The Practice
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,
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 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.
Julianna Linders efficiently and speedily explained her condition,
concluding with her own self-analysis and perscription. "All I
really need are some sleeping pills to get me through the next
few weeks and I'll be fine. Obviously," she shrugged wearily, "I'm
a business major, not a doctor, so I can't do it myself. I mean, we
can go through all this again, if you insist." Her gray eyes
delivered this comment with the barest trace of boredom at the
prospect. "But of course the real problem is that I've been
studying my butt off and I need to get caught up on my sleep."
Doctor Dent essentially agreed with the college senior's
assessment. Like everything else about her, it was to the point
and unarguable.
She was a pale short-cropped brunette with a flipped up nose
and slightly clenched smile that was more business than
pleasure. Her body was unremarkable, if tall and thin, and her
figure was more angles than feminine curves. He suspected she
was underweight by a few pounds. Not much of a dresser either
in her Columbia sweatshirt, baggy khakis and sneakers. There
was the barest trace of gloss on her thin lips and just a dash of
blush on her high wan cheeks. And she wore absolutely no
jewelry whatsoever. She certainly hadn’t dressed to impress the
good doctor.
Hmmmm, pondered Dent. That wasn’t very respectful now, was
it Julianna?
"So, tell me about this stress of yours Ms. Linders? May I call you
Julie?"
Her response was immediate and in the negative. "No—you may
not. I hate the way people automatically assume they can
shorten your name. It’s Julianna—really, I must insist Doctor
Dent."
Dent waved his arms in apology. "Naturally. I’m sorry. Julianna.
Please continue."
She blinked as he entered her mind, then proceeded to answer
the question, unconscious of the expedition he was conducting
into her real thoughts and feelings. The blather wasn’t worth
listening to, but it kept her busy and gave her the comfortable
illusion that she was in control. She wasn’t, of course. He was in
control now.
"And so with my finals coming up, I need to nail down a 4.0 in
Anthropology in order to even be considered for Phi Beta Kappa-
-"
Dent ignored the no-nonsense, confident voice recite her various
little worries and opened up her mind for his inspection. She was
an amazing young woman-- a scholarship student with a straight
A average than was hell-bent on a successful and very lucrative
career in financial management-- an investment banker, stock
broker or international merger & acquisitions expert were some
of the options she had set her sights on. It all sprang from an
unhappy childhood-- some kind of sexual abuse by an uncle at
an early age had forged an utterly self-reliant young woman. Her
parents were dead, no siblings.
"There is a concern that I might go summa instead of magna cum
laude and that has me concerned as Harvard B School is
notoriously picky---"
He poked about some more looking for males, but there wasn’t
room in Julianna’s life for a mere male. That had to be a
combination of the uncle again and sheer drive to succeed.
There was a compulsion to succeed beyond all other needs or
desires. It would manifest itself in obvious signs of money and
social position, not a relationship. He saw faces of anxious male
admirers, but nothing but mild interest in any of them. He found
she owned a vibrator and that she used on a regular basis to
relieve herself. Well, this would all change now.
"Well Juliana, well, well, well. Such a smart gal you think you
are. Why don’t you keep your mouth shut now and listen to me,
you little nitwit?"
He savored the expression of shock on her face, then the
immediate need to obey his command. Then the fear that floated
in her gray eyes as his will mentally pinned her own down
securely.
"Taking your GMAT soon, aren’t we? It’s," he searched then
found the answer among her thoughts, "tomorrow—right?"
Juliana Linders nodded silently, her delicate neck stiffening, then
her head bobbing puppetlike. Resistance—what a spirited filly
she was! It made it all that more enjoyable—even if it also forced
him to exert more pressure. Lately it was getting a little, not a lot,
difficult to overcome some of the patients when they resisted. It
took an extra second, no more, but it was troubling. Like his
worsening headaches.
"You’re not going to do well, dear. Not well at all. And you know
it. You’ve always known that you’re not as smart as people think
you are. You’ll be crazy with desperation by tomorrow morning.
The only thing to do will be to bring a cheat sheet with you—
cheating is the ONLY way you could do well on your GMATs,
isn’t it?"
Again the stiff neck and the nod. Quicker this time. That was
fine. He’d alert the proctor anonymously that Juliana Linders
would be cheating on the test so she’d be discovered publicly.
Dent regretted not being able to watch the humiliating scene that
would unfold tomorrow about eleven o’clock—it would be
delicious. And it would explain the subsequent turn in Juliana’s
life for anyone even vaguely interested in her.
"If you don’t do well or something should happen tomorrow, you
won’t be able to attend graduate school will you?"
Glazed gray eyes dilated. "N-n-no, Doctor."
No indeed. And with the ensuing scandal, her scholarship would
be automatically be withdrawn in keeping with the school’s strict
honor code guidelines. What a shame. Columbia would be so
embarrassed because of the incident, he doubted she’d be
allowed to finish up the semester. Word would spread, and her
name added to a black list. There would be no final semester in
Julianna’s senior year, no graduation, no grad school and no
hope of being accepted at another school. What a tragedy.
"If things don’t work out for you, I mean if your little dreams of
being a high powered career gal didn’t work out, you’d have to do
something else, wouldn’t you?"
She had never considered anything other than a high powered
career in finance, concerned with the management of large
amounts of money and other human beings. Dent’s suggestion
yawned ominously before her. Dark spots flashed over her future
now. Things wouldn’t work out…she would have to do
something else. Julianna’s subconscious mind was a top wound
up by Dent. He would continued to spin it ever faster tomorrow
afternoon.
"When I tap my desk, you’ll forget we had this discussion,
Julianna. But before then, let’s get a few things straight. Tell me,
will you pass the GMATs tomorrow?"
Her wan cheeks were drawn tight, teeth clenching. "N-no," the
realization spread over her, "I won’t pass it." There was anger,
but it was self-directed, like someone who has finally understood
that she has been her own dupe.
"And why is that?"
Eyes blinked. "I’m just not smart enough. I don’t," Dent noted
with pleasure she added this on her own, "really have any
business taking it to begin with." She raised her small hand to
her forehead, as if checking herself for a temperature. "What
was I thinking?" she asked of herself in frustration.
The Doctor nodded solemnly. "What will you do?"
Her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t in the room anymore—she was
thinking aloud. "I can write some of the basics on a small piece
of paper, maybe slip it in my sleeve and pull it out. That should
give me some of the answers anyway.”
“The rest I’ll just have to guess—maybe just go with a random
order. I read somewhere that even a random order gives you
some percentage of right answers. Yeah, " her gray eyes were
crafty now, thin lips curled in a foxy smirk as she reasoned her
way through the impossible problem, "it might just work!"
Dent nodded doubtfully. "Give it a shot, Julianna. On your way
out, make an appointment with my secretary for tomorrow—right
after your GMATs are over." He tapped his desk, and her face
cleared.
"Are we through Doctor? I have other things to get done today."
Her tone was insistent, her mind already on the day’s next chore.
He rose. "Yes—for today. Make an appointment for tomorrow
and we’ll get to the bottom of all this stress you’re dealing with—
all right?"
She shrugged, unconvinced. "Yeah, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow."
She rose to leave and bent down to recover her backpack. Dent
appraised the lift of her backside, pert and boyishly rounded even
underneath her baggy khaki pants. It was so pattable, so
spankable. He waited for her to make it to the elevator, then
buzzed the intercom.
"Betsy, get me the number for the Dean of Students at Columbia
University."
*************************
The redness around her eyes gave Julianna Linders a desperate,
hunted look. Despite some attempt to put herself back together,
it was obvious she had been crying fiercely before coming to see
Dent.
"Long day, Ms. Linders?"
She was silent for a minute and refused to meet Dent’s gaze.
Slowly her face acquired a crimson luster the Doctor found
familiar and very appealing. The blush of shame.
"I had some p-problems today, Doctor."
Dent sat back into his chair. "Go on."
She toyed with the edging on her sweatshirt and mumbled.
When Dent insisted she repeat what she had said, Julianna
raised her wretchedly. "I was caught cheating while taking my
GMATs this morning. I’ve been…expelled. The Dean of
Students wants me out by the end of the week. I won’t even be
able to graduate next semester—because the university has put
me on some kind of black list with the other schools. Not only
that, but I also have to pay back all the scholarship money that
Columbia gave me!" She sunk back into a moody daze.
Dent suppressed a smile. "My, is that a lot of money?"
Without looking up, she nodded. "I was on a hundred percent
scholarship," she informed him bitterly. "It will take me…years to
pay it all back. And I don’t even have a degree to get a decent
job to pay it all back. What was I thinking?" She looked up at
Dent squarely. "What’s wrong with me, Doctor? I’ve never
cheated on anything in my life!"
Dent allowed himself a sneer. "I think you’re suffering from a
certain psychological syndrome. It is known as the Cinderella
Complex. It manifests itself with young women who assume that
they have natural gifts and abilities that they do not actually
posses—in your case, intelligence. In such cases, the young
woman’s ambition drives them to do things that they are
otherwise incapable of doing, for example attending college,
taking difficult courses and pursuing demanding careers. For a
time, the ambition and drive carry these young women to perform
well—on the surface. However, even then, these women are
known to cheat and lie in order to succeed—though they do this
on a subconscious level, without even being aware of what they
are doing."
Julianna shook her head. "You mean this isn’t the first time I’ve
cheated?"
Dent shrugged. "You’ve probably been cheating since you were
in junior high school Julianna. If we were to test your natural
intelligence, I doubt you’d crack 110—not bad, but not college-
level, my dear."
The young woman drank this new knowledge in with a white-
faced fit of coughing. Dent rose to get her a cup of water, which
she accepted gratefully.
Dent continued relentlessly. "Like Cinderella, you finally hit the
magic deadline and your coach has turned into a pumpkin,
Julianna. I feel the pain you must be going through—but I also
think this is a healthy development. You finally realize I hope that
college wasn’t a place you should have ever been in the first
place—don’t you?"
The pale, frightened woman nodded vaguely. Dent gently
nudged her conviction level over a bit and her nod took on more
acceptance. "Yes, I do now, Doctor."
"Well, perhaps we can start to look at some new opportunities for
you. Can you type Julianna?"
"Yes, Doctor," her thin, dry lips answered. The question had
relevance to her new set of life options.
"How many words a minute?"
Her gray eyes widened in surprise. "I---I don’t know. Not," she
added truthfully, "a lot I guess."
Dent shrugged. "Well I guess an executive-level secretarial job
is out, isn’t it? Those jobs require real skill, real experience. But
a drop-out who can’t type very fast?" Dent’s doubtful expression
closed that avenue. "Perhaps a junior level secretary job is
possible, don’t you think?"
He loved the way her thin dark brows bunched up in anxiety, her
eyes pleading for him to stop. "Secretary?" She forced the word
out.
"Well, despite your office skills deficiencies and lack of
experience, you might make some business executive a nice
little helper. Naturally such jobs are very scarce—every high
school girl in the city is trying to get them. They certainly beat
waitressing. So you’ll have lots of competition." He paused and
tightened his hold on the expelled college girl. "Are you starting
to understand just how silly it was for you to think you could really
succeed as a big-time businesswoman—when you aren’t even
cut out to make it as a junior secretary?"
Big tears began forming in Julianna Linders’ gray eyes, her lips
puckering in a sad, angry pout. Her mind thrummed with the
struggle that raged within. He was so wr- wr-, wr-… But she
couldn’t even say it mentally, because…why? Because he
was…RIGHT. A secretary. Shuddering sighs wracked through
her chest, her small breasts heaving.
"I doubt you’d be of much interest to a REAL businesswoman
since you don’t possess any marketable skills. But a
businessMAN, well, that’s different altogether. You might offer a
boss certain…assets he might find pleasing. Pleasurable.
Enticing."
Pleasing. Pleasurable. Enticing. Julianna registered the
adjectives numbly.
Dent focused his attention in obvious inspection of Julianna’s
body. "You are young and enthusiastic—eager to get and keep a
job appropriate to you. Too bad you have had dreams that far
exceeded your abilities. Time for that to change, Julianna. Time
for the career gal she wants to be to become the office girl she is,
Julianna."
Instinct made her start to shake her head wildly, but a deeper pull
turned it into a tamed nod.
"Good girl. Here," he passed a business card to her, which she
accepted obediently, "I have a contact here that might be able to
help you—get you started with the next phase of your life."
Julianna brushed the tears from her eyes and took the card as
ordered.
PRETTY PETS SECRETARIAL PLACEMENT- A selection of
sexy assistants for the discriminating executive
Dent picked up his phone, dialed and had a brief conversation
while Julianna sat, staring at the card mutely.
"I’ve made an appointment for you after you leave here, Julianna.
They say they might have something available, but their selection
process is rather intensive and…personal. I suggest you do as
they say," here he embedded a root command for her to do so,
despite all the unpleasantness it would entail for her, "and return
here by the end of the day."
Julianna rose shakily. Holding the card, she left the office and
hailed a cab. The address on the card was situated in a
prestigious financial district skyscraper. The doorman gave her a
leer when she asked for Pretty Pets, which was not listed on the
office directory, then a suite number and a lewd wink. A hesitant
knock brought her into a small office across the desk from a
severe worldly-looking auburn haired woman in her mid forties, a
Ms. Steele.
"You’ll need to fill this out." She pushed an application across the
desk. "It is basic information our clients need in evaluating
whether or not they will take you on. Fill it out completely. I’ll be
back in a few minutes."
Julianna focused on the form.
Pretty Pets Secretarial Placement Agreement
I the undersigned agree to accept agency placement without
reservation, that my paycheck will be paid directly to the agency,
which is entitled to a fifty percent placement fee for the duration
of my employment, and that if my employment should be
terminated FOR ANY REASON by the employer I am placed with
within a period of ten years from date of start, that I shall be held
responsible for making whole my entire employment income
through that ten year period, fifty percent refund to my employer
for the time of employment and fifty percent to Pretty Pets
Secretarial Placement for the entirety of the ten years.
Please state the follow: age, height and weight; measurements:
bust, waist, hips; brassiere cup size; hair color: shade and length;
color of eyes.
State the age at which you lost your virginity
State the number of male sexual partners you have had since
that time
State the number of female sexual partners you have had
Indicate number of sexual encounters you have had in the
following areas: missionary, doggy style, fellatio, cunnilingus,
anal
Indicate the sexual acts which you have to this point refused to
allow
Indicate number of times you masturbate per week
Describe any sexual aids which you currently own or have
utilized in the past
Describe your most intense sexual encounter
Describe your most intense sexual fantasy
Describe the sexual act or fantasy for you which you have the
most aversion to
Describe your ten most intimate articles of lingerie
PLEASE NOTE COMPLETE DISCLOSURE IS MANDATORY.
FAILURE TO ANSWER ALL THE ABOVE QUESTIONS
COMPLETELY DISQUALIFIES YOU FROM ANY
EMPLOYMENT CONSIDERATION.
YOUR ANSWERS WILL BE VERIFIED THROUGH LIE
DETECTION APPARATUS!
Julianna’s eyes were filled with tears, shaking her head in
disbelief. This is the description of her that potential employers
would review? It was insane. There had to be another way. True
she had cheated on the test—why she still didn’t know. But she
still had a brain and she had more to offer that what the
application seemed to imply for her. Although she was beginning
to realize she wasn’t as smart as she had assumed she was. A
lot of the assumptions she had were beginning to fall apart. But
this? Was this to be her future? No. She dropped the pen to the
desktop and began to rise.
Then she picked it up again and with tears streaming down her
cheeks began to fill out the application as completely as she was
able. An hour later Ms. Steele returned, ignoring Julianna’s
ashen expression.
"Well, I see you’ve completed the application." The older
woman’s eyes flashed over the answers, a pleased curl on her
lips indicating her approval. "Very good—very…explicit. Our
customers will appreciate your forthrightness. And some of the
things you’ve shared here will make you a very, very marketable
candidate. Smart of you to be so brutally honest—as I’m sure
you’re aware, there is a great deal of competition for assistant
positions." Ms. Steel snapped her fingers. "Ready video please
in room seven!" she spoke into an intercom, then looked up at
the surprised Julianna.
"We videotape the interviews for a couple of reasons. First we
use them for verification of your answers, so we’ll start with
those. And of course we want to let our customers know what
the secretarial candidates look like. Shall we begin?"
She didn’t look up at Julianna or wait for a response. If Dent had
sent her, she would do as she was told. Steele didn’t know how
the doctor discovered the desperate young women he referred to
Pretty Pets and she didn’t care. He was well-compensated for
sending the traffic her way. She and her partners were clearing
$100,000 a month by supplying pretty young things to lecherous
business-types who called them secretaries and used them like
whores. It was a brilliant vicious circle they had created at Pretty
Pets—the girls the doctor sent were on the edge and willing to do
anything they were told—even accept the absurd terms of the
contract. Then Pretty Pets negotiated the girl’s "salary"—never
allowing for more than starvation levels wages—while
demanding a huge "finder’s fee" on the side, which the girl never
knew about. Because of the strict terms of the contract, the new
employer held the whiphand. He—or she-- was basically the girl’s
owner on whom the young secretary was totally dependent
financially.
Steele smiled. The "candidate" sitting in front of her today had a
body language that was too confident, too self-possessed. It was
a body language that was needful of training, begging for the
whiphand of a new boss.
She began running down the list of questions. "State your age,
height and weight, dear."
"I’m twenty, 5’ 9" and 110 lbs."
"Look up dear so the customers can get a look at you. Now your
measurements."
Julianna straightened herself, tip her head up and looked up at
the interviewer. "32-28-34."
Steele grinned. "Cup size dear. Not that I can’t guess—you’re a
little thing up top, aren’t you?"
After a moment’s blush, she responded. "I’m a B."
Steel shook her head. "You verge on an A, though. Now tell me
when you lost your virginity."
It was getting worse. But she had to answer. "Seventeen."
"State the number of male sexual partners you have had since
that time."
Julianna swallowed. "None."
Steele’s red lips curled. She was flat chested but very fresh.
"Repeat that for the video."
Julianna cleared her throat. "I, uh, haven’t had a sexual
encounter since I lost my virginity three years ago."
Interesting, thought Steele. "Are you a lesbian dear?"
The auburn-haired darling shook her head violently. "N-no! No
way!"
Maybe that would change depending on the boss’es whims.
"Fine, fine. Calm down dear. Your first—and only time—it was
just straight missionary sex, yes?"
The expelled coed nodded earnestly.
"What wouldn’t you do if you were asked?" The customers
always loved this part. "Stop looking in your lap and address the
video!"
Shaken, Julianna Linders jerked her head up, mouth agape. "I,
well, wouldn’t do like…anything weird."
"Specifically, Julianna. Specifically!" Steel was losing patience
with the blushing little prude.
"Like oral sex-- I wouldn’t like that."
‘You wouldn’t like to perform oral sex for a man?" Julianna
nodded vigorously. There was no point in proceeded with that
line of questioning. If the little priss was put off by giving a blow
job, everything else was probably off-limits too. Not for very
much longer though.
"Do you masturbate dear? If so, how often? And with what?"
This was the worst. She wouldn’t answer. This was wrong. She
didn’t belong here.
YOU BELONG HERE
The thought filled her brain with absolute certainty.
"I masturbate with a vibrator three times a week, Ms. Steele."
How orderly and efficient. But a new boss would have different
ideas about masturbation, about turning it from a right into a
privilege. "Describe your most intense sexual fantasy dear.
Whatever you think about while playing with yourself. Be explicit."
Explicit. No, no, no, no,
TELL HER EVERYTHING
Julianna obeyed the insistent internal voice. Her lips betrayed
her effortlessly, spilling out the sacred fantasy. "I am a princess
and my father and mother are the king and queen of the land. I
imagine myself under a waterfall bathing myself, attended by my
ladies in waiting who watch me from the banks of the fall, ready
to attend me. Then suddenly a band of brigands rides up and
surrounds us. They are a hard group of men—dangerous men—
and we are just a bevy of pretty girls. My ladies cower in fear,
petrified of what they will do with us. But I am a princess and
won’t be frightened by a common pack of thieves."
Steele couldn’t contain a chuckle, but Julianna continued, swept
up by her fantasy. "I throw a coverlet around me and demand
who the leader is. The brigands are taken aback by my courage.
Then a tall, handsome brigand captain comes before me. I
bravely tell him who I am and demand he release my ladies and
I. He just laughs, then throws me over his shoulder, taking me
behind a copse. There he ravishes me. But as he does, he
realizes that he is in love with me and the rape turns to love.
Then he asks me to be his lady. And I become queen of the
bandits." Julianna looked away from the video now. Sharing the
fantasy had felt like rape.
Steele’s eyes glazed over. This repressed little bitch had some
kind of pathetic imagination. This was like a bad Harlequin
romance. Queen of the bandits? Some customer would get a
kick out of that one. They loved getting inside the head of their
new office toy and the fantasy question had been a good way of
letting them in. Poor little thing—maybe her new boss would play
the fantasy out with her just for kicks. Probably not, though. The
girl’s fantasy was never terribly important in the end—just the
new master’s.
"Fine dear. You’re doing very well. Now let’s get to the sexual
act or fantasy which is a turn-off, shall we? Again, remember
that our specialist check the tapes for signs of not telling the
truth—so be detailed and honest."
DO IT. TELL HER EVERYTHING the horrible voice
commanded. Cold electricity on her tongue as she answered
helplessly…
"I saw a movie one time that really bothered me. It was about a
young schoolteacher who taught in an inner city school. The
leader of a gang, a big black boy, gets a crush on her and
decides he wants to, uh, make love to her. She says no and the
boy has his gang trap her in her classroom and then he, he,
rapes her." A shiver. "It was awful because then he lets the
other boys in the gang rape her too. But that was really a turn-off.
I don’t go for black guys and rape is awful. I thought about that
movie for a long time. In the end, she kills them all though." A
relieved smile then a visible question on her forehead.
"Is there more? Go on then."
TELL HER ABOUT LORI
How did the voice know about Lori?
"When I was sixteen, my cousin Lori came to stay with us for the
summer. She was in college already and very sophisticated.
She was sort of like an older sister I guess and she was very
pretty—everyone told her she looked like Priscilla Presley. She
had lots of boyfriends calling all the time, but she never really
went out with any of them. I wondered why till one night when my
parents were out, she asked me if I wanted to share a bottle of
wine with her. I wanted to be cool so I said sure. After a while
we were both pretty out of control and laughing and all. Then she
pulled me close to her and began kissing me—like a boy would,
though. I pushed her away and told her I wasn’t interested. We
never talked about it but I kept my distance the rest of the
summer. I’ve never told anyone about it before," Juliana
concluded in wonderment. It was the deepest secret of her life
and she had just shared it with this strange, hard women and an
invisible audience of potential employers. But the Voice was
pleased.
"Very candid dear. So this tryst with your cousin put you off to
girls, I take it?"
"It wasn’t a ‘tryst’! She came on to me and I’m NOT a lesbian,
o.k. lady?" Juliana breathed hotly.
Not yet, dear. Not yet. "Yes, of course. Now as I look at the last
question, I see you haven’t done a very good job filling out the
information as requested, I afraid. You were asked to describe
your ten most intimate articles of lingerie—"
"But I did!" Juliana protested. "I did! I listed—"
"You listed," Steel cut in, "as the sexiest lingerie you own, ten
pairs of matching Jockeys For Her bras and panties in different
colors. Come now—that’s not very sexy, is it?"
"One pair is black and I thought…" the coed stumbled and
stopped.
"No teddies, garter belts or baby dolls you slip into to feel a bit
more…uninhibited?"
Juliana shook her head. Lingerie was something some women
wasted a lot of money on. Not her. She didn’t dress up that
way—like a slut—for anybody. Especially a men.
Steele knit her eyebrows in consternation. "Not a single thong
panty to turn a frat boy on after a wonderful date?"
No answer—just a creeping, frustration with these insane
questions—and her inability to just get up and leave.
"Not even a push-up bra for those bumps you call breasts?"
Fury coursed through her thin frame and Juliana’s hands
clenched into fists. Who did this woman think she was,
commenting on her breasts this way? True they were small but
she had no right—
SHE HAS EVERY RIGHT
Her hands unclenched. The rage drained out of her immediately,
leaving only a residue of shame.
"Answer me, girl!" Ms. Steele demanded.
"N-no, I, uh, don’t have one," she answered in a small voice.
That would change, if she was a betting woman, contemplated
Steele. But with Dent’s referrals, there was no need to bet.
Everything was a sure thing. God- he had such a knack for
conditioning these honnies to accept even the most humiliating
comments and acts! What a genius! Oh well, time to finish up
and get this one out in the market.
"Well, that’s the last question. We’re almost through," she
promised as she slipped the application into a manila folder.
Juliana nodded numbly. It would take all her strength to get out
of the chair, but once she did, she was fairly certain she would
break a land-speed record getting the hell out of the building.
Obviously she wasn’t in control of herself. It had been a long
day. This was a mistake and a good night’s sleep would help her
clear her head. Maybe she was delerious—
"Stand up, girl."
OBEY HER
Juliana shot up from the seat, brain throbbing with a headache.
"Video check again please. Now dear, take off your blouse."
Juliana didn’t respond at once. But the Voice was silent. That
was a good sign. She felt courage well up within her. With
concentration, she looked squarely at the older woman, smirked,
then asked in a deliberately sarcastic tone, "Are you out of your
fucking mind?"
This was odd, but it was admittedly an odd business, so Steele
let the remark pass. "We have to let the customers see what the
merchandise looks like dear. If you want a placement, you’ll
have to strip down and do a bit of posing. We take the tape,
splice it into what we call the "audition" tape to potential bosses.
Then based on the tape and the application, they decide who
they want to see in person. But for the tape, imagine I’m the
employer and you’re interviewing for me personally. And I want
to inspect your lingerie—to make sure you’re pretty for me
underneath your business clothes. Do a cute little striptease for
me to let me know how much you really want the job. Go
ahead—I don’t have all day, girl."
The Voice had left now—it had definitely left! She could feel the
space behind her forehead, cooler now. This was over then.
The temporary madness had passed—which meant she could
say what needed to be said. "Fuck you—girl."
Steele was hung up for a moment and Juliana loved it. "I don’t
know what I’m doing here—Dr. Dent clearly has the wrong idea
of what goes at this office. But your sick little operation is about
to go out of business, Ms. Steele. I’m going to tell the cops about
this place and I don’t think you’ll be ‘placing’ any girls any time
soon!" With a superior knowing smile, she turned to leave.
STOP
She froze, a statue except for the wash of fear that made her
blink twice.
APOLOGIZE
Mechanically her lips separated. "I’m sorry, Ms. Steele.
I…apologize."
The older woman had been surprised, but she knew there was no
need to fear now. She felt a pang of guilt that she had doubted,
even for a second, that the Doctor had let her down. She sat
back, tapping the table impatiently. "I said, take off your blouse.
Then your pants. We’ll go from there. But if I have to repeat
myself--" She let the threat hang, then held up the application. "I
own your contract honey. If I want, I’ll place you with a leather
freak who’ll beat the shit out of you every day for the rest of your
life. Keep that in mind before you consider another outburst like
that!"
DO WHAT SHE TELLS YOU. DO EVERYTHING SHE TELLS
YOU TO DO.
Juliana’s fingers leapt to the hem of her sweatshirt and began
pulling it up, exposing her pale pink soft-cup Hanes for Her bra.
Trembling, she kicked off her sneakers, then with a sigh, she
slipped out of her khaki pants to display her matching pale pink
cotton panties. She stood before the older businesswoman in
her underwear, eyes averted shyly.
This was better. She was girlishly built—no supermodel, but
there was a certain schoolgirl charm in her modesty, in the way
she nervously rocked on her toes clad only in her boring undies.
Rough and in need of training, but promising. Very promising.
She placed an object on the table and reveled in the expelled
student’s shocked expression.
"Now imagine the boss calls you into his office. He’s had a very
stressful day and wants a little diversion. He orders you to strip
down, then kindly gives you this little gift. Go on—you know what
to do."
Julianna looked at the bright red vibrator, bit her lower lip. Tears
were rolling down her cheeks. She blinked them away and
looked into Steele’s eyes, searching for any shred of mercy.
There was none to be found. The middle-aged businesswoman
waited impassively, tapping her fingers. Cool air enveloped the
near naked college girl now and she shivered.
For a moment, time stopped and the unreality of the situation
allowed Julianna to step away from it. Everything told her that
she would soon be the office bimbo for some businessman, a
boss who from the very first day on the job would know her body
intimately. Her dreams and fantasies and fears would belong to
him as much as to her. She would be an executive perk, an
office plaything, nothing more. Her intelligence was no longer an
asset. Instead of working out international acquisitions on a six
figure salary, she would be fetching coffee for a boss making $8
an hour. Instead of indulging herself with expensive sports cars,
exotic vacations or tasteful jewelry, she would be investing her
meager dollars in lingerie and cosmetics for her boss’es
pleasure. It would be a very small space to live in, but then she
would be a very small person in the world now anyway. Briefly
she wondered about the little world she would soon inhabit—a
cheap apartment, the office where everyone would know what
her real qualifications were, the highway hotels, the space under
her boss’es desk… She knew all this, knew it would be this way
from now on. She hated it too.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to the Voice. Please!
Don’t do this to me! I don’t understand what I did, but I’m sorry!
Please give me another chance! I’ll be good! I won’t cheat! I
BEG YOU! DON’T TURN ME INTO A SLUT!
The Voice answered at last. YOU ARE A SLUT. OBEY THIS
WOMAN—NOWWWW!
In a trance, Julianna gingerly picked up the vibrator and turned
the dial at its base. It thrummed to life in her hands and Ms.
Steele’s dour expression brightened.
"Face the camera dear and remember—do a good job. You’re
performing for an audience of potential employers! Your new
boss is watching out there somewhere—isn’t that exciting?"
Her new boss…. Juliana licked her lips, smiled weakly and began
to lower her panties.
An hour and a half later she stood in front of Doctor Dent’s desk.
He hadn’t invited her to sit down and she was surprised to see a
cassette sitting on his desk. She could guess what it was a
videotape of.
"It arrived ten minutes ago. I fast forwarded it so I could see the
highlights, but I’ll review it at more length at another time." His
eyes gleamed at her and she looked away. "From what I could
see, you have the makings of a fine little piece of office tail. I’m
sure it won’t be long till you’re offered an interesting…," he
indulged himself in a terrible pun, "position, let us say, of some
kind."
Juliana looked at her doctor in incredulity. Insane thoughts
twisted like snakes inside her ravished brain. "I came in here
yesterday with a full scholarship, a 4.0 average and on the verge
of entering a top notch business school. All I asked for was a
sleeping pill. Now I’ve been expelled, no chance at even getting
my undergraduate degree and no prospects other than getting a
job as a virtual prostitute in a corporate office somewhere—and
it all happened because I came to see you!" She jabbed her
finger in righteous accusation.
Dent sat back. "Oh really? How did I manage all that?"
The gray eyes lost their fire. "I…don’t know. Somehow. But I
don’t care. This is beyond me. I’ll go to the police and let them
figure it out. It may sound crazy, but I’m sure they’ll be interested
in your association with that Steele woman." She would go now,
without thinking or hesitating. If she didn’t go now she would be
lost forever.
STOP
She stood still. It was the Voice. Julianna shuddered in
anticipation of what humiliation it would command her to engage
in. The Voice but different. Of course, it was spoken aloud—not
just in her head! Dent’s Voice? Yes!
"Finally figured it out, did you? What a bright office girl you’ll
make some boss! Now, back to your simple threats. Let’s deal
with those first. Come sit on my lap."
With no choice, her body obeyed. She settled into the man’s lap
with lips pursed firmly shut. She winced as his hands gripped her
small breasts, then kneading them with an arrogant casualness.
Her own hands remained latched to her thighs.
Sensing her thoughts, he tightened his grip. "You are frustrated
because you don’t control your body, right? Get used to it. Your
body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to your
superiors—the bosses who you will serve. You will keep it fit and
trim because without your body, you have NOTHING to offer a
potential employer. Darling, it is time you came to terms with your
new identity. The mind you are so proud of is empty of any real
thoughts. Nothing you have to say is of the slightest interest to
anyone. Your intellectual life as you knew it—reading books,
watching foreign films, enjoying classical music—such subtleties
are now far, far beyond you."
What was he talking about? She would stop reading books,
listening to her beloved Chopin? It couldn’t happen--
YES, IT CAN AND IT WILL—IMMEDIATELY. SHUT UP AND
LISTEN CAREFULLY.
Dent continued verbally. "There was once a young woman who’s
name was Juliana Linders—you may have known her. She was
bright, studious, and ambitious—she was going to be a leader in
corporate America, a high profile specialist in international
mergers and acquisitions. Through a combination of talent, verve
and style, she became very successful and very wealthy.
Eventually she settled on a husband—a world-class surgeon.
The two went on to enjoy a very comfortable life, and Juliana
was fulfilled in every way as a woman, a wife, a professional and
a lover. But Juliana Linders is gone as of this moment. She no
longer exists. In her place there is a new person.
Julee Linders."
She was crying softly and Dent allowed it—the only act of mercy
he permitted her.
"Julee is a loser—a down and out drop-out that no one cares
about. She has low self-esteem and rightly so. There isn’t a lot to
her. She isn’t very bright—she had been fooling everyone for
years by cheating till she got caught and expelled. For awhile
she thought she was really something special—reading deep
books, listening to classical music and watching foreign movies.
Very superior she was about it all.
But she no longer has the luxury of such illusions. Now she
needs a job—badly. Julee’s signed a contract that she’s
obligated to meet. She’s very excited at the prospect of becoming
a secretary and earning a little money. She knows she will never
earn very much—just enough to pay rent on a tiny apartment,
buy cosmetics and cheap clothes—but it is still better than the
only other occupation she thinks she is skilled enough to
perform—streetwalking. So she’s ready and willing to become a
constantly felt-up, bent over and made to kneel office toy—it is
better than anything else she could look forward to.
Julee’s body is very important. She knows she isn’t gorgeous—
and hates her flat chest—but knows it is the only reason she gets
to keep her job. So Julee works out constantly—keeping her
weight down and using every spare minute doing aerobics. She
knows she has to show off her little bod too- so every spare dime
goes into make-up, hair spray, cheap jewelry, perfume. She’s a
little clothes horse too, with quantity more important than quality.
So her clothes are brightly colored, revealing, cheap and tight.
She treats herself by buying discount lingerie on payday.
Julee doesn’t worry about books—she reads fashion magazines.
She likes music—disco or top 40 ear candy. TV is important—a
fantasy world she can escape into. So she watches Melrose
Place or nighttime soaps like it, imagining herself as one of the
characters. Sexy movies are o.k. too, but so expensive she
rarely goes to see any. Not very deep, is she?"
Juliana shook her head truthfully. Julee Linders was an
airhead—the perfect plaything. She listened dumbly as Doctor
Dent put the finishing touches on his new creation.
"In a day or so, Julee will get a call from Ms. Steele about a
special opportunity to become a Pretty Pets girl. She will
interview behind closed doors with somebody—a black man?
Maybe a closet bull-dyke. Maybe a middle-aged married man
who wants a young mistress on the side. Who ever it is, Julee
will try very hard to prove herself to the interviewer. Getting the
job will be important—failure is not permitted. If Julee gets the
job, she will perform any act she is told to She knows full well
that she will have to perform sexually for her various employers
or she will not keep her low level secretarial job. Everyone in the
office will know just what she is and why she has been hired—to
be a fucktoy for her boss of the moment. Pleasing her superior
will be Julee’s only mission in life. She will forget she ever had
any other dreams or aspirations."
He pulled on her nipples, now hard, and whispered into her ear.
"And when you are being bent over a desk and fucked Julee, only
then will you remember who you were before yesterday. And
whenever you cum, you’ll remember that you could have been so
much more than just a glorified office whore."
He pushed her off his lap. "Now get out and forget we ever met.
Go begin your new life—Julee."
The girl’s gray eyes went blank, then blinked. Julee had to go
home and wait for Ms. Steele to call. She would pray that the call
would come soon. As Dent watched her pert ass swing out the
door, the panic had already begun. She just HAD to get a Pretty
Pets assignment! Had she been convincing enough in her
video? If she wasn’t so flat—
Another treatment gone well with another young woman cured of
her foolish expectations. Dent lit a cigar and called for Betsy his
personal secretary to attend him.
*****************************
"Anything?" Frantz asked his assistant as he looked over her
shoulder at the monitor.
She clicked away briskly, turned and shook her head. "Nothing."
"Keep looking," the researcher snapped and turned away. When
he had left the room, Nikki returned to the web page she had
been browsing and typed "Region: US Category: Social Services
Specify: Women" into the search box.
*******************
Dent could tell that Regina Dinelli was one of those women who
knew she was attractive but was uncomfortable with it. That was
understandable. As a thirty-eight year old divorced flight
attendant who looked like she did, she had to know the
passengers on her flights were studying more than the safety
diagrams.
As Dent took stock of his newest patient, he only wished he had
enjoyed such lovely instructors when he was younger. She was
a fine specimen of womanhood, her olive-complected face very
expressive with fine eyebrows over searching brown eyes. A
nose a bit too long perhaps, but not overly so, a luscious pair of
naturally crimson lips and subtly sculpted cheekbones gave her
an "inside" look that said she was more comfortable in a romantic
restaurant than a hiking trail. It was a nice look that was only
complemented by her figure and frame—5’5" and a 34C-28-32 if
Dent had to guess. Her dark hair was cut too severely for his
taste—one of those stupid cuts that women get who don’t want to
spend time with their hair. Like he cared.
Her speech was clipped, the words over-enunciated, and he
could tell even without his amazing powers, that she was
someone anxious to upgrade her image.
"You seem like a very confident woman, Ms. Dinelli. I can only
guess why you might need the services of a psychoanalyst."
The thick sexy eyebrows arched with a world-weariness, though
the brown eyes were friendly. "I make look ‘pretty together’—and
I’d say I am—but my profession doesn’t give me a lot of time to
meet friends to just…talk. I’m busy even when I’m on the
ground." She tossed a laminated card on the desk and Dent
examined it.
"Congratulations," he murmurred, pushing the private pilot’s
license back to her.
She gave him a cat-ate-the-canary grin and placed it back in her
wallet. "Thanks. I’m a quarter way through the commercial
training too. In four years, I’ll be the one in the drivers seat in
those 777s."
"How commendably ambitious of you, Ms. Dinelli. An aspiring
airline captain! And while holding down your current job too.
And I imagine being a stewardess must be fairly stressful—"
"STEWARDESS?!? I AM A FLIGHT ATTENDANT!" Regina
was livid. "It takes lots of training to do what I do—"
"Oh please!" Dent was exasperated with this one already!
"Stewardesses ar enothing more than waitresses in the sky.
Let’s be honest Ms. Dinelli!"
Her brown eyes considered him with outright revulsion. "I didn’t
come here to be insulted! You can go f—" Her lips froze and
she was unable to complete the word. Her brown eyes bulged
looking down at her renegade mouth.
"That’s not very nice. I’d expect a stewie to be a bit more
pleasant than that!" Dent scratched his head. "You know, you
looked fairly sympathetic. I might have even let you off with
nothing more than a newfound passion for anal sex or a new
fetish for crotchless panties. Obviously you need more than
that—a great deal more."
Regina shook her head, but despite all efforts was unable to rise
from the chair or speak. Brown eyes registered surprise, shock
and fear.
This had been a long day already and here he was with yet
another recalcitrant feminist to break! Dent concentrated for a
moment, then began to dispense his brand of justice.
"Let’s start with you. Without a doubt, I want you to go by ‘Gina’
from now on. It is sexier and besides I know lots of strippers
named ‘Gina.’ Have you got that? Cat got your tongue? He’ll
give it back in a moment. Keep listening, Gina.
Let’s talk jobs now." He picked up the laminated private pilot’s
license. "I can’t believe they let women be pilots! Now I know
your plan. You’re thirty-eight and gone as far as you can go as a
stewie so you want to be a captain. Well," he pulled out a pair of
scissors and cut the license in two, "no more. I don’t want some
flighty gal like you piloting my aircraft! So from now on, you’re
petrified of the cockpit! No more lessons and no more flying! A
stewie you are and a stewie you’ll remain!"
The brown eyes burned hatefully into him. Though her lips
couldn’t communicate what she thought of this, the eyes surely
did. While they still could.
"Now about your stewie job. You’ve got a big misconception
about what it is you do. Alas, it is a misconception shared by
many in your silly and superfluous profession—if I may call it that.
You think as a ‘flight attendant’ that you provide a real service,
when you clearly do not. It is time to redress this problem.
Therefore I think you will begin the return to the wonderful
tradition so popular with male passengers not so long ago of the
pretty, vapid stewardess. I never ever want you to refer to what
you or your peers do as being a ‘flight attendant.’ From now on
you think of yourself as a stewardess or ‘stewie.’"
She was so furious her jaws had locked up in muscle spasms.
How gratifying!
"Furthermore, you’ll be the kind of stewie that lights up otherwise
boring business trips for men. Your appearance for instance.
You’ll work on it—allow your hair to grow to full regulation length
and curl it regularly. Make yourself up more and wear your
uniform a bit tight to give your passengers lots of leg and
cleavage. Your blue skirt should be tight enough to show off very
visible panty lines and I think you’ll wear darker brassieres
underneath your white uniform blouse to titillate the travelers. In
other words, think of yourself as an ornament, something that
begs for notice from the men aboard.
Conduct on board should be focused on males—boys from
eighteen on up. Ignore the women or treat them rudely if at all.
You’re not there for them—stewies are eyecandy for men. With
that in mind, I want you to personify the "Coffee, tea or me?" kind
of stewie. You’re obviously single and on the make for a
husband and I want you to flirt with each male passenger you
serve that is traveling alone.
Your fingers will ‘accidentally’ graze arms and legs when serving
drinks. You’ll smile, wink and swing your hips for them.
Furthermore, you’ll pick out one special passenger-- that you’ll
concentrate on. You’ll be extra sweet, extra doting on him and
his needs. You’ll try to get him to talk to you, get him to share
personal information. As you do, you’ll make it clear that being a
stewie is awfully lonely at times. Before you land, you’ll hand him
a slip of paper with your name and the name of the hotel you’re
staying at. It won’t make any difference if he’s wearing a
wedding ring or not. ‘Stewies’ are notorious homewreckers. If he
calls you, you’ll sleep with him."
Regina Dinelli had never slept with anyone on such flimsy basis.
The idea was inconceivable to her before. Or rather it had been
inconceivable. Why couldn’t she move or open her mouth?
"And let’s not forget the captain, shall we? It wouldn’t be nice to
ignore the boss of the plane! You’ll make it clear that while on
his plane, you’re ready to serve his needs too!"
But she hated those supercilious macho morons! The way they
always lorded it over the flight att- stewies... Now she was
thinking the way he told her too! Regina pressed her heel into
the carpet, the only protest she could make!
"I’m still worried that there will be some that will still give you the
benfit of the doubt, some other stewies who will think the
passengers and captain are hitting on you unfairly. So to make
sure, let’s do this." Dent passed a business card over to the
immobilized woman. Suddenly she had the ability to move. As if
guided by an invisible hand, she picked up the card. It was for a
tattoo shop in town.
"Are you right or left handed?" Dent asked.
"Right." She could speak now as well? But only to answer his
question she discovered she discovered she tried to add a few
spicy words.
"Fine. On the wrist-side facing out of your right hand I’d like you
to get a tattoo. Nothing dramatic in and of itself, I assure you!
Just three words in red, so that s you serve your male
passengers they’ll be able to read it easily."
Gina could speak now! "What will the tattoo say?" Wait, she
shouldn’t act as if she was actually going to have the thing done!
As soon as she left, she’d ignore this whole visit!
"Mile High Club." Dent was pleased with this inspiration. Gina’s
expression of disgust told him he’d chosen the right approach to
humiliating her.
"Now every male—and the other stewies—will know you’re that
kind of girl! One last thing and I’ll let you go. I want another
tattoo—you’ll get both done as soon as you leave my office
naturally. At the tattoo parlor you’ll need to borrow a razor first
and shave yourself nice and clean down there—you know where
I mean."
Gina would do as he said. She knew she would—he had put his
foot down on her will. There was no question in her mind that
she’d obey every command he gave her.
"Then you’ll ask Jack to inscribe in red ink in a circle above your
pussy the words ‘Fly Me!’—the final confirmation that your
passengers will need to know you’re a fly-girl slut-stewie when
they fuck you in your hotel room!"
At his command, Gina rose to leave. By the time she turned the
block, she had forgotten any memory of Doctor Dent. All was
focused on getting the new tattoos she had suddenly got a
craving to have done. A tired sigh exhaled from Dent. That one
had taken a lot out of her—it was getting harder and harder.
Suddenly he felt as if the power was eating him up, his vitality
and health. No, he just needed a diversion. Something special.
He picked up the paper to see what celebs were in town. Ah—
Sharon Stone and Vanessa Williams at the opening of some new
gal pal movie called "Double Agents." He picked up the phone
and dialed the hotel where it said they were staying. After today,
he deserved an extra special Hollywood lesbo command
performance to wind down with!
****************************
As Dent came over Betsy’s face, he wasn’t thinking of his
secretary or her admittedly effective fellatio techniques. No, he
was turning over the delicious turn of events with his starlet
playthings from the previous night. It had been simply superb.
"Get me a fresh cup of coffee!" he barked at his kneeling
secretary. Betsy looked disappointed as she nodded and
scooped the come off her blue lace bra into her mouth. As if he
cared whether of not she’d have to scrub the cum stains out!
Besides he hadn’t given her a facial treatment the other day and
the bitch looked sexy with his cum sprayed on her face.
"Yessir! Right away Doctor!" She scurried out after barely
getting her skirt and blouse back on, leaving him to think in
peace.
There were times, like the previous evening, when he wondered
how far could he go. If he could have kept the two pretties he
had toyed with the last night, he would have sold Betsy to a
Mexican whorehouse without a second thought. There was
something thrilling about manipulating those celluloid honeys that
couldn’t be replaced with a Betsy blowjob. But if he had indeed
kept the pair for his private pleasure…well, it was just too high
profile. Who cared if a noted psychoanalyst like Dr. Liza Weston
disappeared. But Sharon Stone or Vanessa Williams? No—too
dangerous.
Still, when he thought of them, the way he had them dallying in
his penthouse apartment… He had managed to get through
fairly quickly to Sharon. A dippy receptionist put him through
immediately to her manager, who divulged all her private
numbers. He reached her at the Plaza on her cellular.
"If anyone is in the room with you, pretend I’m your boyfriend and
listen…" He could feel the blonde actress gush on the other end,
then proceeded to tell her what she was expected to do next.
When he arrived at the hotel suite, he found the door open—as
expected—and the two women chatting. Even in casual clothes,
both women were gorgeous.
"I’m glad you could make it tonight—there’s something I really
need to speak to you about." Sharon glared at Vanessa, who
looked back doubtfully.
"Sure, why not?" The black beauty smiled back. At his entrance,
Sharon looked up in anger.
"How did you get in here?"
"Forget me. Both of you. I’m not here—just forget my presence
and go on. I like the way this is headed." Dent set up a camera
in the back of the large suite. "Go ahead Sharon—do what I told
you to do on the phone. You’re doing a good job so far."
The two actresses promptly ignored him and returned to their
conversation. Dent could have crashed cymbals and they
wouldn’t have heard it if he so instructed them.
"Yeah, well Vanessa…I’ve noticed your stares and it is getting
pretty obvious to everyone involved in this production that you’ve
got a thing for me."
Vanessa stood up to leave, but Dent was ready. He easily added
a new element to her psyche—a deep-seated submissiveness of
a special kind that would soon become apparent to her. Already
the urge to leave had disappeared and she lingered, toying with
the doorknob before turning to face Sharon.
"W-what do you mean?" the pop singer and actress asked
weakly.
Dent gave Sharon a quick mental inspection. All was as he had
adjusted it on the phone.
"You know what I mean." The clean cold blue eyes regarded her
with contempt. "Everyone knows you’re a lesbian. From the
pictures, you look like a good one too. "
Would she ever live down those damn pictures? Damn that Bob
Guccione! Vanessa turned away, then said in a little girl voice, "I
am not a, a lesbian."
Sharon walked toward her. "Did you know that I’m from the
South?"
Disconcerted by the sudden change in direction, Vanessa shook
her long straight ebony hair helplessly. "No, I didn’t know that."
Sharon nodded, her own bright blonde chin-length bob bouncing.
"Yes, I come from a very old family from Virginia." She stared at
Vanessa, who avoided her eyes. "We had a plantation and
owned lots of slaves, the family histories say. Lots of men
slaves… and slavegirls too."
Vanessa couldn’t bear to look at Sharon. She knew she should
go, but…
"Why it may even be possible that my great-great-grandfather
owned your great-great grandmother, Vanessa! And I bet she
did ANYTHING her master told her to do. The masters had
complete life or death control over their slaves. And if they didn’t
obey, they were whipped, Vanessa. " Sharon reached out and
stroked the light-skinned woman’s cheek and Vanessa felt tinges
course through her. Leaning forward, she spoke softly into
Vanessa’s ear.
"You’re pretty for a nigger girl."
At the cruel racist word, Vanessa felt anger, shame and
excitement. Despite what she knew she should feel about what
the white bitch had just said, she was unaccountably turned on.
Even now her nipples were rising and her mound moistening.
"If you were on my plantation, I might even pick you to be my
personal lady’s maid. Would you like that—nigger?" Sharon
clicked her tongue on the word, smirking as she said it.
With the word said again, Vanessa felt her knees weaken. Had
she really just muttered ‘yes’ to the vile question?
The perfect white smile beamed in vicious glee. "Well, nigger
girl, strip down for your mistress and I’ll decide whether or not
you’re pretty enough to be my servant."
Vanessa closed her eyes and felt her pussy soak her panties.
Damn it! What was it about this blonde bitch that had turned her
on so? But she couldn’t ignore the command. With humiliating
heat, she slipped off her jeans and unbuttoned her blouse. From
the side of the room, Dent began to shoot the scene.
"Well, what pretty WHITE lace bra and panties you’re wearing.
Very nice for a nigger girl. But strip it ALL off for your Mistress!"
The sigh escaped Vanessa’s lips before she could stop it. It
confirmed to Sharon that the bitch was ready to play! She was
so glad she had thought of this. She had been fantasizing about
it all day—to be the plantation mistress of this sexy black maid.
And now it would all come true! She looked at Vanessa, who
had obeyed her last command. The docile black superstar
looked tamed and broken, just waiting to be used. Sharon could
see from the liquid glistenings on her pussy that her new toy was
very excited.
"Well, IF I pick you to be my maid, then I’ll change your name.
"Vanessa’ is too uppity a name for a nigger girl like you—"
Vanessa was in high heat. She wanted to come, to be naked in
bed with this blonde bitch,—
"Maybe ‘Cocoa’ or ‘Jasmine’ or…I know! ‘Fancy’! I’ll call you
‘Fancy’ since you’ll be my fancy girl!" Sharon unzipped her skirt,
revealing her trademark lack of underwear, and sat on the bed.
She’d keep her blouse on—just to remind her who was the
mistress and who was the slave.
"Get on your knees Fancy."
Vanessa responded eagerly to her new name.
"Oh—you’ve got a bush! I want my maid neat and trim—before
you go, you’ll shave it off."
Vanessa felt a pang of confusion. Her boyfriend Wesley would
be surprised---then it dawned on her that with Sharon, there
wouldn’t be boyfriends in her life any more. With absolute
certainty, she knew that though she might let Vanessa continue
to have a public career, in private Sharon Stone would be her
lesbian lover from this point on. Her dominant lesbian lover.
Sharon spread her legs wide in front of Vanessa, drawing her
head forward by gently pulling on a handfull of her sleek black
hair.
"Show me Fancy. Show me how you please your mistress."
Dent enjoyed the rest of the evening. Sharon had prepared well,
per his instructions. After a most thorough and passionate oral
session, Vanessa, or ‘Fancy,’ was allowed off her knees and into
her mistress’es bed. Sharon then showed her new maid what
her great-great-grandfather most have done with her great-great-
grandmother with the wickedly long strap-on dildo she belted on.
‘Fancy’ was soon cooing in ecstasy as her pale blonde owner
rammed her repeatedly from behind, though the coos were
replaced by shrieks when Sharon cruelly switched orifices. By the
late evening, Dent had used up three rolls of film while his
puppets performed, oblivious to the man photographing their
lewd play.
He had liked the way they played together and decided to keep
the two coupled. Before ‘Fancy’ was allowed to become
Vanessa again, Dent dropped in a final bit of conditioning.
Vanessa Williams would no longer be able to achieve an orgasm
outside the presence of Sharon Stone. To cement the unequality
of the relationship, he placed no such block on Sharon. Instead
he gave her the insight that Vanessa was hers to do with as she
wished--- and that dominating the light-skinned beauty was
something she would do more of, as her schedule allowed. Even
in the darkest days of Southern slavery, no white woman had
ever exercised so much authority over a black woman.
He was tired now, but the night’s activities had been worth it.
Dent was mad now, frustrated that even with his awesome
power, he couldn’t have the two playing right now! He felt like
working out his aggression. Maybe he’d find some reason to
throw Betsy over his knee and give the bitch a spanking. Miss-
filing or something trifling like that—yeah, that deserved a good
lesson!
Only problem was his busy schedule. He had too many patients
he needed to ‘treat.’ The doctor open his appointment book.
Ah—a Kristen Jeffreys should be arriving shortly. Betsy knocked
timidly on the door to let him know that she had arrived.
"Send her in," he ordered gruffly. He really wanted to sleep.
Playing with less than Hollywood starlets today would be a
letdown.
Not that Kristen Jeffreys was unattractive. A young professional
of about twenty-six or so, she was a tall, thin woman with the
body of a runner. Her short brown hair framed a lightly made-up
and pleasant, if unremarkable face. The wide mouth promised
generous smiles when prompted and the intelligent hazel eyes
which hid behind the oversized tortoise shells made you want to
ask her questions. Her body was slim and tight. If she wasn’t
very curvy in her conservative wool business suit, she did have a
tomboyish appeal. Even her overbite, which produced a slight
buck-toothed look, gave her a snuggly squirrel appeal.
"Good morning, Ms. Jeffreys. I’m so glad you came to see me."
She smiled and Dent reconsidered his initial assessment. She
might be prettier than he thought—her smile was cute in the
extreme. "Thanks Doctor. You’ll probably think I’m a silly goose
when I tell you why I’m here."
"Not at all," he responded, even though he was sure she was
correct.
She crossed her long legs and began with an embarrassed grin.
"Well, you’d think at twenty-six I’d be old enough to handle
something like this on my own. But, well, it’s ridiculous, but…oh,
hell—I’ve got a tremendous crush on this guy at work and I’m
going crazy over it!" She smiled sheepishly.
"Go on—maybe I can help," he offered. His sleepiness was
gradually lifting now. This gamine was beginning to interest him.
Not a beauty, but…cute. Like the way she was playing with her
glasses now.
"Well, I work at Kollman, Webber & White—that’s the ad
agency—anyway, I’m a media planner there. Greg Wilde is an
account executive that I work with—the guy I have the crush on."
Dent delved into Kristen’s mind and found him. Fairly ordinary,
flashy dresser, something of a run-around, about thirty. Typical
advertising executive.
"What’s the problem, then? Have you approached him?"
The wide mouth shut and she shook her head, eyes clouded with
guilt. It came out at last. "No, you see Pam, my best friend, also
has a crush on him and—"
With a gentle mental caress, he parted all the nonsense aside
and found Pamela Reynolds occupying the key position.
Pamela, an art director at the agency and a true friend for at least
three years. He could see Kristen’s problem now—she lusted
after Greg the account executive, but Pamela had confided her
interest in him too. Now she was torn by the decision—should
she pursue him and risk her friendship with Pamela or let her
have the field? Men made such fools of women, especially those
just becoming young adults like Missy Kristen here! Here was an
interesting challenge, but he’d need to know more than he could
get from Kristen’s mind. He would need to see Pamela in person
to see where he could take this.
"Call her," he commanded, pushing the phone toward her.
Dumbly she obeyed. "Tell her to come here."
Again she obeyed, as if he were asking her for the time of day.
She held the phone to her pert chest, covering the receiver. "She
says she’s too busy and can’t right now. She wants to know
what’s wrong."
Dent took the phone from her hand. "You’ll be here in less than
ten minutes or you’ll have headaches that you’ll go mad from.
Now get over here now!" He gave the address and slammed the
phone down, irritated.
Ten minutes later Betsy led a disheveled brunette into the office
and Dent knew, if Kristen did not, that she didn’t have a chance
against this tasty morsel with her Greg. Pamela Jardin was a hot
little handful and practically the opposite in looks from her friend
Kristen. She was petite, buxom raven haired thing, with wide hips
and an almost foreign look when compared to the more prosaic
Kristen. Her almond eyes were catlike and her mouth a tiny
kissable affair with bow-shaped lips. If Kristen was a tomboy,
then Pamela was definitely a cheerleader type.
"Hi Kris! What’s wrong? I got here as soon as I could!" She sat
down without asking permission and looked at Dent with real
concern. "Is my friend all right Doctor?"
"Calm down, please! No need for alarm. I’m just trying to help
Kristen sort out a problem and wanted you here to help. You’re
part of the problem, you see."
Kristen blushed and looked away from Pamela’s perplexed
glance. "I don’t understand," she admitted to Dent, when it was
obvious Kristen wasn’t going to respond. Dent had put the
brown-haired girl in a state of intense discomfort before her
luscious friend had arrived. He wanted to concentrate on the
newcomer for now.
"She’s embarrassed. You see she is crazy about your a man
named Greg, a man she says you too are interested in."
Pamela glared with annoyance at her friend. "I can’t believe this!
I told you I liked him! God, what a bitch you are Kristen! Are you
going to try to steal him even before I get him?!"
Kristen tried to make herself invisible, still unable to speak.
Dent analyzed the situation. If Greg was as shallow a man as he
suspected him to be, Kristen didn’t have a chance. She was no
where near as pretty as Pamela was, or half as sexy as the art
director. It would be nice to teach the career gal a lesson, as well
as taming the fiery little hell-cat Pamela. He thought of the old
aphorism, that you shouldn’t ask what you wanted because you
just might get it.
"Well Kristen, it would seem Pamela is a bit upset with you. Let’s
see if we can’t come to a satisfactory arrangement for all
concerned. Pamela," he snapped his finger and the brunette
focused immediately on him, "and Kristen," he repeated the snap.
Now both wenches hung on his every word.
"First, let us get something established from the outset. You are
BOTH infatuated with Greg. In fact you can’t conceive of life
without him. You’ll do ANYTHING to be near him, to BELONG to
him like a little pet. You are constantly horny when he comes
near you and ferociously jealous of any woman who he spends
time with."
He gauged them both as it was critical to set this belief in stone if
the two were to do as he bid them. Pamela’s interest in Greg had
flared to a high temperature, while Kristen had not been so in
love with a boy since she had been sixteen. Good—he continued
on with his prescription for their ‘problem.’
"Now, the problem you both have is how to get him to pick you
over the other bitch. Because when it comes to a man,
friendship between girls comes a far second."
He liked the way the two women now snarled at one another.
Good. Very good.
"Now, Pamela, you KNOW you are sexier than Kristen. But she
might try ANYTHING to steal your man, perform any perverted
act to arouse him. And Kristen—you know Pamela is prettier than
you are and has a better body. How could you hope to attract
Greg away from her?
The only solution is obvious. Rather than compete, you will
cooperate."
The incredulity on their faces was enchanting.
"Yes, cooperation is the ONLY way." Now their faces registered
compliance, acceptance of these new terms, Pamela’s flirty
mouth cocked in a wily expression, while Kristen sat attentively,
carefully drinking in the details.
"You’ll have to let Greg know that you are BOTH offering to be
his girlfriends. That you know he’d be bored with just one of you
so you’ll make it easy for him."
The two young women considered each other slyly.
"It is the ONLY way to get Greg," Dent repeated.
Kristen shrugged and offered up a tentative smile, which Pamela
finally returned.
"But sharing isn’t enough, girls. You’ll have to do better than that.
You’ll have to REALLY show Greg how much you want to please
him. Greg is VERY kinky—did you know that? If you really
wanted to get him hot for you two, you’d do things TOGETHER."
The two women looked cautiously at one another. Neither was
happy about this new wrinkle. Sharing was one thing, but—
Again Dent intoned their new commandment. "It is the ONLY way
girls." They bitterly drank this information in and now avoided
each other’s eyes. That was good enough for Dent. If Greg was
the kind of man he thought he was, he’d enjoy that the girls were
doing things only for his pleasure and not for their own. He’d
probably like that the two weren’t lesbians, that they hated it, but
performed that way because HE enjoyed watching. Again, Dent
thought how lucky this unknown bastard was! If only he knew…
"I think you should start tonight. Call him when we’re through—
both of you. Tell him how much you want to be with him, that
you’ve talked and decided that you both want to make dinner for
him. Who has the bigger apartment?"
Kristen spoke. "Uh, I think I do." Pamela nodded.
"Good. Then invite him there. Take the rest of the day off to get
ready for him. There’s a lot to do!"
The two looked quizzically at him. Dent sighed. He had to tell his
mind controlled slaves how to do practically everything!
"First, you Pamela—move in with Kristen today. That way Greg
can enjoy you more comfortably in a familiar place. And give him
a key of course."
Kristen nodded uncertainly. "But my place isn’t that big! I only
have one bedroom and—" she stopped suddenly.
"Greg would like that you both sleep together in the same bed
every night, Kristen," Dent reminded her gently.
"Oh." She looked at her shoes in silence. Pamela did the same.
Neither protested now. They knew it was the only way to satisfy
their infatuation with Greg.
"If I know Greg at all from what you’ve told me about him, I think
there are things you can do that will get him quite excited by both
of you." Two pairs of eyes lit up at that remark and waited for
him to continue. "Every man likes variety—the blonde goddess
and the brunette bimbo. The blonde is the ‘nice girl’ who is
angelic. She is adored by her man, treated as a valuable
adornment. She wears white lace and is a lady all the time.
Then there is the brunette. She’s the dirty girl, the ‘other woman’
that does all the nasty things he wants her to do. The slut, the
whore that’s kept only for sex."
Pamela was worried now. She was a brunette and didn’t like the
sound of what she was hearing.
"Kristen, since you aren’t as pretty as Pamela, you will assume
the role of the brunette bimbo for your man. Pamela—you will
become the blonde goddess for him."
Kristen’s jaw dropped. Pamela smiled, relieved.
"You should both get the same hair style—an exaggerated
pageboy should be appropriate—today at a beauty salon. But
you Pamela will have yours dyed a platinum blonde, you Kristen
a midnight brunette. Don’t worry about your pubic hair—shave it
off when you get back to Kristen’s. Greg doesn’t like pubic hair—
you’ll have to shave everyday. Understand girls?"
They nodded dutifully, Kristen less enthusiastically than Pamela
now.
"Good. Then I want you two to buy some lingerie to greet your
man in. Pamela, as the angel in this relationship, you’ll buy the
daintiest, prettiest, most expensive white lace bra, panty, high
heels, garter belt and stocking combo you can buy—all so you’ll
look pretty for your man tonight.
Kristen, as the slut in the relationship," he liked how she winced,
then pressed on, "you’ll buy another kind of outfit. For your man,
you won’t wear romantic lace tonight like Pamela, you’ll wear
black shiny form-fitting latex. Panties, bra and at least three inch
spike patent leather heels—that’s it."
Prim little Kristen hated it, but Dent knew her pussy would betray
her into obeying. But he wanted insurance. "Kristen , if you don’t
take the slutty role, you get no role at all." That was enough. She
forced a sad smile on her face and nodded.
"Good. Now you two need to do one more thing this afternoon.
Go to a tattoo parlor," he loved tattoos for humiliation purposes—
so permanent, "and both of you get tattoos that read "Property of
Greg Wilde" inside a heart. Have the artist do it right above your
right ass cheeks, so if he wants you to display the tattoo, it can
be seen easily."
Now Pamela looked less than convinced this was necessary.
"This way, he’ll be certain that you really truly love him, heart and
soul," Dent explained. "And the girl who doesn’t do it will
definitely lose out to the other one."
They both vowed to get the tattoo immediately.
"Good." Dent folded his hands, almost through with these two.
"A few more things and you two may go. When you welcome
Greg in your new undies, he’ll be a bit confused. You can make
him feel right at home by serving him a drink… and then, on the
floor at his feet, you two can give him the delicious sight of his
two pretty new girlfriends slurping each other in a sexy sixty-
nine—just so they can get each other hot, wet and ready for him.
After that, I’d guess each of you gets what you need.
His cock inside you."
Their cheeks burned with shame, but Dent knew from the slight
whiff that their pussies betrayed the lust that had captured them
both.
Dent tapped his finger on the desk absently. His head was
pounding, but this was too good to let go of. "What else, what
else?" he asked himself. But then the pain came back and
looking at his desk clock, he realized he had spent enough time
with this little drama and had some favorite patients coming in
soon. "Ah, yes—I want you two to shower together for him.
Each of you will do anything he asks of a sexual nature—you’re
his new pets after all. His sex pets. Oh—and no
penetration…with fingers or dildos or vibrators. Unless your
boyfriend Greg is there to ask permission from, I suppose."
The two nodded like obedient schoolgirls.
"Good—you two can go." They did, ready to begin their new
sexual odyssey. "One last thing though."
They waited, a sliver of fear in each pair of eyes. So many things
had changed for them today, so much to do…
"When Greg isn’t there to tell you little foxes how to play, then
PAMELA is to be the one who speaks for him. Can you keep
Kristen in line, Pamela?"
The petite woman snickered. "Oh yes Doctor! I KNOW I can."
Kristen looked ill. From the way little Pamela had answered,
Dent could be sure the flat, lanky tomboy would be thoroughly
humbled by the slinky, petite martinet. As they left—Pamela in
more of a rush than Kristen—he could only think how cruel a
wish come true could really be!
******************************
"Doctor, I’m leaving. I’ll see you on Monday."
Frantz barely acknowledged her departure. If he had, he might
have asked why his assistant was leaving uncharacteristically
with so many work files, especially in light of the long weekend.
If he had checked her bag, he’d have discovered other
interesting items, such as the airplane ticket to New York and the
print-out of an address for a psychoanalyst named Harry Dent.
Of even more interest to him might have been the syringe and
needle and even the .32 caliber handgun.
But he didn’t have much curiosity about his drab, bookish young
assistant and Nikki left with a calculating grin on her plain face.
******************************
"Ah, the Baxter ladies! Well, how wonderful to see you again!
Sit down and make yourselves comfortable."
Dent watched with barely suppressed glee as Cody delicately
seated herself, her small hands straightening her short denim
skirt underneath her thighs and then folding themselves in her
lap. Today she didn't wear a sweater, but instead a figure-
forming white knit and surprisingly low-cut blouse, giving her
blooming bosoms a bit of cleavage. Not much. The girl's earlier
insolent manner was gone. Her gray eyes avoided his and her
mouth remained neutral and closed, lips sparkling with pink
gloss. Idly he peeked in and felt the burning shameful
concentration on behaving...of not giving Uncle Vito a reason to
punish her any more than he already did. She must be respectful
of the Doctor. If she displayed any hint of a poor attitude, her
bitch of a mother would tell on her. Dent smiled. She hated her
mother as much as she feared her Uncle Vito.
Janice seated her herself. She was different too. The
conservative housewife attire was gone. Evidently Vito liked
spandex, because that was what she was wearing from head to
toe. The thin red and white striped top and black stretch pants
looked more appropriate in a club than in a doctor's office. Ditto
on the red high heels, the teased auburn hair and the theatrical
hoop earrings. Her face had that "just been fucked" look that he
was sure she wore so often now. He poked around, reviewing
her thoughts and Cody's. A lot had happened since their last visit
and Dent was pleased. Sort of.
Janice, instilled with her new-found need for Vito, had carried out
the Doctor’s mental commands. She had begged him to move in
and virtually take over her life—surprising him with a cashier’s
check for her entire bank account and the deed to her home.
Dent could see Vito’s barely suppressed glee, suspicious at first,
then increasingly excited at his new-found wealth and power over
the widowed wife. And her teasing young daughter.
Vito had moved in and gladly taken over administration of the
household. He had especially enjoyed his new duties in
disciplining Cody. He could feel Cody's shame as Uncle Vito
complimented her on her pretty panties. Then the shameful
confessions over various little misdemeanors and eventually her
naughty thoughts about boys. Uncle Vito demanded she give
him more and more details about these thoughts. Dent could tell
that the little minx desperately wanted to masturbate-- she was at
that age. But if she did, she would have to confess it to Uncle
Vito. Even then she couldn't avoid admitting that she thought
about playing with herself. And Uncle Vito loved these
confessions most of all.
At first the spankings had been with the panties on. Then he
hand begun pulling them down and emboldened by Janice's
silence-- who was certainly too scared to cross her man's wishes
in anything, let alone the punishment of Cody-- he had begun to
use his other hand to cup Cody's little breast through her top,
kneading the small hard cherry-tip. Janice pretended not to see
this and Cody dared not complain, but all three knew just the
same.
In any case, Vito had made it clear that any objections Janice
had to the way he handled young Cody would be ignored and she
herself punished for misbehavior. Vito was, he had told Janice,
an old-fashioned man and very ready to take the housewife over
his knee and institute a spanking time for HER as well as her
daughter if necessary. The result was a perfectly submissive
girlfriend who not only stood by idly while Vito fondled her
teenage daughter while spanking her, but also spied on her own
daughter to prove to her man what a good girl she herself was.
Emboldened, Uncle Vito had introduced new rules in HIS house.
Apparently feeling secure in his position, he had begun to set
things up the way he wanted them. Janice’s new wardrobe was
just the beginning. Spandex during the day was complimented
by lace and silk at night. He required her to go by her maiden
name and that she should NEVER bring up the memory of her
dead husband—that HE was her man from now own—even
going so far as to make her toss out each and every photo ever
taken of them, including their wedding portrait.
Dent pushed farther into Cody’s thoughts, finding an especially
scary encounter just the other day with Uncle Vito. He had
opened her door as she dressed for school, refusing to take his
eyes off the half nude girl. She had continued to dress, trembling
and trying to hide her body. Dent tasted the fear that swirled
around her curiosity. Would he…was he going to…do something
to her? Then relief as her "uncle" finally moved off.
Damn! The old adage was true—you really could lead a horse to
water but not make him drink! He had put the little minx on a
silver platter for him and Vito still hadn’t bit! This was getting
downright boring. Maybe he had wasted his time trying to do this
Vito a favor!
"So, how’s she doing in school, Mrs. Baxter?"
Janice shook her head violently. "I’m just Miss Janice Honnicut
again—Vito prefers I go by my maiden name. Uh, well…Cody’s
not doing great, but then Vito thinks school is a bit of a waste of
time. He’s decided that Cody will be taking general courses, not
college prep, so grades really aren’t important any more, Doctor."
The teen couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her eyes. Poor
thing—she had been a solid B student. Now she was pointed
toward a life without college. Oh well.
"Cute shirt Cody." It read BOYTOY across the chest. She
mumbled an inarticulate thanks.
"Her Uncle Vito picked it out for her," her mother chimed in.
Dent nodded, pleased. Maybe Vito just needed a push. "What a
pretty young thing she is. Quite the Lolita. Got a boyfriend you
wear that for, Cody?"
Janice shook her head. "Oh no Doctor! Vito doesn’t think Cody
is old enough for a steady boyfriend."
The Doctor smiled. He shut Janice off for the time being and she
sat immobile. He turned to focus on Cody. "Oh, maybe she is at
that. She’s what…fourteen? Bet you think about boys a lot.
Have you had your first period? Got any pubic hair? I bet you
have both, don’t you?"
"Yes Doctor," she responded in the affirmative.
"Then it is time for the little teen boytoy to be played with.
Janice," she snapped her head up, alert again. "I think your
daughter is a horny little thing—she needs to be broken in. And
as the man of the house, I think Vito ought to have the honor of
taking Cody’s virginity. I think you ought to offer up the little bitch
tonight."
Cody’s eyes widened and she heaved with tears. Dent permitted
it—she ought to be scared of her worst nightmare come true. He
continued speaking to the immobile, shocked face of the girl’s
mother. "Vito’s too much of a gentleman to force himself on the
naughty temptress there who is always teasing him with her tight
body. But you know damn well that if you don’t offer her up, he
may leave you for greener pastures. You do know that?"
Janice jerked in panic. Yes, oh yes, she knew!
"Then I suggest you make him feel quite comfortable in popping
the minx there. This afternoon take her shopping—pick out
something cute for her to wear and when he comes home…well,
you know what to do."
Janice did know and she pursed her lips in thought. "Yes, that’s
the only way," she declared, turning to the horrified Cody. "It is
going to happen sooner or later…and it may as well be Uncle
Vito, Cody. We’ll go buy a pretty something for you to wear for
him tonight. And after tonight," she promised cheerfully, "we’ll
have something else in common! Uncle Vito!"
Well, that was all he could do. If Vito couldn’t take advantage of
the situation, Dent didn’t know what he could do. When he
arrived home, he’d find mother waiting to take him to daughter,
who by that time would be waiting in the master bedroom in
‘something pretty.’ Janice begging him to use young Cody. Dent
had faith in Vito—that the thug would fully assert his rights as
Master of the House and cruelly use the teen daughter of his
bimbo girlfriend. Hell, if he had any kind of imagination…Dent
daydreamed of scenarios in the household---mother and
daughter in matching lingerie ready to service him…both lapping
at him…sharing his cum…playing together for him. Now he was
getting excited!
"Uh, Janice. I think you ought to video tape the big event—and
drop by with a copy of the tape with Betsy."
The housewife nodded. "Of course Doctor. I’ll set up the video
camera that Vito uses to film us with when we make love."
"Good—now you two get out of here before I lose control." He
watched the two nervously skitter out, their minds already cleared
of the conscious memory of the visit. For once he actually
envied another man as he watched the daughter and mother’s
firm hips swing out of his office.
******************************
Betsy rapped on the office door just as he was preparing to leave
for the night. He was dead tired and had no other desire than to
rest.
"What is it, Betsy?" he rasped.
"A walk-in, Doctor. Will you see her?"
He wanted to say no, but he reminded himself grimly of his
personal oath. If he didn’t break this woman, some man would
suffer. He had to remeber his duty to his gender. "Bring her in."
Nikki Liston entered the office. She didn’t have long, so as soon
as the blonde secretary left the office, she pulled out the gun—
now equipped with silencer—and fired.
Dent’s face turned white. Looking down he saw the blood
spurting from his arm. Hurt like hell, but he’d live. With a swipe
he knocked the gun out of the woman’s hand, then lunged
forward.
In the outer office, Dr. Liza Weston began to shake
uncontrollably, Dent’s pain psychically radiating over her.
On Long Island, Allison Dillon stopped the lap dance she was
performing for her husband and ripped the blonde wig off she
had been wearing.
In an financial district office tower, Juliana Linders ended the
blowjob she was giving and bit down hard on her new boss’es
penis.
In a hotel room outside Detroit, Regina Dinelli screamed "Rape!’
at the top of her lungs as the man with her tried to spread her
legs.
In Leguna Beach, Sharon Stone yanked her strap-on dildo out of
Vanessa Williams’ ass in horror as the other woman began to
weep.
In a Queens apartment, Kristen Jeffreys and Pamela Jardin
looked up at their male visitor from their place at his feet, faces
red, not with passion, but fury.
In an upstate country home, a mother and daughter stopped their
nude embrace and began wailing, much to the confusion of the
man in the bed with them.
Countless other women, all Dent’s ‘patients,’ felt the pain and
rage as well. They also felt the refreshing freedom of will return.
It allowed them to expunge the hate that had been building up for
the men they had been submitting too.
"You bitch!" Dent focused on his attacker and began to assert
mental control. Like a man clinging for dear life, he caught her
mind and held it. Nikki stopped struggling. The situation was in
hand again. He could—
The letter opener that Liza Weston plunged into his back wasn’t
sharp enough to cut butter, but when directed with pent-up hate,
it was as deadly as an ice pick. Dent slumped forward.
Nikki shook of the lingering effects of the mental possession and
looked at her savior. Liza Weston was alternately sobbing and
laughing hysterically.
"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!" she screamed, over and over
again.
Nikki didn’t have much time. With the syringe, she drew a tiny
sample of Dent’s blood. Pushing Liza out of the office, she
began lighting the files with the matches she had brought, careful
to spray the lighter fluid generously around the room.
By the time the fire department arrived, the office and Dent had
been consumed. Only a barely coherent woman found at the
scene who was babbling about mind control was left to explain
the carnage.
Nikki was long gone, sitting in a planeseat she no longer needed
to pay for, headed back to see her boss. On her arm, there was
a band-aid where she had given herself an injection. On her face
was a smile that promised things would no longer be the way
they had been between she had Dr. Frantz.
80