What You Wanted
by Andrew J. Mellon

Adam Devlin was used to the look. It was usually askance at first, above a pinched nose, and then it rolled upwards and away toward something else, anything else, anywhere else but on him. And that was because Adam Devlin looked like the misfit he was: a thin, short pimply faced, pasty skinned geek, reeking of cigarettes, sweat and b.o., in a black t-shirt embossed with a picture of Neo from the Matrix, loose fitting stained jeans, white socks and scuffed black shoes. His appearance might not have caused the look so much as it was his confident, lewd leer, as if he thought he was more than he was. What he thought he was was God’s gift to women.

He got the look from the secretary after the elevator doors closed; her eyes were now focused intently on the floor numbers as they ticked by, wishing them away as a kid might dispel the days before Christmas, wishing her brief encounter with Adam Devlin to an end. She had a long way to go: she was headed up to the 22nd floor. He was going to the 23rd.

Adam Devlin chuckled and moved behind her. The secretary tensed, readying herself to punch the emergency button if the little creep tried anything. There was an almost imperceptible glow about Devlin’s eyes. A corresponding glow shined about the Secretary’s.

The Secretary’s vigilant poise waned, her face became flushed, and her breathing deeper. She did nothing when Devlin put her hands on her hips, drawing her closer to him so she could feel his hard on. She moaned in enjoyment, as if Devlin was a long lost lover, being to consummate the love she had always desired but never obtained. Devlin leaned his face closer to the back of her hair, inhaling its fragrance. Her lashes fluttered quickly almost like hummingbird wings. His hand reached underneath her skirt, gliding toward her crotch’s moist lips, fingering her engorged clit. She closed her eyes, smiling, clenching her thighs about his hand, squeezing it as it worked her. She gasped as he forced her against the closed doors, reaching harshly into her shirt, his fingers clenching her breast. Her sighing increased into heavy panting, her body writhing against the elevator door. Devlin stopped their ascent. He pressed his unsheathed manhood into her, pumping her vigorously, still working her tit and clit. She cried out with each thrust, louder and louder with each, her voice becoming a high pealed scream as both came in unison. He withdrew grunting, slipping his wet cock back into his pants. She slipped to her knees, gasping.

“What’s your name?” Devlin asked, nonchalantly.

“Dee, Master.” The secretary replied plainly between breaths.

“Stand and pull up your panties, Dee.”

She did so, mechanically, resuming her position in front of the door.

Devlin pressed the proper button to send the elevator on its way. At the 22nd floor Dee stepped off, her face still flushed, her mouth frozen in a stupid grin.

Devlin got off at floor 23 and threw open the glass door with the name Jennifer Sommers, MD, PhD. He got the look from the prim looking woman at the receptionist’s desk and the man sitting in the waiting area who was reading last month’s People.

“I am here to see Doctor Sommers.” He declared

“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist said with a blend of skepticism, suspicion and disdain.

Devlin looked over at the man for a moment, there was a glow about Devlin’s eyes and then he man’s.

The man mumbled and then said with more definitiveness. “I have to go. He can have my time slot.” He quickly exited.

Devlin smiled at the receptionist.

She tried to say something but paused as the glow passed over her eyes.

After her face took on a glazed expression, she smiled.

“Please go in Mr. Devlin, Dr. Sommers is waiting for you.” She told him, pointing to dark oaken door.

“Thank you. Take the rest of the day off. I will tell the doctor.”

The receptionist nodded, picked up her purse and departed.

Devlin opened the dark oaken door.

Dr. Sommers was sitting at the desk. She looked up at Devlin with a quizzical look at first, frowned, and then hit her phone’s intercom button as he closed the door behind him.

“Charlotte, what’s going on? Where is Mr. Smith?”

“Charlotte’s gone for the day Dr. Sommers. Mr. Smith had a more pressing engagement. I am your appointment” Devlin said matter of factly as he took a seat across from the woman.

Dr. Sommers composed herself, folding her hands in front of her.

“I do not believe we have met. Mr…Mr…?”

“Devlin, Adam Devlin, and no we have not. Please don’t bother trying to call security Dr. Sommers.”

She started at his comment for she was in fact trying to recall the number for building security. Shrugging, she got up to leave.

Devlin kicked out his leg to block her, shaking his head.

“Uh uh,” He grunted.

Dr. Sommers frowned and sat down across from Devlin.

“How can I help you, Mr. Devlin.” She said with exasperation, keeping her hand close to a letter opener in case his intentions proved dangerous.

He smiled at her, beaming his yellowed teeth.

“We have a mutual friend, Dr. Sommers.”

“Who?”

“Crawford Mannis.”

“I don’t discuss patients.” Dr. Sommers said firmly.

“He has no doubt told you about the Hotel Babylon …”

Dr. Sommers frowned and stood.

“I said I discussing my….”

Dr. Sommers froze in mid-sentence, standing as still as a statue, barely breathing.

“Its rude to interrupt Dr. Sommers. Mannis told you about the Hotel Babylon, a project that has caused him a great deal of anxiety. He told you about some business contacts of his that own it. Those people covet secrecy. They do not want to be known or their plans to be known. Sit!”

Dr. Sommers started to move again, like a train slowly picking up steam. First she began to shake and turned pale, then she sat down across from Devlin again, clenching her hands together.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but I cannot tell you anything about my patients. I cannot tell anyone else either. Not even the police. So if you or whoever sent you is worried about me divulging information that Mannis may have told me, they need not worry.”

Devlin leaned forward, his grin exposing even more yellowed teeth.

“You know some important information and that makes you a problem. My job is erasing people who are problems.”

“I’ll scream.”

“I don’t kill people, Dr. Sommers. What fun would that be? I am an artist. A sculptor. Except where a sculptor uses clay or marble or wood, I use people.”

“You’ve lost me.”

Devlin giggled with exaggerated childishness. His eyes glowed; so did Dr. Sommers’ though she was too frightened to notice.

“An example, I’ll sculpt your name. You are no longer named Jennifer Alexandra Sommers, you will now be called Sandy.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“What is your name?”

“I won’t play along”

“What is your name?”

“Ok, its Sandy.”

The former Dr. Sommers whipped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. She tried to tell herself who she was, to say her name, but even mentally, she knew herself as Sandy, no family name, just Sandy.

“What are you doing to me? Is this some kind of hypnosis?”

Devlin stood up.

“Does it make a difference? Come on, lets make a brand new you.”

He motioned to Sandy to join him. She slowly got up and walked over to him, putting her arm in his. Her movements were beyond her control, her face showed it to Devlin’s delight. He led her out of her room, out of her office. She saw “Dr. Jennifer Sommers, MD, PhD” on the glass door, she mouthed the name but it had no meaning to her. It was somebody else’s name. Hers was Sandy

Devlin led Sandy out on the street and into a cab.

“179 Madison Avenue, he barked at the driver.

The cab pulled up before a Louie’s of Paris clothing store, a purveyor of lingerie and of clothes that looked like little more than lingerie. Delvin dismissed the cab without paying the fare, the cabbie departed without complaint.

“Now lets get rid of these plain jane duds.”

The couple entered the store, with Devlin waiving to the staff. Their looks of contempt faded into bright smiles and a crowd formed around him.

“We are at your command.” They chanted

“Now girls, lets make Sandy here look hot.”

“Oh yes Mr. Devlin, sure thing Mr. Devlin, anything you say Mr. Devlin.”

They ushered the pair into a dressing room. Devlin gestured to Sandy to take her clothes off.

“I won’t” She cried.

Despite her protestation, her hands were unbuttoning her jacket and blouse, dropping her skirt, undoing her bra, even drawing down her panties. She presented herself to him as if at attention. Devlin inspected her naked body methodically nodding in approval.

“I’m not into older women, but you’re alright. You’re tight. You must work out. Not the biggest tits, but hey, can’t have everything.”

Sandy blushed. She was in mid thirties. She did work out, she did not smoke, drink too much and ate right. Taking care of her body was her only vice. It was nicely curved, decorated with the light undulations of her sculpted muscles. And no her breasts were not all that big.

“I apologize for not being the model of your adolescent wet dreams.” She shot back at him, accidentally, the product of anger and embarrassment. She did not want to incur his wrath; he had the power to do much worse than what he is doing. She knew now he could make her do anything: if her commanded her to fuck him, she would do it; if he command her to act like a dog, she would get on all fours and bark. She knew he had that power.

Devlin frowned, but then is lips curved into a smile.

“I am doing this for you.” He said crypticly.

The staff returned with their arms loaded with boxes. For the next several hours, Sandy compliantly tried on the rudest underwear and the skimpiest clothes that the store offered. Finally Devlin settled on her wearing a short latex vest, abbreviated latex miney skirt, thong and stiletto high heels. She was obviously uncomfortable, wobbling on the uncomfortable shoes. In her previous life she only shopped for sensible shoes.

“Yeah, you look hot babe!” Devlin said upon rejoining her, “Lets get you made up too.”

The couple made their way down the street; Sandy shuffled nervously, worried about breaking her ankles in these heels and embarrassed by the lurid glances and lewd stares. Devlin noticed the trouble Sandy was having with her shoes and clothes. His eyes made that flash and Sandy found body moving more at ease. Slowly, Sandy’s motion became more fluid and sweeping. And her hips embraced a waving motion.

Devlin directed Sandy into a beauty salon. The chairs were all full, but one poor soul, waiting for her hair coloring to dry, got up and left with a motion from Devlin and Sandy took her place. A few words from Devlin and Sandy was treated to a manicure, facial, and hair styling. She emerged with her hair cut short, encrusted heavily with mousse, her face well painted and her lips colored a bright red. Sandy stared at the face that looked back at her in the mirror: if she had been the old her, whoever that was, she would not have recognized herself. She was never prim she was classic, tasteful is what she would have described herself as. Now the face that looked back her was well, trashy, not that she would have ever used the word.

The couple entered another cab after leaving the salon; Devlin commanded the cabbie to deliver them an address and they sped off.

Sandy sat completely still, even when Devlin let a hand glide up her thigh. He was enjoying this. It was a delightful game to him. He could feel the terror within her she knew that because she could sense his presence wandering through her consciousness. He was drawing this process of remaking her out. He delighted in her fear, her terror as she became someone else, the someone he was making her.

“I know all about you.” Devlin said. “You hate your job, you hate all the whiney patients, you wish you could get away. Your career didn’t turn out the way you wanted; it all seems so senseless to you now. You want to throw it all away for something meaningless because you think life is meaningless. Now you are going to throw all of it away to do something meaningless. You see, I grant wishes.”

Sandy felt like an open book. He was right, but only partly.

“I may have thought that, once." She protested, "I have doubts. Everybody has doubts. That is not what I really want.”

Devlin put a hand up to her face.

“Too late. All that psycho babble, its useless and just crowds out the useful things. You don’t need it anymore”

With those words all the education, the learning, all the knowledge of her profession was gone in an instant. Sandy still knew what psychiatry was, but she didn’t know much more about it than the basic definition. She wanted to scream, but she could not, Devlin would not let her.

Devlin chuckled.

“Yes, doubts, it bothers you that you have doubts. You want…you need clarity, you need someone to tell you what do do.”

“No!” She groaned.

“Yeah, don’t deny it, you need someone to tell you what do do.”

And she did. She may have wanted it as a passing thought as Dr. Meadows, but suddenly she desired it, craved it. It was wrong, she knew that, but at the same time she wanted to be ordered, commanded; it was an urge, a compulsive urge like a drug addiction.

“Yes…I need to be told what to do.” She murmured.

“Yes, and you’ll do anything.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to do something, you know what it is. Do it.”

Sandy leaned down and unzippered Devlin’s pants. She pulled out his stiffening cock and wrapped her lips about it, riding it with her mouth in an rhythmic up and down motion. The act of the blow job repulsed Dr. Meadows. To Sandy it felt so good because she was doing as she was told.

Devlin leaned back and put his hands behind his head, sighing when he came. She moved his dick back into his pants, swallowing his seed as she zipped his pants up.

“You do what you are told well. You are an excellent slave.”

“I am a slave.” She said. Whether Devlin made her say those words or she said them of her own accord, she did not know. It did not matter because it was true. She wanted to serve, Devlin had seen to that, and she would, no matter what the task.. She would be the consummate servant, the ultimate slave.

“Come on, lets get you to your new life.”

Devlin pulled Sandy out of the cab after its stopped at the Hotel Babylon. The place was as gaudy as its name implied: an oppressive mock-Babylonian interior. Over sized pillars and hugged bas relief statues showed an innovative use of paper mache and plastic. Color was provided by lurid paintings and frescoes. Devlin guided Sandy through the lobby, down various plush hallways before reaching an office door. After a cheerful knock, the couple was given entrance.

A man awaited them with crossed arms.

“You know the drill Adam. We are under surveillance for any attempt to use your powers against me. Both of our brains are being scanned as we speak. If the observers detect you to putting a suggestion on me, this room will be flooded with sleeping gas and you will be executed immediately. So don’t do anything foolish. You are useful to the syndicate and they would hate to have to you harmed.”

Devlin smirked.

“I’m glad they are concerned with my welfare, Theo.” He said sarcastically.

“Is this Dr. Meadows?”

“Tell Theo who you are.”

“My name is Sandy.”

“Tell Theo what you do.”

“I am a slave.”

“Another slut, Adam? This is getting repetitive. She is nice looking, but not as busty as our customers like. Perhaps general services will find a use for her. There are always openings for maid.”

“You shall be a maid Sandy.” Devlin said.

“I shall be a maid. I am at your command. Please command me.” She replied urgently.

“I’ll do that and more. Very good Adam, first Mannis and now Dr. Meadows. The payments shall be made in your account. We’ll call you when we need you again. In the meantime, do keep a low profile.”

“Aw, a guy can never have too much fun.” Devlin grumbled. He left slamming the door behind him.

Theo sighed and gave Sandy a weak smile which she returned.

“Just give let me make a call to get you taken care of.”

“I am at your command.” Sandy chirped eager to begin her new life.