The Adjusters #59, Part 3 of 3

March... kicked... my... ass...! Like, WTF happened?

Next installment, the last of Book V (Blessed be the Powers That Be), out May 1st. “Intermezzo: Jennifer Hansen”. Because obviously!

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Intermezzo: The Medicine Man (Part 3)

The next day, Colin Blackstone entered the bar near UCLA at seven sharp. He was nervous. He usually did not get nervous. Certainly not before meeting a girl, however attractive she might be. And that he was nervous made him nervous.

The bar had a different feel in the evening than it had during the day, as most places do. The crowd was more dressed up, everyone was a little more vocal, a little more active, a little more on. There were college students mixed in with older folks. In the back of the room, a band was setting up their equipment and getting ready to perform.

Colin stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around, noticing without seeing them all the beautiful girls littering the various tables. He saw Cindy, sitting at small table in the corner, nursing a neon-colored drink, a broad smile across her face, chatting with a handsome young man who was leaning way too close to her.

She must have felt Colin’s gaze on her, because Cindy looked right at him, and her smile spread to her own eyes. She returned her attention to the man above her.

Colin hesitated for a second, then decided. It was an easy decision. He took the three steps down to the courtyard, and excused his way through the crowd.

When he reached her table, he was not subtle. “Hey Cindy,” he said.

“Hi Colin,” she said, her smile still as broad. “Colin, this is Jack, who was keeping me company until you showed up.”

Said Jack glared at Colin, making it clear that Colin was intruding. Colin felt like decking him right there on the spot, a reaction he did not quite expect. Jack bugged him, bugged him something fierce.

“Jack,” Colin said, without extending a hand. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. You’d be surprised the number of arrogant assholes that just can’t help hitting on a pretty girl when she’s alone waiting for someone.”

Jack’s teeth clenched, and he did not respond, merely turned on his heels and trudged off, almost slamming into a couple standing behind him.

“It’s no problem, Colin my man,” said Colin after him in a falsetto voice. “Glad to be of help.”

Cindy laughed, and her crystalline laugh melted him. Fuck, he thought. That’s not good.

“That was mean,” she said, indicating he should sit down.

“Really?”

“He just wanted some love and attention.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about him,” he said, nodding behind Cindy. She turned, and saw the man, Jack, gleefully flirting with a pair of women in the back that looked like they had already too much to drink even at this early hour. “I think he might actually have a chance with those two.”

“It’s not kindda cheating when the girls’ intoxicated,” Cindy said, turning back to him. Did he imagine the meaningful glance she was giving him?

“I doubt he cares very much about that sort of thing.”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Huh, yeah,” Colin said, rolling his eyes. “That’s the easiest thing to ascertain about you?”

“Oh? And what’s harder?”

“What someone like you is doing in a place like this, with a guy like me?”

“Someone like me?”

“Beautiful, smart, observant, friendly.”

“How long have you been stalking me, then?”

Colin bit back a defensive response, and ordered a beer from a passing waitress. “Told you, I wasn’t stalking you. I saw you enter the bar, decided to wait for you, and hadn’t planned much beyond that. Clearly.”

“You’re lying, but you’re cute when you lie, so I’ll let that fly.”

Colin felt himself blush and was saved by the waitress sliding his beer in front of him.

“So how about we start from scratch. Hi I’m Colin—”

“Colin Blackstone. Thirty-one years old, single, living in Sherman Oaks. You come from Ann Harbor, but didn’t go to college there. You’ve been writing scripts for the past eight years, and have had a few short movies produced, but you haven’t made it big, though you’re trying, if finishing fifth in the Nicholl competition is any indication.”

Colin’s jaw fell and for a second there, he felt like he was the prey.

“How did you..?”

Cindy shrugged, and her smile broadened. “It’s amazing what you can find out online these days if you have a photograph and a modicum of wherewithal.”

“A modicum of wherewithal… right…”

Cindy looked to Colin like a cat that had swallowed a canary whole. “A girl’s gotta protect herself.”

“Okay, fine,” he said. “I’m a screenwriter. Guilty as charged.”

“And a good one, too. I read your The Postman Never Rings Thrice.”

“You read it?”

“Modicum. Wherewithal.”

“You’re a tiny bit frightening.”

“Little old me?” Cindy took a sip of her neon drink.

“So what did you think?”

“I liked it. It was a bit slow in the second act—and I’m not sure about Jeremy’s motivation—”

“Wait, you actually read it?”

“Well, yes?”

Colin was shocked. “Wow.”

“Why, didn’t you girlfriend ever read your screenplays?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” Cindy nodded towards the braided bracelet Colin wore on his right wrist. “You’ve got the whole laid-back kick-back I-dropped-out-but-I’m-cool vibe going for you, but only two kind of guys wear that kind of bracelet with those kind of colors: guys with a daughter, or guys with a girly girlfriend. And you don’t strike me as a guy with a daughter.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t be here doing this if you had one. You’re too sweet.”

“Shows what you know.”

“You got a daughter?”

“I’m not nice.”

“Never said you were nice. Said you were sweet.”

Colin drank his beer to give himself some time—he did not know how to handle this girl. Cindy merely sipped her drink, smiling.

“You think you’re quite clever, aren’t you?” he asked her, impressed despite himself.

She shrugged, but the smile never left her lips. “Clever enough to guess what you’re doing here?”

“Oh? And am I doing here?”

“That’s not the interesting question.”

“What is?”

“What am I doing here?”

“I think I did wonder about that, didn’t I?”

“I think you did, in fact.” Her smile grew wider. “You’re interesting, Colin Blackstone.”

It was his turn to shrug. “Not so sure about that.”

Cindy looked at her watch, and nodded. “Ah, time to go.” She reached across the table, and grabbed his hand. The move took Colin by surprise, and he felt his Gift kick in without any volition on his part—the spark of electricity shooting from his hand to the palm of Cindy’s surprising him more than anything else.

Cindy stood, beaming. “Ah! I love that.” She pulled him out of his chair, and Colin followed, stunned. Doubly so when he saw that the shirt that he thought Cindy was wearing was in fact a short dress, so short that it almost did qualify as a shirt, but did manage to cover—barely—her ass. Her legs were bare, and tantalizing and mouth-watering. Heels completed the picture, and gave her a much needed lift—she reached Colin’s shoulders now.

“Come on,” she said, pulling on his hand. She was practically jumping in place, which did wonderful things to the hem of her dress. Men around had noticed. “We’ll be late.”

“Where are we going?” Colin was barely catching up.

“You’ll see.”


* * *

Colin saw. And heard. And enjoyed.

Cindy had brought him to a small theater three blocks away, a dinky basement room with walls covered by burgundy curtains, where the floor was painted concrete and the audience sat on long benches of dark wood. The stage was in the center, with the benches on all sides, meaning that the actors had to turn around to face all audience members at any point during the representation.

The title of the play—if it could be called that—meant nothing to Colin. In through the back door. Three actors on the stage, two men a woman. They started the play with very little clothes on, and ended the play with even less.

Colin watched, transfixed, getting into the barebones of the story despite any misgivings, despite his being distracted by Cindy next to him, with her easy laugh and her tendency to swing her foot rhythmically when her legs—her delectable legs—were crossed. Colin guessed that she was watching him watch the play as much as she was watching the play proper. He did not mind.

It was a sexy play without being crass, arousing despite being unabashedly explicit. Colin was hard pressed to determine what the play was about exactly—it seemed to work on so many levels, whether on purpose or accidentally he had no clue—but something in it grabbed him, and his excitement grew, both for the play, and for Cindy.

For Cindy in the middle of the first act slipped her hand on his thigh, and the touch surprised him.

His surprise increased when at the beginning of the second act Cindy that time took his hand and place it square on her own thigh. Her leg was bare, and the feel of her warm soft skin on his palm was like a bolt of lightning in Colin, who had touched much female flesh in the past few years but none of it was messing with his mind the way this girl’s was.

Of course, as soon as his hand landed on her flesh, Colin felt the spark from his Gift skewer Cindy—unbidden, prompted by the copious amount of skin and sex and out and out dirty language in the play but also because of Cindy herself, delightful and sweet and smelling like candy right next to him. Again, she must have felt something, because she gave him a sideway glance and smiled coyly, shifting her legs slightly so that his touch was even more thorough, his whole palm pressing against her skin. Her dress had ridden up all the way to her upper thighs, and were he to lean forward he knew he could see what she wore underneath.

She did not react like any other girl he had ever affected. Generally, they would stare blankly for a few seconds, and then their behavior would be different, they would start acting either like he wanted them to act—often to throw themselves at him, or to whisper sweet dirty nothings in his ear, or to just strip, right then, right there, and offer themselves to him—or like he wanted them to act without admitting it to himself, but not Cindy. He could not tell how she was affected. That mystery was arousing all of its own. Like a game of hide and seek with his own subconscious.

What had he done now, with his latest touch? Part of him wanted to blatantly flip over Cindy’s short dress and expose whatever underwear she had on and fuck her, without preliminaries, without foreplay—enter her hard and fast and feel her petite body wrapped around him—hearing her shout his name and telling him to fuck her little slutty cunt harder, spank her for being a bad girl.

But Cindy was not moving, merely kept watching the play, and therefore his subconscious must have had some other plans for him. By that point, Colin had pretty much forgotten that Bryan had sent him to turn Cindy, to convince her to make dirty movies for him and his producer friends.

Cindy kept his hand on her thigh the whole time, pressed into her skin, and he ran it up and down her upper leg when he was not entirely captivated by the scenes acted out in front of him—the play was that good—once in a while going up dangerously high, feeling the hem of her dress over the back his hand, wanting to go up and feel the warmth of her pussy right there a few inches away, wondering whether he’d find her wet and ready and wanting him as much as he wanted her.

But all of those thoughts flew out of his mind by the last half of the second act, where the story just gripped him. He sat forward on the stand, almost straining to get closer, his hand forgotten, in a world of his own, too engaged to even feel jealousy toward the playwright.

There was no curtain, but the actors sauntered off the stage, entirely naked by that point in the performance, and the lights came back on, and Colin blinked back almost in shock, returning to the here and now, realizing belatedly that Cindy was looking at him with a broad grin and that his hand was underneath her dress and pressed into her crotch and that his fingers were damp.

She let him go and smiled knowingly, pulling the hem of her dress down. Colin merely stared at her, shock compounding shock. Cindy, never letting go of his hand, brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them lightly, and Colin for a second thought—wanted—her to suck on them, to taste her own juices, but she did not, even as he felt the jolt of his Gift fire through those same fingers and onto her lips.

He did not know what to say—this was so outside the norm of his interactions that he felt blocked. What was his subconscious trying to tell him. Unless—

It was the first time the thought came through his head.

Unless she was immune to his Gift.

His mind reeled as everyone around them stood up.

But it did not make sense. If she was not affected by his Gift, what was she doing here, with him? Why did she spend the last part of the play with—clearly—his hand pressed against her pussy?

He did not have time to dwell on any of that. Cindy stood, and they walked out.

“So what did you think?” Cindy asked as they stepped outside the small theater. The night was cool, but not cold. She was practically skipping, two steps ahead of him, her dress bouncing enticingly, her heels clicking on the sidewalk.

“About what?”

“About the play, silly! I saw you just zone out you were so into it. Liked it?”

Colin shook his head to clear it. “I did—it was…” He took a deep breath, refocused. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. How did you hear about it?”

Cindy, walking next to him on the sidewalk—they were wandering aimlessly, the high moon casting a glow everywhere—shrugged. She had slipped her arm underneath his. It felt astonishingly comfortable. In a flash, Colin wondered what Madeleine was up to, only to immediately feel guilty. What the fuck am I doing?

“A friend of mine came to see the play earlier in the week. She’s a friend of the actor, and she said that it was really good. And I trust her taste.”

“Which actor?”

“The one with the big dick,” Cindy said without skipping a beat. “So what did you think it was about? I came up with something like six different interpretations, and I’m not sure about any of them.”

“You mean, aside from the obvious one…”

“Right. The anal sex. Well, yeah, aside from that. It was clearly a metaphor.”

Colin looked at her, wondering where this girl came from. She was right of course. Colin had wondered during half the play exactly what it was about—it was clever, and seemed to work at several levels of subtext, may of which he merely guessed at. At face value, the plot revolved around about anal sex, or at least, about one of the men wanting to have anal sex with the woman, while the other man wanted to have anal sex with the first man. It was not clear what the woman wanted, but she kept playing between the two men, either working one against the other, or pushing them together despite their different proclivities.

Whatever the play was about, it made Colin think, and was not dull. Which he could not fathom, as there were essentially no props on the stage aside from a pair of chopsticks. He was curious who wrote the play.

“A metaphor for what, though?” Cindy continued. “The illusion of choice? The ability to create your own destiny? Pain as a definitional prerequisite for pleasure? Do you like anal, Colin?”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit personal, I think…”

Cindy shrugged. “The girl had a cute ass. I can see why the guy wanted to do it, to do her. I don’t particularly go for anal myself. It’s a bit… demeaning? Not in essence, of course. But in the current politico-sexual climate? It’s a power thing more often than not. Adds just the right touch of slut-shaming.”

She made a face, and then started on a little falsetto voice. “Cindy takes it up the ass, you know? She’s a little anal slut, a butt whore, a corn-hole queen.”

Colin looked at her,. Unbidden, an image of Cindy, on all four, hands on her butt cheeks pulling them apart, waiting for a man to slide into her rear—Cindy takes it up the ass. It had a nice ring to it.

“Then again,” Cindy continued, seemingly unaware of the images ringing through Colin’s brain, “that it’s a bit demeaning can be arousing, too. With the right guy, of course.”

The way she said it made Colin shiver. He was touching her—she had one arm under his, the other was holding his hand as she walked against him, as if they were an old couple—he took to it like there was nothing—and his Gift did its best to turn her into what he secretly or not so secretly wanted.

She noticed, once again, and turned to him and smiled. “So how long have you known you were a Special?”

“Excuse me?” He kept on saying that, but then again, she kept on blindsiding him.

“Right, you wouldn’t necessarily know the term, would you?” She frowned, the seriousness on her face he found almost as cute as her broad smile. “How long have you been able to influence the ladies by touching them. Because I presume that you can, and that you do.”

Colin was flustered, and for the first time in a long time—except for interviews with directors looking at script doctor—he was nervous and wanted to run away and hide somewhere. “I don’t know what—”

Cindy pulled him into the wide courtyard of a small hotel, where a large fountain held court, and she guided them to the side of the fountain. “Of course you do. I felt it just now, and all through the night—it tickles, just so you know. Like you’ve touched some tiny live wires.” She pressed into him, forcing him to sit against the fountain border, and she slid between his arms. “How does it work? Does it spark whenever you want? Do you even control it?”

She seemed to be working through it even as she spoke. Her eyes were far away—thinking about him, about how he worked. What had she called him? A Special? Colin was frightened, almost, but also could not help think about anything else than her petite body in his arms, warm against the slightly cool night, and his hands carried down her back. Cindy takes it up the ass, the voice in his head sang.

“If I were to guess, I’d say it sparks whenever you touch me and you get a dirty nasty thought about me.” She looked up at him and smiled. And went on her tiptoes and kissed him, a light kiss that fired him up all the way. “Are you thinking about my ass?” she asked him in a soft voice, almost shy.

Unbidden, the spark flew from his lips to hers, and she giggled—it was a giggle, no mistake there. “You are a dirty boy, Colin Blackstone. And you’ve had a lot of naughty thoughts about me all evening.”

“You can’t blame a man for that,” he started. “I mean, it’s—”

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s kind of sweet. In a creepy entitled way, of course. It’s like you just expect to click your fingers and your date just falls to her knees like an adoring fan.” Colin could not tell whether she was serious, but there was a light in her eyes, one he had seen often, because he had put it there for many girls—arousal. This was turning her on. I must have done this then, he told himself. Why the fuck does my brain do this to me?

“So what were you thinking about then?” Cindy asked him.

“I don’t… look, Cindy… I like you, a lot, but—”

“Good,” she said, and she kissed him again. But this time, there was no lightness, no coyness. She kissed him hard, her body—her breasts—pressing against his, her stomach rubbing against his crotch. Another spark flew from his lips, just as he slipped his hands down to her ass—to her round tight ass barely covered by her skimpy dress—and it seemed to merely spur Cindy on.

She pulls back, and they stared at each other for a beat, Colin feeling his head spin, Cindy with a look in her eyes that was half lust half amusement. She bit her lip, smiled.

“You’ll have to tell me everything you thought about me, all the things you’ve imagined me doing, all the dirty things you wanted me to do in that head of yours.”

“Cindy,” he said, pushing her away with a force of will that surprised him. “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but—”

“Me? I’m not doing anything. You’re the one making me do it, remember?” Again, she had an undecipherable smile on her lips, but she kissed him again before he could ponder about that too long. Colin felt his resolve crumble, thoughts of Madeline and Radhika, and even Bryan Seeker flying out of his head. There was something to her kisses, something playful—and the way she squirmed in his arms, as if she was trying to guide his hands to all the sensitive spots on her body.

“Come,” she said, pulling out of their embrace and taking his hand. She dragged him away from the fountain and into the lobby of the small hotel, almost deserted at this hour, against almost skipping, a broad smile on her face, her hair bouncing about, her legs delectable in the soft lift.

She headed to the elevator, which opened as she pressed the button. Colin followed her in and he was all over her when the doors closed. This time he was the aggressor, pushing her against the wall of the compartment and kissing her, one of his hands reaching up for her breasts through her dress, and her moans in response merely egged him on. Had the elevator ride been longer, he would have shoved a hand down her panties and explored the steaming hot treasure he expect to find there.

Colin had given up any pretense at resistance by the time they reached a room to which Cindy had a key. Which action should perhaps have made him suspicious, but he was too distracted by the girl in his arms to really care.

They tumbled into the room after Cindy managed to unlock it, laughingly fending away Colin's kisses into her neck and his hands wandering underneath her dress, discovering her diminutive underwear, just a few strings holding up whiff of silky material and exposing soft smooth fleshy cheeks that fit in the palm of his hands as if they had always belonged there.

“Hold on, Mister Octopus,” she laughed, pushing him away. I’ve got something for us.” She walked over to a table by the wall, which held a bottle of sparkling wine on ice and two glasses. She corked open the bottle, and filled the two glasses. She handed one to Colin.

He drank it, and was surprised by the taste. “It’s sweet? It’s not champagne?”

“It’s Italian. We don’t have much of a taste for the dry stuff.”

Colin stopped and looked at her for a second, frowning. Cindy—Cynthia Barnes, Bryan had told him. “You’re Italian?” She did look it, if there was such a look. Definitely something Mediterranean about her.

“Maybe,” she grinned, and she put her glass down. She had not touched it. She unbuttoned her dress and after four buttons it collapsed at her feet in slow motion.

Colin stared.

Her body had been on display most of the night, but seeing it like this, in front of him, completely exposed but for a pair of thin gossamer pink panties that barely hid anything, her skin pale and smooth, her breasts standing tall with nipples hard and red, her curves guiding the eye toward all the attractions she presented, she looked beautiful.

“Where were we?” she asked, a purr in her voice. She took a step forward, out of the pile that was her dress. She still had her heels on, Colin noted almost absent-mindedly. He liked it. “Ah yes,” she said. “You were about to take your pants off.”

She rubbed her hands up and down the sides of her body as she watched him fumble for the belt on his slacks after pulling his shirt above his head. When he was down to his boxer shorts, he waited for a second and exchange a grin with Cindy before pulling them down and standing naked before him.

“Like this?” he asked. He was getting into it. So the girl wanted to play—or he wanted her to play, he was fine with that—so he would play.

“Nice,” Cindy said, cupping one of her breasts and squeezing it, two fingers playing with a hard nipple. “Sit on the bed,” she said.

“What if I want to go over there and grab you?”

Her eyes flashed with pleasure. “Oh you’d ravish me? Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you were thinking before when you were going all sparks on me? You were thinking of grabbing me, maybe throwing me against the wall and fuck me just like that, like a whore, against the wall, hard, and I’d like it because you know I like it rough—you’d make me like it rough?”

She seemed to turn herself on as she spoke, and Colin watched her, turned on himself. He had never meet someone like her—he had never turned someone like her like that.

Her smile turned almost wolfish. “Or maybe you were thinking of getting me to crawl to you, on my hands and knees, like a bitch crawling to her master, itching to serve, begging to submit.” She dropped to her knees, her eyes never leaving his. When she leaned forward, her breasts swung, their movement enticing.

She took a cat-like step towards him, and Colin’s legs suddenly felt heavy and he sat down on the bed, his erection swaying, hard.

She crawled to him, the way she had told him she would, and she looked less like a submissive girl crawling to her master than a wild cat stalking a prey. Colin was okay with that.

“Actually, I was thinking about your ass,” he said, getting into her game.

“Really?” She had reached him, and she straightened up between his legs, on her knees. He reached over to fondle her breasts, and she arched her back to give him better access. “Mmm, that feels nice. So you were thinking about my ass? My tight little ass?”

“Yeah.”

She grabbed his cock. The touch was electric to Colin, doubly more so when she started moving her hand up and down, jacking him off. “You like fucking girls in the ass, Colin? I bet you get to do it with them all the time, with the kind of skill you have. You just snap your fingers and boom she’s on the ground offering her ass to you, don’t you? And you love it.”

Colin grinned, not arguing the matter, and let go of one of her breasts long enough to snap his fingers, looking at her in the eyes all the while.

Cindy laughed, and stroked his cock harder. “I told you, I find getting assfucked pretty demeaning. Do you like that, demeaning girls? Making them feel like whores?”

“Some of them like it.”

“Yes, some of them do. And those that don’t, you just make them like it anyway, right? Is that what you want to do with me? Make me like taking your big cock up my tight little ass?”

Her hand stroked him harder, and Colin groaned and leaned back on the bed. His head was spinning now—Cindy was that good. He closed his eyes, and he hoped that she would take his cock into her mouth and suck him. He was certain she was a fantastic cocksucker.

But she did not. Instead, Cindy pushed herself up and straddled his lap. Her panty-clad crotch pressed into his erection, and she leaned forward, her face close to his. She still had her broad smile across her face. “Thing is, my little asshole is way too small, way too tight—your big cock would never fit.” Her lips were wet, red. “You’d really have to force it in, like, real hard.”

She kissed him, hard, and he responded just as hard, while his hand sought the topic of discussion—her tight rear—and massaged it, and Colin could not help but wonder how it would feel to invade it.

“Is that what Bryan wants to see?” Cindy whispered in his ear as she rubbed herself against him. “You forcing your big fat cock up my tight little asshole?”

What?

That jerked him out of his cozy little world, and he wanted to pull back and look at her but she was too heavy now, and his head was spinning even faster.

“Oh yes,” she said, almost purring. “I know what you’re up to. Bryan sent you, didn’t he? Bryan Seeker? To convince me to star in his little movies?”

He wanted to argue, but it was getting more and more difficult to move. His hands slid off her ass, and fell to the bed.

Cindy kept on rubbing herself against him, against his cock that remained hard, craving the attention, demanding release. “I know you and he have made movies together in the past. And I’ve seen the sort of things he shoots for his producer friend. Real dirty stuff—rough interracial, degrading gangbangs, vicious anal fucks, throat choking—really sick. Is that what you want to see, me being abused like a piece of meat? Is that what gets you off? Turning poor innocent little girls like me into dirty whores that fuck on camera?”

He wanted to defend himself, to tell her that he was not like that, not anymore—there was Madeleine now, and he wanted to make it work with her, and there was Radhika, that was helping him control his impulses and become a better human being, but he could not talk anymore. The world had stopped spinning, blessedly, but the movement had been replacing by a rushing sensation, one that filled his ears, his mind, his soul, and he could no longer control his eyes, which started to roll up in his head.

“Ah, the drug’s kicking in. Sorry about that, Colin,” Cindy said, sounding almost apologetic. She was close, very close. “You’ll have a killer headache tomorrow. But you also won’t remember a thing about tonight. I’m sorry. But I can’t pass up the opportunity to do this.”

He felt her get off from him, and he was left in the void, in the dark, unable to move, unable to think. His head was starting to lose grip with reality.

He felt something cold on his left arm, and felt the prick of a syringe. She was drawing blood—one vial, two, three. Maybe more. He lost count. He was still hard. He was still horny. He wanted to fuck her bad. He wanted to sleep.

“There you go,” she said, and her voice came from far, very far. He nearly jumped—except he could not move—when she grasped his cock again, and stroked him. “I gotta check this out,” she said.

And he felt her climb on top of him again, and then his cock was engulfed in warmth and wetness, and he sank into her pussy to the hilt in one stroke, and he would have gasped had he been able to, and instead Cindy gasped for him as she ground her crotch against his.

But she did not fuck him—she pulled off, and the cold of the air was almost a shock after the heat he had felt.

Cindy said, in a tone that he might have recognized as fascination, “Very, very interesting,” and he might have wondered what she meant by that had he been in any position to process her words.

He felt her hands back on his cock, and she stroked him again, and he felt confusedly grateful, and she did not stop this time, continued stroking him faster and faster until he exploded, his cum spurting out of his cock as his consciousness petered out.

He did not see Cindy collect his semen in a small vial.

Her last words to him he did not understand, and would not remember if not for her writing them down on a note that she would leave on the nightstand. “I suggest you don’t hang out around me too much, Colin. I have some people watching me that are very bad news for people like you. So I expect I won’t see you again. It’s been fun. Oh, and check out is at eleven.”

And then his world went dark.


* * *

ADCORP CONFIDENTIAL MEMO to Adonai Davenham.

SUBJECT: Cynthia Caprese

MEMO: As a consequence of direct executive order red-flagging Operation Caprese, the observation team for Cynthia Caprese (level 1, distance observation, no contacts) has remained in place, collecting data. No suspicious contact, no interaction with any other subject pertaining to Operation Cargyle. Recent observation logs attached.

The observation team reports contacts with an individual identified as Colin Blackstone (biographical information attached). Request analysis of situational reports to validate the possibility that Blackstone might be a Special. Preliminary analysis indicates a Special Identification Score of 23.4, three standard deviations above the mean. Since Operation Caprese is red flagged, awaiting further instructions.