The Facilitator Read Free Page B

she’d done that, perhaps he could relax a bit and let go.
    She settled herself on the bed, her butt snuggled up against a tree trunk of a thigh. The equipment sensed her presence and unspooled the interconnecting cable, activating the wires from her brain and beginning the quiet murmur she associated with the onset of a facilitation.
    Gently she reached out and took his hand, folding his fingers around hers, letting skin touch skin. He was warm, not cool as they usually were at this point. He was hard too, his palm and fingers rough. This was a man who’d worked at something, not a man who had ministered to himself very much.
    Finally, the visual shimmer alerted Martine that she was on her way, heading to meet this patient in a mental place pulled from his nucleus accumbens —the small group of cells within his brain that held the reins on his pleasures.
    Blinking, she staggered a bit, looking down to find she’d grown a pair of what were probably 42DD breasts. Most of which were on show since the tiny structured top was at least three sizes too small.
    The G-string that went with it hid even less of her assets, and a pair of very high-heeled silver shoes completed the ensemble. Fantasy Stripper-girl was obviously among this man’s pleasures, since he was looking at her with all the eagerness of a coyote who hadn’t eaten for a week and had just stumbled across fresh kill.
    Oh shit .
    “Um, hi.” She smiled at him.
    He frowned and rubbed his head. “What the fuck… Where am I?”
    He was as massive as she’d feared, at least three or four inches over six feet. His body was honed to muscular perfection, but he didn’t have the look of a man with a personal trainer.
    He looked a lot more like a man who’d wrestle a camel to the ground and then kill it for a workout. His eyes were dark and expressionless, his face rough with a day or so’s growth of beard. His uniform consisted of a sandy-grey tank top and matching cargo pants.
    He could have been a soldier, a mercenary or—a few hundred years ago—a pirate. None of whom Martine would care to face in a dark alley. Which just happened to be where they were.
    “You’re with me. It’s okay.” She kept her voice soothing. “Your name’s Taber, isn’t it?”
    He nodded, his gaze darting over her body. “Yeah. Can’t remember how I got here, and you’re classier than the ones I usually pick up.”
    “Thanks.” She paused. “I think.”
    “Come here.” He unfastened his pants to reveal a massive erection. “We’ve got time for a quick fuck, right?”
    Martine moved toward him. This wasn’t an unusual request, she knew. Imminent death, especially for men, often resulted in sexual arousal. It had been noted way back when humans hung each other from trees, and nothing had changed over the millennia.
    “If you want, Taber. Sure. I’m here to do whatever you want.”
    He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him, stripping away the G-string and stroking her pussy with large fingers that knew their way around a woman’s sex. Even in this fantasy her body could—and did—respond.
    He lifted her with one arm, easily leaning her up against the wall of the alley. And with a powerful thrust he entered her, stretching her and making her grunt with discomfort. “Fuck. Wait a minute. You’re big.” She pushed at his shoulder, a futile gesture since he was more along the lines of rock than human.
    “Suck it up, girlie. We don’t have much time.” He moved his hips and ground himself into her clitoris. “That motherfucking Carson’s gonna be lookin’ for me if he isn’t already.”
    She bit down on a surge of pleasure as her arousal grew. “Who’s Carson?”
    “Someone you don’t wanna meet.” He adjusted his stance and grunted in approval. “Syndicate honcho.”
    “He’s looking for you?”
    He didn’t answer, his movements fast and slick. Obviously, he’d done this before.
    Martine’s back was being rubbed against a brick wall, which was