Power Mage 5

by Hondo Jinx

  Seizing her by the hips, he took over, not in some rough display of domination but with firm and efficient pragmatism, leading the way.

  He pumped her body rhythmically up and down his shaft, allowing his manhood to thicken slowly, stretching her slick channel, calibrating everything based on her pleasure and excitement, which he could now feel thrumming within his own sensations.

  Tammy cried out with every thrust. He felt orgasm building inside her in perfect time with his own burgeoning climax.

  Faster and faster they moved. The bright heat of their intermingling energies rose, spreading through their bodies, fusing their beings and syncing their heartbeats and respiration.

  Tammy shoved his hands away, wild with passion, and plunged deeper onto his erection. She cried a garbled string of nonsense that included a mangled attempt at his name.

  He responded, expanding his length and girth and lifting his ass off the bed, pushing into her.

  And then something snapped in them, and suddenly, an impromptu fuck session exploded deep in the heart of their lovemaking.

  As the rising geysers of glowing force pillared into their skulls, they dashed all thought and caution and fucked like beasts, lost to passion, humping and kissing, grinding and gasping, clutching and wrestling and howling like wolves. They crushed all planning and precision with their wild and sloppy thrusting, mashing mouth into mouth, sex into sex, body into body, and energy into energy.

  Their bodies and minds and life forces exploded at the same instant, both of them screaming with release as psi force burst from their skulls and slammed together in a bright arch overhead, skewering their climaxing minds and bodies on the bright, pulsing ring of their bonding.

  Tammy hugged him fiercely, yodeling involuntarily, overcome by the moment’s enormous power and beauty. One bonded entity created from two. And then, suddenly, more than two.

  Beams of bright light raced through the walls and slammed into the ring with an explosion of strength and love and euphoria.

  Brawley’s consciousness pulsed like a quasar, repeatedly exploding and winking out, a whole galaxy of stars going supernova in his skull and being reborn again and again in the space of a single second. All of him, his body and mind and soul, lit up like an overloaded breaker box flooded with a pounding torrent of multichromatic electricity.

  He was aware of himself only in the vaguest sense, and equally aware in the same moment of each of his women, who were part of him now as separate colors were part of the same rainbow.

  He was aware of Nina, who had prepared for the moment, climaxing now in a bubble bath lined with scented candles.

  He felt Remi, who had until seconds ago been pacing back and forth inside the RV, triple checking everything, anxious to leave, falling to her knees and roaring laughter and curses.

  Frankie crumpled beside her workbench, bucking and whimpering, her bright green eyes narrowed to slits and her pretty mouth twisting and puckering.

  Sage had seduced Callie into sharing the moment. Brawley could feel her standing naked over the youngest of his wives and showering the cat girl with a gushing cascade of essence; even as Callie, masturbating in her fused form, squealed with orgasm and gave as good as she got, spraying the sexy librarian’s smooth, white legs with her own juices.

  Most of all, he was aware of Tammy, his beautiful new bride, exploding with joy as she convulsed atop him, wallowing in the joy of joining with her sister-wives even as he pumped jet after jet of hot seed deep in her reawakened womb.

  On and on and on the shared orgasm pulsed, blurring lines between the six lovers and bonding them together mind, body, and soul for eternity.

  At last, the bonding ring snapped apart with a bright flash, and a colorful bouquet of uncoupled beams whipped away.

  The column of blue light that had risen from Tammy collapsed back into her skull, thicker and brighter than ever, and a blinding pillar of braided force struck Brawley’s head like a multi-colored lightning bolt, plunged into his mind, and whipped Brawley into the boundless darkness of total oblivion.

  21

  Brawley? Are you okay?

  Tammy’s voice. Faint and far away. Somewhere out there in the darkness.

  Brawley? Answer me, honey.

  He tried to respond but couldn’t because he had no mouth or throat or lungs. He was nothing but a nebulous wisp of half-consciousness drifting through the endless night of…

  What?

  Where was he?

  Had he died?

  Brawley, honey, are you in there? I dropped your shield. Can you hear me? It’s Tammy. If you can hear me, let me know. Think it, Brawley. Send me your thoughts.

  Hearing the desperation in Tammy’s voice, he coalesced around her words. Fueled by her emotion and urgency, he dug deep and pulled his consciousness together to form a simple, single thought.

  Yes.

  Her laughter filled his mind, tinkling merrily over his consciousness like wind chimes of fine crystal. Her laughter and love gave him an anchor point in the void.

  Keep laughing, he thought.

  She did, and he breathed deeply. His consciousness quickened, struggling within the abyss, trying to rise out of the darkness.

  Babe? Nina’s voice called. Can you hear me? Tammy dropped our shields. Come on, babe, time to cowboy up. Come back to us.

  His first wife’s pleading voice was warm wind that lifted him higher.

  Wake up, handsome! Remi’s voice roared. Stop fucking around and open your eyes, or I’m going to kick you in the nuts.

  Don’t, he thought.

  This triggered an explosion of happy laughter. Not just Tammy this time. Other wives, too.

  Husband, Sage’s voice said, you appear to have slipped into a post-bonding coma. Your vitals are steady, yet I sense that you are experiencing a dislocation of consciousness. I suggest that you attempt to identify your physical manifestation.

  Brawley tried. But he couldn’t find anything, not even a hand to search the darkness.

  She means your body, Nina interrupted.

  Yes, Sage’s voice continued. Try to find your body. A similar thing happens to some truth mages during their first out-of-body experiences. From what I understand—

  What the fuck? Remi’s voice growled. Don’t talk him to death. Come on, handsome. Can you ride or what?

  If Brawley had a mouth, he would’ve grinned at that. His Carnal wife knew him perhaps better than she might have admitted.

  But he had no mouth, so he simply responded with a thought that voiced a deep belief that had hoisted him out of ruin time and time again over the years.

  I can ride.

  More laughter. He could hear his wives’ relief. And in a new wrinkle, as if he’d resurrected his Seeker strand to some small degree, he felt their tears.

  Please come back, Brawley, Callie begged. We need you.

  Yes, love, Frankie added, and by her distraught tone he could almost see her pallid features and worried eyes. Your battery still has juice. Just twist the key and start your engine.

  The love in their voices resonated and held, giving him something to latch onto.

  Keep talking, he thought, and their voices filled his mind, all of them talking at once.

  He clung to their words, strengthened by their love, and hauled himself up, hand over non-existent hand, out of oblivion. In this way, their affectionate coaxing became a ladder, giving him what he needed to grant their wishes.

  As he climbed, his consciousness breathed deeply, expanding and strengthening, and at last, he sensed his physical being higher up, just out of reach.

  This spurred him on, and he climbed all the faster, shooting up and up, faster and faster, until he rocketed from the gloom and exploded within his own skull, returning to himself.

  His body jerked hard. His eyes flew open, and he blinked up at the six beautiful faces peering down at him with a blend of concern, relief, and, in the case of Remi, amusement.

  “Thank God!” Tammy said, smothering
him with kisses. “I thought I’d killed you.”

  “Wow, babe,” Nina said, still wrapped in her towel and beaded with bathwater, “that was one hell of an orgasm.”

  “Quit being a drama queen and get dressed, handsome,” Remi barked, but despite her attempt at hard-nosed ball-busting, he could feel the relief coming off her in waves. “It’s time to go rescue my sister.”

  “I’m good,” Brawley groaned, sitting up. And he was. Bonding got stronger with every new strand. This time, it had knocked him out colder than a cast-iron commode. What would happen when he cracked his final strand?

  Well, he’d worry about that particular bridge when he built it with the right Cosmic.

  I’m so glad he’s okay, Callie confessed.

  Holy shit that was scary, Frankie commented.

  Very interesting, Sage added to herself. Each successive bonding appears to strike our husband more powerfully. I must investigate the risks and implications before he bonds again.

  The other girls were all talking at the same time.

  He did his best to ignore their discordant chatter and said, “Good idea, Sage.”

  “To which idea are you referring, husband?” Sage asked, an amused expression coming onto her beautiful and bespectacled face.

  Brawley told her.

  “Well,” Sage said, “in that case, congratulations, because I never turned that thought into spoken words. You are a telepath, husband.”

  Brawley laughed. She was right. No shit. He could hear their thoughts. The racket was kindly off-putting, truth be told.

  For a spell, he had a hard time telling their thoughts from their voices. They were different. Spoken words were louder, clearer, more definite. But his brain was so busy catching the various transmissions’ content that he felt like a man juggling a dozen chainsaws.

  Finally, he quit trying and rose from the bed, feeling fine.

  Better than fine, actually.

  His wives cooed like pigeons, touching him and kissing him and pretty near knocking him back down with all their words, spoken and thought.

  Brawley took a deep breath. He was thrumming with energy, stronger than ever before.

  All six strands hummed like overloaded power lines.

  New strength suffused his physical body, making every cell glow.

  His beast bugled triumphantly, fiercer than ever.

  A veritable substation of telekinetic force crackled red and deadly in his mind, ready to smash the world, which hummed with spinning cogs and glowing filaments and buzzing wires, all those countless machines awaiting his commands.

  Bright yellow energy throbbed within him, ready to tap into a different kind of network, the four-dimensional grid that was the truth of all and always, now and then and forevermore.

  And whirling between them, he felt his new thing, this spinning, blue dervish pulling thoughts and emotions into its orbit and sucking them directly into Brawley’s consciousness. There was more to this new power than simply reception, of course, but although he could feel its staggering potential, his head was too full of noise to give it more than a passing thought.

  His new psi score popped into his mind, rocking him.

  241 points per strand.

  1446 points in total, a staggering psionic score.

  He did his best to block out the chatter and focused on a single thought, shaping it and sealing it up in a psionic envelope, which he launched, targeting the mind of his newest wife.

  Tammy?

  She turned to him with a smile. Yes, honey?

  Their mental connection solidified, and for a moment, the external clamor faded to a blissful whisper.

  I’m going to need you to teach me how to turn down the volume, darlin. Pronto.

  Tammy laughed, streaming happy tears. She reached out and touched his face as his other wives jabbered soundlessly on like actresses in a silent movie.

  We can do that, my love, Tammy said. But first, give me another kiss.

  22

  “So that’s how I got my nickname,” Krupski said with a trademark choir boy grin.

  Jamaal, who’d only been half listening, brought his elbows off the railing and turned his gaze from the water to face his crisp, young partner. “What nickname?”

  “What nickname?” Krupski laughed, incredulous. “Krupcake. That’s why everybody calls me Krupcake. Because of the big practical joke in the academy dining hall.”

  “Oh,” Jamaal said. He tried to laugh out of politeness but managed only a wriggling smile. Handing his empty bottle to a passing waitress, he said, “It’s been real, Agent Krupski, but I have to—”

  Krupski was drifting away, his young features sharpening as he crossed the deck for a better look at the big TV screen over the main bar.

  A bunch of fuggles gathered there cheered, still watching the baseball game.

  Over Krupski’s shoulder, Jamaal saw not a sporting event but scenes of flaming mayhem.

  Shit. More death and destruction. Everyone cheering home runs and stolen bases while the world burned.

  At least that explained why his indigestion had been flaring up.

  On the TV, Order agents moved under fire, dragging a wounded brother-in-arms from a burning battlefield upon which lay several smoking corpses.

  Payter Janusian’s voice narrated, speaking in somber tones of an investigation that had gone tragically wrong. On the screen, an order agent jogged from a wall of smoke, carrying a scorched and sobbing child toward a shimmering exfil portal where medical personnel beckoned beside a waiting gurney.

  “Rather than surrendering to authorities, the Chaotics, led by Clarissa Lemay, incinerated their own settlement, killing their own people, burning their own children alive.”

  “Those evil sons of bitches need to die,” Krupski growled, taking a slug from his beer.

  Jamaal frowned but said nothing.

  Now they were interviewing none other than Danica McLeod.

  The Dragon stood amid the smoking aftermath, answering scripted questions with scripted answers and looking very hooah in a black tactical jumpsuit with a helmet tucked under one arm and her red hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

  “We are deeply saddened by today’s events,” the Dragon said, but her tone was pure Terminator. “It is very difficult to anticipate, let alone foil, the actions of truly evil people.”

  “Somebody ought to put a bullet straight through that bitch’s forehead,” Jamaal grumbled.

  Krupski spit out his beer. “What?”

  Jamaal dove on his own fumble. “Lemay,” he lied, giving it a little juice. “That evil bitch deserves to die, killing kids like that.”

  The words were ashes in his mouth. Because this whole report was obvious bullshit. Couldn’t Krupski see that? Couldn’t everybody?

  No, apparently not.

  The better question, then, was why did Jamaal still expect people to think as individuals rather than punching their group-think tickets like a bunch of psi sheep?

  “You got that right, Grandpa,” Krupski said, watching the news report with a blend of loathing and burgeoning anger. “We gotta do something about these Chaotics.”

  Which is exactly the message here, Jamaal thought. Krupski was a good cop and a good person, decent to the fucking core, a genuine, grade A go-getter who bled blue and probably mumbled protect and serve in his sleep.

  But sometimes, especially when the shit hit the fan, Jamaal wished he could trade his crisp young partner for some jaded old asshole.

  Someone like me, he thought. Someone reasonable.

  Another old-timer appeared on screen now. Seated behind his studio desk, Arch Mage Payter Janusian scowled out at the psionic world.

  “Order agents were forced to defend themselves,” he reported, doing a far better job of looking distressed than had the fire-breathing ice queen.

  “We lost seven brave agents today, seven bold and selfless guardians of your freedom. But they did not die in vain, because we managed to save a dozen chil
dren who would have otherwise died unspeakable deaths at the hands of Clarissa Lemay and her mindless fanatics.

  “The so-called Voice of Freedom does not want Freedom. Far from it. Clarissa Lemay and her child-murdering Chaotics have made it clear that they wish to destroy the Order. But it isn’t only the Order they are trying to destroy. They are determined to obliterate all order.

  “Clarissa Lemay dreams of pure chaos. No Order, no government, no civilization. No families, no religion, no currency, no Latticework. They wish to destroy everything that holds us together and turn this world into a living hell.

  “But our brave agents struck the Chaotics a decisive blow today. Clarissa Lemay barely escaped with her life. It is only a matter of time before we bring them to justice.

  “Of course, there is no creature so desperate, so dangerous, as a beast at bay.”

  Janusian paused and stared grimly into the camera.

  “We are working night and day to keep you safe, but we need your help. Between the Tiger Mage, the new power mage, and Clarissa Lemay’s Chaotics, we are stretched very thin. Only with your help can we stop these vile terrorists and restore peace and prosperity to your lives.

  “Which is why I am asking you again to report any suspicious individuals or activity to your local Order authorities. Please remain vigilant. You are our eyes and ears. Only with your help can we keep you and your families safe.”

  Janusian sat up straighter, brightening. “Finally, I am happy to conclude this broadcast with a refreshing bit of good news.

  “In the coming days, the Order will launch the New Dawn Initiative, a program that will empower psionic citizens and eradicate enemies of the state, making your lives safer, more prosperous, and more enjoyable. Tune in tonight at 10 PM for—”

  Jamaal missed Janusian’s sign-off because he was rocked by the conflagration raging across the Latticework. All around the world, Seekers were scorching the Latticework with queries and conjecture concerning the New Dawn Initiative.

  They would find nothing, of course. The Order was far too cagey to let slip the details of some major program.