[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
that remained ghostly and tenuous. It was a woman, he could see that, but the
face remained blanked out as did her breasts."
"No..." Ewen muttered. "No..."
"Deeper," said Inman, now totally absorbed in the figure in the
luminescent cube. Patterned lines of dancing light were zig-zagging in front
of the woman's face and upper torso. Ewen was fighting hard to obliterate her
identity. Whoever the woman was, she was someone whose identity he could never
admit to, not even to himself. Especially not himself.
Such denial.., thought Inman. A sudden glimpse of dark hair that
disappeared the instant it appeared. And then full, rounded breasts that were
gone in an instant. Inman knew who the woman was. He had first seen her as a
child when he had watched her performing her selection tests. Since that day
she had become very special.
Kally.
"Stop!"
Ewen gave a little cry of relief in his sleep as his guilt snatched the
figure from the cube and buried it deep and safe in his subconsciousness from
whence the mindwarp probe had dragged it.
Inman was lost in thought. This was real guilt. And of course, it was
doubtful that the boy would have told his mother the truth about Tarlan's
death. An intolerable burden of guilt. Magnify the tenuous, harmless fantasies
that boys often have about their mothers into something huge and overbearing
that he was forced to face, add it to the existing burden of guilt, and the
chances were that it would destroy a lesser man.
But would it destroy Ewen?
"Put one together that is identical to his mother," he ordered.
"It is ready," the computer confirmed a few seconds later.
Inman's cold gaze at Ewen was too impassive to determine whether it was
rooted in loathing. "We'll start with Scenario 25," he instructed. "Go."
The mindwarp hummed.
It was a terrible weapon but Inman had no compunction about using it.
There had been others he had used it on with varying degrees of success.
Others like Ewen, who had strayed from the path of righteousness.
It was all a question of make or break.
9.
The new dream was merged into one with the old dream. He had not hurled
Tamara from him in a fit of guilt and remorse, but had feverishly stirred her
to climax after climax as she ground her pelvis in a willing frenzy against
his hand.
"Now it's your turn," she whispered in his ear when she had got her
breath back. Her voice had a curious adult quality that did not sound right,
but nothing mattered so long as she kept up that divine movement of her hand.
He felt her hair brush across his stomach.
A tiny alarm sounded:
Tamara does not have long hair.
He was about to open his eyes but suddenly the wondrous touch of her hand
was replaced by something even more magical as a softness and warmth that he
could not have imagined possible engulfed him. She moved her head with a
Page 66
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sublime skill, her knowing tongue snaking and curling and teasing in a way
that forced a loud groan from him. His hands went down to her head, and his
fingers and reason became lost in the luxuriant, silken tresses.
Tamara does not have long hair.
He moved his hand and found a full, wonderfully rounded breast, heavy and
pendulous. His fingertips traced an aureole - an area of tactile bliss that
seemed unending. It swelled with a strange urgency to match the mounting
feverishness of his touch.
Tamara's nipples were tight little buttons.
Her rhythm quickened.
And her breasts were hard and small.
His buttocks clenched and unclenched. His tormented heart seemed to beat
in crazy unison with her head, pounding at his senses, breaking through the
walls of his libido. Her lips were living creatures working an independent
devastating magic that were spurring him to the brink of a feverish insanity.
The little moans deep in her throat when she felt the first of the telltale
spasms sped him to the edge.
He gave a loud cry. His back arched off the bed, and he jack-knifed
forwards to pull her head away. His eyes snapped open and the horror that lay
before him hit him with the force of an avalanche.
The woman looked up, her lovely face was framed by a dark, dishevelled
cascade of hair that spilled across his white belly. She smiled and wiped away [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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that remained ghostly and tenuous. It was a woman, he could see that, but the
face remained blanked out as did her breasts."
"No..." Ewen muttered. "No..."
"Deeper," said Inman, now totally absorbed in the figure in the
luminescent cube. Patterned lines of dancing light were zig-zagging in front
of the woman's face and upper torso. Ewen was fighting hard to obliterate her
identity. Whoever the woman was, she was someone whose identity he could never
admit to, not even to himself. Especially not himself.
Such denial.., thought Inman. A sudden glimpse of dark hair that
disappeared the instant it appeared. And then full, rounded breasts that were
gone in an instant. Inman knew who the woman was. He had first seen her as a
child when he had watched her performing her selection tests. Since that day
she had become very special.
Kally.
"Stop!"
Ewen gave a little cry of relief in his sleep as his guilt snatched the
figure from the cube and buried it deep and safe in his subconsciousness from
whence the mindwarp probe had dragged it.
Inman was lost in thought. This was real guilt. And of course, it was
doubtful that the boy would have told his mother the truth about Tarlan's
death. An intolerable burden of guilt. Magnify the tenuous, harmless fantasies
that boys often have about their mothers into something huge and overbearing
that he was forced to face, add it to the existing burden of guilt, and the
chances were that it would destroy a lesser man.
But would it destroy Ewen?
"Put one together that is identical to his mother," he ordered.
"It is ready," the computer confirmed a few seconds later.
Inman's cold gaze at Ewen was too impassive to determine whether it was
rooted in loathing. "We'll start with Scenario 25," he instructed. "Go."
The mindwarp hummed.
It was a terrible weapon but Inman had no compunction about using it.
There had been others he had used it on with varying degrees of success.
Others like Ewen, who had strayed from the path of righteousness.
It was all a question of make or break.
9.
The new dream was merged into one with the old dream. He had not hurled
Tamara from him in a fit of guilt and remorse, but had feverishly stirred her
to climax after climax as she ground her pelvis in a willing frenzy against
his hand.
"Now it's your turn," she whispered in his ear when she had got her
breath back. Her voice had a curious adult quality that did not sound right,
but nothing mattered so long as she kept up that divine movement of her hand.
He felt her hair brush across his stomach.
A tiny alarm sounded:
Tamara does not have long hair.
He was about to open his eyes but suddenly the wondrous touch of her hand
was replaced by something even more magical as a softness and warmth that he
could not have imagined possible engulfed him. She moved her head with a
Page 66
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sublime skill, her knowing tongue snaking and curling and teasing in a way
that forced a loud groan from him. His hands went down to her head, and his
fingers and reason became lost in the luxuriant, silken tresses.
Tamara does not have long hair.
He moved his hand and found a full, wonderfully rounded breast, heavy and
pendulous. His fingertips traced an aureole - an area of tactile bliss that
seemed unending. It swelled with a strange urgency to match the mounting
feverishness of his touch.
Tamara's nipples were tight little buttons.
Her rhythm quickened.
And her breasts were hard and small.
His buttocks clenched and unclenched. His tormented heart seemed to beat
in crazy unison with her head, pounding at his senses, breaking through the
walls of his libido. Her lips were living creatures working an independent
devastating magic that were spurring him to the brink of a feverish insanity.
The little moans deep in her throat when she felt the first of the telltale
spasms sped him to the edge.
He gave a loud cry. His back arched off the bed, and he jack-knifed
forwards to pull her head away. His eyes snapped open and the horror that lay
before him hit him with the force of an avalanche.
The woman looked up, her lovely face was framed by a dark, dishevelled
cascade of hair that spilled across his white belly. She smiled and wiped away [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]