JDainB
He had closed up the aircraft to make it cozy just for the two of them. Something about the faux
dusk, shutting out the fading afternoon, just the two of them in here, alone in a secret, softened
them both, made more things possible between them. Things I want, things I deserve.
He lounged, taking more than comfort from the wide chair. Its plush skin caressed him here,
tantalized him there, especially through the soft cotton tunic he'd thrown on. He sat naked within
it, the dusky air playing all over his — his! — body.
He lifted a finger, relaxed it till the tabletop greeted it again, slick and smooth and cool. He
could even move the whole arm if he wanted to, reaching easily to the chiller with its sweet
treats. Just above it, a cooker in case his guest wanted something warmed up. JDB had arranged
this. JDainB profited. Anything to get what he wanted from his guest.
She hunched over the table between them as she slipped a slender finger through the gooey remains
of a hot-fudge sundae. Older than he would've liked, but he had never been choosy. Particularly
now. As a nod to his benefactor JDB, he recognized that she was still young enough to return to
childhood innocence — when he was done with her. She offered a promising figure beneath her
Collective-supplied coverall. Not that he needed much, a few holes and sweaty access to them all.
"Would you like some more?" JDainB asked gently.
Her eyes flicked up at him like flinty pebbles. This spasm of distrust panged him. He was none
too late with this one. JDB wouldn't have seduced her — but then, JDB wasn't running this show,
wasn't doing anything anymore because he just didn't exist, almost like dying, the way Dain had
devoured JDB with wild slashes, almost nervous in his hasty engulfing. So pathetic, but so
helpful. Dain had been too busy to notice, especially with JDB's dissembling bravado, as JDB
stuffed a final few tricks across a slim bridge of gray matter to JDainB, a pivot-memory, an
unlocking code, to climax the mission of restitution that JDB had thought they shared.
Not that it was true. Availability was more important than quality. Time spent doing more
important than searching for the right person to do it to. And nothing, no mission, more important
than me.
She was speaking now, a squeaky, unformed voice, not the lusty, musky sound JDainB'd always
fantasized, but she wouldn't be using it for much longer. "Not, not a frostie ..." she said and
essayed a beguiling pose, but gave it up quickly. Good. She was lousy at it, not much practice.
Then, she brightened, a waifish charm awakening her poverty-drenched features. Awakening her face
and body — and arousing him, an electric stroke that stirred body places he'd little chance to
know before, magical, thrilling places that blossomed toward his fulfillment. "Something else?"
she asked hopefully.
He widened his face to look benevolent and opened his mouth to say benevolent words, but Dain's
llevar interrupted. It played the saccharine tune chosen to announce a meeting request. Even cast
into a corner as part of the casual-suit he'd discarded for this tunic, this machine dared
interrupt his pursuit of pleasure. He batted at the air, dispersing the sound, hoping the llevar
would just shut up.
It didn't. It spoke in a muffled voice, "Doyle Phoebe Heejanus requests—"
"Shut up!" JDainB bawled and patted his guest's small hand to urge her patience.
"Do you accept the meeting?"
"Yes, yes."
"Scheduled as requested?"
"Yes, yes." I'll be gone again, tucked secretly away inside Dain, by the time whoever-it-is comes
around. Let him handle it.
The llevar chimed compliance.
"Some cake?" JDainB asked his guest as mildly as he could.
Her eyes perked up.
"Chocolate with cherry swirl?"
She nodded.
"Chocolate icing?"
Her head literally bobbed with agreement.
JDainB smiled with paternal love. "It'll take a few moments. Why don't you lean back? Pick some
music." He gestured to a panel at her elbow. Her head bent as she followed his suggestion. He
almost lunged at the lithe, fetching neck she exposed, but held back by the slightest margin over a
body whose demands coursed wonderfully through him, demands he'd husbanded, a body he knew he'd
possess one day. After all, no ego exists here but for me. I am the fire in their mutual soul. I
am the core of their being.
Instead, he turned away to the chiller and discovered how awkward an engorged penis can be. The
accidental nudges and strokes of cloth and chair fanned the flames that licked at his
consciousness, seared away his control. He wanted nothing more than satisfaction now, the ramming,
driving, stabbing, pleasure-filled pursuit of his satisfaction.
No more seduction. No starting with sweets that will ease her into sleep. No more of any of JDB's
approach, with kind affection for this wretched victim of society, as were all children of
Yeibichai's Pattern Language. No more gentle pandering to childish appetites, so that she faded
away peacefully, surrounded by her favorite sounds, resting comfortably in a sanctuary with someone
who had nothing but her needs and wants in the forefront of his mind. JDB desperately and
repeatedly caused climactic experiences full of delight and acceptance. He had saved so many
children from the anguish that was adult life.
JDainB couldn't be bothered with that, couldn't be bothered with any hint of resistance. He craved
complete and unhindered access to her body with any and every part of his. As something
surprisingly gentle flowed from the speakers around them, he snatched cake and a pot of icing from
the chiller and scooted them toward the girl with a clatter. He then reached beyond, having to
rise carefully as his tunic swirled around a penis that led the way. Using the code JDB had passed
along, JDainB opened a cabinet unsuspected by Dain, his curiosity about that part of the aircraft
constantly clouded by JDB. JDainB seized a vial and spun back to the girl.
She hesitated at his abruptness, fork laden with cake in front of her mouth. She glanced at the
tent he made in his tunic, then she expanded with panic, eyes bulging, mouth screaming, hands
flinging, fork flying, body climbing up out of the chair, all parts of escape.
JDainB grabbed her hair, a short-cut orange mop, but full and thick, a gratifying handful of
control as he dumped the vial on her face, in her bawling mouth, up her flaring nostrils, even her
crying eyes. Drops flicked on him, but he wiped them away with a sleeve, uncaring, unbelieving
their effect on him, so much bigger than she. Then, he held on as she flailed and beat and kicked
and slowed and paused and finally, collapsed beneath his grasp like a rag doll, a large and supple
and smooth and fleshy — and dead — rag doll. He dragged her across to his chair so he could get
at her. He stroked open the zipper of her coverall and spilled her acquiescent form out of it. He
arranged her carefully, spread wide and open, with full permission given to him and his needs and
demands. Get to it before she cools. He stripped away his own clothes and settled a knee, just
there, between hers. Aching to touch, to feel, to stroke hard and deep, he leaned in —
The skin crawled! The gut heaved! The knees buckled. Every muscle convulsed. Taboo screamed up
out of the body, ripping JDainB with pain's electricity, scorching him with the fire of shame,
dousing him with a piercing, woody stench, shattering his hold on all zhuhndí, much less his
throbbing cock.
