbled.

Wilson heaved a long, beleaguered sigh and shifted, stretching out on the bed next to her. "You're a real pain in the ass when you're injured." He slid an arm beneath her and drew her onto her side, as he dropped onto his back, pillowing her head on his shoulder. "Is that comfortable?"

Taylor nodded, her eyes already closed. She could hear his heart beating where her ear pressed against his shoulder, and she could feel his breathing as his chest moved easily under her hand. He pulled a blanket up to her shoulders and his arms closed gently around her slight frame. He was warm, and soft, and he smelled good. For a fraction of a second, she realized that she must look a mess, but then she didn't care. It was Wilson. He'd seen her looking far worse many times before. The pull into sleep was quick and heavy and she felt her body giving in to it easily. Did he say love?

~o~

Bill leaned his hip against the island counter in the kitchen watching Danny build a monster of a sandwich. Normally, he'd insist on making his own food, or at least helping in some way, but he was fresh out of arguments and after the past day with Taylor, he was done with confrontation. Besides, he was enjoying watching Danny work. Dressed in a pair of fitted khaki pants and cobalt polo shirt that brought out the deep blue of her eyes, she swayed in a carefree sort of way as she worked. And she was humming to herself. It was adorable. "So, how do you know Taylor?"

She glanced up, a small smile on her lips. "I could ask you the same thing. How do you know she's not just friends with my brother?"

He gave shrug. "I don't have any brothers, but I doubt I'd greet my hypothetical brother's friends with a shriek and bone crushing hug."

"It wasn't bone crushing," Danny licked mustard from her finger as she handed Bill the plate of food. There was something ridiculously sexy about the little mannerism and it more than captured Bill's attention. "It was just a little enthusiastic. I hadn't seen Taylor in a few months, and it's normally a good time when I see her," she turned back to the fridge, emerging again with two bottles of beer. "Besides, she and I go way back."

Bill followed as she led the way out onto the porch, and dropped onto the padded bench with a sigh. The sound of the waves, the slanted afternoon sun, the smell of the salt air, they all came as a wonderful comfort to his very frayed nerves. Danny nodded at the sandwich and watched the shifting shoreline as she waited for him to finish the food. 

When he'd finished, Bill set the plate on the arm of the bench and accepted the beer that Danny handed him. The sandwich not only tasted great, but it left him with a pleasantly full feeling that did wonders for his attitude. "Thank you, that was fantastic."

"No problem. So," she rolled her bottle between her palms. "Is it weird if I say it's good to see you?"

He smiled, "No, not at all. I was just thinking the same thing." She raised a brow at him sceptically. "I don't know your brother all that well, but he never struck me as much of a conversationalist. I'm sure you're just itching for someone to talk to."

She swatted his leg. "Hey, Josh is a good guy, he just needs to give you a chance."

"Well, as long as it's not my fault." They both laughed.

"You know, you never told me how you wound up in this mess." She sipped her beer with a slight look of anticipation on her face.

Bill took a long swig of the beer before answering. "Honestly, I have no idea." He chuckled. If he thought about it, there was something ridiculous about the whole situation. "I was minding my own business, and then... Well," he held his hands out in a shrug. "Now I'm a super spy."

The corners of Danny's mouth twitched as she tried to keep from grinning. "That, in no way, answered my question."

Bill smiled broadly. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." He took another sip from his beer as Danny giggled. He couldn't keep from laughing and had to swallow quickly to keep from choking. It felt so good to laugh. "I've always wanted to say that."

Danny caught her breath, "That line is so old, I think my grandmother shot it down." She sipped her beer and gazed out at the water as it rolled against the sand. "So you don't know what's going on either?"

He shook his head. "No clue. Up until a few days ago, I thought Taylor was just some twenty year old intern, running memos around the office."

"Yeah, right," she muttered.

"I think you'd be surprised how convincing she is in that role," Bill tipped his beer at her. "I mean, she's really good."

Danny flashed a grin, "Oh I'm sure she is. I was just suggesting that you may have been paying a little more attention than you're implying." Bill blushed and it said more than his answer would have. Danny shook her head. "Another one snared by the mysterious and enigmatic Taylor James."

That was an awkward thing to say. "You make that sound like a bad thing," he teased.

"No, no," she corrected on impulse. "I just... You look..." she sighed.

"Like Mick?"

"You know?" she sounded surprised.

"Doc told me." He watched the series of expressions flit across Danny's face. They were hard to discern, but the overall impression was clearly conflicted. "You knew Mick too?"

She tried to smile, but it only looked sad. "Josh and Mick were roommates in college. He was Josh's best friend. I'd known him for years." When she left the sentence hanging, pieces of the situation seemed to fall into place. Bill knew the look on her face; Danny had loved Mick, and Taylor had been seeing him. And he looked just like Mick... Oh boy. "Look, it's not a big deal. It's just a little creepy sometimes," Danny said quickly. "And I totally understand why guys dig Taylor. She is beautiful and there's a certain fascination with her reticence."

Bill was quiet for a long time. "I don't know," he said finally. "I mean, I don't even know who she is. And there's a fine line between being curious, totally confused, and disconcertingly unsure. I probably know more about you than I know about her."

"And what exactly do you think you know about me?"

He glanced over to see the mischievous glint in her eye. She was teasing him, he realised. This girl was going to be trouble. Though, Taylor was trouble in a much more serious and life-threatening way than Danny was. And Danny was still watching him expectantly. "Well, I know your family is important to you, or you wouldn't fight with your brother like you do. You're a loyal friend if you can go without seeing someone for months, which I'd assume happens often with Taylor, and be so excited to see them. You work hard. You don't take shit from other people. You have good taste in beer. And you make one hell of a sandwich." He paused, taking another swig of his beer. "What else is there to know?"

Danny blinked, a blush slowly stealing across her cheeks. "And here I thought you weren't paying attention." She studied his face carefully and Bill felt himself grin sheepishly. 

He had been paying attention. He hadn't set out to, but he had been. The pause in their conversation stretched out and he shifted uncomfortably. "So, you and Wilson got here ok?"

"Yeah," Danny shrugged, the moment of tension passing. "I woke up in the car and Josh said we were taking a small side trip. We've been here for two days, relaxing on the beach."

"You slept through the whole thing?" he asked incredulously.

"What whole thing?" When Bill didn't answer, she moved on the bench, turning to face him directly. "What happened to you guys?"

Bill made a face and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, first the cabin blew up."

"What?!"

He shrugged. "I think that was supposed to happen. I mean, I think Taylor set a timer. You two were already gone. What wasn't supposed to happen was for people to see us leave and start shooting."

"You were shot at?" Danny's eyes were wide.

Bill snorted. "I was shot at. Taylor was shot."

"She was shot?!"

Bill started at the tone of Danny's voice, and set a hand gently on her shoulder. "She'll be alright. She was wearing a vest, but somehow the bullet just snuck past it. Doc sewed her up. We probably would have spent another day at that motel, but we had to make a rather quick retreat."

Danny was holding her breath without realising it, and Bill was starting to wonder if he should actually finish the story. "Why a quick retreat?" she asked softly.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Tracer in my computer. Did you know that Taylor carries around blocks of C4?" Danny shook her head. "Well, she does. And she knows how to use it. So. She blew up our motel room, shot someone, I got shot, and then we stole a car."

Danny blinked. "What?"

"True story," he said with a grin.

She squinted for a moment then exploded, pushing him roughly in the chest. "Shut up!"

Bill oofed and curled protectively around his midsection, "Hey, careful." He rubbed his sternum gingerly. "I'm still a little bruised." Danny scrambled into his lap and before he could stop her, she had his shirt hiked up to his armpits. "Hey!" He froze, as her fingertips stroked gently over the circular welt left by the bullet.

"You were wearing a vest?" she asked. He nodded, the sensation of her soft touch making it difficult to form words. "Did it hurt?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes honestly!"

"It was like being kicked by a mule."

Danny caught his eyes, her fingers stilling on his skin. "And I'm guessing that the guy who did this is no longer around to do it again?"

"No." The memory of Taylor's kiss brought a fresh blush to Bill's face and the combination of the recollection and Danny's proximity had him squirming uncomfortably. "No. Uh, Taylor took care of that."

"Oh," she looked back at the deeply purple bruise. "I'm glad you're ok." Bill instantly recognised the sound of Wilson clearing his throat. He flinched and Danny shook her head slowly. "Damnit all, Josh. You have the worst timing..."

Wilson watched as Danny slid off of Bill's lap, and Bill quickly readjusted his shirt. "I thought we talked about this," Wilson grumbled at Bill as he sat next to his sister on the far side of the bench.

Bill resisted the urge to tell him that Danny had started it. Somehow, he didn't think that would go well. Danny scowled at her brother. "I thought I told you to butt out." The two Wilson siblings glared at each other until Bill stood and stretched.

"Well, this is... awkward. I think I'll... Go... Somewhere else."

Wilson frowned. "Sit down Martin, I need to talk to you."

"We talked about this too, Josh," Danny said sweetly.

Wilson closed his eyes as if asking for patience and sighed. He made a face then smiled at Bill. "I'm sorry, I would like to speak with you. Do you mind sticking around?" Bill tamped down the urge to chuckle and sat back on the bench next to Danny.

She smiled again and patted Wilson's cheek. "Was that so hard?"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. The look in his eyes when he met Bill's gaze was both long-suffering and amused. His face went stoic, "Look, I need to know what happened."

Bill shifted nervously. "What did Taylor tell you?"

"I didn't ask," Wilson said softly. "She's sleeping and she'd be in no shape to talk about it even if she wasn't. So I want to hear it from you."

Danny excused herself, disappearing into the kitchen again, and Bill watched her leave with concern. Wilson wouldn't hit him if she was still sitting between them. "Where do you want me to start?"

"From the moment I walked out the door," Wilson answered.

Bill nodded and glanced up as Danny returned. She was wrapped in a blanket and handed both men a bottle of beer before she settled back on the bench at Bill's side, tucking her feet beneath the worn afghan. Bill took a sip of beer for courage and launched into the story of what happened. Wilson didn't interrupt, he simply listened, letting Bill give as much detail as he could remember. When he finally finished, Bill shook his head and took another swig of beer. "Look, I don't know how she was still on her feet when we got here, but she was practically spitting fire when I suggested she let me carry the bag."

Wilson snorted. "That's Taylor for you." He clinked his bottle against Bill's. "Welcome to the 'I-got-shot' club. It was a good thing you were wearing that vest."

"It was a good thing he didn't shoot me in the head," Bill said wryly.

"Well," Wilson leaned back staring out at the dark shoreline. "That's the other reason for her attitude. Taylor doesn't like shooting people."

Bill glanced up sharply. "No one likes to shoot people, right?"

He shrugged, "You'd be surprised. Some people get off on it. Taylor is one hell of a shot. Perhaps too good. But it's hell on her." Bill saw the concern on cross Wilson's face before he could mask it, and started to wonder about the type of relationship that existed between the two partners. Wilson frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Any idea who put the chip in your laptop?"

"No," Bill grumbled. "I've been running it over and over again in my mind, and I can't remember. I think Larson handed me my bag and said," he made a blank gesture with his hand. "I don't know. We sent someone to your apartment to get your stuff? I can't remember if he gave me a name. I was so tired, I wasn't thinking straight."

"You're sure Larson handed it to you?"

"Oh yeah." Bill gave a sheepish smile. "I remember thinking that he probably could have thrown the bag down the hall."

The corner of Wilson's mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile. "He does give that impression, doesn't he?" He knocked back the last of his drink and stood. "We'll have to take a look at that memory chip, and we sure as hell need to figure out what to do. But I say we leave that to sharper minds after a good night's sleep." He stooped and kissed Danny's forehead, "Don't fall asleep out here, it's going to get cold."

Danny swatted at him, "Yes, Dad."

Wilson chuckled. "I'll see you both in the morning."

As soon as he was out of sight, Danny rested her head on Bill's shoulder. "That's one hell of a story, Boy Scout."

"Don't I know it." Bill draped his arm across her shoulder, "So what's the deal with your brother and Taylor? They partners? Or... Partners?"

"What makes you ask that?"

The tone of her voice made him think that she'd been asking herself the same question. "Instinct," he said quietly.

"I've asked, but they won't answer the question. Which means that I probably don't want to know." She sighed. "Josh had to pick her up and get her back on her feet after Mick... They both lost a lot, but Taylor just... Josh and I are her only family."

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in," he murmured.





The Program Ch. 06



"She's tough, and she's a survivor."

"No, I meant you."

"Me?" Danny glanced up in surprise.

He smiled wryly. "Sure, I mean, your brother and your best friend work together, you all lose a good friend, they lean on each other. Who looks after you?"

"I look after myself well enough."

"I'm sure you do," he mused. Danny shivered and he pulled her closer. "You cold?"

"A bit. Still a gentleman," she murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head back so she could gauge the look on his face and smiled sweetly. "You know, most guys would have already taken advantage of a girl sitting in their lap, especially if she has been as forward as I think I've been." The corner of her mouth twitched sardonically, "I'm fresh out of ideas, so either you're a gentleman or you just don't find me attractive."

Bill felt his cheeks colour. She certainly was forward. And it was actually somewhat refreshing. He was used to being a little unsure of where a girl stood, a little hesitant about initiating anything, and he had absolutely no question with Danny. And it certainly wasn't that he didn't find her attractive. His fingers trailed down the side of her cheek and his thumb traced the small dimple that appeared with the smile stretching across her face. He could hear the soft sigh she made when her eyes closed and it sent a heated rush through his body that warmed him all over. "I assure you, I find you very very attractive," he whispered.

Danny blinked. Her eyes darkened with desire. She shifted, her breasts pressing against his chest as she rose up on her knees and straddled his lap. "Then what?" she asked softly.

Bill cleared his throat. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her lips. "I uh..." Oh crap. His hands had already found their way to her hips, sliding down her back to caress her soft curves. "Danny, no offence, but I'd rather keep all my limbs and appendages intact. Your brother will kill me."

Her laugh sounded like a purr, "Then you better not upset me." Her lips brushed against his as she spoke and he bit back a groan, his fingers tightening convulsively around her hips. "Quit worrying about my brother and quit being such a boy scout," she muttered, pressing her lips to his and kissing him outright.

Her lips were soft and lush and his entire body tensed beneath her. Then she stopped and he stifled a sighed. For all her talk, the kiss was sweet and almost innocent, timid, fleeting. She braced her hands on his shoulders and covered his mouth with another gentle kiss, her lips moving slowly, delicately over his. It was frustratingly light and left him wanting more. And his wish was exasperatingly granted as she sucked daintily on his lower lip. "Danny," he sighed as she pulled out of the kiss. 

She was grinning broadly as she twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he licked his lips, leaning in to return her kiss with one of his own. His lips met hers and he coaxed a reaction from her that was far from innocent. The tip of her tongue flicked across his lips then dipped into his mouth, and blood rushed to his loins so quickly he couldn't tell if he was dizzy from the sudden drop in blood pressure or the lack of oxygen to his brain. And he took the next opportunity she gave him to take a deep breath.

Her body was warm where it pressed against his, all curves where it should be, soft, pliable, and sleek. He was so far from wanting to stop. He could keep kissing her all night. He leaned up to capture her mouth. Just as his lips reached hers, she pulled back beyond his reach. He moved in again, but she pulled back just a touch further. She coyly played her fingers along the back of his neck and jaw line, but held herself just out of his reach. He could feel her breath across his lips when she whispered, "And you were worried."

He blinked and in a fraction of a second noted the flush to her cheeks, the heave in her breath, and the pout of her lower lip where she held it captive between her teeth. Now she was teasing him. Teasing? Tormenting maybe. This time he groaned aloud, one hand tangling in the jet-black hair at the base of her neck, pulling her down as he leaned forward to meet her halfway. He kissed her forcefully, letting her feel the frustration she provoked. God, her lips were made to be kissed. They were full and silken and every time he looked at them he'd wanted to kiss them. He cradled the back of her head in his palm, afraid she'd pull away again if he let her go. His free hand wandered, caressing the curve of her ass and pulling her closer.

A soft mewing sound escaped her as his tongue flicked along the seam of her lips and slid into her mouth. Her fingers wove into his hair and he sighed, his arms tightening around her shoulders as his tongue brushed against hers. Bill kissed her thoroughly and deeply, revelling in the taste of her mouth. It was as if he had to touch her. He couldn't help himself. He tugged her shirt free of her pants and his fingers stole beneath the fabric, searching for the soft skin hidden below.

A loud creak came from just inside the cottage and they both jumped apart and froze like startled rabbits. Bill's eyes were wide and he carefully slid his hands out from under Danny's shirt as she swivelled to find the source of the sound. After a long silence, she turned back to Bill and gave a nervous laugh, "I think it's just this old cottage making noise."

He released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and smiled sheepishly. "For a minute, I thought I was going to lose my hands."

"So did I," she whispered and kissed him lightly.

Bill cleared his throat and tugged her shirt back into place. "Maybe we should put this on hold and finish it later?"

"Only if we get to finish later."

Bill saw the heat in her deep blue eyes and nearly lost the tenuous grip he had on his self-control. "We will," he licked his lips compulsively.

"Promise?"

"Promise." He traced a finger along her cheek and kissed her gently. "But only when I'm not risking life and limb to touch you."

Danny giggled as she shifted off of his lap. "Fair enough."

He adjusted his jeans before standing, flushing at the wicked grin Danny shot his way. "Ok, come on, you." He held out his hand, "I'll walk you to your room... Or, maybe you can show me where mine is?"

~o~

Taylor yawned and rubbed her cheek against the pillow. No wait. Not a pillow. She blinked, up at Wilson, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "I thought you left," she murmured.

"I came back," he smiled sweetly, smoothing a palm down her back. "How're you feeling?"

"Better."

"Good. You look a little better."

"Mmn," she agreed, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "What time is it?"

"It's early."

"How early?"

"Too early for you to get out of bed," he kissed the top of her head. Taylor's stomach grumbled. Loudly. She groaned, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Wilson chuckled. "You know, if you wanted food you only had to ask." Taylor nipped at his shoulder and it only broadened the grin on his face. "I take it you're hungry?"

"Yes I'm hungry," she muttered.

"What do you want, I'll go make you something."

"Waffles."

"Waffles?"

"Mmn, with strawberries."

Wilson flipped her suddenly onto her back and peered down at her with barely concealed amusement. "Waffles? Are you serious?" 

Taylor bit her lower lip and nodded. Wilson sighed heavily and dropped his head to her shoulder, careful to keep his full weight off of her, but pinning her to the mattress nonetheless. Taylor oofed in response and pushed at his shoulder. "Wilson, get off."

"Mnn, no," he muttered against her neck, his right hand coming to rest lightly on her breast.

Taylor stifled a giggle. "Come on, you oaf. Get off of me."

"No way," he nuzzled the underside of her jaw. 

She laughed. "Stop." She tried to move his hand, but he was too quick for her. He caught her wrists and pinned them down by her shoulders, his face rising just inches over hers. She blinked up at him, her breathing uneven. "What are you doing?"

"If it weren't for the stitches, Pumpkin," he whispered, his mouth descending on hers. He kissed her firmly, his lips easing hers open with a practiced confidence. Taylor moaned low in her throat as his tongue dipped repeatedly into her mouth, teasing the corners of her lips before he pulled back. He rested his forehead against hers and sighed again. "Are you sure you want waffles?"

A smile bloomed across Taylor's face. "Yup."

"Fine, but you stay here until they're ready. Alright?"

Taylor nodded slightly. "Ok."

He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips before releasing her and rising stiffly from the bed. "Good," he grumbled in an attempt to be surly, tugged on a pair of jeans, and left her alone in the room.

Half an hour later, the smell of breakfast food was too tempting, and Taylor eased herself out of bed, struggled into pants, and wandered into the kitchen. Coffee seemed to have brightened Wilson's mood, and Danny and Bill soon joined them. After the full night of sleep and a hearty breakfast, they were ready to discuss the situation at hand.

"So who do we trust?" Bill asked.

Taylor and Wilson glanced at each other. "Patrick," she said softly. "If he's the one, then it won't matter who we talk to, but I don't think he'd ever switch sides."

Wilson nodded in agreement. "Patrick has been around for ages. If someone had something on him, he has the resources to eliminate any blackmailer."

"Plus, he gave me access to all the files. He wouldn't have done that if he had something to hide."

Danny nodded slowly. "Ok, so you contact Patrick. How?"

"That's a more difficult question," Wilson muttered.

"Actually," Taylor tilted her head to the side in thought. "It could be quite easy."

Wilson raised a sceptical brow.

"I've hacked into his computer before from off campus. It shouldn't be too hard to do it again."

Bill let out a low whistle. "You've hacked Langley?"

Taylor blushed. "He told me he'd kick my ass if I did it again, but I think he'd forgive me for it in these circumstances." She hoped he would. At this point, she was nearly positive he'd be glad to know they were alive.

"How in the hell did you get past all of Patrick's security?" Wilson demanded. "I mean, forget Langley. You know that network inside and out, but Patrick is next to paranoid with his computer security." Wilson frowned when she shrugged. "You know what, I don't want to know."

"What if they're watching the network?" Bill asked carefully.

"I can bounce the IP all over the world if I want to, but we'd need a public network to begin with. I wouldn't want to risk something here at the cottage. Just in case."

"And where do we get one of those?" Danny chimed in.

"Best Buy," Taylor grinned a plan already forming in her mind.

"No." Wilson frowned. "We're not going into town."

"Well then what do you propose?" Taylor asked softly. "Because I know I can do this, and at the moment, there's not much else on the table."

"Are you sure we should all go into town?"

"No, Bill, not all of us. Just me and Wilson. You and Danny can stay here and hold down the fort."

"No!" Wilson interjected.

Taylor glanced at him for a moment and continued without heed. "I need Wilson to help me out, but there's no reason to expose us all to the risk. I'd actually feel better with you two here."

Bill and Danny exchanged glances and for a second Taylor wondered about the silent communication. "And what do we do if you don't come back?" Danny whispered.

"We'll leave an exit strategy for you two. An 'in case all things go to hell' option." Taylor stared down at her mug of coffee. "It won't happen. But we'll cover all the bases."

"Am I talking to myself here?" Wilson demanded. "I thought I said no. What I actually meant to say was no, Taylor!"

Taylor sighed and glared at Wilson. "I thought I told you to come up with another idea."

"Martin can do it and you stay here," Wilson suggested.

"Unh uh..." Bill shook his head. "Sorry, man. I build security, but there's no way I could do that. I wouldn't know where to start."

"She'll tell you."

"It doesn't work that way," Bill insisted. "That'd be like trying to talk someone through open heart surgery. It sounds simple enough, but then you see the blood and it's all over."

Taylor raised a brow at the strange comparison. "Weird."

"But apt," Danny added.

"Look, I'm putting my foot down!" Wilson growled.

Taylor fixed her gaze on Wilson's face, and though her voice was calm and sweet, the look in her eyes was far from it. "I'm sorry, Danny, Bill. Would you two give us a minute?"

Danny shook her head as she rose from the table, tugging Bill along behind her. "Don't kill him, please?" she whispered under her breath as they left the room.

Taylor's eyes narrowed. "You're putting your foot down?"

"Let me get this straight," Wilson frowned at her. "You think it's a good idea for us to go into town, risk exposing ourselves, and hack into Patrick's computer from some public network?"

Taylor nodded.

"No." Wilson shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"It will work," she insisted quietly.

"No."

"It's the only idea we have."

"No, Taylor."

She glared at him silently.

"Stop it."

She crossed her arms across her chest and raised a brow.

"Oh, shut up."

"I didn't say anything," she murmured.

"You don't have to," he muttered.

He scowled at her and Taylor knew that she was going to win this one. "So?"

"You won't let it drop?" Wilson asked hopefully. 

"You come up with a better plan?"

He shook his head and sighed. "And you're sure you can hack his computer again?"

"I've done it before."

"And it has to be the two of us?"

Taylor shrugged. "They'll still be here. No one knows where here is. If we attract attention, we're going to attract it away from here. It's the safest way I can think to do it."

"Are you feeling up to this?" Wilson almost flinched at the glare he received for the comment. "Alright, look," he ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I don't like the idea of you anywhere but resting. And," he held up a hand staving off her objection. "I don't like the idea of leaving Danny here unprotected."

"So what do you propose?"

"Your idea is the only one we have. I just want to be on the record as objecting to this."

"Fine, dually noted."

~o~

Wilson swatted at the brim of her baseball cap, knocking it low over her eyes. She readjusted the hat and punched his arm. The impact shot down her arm into her side, making her wince. He leaned down, "Behave yourself."

"You behave," she hissed back. He wiped his palm across her cheek. "Gross!" she took another swing at him as they walked through the large, sliding glass doors. "Cut it out." Wilson grinned down at her as if he had no intention of stopping. No one would doubt that he was her older brother, taking her shopping for a college laptop.

"How long do you need?" he asked quietly.

"Twenty minutes."

"Why don't you take a look," he announced for the people nearby. "I'll go have a chat with that guy over there. He looks like he knows his stuff."

Taylor followed his line of sight to a boy who couldn't be old enough to drive that had the look of a deer in headlights. Wilson could sure pick his marks. "Thanks Josh!" she headed down the laptop aisle, perusing display.

She found a reasonable model that was boasting high connectivity speeds and added security features, such as a privacy screen and fingerprint log-in. Smiling to herself as she bypassed the laughable store security, she quickly hacked a college server out in San Francisco. She had been on a conference in Palo Alto and had taken the opportunity to create a backdoor into the Stanford server. It was wholly illegal, but it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever done. Once online, she routed through a series of networks before plugging in her small USB key and breaking into the Langley computer grid. Five minutes... not bad.

Taylor glanced over her shoulder where Wilson stood, talking with the sales clerk in a hushed voice. She smothered a chuckle. The poor kid was staring at Wilson, wide-eyed and nodding mechanically. "Look," Wilson said. "My sister is pretty particular, and she knows what she wants. Just give her a few minutes and you get a sale without the work." Wilson was a great liar when it came down to it. She looked at the cursor blinking on the screen. Patrick would appreciate the old moniker.

Peters007: You secure? NP7430: Taylor? What the hell! I thought I told you to stop hacking my computer. Peters007: Look, I don't have much time. Things fell apart fast and ugly. We don't know who we can trust. NP7430: You can trust me. Peters007: Well, that's what I'm hoping. NP7430: How many is 'we'? Peters007: 4 NP7430: Thank God. Is everyone alright? Peters007: More or less, we're all in one piece. NP7430: When are you coming in? Peters007: We're not. At least, not yet. NP7430: Damnit. Just come in, James! Peters007: No way. Someone hit the safe house. Then hit the secondary. It was really really ugly. And there has to be someone in NCS. You find out who it is, we'll come in NP7430: How will I reach you? Peters007: The usual. We have evidence against VT and it's solid. That has to be the reason for this. NP7430: Can you get it to me now? Peters007: I don't think so. Too many people could see it. Just clean house, cause I want to come home. NP7430: Miss me? Peters007: Wilson smells bad. NP7430: If things turn south, call me. I'll figure something out. Peters007: Just keep an eye on the panic buttons. We have two with us. NP7430: Fine. That'll work. Peters007: I swear to god, if anyone else shows up, I'll shoot them. NP7430: I wouldn't expect anything less. Peters007: Got to run. Feed the cat. NP7430: Already ate the cat. Peters007: Ass.

She quickly pulled off the grid and erased the program she had run. Pulling out the USB key, she contemplated erasing the whole computer, but thought better of it. "Hey, Josh!" she called. Wilson looked up, a smile quirking the side of his mouth. "I like this one! Does it come in red?"

They had made a quick exit as the salesman was in the back looking for a laptop with her impossible specifications. Taylor didn't relax until they were a few miles from the store. "What did Patrick think?" Wilson asked.

"He agrees with me; you smell bad," she grinned.

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"I told him to clean house so we could come home. He knows we have evidence, he wants us home, and he'll be watching for the panic buttons. If he takes care of things, he'll let us know."

"And in the mean time?"

"In the mean time," Taylor sighed heavily. "I'm stuck with you."

Wilson laughed. "In the mean time, let's see if we can't get you healed up a bit." Taylor crossed her arms and tried to look annoyed, but it only made her look like an angry teenager. Wilson glanced at her and chuckled again. "Oh, don't look so sad, Pumpkin."

"I'm not sad, I'm thinking of all the horrible things I can do to you in your sleep."

He reached across and knocked the cap down over her eyes again.

A few miles down the road, Wilson was glancing at the rear-view mirror for the third time. "What's wrong?" Taylor asked softly.

Wilson shook his head. "I think we've got a tail."

"What?" Impossible. Who could have found there way out here so quickly? Unless they were already on their way... Taylor swallowed hard. "If they know we're here..."

Wilson didn't need to be told. He floored the accelerator. They had to get back to the cottage before someone beat them there.

It happened so quickly that Taylor couldn't be sure where the other car came from, but she was thrown against the door as a small van smashed into the rear driver's-side of their car. The jeep spun in a circle as it skidded off the road and ran, head-on, into a telephone pole. In the blink of an eye, their jeep was wrecked, steam billowed from the crumpled hood of the car, and the metal creaked as it settled in the dirt strip.




The Program Ch. 07



 I've always been open and welcome to comments and criticism of my work, and any feedback that helps me improve my writing or the plot line of a story is well considered. But for the love, don't tell me that my medical treatments are incorrect. Clearly I'm not trying to be medically accurate. This is a work of fiction. 

I deal with enough gunshot wounds on a daily basis to want to relay appropriate, algorithmic management in my free time. Obviously if you're shot in the gut you've probably perforated your bowel, an artery or two, maybe a kidney, a spleen, your liver, your stomach if you're really unlucky. And no, you can't treat that in a shady motel with some alcohol, sutures, and morphine. Taylor would have, without a doubt, died. And even with proper hospital care, she wouldn't be running around shooting people the next day. But that doesn't suit my story. I took a literary license and made some stuff up, but as I said before, these are works of fiction. If you think that was bad, you should see how I plan to cure some genetic diseases in my next story. 

And before it shows up in my inbox: No, you don't defibrillate patients in Afib, you chemically cardiovert... And most doctors don't sedate patients that are anxiously hyperventilating. (I say most, because I don't know every doctor and frankly, it's tempting, and some docs get their jollies pointing out clinical error in erotic fiction, so who the hell knows) If you want medical accuracy, read Kumar and Clark, the NEJM, or skim some Up-to-Date. If you want to read an action-based, fictional novella with a bit of sex thrown in... You're in the right place.

I normally don't use these chapter openings for rants. That was aimed at one anonymous comment, from an anonymous email, that just managed to irk me on a bad day. Apparently, there's still a snarky bitch hidden under this white coat. I apologise to everyone else for having to read that. If I keep these up, I may have to start a blog. In the mean time, I've managed to squeeze out Ch. 7. I hope you enjoy it. And if you leave feedback at the end of the story, I do try to make a comment on it somehow. If you send me a message, I do try to get back to people. And I'm normally very sweet (not that I've lived up to that today). Oh, and I apologise for that weird non-spacing between the computer correspondence in Ch. 6. I don't really know what happened there. It looked fine in the text doc before I uploaded, but I must have done something weird with the line breaks in the formatting.

That's about enough of that... I think I left you at a point where I was really starting to feel bad for Taylor. What a rough bunch of days she's having. And I'm sorry to say, I think it's going to get worse before it gets better. This is a short chapter, but I hit a good break point and thought I better keep posting after the long break last time.

[The information contained within this story is not meant to serve as instruction for medical care or as an alternative to seeking appropriate medical attention. In case of illness, please ring your GP and schedule an appointment. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, dial 911.]

Thanks for reading! 

~ewebie

~~oo~~ 

*

Bill sipped his coffee as he watched Danny stretch her arms over her head. She was down on the hard-packed, beach sand finishing a yoga workout, and it afforded him a wonderful view from the porch of the cottage. He'd never been much of a yoga fan until now. Maybe it wasn't as absurd of a workout as he thought. He smiled to himself as he leaned casually against the porch railing.

Danny shook the sand from her towel and padded up the dunes and stairs to the cottage. She grinned at him, accepting the cup of coffee he offered her and ruffling his hair as she walked past. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Why don't you stay here and keep enjoying the view."

"If you're leaving, then I can't do both," he groused playfully, turning to watch her walk inside.

"I'm sure you can figure something to do," she called over her shoulder.

He could think of plenty of things to do, but none of them were Josh Wilson approved. He blushed as his thoughts took a dirty turn. God, that was so unlike him. Calm down, Bill, he told himself. This constant stream of adrenaline was making him act a little goofy.

With a sigh, he turned back out toward the water, watching the waves crash and retreat against the coastline. He glanced at his watch. Taylor and Wilson had been gone for nearly an hour; they should be back soon. Or calling soon. Or... Stop it, he scolded himself, forcing his hands to remain on the coffee mug rather than reaching for the mobile phone in his pocket. 

Waiting around sucked. He stared at the coffee and swirled it around the mug. He couldn't fathom how Danny could stand this. How often did she know that her brother and her best friend were putting themselves in mortal danger? He wasn't even that vested in either of them and he was horribly on edge.

How involved was he anyway? Granted he'd known Taylor for a few months. But come to think of it, he never really knew her. Part of him was actually still angry with her. She had lied to him for months and didn't seem the least bit contrite. The least she could do was let him in on what exactly was going on. She flat out upended his whole life and was awfully cavalier about it. And where did she get off kissing him like that yesterday. I bet she hadn't told Wilson.

And Wilson, he'd know for what? A few days? And that guy seemed to intrude on his thoughts. He couldn't even look at Danny without worrying that her brother would see. But as rough as the guy was, Bill was worrying about him too. Maybe, if they made it out of this alive, he and Wilson might actually be friends. Or maybe Wilson just saw him as an eerie reminder of Mick too. But Wilson and Taylor had their own messy relationship; that much was obvious. Here's hoping they don't kill each other before they get back. In the mean time, Danny's upstairs, in the shower...

He groaned. He was far too worried about Danny. In more ways than one. He'd only known her a few days as well. But it certainly didn't feel like it. She just seemed to fill a space in his awareness and fit the void so completely that it was hard to imagine her not being there. And that was crazy. Who was he kidding? Danny wasn't the type of girl he usually went for, and he was quite certain that he wasn't the type of guy that Danny was usually after.

"Quit thinking so much, Boy Scout. I can practically smell the burning from here."

Bill snorted and turned, his mind stalling before he could retort. She was gorgeous. There were just no words. And the intensity of his reaction sent a small jolt of fear through him. Maybe he was going crazy. It wasn't as if she was trying to look good. Her hair was still damp, hanging in loose strands to frame her face, and the tips had dampened her pink t-shirt where they fell over her shoulders. Her face was still flushed from the shower and her skin was practically glowing. And her smile was infectious. He had to chuckle. Wow. "You don't look nervous."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah. How are you so calm?"

"Years of practice," she said with a wry smile. "You'll find that worrying will only give you ulcers and wrinkles. It doesn't help anyone and it won't get you anywhere." She leaned against the railing next to him. "Why? Are you getting nervous?"

Bill sighed. "I don't know what else to be doing."

Danny set her hand on his. "If you want something else to do," she grinned.

"No offence, but I think I'd rather be hoping your brother comes back."

"Fair enough." She left her hand on his and turned to gaze out on the water. 

"Want to talk about it?"

"How do you do it?"

"Years of practice."

"Come on, Danny. How do you tolerate all this waiting around?"

"Bill, it will wreck your head to sit around and come up with all the horrible things that could be happening. Once in a rare while something goes wrong, but you'll never be able to predict it. It's like a flood. You can get some flood insurance, but there's no point in boarding up your house every time it looks like rain."

"Is it really that simple?"

"You either learn to keep going, or you lose yourself to the fear. Why do you think I work so hard?"

He forced a smile and threw an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side. "So wise for someone so short," he murmured.

Danny laughed. "You and Josh both seem to love picking on my height."

"It was simply an observation." He rested his chin on the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her; she fit so well against his body. "I happen to like your height."

The tinkling sound of shattered glass passed through the open door and out onto the porch. Bill stiffened, staring into the cottage over Danny's head. "You hear that?"

Danny nodded.

"Stay here." He released her reluctantly.

"No," she grabbed his arm. "We should just leave."

"And go where?" he hissed. "The car is gone and the beach is too exposed. Just stay here. It's probably just a bottle overturned or something." It took a visible effort to let go of his arm, but she did. And Bill glanced back before ducking into the cottage.

It was absolutely silent inside, and in spite of the lights being out, the rooms were well lit by the sun. He checked the kitchen, but everything looked intact. He passed in and out of the bedrooms and hallways, but everything was as he left it. Then he checked the back door. A small pane of glass had been shattered and the lock was no longer engaged. He frowned and backed away from the door, heading toward the porch.

"Danny," he called ahead of himself, pulling the mobile phone from his pocket. "We need to go, now." The phone was halfway to his ear as he stepped out on the porch, but that was as far as it reached. The phone clattered to the wooden planks below his feet and his two long strides took him to the middle of the open space before his head exploded in pain and he dropped to the ground.

~o~

Taylor winced as she tried to raise her head. Everywhere seemed to hurt and each movement just made another part of her body scream in pain, but the worst of it was coming from her shoulders. The effort it took to straighten her neck managed to irritate the massive lump on the side of her forehead and she groaned. Dropping her ear against her arm, she pressed her eyes shut against the pounding sensation in her skull. After a moment, she grunted and forced her eyes open, squinting into the dimly lit space.

She tried to move her arms, but they wouldn't budge. A bubble of panic welled in her chest and she quickly tamped down on it, pushing the emotion and pain aside in an effort to clear her head. Ok, Taylor, just breathe. Breathe and think. She tested her legs, finding them unfettered and in normal working condition if not a little weak. Ok, good.

She planted her feet and straightened her legs to take the weight off of her arms. Her shoulders slumped a little and she groaned as the muscles were finally allowed to relax and blood rushed through them. She tilted her head back and tugged against the restraints that secured her arms over her head. She choked back gasp, squinting up at what looked like riot ties binding her wrists to a metal hook overhead. The elevation was cutting off the blood to her hands and the sharp edges of the plastic had cut into her skin leaving a small trail of blood tracking down her arms. But that pain paled in comparison to that in her side when she tried to take a deep breath. She must have popped the stitches in her side.

Where the hell were they? The space looked like a warehouse of some kind. A hanger? A granary with low ceilings? Or maybe a vault? Or a basement? That's what it looked like, an industrial storage cellar. Concrete floors, concrete walls, maybe even concrete ceilings with metal piping forming a disordered grid overhead. Periodic round fluorescent lights were scattered throughout the space, but the only one that illuminated the space she could see was almost directly overhead. It looked like there could be shelves or crates or boxes or fucking walls just in the inky shadows outside the halo of light, but she couldn't tell. "Fuck me," she breathed.

"James?"

The whisper came from somewhere behind her, and Taylor twisted sharply, gasping when pain lanced up her side. She slumped forward, surrendering to the inability to see around her. "Wilson?" she asked hopefully.

"You ok?"

Taylor moved to nod her head and thought better of it. "Where are we?"

"Not sure."

"You ok?"

He grunted and chuckled. "Not sure."

"Danny and Martin?"

"They're both over here near me. I think they're still out cold, but they look ok."

"Does Danny still have that panic button I gave her?"

"God I hope so."

Taylor shifted against the hook trying to gauge how far she could move and was rewarded with another lance of pain in her arms. "Why aren't we dead?" she asked hesitantly.

A creaking noise preceded a startling metallic bang, and she jumped, biting back a moan when the sudden movement sent a spike of pain through her head. "Oh good, you're awake." A few more overhead lights flickered on, brightening the space.

Taylor went rigid. She would recognise that voice anywhere. "VanTerran," she hissed through clenched teeth. A moment of pure, blinding rage washed through her and she realized that she had never wanted to kill anyone before. But she desperately wanted to end his life now.

His confidence as he moved into view gave his gait a swagger that had Taylor itching for her gun. "Officer James, welcome to the party," he smiled coldly, unbuttoning the cuffs of his pristine white shirt and rolling the sleeves. "How are you, sweetie? Comfortable?"

Taylor snorted. "If this is your idea of a party, the invitations were pretty weak."

"I'll have to work on that." A dark grin twisted his face. "Maybe you can file a formal complaint with HR."

"Untie my hands and we'll see where that takes us," she retorted sweetly.

"Ha!" He seemed to contemplate her position for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I think I like you better this way."

"I'd probably like you better this way too," she muttered.

He stepped forward and stroked a finger under her chin. "It's too bad you missed your chance." 

His touch sent a chill down her spine and she jerked away with a snarl. "Don't touch me," she hissed.

The faint flicker of a frown curled his mouth before he stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest, and began walking a slow circle around her. "You know, Officer James, I'm not one to really deny my impulses when it comes to killing people, and I wouldn't want you to feel special. I am going to kill you when I no longer find you amusing."

"I'm glad you're so easily amused," she tried to follow his progress, but he was nearly behind her.

"I think you overestimate my patience."

"Sorry to disappoint. I was never good at guesswork."

"Well let me explain then," he whispered from directly behind her. It was a struggle not to move as his hand stroked down her spine. "You have something of mine and I want it back."

"Fuck you."

He clucked his tongue at her as he circled back around front, his eyes tracing her bound form. "Such language."

"What do you want?"

He gazed up at her fettered wrists. His fingers grazed the inside of her elbow just before he gave her arm a sharp tug. Taylor choked back a scream at the stab of pain and narrowed her eyes at VanTerran. He grinned, "Just checking. Better safe than sorry."

He wanted the chip. She knew it and he knew it. But he had to know that even if she had it with her, which she didn't, she would never give it to him. He really was an arrogant prick. "Fuck you."

The smile on his face never wavered as he leaned closer. "There's no need to be rude." She sneered at him, her lip curling in distaste. He pressed on, "I'm only going to ask you once. Where is it?"

She let confusion play across her face. "Where's what?"

The loud crack of skin on skin echoed in the room and Taylor's head jerked to the right. She winced, blinking away stars as a burning welt rose on her cheek.

"Hey!" Wilson shouted from behind her.

VanTerran glanced over Taylor's shoulder and smiled. "Oh, don't worry, that was just a warning." He leaned in as Taylor pulled as far away as her arms would allow. "Now that I have your attention, let's see if we can't get to the bottom of this. I know Matthews offered you evidence against me. I want it."

There was no way he could know that. At least, not without someone from NCS feeding him information. She tried to stall. "He said he had it but he never gave it to us. He was dead before I could interrogate him." It was, in part, the truth.

He struck her with the back of his hand and Taylor couldn't keep from issuing a small cry in surprise. He roughly grabbed her chin and tilted her face back toward his. "Stop lying to me. I know he gave it to you. I want it back."

"Even if I did have it," she snarled. "Why would I give it to you? You're going to kill me anyway." 

He glared at her for a minute before smiling again. "Because there are so many ways to die, Officer James. There's killing you, and then well..."

Taylor felt a cold chill run down her spine. The menace in his voice was glacial and calculating, but the smile he wore was one of pleasure, pleasure because he knew she wasn't going to cooperate. He was psychotic. "And if I don't have it?" she asked quietly.

"Then you make my life that much more difficult."

Wilson pulled at the ties that kept his wrists securely behind his back. There was absolutely no give. He tested his left ankle again, the swelling and pain made him hope it was only sprained, but he could put weight on it if necessary. He'd pull his shoulder out of socket if necessary. He shot a glance at Bill and Danny. Bill was awake and watching everything with wide eyes. Wilson didn't fancy having civilians involved in any operations, let alone uncontrolled situations like this. But the guy seemed to be holding his own. Bill caught Wilson's gaze and opened his mouth, but Wilson shook his head. It was better if VanTerran didn't remember they were there.

Danny stirred, and Wilson nudged her elbow with his foot when her eyes fluttered open. He shushed her and spoke as softly as he could. "Don't move. No matter what happens, just stay where you are." He saw her swallow visibly and give the tiniest nod of her head. He was never more relieved to have a sister that was calm under pressure than he was right then. "If you can, I need you to hit the panic button Taylor gave you. Do you think you can?" Again, Danny nodded ever so slightly, shifting her hands slowly and methodically to reach the waistband of her pants. Now, how the fuck was he going to get them out of here in the meantime?

He turned back to watch Taylor, wincing as VanTerran's fist connected solidly with her cheek. Her shoulders shuddered, but she didn't cry out, instead she muttered something that only VanTerran could hear. A look of rage contorted the man's face and Taylor's head jerked to the other side as he struck her again. Damnit, Taylor, quit antagonising the psychopath.

Taylor felt the inside of her cheek split over her teeth and her mouth filled with blood. Angrily she spat it out on the floor. The longer he was focused on her, the longer Wilson had to figure something out. Come on, Wilson, think of something fast. She lifted her chin defiantly and met VanTerran's stare. He looked at the blood on the floor with distain. "You know you're only making this harder on yourself."

Taylor glared. It was a bad idea, and she knew it. She did it anyway. She spat at him, droplets of blood staining his pristine white shirt. He froze, staring at the stain. "You stupid bitch," he whispered.




The Program Ch. 07



Even bracing herself, she was completely unprepared for the explosion of pain that came from his fist connecting solidly with her ribs just over the healing gunshot wound. The blow knocked the wind from her and her knees buckled with a sharp cry. Something had snapped and sharp, stabbing pain drowned her ability to think. She cried out again as he yanked her head back with a fist in her hair. Everything lurched and she swallowed back the urge to vomit. She tried to concentrate on getting air back in her lungs, but each breath set off a new wave of pain in her side.

She clenched her jaw and coughed as he slapped the side of her face playfully. "Officer James, I need you to pay attention to me."

She grunted and managed to open her eyes, tears clouding her vision. "What!" she hissed.

He smiled again. She was going to have nightmares about people who smiled like that. "Maybe I've been going about this the wrong way. I know you're trained for things like this. Obviously you have a high tolerance for pain, but..." he trailed off as his eyes gazed over her shoulder. "I wonder if she does."

If who does? Her brain seemed to stall. Taylor sagged as he released her, a wave of blackness crashing through her mind as she slumped against the restraints. She sucked in a breath, fighting off the unconsciousness. She was dizzy. She groaned as she felt the warm trail of blood that spilled slowly down her side, soaking into her shirt and pants. No good. God, she was woozy.

Wilson shouted behind her and she shook her head to clear it.

"Don't touch her!" Wilson yelled again.

Taylor heard a feminine whimper and Wilson grunt in pain. Her stomach dropped. The fucker was going after Danny. She struggled to right herself as VanTerran dragged Danny in front of her. He dug his fingers into Danny's hair and pulled back, bringing a knife to her throat. "I would just kill your partner, but I've heard that's been done before. Little good it did then."

"What are you talking about?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"The last time you were close. What was that man's name? Ramond... Ransom... Redford... I can never remember." He waved the knife dismissively. "Doesn't matter. I had him killed. He didn't really know anything, but you can't be too careful."

"Ransford?" Taylor blinked, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. Ransford had been a dead end witness that was killed in a prison fight the first day in.

"That's the one! He only had two jobs, and only managed to kill the one. Stupid."

"Two?" She shook her head to refocus her eyes. Ransford had been working for VanTerran? Behind her, Wilson sucked in another breath, struggling to refill his lungs, and she was absolutely seeing red. VanTerran was the embodiment of everything evil she'd come across in her life. He was Kev, and Gregerson, and Brenner, and Bryce, and Ransford. He'd ordered Mick's death. Taylor didn't know it was possible to wish something worse than death on another person until that moment.

"But I've always been able to take care of my most unsuccessful employees, even when you've held them," VanTerran continued. "I should have taken more interest in that side of my operations back then. I could have had you killed too. Would have saved me a lot of trouble now."

Taylor tried to rally her strength. "You piece of shit," she coughed out, her legs shaking with the effort it took to stand upright. "I'll kill you."

VanTerran laughed. "No, that's not how this is going to work." He pulled back sharply on Danny's hair and she cried out in surprise and pain. "I'm going to ask you a question, and you're going to answer me. If not, I'll carve little pieces away until there's nothing left."

"No, don't hurt her!"

Taylor bit back a groan as Bill's voice cut off as though he hadn't meant to speak aloud. VanTerran turned. "It looks like someone here does care if you're mutilated," he cooed in Danny's ear. She shuddered but somehow kept her footing as he dragged her closer to Bill.

Wilson was still sucking air from where VanTerran had kicked him in the stomach. He managed to roll onto his knees and winced. He had to get Danny out of here. He had to get Taylor out of here. He needed a miracle. He pulled at his restraints feeling the hard plastic slip ever so slightly.

"Where is it?" VanTerran hissed at Bill.

A look of mad panic swept across Bill's face. "I... I don't know."

Taylor gritted her teeth. He was going to kill Danny if someone didn't do something. Hell they were all dead if someone didn't do something. And the best solution she could see was just to kill that fucker before he could kill them. She blinked away the coloured spots that clouded her vision and lurched upwards, the small amount of vertical she managed was just enough to clear the riot ties from the hook overhead. She stumbled on unsteady feet and collapsed to her knees, gritting her teeth against the pain of all the blood rushing into her arms.

VanTerran spared a glance her direction, chuckling when she collapsed and turning his attention back to Bill. "You know, I had big hopes for you kid. I was going to take you with me. You would have been filthy rich. Shame really."

Taylor didn't really feel the concrete greet her knees, and she didn't feel the pain of the ties digging further into her wrists. Something in her brain switched off and she managed to push herself to her hands and her knees, then up to an unsteady stance on her feet.

Bill couldn't hide the surprise from his face as he saw Taylor rise, and it drew VanTerran's attention. He frowned as she found her footing. "You really want to die, don't you?" He gave Danny a shove, sending her tumbling against Bill, and advanced on Taylor.

Taylor barely avoided the first swish of the knife as he swung at her. She dodged and back-pedalled, anxious to put space between them. He lunged, and Taylor caught his wrist with both of her hands, pushing it up and over her shoulder while turning, and she brought her knee up into his gut. VanTerran grunted and dropped the knife, but caught his balance before Taylor did, and drove an elbow into the small of her back, knocking her to the ground.

Taylor caught herself on her hands and knees and didn't have time to scramble. VanTerran's foot connected solidly with her stomach and she rolled, coming to a stop on her back, shaking and wheezing to fill her lungs with air. The sole of his shoe pressed against her throat and her eyes flew open as she sucked in a short breath before her air was cut off completely. She tried to leverage his foot off of her airway, but with her wrists still bound, her arms didn't have the strength.

He smiled down at her. "You know, I'm sure I can get the information I need from the other three here. I really don't need you." Taylor felt the pressure on her neck increase and silent gasps formed on her lips. She kicked her legs, trying to find some way of shaking him off. Her vision blurred and she felt her face turning colours. She didn't want to die.

Wilson had fought to get his legs under him and steady. Even the smallest amount of weight on his bad ankle brought shooting pain up his leg, but he needed to get Danny out of here. He watched VanTerran shove her aside, but his relief was short-lived. As Taylor was knocked to the floor, he felt a wave of rage wash over him. That fucker was going to die. He pushed off the wall and rushed at VanTerran, dropping his shoulder and driving into the man's back.

There was a shout and Taylor felt fresh air rush into her lungs. She gasped and rolled, resting on her hip and forearms, sputtering as she alternately sucked air and winced at the pain in her ribs.

"Taylor!" Wilson shouted from his awkward position on the floor, and she managed to lift her head high enough to notice the glint of metal and she stretched to collect the knife that VanTerran had dropped. She twisted and winced as VanTerran cold-cocked Wilson in the face. He dropped Wilson's shirt collar and snarled, pulling a gun free from the waistband of his neatly pressed pants and aiming at Wilson's chest.

Taylor might have heard Danny scream as she scrambled, sweeping her leg out and cutting VanTerran off at the knees. She didn't hesitate. As he fell backwards to the hard floor, she launched herself onto his chest and drove the knife home. Taylor clutched the knife where it plunged into his chest, staring at the way the knife protruded from the dark red stain in his shirt. Her eyes flicked to his face and he actually looked surprised for a moment before Taylor pulled the knife out. A warm rush of blood spilled from the hole in his chest and she watched as he gasped for air, as his eyes glazed over, and as his chest stopped moving.

Taylor grimaced and slid off of him, turning away from the gruesome sight. It hurt more than she wanted to admit, but she managed to turn the knife in her palms and saw through the thick plastic ties. She rested on her hands and knees as the world seemed to spin around her. God she was woozy. "Taylor?" Bill's voice seemed to cut through the fog and she blinked the room back into focus.

With a groan, she moved to Bill's side and sliced through the ties on his wrists and then Danny's. She watched from her knees as Bill and Danny stood. Danny threw herself against Bill's chest and he closed his arms around her automatically. Something in Taylor wanted to be jealous, but she couldn't find the energy. Besides, the action only confirmed something she had begun to suspect earlier at the cottage. A clamber from the floor above carried down the hall and echoed around the concrete room. The pounding of feet and shouts became discernable and Taylor heard a loud voice shout, "CIA!"

"Thank God for that panic button," Taylor whispered. Bill offered a hand up, but Taylor shook her head slowly. "Go on, I'll get Wilson and we'll be right behind you."

Bill stared down at her for a moment as if contemplating an argument, but he nodded and steered Danny toward the stairs. "Right behind us?"

Taylor nodded. "Right behind you, Boy Scout."

With a groan, she crawled to Wilson's side and sliced through the ties on his wrists. With a glance at the blood-coated knife, she tossed it aside in disgust. Wilson grunted as his arms came free, opening his eyes as Taylor shook him gently. "Come on, Wilson. I need ya right now." 

Wilson grumbled as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, carefully prodding his eye where swelling was already noticeable. He squinted around the room. "What happened to Van..." he trailed off as his eyes fell on the man's body. He gazed at Taylor, something like sympathy in his eyes, "Sorry."

"I'm not," she whispered bitterly.

Wilson reached for VanTerran's discarded gun and tucked it into the back of his pants before struggling to his feet. Once he had his balance, keeping as much weight as possible on his good leg, he held out a hand for Taylor.

She looked up at him and groaned. "Do we have to?"

He grinned and nodded, "I'm sure there's piles of paperwork to do." Taylor's groan changed sharply into a gasp as Wilson hauled her to her feet. "You ok?"

Taylor shook her head as they made their way toward the stairs. "I want a hot bath and a bed and maybe some morphine too."

What had been silence upstairs erupted into shouts and crashes, and Taylor felt her stomach drop. She didn't know how much fight she had left, but she had sent Bill and Danny up there. Fear had her pounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She knew Wilson would only be a step behind her.

"CIA! Drop the gun!" Taylor recognised that voice. In the back of her mind, things started to piece together, but she was running too hard to stop.

"I don't have a gun!" She rounded the corner in time to see Bill with his hands out, taking a protective step in front of Danny. "We're not armed!" Who was he talking to?

He wasn't more than twenty feet away, just at the end of the hall, but everything slowed to the point of time stopping. Bill pushed Danny aside, knocking her into the adjoining corridor. He jerked suddenly, a look of surprise on his face as the sound of the shot reverberated in the narrow hallway. Taylor could see the small puff of smoke and knew the shooter was just beyond the corner. Danny screamed. Bill collapsed bonelessly to the floor. 

Taylor dropped to her knees, sliding the last three feet to his side. "No," she breathed, watching a vivid stain spread across his chest. "No, no, no." She pressed down with both hands, covering the hole as Bill's face grew pale. "Bill! Stay with me, Bill!"

"Get up!" the man snarled. Taylor gritted her teeth, but she wouldn't move her hands, it was all that was keeping Bill alive.

She glared over her shoulder. "You son of a bitch," she hissed. VanTerran did have someone in NCS working for him. She should have known.

Bill sucked in a breath, gasping with pain and need for air and Taylor turned back to him. He didn't look good. "Bill," she called, wincing at the blood that seeped between her fingers.

"I said get up!" he barked.

"Fuck you!" she shouted.

"Three seconds," he snapped. "Two..."

Taylor heard the metallic click as the gun was cocked and she clenched her jaw. She wasn't going to look. Fuck that. If he was going to shoot her, he was going to have to shoot her in the back.

"One."

She threw an arm protectively across the back of her head and covered Bill's body with her own. She sucked in a breath and held it, her eyes clenched shut, every muscle tensed for the impending impact. When the gun went off, she screamed.



The Program Ch. 08



 No rants this time, I promise. Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. It's just about Christmas, and that means that in addition to the normal work obligations and holiday obligations and travel and baking and family and friends and shopping and letter writing, I had exams to kick off the last bit of time before I headed home.

This isn't the last chapter, though I think 9 will do it. And there isn't the same kind of cliff-hanger that I've been subjecting you to... consider it a Christmas present?

Hope you enjoy this. As always, feedback is welcome and Thank you for reading.

~ewebie  

~~o~~

Bill led Danny up the metal stairs. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Taylor as she shook Wilson awake. He didn't know how Taylor was still moving. As far as he could tell, her body should have shut down three times over by now. He heard Wilson's voice as he grumbled, and breathed a sigh of relief. Wilson would make sure Taylor made it up the stairs.

He reached the door at the top and paused, listening intently. Everything seemed quiet. Cautiously, he opened the door an inch and listened again. Nothing. Releasing a heavy breath, he pulled the door open and stuck his head through. It was an empty corridor. He glanced at Danny and shrugged, "Come on." She followed him obediently through the door. 

Once they were out of wherever this was, he was going to spend some serious time making sure Danny was ok. But at the moment, he was much more intent on finding the right people and getting home. He scanned the hall trying to decide which way was out. "What do you think?"

Danny pointed to the right. "It's brighter that way."

"Good call." He took her hand and they moved quickly but carefully down toward the end of the hall. He still didn't hear anything. The hall came to a four-way split and he hesitated, "Oh come on! There's got to be a door somewhere!"

"There is," a voice growled over his shoulder.

Bill spun quickly, tugging Danny behind him. The first thing Bill noticed was the doorway at the end of the hall; the second thing he noticed was the muzzle of a gun aimed squarely at his head. "Larson?"

"I've got hostiles!" Larson shouted into his earpiece.

"What?!" Bill began inching away.

"CIA! Get down on the ground!"

"Larson, what the hell?"

Larson kicked out in front of him, catching a small table that was pushed against the wall and sent the contents tumbling to the floor. Bill jumped back as a large vase shattered at his feet. Bill held his hands out in front of him. "Hey, calm down."

The sound of the gun cocking had Bill freezing completely. The black spot of the barrel seemed to grow larger as he stared. What the hell is going on? Larson was acting like they were... Oh fuck. It clicked. Larson was the insider in NCS. He was the one that killed Matthews in holding. He was the one that gave away the safe house. He was the one that planted the tracer in his laptop. And he was the one that was trying to clean up the loose ends. The sound of booted feet pounded through the hall and Bill couldn't tell where they were coming from. He had to buy some time.

"CIA! Drop the gun!" Larson ordered, a strange smile twisting his features. 

Bill inched further in front of Danny and gauged the distance to the shelter of the adjoining corridor. He wouldn't make it, but she could. "I don't have a gun!" he held his hands out in a conciliatory manner. "We're not armed!"

He could see it in Larson's eyes. He knew the man was going to pull the trigger. Oh God, he was about to get shot. Danny! Bill reached behind and grabbed Danny's arm, flinging her into the adjoining corridor. He didn't make it all the way back around before the gun went off.

His shoulder exploded in pain and he dropped in the wave of numbness that seemed to pass through his whole body. His shoulder was on fire! The fingers of pain spread out and seemed to clench in his chest, his lungs, his stomach. He couldn't breathe! Oh God!

"No. No, no, no!" he heard her shout over him just before an intense pressure came down on the pain. He gasped as it seemed to stab through his chest. "Bill!" He managed to catch a bleary glimpse of Taylor where she leaned over him. He wished she would stop pushing on his chest. It hurt! "Stay with me, Bill!" she yelled. He groaned, but couldn't move his arms to shake her off.

He could faintly hear the exchanging of voices. Neither she nor Larson sounded happy. He tried to cough and catch his breath but any movement hurt and he gasped in agony.

"Bill?" Taylor called. He could hear the change in her voice, but didn't understand. She snapped at someone, but he couldn't discern the words; there was a terrible static in his ears and it seemed like everything was spinning. He was actually cold. Then there was some warmth as he felt Taylor's body against his. Then she screamed. And then nothing.

~o~

Taylor flinched, every muscle in her body tensed, and she heard herself scream as the gun went off. Then the room was silent. She sucked in a shaky breath, surprised to find herself whole and uninjured, at least, without new injury. Her head shot up, her eyes wide as she swivelled to see what had happened.

Larson's body dropped heavily to the ground, the large red stain on his chest spreading across the floor where he landed as his gun clattered across the hall. Behind him, Wilson slumped against the wall with a sigh, VanTerran's gun still in his hand. Taylor opened her mouth, but she couldn't seem to find her voice. Bill groaned softly and she dropped her attention back to him. "Hang on, Boy Scout."

There were agents everywhere; some she knew, some she didn't, and she really couldn't bring herself to care. If only he'd been wearing a vest. Why would he be? They had been at the cottage. She kept her hands in place, applying pressure to the still bleeding wound, holding her breath every time there was a laboured pause in Bill's breathing. God, I can't go through this again.

One of the company's medical teams pushed past the officers, stepping over Larson's still form to reach Taylor and Bill. She numbly watched them prepare the gurney and place an air mask over his face. She didn't fight them, it had ended poorly enough the last time, and she thought she might just know better now. They asked questions and she nodded, not knowing what she was agreeing to, and she pulled her hands back when they were ready.

They moved him to the gurney, and were instantly in motion as Taylor rocked back onto her heels and managed to stand unsteadily. Her eyes followed the gurney's progress down the hallway towards the open door. When it was gone, she swayed slightly, the edges of her field of vision becoming fuzzy. She blinked rapidly, her brow furrowing as she tried to clear the blurriness. She tried to focus on something closer and glanced down at her hands. They were covered in blood. Her stomach turned and static filled her ears.

~o~

His ankle was killing him, and left eye was nearly swollen shut, but he'd made it just in time. There was something to be said about his training that he didn't flinch when he took the shot, but he couldn't look at Larson now. It took enough of his self-control to keep the gun in his hand. A small team of fully suited agents stormed past and he pressed back against the wall to keep from being trampled. But he didn't stay there.

Wilson pushed off the wall as the last agent walked past and tucked the gun into the back of his pants. Taylor? He found her quickly, hunched over Martin's prone form. Oh shit. But if Martin was there... "Danny? Danny!" He shoved past the officers milling around the hallway, panic twisting his insides. Then he found her, doing her best to stay out of the way, shrinking from the medical team that pressed into the crowd of officers. 

When she saw him, she threw herself into his arms. He held her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, resting his chin on the crown of her head. "You ok?" he asked quietly.

"He shot Bill," she whispered.

"But you're not hurt?" he asked firmly.

She shook her head.

He sighed with relief. If anything had happened to her, he'd never have forgiven himself. "Danny, can I... I need to..."

She nodded slowly, easing her vice like grip on his shirt. "To work," she finished for him.

Wilson glanced around and caught the attention of one of the female medics. "Tina?" When the blond reached his side he spoke quietly over Danny's head. "Take her to the hospital. Make sure she's ok. I'll be there as quickly as I can." The woman nodded. "Danny," he eased carefully out of the embrace. "This is Tina. She's one of our medics. I need you to go with her for now. Is that ok?"

Tina smiled kindly at Danny and extended her hand. "Hi, Danny."

"It's ok," he encouraged, nudging Danny toward the woman. "I'll be five minutes behind you."

"Promise?"

It hurt to see the distrust in her eyes. She hadn't looked at him like that since they were kids. "I promise," he said firmly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hesitated nonetheless, glancing over her shoulder before walking out the door.

"Nice shot, kid."

"Don't start," Wilson muttered, closing his eyes and swiping his hand across his face.

"I'm sorry," Patrick whispered. "I know you two were friendly."

Wilson glanced up sharply. He could count the times Morgan Patrick had apologised on one hand without his first finger and thumb. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want an apology. He wanted to hit something. How did Larson get in so much trouble? And how the hell did Morgan Patrick miss it? The man missed nothing.

The medics cut through the tension and the space between the two men with a gurney, and Wilson followed its progress with his eyes as they passed out of the main door. A small cry caught his attention and he spun around. Taylor's face was rapidly draining of colour as she stared at her hands. Oh shit, Wilson thought, brushing past Patrick, hobbling as fast as he could. She swayed uneasily, and managed to lift her eyes, catching Wilson's gaze for a second before her head lolled to the side. He caught her just as she started to drop. "I need a medic!" he shouted.

~o~

 Arlington National Cemetery was an immense and awe-inspiring tribute to those who had sacrificed their lives for their country. Taylor had been fascinated by it as a child. It was noble. It was beautiful. It was an honour. But now that she knew a few people buried there, she found it cold, barren, anonymous, and sterile. Stepping out of the black sedan, she felt a shiver run down her spine. I don't want to be buried here, she thought. To be nothing but a black star on the wall in Langley...

Behind her, Wilson set a hand on the small of her back, encouraging her to move forward. She shook him off and walked alone to the open grave. There was an impressive turnout. Priest, Patrick, Remy, Monty, Wilson. Where was Larson? A few of the guys from upstairs, a few people that Taylor recognised as college friends, and Danny. Danny was crying. She briefly met Taylor's gaze and then cast her eyes down.

It was like a knife in the gut. And Taylor found herself growing angry with Danny. What is wrong with me? Everyone here looked sad and all she had was anger. Burning, white-hot rage that was boiling in her stomach. It made her feel nauseous.

There was Wilson, his face like a rock. But he was pale. Dark circles under his eyes. He was in pain. She knew it; she could see it even if no one else could. It twisted the knife a little deeper, the sensation becoming tangible, slicing through her insides in search of something. She clenched her jaw and forcefully held back tears. Taylor James didn't cry.

Patrick. Patrick was almost in tears. Taylor took a shaky breath. Morgan Patrick wasn't as cold as people thought, and he actually cared about his employees. Hell, Patrick was like a second father to her. His tie didn't coordinate with his socks. She tried not to laugh. It was an overwhelming urge, but Patrick never looked dishevelled and now he was mismatched. She swallowed the chuckle that tried to escape and it settled in her stomach, churning with the rage, mixing with the stabbing pain until she thought she'd burst.

Then Wilson set his hand on her shoulder. Gently as if to keep from startling her, and everything exploded. The rage, the pain, the grief, the competing emotions. They erupted and she felt a hole open in her stomach. Oh God, she was bleeding. Not again, please, not again.

She collapsed to her knees, wrapping her hands protectively around her abdomen. Fresh blood stained her hands and she sobbed. She was alone on the grass. Where did Wilson go? This isn't how it happened! She stared down at the coffin at the bottom of the hole, fresh dirt lining the sides, crisp green grass beneath her and the ground yawned to swallow her.

She screamed.

Someone held her shoulders. "It's alright," he said.

"Mick?" She felt like her abdomen was on fire.

His arms wrapped around her, holding her; she could feel his warmth at her back. He kissed her neck. "What are you doing?" he whispered in her ear.

She was in so much pain. She was dizzy. The world spun around her and she gasped, grabbing his arms to keep her steady. "You're dead," she choked out through tears.

"Then why are you holding on?"

Taylor shivered, the warmth gone from more than his voice. She pushed against his arms, struggling to free herself. The ground tilted again and she fell to the side. She righted herself and struggled to stand, cradling her stomach protectively in her arms. She glanced around. Where the hell did he go? "Mick?"

His hands ran down her sides to her hips as he turned her to face the grave. "You can come with me," he whispered. She stepped back, colliding with his solid frame and she shivered at the cold contact.

"I can't!" she cried.

His hands moved, holding her shoulders. "Either come with me, or let go," he hissed. She gripped his hands, his fingers like ice under her palms. He shoved and she felt her body pitch forward into the blackness.

She screamed. 

"James?"

Taylor felt heavy. It was a strangely comforting feeling. Maybe because there wasn't any pain anymore. She cleared her throat from the strange scratching sensation, and a strong pressure registered from her right hand. She furrowed her brow and tried to open her eyes. Even her eyelids were heavy. That was annoying. She shifted and tried again, this time managing a glimpse of a lot of white.

Goddamned painkillers. She'd be willing to bet they'd given her something other than the vicodin she was used to. Drug induced dreams always left her feeling nauseous. The pressure from her hand disappeared as she felt her left shoulder pushed back against something soft. A warm cloth swept across her brow and she finally felt the sweat coating her body. "Easy there, James."

She knew that voice. She sighed, and tried to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds as Patrick's face came slowly into focus. "Hey, Boss." Her voice sounded odd in her head, but the gentle smile on Patrick's face didn't reflect anything unusual. It was eerie. A wave of pure panic clenched her stomach. Just breathe. it's not happening again, she told herself. Breathe.

"Welcome back." He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. "You had me worried there."

She tried to smile, but recognised the strange dragging sensation across her cheeks and lips as a sure sign of bruises. "You worry too much," she croaked out, her eyes finally focusing normally as she took in the hospital room. The sense of dŽjˆ vu was overpowering.

"Someone has to worry about you."

She groaned. "Go worry about your own kids." 

"You are one of my kids," he said softly. "How're you feeling?"

Taylor managed to resist the impulse to sit up. "Right now, everything is warm and fuzzy." Except for my mind, she thought bitterly. Morphine: both friend and nightmare-inducing foe.

Patrick swept a lock of hair from her brow. "Good. There are no blue ribbons for being in pain."

She blushed. There were times when he made her feel like a little kid. It was both warm and perturbing at the same time and she felt the need to change the subject. "Wilson?"

"Is just fine," he assured her. "I left him down the hall, yelling at some nurses."

Taylor chuckled and winced. Obviously laughing was a bad idea. The pleasant heaviness in her side was developing into a dull throb and she was all too aware of the small twinges drifting in from across her body. "And Danny?"

"She's good. No injuries other than a bump here and bruise there. I had Monty debrief her yesterday, so as far as I'm concerned, she's free to go. I have her linked in with one of the company therapists just to be sure. But she's a tough cookie."

"Comes from good stock," Taylor muttered.

Patrick smiled. "Must be."

"Was... Did Larson really..."

Patrick shook his head sadly. "Can we save that conversation for later?"

Taylor frowned. That only left one urgent question. Her body tensed as she screwed up the courage to ask. Her mind was already brimming with the worst possibilities, but she had to know. "And Martin?" her voice broke unevenly over his name.

This time, Patrick's smile wavered slightly. "He's ok."

She blinked. Ok? It wasn't what she was expecting to hear. Dead, coma, ICU... dead; those words she had prepared for. "Ok?"

"He had a tough surgery, but he's awake now. Should make a full recovery. The surgeons are even suggesting he won't have any permanent damage." Patrick squeezed her hand gently. "He should be just fine."

The panic that had been building in her chest melted away leaving a hollow sense of numbness. "And that's just ok by your standards?" she asked shakily. 

Patrick snorted. "It would have been better if he'd never been shot. And there is the issue of his life and career, which we've rather successfully made a mess of."

"But he'll be fine?" 

"Yes."

Tears welled in her eyes. It was a completely irrational response and it irked her, but she couldn't seem to keep them from building. She swallowed over the burning in her throat and moved to swipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. Patrick caught her wrist and set it back on the bed. "Don't do that," he said softly.

Taylor took a wavering breath, the uneven movement aggravating the irritation in her side. "You're sure he's ok?" she whispered.

Patrick gave her a gentle smile. "I was just down there. The bullet passed clean through his shoulder. I'm sure it doesn't feel good, but he'll be fine."

She nodded slowly.

"You don't look like you believe me."

Taylor gave a weak smirk. "I will when I see him."

"When you see who?" asked a voice from the door. She started, actually contemplating moving for the first time.

Patrick rose and headed for the door, speaking in a hushed voice with Wilson. "How's the leg?"

"Broken, but fixable. How's she?"

"Broken, but fixable," Patrick repeated with a small smile. "All the physical stuff will heal. She just came out of a nightmare though. And Danny?" Patrick raised a brow.

"Won't leave Martin's side," Wilson grumbled.

Patrick suppressed a smile and gave Wilson's shoulder a squeeze on his way out. "You know," he whispered. "She asked about you first."

Wilson shot Patrick a look over his shoulder, shook his head, and limped to the now empty seat by the bed. Taylor forced a smile, "Hi."

"You look like hell," he said with a frown, the harshness of his words belied by the concern in his eyes.

Taylor scoffed. "And you look like a little kid that just took on the playground bully." Her fingertips brushed across the deep purple surrounding his eye and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles before tucking her hand under his and against his chest. "Have you come to spring me from this hell hole?"




The Program Ch. 08



"Sorry, you're in for at least another day."

Taylor pouted. "I don't do hospitals."

Wilson choked back a laugh, "I remember. But I'm going to have to wait for a doctor to sign off before I let you out."

"You're no fun," she whispered.

He swept his thumb across her cheek, careful to avoid the bruises. "You ok?"

She tried to furrow her brow, but it actually hurt. "I'll survive."

The look in his eyes told her that he was neither satisfied with nor fully believed her answer. "How's the pain? Do you want me to get the doctor in here?"

She shook her head. "It'll just give me more bad dreams."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He sighed, his fingers sliding from their resting place along her hairline toward the back of her neck. He shifted so he could rest his forehead against hers, "When you want to talk, I'm here." Then he moved again, his lips brushing hers, gingerly kissing in feather-light nibbles until she whimpered in frustration. 

The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile and she groaned, "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"You seem fairly indestructible," he murmured before kissing her firmly. The sound of someone clearing his throat made Wilson stiffen. "Now I know why Danny gets so annoyed when I do that," he muttered. He shifted back into the chair regretfully and turned to face the man at the door.

"Ah, Officer Wilson," the man smiled politely, adjusting his white coat. "Glad to see you up and about. How's the leg?"

Taylor frowned, "What's wrong with your leg?"

"I broke it," he hissed at her. To the doctor, he smiled back. "Leg's good. I like this walking cast. Crutches aren't my style."

The doctor nodded. "Good, good. And Officer James, glad to see those big green eyes of yours open. How are you feeling?"

Taylor's eyes narrowed slightly and Wilson gave her hand a squeeze. "Taylor, this is Doctor Camden. He's the one that's been taking such good care of you." Wilson's voice dropped to a low whisper, "And the one that has to sign the papers for you to leave. Behave."

"Officer Wilson, would you mind if I had a private word with Ms. James?" the doctor asked kindly.

Wilson shrugged. "I'll be back in a bit. I need to check on Danny anyway." He stooped, kissed her forehead gently, gave her hand one last squeeze and limped from the room.

When Wilson was gone, Taylor's frown deepened. "If you're the one signing my release, I'm never getting out of here."

The doctor chuckled. "You'd have better luck if you didn't keep busting the stitches I put in."

"Look, Doc, shit happens-"

He cut her off. "I know. I can tell."

Taylor watched as he sat on the edge of the bed. "How bad, Doc?"

"I've seen worse," he smiled gently. "Thankfully, you didn't do any more damage to your side other than tearing the stitches, which I've fixed again, by the way." Taylor moved to argue, but he shook his head. "I know, not your fault. You have two broken ribs on the left, and some of the lacerations on your wrist are deep enough. But the rest is superficial."

"Doesn't feel superficial," she muttered.

"I'm sure it doesn't. You're going to be sore for a few days. The shallower bruises should settle and be gone in about a week, the deeper ones will take a little longer."

"When can I be back at work?" Taylor asked impatiently.

Doc scoffed. "Work? Seriously, Taylor you need to get your priorities straight here." When her glare didn't waver he sighed. "Three weeks at least."

"Three weeks!" she cringed at the shot of pain that zipped along her ribcage.

"Yes, three. By then, the only things that should still be giving you trouble are your ribs and side, which will still be a lot of trouble. And I won't clear you for field work for a month."

Taylor groaned. "Do you know how much paperwork I'll be forced to do in that week?"

Doc shook his head, "No more than what I'll have to do over your exploits." He tried to look stern but failed and he ended up laughing. It was contagious and soon Taylor was chuckling too. "Look, push come to shove, you're damn lucky to still be alive. That GSW will leave a scar and there'll be marks on your wrists for a long time. But rolling out of this one with only one more scar is doing well."

Taylor forced a smile. "Thanks for keeping the scar count low, Doc. The last thing I need is another visual reminder." She tilted her head at the long, thin scar that traced up her forearm. A permanent reminder of her stepfather. 

"Nowadays I probably could have made that one almost invisible too." Doc sighed. "You caught me before I spent time working under a plastic surgeon."

"Yeah, well, how else would I know I could trust you?"

"You attract trouble like a magnet."

"My trouble put your kids through college."

Doc laughed again. "Speaking of your trouble, Bill Martin seems to be healing up as well."

"Good," Taylor said softly.

"Want to tell me about it?"

She frowned. "He's not Mick, ok."

"No, he's not. But?"

"But nothing. If Wilson doesn't kill him over Danny, then I wish him a long and happy life, preferably away from me."

"That seems a little harsh," Doc raised a brow.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a very forgiving person, am I?" Taylor had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling. After a moment, she felt in control of her voice again. "When do I get out of here?"

He was debating; she could see it in his eyes. "Provided you have someone to take you home and stay with you for a few days..."

"Wilson will," Taylor threw out impatiently.

A small smile touched the corner of Doc's mouth. "If that's the case, then perhaps tomorrow." Taylor sighed with relief. "Anything else I can do for you now?" he asked.

"Change the codeine to vicodin?" she asked hopefully. "It's giving me nightmares."

"Figured you'd notice that," he chuckled. "I'll do that now."

"Thanks."

"In the mean time, get some rest." Doc rose from the bed and smiled. "I'm serious about the rest. You don't take it easy, I'm not letting you leave."

Taylor pouted, "You wouldn't be that mean."

"Try me."

~o~

The sound of a click had Bill starting from his sleep. The combination of the metallic sound that was so like the hammer of a gun cocking back added to the strange weight on his chest sent surge of panic through his mind before consciousness caught up his surroundings. He blinked a few times and glanced around the room. Wilson's large form was leaning casually against the doorjamb and it took a moment before Bill recognised the expression on his face as a smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless.

Bill moved to sit up, but the small murmur that came from the woman cuddled against his chest had him reconsidering. "Is she sleeping?" Wilson asked quietly, limping toward the bed.

Bill nodded and blushed. "I didn't want her sleeping in the chair," he whispered. "It looked so uncomfortable."

Wilson sighed, clearly conflicted, but whatever won out in his mind seemed to benefit Bill's well-being, and Wilson sat heavily in the chair next to the bed. "Well, if she's asleep, let her stay that way," he said in a low voice. "So I talk, you listen."

Bill nodded slowly.

"First, the protocol for discharging a civilian that was involved in an operation has miles and miles of paperwork. I'm going to get started on that. You're going to have to sign a million things, swear secrecy, and subject yourself to some scrutiny." Wilson paused and Bill furrowed his brow but nodded. It seemed to make sense. "Second, the company shrinks are going to have to check you out, make sure you're not damaged, blah blah blah. You seem sound enough to me, but they have their rules too."

Again Bill nodded.

"Third, the company will arrange for relocation. You can't really go back to your apartment, and we both know that your job is, well, non-existent. The company will make arrangements. But I don't think this situation will call for witness protection."

"Good," Bill whispered.

"Finally, and probably most importantly, is the issue of my sister." Wilson ran a hand through his hair and Bill braced himself, his arm tightening around Danny's sleeping form. "Danny may seem tough, but she's lost a lot in her life. I don't want to... I think..." Wilson sighed. "Look, if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

Bill had to choke back the irrational urge to laugh, but he couldn't keep the smile from reaching his face. "I have no intention of hurting her," he said softly.

"I'm serious," Wilson glowered.

"So am I."

~o~

Taylor glanced up from where her forehead was resting against the cool glass of the car window. "I thought you were taking me home."

"I am."

"This isn't the way to my apartment." She turned to glare at Wilson.

He grinned sheepishly. "Well, with everything else that's been going on, we haven't had a chance to clean up your apartment. It's still..."

"Full of bullet holes?" she suggested.

"Yeah. And until the windows are replaced, amongst other things, you're not going there. So you're staying at my place." He tried to covertly gauge her reaction, but her face was stone cold. "It won't be for long, and fixing up your place will give you something to do with the time off."

Taylor rested her cheek back against the glass. "Whatever."

Wilson frowned but held his tongue, forcing silence for the remainder of the drive. When he pulled up to his apartment, her face had taken on an unnatural pallor. "You ok?" He got a shrug for a reply and it worried him. He hurried around the car, the cast on his leg slowing him enough that she was already out of the car when he reached the passenger side.

The arm he wrapped around her waist was quickly brushed off. "I can walk," she muttered angrily.

Wilson heaved a sigh and followed her for two steps before she stumbled. He caught her around the waist and guided her up the stairs to his apartment. "If it weren't for the leg, Pipsqueak, I'd hoist you over my shoulder."

"If it weren't for this headache, I'd kick your ass," she mumbled.

He chuckled, letting her lean unsteadily against his shoulder as he unlocked the door. "Come on, straight to bed with you." She didn't argue, in fact, she didn't say another word. She dropped roughly onto the bed and grimaced in pain. "Taylor?" He cupped her face between his palms, "Jesus, you're burning up." He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

She tried to wave off him off, but he was having none of it. And in spite of her objections, he wrestled her out of most of her clothing. "Stop it," she tried to tug her shirt back from his hands, but she couldn't match his strength and ended up doubled over on the bed as the fabric slipped from her fingers.

"Any other time, I'd find this amusing," he murmured, tugging off his own tee shirt and slipping it over her head. "Stay," he said firmly.

Taylor crossed her arms and frowned at him. "You're an asshole."

"I know," he smiled wryly. "But I'm the asshole that's going to get you your meds and a glass of water." Wilson saw the flicker of relief and amusement in her eyes as he ducked from the room. 

Taylor dropped flat onto her back. Every muscle in her body was either screaming in pain or refusing to move. Even her brain didn't seem to want to keep up with the world. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the quite peace of the darkness. She was going to need at least a week of sleep to feel anywhere near normal. Why couldn't she be at home? Wilson's apartment was too much of a bachelor pad for her tastes, and it smelled like him. It wasn't a bad smell, just... distracting.

The mattress dipped under his weight as Wilson sat on the edge of the bed. She opened her eyes and stared blandly as he waved a bottle of pills. "You have to take these." He pulled her upright and handed over the pills and a glass of water.

She muttered at him for the time it took to swallow the pills and half the glass of water. He took the glass from her hands before she could drop it and set it on his nightstand. "Get some rest," he whispered, laying her back down on the bed. He chuckled at the half-hearted curse she managed to throw his way before she was tucked under the comforter. She was asleep before he turned out the light.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the pain came back. The slowly building fire in her side woke her from a restless sleep. She whimpered, drawing her knees up toward her chest, trying to find a position to relieve the pain. She groaned as the ground spun oddly away from her and the blood rushed to catch up to the sudden elevation of her head, quickly finding herself propped up against a large, firm pillow.

"Shh," his voice was soft and soothing as he cradled her against his chest.

"Josh?" she couldn't see in the dark room, but reaching back, her hand found his arm and her fingers wrapped into the fabric of his tee shirt. It was completely disorienting. She didn't remember inviting him to stay the night.

"Come on, I need you to swallow these." She opened her mouth as his fingers grazed her lips and struggled with the large pills. "Drink," he said quietly as the cool rim of a glass pressed against her lower lip.

Her hands came up to cover his as he tilted the water into her mouth. The liquid was nearly as soothing as the warm strength of him supporting her. She pushed the glass away, sputtering a little. "What are you doing here?" she whispered as he set the glass down on the nightstand.

His arms wrapped around her as a laugh rumbled low in his chest. "I live here." She furrowed her brow and squinted, trying to make shapes in the darkness, only just realizing that she wasn't in her apartment. "I can leave if you want," his breath stirred the hair next to her ear. She closed her eyes as his fingertips traced the worry lines on her forehead, smoothing them away and skimming down to brush against her cheek. She murmured a barely coherent negative that drew a smile across his lips. "Go back to sleep," he whispered.

~o~

It was warm. That was the first thing she registered. Warm and heavy. The arm draped over her side tightened, pulling her more firmly against the warm wall of person behind her. "Don't even think of getting up," Wilson's gravelly voice rumbled in her ear. 

Taylor didn't bother to open her eyes. "Not thinking about it," she mumbled, settling into the comforting frame he made around her. The slight movement sent little reminders of why she shouldn't want to move, though the sensations struck her as more reminiscent of sore muscles than all out pain.

"Good."

She sighed as he nuzzled the side of her neck, feeling more comfortable than she knew she should. She opened her eyes to watch his fingers trace gingerly along her bandaged wrist, brushing ever so lightly against the sensitive skin. Taylor felt a blush spread across her cheeks and out to her ears, but Wilson didn't seem to notice. 

It wasn't that she didn't like the attention. The tingling sensations wrought by his ministrations made her feel warm all over. But the softness, the care he was taking, as if she would break, was so out of place that it left an uneasy flutter in her stomach. The delicate touch moved to stroke the inside of her upturned palm and her hand closed reflexively at the sensation. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

His fingers wove into hers and gave a gentle squeeze. It wasn't an answer as far as Taylor was concerned. She shifted onto her back, gazing up into his strikingly blue eyes. She raised a brow and he visibly flinched. "What?"

Wilson forced a smile. "Can't help it," he said wryly. "You're beautiful even with the bruises."

Taylor flushed. "They're not that bad, are they?"

"They won't be in a few days," he murmured, sweeping his fingers along her hairline.

"You getting soft on me, Wilson?" she asked, trying to relieve the tension in his gaze.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I don't think I've ever gone soft on you." The way his eyebrow cocked with his intonation brought a bubble of laughter up from Taylor's stomach. "But if you mean, 'Wilson, do you care about me?' which you have a strange way of asking, by the way. Then yes. Of course I care." His voice dropped off to a whisper. "Always have."

Taylor's brow furrowed. "Always?"

Sadness flit through his eyes before he could hide it and he distracted himself by carefully tracing the border of her lower lip with his thumb. When he raised his eyes to meet her gaze again they glinted with the warmth and mischief she was used to seeing. "Always."

When he kissed her, it was a careful, tentative kiss; his lips lightly caressing hers in small, almost timid passes. Taylor sighed softly, her fingers reaching up to slide into his hair, pulling him closer. 

He groaned. He really hadn't planned on letting the kiss become anything more than a chaste peck and now he was battling to keep his hands to himself. He concentrated on keeping his weight on his arms and off of her. The feel of her fingers twisting in his hair raised goose bumps on the back of his neck and he couldn't help it. His tongue met hers halfway and they battled before his swept into her mouth. He teased the corners of her mouth, losing himself in the taste of her.

She shifted, her leg hooking around his, drawing him further down on top of her. A breathless moan escaped her lips as he nibbled on her lower lip. Taylor couldn't think about anything other than the sensation of his lips on hers.

He pulled out of the kiss suddenly and reluctantly, resting his forehead against hers as he calmed his breathing. "For the safety of your stitches, I'm going to have to stop right there," he muttered, his voice a gruff whisper.

"Damn stitches," she responded breathlessly.

Wilson grinned. "All the more reason for you to take it easy. The faster you heal up..."

Taylor blushed and swatted his shoulder. "You seem awfully assured of something."

His grin broadened, the humour reaching his eyes. "Oh, I am."

"Ass."

He chuckled, kissed her nose, and rolled out of the bed. When she moved to follow, he loomed over her, pinning her down, and kissed her until her head spun. "Stay."

Taylor flushed hotly. "Don't boss me around." Her voice didn't hold the menace she wanted, and she couldn't even convince herself that she was angry at his orders.

His smile didn't waver, "Fine. Stay there, you get breakfast in bed. Move and I paddle your ass." Her eyes widened at the blatant threat. He stooped, kissed her cheek lightly, and strode out of the bedroom.

~o~

Taylor stared at the small white gravestone. The anonymity of the simple marker sent a stab of guilt straight to her stomach as her fingers clenched and unclenched around the small bouquet of flowers. They seemed pathetic in comparison to the wreathes she saw adorning the other graves. And this visit was long overdue. Her stomach twisted at the thought of how long it had actually been.

She shivered. It was colder than she thought it would be, and the wind seemed to run right through her. She tried to remember the things she had planned to say, but her mind seemed to flounder under the volume of words she owed him.

Tears welled in her eyes and the anger broke free first. "Fuck you, Mick!"



The Program Ch. 09



 I know I keep making you wait for these chapters. For that, I'm sorry. Not only is time to write short, the dismal winters here make it hard to find inspiration sometimes.

Just so you know, there is a Chapter 10... though, that will be apparent when you get to the end of this one. It's already in the works.

Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading,

~ewebie

~~o~~ 

Taylor stared at the small white gravestone. The anonymity of the simple marker sent a stab of guilt straight to her stomach as her fingers clenched and unclenched around the small bouquet of flowers. They seemed pathetic in comparison to the wreathes she saw adorning the other graves. And this visit was long overdue. Her stomach twisted at the thought of how long it had actually been.

She shivered. It was colder than she thought it would be, and the wind seemed to run right through her. She tried to remember the things she had planned to say, but her mind seemed to flounder under the volume of words she owed him. 

Tears welled in her eyes and the anger broke free first. "Fuck you, Mick!"

Her outburst was met by stony silence and she seethed. "What the fuck were you thinking?" 

More silence. 

"How could you be so goddamned careless? Do you have any idea what you did to Danny? To Wilson? To me?" She started pacing a small line in front of the marker. "You promised me! And then you just fucked it all away! Why? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Nothing but a slight breeze seemed to move in the cemetery.

"What were you anyway? Reckless? Stupid? Selfish?" She swallowed over the lump in her throat and the venom drained from her voice. "Were you always that careless and I was just too stupid to see it? Were you being reckless with me?"

Taylor jumped at the sound of someone clearing his throat behind her. She spun, her cheeks colouring at being caught off guard in the middle of a one sided tirade. Her face turned a deeper shade of crimson at the sight of Wilson closing the remaining distance to her side, the air-cast doing little to slow his long strides. "Jesus, Josh. Don't you make noise when you walk?"

With a small smile, he rested a hand on the small of her back. "Meesh said I might find you here."

"Meesh has an awfully big mouth for a shrink," she muttered, turning back toward the grave.

Wilson chuckled. "Meesh and I had our monthly coffee meeting this morning."

"Isn't that a violation of some sort of confidentiality? Or a conflict of interests at least?" she crossed her arms.

"I'm allowed to have coffee with my aunt." He rested his hands on her shoulders, stepping up behind her. "Besides, we didn't talk about you until you were half an hour late for our lunch date."

"Oh shit, Josh," Taylor moaned.

He gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Don't worry about it. It gave me some time to catch up with Meesh. I know you've got other things on your mind."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, a shiver running through her again.

"I know." He wrapped one arm around her waist and one across her shoulders, drawing her back into his body heat. It was late in the fall, too cold to be out in just a shirt and slacks and he wondered where her coat was. 

She was quiet for a long time, content to relax into his warmth. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "He was never reckless with you, you know?" he whispered.

Taylor shook her head. "I don't know."

"But I do," he said softly. "He was never careless when it came down to you."

She winced, the guilt stabbing a little deeper. "This is the first time I've been back since..."

"I know." He frowned as another shiver ran through her. He shrugged out of his coat and held it for her, letting her slip her arms into the sleeves and rubbing some warmth into her. "Where's your coat?"

She shrugged.

"You don't have to solve this today, Shorty," he said lowly. "There's time."

She bit her lip, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I'm just so angry." 

"You know, it's ok to be angry."

"I know, but..."

"Cut yourself some slack."

"I cut myself too much slack."

"Honey," he whispered. "You have to go easy on yourself. You're still on the DL. It's going to take some time before you're back to one hundred percent."

She frowned. "You think I don't know that?"

"I know you do," he said softly. "And I'll be there every step of the way."

She shook her head sadly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Taylor. I promise, I'm not leaving you."

"Don't," she whispered bitterly.

"Sweetie, I'm just trying to take care of you here."

She stiffened, pulling away from Wilson and stomping down the path toward her car.

"Taylor, where are you going?" he asked with a sigh.

"Home."

"My place," he lengthened his stride to catch up with her. "Or yours?"

"Home," she repeated angrily.

"Let me give you a ride," he draped an arm across her shoulders.

"I drove myself." She shrugged out from under his arm and then out of his jacket and tossed it at him. "Go back to work."

"Come on, Taylor," he objected. She slammed the car door before he could stop her. "Taylor!" he knocked on the window, waiting for her to roll it down.

She clenched her jaw and complied. "What?" she hissed, staring out the windshield.

"What's wrong?" he stooped, resting his hand on the window frame to be closer to eyelevel.

"Nothing."

"Taylor."

She started the car and turned to glare at him. "What?!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going home!"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Sweetie, why don't we go grab some lunch and talk about this?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, Wilson."

"Taylor."

She threw the car into drive and peeled off toward the gates.

"Taylor!" he shouted, watching her drive away. He threw his hands in the air and stormed off toward his car, muttering under his breath.

~o~

Jab. Honey? Left hook, right hook, mule kick, plant, pivot, side-arm. She grimaced as the impact reverberated down her side. Sweetie! Jab, jab, cross, side-step, uppercut, hook. She winced again. Since when was home supposed to be his place? Snap-kick right, snap-kick left, feint, feint, cross. She sucked in a breath and suppressed a groan at the dull throb that pulsed up her side. Her ribs were not cooperating with her schedule. God she was out of shape.

"Haven't seen you around here in a while."

Taylor swiped the back of her wrapped hand across her forehead and turned. "Hey, Sid."

The large man let out a low whistle. "Shit, girl."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "It's nothing."

"Like hell it's nothing. I thought I taught you to fight better than that." He studied the fading bruises that still liberally decorated her face. "Have you been dropping your guard?"

"You can't drop your guard with your hands tied," she snapped, immediately regretting the comment as a look of concern crossed the trainer's face. He had been teaching her to fight since before she was in college, moving to DC shortly after she did. And he seemed to take it personally when she didn't come out on top in a fight.

"You ok?"

"You know I can't talk about it, Sid," she sighed.

He tossed her a towel. "Tell me you have a good reason to favour your left, because it's clear as day."

She mopped the sweat from her face and dropped onto the bench with another wince. "Depends on whether a healing gunshot wound and a few broken ribs are considered a good reason or a bad reason."

His eyes narrowed. "This is your idea of rehab?"

She snorted. "No, this is my way to keep from killing someone."

"Up," he reached out a hand to her, hauling her to her feet and she winced again. "I'm not going to lecture you, because I know you're not going to listen right now." He crossed his arms, daring her to argue. "But I'll help you with the cool down. And tomorrow, we can start on the rehab."

"Sid, I don't have time to rehab," she argued, wandering toward the mats to stretch.

He cuffed her upside the head and matched the angry glare she threw his way. "I've never known you to be stupid, James. Don't make me change my opinion of you. What's this timeline you have in your head that has you doing this kind of damage?"

"One week."

"One week?!" he asked incredulously.

"I have to, Sid."

"How long ago did it happen?"

"Three weeks."

"You're insane."

"I have enough people on my case, Sid."

"Well you should!" He narrowed his eyes, blond brows slashing together. "You're going to hurt yourself worse than already is."

Taylor chucked the towel on the floor. "I don't need another father, Sid," she snapped, stormed toward the locker rooms.

"Maybe you do," he barked back.

"Oh, fuck you, Sid."

"Fuck you too!"

She kicked open the door and stomped into the locker room. She was already a week longer out of work than planned, and she didn't like it. She needed back, and she had to get her fitness back to do so. And for some stupid reason, her body wasn't cooperating. If it wasn't the pain in her side, it was tears... Ridiculous, pointless, useless, bottomless tears. And anger. A whole boatload of anger.

"James!" she heard Sid shout after her. "Tomorrow morning at eight! You get your ass in here and train properly!"

She dropped down onto the nearest bench in the women's lockers, slowly stripping the wraps from her knuckles.

"Did you hear me?" Sid shouted from the door.

"Yes, I fucking heard you!" she hollered. 

"Eight!"

"Piss off!" Damn, stupid, bossy men. Goddamned, fucking, pushy, overbearing, meddling, assholes. She heard the door close again and the emptiness of the locker room started to suffocate. She sucked in a breath and felt the rebounding pain in her side. Fuck. She lashed out and struck the nearest locker, the impact splitting the skin over her knuckles. "FUCK!"

~o~

"What do you mean you don't know?" Wilson demanded.

"Jesus, Josh, calm down," Danny answered firmly, sitting up on her couch.

"You have to know something!"

Danny sighed. "Taylor has always been really private about her past. I never really pressed her about it."

"It never came up? Ever?"

"No, not really. But why don't you know? It's not like I spend as much time with her as you do now."

"Personal life was never a fair topic of conversation." He hesitated. "And she's really private about her past."

"What's wrong?" Danny shifted the phone receiver from one hand to the other.

"I don't know. And I don't like it." Wilson began pacing in front of the computer terminal, waiting for a page to load as he consulted his sister over the phone.

"And why can't you talk to her about it?" Danny asked practically.

"She sort of stormed off the last time we were talking." Wilson tried to hide the guilt in his voice, but couldn't. "I can't figure out what I did to set her off, but she went home and isn't answering any of my calls." Danny actually laughed and he frowned. "Look. I'm worried about her. If you're not going to be helpful, I'll figure it out on my own."

"Oh, come on, Josh," she stopped laughing. "I don't know what I can say to help you here. She didn't talk about her past except where it involved Mick. I mean, she avoided any questions about her parents. She didn't talk about high school, except for playing hockey. I know she's from Southie, but that's a big place. What do you want to know?"

"I don't know," he groaned. "I just want to understand."

"Well, big brother. I think you're going to have to ask her yourself."

"I was afraid you would say that."

"Do you want me to call her?" she asked patiently.

"Uh," he ran a hand nervously though his hair. "Will you call her apartment? Just to say hi?"

"She'll know you asked me."

"I know. I'm willing to risk it."

"Ok, I'll give it a shot." He could hear the humour in Danny's voice. "But you'd better go kiss her and make it all better soon."

"Danny," he warned.

"I'm just saying."

"Just saying what?"

"Oh please, Josh. Everyone knows."

"I'm still not above sending your new boyfriend into witness protection," he grumbled.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Mom would never forgive you. She's already met Bill, and she likes him."

"You brought him to mom?!" he shouted. "Danielle Annabeth Wilson, you..."

She giggled. "You've got nothing on me. Now go take care of your own relationship problems."

"Yeah, yeah. Take care of yourself."

"I always do. You watch your back."

"I will. Bye, Danny."

"Bye." She hung up with an amused sigh.

"Your brother?"

She nodded and then suppressed another laugh. "What are you doing with that?" she gestured to the jar of mustard in his hand.

Bill winced, tilting his head toward the sling immobilizing his shoulder and pinning his arm to his side. "I'm trying to make a sandwich."

Danny rose from the couch, took the jar from him, replaced it with her hand, and standing on tiptoes, kissed his cheek. He smiled and pressed his lips gently to hers, kissing her softly. She grinned when he released her, turning and leading him into the kitchen. "Come on, Boy Scout. I'll make you something to eat."

When the line disconnected, Wilson turned back to the computer terminal, growling at the message on the screen  - Information Classified, Insufficient Clearance.  "You have got to be kidding me!" He threw his hands in the air.

"Mind telling me why you're trying to access classified information?" Patrick asked from the door.

Wilson spun around, a guilty flush colouring his face. "Boss..."

"Wilson."

"I..." He glanced around. "It's..." When Patrick simply stood there, Wilson dropped into his chair with a sigh. "Look, I don't know what's going on with Taylor, but there's something really really wrong. And I thought that if I could read her personal file, I might have a better idea of what's going on in her head. And maybe I could talk to her... Without her trying to shoot me."

"Remind me how long you've known Officer James."

Wilson shrugged. "Maybe seven years."

Patrick raised a brow.

"Ok, ok seven years. I get it. But she..."

An almost imperceptible flicker of a grin passed across Patrick's face. "Personal files are classified for a reason, Wilson. If you need information from James, you're going to have to go straight to the source. And don't try to hack my system again. You're not nearly as sneaky with a computer as she is." He turned on his heel to leave, pausing to suppress a chuckle. "But maybe you should wear a vest when you talk to her?"

Wilson groaned.

~o~

"You've reached Josh Wilson. Leave a message."

 Beep 

"Josh. She's not taking my calls. I tried her cell and her apartment. Look, I had Bill try and reach her too, but she just isn't talking to anyone. Maybe you should go see her? Be nice, Josh. You know she's going though a tough time. And call mom. She wants to talk to you. Bye."

 Click 

~o~

Taylor turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. The hot water and steam had done nothing for the tension in her shoulders or the pounding headache that seemed to echo the throbbing sensation in her side. Any time she stopped moving, the stress of being still seemed to settle in her stomach, bringing her dangerously close to vomiting. Whether it was self-preservation or old habits, she suddenly had the urge to leave.

"Fuck," she muttered, dropping the towel and shrugging into her robe. She went straight to her closet and dug out a small suitcase, frantically cramming clothes into the small container. She wouldn't need to pack a lot, just enough for a day or two. She tossed her running shoes on top of the clothes and zipped the suitcase shut. She should just get dressed and leave now. She stooped to lift the bag and pain shot up her side.

"Ow!" It wasn't the same dull pain that she'd grown used to, but a sharp, crippling stab to her gut. She dropped the case and doubled over, catching herself against the side of her bed. "Shit!" she pulled herself up onto the bed and curled into the fetal position. Anything more than a shallow breath brought a fresh wave of nausea and agony. Don't cry, she thought desperately. Don't cry; it will only make it worse. Don't cry... It didn't work. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the pillow wanting nothing more than for the pain to end. Slowly, agonizingly, she cried herself into exhaustion. Eventually, she fell into a restless sleep.

A vehement pounding on the door startled her awake. Taylor rubbed at her eyes, trying to erase the gritty feeling. It had grown dark outside and she glanced around the pitch-black room in confusion. What the hell?

The banging repeated. "Taylor! Open this fucking door!"

She fumbled for her watch and squinted at the face, trying to make out the hands in the dim light. It was nearly midnight, she thought, realizing that she must have fallen asleep. She furrowed her brow and rubbed her forehead feeling completely disoriented.

"Taylor!" Wilson hammered on the door again.

She rolled out of the bed, catching the bedpost to steady herself as she swayed uneasily on her feet. For a second, she couldn't tell if the pounding was in her head or at the door. It stopped suddenly. She rubbed her forehead and listened...

Nothing.

She shook her head. What the heck was going on? She pushed off the bedpost and stumbled into the main room, turning on lights as she went, wincing at the bright glare. Everything was quiet. She continued on into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water and taking a big gulp. She sighed, setting the glass down on the counter and braced herself against the counter. The pain in her stomach was gone, but her ribs were killing her.

Taylor choked back a scream as a hand came down on her shoulder. She grabbed the fingers, spinning and preparing to lash out at her attacker. Wilson caught her wrist and twisted out of her grip before she could strike him, holding her in place. Taylor stared at him, her brow furrowed. "What the hell, Wilson? You scared the shit out of me!"

His brows shot up. "Me? I scared you?" He dropped her wrist and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at his already loosened and dishevelled tie and suit. "I have been calling for the past three hours!" He put a hand on his hip and began pacing.

Taylor shook her head. "I fell asleep." She pushed past him, heading into the main room.

"You fell asleep?" he demanded, hot on her heels. "I've been banging on your door for almost fifteen minutes!"

She pulled up short and he nearly ran into her. "Did you break into my apartment?" her eyes narrowed. The headache was creeping back up on her, the pressure building behind her forehead.

He strode past her and roughly slammed the door. "You didn't answer!" he snapped back.

"I was sleeping," she said slowly. "Which I think I'll get back to now." She started toward her bedroom. "You showed yourself in, I'm sure you can show yourself out." He threw his hands in the air and followed, wedging himself in her bedroom doorframe before she could close it. "I thought I told you to leave," she hissed, crossing her arms and turning her back to him.

The low growl that filled the room had her back stiffening. "What is that?" his voice was like velvet over gravel, soft and dangerous, and the tone brought up her guard.

Self-consciously, she pulled the edges of her robe together before turning to face him. "What's what?"

His eyes were absolutely blazing as he glared at her. "Planning on going somewhere?" He raised a brow, the expression cold. Her eyes flit to the suitcase lying ready on the floor. When she didn't answer, he took a step into the room.

Taylor took an instinctive step back, reaching a hand behind her to keep from colliding with the bed. "No, I..." Her voice caught as he took another step forward. Wilson had never intimidated her before. He had never struck her as someone to be afraid of. He had never seemed dangerous until now.




The Program Ch. 09



"That's funny," his mouth twitched, but there was no humour in the grim smile. "Because here you've packed a bag like you might be leaving." He moved closer.

"What business is it of yours?" she squeaked, suddenly very aware of how much smaller she was than he.

"What business?" he backed her against the bed, trapping her between the high seated mattress and his body. "James, you know exactly what business it is of mine." He leaned forward, his fists resting on the bed, his face only inches from hers.

She wrapped her fingers in the sleeves of her robe to keep from pushing him away. She wouldn't be able to move him, and any attempt would just make her look as panicked as she felt. "There wasn't a plan, I was just... Just thinking about..."

"Thinking about running away?"

Taylor clenched her jaw. "Piss off," she whispered, her voice lacking all venom. Wilson's eyes flashed dangerously as he stared at her, and she felt a tremor run through body. She could see the muscles in his shoulders tense; his arms go rigid. "I..." He moved so quickly that she didn't have a chance to react. He captured her face between his palms and kissed her, hard. His lips were hot and demanding, punishing and frustrated.

Taylor's heart leapt into her throat and she gasped to catch a breath. He took advantage of the opening and plundered her mouth. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, but she couldn't pull his hands away. He was ruthless. His body pressed forward, pinning her to the bed. One muscular thigh slid between hers, parting her legs and her robe. Her head swam as one hand left her cheek to tangle in the curls at the base of her neck. Her knees went weak. She grasped the lapels of his suit coat to keep herself upright and then she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his.

As abruptly as he'd started, Wilson pulled back, held her by her shoulders, keeping her at arms length. "No, you know what? I'm sick of this shit. I'm just so fucking tired. And it's not that I'm fighting with you. I'm fighting against you." He glared at her angrily. "And I'm done!" 

"What?" she breathed weakly.

He released her suddenly and held his hands up in surrender. "I'm fucking done, Taylor. And you know why? Because I'm the only one here fighting for us!" He pointed an accusatory finger in her face. "You are fighting against anything and everyone you can. You have never fought for this," he gestured to back and forth between them. "And I can't be the only one fighting for us! Because I can't fight you anymore! If you want to run away then go. If you don't want me, then fine. I..." His voice dropped off in defeat. "I'm sorry. I'm done."

He stared at her for a long moment, and with a frustrated growl, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, Taylor flinched at the sound of her front door slamming. She slid down the side of the bed to the floor and sucked in a breath, staring vacantly at the empty space in her room. She tried to take in another breath, but couldn't as a vice-like pain tightened around her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself and gasped, the pain growing more intense as her vision blurred with tears. She felt her whole body tremble, shuddering under the violence of her heart tearing itself inside out. 

No, she thought weakly. Her mind seemed to claim control and she used the bed to pull herself upright. No! her mind screamed and she stumbled out of her bedroom. Her apartment door seemed reluctant to open and the force she had to use sent another wave of pain through her ribs. She glanced madly around the hall finding it empty. The elevator doors pinged softly as they slid open and her eyes shot from the elevator to the stairs. He was that eager to be away from her that he couldn't even wait for the elevator. The thought shot through her with a blinding stab, and she staggered toward the stairwell.

She shoved the door open with her shoulder; unable to slow the momentum she'd built in her urgency. "Josh!" she cried out, catching herself against the banister and wincing as the impact shot up her side. "Wait, Josh!" 

He stopped on the stairs only a floor below her, glancing up with a look of resignation in his eyes. "What, Taylor?"

"Wait, please," she gasped, shuddering as each breath sent another wave of pain through her ribs.

"What, Taylor?" he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What do you want?"

"Josh..." She slid to her knees, holding to the railing bars. "Please."

"Please what?" he demanded, stomping back up the stairs.

Taylor's vision blurred with tears as he stopped at the top step, glaring down at her. She felt her lip tremble and cringed. "Please."

"Please what?" he asked again, his expression hard. Her head dropped as she stared at the floor. He squatted down in front of her, trying to catch her gaze. "What do you want?"

She shook her head, fighting to contain the tears that spilled through her lashes. "Don't go," she whispered.

"What?"

"I want you to stay," she said a little louder, afraid to see the anger on his face.

He didn't immediately turn and leave as she feared, but somehow the next word out of his mouth was far worse. "Why?"

She shook her head. "Please stay," she whimpered.

His hand was gentle as it tilted her face up, and it was difficult to read the look in his eyes as it rapidly changed from hard to soft to sad. "Taylor, why do you want me to stay?" She swallowed hard but couldn't find her voice. Her mind churned slowly. She didn't know why. Who knew why you wanted these things anyway? Something like panic caught her breath and she struggled to breathe. "Taylor," he repeated softly. "Why should I stay?"

"Because..." She tried to collect her broken thoughts, put together any string of words that made sense. What does he mean, why? She felt a new wave of tears and the thought of him leaving just because she couldn't come up with an answer sent another crippling wave through her body. "Please, Josh," she whispered.

He stroked his thumb across her cheek, wiping away streaks of tears. "Why?" he asked gently.

"I don't know!" she cried out.

"That's not good enough," he said softly.

"Because I love you!" she choked out. Her eyes went wide as if the words had escaped without her permission and she cringed as soon as she realised what she had said. An immediate, involuntary, reflexive wave of anger had her tense under his gaze. "Ok!" her voice rose as she shifted forward and tried to take a swing at him. He caught her before she could do anything of the sort, cradling her against his chest. "You're such an asshole."

He laughed, shifting to his knees. His lips brushed against the top of her head. "I'm an asshole?"

"Yes," she muttered into his shirt.

"But you love me?" he asked softly. She groaned, burying her face against his chest as his hands gently stroked up her back and through her hair. After a moment, he shifted again, lifting her carefully. "Well in that case, I guess I can stick around."

He brought her back into the apartment and settled on the large leather sofa, holding her in his arms. "Hey, not bad," he murmured, appreciating the new couch. "Looks like you did a bit of redecorating."

"You're a jerk," she muttered, tightening her arms around his waist as he shifted.

Wilson chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm just loosening my tie." He draped his coat over the back of the couch and tugged his tie free, dropping it on the nearby end table. 

"You're still a jerk." She sighed as his arms closed back around her, snuggling into his warmth and closing her eyes. Taylor didn't want to move. With her head pillowed on his shoulder she could hear his heart beating, slow and steady. His breathing caused his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, soothingly. She was so exhausted. His fingers began drawing invisible lines up and down her back, lightly tracing her spine, her sides, her shoulder blades. She sighed contentedly.

"Taylor?" he asked quietly, his fingers continuing their slow and deliberate pattern.

"Mmn?"

"Since I've managed to torture some truth out of you already tonight, I think I'm going to push my luck a bit farther."

Her eyes fluttered open and she twisted to see his face.

He gave her a wan smile. "What did I do that upset you so much earlier today?"

Taylor winced. His fingertips brushed her cheek as she furrowed her brow. "I don't suppose you'd accept  Mea Culpa ?"

His smile was warm, "No. Absolutely not."

She sighed. "I, I don't like it when people make promises they can't keep."

He raised a brow. "When have I ever done that?"

"This afternoon."

He frowned. "Taylor, I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"But you did." She couldn't watch his eyes anymore; he was too difficult to read, so she rested her cheek back down on his chest.

He was silent and still for so long that she worried she'd upset him. Finally he said, "For the sake of argument, let's say I did. What was it I said? Just so I don't make the same mistake again."

She released a heavy breath and whispered, "You promised you'd never leave me."

Wilson's chest moved sharply and in a moment he was shaking. Taylor glanced up startled, only to find a lopsided grin on his face. He was trying not to laugh. He failed and burst out in a deep chuckle.

"It's not funny!" Taylor said angrily.

He laughed harder, tightening his grip around her shoulders to keep her from moving.

"Josh! It's not funny!"

"You, you make it sound like a bad thing," he choked out between snickers. 

She felt the anger clench in her stomach again. "The only other people to promise me that died!" She clamped her mouth shut, shocked again at what she'd blurted it out.

Wilson stopped laughing and stared at her, his brows knitting together. "And you thought what?" he asked softly. "That if you stuck around I'd be the next one?"

She flushed and looked down at the pattern of creases her fingers made in his shirt.

"Taylor," he said firmly. "I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not leaving you."

"You can't promise that, Josh."

"Let me guess," his fingers tilted her face back up toward his. "Mick used to promise?"

She searched his eyes carefully before nodding.

"And what did he say?"

"He promised that he'd take care of me."

Wilson sighed. "When?"

"All the time since I was ten years old."

"And before Mick?"

She felt fresh tears welling in her eyes. "My dad."

"And I'm guessing you don't want to talk about it?" When she shook her head, the backs of his fingers stroked across her cheek. "You know, I didn't tell you that I'd take care of you. Frankly, you're old enough and hostile enough to take care of yourself."

She choked out a laugh.

"I just want to stick around to watch." He kissed her forehead. "Is that ok?"

"I guess you can hang around," she murmured.

"Good. And no more running away?" He raised a brow when she narrowed her eyes at him and caught her hand as she tried to swat his arm. He clucked his tongue while he studied the fresh abrasions on her knuckles. "What's this from?"

"I got into a fight with Sid," she said bluntly.

"So you hit him? Taylor, that guy is a monster."

"No, I punched a wall."

He frowned. "Two rules then, Shorty. No running away, no punching walls."

She grumbled and dropped her head down onto his shoulder. "You're awfully demanding."

"Yeah, that's me," he chuckled. "I have another one."

"What?" she asked tentatively.

"Say it again."

"Say what again?"

"You know what," he muttered into her hair.

She bit her lip hesitantly, feeling colour flood her cheeks. "I love you," she said quietly.

His fingers were gentle under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his. He feathered his lips across hers. "I love you too," he whispered, pressing his lips more firmly to hers.

"Will you stay here tonight?"

"Absolutely."

~o~

It was the first real meeting since she'd been back, and it was boring her to tears. Sid had been as good as his word, dragging her through the physical rehab until her fitness and strength were back to baseline. Taylor had returned to work, throwing herself into the new project with more energy than anyone thought possible. It didn't hurt that Wilson had become a permanent fixture in her apartment when they weren't at work.

Patrick turned the page of the briefing lying on the table in front of him. She didn't bother flipping through the document. She didn't need to; she wrote it. It had taken Monty and she nearly three weeks to work out all of the details. And she was itching to get back in the field. Deskwork was a necessary evil, but it was soul-sucking work.

"It's your lead here, Wilson. What do you want to do?" Patrick asked finally.

"We haven't the full intelligence and it feels a little like we're going in there half-cocked." Wilson ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the piles of paper on the table.

"Go big or go home?" Brent Castle offered with a grin. He was Larson's replacement on the team and fairly new to the company. Only two years out of college, he was still wet behind the ears and brashly gung-ho.

Taylor suppressed a smile. "Was I that suicidal and stupid when I first got here?" It was the first thing she'd said all meeting.

"You all were," Patrick muttered. He drummed his fingers on the table, a mannerism so far from his usual calm and unflappable demeanour. "James, what do you think?"

"Look, Boss," Taylor shifted uncomfortably in her chair, sparing a glance at Wilson. "I've done the grunt work here. I think we need to go in there, and soon. But," her eyes flit to Castle. "I know I'm just back and we haven't been a team for long. If we don't know what each other is capable of, it makes something this iffy a bit more dangerous."

"Mmn," Patrick nodded.

"You don't trust me?" Castle demanded.

Taylor raised a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't think I said 'I don't trust you.'"

"Calm down, Castle," Wilson said firmly.

"Oh, come on. You don't think I'm going to hold up my end of the action," he accused. "That's absurd! You're what? Five foot nothing? And maybe twenty-two? And you're going to question me!"

Taylor's eyebrows slashed together angrily and she glared at him. Remy let out a low whistle, "Shit, kid, now you've done it."

Wilson smothered a laugh in a cough and turned away from the table. Without taking her eyes off of Castle, she spoke to Patrick, "I didn't start it, Boss, but I can damn well end it. Please, can I?"

Even Patrick had trouble hiding his smile. "If our only issue right now is the team and not the mission, then I say we work things out. Wilson, I need you for about ten more minutes as we hammer out these details. You're lead in the field on this one. Monty, you're on network; Remy, you're transport; James, seizure and extraction; Castle... Assuming you can still walk in two days, you're on seizure too. We clear?"

Taylor gave a curt nod and stood casually, smiling at Castle's glare. "Clear, Boss. I'm going to change and I'll be down on the mats in about ten minutes, if anyone's bored and wants a show."

As she strolled out the door, she heard Remy's low voice, "You do know that there are worse things to bruise than your pride, right kid?" She tried not to snicker.

To be fair, Castle had no idea what he was in for. Taylor's training was extensive, and she took pride in keeping herself in top physical form. Thanks to Sid's help, she wasn't worried that any of two-month old injuries would hold her back. She stretched carefully in the locker room as she ran through what she could recall from Castle's profile. He was a boxer and kick-boxer, former footballer, and big enough. But he wasn't as fast as she was and most of his combat relied on his size and strength rather than speed or agility. She'd have to watch out for his reach; at nearly six-two, he'd be able to wrestle her down if he managed to get his hands on her.

She straightened suddenly and smiled, knowing who had walked in without needing to look. "Come to wish me luck?"

Wilson's hands rested on her shoulders as his thumbs pressed into the muscles along her neck. "You don't need luck," he murmured. "Just don't kill the kid."

She chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. He needs to learn though."

"You're a bit of a rough teacher, babe." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "But you're right. He shouldn't underestimate people. Plus, I want to know what he's capable of."

"Glad to take one for the team," she grinned.

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "You just mind this," one of his hands slipped down her back to squeeze her ass. "I put a lot of time in to make sure it was all better."

Taylor turned in his arms and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "If I bruise it, you can kiss it and make it all better again."

A wry smile twisted his lips as he gazed down at her. "Alright, Shorty. Go kick his ass."

Five minutes later, she was standing in the middle of the mats, smiling at Castle. Remy, Monty, and Wilson were watching; all three were interested to see what Castle could do, but the bets were on how many minutes he would last, not if he would win. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Patrick leaning against the door at the far side of the gym, quietly watching. This was going to be fun.

"There's no harm in tapping out, James," Castle growled as they started circling each other. "I wouldn't want to hurt you too bad."

Taylor's smile broadened into a grin as she bounced lightly on her toes. "Aw, that's sweet. I'll remember that when you limp away."

"Have you always been a bitch, or is this a new thing for you?"

"Bitch?" she raised a brow, sliding easily to her left as he feinted in. "I learned from your mom, so I don't suppose it's new."

He took an angry step in before adjusting to her movement. "You are so going down."

She winked and blew him a kiss. "You want it, come get it."

It succeeded in baiting him. Castle lunged forward, jabbing with his left and following with a right hook as Taylor dodged the former and ducked under the latter. She popped up quickly, coming in below his guard and throwing a punch to his gut. Castle let out a puff of air as she pulled back out of his reach. Then they were circling each other again.

He was more cautious as he closed in the second time, keeping his guard up as he tested hers with a few well-aimed jabs. She was almost caught by surprise when he turned into a kick. Almost. His technique was more about brute strength than the discipline of her martial arts. And his size was still a problem for her. He seemed to be sucking air a little more than she was though. After landing a few kicks to his ribs, she wasn't wholly shocked when he caught her leg against his chest. She stumbled on one foot before dropping to her hands and sweeping her free leg into the backs of his knees, knocking him down to the mat.

Remy groaned and money left his hand for Monty's. Taylor had the first takedown. Castle rolled clear of the kick that would have knocked the wind from him and scrambled to his feet. He was angry again. Taylor smiled and winked, shifting back from the kick-boxing stance into a more comfortable karate stance. Hopefully that was enough of a demonstration for Wilson.

Castle came forward again, executing a complicated combination of kicks and punches that Taylor scrambled to block and duck. The last punch zipped a hairs breadth in front of her nose as she leaned back to avoid it. She caught the inside of his elbow, her fingers digging into the pressure point there as she used his own momentum to force him forward. As he passed, she released his elbow and struck him between the shoulder blades. It was a controlled strike, but the motion arched his back and he stumbled, catching himself on his hands and knees.

She backed off, taking a breath as he clambered back up to his feet. She wasn't tired, but she was losing a little edge from her speed, and Wilson wouldn't be happy if she let Castle land one of those punches. Monty shrugged and handed some of the money back to Remy, clearly he thought she'd be done with Castle by now. She did need to finish this off soon, but that meant getting in close.




The Program Ch. 09



Two minutes later they were grappling back and forth and she hadn't managed to pin him. Castle's grip slipped and she sidestepped, hoping to gain an advantage when he hooked an arm around her neck, lifting her clear off her feet in a headlock. Taylor sucked in a breath and dropped her weight, dragging a heel down his shin as her feet touched back onto the ground. She twisted to take the pressure off her windpipe, grabbing the back of his collar with one hand and bending back one of his thumbs with the other. It was one of the first wrestling moves Sid had ever taught her and it remained one of her favourites. She dropped her weight to the mat, catching the brunt of the fall on her hip as she pulled on the back of Castle's collar, flinging him three feet across the mat.

He was quick to recover and rushed her before she was back on her feet, but Taylor knew how to defend herself from her knees. As his hands landed on her shoulders, she rolled back, wedging a foot on his stomach and used his momentum to throw him. She kept a hold of his forearms and came down sharply on his stomach with her knee. When he tried to roll on top of her, she twisted easily, coming out on top of his back. She locked one arm behind his back, twisting it as high as she dared, planting a knee in the small of his back and hooking her arm under his neck.

"Damnit," Remy muttered, handing money back to Monty.

"Tap out," she whispered in Castle's ear. He struggled, trying to throw her from his back, but couldn't. She tightened her grip. "You can tap out or black out," she said frankly.

"Fuck you," he ground out through clenched teeth.

She leaned her weight back, increasing the pressure on his windpipe. "Tap out," she said more firmly.

"No."

She started counting in her head. She didn't want to hurt him, but if he was going to be difficult, she had no problem knocking him out. "Don't be a moron," she hissed. "Tap out!"

He grunted, but refused.

She was nearly to thirty, in her head she gave him ten more seconds before blacking out. Nine, eight, seven, six, five. His grip on her arm slipped. Four, three, two. Castle went limp. Taylor released him quickly and hauled him over onto his back. Wilson dropped a hand onto her shoulder. "Did you need to knock him out?"

She snorted, "I warned him, but the idiot wouldn't tap out."

"Add stubborn to the list of his weaknesses," Remy muttered.

"It can be a strength," Monty grinned, folding a wad of bills into his pocket. "Just because you over-estimated him, don't be a pessimist."

Taylor laughed, "It's true, he'll be all-in for any fights."

Wilson cracked a small stick of smelling salts and held it under Castle's nose. "Enough, guys. Show's over. Monty, you're buying drinks tonight, go pick a bar."

Taylor squatted down next to Castle as his eyes shot back open. She grinned. "Welcome back."

His eyes flit back and forth between her and Wilson as he realised what had happened. She saw the colour creeping into his cheeks and rocked back onto her heels before rising and offering a hand. Taylor and Remy hauled him to his feet. She gave him a few seconds to find his legs before releasing his arm. "You good?" she asked.

He gave a curt nod and cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Good," she nodded back. "Monty's buying pints, so don't take too long changing." With a small smile, she turned and sauntered out of the gym.

Before she could reach the door, Wilson was at her side and threw an arm over her shoulder. "You came awfully close to letting him land a few punches there, Shorty."

She grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention."

Castle watched the pair disappear through the door and shook his head to clear it. Remy chuckled. "You have to be careful with that woman, kid. She's pretty deadly."

Castle snorted. "Live and learn?"

"The only one here who can consistently take her down is Wilson, so don't feel bad." Remy clapped him on the shoulder. "And for the record, she's from my recruitment class. She's got five years and a handful of martial arts trophies on you. Plus, her trainer is bigger than I am."

Castle shook his head again. "None of you cared to warn me?"

Remy grinned, "Where's the fun in that? Besides, now she'll trust you."

"Well that's good," he massaged his shoulder absently. "I'd hate to have to do that again. I don't suppose there's something I could have taken her in?"

Remy shrugged. "Let me know if you find something. Now let's go. I want a drink, seeing as I just lost all my money on that."

Castle groaned. "Sorry, man."

"Don't sweat it, kid. There're no hard feelings. Plus, the fact that you didn't tap out saved me a few bills."

~o~

"Monty?" Wilson asked over the radio.

"Building is empty save for that office. Streets are clear. Cutting the security now."

Taylor watched the facade of the building, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The one bank of lights on the top floor was the only indicator of any life, and even then, there was no movement. "And the target is in?"

There was a pause before Monty came back on. "Yep. He's in there along with two others."

"Castle, you in place?" Wilson whispered.

"Ready, Captain. It's all quiet in here. Ready to start the noise."

"Drive them up to the roof. Remember, we want him alive and kicking." Wilson reminded.

"On it."

Taylor eyed the drop down to the roof. They were nearly close enough, and she and Wilson would be in place.

"Remy, as soon as we're out, you make yourself invisible."

"You know it," Remy saluted from the cockpit of the MD Explorer.

"Ready," Wilson asked, giving Taylor's arm a squeeze.

She smiled. "As ever. Let's go?"

"Castle," Wilson barked into the mic. "Start the party."

As she dropped to the roof, she could hear the small, punctuated explosions as Castle detonated a round of flash grenades in the hall one floor below. Wilson waved her toward the stairs as they moved to take up their positions. "Cutting power now," Monty clipped in. "Power out." Another series of small concussions vibrated through the roof as the shouting started.

Taylor's ears prickled as she heard sirens and the squeal of tires. She met Wilson's gaze and shrugged slightly, shifting to look over the edge of the building. "Five SUVs, and six patrols. Sirens and lights. Monty, what the hell are the cops doing here?" she hissed.

"Captain, those aren't cops," Monty crackled over the radio.

"Then what the fuck are they?" Wilson demanded, dropping into a crouch near the roof door.

"Hang on."

She felt more than heard the feet pounding up the stairs. Castle was just about done down there, driving them up to the roof. 

"Shit!" Monty cursed. "The ATF just changed their plans today and decided on a raid."

The roof door burst open and three men, all dressed in identical black pants and tops, all wearing black hats, darted into the open space.

"The hell?" she whispered.

"God damnit," Wilson muttered. "Take them all. Castle, we need you up here."

A floodlight clicked on, bathing one side of the building in blinding light and Taylor flinched away from the ledge, blinking away coloured spots. "Mother fuckers," she hissed.

Wilson ducked down at her side, "Take the one on the left. I've got the middle. Castle, the one on the right, we'll push him your way. Monty! Take care of our company!"

Taylor made sure she could reach the tranquillizer in her pocket and nodded. Wilson nudged her toward the nearest mark. "Go!" She rushed forward. If they managed to surprise the men, it wouldn't even be a fight.

The roof door clattered open noisily. "ATF!"

All three men turned at the sound and Taylor and Wilson lost the element of surprise. She dropped her shoulder and tackled her mark, dropping him to the roof and rolling clear, ready for a fight.

"Freeze!" the ATF officer shouted.

Taylor stiffened, her attention flitting momentarily to assess the likelihood of the ATF officer shooting at them. It was a mistake. The second her eyes were diverted she caught a right hook to the jaw that snapped her head around to the side. She staggered back, dropping the tranquillizer and catching her balance only to duck sharply as the officer fired a warning shot. It came way too close for comfort. She rolled over her shoulder and came up onto her knees only to block a kick targeted at her face.

Who the fuck was that guy trying to shoot? "Wilson!" she shouted unnecessarily. "Call that fucking pit bull off!"

There was a grunt over the radio before Wilson clipped in, "Little busy here. Remy, would you get us some cover? Monty, get these idiots out of here before they do some real damage. Castle, watch your left!"

Taylor swept her leg out, catching her assailant at the back of the knees and knocking him to the ground as another shot whizzed past her shoulder. "I'm CIA you asshole!" she screamed at the ATF officer, but her efforts only earned her another warning shot and distraction from her target who was back on his feet. She lunged at him, tackling him to the ground and wrestled him into submission.

"Wilson, I'm about three seconds from shooting that guy!" Taylor snapped.

"Monty, get the ATF outta here!" Wilson ordered.

"On it, Captain," Monty called over the radio. Out of the corner of her eye, Taylor saw the ATF officer stiffen. He didn't lower his gun as he raised a radio to his lips. There was clearly an argument going on.

Something was wrong; she could sense it. Without releasing the man pinned under her knee, she glanced around sharply. What was it? The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. No more than four feet to her left, Wilson had grappled a second man to the ground. Castle seemed to be holding his own with a third off to her right. So what was it? A sinking sensation in her stomach had her nearly at a panic. She knew they had to get off the roof. Why? What the he... That's when she saw it-a small blinking red light at the corner of the roof. Castle dodged a kick and moved closer to her, his mark pulling a small box from his pocket; they were all but pinned into the corner. She hated to let go, but there was no time.

"Castle! He has a detonator!" She shot up, shoving him toward the last of the marks and as far away from the southwest corner as possible. Then she launched herself across the roof at Wilson. "Down!" she screamed, dragging him off of the man he was holding. They toppled to the ground in a pile as the detonation erupted through the roof only feet from where they'd been. Taylor shrieked, throwing a protective arm over her head as the explosion launched chunks of concrete and mortar into the air. 

When the worst was over, she spared a glance toward Castle, "Castle, you good?" His small chuckle sounded well and amused. "I'm not in that crater if that's what you're asking."

"Good! Now nab that asshole before he sets off another one!" she ordered.

"Yes Ma'am."

The man she'd been dealing with was somewhere in the rubble about fifteen floors down, fingers crossed it wasn't the target, so she turned her attention to Wilson's mark. He'd managed to scramble clear of the explosion and was heading toward the stairs. She took off in a run.

Wilson rolled to the side and up into a crouch, shaking his head to clear the ringing from his ears. Those crazy bastards were going to bring the whole roof down! He squinted into the rapidly dwindling flame. It only took a second to find the ATF officer; no one on his team was dumb enough to try to put out the fire. 

Wilson dashed across the roof, catching the man by the collar of his flack jacket. "You idiot!" he yelled. "Get your people out of here before the building comes down!" The officer looked ready to argue, but Wilson didn't give him a chance. "I don't give a rat's ass what you were supposed to do here tonight! Take your people and go!" He shoved the officer away. With a quick glance around to take in the situation on the roof, the officer nodded and dashed toward the fire escape. Wilson clicked into the radio, "Remy, get the fuck up here. We're leaving!"

"One minute, Captain. Can you get clear of the flying concrete and those floods? I don't think this bird will like it if I get too close."

"You all hear that? Northeast corner. Now!" Wilson barked.

Taylor launched herself at the mark just before he caught up to the ATF officer. Her momentum carried them into the railing of the fire escape and she battled to keep her balance as she pulled him back onto the roof. For a moment she thought she had him, but he jerked suddenly, tossing her off his back and to the ground.

"James! Now!" Wilson barked, turning to assess his team's position.

She grunted and pushed herself up into a crouch, ready to launch herself at him when she caught the expression on his face; it was an evil grin. She knew what a smile like that meant. Her eyes flit to his hand and she saw the slight movement as he pulled the pin out of a small grenade. Fuck! She scrambled to her feet and made the split-second decision lunged at him, striking at his arm, forcing the grenade from his hand. It clattered to the roof and rolled to stop five feet away. Oh shit! She shoved the mark forward as she dove to the side, trying to clear what she knew was about to be a massive explosion.

The blast caught her midair and knocked her backward. She knew she was too close to the ledge and she pitched her weight to the side, hoping to bring her arms close enough to the building to grab something before she fell. Her hands closed around nothing but air and she screamed as she felt her body pitch over the side of the building.