D.I.A.N.N.E. Ch. 06

"The Palace is at least twenty minutes from here," she purred in my ear as her fingers danced. "Think you can last that long?"

Fuck! Any advice? I cried to Indy as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I'm not going to be able to hold out at this rate!

She's pulling out all the stops now, kid. Came Indy's reply. You're on your own. Might as well buckle up and enjoy the ride.

I shook my head, both in frustration at Indy's flimsy resolve, and the sight of Debbie's other hand moving down toward my crotch. I didn't have the will to stop her. A few seconds later, she had my jeans undone and the fly open, exposing my tented underwear. "Is this okay?" She whispered in my ear as she resumed her tantalising touches, even more exquisite now there was less fabric in the way. She had to be teasing me with that question, for there was only one answer.

I nodded, and she grinned and slid down to the floor. There was plenty of room in the big limo, making it easy for her to shimmy in between my legs. My heart was racing, blood thumping in my ears as I watched her hook fingers in the waist of my jeans and underwear and yank them down far enough to expose my throbbing dick. Time slowed down as she shot me one maddeningly sultry look before her head descended.

Warm, hot pleasure exploded in my brain as she took me into her mouth. My eyes rolled up in the back of my head and my hips lifted involuntarily, trying to push deeper. She took me easily, my full length disappearing behind her lips. Her moan sent vibrations through my most sensitive areas, driving my pleasure higher.

I'd had blowjobs before -- only while in Dianne -- and they had felt much the same I suppose, but the fact that this was actually real made it all the more exciting. Debbie worked quickly and effectively, starting slowly but rapidly increasing her pace until her head was bobbing up and down furiously. Her fingers tickled my balls lightly in a way that made the top of my head want to lift off.

All too soon, I was grunting and holding her head as I released into her mouth, watching transfixed as my cock flexed between those red lips. I swear I nearly came again as I felt her swallowing my cum. She continued until there was no more, then lifted her head. I came free of her lips with a wet pop.

"You taste good," she remarked with a grin. She appeared very pleased with herself.

"You, uh, do that good," was about all I could manage as post-orgasm dopamine flooded my system. She giggled and looked over her shoulder, but the screen had not moved.

"Thank you," she replied coyly as she helped me fix up my jeans. "I don't know why," she continued as she resumed her seat beside me, "but I just really wanted to do that for you."

"No complaints here," I said with a grin, putting an arm around her shoulders. I was now well past caring about being too affectionate. She snuggled against me happily. We chatted for the rest of the ride over another drink each, procured from the limo's cooler. The chatting did soon turn to kissing, however, and the back of the limo was once again heating up when we felt the car come to a stop.

We straightened ourselves up before Gloria pulled the door open to let us out in front of the Palace. I couldn't be sure, but I thought the corners of her full lips were ever so slightly curved, as if she knew what we'd been up to. Flushing, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and offered a hand to Debbie to help her out of the car.

"Thanks, Gloria," I said as I looked around. The garish, bright lights all over the front of the club made me squint after the softer lighting inside the limo. A dull, rhythmic thumping emanated from inside, the fringes of whatever drum-and-bass rubbish they were blasting to their patrons. It all sounded the same to me, really. A long line of young and well-dressed people waited behind a red velvet rope that flanked the building, many of them looking at us curiously, as if wondering who might be arriving in a limo.

"You are most welcome, Mr. London," Gloria replied graciously. "Your names are on the door, so you will not have to wait in line. Just call or message me when you're ready to leave. I won't be far." At that, she bade us a good night and swayed back around the car. I noticed several guys in line eyeing the way her pants moulded her backside. A few girls, too.

"Awesome!" Debbie exclaimed with a grin. "We don't have to wait! Thanks Gloria!" She offered that last with a happy wave. Gloria returned it with a smile over the limo's roof before disappearing inside. Without further ado, Debbie was leading me by the hand to the huge wooden doors guarded by two hulking men in black suits that eyed us much the way a tiger eyes a mouse; too small to bother with unless it became necessary.

"Names?" one of the bouncers said. He was black and bald and carried a clipboard in a hand big enough to crush my skull.

"Uh, Jake London and Debbie Swanson," I answered. There was a pregnant moment as he glanced at the clipboard. To my left, I saw the people at the front of the line watching us, their faces a mixture of envy and curiosity. There was a girl among them, remarkably pretty with lustrous black hair that fell to pale shoulders left bare by her strapless white dress. When our eyes met, she held my gaze confidently, her face unreadable.

My attention was pulled back to the bouncer when he spoke. "You're good to go in," he rumbled in a voice bass enough to compete with the cacophony inside. He unhooked the rope that blocked off one half of the open doors. "You're in VIP. Go inside and up the stairs on the left. Someone will meet you there."

Debbie looked at me and I met her stare, wondering if I looked as surprised as she was. VIP? It had to have been Gloria, and therefore the Company doing its thing. Wondering what the VIP section was like, I took Debbie's hand and went inside.

*

--TECHNOLOGICAL FACILITY, LOCATION UNKNOWN--

J sighed as he watched the grid of displays that populated the glass wall in front of him. Twenty subjects for himself and M to monitor and analyse. Never before had there been this many. The Company was pushing hard, preparing for something, or perhaps attempting to meet some deadline, the knowledge of which was beyond J's paygrade. There were far more subjects out there, but J and M were responsible only for this group.

His eyes flicked from square to high-definition square on the three-by-three metre wall, watching the subjects as they performed whatever task to which they had applied themselves today. Some were using the tech supplied to them in the form of the Dianne unit, while others weren't at this moment.

In the top left corner, Subject One was on his couch in his house, headset on and engaged in his usual fantasy of being Elvis, on stage at Madison Square Garden in front of thousands of screaming fans. The majority of his screen was taken up by the view from his perspective as he performed, while the top left corner showed him on the couch.

One was actually quite good, though he looked nothing like Elvis in reality, unless it was the King in the later stages of his life. One had been a fifty-four-year-old, overweight parking officer before the Company had delivered him the tech. Now, he was a fifty-five-year-old overweight test subject. Well, he was less overweight, anyway. One's physique had not taken to the technology as some of the others had. It was combination of that and the fact that he rarely did any physical activity, simulated or otherwise.

A few squares over, Subject Four -- a lean African American woman in her early thirties -- was standing in her living room dressed in a singlet and loose running shorts, headset on. Inside her mind, though, she was running a marathon. Already extremely fit before Dianne, Four was now at a level J had not seen before. A pity she had not put the other aspects of the tech to such excellent use. She was as single-minded as Subject One, concentrating only on a singular desire.

One and Four were not alone. The others were all the same to varying degrees. Did they not realise the gift they had been given? Perhaps it was good they did not, else J and his colleagues may have had more competition. The thought made him turn to look at M. She was working at a glass desk nearby, fingers flashing across an array of displays. Her slim back was to him, so his look went unnoticed.

There were a few standouts, J had to admit, though not as many as he had hoped. Still, the tech had been upgraded since last rollout, and there had not been any casualties yet. A good sign. Even more advanced models were in R&D, but most of it was again above J's paygrade.

As was more and more common of late, J found his eyes at the bottom right corner of the screen, where Twenty's activities were displayed. Currently he was in the back of a limo with a pretty, young woman. The young man was fascinating to watch, J had to admit. His exploits with the tech were so contrary to the ordinary -- perhaps even apathetic -- way he lived his life. Out of all twenty subjects, he showed the most promise, though not in the way J and M had thought. The challenge now was to keep his unique, unorthodox progress away from other eyes until J knew what to do with him.

Despite needing to update reports on the others, J aimed his hand, fingers pinched together, at Twenty's display, then splayed his fingers out again, expanding the square until it occupied most of the wall. The other subjects' displays reduced and shifted to the edges so J could keep an eye on them. With the screen expanded, Twenty's vital statistics now showed down the right side, including heart rate, blood pressure, even brain waves. All were normal enough, though heart rate and blood pressure were elevated somewhat, probably because Agent One-Three-Nine -- the pretty young girl -- was pressed up against him like that. J wasn't sure his own body wouldn't be responding that way if One-Three-Nine touched him so; she was a very well put-together young woman.

He frowned at the screen as Twenty's brain activity spiked suddenly, then returned to normal. Unless he had just experienced an orgasm, that level of activity was abnormal. A glitch, perhaps? It had only been momentary.

"Not a glitch," M said from her desk without looking over. Her slim fingers were flying across screens in a blur, data and graphs and images flashing past. J hadn't realised he'd voiced his thoughts. "I've seen several others today, and earlier. The cause is as yet undetermined."

"Interesting," J mused softly. He didn't bother asking M if there were any correlations between the spikes and other data points; she would already be working on that.

Wanting to know where the limo was going, J waved his hand across to bring up a sub-screen, where updates had been posted by Agent Ninety-Eight. So, he'd decided to take young 'Debbie' out on the town, had he? This was certainly not in Twenty's profile of usual behaviour. A singular incident, or a sign of behavioural shift? J kept watching as One-Three-Nine opened Twenty's jeans and began to touch his erection through his underwear. Again, the brainwaves spiked, though this time they were more sustained and in line with standard sexual arousal.

J watched carefully for another spike, but none came, even when One-Three-Nine began to please him orally. Just textbook, gradually rising waves as Twenty's pleasure increased. J smiled at the young woman's enthusiasm; she would go far in this line of work if this was an indication of her commitment. Seduction was a regular part of an agent's work, and those that were unwilling to do what was necessary did not remain long in the Company's employ.

A soft, pulsing tone sounded in the room, and a nearby display on the adjacent wall lit up, notifying J of an incoming call from Ninety-Eight. Moving to the wall, J spoke. "Answer." A second later, Ninety-Eight's beautiful face appeared on a screen panel. "Report, Agent."

Ninety-Eight was efficient and concise in her reporting, as usual. "Twenty is inside The Palace nightclub with One-Three-Nine," she said in her polished accent. "I have arranged VIP treatment for them, which should make for a pleasant evening." Something in the way she said that made J think Twenty was in for quite a night, indeed.

"Do we have monitoring in place?" J asked, though Ninety-Eight would hardly need to be prompted.

"Yes, sir. I'm linking up now and will forward the feed shortly. I'll remain in the vicinity unless you have another task?"

"No," J affirmed. "Remain there until Twenty is ready to return home. If anything changes, I'll be in touch."

"Very good, sir."

Before Ninety-Eight could terminate the call, M called out without looking up from her screens. "Agent, if we need you to move to Protocol Two, will you accept?"

J thought he caught the ghost of a smile quirking Ninety-Eight's full lips, but it was hard to tell; she was sitting in a dark car. "I will accept, sir."

When Ninety-Eight vanished from the screen, J turned to M with a questioning look. "Protocol Two? Already?"

For the first time in hours, M stopped what she was doing and swivelled her chair until she was facing him. She reclined back a little, crossing one slim leg over the other and folding her hands over her flat midriff. No matter how many hours he spent around her in nothing but their skin, he still found the sight of her bare body tantalising.

"He is an anomaly," she explained, pointing to Twenty's screen behind J. "And until we know more, he is leading us, not the other way around. It is too risky to attempt further controlling measures on him. Who knows what he might do? If he's creating shortcuts and backdoors already, then we must have contingencies in place, do you agree? The way I see it, One-Three-Nine will be out of her depth soon."

J grimaced but nodded. She was right, as always. "And if he sees through it?"

"Then we will execute Protocol Three."

J's head swung before she'd even finished the sentence. "We'll never get it approved."

M grinned with more than a touch of smugness. "You leave that to me."

*

The music was too loud, even in the VIP section, but I'd expected that. Debbie and I were sitting on a plush, comfortable lounge in the corner of a big room full of similar furniture, all styled to look palatial. Gold this and silver that, round columns spaced evenly beneath a high ceiling painted with renaissance style artwork, all angels and clouds and people in robes. Thick rugs covered the polished marble floor beneath the furniture. If you got past the garishness of it all, it was quite nice, really.

To my left, right beside our lounge, was a floor-to-ceiling glass panel running the length of the room which looked down at the dance floor, bar and DJ booth. Except for us, the room was largely empty. Looking down at Debbie, I couldn't help but smile at the excitement on her pretty face.

"I've never been to the VIP area before!" She shouted in my ear. That was one thing I hated about clubs; not being able to talk without yelling. I pointed to my chest and shook my head, letting her know I hadn't, either.

From here I could see the entrance; where we had come up from the floor below. A few people were filing in, a handful of guys and girls, one of whom was the one in the white dress from earlier. She didn't look in my direction as her group found seats on the other side of the room. I tried not to look at her, but she was hot.

Pull your head in, I told myself. You're already here with a girl who's way out of your league. Don't go biting off more than you can chew.

Debbie was pressed in against me like she had been in the limo, but now she was bouncing slightly in her seat in time to the music. She flashed me another grin as she leaned over me to peer down at the club below.

A waitress appeared then, a slim, perky Asian girl with her hair in a dark bob. She was dressed the same as all the other female staff I'd seen working tonight; tight, tiny shorts and a bikini top, both covered in shiny gold spangles that glittered in the light. The guys wore the same, but with a vest instead of the bikini top. How this attire matched something one would see in an actual palace was beyond me, but here it was. It felt more suited to a strip club than a nightclub.

She bent forward and smiled as she offered up a silvery tray which held two flutes of champagne. I opened my mouth to say we hadn't ordered any champagne -- we hadn't spoken to anyone since sitting down -- but she shook her head before I could speak.

"These," she mouthed clearly so I could understand as she nodded at the drinks. "On the house." That was punctuated by a finger waved in a circle, meaning the club. Debbie wasted no time in taking one and having a sip. I took mine more slowly; I didn't like champagne too much, but a free drink was a free drink. I was also enjoying the way her petite breasts hung beneath her, slightly bulging around her top.

The waitress departed, and I couldn't help but notice the way those tight shorts exposed the undersides of her butt cheeks, though I kept my admiration discreet.

Debbie leaned in to speak in my ear. "This is fun!" She kissed my cheek and took another sip, then made a gratified face and pointed at the champagne, letting me know she thought it was good.

I took a sip then, and my eyes widened. I hadn't known champagne could taste like this! It was bright and fruity yet carried a subtle, savoury aftertaste that lingered on the tongue. This, I could get used to. A few sips later I found myself bopping along next to Debbie despite never having enjoyed much electronic music before.

Once our drinks were empty, the waitress appeared again almost immediately, this time with a tall glass of beer for me and a complicated-looking cocktail for Debbie. My date shot me a confused look, and I shrugged, my expression saying it wasn't me. The waitress only grinned knowingly and placed the drinks down. She took her time, which gave me plenty of space to admire her slim form. Discreetly, of course.

When I pulled my wallet out to pay, the pretty Asian girl waved me off. Seeing the look on my face, she came over to me and leaned down to whisper in my ear, her head between me and Debbie. "You are being taken care of, this evening, Mr. London. Everything has been arranged." Her voice was sweet, and she had a slight accent, though I couldn't place it. My eyes followed her back as she walked away, this time not looking at her arse.

So, the Company was up to its usual tricks, then. I had half a mind to call it a night right now. Just how much debt was I racking up with these guys? What would happen if they ever asked me to pay it back? That thought made me feel ill. But I looked down at Debbie and saw her big, brown eyes watching me intently. She had a hand on my thigh, almost touching my crotch. The champagne had put a pleasant, warm tingle in my belly, too. Despite being in a club, I was having a good time.

Picking up the glass on the table in front of me, I took a sip and tasted one of the sweetest pale ales I'd ever had. Fuck it, I thought recklessly. Even if they take my thumbs, it's almost worth it already. What else is in store? I took a deeper pull of my beer and sighed, settling back into the couch happily. Debbie picked up her cocktail and daintily fit the straw between her lips as she tried it. The happy look on her face said the bar staff had got it right.

The next thing I know she was kissing me madly. I did nothing to discourage her, and that was how the night started...

*

Some time later -- an hour or so, maybe -- I got up to use the bathroom. As is typical when drinking while sitting down, standing up can let you know just how drunk you're getting. I worked out quickly I was past tipsy, but not by much. The pretty waitress had returned twice more, but the beers weren't exceptionally strong, so I was still pretty level.