From: evil@bay.com (Marlissa)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: NEW The Practice 1/3 (m/f, f/f, mc, b/d, nc)
Date: Sat, 30 Nov 1996 15:55:21 GMT
Message-ID: <57plea$7ip@decius.ultra.net>

The Practice

by Marlissa



Dent looked at his watch, his thick black brows knitting in anger.
His deep-set dark eyes drilled beyond his office door.  It was opened
by a thirtyish woman in a tight knit red skirt holding a cup of
coffee.  Keeping her eyes on the carpet, she minced on her high heels
to serve the coffee.  Her hand trembled slightly as she placed the
porcelain cup and saucer before the man.

"You're late."

She nodded, bit her lower lip.  "Yes Sir.  I'm sorry Doctor Dent.  The
bus--"

"Cut the excuses."  She stopped talking abruptly.  His dark eyes
rolled over her cleavage, tight and bursting in the form fitting sheer
white blouse.  The implants had definitely been worth the expense.

"Dock yourself the entire day's pay, ."

Her bright red lips puckered in outrage.  "But Doctor, it wasn't my
fault.  I'm only ten minutes late!"  The whine was half-kittenish,
half-pout.

"Betsy, if you are late again, you're fired.  Understand me, honey?"

His secretary went pale.  A day's pay was a lot of money to her, but
it wasn't worth her job. And she was damn lucky to have a job this
good.  She nodded meekly.  "It won't happened again Sir."

Dent nodded.  "Of course it won't.  Now get out."

Betsy smiled weakly.  As she turned, she felt Dr. Dent's eyes on her
ass as she minced on her red "fuck me" pumps.  She sighed with relief
as she shut the door.  Whew!  She was lucky she hadn't lost her job,
but the lost pay scared her.  She made so little as it was being Dr.
Dent's secretary.  The rent was due and she, as usual, was broke.  She
shuddered.  She'd have to make it up to Mr. Billage the Super in other
ways.  Another sigh.

It was hard being a single working girl.  Betsy Weston was a
thirty-five year old secretary going nowhere fast making all of eight
dollars an hour, hardly enough to make the rent on her shabby
apartment.  The rest of her life seemed so dead-end.  She knew, just
knew Doctor Dent would inevitably fire her in favor of a younger girl.
Even though every single extra dollar went to pay for aerobics,
make-up, sexy if cheap clothes and lingerie.  He still fucked her, but
she knew, just knew she was always on the edge of being fired.  And as
dead-end a life as she had now, it was better than being out on the
street.  She absently applied a fresh coat of red lipstick,
anticipating Dr. Dent's mid-morning blow job.

***********

What a piece of ass.  That was what he had said when he had first met
her in California, after he had gotten out of prison.  

It had been at the Beverly Hills Hotel lobby and she was so surprised
that she didn't say anything at first, just stood there with her mouth
open.  Then her face got tight and she turned away.

"I said you're a hot piece of ass."

She turned back to face him.  Her tan face was red now with anger.
Her lips moved, but what came out surprised her.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

She had shaken her head trying to knock some sense back into herself,
but he held her still, sitting her down and putting her in a light
trance as he probed.  She was Doctor Elizabeth  Weston ("Liza" to
friends, she hated anything else), a psychoanalyst with a degree from
Harvard.  He quickly established that she was at the hotel to address
a group of eminent colleagues, was a published authority on her
subject and something of a hotshot.  She was a pretty and slim, if
somewhat flatchested, blonde engaged to a prominent California
legislator.  And she had a lot of dough-- like hundreds of thousands--
in the bank.  Liquid.  

It was lucky for him that she was the first broad he had hooked up
with once he was out of the joint.  She had given him the idea to
begin with-- not consciously, but still it was her example that set
his plan in motion.  It burned in him that here was this uppity blonde
with her fancy education raking in the bucks while he was being passed
around for a fuckboy by the brothers in the can for packs of
cigarettes.  Well, that changed quick.

It was awkward at first but the science boys had gotten him started
o.k.  He probed like he was taught and reached in and began to make
alterations.  Liza became 'Betsy' in short order.  Memories were
constructed and a new behavior instilled.  After a couple of days of
non-stop rape at her place, he had her make a couple of calls.  They
resulted in breast implants which boosted her 32B to a more acceptable
36C, paid for in cash after some major withdrawals were made from her
bank account.  Liza's last communication with her old life was a
letter to her fiance explaining that she was a lesbian and that she
was so ashamed of it that she was leaving everything behind to start
over with a new lover.  And when they boarded the plane East, it was
as Doctor Dent and his bimbo secretary Betsy.

Getting established was simple.  Betsy had given him the idea.  Just
set himself up as a psychoanalyst that specialized in women's
treatment, advertise in the yellow pages and wait for the phone to
ring.  It did and had been ringing for six months now.  He had dozens
of 'patients'-of all different ages, races, social standing and the
like.  Except for the very old and the very young, he spared not one.
Each and every woman or girl that came within his sphere changed
forever.  

Armed with the new power that the scientists had unwittingly bestowed
upon him, he would exact his revenge.  Women would pay for putting him
in prison, for forcing him to do the depraved things he had done in
order to survive.  He would invade their minds and discover what would
shame and humiliate them most.  Then he would transform them into the
most stereotypical male sex fantasy he could imagine and send them
back to the men in their lives as fearful, compliant toys, eager to
please and obey MEN.

And that's what he'd keep doing, day after day after day.  At least as
long as he could avoid Frantz.

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

"Dr. Dent, Sir?  Mrs. Dillon is here for her 10:00."

"Show her in Betsy.  And refill my coffee cup.  Mrs. Dillon," he
greeted her as his patient entered his office, "would you like a cup
of coffee?"

The expensively dressed woman nodded curtly.  "Thank you, no."  

He curtly waved Betsy out of the office and focused on his visitor.

She sat down across the desk from him and crossed her legs.  He
admired the white stockinged limbs, then the trim hips and chest above
them, finally resting his eyes on the pleasant vision of the forty two
year old blonde.  Allison Dillon was one of his regulars, had been for
a couple of months now.  This was her weekly visit into Manhattan from
Long Island, where she normally spent her days playing tennis, playing
bridge, shopping and doing whatever the wives of wealthy lawyers do on
Long Island.

"How have you been?  Any urges coming back?"  

She shook her head, big diamond earrings swinging loose.  "Nothing."
Her delicate lips, painted with a peach lipstick, pursed in a prim
smile.  "No.  I haven't picked up a pack all week!"  

Allison had originally come to him for help in quitting the habit of
smoking.  That was easily enough settled but first he wanted to see
some patterns develop.  Dent had learned early on that it was too easy
to just go in and start making changes.  Probing didn't make you
all-knowing, at least not at first.  So he had gradually tuned down
her smoking over the last month after some phoney-baloney therapy
schtick he made up as he went along.  She had been skeptical at first,
but sure enough the smoking urges went away.  Now she thought he was a
fucking miracle worker.  Unfortunately for Allison, that wasn't where
the miracles were going to end.  He was ready to start playing with
this one.

"Actually, I have another problem that has come up Doctor, one that I
need help in coping with."  Her small blue eyes tightened, her small
hands balled into fists.  There was a slight flush on her sharp, wan
cheeks.

"Please continue."  This was unexpected and he listened without
probing.

She looked out his skyview window, across the jungle of skyscrapers.
It was a moment before she resumed speaking.  Then it was snapped out
in the open.  "I'm fairly certain that my husband," the word was
infected, "is having an affair."

"I see.  How do you feel about this?"

The blue eyes narrowed.  "I feel like taking him to the cleaners.
That's" she snapped, "how I feel about that."  The smile was as slitty
as the eyes were.

He couldn't resist any more and he dove in, even as she proceeded to
spill her intents to take the house, take the summer place, the
Mercedes, the stock--  He tuned it out as he began to probe.  He saw
the situation-- late nights, calls at odd hours, unexplained absences,
the whole nine yards.  Then he saw the husband and who Allison thought
was his partner in crime, Tracy something, a cute junior partner at
his law practice.  He began to withdraw because the bitterness was so
intense.  He stopped her in mid-sentence and she remained frozen as he
checked her file.

When he had the number, he dialed it himself.  The receptionist
apologized that Tracey was too busy to take calls, then he
concentrated briefly.  She promptly apologized and put him right
through.  A young friendly voice and he could see why Allison's
husband was interested.  She was young, hot and fucked her superior
like a monkey in heat.  Out of curiosity, he waded in a bit and
discovered that she was really hoping to make senior partner by doing
the nasty with the older man, that in fact she was just using him.
This was accomplished in a second and he returned to the questioning
voice, ordering it to transfer him to Mr. Dillon's line.  Now a
masculine voice answered.

"Who is this please?"  The voice was rich with authority and
worldiness.  

Dent dove in.  He found Tracey top of mind- he wanted to fuck the
young lawyer during lunch.  He liked her, liked her a lot and thought
she liked him a lot too.  Wrong-o, counselor.  Dent dove deeper and
hit the wall that was Allison.  The whole picture emerged-- she was a
real bitch on wheels.  Same attitude about sex-- it would mess up her
hair.  More interested in his money than making him happy.  No time
for kids-- that would distract her social activities.  His bitterness
real, as opposed to hers which seemed so selfish.  Dent slipped in
what he had learned about Tracey.  The thought would later seem to
Dillon like an inspiration, but the truth of it would take hold.
Armed with the knowledge of how the junior lawyer was using him would
give him the advantage he needed to take what he wanted from her
without himself getting hurt later on.  Probably keep her on her back
by promising her the ever elusive senior partnership-- which would
never come.  Justice.

Now he returned to his bitch of a client.  This had worked out well.
He hadn't been sure what he had wanted to do with her actually and
this had given him an idea to try out.

"Listen to me."

Her ears perked and the eyes met his in silent obedience.

"Your husband is a brilliant lawyer and he has figured out a way to
keep all his money from you if you get divorced.  You will get
nothing.  You will be destitute.  A laughingstock.  Broke.
Understand?"

The eyes were scared now.  The new knowledge was unexpected and
frightened her.  She nodded, her short blonde helmet of hair shaking.
The shrew was being tamed.

"You are right that your husband has a mistress at his office-- but
you were wrong to think you could do anything about this.  Your
husband makes the rules, not you Allison.  Besides, look at what you
are competing with."  He filled her mind with endless scenes of prono
movies featuring her husband and a Tracey with a young, movie-perfect
body that put her own trim frame to shame.  

"You can't compete with that, can you?  Not unless I can show you a
way.  And unless you do SOMETHING, your husband will divorce YOU."

Panic gripped her rigid, pale face.

"You must try all you can to keep him interested in you.  You could be
in better shape-- sign up for membership at a health club at once.
Get back to your high school senior weight and clothes size as soon as
possible.  Go to a tanning salon on a regular basis.  What is your
husband's favorite actress?"

Allison sniffled out an answer.  "Kim Bassinger."

"Then get a recent photo and start making yourself up like her.  Dye
your hair blonder and let it grow out.  Spend a lot more time on
make-up in general.  When does your husband get up-- when he deigns to
sleep with you, that is."

"About seven o'clock."

"Then you'll get up at six and spend an hour making yourself pretty
for him before he gets up.  No more wasting time with your worthless
suburban friends.  Spend free time reading articles on how to please
your man.  Without him, you're nothing and you know it." 

She nodded dumbly, knowing it was true, she was such a bitch--

"You need to explain to him that you understand how things are for
him.  That your marriage is everything in the world to you, that he is
the center of your world.  And that since you are just a silly little
wifey, you know he needs to spend lots of time away from you so he can
make money to keep you nice and safe in your comfy little lovenest.
In fact you will refer to yourself as your husband's 'little woman'
with pride when asked who you are.  You will make it clear to him that
he need never have an excuse for spending time away from you.  Because
you know-- YOU KNOW-- that if he is pushed into a corner regarding his
mistress, it will be you, not her, that he gets rid of.  Understand?"

Allison Dillon sighed with the newfound knowledge.  It was true.  She
was the expendable one, not his bimbo. 

"Luckily for you there are some things that your husband's mistress
doesn't do for him.  And because she is so young and sexy and nice he
doesn't make her do these things-- though he could if he wanted.  You
understand that your husband is a very powerful man and that you are
completely dependent upon him, don't you Allison?"

"Y-yes, Dr. Dent."  The voice was still hard, still filled with
natural pride.  But it was humbled now, broken.

"Good.  These things...you know what they are, don't you?"  He probed
her and collected all the things she had avoided in sex over the
years, the things she found most distasteful, most unpleasurable, most
humiliating.  He placed them all on the tip of her tongue, most
offensive first.  And behind them all he reformed the black fear of
divorce.  She physically gagged, then reluctantly swallowed.

"Tell me then.  Tell me the things."

"B-bondage.  Anal sex.  Oral sex."  Her voice grew softer with each
item.

"Your husband's mistress doesn't do these things for him.  But YOU
will have to do them to try and keep him from divorcing you.  It is
your only chance.  You will never like doing these things-- that will
never change.  But you will have to pretend that you do.  So that he
is pleased to do them with you.  Understand?"

She nodded glumly.  

"Good.  You will have to prove to him how enthusiastic you are about
pleasing him in these ways.  What is your sexiest piece of lingerie
and how old is it?"

"That would be my white babydoll nighty.  It is about seven years
old."

"He is probably bored with it-- as he is bored with you."  Dent liked
the way she cringed at this comment.  He dove back in and looked into
her chest of fears and dislikes, grabbed a handful.

"You have been too preoccupied with what you think is appropriate for
you to wear.  You have always known how unappealing your husband found
your lingerie choices yet worn the same boring underthings despite
this.  If you are to remain Mr. Dillon's silly little wifey, those
days are over.  You will dress to entice and amuse your husband from
now on.  Your own desires count for nothing.  And you know what men
like to see women in, don't you?"  He watched her review the catalog
of slutty panties, bras, bustieres, and other items of lingerie she
had always thought inappropriate to a lady such as herself.

"You will obtain a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog and arrange to
have an account started at the local outlet."  Dent chuckled.  "Your
husband will probably have no problem with this.  Then you will ask
him every morning what item he would like to see you in that evening--
if he chooses to come home.  You will purchase what he chooses, then
wait for him at the door in evenings with his favorite drink to greet
him-- wearing your new pretties and nothing else.  

If it pleases him, you will then perform one of the acts his own
mistress does not do for him.  You will not wait to be asked.  You
will suggest each one till he has made a choice.  And then you will
assume the appropriate position and begin pleasuring him the way he
has specified.  And every time he puts his dick in your mouth, you
will taste his mistress'es pussy and be reminded that you are no more
than a substitute fuck, until he can get back to loving his beautiful
young mistress."

A thin bead of sweat ran down her neck and she bite her lower lip in
realization of this now immutable fact of her existence.

"With every new lingerie purchase, you will discard a matching piece
of old underwear.  You will do this until your entire collection of
lingerie is composed only of what he wants to see you in.  You will
begin the same process with your day clothing.  You will ONLY purchase
clothing from Frederick's of Hollywood, unless told otherwise by your
husband.  But you will not ask him for permission to buy from another
source.  If he asks why you are buying such slutty clothing, you will
answer him that you want to be sexy for your man."

The Long Island socialite nodded, face blushing but secretly pleased
to have this opportunity to hold onto her marriage.

He let go of her mind.  She blinked and unconsciously wiped the sweat
from her neck.  "It seems hot in your office, Doctor."  Her voice had
lost it's hard edged quality.  It was softer now and more hesitant.

"You were saying about your husband, Allison...some news I believe?"

She blushed and looked away.  "It was n-nothing, Doctor.  I'm just
thrilled to be Mr. Dillon's little woman, that's all."  The blonde
housewife inhaled quickly, then drew the breath in more softly.

"You all right Allison?"

The blonde gave him a perky, girlish grin-- entirely put on-- and
nodded.  

"I'll see you next week then.  Good bye Allison."

The woman rose and left.  He watched her look about her nervously as
if the whole landscape of her life was unfamiliar to her now.  It was
a common reaction to probing this intensive.  The disorientation would
eventually subside until the passage of time would cement the new
conditionings.  Then if she ever reflected on how her life had
changed, it would be like someone considering their life before some
new invention they now used.  It would be impossible to really
visualize her life without it.

Dent considered the visit in satisfaction, making fists of triumph,
tapping the desk with his pen and swiveling himself around in his desk
chair.  Kidlike, he giggled and thought about the gift he'd just given
his client's husband.  He'd be suspicious at first, wondering why his
bitch shrew of a wife had suddenly transformed into a nymphomaniac.
Had she caught on to his affair with Tracey?  Then she'd insinuate
that she did know about it, that she was scared of being dumped and
that she knew he held all the cards.  That she would do whatever he
said.  Happily.  What would Dillon make of that?  When he had read
Dillon's mind on the phone, he saw the lawyer's potential to be a real
prick.  He hoped so.  He needed the physic juice that would come from
Allison Dillon's humiliation.  This one had been fun, but taken a bit
out of him.  He had a small headache.

It was time for his mid-morning blowjob from Betsy and he called her
in.  He had done a man's job this morning and he certainly deserved
it.  His secretary, eyes lowered respectfully, slipped out of her red
dress (he liked her in panties and bra only when she blew him-- one of
his work rules) and knelt before him.   "Doctor" Dent  loved his work.
Just loved it.

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

The DMZ Gangstas were responsible for one of the most amazing
scientific breakthroughs of the late twentieth century.  Specifically
MC Gangsta-mon, the Jamaican who ran the black section of Crilledge
State Penitentiary.  Because it was Gangsta-mon who told Harry Dent
that he intended to make him his personal bitch.

"I know, mon, you run out of cigarettes, you been givin' it away for
protection.  But from now on you give it to me for free."  

Gangsta-mon towered over him, caressing Dent's shoulder through his
denim shirt.  

"I get screws to move you in my crib.  No mo' 'mon' for you-- you be
my sweet Mary-girl.  I give you pretty things to wear, fuckboy-- you
dress up like 'ho for Gangsta-mon.  You be my bitch and keep me
happy-- you too pretty a white boy to keep it fresh.  You get your
shit ready, Mary.  Screw comes for you in two days."

The concept of being a Jamaican ganglord's transvestite sex slave did
not appeal to Harry.  But there weren't a lot of options.  There was
no way he could fight it-- Gangsta-mon had the brothers on his side
and the white prisoners were few and cowed in this facility.  No Aryan
Brotherhood to team up with.  And the warden and screws could give a
shit.  Most of the screws were crooked to begin with.  And skinjobs--
rapists like Harry-- were at the bottom of the prison food chain.
There'd be precious little sympathy for anything the Jamaican did to
him.

The infirmary was a long shot, but maybe he could buy time.  The
doctor didn't buy his chest pains jive, but his eyes did light up when
he started to beg him just to keep him for observation.  Probably
sensed his end-of-the-line desperation.  He looked at Dent closely,
then checked out his file.  He sat reading for a while and
occasionally h'mmmed.  He asked the prisoner what a college educated
guy was doing at Crilledge.  Dent shrugged, told him he got framed.
For the umpteenth time.  Like he would believe him any more than the
guys who sent him up.

It was true though-- he had been.  He had just started his first job,
magna cum laude degree in accounting in hand, making more than he ever
thought possible.  His folks proud as hell-- first in his family to
get a degree and work with his mind, not hands.  Things were looking
great.  Then a Catholic sorority girl he had dated senior year went to
visit her parents on vacation.   Her diary found its way out of her
luggage which her mother naturally picked up and read-- all about how
Dent had popped her little girl.  Then confrontation with Little Miss
Amnesia.  Who soon became Little Miss Date Rape Victim.  They had
arrested him without warning at work.  Her dad, a state senator,
couldn't have it out that his daughter was a slut, so Harry became the
false arrest poster boy.  During the trial, which drained his parent's
retirement fund, my mom had a heart attack and died.  After he was
sentenced-- to ten years-- his dad got sick.  He died right after his
son went in.  In a way, it made it more bearable for Harry.

The prison doctor listened politely but Harry knew he didn't care.  He
seemed more interested in the way Harry talked rather than what he was
telling him.  Dent thought maybe he was queer for him-- in prison
everyone seems queer for you if you're a short thin white boy-- until
he picked up the phone and made a call.

"I think I have an appropriate subject for you."

That's how it started.  The science boys were there in about an hour,
al identical in their government issue black suits and dark glasses.
Dent was told he could be out of Crilledge Pen in about ten minutes if
he signed some release forms.  He'd go to a Fed facility-- better
food, better accommodations, chance of parole.  

"Why?"

Director Frantz, the chief science boy, responded.  "You have natural
high intelligence, are ambitious and have excellent promise."

Harry shook his head.  "No, no.  Why would you let me out of here?"

Frantz looked at the prison doctor, who shrugged.  "For medical
experiments, Mr. Dent."

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

Betsy slipped her dress back on.  Her lips were sticky with her
boss'es cum.  She would have liked to have wiped off the excess jism
with a kleenex, but he didn't allow that. Instead she flicked her
tongue over the salty goo and swallowed.  A thought occurred to her
and she smiled briefly as she buckled his trousers up.  He hadn't cum
all over her face and clothes like he sometimes did.  She hated that
because it always brought snickers from the guys at the bus stop went
she went home, many who assumed she was a prostitute.  Maybe he was
becoming more considerate of his secretary's feelings--

"Get out front-- now!  Mrs. Baxter and her daughter are due any
minute!"

She sighed.  "Yes Sir!  Right away Sir!"  How could she have
forgotten?  The Baxters were his new Monday 11:00 AM.  Betsy rose and
trotted out to fetch Dr. Dent's next appointment.

Dent felt better now.  Betsy was an accomplished cocksucker and knew
how to get her boss off but good.  Not that he'd ever give her the
satisfaction of knowing it.  The taste of her fear of losing her job
was as good as the feeling of red lips that wrapped themselves around
his cock.  Delicious!  Even as she reappeared with his 11:00, he
thought of keeping her late tonight.  Maybe putting her to work doing
some filing for him.  Like filing his dick up her nice tight ass.  The
worried look on her face and the way she wriggled her ass quickly out
of the office made him think she knew there was the possibility now.

"Ah Mrs. Baxter-- sit down please."  

A freckled, fresh-faced woman with short straight auburn hair nodded.
She was thirtyish but young and trim, with boyish hips and small pert
breasts underneath her stylish, conservative day dress.  Her bright
green eyes flashed at him with pure friendliness and her smallish
mouth smiled nervously.  Behind her a tall, coltish blonde teen in
jeans and a pink sweater looked at him with less civility.

"Dr. Dent, my daughter Cody.  Cody's a sophomore this year at Hiram
Academy for Girls."  The teen, either from embarrassment or rudeness,
sat down without acknowledging the introduction.  Awkwardly, Dent and
the mother followed suit.

Dent settled himself in.  "How can I help you, Mrs. Baxter?"

The woman looked at her daughter, who coldly looked away.  "Oh!
Janice, please!  Ah, Cody and I are having some problems.  Nothing
major I think-- still, I thought you could help us talk it through."
The young blonde twisted her sweater sleeves sullenly.

Then she lost control.  "God Mother, you're so dense!" Cody spat.  "A
pyschoanalyst for God's sake!"  She exhaled in exasperation.

Janice Baxter smiled lamely.  "Uh, mother daughter problems as you can
see.  Cody's a good kid, really she is--"

Cody looked at her with dagger-eyes.  "God Mother!  Stop it already!"

"But she's getting a little wild in her behavior.  Boys and all.  She
had a boy over to watch teevee a few days ago and I found them---"

"MOTHER!  It was one kiss!  WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL?" Cody was
embarrassed, her pretty face blushing and struggling with her anger
and embarrassment.

Dent nodding soothingly, suppressing a grimace. The girl's screeching
wasn't doing a thing for the dull hurt in his head.  "A difficult and
confusing time for both of you, I'm sure.  And what does Mr. Baxter
say about all this?"

Janice's green eyes dimmed a bit.  "My husband died five years ago in
a car accident, Dr. Dent."

The doctor apologized.  "It must be very hard for you to raise a
daughter on your own.  Any family available to help you?"

The young widow shook her head.  "No.  Just me.  I'm sort of involved
with a man--"

Dent watched Cody roll her soft blue eyes in obvious disgust.  Janice
caught it and continued on, a little more shakily, "But I don't know
how serious it is, actually."  Cody gave her mother a softer glance.
The black mood subsided between them.  Calm ripples now.

A typical mother-daughter row.  Boring and typical.  He saw these
fairly often and had developed a number of interesting mother-daughter
scenarios that he trotted his clients through.  The reference to the
unseen boyfriend was intriguing though.  Maybe this case might have a
new wrinkle.  He put the two into a light trance and explored.

First the mother.  Janice was young-- only thirty four.  That meant
that she had been pregnant with Cody when she was nineteen.  He saw
her as terrified college girl and equally terrified college boy
hurriedly getting married, then settling down to a humdrum married
with child lifestyle, sans college degrees.  He took on construction
work and she stayed home, the household barely scraping by on his
income.  Then when Cody was all of nine, he was killed-- the tragic
result of faulty scaffolding.  A settlement of eight hundred thousand
dollars eased the pain, but left her lonely.  Very lonely.  That's
when Vito entered the picture.  

He had worked with the dead husband on construction crews on and off.
He was big, dark and brooding with lots of muscles and, at twenty-six,
eight years younger than Janice.  Vito had just started calling on
Janice and she was falling for him fast.  Till something had
happened-- something involving Cody.  Janice herself didn't know and
Cody wouldn't say, but it was clear that she was already disengaging
herself from her new love because of her daughter's hate for the young
man.  She was planning on telling him it was over the next time he
took her out.  

Dent had to know what had happened.  It wasn't hard to find.  It was
resting high on Cody's consciousness.  The flighty teen was just
blooming into her full sexuality, with small budding breasts that she
was especially proud of.  But aside from her kiss with the boy (she
was telling the truth-- it had just been one kiss that her mother had
caught her in) she was as virginal as fresh sheep's wool.  And though
she was pleased with the way her body was developing, she was equally
self-conscious of it.  And when Vito had caught her by surprise on the
staircase, fresh from the shower with only a towel around her, it was
a shattering moment.  Not that he had done anything-- to Dent's
disappointment-- but she had been uncomfortable with him since then.
It was something Cody had seen in the young man's eyes that had
bothered ever since then.

"Call Vito for me Janice."

The redhead didn't ask how he know what her boyfriend's name was.  She
simply dialed the phone and asked for him.  Dent gestured for her to
hand him the phone.  Cody watched dumbly, unthinking and mute.

Dent took the phone.  Was this Vito?  It was?  Yeah, the young man's
voice gruffly barked back.  What the hell did the caller want-- he
didn't have time to fuck around.  Dent made the connection, focusing
on the man's unseen psyche like a high speed modem making contact with
another computer.  He locked in and searched out what he needed.  The
relationship with Janice wasn't top of mind-- she was merely a broad,
nothing special.  But the daughter.  She was a cutie.  He had caught
her once sneaking around in her towel and fantasizing about raping her
for days afterward, just throwing her down and doing her, popping the
little bitch-- but then reason returned and the fantasy was returned
to the dark room and he returned to find satisfaction with the mother,
who after all wasn't a bad piece of ass.  Dent smiled and hung up.
Vito was his kind of guy.  He fixed his stare on Janice.

"Janice, you need a man in your life.  How long has it been since
before Vito that a man made love to you?"

"Three years."

"And how often does Vito make love to you now?"

"At least once a week."  The answer held no shame, no hesitation.
Cody sat in a self-contained cocoon of silence, oblivious.  He'd get
to her soon enough.

"From now on, you don't ever go longer than two days, and then only
with Vito.  He is the man in your life.  There will be no others for
you.  And your secret dream is to become his wife and keep a home for
him.  Sex with him will be better than any other sex you have ever
enjoyed including your dead husband.  Janice, that includes sex of any
kind he prefers.  Understand?"

The auburn haired woman nodded, her small mouth twisted in a lewd
smile of agreement.

"Good.  You will stay with him and be proud to be his girlfriend.  You
will depend on him to make all the important decisions in your life
for you.  You will give him your insurance money and ask him to invest
it for you-- in his name, since you will tell him you are so stupid
when it comes to money.  You will ask him for an allowance from it, in
an amount which he deems appropriate for you and Cody.

You will ask him if he would please move in with you and Cody, that
you need a Man Around The House to run things.  Especially because of
all the problems you are having with Cody."

Then her will stiffened a bit and he cracked it back down.  She
slumped in docility and he continued.  He wished he could shake the
lingering headache.

"You will ask him to take responsibility for Cody's discipline.  She
is at the age when she is getting boy crazy and she needs a strong
hand to keep her in line.  Cody must learn, like her mother already
knows, who is in charge in the household.  'Uncle' Vito is the Boss.
You will tell Vito that you assume he will be very stern with Cody and
administer any kind of punishments he thinks are appropriate on a
regular, if not daily, basis.  You will suggest that a spanking time
be established before Cody's bedtime.  At that time, Cody could be
spanked for all the naughty things she has done that day."

Janice nodded, ears intently listening and recording the commands.
Dent turned to Cody.

"Honey, 'Uncle' Vito will be moving in with you and your mother very
soon.  You are very frightened of him and you should be."  Dent swept
up an image of a towering redwood tree of a man in a dark forest
before her.  "He is very cruel and could hurt you if you don't do what
he tells you to.  You'll never like him, but you will always fear him
more than anything in the world. There will be no back talk, no
sassing or disobeying him.  You will live in terror of displeasing
him."

Cody's blue eyes widened, her dirty-blonde hair hiding her frightened
face now.

"You will ask Uncle Vito's permission to do things now, not your
mother.  He is the boss, not her.  Every night at seven-thirty you
will get yourself ready for bed.  You will always wear a little tee
shirt that is cut to show off your flat tummy and a pair of cotton
bikini panties in bright colors-- no whites allowed.  You will present
yourself to your Uncle Vito for Spanking Time.  You will confess one
naughty thing that you did that day and if you can't think of one, you
will admit to thinking bad things you would like to do with boys.
Uncle Vito will then take you over his knee and give you your
well-deserved spanking.  When he is done, you will give him a kiss and
get into your bed so that he and your mother may make love or whatever
else Uncle Vito wishes to do."

Cody's pink nails dug into the armrest, but her bowed head said that
this was fear not anger, at the things that were going to change in
her life.  It was just the beginning for the fourteen year old,
thought Dent.  Just the beginning.  He blinked them back and stood up
abruptly.

"Well, ladies, it was a pleasure.  I think we ought to meet again this
time every week.  I'm confident that we can work through this period
in your lives together." He extended his palm.  His head throbbed.

Janice looked up, somewhat dizzied by the transition, of which she was
only vaguely aware.  "Uh, sure, Doctor.  Next week at 11:00.  Thank
you.  Come on, Cody."

The reedlike blonde teen rose and looked at him and took his hand.
There was a sliver of fear there.

"You've been a good girl about this Cody.  A very good girl."  She
stifled a weak sigh and nodded, the fear dissipating.  She wouldn't
have to worrying about embarrassing Uncle Vito at the Doctor's today.
From the way her tight jeans swayed as she walked out, Dent got the
sense that her little ass was already sensitive to the spankings that
her Uncle Vito would soon give her.


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

"Any word yet?"

Dr. Newman Frantz shook his head.  "No.  He's out there-we just don't
know where yet.  Jesus, a sociopath who can control minds!  And I let
him walk out of here like a zombie!"

Nikki Liston, his assistant, shrugged.  "Not a lot you could have done
Doctor.  Not with the power he has now.  We'll keep looking.  Doctor,
are you sure you don't want the FBI or NSA alerted about this?  They
have the resources that-"

"NO!  And don't bring it up again!  It would ruin me professionally.
Just keep reviewing the media feeds and searching the internet-we'll
find him.  We know enough about him to track him down eventually."

Nikki nodded.  The Doctor's word was final.  

"If only I hadn't given him the only sample treatment available.  The
only hope is that the chemical composition can be lifted from his
bloodstream.  I think it can be passed on through the blood."

"Like HIV Doctor?"

Frantz nodded absently.  "Yes, that's what I said, didn't I?  For a
research assistant, you ask obvious questions."  Nikki held her
tongue.  The doctor could be a challenge to one's patience, though he
was brilliant.

"Sorry Doctor.  Anyway we know he's a sociopath that hates women."

"Because of his conviction, yes."  Frantz rubbed his eyes.  "Look into
any female-related service or activity-he might be using his power in
some way to subvert a perfectly normal women's group for the sadistic
thrill of it."

Nikki nodded.