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The truck has been repainted and driven three hundred miles toArizona, Phoenix actually. The paint washed off in a car wash and wehope it will be found abandoned. The Disciples probably have people inevery police station and we hope they think you are down south and eastof here. Now gather your things, both of you. You're going to meet LadyJean Thomas." Chapter 9: SanctuaryBobby Filler drove the 6X6 up the logging road, taking care to avoidthe most jarring holes and rocks. Bobby Dunbar and Doc Schlange werewith him, and Toby seemed fine in his car seat.After about an hour of twists and turns, Bobby drove off the road onwhat looked like pure brush undergrowth. He stopped the truck, told thetwo to get everything they were bringing.A set of steps went up about twenty feet, cut into the rockface. Bobbybanged the stair rail with a rock and Doc saw a stair elevator platformbegin to descend. They boarded, Bobby banged the rock again and theplatform slowly lifted them up.Bobby Dunbar saw the. The quickly made the journey to the apartment door and knocked three times. The door opened and there stood the brunette, naked. She wasn't very tall, maybe 5'5", curvy with large breasts, full hips, no pubic hair, and her nipples were small, but rock hard. Their mouths went immediately dry."Just in time boys, come in."She stepped aside and allowed them to enter. The apartment was dark, with the only light emanating from her bedroom where her private show had been. She led them to the room, and closed the blinds. The air smelled sweet of incense, with several candles lit all around on a dresser with a large mirror that reflected the light of the candles, and two bedside tables. "Strip boys," she ordered. "I don't like fucking in clothes."The boys frantically stripped down until all three were naked. Their cocks were stiff and pointing out. Billy's was the largest, eight inches with a large, swollen purple knob on the other end. Chris's was a bit shorter, and almost as thick. Jacob's.
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Her conversations lasted less than a minute each time and I didn’t hear any adjectives or emotions in her conversations. When I heard the buzz at six I looked up. Not at her, just looked up. She made a short noise, almost a harrumph but not quite, closed down her computer and left. I left five minutes later. It became our pattern for weeks. By the time I had been there eight weeks she had not spoken to me once except that first time. I had not spoken to her at all. Then I had occasion to go to HR about a matter and I asked the man assisting me, ‘Tell me something about the woman I share an office with.’ ‘Who is it?’ ‘I don’t know. There is no name plate on her desk and she made it clear the day I got here that she doesn’t want to know me.’ ‘Tall, skinny woman?’ I nodded. ‘Sarah Tompkins. Ph.D. loves research and hates people. She’s been here six years and produces great papers. She was married before she came here, but he died in an accident. What else do you want to know?’ ‘Where is.

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