Title: Hard Sell V
Author: bobwhite
Summary: The end of this story arc has Katrina helping Ted, and 
having fun in the process.
Keywords: FF mc

Hard Sell V by Bobwhite

                          * * * * * * * * * *

Author's Note:  This is the final chapter of this story.  It coincides
with an early part of a new story I'm working on for the TEDS to call
their own.  Thanks for hanging in there!  Shoot me an email if you're
so inclined.  Feedback is appreciated.

                          * * * * * * * * * *

(Katrina)

It had been three weeks since my date with Ted. The date that wasn't a
date. That night, he gave me a job to do, if I thought I could. And
here I was, sitting in the waiting room of a church--of sorts--in
rural Kansas.

'Not that there's anyplace in Kansas that's not rural," I mused as I
waited for my meeting with the Reverend Timothy Reinhold. I'd already
met with his wife a few times, as I knew I would do. Ted had prepared
me well for what this would entail, thanks to four women like me who
he would not talk about. And, while Ted had given me a good reason not
to try to do anything with Rebecca "Please, call me Becca" Reinhold
(the Reverend's wife), I found it hard to resist. The dossier
described her as medium height, well-built, blonde, and altogether
hot. And, very straight. Not that that was a surprise, given the
purpose of this "church."

"The Straight and Narrow Church of the Almighty," I said under my
breath as I waited for my appointment. The idea of what this place was
for made me sick, especially the pun in the very name of the place--
that in particular annoyed Ted. "Straighten arrow," he had repeated a
few times, with a tinge of hate dripping from the words.

I remembered that night at the restaurant, when Ted had told me about
this place. I'd heard of these kinds of places before. Churches that
"taught" things that I knew not to be true. Things like homosexuality
being--through the word of Christ--a curable condition. A mental
illness of sorts that affected confused men and women who had strayed
from the Word. In short, a disease.

I was doubly sick when I found out that, as far as the good Reverend
was concerned, it was all true. He could cure it.

"But I thought you guys didn't like it when people like me changed too
many people to gay. Why does this bother you?" I had asked.

He put down his fork, and looked down at his plate. I can't remember
what he was eating but I remember that look--odd, because he didn't
look me in the eye. "It's not about turning people one way or the
other. Well, not usually. It's about preserving the status quo as much
as possible without doing something drastic to all you mind
controllers."

"This guy is posing as a church leader, a religious figure. He's
preying on people's praying. For a substantial fee, he will arrange a
session to change any homo to straight. And the person being changed
doesn't have to consent. He's quite powerful, in some ways."

"But mind controllers aren't allowed to serve in any religious
institution as a leader, deacon, or anything close to it. It breaks
the constitutional guarantee of freedom of speech and is thus illegal.
Even if he's doing what a majority of the population rather he would
do, it's wrong. And we have to stop it."

"Excuse me, miss?" some woman said, breaking my daydream. I looked up
and played my part.

"Yes? Is the man I'm supposed to meet here? My father told me I had
to..."

"He'll be a bit longer, ma'am. Here's another cup of coffee. I'm
terribly sorry about the wait," she said. She was cute. Oddly, every
woman here was somewhere between cute and hot. 'Strange for a man of
God to surround himself with babes,' I thought. 'I wonder just how
Godly this man is.'

Ted had said that none of his group could do this particular job. The
Reverend's partner, who specialized in gay men, had already been taken
care of. But, Rev. Reinhold only worked with women. When I asked why
he couldn't just make everybody think that an agent was a woman, he
revealed the reason they need my help in the first place: securing
"Device #17," which he used to prevent all telepathic activity within
about a fifty foot radius, even from his fellow agents. It was stolen
technology from Ted's organization, one piece of 29 that had been
stolen; this would be the 14th recovered and I would be well paid for
my efforts.

Its function demanded they use a woman for this particular mission, as
he'd developed a simple yet effective way of making sure no men could
sneak in and undermine his operations.

He kept on the move and they had trouble pinning him down--but he
would come out of hiding for a woman who needed "straightened" out.

Another woman, that is. The four before me had all been turned and
married off to the most generous man in the "congregation." Nabbing
them would draw attention, so they had to let them live their new
lives as long as Reinhold possessed Device 17. I had been told in
advance that he could tell if someone were actively resisting his
influence--hence the decision to use me as the inside person; Ted and
his cohorts informed me of my unusually high and seemingly
subconscious powers of mental defense. I just might be able to beat
him. None of the other women had my abilities, they told me.

A beauty approached me as I sat in the waiting room. This wonderful
creature was the Reverend's wife. I gave her the look I normally would
have--she expected me to be gay, after all. I'd seen her before, when
a coworker of Ted's, who called himself John but whose name was also
Ted, had posed as my father and taken me to a meeting place where the
Reverend and Becca met me. We talked. I left "John" and the Reverend
alone to talk and pretended to make a call on my cell phone. That's
when I got my first good look at Becca, and when I first decided that
I would have to have her.

I remembered pretending to talk on my phone while I scoped out the
meeting place. It was a busy place, bustling with activity. Too many
people around to search, which was bad for me because we'd all hoped
we could simply apprehend him here. But, there was no way to track the
device, and the man posing as the Reverend wasn't really him. That
wasn't a huge surprise, but it did mean that we had to go ahead with
the more dangerous (for me) plan.

"Miss? Spacing out again?" the cutie above me giggled. I smiled at her
and let my eyes drift noticeably down her body, pretending to look
away for fear of being caught gawking. When I looked up, Becca was
rolling her eyes--she'd seen this before. A lot. And she seemed to
have a subdued but smug look about her face--she knew her hubby would
set this lesbian straight. Straighten her like an arrow, as he put it.

"Uh, yeah. Is he ready yet? And where is my dad? Why am I meeting this
guy--I'm not really into the whole church scene, you know. I'm not
sure..." I said, as convincingly as I could.

"I know. Your dad is concerned about your... choices, that's all. And
the Reverend wants to help if he can. Please, come with me."

"Oh, I will, hon," I said, trying to sound like I was making an
innuendo. Her smug look seemed to increase as she turned to lead the
way.

                          * * * * * * * * * *

Just outside the room, I felt my head go a little... numb. Ted and his
coworkers had prepared me for this mission as well as they could, and
had warned me about this feeling. It meant there was a telepathic
inhibitor nearby, and it was active. It was the same sensation I'd had
at the first meeting.

Once inside, Becca introduced me to her husband, who insisted on being
called "Tim." I didn't see the device on his desk--Ted had shown me
pictures, but said it might not be sitting out in plain sight--but it
was definitely on. Thankfully, this meant that he was also unable to
do anything. There was a closed-circuit security monitor on his desk,
but it was off. He was smiling and holding out a hand, so I took it.

"Pleased to meet you, Reverend."

"The pleasure is all mine," he said with a creepy grin on his face.
His palms were a little sweaty.

It was time. Almost. I'd been given cup after cup of coffee, and I
really had to make a quick bathroom break before we got down to
business. "Um, before we do this... this whatever it is my dad wants
me to do, where is your restroom?"

"Please, use the private one. The door is over there," he said
pointing to his right. I went in, did my business, washed my hands,
and came out just in time to see him turn off the screen. Now, his
look was all-business.

"Please sit, Ms. Spellacy."

I did, slipping off my heels, which were always too tight (they did
make my legs look better, but I knew this would take some time).

He continued. "Your father is concerned about some decisions you've
made with your life." He grabbed my hand and held it between his in a
gesture of faux compassion, matched by the equally fake look on his
face as he stared into my eyes. "I understand that you're not alone in
being... this way, the way you are. And you think you are happy this
way. But God has no room for people who make this 'choice.' Your
father just wants me to pray over you for a few minutes. He thinks it
will help you make the right choice."

As he finished that sentence, his hands let go of mine and he put them
under his desk, presumably on his lap.

"Look," I said. "I know what you think you can do for me. But this is
how I am. I like me. It took me years to accept who I am, but I do.
And if my dad can't accept that, then..."

"Honor thy father and mother," he said as he made a motion with his
arm. I heard a click, and the dullness in my brain went away. I held
firm, not wavering when the sensations I'd grown used to came back in
a rush. He, however, had to shake his head before he could speak
again. "Please, you father loves you and has done so much for you over
the years. Will you deny him a prayer?"

It was almost believable. I could see how people would fall for this.
And, checking, I saw that he was trying to make me accept it. I had to
learn how to detect someone's intrusions to my mind, but I was a quick
study and the lessons were paying off.

"(sigh) No, I won't. Let's do this," I said. "For him."

He smiled and told me to close my eyes and bow my head. I did. When he
started his chanting, I felt him in my head again--but just as Ted had
told me, I was able to resist him without fighting him. But, Ted had
told me that I should play it safe and redirect the thought probe to
some other target, and add something to it so whoever the new target
was would not warn the Reverend.

I looked up enough to see the Reverend's head was still bowed, his
eyes shut tight. And still in the room, sitting in a chair with her
head bowed, was Becca. Beautiful Becca. I used my brain to redirect
the energy Tim was sending out--and it was a lot, damn him--to his own
wife. But, first, I colored it a little.

Becca flinched. She had felt the intrusion, just as most people would.
But, I had sent along with it two words: still and silent.

Becca opened her mouth and looked around, locking eyes with me. No
longer worrying about Tim's efforts--they were all bombarding Becca
and just going through me--I coyly brought a finger up to my pursed
lips, silently telling Becca to be quiet. Not that it was necessary.
But when I did that, she knew immediately that something was wrong.

I looked into her mind as she tried unsuccessfully to do something
about her husband's mental attack. They'd been careful--verifying for
the last time that I was a woman with a camera in the toilet. They
knew they only had to fear men, because the person who sold them the
device told them only men would come after it. 'Never send a man to do
a woman's job,' I thought at Becca.

'No... you can't do this, it's impossible... we checked you for the
ability....' she thought, not yet putting all the pieces together.

The Reverend was not disturbing us anytime soon; from Becca's mind I
gathered that the process took about thirty minutes of intense
concentration during which he never looked up. This confirmed the
experiences of the women who had tried this before me. Knowing this, I
held up my hand, showing her a silver ring around my thumb with a gem
in it. It looked like a gem, anyway.

'This little ring blocked my powers temporarily,' I thought. 'I am
indeed talented. I have 'the ability', as you say. And I need your
help. You would like to help me, wouldn't you?'

'No... I belong to my husband, my faith, and I don't help... oh my
god, what's happening?' she thought. Her hands had reached up and
pinched her nipples through her shirt. I tweaked her mind to enjoy the
sensation, and as the energy from Tim increased, so did the effect of
my suggestion.

'Enjoying yourself?' I asked. Her fingers and thumbs were clamped down
on her nipples, which were probably very hard by now. She was tugging
on them, and as quietly as she could, writhing in her chair. She dared
not make a sound, even the "silent' command I'd sent her earlier was
being increased--thanks to her loving husband's efforts.

'You can't make me betray him!' she mentally screamed at me as the
sensation of a tongue on her pussy began to make her legs open. 'I'm
his!'

'Boy, you sure like to be owned, don't you?'

'That's not what I mean... I mean... mmmmm, please stop that!' she
thought as one hand hiked up her skirt, exposing her pretty pink
panties. They were wet. It's so easy to tell with cotton. She slid to
the edge of her chair, exposing what was probably a beautiful pussy
hidden behind a thin swatch of damp material.

'On the contrary. It is what you mean. But he doesn't own you anymore.
I've already changed that. But, I'll play your game. Since you're so
horny right now,' I thought as I made the hand that had adjusted her
skirt slip beneath her panties, 'think of sex with your husband. Think
about every aspect of it. His cock. His balls. His hairy chest.
Sucking his cock. Everything.'

I already knew that she'd done quite a bit with him in bed, much of it
thanks to his influence. And, with my irresistible suggestion, she
brought up every thing she loved about her husband's body. She was
particularly enamored with his dick, which I guess was one of the
larger ones she'd seen in her days. On her own volition, she began to
masturbate. All she could think about was fucking her man any way he
wanted her--and taking him in every hole she had.

She loved his cock. She was straight and I suppose it was a good cock,
for people who like that sort of thing. She adored that thing between
his legs. And, I wasn't going to directly change that.  I'd make her
change it.

'I hate it when you think of a man in a sexual way. I especially hate
it when you fantasize about having sex with a man. That displeases me
to no end. You are making me angry just by thinking about sex with him
now,' I told her mentally. 'I want you to keep masturbating, but you'd
better think of something that doesn't piss me off so much.'

As her hands picked up speed--she was inside herself now, and doing a
great job of being quiet--she felt it. Sickness. A feeling of
disappointing someone important to her. But, to her credit, she tried
to keep the images of Tim's dick in her mind (and pussy, ass, and
mouth).

'No... I like men... I... oh, no, what's... please, please... why
should... I care what you... what...'

'You are displeasing me greatly. I am not happy. You want to make me
happy, you just don't know it yet. But you'll figure it out.'

She kept playing with herself, not aware that I wasn't going to let
her cum. She was too horny to stop even I'd let her control her hands.
But the sickness was getting to her. 'You're doing this to me! I'm...
ahhh, I don't feel so... please stop...'

'You don't tell me what to do, Becca. That makes me even madder then
when you think about guys.' The feelings in her increased and became
quite intense. Tim was really pumping out some energy. I hoped that
Becca would figure out what I wanted soon. 'I do like it when girls
think about girls. When they think about licking my breasts, for
example. Look at me. Look at my breasts.'

She had not realized she'd shut her eyes. When she opened them, she
saw that I had removed my shirt and bra. And, when she looked at my
tits, the sickness faded a little. But, she was still thinking of that
asshole's cock, so it started to come back.

'Stare at my breasts. Imagine kissing them, licking my nipples. Forget
his dick for just a minute and just imagine worshiping these,' I told
her with a little mental nudge--just a nudge. She put his cock out of
her fantasy and forced herself to think of doing something she found
disgusting--kissing a woman's breasts. And that's when she felt it.

Her hands sped up as the euphoria shot through her very core. She was
inwardly disturbed at this--she was feeling very good and thinking
about kissing my tits, sucking them.

'See? That's the reward for obedience. Pleasure. You know the
punishment for disobedience or otherwise not pleasing me. I know you
can feel it. The more you are against what I tell you to do, the more
ecstasy you will feel when you obey. Obedience is the key to your
future happiness.'

'No... won't obey... aaaah!' her mind screamed as she refused me. The
sickness returned, along with pain in her muscles. She strained to say
something, to shout some warning at her husband. The harder she tried,
the worse she felt. She was in tears before she gave up, and gained a
little relief by clenching her jaw to avoid making any sound as the
discomfort racked her body.

'Obedience pleases me to no end. It pleases me almost as much as you
thinking about licking my pussy. You want to lick my pussy, don't you?
That would make me happy. Look at me.'

She turned to me, face trying to hide tears that would not stop
falling. I had worn a skirt for this occasion, and I stood up and
removed my panties with ease. I lifted my skirt while standing to give
her a view of my picture-perfect pussy. She looked, and got some
relief but not much. She was resisting the pleasure she knew would
come if she thought about licking me down there.

She was fighting. I like a fighter. It makes the surrender that much
sweeter. And this one was fighting even thinking about me, even though
she knew it would end her current torture.

I picked up my panties and threw them to her. They landed on her
chest. 'Smell them. Smell them and imagine having your face just
inches from the source of that smell... from the focus of your
obedience. From the source of your happiness.'

She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she would throw up from the
sick feelings twisting inside of her as she resisted. That hesitation
didn't last long, though; she grabbed the panties, meaning to only
smell them to gain a little relief. I knew she planned on using that
relief to regroup and fight some more. But, she didn't count on how
overwhelming the sensation of relief and pleasure would be. After all,
doing this was something she felt was particularly disgusting.

So, as I had told her, when she inhaled, she nearly gasped as a near-
orgasmic wave of bliss washed over her. In her pleasure-drunk state,
she did imagine how good it would be to kneel in front of my pussy and
put her face as close as she could to my sex. She couldn't stop her
mind from going there, such was the force of the bliss in which she
was basking for the moment. And thinking of kneeling in front of my
pussy sent another rapture through her, and her brain, learning
subconsciously what I wanted, imagined her on her back, and me riding
her face just to cover it in the smell and juice of my cunt, the thing
whose scent made her feel better than she could remember feeling...
ever.

Another bolt of delight spread through her. Realizing she'd lost some
control, she backed out of her fantasy but kept looking at my pussy
and tits, masturbating all the while. The pleasure faded but was not
replaced by nausea this time.

'He can never make you feel like that. Only I can. Give yourself to
me, and in return, I will give you pleasure and happiness as I see
fit.'

'And if... oh, mmmm, if I refuse?' she managed as she worked her cunt
with fingers from both hands, one handling the penetration duties and
the other almost mauling her clit. This one liked it rough.

'If you refuse, you will be making me unhappy. I will always be
unhappy with you deep down inside, if you refuse. And the more you
delay your decision, the unhappier I will be with you right now. But,
I'm not one to force your hand,' I thought to her with a wicked grin
on my face. Then, I sat back down and carefully turned my chair to
face her. I scooted to the edge of the seat and spread my legs, lazily
trailing fingers over my pussy--the one thing she dare not look away
from.

Already, she'd learned that.

But, that didn't help for long. She felt the malaise well up from her
belly and displace the lingering good feelings left over from her
faceslave fantasy. She looked back to her husband and a stronger wave
of queasiness hit her. Then, back to me... and my pussy. The feelings
subsided but not by much. She had to hurry and she knew it.

That's when she surprised me. And that's not easy to do.

'I don't want to be gay. It's wrong, and I'd sooner die than be a dyke
like you...' her thoughts trailed off, she knew she'd tried to insult
me and she knew that would make me angry if she succeeded. She failed
as I've been called worse, but she didn't know that and what she
really didn't know was that her discomfort was coming from her, not
me. Her very essence was bound to my whims, and she didn't even know
it!

But, I had to admit it: this one had spunk. I smiled and fingered my
clit slowly. 'OK, how about this. I don't normally do this for
slaves...'

'I am not a... slave... ...' she thought, grimacing through the
horrible sensations racking her body nearly as strong as the erotic
ones emanating from her overheated pussy.

'I was saying, I don't normally do this for SLAVES, which you will be
when--not if, when--you agree to be mine. But, for you, because you
are so beautiful and because your submission would please me so much,
I will promise never to make you gay. You only have to please me to
feel fulfilled. And the more you please me, the better you will feel.
But I promise never to turn you into a lesbian, if you simply give
yourself to me. I won't promise to leave you straight if you continue
to resist, though.'

Fear struck her--until now, she had imagined this was some kind of
test, some kind of battle she could win. But her husband's power was
starting to peak, and even I was worried of what would have become of
me if I hadn't had someone to direct it towards. It was increasing the
effectiveness of my efforts a thousand fold. And finally, at this
point, she realized that she was mine no matter what she did. Too
afraid to imagine what I might do if she forced my hand and made me
take her by mental force, she acquiesced.

'You promise not to make me a lesbian?' she asked with her mind,
easing the sickness as she had already made her decision but was still
delaying. I noted her change in language; she wasn't going to do
anything to offend me. Ever.

'Your Mistress doesn't lie. You can never think that. What is your
decision?'

'I want the sickness to go away. No more pain. Please, make it go
away.'

"What is your decision? Come closer. On your knees. And, tell me your
decision.'

She crawled to me, stopping when her face was between my knees.
Pleadingly, she looked up at me. 'Please, I'll do anything to make it
stop. I want you to...'

'What is your decision?'

Looking down, and no longer able to stand the feelings twisting her
guts, she thought at me, 'I'm yours.' A feeling of relief spread
through her.

'You're mine? You will obey without question or face the
consequences?'

'I'm yours. I will obey.' Another blissful torrent racked her.

'Truly mine? Never to question me out loud or even in your mind?'

'Truly yours. I will never question you. I will obey, even in my
thoughts.' A stronger surge of heavenly pleasure poured into her.

It was a tough promise to make, that last one. Impossible, really...
well, impossible at the moment. But she would learn to control her
thoughts to please me. I knew she meant it, because her subconscious
sent her another more powerful burst of delight.

'Completely mine? Mine, to do with as I please? To use as I see fit?
Mine, to give pleasure or pain as I feel is warranted? Utterly mine,
with no identity other than that I choose to give you--that of slave?'
I was almost out of time, Tim's power had peaked and there was no way
he could keep up his efforts for much longer.

'Yes, please, please I give myself to you. Please, I am yours. I am
your...'

'Say it. Out loud, in a whisper. I want to hear it but make it quiet
enough not to disturb this pencil-dick here.'

In a shaky whisper, she breathed, "I am your slave. I know you've
already taken me, but I give everything you haven't taken to you. I am
yours." And with that, she fell forward, breathing loudly as the last
of her torment fled from her. She had never felt such happiness. I
made sure of that.

'Then lick my pussy and make me cum.'

She didn't delay anymore. She grabbed my thighs (I'd have to work on
that later, but she was a virgin to this and she'd been through a
lot), crawled as close to me as she could, and licked my slit. As
blinding orgasmic pleasure built in her, I fed her mind with what she
needed to know about her new life.

'You are my slave. You have no name, you are only my slave. You won't
speak unless spoken to. You refer to yourself as slave. You live to
service me and anyone I see fit, any way I see fit. As promised, you
are still straight, but when you think of men sexually, or look at
them with desire, you know you are displeasing me--even if I'm not
anywhere near you. When you think of a man, you must force it out with
images of this moment--licking pussy, worshiping at my womanly altar--
or you will feel worse than you did even a few minutes ago. I promised
you you'd stay straight. I do not lie. You Mistress never lies, you
trust her completely and know she speaks Truth.'

'So, you have the honor of being the first totally straight
cuntlicking slave I've ever had. Knowing this makes you excited. The
more you would normally hate the things I make you do with me and
other girls, the more pleasure you will get when you do them. Soon,
you won't know why you hate licking pussy or why you think it's wrong-
-but you'll be too addicted to what you're feeling right now to even
think about not doing it.'

She was too busy to respond. Mentally, I made her arms drop from my
thighs and had them start on her pussy again. She was surprised by
this involuntary action of her arms and the increased sensations
bombarding her mind, but kept lapping away, riding a wave of
contentment and ecstasy she'd never known could exist. And as my
orgasm approached, I began to release the block on hers. Timing is
everything, and I wanted to give Tim a shock when he looked up.

I watched him carefully when I felt his mind's energy suddenly peak
and drop off. He sighed and wiped sweat from his brow, and looked up.
The look on his face was priceless.

He was just in time to hear his wife scream into my pussy as she
started getting off. I had timed it well; we came together. The slow
breaking of her will had gotten me hotter than I'd been for quite a
while, and I felt her orgasm intensify as she realized that she was
making me cum. She was pleasing her Mistress. Lost in the feelings of
her climax mingled with the elation she felt because she'd gotten me
off like she was told to do, Becca--her mouth still attached to my
sex--began to shake her head side to side in an effort to quickly give
me another orgasm.

She was inexperienced, to be sure. That was an amateur move. But, it
had its desired effect: bringing me over again and covering her face
in my scent. With one final scream as she finished her long awaited
orgasm, she collapsed at my feet, breathing heavily. She wasn't even
totally aware of what she'd just given me until that moment. But now,
she dared not move away from me, or even try to look at or talk to her
husband. She focused her mind on my pussy, just like I'd told her to
do if she felt her mind wander in the direction of any man. Just
picturing my cunt and smelling its musk on her face was enough to calm
her breathing.

I was panting myself, but only from the double orgasm--I hadn't used
much of my ability to enslave Tim's wife. He had provided the energy
needed; I just tinted it a little. So, while he was exhausted and
shocked--and starting to gawk at my naked body, I might add--I went to
work quickly. I saw his hand reach down to hit a switch, I pushed into
his brain as hard as I could... and I saw his hand stop before it even
got under the desk.

He stared at me, frozen in place. I looked down at my newest
acquisition and had her get up to get dressed. Picking up the phone on
his desk (I had been told that the building was shielded from radio
signals so nobody could call for help using a cell phone), I dialed
the number I had memorized a couple of weeks ago. It would only be a
few minutes now; with the device off there was no way for this hunk of
shit to stop them from taking him in.

I got dressed, stopping only once to put my finger in my very wet
pussy. I held it out to Becca, and she instinctively smelled it,
enjoying the quick rush. I kept it near her face, and after a few
seconds, she understood what I wanted and sucked my finger into her
mouth, licking it clean. She even moaned while she did it.

                          * * * * * * * * * *

I waited patiently for Ted with Becca sitting at my feet, gently
licking them. It was taking quite a bit of concentration to hold him
there after a while, and he was starting to devise a plan to break
free when Ted and nine of his friends barged into the room.

The noise distracted me and broke the hold I had on Tim. He reached
down to press the button but one of the men closed in on him and
slugged him right in the face. Then, he hit him again. And again. And
again.

Becca looked up at all the commotion, and I felt her get excited--she
loved seeing men fight, it was hot to her. If I had any doubts about
my earlier assertion, they vanished--she liked it rough. But, as soon
as she had started enjoying the show, she felt her stomach tighten in
discomfort. Quickly, she looked back at me, up my skirt, and began to
lick my bare feet again, forcing herself to think about pussy and
nothing but pussy. She even licked between my toes.

"Got it!" a man with a four-point star on his shirt said. "I found the
switch. The device can't be far, but we'll have to trace this wire..."

I interrupted him. "No, you won't."

Another man (wearing a shirt with a solid black star that had too many
points to quickly count) came up to me. "I'm afraid we do, unless you
know something we don't. We knocked him out cold and he has no memory
or information on the location of the device. He had someone else hide
it. Smart move, actually... you gotta admire the guy's brains."

I looked down at my pet. "Tell them, slave." I looked up and saw the
amused grins on the faces of the men--this clearly caught their fancy
and they probably wondered exactly what I had done.

"Tell them what, Mistress? This slave doesn't understand. This slave
was busy licking you, enjoying being near you, thinking about you...."

I grinned, and some of the men shot me knowing glances back. I had no
doubt that some of them played this game, too--only with us, it was
never just a game. "Tell them where the device they're looking for is.
You know what I'm talking about. Tell them and I'll be happy because
we will be able to go home."

Eager to feel the euphoria she had come to know so well, she blurted
out, "it's in the floor, beneath the desk and under the floorboards.
You'll have to dig up the carpet and cut the wood on the floor, it was
built into this room to avoid theft or recovery." I felt her shudder
when she said it, and she even nibbled on my ankle a little before
returning her attention to my feet and toes.

"Holy hell. Well, job well done, I guess!" a man--Ted, the one I had
dined with weeks ago--said as he moved to where I could see him. Seven
of the men had fanned out through the building, probably to erase any
evidence of its existence. After two men moved the desk, they left,
saying they had to get some tools; they took an unconscious Tim with
them. And this left me alone with Ted and my slave.

"I want you to know," he said, shaking my hand, "that I really owe you
one for this. This project, and your involvement, was my idea. I'm up
for a promotion, thanks to you. You have my gratitude, and that will
soon carry a lot of weight."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, what does the gratitude of a person like you
mean to me? You owe me one... I don't suppose you'd mind letting me
borrow that pretty..."

He laughed, apparently sensing what I was about to say. "No, you can't
borrow my wife again. She's mine, and the way I see it, you don't like
to share your things with others any more than I do." He smiled and
shook his head, dismissing my request as what it was--a joke. "No, not
her. But, I'm going to put the word out to go easy on you. As long as
you don't break up any more marriages--those are too easy for my
superiors to track--I will make sure we don't bother you too much. So,
as long as you don't enslave all the single women within twenty miles,
you should be OK."

The men came back with the tools needed to cut into the floor, and Ted
leaned down to me and whispered, "Just try to keep your activities
below the radar. Draw too much attention and I won't be able to help
you, and we're not the only ones who look for people like you. You
might want to consider taking people on a more temporary basis. It's
easier to cover your tracks that way, and nobody ever notices you if
you send your playthings back to their regular lives when you're done
having fun with them. Trust me on this.  I know what I'm talking about
here."

I just stared at him as he walked over to where the men had started to
cut open the floor with a reciprocating saw. He was supposed to be Mr.
Rules, and he was basically telling me to do what I wanted as long as
I didn't make waves. He winked at me when he saw the realization cross
my face. I smiled back and said, pointing to Becca, "can I keep her?"

He and the two other men in the room laughed out loud. When he stopped
laughing, Ted looked at me and said, "Do you have to ask?"

I reached down and petted her hair. If she could have, she probably
would have purred.

                          * * * * * * * * * *

A few days (and a large paycheck attached to a ton of paperwork)
later, we were home and I introduced my cuntlicking heteroslave to
Lynda, Julie, and Dana. Her first lesbian orgy--something that would
have sent her running and screaming for her Bible before she met me--
left her so high on erotic bliss that I actually had to let her sleep
it off for nearly a whole day. And the look on her face the first time
Dana fisted her while Linda fucked her ass with a strap-on--well, as
much of her face as I could see from my perspective; she was rimming
me at the time--was priceless and something I'll never forget.

The only thing that could have added to her revulsion and ecstasy of
doing that was doing it again--with a camcorder running. Obeying my
every sexually deviant command on camera was enough to give her an
almost perpetual orgasm that lasted the duration of our little scene
because she was, before she met me, the type who found that kind of
thing ten shades past distasteful. She even had an orgasm a week or so
later just by watching the tape one night after dinner. I didn't even
have to touch her or push one on her.

And, she stayed straight. More than one time, she would wake up sick
because she was dreaming of having sex with a man. But, she'd force
herself to think about my pussy. Sometimes, she'd even go down on
whoever was nearby to keep the masculine images out of her mind. And,
she'd pass out that way a few times. After several weeks, all she ever
thought was obedience and pussy. Well, mostly obedience, because by
then, it was sweeter to her than even my pussy.

And this proved what I'd known ever since Lynda sold me my house and
gave herself to me as a signing bonus: straight chicks make the best
pussy lickers. It's ironic but true. The women I meet here and there
have proven it too many times to count.

The End

                          * * * * * * * * * *

(c) 2005, bobwhite.  All rights reserved.  All wrongs also reserved.