Randolph and Kim


Chapter 11




AUTHOR'S NOTE: All of my stories have been written for an exclusively adult audience. They contain descriptions of violence, some of it of a sexual nature. They also include other sexually explicit depictions. They are in no way suitable for minors. Furthermore it is against the law in many parts of the world for this type of material to be read, either by minors or by minors and adults. Please make sure you are not acting contrary to local legislation before reading on and please do not read any further if you find this type of material offensive in any way. This is a work of fiction and any similarity between the characters and events depicted and any people/events in real-life, past or present, is purely co-incidence. A number of the characters and events portrayed are inspired by, or based upon, existing works of fiction. Although I have made every effort to keep plagiarism to a minimum, I must acknowledge a debt of thanks to the many artists and writers who have shared their talents with the public. I've released my stories to the public domain to make sure that as many people as possible who share my interest in this type of fiction can enjoy them. Please feel free to re-distribute them by whatever means you like, provided you respect the following points: (1) The stories will be re-distributed exactly as they are - unchanged and unedited. (2) No other person will claim authorship of any of these stories or any part of them. (3) The stories will not be distributed for profit, either on their own or as part of a group of other works. Lastly, thank you for your interest in this story. I hope you enjoy it!



The vast sheet-metal-clad warehouse on the outskirts of town has been a hive of activity for quite a few hours already. The temporary interview cubicles have been used to extract as much information as possible from all of Kim's friends and her parents, all of which has been fed through to the opposite end of the huge single-storey building. That's where an Operations centre has been set up to co-ordinate the investigation into the extraordinary events of the past day. Now, the whole building is full of movement because, in the past five minutes, there have been two significant developments.

The first development concerns a report from the State Police. A Highway Patrol has discovered the car belonging to the individual known as Priority Number Two. The Bureau believe that Randolph Sherman is in some way responsible for endowing his former neighbour with the superhuman abilities that have made her their Priority Number One. Naturally, they are very keen to find Sherman so he can let them know just what it is he has done to Kimberley Peterson, and, even more urgently, let them know how it can be undone. That's why they issued the bulletin on him and his car, which they believed he was driving. But the vehicle has been found, abandoned in a ditch by the Interstate.

Whoever was driving it at the time, and there will be a delay before forensics can establish that information, was headed South. The team make the logical assumption that Sherman is trying to get to the border. They alert their colleagues in the area. Given his age, they are confident they will soon have him in custody.

The second development is even more significant. There's been another encounter between field Agents and the Peterson girl. However, this time, the meeting did not end with the death of the government men. Somehow, the pair have convinced Kimberley Peterson to accompany them back here, to the Bureau's temporary headquarters. A car has been sent to bring the trio back, although there has been a delay of a few minutes whilst Logistics located a vehicle equipped with a television. That's what the girl said she wanted, and if it means she will stop hurling men to their deaths or tossing tankers into buildings for a while, they are willing to oblige. They already know that a thousand bullets aren't enough to make her pause for even a second. Now they are hoping that a TV screen will prove more effective.

The Bureau's plan is to try and somehow contain or distract Peterson until Sherman can be located and persuaded to reveal how she can be "de-super-powered". Having her as their guest at their centre of Operations is key to this plan. It's where they have lined up her school Counselor to talk with her and try and convince her not to harm anyone else. If he fails, the girl's parents and friends are also in the building. There are a number of roles that they might play in subsequent efforts to control her. And all of that should at least buy enough time for the laser equipment, currently en-route from San Diego, to arrive.

In the meantime, the team are preparing for the meeting between Kimberley Peterson and Mr. Lieberman, the counsellor. A large area has been set aside with chairs and a table, as well as a small sofa. Lieberman is sat at the table, a small glass of water in front of him, although it's now nearly-empty as he keeps taking nervous sips. The process of evacuating all of the girl's friends, their families and Mr. and Mrs. Peterson from the interview booths to an adjacent building has begun. They are expecting Priority Number One to arrive in a little over fifteen minutes. They do not want her to find out that she has been lied to regarding her friends taking a trip out-of-state. Not when they need, more than anything else right now, to gain her trust. That's why there are two men hurriedly preparing a large, official-looking-as-possible sign to hang over the warehouse entrance. The sign bears the Bureau's logo, along with the words "Quality Fashion and Music Investigation Department."

 

"Where the hell is that car?" Agent Green thinks to himself.  HQ messaged him four minutes ago to say it was on its way. Four minutes is a long time to spend in the company of an unstoppable superhuman killer. It does not help that the superhuman killer is exceptionally easy on the eye. She's already rebuked him once for staring at her irresistible breasts and Green is extremely anxious not to give her any further cause for displeasure. He knows she is only a yard from his side, impatiently waiting for the promised limo. From time to time, she paces about, her stunning figure constantly on display as she moves around in her tiny bikini, each step and turn revealing her flawless beauty from a fresh, captivating angle.

He can only risk occasional fleeting glances in her direction, and takes care that each of these brief looks is at her face, and not her body. He's frightened that if he catches sight once more of her stunning chest straining against her immodest sky-blue swimwear, he will be lost in her erotic perfection, unable to tear his gaze away until she notices. He knows she could kill him with a flick of her dainty fingers and that there are two dozen corpses in the mortuary acting as proof that she has no qualms about taking the life of anyone who displeases her.

Agent Thomson is also aware of the precariousness of the situation. His chin is badly bruised where Kim held him off the ground with just one of her pretty hands. He is still shocked by the strength of the slender, feminine arm that supported his considerable weight with such apparent ease. Having experienced her power for himself, he has no trouble believing the witness claims that she hoisted an entire gasoline tanker off the ground and tossed it like a missile. He shudders to think what she will do to him and his colleague if the car is delayed much longer, or worse, if she finds out that they have misled her about representing the FBI's Special Music and Clothes Department or whatever the hell his colleague had said.

Green and Thomson are acutely aware of the fact that, although it has been less than five minutes, the girl is starting to become irritated. Thomson wonders if he should try and make small talk with her but then dismisses the idea. She has killed over twenty people in the past twelve hours, including a number of his colleagues. Somehow, small talk does not seem appropriate. Her back is to him at the moment. He cannot resist the opportunity to study the magnificent spherical curves of her ripe, nubile posterior. But then he hears her tut, and looks away in panic. He's terrified she has noticed his staring. She turns around and places her hands on her hips in a gesture of displeasure. Thomson feels the blood drain from his face.

He is about to blurt out "I wasn't looking at your ass, I swear to god!" but he doesn't get the chance. Kim is exasperated with the wait, and that's why she tutted and put her hands on her hips. She completes the non-verbal complaint with a big, ostentatious sigh. First her chest rises, her large round breasts heaving and threatening to destroy the overworked material of her bikini. Then her luscious lips part, revealing her sexy top teeth. Finally, she exhales, loudly. Her super-powered lungs deliver a gust of warm, fragrant breath through her gorgeous pout. It's just a heavy sigh, she's not actively blowing, but nevertheless her exhalation is strong enough to send Agent Thomson staggering backwards, off balance, for a couple of steps until he falls onto his rear. Kim giggles at the sight. It's so cool being this powerful. She wasn't even trying!

Thomson remains on the floor. He's not sure what to do. He knows that he's been knocked down as the consequence of nothing more than a thoughtless sigh, and not by a deliberate attempt to floor him. The girl's power is mind-boggling. He's starting to think of her less and less as the violent delinquent mentioned in their initial briefing and more and more as a goddess. It's not just her phenomenal strength, or the fact that she is immune to gunfire. It's the way she looks as well. Her perfect skin, her glorious figure, her beautiful face... He feels overcome by sheer awe. Should he ask her permission to stand up? Should he apologise for looking at her rear? Should he not mention that at all, in case she didn't actually notice?

"About fucking time!" Kim announces, out-of-the-blue. Thomson wonders if she is reading his thoughts and his confusion is ramped up another level, but the truth is that her sensitive ears have detected the sound of an approaching car. She walks out of the garage towards the street without even a glance towards the man on the floor or his colleague who is desperately struggling not to be caught looking at her amazing curves as she strolls by.

"Umm... the car will be here very soon I'm sure," says Agent Green, suddenly concerned that she has decided to abandon the wait.

"Duh!" replies Kim, not realising that she's the only one capable of hearing the distant engine. Agent Green is confused, but he busies himself offering a hand to his colleague to help him onto his feet. Now Thomson has a bruised chin and a bruised rear. He moves uncomfortably as he and Green follow the girl out to the side-walk. A further twenty seconds pass before either of them notices the sound of the limo. By then, to their great relief, it is turning the corner into view.

 

A hundred miles away, a compact SUV sits silently and motionlessly in the desert, three miles from the Interstate Highway. At the wheel is a short man with black hair and facial features that show his forty years of life have not been easy. He's scanning the dark horizon, looking for headlamps. An hour ago, he was supposed to meet up with a man he knows only as 'Esteban'. The short man is not overly worried by the delay; it's quite usual for one or other party to be unpunctual for this kind of rendezvous. Maybe Esteban has been held up crossing the border. Or maybe he's been careless and his cargo has been discovered. Shorty notices that the first traces of colour are beginning to appear along the Eastern horizon. He knows that he will have to give up soon, and head back to the Interstate. The cover of night makes it so much less likely that he will be spotted, and he really doesn't want to attract attention. Not while he's driving in the desert with a briefcase containing half a million dollars in cash.

His eye is caught, not by vehicle lights in the distance, but by something darker moving much nearer. He peers into the soon-to-lift night and realises that he can see a man. Can this be his contact? He expected someone much younger. This is an elderly figure, carrying what appears to be a large cardboard box. Has Esteban sent his father, on foot, with the merchandise packed as if it were assorted groceries? Shorty flicks the lever under the steering wheel to make his headlamps flash five times as agreed.

The old man seems startled by the sudden brief bursts of bright light. He drops his box. Shorty opens the door of his SUV and leaps down to the dusty ground, hurrying over to make sure no damage has been done to his precious goods. He walks briskly over to the older man. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming!" he announces, holding out his right hand, offering a shake. He's a little taken aback when the new arrival makes no effort to accept.

"Who are you?" demands the old man as he crouches to tend to the dropped box. Between the very first rays of sun reflecting from low cloud over the horizon and the crescent moon that has now risen a quarter of the way up the sky, there is just enough light for Shorty to make out the contents of the container. There are none of the packets of powder he is expecting to see, but rather a jumble of what looks like workshop tools. He looks at the old man in confusion, just as they are both suddenly lit by the blinding full-beam lights of a near-silent electric jeep.

Shorty and the old man both look in astonishment towards the jeep, shielding their eyes from the glare as their eyes struggle to adjust. A door opens and a tall, lean figure steps out but the bright lamps prevent him being fully visible from their perspective. "I told you to come alone, asshole," shouts the latest arrival. Shorty knows that things have taken a turn for the very, very bad indeed. He realises that this is Esteban. But who the hell is the box guy then? He reaches into his jacket for his pistol and takes three quick steps until he is behind the unknown old man, using him as a shield.

Esteban has a clear view of the two men thanks to the lights of his jeep. He sees the shorter one pull his piece and dart behind the other one. The one in front looks way, way too old for this kind of work. Esteban pulls out his own weapon and points it the pair. "Drop the box, abuelo!" he commands. Shorty starts to sweat. His finger is trembling as it curls around the trigger of his gun. The old man suddenly moves, his head dropping and his knees buckling. Simultaneously, both Shorty and Esteban react to the unexpected movement by firing their weapons.

 

"This is cool!" says Kim, draping her fabulous body over the enormous back seat of the limousine. Agents Thomson and Green sit facing her, their eyes ping-ponging between the roof and the floor as they work to avoid getting caught looking at the awesome sight of the bikini-clad teenage girl. They are both wearing seatbelts in accordance with Bureau protocol. Neither of them dares advise Kim that she should do likewise.

"So, like, where's the TV?" she asks.

"It, ah, flips down from the roof," explains the driver, who introduces himself as Agent Carter. He is being a lot braver than his colleagues when it comes to stealing a look at the glory that is Kim, his eyes flicking from road to rear-view mirror every few seconds. She's too busy taking in the luxury of the car's interior to notice. Agent Thomson hurries to pull down the flap on which the LCD screen is mounted. Unsurprisingly, given that this is a government car, the TV switches on to a 24-hour news channel where there is a financial report in progress.

"What the fuck is this shit?" Kim demands.

Agent Carter's hand appears above his left shoulder, holding a remote control. "Use this to change it," he tells her.

Kim leans forward and snatches the remote from his hand. "Ouch!" cries Carter, the car swerving for a moment. Then he mutters under his breath "Shit, she broke my finger!"

"You should've been more careful," Kim tells him, haughtily. Carter is shocked that she has heard him. He bites his lip to silence his moans of pain,

Green and Thomson are looking away, out of the windows. Neither has the courage to point his eyes anywhere near Kim at the moment. She is oblivious to the three, older men in the car with her as she expertly surfs the TV channels until she finds one that she likes. "Awesome!" she declares. "MTV!"

The throbbing pain in Agent Carter's hand distracts him from thinking about the absurdity of a multiple-murderer choosing which station to watch in the limo that is bringing her in. The track that has been playing on air ends, and another begins. "Oh I freaking LOVE this song!" trills Kim, in genuine delight.

The sound of the pop video on screen begins to get increasingly loud. The green bar superimposed on the image reveals that she is adjusting the TV's volume to its maximum level. The music is uncomfortably boisterous for the three agents, but their passenger doesn't care about them in the slightest. She begins to move her head in time to the tune, tapping her foot, her long, lovely leg moving in ways that neither Green nor Thomson dare to observe for more than a split-second at a time. Kim starts to shake her body with the pounding rhythm. The sexy, fluid jerking of her torso is making her sumptuous chest bounce in a supremely erotic display of femininity. Carter almost crashes the limo as he struggles to pull his gaze from the sight of her magnificent body in the rear-view mirror. Green and Thomson simply do not know what to do with their eyes.

Kim begins to wave her hands in time to the throbbing beat of the song, all the while continuing to bop her head, dip her shoulders and tap her feet. She uses small circular movements with her palms to begin with, but soon she is beginning to employ bigger and bigger gestures, her sleek, flawless arms playing an ever greater role in her captivating dance. "Uh-huh, uh-huh" she sings along to the unimaginative lyrics of the song, briefly adopting a different choreography which involves throwing her shoulders back and thrusting her big breasts. Agent Thomson catches a momentary glimpse of her and catches his breath as his heart begins to pound. He looks away quickly, terrified of losing control of himself.

Kim's dancing changes again as the chorus yields to another verse.   Now she is using her hips, turning her sexy flat belly side to side and moving her glorious superhuman rear.  Each movement of her flawless peach-like buttocks puts a huge strain onto the Escalade's suspension.  The car begins to groan.  It is rocking like a boat now, as Kim, oblivious to the effect of her unthinking movements on either men or machine, transfers massive pressure through the upholstered seat onto the vehicle's chasis with every irresistible swing of her supremely supple hips.  Carter is fighting to keep the car straight on the road, like a sailor battling with the tiller of a boat during a storm.  His broken finger isn't making things any easier.

Finally, the repetitive thump of the bass-line begins to fade. The song is ending. Kim has enjoyed it thoroughly. She salutes the music with a cry of "Wooooo! Yeah!" and punches the air as if she were at a live concert. Her small, dainty fist hits the ceiling of the limo, but the smooth, shapely arm behind it is far, far too strong to be contained by it. With a short, metallic thump, Kim's knuckles pass through the lining and the steel beyond it as though they were thin air. Her wrist and fist emerge into the dawn air above the car, her flawless skin unaffected by the sharp torn metal that now encircles her seemingly-delicate forearm.

"Oops!" she giggles, pulling her arm back down. Agents Carter, Green and Thomson pretend they haven't noticed that a six-inch hole has been punched in the roof. The next song begins. It's not one of Kim's favourites, so she taps her feet and nods her head to the rhythm, but otherwise doesn't show nearly as much enthusiasm. She leaves the volume at the maximum level, however, because, as she sees it, being super means she can. It's not as if anyone is going to make her change the volume. She can remember some of the times her Mom and Dad shouted up the stairs for her to "Turn it down!" She didn't do it then, and she didn't even have superpowers. There's no way she'd do it now.

The blare of the music does not stop until ten minutes later when Carter finally pulls the limousine up in front of the Bureau's commandeered warehouse and removes the keys from the ignition, cutting the power to the television. "We're here," he announces, trying to keep the relief from his voice.

"Aww," Kim pouts. "I was enjoying that song. Put it back on!"

Agent Carter turns around and looks inquisitively at Agent Thomson. With a resigned look, Thomson merely nods. Carter puts the keys back in, and the television sparks back to life, along with the pounding bass of the song. The three government men wait uncomfortably for the track to conclude. Finally it does, Carter pulls out the keys and Green and Thomson simultaneously open the doors. The quiet of the early morning has never been so appreciated.

"Let's go start arranging the safe return of your, er, quality fashion and music," says Agent Green to Kim, as he notices the sign that has been erected above the warehouse door. He's anxious to get her to leave the car before she asks for the TV to be put back on. Green steps out of the limo to add further encouragement. Agent Thomson is less confident in his actions. He doesn't feel he should leave the car until the goddess-girl gives some indication that it is alright to do so.

Kim slides her glorious firm rear along the wide seat towards the door that Agent Green has just stepped through and climbs out with the fluid beauty that is a constant feature of all her movements. Now Thomson gets out, too. They walk in single file. Green leads the way into the building, Kim follows looking slightly bored, and Thomson tails. Agent Carter opens his door and steps out from the driver's seat. He stays with the limo, eyes wide in amazement as he inspects the hole in the vehicle's roof whilst nursing his broken finger.

"Good morning, Miss Peterson," announces a tall, blonde man wearing a black suit identical to all the other agents. "I'm agent Hammer. So glad you could join us!" Hammer holds out a hand for Kim to shake.

"So, like, where's my stuff?" Kim demands. For a second, she considers accepting the handshake and crushing it to spaghetti sauce but she realises that some of the blood might stain her bikini so instead she just ignores the hand.

"There's absolutely no need to concern yourself. We're preparing it all now, Miss Peterson," gushes Agent Hammer. "We just need Agents Green and Thomson here to complete some paperwork and update the database records in the mainframe in accordance with Departmental protocol. It'll only be a few moments... why don't you take a seat through here," Hammer smiles obsequiously as he indicates a door with his unshaken hand, "and we will bring everything to you momentarily."

"You fucking better bring it," scowls Kim and then she adds "Is there a mirror in there?" She's worried her hair might have got a bit messed up during the limo ride, and she wouldn't mind checking that her bikini looks as fantastic as it should.

"I'll have one brought immediately," Agent Hammer promises in the style of a hotel concierge responding to a big-spending guest.

Kim rolls her gorgeous eyes and strolls towards the door previous indicated by Hammer. Intentionally, she pushes it open without turning the handle, breaking the panel and ripping some of its hinges with a loud crash. The remains of the door hang uselessly at an angle as she walks into the room. The first thing she sees is that Lieberman dude from school, the pervy Counselor who's always talking to her about short skirts and responsible behaviour and respecting her body and all that crap. He seems to have jumped up suddenly from behind a big desk when she bust in. He looks shocked. For a couple of seconds he stares at her then his eyes flick briefly up and down before focussing on her face.

Lieberman is still recovering from the shock of her sudden entrance when he has to start recovering from the sight of her dressed only in a minuscule two-piece. The girl is impossibly hot and it is all that he can do not to just gawk, open-mouthed at her sexual perfection. He reminds himself that he has a mission from the government, and summons all his control as he fixes his eyes on hers. "Hi Kim," he says, "please take a seat."

"What the fuck are YOU doing here?" she asks, making no secret of the fact she is anything but happy to see him.

"Don't you think it's time we had a little chat, you know, after everything that's happened?" asks Lieberman. "I thought perhaps you'd like to talk about it with someone you can trust."

"Nah," dismisses Kim with a shrug whose breast-bouncing consequences do not escape Lieberman's notice. "I'm cool."

"But, Kim, you must realise that you're in a lot of trouble right now!"

"Trouble?" asks Kim, genuinely confused. She doesn't feel like she's in trouble. In fact, she feels great.

"The people you've killed, Kim!" Lieberman can't believe he has to remind her.

"Oh, them," replies Kim, clearly bored.

"Kim, we HAVE to talk." Lieberman insists. "What's happened to you, gaining superpowers, it means things are different now," he tries to explain.

"Fuck yeah they're different," says Kim. "I don't have to listen to your crap anymore."

Lieberman knows that she has hit upon the real truth, but he is desperate to convince her otherwise. He is not sure what is worse: failing so quickly in his mission or the thought of such a stunningly beautiful girl leaving his sight. Getting her to face up to her murders hasn't worked so he tries a different tactic. "Kim," he says, trying to infuse his words with gravity, "you have been given a wonderful gift. You have been blessed with extraordinary abilities but with great power comes great responsibility." Ordinarily, he hates cliches, but on this occasion he is making an exception based on his target audience.

The flattering words "wonderful, blessed, extraordinary and great" do make an impression on Kim. Just enough of an impression to stop her walking out, or slapping Lieberman across the room to his death. "I do have great power," she agrees, "but screw the 'responsibility' bit."

"It doesn't work like that," Lieberman tells her. "We're all responsible for our actions. It's just that your actions now, Kim, well... your actions are causing people to die."

"Bummer for them," says Kim without any hint of remorse. She starts to examine her fingernails for imperfections. With every cell of her magnificent body infused with the sun's energy thanks to the unique properties of the Sherman crystal, her fingernails can slice diamonds without sustaining a blemish. They do not really require examination right now, but Kim is keen to show her disinterest in the conversation.

With the girl looking at her pretty fingers, Lieberman cannot resist the opportunity to steal a look along the entire length of her glory. He takes in her delicate ankles and her long, exquisite legs, the flare of her tanned thighs, and her flat taut belly with its deep dark navel. He stares at her glorious large, firm, round breasts and the perfection of the cleavage between them and he drinks in the sight of her pretty neck, her stunning pouty mouth and her cute nose. His methodical scan reaches her beautiful brown eyes just as she looks away from her fingernails and meets his gaze.

"Kim there is so much to talk about! Please, sit down." he practically implores her.

"Like what?" she asks.

"Like what you are going to do with your powers," Lieberman begins.

Kim shrugs. As far as she's concerned, she's going to do whatever she wants with her powers. It's none of this guy's business.

"Have you thought about it, Kim? How you are going to use your powers? What kind of a person you are going to be now?"

"Duh," says Kim, "a super person!"

Lieberman knows he is not getting through to her. But the government are counting on him. Besides, if he keeps her talking long enough, he's bound to get another opportunity to check her out again. He reverts to flattery.

"Kim, the amazing things you can do now, the fantastic power that you have... I can help you to use it... better."

At last she sits down opposite him. Lieberman fights the temptation to flick his gaze downwards to feast upon the glorious sight that is her chest. He might just be gaining her trust and it is imperative that he doesn't blow it.

"What d'you mean 'better'?" asks Kim.

"Well, it's about how you use your powers," he begins. Her eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "I mean, how you behave with them, how you-" Lieberman continues, carefully constructing his point, but not carefully enough.

Kim has detected a trigger word. "Behave?" she asks. "You want to talk about my behaviour?" she half-demands, half-groans. Her face sets in anger. She's still exceptionally beautiful when she's angry, still devastatingly sexy, but in the context of the Pizza House Slayings, the school building that lies in rubble and the police squadron that she massacred a few hours ago, she is also terrifying.

Realising that he is already beyond the point of no return, Counselor Lieberman surprises himself with the way he can suppress his terror. He knows he is one of the few people - perhaps the only person, he reassures himself with an internal boast - who can reach her through dialogue. He's been here before, so many times, one-on-one with this girl. There's been moments, all-too-brief and never lastingly effective, in the past, when he believed he could get through to her.

The FBI have all-but-admitted to him that his professional training and his previous experience of her stand a greater chance of successfully reining her in than even the military. He just has to get through to her. To make a connection. To find the right words that will make her listen. Listen and think. He must chose his phrasing carefully. And he must get it right. Two dozen people have died. If he cannot convince her of the values of society and community then there will be many more victims. More than likely, starting with him.

He is terrified of what she might do to him... what he knows she could do to him... if the fancy takes her. She's already shown, over and over, a sickening appetite for killing and destroying. He knows that if she chooses to satisfy that appetite with him, there is nothing he can do. He can't defend himself against someone who is apparently strong enough to lift a gas truck. He can't run from someone who can move so fast that she appears as nothing but a pink smear across the landscape.

The only option available to him is dialogue. It is his only hope. And, he realises, he has nothing to lose now. At least there is hope. She seems to be not completely unwilling to listen. After all, they've been in the room, alone, for over a minute now and she hasn't tried to kill him. Yet. That has to be a good sign, doesn't it? He swallows hard.

"Kim," he says, looking her in the eye, resisting the strong urge to glance briefly down at her stupendous breasts, so fabulous displayed by her tiny sky blue bikini top. He keeps the eye-contact, despite all his instincts that are fighting to steer his gaze elsewhere. It is essential that he gains her trust. He will win it through honesty and transparency, looking her in the eye and speaking truths. "People are dead! Because of you!" he reminds her once more. "This is not like all those times before when we discussed your attitude problem and how it would cause problems for you."

Suddenly, she does not look angry anymore. In fact, she's laughing as if she's just thought of something really funny. "Ha!" she says, "Yeah, well, things have changed a little. I don't see how MY attitude's gonna cause ME any problems. It's MY attitude, but it's YOUR problem now." She grins, triumphantly, enormously proud of her word-play. She's pretty sure it's the best comeback of her life to date. "Come to think of it," she beams, "I don't see what's the point of talking to you at all. All MY problems are solved."

Her smile is the most stunning that Lieberman has ever encountered. It affects him profoundly. If he were standing, he would be weak at the knees. He wishes there had been time for him to put on some underpants beneath his jeans. His brain is struggling to keep up with the demands of rapid shifts between terror and lust whilst trying to formulate what to say next.

"That's not quite true, Kim," he informs her. "You're still wanted for multiple murders and -"

"Like anyone's going to be able to arrest me!" she interrupts, still smiling victoriously. She has a valid point.

"And beyond that," Lieberman reaches in desperation for the one topic he knows will grab her interest, the one topic he's been trying to avoid bringing into the room, "things will be very different for you now in ways you might not have considered." Kim throws him a "what-the-fuck-are-you-on-about, asshole?" look but she does not say anything, so he takes the plunge.

"I'm talking about your, um, relationships. Not just with the police and your teachers, but with your friends -"

"They'll be cool," Kim states. "Unless they piss me off."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Lieberman explains uncomfortably. "I mean your, er, relationships with, um, the opposite sex. Boys."

Kim suddenly sits dead straight. The smile on her face relaxes slightly. For once in his boring life, Counselor Lieberman has said something interesting. It's true. She has not considered what it would be like to be with a boy now that she has super-powers. She recalls yesterday afternoon, in the garden, when she had been touching herself while the old freak next door was perving on her. How her fingers made her feel so good. Much better than normal. How her chest tingled so deliciously. And how it still tingles every time she touches it now. She can almost feel it as she just thinks about it. Not only in her breasts, but also between her thighs. She feels horny. The spark of curiosity that Lieberman has ignited begins to smoulder in her mind. What would it be like with a boy, now that she is super? She's pretty sure it would be way better than before. And she is absolutely certain that she would like to find out.

Lieberman is not sure whether he should say anything. Nothing he's ever said to Kim in the past has ever had such a dramatic effect on her. She actually seems to be thinking about his words. She hasn't even answered back! He notices her close her eyes. From the periphery of his vision, he sees her mouth open, sensuously. Her lips and teeth are so sexy. He feels his organ begin to swell in response to the sight. Perhaps bringing up the subject of sex was not so wise after all. Now he is distracted. His gaze flickers downwards for a moment. Just long enough for him to view her breathtaking cleavage. He looks back at her face, but her eyes are still closed. He glances down again. Her nipples are swelling, pushing prominently on the thin material of her bikini. Without the protection of underpants, the sensitive tip of his penis scrapes on the rough material of his jeans as it jumps to attention, stimulating him almost to the point of orgasm. He swallows hard to try and stop himself panting out loud and locks his eyes on her face once more. Her eyes open, looking straight into his. Slowly, she licks her lips. Her left hand comes up to her chest and starts to stroke her breasts through her bikini.

"K- Kim..." splutters Lieberman, hypnotised by the sight of her. She responds by standing. Her free hand grips the edge of the desk that separates them. "Kim! What are you doing?" The desk is made from thick, solid wood and requires two fit men to lift, normally. Kim is able to toss it ten feet into the air and twenty feet to the side with nothing but a casual flick of her tiny wrist. The heavy table smashes down but neither Kim nor Lieberman turns to look. With the desk no longer hiding his lap from her, Kim can see the bulge in his jeans.

"Ha!" she says. "I always knew you were a perv for me." She smiles and takes a step towards him.

"K- Kim..." Lieberman stammers, "we're here to d-d-discuss your, um, situation, we, ah, you, should, er, ah..." It's no good. Everything is out of his control now. The conversation, the girl, his thoughts... even his own body.

Now both of Kim's hands are working her chest. She's cupping and squeezing her two, big mounds, pinching her engorged nipples through her swimsuit top. She feels amazing. Her right hand leaves her breast and caresses its way down her smooth, flat belly. Her fingers slip under the waistband of her lower garment and begin to lightly stroke around the entrance to her womanhood. She doesn't know if it's the effect of super-powers or not, but it really does feel amazing now compared with a few days ago. She lets out an involuntary "Oooooh". Lieberman just sits and stares.

She starts to remove her bikini bottom. She remembers to take care so that she doesn't destroy the garment in the process. Gingerly, she wiggles her hips, slowly lowering the lower portion of her swimsuit using just her right hand, while her left continues to fondle her chest. Finally, she works it down to her ankles. She bends to step out of the leg-holes, offering Lieberman the most spectacular view of her cleavage as she does so. Now he does begin to pant.

"Kim... what... are... you... doing?"

Kim is concentrating on the tricky task of unfastening her top without causing her swollen nipples to tear through the fabric. She succeeds, and pulls the loose top off her breasts, letting it drop on the floor beside her feet. Lieberman gasps loudly at the sight of her in all her naked glory. His heart thumps in his chest. His erection thumps in his jeans. Kim takes the final step until her naked legs are almost touching him as he sits, transfixed. She reaches down, letting her awesome breasts hang just inches from his face as she curls a single finger inside the waistband of his trousers.

The easiest one-digit tug is all it takes for Kim to tear Lieberman's jeans as though they are made from paper. "Meeting with students without any underwear, Counselor?" she observes. "See, you ARE a perv!"

"Kim..." gasps Lieberman. "This... is... highly... inappropriate..." He's completely exposed to her now, and completely erect. She grabs a hold of his sweatshirt with both hands and rips it completely in half vertically so that it falls open like a loose waistcoat. She can see that he is no stranger to the gym.

It might be because he is hypnotised by her beauty and unable to move or it might be that he knows there is no point trying to fight her but he makes no effort to resist as she pulls each half in turn off his arms. And then her hands return to what's left of his jeans. Two more tugs tear the remaining material away, leaving him still sat in his chair, but now as completely nude as she is. "Kim... no... this... this... isn't... right..." he pants as she stands before him, obviously aroused, the physical embodiment of feminine power and beauty.

"You don't seem to be minding, Counselor." Kim observes glancing down at his upstanding penis. "Besides, this was YOUR idea."

"My... idea?... No... No... I... I... just..."

"Didn't you say I needed to find out what it was like to do it now that I'm super? Well, for once I'm following your advice."

She drapes her lovely long arms over his shoulders. The contact makes him tremble with excitement, despite himself.

"Kim... I... we... you..." his protestations are becoming less and less coherent, like a radio station signal fading into static. He makes an attempt to squirm away from her apparently loose embrace.  But those two slender forearms, just resting on his shoulders, suddenly feel like warm, solid steel when he tries to push his body upwards to dislodge them.  He fails to move them even so much as a hairsbredth.  Her shapely smooth long legs prove just as impossible to budge.  He strains to force them back, the prominent muscles in his own far thicker legs expanding as he grunts, but he is wasting his energy. She has him exactly where she wants him, so that is where she is keeping him.

It is not a conscious effort on her part to trap him; she has put her arms and legs where she desires, and he is powerless to do anything about it.  Kim has always thought of Counselor Lieberman as quite cute, for a teacher. In her present mood, that's more than enough. She's decided that she wants to have him. And she is more, so very, very much more, than he can resist.

She moves closer yet, carefully placing her feet either side of his chair so that she is straddling him.  Her slender ankles meet his and simply push them out of the way.  He has to point his feet uncomfortably onto his toes to accomodate her.  She starts to bend her knees, bringing her tingling, hungry sex towards his throbbing member, and her amazing breasts towards his wide-eyed face. She shudders as the very tip of his organ touches the outer edges of her labia. Her chest fills Lieberman's vision and he can no longer hold back. He leans forward and gently kisses her right breast. "Oooh yes!" Kim hisses. Encouraged, and losing himself completely now, he kisses it again. Then he takes her big, pink nipple into his mouth and sucks. She throws her head back and moans.

She is astounded by the sensitivity of her body now. Every touch, every kiss, every lick feels so wonderful. As she lowers herself on to him, and his shaft parts the curtains to her inner core and slowly enters within, her eyes close and her mind fills with brilliant colours. The sensation is amazing, as though every cell of her body is being stimulated at once. She continues to take him in, bending her knees until she has engulfed his entire length. They both groan with pleasure.

 

"Sir, should we... go in?" Agent Ferguson asks. He's with Agents Thomson, Green and Hammer as well as three other F.B.I. men whom we haven't met yet. They are all clustered around a closed-circuit television monitor, in the opposite corner of the warehouse, closely watching the encounter between Kimberley Peterson and her School Counselor. Unsurprisingly, several of them have felt the need to loosen their neck-ties in the past few minutes.

"Does he look like he needs rescuing to you?" replies Hammer, with heavy sarcasm.

"But... he's supposed to be appealing to her conscience! Convincing her to co-operate with us..." Ferguson points out.

"E.T.A. for the laser-weapon from San Diego is one hour twenty-five minutes. We just need him to distract her until it's here," says Hammer. "I'd say she was pretty distracted right now, wouldn't you?"

 

Kim has started to pump her legs, drawing herself almost entirely off him and then lowering herself back onto him over and over. It's wonderful how effortless it all seems now. He's no longer kissing her, but she adores the sensation of his rough, unshaven chin and cheeks scraping against her big, round breasts, so she uses her left hand to hold the back of his head and press his stubble to her chest as she bounces up and down on his lap.  Lieberman tries to move his face back.  She's bending his neck almost painfully and he needs to breathe.  But the small feminine palm resting on the back of his head keeps him immovably in place.  She can feel something beginning to build deep inside her. Something amazing. Keen to help it grow and blossom, she increases the pace of her movements, casually holding his face to her magnificent, jiggling bosoms, utterly unaware that he is fighting increasingly urgently to pull away.

She's getting close now. She arches her back slightly, making him bend further as she keeps his face pressed to her chest.  She wants more... just a tiny bit more.  Her free hand grips the back of his chair and lifts and tilts the furniture and its contents to a slightly more favorable angle for penetration.  It's an effortless manoever for her, but it causes his entire body to move as though he were weightless. Lieberman feels painful pressure on his groin as he is squeezed between the chair and Kim's loins.  She uses her hold on the chair to pull him an extra few millimeters into her with each bend of her knees. All four of the seat's legs are now off the ground.  Lieberman's back has to bend to her rhythmic whims, the strain hurting him more and more, but there is nothing he can do to resist her amazing strength.  He cannot even cry out in protest, as she effortlessly keeps his head jammed against her breasts.

He is scared.  Scared that his spine will crack, or that his pelvis or his hips will break.  Scared that she will suffocate him, or crush his nose with her big bouncing breasts.  But her beauty is much more powerful than his fear.  Her irresistible sexuality and the extremity of the stimulation he experiences each time she thrusts him so deeply in to her overwhelms him.  She feels him become tense inside her and then she feels the hot spray of his seed into the core of her womanhood. She has felt a man's orgasm inside her before, but the feeling as pulse after pulse of warm ejaculation hits is totally different this time. It's incredible! The stimulation pushes her over the edge and her own release comes. Her entire being is filled with ecstasy. Wave after wave after wave of ecstasy.

"Yesssss!" she cries as her orgasms go on and on. She finally stops pumping her legs but the pleasure continues to tear through her, peak following peak. She lets them ride over her, lost in the sheer enjoyment of the myriad sensations. It is several minutes before she regains composure. When she does, she's surprised that she doesn't feel short of breath. Her legs don't even feel tired. In fact, she feels absolutely, totally awesome.

Kim releases the hand holding his head and Lieberman can finally relax his aching neck.   It's not that she is aware of his discomfort or concerned for his well-being.  She lets go of his head simply beacuse she wants to use her fingers to brush a few strands of silky brunette hair from her eyes.  Meanwhile, he gasps for air, moaning in pain with every relieved gulp of desperately-needed oxygen. The massive orgasm he has experienced was almost an incidental occurrence amidst the battering he has received. There were moments when he thought he was about to die. Several of them in fact. He has spent the past few minutes being alternatively smothered then clobbered by Kim's large, superhuman breasts. He is physically exhausted. He looks like a boxer whose trainer should've thrown the towel in much sooner. His face is covered in bruises. He has two black eyes and a cut lip. She has mercilessly pounded his lap with her gloriously firm butt, leaving the flesh of his thighs a rapidly darkening mass of overlapping marks. His back aches terribly.  He feels fortunate... very fortunate to have survived.

Kim's still holding the chair he's sitting in off the floor at a slight angle.  It all feels so light to her that she has pretty much forgotten that she is supporting his weight with just one of her hands. At last she notices his gasping and the marks on his face.  She loves the fact that he looks exhausted while she feels as full of energy as when they started.  Being super is so cool!

She finds herself uttering a sentence that she never before imagined would pass her lips.  "That was great advice!" she declares, looking and sounding completely fresh in complete contrast with Lieberman. "I DID need to find out what it was like now that I'm super. It's totally fucking amazing! Let's do it again!"

 

The sun is up over the horizon. Its heat is the first thing Randolph feels as the fog clears from his head. Its light dazzles him as he tries to open his eyes. He remembers the two strangers in the desert, a gun being pointed at him and then... nothing. He must have fainted. That explains why he's lying on the dusty ground and why his head is spinning. But it does not account for the pain in both his lower legs. He tries to move them and finds he can't. He squints in the early sunshine and lifts his head to see why.

There is a man lying across his legs. Randolph glances along the prostrate body, notes the pistol still in one hand and then sees a congealing pool of brown-red blood surrounding the head. Repulsed, he quickly kicks and pulls his two legs free, dislodging the corpse in the process so that it rolls onto its back and he gets to see the gaping circular wound between the open, lifeless eyes. The shock makes him hurry to get to his feet. His legs are numb where the dead man has been lying, and his first dozen steps are tiny, unsteady stumbles.

The low sun is blinding and it takes him a while to adjust to its glare. Only then does he notice that the jeep is still there. And that, lying in front of it, is the man Randolph remembers with the gun. He still has the gun. He also has a big, bloody hole in the middle of his chest. The old man realises that the two bullets must have passed directly over his head moments after he fell unconscious. He is exceptionally lucky to be alive. He puts his hand into his jacket pocket and feels the reassuring heft of his Sherman crystal. It is still there, still intact. Perhaps fate is on his side, after all.

He's even more convinced that destiny is with him when he completes his search of the two vehicles. In the jeep, he finds a box under the passenger seat containing six different United States passports. None of the photos look much like him, but he selects the one that is the closest. There is also a sports bag containing dozens of packets of white powder which he leaves behind in disgust. The SUV, meanwhile, yields up an unlocked briefcase packed with hundred dollar bills. Randolph knows that this cash will hugely facilitate finding a place to work and getting hold of any new parts he might require.

The keys to the SUV are still in the ignition. He collects his box of parts and climbs in with the briefcase full of money. The engine fires first time. He heads away from the sun and back towards the Interstate. Five minutes later, he is on the highway, heading South. He is back on track. The degenerate whore on the billboard has failed to deflect him from his mission, just as the two criminals in the desert also failed. Soon he will get his power. Soon he will punish all the degenerates and criminals. But first, he must find somewhere to rebuild the de-Shermaniser.

 

Conceptfan, Mar. 2015.