by bobwhite
Author's Note: This is the final chapter of this story. It coincides with an early part of a new story I'm working on for the TEDS to call their own. Thanks for hanging in there! Shoot me an email if you're so inclined. Feedback is appreciated.
It had been three weeks since my date with Ted. The date that wasn't a date. That night, he gave me a job to do, if I thought I could. And here I was, sitting in the waiting room of a church—of sorts—in rural Kansas.
'Not that there's anyplace in Kansas that's not rural," I mused as I waited for my meeting with the Reverend Timothy Reinhold. I'd already met with his wife a few times, as I knew I would do. Ted had prepared me well for what this would entail, thanks to four women like me who he would not talk about. And, while Ted had given me a good reason not to try to do anything with Rebecca "Please, call me Becca" Reinhold (the Reverend's wife), I found it hard to resist. The dossier described her as medium height, well-built, blonde, and altogether hot. And, very straight. Not that that was a surprise, given the purpose of this "church."
"The Straight and Narrow Church of the Almighty," I said under my breath as I waited for my appointment. The idea of what this place was for made me sick, especially the pun in the very name of the place—that in particular annoyed Ted. "Straighten arrow," he had repeated a few times, with a tinge of hate dripping from the words.
I remembered that night at the restaurant, when Ted had told me about this place. I'd heard of these kinds of places before. Churches that "taught" things that I knew not to be true. Things like homosexuality being—through the word of Christ—a curable condition. A mental illness of sorts that affected confused men and women who had strayed from the Word. In short, a disease.
I was doubly sick when I found out that, as far as the good Reverend was concerned, it was all true. He could cure it.
"But I thought you guys didn't like it when people like me changed too many people to gay. Why does this bother you?" I had asked.
He put down his fork, and looked down at his plate. I can't remember what he was eating but I remember that look—odd, because he didn't look me in the eye. "It's not about turning people one way or the other. Well, not usually. It's about preserving the status quo as much as possible without doing something drastic to all you mind controllers."
"This guy is posing as a church leader, a religious figure. He's preying on people's praying. For a substantial fee, he will arrange a session to change any homo to straight. And the person being changed doesn't have to consent. He's quite powerful, in some ways."
"But mind controllers aren't allowed to serve in any religious institution as a leader, deacon, or anything close to it. It breaks the constitutional guarantee of freedom of speech and is thus illegal. Even if he's doing what a majority of the population rather he would do, it's wrong. And we have to stop it."
"Excuse me, miss?" some woman said, breaking my daydream. I looked up and played my part.
"Yes? Is the man I'm supposed to meet here? My father told me I had to..."
"He'll be a bit longer, ma'am. Here's another cup of coffee. I'm terribly sorry about the wait," she said. She was cute. Oddly, every woman here was somewhere between cute and hot. 'Strange for a man of God to surround himself with babes,' I thought. 'I wonder just how Godly this man is.'
Ted had said that none of his group could do this particular job. The Reverend's partner, who specialized in gay men, had already been taken care of. But, Rev. Reinhold only worked with women. When I asked why he couldn't just make everybody think that an agent was a woman, he revealed the reason they need my help in the first place: securing "Device #17," which he used to prevent all telepathic activity within about a fifty foot radius, even from his fellow agents. It was stolen technology from Ted's organization, one piece of 29 that had been stolen; this would be the 14th recovered and I would be well paid for my efforts.
Its function demanded they use a woman for this particular mission, as he'd developed a simple yet effective way of making sure no men could sneak in and undermine his operations.
He kept on the move and they had trouble pinning him down—but he would come out of hiding for a woman who needed "straightened" out.
Another woman, that is. The four before me had all been turned and married off to the most generous man in the "congregation." Nabbing them would draw attention, so they had to let them live their new lives as long as Reinhold possessed Device 17. I had been told in advance that he could tell if someone were actively resisting his influence—hence the decision to use me as the inside person; Ted and his cohorts informed me of my unusually high and seemingly subconscious powers of mental defense. I just might be able to beat him. None of the other women had my abilities, they told me.
A beauty approached me as I sat in the waiting room. This wonderful creature was the Reverend's wife. I gave her the look I normally would have—she expected me to be gay, after all. I'd seen her before, when a coworker of Ted's, who called himself John but whose name was also Ted, had posed as my father and taken me to a meeting place where the Reverend and Becca met me. We talked. I left "John" and the Reverend alone to talk and pretended to make a call on my cell phone. That's when I got my first good look at Becca, and when I first decided that I would have to have her.
I remembered pretending to talk on my phone while I scoped out the meeting place. It was a busy place, bustling with activity. Too many people around to search, which was bad for me because we'd all hoped we could simply apprehend him here. But, there was no way to track the device, and the man posing as the Reverend wasn't really him. That wasn't a huge surprise, but it did mean that we had to go ahead with the more dangerous (for me) plan.
"Miss? Spacing out again?" the cutie above me giggled. I smiled at her and let my eyes drift noticeably down her body, pretending to look away for fear of being caught gawking. When I looked up, Becca was rolling her eyes—she'd seen this before. A lot. And she seemed to have a subdued but smug look about her face—she knew her hubby would set this lesbian straight. Straighten her like an arrow, as he put it.
"Uh, yeah. Is he ready yet? And where is my dad? Why am I meeting this guy—I'm not really into the whole church scene, you know. I'm not sure..." I said, as convincingly as I could.
"I know. Your dad is concerned about your... choices, that's all. And the Reverend wants to help if he can. Please, come with me."
"Oh, I will, hon," I said, trying to sound like I was making an innuendo. Her smug look seemed to increase as she turned to lead the way.
Just outside the room, I felt my head go a little... numb. Ted and his coworkers had prepared me for this mission as well as they could, and had warned me about this feeling. It meant there was a telepathic inhibitor nearby, and it was active. It was the same sensation I'd had at the first meeting.
Once inside, Becca introduced me to her husband, who insisted on being called "Tim." I didn't see the device on his desk—Ted had shown me pictures, but said it might not be sitting out in plain sight—but it was definitely on. Thankfully, this meant that he was also unable to do anything. There was a closed-circuit security monitor on his desk, but it was off. He was smiling and holding out a hand, so I took it.
"Pleased to meet you, Reverend."
"The pleasure is all mine," he said with a creepy grin on his face. His palms were a little sweaty.
It was time. Almost. I'd been given cup after cup of coffee, and I really had to make a quick bathroom break before we got down to business. "Um, before we do this... this whatever it is my dad wants me to do, where is your restroom?"
"Please, use the private one. The door is over there," he said pointing to his right. I went in, did my business, washed my hands, and came out just in time to see him turn off the screen. Now, his look was all-business.
"Please sit, Ms. Spellacy."
I did, slipping off my heels, which were always too tight (they did make my legs look better, but I knew this would take some time).
He continued. "Your father is concerned about some decisions you've made with your life." He grabbed my hand and held it between his in a gesture of faux compassion, matched by the equally fake look on his face as he stared into my eyes. "I understand that you're not alone in being... this way, the way you are. And you think you are happy this way. But God has no room for people who make this 'choice.' Your father just wants me to pray over you for a few minutes. He thinks it will help you make the right choice."
As he finished that sentence, his hands let go of mine and he put them under his desk, presumably on his lap.
"Look," I said. "I know what you think you can do for me. But this is how I am. I like me. It took me years to accept who I am, but I do. And if my dad can't accept that, then..."
"Honor thy father and mother," he said as he made a motion with his arm. I heard a click, and the dullness in my brain went away. I held firm, not wavering when the sensations I'd grown used to came back in a rush. He, however, had to shake his head before he could speak again. "Please, you father loves you and has done so much for you over the years. Will you deny him a prayer?"
It was almost believable. I could see how people would fall for this. And, checking, I saw that he was trying to make me accept it. I had to learn how to detect someone's intrusions to my mind, but I was a quick study and the lessons were paying off.
"(sigh) No, I won't. Let's do this," I said. "For him."
He smiled and told me to close my eyes and bow my head. I did. When he started his chanting, I felt him in my head again—but just as Ted had told me, I was able to resist him without fighting him. But, Ted had told me that I should play it safe and redirect the thought probe to some other target, and add something to it so whoever the new target was would not warn the Reverend.
I looked up enough to see the Reverend's head was still bowed, his eyes shut tight. And still in the room, sitting in a chair with her head bowed, was Becca. Beautiful Becca. I used my brain to redirect the energy Tim was sending out—and it was a lot, damn him—to his own wife. But, first, I colored it a little.
Becca flinched. She had felt the intrusion, just as most people would. But, I had sent along with it two words: still and silent.
Becca opened her mouth and looked around, locking eyes with me. No longer worrying about Tim's efforts—they were all bombarding Becca and just going through me—I coyly brought a finger up to my pursed lips, silently telling Becca to be quiet. Not that it was necessary. But when I did that, she knew immediately that something was wrong.
I looked into her mind as she tried unsuccessfully to do something about her husband's mental attack. They'd been careful—verifying for the last time that I was a woman with a camera in the toilet. They knew they only had to fear men, because the person who sold them the device told them only men would come after it. 'Never send a man to do a woman's job,' I thought at Becca.
'No... you can't do this, it's impossible... we checked you for the ability....' she thought, not yet putting all the pieces together.
The Reverend was not disturbing us anytime soon; from Becca's mind I gathered that the process took about thirty minutes of intense concentration during which he never looked up. This confirmed the experiences of the women who had tried this before me. Knowing this, I held up my hand, showing her a silver ring around my thumb with a gem in it. It looked like a gem, anyway.
'This little ring blocked my powers temporarily,' I thought. 'I am indeed talented. I have 'the ability', as you say. And I need your help. You would like to help me, wouldn't you?'
'No... I belong to my husband, my faith, and I don't help... oh my god, what's happening?' she thought. Her hands had reached up and pinched her nipples through her shirt. I tweaked her mind to enjoy the sensation, and as the energy from Tim increased, so did the effect of my suggestion.
'Enjoying yourself?' I asked. Her fingers and thumbs were clamped down on her nipples, which were probably very hard by now. She was tugging on them, and as quietly as she could, writhing in her chair. She dared not make a sound, even the "silent' command I'd sent her earlier was being increased—thanks to her loving husband's efforts.
'You can't make me betray him!' she mentally screamed at me as the sensation of a tongue on her pussy began to make her legs open. 'I'm his!'
'Boy, you sure like to be owned, don't you?'
'That's not what I mean... I mean... mmmmm, please stop that!' she thought as one hand hiked up her skirt, exposing her pretty pink panties. They were wet. It's so easy to tell with cotton. She slid to the edge of her chair, exposing what was probably a beautiful pussy hidden behind a thin swatch of damp material.
'On the contrary. It is what you mean. But he doesn't own you anymore. I've already changed that. But, I'll play your game. Since you're so horny right now,' I thought as I made the hand that had adjusted her skirt slip beneath her panties, 'think of sex with your husband. Think about every aspect of it. His cock. His balls. His hairy chest. Sucking his cock. Everything.'
I already knew that she'd done quite a bit with him in bed, much of it thanks to his influence. And, with my irresistible suggestion, she brought up every thing she loved about her husband's body. She was particularly enamored with his dick, which I guess was one of the larger ones she'd seen in her days. On her own volition, she began to masturbate. All she could think about was fucking her man any way he wanted her—and taking him in every hole she had.
She loved his cock. She was straight and I suppose it was a good cock, for people who like that sort of thing. She adored that thing between his legs. And, I wasn't going to change that. I'd make her change it.
'I hate it when you think of a man in a sexual way. I especially hate it when you fantasize about having sex with a man. That displeases me to no end. You are making me angry just by thinking about sex with him now,' I told her mentally. 'I want you to keep masturbating, but you'd better think of something that doesn't piss me off so much.'
As her hands picked up speed—she was inside herself now, and doing a great job of being quiet—she felt it. Sickness. A feeling of disappointing someone important to her. But, to her credit, she tried to keep the images of Tim's dick in her mind (and pussy, ass, and mouth).
'No... I like men... I... oh, no, what's... please, please... why should... I care what you... what...'
'You are displeasing me greatly. I am not happy. You want to make me happy, you just don't know it yet. But you'll figure it out.'
She kept playing with herself, not aware that I wasn't going to let her cum. She was too horny to stop even I'd let her control her hands. But the sickness was getting to her. 'You're doing this to me! I'm... ahhh, I don't feel so... please stop...'
'You don't tell me what to do, Becca. That makes me even madder then when you think about guys.' The feelings in her increased and became quite intense. Tim was really pumping out some energy. I hoped that Becca would figure out what I wanted soon. 'I do like it when girls think about girls. When they think about licking my breasts, for example. Look at me. Look at my breasts.'
She had not realized she'd shut her eyes. When she opened them, she saw that I had removed my shirt and bra. And, when she looked at my tits, the sickness faded a little. But, she was still thinking of that asshole's cock, so it started to come back.
'Stare at my breasts. Imagine kissing them, licking my nipples. Forget his dick for just a minute and just imagine worshiping these,' I told her with a little mental nudge—just a nudge. She put his cock out of her fantasy and forced herself to think of doing something she found disgusting—kissing a woman's breasts. And that's when she felt it.
Her hands sped up as the euphoria shot through her very core. She was inwardly disturbed at this—she was feeling very good and thinking about kissing my tits, sucking them.
'See? That's the reward for obedience. Pleasure. You know the punishment for disobedience or otherwise not pleasing me. I know you can feel it. The more you are against what I tell you to do, the more ecstasy you will feel when you obey. Obedience is the key to your future happiness.'
'No... won't obey... aaaah!' her mind screamed as she refused me. The sickness returned, along with pain in her muscles. She strained to say something, to shout some warning at her husband. The harder she tried, the worse she felt. She was in tears before she gave up, and gained a little relief by clenching her jaw to avoid making any sound as the discomfort racked her body.
'Obedience pleases me to no end. It pleases me almost as much as you thinking about licking my pussy. You want to lick my pussy, don't you? That would make me happy. Look at me.'
She turned to me, face trying to hide tears that would not stop falling. I had worn a skirt for this occasion, and I stood up and removed my panties with ease. I lifted my skirt while standing to give her a view of my picture-perfect pussy. She looked, and got some relief but not much. She was resisting the pleasure she knew would come if she thought about licking me down there.
She was fighting. I like a fighter. It makes the surrender that much sweeter. And this one was fighting even thinking about me, even though she knew it would end her current torture.
I picked up my panties and threw them to her. They landed on her chest. 'Smell them. Smell them and imagine having your face just inches from the source of that smell... from the focus of your obedience. From the source of your happiness.'
She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she would throw up from the sick feelings twisting inside of her as she resisted. That hesitation didn't last long, though; she grabbed the panties, meaning to only smell them to gain a little relief. I knew she planned on using that relief to regroup and fight some more. But, she didn't count on how overwhelming the sensation of relief and pleasure would be. After all, doing this was something she felt was particularly disgusting.
So, as I had told her, when she inhaled, she nearly gasped as a near-orgasmic wave of bliss washed over her. In her pleasure-drunk state, she did imagine how good it would be to kneel in front of my pussy and put her face as close as she could to my sex. She couldn't stop her mind from going there, such was the force of the bliss in which she was basking for the moment. And thinking of kneeling in front of my pussy sent another rapture through her, and her brain, learning subconsciously what I wanted, imagined her on her back, and me riding her face just to cover it in the smell and juice of my cunt, the thing whose scent made her feel better than she could remember feeling... ever.
Another bolt of delight spread through her. Realizing she'd lost some control, she backed out of her fantasy but kept looking at my pussy and tits, masturbating all the while. The pleasure faded but was not replaced by nausea this time.
'He can never make you feel like that. Only I can. Give yourself to me, and in return, I will give you pleasure and happiness as I see fit.'
'And if... oh, mmmm, if I refuse?' she managed as she worked her cunt with fingers from both hands, one handling the penetration duties and the other almost mauling her clit. This one liked it rough.
'If you refuse, you will be making me unhappy. I will always be unhappy with you deep down inside, if you refuse. And the more you delay your decision, the unhappier I will be with you right now. But, I'm not one to force your hand,' I thought to her with a wicked grin on my face. Then, I sat back down and carefully turned my chair to face her. I scooted to the edge of the seat and spread my legs, lazily trailing fingers over my pussy—the one thing she dare not look away from.
Already, she'd learned that.
But, that didn't help for long. She felt the malaise well up from her belly and displace the lingering good feelings left over from her faceslave fantasy. She looked back to her husband and a stronger wave of queasiness hit her. Then, back to me... and my pussy. The feelings subsided but not by much. She had to hurry and she knew it.
That's when she surprised me. And that's not easy to do.
'I don't want to be gay. It's wrong, and I'd sooner die than be a dyke like you...' her thoughts trailed off, she knew she'd tried to insult me and she knew that would make me angry if she succeeded. She failed as I've been called worse, but she didn't know that and what she really didn't know was that her discomfort was coming from her, not me. Her very essence was bound to my whims, and she didn't even know it!
But, I had to admit it: this one had spunk. I smiled and fingered my clit slowly. 'OK, how about this. I don't normally do this for slaves...'
'I am not a... slave... ...' she thought, grimacing through the horrible sensations racking her body nearly as strong as the erotic ones emanating from her overheated pussy.
'I was saying, I don't normally do this for SLAVES, which you will be when—not if, when—you agree to be mine. But, for you, because you are so beautiful and because your submission would please me so much, I will promise never to make you gay. You only have to please me to feel fulfilled. And the more you please me, the better you will feel. But I promise never to turn you into a lesbian, if you simply give yourself to me. I won't promise to leave you straight if you continue to resist, though.'
Fear struck her—until now, she had imagined this was some kind of test, some kind of battle she could win. But her husband's power was starting to peak, and even I was worried of what would have become of me if I hadn't had someone to direct it towards. It was increasing the effectiveness of my efforts a thousand fold. And finally, at this point, she realized that she was mine no matter what she did. Too afraid to imagine what I might do if she forced my hand and made me take her by mental force, she acquiesced.
'You promise not to make me a lesbian?' she asked with her mind, easing the sickness as she had already made her decision but was still delaying. I noted her change in language; she wasn't going to do anything to offend me. Ever.
'Your Mistress doesn't lie. You can never think that. What is your decision?'
'I want the sickness to go away. No more pain. Please, make it go away.'
"What is your decision? Come closer. On your knees. And, tell me your decision.'
She crawled to me, stopping when her face was between my knees. Pleadingly, she looked up at me. 'Please, I'll do anything to make it stop. I want you to...'
'What is your decision?'
Looking down, and no longer able to stand the feelings twisting her guts, she thought at me, 'I'm yours.' A feeling of relief spread through her.
'You're mine? You will obey without question or face the consequences?'
'I'm yours. I will obey.' Another blissful torrent racked her.
'Truly mine? Never to question me out loud or even in your mind?'
'Truly yours. I will never question you. I will obey, even in my thoughts.' A stronger surge of heavenly pleasure poured into her.
It was a tough promise to make, that last one. Impossible, really... well, impossible at the moment. But she would learn to control her thoughts to please me. I knew she meant it, because her subconscious sent her another more powerful burst of delight.
'Completely mine? Mine, to do with as I please? To use as I see fit? Mine, to give pleasure or pain as I feel is warranted? Utterly mine, with no identity other than that I choose to give you—that of slave?' I was almost out of time, Tim's power had peaked and there was no way he could keep up his efforts for much longer.
'Yes, please, please I give myself to you. Please, I am yours. I am your...'
'Say it. Out loud, in a whisper. I want to hear it but make it quiet enough not to disturb this pencil-dick here.'
In a shaky whisper, she breathed, "I am your slave. I know you've already taken me, but I give everything you haven't taken to you. I am yours." And with that, she fell forward, breathing loudly as the last of her torment fled from her. She had never felt such happiness. I made sure of that.
'Then lick my pussy and make me cum.'
She didn't delay anymore. She grabbed my thighs (I'd have to work on that later, but she was a virgin to this and she'd been through a lot), crawled as close to me as she could, and licked my slit. As blinding orgasmic pleasure built in her, I fed her mind with what she needed to know about her new life.
'You are my slave. You have no name, you are only my slave. You won't speak unless spoken to. You refer to yourself as slave. You live to service me and anyone I see fit, any way I see fit. As promised, you are still straight, but when you think of men sexually, or look at them with desire, you know you are displeasing me—even if I'm not anywhere near you. When you think of a man, you must force it out with images of this moment—licking pussy, worshiping at my womanly altar—or you will feel worse than you did even a few minutes ago. I promised you you'd stay straight. I do not lie. You Mistress never lies, you trust her completely and know she speaks Truth.'
'So, you have the honor of being the first totally straight cuntlicking slave I've ever had. Knowing this makes you excited. The more you would normally hate the things I make you do with me and other girls, the more pleasure you will get when you do them. Soon, you won't know why you hate licking pussy or why you think it's wrong—but you'll be too addicted to what you're feeling right now to even think about not doing it.'
She was too busy to respond. Mentally, I made her arms drop from my thighs and had them start on her pussy again. She was surprised by this involuntary action of her arms and the increased sensations bombarding her mind, but kept lapping away, riding a wave of contentment and ecstasy she'd never known could exist. And as my orgasm approached, I began to release the block on hers. Timing is everything, and I wanted to give Tim a shock when he looked up.
I watched him carefully when I felt his mind's energy suddenly peak and drop off. He sighed and wiped sweat from his brow, and looked up. The look on his face was priceless.
He was just in time to hear his wife scream into my pussy as she started getting off. I had timed it well; we came together. The slow breaking of her will had gotten me hotter than I'd been for quite a while, and I felt her orgasm intensify as she realized that she was making me cum. She was pleasing her Mistress. Lost in the feelings of her climax mingled with the elation she felt because she'd gotten me off like she was told to do, Becca—her mouth still attached to my sex—began to shake her head side to side in an effort to quickly give me another orgasm.
She was inexperienced, to be sure. That was an amateur move. But, it had its desired effect: bringing me over again and covering her face in my scent. With one final scream as she finished her long awaited orgasm, she collapsed at my feet, breathing heavily. She wasn't even totally aware of what she'd just given me until that moment. But now, she dared not move away from me, or even try to look at or talk to her husband. She focused her mind on my pussy, just like I'd told her to do if she felt her mind wander in the direction of any man. Just picturing my cunt and smelling its musk on her face was enough to calm her breathing.
I was panting myself, but only from the double orgasm—I hadn't used much of my ability to enslave Tim's wife. He had provided the energy needed; I just tinted it a little. So, while he was exhausted and shocked—and starting to gawk at my naked body, I might add—I went to work quickly. I saw his hand reach down to hit a switch, I pushed into his brain as hard as I could... and I saw his hand stop before it even got under the desk.
He stared at me, frozen in place. I looked down at my newest acquisition and had her get up to get dressed. Picking up the phone on his desk (I had been told that the building was shielded from radio signals so nobody could call for help using a cell phone), I dialed the number I had memorized a couple of weeks ago. It would only be a few minutes now; with the device off there was no way for this hunk of shit to stop them from taking him in.
I got dressed, stopping only once to put my finger in my very wet pussy. I held it out to Becca, and she instinctively smelled it, enjoying the quick rush. I kept it near her face, and after a few seconds, she understood what I wanted and sucked my finger into her mouth, licking it clean. She even moaned while she did it.
I waited patiently for Ted with Becca sitting at my feet, gently licking them. It was taking quite a bit of concentration to hold him there after a while, and he was starting to devise a plan to break free when Ted and nine of his friends barged into the room.
The noise distracted me and broke the hold I had on Tim. He reached down to press the button but one of the men closed in on him and slugged him right in the face. Then, he hit him again. And again. And again.
Becca looked up at all the commotion, and I felt her get excited—she loved seeing men fight, it was hot to her. If I had any doubts about my earlier assertion, they vanished--she liked it rough. But, as soon as she had started enjoying the show, she felt her stomach tighten in discomfort. Quickly, she looked back at me, up my skirt, and began to lick my bare feet again, forcing herself to think about pussy and nothing but pussy. She even licked between my toes.
"Got it!" a man with a four-point star on his shirt said. "I found the switch. The device can't be far, but we'll have to trace this wire..."
I interrupted him. "No, you won't."
Another man (wearing a shirt with a solid black star that had too many points to quickly count) came up to me. "I'm afraid we do, unless you know something we don't. We knocked him out cold and he has no memory or information on the location of the device. He had someone else hide it. Smart move, actually... you gotta admire the guy's brains."
I looked down at my pet. "Tell them, slave." I looked up and saw the amused grins on the faces of the men—this clearly caught their fancy and they probably wondered exactly what I had done.
"Tell them what, Mistress? This slave doesn't understand. This slave was busy licking you, enjoying being near you, thinking about you...."
I grinned, and some of the men shot me knowing glances back. I had no doubt that some of them played this game, too—only with us, it was never just a game. "Tell them where the device they're looking for is. You know what I'm talking about. Tell them and I'll be happy because we will be able to go home."
Eager to feel the euphoria she had come to know so well, she blurted out, "it's in the floor, beneath the desk and under the floorboards. You'll have to dig up the carpet and cut the wood on the floor, it was built into this room to avoid theft or recovery." I felt her shudder when she said it, and she even nibbled on my ankle a little before returning her attention to my feet and toes.
"Holy hell. Well, job well done, I guess!" a man—Ted, the one I had dined with weeks ago—said as he moved to where I could see him. Seven of the men had fanned out through the building, probably to erase any evidence of its existence. After two men moved the desk, they left, saying they had to get some tools; they took an unconscious Tim with them. And this left me alone with Ted and my slave.
"I want you to know," he said, shaking my hand, "that I really owe you one for this. This project, and your involvement, was my idea. I'm up for a promotion, thanks to you. You have my gratitude, and that will soon carry a lot of weight."
I raised an eyebrow. "So, what does the gratitude of a person like you mean to me? You owe me one... I don't suppose you'd mind letting me borrow that pretty..."
He laughed, apparently sensing what I was about to say. "No, you can't borrow my wife again. She's mine, and the way I see it, you don't like to share your things with others any more than I do." He smiled and shook his head, dismissing my request as what it was—a joke. "No, not her. But, I'm going to put the word out to go easy on you. As long as you don't break up any more marriages—those are too easy for my superiors to track—I will make sure we don't bother you too much. So, as long as you don't enslave all the single women within twenty miles, you should be OK."
The men came back with the tools needed to cut into the floor, and Ted leaned down to me and whispered, "Just try to keep your activities below the radar. Draw too much attention and I won't be able to help you, and we're not the only ones who look for people like you. You might want to consider taking people on a more temporary basis. It's easier to cover your tracks that way, and nobody ever notices you if you send your playthings back to their regular lives when you're done having fun with them. Trust me on this. I know what I'm talking about here."
I just stared at him as he walked over to where the men had started to cut open the floor with a reciprocating saw. He was supposed to be Mr. Rules, and he was basically telling me to do what I wanted as long as I didn't make waves. He winked at me when he saw the realization cross my face. I smiled back and said, pointing to Becca, "can I keep her?"
He and the two other men in the room laughed out loud. When he stopped laughing, Ted looked at me and said, "Do you have to ask?"
I reached down and petted her hair. If she could have, she probably would have purred.
A few days (and a large paycheck attached to a ton of paperwork) later, we were home and I introduced my cuntlicking heteroslave to Lynda, Julie, and Dana. Her first lesbian orgy—something that would have sent her running and screaming for her Bible before she met me—left her so high on erotic bliss that I actually had to let her sleep it off for nearly a whole day. And the look on her face the first time Dana fisted her while Linda fucked her ass with a strap-on—well, as much of her face as I could see from my perspective; she was rimming me at the time—was priceless and something I'll never forget.
The only thing that could have added to her revulsion and ecstasy of doing that was doing it again—with a camcorder running. Obeying my every sexually deviant command on camera was enough to give her an almost perpetual orgasm that lasted the duration of our little scene because she was, before she met me, the type who found that kind of thing ten shades past distasteful. She even had an orgasm a week or so later just by watching the tape one night after dinner. I didn't even have to touch her or push one on her.
And, she stayed straight. More than one time, she would wake up sick because she was dreaming of having sex with a man. But, she'd force herself to think about my pussy. Sometimes, she'd even go down on whoever was nearby to keep the masculine images out of her mind. And, she'd pass out that way a few times. After several weeks, all she ever thought was obedience and pussy. Well, mostly obedience, because by then, it was sweeter to her than even my pussy.
And this proved what I'd known ever since Lynda sold me my house and gave herself to me as a signing bonus: straight chicks make the best pussy lickers. It's ironic but true. The women I meet here and there have proven it too many times to count.
The End
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