Guyver – Second Chance – Part 2

Guyver – Second Chance – Part 2 {KatieKittyKat} (F tech mast nc sci-fi)

Author: KatieKittyKat

Title: Guyver – Second Chance – Part 2

Summary: A young girl on vacation encountered a Guyver unit, an alien
device that gave her a protective suit of Bio-Armour. She gradually came to
terms with it, when she realised that she wasn’t being harmed at all. Over the
next few days she learned a few things about the suit, especially its ability to
protect her when she was in danger. She now continues her exploration of the
unit’s capabilities, and some very pleasant advantages.

Keywords: F, tech, sci-fi, mast, nc

Wednesday 19 February 2014

Credits: This story was written by Katie, and based on one of Katie’s childhood
fantasies.

Guyver – Second Chance – Part 2

*****************

Joyce Butler was out hiking in the woods, when she was attacked and raped,
but she managed to hit the guy with a branch, and make her escape. Running
through the woods, she’d tripped and fallen, knocking herself out, and while
she was unconscious, she’d merged with a Guyver unit, an alien device that
needed a host in order to survive long term.

Later that day, when the Guyver had activated a Bio-Armour suit, encasing
her completely, Joyce had initially been terrified, but gradually came to terms
with it, when she realised that she wasn’t being harmed at all. Over the next
few days she learned a few things about the suit, especially its ability to
protect her when she was in danger.
She now continues her exploration of the unit’s capabilities, and some very
pleasant advantages.

*****************

Joyce returned to the cabin, stopping by the admin office to thank the guy at
the desk for his help, and to rib him for not warning her about the bear she’d
seen on her hike, though she didn’t go into detail over exactly what happened.
Locking the door, she stripped off, and took a shower to wash away the sweat
and dirt from the hike, getting distracted, as usual, by warm soapy hands on
her body. She gingerly felt inside her pussy, finding her broken cherry still
sore, but not enough to put a stop to her fingering it for a while, in fact, the
discomfort turned her on more. A growl from her tummy made her realise she
was hungry, so she rinsed off the soap, and wrapped a towel round her naked
body. She warmed a tin of soup, which she ate with the last of her bread,
made a fresh pot of coffee, then took out her notebook to write down what had
happened so far with the mysterious suit.

She started a new page, headed “Commands”, recording those phrases that
she thought trigged various aspects of the suit, the visor, earphones, maps,
and most important, getting the suit off altogether. She didn’t vocalise any of
them, as she wasn’t ready to activate the suit just yet, it would probably be a
distraction, until she’d managed to record some of the information she’d been
able to work out up to now. She particularly wanted the command set, to stop
her having to go through so much trial and error, just to get something basic
to happen, although she didn’t really class any of this as straightforward.
Turning to another page, Joyce began recording some of the things she’d
observed, several things that she thought were missing, and some of the suit
functions that she wanted to explore, adding at the bottom, in capital letters,
“REWARD SYSTEM”. It made her wet just thinking about the orgasms she’d
had lately, while the suit was in place, but she had some serious research to
do first, so she’d leave play time till later.

Getting up, Joyce went and stood by the wall mirror, with her back to it, then
held up the signal mirror she’d brought over with her, using it to watch the
back of her neck, where the suit usually seemed to disappear. “Restore
Earphones”, she said, and as her neck tingled, she saw a small area at the
base of her skull, about the size of a quarter, begin to shimmer with a pale
green light. Quickly, the gray material of the suit appeared, splitting into two
threads that moved round her head, and into her ears, within seconds, then
began to play the radio stations that the device had been scanning earlier.
She asked for “Popular Charts”, “Country and Western”, then “Classical”, the
music switching to the requested station each time.

“OK, so we’ve got a cool Ipod,” said Joyce, “let’s try something else.”

“Audio off!”, turned the music off, “Audio on!”, switched it back on again.

“Remove Earphones”, made them disappear into the back of her neck, which
she watched this time, noting the green glow, and the tingle, which she was
getting used to now.

Joyce wanted to explore the visor next, so she thought about how she could
shorten, and standardise the commands, to make things quicker and easier.
While the suit seemed to respond well to properly phrased sentences, she
wondered if there were key words she could use instead. The audio had
worked with off and on, so she said, “Visor On”, and watched through her
mirrors as a much larger volume of material appeared out of the back of her
skull, wrapped round her head, then she couldn’t see anything. Of course, the
visor covered her eyes, so she was now blind, till the internal screens came
on a second later, but she wouldn’t be able to actually see the visor being fully
fitted. She’d have to set up the video on her camera next time she tried this
one, but as she ran her hands over the outside of the visor, the volume of the
device made her wonder where, exactly, it fitted in her skull. Something this
big must give her a killer headache, but all she’d felt was a tingle. Another
thing for her list of questions, if she could get the suit to answer them.

She got the visor to show the TV stations she’d watched out on her hike, then
a couple of SciFi channels, spending far too long on her favourite episode of
Star Trek, though it did make a pretty neat personal television set.

Next she had the visor run through all the various functions she’d found this
afternoon, such as location, and range, finally getting it to switch to normal
vision, so she could see her immediate surroundings, although they had a
strange coloured tinge to the image. When she asked, “Why is this different to
what I can see with my eyes?” there was quite a pause, then the visor gave
an audio stream, which Joyce assumed was an explanation in the native
language, but she did pick out “enhanced, thermal, surface, and depth”. If this
image was “surface depth”, then maybe it could look deeper, below the
surface, like an x-ray.

“Increase depth”, began to display the timber studs behind the wall, as well as
the pipes and wires running through them, then she could see the trash can
that was outside her cabin.

“Surface depth”, brought it back to normal, then she tried to get it to identify
individual components, “Scan cables”, “Scan Pipes”, worked well, fading out
most of the other structures on the display. Joyce had an idea developing,
that she’d read in one of her SciFi stories years ago, it had intrigued her then,
and it was getting even more interesting now. “Scan for Copper”, she said, but
the display just spun round the room, showing the basic view, stopped, and
announced, “Analysis required.”

Joyce took her necklace off, which was a 1970 penny that had belonged to
her Mom, made of 95% copper, on a 24k gold chain. She slipped the penny
off the chain, which she put on the dresser, then held the coin on the palm of
her outstretched hand. The visor screen changed to zoom in on the penny,
then swept a spectral analysis display in from the side, finally writing “Analysis
Complete” across the image. Instead of her hand, the visor now showed the
wall again, with “Scanning”, running across the top, and all of the structure
gradually fading away, till just the copper water pipes remained, and the bare
electrical wires, spaced by the thickness of the plastic coating. She could also
see the brass fittings inside the power sockets, and sink taps, all of them were
displayed clearly, in their natural colour, while surrounding material was about
90% opaque.

“What is the effective range to scan copper”, Joyce asked, whereupon the
visor displayed ‘500 yards at current power level’.

“What is the maximum range”, she continued, and the display changed to
‘2000 miles, but power insufficient without recharge’.

Joyce was pleased with the results so far and now wanted to try an extremely
important test, the one that had really piqued her interest so many years ago.
She put down the penny, and picked up her gold chain, held out her hand,
and said, “Analysis of Gold, please?” The visor showed the spectral scan,
though the pattern looked different this time, and it took less than a minute
before the display read “Analysis Complete”, again. Now was the crunch,
“Scan for Gold”, Joyce said, “Range 50 feet”, then watched the visor as it
displayed the room, most of it fading out, leaving the chain in her hand, two
rings on her fingers, and her bracelet in the bottom of her backpack. This was
just what she was hoping for, all of her gold jewellery, exactly where she knew
it would be, but then she noticed another object, off to the side of the display.
Turning to face towards it, she centred the image on screen, then said “Zoom
in 20%”, watching the image gradually increase in size, and then studying the
surrounding structures. After a few minutes she recognised the wash basin,
and the trap in the drain beneath it, with a ring lodged in the bottom of the
bend.

“Visor Off”, she said, blinking as her normal vision returned, and then going
over to unscrew the wash basin drain, catching the water in the trash can, and
finding a small gold ring at the bottom as well. She dried it off, put it on the
dresser, and then put the wash basin back together. Well, at least she could
be a treasure hunter if people lost their jewellery. The next stage of this
particular line of her investigation would have to wait a few days, as she
needed to move location.

There were other attributes of the suit that she wanted to study though, and
she issued the command, “Visor On!”, feeling much less disorientation this
time, as the device wrapped round her head, and the screen came to life.
“Explain the bra and panties that you used this morning,” Joyce said, and the
display showed the two items, exactly as she remembered them. As the
image rotated, even showing the insides, it was accompanied by a dialogue,
mostly in the suit’s native language, which still sounded like Chinese, with an
occasional English word or two thrown in. “Stop!”, Joyce said, and the display
froze, so she continued, “Less technical this time, more general. Resume!”

The screen went blank, then ran the display again, this time with a narrative
that was 80% English, and 20% Chinese, explaining how it had been repairing
tissue damage to her breasts, and vagina, based on localised composition,
and had also restructured her hymen. When it mentioned DNA enhancement,
Joyce had asked for more information, and the dialogue had reverted to
mostly Chinese again, but she managed to break down the suit’s explanation.
After running through it several times, she understood that the suit had made
changes to her body’s basic repair mechanism that would increase its overall
effectiveness threefold. This meant that any injury she sustained would heal
faster and better than it had ever done before.

Joyce now broached the subject of the sexual stimulation the suit used, in
what seemed to be a reward system, watching as the display showed her the
structures that had been created inside the suit, round her nipples and clitoris.
When she asked how the suit actually produced the stimulation, it told her that
direct pressure, and friction, was caused by changing the shape of the suit,
while power output components delivered small electrical charges. It could
also create vacuum sections to apply suction to areas of the host’s body.
Joyce enquired about what control system it used, since it had been very
effective today, and the suit told her that numerous monitoring systems that
were in place throughout her body provided feedback to control various levels
of sensation.

Joyce wanted to try out the control systems, so she could test their sensitivity,
and because all this talk of sexual stimulation was turning her on, big time, but
she couldn’t think of a suitable command sequence. She couldn’t just say,
“Play with my pussy”, it sounded so very desperate. She asked the suit what
circumstances would initiate the stimulation mechanism, and was told the
primary use was as a reward for performing tasks, particularly in a battle
scenario. It was also used as a pain control, because it stimulated the basic
endorphin production of the brain, and with this host it could be used as a
power supply.

Joyce thought this last point was rather unusual, and asked for clarification,
having to remind the visor to reduce the technical level so that she could
understand what it was saying. Apparently, the unit was designed first to be
powered by tapping in to a nuclear fuel cell system, to charge its own internal
storage, or in emergencies, it could tap into the physical, and neural energy of
the host. This had always been of minimal use in the previous hosts, but the
current host produced a high background power level, which could be greatly
increased by stimulating the pleasure centres.

Joyce wasn’t very comfortable with being called a ‘host’, it was so impersonal,
and made her feel like a lab rat under these circumstances, so she asked the
visor if it could refer to her by her proper name. It took quite a bit of creative
discussion to convey that ‘Joyce Butler’ was the name that identified her as an
individual, although the suit still insisted on calling it a designation, then even
more work to get the suit to address her just as ‘Joyce’ in conversation.
Turning the reasoning the other way round was even more difficult, as Joyce
tried to discover who, or what, this suit thing was, and what it was doing inside
her head, literally. The Guyver, which it often used references to, seemed to
be a creature of indeterminate age, although it was very old, and mentioned
being familiar with dinosaurs when they were on earth, that was housed inside
a complex device called a Guyver Unit.

Joyce eventually got it to reveal that its own personal designation was ‘Div
Pemib’, though it knew of no specific event that it could recognise having
been addressed as such. The name was something embedded deep inside its
core being, that identified its inner self, but it was usually addressed by a
string of numbers, like a serial number, in any communications it had with
other people. While it preferred the precision of being addressed by its
number, it agreed that Joyce could call it Div, if she wanted to, and it would
respond, especially as it was the only one of its kind in the vicinity, so there
was unlikely to be any confusion. In fact, Div had not been able to contact any
other of its companions for many years, though it did have a partial record of
its last contact, but since its timing system had been damaged, it didn’t even
know where, or when, it was now. Joyce provided the current date, and local
time, which Div used to reset its internal clock, then a quick status check
routine revealed that it had been fairly inactive for 35 years or thereabouts,
perhaps 45 years. The routine was beginning to return lots of conflicting data
now, so the Guyver turned it off till it could perform some repairs on internal
mechanisms.

When Joyce enquired what Div had been doing for 35 years, he said that for
most of it he was shut down, without any contact with a host, so power was
extremely limited. Sometimes he shut down to conserve it; sometimes it had
been a malfunction that turned off the power, forcing him back into inactivity.
Joyce asked why he didn’t just find a host, if that would supply him with power
to maintain his systems, but Div explained that he had to be in physical
contact with a prospective host, or at most one yard away to enable him to
deploy a probe, as he’d done with Joyce. The host had to be large enough to
contain an anchor point, and active enough, physically and mentally, to supply
sufficient power to maintain basic systems.

Joyce had been ideal, as she was a very close match to the last set of hosts
that the Guyvers had used, simian in construction, but she was vastly more
active, especially in mental capacity. He had tried smaller creatures a few
times, but without being able to gain access to an anchor point, the unit had to
remain externally mounted, and could easily be dislodged. He’d disabled a
few hosts in order to stay connected for longer, but this drastically reduced the
available power they produced, and they soon became totally inactive. In
answer to Joyce’s enquiry about what an access point was, the visor showed
her a scan of the base of her skull, where a solid object, about one inch
diameter was lodged.

Div carefully structured his explanation to Joyce’s level of understanding, with
enough information to let her know that the Guyver device was a suit of alien
Bio Armour that fitted the wearer in full symbiosis. It had a small contact point
somewhere inside the body, which connected to a sub-dimension that held
the main body of the unit, activating to a full suit when needed. When he’d
merged with her in the woods, he’d initiated a trigger sequence internally, and
the Guyver unit changed shape, dissolving into a fluid mass that drew itself
into her neck. He’d constructed the contact point as an active portal, and then
slowly merged inside the structure to anchor itself in the sub-dimensional
resting zone.

While Joyce admitted that the science was way over her head, she could
grasp the concepts involved, fascinated by how many of them linked to
science fiction stories she’d read. Div told her how the power system was
linked through the portal, drawing power from her own body metabolism to
charge the Guyver’s storage devices, which were at last rising above critical.
While the re-charge process was slow, it was at least consistent and very
reliable thanks to Joyce, for which Div was extremely grateful, although there
would be expenditure problems with too many attack scenarios like the bear.
Smiling at a thought forming in her mind, Joyce asked what it would take to
replace the power they’d used in their fight in the woods today, and her eyes
lit up at Div’s response. Apparently it would take an output level similar to the
reward Joyce had enjoyed yesterday, when the suit had repeatedly given her
a climax, but maintained for at least a full hour.

Joyce felt her pussy getting wet at the idea of being pleasured non-stop for an
hour, without having to do anything herself, so she told Div that she’d be very
happy to help out with providing extra power before she went to bed. Taking
off her underwear, Joyce stood in front of the large mirror, studying her naked
reflection, then said “Panties On”, feeling the narrow stream of material flow
down her spine. It spread over her butt, and between her legs, exciting her
anal rosebud and slit as the warm substance squeezed along her groove,
then over her pubic mound, to join at her hip bones. While it felt delicious to
be wrapped up in this way, she wasn’t overly pleased about the way the dull
gray garment looked, and asked if the colour was configurable. Div admitted
that gray was the raw material colour, but the surface could have a modified
reflective index if required. Joyce took a pair of panties from her backpack,
red satin with cream lace trim, and held them up, asking Div to copy the
design for her. The visor quickly deployed, which Joyce was quite used to
now, and she watched the analysis scan being performed, then it withdrew,
and she could see the suit panties take on the red and cream colouring of her
own garments. They didn’t look very soft and delicate, but they were far more
attractive than before and when she requested “Bra On”, this was deployed
with the red and cream design, making a fairly nice looking set.

Joyce asked for the stimulation to be started at low levels for a little while, and
the gentle tingle in her titties and clit felt wonderful while she was tidying her
things away for the night. Eventually she got onto the bed, lying back as an
orgasm began to build in her tummy, the sensations rising higher as she
began to squirm about, then she stiffened as the climax crashed over her,
thrusting her hips into the air. The suit held her at the peak for several mind
bending minutes, stimulating every erogenous zone in her body, till at last it
let her down a little bit. It had been a beautiful climax, and Joyce was hungry
for more, but she knew she’d not be able to keep still for many more like that,
so she asked Div to restrain her to the bed until he’d finished with her.

The suit extended along the back of her outstretched limbs, wrapping round
her wrists and ankles with the same red and cream colouring as her undies,
then reaching out to the corners of her bed. Now that she was firmly held in
place, Div turned up the stimulation to her tits and clit, quickly bringing her to
the edge of orgasm. As Joyce began to thrust her hips about, she felt the suit
tighten to the bed, stretching her arms and legs, then bands snapped round
her elbows and knees, holding her totally immobile. Now the shocks to her
nipples and clit really ramped up, and just before she climaxed, the suit began
to form two large shafts in her panties, then quickly drove them both fully in.

Joyce was held at the peak of her orgasm for nearly five minutes, fucked by
two huge dildoes, and electrocuted in her most sensitive places till her stress
levels approached the point of collapse. The intense stimulation then backed
off, allowing some rest, but not much, and not for long, before her clit was
zapped again, and the dildo rammed right into the top of her channel, pushing
her instantly to the pinnacle of pleasure again.

She must have endured over a dozen such mind blowing, body wracking hits,
though she could hardly keep track of them, and each one seemed even more
powerful than the last. Finally she was allowed to take a rest, her restraints
and clothing retracting to leave her laid naked on the bed, where she slept till
morning.

Joyce slowly roused from her slumber just after 9am with an insistent beep in
her ear, and when she reached her hand up there, she found that Div had
deployed a single earphone, which it seemed was her personal alarm clock.
When she asked what the problem was, Div said there was a news broadcast
on the local TV channel that she may be interested in, and Joyce felt the suit
constructing the visor round her head. In a few seconds the display activated,
then a story came on the screen about the police looking for a girl who’d gone
missing in the woods, and her body had been found by hikers this morning.
The incident had occurred several miles away, and there was very little extra
information just yet, but Div pointed out that the police and news services may
create problems with their increased presence, and Joyce’s involvement.

Joyce was puzzled as to what her involvement was in this as she didn’t know
the girl involved, and hadn’t been in that area, so Div explained that there was
a high probability that the criminal was the same man that had raped her a
few days ago. Div had used the suit’s resources to scan the area as soon as
the first news was released, based on the similarities to Joyce’s incident, and
the evidence had confirmed his suspicions. It was, however, just a probability,
and would require an actual presence to collect conclusive evidence, but he
could only do that with Joyce’s support, if she wanted to be instrumental in the
police apprehending this person.

While it had been a traumatic experience for Joyce, she realised that she had
not reported the attack, because of all the complications with the Guyver suit,
and she felt this second girl might not have been attacked if the police had
been aware that a rapist was in the area. Joyce told Div that she would do as
much as she could to help catch him, and after a brief discussion of tactics,
she showered, dressed, had some breakfast, and then hiked out to where Div
told her. She had the suit’s earphones fitted, and the Guyver told her exactly
what paths were safest, to avoid detection by anyone else that was around,
until an hour later Div had her slow down, then stand perfectly still.

The suit’s visor initiated, and the display was mainly in a scan and analyse
mode, Joyce trying to track the green cross into the centre of the screen, till
Div told her he needed the gloves for a physical sample. Joyce felt the gloves
encase her hands, then slowly extended her fingers over the area indicated
on the display, watching as a very slender probe reached down to the ground.
After a few seconds, Div announced that he had a positive DNA match for the
reproductive fluids just sampled, and those that had been present in Joyce’s
body when they’d first met. This was definitely the same man. The sample
also contained traces from a female with a different DNA family, and a high
level of hormones that would indicate a recent reproductive cycle.

A few feet away, Joyce followed the green cross to another scan the visor
was conducting, stopping when Div warned her not to contaminate the scene,
and then reading the display where it identified a large area of blood, with a
DNA match to the female. Joyce asked the Guyver to initiate a wider scan for
the same DNA pattern, finding a piece of rope, with two loops covered in skin
and blood samples, tied to a tree branch. Joyce recalled the agony she’d felt
when her own breasts had been viciously bound like this, and she cried for
this poor girl’s suffering. The visor zoomed in, and Div pointed out the traces
of another DNA on the rope, cross matching it to the semen sample, linking
the rapist to this scene with more evidence.

A beep to one side made Joyce swing her gaze over there, where the visor
was framing something lodged in a low bush, enlarging the image till she
could identify a pair of panties. The display heading was “DNA Scan”, but
there were two very distinct colour patterns, which Joyce queried, reading the
side text that popped up explaining that it was male and female samples, from
both of the previous identified individuals. Div explained that the garment was
95% coated with human reproductive fluids, of which 38% were from the male
subject, while 62% belonged to the female subject. There were also traces of
wood and tree lichens, which Div extrapolated to indicate that the garment
had been forced into the female vagina with a branch, probably in an attempt
to remove evidence of the attack. Joyce told him it was more likely the rapist
did it just out of sadistic pleasure to inflict more pain on the girl.

Much as she didn’t want to get involved with the police, Joyce wanted to give
this information to them, so they could capture this guy, and nail him with all
this evidence. Div warned her that if she did that, there was no way she could
explain how she’d found all this, without telling them about the Guyver, and
that would create even more serious problems for her. When Joyce insisted
there must be some way they could anonymously tip off the police, Div said
he would be able to send an untraceable message to one of the Detective’s
mobile phone. He would supply this location, and some downgraded scans of
the area, highlighting the evidence, with advice to bring a forensics team with
them. The message would explain that he was a Federal investigator tracking
a suspect, he had come across a woman that had been attacked a few days
earlier, and that he had used top secret, advanced detection equipment to
locate this information. He was passing it on so as not to compromise his own
mission. Joyce agreed that it was a good plan, and asked Div to send the
message, which he did, but with a two hour delay on transmission, so they
could carry on tracking the rapist.

With the visor in place, and Div monitoring other people in the vicinity, Joyce
followed the signs of the man’s escape through the woods, each broken leaf
and branch highlighted in her display. There was also a slight blood trail, and
Div pointed out that it would appear their quarry may be injured, and the spoor
was providing positive DNA evidence that they were on track. Within the next
two hours they covered nearly ten miles, coming up on a small cabin hidden
well off the main hiking trails. The Guyver scanned the cabin, and all of the
surrounding area, reporting that there was one male inside, who appeared to
have a serious injury to an artery in his thigh, and very weak vital signs. Joyce
was torn between getting the police over here to arrest him, or just staying on
watch to see how things developed. Div told her that his analysis indicated
that the man would probably die from blood loss in the next twelve hours if he
didn’t receive medical attention, but Joyce’s big fear was that the man could
evade the charges if he got a good lawyer. There was also a nagging desire
for revenge on this man who had tormented her just a short while ago.

While Joyce was trying to decide what to do, Div Pemib ran a more detailed
scan of the cabin’s contents, then showed Joyce a hidden storage space in
which were several pieces of rope, and a large quantity of female panties.
There were DNA traces on the rope which matched the man, and some which
matched other female fluids on the underwear, though each garment seemed
to be from different individuals. This evidence would link the man with multiple
women, and the way each pair of panties was coated with female fluid would
indicate that they had been stuffed inside the vagina of each one. It was the
same method of attack they had seen at the earlier site this morning, pointing
to an extensive series of assaults by this man.

Div began to run a search of police files and news articles, finding numerous
cases of reported attacks in a fifty mile radius, and a larger number of medical
reports from girls who had visited the area and sustained similar injuries with
no assault being reported. When Joyce reviewed all the results, she was now
certain the man would be brought to justice at last, and asked Div to pass the
evidence to the police as he’d done earlier. That done, she made her way
back to her cabin, avoiding contact with anyone who might place her near to
the scene, and watched the breaking news as police arrested the murderer of
a local hiker, following information from an anonymous source. It was reported
that there was also evidence recovered of many similar incidents of attacks in
the area, which the man was likely to be charged with as well.

Joyce felt her spirits lift as it appeared that justice had indeed been served,
and decided to relax in the sun outside her cabin, looking round for her red
bikini to change into. Div complimented her on her efforts to track the man
down, and said she deserved a reward, initiating the suit to deploy in a bra
and panties configuration, with a similar satin look material to yesterday.
When Joyce sat back in a chair on her porch, soaking up the warm sun, she
felt the familiar tingle in her pussy and nipples, as the suit began to stimulate
her sexual response.

After an hour of constant, gentle stimulation, Joyce was approaching orgasm,
but being outside she wanted to put it off till she was in a more private place,
so tried to slow her response. The suit sensed her resistance, and Joyce felt
something on her wrists and ankles, looking down to see transparent strands
binding her to the chair. Slowly the stimulation of her nipples and clitoris was
stepped up, with occasional sharp stabs of intense current, almost painful on
her sensitised flesh, until she was pushed over the top. Instead of her normal
thirty seconds orgasm when she masturbated, the suit now adjusted the level
of stimulation to hold her on the peak of sexual pleasure till she almost
passed out. As she calmed down, her sensations dropping to more normal
levels, the suit began again, and Joyce pleaded to be let down or she would
pee herself. She heard Div’s voice say that could easily be fixed, and she felt
a probe being inserted into her pee hole, stretching it painfully, then another
shaft was pushed into her bottom, this one much larger and vibrating to push
her passion even higher. When she approached her next orgasm, as she had
warned, Joyce did indeed loose control of her bladder, but now she also felt
the jet of hot urine blast deep into her bottom, adding to the sexual intensity.

After another hour of sunbathing, and non stop sexual stimulation, Joyce
asked to be released so she could shower and change, as she was dripping
with sweat. When she was freshened up, Joyce felt much better, but when
she took her clean undies from her back pack, the suit activated an identical
replica of the garments, royal blue satin, with elegant pink lace trim. They
even felt soft and silky, as the Guyver adjusted the texture of the suit to match
the tactile sensations as Joyce was holding the real material in her hand, with
neural feedback mapping. The general result was impressive, but Joyce told
Div that he’d missed out the personal touch, because she couldn’t feel her
fingers through the material. Div told her to hold on, and she could feel the
inner surface of her undies shifting about, then he told her to touch herself
again. When she ran her hands over her panties this time, she could feel
pressure points activating on the inner surface, passing the pressure through,
just as if it were really her own finger. Even when she rotated round her clit,
she could actually feel it, but there was also an additional sensation she could
feel, but not place, then Div turned up the power of the electricity so it raced
through her erect clit. She had the same reaction when she caressed her bra
covered breasts, even down to having her nipples shocked till her knees gave
way, falling to the floor as she climaxed again.

Joyce had a huge smile on her face as she regained her breath, telling Div not
to do that too often, or she’d become a sex maniac. She wasn’t too sure about
his response, as Div explained that he’d analysed her sexual responses to the
reward system recently, and decided that he could safely step up her neural
output consistently by 43% with no adverse effects. There were some tests he
wanted to conduct, and asked Joyce to relocate to a less populated area for
the afternoon. Answering her questions, he explained that he needed to test
her responses during increased exertion, such as running and hill climbing,
both in her normal clothes, and with the bio-suit fully deployed. Because they
didn’t want anyone seeing her in the suit, Joyce would have to take a bus trip
halfway to the next town, then hike into the mountains where there were no
people about to observe them. If his calculations were valid, he would be able
to recharge the suit in significantly less time than originally anticipated, and
also increase the available output for other functions.

Joyce discussed a few other points with Div, especially a different location
than he’d first suggested which suited something she had in mind, and was
equally remote. She dressed in vest top, shorts, and trainers, took her purse
so she had some bus fare, which she slid into a waist pack the suit deployed
in the small of her back, then set off for the main road. As they waited at the
bus stop, Joyce checked her reflection in the glass of a notice board, admiring
the classy new sunglasses that Div had created from the suit, complimenting
him on the reproduction from a fashion website she’d had him browse. They
also had music streamed to a set of ear buds, and a heads up display inside
the lenses. Joyce flippantly said all it lacked was a mini bar, because she was
thirsty, but then a tube extended from one side and Div told her they only had
cold water at the moment, and would that do. Joyce giggled as she quenched
her thirst, saying that was good enough, then got Div to explain how he was
now condensing water out of the air around them, even though it was hot and
sunny.

There were only half a dozen people on the bus, so Joyce sat at the back, to
idle away the journey while her panties buzzed her through several orgasms,
and Div congratulated her on charging the fuel cells. Even when she wasn’t
desperately trying not to thrash about, or moan aloud in sexual abandon, the
bra and panties never turned off. There was always a background tingle and
vibration on her clitoris and nipples, and every so often she would be pinched,
or stabbed with something sharp, so it almost made her jump.

When she asked for her stop, it was miles away from anywhere, and Joyce
assured the bus driver that she had arranged for a truck to pick her up, and
her driver was on his way. She waved as he drove away, sitting on a log next
to the stop till the bus turned out of sight, listening to Div report on the nearest
people being thirty miles away in the opposite direction to which they were
going, and well over fifty miles the other side of their destination.

After walking briskly for ten minutes to warm up, then doing some stretches,
Joyce began running along the trail at a steady pace, feeling her panties start
buzzing more insistently round her clit. Div’s voice in her ear was encouraging
as he reported her power output stepping up as expected, guiding her through
an increase in pace every few minutes, with added sexual stimulation as well.
She could feel her love button actually sticking out from her slit, the petals
now slippery with her girl juice, a small probe entered slowly into her cunt, a
second easing into her bottom as she ran, each footfall making them thrust
and twist inside her.

On her heads up display a bright green target point appeared on a tree about
200 yards in front, the voice in her ear urging her to chase it down, at which
point it shifted to another, more distant point, and Joyce could feel her speed
increase as her target changed. She could feel her adrenaline pumping along
her veins as if she was in a race, her heart rate increasing, though not as
much as she would have expected when running this hard. Constant advice
and encouragement was being fed through her ear piece, she was doing well,
focus on her style, see the current target draw nearer with every step.

She’d been watching the timer on the heads up approach 30 minutes, the
point they’d agreed on for the first stage of the tests that the Guyver wanted,
and she pushed even harder as she approached the final marker 30 seconds
in front. As with most runners, her first concern was her stats, and while she
was amazed to see she’d almost doubled her pace overall, having covered
nearly 6 miles, she was astounded that her breathing was as if she’d been on
a regular training run. As she watched her heart rate display drop back to near
normal in less than a minute, she quizzed Div about what was happening, and
he explained that some of the early modifications he’d done when he had first
merged with her were taking effect. The efficiency increase in her body’s
basic repair capability had now rectified all of the minor damage caused by
the exertions of this trip, and also those inflicted by her previous overwork in
her job, as well as the lack of sleep due to her overall lifestyle.

When she challenged him that it should be impossible to improve her heart
and lung capacities in such a short time, he reminded her that during the last
few days the reward system had been pushing her pulse and breathing well
above her normal peaks. Instead of the usual 3 or 4 orgasms a week she had
been used to enjoying, the suit was now stimulating her to at least six every
night, each climax of much longer duration, and higher intensity. She’d also
noticed that she’d been sexually aroused more often during the day, and Div
confirmed that he’d been applying stimulation constantly to her erogenous
zones at just below the level of conscious awareness.

Changes to her digestive system, while relatively minor, had resulted in great
improvements in the levels of energy she was able to extract from her food,
while similar enhancements to her body’s distribution systems also gave her
greater levels of efficient energy storage and availability. When prompted to
review her recent meals, Joyce admitted that they were smaller than she
normally enjoyed on vacation, and she’d noticed that the tiredness that had
been building up for the last several months did seem to have gone away.
Although she wasn’t keen on the way Div talked about her as if she was just a
machine in the repair shop, she did concede that he had a very valid point,
and admitted that her body felt much better than she could ever remember it
being. She was even sleeping more deeply, and waking up feeling much more
refreshed than was her habit. The Guyver unit was designed to assist its host
to achieve, and maintain, optimum efficiency Div explained, and he had lots of
experience improving some pretty sad specimens over his lifetime. Joyce was
quite pleased when he added that she was by far the most promising species
he’d encountered, not just in her current condition, but also from the potential
he could detect in all areas of her body, and her intellect.

Their next test was an uphill section of trail to the right, and as Joyce charged
up the incline there seemed to be no more difficulty than the previous level
portion had caused her. Checking the heads up display confirmed that her
pace was only marginally slower, and she could feel herself expending vastly
more energy as not only her legs, but seemingly her whole body was bent
towards propelling herself upward. She could feel the adrenaline again course
through her body, the endorphins removing any signs of fatigue, and intense
surges of sexual energy cascading through her pussy, deep into her stomach
and throughout her breasts. Her nipples and clit were throbbing on the very
edge of orgasm, but her pleasure systems maintained their peak, refusing to
tip over into the decline of post orgasmic bliss. Despite having held this crest
for over twenty minutes there was no sign of frustration, and the energy which
now channelled into the rest of her body was actually palpable.

Stopping when she reached the next plateau, Joyce was pleased that she
was once again only mildly out of breath, though her heart rate was still high,
and the sexual stimulation from the suit hadn’t dropped back to background
levels. In fact, she was beginning feel an orgasm taking control between her
legs, the erotic spasms distracting her from Div’s praise over another useful
set of test results, and her contribution of such a good effort. When the small
electric shocks began to stab at her erect clitoral shaft and throbbing nipples,
she realised that it wasn’t her lack of control bringing on her climax, it was the
suit initiating a reward protocol.

The stimulation ramped up so fast that all Joyce could do was grab her crotch
and one of her tingling breasts, then drop to the ground as her legs gave way,
writhing on the leafy forest floor as the dildo anchor points came into play.
She lost count of her orgasms at six, but the crashing waves of pleasure just
washed over her for what seemed hours, moving from her wet pussy to her
soft breasts, then on to her bottom, where the suit’s dildo thrust its swelling
girth deep inside her body.

When Joyce regained her senses, yet still tingling all over, the Guyver unit
informed her that he had induced twenty three orgasms in her, and it had
taken 47.385 minutes. The most interesting datum had been that physical
energy output had been 53 percent higher than any session he’d previously
recorded, and her peak neural energy had been 78 percent improved, which
was something that he wanted to study further.

Now that Div’s initial investigations were complete, Joyce wanted to head
towards an abandoned gold mine she’d researched on the internet, which was
only a few miles from where she was now. The mine had produced a quite
considerable profit for many years, but had eventually run out of productive
ore, and closed down. There had been a dozen other, much smaller mines,
close by, but they had only lasted a few years, and had all been filled in for
safety reasons. The mine Joyce was so interested in just now had been in the
hands of many different owners, but was last worked over 50 years ago. It
hadn’t been profitable at that time either, and was more of a hobby for the
owner, but it had been left to his family when he died. There was no further
record of anyone visiting the property, and no state taxes had been paid since
the owner died, so Joyce was assuming that it had been forgotten about.

The trail she was on had a side road shown on an old map at exactly this
point, yet there was nothing to be seen but thick brush for nearly 400 yards on
the side where the road was supposed to be. There were 3 or 4 wide animal
paths on the other side of the trail, but an impenetrable wall on this side, with
no sign of any access.

Realising she could search for ever, and still not discover the hidden trail,
Joyce said “Visor on”, feeling the suit wrap around her face as the sunglasses
changed into the fully functional instrumentation device she now needed.
Turning to study the trail she was stood on, Joyce asked the visor to identify
any human tracks, watching the display bring up several sets of footprints, two
going uphill, and seven going down. All nine sets were from different people,
the most recent being three sets that had gone downhill five years ago, a
man, woman, and a teenage boy, judging from pressure patterns and length
of stride. The layers of leaf fall over the remaining sets of footprints indicated
they were made eight, eleven, and fifteen years ago, then it became too hard
to identify further detail. This was definitely an isolated trail, and the chance of
being disturbed by passing strangers was negligible, making this place ideal
for both of their requirements.

Joyce turned towards the brush where the small side road was supposed to
be, scanning for any signs of a gap, then asked Div to help her find it, at which
point he took control, and Joyce just followed the target spot as he moved it
round. She saw the image of the brush disappear as the range increased, her
viewpoint moving into taller trees, with less undergrowth, but still seeing no
sign of a road. Div asked her to move off the trail in the opposite direction, so
they could climb a tree to gain some height perspective, and Joyce squeezed
down one of the animal tracks, to a tall pine that he indicated.

There were no branches on the lower section to help her grip the cylindrical
trunk, but she felt the full suit begin to deploy, and she was soon full armoured
and able to use the Guyver’s resources. The gloves modified shape to have
small spikes on the palms, and bear like claws on the fingers, while the inside
edges of the shoes grew longer spikes, somewhat like those lumberjack tree
climbing spikes. Within no time at all, Joyce was thirty foot in the air, looking
over the wall of bushes, and into the forest as it climbed another rise, but the
expected road was still missing. As she scanned the landscape to either side,
the Guyver began placing lighted spots on some of the smaller trees, until an
obvious concentration began to appear, and he finally drew a winding line on
the display.

About twenty yards back down the trail, the line started at the dense brush,
then led off through the forest, and round a curve in the hillside. Joyce could
see no way through the thick brush without backtracking a long way, asking
Div if there was a way round, at which point he lit up two large oak trees just
this side of where the two trails joined. When Joyce acknowledged that she’d
seen them, Div went on to mark out an animal trail that led past them, then a
green line going up one trunk, along a thick limb that spanned the main trail,
across to a limb on the other tree, then down the second trunk to the ground.
The Guyver explained that this elevated route would leave very little trace of
their passing, and anyone going along the main trail would miss it completely.

Joyce climbed down the pine tree, then took the indicated route to the other
side of the brush wall, looking back in amazement that the main trail was now
completely invisible. Examining the remains of the small side road she’d been
looking for, ignoring the smaller trees, she could just see where meandered
through the forest. She turned the suit off, since this would be just a walk in
the woods, for which shorts and a top were more comfortable, refitted her sun
glasses, then followed the road.

She lost the trail a couple of times, but Div was monitoring her progress, and
a green line would show on the heads up display to guide her back on track
without anything being said. After an hour’s walking, she came into a grassy
clearing at the bottom end of a shallow valley, with a cliff face on one side,
and the dense forest on the other. 500 yards up the valley stood a house and
a few outbuildings, and there was a small stream trickling down the forest side
of the valley. Joyce made her way up to the house, which was locked and
shuttered, looking quite sturdy considering it had been deserted for so many
years.

Over by the cliff face was the mine entrance, a few small bushes flanking the
heavy iron gate which was securely locked with a padlock on a large chain
that ran through a hole drilled into the rock. Joyce inspected the lock, there
was no way it was coming off without a key, or some power tools, or dynamite
to blow it up, so she wasn’t going to get inside and realise her dream. That
didn’t mean she couldn’t run the test she’d been thinking about ever since
she’d found out what this strange Guyver unit was capable of.

“Visor on”, Joyce commanded, now totally at ease with an alien bio-suit that
was wrapping round her head, and the high tech display that replaced her
normal vision. “Scan for Gold, surface depth only, range 30 feet,” the request
rolled off her tongue as if she were ordering a McDonald’s, but her eyes were
glued to the spectrograph display as she slowly turned full circle. And there
was – nothing! OK, nothing lying on the ground for her to pick up. “I should be
so damn lucky”, she thought.

“Same scan,” she continued, “depth four inches.” If there was any gold laid
about for the last fifty years, it was probably covered in grass and leaves, and
it might take a bit more finding, but Joyce wasn’t in any hurry, so she would be
patient and methodical. Nothing turned up in this scan either, and Joyce was
going to adjust the depth again, when she considered how many she would
have to do before she found something, or else gave up. Part of the problem
was that she didn’t know enough about the capabilities of the Guyver, and at
the moment she was treating it like a high tech metal detector you see at the
beach.

What Joyce needed was an expert. “Div,” she said, “how easy would it be to
scan this area for gold deposits?” The voice in her ear asked how large an
area she wanted to cover, and remembering the limitations on the first scan
she’d done back at the cabin, she asked if 500 yards in all directions would be
possible.

“The valley floor will be no problem,” Div replied, “to the tree line, soil depth 48
feet to bedrock. The cliff face is much denser, so will be limited to 120 yards,
but I’m detecting a mine shaft that will take us quite a distance into the hill.
Overall penetration is unclear at this point.”

This was sounding much better to Joyce, “OK Div, initiate scan,” she said, and
began turn her head to cover the full circle that the Guyver had indicated.
After less than a minute, a rising red bar reached the top of the display, and
everything froze on the screen. Div told her they were losing too much data on
the results feed, and the remaining information was insufficient to complete an
analysis. The problem was down to the amount of ground being covered at
this rotational speed, but he didn’t think Joyce had enough fine motor control
to move slow enough for what she had requested.

“Initial estimates indicate it will take six hours to complete the scan,” Div told
her, “but the unit will have to remain stationary. The second option would be a
random background scan while you continue your exploration of the area, with
summary results displayed on request.”

Joyce considered the options, confirming with Div that the full scan could be
performed overnight, while she slept, and asked him to run the background
scan for now. The visor withdrew from Joyce’s face, but Div told her a small
instrument pack would be deployed between her shoulders to take all the
necessary readings. It was reasonably comfortable once in place, and since it
was mid-day, Joyce walked over to the house to sit in the shade and eat lunch
while she rested. It was just a high energy cereal bar, washed down with the
water her suit provided, but it satisfied her need to eat, even though she was
not particularly hungry considering the amount of energy she had expended
this morning.

Having finished, Joyce took a closer look at the house, although it was more
of a wooden shack, with rough finished joints at the corners, and wide gaps
between the logs of the walls. Div confirmed her assumption that these had
been sealed with mud at one point, but it had weathered away over the years
of neglect. The roof still appeared to be watertight, due to grass and moss that
had bound the mud in the spaces, and the inside structures showed limited
signs of deterioration.

Joyce tried the door, but it was locked, and when she said it was a shame she
couldn’t take a look inside, the suit glove formed on her hand so that when
she took hold of the handle again, the lock mechanism drew back. Cautiously
walking through the open door, Joyce looked round the main room. A table
and two chairs stood to one side, a cupboard with a metal bowl on top stood
under one of the shuttered windows beside her, and a fireplace sat on the end
wall in the middle of a stone chimney. There was a large armchair beside the
fireplace, with a selection of blankets and furs draped over it, while a small
side table held a tin cup and a book. Joyce picked up the book, finding it was
the journal of the previous owner, hand written in pencil, with notes about the
life in this secluded valley, working the mine, hunting, and growing food to live
on.

Putting the book down for later, Joyce went through an inner door to a small
separate bedroom, which held a double bed, neatly laid with extremely dusty
blankets and pillows, two side tables with candlesticks, and a dresser, Behind
the door, on the wall, was a coat rack that held a jacket, overcoat, and a hat,
all looking to be in good condition, though under a thick layer of dust. Opening
the dresser drawers revealed several changes of male clothing all clean and
folded in the way she remembered her Dad doing it. The bottom drawer held
a woman’s clothes, mostly plain everyday outfits, with one set of a delicate,
pretty material, topped by silk panties and bodice, like Grandma would wear.
Rather than being roughly folded, all the clothes in this drawer had obviously
been ironed, with sharp creases pressed in them, and there were two muslin
bags that still smelled faintly of the lavender sprigs inside them, even after all
this time.

There was a second door off the main room, which revealed another bedroom
of slightly smaller dimensions, with a narrower three quarter size bed, only
one side table with a candlestick, and a tall chest of drawers with a mirror sat
on top. The drawers were mostly empty, a wooden hairbrush in the top one, a
warm cardigan in the bottom, and underneath the cardigan she discovered a
surprise. It was a broad strap of stiff leather, attached to a wooden handle,
and obviously intended to spank someone’s bottom, which made Joyce think
about who got punished at this farm, and how long ago.

Joyce’s foot caught on something under the bed as she walked back out of
the room, and she bent to find a white china chamber pot, hand painted with
dozens of different flowers. Studying the exquisite workmanship, Joyce could
imagine the lady of the house sitting by candle light in the winter, painting the
blooms that now lay under the snow. She thought how nice it must be to have
enough time to decorate a plain pot, just so she could have something pretty
to pee in. The problem with this train of thought was that it highlighted her own
needs, the water she’d been drinking earlier having now worked its way into
her bladder.

Placing the chamber pot on the floor, Joyce unfastened her shorts and took
them down, seeing in her mind that other woman also sharing her needs, on
her own in the house. Instead of just squatting, Joyce removed her shorts and
asked Div to de-res her panties, leaving her naked below the waist as she sat
down on the pot, its cool china smooth against the soft skin. Gently, she let
her muscles relax, allowing the warm liquid to exit her body, trickling over her
inner lips, to softly fall onto the delicate china. When the flow had finished, she
sat a little longer, till the last drops had fallen, quietly contemplating the sweet
sensations of relief, the slight breeze drifting through the wall, and across her
damp vulva. This was a much more sensual way to be dried than a quick wipe
with tissue, followed by a mad dash to the next desperately urgent task which
demanded her attention.

Having completed her leisurely toilet, Joyce wondered what to do with the pot.
Did they just throw it out of the window, or was there a proper toilet nearby
she hadn’t noticed. Picking up the chamber pot, she walked back into the
main room with it, confirming her original impression that there were only the
two rooms, so she went outside, feeling the warm breeze across her bare
pussy. Walking towards the top of the valley, she found the wooden Privy off
to one side, about twenty feet away, the typical crescent cut in the centre of
the door, and the half circle at the bottom to put your foot through so people
would know it was occupied. This was so cool, Joyce thought, having a real
museum piece in her backyard, although she did admit that this wasn’t really
her property, but if things worked out as she hoped, she might just buy it.

The door catch opened surprisingly easily for such a simple device, being
merely two pieces of hinged wood that locked against each other, and the
large hinges swung back with hardly a creak of protest. Inside was a bench
seat with a bottom sized hole in the middle, over a six foot deep pit that was
too dark to see down, but had no unpleasant odours. Joyce emptied her pee
pot through the hole, then looked round the small enclosure, putting the china
container on one end of the bench, and settled her bare bottom over the hole.
It was very comfortable, the edge having been smoothed to a nice curve, and
as she wiggled her rear end, Joyce wondered if the chamfer was the result of
a carpenter’s skill, or the multitude of bottoms that had settled here over time.

Although she felt no urge to use these facilities at the moment, Joyce had no
idea how she would clean herself if she did move her bowels, after all, the
nearest toilet tissue was probably fifty miles away. So how did the miner and
his wife cope without necessities of life that everyone now took for granted.
Taking time to inspect the privy in more detail, she found a small wooden pot
tucked in the corner, on the floor, which she picked up, and found a small mop
inside. It reminded her of Grandma’s dish mop, but after a few moments of
thought, guessed that it wasn’t for washing dishes. The pot would have been
filled with clean water each day, and the wet mop used to wash between the
persons legs. It made her pussy tingle to imagine rubbing a wet mop along
her slit, out here, almost in the open.

Putting the utensil back where she found it, Joyce took the chamber pot back
towards the house, noticing a small bird washing itself in a puddle at the end
of a water trough that was being fed by a trickle of water from an old iron pipe.
Hung on the outside of the almost full trough was a metal ladle that could be
used as a cup, or at this moment to scoop some water for washing out her
dirty chamber pot. She felt a strange sense of satisfaction that such simple
provisions would enable a person to maintain as good a level of hygiene as all
the complex plumbing she had in her apartment. Three scoops and rinses,
along with pouring the liquid out on the ground, had the china shining like a
new pin, and not the slightest trace of odour.

After returning the chamber pot to its place beneath the bed, Joyce returned
to the privy, (she so loved that word), and set about cleaning up the small
mop and bucket. With the strips of material on the mop end now softened,
and the tub full of clean water, she returned them to their proper place, but
couldn’t resist trying out this new experience. Lifting it onto the bench beside
her, she raised the mop, allowing the excess water to drain, then laid it on her
shaven slit, shivering at the cold wet touch. It was surprising how efficient this
device was, after rubbing up and down a few times, she twirled the mop in her
slit, spreading it open to allow the damp material to caress her sensitive inner
tissue. When it played gently across her clit, it was already erect, tingling in
anticipation, as she could feel her orgasm building. As she moved her grip on
the handle, Joyce realised that it wasn’t just a plain piece of wood, but was
shaped and smoothed, the end gently rounded, with a groove near the end.
As she continued to pleasure the length of her hungry pussy, she noticed that
the handle felt somewhat like a prick, on the small side, but definitely phallic in
shape.

Within minutes the handle was turned round, entering her dripping love hole,
eased in to the full depth as it rubbed across her cervix, then twisted forward
against her swollen, tender g-spot as she humped the mop in the throes of a
massive climax. With her sexual passions satisfied for a while, Joyce decided
to continue looking round the place, leaving the small cubicle with a thrill as a
warm breeze flowed round her naked hips.

She walked over to a large three sided outbuilding of the same construction
as the house, finding it filled with mining machinery. Joyce had read up on
small mining operations as part of her college course, turning in a very good
paper that earned her some good marks, so she recognised some of the old
equipment. There was a large Jaw Crusher for bigger rocks, and a smaller
Jaw Crusher for second stage material, which were belt driven, and when she
followed the drive shaft out of the back, it was powered by a waterwheel. It
wasn’t running at the moment, but she could see that the large iron pipe still
carried some water, it was just diverted to the tail race, and back to the stream
she’d seen earlier on the forest side of the valley. There was also smaller pipe
coming from the main flow, which Joyce could see headed over towards the
water trough. The valve looked to still be in good condition, and it turned a
little way when she tried it, the water swirling noisily in the upstand, till after a
few minutes there was a trickle coming out of the flume, and running onto the
wheel. Joyce wasn’t ready to try running any machinery yet, so she closed the
valve back down to where it had originally been.

Returning to the outbuilding, she found a couple of 18 mesh screens, noted
by a label on the side, and also a small shaking table to separate the fine grit
at the end of the process. Joyce asked Div to run a gold scan of the building,
and after a few minutes, the visor came on, highlighting small traces on most
of the machinery, and one slightly larger one near the large jaw crusher.
Joyce followed the image to half a dozen pieces of ore that hadn’t been under
the crusher yet, sorting through the ones with faint streaks through them, till
she came to the one with the more intense image. Placing it on an anvil, she
picked up a hammer, and slowly chipped away the quartz to reveal a half inch
square piece of gold, with only a tiny piece of quartz inside one end.

Joyce stared at the gold in her hand, heart racing as her long held dream was
finally realised, and she was able to detect gold with pinpoint accuracy, and
also have it valued. Through the earpiece, Div estimated the weight of the
gold piece as 4.375 grams, with a purity of 18 carat, which at today’s price of
$32 per gram would be worth $140. He added that the other pieces of ore had
a total gold content after processing of at least $100.

Going over to the far end of the building, Joyce looked over a set of about a
dozen crucibles, made of Graphite carbon according to Div, set out on a wide
wooden bench next to a brick furnace that had a tall stone chimney. She now
watched as the visor scanned the furnace, displaying a double brick skin, with
an insulating air break, and a rotary fan driven from the waterwheel. Div said it
would easily be capable of achieving temperatures around 2000 degrees with
the hardwood he’d scanned in the fuel bin beside it, which was adequate for
melting gold at 1650F. There were also several tubs of cleaning flux, made
from borax and sodium carbonate, and much larger containers of each over
by the other wall.

There was another bench further along, with several sand boxes, and the
equipment for making small melds to cast the molten gold into bars. Two
varnished wooden patterns sat on a shelf, embossed on the top surface as
10oz and 5oz, and the words “Still Valley”, which Joyce knew was the name
of the mine. Div pointed out that 5 ounce melds make an ingot worth $5,600,
and if they were produced fairly often, this could be a profitable venture for
someone who liked hard work and solitude. The whole setup was completely
self-contained for mining, and the only thing lacking was any sort of nearby
store.

Joyce wanted to see where the water for the wheel came from, so she set off
to walk further up the valley, heading towards a stand of trees that blocked
her view from this position. The afternoon sun was hot on her back, so she
took her shirt off, feeling the tingle of UV rays tanning her skin, except where
the instrument pack was, between her shoulders, so she asked Div to locate it
somewhere else. She felt the pack dissolve, leaving just a thin thread down
her spine, but then an anchor point began to squeeze through her anus, and
the other one slid along her wet slit, and into her pussy.

“That wasn’t what I meant Div,” she scolded the Guyver unit, “and they’re too
big to go up there.” The stretching was actually turning her on, but that wasn’t
the point, it was the surprise penetration that had shocked her, even though it
was easing off a bit now. She felt the tingle of electricity on her nipples first, as
the reward system started up, and then her stiff clitoris was hit with a surge of
power, and each step switched location till Joyce had almost cum.

Walking round since lunch with no panties had been steadily increasing her
sex levels, but she didn’t want to be that distracted for now, yet another round
of electric shocks almost pushed her over the top. “That’s not fair,” she cried,
“I don’t want to cum just yet, I’ll play later this evening. Now stop it.”

“I beg to differ, Joyce,” the Guyver responded, “but your body signals display
a quite intense need for an immediate sexual release. Also, you have ample
internal capacity to house the instrumentation. Your entrance could readily
expand to this size.” Joyce gasped as her bottom was suddenly stretched by
the probe, almost tearing, she thought, but still immensely erotic. The dildo in
her pussy hit the top wall, yet continued to grow, pressing right up into her
tummy, then expanding to push out a visible lump below her navel.

Joyce decided to ignore all the stimulation the Guyver was setting up in her
most erogenous places, and kept walking despite the writhing snake working
deeper up her colon, or its random swelling to painful proportions. By the time
she reached the trees she had to hang on to a branch for some support as the
Guyver pushed her to six successive orgasms before the internal swelling let
up somewhat.

When she returned to full awareness, Joyce noticed that the trees were laden
with apples, and when she tasted one, it was very sweet and juicy. There was
also a couple of pear trees, a plum tree, and a row planted with different types
of berries. Going through a gap in the bushes revealed that this area had at
one time been under cultivation, and Joyce recognised carrot tops, potatoes,
maize, and tomatoes. There were another six or so different plants that she
had no idea about, but assumed they were edible, and this was the kitchen
garden, even if it was a bit overgrown. If she stayed here for a while, to take
enough time to check the place out properly, she would have plenty of fruit
and vegetables to eat, and there was an ample water supply. She didn’t know
if the water was fit to drink, but if it had been plumbed in to a trough, then she
expected it would have been. There was a chance it could have been polluted
in recent years, but when she asked Div to run an analysis, he reported it to
be clear of any contaminants.

When Joyce had eaten her apple, she pulled a carrot from the ground, finding
the soil dark and moist, with a fibrous texture, matching what she’d read about
the fertile areas in this part of the country. She wiped the soil from the carrot
with a clump of grass, broke off the end, and then bit into it, tasting the best
flavour she’d ever experienced in this particular vegetable. If all the food was
this good, then there would be very little she would need from a store by way
of sustenance. As she walked through the garden, Joyce discussed with Div
the probable lifestyle that the previous owners of this small mine would have
had, considering what they’d found so far, and he agreed that they would
have to be self-sufficient. The remote location meant that any supplies would
have needed bringing in on foot, the large equipment would have been
delivered by pack horse, and everything else appeared to have been
manufactured from the local materials.

As they reached the end of the cultivated area, the Guyver pointed out that
there seemed to be a second mine entrance 400 yards up the steep hill on the
right, also sealed with a locked iron gate. Joyce walked over to it, finding that
a small path had been cut into the hillside, reaching the twenty feet from the
grass to the gate, to provide a more comfortable access. Div deployed the
visor and scanned the interior, since there was only a short tunnel visible from
the gate, which curved off out of sight. The display showed very small traces
of gold in the wall, where a vein had been mined till it exited where Joyce now
stood. Div confirmed that tool marks on the wall showed it been worked up the
hill from the lower entrance, and the breakout pattern around the gate backed
this up. A short way down the tunnel was a branch through plain rock, bearing
no sign of any ore, and when the Guyver pushed the scan deeper, this branch
joined the lower tunnel much further in, probably as an escape route.

Div drew Joyce’s attention to the scan’s traces along the bottom edges of the
worked tunnel, pointing out the small deposits of gold mixed in with the debris
at the join, some of which was rock, and some of it leaves that had blown in
and settled over time. While the amounts weren’t significant on face value,
and would be extremely difficult to see by eye, Div estimated that if the floor
was efficiently swept with a broom, it would harvest over 3 kilos of gold, with a
value of $100,000, and very little effort.

Joyce said they would review the possibilities later, when they had completed
an initial survey, but she still had the water feed to check out, so she followed
the iron pipe again. It ran along the side of the hill, just into the grass, resting
on stone supports every couple of yards that kept it a foot off the ground, and
Joyce recognised that this would keep it out of the damp. With the air flow
circulating round it, there was very little chance the pipe would rust, meaning it
would last for many more years to come. After about 500 yards, the pipe took
a turn across the bottom of a rise for about three quarters of the way across
the valley, before turning up the slope. Further along, Joyce could see the tiny
stream cascading over a rock outcrop into a small pool, and when she went
over, there were rough stone steps set into the grassy slope, providing sure
footing to reach the top.

On the higher ground was a large pond, with a three foot high embankment
separating it from the top edge of the rise, and the metal pipe coming out of a
stone structure constructed at the far side. Joyce examined the structure to
find a very strong penstock, with the sluice set at about an inch, allowing just
a trickle of water to feed into the pipe, which she realised would keep the
trough by the house topped up with fresh water all the time. The gates on the
sluice were made of one inch and two inch stone strips, allowing quite a fine
adjustment, and there were several spares stacked in an inset into the side of
the penstock. The mill pond looked to be about a hundred yards by fifty, and
with the penstock adjustable to about three feet depth, it held a lot of water,
approximately 850,000 gallons Div told her. This would run the mill for quite a
long time.

Joyce walked round the pond, finding its inlet on the far corner, where a sluice
gate fed by a four inch clay pipe from the stream, ran water into the pond, and
a similar setup drained it from the lower end, back into the stream, just above
the waterfall. Div admired the simplicity of the system, and Joyce agreed.

Looking round this higher area, the opposite corner to the pond seemed to be
hedged in, from the hill line, over to the tree line, with a double pole gate at
the near corner. When she walked over to it, Joyce could see it was hawthorn,
expertly laid with hazel poles and binders, but didn’t seem to have been
maintained for a good number of years. It did, however, still provide a very
efficient barrier for the half dozen cattle she could see grazing within the
enclosure. Several of them came over when they saw her at the gate, and
they seemed very friendly, as if they were used to people being there, sniffing
and licking her hand, but returning to grazing when Joyce had no food to offer.

There was a 60 feet square shelter, with a sloped roof, and a wide doorway to
the field side, built under the first line of trees, where it was well protected
from the weather. Joyce climbed over the gate, that being easier than taking
the poles out, which were deeply notched, and heavy enough to resist any
cow’s effort to escape. She sat astride the top rail for a while, checking out the
pasture, but had a problem when the suit re-configured to bind her hands and
feet in place when she’d humped her pussy against the top pole. The position
was slightly uncomfortable, but Div wouldn’t release her till she’d humped
herself to a climax, despite her protests, which he countered with her obvious
need for release, again.

When Joyce told him off for being mean to her, he remodelled the bra to bind
tightly round the base of her breasts, wrapped a band across her nipples, with
spikes pressing into the teats, and then zapped her clitoris till she collapsed in
the throes of another orgasm. Eventually Joyce had to concede he’d been
right about her sexual needs, and apologised to him, so he removed the tight
bra altogether, leaving her now completely naked in the middle of a field.
Paying no heed to her, the small cattle carried on eating, while Div provided
details of the herd.

They were brown Dexter cows, with a milk yield of 1 to 2 gallons a day, being
a smaller breed, yielding 400 lbs of tasty lean meat, and a perfect small-farm
cow. They had good strength, and could be trained to pull things, birthing
without assistance, good longevity, able to keep calving/milking for up to 15
years. There were smaller fat globules in the milk, making it easier to digest,
good mothers that were willing to nurse 2-3 calves from other cows, standing
just 36 to 44 inches at the shoulder. From the pasture, they’d need 1 to 2
acres to feed each cow, about 100×100 yards, and this enclosure was round
about 5 acres of good quality grass, so it was just sufficient. They weren’t
being milked, since the farm was abandoned, so it would be another two or
three years before the herd outgrew their resources. The most important item
was water, which came from a small rivulet running down the rock face at the
far side of the field. Although the flow was small, someone had channelled it
down a crevice, along several dips in the rock floor, and then excavated a
deep depression into the solid rock that would hold at least fifteen gallons.

The run off spilled onto the grass where the rock went underground, and she
was surprised the ground wasn’t much softer at the edge. The Guyver used
the visor to scan the area, displaying the results on screen where a three foot
soak away of rough rocks, sat on a yard square stone slab reached up to
within nine inches of the surface. The water collected amongst the stones,
before draining into a system of porous clay irrigation pipes, two foot down,
that fanned out beneath the whole field. There were very few places that were
dry at that depth, so the grass would be constantly watered with the minimum
of intervention.

The owners probably took the cattle to the lower field on occasion, to ease the
feeding load on the enclosure, while the kitchen garden would provide fodder
from the excess corn, and even the stalks could be saved for winter feed.
There were also mangles, turnips and other root crops, cabbage and winter
squash, all of which can be stored and fed to cows in winter, as there seemed
to be way too much for a family of two or three to consume. The cattle would
eat any excess produce from the garden, or the orchard, just as long as the
bits are large enough that they have to be chewed. Going over to the shelter,
Joyce found that the end nearest to the hill had been sectioned off to store the
fodder, about ten feet deep and sixty feet long, with a full height door, closed
by a secure latch. Inside, it was stacked with hay in one half, and wooden
crates filled with the root crops from the garden in the other side, reaching up
three quarters to the ceiling, and everything bone dry. It was also cool, despite
the hot sun outside, being partly shaded by the trees, and the south wall being
double skinned.

There was a large turnip cutter against the inner wall, hand driven, with a side
chute into a wheelbarrow that was parked next to it, and when she spun the
handle round, Joyce could easily see how the machine functioned. Setting it
open, she placed a swede in the hopper, wound the handle, and a geared
crank lowered a top plate that forced the vegetable through a set of parallel
blades. When it reached the bottom, the plate was lifted up again, and inch
thick slices of swede dropped into the barrow, releasing the fragrance of the
root’s juices. By the time she’d put six swedes through the cutter, and they’d
all dropped into the wheelbarrow, the cattle were gathering round the door, no
doubt attracted by a long missed treat. Joyce pushed them out of the way so
she could get out and close the door, then wheeled the fodder to a trough on
the side of the shelter, scooping the slices and spreading them the full length
so all the cattle could get a share. They seemed very appreciative as they
stood munching a change of diet they’d not had chance to enjoy for a long
time. Satisfied with the task she’s accomplished, Joyce put everything back in
its proper place, cleaned the cutter with a brush hung on the wall, and latched
the door behind her.

It was late afternoon, so Joyce headed back towards the house, intending to
get something to eat before exploring the small home in more detail, and as
they were walking, Div asked what had prompted her to come here. He knew
he’d wanted a remote location, but Joyce had been very specific about this
being where she wanted to be, and she’d already known exactly where it was,
so she explained it to him.

Joyce had picked this location because she wanted to test her theory about
using the Guyver to locate residual gold in a worked out mine, one that could
be bought for a low price.

She’d first come across it in a newspaper article, returned from a Google
search as part of her college project on homestead lifecycles, where it was
listed for foreclosure due to unpaid taxes. She’d followed the link on a hunch,
discovering that the property taxes hadn’t been paid in fifty years, but it turned
out that it had come under the homestead exemption laws for providing the
surviving spouse with shelter. The law provides an exemption from property
taxes which can be applied to a home, and the protection is automatic. In this
area, exemption protects 160 acres of land of any value outside of a
municipality’s corporate limits, and this place definitely was outside those
limits.

The 160 acres was a quarter section, usually 800yds x 800yds, giving
774,400 sq yds, of public land that had been divided up in the late 1800’s to
be sold as a family homestead, and to earn money for the government. The
Homestead Acts had few qualifying requirements. A homesteader had to be
the head of the household or at least twenty-one years old. They had to live
on the designated land, build a home, make improvements, and farm it for a
minimum of five years, and the filing fee was eighteen dollars. After the five
years, the homesteader could obtain a deed to the land giving him fee simple
rights for all time. The deeds for this quarter section were issued in 1913, one
of over 400,000 during that ten year period, which had been the most prolific
for the granting of full homestead titles.

When she did her research Joyce couldn’t understand why someone who had
worked a piece of land for over a hundred years could allow it to be taken
away from them for such a small tax debt of less than $500.

Joyce detoured into the garden as they passed, getting some fruit, a pear and
a plum, both picked from the top of the trees, where the sun had ripened them
before the lower ones. The Guyver kindly supplied a harvesting tool consisting
of a pair of sharp blades, with a basket underneath them to catch the fruit, the
whole thing mounted on a long handle that the suit grew from the back of her
wrist. It even contracted to bring the fruit back in reach, and then produced a
pouch attached to a waist band to put them in. Joyce asked for another pouch
to put some berries in, which the suit extended from the middle of the belt so it
rested on her pubic mound. As she walked down the row of bushes, picking
ripe fruit, the pouch rolled from side to side across her mons, which she knew
it didn’t have to, since Div could easily have secured it with side straps, but
she didn’t say anything since it was actually quite stimulating.

After collecting enough for her meal, she turned towards the house, the berry
pouch rolling about a bit more as her stride increased, and when she asked
Div to secure it, he extended two clamps from the lower end, and made them
grip her labia. When he shortened them, her outer lips lifted up, and then two
more straps extended from her hips to just above the clamps, tightening to
pull her lips apart and spread her slit open. Joyce could feel the warm breeze
play along the inner surface of her groove, and across her clit, hardening it.

When she reached the house, Joyce sat on a long bench on the front porch,
looking out over the meadow as she ate the delicious fruit, enjoying the clean
taste of every mouthful. In between bites, she discussed the possibility of Div
researching the ownership history of the farm, to find any clues as to what had
brought it to this state of disrepair. In the meantime, she was going to do a bit
of cleaning to make the place more habitable if she was going to stay on for a
few days.

She brought out the bedding and chair covers first, hanging them over the
porch rail so she could whack the dust out of them with a carpet beater that
had been hung on the outside wall. The next task was to fetch water from the
trough to wash down the table and chairs, so she’d be able to sit and eat in a
civilised fashion, without getting filthy in the process. After a couple of hours
the place looked very much improved, though there was still a lot to be done,
but that could wait till she came back for a longer stay. Joyce had been quite
surprised at the thought, since she hadn’t made a conscious decision to even
come back here, let alone stay, but she admitted to herself that there was
something very appealing about the place. She already had a cabin booked at
the campsite till the end of the week, and she’d let reception know she’d be
away for a few days, hiking the local trails a bit further away, but she’d have to
return before someone missed her.

She opened a tall cupboard she’d not looked in earlier, and found it full of
glass jars and bottles on the sturdy shelves, most of the containers filled with
various fruits, pickles, and preserves. There were even a dozen jars of honey.
The labels identified a lot of produce she’d seen in the garden, and they were
dated between five to seven years ago. She asked Div to scan the food for a
possible health hazard, and he pronounced them all to be edible, although the
acid level in some of the pickles suggested they could be rather sour. Perhaps
they would be better eaten with the cheese in the bottom cupboard, and when
Joyce looked, there were eight round blocks of white cheese, each about 2lbs
in weight. Div gave these a clean bill of health as well, adding that the thick
stone slab they were sat on had regulated the temperature to a perfect level.

Cutting a piece off one of the cheeses, Joyce put it on one of the plates she’d
cleaned, and sat in the large armchair, asking Div for an update on his search
for the farm’s owners. The visor came up, to display the results he’d found, as
he explained the trail he’d followed. The original patent of ownership had been
granted to Phillip Dawson in 1913, following the filing of his application in
1908 for this quarter section of public land, and his subsequent proving of that
same quarter.

The local city hall records showed Phillip’s marriage to Mary in 1920, the birth
of their son John in 1922, John’s marriage to Susan in 1943, and the birth of
their daughter Helen in 1945, all from the Still Valley Farm address.

Phillip Dawson died in 1953, the farm title passing to Mary, and a homestead
exemption from property tax coming into force until she died in 1960. John
inherited the farm, and records showed that he paid property tax for 3 years,
until his death in a road traffic accident in 1963. At this point Susan inherited
the farm, and also gained a property tax exemption in the same way her
mother had done earlier. Susan worked the farm on her own from that point,
her daughter Helen having married and moved away earlier in the year,
before her father died. For two months after the funeral Helen stayed at the
farm, making sure Susan was alright with the workload, and then returned to
her husband in New Jersey. An article in the local newspaper had praised the
family’s hard work in maintaining a homestead that they had worked for fifty
years since it was virgin forest, and mentioned Helen’s imminent departure.

Bank records showed irregular small deposits into the farm’s account, usually
for livestock sales of either one or two animals, where cattle sold for $300,
and plough horses sold for $800. Every two or three years there would be a
large deposit of $3,000, with notes on the deposit being for the sale of gold to
an assay office.

IRS returns showed the farm was making a small profit, mainly from livestock,
which funded the personal drawings for the family’s clothing and personal
needs, and the tax benefits for farming meant they actually earned tax credits.
These slightly offset the tax due on the gold sales, but not by much, and the
due taxes were always paid in full, on time, from the bank account. Any large
machinery requirements, such as a new plough, were always matched by a
similar deposit from a gold sale, and the mine equipment costs were offset
against the tax requirement for the metal sales, keeping the overall taxes at a
manageable level.

Div concluded, that overall the whole operation was extremely well managed
to provide for the needs of the family without incurring any visible debt, over
producing the land, yet creating enough profit to fulfil their responsibilities.

When Joyce asked why the farm had been foreclosed if it had been so well
managed, Div said the only thing he could find to indicate a change was the
return of Helen to the farm in 1990. The income from livestock sales had been
declining for a while, possibly due to Susan being 66 years old, and struggling
to cope with the workload. IRS records for the following years showed Helen’s
returns now came from the farm address, so she had evidently moved back to
care for her Mom. The farm’s income returned to its normal level within a few
years, and occasional gold sales seem to have been made to restock the
bank account to a working level.

Everything had continued smoothly until Susan died in 2010 at the age of 86.
Six months later the farm was put on the market with a local realtor, but the
records had shown no interest in the property at all. Helen had shown up on a
set of hospital records in New Jersey last year, and was now in a residential
health care complex, being treated for cancer. It appeared that the farm had
been abandoned, though it was still legally owned by Helen, who wasn’t well
enough to manage it.

For property tax purposes the homestead had been valued by the assessor in
2014 at $70,000 due to its remote location, with no roads or services, and the
worked out mine apparently added no value. Property tax at that time was
0.23% of value, which amounted to $160 per year, but the funeral and other
bills had almost emptied the bank account, which could no longer meet the
direct payment mandate that had always been in place to cover these taxes.

After the property became three years delinquent, the foreclosure notification
process began, a Judgment and Decree was granted by the circuit court, and
the two year redemption period commenced. To get your property back during
this period you must pay all taxes and interest for all years shown on the
judgment and decree, a 5 percent penalty, 9% interest on the judgment, plus
a $50.00 lien holder fee that was assessed in the first year of redemption.
Partial payments are not accepted, and only the following persons are able to
redeem the property: a person with recorded legal interest in the property at
the date of judgment and decree, or an heir or devisee of a person with a
legal interest in the property.

Only Helen would be allowed to recover the farm, if she could raise $1,000
plus the future property taxes, but Div pointed out that her current finances
were almost exhausted by her medical bills. If this didn’t happen by the end of
the year, Helen’s farm would become county property, and bearing in mind
the lack of interest so far, would probably end up derelict.

Joyce didn’t want that to happen, not after the property had supported three
generations, the last of whom would probably soon die uncomfortably, for lack
of available funds. She wanted to do something about it, but she was nowhere
near able to buy this place, even if it still had a boat load of gold stuck under
that hill. She just didn’t have the cash.

Div asked if she really wanted to own the farm, and if cash flow was the only
problem. Joyce agreed that was true as far as it went, but she would only buy
the property if it would end up being profitable, and there was no way she
could be sure of that. Div pointed out that, aside from her altruistic motives,
the initial problem was a precise valuation of the property, which he could
complete overnight, with a confidence of 98.683% accuracy.

Joyce agreed that this was the best course of action, and asked what she
could do to help. Div said he would need to use the scanner on the visor, but
it would require full power for this type of scan, and the level of precision he
needed necessitated complete immobility. The full inspection would probably
take 5.275 hours, as near as he could estimate, with a variance of 0.01 hours
either way, so it would be advisable to start when Joyce went to bed.

She would have loved to take a shower, since the explorations had left her all
sweaty, but since this was a pioneer house, she’d make do with a wash, and
she’d always wanted to use a jug and basin like the one on the dresser.
Taking the decorated china wash set out to the trough, she washed away the
accumulated years of dust, filled the jug with surprisingly warm water that had
stood in full sun all day, then returned to the bedroom. She removed both her
shoes, then her socks, and the underwear disappeared with a command to
the suit, leaving her completely naked in a house she’d only seen for the first
time that day.

There were towels and a washcloth in one of the drawers, and a small bar of
delicately scented soap in the matching dish. Joyce had intended to have a
quick wash, but as the fragrance of the soapy cloth drifted into her senses,
and warm cloth caressed her naked flesh, she was distracted by thoughts of
the woman that had worn the silk panties and bodice she’d found. How often
had she slipped that sensual material from her body, and smelled this same
fragrance of summer flowers, hands caressing warm shapely breasts, before
slipping between firm thighs. A fingertip across her stiffening clitoris, wiping
away the internal juices that flowed along engorged petals, yet never seemed
to wash away completely, and a gentle feminine squeeze to erect nipples.

Joyce could so easily picture herself in this very room, pleasuring herself to a
gently rising climax of satisfaction, the reward for another hard day’s work fully
completed. Wiping away the traces of girl juice seeping from her slit, Joyce
dried herself with the soft towel, then laid on top of the flowered bed covers
she’d cleaned this afternoon. This was such a peaceful place, so different
from the frantic pace of her office job, and busy personal life, and deep down,
she would actually prefer this style of living. Although the work would be more
strenuous physically, it had been much more satisfying cleaning the house
with a broom and carpet beater, and feeding all the livestock in the top field.
She wouldn’t need to spend hours in the gym, or shopping for her groceries,
almost everything would be the product of her own hands, and the mindless
television programs would be a thing of the past. She so hoped this would
work out as she expected.

“Alright Div, visor on,” Joyce instructed, “full scan, this quarter section, and all
the adjoining ones, resource identification, and financial viability breakdown.”

The familiar tingle started in the back of her neck, and she was totally at ease
as the visor wrapped around her face, the display lighting up, then resolving
into an image of her laid on the bed, completely unclothed. When she queried
where the picture was coming from, since it seemed an out of body view, Div
told her it was being bounced off the ceiling so that she could see what was
happening to her, and be comfortable with it.

Joyce appreciated his concern for her feelings, but couldn’t resist saying,
“Thank you Div, but can you do something to improve that drab, grey visor?”
and was pleased to see it turn a deep, shiny red with gold accents. “That’s
much better, thanks, there’s no reason not to be fashionable.”

“Are you ready to begin, Joyce,” the Guyver enquired, “I need to immobilise
you while I set up the scan parameters, then tighten it up when the collection
takes place.”

Taking a deep breath, Joyce announced, “Good to go, Div. Just go easy on
me, OK?” Then she let out her breath slowly, relaxing as the air left her lungs,
yet watching as the suit grew tendrils from the visor to the corners of the bed,
wrapping round the posts, and tightening to keep the device stable. She tries
to watch the display, but the Guyver is streaming a massive amount of data,
and she doesn’t want to interfere by asking Div to simplify it down to her level.
For a while Joyce considers the possibilities of being able to live here, if this
does work out, and becoming a farmer to put food on the table, as well as all
the gold she’ll be able to mine when she knows exactly where it is. There will
be so much to learn, about both of those skills, but she is very confident of her
abilities with Div to help her.

Eventually her thoughts drift back to physical things, such as the cool feel of
the bed beneath her bare skin, the pretty covers so soft to the touch, and how
comfortable it feels, despite having laid here for an hour without moving. She
recalled the feeling of washing earlier, standing naked in the middle of the
room, without the privacy of a small, closed bathroom. She wondered if it was
the same for the owner, Susan, when she washed in the same way, the rise
of sexual passion at the exposure, the gentle touch of fingers on those private
places. Did Susan lay here naked and exposed, bringing herself pleasure with
her fingers, or some innocent phallic object like the personal mop that Joyce
had used in the privy. Or was Susan a prude who considered sex a dirty task
that was required as her duty towards her husband, just like Joyce’s Mom.

Perhaps it was Helen that enjoyed the pleasures of a naked wash in her room
at night, followed by the touch of fingers on her sensitive flesh as she lay open
legged on the bed in the small room. Joyce’s fingers now roamed the joys of
her own breasts and pussy, visualising Helen doing the same thing, keeping
the moans of pleasure as quiet as possible, so not to disturb her Mom next
door. Joyce didn’t have that restriction, and freely voiced her rising excitement
at each touch.

It took a few moments to acknowledge Div’s voice on the headset, having lost
herself in the scene she was playing out, and the sensual passion rising in her
pussy. Div informed her that the scans were progressing well, although it was
consuming more power than originally estimated, so he’d cut back on checks
he normally made of the surroundings, and Joyce’s welfare, which meant he’d
not noticed her masturbation before. He’d been alerted by the power spike of
several seconds ago, when Joyce had pinched her clitoris, and told her he
was going to harvest her power output to resume the perimeter checks.

Joyce just said OK, and thanked him for the update, returning her fingers to
her throbbing clit, and continuing her self stimulation. Instead of picking up his
scanning duties, Div questioned Joyce about why her output was higher than
previous sessions with this low level of stimulation. When Joyce said she
didn’t want to distract him from the current project, the Guyver brushed off her
objections, explaining that the present scanning phases were under control,
and could manage without impact while he pursued the power query. Most of
her monitored excitement sessions had been either reward events, instigated
by the unit, or Joyce’s almost nightly self pleasure actions, but they had never
produced this efficiency of output. He admitted that Joyce had generated
much higher outputs on occasion, but that was usually when he applied direct
stimulation to her most sensitive places, not during casual contact.

Smiling to herself, Joyce explained how it had been the mental images of
other people playing with themselves, that increased her response, not just
her own touching. They’d had chats before about her masturbation habits, but
more about the frequency and intensity, than discussions about the cerebral
mechanics of what she was doing. While Div was very well informed about the
interaction between physical contact, and sexual response, at an animal level,
and the added complication of human emotional behaviour, in relationships,
he’d no clue about sexual fantasy and role play. Sex for pleasure only was OK
in the context that he knew it existed, and was very prevalent in human beings
that he’d observed in general, but he’d never seen a rational explanation of
how the mechanics of it worked.

Joyce tried her best to explain how erotic fiction and imagination worked
together, and Div tried to make the connection, but failed miserably at each
attempt. Joyce thought a practical demonstration might work, so she asked
Div to display a movie for her, if he had spare capacity, telling him to find one
called “The Outlaw Josey Wales”. When he’d located it, Joyce had him skip to
the part where Sondra Locke was captured by bandits. Her blouse was ripped
open to expose her breasts, and then she was thrown to the ground while a
group of men pulled her skirt and panties down to display her bare bottom to
them. Joyce explained how she imagined herself in this position, stripped by
men she didn’t know, her body mauled and fondled, and stimulated against
her will, then raped by them, one after the other, her bottom as well as her
pussy. Yet each time she would be made to cum, and they would jeer at her
arousal, but the humiliation of responding to them excited her even more. But
the whole point of this was that the danger was not real, it was only perceived,
and in her mind she knew that she was safe to let the feelings wash over her.
In real life, as she’d been just before she met the Guyver unit, she’d hated the
man who raped her, because she had no real control, she couldn’t change the
way things happened, nor stop them if she reached a limit she wasn’t ready to
step over. She could even have lost her life like the girl had a few days later.

Div was still finding it hard to understand why she would want to put herself in
danger like that, so Joyce drew a parallel with Div taking part in a training
exercise where he was pitched against another team to test their skills. At
times it could be enjoyable because there was no danger of being killed, as
there would be against a real enemy, and at any point, the exercise could be
turned off, because he had control of the situation, as did the opposing team.
The danger was simulated, not real, and the purpose of the exercise was his
personal advancement, without any harm to either side.

In sexual fantasies, the perceived danger enhanced the players’ enjoyment as
they directed just how far they were prepared to go, without any permanent or
serious harm being incurred by anyone. This evening, Joyce explained, she’d
imagined herself in the place of one of the previous owners, who was playing
with herself when she wasn’t allowed to. Joyce had to describe to Div the
many differing views on the social acceptability of sexual activity, and how the
person’s upbringing would shape their future attitudes. Sometimes their early
experiences would reinforce their parents teaching, but occasionally a child
would go against them, either through reasoned choice, or just to rebel.
Because human sexual drives were so strong, an individual would intend to
pursue the values they’d learned, but were unable to control the urges inside
them, giving in to the pleasures. Afterward they would feel ashamed of these
actions, and humiliated at their lack of control, or else they would reason that
private pleasures had nothing to do with other people’s perceptions, and they
would decide to enjoy them freely.

Joyce admitted that she had been in that situation, believing all her mother’s
rules about not touching herself sexually, or dwelling on enticing thoughts, yet
giving in to her strong sex drive on many occasions. When her Mom caught
her masturbating, Joyce would be completely undressed, which was usually
frowned upon, and then thoroughly examined to determine the full extent of
her arousal. Because her Mom strongly disapproved of this practice, she was
never gentle when she spread her daughter’s labia to check their distension,
or inserted a finger into the girl’s vagina to test for dampness. Although her
clitoris was obviously engorged, her Mom would grip the shaft between two
fingernails; pull it right out, and peel the clitoral hood back with the other hand.
This was excruciatingly painful as Joyce’s clit was dragged in all directions,
against the opposing pull of her hood, gradually separating the two structures
in the same way a boy’s foreskin is retracted from his glans. Sometimes she
would be sore for days afterward, but at the time, the pain only added to the
sensations already in that delicate organ. Her bare breasts would be similarly
inspected, squeezed, and twisted, the nipples especially so, which made them
stiffen even more, and throb incessantly.

The conclusions her Mom arrived at following this examination would decide
the amount of punishment Joyce was given, a smacked bottom at least, with
the number of swats increasing with her level of arousal. On an increasingly
regular basis, as her body developed, Joyce would find the initial painful stage
soon turned to heat, which inflamed her sexual passions, and provided signs
of her increasing excitement. When Mom saw her daughter’s slit dripping with
juice, she would punish her breasts as well and sometimes her pussy mound,
or even directly between her legs. Joyce tried her best to suppress evidence
of being turned on, during her punishment, but afterwards, in bed, she would
relieve her needs with renewed enthusiasm. Her attitudes changed when she
attended college, thanks to long discussions with her roommate, and she was
now very comfortable with her sexuality, and even included her childhood
discipline experiences into her play scenes.

She explained to Div that all of these memories were intertwined with scenes
of similar, imagined events happening in this very house, and her body’s
response was always disproportionally greater than the outcome of her touch.
Fantasy effects were often increased by adding physical attributes to the story
in certain places, such as pushing her own panties down, or spreading her
legs wide apart at the appropriate moment.

With his understanding of Joyce’s emotional makeup improved, Div offered
the suggestion that she sub vocalise her fantasy as it happened, and then he
would add physical stimulus that would enhance her responses. Some might
be off target to begin with, but he could monitor the increase of her arousal
attributes, and adjust his intervention, to maximise her sexual satisfaction.

Joyce closed her eyes and re-started her scene, with Helen undressing, then
opened them as she felt the satin garments caress her skin, trying to look
down her body, which she couldn’t do because her head was restrained by
the visor. Div still had the external display turned on though, and she watched
a thin piece of suit material gently trail over her legs with the identical feel of
real silk. The sensations were far more realistic than the underwear he made
for her a few days ago at the campsite, or even today as she’d walked round
the farm. She complimented Div on is special effects, and told him to ask her
about a fashion show when they next had free time.

Once more, Joyce started her story, this time taking much more notice of what
was happening to her, as the imaginary Helen stripped, then Joyce felt a
warm, damp washcloth travel over her body. Even the towel Helen dried her
warm body with felt soft against Joyce’s skin, and the tingle between her legs
was the unmistakable flow of power as the Guyver set a vibrator against her
internal G-spot. Reaching down, Joyce could just feel the hair thin wire that
slipped between her labia.

In her fantasy, Helen stood against the bedpost, pressing the shaped top
against her sparsely haired pubis, the visor image showing the suit’s replica
laying across her own lower body. Joyce had noticed the turned posts when
she was in both of the bedrooms, admiring the workmanship, and the gently
rounded corners on every edge. Her immediate thought had been of a woman
straddled on top, impaled, with her feet tied apart so she couldn’t lift herself off
the three round spheres, 1 inch, 1.5 inch, and 2 inches in diameter, wedged in
her tight pussy. Now Helen raised herself on tiptoe, rubbing the top ball along
the wet slit, lubricating its entrance into her body, as Joyce’s pussy followed
each move, stretching her dripping tunnel. Each time Helen dropped down
further, another section forced its way into Joyce, till all three round wooden
balls were fully embedded, and Helen’s feet were on the floor.

As Joyce had Helen begin to dismount, the suit began to slide the shaft in and
out, and Joyce found her story following along, as the girl in her imagination
humped the bedpost with deep strokes, lifting almost off, then dropping down.
Restraints wrapped round Joyce’s ankles, reached out to the bedpost, and
pulled her legs apart, Helen mirroring as ropes attached her to the bed, but
the spread of her legs now produced a deeper penetration. The post pounded
into the cervix of both players, becoming painful, then pressed deeper and
deeper, Helens feet coming off the floor as her whole weight was supported
on her womb. A bulge was clearly visible on her tummy as they both writhed
through a shattering climax, fingers sinking into firm breasts as they were
squeezed in helpless reaction.

The scene continued as Helen’s Mom came into her room, berating the girl for
these filthy habits, the reprimand hauntingly familiar to the way Joyce’s Mom
would tell her off. She went to the girl’s bottom draw, retrieved the leather
paddle Joyce had seen earlier, and began to smack the bare bottom on show
before her. As the paddle fell, Joyce felt the suit shock her own bottom in the
same place as Helen, and they were spanked together for twenty strokes,
before Helen was pushed over, with her head on the bedcovers. The post was
digging into her insides as she folded in half, then Joyce felt the bonds on her
legs relocate to the headboard, and pull her into the same position, her own
anal intrusion twisting her intestines painfully.

Joyce’s second stage punishment was always with the cane, so Helen now
had to suffer the same fate, as her Mom decreed ten cuts, the first one biting
into her bottom, and into Joyce as well, when the suit formed a thin shaft on a
springy extension. The second stroke had Joyce cumming again, and she lost
track of the story as her caning continued to the allotted ten strokes, each one
adding to the sexual explosion throughout her loins. Even though the caning
had stopped, the after tremors of orgasm still rippled along Joyce’s clit, deep
inside her womb, and in her throbbing nipples, but not dying down. The stabs
of pleasure kept coming back, building up to near climax, then backing down,
and up again, over and over till she begged for release.

The visor display split into two images, one of herself tied to the bed, with her
pussy painfully stuffed, the other image from a movie she couldn’t place, with
a guerrilla soldier laughing as a woman screamed out of shot. The man asked
for her deepest secrets, the voice obviously edited from different film scenes,
demanding to know which film scene made her wet. Which story had she read
on the web that had disgusted her, yet she couldn’t stop reading, what rape
scene had been the most painful, what story sites were in her favourites on
the computer. Were there any sexual activities that she refused to take part in,
point blank, even if she were to be forced into them?

Joyce had hesitated to answer, and watched as the suit produced a thin band
that wrapped round the base of her breasts, another round the centre of the
swollen globe it produced, then a thinner thread coiled around each nipple.
The construction squeezed tightly, digging into her flesh, then when she took
too long to answer another question, the sections moved apart, stretching her
tits lengthways. The pain was not too great, keeping just below her threshold,
and it alternated from her breasts to her pussy, where the inner and outer
labia were clamped and stretched. A thin thread wrapped round and round the
full length of her clitoris shaft, pulling out from her body, then a fish hook
formed under the fleshy hood, its point stabbing the thin skin. When Joyce
refused to admit that she enjoyed having her pussy tortured, and wanted a
piercing in her clit, electric shocks pulsed into her shaft, exciting her till she
climaxed. The hook pulled tight, slipping through the delicate piece of flesh
with a stab of pain that drove her orgasm to the next level. The hook turned
into a ring, which thickened in width, stretching her fresh piercing to take the
pressure as her clitoral hood elongated right to the top of her groove.

Gradually, the sensations in her trembling body dropped back to normal levels
she could cope with, and Div slipped a drinking tube into her mouth, to keep
her hydrated, supplying cool water as she sipped. She was still fastened to
the bed, though not tightly, just spread eagled, but at least the breast and
pussy bondage had gone. The hood piercing was still there, but Div had now
shaped it into a curved bar with a sapphire cat, to match her navel jewellery,
except this one had clawed feet that wrapped around her clitoris. Feeling all
warm and cosy after her sexual exercise routine, Joyce drifted off into sleep,
with her last conscious thought being whether Helen wore pussy jewellery.

She slept well, though she had no sense of how long it had been other than
daylight was just beginning to brighten the windows, and there were snatches
of having enjoyed some very arousing dreams. This was confirmed by putting
her fingers to the sticky mess between her legs, thick girl juice coating the top
of her thighs, all over her petals, pubic mound, and trailing up to her tummy.
When she looked, even her titties had shiny cum trails dried on them, the hard
nipples being completely coated, and she could taste it on her lips. Lifting her
hand up to her face, Joyce slipped the sticky fingers into her mouth, sensually
sucking them clean of every trace of her girl cum.

“Wow!” Joyce said, when her hand was clean, “that must have been some wet
dream I had last night.” She thought she heard Div answer, “24 wet dreams”,
the sound becoming garbled, but she was sure she’d heard something, but
maybe she imagined it. “All this sex and bondage is affecting my mind.” she
said to herself, again hearing Div agreeing with her.

“Earphones on!” she commanded, “Div, was that your voice just then?”

Div replied through the earphones, “Yes Joyce, that was me using the sub
dermal com unit. You’re just not very receptive to it. Listen carefully, as if I’m
stood behind you, whispering in your ear.”

The earphones withdrew, and Div’s voice came faintly from behind her ears,
“Sometimes it’s useful to communicate more discretely, without a visible
device. I have increased the power slightly, so try to respond sub vocally, as if
you were reading to yourself, without moving your lips.”

“Is this what you mean?” Joyce responded, “Can you hear me?”

“Didn’t your Mom tell you not to eat with your mouth full?” Joyce heard, with
that tone he used when he was trying to be funny. “Focus on your diction, as if
you didn’t want the woman in front to know you thought her skirt was too short
for someone her age.”

Joyce recalled the event in question, “Well it was. When she picked up her
bags I could see her panties, as could the guy in reception.”

“Much better, my dear,” he complimented her; “you need to practice this so
you don’t go around talking to yourself, like you have this week. You can get
away with it round here, but you’ll get some funny looks in the Mall.” Turning
on the reward system, he stimulated Joyce’s nipples and clitoris, till she was
squirming on the bed, then tightened the restraints, and ramped her to climax.

She was still trembling when he released her, and she staggered from the bed
naked, reaching for the chamber pot to relieve herself, holding it between her
legs rather than sitting on it. Div told her to look in the dresser mirror, where
he was projecting an image of her crouching slightly, merging it with a scene
of six men watching, looking straight at her. “Spread your legs wider, young
lady,” a voice came from behind her, “these gentlemen want to see you pee in
the pot. Pull your slit apart so they can see the stream as it comes out.”

Obediently she parted her labia, feeling the humiliation of peeing in public, her
clit rising in response as these strangers watched to the last drop, and then
they all disappeared as she put the pretty chamber pot down, to be emptied
later.

Pouring water from the jug into the wash bowl, Joyce complained she hated
having a cold wash, so Div told her to watch as he deployed a sleeve round
both index fingers. She was instructed to place one finger in the bowl, and
point the other at the chamber pot, where she watched a slender strand reach
out and the cup full of urine she’d just passed turned to solid ice. The wash
bowl, on the other hand (which made her giggle), was steaming and she now
dipped her fingers into fairly warm water. She queried the power use, just to
give her a warm wash, when the Guyver’s reserves were still depleted, but
Div explained than no power had been consumed, merely transferred from
one liquid to another.

It was a very enjoyable wash, the feminine fragrance of the soap enhancing
the delicate touch of the warm cloth over her sensitive pussy, and the stronger
squeezing of her titties, twisting her erect nipples to remove all traces of the
dried on girl juice from last night. When she had rinsed, and dried her body on
the soft towel, she asked Div for a set of pale yellow bikini panties, trimmed in
wide white lace, and a non-padded bra to match, admiring the set as it flowed
round her. Joyce put on her own shorts and top, socks and shoes, brushed
her hair, then ate some of yesterday’s fruit for breakfast, washed down with
water from the jug, mixed with a little bottled raspberry squash, dated over five
years ago. It still tasted delicious though, and made an excellent punch, much
better than anything she’d had from Wal-Mart.

When she’d eaten, now refreshed and ready for the day, she listened to Div’s
report from last night’s scan, which had gone exceptionally well, and mapped
every cubic inch of the farm’s quarter section, and the eight adjoining ones.
Agriculturally this full section was extremely fertile, with a third of the surface
being grassland, and the remainder forest, apart from the rock outcrop here,
which covers only two acres, and a 40 acre lake in the south west quarter
section, that teemed with fish. The rest of the quarter sections were totally
forested, with small clearings, and several streams that drained the land.

The mineral estate was solely concentrated in this quarter section, the gold
seam growing thinner till it petered out twenty yards south of the boundary,
and eight yards beyond the north boundary line. There was a small deposit of
silver in an isolated pocket, that would yield $100,000, and was situated 15
yards below the gold seam, but since its location was known precisely, it
could be removed at minimum expense. The interesting point that the scan
revealed was that the vein of gold that had been almost worked out, was quite
a sparsely populated one, over a length of 400 yards, but only one yard thick.
There was, however, another parallel gold vein, 10 yards further east, in the
same quartz deposit, which was much denser, and would produce fifty times
more gold that the original working, but it would still take a lot of effort. The
overall value of the vein would be about $50,000,000 when processed.

The trickle of water at the top end of the property, that fed the watering hole
for the cattle, was part of a small stream that disappeared into a crevice at the
top of the rock outcrop. 300 yards further down, it dropped through another
crevice, onto the quartz, then onto softer deposits below where the outcrop
dropped under the grass. At this point it had eroded the softer rock to create a
10 by 20 foot oval cave, with a small pool in the centre where placer deposits
had been dropped from the water flow. Div estimated the value of the gold in
this location to be $350,000 with very little extraction cost, and a small shaft
could be dug to it in a few weeks.

Yesterday, a quick survey of the existing mine workings had shown that an
estimated 3 kilos of gold, with a value of $100,000 could be harvested from
the tunnel floor with no digging at all. The full survey had confirmed this, with
a slightly increased value of $120,000 in all.

There had also been a stash revealed, a little way down the tunnel from the
main entrance, where a metal box held a large stock of drill steel, too heavy to
lift without moving each one separately, and hid a small storage area behind.
There was a space cut into the rock face, which held a metal bin with a piece
of rock wall attached to the front of it, providing an almost invisible cover for
the hiding place. Inside the bin were 15 10oz gold bars, and 20 5oz gold bars,
all stamped “Still Valley”, with a net value of $280,000 and ready to be sold.

The property was definitely a viable proposition, and if bought for the asking
price of $70,000 would recoup the initial outlay within two weeks of purchase.
In fact, Div suggested, if Joyce were to take 12 of the 5oz bars, she could buy
the property outright, without having to put up a single penny. Joyce objected
straight away, since the gold wouldn’t be hers to use until after the sale, and it
would be immoral to buy the farm with the present owner’s own money. There
had to be another way, something that wasn’t illegal, and was within her moral
boundaries, and her sense of fair play.

When Div checked Joyce’s financial status, she had a couple of thousand
dollars in her bank account, a good, stable job that paid much more than she
needed for living expenses, since she had no rent or mortgage to pay. The
house she lived in had been her father’s, which he’d left to her in his will when
he died two years ago, and the mortgage had been paid off by his insurance.
Since she had full equity in the property, she could raise a mortgage on it that
would easily cover the cost of the farm, including the outstanding taxes.
Suitable terms could be arranged for the mortgage, so she could pay back the
whole sum after she owned the farm, and all its contents, including the gold
stash. The farm was still officially on the realtor’s books, and listed for sale as
fee simple, including lock, stock, and barrel. This meant there were no extra
costs for the equipment, livestock, and crops, as well as no discount for any
damaged items, and the ownership title to the property was for all time.

These arrangements were acceptable to Joyce, as she believed they fulfilled
Helen’s expectations when she put the place up for sale, and Div confirmed
that the sale proceeds would also cover her current medical requirements.
When Joyce asked Div to clarify those requirements, he explained it was for
her upcoming care bill, several recommended procedures over the next three
months, and her residential care until she was discharged at that point. She
had no surviving family, so there were no inheritance needs to pass on, and
her housing costs, for the short term she was likely to survive the disease,
would be covered by benefits agencies and charities.

Joyce hadn’t realised how serious Helen’s condition was, and there was no
way she would allow her to live on benefits during the last portions of her life.
When Joyce had the farm organised again, she would make sure that Helen’s
needs would be fully met for as long as she required, in appreciation for the
same efforts she had put in to look after her Mom, Susan.

Div was asked to start the process going by arranging the mortgage on her
own house, choosing a product with a slightly higher interest rate and fees,
but with no early settlement penalty. If the timescales worked as expected, it
would cost just under $1,000 to provide funds for the sale, under a proposal to
re-model her house.

There were no phone lines anywhere near the farm, but the Guyver unit had
no problem linking in to the satellite communications system overhead, giving
Joyce a telephony headset, and connecting her directly to Helen’s room in the
hospital. Div had already accessed her medical notes, and determined that
she was comfortable, and able to take visitors, not that she’d ever had any.
Opening her introduction, Joyce said straight away that she was interested in
buying Helen’s farm, and had researched its history, and her family’s efforts to
raise three generations on the land. Helen was willing to discuss the sale, but
apologised in advance that she may have to break off if she became tired, so
Joyce reassured her that she fully understood Helen’s position, and her health
issues, so would be brief.

Explaining that she had personal reasons for wanting a secluded location that
the farm offered, and an avid interest in working it as her family always had in
their ownership, Joyce offered Helen the full asking price of $70,000. She was
also aware of outstanding taxes on the property, and with Helen’s agreement,
would settle the debt in addition to the sale price, transferring that money into
the county office account, to enable Helen to regain title from the foreclosure
proceedings. Joyce said she would give her time to think it over, and ring back
tomorrow to answer any questions she had, as she didn’t want to put Helen in
the position of feeling pressured.

Helen asked if Joyce had actually seen the property, or was just working from
the sales description, and sounded pleased when Joyce told her she’d hiked
up there yesterday. Helen said she had made arrangements with the realtor to
have someone visit regularly to make sure everything was OK at the farm, in
particular to care for the animals, since she’d been too distressed when Mom
had died, and she had to leave. Joyce assured her that the place was in quite
reasonable repair, and the animals had been recently fed, so everything had
seemed to be under control. Joyce didn’t want to distress Helen with worry
over the livestock having been abandoned to fend for themselves, so thought
it best to frame her answer tactfully. Helen admitted that she’d considered the
possibility of dropping the price of the farm when she became ill, to release a
part of her assets for medical bills, but had been unable to organise it, and it
was now all she had left, so she was relieved that help had arrived in time.

The suit visor deployed, and Div displayed a message on screen, without any
interruption to the conversation, saying that Helen’s voice analysis was now
showing signs of tiredness and stress. Joyce sub vocalised a thanks to Div,
then as Helen paused, she suggested that maybe Helen should rest, as she
didn’t want to tire her, and she’d promised to be brief. There was no urgent
need to settle this matter right away, and her offer would be good for as long
as Helen needed, to come to a decision. She was even prepared to put a
deposit down as a gesture of goodwill, to show her sincerity, if Helen had no
objection. Helen said that wasn’t necessary, but she would sleep on Joyce’s
offer, and would welcome her calling back tomorrow. With that, they both said
their goodbyes, and hung up, at which point Div said that Helen’s side of the
conversation showed that she was very much in favour of the offer, but hadn’t
wanted to fully commit. That was understandable in her present situation, but
all indications were that she would agree.

Having concluded the morning’s business, Joyce was eager to take a proper
look at the mine, and asked Div for a proximity check, pleased to hear that the
nearest people were over 50 miles away, in all directions. This was a limit that
Joyce had agreed should be monitored, although the Guyver unit was capable
of identifying most individuals within several hundred miles using the suit’s
own sensors. It was also possible to access the satellite tracking systems to
view half the continent, but the targeting couldn’t be adjusted without alerting
those who controlled them, which was the last thing they wanted. Anyone who
came inside the fifty mile boundary would be constantly tracked to provide
ample warning if they might pose a threat to them.

Since there was no danger of being disturbed any time during the day, Joyce
headed over to the mine entrance nearest to the house, the sturdy lock on the
chain securing it to the hillside, opening to the magic touch of the suit’s glove,
and it’s clever magnetic field manipulation. Entering the tunnel, she turned left
to follow the upward incline in the direction of the second gate, which she’d
seen on her exploration yesterday. The daylight only came a short way along
the shaft, but the suit fashioned a belt round Joyce’s waist, with a strong light
mounted on the front, so she could see where she was going. Div pointed out
one of the loose rocks in the corner between wall and floor, putting the visor in
place so Joyce could see the analytical scan targeting a specific small piece
of quartz. When she examined it, Joyce was amazed to see the lines and
lumps of gold running below the surface, and when the screen switched to a
normal view, a target point indicated the single small spot of gold. This was
the only outwardly visible sign of $500 worth of gold that Joyce could extract
with a hammer and a crucible, out in the shed behind the house.

Div asked her to look along the length of the tunnel, and the display turned
down everything except the solid walls, and then slowly added in the debris
on the floor, and in the corners, each picked out in a pastel shade. Finally a
series of deep red lines and spots spread out from her feet, heavily deposited
at the edges, but covering the whole floor to some extent, picking out each
particle of discarded gold. This waste pile, Div pointed out, had an intrinsic
value of $280,000, and could be swept up, crushed, and melted, in two weeks
with just the equipment to hand.

Walking as far as the top gate, Div had the visor display the rock structure in
the walls, highlighting the way the quartz seemed to curve into the tunnel,
where it had been mined out, then changed into the base rock. The screen
assembled an extrapolate image of the original formation, the quartz running
six feet this side of the outer rock face for most of its length. At this point it had
turned outward, leaving less than a foot of rock, and the miners had broken
through to the outside as they removed the gold bearing material. The shaft
had continued to be worked for several yards, but was only plain rock, as if
the seam had reached its end, which it in effect it had. Div told her the scan
results had been summarised, and displayed a less detailed image, showing
the small traces of gold on the tunnel wall. Moving deeper through the quartz,
a much denser seam of gold appeared, wider and deeper than to one next to
her, and stretching in both directions. This was the valuable one.

It came to an end at the same place the visible gold had done, but with a
vertical face, as if cut with a large knife. The focal point of the image drew
back, the different layers of rock being picked out with lines, and thirty feet
deeper down the shear face, the quartz seam could be seen continuing
horizontally. The two gold veins were picked out, drawing together into a
single thread that ended eight yards beyond the north boundary of the farm,
which was highlighted on the display. The distances were suitable to enter
through this gate, mine the seam across to pick up the wider vein, then drop
down to the lower level and remove that seam up to the edge of the property.

Having examined the north end of the mine, Joyce turned, and followed the
tunnel south, past the lower gate, and down a steeper incline to where the
quartz finished, and several yards of plain rock indicated the end of the vein.
Once again, the visor displayed a schematic of the rock structure, a curve
going behind the exposed rock, and the larger gold vein ten yards further in
again. The image showed they were now fifteen feet below the meadow, at
the point where the rock went below ground on the outside, but travelled on
for twenty yards south of the boundary, which was marked on the schematic.
The scan had shown the vein reducing in size as it drew to its end, leaving a
small percentage that could not be mined, as it was not part of the farm land.

Next, the visor displayed the course of the small stream along the top of the
rock face, starting near the cattle enclosure, moving to the crevice were it had
entered the rock itself, over the quartz, and then down again. The quartz had
been eroded away, exposing the gold itself, which was washed downstream,
and into the lower crevice. Here, a small channel had been slowly worn away,
leading to the underground cavern, where the scan showed a large amount of
gold that had sunk to the bottom of the water as the flow reduced in speed.
There were nuggets from 2oz, down to a quarter ounce, laying in a deep bed
of finer gold fragments, and topped by a layer of small quartz pieces. Div said
the increased water flow in winter would agitate the sediment, and allow the
lighter quartz to be washed away, leaving the gold behind, and room for more
quartz to drop during the other seasons.

The display showed a proposed access way they could dig, going south east
from the other side of the quartz vein, to the centre line of the cavern, about
eight feet above the water, then two sets of staging cut in the rock face to get
to the surface. Div said they could scoop up the gold sediment in buckets that
would be brought up to the work shed to be sluiced, and that he could easily
modify the existing equipment to collect over 99% of the gold product. This at
first would be the largest non-productive part of the operation, but would yield
the easiest profit, to develop working capital.

As Joyce walked back towards the entrance, she asked to see where the gold
stash was hidden, and the visor lead her to the box of drill steel, unobtrusively
laid at the side of the tunnel, covered in dust and rock. Looking closely behind
it, Joyce could see no sign of the concealed storage nook and needed Div to
outline it in red light for her. Now she knew where it was, there was just a very
faint line along the edge, irregular in shape to better conceal it, but it was a
masterpiece of workmanship. She didn’t want to move it, since it belonged to
Helen until the sale went through, but even then, she intended to use it to
make Helen’s remaining life as comfortable as possible.

As they walked out into the noon sunshine, Joyce was feeling very pleased
with herself, and thanked Div for making all of this possible for her. Although
he acknowledged her gratitude, Div considered it a minor thing he’d assisted
Joyce with, merely facilitating a change in the provision of life’s necessities.
She had already been in a stable situation, with her needs taken care of, but
his circumstances had been much more catastrophic. Without Joyce providing
a host for him, the Guyver unit would have deactivated totally, and he would
have ceased to exist. Not only was she providing him with ample power to fill
his reserves in a comparatively short time, with minimum needs for herself,
she had a potential unmatched by any of his previous hosts. It wasn’t just her
physical structure, but the level of intellect she already possessed, giving him
a huge variety of challenges in the short time they’d been symbiotic, yet the
moral standards she held of great consequence were vastly superior to most
of the individuals he had come across in his recent experiences. There was a
lot more to this host than he’d originally expected.

Joyce had investigated the upper section of the property yesterday, and
wanted to check out the rest of what she was planning to buy, so headed to
the south end of the outcrop, and round to the other side. The boundary was
fenced along its full length, with the standard log and limb construction that
the early pioneers used, and is ideally suited to a property like this, in the
middle of plentiful forest. Where it passed the end of the outcrop, another
fence came off at right angles, with a four rail gate of removable poles, and
the join to the rock using holes cut direct into the face. Joyce pulled one of the
poles back, and it worked as smoothly as she assumed it always had, so she
slid it back in place, and climbed over into the next field.

This was meadow grass, covering the entire area, and Div said there had
been nothing other than wild animals in it for about five years, but there was
evidence that it had been regularly grazed for a considerable time before that.
There was a fence round this whole area, some of it attached to the trees on
the forest edge, which would keep any livestock secure once they had been
placed in here. A shallow gulley ran across one corner, with a trickle of water
draining from the forest, and a stone cistern had been set into it, made from
rough hewn slabs, with a paved edge that prevented mud from fouling the
water. Div said the cistern would hold enough water for the current livestock to
last several weeks without rainfall, and if both enclosures were rotated, then
the grass would feed them through most of the year.

The area south of the fence, seemed to be split in half, along a north/south
line, with grass on one side, and wild maize on the other, but there was some
intermingling to be seen. Div explained that the scan had shown this area to
have been cultivated as seen, maize planted on one side, and grass on the
other, with crop rotation every four or five years. Since the farm had been
empty for five years, this area had begun to grow wild, with residual crops
showing through in both sides. Although it was not part of the quarter section
that belonged to the farm proper, no-one else actually owned this land, so it
was federal property, and there was no-one to object to this low level of crop
production. Both of these crops would be a valuable addition to the supplies
for the farm, providing grain for the household, and winter fodder for the stock.
The scan had shown up three barrels of ready milled flour in the work shed,
all well sealed, and in perfectly good order. One of the machines in there was
a small scale grain mill, driven by the waterwheel, and perfectly suited to the
family that had lived here for so many years. This cultivated area straddled
two different quarter sections, and was 160 acres in extent, equal to the size
of the farm overall, so it effectively doubled the available working land, and it
was highly unlikely that anyone would want to buy it, this far off the beaten
track.

Crossing the fence where it bridged the stream, on the south west corner,
Joyce followed the waterway down to the lake that had been scanned last
night, finding it a delightful spot. There was a small sandy beach on one side,
and a variety of edgings around the rest of the water, wide grassy banks,
broken rocks, massive slabs and boulders, and trees right into the water itself.
Joyce stood on the beach, watching the fish breaking the surface as they took
flies off the water, the sun warming her skin, as she listened to the quiet noise
of the forest. The water looked so inviting, and she fancied going for a swim,
not realising she was sub vocalising, until Div’s voice came behind her ears,
“Proximity scan clear to 63 miles.” He was still watching out for her, keeping
her safe from harm, and mindful of her needs.

“Thank you, Div.” Joyce responded out loud, and removed her outer clothes;
Div taking care of her underwear, then stretched her naked body in the bright
sunshine. She walked into the water, surprised to find it so warm, luxuriating
in the feel of it lapping against her skin, the slight difference in temperature
noticeable against her labia, and inside her girl cleft. When it reached up her
tummy, Joyce dived into the water, picking up a strong swimming stroke that
soon had her over to the grass bank on the other shore. The grass was quite
short, and animal tracks showed that this was probably the local watering hole
for the surrounding livestock, so it would be regularly grazed as well. Climbing
onto a large boulder by the water’s edge, she executed a simple graceful dive,
entering the lake without a ripple, and then pulled for the lake bed, fascinated
by how clearly she could see. She only spent a few seconds on admiring the
view, and then kicked off for the surface, her lungs already struggling, but able
to take her back to the fresh air.

“If you would like a breathing aid, Joyce,” came Div’s voice, “the command
would be ‘Breather on’.”

“Oh!” she said in surprise, “Thanks. Breather on.” As she trod water, the visor
slid into place, but much lighter in construction, covering a larger area, from
her forehead to under her chin, and perfectly transparent, with straps round
the back of her head. Putting her face in the water, her vision was totally clear
without the water in contact with her eyes, and she could see the fish swim
through the plants growing on the lake floor. “Where is the air coming from?”
she asked, and Div explained that the outer frame of the breather acted just
like fish gills, separating oxygen from the water, and dissolving carbon dioxide
back into it. There would be no need to replenish air tanks, and she could stay
under for as long as she liked. She explored most of the lake, finding the fish
weren’t frightened if she remained still, and when the suit wrapped a weight
belt round her waist, she was able to sit on the bottom and watch them.
Catfish came up to her and cleaned her skin, especially her hands and feet,
but the most interesting were one group that spent quite a while working on
her nipples, and Div said they were extracting the lactation residue from her
last period. Whatever they were doing was turning her on, and a second team
was soon harvesting the girl juice leaking from her slit, aided by the suit fitting
a bar between her knees to push them wide apart. Joyce had almost cum, but
the catfish must have satisfied their appetite by then, because they turned and
swam away.

Apart from being jilled by a shoal of fish, the other highlight of her swim was
the suit building a pair of fins on her feet, which let her step her underwater
speed up to amazing levels. At one point, the suit deployed a thin speed suit,
flattening her breasts to increase her hydrodynamics, and she was able to
outstrip even the fastest fish in the lake. When she’d done playing mermaid
after Div wrapped her complete lower body in a realistic tail, apart from the
smooth pubis and slit being noticeably exposed, he reconfigured the suit into
a floatation device. It was like floating on an airbed, lying in the middle of the
lake, and working on her tan, till she felt her empty stomach asking to be fed.

When she got back to the beach, Joyce slipped on her top, shorts, and shoes,
not bothering with underwear because she wanted to have her breasts free to
move under her clothes as she walked. She followed the stream back to the
farm gate, then cut across to the house, going inside to prepare some food for
a late lunch. There was still some fruit from yesterday, a piece of cheese, and
some pickled mixed cabbage, turnip, and carrot, with some herbs added in to
the vinegar, that tasted like a very strong coleslaw, as Div said it would after
all this time. It went beautifully with the mature cheese though, and Joyce said
all it lacked was a cup of coffee, but it was too much trouble to light a fire to
boil the water at midday, so she’d leave that till tonight. Div suggested that he
could provide a cup of boiling water, if that would suffice, and had Joyce fill
two cups with water, then put ground coffee from the storage jar into one of
them.

As he’d done this morning, Div deployed a sleeve round both index fingers,
and she placed one finger in each cup, the slender strand reached between
them and the plain water turned to solid ice. The coffee cup, however, was
soon boiling, steaming the aroma through the house, thanks to the marvels of
physics and someone who knew how to apply them. It was a delicious drink,
refreshing after so much water, and she relaxed at the kitchen table as she
considered how this land could provide everything she needed.

With her hunger satisfied, Joyce took a more detailed look round the house
than she had yesterday, checking all of the storage jars in an inventory that
had very little missing from the necessities of life. There were no imported
goods of course; almost everything had come from the farm, or surrounding
forest, and no fresh food except what she’d harvested yesterday. When Helen
left the farm, she had closed it up very efficiently, and Joyce wondered if this
was part of the farm routine when taking long vacations, such as visiting with
distant family. At the end of one shelf, propped up against the side of the
cupboard, was a notebook, full of hand written recipes for all the food a family
would want both everyday things like bread and biscuits, as well as special
foods like Wedding Cake, and Thanksgiving Sweet Mincemeat Tart.

Joyce hadn’t baked since High School Home Ed lessons, which produced an
only just edible cake, yet filled her with a sense of pride that she had created it
herself. The smell of fresh coffee reminded her of Mom’s kitchen, and she
wanted to involve herself in the feeling of this long standing home, starting at
the beginning with a simple quick biscuit recipe. There was a jar of flour, one
of fine sugar, and a jar of dried fruits, but no milk, and no fat, which she had
assumed meant butter. It was the back to basics scenario. How many things
do you have to make before you have the tool you really want. Butter came
from milk, which was one of the missing fresh foods, and she needed some of
that as well. So she would have to milk the cow, which would need a calf to be
suckling, then churn the butter. “These are not going to be QUICK biscuits”,
she said to herself. Div provided some help, by pointing out that there were
several blocks of solidified fat stored with the cheeses, produced by rendering
animal products. There was also a metal bucket in another cupboard, which
had been used in the milking process, and a second, taller milk container with
a lid that had been used for milk storage.

Joyce was really enjoying the pioneer life, and she wanted to get into the part,
so she changed into Helen’s silk undies, her work dress, and an apron from
the rack behind the door in her bedroom. She also found a pink ribbon, and
tied her hair back with it, which added a finishing touch. Taking the bucket,
she headed over to the entrance gate, wanting to walk the rest of the stream’s
path, rather than cutting across the meadow. She stopped at the falls for a
better look than she’d got yesterday, dipping her hand into the plunge pool to
find it was very warm, as were several of the large rocks, all of which were in
full sun, and probably had been all day. While the water would have lost some
of its heat over night, the rock must act as a heat sink, soaking up solar heat
during the day, and releasing it back into the water at night. Joyce would have
bet that the pool was still warm enough to bathe in first thing in the morning.
There was a small upturned bucket on a ledge beside the fall, and when she
looked underneath, there was a china dish, holding a bar of soap, indicating
that this was regularly used as a bath, or a shower, with the waterfall. Perhaps
Helen came here each morning, to strip naked and bathe in the open air, her
groove moist with girl juice, as Joyce’s was now. This wouldn’t get the milking
done though, so Joyce put that thought on hold, and turned to the business in
hand; milk.

As she walked across the top field, towards the group of cattle, she could see
one of them feeding a calf, so Div had been right in saying she could get milk
from them. The cow saw her approach, bucket in hand, and turned towards
the shelter as Joyce drew near, lifelong training kicking in despite five years
coping without her human owners. When the animal walked quietly into a stall
on the far wall, Joyce took the milking stool down from where it was lodged
behind a bracket on the wall, set it beside her, and sat to experience another
new task in her life. Div’s voice told her to clean the teats first, as the suit put
a water jet at her wrist, warm liquid spraying the udder to remove any dirt, and
the blue light irradiating any germs that may be there. Following instructions,
she gently gripped the base of one of the teats, then squeezed her fingers in
sequence, feeling thrilled as fresh milk squirted into the bucket, after adjusting
her aim. Alternating her hands, she kept squeezing till the flow slowed down,
the teats now sitting empty in her palms, so she swapped to the other pair, the
milk coming easier as her technique improved, and the cow got back into a
long remembered routine.

There were three or four pints in the bucket, but considering she’d fed her calf
several times already today, and he was very likely to be starting to wean, that
amount was acceptable. No doubt the yield would increase if a regular milking
schedule was set up, but Joyce was only going to be here for a few days, then
the livestock would have to take care of themselves once more. It would take
a month or so for all the arrangements to be made to transfer ownership of
the farm, but Div was confident that all would run smoothly. Hanging the milk
bucket on a hook on the wall, so it wouldn’t get knocked over, Joyce guided
the cow back out to the field, petting its neck, and praising it for providing her
needs so graciously. Before she went back down to the house, Joyce cut up
another six swedes as a treat for the livestock, and then spread them along
the trough outside the shelter.

Back in the kitchen, Joyce set the fire in the hearth, turning the vent to pull the
heat round the oven, and then followed an age old family recipe for biscuits.
Finding the task much easier than she had at school, Joyce enjoyed being
creative in a practical way, actually making something to feed herself, yet still
surprised when they were not only edible, but tasted delicious. She’d also put
some together without the sugar or fruit, adding a pinch of salt, making them
more savoury. They went very well with the cheese and pickles for an evening
meal, eaten on the front porch, watching the sun going down.

As it grew dark, Joyce went inside and lit an oil lamp, closing the door, but not
locking it, since this was the custom on places like this, and she also had her
own full time security guard. She took off the apron and dress, returning them
to their places, but retained the silk underwear since it felt so delicious on her
skin. She sat in the armchair, with the lamp on the table, slightly behind her,
and picking up the journal, began to read about life on the farm.

The first entry was for New Year 1990, Susan was now 66, and had been on
her own for 27 years, since her husband John had died in 1963. The work
was becoming harder to do by herself, but the crops were enough to feed her,
and the livestock were all healthy. She exchanged letters with her daughter
Helen whenever she went into town, all noted in the journal, about every three
months, posting her a new one, and picking up Helen’s reply from the last one
she’d sent. It was mostly family news, and life on the farm, but the journal
entries showed that they both enjoyed hearing from each other. At Easter
Susan had taken up Helen’s long standing offer to move back to the farm if
her Mom needed the help, or just the company, especially as she grew older.
Helen sold her house in New Jersey, and returned in the summer, aged 45,
but much fitter than her Mom, and able to take on all the heavy work, and a lot
of the fetching and carrying. Susan did her share of the light tasks, and often
kept Helen company when she worked the bottom field, although she was
prone to taking an afternoon nap under the tree shade.

The journal was apparently a family book, rather than personal, as both of
them made entries, Susan about how the farm in general worked, and how
much better it was with her daughter there, Helen about specific events, such
as stock sales, and how satisfying it was to be back home helping Mom again.
Joyce could envisage what daily life had been like for the two women, busy
days filled with useful work, and evenings spent together talking as they both
sewed, or read, or did other small routine tasks. There was a very surprising
change in spring 1993, when a journal entry took on a much more personal
note, covering an event that Joyce had not come across before.

Susan had written that she was very disappointed in Helen, because she had
returned to her former bad habits, which she had assumed were over and
done with when she married. Each journal entry was started with a neat line
across the page, often decorated with small flowers, animals, or other fancy
embellishments, and then the day and date it was made. This teasing new
matter occurred right at the bottom of the page, and Joyce was eager to turn
the page for more information, but found the next three entries had nothing
other than routine work details.

The page after that was for a Sunday, with an unusual morning entry at 8am,
written in great detail. They had started with prayers and Bible readings,
which was the regular practice on the Lord’s Day; even if this was the first
such record of it in three years, but this Sunday there had been an accounting
to settle. Susan had gone to Helen’s room on Wednesday evening, after she
had heard the girl moan out loud, and found her laid face down on the bed, a
hand between her spread legs, so that Susan had clearly seen her finger the
wet slit displayed so openly. Helen had not heard the door open, so Susan
was able to watch until her daughter reached her climax, then even walk up
beside the girl, close enough to read the book she had open in front of her.

Susan didn’t seem overly surprised, merely writing that she had placed her
hand on the disgusting girl’s shoulder, telling her not to move, then leafed
through the pages towards the front, till she arrived at the very first. It had
been dated 1987, three years before Helen had returned home, so she had
brought the book with her, and been adding to it for another three years, with
filth upon depravity. There were, apparently, short stories of women and girls
masturbating, of their sexual congress with men, willingly and taken by rape,
and of penetration by inanimate objects of incredible size, in every orifice.
Accompanying the written word were drawings of naked men, very realistic, in
that Susan easily recognised Helen’s school teacher, although he could never
have fitted a phallus of such proportions in his trousers. There were many of
the men from town depicted, from shopkeepers to the mayor, three mayors in
fact, drawn as the “Election Race”, with three young women bending over the
finish line, their naked rears ready to be penetrated. One of the young girls
was Helen, except, unlike the other two, she was tied to the ground, wrist and
ankle, and an inset showed her with all three penises in all three of her holes.
There were scenes of depravity that Susan would never have imagined, far
worse than Helen’s previous problem through her teenage years, which she’d
thought was resolved.

This last comment really piqued Joyce’s interest, as she wondered what sort
of things Helen had got up to as a teenager, and how a resolution had been at
last achieved, albeit not a permanent one. There was a slight change in style
now, as Susan critiqued her daughter’s work, describing the stories as much
better constructed this time, to present a feasible storyline, with exceptionally
good grammar, and not one spelling mistake. Helen’s artistic talents had truly
blossomed over the years as well, with an attention to detail evident in each of
the male’s endowment, the shape and curves, the veins along the length, and
a subtle highlight of glistening moisture. They were certainly stimulating, she
admitted, if only John were still here to satisfy her needs, and she his.

Following their devotions on Sunday, Helen had been brought to account,
which appeared to be Susan presenting her faults, masturbation in secret,
writing lewd stories, and drawing lewd illustrations, with the sole purpose of
attaining inappropriate sexual release. Helen had freely admitted to all these
charges, then been made to confess the extent of her poor self control, which
was two or three times a week, sometimes in her room at night, but also when
she was outside tending to her chores.

Susan asked her daughter if she remembered the penalty for her unladylike
behaviour, at which Helen said it was one stroke of the switch for each of her
years, since by now she should know better. Joyce thought this had been said
with the ease of long familiarity, as if this sort of punishment had been a part
of everyday life, perhaps during the teenage years referred to earlier. It could
have been Susan’s writing style, but it seemed as if there was nothing out of
the ordinary in punishing her grown up daughter with a switch, for indulging in
a perfectly natural method of relief. Joyce got the impression that Susan was
not shocked by the actual things themselves, the writing and drawing, which
she had complemented as far as technique was concerned. The masturbation
had not been stopped when she first saw it, but rather allowed to continue to a
full completion as she watched, then made her presence known with no call to
her daughter to cover up.

Helen was required to strip completely, and go outside to cut a hazel switch
from the back of the house, presenting it to her Mom with a request that she
be punished to teach her to mend her ways. The one stroke for each year was
45 for Helen, but was to be split into ten cuts at a time for each punishment.
Joyce hadn’t realised that writing, drawing, and masturbation had been taken
as separate counts, so Helen was expecting 135 in all, the first ten across her
bottom as she bent over the table, each raising a suitable weal. The bottom
switching was for masturbating in private, but for writing provocative stories,
the punishment was delivered below the navel, her tummy, upper thighs, and
hairy pubic mound taking two cuts each. Joyce could feel her juices flowing as
Susan described in intimate detail laying the switch into the soft lips, then two
more strokes, deep into the groove, even striking the love button which had
protruded openly. Helen had been laid on her back, with knees apart to allow
access for this part, and had to keep that position for the third offence, without
being allowed to rub any of the hurt away. The switch was used again for her
rude drawings, not only for the sexual content of them, but because they were
also drawn to resemble innocent people that she knew, and these ten strokes
were laid across her bare breasts. The thin wood bit deep into the soft flesh,
on the upper slopes, the tender underside, and four across the erect teats
themselves, Susan noting that this raised a satisfying response from the girl.

Helen was sent out to cut another switch, this time, not only naked, but welted
as well, her reticence noted by Susan, who added that the girl’s shame at this
public exposure was as effective as ever, despite the fact that there was no-
one within miles to see her nudity. The punishment was repeated, ten strokes
to Helen’s bottom, vaginal area, and her breasts, the fresh cuts on top of old
ones eliciting more cries and tears, just as the wanton deserved. There were
still chores to be done, even on Sunday, and the naked Helen was dispatched
to tend the animals, with a warning not to pleasure herself, or the punishment
would be doubled. Susan went to the garden to pick fruit and vegetables for
the evening meal, selecting two extra large carrots for Helen’s punishment,
and took them to the top field, leaving her basket to collect later.

Helen was just coming out of the field gate with her bucket of milk, and Susan
sent her to the forest edge to cut a hickory switch, to continue her discipline,
this time tying her to the “frame poles” with some pieces of spare rope from
the field gate. Susan tied her ankles first, which spread her legs suitably wide,
and secured her wrists to the top traces, facing outward, and then cinched her
tight enough to press her back firmly against the hedge. Joyce remembered
seeing two tall poles embedded in the hawthorn perimeter, and pictured Helen
with the thorns digging into her bottom, and scratching her back. The strokes
across her hips were delivered from the front, catching the sensitive inner
thighs, right into her groin, then directed upward into the girl’s spread cleft.
Using the end of the tougher hickory switch, inflicted a more severe bite, and
two cuts to the underside of Helen’s engorged clitoral shaft had her wetting
herself, as she ground her bottom against the spiked hedge.

Her breasts were just as effectively whipped with the end portion of the switch
getting to the inner surfaces of each tittie globe, followed by the outer edges,
and finally the sides, top and bottom of two extremely erect nipples. Having
finished with her daughter’s front, Susan turned her round and re-tied her, as
the freshly punished sexual places were pressed into the long cruel thorns.
Switching Helen’s bottom made her really lively, according to the report, with
the hickory reaching deep into the groove of her bottom, and the sensitive line
at the top of her thighs. When the whipping was finished, Susan pushed the
carrots she’d brought into her daughter’s bottom and sweet spot, working the
gritty shafts to their full depth, till just the green leaves were left outside, like
two tails. Helen had to walk back to the house like that, and the vegetables
were left in for the rest of the afternoon, and during the evening meal.

The next entry in the journal was Helen’s, and was much more descriptive in
detailing the punishment she’d been given through the day, her writing skills
very evident. She revealed that she was obsessed with sex, and since her
husband had left her, masturbation was her only satisfactory release, but she
had a very low level of self-control. The stories and drawings were her stand-
in means to gain relief, since she couldn’t write or draw well enough with one
hand, and she wouldn’t allow substandard work. They did inflame her base
passions though, eventually having to be dealt with, and she had introduced
some discipline scenes into the accounts, so that she could punish herself as
penance for her immoral behaviour.

Helen was glad that her Mom had found out about her nasty habits, and was
going to take her under control, just as her parents had done when she was
turned thirteen. Joyce would have loved to find an older account of how the
youngster was dealt with, and considered looking for other journals, but she
was too engrossed now to break off. Despite Helen’s admission that all of her
punishments were painful, and fully deserved, she often expressed her shame
in still feeling a level of excitement from them. At times her mind focused only
on the pleasure, but a well placed cut of the switch would remind her exactly
why she was being disciplined, and the humiliation of being spanked at her
age flooded back.

While Susan hadn’t mentioned it, the end of each of her punishment sessions
was covered by Helen, her Mom rubbing salve into her damaged flesh, a pot
of which was now carried in a pocket of Mom’s dress. It was rubbed in with a
vigour that was as much a part of the discipline as the switching had been, the
tenderest places suffering a second time as strong farming fingers dug deep.
Examining the state of her whipped skin was undertaken in exactly the same
businesslike way, the sore flesh squeezed and pulled about to see if there
had been any serious damage. Special attention was paid to Helen’s nipples
as they were stretched out, then her labia, both inner and outer, followed by
the clitoral hood being forcefully pulled back to inspect the swollen shaft right
down to its base.

Having satisfied herself that the punishment had been satisfactory, Susan had
taken her daughter into her arms, hugging her warmly, and kissing the tear
stained cheeks. The training imparted by discipline wasn’t reserved just for a
switching, but there was a preventative aspect as well, whereby Helen was
permitted to discharge her pent up sexual tensions. This was to make it easier
for her to exercise self control, since the daily urgency would be removed by
focusing on stipulated release. To this end, Helen was to remain naked, and
spread herself out on one of the chairs, her whip marked breasts and vulva
fully display to her Mom, who now specifically directed her daughter’s sexual
stimulation. Helen touched and fondled her most secret places, exactly as she
was instructed by her Mom, who sat in the comfortable armchair, watching as
the girl’s pleasure mounted.

Helen admitted that she knew this was to help impress the need for sexual
pleasure to be an unselfish act, performed for another’s benefit and, under
their control, not her own. Her Mom appreciated that she was still a beautiful
woman, with needs and drive that had no acceptable outlet, and was willing to
provide a situation for that need to be satisfied, in a loving environment. Helen
was taking the opportunity give her Mom the pleasure of seeing her daughter
enjoy those most intense feelings that every woman was able to achieve from
the touch of experienced fingers. Their pleasure was being shared, as it had
been designed by their maker, a giving experience, one to the other, and an
expression of selfless submission to another person’s will.

This was understood perfectly by Helen, on an intellectual level, the principles
having been explained and discussed throughout her life, both with Mom and
Dad, and her Grandparents as well. Of course they didn’t have any problem
with their desires, since each had a partner to share their pleasure with, and
at night, when she was younger, she’d heard plenty of sharing going on.
When her own desires had first manifested themselves, and young Helen was
struggling to cope, she was instructed in techniques to satisfy the urges. But
having to touch her private places in front of the whole family, on a Friday
evening, was a mortifying experience. She’d never grown used to it, and even
now felt intense humiliation that anyone but her husband could see her most
secret actions, even though it was her Mom, who knew her in intimate detail.

It had been different when she was married, and she could bring her husband
to his peak, taking his seed in her body, or all over it if the pleasure took her,
and submitting to the touch of his hand between her legs would make her melt
in helpless passion. Even having that pleasurable release denied was a thrill
in itself, knowing that it would be all the more powerful when permission finally
was granted. It had taken Helen some time to realise it was their bond of love
that deepened everything they did together, and yet the knowledge made it so
much sweeter. Despite all this, the man could still make her cringe in shame
by having her stand naked and presented after he’d removed every trace of
hair from her pubis. He would speak softly to her, describing her childish cleft,
and how it should be touched and fondled, or spread wide until it hurt, then to
be filled with the most mundane of objects, stuffed till it was fit to burst, and
Helen would cum from his mere words.

Susan knew just how to elicit the same response from her daughter, to raise
her to the very edge by describing what should be done to her, then making
the girl bring herself in check. Helen didn’t resent being addressed as if she
were still a teenager, it was something all parents did with their children, no
matter how old they were, they would never be anything but a child in their
heart. Her Mom took her back to her youth, instructing her in the ways to get
her cunny wet, even that childish expression adding fuel to the fire, then hand
something phallic to her, watching her daughter insert it fully, then pound it
into her depths. It had been a candle first, then the handle of a serving spoon,
and the other end next, the wider dish having to be forced through a little used
entrance, and turned several times, stirring her delicate insides. Eventually, a
last squeeze of her throbbing clitoris brought the longed for climax, her Mom
insisting Helen keep rubbing, twisting, and pinching the sensitive nub till her
third consecutive orgasm.

A satiated Helen was finally sent to bed, with a reminder to keep herself under
control, and Joyce put down the journal to do the same, but she couldn’t help
wondering if the older Helen was still driven by the same longings. With the
images of the book’s account foremost in her mind, Joyce brought herself to
orgasm twice, before she settled down to a deep sleep, hardly noticing that
the Guyver unit also made her climax every hour. She awoke in the morning,
rested, but once again coated in sticky girl juice, all over her thighs, titties and
fingers, her clit still tingling from her nocturnal excitement. This time there was
warm water still in the kettle by the fireside, so she was able to clean herself
in comfort, resisting the urge to linger with the soapy washcloth between her
legs, then got dried and dressed.

This would be her last day at the farm for a while, intending to return to the
campsite so she could checkout, then head home to organise the business of
raising money to buy Helen’s farm. It was a little early to be ringing Helen just
yet, and she’d had a thought about the story book, wondering what became of
it after Susan had punished her daughter because of it. Helen had most likely
taken it with her when she left, since it was rather sensitive material, but there
was a chance that it had been left behind, in which case, Joyce would love the
opportunity to read it. She’d considered asking Div to scan the whole house,
but she felt in the mood for a detective hunt, tracking down the evidence of a
young lady’s indiscretions, and exposing her deepest secrets.

She was fairly confident of finding it, since Helen had admitted being upset
after the funeral, and leaving some of the tasks to others, in addition to the
journal having been left on the table all these years. The first place to look
was the main room, so Joyce carefully examined every cupboard and drawer,
removing every item in case the book was hidden beneath something. She
even checked the furniture for hidden panels, and secret hiding places, with
no success, although she did find $500 in old notes, in a cookie jar on the top
shelf of the food cupboard. The farm journals, going back to 1908 when Phillip
Dawson made his first plans to move here and start a homestead, were on
the shelves beside the fireplace, in amongst dozens of novels, reference, and
school text books. There were even workbooks the children had used in their
studies, with comments about their progress from both parents.

Finally, the bottom dresser draw in Helen’s bedroom revealed four volumes
hidden in the folds of spare blankets, each book tied with a cross of pink
ribbon, one of which had a handwritten note tucked beneath the bow. The
note read, “Not to be opened by Helen Dawson, on pain of a severe spanking,
and other painful punishments. This means you, young lady.” Since the note
was directed to Helen, Joyce had no qualms about opening the book, at first
just skipping through blocks of pages, from front to back. The format was just
as Susan described it, predominantly separate stories, with some exceptional
illustrations to enhance the narrative. The themes varied from warm, sensitive
romance, through wild, passionate sexual excess, coercion and blackmail,
rape and cruel torture, into wartime atrocities. No one situation predominated
and most of the scenarios stayed within their boundaries, with only one or two
of them straying into a less intense or more severe series of events within a
storyline. Most of the characters were different in each story, well developed,
and connected, with no continuity errors, although Joyce was only scanning a
small set of entries, so she may have missed some things.

The illustrations fascinated her, including several styles that she herself liked,
such as overdeveloped genitals, and recurring submissive scenes, and while
most of the characters had only first names, a lot of the drawings were given
surnames and professions, such as doctor, teacher, or banker. Joyce thought
these were probably the ones Susan had said were specific people Helen had
known, and interacted with. In several drawings, Joyce recognised familiar
landmarks, like the waterwheel, and the livestock enclosure, also a mother
and daughter pair, kept cropping up, as did a rural farm setting, obviously
links to Helen’s home life. It was difficult to discern if some of them were true
stories or fiction, but the hazel and hickory switches cropped up, being tied
against a thorn bush hedge, and lots of forced, humiliating, public nudity.

Joyce decided she was going to take this book and the current journal home
with her, purely for background research of course, and study it at her leisure,
until she could return as the new owner. Speaking of which, she wondered if
Helen had come to a decision, and asked Div if he thought it was a suitable
time to ring back and enquire. Surprisingly, he reported that Helen had just
seen the doctor on his rounds, and had nothing scheduled until a CAT scan at
11am. The rest of her day was lunch at noon, with a not too appetising menu,
then personal hygiene, with two female nurses in treatment room 7, one of
whom had a diary note at the same time for TENS, high volume, and insert 3.
It would appear that they had a window for discussion now, or it would be late
afternoon for the next one, and Joyce had wanted to be on her way by then.

Div made the connection, and Helen answered within a few rings, saying she
was pleased to hear back from her again, after Joyce had introduced herself,
but her voice sounded uneasy, so Joyce asked if it was OK to talk, or if it was
an inconvenient moment. There was just the slightest of pauses before Helen
said to go ahead, it was just that the doctor had left minutes ago, and now the
nurse wanted to change her out of her night clothes. Joyce offered to call her
back again when they’d finished, and Helen just giggled and said she had got
plenty of time right now. She went on to explain how busy the nurses were, as
soon as they’d got her undressed, they were called away, before they had any
clean clothes sorted out for her, so now she had to sit and wait. Joyce said
she empathised with her, and while the conversation went on, the visor came
over her face, with “hospital CCTV” on the top, and an image of a nursing
station in full colour, hi-def. Div zoomed on the name badge, identifying the
nurse as being assigned to Helen, then pulled back to show two nurses who
were talking to a handsome young porter. There was no sound, but a window
showed a text summary of the conversation, basically social about last night’s
party.

The TV image rotated to show the edge of an open room door, with the bed
out of shot, then changed to another camera, that had an unobstructed view
right into the room, with the bed centred. A zoom shot showed the name plate
was Helen Dawson, and then pulled back to frame a sixty year old woman sat
on top of the bed sheet, totally naked, but with a firm, trim figure for someone
of her age. She was propped up, with one hand on the bed, and the other
holding a phone, her small, pert breasts uncovered, and her feet were spread
to each edge of the mattress, fully displaying her shaven pubis and neat slit.
The image disappeared for a second, “pedestrian traffic in corridor” popping
up on screen, then Helen’s eyes could be seen following someone who had
just walked past her door.

Joyce and Helen had continued chatting about the casual way medical staff
would expose nude patients to unrestricted view, mostly to other staff, but on
occasion, where the general public could see them. Helen then changed the
subject to the sale, saying she was never sure when she would be taken for a
treatment session, or more tests, so she wanted Joyce to know that she’d be
happy to accept her offer. She didn’t know when she’d be able to get to see
her attorney and start things rolling, or if she’d be well enough any time soon
to go and sign the papers. Joyce told her not to worry about such things, her
own attorney had a branch in New Jersey, and she would instruct her to make
things go as smoothly as possible, hand delivering any of the required papers
for Helen to sign.

There was a chance that Joyce might be near New Jersey in a week’s time,
and she’d like to visit with Helen if that was alright, just to tell her personally
how much she appreciated her decision. She’d been grateful that Helen said
she would sleep on Joyce’s offer, and that she was happy to take the asking
price of $70,000, without wanting to hike it up with extras. Joyce broached the
subject of outstanding property taxes again, asking for Helen’s agreement to
allow her to settle the debt in addition to the sale price, with a transfer into the
county office account. Helen would need to regain title from the foreclosure
proceedings in order to pursue her side of the sale, and Joyce had very much
wanted to make a gesture of appreciation to the pioneer spirit that had built
America.

Graciously, Helen accepted the terms, and the assistance of Joyce’s attorney
in keeping things moving, offering to ring her own attorney this afternoon, and
give him authority to proceed within the terms they had just discussed.

Now that the legal business had been concluded, Helen wanted to ask a few
questions, having missed the farm these last few years, more than she had
originally thought she would. Joyce told her about feeding the livestock, and
gave Helen an inventory, making her really happy that the cattle had been OK
to still breed, but still not mentioning anything about the realtor’s negligence.
She didn’t want to upset Helen over it, and she had plans of her own to draw
some recompense from the company if they tried to levy charges for a service
they’d not provided.

Helen explained that when Susan died in 2010, she’d been very upset losing
her Mom, despite her declining health giving plenty of warning, and then she’d
moved to her Aunt Pat’s because she was ill as well. She’d not expected it to
be a long term arrangement, maybe a few months, a year at the most, but
with her aunt’s family having moved overseas, things just seemed to drag on
and on. At the time, Helen had got the house closed up, intending to return to
set up the livestock for overwintering, but ended up getting the realtor to have
someone visit each month. She still hadn’t been back, but she would like to
visit one last time, if Joyce was amenable, and while she knew it was a big
thing to ask a stranger, she would dearly love to have her ashes interred with
the family, under the big oak tree.

There would be no problem with that at all, Joyce assured Helen, in fact she’d
consider it a great honour to have her visit for as long as she wanted, and as
far as end of life arrangements were concerned, Joyce felt that Helen had
more right than anyone to rest with her family. There was so much that must
have happened on the homestead, and now Helen was the only person who
knew those stories, which Joyce would love to have her share. Helen agreed
it would be nice to relate the family tales again, which she always enjoyed as
winter evening entertainment, except she could now be the storyteller.

As they were talking, Joyce watched two nurses enter Helen’s room, at which
point the woman excused herself for a moment, and Joyce could hear all the
background conversation as Div adjusted the volume. The nurse told Helen to
lay back and continue her call, as she didn’t get many visits, and they didn’t
want to interrupt, but they still had jobs to do. Helen came back on the line as
Joyce watched her on the cctv lay back, with the phone to her hear, and the
nurses spread her knees really wide apart. Helen had apologised for the slight
interruption, telling Joyce that her nurse had discovered another good reason
to maul her private area, and to please excuse any squeaks she might hear.

While Joyce explained that she’d checked the farm house was OK yesterday,
finding the door frame had sprung, and released the lock, so she’d slept in her
bed, and hoped she didn’t mind, but she would lock the door when she left, as
she’d found a spare key in the kitchen drawer. Helen said that was fine, and
she didn’t mind Joyce sharing her bed, because she sounded such a lovely
girl, and was being very kind to her. Joyce thanked her, and said she had
fixed the door, using a piece of wood to wedge the frame back into place, so it
would be secure. She heard the nurse say something to Helen, and could see
she was holding up a shiny rod, then Helen moved the phone from her mouth,
and asked her to please use a smaller one. She saw the nurse slap Helen on
her pubis, hearing the smack over the phone, then Helen told that she was a
naughty girl, and would take what she was given. Asking if everything at her
end was alright, Helen answered that they were putting a catheter in, and
Nurse Sarah always thought she needed stretching first, since she had a tight
pee hole, but she always used a big sound, and worked it in for quite a while.

The monitor was showing a perfect view of the procedure as the nurse slid the
steel rod in a few inches at a time, stopping to either spin it round, or rotate
the end like a crank. Helen’s voice kept fluctuating with each movement, and
Joyce would ask if it was hurting, and how far had it been pushed inside her,
Helen answering each question without complaint. Helen never made any
move to object to her treatment, and the nurses seemed very comfortable with
making the procedure as rough as possible, asking a few times if she was OK
with it, but often adding a denigrating comment. They would emphasise how it
was going to be painful, then brush it aside, or apologise for how humiliating it
must be, naked and on display like this, but stand and talk to a cleaner without
attempting to cover her up. When the catheter was installed, and secured with
strong adhesive tape, in a cross over Helen’s bare labia, the camera zoomed
in close, showing fingers rolling and stretching Helen’s clitoris quite severely.

Watching the scene on her monitor, Joyce heard Helen gasp, then told her in
a firm tone, to explain what the nurses were doing at this moment. Helen said
the nursing staff considered her button was too large, and kept interfering with
the treatment, so they tried to keep it out of the way. Today they were using a
set of metal clamps, and Nurse Sarah was pulling it away from her body, very
hard, so they could get the first clamp right at the base of the shaft. The clamp
had a groove in each side, lined with short, blunt spikes that would grip on her
clit so it didn’t slip through, and Joyce watched it fitted to Helen’s stretched out
clitoris with consummate skill. Helen continued the description as three more
clamps were secured to her lengthening rod as it grew darker with the trapped
blood inside, and Joyce pressed her for more information, hearing gasps from
the phone with each twist of a screw.

When the nurses were finished tormenting her, they left her to drain out her
bladder, with her legs still fully spread, everything on view to passers-by, as
Helen and Joyce finished their visit, with promises to see each other soon,
and hopes that the sale would proceed without a hitch. They said goodbye
then hung up, Helen putting down the phone, and lifting the bed so she could
watch who was able to see her, while Joyce continued watching without her
knowing anything about it. Joyce asked Div to trace what was happening with
the security footage, particularly who was monitoring it, as the location of the
camera they’d been watching was far too conveniently placed. While Div went
about his investigations, Joyce was fascinated to watch how casually the staff
came and adjusted the sheet beneath Helen, moving her into more revealing
positions, but never covering her nudity, although the housekeeper did stroke
the stack of clamps. Another nurse came and gave her water through a straw,
her thumb rubbing across the top of the purple clit head, then checking they
were comfortable by turning them round, Helen’s thighs trembling as the shaft
was almost screwed off completely.

Div came back to say the cctv feed was monitored by the security team, with
mainly the reception areas being watched, along with exits, entrance doors,
and some corridors. Helen’s room was not one of their feeds, streaming over
to an offsite storage facility, ready to be retrieved in case of a complaint or an
accident. There were a total of six rooms of this type, close to a nurse’s
station but not to other patients, with a camera that had nearly full coverage of
inside the room, and that were not fed through the security office. These,
however, were not the only camera feeds that had a storage feed only, as all
treatment and consulting rooms, theatres and diagnostic imaging areas, were
handled in the same way. Div had checked recent access logs, and while all
six of these rooms were occupied, only three of them had activity records
which had been reviewed by staff members, and Helen’s was one of them. It
wasn’t just their room tapes that had been appraised, but a high percentage of
the treatment, x-ray, and medical examinations had been studied in some
depth, transferred to a hospital office, and replaced with a series of innocuous
tape loops.

Joyce asked for a list of who had accessed the feeds, when it had occurred,
which terminals had been used, and a cross reference to duty rotas. The list
wasn’t large, five senior doctors, including two consultants, six nurses, two
radiographers, and two porters, although the porters’ access was very limited.
Access times and terminals varied, the two consultants both shared the same
office, with regular access by both throughout the day, in between meetings
and patient appointments, but longer viewings in the evenings, three times a
week, on average. The other doctors usually accessed the feeds from clinic
consulting rooms, after the lists had been completed, but also whenever that
particular patient was actually being seen. Div had viewed a feed from a clinic
where the doctor was using a recording of the patient’s room two hours earlier
to direct his examination, compounding the abuse that the nurse had already
inflicted. The radiographers checked the tapes between appointments during
the day, which was sometimes quite a lengthy break, and several evenings,
but they were denied access to the doctors’ consultations. Nurses worked a
shift system, so their activity was throughout the clock, but followed the shift
pattern, using a nursing station terminal at night and any empty room during
the day.

When Div matched viewing times to door access control, there was a slight
anomaly, which resolved to a little used side corridor with a locked door, and
an office there with a terminal that nearly all of them used. The terminal logs
indicated that there were often a high proportion of the group present during
viewing of footage that was normally outside of their permissions, and the
sessions often lasted several hours. It wasn’t only the raw camera feeds that
were played though, when one of the consultants was present, he would have
a standard video media presentation streamed from the computer in his office.
There was sophisticated security layer around part of the hard drive, but Div
had easily by-passed it, and examined visual editing projects on a significant
number of patients. Some of the projects, about 10%, were dated before this
consultant joined the hospital, but his employment history matched them with
three of his previous posts, so this was a long running hobby of his.

It occurred to Joyce that this was a very involved operation, for mere sexual
titivation, and one that carried a serious threat to the career of all involved, let
alone the invasion of privacy, and medical confidentiality issues. She asked
Div to investigate any outside connections with the schedule of events so far,
for a profile comparison of all the patients involved, and if she could see some
of the completed editing projects. A list popped up on the monitor, sorted by
oldest first, titled with the patient’s first name, age, and a medical condition,
then running time, which ranged from 30 minutes, to several hours. Joyce
picked the first one, “Amy – 18 – Hysterectomy”, and watched a very poor
quality video, shot on hand held, and mounted cameras, with short captions
between scenes to fill in the storyline. The production was apparently from the
St. Mary’s Hospital, Atlanta, with a list of the doctors and nurses involved in
the story. Amy was a runaway, brought in with stomach injuries, homeless,
selling her body on the streets, no money, and no insurance, all of this being
explained by a good looking young nurse, reading a set of medical notes.

The scene changed to an emergency room, with lots of equipment around, a
table full of surgical instruments, but with boxes stacked here and there, then
shifted to a gurney with a young woman laid on it. She was dishevelled, with
dirty clothes, one red high heeled shoe, and looked extremely disoriented as a
doctor told a paramedic they’d take care of her. Two nurses cut off all of her
clothes with scissors, shredding them to pieces, including her bra and panties,
then left her naked on the table while the camera filmed them taking her vitals,
always with either breasts or pussy well in the shot. It looked like a full breast
exam was performed, her labia pulled wide open to examine her vagina with
two fingers, then her clitoris, pulling the hood right back, and a temperature
reading taken with a thermometer inserted deep into her urethra, and just left.
The camera showed the doctor inspect a wound below her ribs, that seemed
to have been sewn up with green embroidery thread, then press her stomach
and declare that she had severe internal bleeding, and wouldn’t survive the
night.

The scene changed to two nurses giving Amy a sponge bath while a nun in
full habit and rosary explained that there was no money to give her a catholic
burial unless she signed an organ donor form. After much persuasion, Amy
put her name to the papers, quite a lot for such a simple request, and then the
nurses moved in to remove her pubic hair, a lengthy process, filmed in great
detail, until the girl was perfectly smooth. The doctor came in and gave her a
sedative injection, as the nurses strapped her wrists and ankles to the table,
put an oxygen mask on her face, then lifted the head of the bed. Everyone
then left the shot, a door was heard closing, and then opening again, and a
porter came in, dropping his pants, and proceeded to fuck the fully restrained
patient. There was a procession of six different men taking their pleasure with
her, leaving her dripping and coated in spunk.

There was another caption letting the audience know that twenty minutes had
passed, then the medical team returned to check the patient, declaring her fit
for the initial procedure, vitals weak, but sedated. Joyce was shocked to see
the doctor remove the girl’s outer labia with a scalpel, the nurse cauterising
the wound to prevent bleeding, while Amy moaned in the background, her hip
and leg moving the short distance the straps allowed. The doctor and nurses
were careful not to block the camera, and one or two shots showed the terror
on Amy’s face as she underwent a full circumcision, both sets of lips, clitoral
hood, and the clitoris itself. However, it wasn’t just the tip, or clitoral shaft that
was cut away, the doctor made a deep incision in both sides, totally removing
both legs of the crura, along with the complete clitoris. As if to add insult to
injury, the nurse showed Amy the structure they had just removed, telling her
it wouldn’t get her into any more trouble, and Joyce could see the girl’s tears.

Saying there were still non-lethal organs to harvest, the doctor gave poor Amy
another shot, and she seemed to revive a little as they now made an incision
across the line of her pubic mound, then vertically upwards. This flap was now
folded over onto her tummy, the nurses swabbing away any traces of blood
that would impede the view, and double ended hooks fitted to hold it in place.
The doctor now narrated as he severed a series of suspension ligaments, and
finally pulled the girl’s reproductive organs into view, pointing out each of the
component structures. Massaging the ovaries, he expressed several eggs out
of each one, telling Amy how much they would fetch in the baby market, then
snipped them free, followed by her fallopian tubes, each cut making her visibly
flinch in painful reaction. After a few carefully placed ties, Amy’s bladder was
taken out of her stomach, then another incision round the entire vulva, and the
remains of her uterine organs were lifted, and placed on her tummy, beside
her bladder and ovaries.

After a suitable time panning across the items removed so far, the procedure
moved on to a similar destruction of the girl’s breasts, one having the central
milk producing system removed like an apple core, the other being split in four
down to her chest, then folded back like a flower. There were more shots of
Amy’s distressed face, her eyes showing signs of the drugs used on her, with
the final image being of the monitor as her vitals slowly dropped to a flat line.

Joyce wasn’t sure how much of this video was real, and how much was made
up of special effects, but the surgical parts were very convincing, and having
witnessed the treatment Helen had undergone, she wouldn’t put it outside the
bounds of being genuine. She watched the others on the list, only one of them
ending in the death of the patient, but there was a wide range of hospital tasks
and procedures that were taken to extremes. Some of them were done with
the compliance of the subjects, as with Helen, but in many scenes there was
obvious resistance, coercion, and threats, followed later by a return to normal,
as if nothing had happened.

She’d asked Div to investigate any outside connections the staff might have,
and for the most part he’d found nothing more than a couple of hospital drug
sales by one of the nurses, and a slight gambling habit with a porter. It proved
more successful with the five doctors, the three juniors all having disciplinary
notes on their records in previous posts, one of them with this hospital when
he’d first started. When he accessed the relevant records, all of the events
had been resolved, most being dropped due to lack of evidence, much of it
having been unavailable for the review board. Despite all his resources, Div
could find few tracks of what had happened, other than most of the suspects
had tenuous connections with two consultants, leading to the conclusion that
they’d all been covered up. The net was spread pretty thin, and it would take
more time and resource to follow all of the leads to their conclusion.

The consultants were both talented and well respected individuals, with long
records of excellent accomplishments, both medically and socially, and were
financially stable. The computer records involving the video tapes and abuse
contained very little information outside of the cases themselves, other than a
summary of each treatment regime having some anomalies. The first thing
Div had noticed was that certain summarised items had no corresponding
entry in the notes, and when he tried to establish a timeline, for further checks
to pursue, it seemed that the summary had been created well before any of
the recorded treatment had commenced. Digital analysis had revealed small
fragments of email formatting, and copy/paste traces, as if it had been taken
from a pre-dating message system.

“It’s a shopping list!” Joyce exclaimed, “They’re being sent requirements, then
finding suitable patients to build a specific treatment regimen around. I said
this was much too organised to be a casual hobby, it’s engineered, all of it.”

Div couldn’t see any evidence to support Joyce’s claim, and told her so,
asking for her deductive reasoning, so that he could verify it.

“I don’t have any, Div,” she replied, “not a single shred. It’s just Gestalt. The
knowing, without knowing. Female intuition.”

Div was even less convinced. “I’m telling you, Joyce, none of these fringe
claims had ever been substantiated, not in all the research I’ve come across
during my many years of service. Believe me, that’s a lot of material.”

“Alright, mister know-it-all, I’ll prove it.” Joyce countered, “How many accounts
in human history record the appearance of deities out of thin air?”

“One million, four hundred twenty three thousand, six hundred and three,” he
quickly responded, “none of which have any documented proof, or supporting
evidence.”

“OK, smarty pants,” Joyce taunted, getting up to stand in front of the mirror,
“I’ll prove it to you. Turn on visual recording using only the sunglasses.”

Watching as the visor reshaped itself into stylish eyewear, Joyce began to
recall the appearance of the bear when she’d been hiking a few days ago, its
mental image of raw power pumping adrenaline into her system within mere
seconds.

“Suit On!” she shouted, the remembered fear still edging her voice.

The Guyver bio-armour was deployed in less than a second, Joyce’s mirror
reflection changing from a young woman to an alien looking soldier, as if by
magic. She immediately said “Suit Off!” and it vanished with the same speed,
looking as if nothing had happened.

“Based on the human technology available now, where would you expect to
find the documented proof that this event had actually happened.” Joyce
asked her friend, “Just because you can’t prove something yet, doesn’t mean
it isn’t true. What is more likely is that you don’t have enough knowledge to
establish the facts. One of the strengths of human intellect, my cuddly friend,
is that we can reverse engineer something without a shred of proof, other than
our firmly held belief that it is true. So, when and where did the shopping list
come from? If the list had email formatting, I’d say webmail, either his phone
or his computer, so search both for footprints, and check if the two consultants
have their own personal computers at home.”

Joyce thought about what the logistics would be to fulfil an order that required
a young woman to have her reproductive system removed like that. First thing
was access to suitable young women, either the emergency room, or one of
the city’s homeless shelters, perhaps an orphanage, although Amy would be
too old for that, unless she was a former resident. Joyce asked for these types
of location to be added to the search, then realised the victim would need to
be alone, with no-one to notice the fact she was missing, so included that in
the criteria as well.

What sort of customer would want these videos, certainly a niche market, with
very little social contact, but the thing they would have in common would be a
need for a very select supplier. Here was another piece of the jigsaw, a video
distributor, most probably porn or adult shops, maybe internet, though the risk
of a sting would be high. This material would be small volume, therefore high
price, and because of the invasion of privacy, and potentially illegal nature of
what was being filmed, that would hike the price even further, so a top end
customer looked very likely.

Financials were the next area, such as how would it be paid for, the safest
was cash in hand, but someone might risk hiding the payment as something
quite innocent, and do it electronically. That could be checked with an intense
audit, far above the normal accountant methods, or even IRS for that matter.
That would take care of incoming finance, but what about sharing the profits
across the team? How many of them were in this for profit, and how many had
only physical and psychological needs to satisfy. Joyce asked to Div to start
off a financial audit on all of the team, including salary above grade, expenses
and overtime, and any other benefits they received.

It wasn’t long before Div gave her the profile comparison of all the patients
who were involved, next of kin being a major factor, or rather lack of it, only
two of them having named individuals. These two had both proved to be older
relatives who, it turned out, had maintained very little contact with the patients
for many years, so would pose no threat to the enterprise. First contact wasn’t
quite so clear cut, randomly spread across ER, three homeless shelters, and
a couple of Rehab clinics, but she’d been right about Amy and the orphanage.
She’d left a Catholic children’s home only two years before she died, records
having her placed in household employment with on-site accommodation, as
a Nanny. The employers had moved overseas eighteen months later, records
in emigration showing only parents and two young children, with no mention
of Amy after that. The consultants were linked to all of these establishments,
working in ER when those patients were admitted, or seeing them after their
admission, and either a patron of the others, or closely involved with those
who managed them.

The ER patients were the only ones who had been officially admitted to the
hospital, none of the others having any medical record other than the one on
the doctor’s computer, which were probably fakes. Div ran a quick check, and
found numerous inconsistencies, a different name cropping up in sections that
weren’t linked to the summary at the front, the shopping list, but any request
or workup sheet that was a requirement appeared genuine at face value.
Scenes from the video were sometimes shot in generic treatment rooms,
which could be anywhere, although Div reviewed the layout of the locked area
where the team held meetings, finding most of the detailed film areas were in
that corridor. There were several wider shots, such as a large operating suite,
a CAT scanner and x-ray machine, that would need to be filmed in the main
hospital area, and some room shots such as Helen’s cctv footage. Div also
found two sections of corridor that were included in most of the videos, from
both directions, high and low angles, and with different equipment lining the
walls. There was also raw footage at the offsite location of the two porters with
various signs, fitting them up in those same corridors, at dates and times that
matched the video footage to within a few hours. The location was further
confirmed by an electrical enclosure from the corridor, and in the film, having
a hospital maintenance sticker with a date stamp that varied to match the film
it was featured in. The remainder of the footage from security, showed all the
other traffic in this area to occur only on Monday mornings, hospital rota sheet
appointments confirmed this to be the case.

It was several hours before Div found the connections he was looking for, in a
single cell phone number both consultants shared with the owner of a series
of Adult Shops in the seedier areas of several nearby towns. Call logs gave a
narrow enough window to reduce the search pattern to a manageable size,
returning several invoices and payments to a company called Placebo, a term
for a medical drug or procedure that was harmless, and ineffective, without a
patient being aware of it. This company was merely a front, with only a bank
account to its name, taking a series of large customer deposits at infrequent
intervals, and more frequent withdrawals, of varying amounts, from an ATM.
Div had failed to turn up any hard evidence that linked the doctors to the
money, since the company was a totally electronic entity, with the initial forms
for identity verification belonging to a patient that had died at the hospital.
There was no way this could provide proof to establish a legal case, so he
would now allocate the investigation to a level three priority, and use all the
host down time in running searches and audits. He also set up a background
process to monitor the team’s movements across cctv, so he would know if
they entered any areas of interest they’d found, and also to watch over Helen,
because Joyce had a feeling she was being groomed for another production.

This filming issue had distracted Joyce from her train of thought at the time,
and since they’d now done all they productively could for the moment, she
asked Div what Helen’s prognosis was. The diagnosis was stomach cancer,
extending through most of the digestive tract as far as the transverse colon,
with a second primary site in the liver. There was no metastatic disease
present in any of the previous three years investigations, but the primary sites
would prove fatal within 6 to 18 months, barring any other complications. The
disease was too far advanced for surgical intervention, Radiotherapy, or any
of the Chemotherapy protocols available. Joyce asked if the Guyver unit could
help repair the damage, in the same way it had improved her own repair
system, but in cancer it was the host’s own repair mechanism that was at fault
by providing replacement cell structure that wasn’t required. He could perform
surgery to remove parts of the tumour, much more accurately than the doctors
could, but organ invasion was too extensive overall. Helen would eventually
die from malnutrition as the digestive tract failed to provide enough nutrient to
support the body’s needs, or from toxic overload caused by the liver failing in
removing sufficient amounts from her blood. The Guyver could only use the
available system to make improvements, which would be energy efficiency,
and improved function of the remaining healthy liver, at most providing her an
extra few weeks.

This was pretty much what Joyce had expected, but didn’t want to hear
because it made her feel so helpless, leaving her with only her original option,
which was to invite Helen to spend her final time back at home, her real home
at Still Valley. Joyce wanted this to happen as soon as possible, and told Div
to create a schedule for the fastest possible track, and to expedite as much as
possible, via email and phone, in his capacity as her personal assistant.
Property transfers required a lot of physical signatures on paper, so she would
have to be in place when they were needed, to avoid postal delays, and she’d
ensure couriers were available to deliver and return paperwork for Helen.
Deciding that she needed to relocate to New Jersey, Joyce set about closing
up the farm again, Div being a great help by recalling exactly how everything
had been when they first arrived, and returning it to that state before she left.

They joined the trail by the same overhead tree route, maintaining a set of
tracks that apparently turned back at this point, and returned to her starting
point at the bus stop. After the first mile Div told Joyce he was monitoring a
police transmission that had triggered one of his alerts concerning her rapist,
who had just escaped on his way to trial. He’d overpowered the guards with a
fabricated knife, killing one, disabling the other, and taking all their weapons,
then evading a road block, killing three officers, stealing their patrol car, and
crossing the county line. He’d crashed the next road block, disabling both of
those cars, and injuring all of the State Troopers with flying debris, but his own
car was seriously damaged, and had to be abandoned twenty miles down the
road. He’d concealed it exceptionally well, down a side road, doubled back a
couple of miles, then headed across country, already miles outside the current
search area. That was early this morning, and he was proving very proficient,
having already found food and water in the forest, and making very few visible
tracks to follow.

Div would have left the matter to the police, just monitoring progress, but an
extrapolation of his current route would pass very close to an isolated girl
scout camp that had recently seen a troop of 9 to 16 year olds arrive. There
was a clear and present danger that this man would inflict serious harm on
these girls, having already demonstrated a total disregard for other people.
Local resources would not be able to contain the situation, since the search
team was fifteen miles behind him, proceeding slowly, so would never catch
up, and air support had two machines down for repair. The other two were at
the far end of the State, three hours away, but needing to refuel first, whereas
Joyce could get to the scout camp in just over an hour, while the rapist would
still be over five miles away. Joyce had been studying the visor display seeing
that she was presently 54 miles away, so there was no way she could cover
such ground in an hour, even with the Guyver’s enhancements.

They wouldn’t be relying solely on Joyce’s abilities, Div explained, she would
have to deploy the bio-armour in battle mode, then push herself to keep the
stride rate at near sprint speed, while the Guyver supplied the motive power,
and navigational support. Joyce was prepared to accept Div’s judgement,
since he knew the suit’s capability far better than she did, and she would put
in every ounce of effort that she could muster. Joyce gave the command, “Suit
On”, feeling herself wrapped in the full suit of armour she’d grown used to in
this last week, then, following Div’s instruction, commanded, “Set for Battle”.
She could feel the suit re-configure, and the visor display showed an outside
shot as she watched the main shielding thicken and take on more definition,
till she looked like a body builder. The Guyver unit explained that the changes
were not just in plate thickness, but a structural integrity force web was also
built through the material, and a force shield coated the outer surface. When
they encountered their target, Joyce would have to switch to this mode so as
to resist the weapons he had acquired.

For the moment, the most pressing requirement was speed of travel, so Joyce
gave the instruction to “Set for Speed”, and she could feel the suit lighten as
the image showed much of the bulk reduce, while the wrist and elbow blades
retracted completely. The Guyver pointed out that not all the forward armour
had been removed, because even with enhanced navigational support, they
were likely to encounter branches and small trees that couldn’t be avoided.
This might leave an easily followed trail of destruction behind, but under these
circumstances, it was unavoidable. They were not following the shortest route
either, but heading ten miles off course so they could reach an area of State
managed forest that had fire breaks cut into it. This would provide a twenty
yards wide avenue of tree free grassland, where the already light suit would
be re-configured again for another big speed increase, but with no obstacles.
The command for this was “Set for Pursuit”, which Joyce issued, watching the
front armour decrease, some of the bulk disappearing, but some of it forming
up round the legs and arms, where it would act like the muscles of a sprinter.

Joyce was shown the changes in the navigation system, which was mostly
like the training run she’d done a few days ago, but the target now sat on the
line she was to follow, so she could anticipate the turns, and the bordering
trees were picked out so that she could see what she was trying to avoid.
Having tried a scan in a few different directions, so she was comfortable with
the graphics, Joyce set the suit back for speed, and began to jog along the
line displayed. When she was used to handling the suit enclosing her body,
she began to pick up the pace, skimming fewer trees as she went, Div also
adjusting the colour and definition of the course tracer to suit her reactions.
She wavered off the line a couple of times, trying to check her speed on the
display, so when she explained her need for feedback, Div increased its size,
and moved its position to be more in her field of view. She couldn’t believe
she was running through a forest at thirty five miles an hour, and keeping her
breathing at a high, but comfortable level.

As she turned into the firebreak at the designated point, she told the Guyver
to “Set for Pursuit”, feeling the shift in the weight of the suit, then the increase
in foot turnover as the legs picked up more power. An inset in the display now
showed that she would still be seven miles away when the rapist reached the
camp site, and the thought of what would happen to those girls set her heart
pumping adrenaline through her system. As she stepped up her pace, seeing
fifty five mph on the display, feeling the power rippling around her legs, Joyce
felt her inner self merge with the Guyver. She was no longer a girl inside a suit
of armour, she WAS the suit; they WERE the Guyver; raw, unstoppable power
that was under perfect control. She no longer had to move her legs to keep up
the pace, that was not the way she performed in a race, she focused on the
finish line, and being in front of the other competitors. In this case only one, a
red dot in a display, intersecting the wrong side of her position, and she asked
Div to put them both on the same line, side by side, as if she were chasing
him down.

Joyce no longer noticed the speed indicator passing sixty, sixty five, seventy,
she saw only the Guyver with a green dot on it, closing on the back of a cruel
rapist marked in red. She could see his face, smell his sweat, hear his breath
gasping from his lungs as she cruised comfortably past him, widening the gap
as she kept up this unbelievable pace. Within minutes she was approaching
the place their paths would cross, and dropped her speed as she neared the
tree line across the fire break from where her quarry would appear. She had
already discussed tactics with Div, agreeing that her biggest disadvantage
was a lack of experience with the suit’s weaponry, which could easily turn a
well-armed rapist into a hole in the ground. Despite Div’s persuasive demand
that this was a suitable application of justice in this case, it didn’t sit well with
Joyce to assume the role of executioner, so she wanted less drastic actions.

They were still six miles away from the girl scouts, so she would get several
attempts to subdue the man, and Div was confident that at the very least they
could either drive or lure him away from the girls. Joyce set the suit to battle
mode, and got Div to configure its appearance to resemble a somewhat bulky
police SWAT uniform, with full helmet and visor, and an M16 assault rifle that
actually fired laser projected force pellets. She took position by a small bush
to provide cover, along with a suit camouflage colourisation, and waited till her
target had walked to the middle of the fire break, leaving him without cover.
Changing the suit to black as she stood, Joyce demanded that he stop and
surrender his weapons, or be fired on, at which he opened fire with a police
rifle under full automatic, emptying the entire clip into her chest.

She’d been coached to offer a full front target, encouraging a spread of bullets
that would not be concentrated in one place, and to position one foot behind,
to brace herself against the impact, which she was assured the armour could
easily cope with. Joyce was firing measured shots, with her arms held high,
out of the expected stream of bullets, one to each leg, just above the knee,
the first merely a flesh wound, the second breaking the bone. The man had
staggered but remained standing, reaching for his second rifle, slung from the
shoulder, and as he brought it up, Joyce’s third shot hit the 30 shell magazine,
which promptly exploded, blowing a hole through his chest. Joyce checked to
confirm he was dead, though there wasn’t much chance of anything else with
a wound like that, then turned away, trying to rationalise her actions. Div had
to replay the encounter through the monitor, showing the man’s determination
to kill her without qualm or hesitation, as opposed to her intention to disable
him non-lethally. A further study of the final shot proved that Joyce had fully
targeted his upper arm at the moment of release, and it was the man’s own
actions that had placed the magazine in the path of the shot.

The pursuing search team was still eighteen miles away, on foot, struggling to
follow the meagre trail the man had left behind, so Div tuned in to the police
frequency, identifying himself as Special Forces, Covert Ops. He reported that
his team had diverted from a nearby training mission to support the search in
this area, having located the escaped suspect in a forest clearing, and gave
them the co-ordinates. They had taken heavy fire, and had tried to disable the
target, but a malfunction in one of his captured weapons had inflicted fatal
injuries, ending the incident. Div promised to provide extracts from the mission
log video footage, in order to complete the police report, but due to security on
his own team, he was vacating the area, and signed off. He duly sent them a
video stream, with an accompanying text report, by untraceable data comms,
and then planted a long branch into the ground next to the body, with a rifle
hung from it as a marker for the approaching search team.

Joyce wasn’t happy with the way things had turned out, but she’d been given
no other acceptable option, and hoped she could eventually come to terms
with taking someone’s life. The fact that she’d protected the lives of a dozen
young girl scouts went a long way to making it worthwhile, and now she had
to get on with taking care of another person in apparent danger. She set the
suit to Speed mode again, and Div navigated them back to their starting point
on the trail, but this time without the breakneck theatricals, and they made the
trip in three hours. She was back on the bus in another hour, with her panties
buzzing her through repeated orgasms as Div tried to recharge the power she
had expended during the rescue mission.

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Footer :-

This story is fantasy, not based on any real events, and should not be re-
enacted in any way.

If you, the reader, do not know the difference between reality and fantasy,
then leave now, and seek urgent medical help.

Feedback, and constructive criticism, is very welcome

via mykatiekittykat at yahoo dot com

Continued in part 3

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