Dimensions of Desire: The Night The West Was Won. by Richard Pickman (mm celeb mc)

Dimensions of Desire: The Night The West Was Won (mm celeb mc)

by Richard Pickman

SUMMARY: James West gets drugged and tied up AGAIN! But with different end results.

NOTES: The object of Desire is James West, the character Robert Conrad played in the '60s series 'The Wild, Wild West'. It takes place about midway through the second season of that show. And if you haven't seen the show, it's airing (as of February 2000) on TNT at 9 AM on Saturdays. Do yourself a favor and watch. So much homoerotic subtext, it's amazing it passed the censors in the 1960s. Well worth getting up early on a weekend for.

DISCLAIMER AND WARNINGS
1) This story depicts graphic sex between men. If you are offended by this, or is illegal where you are, how the hell did you get this far?
2) Mind control is a major plot element. If this is not your particular cup of tea, you weren't reading the story codes, then, were you?
3) The characters in it are fictional. Some of them appear on TV shows. This implies nothing about the sexuality of the actors portraying these parts. It's about the CHARACTERS.
4) It also implies nothing about the sexuality of the characters. Which are fictional.
5) The situations depicted are the invention of the author. As if this could happen in real life.
6) The author is not claiming copyright on any of said TV characters, because they aren't his creations. They are merely being borrowed for story purposes.

GENERAL NOTE: Feedback is welcome. Encouragement is appreciated. I do try to respond to all comments received, positive or negative. All part of improving what I do. And, if this story amuses, I tend to post my stories first at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GayCelebMCStories/, for `special' feedback before more widely posting a story. `Tis an interesting little list. <g>

[ We join our regularly scheduled program, already in progress. . . ]

The drink, he thought. Must have been . . . drugged. Can't . . . concentrate. Can't move. Can't . . . open eyes. Hear things . . . don't make sense. . .

"James West . . . agent . . . make . . . mine . . . fantas . . . here you . . . pless . . . don't know . . . waited . . . you will . . . soon . . . puppet . . . little . . . first . . . mention . . . many . . . Haaaa! Thomas . . . scan . . . version"

"Right . . . fiendish . . . boss."

"You . . . well . . . Thomas."

"Know . . . drama!"

"Thomas . . . wild . . . west . . . must . . . respect . . . entions."

"Sorry . . . olence."

" . . . push . . . Thomas."

" . . . boss."

"Excel . . . Goes . . . yon . . . nicely."

" . . . ency . . . begun . . . before."

"Better . . . take . . . cellar . . . down . . . few."

Soon, James West, agent of the United States Secret Service, felt himself being lifted as he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ Later, after a commercial break . . . ]

An indeterminate time later, James West's mind began to swim back to consciousness.

Having been in numerous such situations throughout his career, he had learned that it was best to feign unconsciousness as long as possible. This gave West time to gather information with his other senses, better enabling him to deal with whatever circumstances he found himself in.

He listened carefully. Other than a low hum, whose source he could not pinpoint without looking, there was no noise. Wherever West was, he appeared to be alone at the moment. Still, he decided to keep his eyes closed for now. He might be being observed from a hidden location. It always paid to be cautious.

From the little that he remembered before he lost consciousness, he considered it likely that he was in a cellar in Nunyon's house. Why the man had drugged him, West did not know. Hardly the reward he had expected to receive for saving Nunyon's charming niece, Lisette, from a couple of ruffians who were going to rob her.

He and Artie had been staying in a local hotel for a couple of days, relaxing between assignments while the train was being cleaned. West just hoped they could get the elephant smell out. He was glad it was on its way back to Ramapur.

Artie was 'entertaining' Ariel, a pretty young thing the men had met earlier, in his hotel room. West had been taking a late night stroll, simply appreciating the open air and stars. With the businesses in town closed, there was not much light to obscure his view. It was one of West's favorite parts of the job, getting out into the less developed parts of the country, seeing the freshness and vitality that was somehow missing back east.

Suddenly, West had heard a scream from a nearby alley. That was when he discovered the lady in peril. It had been short work to discourage the brigands, no match for West's superior training and skill. After only a few thrown punches, one landing squarely on one of the attacker's faces, the two men had run away. They had obviously been expecting an easy target. They certainly weren't making common criminals the way they used to, West thought. The young lady, Lisette, had been profuse in her thanks, and asked him to escort her home. West, ever gallant, consented. And she was a quite dazzling beauty.

When they had arrived at the stately mansion where she lived, her uncle, Adrian Nunyon, had appeared to be greatly appreciative of West's chivalry, and had invited him to stay for night. West consented, more than willing to trade sleeping at the hotel for the lavishness of Nunyon's mansion. Lisette had bestowed a chaste kiss on West's cheek, then gone upstairs to clean herself up after her ordeal before going to bed. Nunyon had gently ordered one of the maids to stay with Lisette and help her, making sure she went to sleep peacefully.

The two men had retired to Nunyon's well-appointed study, where he had offered his niece's champion a particularly fine cognac. West presumed that it had been drugged, as he started to feel dizzy a few minutes after having taken his first sip. Nunyon had shared the cognac with him, from the same bottle, so Nunyon must have slipped the narcotic into the drink covertly. He remembered disjointed bits of conversation between Nunyon and another man, then had lost all awareness. The next he knew, he was here, wherever 'here' was.

West could smell some chemical odors, reminiscent of the kinds that Artie was always playing with. But they were merely lingering aromas. Since he could not smell any gas, or anything else, burning, West hoped that those chemicals were no longer present. Perhaps he was in a laboratory of some kind.

The room temperature was on the cold side, giving him goose bumps. This led him to realize his state of attire. As far as he could tell, he was no longer wearing anything above the waist, but still had on his pants and shoes. It was a state of affairs he had gotten used to over the years; an effort by his foes to disarm him. He knew he no longer had the small derringer that was normally covered by his right sleeve, fastened to a clever apparatus, which would allow it to pop into his hand when he made the proper gesture to trigger the mechanism.

Fortunately, most of his weapons were far more cunningly concealed, likely to elude a casual search. Only the truly ingenious lawbreakers who knew West's methods, like Dr. Loveless or Count Manzeppi, or other similarly canny criminals, were not so easily deceived.

He hoped Nunyon was not in that league. It would mean he at least had his shoe-knife, as well as the explosives hidden in the heels. West thought, not for the first time, how the inconvenience of wearing these shoes was more than compensated by what they were capable of containing.

West knew he was standing. Twitching as though he was dreaming, he determined that some form of restraints encircled his wrists, elbows, and ankles, as well as something that might be a belt around his waist. His feet were somewhere between two and three feet apart, and his arms where stretched out to his side, his hands just below shoulder height.

West concluded he had learned as much as he could through hearing, smell, and touch. With that thought, he cautiously opened his eyes.

First, his glance darted around the room, confirming his suspicion that he was alone. There were no windows in the room, or mirrors, either. So, no being viewed through disguised one-way glass.

Now, to ascertain the limits of his captivity. He could see that the restraints were of some brown and black mottled furry material. A narrow strip of the same material, not more than an inch in height, encircled his waist. They were all connected to fine-linked metallic chains, twelve in all. One was attached to each of the anklets. One was on the right side, and another on the left side, of the belt. The other eight were paired to those on his wrists and elbows, above and below. On either side of him, there was a stone pillar, about seven feet tall, to which the chains were affixed. They caused him to be in a fairly spread-eagled position.

There was some 'give' in the chains, but after a minute or so of straining and twisting, he discovered that they were solid secured to the pillars and the restraints. Though comfortable, the restraints themselves were immovable. He was not going anywhere, for the time being.

After his futile attempt, West looked around the room more attentively. He was near one corner, about two feet away from the wall behind him. The room looked to be square, about 30 feet on each side, with brick walls, floor and ceiling. It was also, save for the presence of two wooden chairs facing him a few feet away, noticeably empty.

In the center of the wall toward which he was facing, there was a set of double doors made of wood. They looked, in fact, like standard cellar doors. It was unusual that there were two of them, but it still led West to think his suspicions as to his location were correct.

There were small ventilation grills in the center of each wall, each one a foot from the ceiling, which was more than 12 feet high. The grills themselves were only a foot wide, and half that in height. Certainly not big enough for an escape route, West ruefully noted. There were no other doors in the room, or openings of any kind visible, so unless there was some secret entrance (always a possibility), the only way in or out was that set of double doors.

Even as he thought this, he heard the rattling of a key being put into a lock. He closed his eyes again acting as though the drug he had received had not worn off. He had learned a great deal in the past by eavesdropping on captors who thought he could not hear them.

He heard the door open, and a man's voice chiding, "I thought you said he was awake, Thomas." West recognized it as Nunyon.

"He IS awake, Your Excellency. He is merely pretending not to be." a voice said from above West. It startled him, because the voice sounded like it was coming from the center of the room, but high up, perhaps near the ceiling. In his careful examination of the room, he had not noticed any opening there. And it had none of the distortion or echoing that might come from it traveling down a pipe or by some other means of long distance vocal conveyance. It sounded as if it came from a person in the room, but well above him. Where COULD the voice be coming from?

West identified Thomas' voice as that of the other man who had been talking to Nunyon while West had been succumbing to the drug. Something about the quality of that voice itself caught West's attention. It had a mild British accent, sounding like that of a cultured butler. It fell in a lower register, though, with a resonant bass quality. To West, it felt like the voice was caressing his whole body. He had never heard anyone, not even the great statesmen and orators West had known over the years, who had a voice like this man. He was surprised, and somewhat shocked, to discover that he was starting to get an erection, apparently in response to the mere sound of it.

"Rise and shine, Mr. West. Thomas says you're awake, and he's never wrong about such things."

West realized that his act was not working, though he did not know why. Most likely, there was some camouflaged means of viewing him. If the means for viewing him could be so well masked, so too could the means by which the voice of the mysterious Thomas was carried into the room. West would now try learning more by engaging Nunyon in conversation, drawing out details that he could use later to escape. He had developed an instinct for such things, a style where he would play to his opponents' vanity, and their inevitable need to brag about their accomplishments and shrewd schemes. West was intelligent enough, and informed enough, thanks to Artemus, to be able to elicit much information from these criminals.

West had always managed to emerge from these situations unscathed, mostly. Careful observation, self-confidence, and a level head were traits that had served him well up until now, and West saw no reason why they should not continue to be useful to him.

Also, his curiosity was piqued. Though this had gotten West into difficulty before, he thought it a price well worth paying for an interesting life.

As West opened his eyes, Nunyon said, "How nice of you to join us, Mr. West."

"How could I refuse your generous invitation?" West could see that Nunyon was still dressed as he had been earlier, the very picture of a well-to-do landowner. He presented an image of simple, refined elegance and style in his attire. An image, West now realized, that was part of the facade for a more shadowy purpose.

"Why, thank you, Mr. West. Ever the gentleman. Even under the most trying of circumstances. By the way, is everything adequate, Mr. West? I did SO try to make sure it was all just right for your little stay."

"Well, other than being a bit chilly . . ."

"Oh, dear, of course, Mr. West. Thomas," said Nunyon, looking up. "Raise the room temperature to 72 degrees."

"At once, Your Excellency." As far as West could tell, Thomas' voice was coming out of thin air!

"That should only take a few minutes. I do hope you appreciate the efforts to which I've gone to make your stay here as comfortable as possible."

"I do. But is this the way you always thank someone for rescuing your niece?"

"Lisette? Oh, she's not my niece. Are you, Lisette?" he called over his shoulder. Through the still open door appeared the young lady in question. She was in a different dress, looking clean and radiant.

"No, 'uncle'," said Lisette, smiling, "but I will be whatever you wish me to be."

"Spoken like the truly obedient girl I've come to love. Go back upstairs, my dear. I'll join you all in a while."

"As you wish, Your Excellency."

"Charming girl, wouldn't you say, Mr. West?"

"Oh, yes. Quite."

"I thought you would . . . approve. She was the perfect lure to get you here. Your admiration of the fairer sex is, perhaps, your greatest weakness, Mr. West. Add an element of danger, and your presence here was a foregone conclusion. Bruno? Jason?"

Two men came through the door. They were the two men from whom he had saved Lisette. Apparently saved Lisette, West corrected himself. They had obviously been part of the plot to get him here. The two had not changed much from their previous encounter. Their clothes were still rumpled from the fight West had with them, and one of them was sporting a black eye.

"Yes, Your Excellency." the two chimed in simultaneously.

"You weren't seriously harmed, were you, boys?"

"No, Your Excellency."

"I'm glad. You're both moderately useful, and I would hate to see either of you severely damaged. So, Mr. West, what did you think of the drama we enacted for your benefit earlier?"

"Quite convincing. Congratulations. I had no idea."

"Thank you, Mr. West. Simply part of knowing the subject, and having the right help, eh, boys?"

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"A job well done. Have Thomas check you and take care of those injuries, then get some rest. And close the door on your way out, would you?"

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Bruno and Jason left, closing the door behind them, leaving Nunyon alone with West.

"I know the conditions are rather . . . spartan, Mr. West, but your confinement here will be only temporary, I promise you."

"That's reassuring to know. And where will I be going after this?"

"All in good time, Mr. West, all in good time. I know you're probably looking at this as a prison, but it's not. Think of it as . . . the place of transition before you enter your new life."

"My new life?"

"Why, yes, Mr. West. Your new life, in my service. And, I assure you, you WILL enjoy every minute of it. Ecstatically, in fact. Soon, you'll be wondering how you ever managed without my guidance."

"Sounds wonderful. I don't suppose I have any say in the matter?"

Nunyon, almost lighthearted to this point, now spoke darkly. "No, Mr. West. You don't. No say at all. I've waited far too long, and I'm not going to let something as simple as your refusal get in the way. Hence, the restraints. But you won't be needing them for much longer."

"Your Excellency," Thomas' voice said out of nowhere, "the TD link has been reestablished. No anomalous readings. Mr. Conrad is ready as well. And room temperature is now at 72 degrees."

"Very good, Thomas. Keep monitoring the link, and send Mr. Conrad through. I've been looking forward to this little bit of the drama, I must admit." said Nunyon, the more airy tone returning to his voice as he rubbed his hands together briskly, looking at West once again. "Not necessary, of course, but so much fun. We must respect the proper conventions in these sorts of situations, don't you think, Mr. West?"

"Of . . . course." said West, having no idea what Nunyon was talking about. But if this was Nunyon's game, West could play along.

The hum he had heard earlier was growing louder, and seemed to be coming from the wall to West's left. As he looked more closely, he noticed that, unlike the other walls, there was what appeared to be gold wire imbedded in the wall itself. It made a rectangular outline eight feet tall and six feet wide. So, West thought, looks like one secret entrance has revealed itself.

As he watched, though, the area of the wall within the golden wire began to blur. Must be an aftereffect of the drug Nunyon gave me, West concluded. But he reconsidered as he saw the section rippling like water, then fading until it was black.

But not black, thought West. Somehow, it's . . . not anything. He began to notice flickerings scattered through the . . . whatever it was, resembling iridescent fireflies. They flashed purple, then blue, green, yellow, orange, and finally red. The sequence would repeat, starting with purple, at odd intervals here and there in the . . . Emptiness. Yes, it felt so profoundly lacking in what WAS, that 'Emptiness' seemed to be the best way to describe it.

Now a shape was becoming visible in the center. Something . . . small, but rapidly growing larger. Something that appeared to be man-shaped, as it got . . . closer? But it's a wall, West thought. This has got to be some sort of trick. But it's not like anything I've ever seen before. And I've seen some VERY strange things in my life. Like when I traveled in time . . .

My god, THAT'S what it reminds me of! That . . . void Colonel Vautrain sent us through. But it's different, somehow. More . . . less . . . I don't know.

Could that be it? Is Nunyon a time traveler? Maybe even from the future? It sounds ridiculous, but with what I'm seeing, I can't be sure. I'm going to have to play this VERY carefully.

Finally, West could discern that the figure was indeed a man, seemingly walking, yet alarmingly hurtling forward somehow. Then he could look no more, because his eyes and his head were aching considerably. West turned his head to look at his captor.

Nunyon was still looking at the 'Emptiness', apparently unaffected, with a pleased expression. Gradually, West got the feeling as though his entire body was a tuning fork, resonating to some unheard vibration. Nunyon, West noticed, took a deep breath, almost like he was bracing himself.

Suddenly, West felt as if he were a harp string being sharply plucked. Then the vibratory sensation ceased abruptly, and the hum rapidly decrescendoed until it was at its original low level.

West gasped, now realizing he had been holding his breath the whole time. Nunyon strode forward, saying, "Welcome, welcome, Robert. I hoped your trip was . . . as well as could be expected."

"It was, Your Excellency. I await your instructions."

West turned to see the speaker. A man was standing there, in front of the wall, which had now returned to its mundane brick state. The man was about 5' 8", in his late 50's or early 60's, dressed in a blousy long sleeved white shirt, like what one traditionally thought a pirate would wear, form hugging blue pants, and black leather shoes. His eyes were a bluish-green. . .

My god, West thought. He looks like my father. No. No, he doesn't. But he looks so familiar . . . Wait a minute. He looks like ME!

Or how I'd look if I were his age. Could he really be some future version of me? Is Nunyon doing this to prove I'm going to be some kind of servant to him?

"So, Mr. West, what do you think?" Nunyon turning to face West.

"I'm . . . speechless."

"A rare occasion! It was worth the trip, just to see the famous James West at a loss for words. But how rude of me! Introductions are in order. James West, meet Robert Conrad, an actor. Robert Conrad, meet James West. The character you so expressively played so many years ago. Your alter-ego, as it were, Robert, here in the flesh."

A look of shock and confusion appeared on West's face, finally freezing there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ Moments later, after another commercial break . . . ]

"I've thrown quite a lot at you, haven't I, Mr. West? I believe this is the part of the story where I explain what's really going on."

"I'd certainly appreciate that." West said, recovering from his bewilderment.

"All right. But first, Robert, why don't you have a seat. I know the journey can be wearing on one, especially the first time."

"Certainly, Your Excellency. Whatever you desire." Conrad sat and folded his hands in his lap, staring forward blankly.

"I think you've figured out that we're not from around here, haven't you, Mr. West."

"At least not from around here, now."

"Oh, very good, Mr. West! True, to an extent, and yet . . . almost completely wrong. But a very astute guess, nonetheless. Based, no doubt, on your trip back to the Civil War recently, courtesy of Colonel Vautrain."

"But we never reported . . ." West trailed off, as he looked at Conrad, his apparent older double.

"No, no, Mr. West. I didn't get it from him. Not exactly. I'll let Thomas explain, since he understands the physics better than me. Though not by much." Nunyon said in a warning, yet playful, tone. "And he does tell it so well. That IS one of the many things I designed him for." Nunyon moved to the chairs and sat to the right of Conrad.

"Certainly, Your Excellency." Was that a hint of sarcasm that West heard in Thomas' voice?

"You know that travel between the past and the present is possible, Mr. West. That is one of the reasons for His Excellency's presence, to learn more about the methods used here. But we do not come from the future. At least, not from the future of this Earth." Thomas paused for a moment, then resumed. "Have you ever made a decision, Mr. West, and wondered, 'What if I had chosen differently?'"

"I'm thinking about it right now."

"Yes, Mr. West, you would be, wouldn't you. For example, what if you had chosen not to become a Secret Service agent? Or, more recently, what if you had simply escorted Lisette here after you rescued her, and then left? Decisions, Mr. West, decisions. There are always decisions you make, later wondering, 'What if . . . '

Well, in fact, every decision that can be made, IS made. Every possible choice DOES occur, each one resulting in the creation of a whole new world, a whole new UNIVERSE, each one existing in its own separate dimension, slightly apart from any other.

Think of it, Mr. West, a near infinity of Earths, each different due to some decision that was made this way instead of that. Worlds just like yours, yet different in subtle, and sometimes significant, ways. In each of them, another you, Mr. West. Another Artemus. Another Ulysses S. Grant.

Many of these worlds, these...universes, simply cease to exist after a short time. They can't be sustained, for reasons even I have yet to fully understand. Something to do with the amount of energy required to maintain them, I should think.

However, a great deal of them DO continue.

Just as the past, the present, and the future are separated, so, too, are these myriad Earths separated. Now, imagine if, having proved the existence of these parallel worlds, one was able to develop a way to TRAVEL from one Earth to the next. Knowledge is power, Mr. West. And that knowledge would give the owner of it . . . unlimited power.

We come from an Earth, Mr. West, where the year is 1999. We count the years the same as you do, so, in a way, we ARE from more than 100 years in the future. But not THIS Earth's future. The United States of our Earth had a civil war from 1861 to 1865, just as it did here. Lincoln was assassinated on the same day, and in the same way. Grant became president, too. But, you, Mr. West, did not exist on our world. At least, not in our 'real' world.

In our time, we have something called television. It's rather like your nickelodeons, but the pictures can be transmitted like you transmit messages over the telegraph. Except television signals are sent through the very air itself. Sounds may be transmitted as well. The receivers are in people's homes all over our world. And television is viewed by hundreds of millions of people.

Television is used to provide news and entertainment, in various forms. One form of entertainment is a series. Imagine, if you will, Mr. West, a play, performed every week. It has the same central characters, but each week, a different story about those characters is told.

In the late 1960's, Mr. West, there was a popular television series that would have fascinated you. It lasted for four years, chronicling the adventures of a Mr. James West, United States Secret Service Agent, and his compatriot and fellow agent, one Artemus Gordon, during the time when President Grant was in office. They encountered many villains, foiled their exotic plots, and experienced the amorous embraces and kisses (but nothing more, as the censors, arbiters of morality, forbade anything more explicit) of many women.

The story of your life, Mr. West, or at least a portion of it, viewed and enjoyed by millions. But on our world, that story is a work of fiction, and you are a mere character in it."

"Of course. I don't know why I didn't realize it before." said West, humoring Thomas.

"Remember, Mr. West," Thomas continued, "how I told you there were a near infinite number of parallel Earths? Well, what we discovered was that for almost every fictional story every told (whether on television, in books, or in whatever form), that world, those people, existed. On another Earth.

And what was, perhaps, even more astounding, and this is the really interesting bit, is that if a work of fiction was popular, there was a . . . link between our Earth, and the Earth where that fiction was reality. My theory is that the interest of a large enough number of people creates some sort of psychic connection between the universes. The more interest there is, the stronger the connection. Perhaps it even helps to maintain the existence of that fictional universe, providing it energy somehow. I'm still investigating that theory.

It also makes me wonder about these other Earths. Have they always existed? Do people travel to other dimensions in their dreams, sharing visions of these other worlds with their fellows? Or do artists and writers and tellers of stories somehow make these other worlds . . . BE?

But I'm getting existential, Mr. West. Let me return to the original subject. Inter-dimensional travel.

Inter-dimensional travel is a rather hit or miss affair, Mr. West. One usually never knows the kind of Earth at which one will be arriving. It could be a paradise, or a completely barren and devastated world, or something in between. Those 'connections' I spoke of, they take a great deal of the guesswork out of the whole affair. Once you have the means, there are a number of these worlds one can travel to, knowing a great deal about them before one even arrives. Well, with the proper research, we developed the means for inter- dimensional travel, were able to exploit those 'connections', and here we are."

"That was splendid, Thomas." said Nunyon, applauding. "Very . . . well told."

"Thank you, Your Excellency. I aim to please."

"Of course you do, Thomas. And your 'aim' never misses. It's one of your best features. And it was worth every second it took to build it into you." said Nunyon, standing. West couldn't help but notice the evidence of Nunyon's arousal, then realized that he, himself, was excruciatingly hard. He had been so captivated by Thomas' speech that he had not even noticed what was happening to him.

"Yes, Mr. West," said Nunyon, noticing the direction of West's gaze. "Thomas DOES have that effect on people. As I said, one of his best features. THOMAS is not a human being, you see. He's a computer. A machine that thinks, you might say. And does so far, far faster than a human. It was with THOMAS' help that the calculations were made to enable the passage through the dimensional barrier. Now you know, Mr. West. I am...not of this Earth. Oh, you don't know how long I've wanted to say that!"

"Well," said West, "on behalf of the United States, of this Earth, I'd like to welcome you. I'd shake your hand, but..."

"Ah, the famed James West wit. I know you're only humoring me, but I'm enjoying myself, so I don't mind. Now, where was I? Ah, I was going to tell you how I managed to make this breakthrough. I won't bore you with the details, I'll just give you the edited highlights.

Something happened to me years ago, Mr. West. An accident. A uniquely strange and wonderful accident, which expanded the powers of my mind tremendously. It was as though my brain had evolved into that of a man centuries, even millennia, from the future. With my newfound abilities, I was able to become staggeringly wealthy. Then I used that wealth to fund the construction of THOMAS. That stands for Total Holistic Operating Management Aid System, by the way. Between the two of us, I soon brought the whole planet under my control.

It's a world without war, Mr. West. Without prejudice, or fear, or crime, or any of the other petty nuisances that interfere with the human race's ability to achieve its greatest heights. I simply won't allow it.

But what DO you do, Mr. West, once you've created paradise? I wanted more. So very, very much more. There must always be new goals, Mr. West, new challenges to make life interesting, don't you agree?"

"Of course. It's perfectly understandable."

"I knew you'd see it, Mr. West. Interplanetary travel. Always wanted to go into outer space. And because I want it, it happens! Now, there are colonies on the moon, and the first Martian colony will soon be established. I'm hoping for interstellar travel soon.

But I've had a special dream, Mr. West. It may seem silly in comparison, but sometimes the silly dreams are the best ones. Ever since watching television when I was young, I've wanted to meet the characters from my favorite TV shows. Not just the actors who played them. The characters themselves. And you were first on my list.

I can see you're overwhelmed, Mr. West. In more ways than one."

Nunyon had been strolling toward West while he was talking to him until he was standing close. When he stopped speaking, he reached forward with his right hand and cupped West's crotch, massaging it. West, horrified, pushed himself away, but could only move a few inches.

Nunyon stepped back and said, "THOMAS, raise Mr. West's restraints to level three."

"Certainly, Your Excellency."

West watched as the chains began to retract into the stone pillars until they were taut. Nunyon then walked behind West, reaching around and starting to rub West's crotch again, this time with both hands, breathing into his ear, "THAT'S what I came for, James. I want YOU. I've wanted you for as long as I can remember. I can have anything I want on MY Earth, if it exists there. But, as you can see, Mr. Conrad is not the man he was when he portrayed you. Still in good shape, but not in prime physical condition. Not like you, James. And Robert only played James West. You ARE James West.

You're perfect, James. Better than I ever imagined you'd be. I've fantasized for so long about you. About touching your muscular body everywhere, running my fingers across that chest and these hard abdominals . . . and James, your butt . . . so round, so full . . . these tight pants, it's like they're painted on. And when you wear chaps . . . oh, James, you make me so hot." Nunyon started kissing West's back, brushing his lips across West's broad shoulders, while fondling and squeezing the buttocks he had so long desired.

West twisted and turned as much as he could, but could not evade Nunyon's touch. Then he heard Nunyon say "Robert, come over here, and give Jimmy here some serious head. And call me Master, OK?"

"Yes, Master. I hear and obey." Conrad got out of his chair and walked over to West. He got on his knees and opened the fly of West's pants. Licking his lips avariciously, Conrad took out the hard member, then consumed it to its base in an instant.

"Soon, James, so very, very soon, you too will be calling me . . . Master. And don't expect Artemus to come to your rescue. The alluring Ariel will be keeping Mr. Gordon busy for quite some time. Yes, James, I've made quite sure we'll be . . . undisturbed for the rest of the night." said Nunyon, laughing evilly.

West had never felt so powerless in his life, so . . . vulnerable and violated. More unnerving yet, he was actually enjoying the feeling of Conrad's mouth. The older man was doing things with his tongue that no woman had ever been able, or wanted, to do. And the enthusiasm Conrad put into his efforts made it feel even better.

Meanwhile, Nunyon continued his verbal barrage, caressing West's thinly haired torso, now sweaty from his vain endeavors at escape. "Keep struggling, James. Your pride, your strength, your defiance, it only excites me more. Your biceps bulge so breathtakingly, James. The muscles in your neck, so thick and powerful. And the exertion must be showing in your face by now, James, that beautiful, beautiful, face. Those heavenly eyes clamped shut, those delicious lips pressed together . . . I don't even have to look, James. I've seen the agonies you've gone through on the show so many times, I know exactly how you look when you're trying to escape imprisonment . . . Your muscles straining, getting sweaty, the hair matted to your chest . . .

Soon, James, you'll be struggling even harder, struggling to obey my commands as quickly and totally as possible. Because that's how I took over my world, James. I developed a system of mind control. It's irresistible, and permanent. You'll be my slave, James. But special. So very, very special. I'll treat you like the prize stallion that you are, after you're broken in and added to my stable. My first slave from another Earth, but not the last.

Because I'm going to take over this Earth, too. And you'll help me, James. I'll convert the entire United States government, and then all the people of this world. The best part, James? No matter what I tell you to do, you'll WANT to help me!

I want you to enjoy your last moments of free will, James. I want to enjoy YOU while you still HAVE free will. Because believe me, very soon, James, you'll be begging me to enjoy you as often as possible.

And remember how THOMAS told you about this world being fictional on our Earth? Well, think about this, James. Somewhere, on some other Earth, THIS is only a story. Words on a page, sounds on a radio, images on a television set. Who knows? You, and I, and THOMAS, and everyone else here, are merely characters. Being read about, listened to, watched.

Hello out there! I hope you're enjoying the story, whoever you are. And to the author, if you're picking this up somehow and writing about it, I hope you find the events . . . interesting. Or, if your writing is somehow making these things happen, then thank you so much!"

During all this, West was demanding, then pleading, for Nunyon to stop. Yet he found himself also occasionally moaning with pleasure. Between the initial effect of THOMAS' voice, and the unrelenting erotic stimulus that Nunyon and Conrad were providing, he was close to having an orgasm.

Finally, Nunyon decided that he had humiliated West enough. He instructed Conrad, "Make him do it, now!" Conrad redoubled his efforts, concentrating on the sensitive head. Nunyon hugged him close, while grabbing West's nipples and tweaking them.

This sent West over the edge. He found himself shooting violently, hips thrusting, Conrad's rapacious mouth devouring every drop. Nunyon ejaculated inside his own pants, humping West's butt.

"That's . . . that's enough, Robert. Now, make sure it's clean, and put it back where you found it, then go upstairs. You'll be shown to your bedroom, where you can get some sleep before I send you back home tomorrow."

"Yes, Master." Conrad carried out his commands, then left the room.

"So, James. I may call you James, as we know each other so intimately. How was your . . . first time with a man."

"You're . . . you're . . . you're insane!" said West, sobbing. "I'll NEVER submit to you."

"Billions have said that. Billions were wrong. THOMAS?"

"Yes, Your Excellency?"

"Initiate Phase One of the conversion program."

"At once, Your Excellency."

West, still crying from indignities heaped on him, felt a searing jolt inside his head. Overwhelmed, he screamed in agony.

"Oh, didn't I, tell you, James? You're already wearing the conversion device on your head. Soon, you won't even remember who you are, much less why you want to resist me."

Another jolt burned through his brain, then another. His screams continued, as he found it harder and harder to concentrate.

My name is James West, United States Secret Service Agent. My partner is Artemus Gordon. Ulysses S. Grant is the President. I served in the Civil War under . . . under . . . I served in the . . .

My name is James West, United States Secret Service Agent. My partner is Artemus Gordon. Ulysses S. Grant is the President . . . what's a President? It's important, I KNOW it's important . . . Remember, remember . . .

My name is James West, United States Secret Service Agent. My partner is Artemus Gordon. Ulysses S. Grant is . . . is . . . is somebody . . .

My name is James West, United States Secret Service Agent. My partner is Artie . . . Artie . . . oh God, Artie, help me, help me, Artie, omigod, please help me . . .

My name is James West, United States Secret Service Agent. My partner is . . . who's my partner. I can't remember . . .

My name is James West, United States Secret . . . Secret something. I can't . . . it's secret, that's why I don't know! What DO I know? What DO I know . . .

My name is James West, United States . . . I live in the United States of America . . . I live in the United States of . . . somewhere . . .

My name is James West! My name is James West! My name is James West!! My name is James West!!! My name is James . . . please, please, don't . . . don't let me forget my last name, PLEASE . . .

I'm James, I'm James, I'm James, I'm . . .

Who . . . who's James? Who am I?

In a few minutes, West's screams stopped, as he forgot his pain, his humiliation, his identity, and, eventually, even how to scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ Later, after another commercial break . . . ]

"I always hate that part, THOMAS."

"I know, boss. But you wanted the memory extraction. And the subject has to remain conscious during the process. That's always tough. A straight Wipe & Reprogram would have been easier."

"I know, THOMAS. Wipe & Reprogram is fine for making drones, but I have a world full of drones. I didn't want to lose that uniqueness, the mind and spirit that makes him James West." As he said this, Nunyon ran his right hand tenderly down the face of the unconscious agent.

"Yeah, boss, I understand. He . . . won't remember the pain, you know."

"I know, THOMAS. Thank you. It's just times like this . . . get to me. Makes me wonder about it all."

"Hey, boss, that's what I'm here for. Carry out orders, shoulder to cry on, friend to confide in, order your groceries, keep your appointments . . . sure you wanted a mega-brilliant computer, and not a glorified Rolodex?"

"Oh, THOMAS, you can always get my spirits up. And the rest of me, too."

"YOU were the one who designed me to be 'uplifting', in every way. It's not MY fault."

"True, true. So, how's the processing going?"

"I'll be done in a few hours. It's going to take me a while to incorporate all of his memories into the restructured personality matrix, then make sure it's properly equalized. Keeping his original character traits, like stubbornness, self-confidence, and ingenuity, yet guaranteeing his total obedience to you . . . it's a tough balance. I want to run a few sims before I do the actual reintegration. And I'll have to keep monitoring him for at least a few days afterward, just to make sure the whole thing is stable and permanent. No biggie."

"Your call, THOMAS. I trust your expert opinion.

"And boss? I'll keep working on the memory extraction process. You know each time I do it, it gets better for the subject."

"You're right, of course. I remember the first ones . . . " Nunyon shuddered, then said, "It HAS gotten better, thank goodness . . . Well, let's finish with the matter at hand. I'll have Bruno and Jason take James upstairs to the best guest bedroom. Do the reintegration when you're ready, THOMAS. Let him sleep and keep him under, and we'll start things in the morning." Nunyon took another long look at West, then turned to leave the room.

"That'll be more than enough time. See ya in the morning, boss."

"Good night, THOMAS."

"'Night, boss."

[ Morning, the next day ]

James West, United States Secret Service Agent, woke to the sound of a cheerily singing robin somewhere close by. The sunlight filtered through his eyelids, the warmth soothing him. He felt relaxed, snug in a softly cushioned bed, with smooth clean sheets on him.

"Rise and shine, James. Time to start the new day."

His eyes sprang open as he threw off the sheets and jumped out of bed, the sound of his Master's voice energizing every part of his being. He was happy to discover he was naked, as he knew the sight of his body pleased the Master. And his growing endowment merely showed how excited he was at his Master's presence, and how ready he was to totally serve him.

"Good, James, good. Ready to begin your service?"

"Oh, yes, Master." James purred. "I'm ready to service you any way you'd like."

"I can see that, James. Well, then, get into your chaps, have some breakfast, and meet me in the exercise room in the basement."

"At once, Master." He felt a sense of loss as his Master left, even though he knew he would be seeing him soon.

As James put on his blue suede chaps (he loved the feeling of them against his skin, and how they excited the Master when James wore them), he considered his life to this point.

He remembered everything that had happened before. He knew he was James West, United States Secret Service Agent. His partner was Artemus Gordon. They took their orders directly from President Ulysses S. Grant. He and Artie had foiled many plots to disrupt, even destroy, the United States, particularly in the more unruly territories west of the Mississippi. He recalled his time serving in the Civil War. His troubled, yet exciting, teen years. His pleasant childhood.

Yet all that, he realized, had only been leading up to now. To his being owned by the Master. It was as though his whole life had been a series of training maneuvers, preparing him to be in the Master's service. He recalled coming to the Master's house, being drugged, awaking downstairs, learning the true nature of the Master, and his initiation into the joys of sex with other men. In all his life, he had never felt anything so . . . exhilarating . . . before. He knew there had been pain at the end, but he could not remember the pain itself. A blessing from the Master, he knew. Now that he served the Master, he knew he would receive many more such blessings.

He remembered a part of himself not liking the feelings that the Master and his other slave, Robert, had brought out in him. He also remembered that he had resisted, struggled against the will of the Master.

He was truly glad the Master had spent so much time and effort to bring James into his service. And the Master's plan had, of course, been brilliant. The Master had foreseen every contingency, anticipated every move that James could have made. There was no way that the Master could not have succeeded.

And the result of that success was to make James finally see his true reason for existing. His whole purpose, the very nature of his being, was to do whatever the Master desired. Gloriously, those parts of him that had resisted the will of the Master had somehow been expunged. He would now be happy to lie, steal, murder, even betray his country, if that was what the Master wished. James no longer needed to make choices on how to live his life. The Master would be making those decisions for him. There was a wonderful sense of release in that loss of freedom.

Later, after breakfast, James went to the basement exercise room, as the Master had instructed. One entire wall was mirrored, and there was many pieces of fitness equipment from the Master's world.

"So, I see you've arrived, James. Let's get started, shall we?"

The Master was naked! James' eyes inhaled the grandeur before him. The Master was tall, more than 6 feet, slightly pale in complexion, with short chestnut hair and hazel eyes, and was clean-shaven. Slightly overweight, his penis was about 6" and erect.

Why, James bemoaned to himself, could he not be more like the Master? Instead, James was five feet, ten inches tall (when he wore his two inch heeled shoes) and 160 pounds, with a dark tan, and blue-green eyes. Trim and muscular, classically handsome, and with a 7" penis, James could not understand what the Master saw in him.

And the Master's intelligence was beyond the level of genius. He was ten Miguelito Lovelesses rolled into one, and more. Perhaps that was why the Master was able to look beyond James' obvious flaws, and still want his service.

"This initial session may not last long. We'll see. I want to test something out, James, and you're the one I've been waiting to try it on. See that dais over there, a few feet in front of the mirrored wall? I want you to sit on the rod that's coming out of it. Make sure you're facing the mirrors. And don't worry, it won't break off."

"Certainly, Master." James walked over to the dais, from which the small rod was protruding. The dais itself was about a foot and a half in diameter, two feet in height, and completely covered with some form of padding. Projecting vertically from the center was the rod, four inches long and half an inch in diameter. Upon closer inspection, he realized it looked like a small, erect penis.

James sat on the rod, feeling the head enter his virgin behind. Somehow, it was exuding a great deal of lubrication. That, and its small size, enabled him it to easily go into him until he was sitting on the dais, the rod nestled completely inside him.

"How does that feel, James?"

"It's . . . different, Master. Not bad, actually."

"Good, good. I want to break you in gradually. THOMAS? Level Two, please. And tell me if there's any drastic changes that might mean we should our stop our little experiment."

"Right on, boss."

James felt the rod slowly expanding inside him. He took a deep breath. It felt SO good!

"It's at Level Two, boss."

"How does it feel now, James?"

"It feels . . . it feels amazing, Master."

"I want you to go up and down now, James. Let it massage you, inside, but carefully."

"Yes, Master." James put his hands on the dais to either side of him for additional support, then began to bob up and down. The lubrication still was coming out of the rod copiously. James felt no pain, only fullness.

"All right, James. That's enough. Just sit still. THOMAS? Let's try Level Three."

"Going to Level Three, boss."

James felt the expansion again. A shiver went through him as the rod pressed against his prostate.

"Level Three it be, boss."

"I think from your reaction that it still feels all right, James, yes?"

"Yes, Master. Can I . . . can I do it more?"

"My, my, you ARE the eager little minx, aren't you? Go ahead, James."

"Thank you, Master." James resumed his up and down motion. Now, with the rod rubbing his prostate, he quickened his pace, completely thrilling to the sensation.

"Stop, James, stop! You're enjoying yourself WAY too much." Nunyon chuckled. "We've got more yet. THOMAS? Level Four."

"Taxing my resources, aren't you, boss? Going to Level Four."

The ever-increasing sensation of fullness was incredible. He wished he had known this was what if felt like to have a man inside him. He should have started years ago!

"Level Four, boss. But I don't. . . know. . . how much . . . longer. . . I . . . can . . . manage. . . today."

"Oh, THOMAS, how many times do I have to tell you. Shatner impressions are just NOT your forte. There's not enough 'ham' in your circuits to do it right, I made SURE of that."

"Oh, you're no fun anymore."

"Monty Python? There may be hope for you yet. Now, James, I WAS going to ask you, before THOMAS decided to try out the refinements he's obviously been making on his idle bantering subroutines, whether you were still OK."

"Oh . . . oh . . . oh, yes, Master. Can I . . . can I . . ." James' voice had become more guttural, his head weaving, the feeling inside him making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything else. Even the Master was appeared blurry, as James' eyes became more unfocused from the pleasure.

"Yes, James, do carry on."

James' self-impalement was becoming more frenzied after each expansion. He was going so fast that the slap as his butt hit the padding on the dais was distinctly audible.

"Stop, stop, stop! James, you are TOO much of a natural at this. We can't have you finishing too soon. Don't move. THOMAS? Let's take it all the way, to Level 5."

"Playin' with the big boys. Level five."

The effect was almost indescribable. He felt completely filled, in a way he had never felt before. He hoped it would never end.

"Level five, boss. Rick Donovan would be jealous."

"Thank you, THOMAS. I'm sure he would, if I allowed him to be. All right, James. Here's some lubrication. Now, while you keep up your internal massage, I want you to play with yourself, too. But don't release your load until I tell you. And when you do, aim it at your own chest."

"Yes, Master!" James ferociously pounded the dais with his butt, as he masturbated wildly with his right hand, his left still on the dais for support. As he watched himself in the mirror, he saw how big the rod inside him had gotten. He did not know how large it was, but it looked huge! Seeing himself this way, flushed, sweat glistening on his handsome face and running down his hairy chest, his abdominal muscles standing out from the strain, the soft blue suede chaps clinging to his hard-working thighs like a second skin, pumping up and down, his rear engulfing the rod while he played with himself, completely subject to the will of the Master, was electrifying. The Master was a god, to be able to cause this much pleasure! The juices were boiling in him, but unable to be released until the Master's command. James feared that if it continued for too long, he would pass out from the sheer rapture of the experience.

"Oh, this is what I've been waiting for. You don't know how much I've been wanting this! Do it, James!" Nunyon said, quickly moving in front of his slave, "Suck your Master dry!"

James avidly took the Master into his mouth. The Master's hands were holding the back of his head, guiding him. Now James' mouth was bobbing as fast as his butt around the rod, and his hand on himself.

"I knew this couldn't last long. It's too . . . too. . . too good. Oh, take it, James, take it, and let yours out toooooooo!!!" James felt the pulsing of the Master, as the sticky, salt/sweet essence filled his mouth. He swallowed rapidly, wanting all of this expression of the Master. And James shot, as well, the milky substance covering his chest, jetting so forcefully it reached past his nipples.

The Master pulled out of his new slave's mouth, James only regretfully letting go. The Master then leaned against the mirrored wall, breathing heavily, a halo surrounding him as the sweat from his body coated the glass. James, too, was breathing like he had run for miles. He was sitting on the dais, the rod still within him.

"Well," Nunyon sighed, "THAT was everything I'd hoped for, and more. Thank you, James, for making a fantasy come true. And even more fantasies, in the future."

"You're welcome, Master. I am overjoyed to obey your will, now and forever. And thank YOU!"

"Good. I'm going to have our little toy return to its original size. While it's shrinking, I want you to use your hands to wipe off your chest, then lick your hands clean. When you're done, go upstairs and take a bath, get dressed, and we'll discuss our future plans. But first, give me one of those famous James West kisses, that have made women swoon for so many years." "Yes, Master." As the Master kneeled down (in front of James, such an honor!), he took his face lovingly in his hands, leaned forward, and kissed the Master. There was a passionate, worshipful intensity to it that he had never felt with anyone before in his life. Nunyon could taste himself in James' mouth, the tang all the sweeter for it. The kiss lasted for several minutes. James wanted, needed, to show the Master the depths of his devotion.

Finally, the kiss ended. "James, I'm . . . REALLY glad you're all mine now. That kiss . . . I think we're going to have to spend at LEAST a whole day doing nothing else. That was . . . better than some sex I've had."

"Thank you, Master." James said, almost bashfully.

"Well, go ahead and clean yourself some now. Then do the rest like I told you. THOMAS? Back to Level 1. Slowly, though, OK?"

"Level One, nice and slow. You got it, boss."

Nunyon left the room and headed for the gate room. Alone in the corridor, he said "He seemed to be just fine, THOMAS. Any problems?"

"Nope, boss" the computer's sensual voice replied from only a few feet above Nunyon, moving with him as he walked. "Neurotransmitters and serotonin levels, synaptic efficiency, all brain functions just peachy. The Joy Stick worked fine, too. No internal damage to Jimmy boy at all."

"Good, good, good. Looks like the two inch length and quarter inch diameter increases at each level worked as well as we had calculated."

"Soitenly seemed like it, boss. And did we have fun?"

"Yes, 'we' definitely did. It was spectacular, THOMAS. Well worth waiting for."

"I'm glad you're happy, boss."

"And I'm happy you're glad, THOMAS." Nunyon had arrived in the room where West's conversion had occurred. He sat on the floor in a half-lotus position, facing the ID gate. He often liked coming here to think, the sight of the golden doorway to the realization of infinite dreams never boring him. "Now that I've brought Mr. West . . . James. There's no need to be so formal now that we know each other so intimately. Force of habit from all those years of watching the show, I suppose.

Anyway, now that I've brought JAMES into my service, we can proceed with my other plans. It's a shame this is a production order universe, and not a broadcast order one, as James' memories confirmed, but we'll make do.

Since we know everything that James knows, we know the location of Colonel Vautrain's mansion. I wish we could have arrived in this universe earlier, before it was destroyed. But there still may be some traces of the temporal warp he created, so it's worth investigating.

I think for a little while, THOMAS, we'll let James continue with his upcoming adventures. Of course, since WE know what they are, we can keep an eye on him and take advantage of our foreknowledge. Let's see, 'The Night of the Gypsy Peril' was only two days ago. How long until 'The Night of the Feathered Fury', THOMAS?"

"Five days, from what I gleaned from Jimmy's memories, and regular news sources, boss."

"Good. We'll let that little escapade of Count Manzeppi's play itself out. Then, after the Philosopher's Stone reconstitutes itself, we'll relieve the maid of it. Having an unlimited supply of gold will make our ID exploration easier, considering how much of it we need for each gate terminus, not to mention what goes into the actual circuitry itself."

"If the atomic structure of the transformed material is stable in other dimensions, boss. We won't know that until I have a chance to examine the change from base material into gold, then try shipping some to other dimensions."

"True, THOMAS. Still, it's bound to be stable in at least SOME dimensions. And what we learn about this transformation could reveal so much about the fundamental nature of matter itself. No telling WHAT other useful information we may gather.

But we'll deal with that when we have our hands on the Philosopher's Stone. Tell me about our other major project, THOMAS. Have you managed to locate Doctor Loveless yet?"

"Yeah, boss. The interference with the ID connection's coming from Loveless' sonic dimensional transposition experiments, like we thought. I've got the location of his main laboratory pinpointed."

"Excellent work, THOMAS! I want to arrange a meeting with the good Doctor, BEFORE 'The Night of the Surreal McCoy'. He would make an excellent ruler of this Earth, I think. We can help him achieve his dreams, and he can share some of his interesting discoveries with us."

"Be careful, boss. He's a tricky one, and smart."

"I'm well aware of the danger, THOMAS. But I've always had a soft spot for Miguelito. I admired his lofty dreams. In a way, I've become a more brilliant, and successful, version of him. I'll bring along James, as proof of my . . . resourcefulness. And I'm willing to be generous. I won't give him James, of course. But with our help, he can gain total control of this Earth, to rule with the wisdom he so amply possesses. And I'll even throw in some of the scientific knowledge we have. In exchange, THOMAS, we'll gain knowledge of the Doctor's inventions. That shrinking formula, the sonic matter transfer technique, and who knows what others that never made it into the show itself. I'll be careful, never fear. But the benefits are more than worth the risk."

"Well, from my estimates, boss, we have over a month before 'The Night of the Surreal McCoy', so there's plenty of time to cover all our bases."

"Good, THOMAS, good. And let us not forget 'The Night of the Cadre'. The technique that General Trask is using to create his cadre intrigues me. Mind control through the implantation of crystals in a subject's brain, that render him totally obedient when stimulated by high frequency sound . . . Primitive, admittedly, but we might learn something new, perhaps even how to achieve the same results without the surgery. After all, we have an extra century's worth of scientific advancement, the use of all the best minds on our Earth, not to mention the considerable brain power that you and I possess, THOMAS. And I'm always looking for new and better methods of mind control."

"That's why you da boss, boss."

"It certainly is, THOMAS, it certainly is."

Even as they spoke, the latest recipient of those methods was finishing his instructions, which he had begun to carry out as soon as the Master had left the room (how empty James felt when he was not in the Master's presence!). The taste of his own seed was not as appetizing as that of the Master's, of course, but it still was very good, and he relished it. He knew that if the Master ordered it, he would enjoy having other men in his mouth, savoring what came from them. And from the experience with the rod, to have a man inside him in that way would be wonderful, too. He could hardly wait for the honor, and the ecstasy, of the Master himself penetrating him.

"Level One. Up and at 'em, Jimmy boy. Or, should I say, the tame, tame, West."

James rose, the rod practically falling out of his still dilated rear end. Going upstairs, he could hardly wait for his next meeting with the Master. His life of servitude had just begun, and he knew he would enjoy every moment of it.

[ Another commercial break, then end credits shown ] DISCLAIMER AND WARNINGS 1) This story depicts graphic sex between men. If you are offended by this, or is illegal where you are, how the hell did you get this far? 2) Mind control is a major plot element. If this is not your particular cup of tea, you weren't reading the story codes, then, were you? 3) The characters in it are fictional. Some of them appear on TV shows. This implies nothing about the sexuality of the actors portraying these parts. It's about the CHARACTERS. 4) It also implies nothing about the sexuality of the characters. Which are fictional. 5) The situations depicted are the invention of the author. As if this could happen in real life. 6) The author is not claiming copyright on any of said TV characters, because they aren't his creations. They are merely being borrowed for story purposes. GENERAL NOTE: Feedback is welcome. Encouragement is appreciated. I do try to respond to all comments received, positive or negative. All part of improving what I do. And, if this story amuses, I tend to post my stories first at http://www.onelist.com/community/GayCelebMCStories, for `special' feedback before more widely posting a story. `Tis an interesting little list.

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