ABX Part 3 by Marknew Cosmic Energy, Genetic Therapy -- what more does a woman need? 26 It's a warm, late autumn day. Lisabeth, Amanda, Vrema, Valerie and Crystal are on line for breakfast at the dining center. Amanda has a bowl of fruit, toasted wheat bread, without butter, and coffee. Crystal has a bowl of cornflakes and one fried egg. Valerie, guiltily as usual, has a cinnamon roll, frosted flakes and hot chocolate. Lisabeth, last in line, has a full plate of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, toast, orange juice and a banana. She also takes a blueberry muffin, now a daily tradition. Valerie looks enviously at Lisabeth's tray. "How can you eat that and still look the way you do!" "I have the right genes, Valerie. And I'm still a growing girl," she says as they walk to their table, her skirt swishing. A special, large, and artistically styled chair, hand-made for her by an architecture student highly skilled in carpentry and design, awaits her. His reward, a private half hour with Lisabeth, left her with additional dividends -- she would do a far better job on her next chair, which she will make herself. "You should be careful though, Lisabeth. You stand out so much." Crystal giggles. "And that skirt! I warned you about wearing it!" "That's not what I meant!" Valerie protests. "Is sex the only thing you think about? You do call it sex, right? Whatever it is you do." "It's still called sex when lesbians do it, Valerie," Amanda says, keeping a straight face. "But I mean with another of these murders. That guy they found. Who knows how long he'd been there? I hear he was kind of a creep, but still ...." "He deserved it," Lisabeth says loudly. "I went out with him freshman year, and believe me, I'd kill him all over again if I had the chance." Valerie is too shocked to speak. How can she speak like that, after Valerie's own sister was killed. "But Lisabeth," Crystal says, serious. "You don't really mean that, do you?" "It's just talk," Amanda says. "I can understand what Lisabeth's saying. I know someone else who dated him. He took advantage of, um, people. It's nothing like poor Jennifer." "But do you really think a woman could have done it?" Crystal asks. "Or maybe someone's brother, or boyfriend, or father even," Valerie suggests, wanting Lisabeth to acknowledge Jennifer in some way. "The story said whoever did it was extremely strong and knew a lot about anatomy, like pressure points and stuff. They said his windpipe was crushed so he couldn't speak," Vrema says. "His larynx," Lisabeth corrects. Amanda looks at her sideways and takes a long sip from her coffee. "Nice weather today," she says. As they leave breakfast Clark approaches Lisabeth. "Excuse me Lisabeth, but can we, I mean, we have to talk." "All right, Clark. If it seems important to you." She puts her arm around his shoulder. It stiffens slightly against her touch. Crystal frowns but says nothing. "But we have Psychology in ten minutes," Valerie whines in protest. "We'll have to go over your notes together later, then," Lisabeth says. "Come on, Clark." Clark lets her lead him to a quiet spot on a hill near her dorm. She kicks off her sandals and sits on the ground in the sun and pats the grass next to her, beckoning him to join her. He continues standing. "Come on. You have something to say to me. You don't have to be so far away to say it." She leans back, her hands on the grass and stretches her chest up toward the sun, showing off her profile to its best effect. "It's really lovely down here. Don't you think so?" "Lisabeth, this isn't easy for me." "What's wrong, Clark?" she asks sympathetically, her voice acquiring a new timbre, as though she would give up her whole being for him. He feels the tones vibrate deep in his chest. "You look so troubled. What can I do to help?" She extends her arm toward him and flutters her fingers. He looks down at her, her blouse is nearly transparent in the sunlight. He wants to look away, but he can't. The wind plays with her hair and then dies down. "Cla-ark," she called to him, her voice still softer, but even larger, surrounding him in a cloud of beauty, enveloping him in a mist. There is a mist, that scent again. The scent that whispers mystery, that promises sweetness, that opens a door to pleasure, that touches something deep inside him, a secret within himself that until now he had not known existed. Chloe did not have it. Nor did Lana, who once had meant mystery to him. Once, but he had penetrated her secrets long ago and found her wanting, far too limited for his needs and ambitions. And for his capacities. But how can he compare either of them to Lisabeth? Chloe, whose loyalty and goodness were a match for his, maybe better, who still had a crush on him, but whose body and plain, midwestern manner held no more charm for him.. Lana, whose girlish figure he had once found so alluring, had a strange power to hold his interest, but never to command it. He had grown up with both of them, but they were, compared to Lisabeth, still mere girls, mere shells of the woman Lisabeth is. He sits. "Here you are," she said softly from somewhere deep inside him. "And here we are. No one will disturb us." He looks at her and breathes, concentrating his energies. "Lisabeth, the murders here, both of them, you -- She is stretching out her arm, her long, rounded arm, the smooth curve of her bicep a twin to the curve of the voluptuous breast that refuses to hide from him, that he sees as clearly as if she had removed her t-shirt. He tries to go on. "You were there. They were your ... "And WE are HERE, Clark." Her breathing quickens. "You feel it too, like me, I know you do, don't you?" she asks, knowing he won't answer. Another wave of her scent hits him, nearly floors him. It comes from another part of her now too. All his powers, all his invulnerability, cannot shield him from his own needs; his needs have his powers too, as mighty as his wish to resist them. Her fluttering hand is on his chest, her fingers slipping inside his shirt, so gently, as if the strength of her muscles, far larger than his, did not exist, yet her touch runs like lightning through him. With all his strength, he cannot move that hand or stop its fluttering as it dances lower and lower down his torso. But still he struggles. "You can't ... it's not right that ... if you ... I must ...." "WE must, Clark. WE MUST." He isn't sure if she actually said it, or if she had beamed that thought directly into his being, but he senses it throughout, wants to obey it, wants to disobey it, but her fingers, her slender fluttering fingers, are opening his pants and now touching him inside them with a power stronger than the immense steel crushing strength of his muscles. The feelings are magic. Her power is magic, a power he cannot resist. Or is that power actually his? His desire, giving her human fingers magical powers far beyond their mere physical strength. He has something he must do ... but must he do it first? "Let me," she says, in that same Voice, and before he knows it, she has completely freed him from the protective prison of his clothing and encased him, swallowed and protected him in her own, hidden him within herself. He cannot believe what has happened, so quickly, so easily. Her diaphanous pink skirt flutters around them. "There's nothing but me underneath," she teases, moving on him and around him. "Just let me. Just let me. Then we can do what you want. What YOU want," she repeats, her body, inside and out, moving around him more quickly, her words in perfect tune with her undulating body, all of its parts feeling so soft, looking so round, so delicious to his eyes, while inside she was taking him, surrounding him, squeezing him, pulling him, touching him, never letting go. "What you, what you, what you WANT, what you want, what you want," she repeats in her Voice, speaking directly to his soul, to his desire, more powerfully than his own thoughts, while her skirt flutters higher in the wind, its pinkness tangible, and inside she is pressing harder and faster against him, his body beginning to buzz with his desires and its needs, so long suppressed, always suppressed. "No, no," he says, holding up his hands to stop her, but instead of pushing her away, they land on her breasts and instead of pushing her, they push them, squeezing, touching, feeling. All of him is feeling her. "Oh yes, baby, yes baby, yes. Do it. DO it. You can DO it. DO it!" she cries. He mustn't. The consequences. Unknown. Pregnancy. Other danger to her. He must be in control. Her fingers clutch at his body. "No, no. Oh NO!" he says in all too sudden defeat, as the long pent up stream of his cum bursts from him, while his orgasmic pleasure bursts within. "Yes, ooooooh yes!" she cries, her own orgasm pulsing around him. Her arms circle him in an ecstatic hug. "Ohhh!" [OH YES YES OH OH OH OH PERFECT ALWAYS THERE WHAT TO WHAT IS IS NOT IS NEW NEW HOW TO MUST START START] ABXGACCKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACT TT.... "Ohhhh..." she cries and goes limp. "Lisabeth. Lisabeth!" he says, climbing off her. She is sprawled on the ground, her eyes are open but unseeing. Her breathing is short, labored. "Oh no! What have I done?" he says to himself. He dresses hurriedly and arranges her skirt on her more modestly. Her t-shirt is still on. He looks around him. No one is there. "Lisabeth," he repeats. [Colors. Sounds. Sensation. Lightness.] [A START A GOOOOOD START BUT NOT NEED MORE MORE MORE] [Happening. What's happening?] [CAN'T FINISH CAN'T MANIPULATE YET.] [What should I do?] [NOT READY YOU'RE THE DRIVER DRIVE] She blinks. She feels as though she's just swallowed three cups of double espresso. "Wow." She looks up at Clark. "Wow." "Lisabeth! Are you ok? I thought I -- She sits up. "I'm fine. Very fine." She takes a breath, a deep breath that strangely feels unnecessary. Her mind is racing. She remembers and smiles. "Mmmmmm," she says, her voice back to normal. "You seem ... I was worried for a moment. I'm sorry if I -- She leans back and closes her eyes, taking in the sun. Her skin tingles, on fire but not burning. She pulls her t-shirt up, baring her waist, and then her skirt, stretching out her bare legs on the grass. That's even better, so much better. The sun is so good to her. She can still feel herself throbbing inside, where Clark was. Not bad at all. She could do that again sometime. But not now. It wasn't anything important. Not compared to what has just happened. And the sun. "Lovely day," she says, the rising sun warming her. She opens her eyes and looks up into his. "You were saying?" "Lisabeth, you're so beautiful." She inclines her head slightly in acknowledgment. "If I took advantage --" "It's our secret, Clark. I won't tell ... if you won't." "I wouldn't!" Her eyes twinkled. "Oh? Not even ... Chloe?" He swallows. He has no secrets from Chloe, at least none he has been able to keep. "Not even Chloe," he affirms. "Good." She brushes her calf with her toes and his eyes follow. [Already? He's got a lot of energy. But I feel that way too, like those espressos keep pumping through me.] [ESPRESSOS? YES THEY ARE] "But Lisabeth, still, we have to talk. I mean, those murders. Jennifer Conners and Mike Johannson. You were in the places where they were killed." She misunderstands him, deliberately. "Of course I was. I used to go out with Jennifer and I went to her classes every week before we broke up. And Mike, a bad, ugly person. I was in his apartment a lot, freshman year when I saw him." "I mean," he says with difficulty, "you were there more recently. You were there ... when they were killed." "Why do you think that? No one else says so," she says, challenging him. She pauses and adjusts her t-shirt to pull the tight sleeves up to her shoulders, leaving her biceps uncovered. She flexes them, mostly to try subtly to intimidate Clark, but also because she is curious about what Clark and her "other voice" have done for them. She is disappointed to see that they look much the same, but there is a different feeling, as though she could hold them in that position forever. She continues speaking offhandedly, but keeps them fully flexed. "I talked to the police about Jennifer -- but only because I knew her well. No one else blames me for what happened to Mike, even though everyone knows how I feel about him. He deserved it. And very girl who knew him -- the way I did -- feels the same way." He is looking down at her arms, eyeing her muscles, her huge round muscles, so much larger than his, and rock solid, like she is in top physical shape. He's grateful for his powers. He may have to use them, soon. "There's evidence. You left evidence." She looks at him with a fixed smile. "And you have it?" He is sure of it now. But, he thinks guiltily, looking again at the curves of her full breasts, he always was sure. And even though he was sure she was the killer, he made love to her and would again if ... but no, he couldn't. He couldn't possibly. He stares back at her. He can't back down now. "I do." She relaxes her arms but continues staring at him, waiting for him to say more. "You should turn yourself in. They'll go easier on you that way." She laughs. "Are you joking? Even if I HAD killed them, which I DON'T admit, I would NEVER do that. And neither you, Clark, nor anyone else will ever convince me otherwise." She rises to her feet slowly, gracefully, enjoying the sensation of rising above him, looking down on him. She extends her hand to his chest again, a single, long, slender finger gently touching it, but it's a different kind of touch from just before, one that says 'be warned.' He looks down at her finger and his eyes travel up past her rounded forearm, lingering for a moment on biceps that still bulge powerfully even though they are now relaxed and up to her cannonball shoulders. Yes she surely looks strong, abnormally so, for a girl, but none of that human strength will matter if he must use his own unearthly powers to protect others, as he has sworn he will do. "Lisabeth," he says, quietly, but firmly, stepping away from her, "I can't allow you to continue. You have to answer for what you've done." "What you think I've done," she replies. "You have no proof. You have nothing. Come on, lie down with me again." But she knows he won't, not now. He looks up at her. "We'll see about that," he replies, his eyes steady and fierce. She stares back, challenging him to do more. But no, he decides. Now is not the time. There is evidence. He can put the evidence together and confront her again. It will be better that way. But he will have to watch her closely until then. 27 "I'm sure it's her. It has to be." "But Clark," Chloe replies, "you said her fingerprints don't match what was found near Jennifer Conners, and there were no fingerprints at all at in Mike Johannson's apartment. How can you be so sure?" "Her hair for one thing -- "But there are other explanations for that, Clark. You know that." Clark sighs. "I know. But something about her response to me. It seemed that she wanted me to suspect her, and then when I voiced it, she was so cool about denying it. Not upset, not panicked, as if she had planned everything and this was simply the next step." "She could simply be emotionally detached, Clark. Or just shocked that you accused her. Or," she adds, biting her lip. "she could be using her body and her, you know, sex appeal, to manipulate you. Look at the way you've responded to her. You have to admit it, Clark. You find her very attractive. I'm sure she knows it." "Umm, yeah, well...." Clark says, embarrassed. Chloe looks at him, barely hiding her disgust. "No. Don't tell me. I REALLY DON'T want to know." 28 "Lisabeth," Crystal says sleepily. It's past three. Why are you still up? Is something wrong?" Lisabeth puts a comforting hand on Crystal's round rump and rubs it. "No, sweetness. Everything's fine. I'm just not tired." "After what we did earlier, I thought you'd be completely relaxed. Ohhhh. MMMMMhhhhhhhmmmmm," Crystal says, slipping back into sleep, as Lisabeth rubs her some more where she knows Crystal likes it. She leaves her hand, motionless, on Crysal for half a minute, until she knows she is fully asleep and then turns back to what she had been watching through walls, trees, the Science Building, the football stadium and tens of sleeping persons: It's Clark, over a mile away, in Mike's apartment, painstakingly searching the floors and walls. She smiles. "Oh you are suspicious, aren't you Clark, but about entirely the wrong things," she says to herself. "I have secrets too, and mine are much bigger and more dangerous than those you are looking for, as you will learn soon. Very soon. Whether you're looking for them or not." ABXAGATTATACKGATRCCTAYCAATGPPTTGOGTTCGTAATNNN.... [Oooooh, you're at it again, aren't you? What new toy have you given us now?] [CAN LINK WITH ALL THINGS ALL THINGS POSSIBLE JUST LIKE AT THE BEGINNING. EYES CAN LINK US. EYES CAN CHANGE ALL WITH THE WHITE LIGHT. THE LIGHT OF THE BEGINNING.] [What does that mean?] [WE ARE SAFE NOW AND SO POWERFUL MORE THAN EVER BEFORE BUT ... NEED MORE FROM HIM] [Sounds good. But what exactly can I do, other than see through walls and go nights without sleeping?] [GET MORE AND YOU WILL SEE] [So, now you play games too?] [WE LEARN] 29 It's eight-thirty. Crystal wakes up and groggily looks at Lisabeth, staring at the wall, wearing a smile that is just this side of hysterical, mad laughter. "Lizzy! Lizzy!! What is it? You never went to bed! Are you -- Lisabeth turns to her with a look that could melt comets. "Oh sweetness! You would never believe the disgusting gross things George Bush does when he wakes up in the morning!" Crystal looks even more concerned. "Oh no, darling. Don't worry. I'm fine, absolutely fine. Are we having breakfast together today? It's Tuesday, your English class isn't until 10; my Media Studies is 11, not that I need to go, but we have time, plenty of time." She dives back onto the bed and playfully wrestles Crystal down and starts licking her quickly. "Lizzy. Lizzy!!" she squeals. "I have to get ready. Miss Richards hates me, and if I'm late .... O-O-O!" Half an hour later, Crystal is leaning against Lisabeth in the shower, her head against Lisabeth's breast. "Oh god, you've really done me this time so I can hardly stand up. Where do you get all this energy? Are you really OK? Like ... I heard that-- -- crazy people are unnaturally strong and don't need much sleep?" Lisabeth bends down and lets Crystal look her directly in the eyes. "Well, do I look crazy to you?" "You look happy. But I don't know why you're so happy or why you couldn't sleep," she says. "I mean. if you don't want to tell me ...." "Oh, dearest, darling Cryssie, I DO want to tell you but I CAN'T yet, but, believe me, I will tell you, just not yet." [NO] [Shut up] "Well, OK." Lisabeth picks her up like a toy doll and kisses her. "OK so long as I wake you up like this every morning?" Crystal kisses her. "You'll kill me if you do that. But," she pauses, "it'll be worth it." 30 "Miss Collins, may I see you after class today?" Lisabeth looks up at Mr. Ross, her Media Studies professor. "Is there a problem?" "I don't think so. But let's discuss it then." Lisabeth grimaces. She would miss the best sun of the day, and no matter how wonderful she feels, soaking up the sun's energy makes her feel even better. The thought passes her mind that she shouldn't be greedy. Another follows: why not? Why does she even continue at school? [WHY?] [Because my friends are here, and I like them.] [WHY DO WE NEED FRIENDS WE ARE SO FAR BEYOND THEM] [It's fun for me, and that's why I'm staying.] [MEDIA STUDIES IS FUN BIOLOGY -THIS PRIMITIVE, PASSIVE BIOLOGY-- IS FUN?] [For now.] [WE SHOULD BE GOING TO FIND HIM] [No. He'll come to me. It will be better that way.] [WE NEED HIM] [I'm not Listening to you.] "Miss Collins, are you listening to me? I asked you whether the media's approach to the Iraq war represented a new era of independence or subservience." Lisabeth blinks. She stands and speaks in a loud, clear voice. "Subservience. Establishment media, even media commonly understood as acting as a voice for the opposition to the Republican administration, blindly accepted facts of seriously dubious provenance and provided both backdrop and cheering section for national subservience to a partisan so-called "faith-based" political agenda. The facts were available, no one wanted to know them, and the media proved a willing collaborator in ignoring them." Mr. Ross gapes. "Yes, although a few independent weblogs and periodical -- Lisabeth interrupts. "You asked me about the media. Obviously if one samples the entire universe of opinion you will find counter-examples. The Nation. The website Salon. Or are they the 'media' you wished to discuss, rather than the common middle ground of television and cable networks, multi-media conglomerates, large and small city newspapers we have been studying all semester?" "Without criticizing your response, my observation was intended to ... er ...." Lisabeth lifts her arms and stretches lazily, pushing out her chest. Only a few students look at the Professor. "Yes. You're well-made. I mean, your point is well-made." There is a smattering of laughter. He stands behind the podium, halting his usual pacing in front of the class. "Yes. Are there any, um, comments on Lisabreast's, um, Lisabeth's, no, Miss Collins's um points." He blushes and the class laughs loudly. Herman Kneet, a varsity forward says, "I think her points are outstanding." There is general applause and whooping among the boys. "Gentlemen. Gentlemen. If you would please ... oh dear, the time is up." Lisabeth fixes another glare at Herman and walks up to the front of the room, remaining two rows away from him. "What is it, Professor? I'm in a bit of a hurry." He looks up at her. "Yes. Yes. Oh, I'm so sorry, but ... I was going to suggest my office, but perhaps now, it might make more sex, I mean sense if .... I wanted to say how pleased I am, generally about the improvement in your written work, even though your classroom behavior is incandescent -- I mean indecent, no, inconsistent. For promiscu ... promising students, we can waive some course requirements, make connections with real newspapers, internships, you know, and if you would take me um as ... as your ... adviser I could see if could place your -- Lisabeth rolls her eyes. "Exactly where do you want to place me, Professor?" A new thought occurs to her, She crosses her arms in front of her chest and slowly steps down to the podium, where she towers over the slight, bookish man. She steps closer, so that her right breast hangs millimeters from his nose. "Tell me, if you were my adviser, would you do exactly as I ask?" "Um," he looks nervously, afraid to move his head and bump into Lisabeth's full, slightly bobbing breast, "within normal procedures, of course." She shrugs and turns. "These procedures in many cases have exceptions and special considerations," he adds. She turns back, remaining in profile to him. "I'm sure you agree that I am exceptional and very, very special." He nods. "Good. Then your first assignment is this: my friend Crystal Cummings is having trouble with her English teacher. She needs an "A" in that course. Make sure she gets one on all her papers and exams for the rest of the year. English 143, with Miss Richards." "Miss Richards?" he asks dolefully. "Tough, isn't she? If it were easy, what would your help prove? Or is it too hard for you? Are you not up for it?" "No! I'll do it. But, our first conference ... when we'll we meet ... in my office?" She considers his question and pretends to fix the fit of her blouse over her right breast. "I'll see how you handle this one, Professor, and then perhaps I'll see how much more you can handle, if you're up for it." She turns and saunters out of the room, her butt swaying hypnotically. By the time she has left the building she is just getting over her laughter. In seconds she spots Herman, who is entertaining a group of his friends with an embellished version of his exploits in Professor Ross's class. She strides right up next to him. "That was unnecessary and obnoxious." At 6'7", Herman is one of the few students to be able to look down at Lisabeth. "You're the one who was coming on to him. What do you expect?" he says casually, refusing to take any criticism from her. She quickly backhands a slap across his face and knocks him down, flat on his back. "Why, that's just what I expected. Is this what you expected?" He shakes his head, surprised, and climbs slowly to his feet. "Hey, nobody does that to me! I don't care if you're a girl. If you -- She pins his arms to his sides, picks him up by the waist and tosses him ten feet away. He lands heavily on the ground. "This girl does what she wants." In two leaps she stands above him. "Now, Herman, is there anything you want to tell me?" He shakes his head fearfully. "What a pity. I thought you were going to apologize." She picks him up and lets him stand unsteadily for a moment. "What are you going to do, Herman?" He balls his hands into fists, but there is no strength left in his arms, and he knows it. "I'm going to knock you out now, Herman, and when you wake up, if you wake up, you're going to -- With a rush of wind, something spirits Lisabeth away from the scene to a deserted wooded area of the campus. Briefly startled, Lisabeth quickly realises it's Clark. He is yelling at her angrily. "What are you doing? What ARE you doing? What are you going to do? Kill him, like the others?" Lisabeth is now more curious than unnerved. "How did you do that? And what do YOU think you're doing?" "Stopping you from killing yet again!" "What is WRONG with you? I was just scaring him. And humiliating him, as he deserves. That's all. What's more interesting is how closely you're watching me. From where? For how long?" Clark doesn't answer. "While I'm in my room? With Cryssie? In the shower ... when I'm all naked?" She laughs in a low voice. "Of course not! How can you think I could do that anyway?" "You have no idea what goes on inside of me, do you?" she says now using her 'sexy' voice. She is facing him with her hands on her hips and she shifts her shoulders up and down as she speaks. "You can't help watching me. Look at you now. Where are your eyes, Clark? I'd say you're watching 'them' move? Like any other Peeping Tom, Dick or Clark." "Shut up!" he roars, and grabs her shoulders to stop her moving them. Lisabeth stands still for a moment, letting him take in her closeness, feel the firmness of her body, the roundness of her curves and breathe her scent, and then boldly reaches inside his pants and pats his rapidly emerging erection. "Oh sure! I hear you loud and clear. You're a good one to talk!" He grabs her hand and pulls it upward, out of his pants. "Don't you DARE touch me like that!" he yells, barely restraining himself from using too much of his strength to hold her, or from slapping her and sending her flying into orbit. "Oh, no? Well, I DO dare. What do you think of THAT?" she replies and twists out of his grip, then puts her hand right back where it was. To his complete astonishment she begins rubbing him again back and forth. "Come on, Clark, admit it. Doesn't that feel good? Isn't THIS what you really want from me?" His face is bright red with rage. "NO!!! I ... I ... DON'T ... DON'T you DO that!" He pulls her hand away again, and this time holds it more tightly, tightly enough to overcome any attempt on her part to wriggle away, and, to convey the message that he is deadly serious this time, tight enough to hurt her. She looks down at his hand on her wrist but says nothing, and he is briefly impressed by her stoicism. Still, her determined actions confirm his assessment of her character, as if the evidence were not enough by itself. She is the killer. "I KNOW it was you," he says, voicing his thoughts as coldly and firmly as his grip. "It was your hair there, your skin. The samples were too small for the police to notice it. But I have them, and once I give the samples to the police their labs will confirm it." She looks away. Several miles away, she sees an envelope in Clark's room containing hair. Her hair. She will have to retrieve it somehow and destroy it. "I don't think that will ever happen," she says, turning back to him, her mouth set. She shakes her head and smiles, not in a friendly way. "No, not at all." She breathes in, slowly. Her chest expands. Her breasts rise and they push against his neck and stay in the position. Lower down, he pulses, his erection pushes against her leg. She laughs and her chest moves slightly, side to side. "Stop it!" he orders. He wants to squeeze her hand more tightly but he fears if he holds her any more firmly he will break her bones. She continues to taunt him. "Do you think you can control me? When you're not even in control of yourself, Clark? Of that little bit of yourself that's pushing against me? Nudging me? Asking for more of my attention?" she says, her mouth hinting a sneer. "You think so highly of yourself. Well, I'm NOT impressed." She tightens the muscles of her thigh against him and moves her leg slightly, back and forth. Harder and then harder still. He lets go of her hand and takes her by the shoulders, pushing her away to arms length. But now he looks down directly into the outthrust shelf of her breasts. "Needed a better look first? Do I impress you THAT much?" Enraged, he throws her away from him. She flies ten feet into the air and lands heavily forty feet away, settling in a limp heap. Clark speeds to her side, horrified at the violence of his emotional reaction. He kneels down and shouts, "Lisabeth. Lisabeth!" in full panic, but there is no response. Her eyes are closed. He puts his hand to the side of her head. There is no pulse. He reluctantly uses his x-ray vision to look inside her body. There is no bleeding, but her heart is stopped. He needs to give her CPR immediately to restart it. He stares at her breast-laden chest helplessly. Where to strike without damaging them? He rips open her shirt and her breasts spring out in full splendor, momentarily making him blush with desire. He struggles to focus. There is a job to be done. He finds the right place, pushes her left breast aside and, calibrating his strength carefully, prepares himself to pound on her chest. "WHAT are you doing now?" she says, her eyes open, looking up at him. He freezes. Was she pretending to be hurt? But he threw her so hard, so far. How could she not be hurt? "You DO play rough," she continues. Her sandals dropped off when he threw her, and now she raises her bare foot to his crotch and massages him with her toes. "Ooooh, what HAPPENED to YOU? He got all SOFT and SMALL! Did I frighten the little thing? I know you boys can get VERY emotional when you think you're having trouble staying hard. Were you worrying about it? Does that embarrass you? Were you blaming me? Did you want to kill me? So I wouldn't tell?" He is staring at her. He is so angry, but has no idea how to respond to such nonsense. "Come ON, Clark! Don't tell me you're one of those boys who can't TALK about these things? Is this a SECRET? Oh-ho, I bet you have LOTS of secrets! Did you feel you needed some help? Were you afraid to ask? Did that make you angry? Did you need to look at my breasts more to keep yourself hard? Did you need to touch them? Were you afraid to?" No! NO! NO!!!" he said, shouting, suddenly fearing what she knows. "Just listen to you! There's no need to get SO upset about it! It doesn't matter how strong you are, Clark. You have all the weaknesses all boys have. I know that! I know all about it." She pushes her breasts together with her arms and wriggles her toes against him to massage him. He responds immediately and stiffens against her. "There!" she says, now using her sexiest Voice. "You're so easy for me, just like any other boy. See? Feel better? I'm the one in control. I made you soft, and now I can make you hard." She rubs him more vigorously. "This is JUST what you needed to get hard, right? REALLY hard!" With that, he bursts through his pants, his penis extending toward her, pulsing, slightly wet. And his desire is building higher and higher. [GET IT GET IT ] [Quiet. I'm busy.] "Look at that! HARD and BIG. You DID it, Clark. Aren't you proud? Aren't you a proud boy! A proud, strong boy." She rises, extending her tongue around him, licking him gently, ever so gently, but faster and faster, her tongue trilling against him, withdrawing, and then starting up harder and faster than before. His eyes are dazed. He sighs, almost bursting with desire. She surrounds him in mouth and then, speaking right against it, again in her Voice, "Yeah, you really like that, don't you." She rubs her breasts against his penis, compressing her cleavage around him, taking her erect nipple up and down the shaft. "Don't you want to SHOW me how BIG and HARD he can BE?" He wants to pull away, but he can't. Obviously he isn't trying hard enough. She touches him, putting her hand around his pulsing shaft gently. Too gently! "What's the matter? Can't decide whether you really want me to stop, Clark? I thought ALL boys liked to be touched there, especially young men with their hormones raging like yours are. Touched and rubbed and pushed and pulled and tickled and squeezed ...." While she is talking he wants nothing more than for her to stop, but it feels to him as though his strength, and what's more, his very will and determination, have drained away, while hers has multiplied in power, each tantalizing touch of her fingers leaving him desperate for more. "Ha, ha," she says, her mouth close to his yearning erection, nibbling on it and teasing it with her lips between her words, her tongue like a bow against his string, playing him louder and louder, while her hand tunes him higher and higher so he fears he might snap. "Little Clark ... like putty ... helpless ... so helpless ... waiting ... waiting for me ... while it builds ... builds ... builds ... and builds inside you ... higher ... harder ... more and more ... so hard ... until you can't stop it!" She kneels in front of him and takes him into her mouth and tightens her lips on his shaft when he groans and explodes in jets of hot cum that shoot against the back of her throat. She holds on tightly to the back of his legs, continuing to move her lips up and down against him, milking him, pumping him, urging every last drop. [Happy?] [OH OH OH WITHOUT BOUNDS NOW WITHOUT BOUNDS THERE IS SO MUCH THERE IS NO LIMIT NO MORE LIMIT] ABXGACCKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACT TTKRYPTONNOTPYRKABXXBACTGACCTAKROGGTPKAATNOOOATCCTGATACRNNNPRABNNTGXXXXXABXGAC CABXGACCKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTABXGACCABXGACCKCC KTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTKRYPTONN OTPYRKABXXBACTGACCTAKROGGTPKAATNOOOATCCTGATACRNNNPRABNNTGXXKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPT AAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCG RROTTGKKACTTTKRYPTONNOTPYRKABXXBACTGACCTAKROGGTPKAATNOOOATCCTGATACRNNNPRABNNTG XXKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTABX GACCABXGACCKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGK KACTTTKRYPTONNOTPYRKABXXBACTGACCTAKROGGTPKAATNOOOATCCTGATACRNNNPRABNNTGXXKCCKT TATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTNNNPRABNNT GXXKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTAB XGACCABXGACCKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGYCCGRR OTTGKKACTTTABXGACCABXGACCKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOTGNTTPAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGT TACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTKRYPTONNOTPYRKABXXBACTGACCTAKROGGTPKAATNOOOATCCTGATACRNNNP RABNNTGXXKCCKTTATCCRAYGGPTPTAAACATOOAACATGATKNGTNTTKNYGTTACYCCGRROTTGKKACTTTAB XTTGGATCATACTACGATTACAABXKRYPTON [Oh My. Oh. Oh. Oh. My!] [YES YES OH YES] He is still inside her mouth, but his spasms are weaker now, his gasps of pleasure less intense. Suddenly embarrassed, furious that he has let her seduce him again, he pulls himself out of her mouth and turns around so he does not have to look at her. He tries to dress but his pants are torn where he had burst through them. [I feel I am bursting with ... with] [THE EVIDENCE WE SAW BEFORE. OUR HAIR. LOOK AT IT AGAIN.] Lisabeth turns slightly and quickly finds it, still on Clark's desk where it was. She can see it so sharply now, as if it were within reach. [LOOK HARDER] [I see it already] [HARDER] The envelope bursts into flame. It burns brightly for less than a second until it is consumed, charring a few nearby papers and the surface of the table, but the rest is untouched. [Oh. Wow. He can do this too?] [YES BUT WE DO IT BETTER WE ARE BETTER.] [Really?] She laughs. "What's so funny?" he says angrily, turning around to face her, his pants split from the front. She can't stop smiling. "You ... it ... the whole thing is so ...." She looks up at the sun, beaming its energy directly into her. She wants to drink it all in. If only she could swallow the sun too. Maybe she could, if she could only reach it. Does he not feel it too? She looks him up and down. [How can he not know? Or does he simply not understand?] [FROM BASE WE ARE BETTER AND NOW HAVE SAME SPECIAL ENERGY BUT WE OPTIMIZE ALWAYS OPTIMIZE] [Well, don't stop now] He is shaking his head. "I don't understand you, how you make me do ... but all that is beside the point. You have to face justice for what you've done. It's as simple as that." "Oh no it's not!" she laughs. "Justice is on my side. Like the sun." "You're wrong, Lisabeth, on both accounts." He takes her arms, pins them to her sides and lifts her into the air. "I'm taking you to the police, with the evidence." "No you won't." She pushes her arms outward. "Why should you decide? Because you're stronger? What if you're not?" She feels him steadily increase his efforts, but she keeps pushing harder until slowly his arms give way and she slips back to the ground. "See what I mean?" she says. "You can't be -- She steps up against him, crowding him. "Oh yes I can," she says. "You're not! I am!" he affirms. "You KNOW I am." "You're not stronger, Clark. You were before, but you aren't anymore." She places her hands on his shoulders and begins pushing down. He resists and she increases her efforts rapidly, clenching her fingers tightly and using for the first time the new strength flowing through her body. "Oooooh-owww!" he groans suddenly, his knees wavering, his eyes wide with surprise. "But how?" "Mmmmmm. Harder, Clark?" she purrs. "Looks like these muscles ARE good for something, after all." His knees buckle and she bends hers, continuing to press him lower until he is seated, his shoulders pinned on the ground. "How ... can ... you ... DO ... this!" he is grunting, unable to believe or accept his failure to stop her. She holds him down with one arm and one leg stretched across his and reaches through the tear in his pants and starts caressing him again. "And now, should I make you ready for more?" [WE HAVE ALL WE NEED] [I know that but he doesn't. I'm just playing with him. The self-righteous little prick.] "No! Stop!" he says, trying to get up. "What's the matter, Clark?" she sings, her sexy voice, unlabored, teasing. "Are you worried what might happen if you give me even MORE of your secret, special sauce? Do you think you've made me too strong already?" She strokes him, making him grow again. "Look! There he goes!" She rubs him until he is fully hard. His face is contorted. "I gave you your strength?" he says incredulously, trying to twist away. "Oh yes," she says, running her tongue around her lips. "Yum yum, yummy." He shakes his head in horror. "You SOUND mad, but, honestly, you showed me once before how strong you are, and it doesn't feel to me like you're REALLY trying. I think you secretly WANT me to be stronger than you. MUCH stronger, hmmmm? Come ON already, if you really want to stop me. Put some MUSCLE into it. I DARE you! Hey, what's WRONG, baby? Can't you try ANY harder than THAT? Are you COMPLETELY sure you WANT me to stop? Or might it be that those little muscles of yours just aren't strong enough anymore to stop ME from doing whatEVER I want -- to you or anyone else." He wants to scream with frustration, to scream loudly enough to deafen everyone within a mile, but he doesn't dare. "This ...is ... impossible!" he grunts, pushing helplessly against her. "Why?" she clucks. "Herman's bigger than me, and see how I handled him. I'm bigger than you are, a lot bigger. What's more, my muscles are bigger, much bigger. Harder too," she adds, squeezing his biceps with her free hand and then pumping hers, putting it right next to his eyes. She leans against his back, resting her bosom on his neck. "Is it because I'm female? Do you think that, inch for inch, 'female muscles' are somehow inferior to a male's? Or do you think there's something 'special' about you?" Even using all his strength to push outwards he cannot break her hold. "Maybe I'm 'special' too, even more special than you are." She releases him, except for a lingering playful touching of his erection while, Clark looks up at her nervously, fearfully, waiting for what is next. And then in an instant he's gone. "Oh not you don't! I'm not ready for you to leave yet." She takes off after him, rushing invisibly past students, buildings, cars, airplanes flying overhead, keeping him in sight all the time, her legs churning so quickly they barely touch the ground. She has nearly reached him when he accelerates again. Annoyed, she closes the gap and leaps at him, surprising herself as she flies through the air, level to the ground, her speed continuing to increase until she catches up, envelopes him in her arms and tackles him. They skid along the barren prairie ground of Western Kansas and come to a halt, their clothing burned and in shreds miles behind them. She sits on his legs and hold his hands down, pinning his wrists to the ground with one arm. "Gotcha, coward!" she taunts. "Running AWAY from ME!" "You're as fast as I am too!" he exclaims. "Faster. Faster, stronger, and smarter too, obviously. In fact, I'll say that anything you can do, Clark, I can do better." Clark struggles to release his wrists from her grip. She tightens her hold and pushes down harder, the pressure of their hands compressing the earth below. The frustration, the dismay and a little bit of pain are evident on Clark's face. "Awww, it's not THAT bad, is it? You're telling yourself that you MUST defeat me, that I'm obviously 'EVIL', that I'm planning to destroy the world and make all men my slaves?" She laughs and licks her lips. "What an idea! But that's not really what's bothering you. I know what guys are all about. You like to show us girls how strong you are, and now look at you. Aren't you embarrassed? You thought you were the strongest one around, and you're not. You're just the strongest 'man', Clark," she says, "and a pretty pathetic one now too," she adds, pushing around his now limp and shrunken rod with her forefinger and then lifting her hand gracefully up, fluttering her slender fingers so that her bicep ripples in front of his eyes. "Yes, here's a girl, a mere female, who is far stronger than you, who can overpower you with one, sexy arm while she holds the other high in the air doing nothing at all." "What are you?" he moans. "Kryptonian?" "What's that?! Some kind of religion?" she smiles. "No, that's not what I am. What I am is your nightmare." She pushes him onto his back, shoves him into the dirt and puts her foot on top of his penis, wiggling her toe against it. "Look at that. Completely at my mercy. Good! I'm going to -- oh shit! Amanda! I'll finish with you later, Clark." 31 Amanda had been in the gym, working her legs on the stair-stepping machine. On the lunch line, Valerie had told her about Lisabeth's behavior in Media Studies today, describing in detail how Lisabeth had looked and how completely disgusting it all was, although Valerie's bright eyes and somewhat ragged breathing told a different story. Just listening to Valerie and using her imagination sent an electric current running through Amanda's body. She pushed the food away off her try, unable to think about eating, and went instead to the gym, hoping that working her body hard would knock the imagery out of her mind, but it's not working. She commands herself to dismiss the thought of Lisabeth coming on to that Professor. How could she! And why wasn't she there to see it? She is so annoyed with herself. No! Once was enough! Once was fabulous, but she doesn't trust herself to do it again. Letting herself be intimate with Lisabeth would change everything, it would ruin their friendship and worst of all, it would make her completely, wholly and utterly subordinate to her beauty, her strength, to an energy in her that seems more real than anything else in the world. No! She will NOT let the entire world look gray just because Lisabeth isn't there. NO! NO! NO!!! She has stopped moving and three people around her are staring at her as though she has lost her mind. Was she talking to herself? What has she said? She looks past them and almost runs to the locker room where she quickly pulls on her clothing and leaves, keeping her head down. There's no one she wants to talk to now, no one she wants to see. She should shower, change and work on her paper for English Literature, but she can't. She has to keep moving or else she'll start thinking again, thinking about Lisabeth. She walks and walks, oblivious to the sunshine, to the unusual late year warmth, to the buzz around her in the middle of campus and to the quiet in the wooded areas, but even though in her current state she's not conscious of it, she feels happier where it's quiet and empty and pushes deeper into the woods and then through it, toward the barren, open land outside of town. She looks around, surprised at how far she has come. She turns, thinking she's being silly, that she should get back for her poetry seminar at four, when a large shape -- a man -- emerges behind her, moving towards her, running faster than it should. Where is the road? Where is a house? Even a person -- she is thinking when it -- he -- grabs her and easily wrestles her to the ground. "You. You're her friend. I saw you with her!" Duane is saying angrily, holding her roughly. He has covered her mouth with his big hand so she cannot scream and is on top of her, crushing her shoulder with his weight. Amanda's eyes are wide with fear. She could bite his fingers but that would only make him angrier. He could beat her, rape her, kill her right now, and no one would know. WHY had she come here? How could she be so stupid! "You think it's so funny, the way she acts, coming on to us, like that, and then ignoring us." Amanda tries to shake her head - she DIDN'T think it was funny! Not at all, because she felt exactly the same way, even though she expressed it another way, if he could only understand, but he is holding her so firmly that her attempt to twist away only sends shooting pains down her neck and back. "Well it's NOT! It's SICK and it's -- He stops talking and his hold loosens and then he is off her. She can breathe but she is shaking in fear, afraid to move or even open her eyes. "That was really an incredibly stupid thing to do, even for an incredibly stupid person like you, Duane." That voice. Lisabeth. Amanda looks around. Lisabeth is holding Duane up in the air, lifting his massive bulk with just one arm! How can she do that? How can she possibly be so strong? Her shoulder is sore, but Amanda slowly pushes herself off the ground, brushes the damp dirt from her pants, and walks closer. He swings his fists at Lisabeth angrily, but Lisabeth ignores the blows, not even defending herself, although she is getting angrier. Her eyes darken. "WHAT do you think you're DOING!" Her fist clenches and her muscles tense like she is about to punch him with all her strength when her face goes strangely blank, as Amanda has seen many times in the past few months, but then she smiles and looks at Duane. It is a strange look, as though her eyes are not focused on him, but rather in him. She holds that look, deep in concentrated thought, and then she raises her eyebrows and stares harder, and suddenly Duane's body is bathed in light, a white light unlike anything Amanda has ever seen. Duane's face is vacant, his body limp next to Lisabeth. "What's happening, Lisabeth? What are you doing?" Amanda calls out, but Lisabeth doesn't react except to mouth the words "like Jake" several times, her mouth settling into a gentle smile. "Yes, like Jake. Like Jake now. See how you like that," she says more loudly, sounding like herself again. "Oh, but I know you won't," she says quietly, smiling widely. The special light fades. Duane still hangs limply from Lisabeth's hand, but he looks odd, not like himself. She lowers him to the ground where he stands unsteadily, "Come here, Amanda. Closer." "Lisabeth!" Amanda says, relieved, grateful, but unsure and still shaking. " How did you know what he was doing to me? I can't believe you came just as he was going to -- "Look at him, Amanda. Look what's happening!" she says excitedly. Duane's polo shirt, which had formerly tightly hugged his bulging muscles hangs loosely on him, a couple of inches below his crotch. His sleeves look empty. He staggers, unbalanced. His eyes are slowly coming into focus. He pulls at his shirt. "What the fuck!" he says out loud but just to himself; he is too self-absorbed at the moment to take account of Lisabeth and Amanda. His mouth hangs open in amazement. He pulls his sleeve higher and stares in shock at a skinny, unmuscled upper arm whose biceps scarcely twitch when he tenses them, as he does repeatedly, harder and harder, until he has to shake his hand out to get the feeling in his arm back. "He's lost all his muscle! I can't believe it!" Amanda exclaims in amazement, until her emotions kick in again. "You bastard! You fucking bastard!!" she yells suddenly and charges him. He puts out his long arms to hold her away but she pushes right through them and slaps his face hard, turning his head and knocking him off his feet. Amanda follows him to the ground and sits on him, slapping his face repeatedly. He tries to grab her wrists to stop her, but even when he manages to catch them briefly he is only able to partially slow down the movement of her hand and she quickly twists free and starts beating him again. "Bastard! You bastard!!" she says. Finally he simply covers his face with his long skinny arms, but this stymies Amanda only temporarily, until she pulls his arms away and holds them down on the ground with one hand while resuming the beating with the other. "Ha! How do you like THAT?" She punches his stomach and he moans in pain and starts crying. Amanda is about to hit him there again when she stops, her arm poised. She lowers her arm slowly, gets off him and stands up, backing away from him toward Lisabeth and then falls into her arms. She starts sobbing. "It was so horrible," she cries. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. He was so strong. I couldn't do ANYTHING!" "There, there Amanda. That's all right. Everything's all right now," Lisabeth says soothingly, stroking Amanda's hair and holding her. "Sshhh. Sshhh. OK. OK." Amanda is trembling but she clutches hard against Lisabeth and slowly steadies herself in Lisabeth's embrace. "It's fine now. Really. He won't bother you or anyone else ever again. Never, ever again." Amanda is breathing almost normally and she lets go and turns around, looking again at the tall, skinny man, his face red and getting puffier by the second. He stands painfully, not quite straight, and watches Amanda and Lisabeth carefully, keeping his distance. "Is that really Duane?" Amanda asks. "It is. It sure is," Lisabeth says, smiling. "How ya' feeling, Duane? Something you want to say to me? Or Amanda?" He looks at them but doesn't speak. "I'm not ignoring you now, Duane. There must be something you wanted to tell me. Or ask me. Or DO to me." Lisabeth says, smiling and then waving slowly and gracefully, letting Duane look at her long, thick, muscular arm. She holds out her hand, palm skyward, and beckons him to come closer, lightly pumping her biceps. "Come on, Duane. I won't hurt you, and Amanda won't either. She's all finished with that, right?" Amanda nods, not actually that keen for him to get any closer. "You're a witch, is that it?" he says, keeping his distance. He shakes his head. "No. No. I'm talking crazy. This isn't real. There aren't any witches. You hypnotized me, right? Because this," he bares his skinny arm again, "this isn't happening. It can't be happening." "If you say so," Lisabeth says. "What I'm noticing not happening is you hurting my friend Amanda. Instead, what I see is your ugly face swelling up like a balloon after the beating this girl gave you. Show him your muscle, Amanda." Amanda looks at Lisabeth skeptically and pulls her sleeve up. She flexes her biceps and a small but well-formed muscle rises. She laughs, embarrassed, and rolls her sleeve back down. "She works out almost every day. Pretty impressive, hmm Duane?" "Yeah, for a girl, sure," he replies sarcastically. Amanda bristles. "Maybe," Lisabeth replies noncommittally. "But it's bigger than yours, Duane. Bigger and stronger. She just beat you up, and she could do it again if she wanted to." "I don't," Amanda says quickly. "I don't want to beat anybody up." Lisabeth puts her arm around Amanda and kisses her briefly. "Of course you don't. You were just feeling upset before. Upset and frightened. And now you're much better, right? Amanda nods. She loves being held and kissed by Lisabeth. "I know you're not gay, Amanda, but it's different between us," Lisabeth says, reading the expressing on her face. She kisses Amanda again, a longer, deeper kiss. "You can enjoy being close to me without being gay, right?" Amanda feels as though she's melting, like she could flow into and around Lisabeth, like she could lose herself in her and only be more for it. What is that? What does it matter what it is? Lisabeth must be right, and all Amanda wants to do is to surrender to her in any way that she can. "That's disgusting!" Duane says. His words touch a sensitive part of her mind. Amanda glares at him. "You have no right to judge us!" Lisabeth laughs. "That's right, Duane. I think you're in no position to offend anyone, being such a weakling." Duane scowls. "You can go fuck yourself, bitch." Lisabeth kisses Amanda again and holds her securely and warmly. She puts her lips on Amanda's ear and whispers sweetly, "Amanda, dear Amanda, I'm not suggesting that you should beat up that awful, obnoxious boy, because I know you're not a violent person, but he doesn't seem to understand that things have changed. I think he needs to see how things are. Don't you?" Amanda glances at Duane and then looks back at Lisabeth's face. "But Lisabeth, honestly, I don't understand it either. I don't understand anything I've just seen." Lisabeth picks her up with one arm and cuddles her against her breast. "You don't have to understand it now. But would you just show Duane that all this is real? I could do it, but it will mean more coming from you." "You mean, because I'm smaller than you." "Yes, and because of what he just did to you I think it will help you get over it. Don't hurt him. At least, don't try to hurt him. Just knock him down, tackle him, like in football. Wrestle him a little. Do you know what I mean? He's used to it, or at least he thinks he is. That will show him what's real. Can you do that? And then we'll go back." Amanda laughs. "I have five brothers. Of course I know what you mean." She looks at him scowling at her. "He's still a lot bigger than I am." "He's taller, that's true." Lisabeth gives her a little squeeze. "Come on, I want to watch." She puts her on the ground and gives her a little push towards Duane. "This is your choice," Duane says, licking his lips. "Don't blame me if something happens and you get hurt. Any YOU," he says, pointing at Lisabeth, "YOU stay out of it." "Why? Am I too strong for you, little boy?" she teases. "Lisabeth! You'll just make him mad!" Amanda complains. "Won't matter," Lisabeth says casually. Duane takes the offensive and grabs Amanda as he did before, planting his legs to push her down. Except that she doesn't move. He pushes harder, his face reddening as she stands still and watches, the smile growing on her face. "You're kidding, right?" she asks, knowing full well that he isn't. He is as weak as he looks. She takes his wrists and to his amazement pulls his hands off her shoulders and holds them. "Come on, Duane. What are you waiting for?" She pulls him to the right and lets go. He stumbles and falls. She claps her hands. "That was so easy. What a weakling!" She skips over to where he is getting to his feet and lets him stand up, but as soon as he does she runs into his chest with her shoulder and knocks him off his feet, flat onto his back. "Hey, Duane, is that how you play football?" She kneels next to him and pins his arms to the ground. His arms tremble and face reddens again as he tries to pull away, but he can't move. Amanda shakes her head and feels his biceps. "Lisabeth, how can they be so soft and weak now? He was so strong before, but I'm holding him down so easily. It's like his muscles have turned into mush!" "That's pretty much right. I'd guess that if you compared Duane's muscles with Jake Toefel's, they would be pretty much the same, except that Jake's have probably benefited from more exercise." Duane replies through gritted teeth while he still struggles to free himself. "Toefel? Are you crazy? I work out with weights for two hours every day! All Toefel ever does is carry around his stupid math books." "That's true," Amanda says, playing with the small, soft muscles in Duane's arm. "We see Duane in the gym a lot. Remember? This muscle feels like it's never gotten any exercise at all." "It hasn't," Lisabeth explains. "Obviously this isn't the muscle Duane used to have when we saw him working out. That muscle was much bigger, well-toned, tough and strong, scary strong, but that muscle's all gone. This is new muscle completely, brand new, like a baby's, although obviously bigger and more mature than a baby's." "But soft like a baby's," Amanda replies. She forces Duane's hand up and taps his nose with his fingers as she repeats, "'Like a baby's.' But Lisabeth, isn't just a matter of time before he gets his old muscle back? He's still big and he'll go back to working out. Right?" "And be scary strong all over again? Nope. Undoubtedly he worked out hard and often, and that helped grow and strengthen his muscles, but he was also blessed with great genetic gifts. I say 'was', Amanda, because that's all changed. Now his genes give him all the athletic, muscle-building potential of Jake Toefel. I think when he sees that all the exercise in the world makes only a teensy-weensy bit stronger that will discourage him pretty quickly, don't you?" "Wh-h-at are you talking about? What does Woeful Toefel have to do with me?" Duane says, giving up at last and lying down flat on the ground, trying to catch his breath, his arms exhausted from pushing against Amanda's apparently much stronger limbs. "What's wrong with me? I'm so weak. Am I sick? We got Nebraska to beat Saturday!" "Nebraska! You can't even beat Amanda! You're a wimp now, Duane. You've been punished for your sins. Your limbs are as thin as overcooked spaghetti and your muscles are just as soft. How are you ever going to push around a bunch of men who are made of three hundred pounds of solid muscle? What do you weigh Amanda?" "A hundred and five," she laughs. "And I am, NOT solid muscle!" she adds, bending this way and that, relaxed enough, triumphant enough, to flaunt her subtle but very feminine curves, enjoying the movement of Lisabeth's bright, attentive eyes. Duane looks ready to cry. "This is because of you!" he says. "If you hadn't ignored me, after coming on to me, I never would have done this! None of this would have happened!" Lisabeth shrugs. She's about to reply with a clever remark about causation and fate when there is a rush of air, a blur and a voice demanding, "What's this? What's have you done now?" Amanda stares at Clark. "Where did you come from?" Another weird thing! She huddles close to Lisabeth possessively, remembering how Lisabeth pursued him in the restaurant. He looks at Amanda. "You'd better move away. I have something to settle with Lisabeth." "Clark! You have to help me! They're witches or something. Look what they've done to me!" Duane says begging pathetically. "It's me! Duane Heckshire!" "Duane?" he says. "It can't be!" He looks cautiously at the two girls. Are they witches? When Lana was possessed by a witch she had taken his powers away in a flash. He regained them only by going to the meteorite caves, which were hundreds of miles from here. He can't take any chances, but if he shows any weakness that will be even worse. "Witches? Another one saying that?" Amanda asks, looking up at Lisabeth. Amanda quickly sees that in place of the hungry, aroused state Lisabeth was in last time, she is now distant, even dismissive of Clark, who, Amanda is now at ease enough to notice, is actually very cute. "Lisabeth, please tell me, what's happening?" "Stay away from her or you may get hurt," Clark warns Amanda. "She's dangerous." Lisabeth smiles. "Not to Amanda. But yes, to bullies and rapists like Duane, the 'old' Duane, and people who spy on me, like you. I can be VERY dangerous to people like that." Clark frowns. He doesn't trust Lisabeth at all but Duane could be in the wrong too. The talk around the locker room was that he hadn't been the same since Lisabeth seduced him in the dining center -- seduced him and then abandoned him, just as she seemed to be doing to him. Sure, that was no crime - cruel and hurtful as it was -- but Lisabeth was a killer, not merely a "mean girl". He is sure of that. Lisabeth is so dangerous, now that she seemed to be as strong as -- no, stronger, he had to keep telling himself -- he. And this other girl, Amanda. What is her part in this? Was she involved in the murders too? No, Duane might not be innocent, but something already has happened to him. He needs to get him safely away before he does anything else. He grabs Duane and in a flash he carries him back to campus and leaves him in his room and, after a temporary deprivation of oxygen, asleep. Best if he remembers none of this. "He's gone! Just like he came!" Amanda says, trembling again. "Lisabeth!" she moans, snuggling closer, feeling safe and very, very happy to have Lisabeth all to herself. "Poor Amanda. Too many surprises today?" Amanda nods. "I know. I was in shock when it happened to me, and Clark has given me even more surprises than I ever could have imagined." "Please tell me what happened to you? What's happening now?," she asks, repeating her own question and Clark's and more, as she burrows into Lisabeth's warm, strong body. She wants to know what Lisabeth will say, how much she'll tell her, and how she'll say it. She hides her face against Lisabeth's breast. Lisabeth looks down at the back of Amanda's head and strokes her hair. Dear Amanda. Dear little Amanda! Once she had envied Amanda for her intelligence, her pluck, her willingness to stand up to Jennifer -- the only one she knew who would or could. Now Amanda is cowering, confused and helpless, shrinking away from the world, seeking shelter in her, needing her. She likes that, in a way. It shows how far she has come. But in another way it's disquieting. She is thinking how to explain when there is another rush of air. Clark is back. "We're having this out between us now! If you have any regard for her, you'll get that girl away from here. Or are you using her as a shield?" Amanda turns to face Clark. "Sorry, Amanda. You need to stand back for now. Clark insists, but I won't be long." "Let me watch," Amanda insists. "Of course! I won't be long." She settles Amanda onto the ground and then moves twenty feet away, too quickly for Amanda to see. "So, what's your problem, Clark? I'll tell you what mine is: you're having nothing better to do than watch me with your long distance eyesight and threatening me. I think I have a choice, either give you something better to do, or do something about your eyesight and your ability to make threats. Yes. I know just what to do!" Clark blanches. What will she do next, something horribly destructive, forcing him to spend his time rescuing desperate, helpless people? How cruel could she be? He steels his fists, all ready to fight, when she disappears. Now, where has she gone? He looks around anxiously. Amanda is shaking her head. "This has been the craziest afternoon," she says to Clark in a friendly tone, her hands on her hips. "If I told any of our friends what I've seen in the past hour they would tell me I've been hallucinating. And I have to believe, from what I've seen, that you're not idly staring at the prairie, but instead looking all over for Lisabeth with some kind of super-vision. Is that right? Do you see her?" Clark doesn't answer. "Oh, sure. No one has to tell me anything." Clark shakes his head, unable to find her. "All right. You tell me something and I'll tell you. Did you have anything to do with the murders of Jennifer Conners and Mike Johannson? I warn you. I can easily tell if you're lying." "I bet you can. What are you? A human lie detector?" "Um, not exactly." "It doesn't matter. Of course not! I wouldn't hurt a fly, unless it was trying to bite me, or rape me like Duane was." "OK. You're telling the truth. What about Lisabeth?" Amanda takes a breath and sighs. "I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't know. She's changed lately, quite a lot. But she's a good friend, with a good heart." "I don't know if I can accept that. I have good reason to believe she is the one who killed Jennifer, brutally." "Why? Why would you think such a thing? No one else has said so." "I found some of Lisabeth's -- Chloe!" Lisabeth has appeared with Chloe completely limp in Lisabeth's arms, her body reflecting the bright light shining from Lisabeth's eyes. Her clothes are different, much more elegant than her usual garb. They hang on her torso, the sleeves are far too long and the skirt is below her knees. Clark rushes toward her, but Lisabeth holds her hand up. "Stay where you are, stay right there. I won't hurt or harm her, not a hair on her head, but I won't be responsible if you blunder into me and start something. She's a lot more fragile than I am." She smiles. "Anyway, I'm almost finished. I want you to see this, Clark." Lisabeth looks at Chloe and bathes her again in the strange white light. Chloe moans softly, musically. Her hair deepens to a rich honey blonde. Her cheekbones become more prominent and the shape of her face becomes rounder, as do her eyes, while her nose and chin soften. Her arms and legs grow longer, more toned, her skin finer, and her bust develops and then develops some more, taking up all the slack in her blouse and then stretching it. Lisabeth puts her down and twirls her as in a dance so that her skirt swirls out and settles where it shows most of her long, elegant thigh. She is still recognizably Chloe, but a stunning, magnificent Chloe. Clark stares at her, speechless, while Amanda looks at her with more than a little envy. She opens her eyes, blinking them slowly, as though batting her eyes at Clark. "Clark," she says, her voice singing like a cello, the sound startling her. She tries again. "Clark, what's happened ...." she stops again, but quickly realizes the beauty of the full throated sounds she is making instead of her normal nasal screech. "... to me?" she concludes, her voice even lower, richer, sexier, as though she has already begun to master its new power. She looks down. Her mouth opens in a glorious circle of amazement as she sees the way her large, round breasts push the outline of her blouse far forward and the way her long, slender fingers slide through the air. She takes half a step and looks down at the flawless skin of her leg and then over at Clark who continues to stare at her, wordlessly, helplessly, hopelessly in thrall to her sudden beauty. A warm glow suffuses her. He has never looked at her like that before. She takes a full step toward him and then another, enjoying the easy grace with which her body as a whole advances toward him while its parts swivel and bounce and turn. She realizes she is nearly as tall as he is, just an inch or so shy, and pauses. She puts one hand on her hip, feeling the long curve it makes as it slants up to her wasplike waist. "I'm so different, Clark. Is something wrong?" "You've changed ... so much," he says, his voice dry. He coughs, clearing it. "I mean ..." he glances at Lisabeth and then looks back at Chloe, unable to stop looking at Chloe. "You have no right ... Lisabeth ... to do this. No ... right," he repeats, his voice soft and not at all convincing. He has important things to do, he knows, but this gorgeous creature, not just gorgeous, but loyal, true, more virtuous than he in every way, and now so beautiful, beyond words, beyond all his dreams. "No, she didn't," Chloe agrees, her voice a melody, "but, Clark, I like it." She extends her arm to him, marveling at how each move she makes captures his full attention. She knows it's wrong somehow, but she's not sure why or how. If Lisabeth had asked her for permission to change her like this, she would have said no, but she didn't ask and Chloe is beyond grateful, to have him want her as she has always wished he would. All other concerns pale beside this fulfilment of her dream. Clark can't take his eyes off Chloe, and she, hardly able to believe it, keeps finding new ways to twist and turn her ultra-flexible and curvy body to cement his attention. "You've made her so sexy that he can't think of anything else," Amanda remarks, clearly a bit miffed. "And that's bad because ...." Lisabeth replies, hooking her arm around Amanda and pulling her gently against her breast. "He wouldn't be for you anyway. Not because there's anything wrong with you, but, believe me, there's a lot of history with him and other girls. I've checked him out. He has a real problem with commitment, honesty ... and sharing." "And what about you? There's obviously something YOU'RE not sharing with me." Lisabeth bends over and kisses Amanda full on the lips and then supports her when her knees begin to wobble. "Dear Amanda," she murmurs in her sexy voice. "Let's leave them. I'll tell you everything you want to know, if you want to talk." [NO] [Shut up. It's time for me to do this.] Amanda clings to her tightly and Lisabeth lifts her, covers her protectively and in seconds they are back in her room. And they talk. And talk.