Chapter 1
From the outside, there was nothing at all about the red-brick building with the walls heavily coated in the thick mat of ivy that would have distinguished it from any other building on the campus of Fenwood University. The path that ran in front of it was covered with the same snow that covered the rest of the campus. The students bundled tightly in coats, mufflers, scarves and gloves, and arms filled with books and briefcases were the same all over the campus.
Had any of those students bothered to compare notes, they might have been surprised to realize that they'd never actually had a class scheduled in that building ... nor did any of them ever know anyone who had.
What was it, an inquisitive one might ask, and if he was induced to search further for an answer, he would be politely informed that there were nothing but dusty old records stored there, of no consequence to anyone. A forgotten chapter in the otherwise prestigious history of Fenwood University, nestled away in the New England countryside, turning out its yearly quota of men and women well versed in the arts and sciences that were supposed to constitute an educated citizen.
No one, it would actually turn out, had ever been inside the building.
No one, it would become clear, with only a minimal amount of research, was ever encouraged to ask too many questions about the building.
What, was it?
What were the deeds performed behind its locked doors and shaded windows that required such secrecy?
At that very moment, in one of the more centrally located rooms of that very building, a long legged red-head was carefully placing note pads and cups of coffee at six places around a circular table.
The lighting in the room was soft. The lamps had been inconspicuously positioned in the various obscure corners in such a way that no matter how one sat, or held ones pencil, no shadow would be cast onto the actual writing surface.
Everything was precise. There were neatly arranged rows of books lining the wood paneled walls, the furniture was old but in immaculate condition, and the atmosphere spoke of a kind of refined elegance, perfectly suited to the academic environment that lay outside, nearly hidden in the huge drifts of New England snow.
At precise one O'clock, (for didn't all briefings begin at one o'clock?), the book-lined wall slid open.
Yes, that's right, it slid open. Simply vanished into one of the cleverly fashioned corners of the room, and revealed another room behind it, one that was not quite in keeping with the refined elegance of the academic ivy league.
If one stood next to the table at which the secretary had placed the notepads and coffee cups, they would have glimpsed a battery of lights, all blinking in astonishing confusion.
They would have also seen white-smocked technicians, and banks of rotating magnetic tape assemblies.
They would, in short, have glimpsed, if only for a moment, one of the regional nerve centers of our nation's intelligence community.
Such a pleasant word, community. It suggests a quiet village, gentle people, pastoral activities ... not all that removed from the academic community, really.
However, there was no one standing at the table to glimpse the computer center concealed behind the lavish wood paneled wall.
The only ones who were there were in fact emerging from that room, and now they took their places around the table.
"Gentlemen," said a white-haired man who could easily have headed a law school on the basis of his physical appearance alone, "I'm sure you know the reason why we are here. The alert was received this morning at eight-thirty, and thus far, we have had only unofficial confirmation. It is not known whether or not the team is in fact here in Serenity right now, or whether they will try to move on to Washington. This much is clear. The sighting was unquestionable the man we seek. Those of you familiar with this case, may refer to him as "The Wolf, others may have a different name for him. The fact is, the months of rumor are ended. He is here, and for all we know, there is a team already assembled somewhere to meet him. We don't know, We know only that if that is the case, we have to locate the team, locate "The Wolf, prevent them from linking up ... but before we arrest them, we have to somehow learn what their mission is."
"Why is that, sir?" asked a thin man who might easily have been a math professor.
"Because, Jack, we must know if this center has been discovered. It may very well be that they plan an attack on our operation here. It may just be that the President is addressing the American History Federation here next week, and they are the assassination squad that we've been expecting. We don't know. We have to find out, particularly if the cover for our operations here has been blown."
"What suggestions do you have?"
"None. Except that no one has ever seen "The Wolf and lived to tell about it. Our confirmation that he'd crossed the border from Canada came this morning from the reports of the two murdered patrolmen."
He paused for emphasis.
"Their throats had been chewed out."
Across campus, a stunning blonde paused as she emerged from the student union cafeteria.
The coffee that she held in her hand was steaming in the crisp air, and the cup felt good to her touch. She was freezing, and really bothered that it had been necessary to get up so early to help Mark finish his project, but that's what happened when you were a graduate assistant, and your professor was a nationally recognized authority. You did whatever was called for, because you didn't dare sever any possible connections that would otherwise help your own career.
She knew really, however, what was going on in the back of his mind. She'll be tired, and her reflexes won't be as sharp, is what he'll be thinking, she muttered to herself. She had no doubts that before the morning session was over, she would be required to deflect several advances, some clumsy, some quite subtle and sophisticated.
It was, in fact, a measure of pride for her that she'd managed to be his graduate assistant for this entire semester so far, and still maintained a working relationship with him, while also keeping her honor intact.
Not that she was a virgin. She just wasn't all that hot about getting it on with Mark.
She turned and began to walk towards the Psychology building when she noticed a tall male with a backpack on the ground beside him. He was stepping over to her.
"Excuse me," he said, politely, "but I was wondering if there were any facilities for putting people up for the night, you know, if they're just passing through. I'm not a ass, I can pay and every thing ... seriously." He was cute.
That was the first thing that Rixie Morgan thought.
He looked like he needed a shave, but his stubble wasn't more than a day old, another good sign.
There were the usual quantity of transients passing through the Fenwood campus, just as with any major college, and the student government had set up a reference board listing places that were available. She was about to direct him that way, when something made her pause. Damn, she thought, he sure is cute. His eyes were ... kind. That's the only way that she could explain it. They were kind eyes. And even though it was cold and his face was partially hidden by the scarf that he had wrapped around him, she could still see that he sparkled with humor.
What the hell, she thought, explain it however she could, the bottom line was that she was attracted to him.
"Um ... yes," she said, "how long are you going to be in town?"
"Just a day or two. I'm going on to New
York next week, but I've always wanted to see the campus here."
"That sounds a little odd, if I may say so."
"Not really. My father was a student here. I've heard stories about this place since I was a child.
"Well ... " she said, pondering her options one last time before making her decision, "I think I might know a place where you can crash. It's got a comfortable couch, and it's free. And the heat works."
He was looking at her with a quizzical look. "Tell me more."
"Well, it's kind of a communal situation. There's five of us who live there. My sister, myself, and another girl and two guys. It's a big old house, and we split the rent, and it's a really beautiful place. If you want a place to crash, that shouldn't be too hard to arrange."
Even as she spoke, she wondered, is this right? Or am I a fool?
He too seemed to be a little puzzled.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "You don't even know me."
"I know." She debated whether or not to tell him the simple truth. "Call it intuition," she said. "You have kind eyes."
He smiled, thinking it to be just another spacy-college student description. The truth was, Rixie's intuition was something out of the ordinary. She'd long ago learned that her first impressions were uncannily correct. Within the first ten seconds, a person's emotional aura would become something almost visible to her. She had no explanation for it. It never took the form of voices in her head or anything supernatural ... simply ... intuition. So far, it had proven a valuable guide in her treatment of people. And then, of course, there was that flight home one Christmas that she'd refused to board at the last second. Her sister Trixie had nearly left without her.
"This is ridiculous!" her sister had berated her. "You're a fool! We'll never get home now! Never!! ! "
But, in a way that identical twin sisters sometimes have of understanding each other, Trixie seemed to comprehend at a level beneath her conscious confusion that her sister's intuition was something of substance. When word had reached them of their flight's collision with another plane in a snowstorm, with everyone on board burnt beyond recognition, that conviction was dramatically reinforced, and at a much more conscious level.
"My name's Rixie," the girl now said to the stranger about whom she felt no evil vibrations.
"Dennis. Dennis Slade," he said, taking her hand. "That coffee looks great. Where can I pick up some just like it?"
She directed him to the cafeteria, and told him that if he'd just wait there for a couple of hours, she'd be back. They agreed on a meeting time.
"Hey, listen," said Dennis, as she turned to leave for her appointment, for which she was already late, "thanks. Thanks a lot."
She smiled, and though still not exactly sure why she'd let herself trust him, felt confident from experience that her trust was well placed. She'd have bet the rent money on it.
Trixie Morgan rolled over in her bed and looked out the window. "My GOD!"
The crumpled mass of arms and legs beside her in bed mumbled incoherently.
"Steve, look, look, it's snowed! Look. Oh it's so beautiful!"
From beneath the covers, a pained yawn could be heard.
"Give me a break, will you. It's ... Christ, it's only nine-thirty. It's the middle of the fucking night!"
"Oh that's your problem! I didn't ask you to get a hard-on so many times last night."
"Yeah, well, you didn't ask me to get rid of them either. Now cut the shit and let me go back to sleep."
"No! I want to go out and play in the snow! It's the first snow of the season and it's always the most beautiful."
A hand emerged from the mess of covers and pushed the blanket back down the bed as if in slow motion.
"Trixie, you'd think you've never seen snow before."
"I'm from Florida! What do you want. The closest thing we have to snow is the sand on the beach. And somehow, it's not the same thing."
"This is your third year here."
"I'm still a tourist, all right! Now give me a break and come outside and play in the snow with me."
He stared at her through eyes that seemed incapable of registering anything.
"You're squinting Steve, stop it. It makes you look like a mole."
"I feel like a mole," he said, burrowing once more into the covers.
She pulled them back down. "Steve," she said, giving her body a petulant shake that caused her two firm breasts to quiver deliciously, "I'm not playing!"
He opened his eyes again.
"I know. That's what bothers me."
She pouted, and then, realizing that he wasn't looking at her, she shook him.
"Stevieeee ... " she said, instantly switching the tone of her voice, "come on. Play with me."
A hand emerged from the covers and began to pinch her nipples.
"Tell me when I can stop playing with you and go back to sleep."
She started to slap his hand away, but then decided to let him continue. His fingers kept manipulating her nipples and both quickly became very hard.
"Had enough yet?"
"No," she said. He might be tired, but she'd never known him to turn down her body, at any time of day, under any circumstances. Ever.
He kept working over her breasts, and then, he reached out with his other hand and brought both of them into the picture.
She had breasts that would stop a truck.
That's what Steve had always told her. Beautifully rounded breasts, with tight brown circles in the center, and nipples that seemed always to be hard and erect. Perhaps that was just the brisk climate, or at least that's what she'd always told Steve, but the truth was, she just had stiff nipples.
Even so, touching them the way Steve was doing now only made them harder, and would cause them to swell in size.
She loved to have her breasts played with, loved to have them sucked, loved to feel his teeth on them, loved to feel him bite her ... even to the point of leaving teeth marks. Sometimes, in fact, Steve proved too squeamish for her taste, too passive, not willing to be bold, daring, not willing to try and push her past her limits ... to force her into those realms of ecstasy that she knew she was capable of attaining, but which she herself did not have to courage to seek out on her own.
No, it took a strong man. A brave man. A bold man....
Steve pinched hard on her nipple now, hard enough to hurt, but for some reason, she was not in the mood for his efforts in that direction this morning. Sometimes, it was so obvious that he was just playing games, that he really didn't have his heart in it....
"Just fuck me this morning," she said, smiling sweetly, "please. Just fuck me nice and slow and gentle, and make me come with your cock."
She stroked said cock as she spoke softly to him, and saw that it had already grown quite stiff indeed.
She let her fingers play around the head, squeezing it a little, and then she began to stroke the entire shaft, bringing her fingers up and down in long, lazy motions that she knew sent him out of his mind. Steve was a poet. Steve was a musician. Steve was (as he liked to say) sensitive as shit. Which was why he liked his sex to be refined, genteel ... almost polite, she would sometimes restlessly think. And yet, he was a nice guy, smart, with a good academic future assured, teaching comparative literature in some other liberal arts school, much like Fenwood.
She once again ran through her conflicting feelings about Steve.
Did she love him?
She might.
Did she like going to bed with him. Yes, she did.
Could she imagine spending the rest of her life with him? Yes, she could.
Was it a good life that she imagined? Well-Did she find him boring? Well-Did she find herself getting an itch that he just didn't seem to know how to scratch? Well ... yes, to all of the above. Conflicting.
Just now, however, she was willing to shelve her confusion, letting it take a back seat to the sensations that were starting to bubble out of her cunt, as she watched his cock get stiffer and stiffer. He was so well hung! That was another major point in his favor, and she'd be a fool to deny it.
If only she could coax him into being more adventurous with it.
The surface of his dick was sticky, and a little shiny, from the layer of dried jism and pussy juice that remained on it from their marathon fucking session the night before. He never had any trouble getting it up.
He never had any trouble fucking her for however long it took her to go crashing through several brain shattering orgasm before coming himself.
What then was the trouble?
She wouldn't let herself admit it ... not really. Ropes ... whips ... chains ... handcuffs ... They were all just a little heavy for a small town girl from the Florida Panhandle to deal with at any sort of conscious level. Steve, on the other hand, had no trouble dealing with them. He simply chose not to.
He was a meat an potatoes man. He like his sex good, solid, and straight.
Fortunately, she was in the mood for it that way herself just now, because from the looks of this cock in her hand, that's exactly how she was going to get it.
He sat up further in bed, and placed his hands behind her head, gently guiding her mouth to his cock.
She wasn't sure how she felt about sucking it after it had already been in her so many times, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, she just let her tongue start to lick over the surface and found the salty flavor kind of stimulating. It was a little kinky for her to know that she was licking up her own cunt juice.
She opened her mouth a bit wider and let more of his cock slide down her throat. He never rammed his cock into her mouth, not wanting to hurt the membranes at the back of her throat. He let her take in as much as she could, and just lay back, while she sucked, slurped and nibbled him to a heightened state of arousal.
Then she felt his fingers starting to crawl over her thighs, and as he gripped her legs tighter and started pulling her towards him, she tasted the first drops of his semen forming at the slit in the center of his glans.
He began to lick along the inside of her thighs.
"How do I taste?" she asked.
"Like you've been fucking," he said to her. "How do I taste?"
"Strangely enough, the same way," she replied.
His tongue moved closer and closer to her pussy, slithering now along the ridge between her thighs and crotch. He licked lightly and lovingly, letting his tongue dart along the outer surface of her cunt lips, letting it wiggle through her pubic bush, letting it slip into her slit every now and then, but avoiding her hole, and avoiding her clitoris, two areas that he knew drove her crazy.
It was his favorite technique, to move all around her most erogenous zones, without ever applying direct stimulation to the one part that she would be craving most.
He kissed her pussy right on top of the slit. She was still soaking wet from the night before, although most of his jism had leaked out and left a dry stain on her sheets once more. Her membranes were swollen with an already deep-seated lust, and as he probed deeper and deeper with his tongue, it only increased the tingling sensation that was flooding her body.
She finally had to let his cock alone, unable to concentrate any longer on his tool while he was doing such an expert job of eating her out like this.
"Oh, Steve, Steve, Steve," she moaned, "oh, honey, it feels so good. So fucking good!"
He said nothing, but she knew that he was well aware of the fact that she never faked her arousal. When he was successful in stimulating her, she became very, very vocal about letting the world know about it.
She felt his fingers on her lips now, tickling lightly along the edges, letting his fingertips slip beneath the surface to press and explore her soaking flesh that lay under her lips.
Then, he took each lip between his fingers and began to open her pussy. She looked down at him, and saw that he was studying her intently, like a scientist waiting for the results of an experiment.
He pulled her lips wide, and then pulled them upwards.
She could look down between her legs and see her clitoris at last pop into view, assuming its rightful place at center stage.
She was starting to really ache, and she wanted it to be taken care of, immediately.
"Oh, Steve, don't wait any more. Please. Suck it. Bite it. It feels so good. I need it so."
He looked up at her and smiled.
Then, without warning, he brought his teeth around it from top and bottom and clamped down with his jaws.
Hard.
Sharply.
But only for a split second. He released the pressure almost as soon as it was applied, but it left a residue of warm tingling that filled her groin, and set all her muscles, particularly those in her legs, to a mad spastic dance.
She was starting already to feel light headed and dizzy, to feel the world spinning slowly in place, or was it she who was spinning, while the rest of the world remained inert?
Again she felt his teeth on her clitoris, but this time it was only to allow the edges of his top teeth to scrape across her bud of flaming nerves.
Pulling her lips apart and up as he was doing allowed her clit to pop out from beneath its usual protecting hood of flesh. There was a lot of the raw organ exposed to his teeth.
She jerked, feeling her stomach and hips drive sharply upwards.
He had simply touched her clit with his teeth, but at the first scraping movement a reflex had triggered inside her that had been completely beyond her control.
As her muscles triggered and shot her pelvis upwards, it forced her clit into sharp collision with Steve's teeth.
It hurt this time, and it hurt badly.
She screamed out. "OH! OH GOD! Oh God that hurts."
Her hips were bucking wile as though someone had inserted two lit sticks of magnesium up her pussy.
Steve's reaction was to immediately sit up.
"Trixie, did I hurt you," he asked.
"It's all right, it's all right. Honest, it's all right," she said, pushing his head back down between her legs.
Come on, Steve, she thought, this is no time to be polite.
He returned to her slit and resumed his treatment of her clitoris.
He placed his lips around the entire area, and then puckered them slightly, creating a powerful suction around her clit as he did so.
This drew the loose flesh, her clit included, up into his mouth where he could chew on it at length.
She began to moan wildly now, feeling the pressure of his mouth surrounding her clit.
If hot wax has been poured into her crotch, it couldn't possibly have felt any hotter than his mouth felt.
"Oh, my God! Oh my God, oh my GOD!! ! "
She was moaning and rolling her hips now.
"Harder, Steve, please, harder."
He sucked with a little more, intensity, but for the most part kept his mouth at a delicate balance between really squeezing her clit, and gently massaging it.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, it feels so good," she moaned.
She felt sharp bolts of electric energy shooting back through her body, filling her with an overwhelming sensation of falling, as if she was sinking.
She felt a pit seeming to open up right there on the bed, and felt herself being sucked right into it, the same as her clit was being sucked into Steve's mouth.
"Oh, please, fuck me now," she moaned at last, wanting to feel something to counter the powerful ache in her cunt. "Please, stick your hard cock into my pussy."
She reached for his cock and wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing it hard as the tension in her cunt mounted.
"Yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... " she cried, feeling her pussy beginning to sputter into an orgasm.
She was close, so very close, she felt all she'd have to do was close her eyes and concentrate just a little, and she'd spill right over the top.
She began to beat his cock up and down, as though she was masturbating him, but her real reason was that she simply needed something to do with her hands. He was bringing her closer, closer ... she could feel the juice flowing out of her pussy like water from a leaky faucet, but still, he managed to keep her poised there, not really falling in, not pulling back, simply hovering there in that torturous limbo.
Then, he gave her clit two solid bites with his teeth, and as her body exploded and she began to scream and quiver through a massive quaking orgasm, he quickly reversed the position of his body, and brought his cock right up to the lips of her pussy. It was sopping wet, and he needed no lubrication whatsoever to allow easy entry to the inner depths of her body.
She felt him pushing the glans in past her lips. Penetration was perhaps the most delicious moment of fucking, the point when everything, more or less, came together.
She loved the feeling of Steve's cock as it crept deeper and deeper into her body.
She felt her lips opening wider and wider as the glans pressed past. The full shaft was wide, very, very wide, and she could feel the rim of her pussy hole opening up to receive him, and could also feel her membranes being pulled back in the direction that his cock was moving as the dry surface scraped over her soft mushy tissues.
She held her breath, and even though she felt herself come to another orgasm while he was entering her, she only allowed it to jolt her body with several jarring muscle spasms. She kept quiet, wanting to focus totally on the feeling of his cock as it slowly moved down her cunt channel and at last pressed against the back of her pussy.
"I feel you in me," she said to Steve, "and you feel so big, and so long, and you fill me up so much, and...."
Whenever she got a cock in her, she would start to babble like this. It was true that Steve's cock felt good, and that it was amazingly long and thick, but she was susceptible to cocks in general, not just Steve's. That it was his cock that was in her at this moment, was the reason that she was in love with his cock.
He kept his cock at rest between the walls of her cunt, and shifted the position of his body to make his angle of approach more accessible.
Then, suddenly, without warning, he jerked his hips back and pulled his cock almost all the way out of her body, leaving only the swollen glans to rest between her lips, still flowing a full current of juice from deep within the depths of her cunt.
He let his cock rest there for perhaps five or ten seconds, (she really had no way of measuring time now ... she was simply floating on pure physical sensation), and then, as rapidly as he'd yanked it out, he plunged his cock back into her.
She once more felt the head plowing a straight course to the bottom of her pussy and press harshly against the back wall, but this time, he was viciously ramming it through her, and she felt as though her body was being split open.
"Steve, Steve, Steve," she moaned, unable to think clearly enough to form any phrases that were more complex.
He pulled his cock back out of her again, this time moving slowly and gently.
She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do.
Once more, he plowed back into her, but this time he came to a sudden halt when he'd buried his cock only halfway in her.
Instead of pulling back out again, he this time, left it there, and began to move his hips in broad circular motions.
The head of his cock was set against the walls of her cunt at an angle and as he moved his hips, rolling them in ever widening circles, the head began to press all around against the walls inside her pussy, stretching them even further than they had already been stretched.
She started to moan, and to slam her hips back against his body.
Every time he move his cock around, she could feel the shaft pressing against the membranes that surrounded her clitoris, and slowly, steadily, she was brought closer and closer to another orgasm by this indirect stimulation of her bud.
Steve then surprised her by sticking his hand down between their bodies, and seeking out her clit with his fingers.
She could feel him pressing through her wet membranes, and then it was as though someone had set off a flashbulb in her brain.
Every nerve ending in her body fired at the same time, and a massive jolt of current hit her from all directions at once. She felt like a dried leaf in a hurricane. She felt like a speck of dust at the vortex of a tornado.
She felt like she had melted.
Her brain rapidly approached critical mass, and when combined with the sensations already pouring through the rest of her body from her pussy, she knew that her orgasm was close.
And then, Steve began to move his hips faster and faster against her, plunging his cock in and out of her.
Faster and faster! Harder and harder!
In and out!
Out an in!
She felt him slam the head against the back of her pussy with every harsh stroke no matter how fast he was able to move, and she wrapped her thighs around his back to enable him to plow even deeper into her.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, my GODDDDD!!!"
When it hit, she suddenly had a good idea how Hiroshima felt on that fateful day.
She too was suddenly blinded by the light, the pure white heat of sexual release.
It sent a shock wave rippling all through her body. If she'd been a building, she'd most certainly have come down.
As it was, she was simply afraid that she'd come apart.
As she began to scream louder and louder, Steve simply increased the tempo of his thrusts until he was moving so fast in her that it was impossible for her to keep up.
In and out, in and out, out and in.
Deeper and deeper.
Harder and harder.
He was relentless, he was persistent, he was dogmatic.
In the end, he was devastating.
She crashed to a peak, and then, riding his cock like a surfer rides a wave, she soared all the way at the height, like catching the curl all the way into the shore.
She felt heat, and for a moment thought it was the sun on her back, that she was once again on one of those deliriously white Florida beaches.
But no, she was in Serenity, on the campus of Fenwood University, and there was snow all over the ground, and she sure missed her parents sometimes and wasn't that a strange sound that she could hear ... what was it?
She sat up. It had been the sound of her breathing! She'd fallen asleep for a moment, fucked into a catatonic stupor by Steve's cock, still inside her, still a little hard, although he too seemed to have nodded off once more.
She wondered if she'd be able to move out of the bed, without waking him.
She doubted it.
Trixie sighed.
It had been nice. It was always nice. But it wasn't enough.
Why, she wondered, knowing all the while, exactly why. It was the same with Rixie. They both knew it. They both knew the reason. It had been several years now, since their Daddy had....
But she wasn't able to think about it. The events themselves were still too bizarre for her to cope with. Only the residue, the echoes they'd left in her brain remained.
But deep in the smoldering embers of her cunt, and deep in the dim shadows of her mind, there remained the images, the desires, the wants ... the ropes, the bound wrists, the legs splayed across the bed ... and the whip, the whips hovering always over her, sometimes nearly vanishing in the shadows of the past, but never fully. Always some trace of them remained, something that nagged at her, saying, it's not enough. It's not enough. You need more. You need more. You need to feel ... '
She wondered now, as she often did, what ever happened to her daddy.