This choice: Play around with Monique • Go Back...Chapter #45A Hijacking by: Seuzz   The t-shirt binds tightly to your pert breasts, and you clutch your trim tummy as a hot flush of excitement runs through you. Your breath comes in short gasps, and a long strand of brown hair falls into your face.
You are inside Monique Travers's body. This isn't a disguise, you are in her actual body, and somehow that makes it even more exciting than just looking like her. These are her breasts, and you're thinking with her brain, and if you looked in a mirror--
You jump away from the desk and scamper into the bathroom across the hall, shutting the door before turning on the light. And there it is in the mirror: Monique's face. The wide, staring eyes. The mouth hanging slightly open in wonder and delight. You lean against the vanity and softly brush your cheeks. This isn't just a perfect disguise, it's the girl herself!
You squeal and jump lightly on the balls of your feet.
You have to show Joe. No. You'll just tease him, play the part of the girl. You're not ready to tell him yet what you've found in the book. And you still need to make sure that the new spell works.
The mask you'd put on her was a remote mask, like the one you've got on the Will Prescott golem. It doesn't copy her, and it hasn't got any essentia inside it. It's just sitting on her, carrying the remote sigil, so that you can switch into her whenever you want. But she will still be in control of herself when you're not inside her, overriding her. And she'll remember what she's done during those times.
Like right now. You realize you're squeezing one of her breasts. A lovely shiver runs through you, and your nostrils flare.
So let's test things. Then I'll go see Jonathan.
You return to the bedroom and take up the pencil again. You brush the hair from your face, and murmur the words that will return you to your body.
Her bedroom fades, and you find yourself staring again at the ceiling of Joe Durras's bedroom.
You swing to your feet and grab the Libra from the nightstand; from under the bed you pull out the golem doll. You pull the nail from your forehead and yank the mask off; the world reels, but you don't pass out. Blinking hard, you flip through the mask until Monique's face appears. You lay the mask onto the newest sigil and lay the golem doll into it. You grasp it, and concentrate.
A complicated pattern swims into your mind's eye, and you shut your eyes to concentrate on it. It's Monique's anima, the stuff that makes her into her. More importantly, at the moment, it's her mind and memories. You grasp it.
The fuck? Panic sweeps over you, and it takes you a moment to disentangle yourself from it. It's not your panic, but Monique's. It's her terror at having found herself seized and manipulated by an outside force. You tighten your grip on her, forcing your will onto hers. You cannot see through her eyes, but you sense her relaxing, going numb. You stroke her and soothe her, and soon she is purring beneath your ministrations.
Then you set to work. You are inside her mind, as though you are wearing her mind band. You cannot manipulate her body, but you can think her thoughts for her, if only you can--
You squirm and slither deeper into her. It's like fitting into a complicated glove. What was I doing? What the hell was all that about? I was just doing my homework and then--
I should just forget about, you think for her. Just forget it. It didn't happen. Just pick up the pencil again. It's this stupid algebra. God, I hate this stuff. It's all so-- Where was I?
You pull back, slightly, as she concentrates on the math. But worry over the sudden attack still runs in the background. You trace the memory of that attack: it's like a smooth ribbon. You find the start, and you find the end point, where she bent back over her books to resume her work.
You snip the memory out, and make it vanish.
Now she's working on math, but she's still worried. Why do I feel sick? you think for her. Why have I got the butterflies so hard suddenly? Oh, it's just this stupid math.
You withdraw again, but still watch. Gradually her nervousness dissipates. Soon, there is no sign that she was ever panicked by anything, and she doesn't remember what she had done while you were in her. You release her fully.
You're breathing hard as you open your eyes, and you're trembling as though from hard physical exercise; you've even got a bit of a headache. You rub your arm over your forehead. That was only a little bit of remote manipulation. If you have to do anything harder--
Oh, but you want to. There's no point in doing this if you can't--
You push everything aside and put the mask back on. You're still exhausted, and stiff as you flop back onto the bed. You hope the tiredness doesn't carry over when you-- You activate the sigil again, grasp control of Monique, and--
* * * * *
"There's my snookie-wookums," you dimple as you pull off the helmet and hang it on the handlebars of the moped. Monique lives on the same side of town as Jonathan, and only about five miles away, so it's easy for her ride over when her parents let her get away. You'd had to make an excuse about getting help with homework. You doubt they had believed you, but hadn't kicked.
Jonathan's eyes narrow. "I don't like 'snookie-wookums'," he says.
"I wasn't talking to you," you retort, and bed over to rub the head of his dog, who pants happily back and wags his tail. "I've got other names for you."
"Mm." He doesn't sound happy; maybe he's worried about what his colleague got up to while pretending to be Jonathan at school with her. "You bring your math over?"
"No, just me." You hug him, and crane your neck to look up into his face. "Take me inside?"
"I'm not carrying you." He just takes you in a light embrace and leads you around the corner of the house, back to his apartments.
It's a little after five, and you intend to spend the whole evening with him, so you don't push things. Mostly it's just game playing. You take a long walk to another part of the house, to the game room with its antique arcade games and pool table, and spend a relaxing time sinking pool balls; you let him guide you through the finer points of handling a cue, laughing the whole time. Back in his "punishment corner" you play on the game console. You laugh and flirt and giggle and take nothing seriously. But he remains cool and quizzical throughout. "Is something wrong," you finally ask him.
"I was going to ask you that," he says. "You're being--" He trails off.
You scrunch up your nose. "There's nothing wrong with me. Maybe I'm being stupid. I've decided to forgive you."
"For what?"
"For being a senior and going off to college next year."
"Yeah?" he asks guardedly.
"Yeah," you sigh, and snuggle up close to him. "I liked talking to you today. You made it all seem okay."
"I'm glad," he says, and relaxes enough to put his arm around you. "What exactly did I say that made it all okay?"
"Oh, nothing in particular," you shrug. "I think it was just the way you said it. You made me feel--"
You stare at him; he stares back. Then you leap into his lap--he lets out an "oof"--and grab a hard hold of him. "We have the rest of the year. I want everything from you, before-- I don't want to think about it. I just want what we've got now." You squeeze him hard. "I want nothing between. Just you and me." Your breath comes in hard gasps. "Naked."
He carries you upstairs, and you take your clothes off, and he slides inside you. You grip him tightly. It's like stoking a volcano, and you scream raggedly as you cum. Monique's body. Monique's tightly, lovely body shudders and thrashes.
You'll set it up so that she's always willing to do this. And it will be totally safe, since Jonathan will always be a fake with her.
* * * * *
It's very dark by the time you've done it, and eaten, and done it again, so Jonathan drives you back home. The fun with him is over, but you figure it'll be easier to manipulate Monique into the desired state if you put her to bed and to sleep. You work until nearly midnight, finishing up her stacks of homework and pushing her into exhaustion. Before going to bed you indulge yourself in a nice, hot shower, and you're not shy about exploring her body while you do so. You get all nice and shuddery and excited again, touching yourself all over in the shower and with the coarse towel afterward. You get in nice, soft pajamas. You're just padding into her bedroom when the world suddenly spins violently and vanishes.
"Gah!" You gasp hard, and your back arches. You blink and swallow.
You're staring up at a dingy ceiling lit by an equally dingy yellowish light. You shift, and find that your arms are bound tightly behind your back. Your ankles are also bound. You twist to look around.
Frank is standing nearby, smirking darkly at you. Your eyes fall to his hands: he is holding a mask. "There he is, Grandmother," he says in a voice not quite his own. "The real one. Will Prescott. Distant, lowland relation."
"I know the name," a harsh voice answers. You look down at your feet. An immensely fat, immensely old woman stares back at you; in each gnarled hand she fondles the handle of a cane. Her black eyes gleam with malice, and her mouth curls up in an evil smile.
"It's bin many years, William," she says. "My, but you've grown." You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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