Greta was conflicted and she didn't understand why.

If anything, she should have less reason to be concerned about Callie than the average quarry. To the best of Greta's knowledge, Callie was, by far, the most experienced runner who had ever gone up against Amanda and, therefore, should be as capable of taking care of herself as anybody could be. She should also understand the danger she was in.

Greta had no idea why she felt so protective toward Callie, but she still wished she could come with some stratagem to keep Amanda from taking to the field. Maybe she could fake a message so urgent that the caller couldn't wait while Amanda was paged, but something that required Amanda to leave lodge at once. Great idea, but what message could she invent that Amanda couldn't check on immediately? Maybe she could tell Amanda that Callie had backed out at the last minute and didn't have the heart to tell Amanda face to face. No, Amanda would decide that she wanted to go for a nice walk in the woods as long as she had the day free and had paid for the use of the grounds.

It was hopeless. Any plan she came up with involved lying to Amanda and Greta knew that was a pointless thing to do. Among Amanda's many gifts, Greta felt certain, was an infallible built-in lie detector.

Maybe she could appeal to Amanda's better nature, simply ask her to spare this young woman.

Fat chance.

The clerk tried to keep the scowl from her face as saw Amanda emerge from the lounge in all her slinky splendor, deadly dangerous, but still a remarkably beautiful sight.

Amanda looked up at the clock and said, "Two minutes to go. I know that you won't let me get so much as a tenth of a second early start."

"Right you are."

"You seem a little sullen, Gret. Anything you care to share?" There wasn't even any fake concern in Amanda's voice; she was challenging Greta to speak her mind.

"Thanks for asking." Clenched jaw.

"You'd rather I didn't hunt this one. You like her, don't you?"

"I like her, yes."

"I like her, too, Gret."

"Then why can't you just take a pass on this one? Why can't you just let her go?"

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Don't confuse 'can't' with 'don't want to'. You, of all people, should know how much self-restraint I have."

Greta almost thought she heard Amanda add Oh, if only you had any idea what an excellent example of my self-restraint you're getting right this minute, but decided she was only imagining it. She said, "I suppose I probably should count myself lucky that I really don't understand what motivates you."

"I'm sure you're right about that. Listen, Gret, this young woman came to me. This is her idea. She tracked me down in a bar and made me a proposition. Last week, we met a second time and refined the terms of the hunt. Everything that happens today will be the result of choices she's made."

"Everything?"

Amanda was not impatient. "I suppose that if I were to tell you that, on some level, Callie wants me to catch her, you would think I was projecting and rationalizing."

"You're saying that this woman wants to die?"

Amanda laughed. "Don't put words in my mouth, Greta. I don't like that at all." Raised eyebrow and ironic smile. "Of course, if you'd like to put anything else of yours in my mouth, I might consider accepting. I do accept donations, you know. I can be very open-minded on the subject of what and WHOM I eat."

Greta knew what Amanda was physically and temperamentally capable of. Was the fact that Amanda stayed within the law attributable to genuine respect for social institutions or was it merely a form of survival skill?

Though the question had not been spoken aloud, what Amanda said next seemed to be an answer. "In a state of nature, I rather imagine that any local populace that found me among them would band together and kill me as a preventive measure, if they could. An image comes to mind of a horde of torch-bearing villagers pursuing me up a mountain. If they managed to get me cornered, how do you think they would fare, Gret?"

Not wanting to speak her thought Not very well, I'm sure, Greta looked at the clock and said, "It's time for you to go, Amanda."

"Yes. Twelve seconds ago." Amanda did not look at the clock. "I just love our little chats." Beginning to move toward the door Amanda said, "Well, I'm going to do my best to give Miss Landers everything she wants. Everything."

Watching the magnificent huntress amble so casually toward the door, Greta couldn't help but murmer something like a prayer on Callie's behalf.

As soon as Amanda stepped into the open air, she could feel that she was being watched. She looked around, as though she were simply appreciating the beauty of the day. No need to try to spot Callie. Only from high up a tree would there be a concealed vantage point, and the best trees were to the north.

After Amanda climbed up the hill that separated the lodge from the hunting grounds, Callie climbed down the tree, not wanting to have to make her way through branches in some kind of wild Tarzan parody. Callie was almost on the ground when Amanda had cleared the hill and was heading down to the small clearing that was bordered by the hill, the tree line, and a very small lake with more trees beyond it. Callie kept her eyes trained on Amanda as much as possible.

Callie was on the lowest branch of the shorter tree she had used to gain access to the one from which she had been waiting for Amanda. She prepared to jump down from the tree, looking down to make sure she wouldn't land on a fallen branch that would injure her or make noise breaking under her weight. Locating a soft landing spot, she dropped from the tree.

Nice two-point landing.

She looked back to Amanda to see if her movement or minimal noise had attracted the huntress's attention.

And saw that Amanda had completely vanished from sight.

Shit! This plan sucks completely!

Rather than stand there puzzling, wondering where the redhead went, Callie took off, heading for the nearest clearing as quickly as possible.

Dodging, darting, mindful only of avoiding collisions with trees or tripping over anything, not daring to look back, Callie arrived at her destination in less than five minutes. She got to the center of the area, a rough circle with about a fifty-foot diameter. She wasn't winded at all.

She had no grounds to assume that Amanda had seen her, but the quick disappearance of the huntress made it clear that she had known she was under observation and wanted to conceal herself. So, it was entirely possible that Amanda had gone in a completely different direction. Possible, but not any more likely than the notion that Amanda had been right behind her all the way. But, even if that were the case, there was no reason to figure that Amanda would come from the same direction.

Callie scanned the whole parameter of the clearing, turning in circles, trying to do quickly but not so fast that she might miss something, a rustle, a shadow, any trace of difference from one pass of her eyes to the next.

Constant vigilance.

Amanda could spring from any direction at any moment. She might wait for any sign that Callie was relaxing and seize that moment to attack.

Constant preparedness.

Callie bent at her knees and picked up two objects she had placed there within the past hour. Sticks, about the three and a half feet long, pointed on the ends.

She held one in each hand and continued to survey the surrounding trees.

After twenty minutes had passed, Callie began to have second thoughts about whether this clearing was really the best choice for her first confrontation with Amanda. If Amanda came into the clearing from the south or the east, that would be fine, because there were easy paths to clearings in the north and west. Being attacked from the west was less desirable, but Callie could head east into the woods, make an abrupt turn to the north, and quickly make it to another clearing. However, an attack from the north, and especially the northwest, would mean that Callie would have to improvise a very roundabout route to a clearing in the west.

Maybe she should have picked a more central location in which to wait for Amanda. That would have made sense; it would have offered more options.

Well, that was easy enough to change. Callie began to prepare to leave the clearing, but then realized that she had no sense at all of where Amanda was. She could walk into the trees and walk right into Amanda's arms.

Until she could get some sense of the huntress's presence, she was stuck right where she was, unable to move.

I'm as good as paralyzed, she thought. Then she had to chuckle at the memory that phrase brought back.

No, she wasn't paralyzed. She knew what that was like from an experiment she had performed shortly after her first hunt.

Callie had decided after her first real hunt that the hunters who used real bullets might be the worst at the sport, but they also really sucked as people. From what she had heard about the hunters who used drug balls to bring women down, although they were better hunters and therefore more dangerous, they were a more interesting bunch to run for. She, however, wonder about the effects of the drug balls and she wondered what it would be like to under the influence of one, unable to move.

So, to satisfy her curiosity, she arranged an experiment.

"You want me to what?" Mark was honestly unsure if he had heard correctly.

"I said, I want you to shoot me."

"Uh, look, Callie. You weren't this upset when we first broke up. I mean, life goes on. We just weren't right for each other. That's no reason..."

"No, no, no," Callie said. "I don't mean for real. What I have in mind is a lot more like the paint-ball hunts. Only this time, I want you to use a ball filled with the same drug that they use in the real hunts. You know, the drug that paralyzes a woman's voluntary muscles."

Mark was still puzzled. "Well, sure." Uneasy laugh. "I guess I thought, when you called and asked me to fly out to see you, that you had something more, uh, romantic in mind."

"Well, I do want you to make love to me, too, of course."

Mark had always appreciated Callie's frankness, but he laughed and said, "Okay. Will that be before or after I shoot you?"

"After. Pretty much immediately after. While I'm dead - or a reasonable facsimile thereof."

"Callie, have you become some kind of new sort of kinky in the past year?"

"No. I mean, I don't think so. Well, maybe. I don't know."

"What the fuck is this all about?"

Callie explained that she had decided to run for serious hunters, men who hunted women in order to kill them. After calming Mark down following his explosion at her "irresponsibility," "recklessness," and "utter disregard for etc.," Callie told him that she wanted his help with an experiment. She wanted to see what the effect of the drug was on her. Maybe she had a strong enough constitution to beat it. Maybe she would have time to get herself to safety before it kicked in. Maybe, if she were near water, she would be able to wash most of it off.

On the other hand, if she found herself shot and down and unable to move, she wanted some idea of what she would be in for. She knew that hunters who used the drug-balls did so for several reasons, mostly involving sex. They might not want to get blood all over themselves while they made out with the helpless woman. They might want to be able to kill her with their bare hands or at least up close and personal. They might want to kill her during an act of sex. They might...

"Or they might be sick, sadistic bastards who want to torture you in unspeakable ways while you can't even scream. Have you thought about that?" Mark wanted to know.

"Look, I can examine a hunter's record. I plan to meet every hunter face to face before every hunt and feel him out. If I think he's a real sicko, I can walk away."

"For one thing, I don't know how really healthy anybody can be who gets off on the idea of killing women. And for another, the only witnesses who can REALLY tell you what a hunter is like when he has a totally helpless woman at his mercy - well, those witnesses aren't around to give testimony, are they?"

"I'm a good judge of character. I'll know when to back out of a hunt."

"You're staking a lot on that. What makes you so confident?"

"Well," Callie said, with a smile. "I knew the right man to call to help me with this experiment, didn't I?"

Mark had to admit that she had.

So, Mark loaded a gun with the drug-balls that Callie gave him and they went out to a woody area of her Uncle Jake's farm so he could shoot her.

The drug was a highly refined mixture that included a curare derivative and worked as a high-powered muscle relaxant and neural inhibitor. It was only effective if it struck bare skin. Runners were, therefore, allowed only minimal clothing at most and were required to bathe thoroughly just before a hunt. Even suntan lotion was not allowed and some surviving quarry suffered such bad sunburns that they sometimes joked that they had considered letting themselves get hit so they could spend their last moments in the shade of the hunter's body as he topped them.

Callie had a theory that she wanted to test: if she could work up a good sweat, the perspiration might dilute the toxin enough for her to wipe it off. So, she performed vigorous jumping-jacks in the hot sun, stripping down to the buff, except for running shoes and socks, because she didn't want to inhibit the effect of the drug with even a strand of fabric.

Mark relaxed and watched Callie perform her calisthenics. The usual treat for a male watching a naked woman do jumping-jacks would come from lots of bounce and jiggle, but watching Callie was a treat of a different sort. Her body wasn't completely fat-free, but the allure of the minimal mount of adipose tissue that she had was accentuated by its sparseness. The few ounces on the breasts and buttocks that were less than perfectly solid called attention to themselves as they moved ever so little out of sync with the rest of her form. Femininity enhanced by contrast. A man who could find overwhelming appeal in such a compact package could be assured that he was, indeed, a person of healthy sexual appetite.

And watching Callie move made Mark feel very, very healthy.

After she had worked up considerably more than a glistening sheen, Callie shouted at Mark to take his best shot as she ran from him.

The ball hit her in the left buttock. It smarted.

She knew the effect wouldn't be immediate, but she was surprised that she had a full five seconds to scoop up a handful of leaves and wipe the area while on the run before she noticed that her left leg didn't go exactly where it should have and her right leg quickly became disobedient also.

After ten seconds, she was staggering.

In fourteen seconds, she was down, crawling

At nineteen seconds, she was pulling herself desperately along the ground with her hands.

Her arms would no longer support her at twenty-five seconds and she collapsed.

She raised her head and said, "Shit, this stuff works fas..." He tongue wouldn't reach her teeth to form a "t."

Her head dropped uncontrollably.

She could not shut her eyes or close her mouth, though she did notice that she blinked automatically. Well, at least, she wouldn't go blind.

Mark had dropped his gun and hastened to her as soon as she saw her go down.

"Callie, are you all right?" he asked as he turned her over on her back.

Under the circumstances, that is the dumbest fucking question you've ever asked me, Callie thought. But I love you for asking.

"Oh, yeah, right. You can't answer." Mark laughed at himself.

Give the man a gold-banded cigar!

Mark checked her pulse and held the back of his hand to her mouth to feel her faint but steady breath. "I guess you're going to be okay. Now, let me think. There was something you wanted me to do after you went down, but I can't, for the life of me, remember what it was."

You big tease! I'm going to box your ears as soon as I can move again.

"Let me see. You wanted me to carry you back to the farmhouse so we could watch the football game on tv. That was it, wasn't it?"

Maybe I'll just bite your ears completely off!

"No, that wasn't it. What was it?" Mark paused and then said, with a phoney sense of sudden recollection. "Oh, yeah. I remember now."

About time!

Mark stood up. "Let's see. I've got a beautiful dead girl on my hands. What should I do with her?" He looked down and saw that Callie's pupils were contracting as she was almost staring at the sun. "Well, whatever I'm going to do, I suppose I should do it in the shade. Yup, better get her out of this hot sun before she starts to stink up the place."

Talk about a silver-tongued devil!

"Well, might as well drag her. Dead girls don't require special handling." Mark reached down, grabbed Callie's left arm and started to pull her along the rough ground.

Hey! This is no way to treat a lady! Not even a dead one.

"On the other hand, no need to scratch up her hide needlessly. If I skin her, I might be able to get a good lampshade out of her. Too bad her tits aren't big enough to make into wineskins."

I always knew you were a breast man, but I didn't know you were a wino. Her view changed from blue sky to trees to the ground to Mark's back as Callie felt herself being lifted and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Somehow, it was strangely sexy to be carried like that.

"Good old Callie," Mark said, slapping her on the butt. "She was such a great fuck. I should have told her that more often when she was alive. I guess I might as well see if she still has another good one left in her before she starts to stiffen up."

Hearing herself being talked about in the third person and feeling herself being treated like so much baggage gave Callie an unusual feeling of arousal. What did Mark say to others about her when she wasn't around? Was this "let's pretend Callie's dead" game giving her an inkling?

"Yeah, it'll be nice to do it one more time, for old time's sake." Mark chuckled. "Well, I guess this is as good a place as any to plop her down and have at her."

It was so odd to see her view change without her having any control over it. Her inability even to choose what she looked at gave her a more complete sense of helplessness than her inability to move. She was now looking up at tree branches spread overhead. Then Mark's smiling face came into view.

"Hmm. Kind of spooky having a dead girl staring at you. I think I'll close her eyes." Doing so, his touch was incredibly gentle.

I really, really wish you wouldn't do that. Being unable to move was expected and prepared for. Being unable to see made Callie feel really disabled, but she hadn't given Mark instructions on that point.

She could hear just fine, though. She heard pants being unzipped and clothes being removed and spread on the ground beside her. Then she felt herself being lifted and moved onto the clothing - a sort of make-shift bed. Finally, she heard the crushing of leaves as Mark eased himself down beside her.

She wished he would talk a bit more, let her know what was coming. She was genuinely startled when she felt his lips touch her cheek. As soon as she realized what was happening, she relaxed. This was what she had asked for.

"Such nice soft skin. It hasn't gotten cold and clammy yet. Oh, and she's all nice and sweaty." Mark licked her cheek.

"Emm. That feels good, but I hope he doesn't... OH! SHIT! He's doing it!!"

"Callie's earlobes were always so sensitive when she was alive." Marked nibbled on the soft flesh, which, as far as Callie knew, served no other purpose than to be an erogenous zone - and, in her case, the purpose was served very, very well. "She always pulled away after juist a few seconds of this. Of course, dead girls don't have that option. I think I'll just chew away for a while."

Oh, God, this is pure torture of the nicest sort! Oh, Mark, please, please, stop! At least take a break from it! Do something else!

Almost as though reading her mind, though in a rather pernicious way, Mark did move on, but not very far.

"It always drove her nuts when I did this." Mark began to lick her ear and then blow on it.

EEEE! Oh, stop! Stop! I can't stand this! Why did I set myself up for this? Callie could swear that her toes were curling, even though she still knew that was very unlikely - unless it was an involuntary reaction..

"Wonder just how long she'll be dead. I think I head this drug doesn't start to wear off for at least three hours." A faintly villainous chuckle. "That should give me time to do everything at least a dozen times."

How am I going to be able to stand this? I'm going to be so blissed out that I won't have a coherent thought for a month! I could wind up catatonic from this. Just a poor little nut case babbling to herself in a corner. A smiling one, though.

Wait. That will only happen if I fight it. Why fight it? Pleasure won't drive me insane, but wanting to fight it will. It's not that I mind the pleasure - it's that I can't stand not being in control. Okay, that's natural enough. Everybody wants to be in control of herself. Success as an athlete - any kind of athlete - depends on that.

Deciding to surrender control to someone else is also an act of self-control, maybe the ultimate act of self-control. Well, I've done that already. No matter how much I think I might like to fight it, I ‘ve given Mark complete control over me. If I ever lose a hunt, then I will be at hunter's mercy - and that won't be a choice.

But THIS IS A CHOICE, one that I made when I invited Mark to come out and shoot me. I had control and, while in control, I decided to relinquish control, and so my being out of control is a consequence of being in control, a direct derivative of it, and therefore an extension of it.

And, therefore...

And, therefore, fuck it! Relax and enjoy the ride.

Which is just what Callie did.

Mark's ear-nibbling/licking/blowing was driving her wild. Had she been able to move, she would have twisted out of his reach, at least temporally. She was unable to give him any clues, in either verbal or body language, to tell him when enough was enough. So enough became more than enough, an overflow, a super-abundance, a deluge. And, even though she had no way of telling him, she was sure that he knew just what he was doing.

Mark was rubbing her right nipple very softly with the palm of his hand, and he began to kiss and lick and nibble his way ever so slowly from her left ear to her left nipple. She would have normally given his head just a little push to encourage him to go faster, but, in her present condition, she could only internally shudder in anticipation. The tension within her was like a ball inside an ever-more-violently shaking box, gaining momentum with each impact, with no chance to escape and have its accumulated kinetic energy dissipate.

Just when she thought she might have a stroke, Mark, indicating that he was somehow in tune with her, eased up for a moment or two to let her "catch her breath."

But only for a moment or two.

As Mark moved further down her torso, over her taut abdomen, lingering over the ultra sensitive area just above her mons, Callie at first feared what would happen when he reached the very seat of her pleasure. She wanted with all her heart to be able to speak the simple word "stop," which she knew he would obey.

But that wasn't possible.

So, with an adept feat of mental gymnastics, Callie converted apprehension into anticipation.

What was coming might, indeed, prove unendurable; it might push her over the edge. Young women, even those apparently in the best of shape could have heart attacks - how would Mark know if she were in trouble, serious trouble? She might expire for real without him even knowing.

But she would expire at the height of bliss.

Highly unlikely, though. Callie REALLY was in the best of shape.

So, bring it on!

Mark, for his part, was fascinated by the fact that he had a totally inert, unresponsive woman on his hands. Callie had always been such an active and, sometimes, directive lover. Now her body was totally at his disposal, by her invitation. He didn't want to abuse hospitality, but there hadn't been any clearly set limitations. He knew he was exceeding Callie's normal pleasure tolerances, but, on the other hand, if he could teach her a lesson, show her that having her limits exceeded to the point of unbearability was a very likely possibility, even though he was doing so in the direction of pleasure instead of pain, maybe she would wise up and drop this crazy idea of running in hunts where she could wind up as somebody's killable sex toy.

He was teaching her a valuable lesson.

Well, it was true, Mark told himself.

Or maybe it was just a rationalization, he also told himself.

He'd worry about that later. In the meantime, this was fun.

"Something doesn't seem right, something other than the fact that she's dead. Can't quite put my finger on it. Hmm. Let's see," Mark mused aloud. After a few moments of silence, which had Callie trembling internally with suspense, he proclaimed, "Oh! Right! In all the times that I made love to her when she was alive, she wasn't wearing her shoes and socks. I'd better get these off of her."

I don't like the sound of this at all! Callie thought. What's he up to?"

Mark removed her shoes and socks and studied her feet for a few moments.

"These feet carried Callie to a lot of victories. A very important part of her, and, yet, I never really appreciated them when she was alive. I wonder what they taste like." He ran his finger over the sole of her left foot, then licked his finger. "Hmm. Salty."

What do you expect? I've been working out. I think this has gone about as far as it should.

Mark held Callie's foot in his hand and raised it to his mouth.

"I suppose I could bite her toes off. Might be kind of crunchy." He brought his teeth down ever so lightly on her big toe, then released it. "No, maybe I should start small - with the little piggy that went ‘wee wee wee all the way home." He wiggled her little toe appropriately.

Oh, stop that!

He then took the toe between his lips.

Eeee!

"I guess it would be a shame to break up the set. Maybe I'll just settle for this," Mark said as he began licking inside her instep, just under the ankle bone. "No need to rush things. She is dead, after all."

Oh!!! Eeee! Fuck me! Fuck me now! You cunt-teasing bastard! This is just plain mean! This is torture! This is... heavenly! Oh, please, please, Mark! Up! Up! Go up! OH! PLEASE!!

Whether he knew he was obeying her wishes or not, Mark began to move up her leg, lingering a long time on the back of her knee and the inside of her upper thigh until her reached the seat of her womanhood.

"Emm. Tasty." Mark licked his finger after dipping it inside Callie's pussy. "I guess even dead girls get excited. I wonder just how big a flow I can get going here."

He began working on her clit and pussy lips. All the memories came back, the right timing, the right pressure - it wasn't exactly "just like riding a bicycle," but the analogy was not totally inappropriate. Even though she was perfectly motionless, she was giving off tiny clues in her breathing, her aroma, even her pulse, which he felt with his right hand while making love to her with his left.

Oh, you still have that magic touch! I never told you often enough how really good you are. Got to remind myself to do that. Oh! Shit! Yes, there! Right there! Just like that! She was wishing she could arch her sex up to him, stroke his hair, pet him, pay him compliments. She found herself moving into a state of delicious frustration and forced herself back to the state of complete freedom from responsibility that came with being dead. Wonderful things were being done to her body and she could just relax and enjoy them without feeling a need to participate or encourage or praise.

Mark reminded himself that Callie apparently wanted the illusion of being made love to by someone who had no clue to or concern for her responses, and so, as soon as he was confident that she was sufficiently "primed," he began to adopt the desired persona of the lover out to satisfy only himself.

"Well, better get around to taking full advantage of this situation, while she's still flexible and warm." Mark spread Callie's legs and got on his knees between them. Somehow, this seemed like a violation to him, but this was what she said she wanted. His cock was hard and, placing his hands on the ground beside her shoulders, he prepared to enter her. The head of his cock penetrated her unresisting pussy lips.

Oh, jeez! Here it comes! I'm ready! I'm ready!

Mark disciplined himself to get over being more or less clueless as to what Callie was feeling. He could not, however, completely ignore the fact that it would be better for her if he went slowly, so he withdrew and pushed in again a little further, withdrew and pushed in a little further, withdrew and pushed in a little further, repeat, repeat, repeat, until he was all the way inside her warm, moist sex. He found that what he remembered as working well for Callie also worked very well for him. It was nice to be gradually welcomed into his former girlfriend.

Please, Mark, don't think about me. Satisfy yourself. That's what others will do, if they get a chance. Oh! Yes! Keep doing just what you're doing! Yes!

Mark missed the feeling of Callie gripping him between her thighs, her heels pressing on the backs of his knees. He also missed the tricks that she did with her vaginal muscles, but he found he could proceed without those sensations. He did, however, pick up her "dead" hand and stroke his own chest with it.

He looked down at her, motionless and beautiful and available.

There was only a lovely, warm body beneath him. He could exercise himself upon it as he wished.

The realization of that fully kicked in.

What's going on? What's changed? This... this is different.

Mark was pounding away at her, in his own rhythm, twisting just to stimulate himself in the way most satisfying. Riding Callie. Pausing just long enough so that the ride wouldn't end prematurely. Then going again. Fast as, then slow as, then fast as worked best. Hard, easy, in out. Hard, easy. In, out.

I'm not doing anything, nothing at all, and he still finds me desirable enough, beautiful enough, to want to make love to me. He loves being inside me, touching me, fucking me. I excite him. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to stop. And... and, oh!!!! I want this to go on and on!

And Mark did make it go on until he either had to stop completely, or let himself go.

He let himself go.

An explosion of living substance.

Callie felt his quivering member discharge within her, triggering her own orgasm.

She felt almost as though she had left the planet, left this plane of existence.

For a moment.

Then she was back, still feeling silent echoes rocking her system, and aware that she had done nothing to bring about his ejaculation. Her only contribution to what had just occurred was her sheer physical attractiveness.

Nothing else.

Well, maybe nothing else.

Mark eased himself down on her, not collapsing.

Maybe the illusion of Callie's mental non-presence was so real that Mark forgot himself and spoke as though her speaking to her photograph or, maybe, her truly dead body.

Whatever the cause, Mark spoke words that surprised her.

"Callie, you'd be so easy to love."

As much as she had wished to move during their love-making - or, rather HIS love-making - Callie wanted even more now to be able to hug him, clutch him, and tell him that she felt the same way. So, so much the same way.

Or, maybe, Mark didn't say that at all. Maybe she only dreamed it.

Though she hadn't moved in over a half-hour, Callie felt physically exhausted.

She also felt satisfied, safe, and cared for.

She drifted off into sleep, into a dream.

Into a dream in which she and Mark were sitting by a river bank. She was stroking his hair. She spoke/sang to him. He couldn't hear her because she didn't want him to hear her. She wanted him to know what she was saying/singing, but she didn't want him to hear her say/sing it.

"I know too well that I'm
"Just wasting precious time
"In thinking such a thing could be,
"That you could ever care for me.
"I'm sure you hate to hear
"That I adore you, dear,
"But grant me just the same
"I'm not entirely to blame,
"For
"You'd be so easy to love,
"So easy to idolize
"All others above,
"So worth the yearning for
"So swell to keep every home fire burning for.
"We'd be so grand at the game,
"So carefree together
"That it does seem a shame
"That you can't see
"Your future with me,
"‘Cause you'd be oh, so easy to love."

Callie felt herself being nudged to wakefulness.

Mark had never withdrawn from her and he had never completely lost his hard-on. It took him only a few strokes to bring himself back to the status of raging stallion.

And it took no longer for Callie's body to respond to his strokes. She found herself soon again moved to the point that she wished she could speak tender words to him, tell him how much she appreciated his help and his consideration and his tenderness and his expertise in handling her body. Let him know that he'd be

"So sweet to waken with,
"So nice to sit down to eggs and bacon with."

As always, the second round in their love-making was slower and steadier in pace and much more drawn out. The first time, her boat had been dashed against the rocks by a tidal wave. This time, her boat was being gently, but persistently, bumped against the shore.

It was moments like this that caused her to think some very conventional thoughts. It seemed that this was the way that people made love when they had been together a long time and had established a "normal, stable life."

"Oh, how we'd bloom, how we'd thrive,
"In a cottage for two - or even three, four, or five,
"So, try to see
"Your future with me,
"‘Cause they'd be, oh, so easy to love."

Slowly and steadily, Mark brought her to the height of orgasm and this time, she lingered there for long, long moments. It was almost as though time had stopped, or, more accurately, as though she had stepped outside of time. It was as if she were having a taste of eternity-awareness: no beginning behind, no end ahead.

When a man could bring about this kind of experience for a woman, he deserved to be compared to the divine.

"You'd be so easy, easy to love,
"So easy to worship as an angel above,
"Just made to pray before,
"Just right to stay home and walk the baby for."

Eventually, Mark allowed himself a second release of his seed, not as large as the first but just as pleasurable. This time he did withdraw from her, but he did not leave her. He lay down beside her and held her in his arms.

At this point, Callie had completely lost track of the number of orgasms she had had and aftershocks reverberated through her system. She was grateful that Mark was touching her, grounding her, providing a connection with the real world. She found herself wondering what would happen if she said to him

"I know I once left you cold,
"But call me your lamb
"And take me back to the fold.
"If you'll agree,
"Then I'll guarantee
"That I'll be oh so easy to love."

Mark continued to pet her and kiss her. It was while he was kissing her on the mouth that she first became aware that the drug was wearing off.

She was able to move her tongue in response to his probing.

Then she was able to move her lips to return his kiss and to smile.

Fingers moved, then her hands, arms.

As Callie came back to life, Mark found himself the object of increasingly more active attentions from her as she began to return all the favors he had bestowed upon her.

After two hours following her first stirrings, Mark was on his back, Callie astride him, riding him as vigorously as ever.

Of course, Mark was not a passive as she had been, but he did enjoy having Callie take over, Callie being in charge.

The experiment that began in mid-afternoon ended with the two of them howling at the nearly full moon.

But somehow the words of love that had occurred to the two of them while Callie lay paralyzed were never spoken that day or during Mark's entire visit.

Mark boarded his return flight to the West Coast the next day, leaving Callie to process the data from her experiment.

Mark had, indeed, shown her what she already knew - that being totally helpless could be fun if she were in the hands of the right person. However, the increase of intensity of feelings due to immobility would be just as great if she were in the hands of a malicious person.

Callie was a good reader of people. If a fellow had the wrong kind of tattoo; if he had the wrong kind of smile, Callie would refuse to sign a release and she would go home having made a trip for nothing.

She only met two hunters who frankly declared that they intended to abuse her if they brought her down with a drug ball. She admired their honesty and told them so, but she still turned down the hunt.

If a fellow didn't bring up the subject himself, Callie would frankly ask, "After you bring me down, are you going to have a little fun with me before you kill me?" She paid more attention to the body language than the verbal answer that went with it. It wasn't hard to read a fleeting smirk, a hesitation, a tightening of the fist.

A desire for power over other people was not a bad thing in itself, but it was always a puzzle to Callie why, to so many people, the only use of that power that occurred to them was to hurt someone. Unlike most puzzles, though, Callie wasn't interested in finding the answer - she just wanted to stay clear of people to whom it applied. Let somebody else sort out the lousy childhoods, the failures, the sexual dysfunctions. Maybe it was true that men who were failures at pleasing women were likely to fantasize about going to the other extreme - Callie really didn't care, just so long as she could stay away from them.

She never, however, turned down a hunt just because a man said he wanted to have sex with her dead body. That idea, she had to admit, she found arousing for some reason. Later in her quarry career, she was to develop some ideas about why that idea was arousing.