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Archive-name: Control/i-wc0006.txt

Archive-author: Flying Pen

Archive-title: Files of the Institute, WC0006

This story Copyright (C), 1993 by the Flying Pen.  Redistribution via

electronic means as well as a single hard copy is permitted, as long as

1) this message is included; 2) the text is not altered in any way, and 3) no

   financial gain is incurred from its redistribution.

WARNING: This story contains sex between (mostly) adults, and lots of

"filler."  It is part of a work inspired by another author's stories (thanks

-Blackie!) The "filler" is extremely important to the story, and you will find

yourself without a clue if you skip it. Should you find this and "dirty"

words offensive, then please do yourself a favor and skip this article.

	      Tales of The Institute WC0006, Wilbur Cross

MEMO: WARNING: Classified Level 5

TO:   Dr. Richard Malthus, Chair, Research and Development

FROM: Dr. Ann Weston, Chair, Psychomechanical Research

DATE: August, 1983

RE:   Project PM46X - Subject: Wilbur Cross, WC0006  STATUS: FAILED


   As promised, here is the detailed report on the incident involving

device PM46X, the Carter-Moriat Mental Projector.  We have had just an

awful time in picking up the pieces here; fortunately, we have determined

that the effects were localized to the clinic, and did not affect the

administration, barracks or any of the surrounding communities.  This

report is a combination of interviews, the condensation of all video

records, and the projector transcript until it was taken off-line.  The

participants were asked in the interview what they were thinking at certain

times, in order to determine if the projector transcript had been

contaminated with leakage.  After careful review, it has been found that

this is indeed true; curiously, Dr. Moriat's thoughts seem to have

contaminated the transcript the most.  My post-mortem comments are

bracketed.  However, this memo contains my - personal observations that are

to be deleted from the "official" record.  As usual, our damned tech

writers insist on the narrative form, but since we have so much information

from sources other than the subject, the narrative may appear omniscient at



Subject background and selection criteria:

   Mr. Cross was 78 at the time of the experiment.  Eleven days prior he

had suffered a debilitating CVA, resulting in right side paralysis, loss of

speech, and left side weakness.  Paradoxically, this made him a perfect

subject.  His impairment allowed us to test our concerns about the ability

of Dr. Moriat's output amplifier to give a strong enough signal for any

practical application.  His condition made him expendable with respect to

our experimental subject pool.  He was prepared for Dr. Carter's technique

without incident.

Day 0:

[The surgery to connect the projector probes went _very_ well.  Incredibly

so, I would say.  Although the project itself is officially declared a

failure, Dr. Carter's technique holds promise for invasive debriefing

methods.  The subject survived the surgery with excellent vital signs.  He

remained unconscious for an indeterminate time.  Due to a monitoring error,

we have no way of determining exactly when he regained consciousness.]

[See file JB1714, "The Hypnotic Eye."  Security responsible have been

terminated. -AW]

Day 1, 0930:

[The device seemed to be functioning, but there was no transcript output.

After Drs. Carter, Moriat, and myself discussed this with the rest of the

project team, it was decided to increase the output 15%.  This did have

some effect, and we began to get some projections from the subject.]

   Nurse Sara Martin was performing yet another of her half-hourly checks

on her lone patient.  She felt funny, because the old man's eyes seemed to

follow her whenever she was in the room.  She got the distinct impression

that he was leering at her.  She was safe, of course.  He was paralyzed,

underneath an oxygen tent with those horrible wires connected through his

skull.  She suppressed a small shudder as she left.

   Wilbur Cross watched her leave.  He was a tired old man, in pain, and

his body had finally betrayed him completely.  If only I was a young man

again...  That blonde nurse, so pretty, the green eyes, reminds me of...

damn... her name... the stocky physique... that was OK, most women these

days are too danged skinny anyhow, like that night nurse.  The pain renewed

its attack on his thoughts.  The nurse will be back in a bit, he tried to

tell it.  I just wish I could communicate with 'em, and tell 'em that I

need more dope.  What he wouldn't give to have a bottle of Ol' Panther Piss

now...  Damn, he wished...

[This segment of the transcript is garbled.  We continued to have uplink

problems with the amplifier.  After I met with the Carter-Moriat (CM) team,

I gave permission to increase the output by only 5%, contrary to the wishes

of Dr. Moriat.  She wanted to increase by at least 50%.  The subject's

vital signs showed some destabilization, but not to a critical level.]

Day 1, 2334:

   When Wilbur regained consciousness, the pain was there to greet him,

threatening to overwhelm his senses.  The night nurse (she looked real

young; too young) was studying his monitors carefully.  Wilbur gathered up

all his strength, and screamed as best he could at her, to tell her how

much pain he was in.  No sound came out.  Ever since the stroke, he hadn't

been able to speak, or make hardly any noise.  The scream echoed around his

skull, augmenting the constant pain, and blocking every other sense.

   Joanne Weber looked up, startled.  She could have sworn that she heard a

scream.  She looked at the old guy in the oxygen tent.  He looked like he

always did, but she suppressed a shudder anyway.  He gave her the creeps.

She hated this job.  If only she hadn't partied so much in school, she

wouldn't have had to take it, and could have been a _real_ nurse.  She

tried to console herself with the thought that at least the pay was great,

even if the hours do suck (8 at night to 8 a.m.)  Besides, she only had

this one patient, it wasn't like she was constantly on the go.  Joanne left

the room in a hurry.

   Wilbur was startled, too.  He saw the young, slender (a bit too skinny

for his tastes -- if I had any tastes left, he thought bitterly) red-head

look up from her studious (I got a damn student nurse!) contemplation of

his monitors as if she had suddenly heard something loud.  She left the

room before he could gather the strength to try again.  Wilbur intended to

try again, but the night nurse never reappeared.  [This is contrary to

instructions, but no disciplinary action will be taken.  I feel sorry for

the poor girl.-AW]

Day 2, various times between 0800 and 2000:

   [Dr. Carter and I had left for the UCLA symposium the morning of day 2.

In our absence, Dr. Moriat was in charge of the project.  This seems to

have been a grave miscalculation on our part, for she made some unilateral

decisions that seem to be the most proximate cause of the disaster.]

   Wilbur was still in pain, and the effort of remaining conscious became a

larger and larger burden.  The stocky blonde nurse would look at his

monitors, write down the information, and then leave.  The only people he

ever saw other than her were the orderly who cleaned the room and the red-

headed student nurse.  He wished they'd figure out how to make those

needles in his head stop the pain.  [This seems to be the gist of the

transcript for day 2,  the words "pain" and "sleep" comprising

approximately 58% of the words therein.]

Day 3, approximately 0150:

   Dr. Vivienne Moriat was not happy.  She looked at the computer readout

for the thousandth time.  It showed that the amplifier was only capturing

at most 30% of the output from Mr. Cross' brain.  She pondered her options;

at that rate, her device would be considered a limited success, with no

practical application.  That would prove her former colleagues in Paris had

been correct; she would be called a failure, instead of the insightful

genius she truly was.

   Vivienne ran her hand through her jet-black hair.  At age 40, she

appeared ten years younger; a rigorous combination of diet and exercise

kept her feeling young and enabled her to work the long hours her

profession demanded without strain.  If it weren't for the fact that she

wore frumpy black glasses, she could easily be considered quite attractive,

with very soft green eyes that appeared gray under certain light, and a

sharp, very individual, but striking face.  The glasses were a concession

she had made early in her career; it discouraged her more -- glandularly-

driven colleagues from unprofessional behavior.

   She tapped impatiently on the video uplink (VU) console.  One of these

days, she would find a faster image enhancement algorithm.  Finally, a

heavily digitized view from 7:30 that morning appeared.  Damn.  She had had

a hard enough time convincing that Weston bitch [Well, she certainly got

her just desserts-AW] to increase the output enough to bring the VU online,

but that piddling 5% didn't do a damned thing for image quality.  Now

Weston was gone, Carter was gone, and they wouldn't be back for at least

two more days...

   Dr. Moriat went to the project control center.  No one was there.  She

had known all along that having a male/female tech pair assigned to the

third shift was going to be trouble.  Ironically, it now worked to her

advantage that the moans coming from the cooling room next door were almost

drowned out completely by the din of the equipment.  Nobody was going to be

around to ask questions.  Vivienne doubled the VU sampling rate, which

caused the projector to fail completely.  [The additional power drain

interfered with amplification of the primary signal.  This would explain

the 2 minute, 28.15 second gap in the transcript at this point.]

   She increased the output level by seventy percent.  Vivienne felt that

she was leaving plenty of headroom to account for the subject's weakened

condition.  [The amplifier itself was operating far below capacity.  She

could have trebled it and been well within maximum design capacity.]  The

annoying delay counter popped up on the screen, reading 3:02:17 until the

power increase was complete.  Dr. Carter had insisted on this as a fail-

safe, in case any unanticipated side effects warranted shut down.  He was

being a fool; there could be no side effects.  Dr. Vivienne Moriat left the

room smiling, just three hours away from her greatest achievement.  It was

time to get some sleep.  Soon there would be a cornucopia of data to be


Day 3, 0522:

   Nurse Weber sat bolt upright, awakened by the constant sound of

screaming.  She had dozed off while reading an Anne Rice novel.  It had to

be the old man.  She ran down the hall and burst into his room screaming at

him, "What's wrong???!!!  What's wrong????  Please stop screaming, Mr.

Cross!!!"  Joanne _hated_ this job.  She was alone at five in the morning

with a hysterical patient and the doctors would not arrive until 8 a.m.

[Economies -AW]  Her heart stopped when she looked at her patient.  His

eyes were open, but he hadn't moved from the position he maintained most of

the time.  Wilbur's mouth twitched.  It was clear that he wasn't screaming

but why did she hear screaming and why wouldn't it stop in her head and she

wanted togetawaybecauseit wouldn't stopandshewasgoingcrazy...


   "PAIN!"  Wilbur thought at her.  "Help me with the pain..."  He looked

at the poor girl, who was cowering in the middle of the room, with her

hands over her ears.  He didn't know why she was acting like there was a

loud noise in the room, but he desperately wanted her to stay and do

something, not run away as she had earlier.

   "PAIN...  Help... me... pain..."  Joanne blinked as the words hit her

with a near-physical presence.  She staggered backwards at the impact, then

she automatically walked over and increased the Demerol I-V drip with a

steady, practiced hand.  A few seconds later, the screaming stopped, and

Joanne staggered to the door.  She paused, wobbling on her feet, then

collapsed to the floor, blissfully unconscious.

   Wilbur wanted to help the young lady, to wake her up (please don't let

her be hurt).  He hadn't meant to hurt her, he only wanted to communicate

and make her stop the pain.  He had been in so much pain, but now it was

better.  The pain receded quickly, chased by the increased anesthetic.

Wilbur no longer felt it after a while.  In fact, he was feelin' pretty

darned good.  After about three minutes, [determined via transcript record]

he no longer felt so good, just sleepy.  He drifted into a deep slumber

rather quickly, with an extended period of REM sleep.

Day 3, 0638:

   Joanne blinked sleepily, stunned and still woozy from -- whatever it

was.  She got up and stood shakily, looking around the blurry room.

Everything came back into focus when she saw the oxygen tent, and she

snapped back to full awareness.  Nurse Weber checked the patient; he was

sleeping, and his vital signs had improved since her last reading at 5...

It was 6:38!  The noise of the custodian's push cart told her that she was

no longer alone in the ward, and had better regain herself and act her

professional part.  She composed herself and hastily left the room.


   Jose Aguilar was making his first rounds of the day when the gorgeous

red-headed nurse almost ran into him coming out of the patient's room.  She

looked startled, almost frightened.  There was a small bruise growing under

one of her eyes.  "What's the matter?  Can I help?" he offered, putting on

his best concerned act.  He had always wanted to fuck this nurse and

figured that this might be the chance he was waiting for to "thaw the

fucking ice bitch."  [Colorful expression, that-AW]  Nurse Weber regained

her composure and explained that she had slipped on the floor.  She asked

Jose to clean up any spot she had made.  They entered the room together, so

that she could show him where she had fallen.


   Wilbur was having a very vivid dream about one of his escapades during

the Roaring Twenties, when he was a young man, maybe 20 or so.  [Dick - You

absolutely _must_ see the VU from this dream!  Dr. Moriat's device

certainly performed as advertised!  Security won't let it out of the

Administration building, so you'll just have to watch it next time you're

here.  With *me*. -AW]  He was riding in the back of the family limousine

with Ellen James, a fine young filly with blonde hair.  They'd just left

Jambo's Snakepit, where Ellen had partaken quite liberally of Jambo's

"Purple Passion."  Jambo claimed that it was some voodoo stuff, and had

been very insulted when Wilbur once suggested that it was just plain old

Spanish fly.  Whatever, Ellen could hardly keep her clothes on once they

were in the car.  Wilbur told Raul, the driver (and his closest confidant

among the family's servants), to take the extra-scenic route to her house.

Ellen wriggled out of her flapper's dress with incredible speed and pulled

out his pecker in nothing flat.  She virtually attacked him, stuffing

herself full of Wilbur's "best friend" before they had managed to get more

than a block away from the Snakepit.


   Joanne was panting loudly.  "Come-on-FUCK-meee," she growled at Jose.

She was bent over the back of a chair.  Jose's hips made sharp, violent

thrusts, driving his cock into her as hard as he could, and Joanne made a

guttural moan each time Jose's thighs would slap loudly against her butt

cheeks.  "Yes!!!" she hissed nastily, totally possessed by irrational lust.

   Jose grunted with each thrust, pounding at the pussy he never thought

he'd get.  The stuck-up nurse felt so fine inside!  This was prime quality,

Grade AAA shit!  Her cunt grabbed at him with every move he made as if it

didn't want to let him go.  The ice bitch had not only thawed, she had

melted completely, urging him to fuck her harder.  He had no idea why the

nurse had gone into this incredible heat, but Jose didn't stop to think or

ask questions; he was gonna fuck her like she needed.  Joanne, (yeah, that

was her name) had simply bent over to point out where she had fallen.  When

she stood up, she looked kind of -- weird, and staggered over to the chair,

leaning heavily on it.  He went over to help her, and she had just looked

at him like he was a piece of raw meat, dropped her uniform in about five

seconds, and grabbed at his crotch.  She took off his pants in a frenzy and

positioned herself standing over his rock hard dick.  He doesn't remember

how he got hard, but he's pretty sure that the nurse didn't stimulate him

beforehand.  [Mr. Aguilar's recollections were obtained second-hand from

another janitorial worker.  Due to his condition, we were unable to

interview him during the investigation.]

   "FUCK-me!" Joanne complained.  She drove her hips back at him with

ferocity, but the cock inside her never reached the itch she felt, the itch

that she _needed_ scratched.  She felt so incredibly hot, she just _had_ to

be screwed, hard, fast and as long as it took, wanting only the biggest,

thickest cock she could find.  "C'mon...  DO me!" she gasped, sensing only

the organ lodged within her wet, slick, itching tunnel.  The man behind her

(Jo-something...  Jos...  Will?) grabbed her hips and jabbed at her with

violent, almost angry determination.  "YES!!!" she grunted.  "FUCK-me!!!"

Joanne urged, her voice a barely civilized growl.  That's what she needed,

and she greedily urged him on, using him to satisfy her innermost craving.

She shut her eyes, concentrating on finding the tickling sensation inside

her pussy.  She wiggled her hips, trying to move the itch to the wonderful

cock, seizing the cock inside her controlling it vibrating her and her

tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes



   Ellen fingered her swollen clit as she rode Wilbur in the car,

scratching at his chest as the young black-haired man pumped at her from

beneath.  Shock waves wracked her body, and Wilbur's world stopped for an

eternal instant.  Wilbur's log bust inside her, spewing thick, hot lava in

intermittent eruptions, bathing her most secret treasures...


   Jose grunted with joy as his dick sizzled every few seconds inside

Joanne's spasming cunt.  Ellen screamed as Joanne's head tossed in rapture,

the inner itch being bathed in soothing warm cream, sooo goood... yesss,

sooo gooood...


   WIlbur pulled out of Ellen, his retreating soldier drenched in the

copious essences of their mingled passion.  The blonde woman slid slowly

against him, cooing softly as the car stopped.  "Accident, Mr. Cross," Raul

said through the window.  She jumped, shocked at the servant seeing her in

her present state.


   Joanne turned and yelped in shock at the custodian.  She had obviously

done it with the lower-class worker.  He raised his hands defensively,

saying, "Hey, don' do nuthin', you attacked me, 'member?"  She gaped at him

while she tried to remember.  Her orgasm had fogged her mind, making it

hard to think.  Jose hitched his pants quickly, preparing to make a run for


   "I think we just had sex," Joanne said, in a tiny, awestruck voice.

Jose froze, perplexed.  "I-I-I, oh God!" she exclaimed.  "Ummm... ummm...

Please, I don't think we should say anything to anybody about this," she

panicked, "We'll both get fired."  Jose concurred, since he had gotten what

he wanted, but no piece of ass was worth unemployment.  If she was going to

keep it quiet, so was he.  [I have decided to forego disciplinary action

against these two.  Please respect my judgment -AW]

   Joanne watched the custodian leave.  At least he wasn't _too_ revolting.

She checked the monitors and the old guy; it was almost 8, time for her to

get home, and she could forget about this godawful night.  She paused,

assaulted by a feeling she hadn't had since high school.  Joanne wanted a



   Wilbur held the now-calm blonde around her soft waist, as she leaned

against him, smoking a cigarette in her turquoise-studded cigarette holder.

Ellen would hold the smoke a long time before exhaling.  Wilbur thought

briefly about taking Ellen to the Purple Passion Panther Piss Prohibition

Party, but he was goin' with Lucy Hall 'cause her folks had more money, and

his daddy insisted.  But Ellen was a mighty fine girl, yep, mighty fine.

Day 3, 0930:

   Vivienne Moriat was ecstatic.  The device had functioned perfectly,

returning clear, sharp images on the VU, and a complete transcription.  The

subject was alive, healthy, and there was a ton of data to evaluate.  She

grabbed herself another cup of coffee before heading to her office.  There

was work to be done.

Day 3, 1030:

   Sara Martin checked her patient.  The 33-year old divorcee had read with

interest the night nurse's notes.  For a flighty kid, she had done OK in

adjusting the anesthetic.  The patient seemed to be sleeping much better

and his vital signs had actually improved.  Maybe those wires and needles

in his skull were beginning to work.  Sara looked at the old man carefully

one last time, then left the room without her usual shudder.  If she hadn't

known better, she could have sworn the old man was smiling...


   Wilbur was at the Hootchie-Koo Club, dancing the Charleston with Lucy

Hall.  Lucy's brown hair danced with her, despite the short, stylish cut.

He had given Ellen the bad news about the party a little while ago.  The

vivacious blonde didn't seem at all offended, except that she hadn't known

about the party.  She promised Wilbur she'd be there, and that she'd be

tactful around Lucy.  I should marry that woman instead, he had thought.

As the music ended, Lucy and Wilbur left the floor, thirsty as all get-out.

"Fred!!!  Some more o'that grape juice y'got for Lucy n' me!" Wilbur called

once within eyeshot of the bar.

   Fred, a large, genial man queried, "The good stuff or the _good_ stuff?"

as he pulled two martini glasses from behind the bar.

   "I want the _good_ stuff, Fred," Lucy Hall had replied.  Wilbur looked

at his date, a regular spitfire of a woman.  She was a little more slender

than Ellen, but just as pretty in her own way.  Like Ellen, Lucy had taken

a liking to Wilbur, but Lucy had one advantage: her father was W. Creston

Hall, founder and owner of Hall's Department Store.  The additional social

(and financial) stature was not lost on Wilbur's parents, especially his


   Lucy smoked and drank with the boys, much to the horror of her mother.

Creston liked Wilbur, though, and both her parents fervently hoped that

Wilbur could settle Lucy down.  It might be possible, Wilbur thought,

except that Lucy didn't quite ever go as far as Ellen had.  Lucy was a

little stuck up, too, treating Raul like some servant, instead of the

valued friend he was, and refusing to go to Jambo's place "because he's

not -- one of us."  That didn't exactly set right with Wilbur.  Jambo sure

knew how to throw a do, and Raul...

   Hell fire, Raul and Wilbur had been through a whole lot together.  Like

the time Wilbur, on a dare, foolishly decided to do some rumrunning.  If

Raul hadn't showed up when he did, Wilbur would most likely be dead.  And

then there was the time...

   Maria was a maid at the Cross residence.  She was a young woman, about

21 or 22, from the wrong side of the tracks.  Wilbur's mom, always a do-

gooder (she supported Prohibition, for heaven's sake) hired her.

Unfortunately, Maria had a mild case of sticky fingers.  Raul found out and

told Wilbur before he told anyone else in the house.  He also told Wilbur

about a great plan he had.  One night, Raul was driving Maria home,

supposedly on his way out with Wilbur, who rode alone in the back seat.

Raul drove into the desert, where the two men confronted her.  Of course

she begged not to be fired and/or turned in.  As the maid closed her mouth

on Raul's private parts, Wilbur was doing a little driving home of his


Day 3, 1127:

   Sara Martin looked up in shock.  She was warm, her hands, thighs and 

chest were wet, and she was half-dressed.  It was almost time for the 

patient's next readings.  What had caused her to masturbate to orgasm 

between the 11 o'clock reading and now?  Why couldn't she remember any of 

it?  Sara quickly fastened her uniform before somebody could catch her in 

her present state, and searched for some alcohol to clean and get rid of 

the smell on her hands before...

   Dr. Jeffery Martin was on his first day at his new job.  He hoped that 

this would signal a turn in his fortunes.  It had _not_ been a good year.  

First, there had been the divorce, then the morals charge in front of the 

State Review Board.  He had been extremely lucky to find this place.  The 

pay was good, and they didn't care about a little thing like his revoked 

license.  [Human Resources screwed up.  Dr. Martin's employment invited

some - delicate questions from various authorities.  Personnel responsible

have been terminated.-AW]  It was strange that they only had one patient per

floor, and that there were currently only two patients in the building: the

old guy with the CVA on this floor, and the guy with eye surgery two floors

up.  Fancy, rich research places were strange anyway.  Jeffery went to see

the CVA patient; word was that they were trying some kind of experimental

direct-brain treatment.  Jeff believed that if he got in good here, he 

might even be able to get his license back if it turned out to be a 

breakthrough.  If not, there was always the possibility of a new career in 


   He entered the patient's room.  There was a slightly stocky blonde woman 

over by the medicine cabinet with her back to the door.  "Nurse," he began.  

She must not have expected him because she jumped, clearly startled, before 

turning around quickly and...  Awww, _shit_.  It was _definitely_ not a 

good year for Dr. Jeff Martin.


   Wilbur's hips began to move, and there was nothing he could do to stop 

them.  Maria was one hot tamale!  He'd never had a woman kiss his "best 

friend" like she was!  Maria made small moaning sounds while Raul availed 

himself of the blackmailed woman's cunny.  It's impolite to talk with your 

mouth full, Wilbur drolly thought.  The woman's warm mouth seemed like it 

was everywhere at once, all over his body.  Wilbur began to tingle, and his 

pleasure increased exponentially; he knew he was almost at the end...


   Jeff Martin looked down in awe at the sight of his cock disappearing 

into his ex-wife's mouth.  He felt huge, far bigger than he'd ever felt 

before!  And this was the bitch who had left him because they were 

"sexually incompatible."  Sara lovingly fellated him; she was on her knees, 

running her extended tongue slowly around the head of his dick.  Her 

eyelids were slightly lowered, but she watched his reactions to the 

pleasure she was giving.  The lewd, erotic stare added more electricity to 

his pleasure.  One of her hands was wrapped gently around the base of his 

cock.  His ex-wife kept looking at him with the same libidinous expression 

while she moved her head and soft, pink tongue along the length of his 

cock.  She flicked her tongue teasingly around the crown, still making 

explicit love to him with her eyes.

   Sara wrapped her lips around the cock she held firmly with both hands.  

It was vital that she did this well; her life depended on it.  Her mother 

and brothers and sisters needed the money from her maid's job to make ends

meet.  Sara knew that if she didn't please this man, she could wind up in

prison.  She sucked gently at the swollen organ, trying to coax more blood

from other parts of the man's body.  Sara dropped her gaze, the one that

would help speed a man to the finish and closed her eyes.  Nothing existed

except the cock and its host.  She rubbed the sensitive part with her tongue

and made a loud slurping noise when she released it to the air for a few

seconds.  Her head twisted slowly around the cock as she slowly recaptured 

it, leaving most of it exposed to the air.  Sara clenched at it with 

circled fingers on both hands and rolled her wrists in opposite directions.  

The man would finish very soon under this kind of stimulation.

   His ex-wife's warm mouth seemed like it was everywhere at once, all over 

his body.  Jeff began to tingle, and his pleasure increased exponentially; 

he knew he was almost at the end...  He grunted, spilling his cum into 

Sara's mouth.  She continued her circular masturbation of the base and 

shaft, sucking at the top, her tongue only stopping when she would swallow 

his latest spurt.  Hell fire, if she'd been this hot and nasty at home, 

maybe he wouldn't have...  Nahhh.  Every nerve in his body went off, 

erasing Jeff's capacity for thought.  Sara continued her attentions, 

cleaning him completely, hoping she would not get fired for stealing.


   "Wilbur, do you have a light for me?"  Wilbur's recollections came to a 

screeching halt, leaving him a woody when Lucy waved her holdered cigarette 

under his nose.  Wilbur pulled out his matchbox, a sixteenth birthday gift 

from his father.  Lucy held his hands to steady the flame, giving him a 

coy, come-hither look, trying to light something of his.  Wilbur knew that 

it meant nothing; Lucy was quite the teaser.  He and Raul would probably 

wind up at the Pussy Kat Klub after they had taken Lucy home.  Lucy posed 

while she smoked, batting her eyelashes at him.  Just wait 'til the party, 

Wilbur thought with evil glee.

Day 3, 1533:

   Dr. Moriat walked swiftly, purposefully down the empty hall that 

contained the subject's room.  She wrinkled her nose distastefully; someone 

(probably a custodian) had recently been smoking nearby, in violation of 

the rules.  Dr. Moriat wanted to see the subject for herself, for there was 

one major anomaly in the data: the subject's vital signs actually seemed to 

be improving.  Never one to leave her fame to chance, she wanted to double-

check the monitors herself to make sure that the nurses were reporting 

correctly, and that the equipment had actually been connected correctly.

   Nurse Martin was running through the duties of her scheduled patient 

check.  She didn't want to spend any more time than absolutely necessary 

around the patient.  Strange things had been happening in that room.  The 

log had showed that she had not checked the patient at 11:30 and noon.  

Odder still was her inability to remember where she had been during that 

time.  The old man seemed to do nothing but sleep now, the increased Darvon 

keeping him placid.  She still felt nervous.

   She was also worried about working on the same floor as Jeff.  Her ex-

husband's appearance in the patient's room had unnerved her greatly.  Sara 

didn't know which was worse, the gap in her memory or Jeffery's presence.  

The door flew open, scaring the already-rattled nurse.  It was _her_, the 

lady doctor in charge.

   Vivienne fixed the nurse with a withering glare.  "I have come to verify 

your reports," she said, voice authoritative, with an edge of suspicion.  

Sara inwardly sighed in relief; she had copied the readings from the 

computer during the missed visits into the nurses' log.  Vivienne decided 

that the nurse looked appropriately intimidated, and walked crisply over to 

the monitors.  "I do not believe that you are reading these correctly," 

Vivienne remarked imperiously.  Insulted, Sara headed towards the snotty 

bitch with the French accent.  Dr. Moriat turned to face Sara, and wrinkled 

her nose.  "Nurse, have you been smoking?"

   Sara blinked stupidly, the question catching her off-guard.  Dr. Moriat 

stopped writing on her notepad, and turned her full attention to Sara.  

Vivienne frowned.  "Need I remind you that smoking is restricted to the 

outdoor section of the cafeteria, and that violation of that rule is 

grounds for dismissal?  In addition, it is a vile, _foul_ habit, and should 

_never_ be practiced by a member of the health profession."  She turned 

away and resumed inspecting the array of health equipment.  Without looking 

at the stunned nurse, she continued, "It is fortunate for you that we are 

at a critical phase in the experiment, and that finding a replacement would 

hamper our progress greatly."  Dr. Moriat waved dismissively at Sara.  When 

the nurse did not move, Vivienne firmly said, "You _are_ dismissed."

   Sara Martin walked out of the room spitting mad.  Just who did the 

foreign bitch think she was, anyway?  [Nice to know I'm not alone in my 

evaluation -AW]  Her fucking combined degree didn't give her the right to 

treat Sara like that.  Sara stomped back to the nurses' station.  This had 

rapidly turned into a rotten day, and her nerves were totally shot.  Sara 

looked at the clock.  She had about fifteen minutes before her next 

scheduled visit.  Grabbing her purse, she headed for the cafeteria 


Day 3, 2207:

   Dr. Vivienne Moriat had a problem.  It wasn't really a problem, it was 

closer to a loose end.  After careful checking of the equipment, including 

a complete internal diagnostic via computer, she had determined that 

everything was functioning perfectly.  The subject's vital signs had indeed 

improved measurably.  [The nurses' log also agreed with the computer 

records.  However, Dr. Moriat had no way of knowing that some of those 

entries had been copied from the computer.  No visits were unmarked, which 

would have indicated that they'd been missed.  Therefore, there was no sign 

that anything abnormal had occurred.]

   Wilbur Cross' vital signs were now in the range for a fairly healthy 40-

year old.  But _why_?  Vivienne knew she'd need to explain this before her 

work was accepted; some of her more jealous colleagues may use it as an 

excuse to cry about possible adverse effects.  Still more odd was the fact 

that the subject's vital signs seemed to improve in irregularly-timed 

discrete jumps.  The answer, as always, was hidden in the data, but Dr. 

Moriat had no idea of where to start looking.  She yawned.  Vivienne shut 

the light off and massaged her temples.  A nap would refresh her and allow 

her to think clearly again.

Day 4, 0031:

   Wilbur blinked groggily, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head.  He 

no longer felt any pain, but he sure had trouble concentrating and focusing 

on _anything_.  Staying awake seemed to be a major battle now.  Every so 

often, he would feel really good, really clear-headed, but it never lasted 

long, and he'd go back to sleep quickly.  He looked at the red-headed 

student nurse in his room.  He caught a fading glimpse of her from the side 

and her profile... looked so... so... familiar...  Wilbur's eyelids drifted 

shut.  [The amount of Darvon he was given intravenously is normally 

intended for short-term relief only.  The increased Darvon drip had been in 

effect far too long.  Had this been a medical situation, we would have been 

liable for malpractice.  The medical doctor responsible for overseeing the 

subject's medical care has been reprimanded and transferred. -AW]


   Wilbur quietly, slowly, opened the door to his room.  There she was, 

five-foot-two, eyes of blue, barely all of sixteen years old.  Standing at 

the mirror, posing for some unseen admirer was Sallie Ann Cross, heart of 

Wilbur's heart.  [She really _is_ darling on the VU.-AW]  She was wearing a 

flapper's dress, a sixteenth birthday present from Lucy.  Her blonde hair 

cut close, Sallie mimed a Charleston in the mirror.  Wilbur, who had been 

silent until now, snickered aloud at his sister's obvious imitation of 

Lucy.  That was one good thing about Lucy; she and Sallie seemed to hit it 

off well.

   "Will!" the surprised girl exclaimed, spinning around.  "It's not nice 

to spy," she said, bouncing over to the door.  She stood on her tiptoes and 

gave her big brother a hug and peck on the cheek.  "Whadja bring me for my 

birthday, Will?" she begged.  Wilbur just grinned at his little sister and 

her boundless energy.  "Come _on_, tell meee," she whined playfully.  She 

was so cute!  Wilbur couldn't resist kidding her.

   "Mom and Dad would have a real fit if they saw you now, squirt."  It was 

the truth.  Their parents, especially Mom, would not be at all pleased by 

Sallie The Flapper.  But Wilbur also knew that the times were a'changin.

   His sister tapped out a cigarette from the pack on Wilbur's dresser.  

She lit it and took a defiant, smacking puff.  "So what?  I'm a newly 

emancipated young woman.  The woman of tomorrow."  Sallie picked a few 

tobacco crumbs from her tongue.  "Besides," she said, dragging again, "they 

won't know if you don't tell them.  Mom and Dad have gone to the Wilsons' 

again.  You know Mom and her mah jongg."  Sallie smiled in her pixie-like 

manner after Wilbur said nothing.  "So whadja get me, Will?"

   Wilbur presented his sister with a wrapped narrow box.  She eagerly 

opened it, tearing the paper off.  Sallie had forgotten about the 

cigarette, yelping as the burning end hit her fingertip.  She dropped it 

into the nearby ashtray, then finished opening her present.  The loud, 

girlish squeal told Wilbur that he had chosen his sister's gift wisely.  

Sallie waved the ivory cigarette holder around, smiling broadly.  "Oh, 

thank you, Will!"  She pranced around the room.  "Now I can be like Lucy!" 

Sallie exclaimed.  She danced over to Wilbur's dresser and fit a cigarette 

in the holder.  Wilbur lit it, playing the galant for his sister, who took 

a long, deep drag from her newest toy.  The smile on her face spoke volumes 

to Wilbur.  She hugged her brother again, then pranced around the room a 

while longer.  Sallie stopped in front of the mirror and posed with her 

cigarette.  Taking another pull, she tilted her head upward and exhaled 

leisurely.  The young girl frowned; that wasn't quite it.  She adjusted her 

hat, and gave a sixteen-year old's approximation of an incendiary look.  

"Wilbur Cross, you're the best brother a girl could have..."

[Nobody noticed the 43.8% jump in the amplifier output at this point.  The 

amplifier was now operating at 43.1% of maximum.]  [Danny Bolton and Gina 

Franchetti were again having sex in the cooling room.  Both Bolton and 

Franchetti have been terminated.  In retrospect, it probably would have 

been prudent to put a security camera in the cooling room.-AW]

Day 3, 0058:

   Joanne Weber stood in front of the mirror in Wilbur Cross' room, 

oblivious to her patient.  She took a long, deep drag from her cigarette, 

watching herself carefully in the mirror.  She ran a finger across her 

tongue picking at the foreign object on it, and was surprised to find that 

nothing came off.  This odd happening faded from her thoughts almost 

instantly.  Joanne struck another pose in the mirror and took another pull 

on her cigarette.  She held the smoke, tilted her head upward, then exhaled 

leisurely.  No, that wasn't quite it, either.  She sighed, still ignoring 

her patient.

   She thought about yesterday.  Joanne had returned home, upset about her 

liaison with the custodian, and how the urge to smoke had continued 

unabated.  She had tried to go to bed, but was unable to sleep, feeling 

edgy.  Despite her fatigue, she had gotten out of bed, still feeling... 

"odd."  She had started to watch some TV movie about a young girl who had 

run away from home and turned to prostitution.  Joanne's thoughts at this 

time had turned to how she was ever going to meet Mr. Right to take her 

away from all of this when she had to work the hours she did.  Tired, but 

still restless, she had been watching the movie when one of the actresses 

lit a long, brown cigarette.  Joanne threw on some clothes, drove to the 

nearby 7-11 and asked for a carton of "long, brown cigarettes."  [The poor 

girl says she doesn't know why, but she felt that she had to have _those_ 

particular cigarettes.]  She practically ripped the carton open and smoked 

two before leaving the parking lot, and a third during the ride home.  She 

reports that after having smoked, she became very calm and drowsy.  Joanne 

went to bed at 1130 and slept soundly.

   She returned to work that night, on time, and made her appointed rounds 

up to, and including the 0030 one.  It was shortly after that visit that 

the urge to smoke hit her again, very strongly.  She was compelled to leave 

the nurses' station, go to her car, and retrieve a pack from the carton 

that had been left there.  It was again almost time for her to check the 

patient, so she just went straight to Mr. Cross' room.  Where she now 

stood, ignorant of her original purpose for being in the room, watching 

herself smoke a long, brown cigarette.  Joanne sighed again, still 

unsatisfied.  Something was missing...

Day 4, 0218:

   Dr. Vivienne Moriat shook her head in amazement.  She had just finished 

analyzing the subject's brain activity.  The improvements in the subject's 

vital signs seemed to correspond with the end of REM sleep periods.  She 

glanced quickly at the current activity scan; the subject was now drifting 

in and out of REM.  Dr. Moriat immediately grabbed her notepad and headed 

upstairs to see if the phenomenon would repeat itself.  [She had intended 

to check the VU, and see what he was dreaming about after she saw this.  As 

we know, she never made it back to her office, let alone the control 



   Wilbur was sitting by a lake with Lucy.  The "Five P" party, as they had 

code-named it, was going to start in a few hours.  Pete Ross' folks had 

already left town for the Orient, leaving Pete in charge of the family 

estate.  Everything was being set up now.  It was a beautiful late summer 

afternoon, but Wilbur's thoughts were in the future.  "Penny for your 

thoughts," Lucy said, breaking his reverie.  A few seconds later, she 

exclaimed, "Oh!  I don't seem to have any cigarettes with me!" and batted 

her eyelashes at Wilbur.  The cooing, syrupy voice she used told Wilbur 

that this was another of Lucy's little "tests."  She knew darn well that 

Wilbur only had cigars with him.  She was going to prove that she could be 

the emancipated woman, and "one of the boys."  He offered her a cigarillo 

from his pouch.  She accepted it, daring him to comment with her eyes.  He 

said nothing, lighting it for her.  Lucy exhaled quickly, surprised by the 

strength of the smoke.  Wilbur's face remained carefully neutral.  If all 

went well in a few hours, she would definitely _not_ be "one of the boys."  

He lit a cigar for himself.  "Now this is a _real_ smoke," Lucy cooed, 

still daring him to comment.  He just grinned stupidly, silently reminding 

his "best friend" to keep quiet.

Day 4, 0235:

   Dr. Moriat became furious as soon as the elevator door opened.  The 

smell of cigarette smoke assaulted her, and she almost ran to the subject's 

room, prepared to fire the night nurse immediately.  She prepared herself 

as she approached the door to the subject's room, sealing off any well of 

compassion that might save the nurse's job.  [Cold-blooded bitch, wasn't 

she?-AW]  Vivienne opened the door and had shouted "Nurse!" even before she 

realized that the room was full of smoke.  She coughed at the door, then 

stomped toward Nurse Weber with an evil, angry expression on her face, 

having temporarily forgotten about the subject.  By the time she got to 

Joanne, who was still watching herself in smoke front of the mirror, Dr. 

Moriat's steps had slowed, and her facial expression had changed.  [As well 

as had her entire demeanor; it's quite evident, even on the security 


   "Oh!  I don't have any cigarettes with me," Dr. Vivienne Moriat cooed, 

batting her eyelashes at Joanne.  The night nurse offered her one.  She 

accepted it, daring her to comment with her eyes.  Joanne said nothing, and 

lit it for the doctor.  Vivienne exhaled quickly, surprised by the strength 

of the smoke.  She cast defiant glances at Joanne while she smoked.  

Joanne's face remained carefully neutral.  After a while, Joanne ignored 

her, and returned to her contemplation of herself in the mirror.  Joanne 

studied her own reflection; no matter how hard she tried, _something_ was 

wrong with her pose.  Something was still missing.

   Vivienne Moriat removed another cigarette from the pack, but not before 

casting an irritated glance at the self-preoccupied Joanne for not 

offering.  She lit it herself, peeved at being ignored by her partner.  It 

felt so right, the cylinder between her fingers, the sucking action.  A 

toss of the head, a purse of the lips and -- exhale.  Dr. Moriat looked at 

her cigarette for a moment.  It was brown, but she needed a _real_ smoke.  

Just like one of the boys.


   Wilbur awakened and snapped to an amazing lucidity almost instantly.  

Smoke was thick in the room, and he panicked, thinking that the building 

was on fire and he had been left to burn.  He moved his head, and then saw 

both Joanne Weber and Dr. Moriat standing at the mirror, smoking.  The 

sight of the newcomer's posture, short, dark hair and slim physique broke a 

piece of his earlier dream off to float to the surface of his thoughts.  

Wilbur Cross' first word in two weeks was "Lucy."  [At this point, the 

output amplifier level was 52% of design maximum, and rising.  Still, no 

one noticed.  Joanne and Dr. Moriat were apparently trapped in Wilbur's 

dream world, and the monitoring technicians were not available.]  [We think 

they were napping after having played rabbits in the cooling room.-AW]

Day 4, 0451:

   Dr. Moriat and Nurse Weber left the room, Joanne's entire pack of 

cigarettes gone in less than three hours.  The powerful craving lingered, 

for the women left the building and went to the parking lot.  Joanne simply 

retrieved another pack of cigarettes and returned; Dr. Moriat did not.  

[She did not return for several hours.  Apparently, she was continuing to 

act as "Lucy."  She does not remember a thing.  We've managed to determine 

from her Visa bill that she went to the nearest major city, and visited a 

tobacconist.  That cleared up the mystery of the cigars.]

Day 4, 0719:

   The third floor was deserted, as well as the rest of the clinic 

building.  [With the exception of JB1714 from the fifth floor.  He had 

managed to make it out of his room, but his blindness kept him from finding 

the elevator.-AW]  All the clinic workers were smoking in the cafeteria 

courtyard, and boisterous conversation seemed to be the rule.  Gina 

Franchetti was the center of attention, wiggling flirtatiously between 

groups of security men, custodial workers and doctors.  [We ought to 

consider installing a security camera in the courtyard.  We were only able 

to piece this much together after having interviewed several dozen of the 

people present at the time.]  Nobody was in the control room to see that 

the output amplifier was still gaining power.  It was now at 94 percent of 

design maximum.  And increasing.

Day 4, 0741:

   Wilbur called for a nurse.  His voice was back, although his paralysis 

remained.  It had become easier to stay awake now; he had been conscious 

and alert since 0544.  [Determined via transcript record.]  This was the 

best he'd felt since the stroke.  He had been calling for help for almost 

two hours, and was beginning to get frustrated that nobody seemed to be 

paying attention.  He struggled to reach the call button, but his body 

wouldn't work.  He wanted some questions answered about these danged 

needles in his head, and now that he could talk, he was in no mood to wait.  

The effort of trying to reach the call button and continually calling had 

made him hoarse, so he relaxed, trying to work up some saliva.  In the

instant he stopped concentrating on getting someone's attention, he felt 

the slight giddiness of the dope creep into his thoughts.  Oh, _hell_.  I'm 

goin' back... backto... s-s-sleep... a-gain...

Day 4, 0746:

   An alarm sounded in the empty control room.  Dr. Moriat's output 

amplifier was operating at over 100% of its design capacity.  The digits on 

the computer readout continued their silent, unobserved march.

Day 4, 0828:

   Wilbur walked over to Pete Ross.  "Think it'll work?" Pete asked 

hesitantly.  Wilbur nodded confidently.  He'd seen first hand what Jambo's 

"Purple Passion" could do.  As long as the men didn't drink the ladies' 

punch, and stuck to the "Panther Piss" that Jambo had supplied for them, it 

would be great.  The young, well-to-do gentlemen of the town had all met at 

the Pussy Kat Klub one night, frustrated with the teasing and petting of 

the young, well-to-do, newly emancipated women.  Since only a couple of 

said ladies would set foot in Jambo's Snakepit, the men decided to bring 

Jambo's Purple Passion to the ladies.

   The set-up had been quite simple, really.  The Ross estate was large 

enough for each of the twenty or so couples to have privacy, and Pete's 

parents were going to the Orient for a month.  Invitations had been sent in 

the form of two glasses with the recipient's name on them.  The young men 

had then ordered two batches of punch from Jambo, who had been very happy 

to oblige when he saw the "donation" they had managed to collect for him.  

The two barrels delivered were clearly labeled: Panther Piss for the guys,

and Purple Passion for the gals.  The bartenders had been instructed not to 

serve the other stuff to the other sex, under penalty of death.  The 

bartenders' laughter had died when they realized that none of the young men 

had cracked as much as a grin.  The women had been persuaded that both 

barrels were identical; once poured, they looked the same.  It was only a 

matter of time...

   Lucy came over to Wilbur and Pete on slightly unsteady legs.  Both men 

raised their eyebrows, and Pete said, "23-skiddoo," very quietly.

   "Guess who I invited as _my_ guest, Willy-nilly?" Lucy cooed, leaning on 

Wilbur for support.  Jiminy Christmas, he _hated_ that nickname.  Pete 

grinned, and left the pair alone.  "I sent my driver for her, too."

   "Who, Lucy-wucy?" Wilbur asked, using the pet name that she thought was 

so cute, but made him gag.  Before Lucy could reply, he heard his name 

called.  The voice was _extremely_ familiar, and Wilbur's heart dropped 

into his feet.  No, not her.  Not here.  Not _tonight_.

   Sallie Cross, all sixteen years and three days of her, beamed at her 

brother from across the room.  She held Lucy's second glass in one hand, 

and an ivory cigarette holder in the other.  Sallie drained the glass and 

grinned, before turning and getting it refilled.  "I told your parents that 

Sallie and I would be playing mah jongg tonight," Lucy said.  Her legs were 

having increasing difficulty supporting her.  "She's an emancipated modern 

woman.  Just look at her, Will."  Wilbur ached inside.  There was no way 

he'd be able to get Sallie out without her getting upset, raising a ruckus, 

and spilling the beans.  Wilbur knew how grown-up Sallie felt now, 

especially since she had been treated like an equal by Lucy, her idol.  He 

shook his head, covering his pain with a weak smile.  Well, squirt, you 

wanted to be a modern woman...

Day 4, 1043:

   Dr. Elijah Carter rolled his car through the front gates of the 

compound.  He was eager to get back to work.  He would have preferred to 

remain at the compound while his experiment was in progress, but he and Ann 

Weston were co-chairs of the UCLA neurosurgical symposium, so he had had no 

choice.  He had tried to return immediately after the conference, leaving 

Ann, who understood his desire to get back, behind to play the gracious

host.  Unfortunately, he was ten hours later than anticipated, having been 

delayed by plane trouble.  Murphy's Law at work.  [You can say _that_ 

again! -AW]  He proceeded directly to the clinic, figuring that Ann, who 

was probably due in an hour, could deal with any necessary administrivia.  

[If it hadn't been for that administrivia, I might have been able to stop 

everything sooner.  Does HQ have any idea of how cumbersome their 

procedures are?-AW]  He saw an attractive, slender, red-haired nurse 

heading for the clinic.  Dr. Carter recognized her from the project 

personnel folder (although he didn't remember the name) and sped up his 

pace to catch her.  "Nurse..."

   Joanne Weber spun neatly and regarded the source of the voice with a 

playful, flirtatious gleam in her eyes.  "Yes?  May I help you --"  She 

read the badge clipped to his jacket.  "Dr. Carter?"  She posed for him, 

arching her back slightly, which pushed her chest forward.  He was a 

strong, handsome man, powerfully built.  And he had _big_hands_.  Her

tongue peeked between slightly parted, freshly glossed ruby red lips.  Her 

actions seemed to unnerve the good doctor.  Very well, he's shy.  Easy 

enough to start a conversation.  She reached into her purse for the 

accessory no modern, emancipated woman should be without.  "Do you have a 

light?" Joanne asked as she fit a cigarette into her brand-new, long, red 

cigarette holder.  She smiled coyly, sure that she had placed the proper 

amount of interest in her voice.

   Dr. Carter looked perplexed.  "Did anyone ever tell you that smoking is 

bad for your health?" he queried.  It was a gentle lecture in disguise.

   What an odd man, Joanne thought.  Resigned to the fact that he didn't 

have a light, she lit her own cigarette, dragging lightly on it.  She 

tilted her head and exhaled in the manner she had carefully cultivated for 

maximum impact.  She smiled to herself.  The holder made all the 

difference.  "Don't be silly," she said lightly.  "_Everybody_ does it."  

The doctor looked at her strangely.  Looks like I'll have to take matters 

into my own hands, she thought.  "Come on," Joanne said, pulling him by the 

hand, "let me show you at the party."  Oh my, he _did_ have big hands.


   Sallie Cross was talking to Tom Rutherford.  Wilbur watched them warily 

from across the room.  Lucy was now draped over him, having become less and 

less energetic as the party had worn on.  Tom lit Sallie's holdered 

cigarette.  The young girl dragged lightly on it, tilted her head and 

exhaled in the manner Wilbur had seen her practice in his mirror.  Just 

like Lucy, he thought.  Speaking of whom...  Wilbur looked at his date.  

Her eyes were half-lidded and unfocused.  Usually quite the chatterbox, she 

hadn't said much recently.  Wilbur decided against trying to start idle 

conversation.  He was beginning to wonder why the Purple Passion hadn't 

taken effect yet.  All the women seemed to be pretty drunk, but they 

weren't eager, like Ellen had been.  He hated the thought of having to ask 

Jambo for the money back.

   Wilbur was looking in Sallie's general direction, rapidly becoming bored 

with the state of affairs.  The band had quit a while ago; the women had 

stopped dancing, their steps having grown increasingly pendulous.  

Therefore, everybody had stopped dancing.  His sister took another glass of 

punch and downed it quickly.  Time slowed to a crawl for Wilbur as he saw 

Sallie's arms suddenly go completely limp.  Her glass hit the carpeted 

floor and she pitched forward into Tom.  Her mouth opened and she pulled 

Tom's head to hers'.  They kissed wantonly.  Sallie's other hand started to 

fiddle with his suspenders.

   Lucy's virtue be damned, that's my little sister!  Wilbur was beginning 

to move to break it up to protect Sallie from immorality when Lucy sort of 

limply swung in his way and they fell to the floor on top of each other.  

Lucy clawed at him, her eyes glazed with fire, and Wilbur had a woody.


   Joanne and Dr. Carter had reached the cafeteria.  The doctor could not 

believe the thick smoke and din rising from the assembled crowd, which had 

moved indoors, out of the sun.  "See?  I told you," Joanne said brightly, 

her arm entwined with his.  She took a final draw and ejected the cigarette 

into a nearby bowl.  Something is horribly wrong here, Eli Carter thought.  

He was ready to pull away from Joanne (gently) and find a security team to 

cordon off the area.  [Even if he had escaped, all clinic security were in 

the cafeteria.]  He began to turn to leave the cafeteria.  Before he could 

disentangle his arm, Joanne sort of limply swung in his way and they fell 

to the floor on top of each other.  Joanne clawed at him, her eyes glazed 

with fire, and Eli Carter's cock grew.


   Sallie and Tom had been the match that lit the blaze; everybody, 

including the musicians and the bartenders, had their clothes off.  Wilbur 

and Lucy were in the middle of the room having their own vertical dance, 

but the floor was filled with writhing couples (and threesomes).  Lucy's 

buttery insides were the only thing Wilbur was aware of, having forgotten 

completely about his no-longer-virtuous sister.  Lucy grunted like an 

animal with every move Wilbur and his best friend made...


   "AAAWWW YEA-EAAHHH!" Joanne Weber moaned.  Dr. Eli Carter (he of the big 

hands) pumped at her frantically, his rational mind held silent hostage by 

the now-contagious lust.  It saturated the atmosphere of the cafeteria.  

Joanne grunted like an animal with every move Eli's cock would make inside 

her.  The object of her desire safely locked within, she thrilled as it 

sent wave after wave of sheer pleasure through her.  The cafeteria quickly 

began to smell like a smoky cathouse.  [We had one devil of a time cleaning 

up after this.  The carpet was ruined, and most of the furniture had to be 

replaced.  Some say they can still smell the smoke and sex in the walls.-

AW]  Everybody, including the cafeteria workers, had their clothes off and 

was involved in some sort of sexual act.  Chairs and tables had been moved, 

overturned and the floor was filled with writhing couples (and threesomes).  

This was debauchery on a grand scale.

   Sara Martin was on the bottom of a pile; her legs were spread wide and 

Veronica (Butch) Gordon, security guard, was lapping at her very wet pussy.  

[Yes, it's visible on the security video.  Again, it's restricted access, 

so you and I will just have to watch it in my office next time.-AW]  Arnold 

Gray, her security partner, had his dick in her ass, pumping at the stocky 

brunette with short hair as if he was a man possessed.  [What did they 

expect?  He _was_ possessed.  Damned tech writers.-AW]  Jose Aguilar was on 

the other side, greedily drilling Sara's tight second hole.  The two 

women's tongues flailed at each other's engorged pussies, pausing only when 

a blast of electric ecstasy shot through them.  Sara and Butch tried their 

hardest to make the other come first.

   Gina Franchetti, lab technician, third shift, was involved in a sixty-

nine with Danny Bolton.  It was just a continuation of their earlier 

projector cooling room antics.  Gina's mouth slid over Danny's erect cock 

easily, while Danny returned the oral favor, scooping at Gina's wet 

triangle with his tongue.  The raven-haired woman swirled her head, going 

down... and down... and down...  Danny gasped as Gina's throat closed on 

the head of his turgid cock.  She came back up, her eyes overflowing with 

hungry need.  Gina bounced urgently on Danny's face, reminding him that he 

should be doing something for her.  Danny's head swept quickly from side to 

side, causing an intense flash of expression across Gina's face.  His head 

then moved in slow circles beneath her spread legs, and Gina pressed her 

sensitive lips forcefully into Danny's face.  Her hips rotated, trying to 

put the pressure of her partner's mouth directly on her itch.  Orgasm 

claimed her shortly thereafter.  She closed her eyes, and just rocked 

slowly on his mouth.  When they opened again, she slurped his erection back 

into her warm, wet mouth as if nothing had happened, crazed passion aglow 

in her eyes once more.

   Dr. Vivienne Moriat had appropriated three cocks.  [My, wasn't she the 

greedy one.  As usual.-AW]  She bounced on top of one of the dishwashers, 

his dick firmly grasped by her inner walls, while leaning forward and 

bobbing her head over a security guard's erection.  One of the janitors had 

embedded his cock in her ass.  The itching threatened to consume her, so 

she had sought, and found three wonderful scratchers.  Her eyes were shut, 

and she was on the edge of nirvana, sent there by the smell and feel of 

male genitalia.  Vivienne pulled away from the security guard's dick, which 

was wet and sloppy, having been thoroughly coated with her saliva.  She 

still itched, and growled, "Baise-moi!" at the other two men before 

greedily reclaiming the security guard's erection with her mouth.  Her 

cheeks caved in with suction.  She rocked jerkily, forcing the fucking men 

to pound at her in alternating rhythm.  She would roll her hips forward, 

stirring her boiling, itching cunt with the dishwasher, then slam back into 

the janitor until her butt slapped loudly against his hips.  This only

teased at the itch deep inside her ass.  The itch had driven her nearly 

insane, and she goaded the men on with obscenities growled in French, as 

they were unable to touch Vivienne's odd, internal tickling sensation.

   Eli Carter felt the pressure begin; his eyes bulged and his hips froze 

in mid-thrust.  He felt a surge of power through his loins, and his hips 

drove fiercely downward, forcing the breath out of a rapturous Joanne.  She 

yelped at the friction against her itch.  He felt a long sizzle travel the 

length of his cock, and Joanne moaned with the soothing sensation of warm, 

thick fluid bathing her persistent itch.  The relief made her swoon; she 

almost blacked out, unaware of the bucking motions her hips were making.  

Eli only felt the velvet gripping at him and his world spun...

   Danny Bolton's cock exploded, taking him with it.  He shivered violently 

as his co-worker slurped at his cream.  Gina sucked greedily, trying to 

draw more from his balls than they had to give.  Gina had eaten Danny's cum 

before, but there was something different about this.  The body that was 

madly sucking at the dying hard-on sensed nothing but a raw, powerful, 

seductive urge.  What had been Gina had been replaced by a creature whose 

existence was based solely on sex.  She wiped the trace of cum from her 

lips and immediately went in search of her next prey.  Danny lay on the 

floor, stunned and gasping for breath.

   White fluid hit Dr. Moriat in the face.  She smeared it over her upper 

body, pleased with the warm, sticky feeling.  The cream had soothed the 

itch a little, but she couldn't decide which had been better: shot in her 

ass, or the application deep inside her cunt.  She got up and left the 

three drained men in search of more hard cock.  She needed more data.

   Butch Gordon lurched forward as Sara won their battle, the blonde's 

tongue sending Butch's hips sharply thrusting up and down.  Her orgasm 

pulled her off of Arnold Gray's still-erect dick.  Butch got up after her 

body stopped quaking, and walked away from the foursome.  She stumbled 

blindly over the virtual sea of bodies on the floor.  Butch's eyes focused 

and she was looking at Dr. Jeff Martin, who was standing in a corner 

masturbating while he watched a couple of cafeteria workers go at it.  The 

security guard got over to him in a hurry and threw him to the floor, 

mounting him urgently.  Butch Gordon had made the collar, and was 

interrogating her suspect...


   Wilbur was spent, Lucy's virginity was a memory, and she had left him 

almost immediately after he finished for a bartender, who became Lucy's 

second-ever man.  Lucy was leaning over the bar table as the man behind her 

pumped quickly, lecherous joy cast on his face.  Lucy's glazed expression 

of ecstasy was clearly visible to Wilbur who stood up, shakily, in the 

middle of the room.  The Ross' parlor smelled like a smoky cathouse.  He 

remembered his sister Sallie, who was somewhere in the virtual sea of 

bodies.  Something was horribly wrong.  The Purple Passion was supposed to 

loosen up priggish women, not unchain them.  Wilbur needed to get away, to 

think, to find Jambo, to do something to end this nightmare.  Unfortunately 

for him, Ellen James had just finished with someone, and she approached 

Wilbur with _that_ look in her eyes.  Wilbur opened his mouth to apologize 

and decline, but Ellen wrestled him to the floor. With a maniacal smile of 

twisted lust, she began to slide him between her legs.  Wilbur just looked 

on in amazement as his best friend answered the blonde's insistent siren 

song.  Mounting him urgently, Ellen moaned as Wilbur slid up inside of her.  

The slick, buttery sensation drove all rational thought from Wilbur's mind, 

and he no longer cared about Sallie, Jambo, or even Ellen.


   The body of Gina Franchetti moved easily, hips sliding rhythmically over 

a security guard's pelvis.  Her quiet, quick breathing belied the effort 

she was putting into her fucking.  The man's penis was just a tool for her 

pleasure.  The man moaned, jaw slack, eyes vacant and rolling, held in 

thrall to Gina's inner heat, and outer aura.  [Her pheromone count was so 

high after the incident that security had to use filter masks to get near 

her without being sexually stimulated.]  She moved her hips as she desired, 

manipulating the warm, fleshy object lodged within her to provoke the 

release she craved.

   Joanne's itch had come back, but it had moved from her pussy to her ass.  

Arnold Gray, who had been jilted by his security partner moments earlier, 

was now happily trying to help Miss Weber with her problem.  Next to them, 

Dr. Moriat was busy reviving Jose Aguilar's limp cock, which had just been 

removed from Sara Martin's poop chute.  [Cute.  When are we going to get 

that new head of technical writing? -AW]  Sara had found Eli Carter.  He 

was all by himself, over by the cafeteria wall, looking at the orgy with a 

strange, semi-intelligent expression on his face.  [Elijah reported that he 

was actually thinking about how wrong it was, and that he should do 

something, but there was a _much_ stronger urge to stay and participate.]  

Sara walked over to him, ignoring the hands that reached for her on her way 

across the room.  She fondled his cock gently, looking at him with 

devotion.  Slowly, Sara knelt in front of him, saying, "This is as alone as 

we'll ever be here.  I'm going to show you my appreciation for all you've 

done for me."


   Slowly, Sallie Cross knelt in front of Wilbur.  Wilbur looked down at 

the blonde girl kneeling in front of him, and she filled his thoughts, his 

entire being.  Lucy and Ellen had been forgotten as if they had never 

existed.  Wilbur knew he was having incestuous thoughts about Sallie.  He 

knew they were brother and sister, and some part of him screamed that he 

shouldn't be doing this, but the hunger was everything.  Sallie had walked 

over to him, ignoring the hands that had reached for her as she headed for

her brother.  She had fondled his cock gently, looking at him with devotion,

saying, "This is as alone as we'll ever be here.  I'm going to show you my 

appreciation for all you've done for me."  She ran her tongue over her 

older brother's little man.  Wilbur sighed and lovingly caressed his 

sister's blonde hair.  Sallie made him big, using knowledge far beyond her 

tender years.  He didn't care how she knew what she was doing; it only 

mattered that she was doing it.  Her tongue found every sensitive area on 

Wilbur's pecker, which was still very responsive, despite Lucy and Ellen's 

previous manic efforts.

   He looked at the girl he affectionately called "Squirt."  Wilbur ran his

hand gently across her cheek.  Sallie paused her oral caresses to savor the 

gentle contact, then smiled at her big brother.  Something passed between 

them that would survive this night.  The sixteen-year old opened her mouth 

and engulfed Wilbur's rigid member as far as she could.  Her brother's 

knees wobbled.  Sallie began to swirl her head and tongue rapidly around 

Wilbur's penis.  His legs got all tingly and weak and...


   Dr. Carter's legs began to tingle; he was close to coming.  Sara Martin 

had the tip of his cock against the back of her mouth.  She slurped slowly 

on it; there was still a fair amount she couldn't get, nor could she bring 

herself to try.  Sara pulled back, increasing the pressure in her mouth.  

She looked up at Dr. Carter, smiling, and their eyes met.  A quiet, throaty 

growl came from Eli.  She started to bob her head forward, adding the 

swirling of her tongue to the suction and caress of her cheeks.  Eli 

Carter's eyes grew big.  Somewhere deep inside of him a series of muscles 

contracted powerfully, sending the first of several hot globs of cum into 

Sara's mouth.  Sara stopped swirling her tongue long enough to swallow, 

then resumed her stimulation, which sent another urgent message to Dr. 

Carter's brain, and the muscles contracted again.  Intense shivers wracked 

his body.  When he was completely drained, he looked affectionately at 

Sara.  Eli ran his hand tenderly across her cheek.  Sara smiled, savoring 

the gentle contact, then smiled at the doctor.  Something passed between 

them that would survive this night.  Their mutual bliss lasted exactly 17.7 

seconds.  [Determined via video record.]  Sara's eyes glazed over, she 

stood up, and walked away.  The itch had returned with a vengeance.  Eli 

staggered back to the sexual melee a few seconds later.


   Wilbur staggered through several pairs of bodies in various stages of 

heat.  He was thirsty, and felt a little tired.  He was also still quite 

horny, his pole sitting at half-mast.  His sister had just touched him like 

a common whore, and he had loved every minute of it.  His most immediate 

need was for something to drink.  Then he'd find another female.  The 

sexual hunger dominated his brain, fogging all perception; however, he was 

alert enough to see Carl Eckersley, who had apparently had the same idea of 

drinking something, dip a ladle into the Purple Passion bowl and have a 

healthy draught.  "Nooo, Carl!!!" Wilbur cried.  Jambo had warned them, 

"Never serve the Purple Passion to a man.  Under _any_ circumstance."  

Wilbur's blood turned cold, and he was suddenly afraid.

   Untouched, Carl became erect, his woody developing in seconds, as Wilbur 

watched.  A strange look filled Carl's face, and Wilbur decided that maybe 

he'd better find some place where he'd be less obvious.  He ducked behind a 

cigar-store Indian, and peeked around the profile.  Carl looked to the 

left, then right.  He saw two people bent over a table.  The man's hips 

were swiveling with fierce intent; the woman recipient of his efforts made 

huffing sounds each time her partner would thrust forward.  Carl headed 

toward the pair with zombie-like steps.   Carl seemed to be led by his 

woody, and Wilbur got a sick feeling in his stomach.  With an evil, 

demented grin, Carl stuck his pole in the closest orifice at the table, 

which happened to be Pete Ross' shitter.


   Sara Martin was bent over a table; Jose Aguilar was behind her, at first 

making long exaggerated stokes from beneath.  After a minute or so, Jose 

was ramming his cock into her cunt.  Sara huffed each time Jose would 

swivel his hips forward.  Jose pulled all the way out before re-entering 

Sara's wet cunt with a determined thrust.  "Nooo... don't... teeeease 

meeee," Sara begged in between gulps of air.  "Keeep...  Keepit... innnn," 

she instructed the sex-crazed [They _all_ were at this point.-AW] man.  

Jose obeyed and the rocking of his hips became faster, as did Sara's 

breathing.  Sara was almost there...  Almost...  

   Jose was now just a fucking machine.  His hips automatically moved his 

cock the entire length of Sara's tunnel.  He somehow always managed not to 

pull himself free of her gripping, vibrating, slick, and hot pussy.  

Without warning, he pulled out of the near-orgasmic woman, and forced his 

way into her asshole.  Sara groaned loudly, hunching back at Jose, driving 

him in deeper.  Her breathing became loud, ragged, open-mouthed panting.

   Dr. Martin got off the floor, where he had been pinned for the last 

half-hour by the thrusting body of Veronica Gordon.  He looked left, then 

right.  Jeff was looking for something, something he hadn't had in a long 

time; now was the right time to satisfy his craving.  He noticed his ex-

wife, but more importantly, he saw the male humping her from behind.  His 

erection pointing at them like a divining rod, Jeff moved with zombie-like 

steps towards Sara and Jose.

   Joanne Weber had found Danny Bolton.  The lab technician was on top of 

her, ignorant of Joanne's nails raking his back.  [She left some fairly 

deep lacerations.  We _did_ treat them before dismissing the unfortunate 

Mr. Bolton.-AW]  Joanne's itch had returned to her pussy with increased 

intensity.  She lunged at him furiously, leading with her midriff.  Danny's 

hips and hers' collided audibly in rhythmic slaps.  Joanne encouraged the 

brown-haired young man with a plethora of creative sexual obscenities.  

[Yes, we can hear what she said on the security video.-AW]  Danny 

responded, pounding at the nurse even harder.

   Doctors Carter and Moriat were engaged in a very different collaboration 

than the mental projector.  Arnold Gray was underneath her as well.  The 

French woman rolled her hips, grinding her inflamed clit against Arnold's 

pubic ring.  She turned her head and advocated Dr. Carter to avail himself 

of her rosehole.  Eli's eyes were glazed in what was a very common facial 

expression among the males in the cafeteria at the time.  He began to push 

his hard cock into his scientific partner's nether region.  Vivienne 

grunted, strain on her face, but the large [I _saw_ it in the flesh, pardon 

the expression.  It truly _is_ large, which makes Vivienne's feat all the 

more amazing.-AW] organ disappeared into her ass.  She yelped something in

French, and began to work the two men's dicks in opposing time.  Her tongue

hung out of her mouth, and her entire body was flushed with arousal.  Dr.

Moriat knew that she had proven it was best with two inside of her at once.

   Gina Franchetti had been smoking one of Joanne's cigarettes over by the 

counter, seemingly oblivious to the sexual madness going on around her.  

She finished it and held her last drag for a long time before letting the 

smoke go with a dreamy, satisfied look on her face.  A cafeteria worker who 

had just finished fucking somebody else and was staggering away from that 

previous encounter walked in front of her.  She attacked him, and his face 

went through surprise, panic, and finally settled into a depraved leer.  

The pair kissed, grinding heavily against a refrigerator.  The man 

absolutely mauled Gina's breasts with his hands; she seemed not to care, 

and masturbated him to erection in under a minute.  [57.6 seconds, 

according to the video record.  Amazing isn't it?-AW]  They fell to the 

floor and rolled underneath the cafeteria counter, out of range of the 

security cameras.  [Some things are better left unseen.-AW]

   Sara moaned as orgasm swept through her.  Jose's determined anal thrusts 

and her manual stimulation of her clit had finally gotten her to the peak.  

Her body vibrated rapidly as Jose repeatedly propelled his rigid cock into 

her ass with ease.  Jeff Martin walked up behind the oblivious pair, and 

stuck his cock into the custodial worker's ass with an expression of evil 

glee.  This precipitated Mr. Aguilar's ejaculation.  [Prostate stimulation, 

no doubt.-AW]  Jose's cock was now being pumped into Sara's ass by the 

vigorous efforts of Jeff Martin until Jose was too soft to continue.  Sara 

walked away with a blank look, ignorant of Mr. Aguilar's pleas for help.  

Jose tried to get away, but Dr. Martin held his hips with deceptive 

strength.  His eyes were crazed, and he was drooling as he raped the 


   Vivienne Moriat was beyond ecstasy.  Arnold Gray's body jerked beneath 

her, filling her cunt with a soothing, warm, sticky feeling.  Eli's cock, 

however, continued to slide in and out of her ass, and she began to respond 

more to that than Arnold Gray's spent, and rapidly diminishing penis.  She 

actually punched the security guard a few seconds later when his dick slid 

out of her pussy.  The beefy man rolled out of the way, slowly stood up, 

and left the two scientists to their fucking.  Dr. Carter's face twitched, 

and his pumping of his collaborator's ass sped up.  Vivienne's face showed 

a renewed intensity of sensation, and she fucked back at him with near-

religious zeal, rapture filling her soul.

   Suddenly, Dr. Moriat pulled free from the cock that had been embedded 

deeply in her ass, leaving it bobbing, and Eli just looking at it with 

wonder.  [Dr. Carter does not remember actually doing this; he said that he 

felt like a spectator to this entire episode with Vivienne.]  Dr. Moriat 

rearranged herself to face Dr. Carter.  He stood as if commanded by some 

voice.  [There is nothing on the audio portion of the security video that 

might be related to standing up.  Eli says again that he was a spectator, 

and did not give any mental commands to move.]  Vivienne opened her mouth, 

and began to fellate her scientific partner, her head bobbing rapidly.  

More of Dr. Carter's cock vanished into her mouth with each stroke.

   Dr. Moriat grabbed Eli's hips, and swallowed his cock, forcing her head 

down to the roots of his pubic hair.  [Security like to replay this part of 

the video during off-hours.  It brought tears to my eyes.  Again, they 

won't let this tape out of Administration (surprisingly, not even to the 

barracks.)  Next time you're here...-AW]  A wave of pleasure thundered 

across the man's face.  Vivienne held him there for several seconds before 

pulling back very slowly.  She pulled the head of his dick back between her 

lips and sucked, running her tongue around the sensitive area, and looking 

up at Dr. Carter with a devilish, teasing smile.  Then her head descended 

again, going slowly down until her teeth were in his pubic hair again.  Dr. 

Moriat repeated her pause, sucking on the base of his cock, then released 

it and teased the tip another time.  She repeated the cycle twice more, and 

as she came back up, Eli grabbed her head and thrust his hips, sliding his 

penis in and out of her mouth.  A gush of cum hit Vivienne in the face, and 

she reacted by wrapping her mouth around half of his cock, and milking the 

base with her hand.

Day 4, 1344:

   Dr. Ann Weston flashed her pass to the guard at the gate, and drove 

directly to the administration building.  Institute headquarters had left 

her a fax at the airport on her return.  They insisted that she fax them 

the report on JB1714, and that they needed the "official" hospitalization 

record without any delay.  She sighed as she entered the stark cinder block 

building.  She'd have to get a progress report on Elijah's subject later.  

As she sat down at her desk, she had no idea that a massive orgy was taking 

place not more than a quarter-mile away.


   Jose Aguilar lay in the middle of the cafeteria, curled tightly into the 

fetal position.  His eyes were panicked, and he was gibbering nonsense.  

Joanne and Butch had tried to pry Jose into a position where they could 

have sex with him somehow.  [Ms. Gordon is a _very_ strong woman.  Both 

women reported having been extremely angry at Mr. Aguilar for being 

difficult.]  Despite their best efforts, his body remained curled into a 

near-ball, and he rocked autistically.  Jeff Martin staggered around the 

mass copulation, drooling freely now, a deranged smile frozen in place.  He 

was erect again, and headed for Arnold Gray, Gina Franchetti's most recent 

partner.  Arnold was bouncing energetically on top of her.  Gina lay 

beneath him, looking bored, but her body reacted enthusiatically, as if it 

were a completely separate entity.  Jeff began to walk by his ex-wife, who 

had been smoking with a blank look on her face.  As soon as she saw him, 

she put her cigarette out and grabbed him as he was almost out of her 

reach.  Her face had filled with pure, concentrated lust.  Her former 

husband did not push her away.  Jeff turned Sara around, and viciously 

mounted her anally.  Sara's loud grunt was the only sound she made.  Her 

tongue lolled out of her mouth and her face contorted into a display of 

exaggerated orgasmic pleasure.

   Frustrated by Jose's unwillingness to play, and their inability to make 

him cooperate, Joanne and Veronica grabbed Eli Carter.  The stocky security 

guard wrestled him away from the slender nurse, and threw him down to the 

floor.  She straddled him, and he was erect and inside of Veronica in less 

than a minute.  [59.2 seconds, determined from the video record.-AW]  

Joanne complained briefly as she stood next to the oblivious pair, then 

walked over to the door, found her purse, holder and lighter, and began to 

have a cigarette as if nothing unusual were going on at all.

Day 4, 1358:

   Phil Allen, Dr. Weston's personal assistant, had been busy talking with 

headquarters all day.  [You know Phil.  He's the low-level spark that acts 

as my "Radar O'Reilly."  Poor dear.  I could imagine the fit headquarters 

threw at him over the records in my absence.-AW]  He was hungry, and he had 

a _massive_ headache.  The noise coming from the cafeteria seemed really 

strange, but he opened the doors, and immediately went into shock.  "You're 

new around here," came a female voice.  Phil turned and saw Joanne.  She 

looked at him and settled into her most seductive pose.  She took a puff in 

her very calculated manner.  Phil only gaped at the naked woman.  [He's a 

sweet man, but somewhat of a geek-AW] 

   Another shy one.  Joanne decided that she, the woman of tomorrow, had to 

be more aggressive.  She put her arms on his shoulders, and gave him a 

long, wet kiss.  Phil gasped for breath when Joanne pulled away.  She 

regarded him playfully; then took another of her "maximum impact" drags on 

her smoke.  Glancing down at his front, she saw the desired effect.  [It 

was most likely due to her state of undress, rather than the way she 

smoked.]  Joanne calmly put her half-finished cigarette out, and pulled 

Phil into her embrace again.  She felt him respond slowly, tenderly, 

without rush, and discovered that she was very wet.  She just _had_ to have 

him.  Joanne dragged Phil away from the door, and into the thick of the 


   Phil's clothes came off quickly, and he kissed Joanne.  She reclined, 

and Phil was on top of her, attempting foreplay, when she unexpectedly 

stopped him, and quietly said, "No, you silly man.  I want you _inside_ of 

me."  Her blue eyes were wantonly glowing.  Phil, never one to refuse a 

"gorgeous, sexy, stunning red-headed lady," [He likes her.-AW] sank himself 

completely into her warm honeypot.  Joanne let a long, low sigh go, and 

wrapped her arms around the overjoyed man's back.  She arched her back to 

meet his downward motions, and the itch was brushed slowly, rhythmically, 

and completely.  Phil wondered why everybody was acting this way, and he 

knew that he shouldn't be doing this, he should go get help and...

   Joanne's pussy fibrillated gently around his cock, which grew a little 

larger inside her.  Her eyes were now blue-hot, and Phil suddenly felt 

huge.  He felt so powerful, so virile!  His head bowed, and his hips began 

to work faster.  Joanne moaned, matching his determined rhythm, and Phil 

felt even bigger inside of her.  His up-and-down fucking became 

interspersed with side to side movements.  Joanne's body responded almost 

instaneously to any new motion.  Her pussy grabbed at the cock it sheathed, 

geedily assuring that Phil would not leave until he had finished the task 

Joanne needed him for.  Phil could only sense Joanne's wonderful, warm, 

slick, tickling, slippery grabbing butter and the friction felt 



Day 4, 1453:

   Dr. Weston decided it was time to get some lunch and check in on the 

progress of PM46X.  The acknowledgment of receipt was coming out on the fax 

machine, and she was finally free of paperwork for now.  She decided to 

walk, rather than take a cart to the clinic building.  She needed the 

exercise after having been seated for so long.  First, the airplane, then 

the drive to the compound, and finally the damned paperwork.  It felt good 

to stretch her legs again.  The first thing she noticed was that the 

reception area was empty.  She headed directly to the cafeteria, to 

reprimand the receptionist and security on duty for leaving reception 

unstaffed.  As Ann rounded the hall, she smelled the smoke and heard the 

odd sounds from behind the cafeteria door.  She opened the cafeteria door, 

and was instantly paralyzed by shock and horror.

   The cafeteria resembled a Roman orgy.  There were people copulating on 

the floor, bent over tables, on top of tables.  Chairs and tables had been 

turned over and haphazardly strewn about.  The air was thick with smoke, 

like a low-class pub, but she could see pairs, threesomes and even a 

foursome through the haze.  Dr. Weston was trying to make sense out of what 

she was seeing; for one, there were far too many people in the cafeteria.  

Something was horribly wrong.

   Ann had turned to leave and find help when an iron grip enclosed her 

arm.  "Come in, join the party!" said a voice in a French accent from 

behind her.  Ann spun and saw Dr. Vivienne Moriat.  Her hand was firmly 

locked on Ann's upper arm, and Dr. Weston could not break free.  Dr. Moriat 

took a drag from a cigarillo, and Ann became more frightened, especially 

when she realized that the researcher was naked.  Vivienne exhaled, some of 

the smoke curling in Ann's face.  Dr. Weston sneezed loudly.  "Oh, I am 

sorry," Vivienne apologized, but her tenacious grip did not waver.

   "What's happened?!!!??  Why are you smoking -- cigars???  You don't 

smoke, Dr. Moriat!"  Ann's voice was anything but calm, mirroring her inner 


   Dr. Vivienne Moriat looked at her with surprise.  "To answer your first 

question, we are obviously having a party," she replied, annoyance in her 

voice.  [Snotty even when possessed.-AW]  "As for the second question," she 

continued, pausing to take another drag, "I smoke cigars because I am a 

modern emancipated woman, able to be one of the boys."  Vivienne paused 

again, looking quizzically at Dr. Weston.  "But everybody who is _anybody_ 

smokes."  The former ardent anti-smoker sounded pleased by this 

pronouncement, and panic was beginning to saturate Ann's thoughts.

   "What about the device?  Your output amplifier, the project, PM46X?"  

Ann was trying to wrench her arm free, and had hoped to distract the 

obviously possessed woman enough to break loose.  Dr. Moriat calmly 

answered Ann with a question that chilled Dr. Weston to the marrow, erasing 

her panic.

   "What device?"  She began to tug at Ann.  Vivienne was surprisingly 

strong, able to drag Dr. Weston away from the cafeteria door by the arm 

despite Ann's resistance.  "You are not having fun," Vivienne stated 

accurately, and pouting a little.  "I will -- " Dr. Moriat took another 

draw on her cigarillo.  "-- help you."  She looked around the cafeteria as 

if she was searching for something.  Disappointment crossed her face.  "Oh 

well," she said, taking one last drag before dropping her cigarillo in a 

bowl that was filled with butts, "if I must, I must..."  Vivienne abruptly 

let go of Ann's arm and began to kneel in front of her.  Dr. Weston didn't 

hesitate, turning and running blindly for the door.  She bumped into 

someone and bounced off.  She blinked and saw that it was Dr. Elijah 

Carter, naked, his erect penis pointing straight at her.  He grinned 

lecherously at her and stretched out his arms.  She bolted past him, not 

daring to look or stop.  Dr. Carter grabbed at the fabric of her chemise, 

but the material was too slick for him to hold on.  Ann shot through the 

cafeteria doors, and headed for the projector control center at top speed.

   The room was unlocked and deserted.  Dr. Weston frantically sealed the 

door, worried that she had been followed.  She hadn't been; everybody else 

in the building was far too busy having sex.  [This includes JB1714.  

Although he could not find the elevator to join the orgy, he found his own 

penis without any trouble. Evidence indicated that he had been 

masturbating.]  [Constantly during the incident.  We had to pay a nurse 

triple overtime to clean him up afterwards.-AW]  The first thing she became 

aware of as she paused to catch her breath was the alarm.  She had been too 

panicked to even notice the shrill beeping.  She looked and saw that the 

output amplifier was operating at 204% of design capacity!  Her amazement 

grew as the number on the computer readout changed to 205.  Dr. Weston 

tapped the original setting of 12.5 into the control console and pressed 

enter.  The digital readout changed again.  207.  She tried to repeat the 

command, and breathed a sigh of relief when the display didn't change 

immediately.  A few seconds passed, then... 210.  She typed the terminate 

sequence into the console, and nothing happened.  Dr. Weston had thought 

that she might have used an incorrect command.  She swiveled her chair 

around, looking for the codebook, and her attention was immediately 

captured by the video uplink display.

   Her mouth fell open as she watched an orgy of Roman proportions 

unfolding on the screen.  It was also immediately apparent that it was 

_not_ a security camera's view of the clinic cafeteria; the furnishings and 

shucked clothing were very different.  Dr. Weston watched, fascinated by 

the incredibly clear, sharp view of couples, threesomes...  She looked 

closely, a hunch playing at her mind.  Yes!  There it was!  Exactly one 

foursome.  There was a young brown-haired woman standing by a door 

smoking... a cigar!  It was then that Ann realized what had to be done.  

She took one last look at the digital display, which now read 215.  She 

left the console and walked outside the room.  Pulling out a thin, red 

plastic card, she ran its magnetic strip through the slot next to the door.  

A panel in the wall opened, revealing a numeric keypad. Ann calmly punched 

the six-digit power shut-off code, and the control room went dark.

Day 4, 1509:

   Two alarms sounded on the third floor: one at the deserted nurses' 

station, and one in the lone occupied room on the floor.  Wilbur Cross died 

at age 78.


   After careful, thorough consultation with Dr. Carter, I strongly 

recommend without hesitation that the final disposition of the project 

should be "FAILED".  The interaction between the subject and Dr. Moriat's 

device has been labeled a "feedback loop."  No cause has been determined 

for this phenomenon.  The evidence available is insufficient for further 

study.  There are still many unanswered questions about the phenomenon: 

what caused it to occur; how it functioned, and the extent of the subject's 

active involvement.  Mr. Cross' vital signs were those of a healthy 22-year 

old man at the time of his death.  Did the device cause him to improve, or 

did his improvement spur the device to start the spiral?  Did he connect 

somehow with the device and use it?  These are all excellent questions.  

However, given the scope of the adverse events, their severity, and the 

permanence of those effects on some of the personnel involved, the entire 

device has been destroyed, and no further research into the feedback loop 

will take place.  It is our opinion that another test would result in 

another, possibly greater, disaster.  As a personal aside, bear in mind 

that the subject was frail, with greatly diminished brain function; I 

shudder to think of the events had we used a healthy, fully functional 


   Drs. Carter and Moriat will not reapply for further funding of the 

project; they are in agreement that the danger of adverse effects is too 

high; an application for theoretical study is possible, but not in the near 

future.  Dr. Carter's expertise in neurology and neurosurgery makes him a 

valued member of the Institute's research group; I feel confident that he 

will continue to be productive.  As for Dr. Moriat, she may be able to 

apply her great store of knowledge on another collaborative effort, as a 

junior member of an investigative team.

   While several errors were committed in the conduct of the experiment, 

only the improper monitoring of the project control center would have had 

any impact on the outcome.  I would like to stress that at the height of 

the mishap, _everyone_ within the clinic building was affected, save for 

myself.  My immunity is also an unsolved puzzle, but it is fortunate that I 

was.  It is probably accurate to extrapolate the spread of the effect to 

beyond the clinic confines if I had not shut the power off.  I do not know 

how much longer the local utility could have supplied sufficient power 

before it started to cause problems with the whole service area.  At some 

point, the power drain would have exceeded transmission capacity, causing 

shut down, but we have no idea when that would have been.

   Respectfully submitted,

   Ann Weston, D. Sc.

		       Personnel Post Mortem Report

   It has been four months since the incident.  Since the full report took

that long to assemble, I am enclosing the personnel update with the report,

instead of under separate cover.  This section indicates the status of

principles changed by the incident.  The cafeteria staff, as well as most

security, and most clinic staff seem to have no memory of the incident.

After the power was shut off, they seem to have dressed and returned to their

respective jobs, unaware that anything abnormal had happened.  As you can

imagine, the gap in their lives has been called into question, and we have

enlisted the aid of two sparks from debriefing center #4 in reprogramming,

which has been mostly successful.  This is for your eyes only.


      He is undergoing intense therapy for autism at debriefing center #1.

   His neurological pathways show considerable modification.  Earlier this

   week, I received a report that Mr. Aguilar is no longer in the fetal

   position that he had maintained since the incident, so this does represent

   major progress.  However, he still has not spoken since the incident.

   Reprogramming has not been attempted due to the possibility of the spark

   also becoming autistic.

Phil Allen:  ACTIVE

      Radar is just fine, as efficient as ever.  His pathways show no change

   whatsoever.  The initial attempt at reprogramming has failed, most likely

   due to his special nature.  I have put a moratorium on any further

   attempts, and refuse to employ more powerful sparks because it may damage

   him.  Frankly, he is far too valuable an aide to me to risk impairing his

   skill in any way.  He still fawns over Miss Weber.  I have submitted a

   request for a significant salary increase for Mr. Allen, which I suspect

   he'll be needing soon.


      After his termination from the Institiute, Mr. Bolton committed suicide

   approximately one month after the incident.  His suicide note indicated

   that he was unwilling to live without Miss Franchetti.

Dr. Elijah Carter:  ACTIVE

      He shows no ill effects from his involvement, save for a rather

   acrimonious divorce.  He is scheduled to marry Sara Martin in November.

   He has had no strange sexual urges, and no major changes have been scanned

   in the neurological pathways of his brain.

Gina Franchetti:  TRANSFERRED

      Miss Franchetti shows significant pathway modification, along with a

   secondary change in her glandular function.  No one else involved in the

   incident shows anything like it.  We assume that this was the cause of the

   greatly raised pheromone level reported earlier.  She had to be

   quarantined for two weeks following the incident until that level dropped.

   She had continued her sexual activity well beyond device shutdown, and had

   no shortage of willing partners.  Her pheromone level caused arousal among

   both genders.  Until we equipped security with filter masks, we could not

   get her to quarantine, since anyone who got close to her would immediately

   try to have sex with her.  She was also extremely willing; her sex drive

   seemed to have increased considerably.

      Although her pheromone level dropped to normal ranges, her sex drive

   has shown no signs of returning to normal, even after reprogramming.  The

   incident has been erased from her memory, but all attempts to decrease her

   sex drive have failed.  She turned to prostitution when released.  We

   promptly re-hired her, and have transferred her to the Netherlands to

   service security.

Veronica (Butch) Gordon:  ON PERSONAL LEAVE

      Her pathways show no modification.  However, after what appeared to be

   successful reprogramming, she has reported two incidences of flashback.

   Re-treatment was done each time, however, Ms. Gordon has decided to take

   holiday leave for a while.

Dr. Jeffery Martin:  DEMOTED / EXPENDABLE

      His is the most problematic case.  Due to his past record, we have

   received inquiries from various authorities concerning his employ with us.

   His official position has been altered to non-technical general personnel,

   to avoid the appearance that he served in a medical capacity with us.  As

   I noted earlier in the report, the Human Resources personnel responsible

   for checking of credentials have been terminated.

      The former Dr. Martin's neural pathways show extensive modification.

   He suffers from priapism and satyriasis, and we have had him under

   restraint since the incident.  He is completely dysfunctional, addicted

   to sex in the extreme.  If left unrestrained, he will attempt to have sex

   with the nearest human being.  His capacity for rational thought and

   conversation are severely impaired.  We have sent him to training center

   #2, in the hopes that one of our newer recruits can help him while she

   hones her debriefing skills.  If she succeeds, we will enlist Mr. Martin's

   services in a non-medical capacity at the training center.  Under _no_

   circumstances is he to return here for employment, or any other reason.

Sara Martin, R.N.:  RESIGNED

      She shows minor changes in her neurological pathways.  These changes

   seem to be temporary in nature, as they have slowly been returning to

   their state at the start of the project.  Scheduled to marry Dr. Carter in

   November, she has resigned from the staff here, and taken a position at a

   rural clinic nearby.  Reprogramming to excise the incident from her memory

   has been successful.

Dr. Vivienne Moriat:  INACTIVE

      Unlike her collaborator, she is considerably worse for the experience.

   In addition to the quite severe enteric infection she manifested shortly

   after the incident, she also has been diagnosed as having gonorrhea.  We

   have found the kitchen worker responsible, and they are both undergoing

   treatment.  While it could have been worse, it appears that he was the

   last person to have sex with her immediately prior to the termination of

   the experiment.

      Her neural paths show significant change.  She is now a chain smoker of

   cigarettes; she reports that she gets an extremely powerful urge for, and

   must have, a cigar every now and then.  Conventional nicotine therapy has

   been ineffective.  We are awaiting the training of a spark for fine

   behavioral alteration, since gross changes can lead to long-term damage.

   She is considerably more humble than she used to be, so not all of the

   changes are negative.  Reprogramming is not necessary, since we have the

   video tapes.  She is worried about blackmail, and her career.  However,

   both she and I have expressed doubts about her ever regaining her former



      Miss Weber is pregnant with Daniel Bolton's child.  The results of the

   DNA test did not arrive until last week, as a conventional paternity test

   only eliminated some of the possibilities.  Her neural pathways show

   extensive alteration.  She is still somewhat hostage to her "Roaring

   Twenties" persona.  She still smokes the brown cigarettes (no other brand

   will suffice), and always uses one of an array of cigarette holders that

   she has acquired since the incident.  As with Dr. Moriat, conventional

   nicotine therapy has failed.

      All attempts at reprogramming have failed with Miss Weber.  We suspect

   that the integration of her other self interferes with the process.  She

   has had flashbacks where she has lapsed completely into her other persona.

   Interestingly, Phil seems to be the only person who can help bring her

   back from these episodes.

      Joanne has expressed a desire to leave the medical field.  I have

   requested that she be transferred to administration here.  Of course, her

   knowledge precludes her leaving the this site of the Institute, but I am

   going on record as being _strongly_ opposed to the alternative.

Dr. Ann Weston:  ACTIVE

      My scans show no modifications, and I am still puzzled by my immunity

   to the feedback loop's effects.  It would bode well for research in

   general if there were some justification for my immunity, and might allow

   for further attempts at a similar device.  I returned to work immediately

   following device shutdown, and have no perception of any effects at all

   from my exposure.

A handwritten note attached to the memo read:

   Despite this setback and the resulting aftermath, I will be attending 

the R&D meetings next month.  Look forward to seeing you as always.



P.S. Be a dear, and pick up two boxes of Nat Sherman's Beekman's and send 

them to me.  I seem to have grown fond of them, and it's bloody hard to 

find a good cigar out here.



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