Jon did a lot of nothing for the following week. Val spent three full days at Disneyland while Carolyn hit the beach. Evenings were spent in relative peace; Jon and his harem usually watched a movie or played board games. He needed the rest. While his mental powers had no apparent limit, his body could only physically support so much. It took a lot out of him to use his power—that was one reason he kept in such good shape. Jon took refuge during the days in the gym, driving himself well beyond the boundary of an intense workout, because he still didn’t know who his adversary was, or how powerful he was. It did appear that those powers were limited to complete erasing and reprogramming, and did not include mind control in any other way. That, coupled with Jon’s skill at wielding his own power, was his greatest advantage. All he had to do was to avoid being erased.
Nine days after the party, Jon came home from the gym to find a message on the phone. "This is Hank Parrott, Bambi Beach’s agent. I’m calling because she’s been buggin’ me about being in your next feature." Jon’s heart sped up. "Bambi’s a really hot property right now, and there’s no way she can accept all the offers she gets, no matter how much she wants to do them. As her agent, it’s my job to make sure that she only takes the best ones. I review each offer, weighing exposure and star vehicle potential." Jon rolled his eyes. This was porno, not the latest big-budget blockbuster. "Anyway, I’m not familiar with your work; you don’t really have a track record in my eyes. But the kid seems to think you’re good, so if you still want Bambi—and she won’t be cheap—call me when you’re ready to send me a tape. I’ll have it picked up by courier. No tape, no deal. Later."
There was a smugness in Parrott’s voice that bothered Jon. It was as if Parrott knew he was the best game in town. Whether this was a sign that Parrott was the renegade psi or not, Jon couldn’t tell. The sex-and-money angle still didn’t add up. "Tam, Natasha," he called, sighing. Both women came into the room looking at him expectantly. He said, "Sit down, you two. You’re about to become movie stars." He acted before Carolyn could voice the protest that he saw forming in her head. "You will both obey me," he commanded, sending the pair deep into thrall. "Natasha, sleep deeply and hear nothing until you are kissed." The Russian’s fantastic body relaxed completely, slumping against the arm of the sofa, eyes closed and fluttering beneath the lids.
"Tam, you will obey your master. You will obey me completely, and without fail. I have some very special commands for you."
"I—will—obey—my master," she softly panted in response. Somewhere, Carolyn knew she was being controlled, and that excited her.
"You are going to be Natasha’s mistress in a movie. I want that thought to excite you. You will control her physically, and mentally… this excites you very much. You will force her to submit, and then she will be your psychic slave. You will hypnotize her very deeply, so deep that she cannot resist your command… she will be in your power, helpless, a slave to your every desire… She will be as deeply in your thrall as you are to mine. This thought excites you very much, Tam. As much as being controlled by your master excites you."
Carolyn had unzipped her cutoffs and was masturbating freely now. Her sexual excitement, already high because she was being controlled, had been augmented by Jon’s commands. And her excitement was affecting Jon. A lot. The two of them hadn’t done anything in a while. "Come please your male master, my lesbian soon-to-be-domme. I command and—"
"I—must—obey. I must obey. I must obey…" she began to repeat, hastily removing the remainder of her clothes, her eyes locked on Jon’s body. She landed at his feet, and then pulled his pants down with a quick yank. Although the vast majority of Carolyn’s sexual experience had been with women, she knew how to make her master feel very good. Jon eased his grip on her will so that Carolyn could feel his control, and fight it, albeit futilely, if she so chose. "Ohh, masterrr…" she moaned, "this makes me so fuckin’ hot!!!" His cock disappeared in a swirl of blonde hair and her warm, wet, and extremely receptive, mouth. She sucked gently at the shaft, playing her tongue around the rim as he hardened, and making his need all the more urgent.
"Now, my sweet lesbian slave, I’m going to fuck you," he growled, pushing her head away. "On your hands and knees." He pushed at her mind with his power, and she obeyed, meeting his presence in her head with token resistance. Carolyn wanted to play their game now. She crudely complained at him and the injustice of her pending rape, resisting enough that Jon had to use enough power to keep her body obedient to his desires rather than her will. He positioned himself behind her, and thrust hard. The loud slurp was evidence of the woman’s true feelings. He fucked her hard and fast, bringing both of them to the brink, then withdrew as he issued another command. "On your back, Tam. Spread your legs and beg me for your cum, dyke."
Carolyn willed herself to lie on her side, legs clamped tight. "Damn you!" she gasped, as she could only watch her traitorous body roll over as directed, and her legs part as much as they could. He was on her in an instant, pouncing, drawing a growl of pleasure from Carolyn’s throat. She locked her muscular legs around his back with a sexually charged moan, allowing him to take all of her, while keeping him close. She began to speak, panted thoughts from the depths of rapture. "Ohhh gawwwwddd… You’re gonna make me cum… ohhh… do it… t-t-to meee."
"Who am I?" Jon gasped in return, continuing his pounding.
"Master," was the immediate response. Carolyn swallowed, breathed loudly, and began to babble. "Master… I… I must… please you… Please… make… makeme… cum… Oh, master… please… makeme cum. I neeeed to cum… I’ll obey… I’ll obey… I’llobeyyou… obey you … obey… obeyobeyobeyohhhhhh myyyyyyyyyy—SHIT!!!!" Her hips churned and she squeezed him between her legs with all her athletic might. They suddenly flopped apart, instantly turning to rubber as the rest of her body continued to snap in the waves of her first orgasm. Jon was surrounded by the sights, sounds, and sense of his slave’s pleasure. "AUUGGGHHHH!" Carolyn’s eyes abruptly stopped rolling around and focused.
"Fuck me back, slave," Jon softly commanded. Her body obeyed, directed by both minds. Carolyn grabbed his hips, pulling him to her as she pumped her body at him, matching his rhythm, urging him deeper, and becoming wetter and hotter and moving faster. The rhythmic slapping got louder and louder and louder—Jon came. Carolyn gurgled loudly, then her eyes rolled up into her head and she arched mightily, lifting him off the floor. He slid out, spurted, then grabbed her and slammed back in, pounding at her with greed, trying to increase the intensity of his own release.
Carolyn’s athletic body absorbed his pounding, returning a sizzling physical bliss with every combined move they made until neither could take any more. She held him still within her, the glow of her mind and body inundated by his physical and mental presence. They lay silently for several minutes. "You know, one of these days, you’re going to make me pregnant," she happily sighed.
"We’ll deal with that when the time comes."
"I wouldn’t mind… master." Her mind was once again her own, and the sentiment touched Jon very deeply. They finally separated with a loud noise. Carolyn dipped her fingers between her legs and sucked in air as an aftershock ripped through her body. She glanced at the still-entranced and completely unconscious Val. "Have her clean me?" she throatily purred, visibly excited by the prospect. Her smoldering eyes went blank as Jon reclaimed her mind.
"Not today, my dear bisexual lesbian," he quietly answered the enthralled blonde, even though she was beyond hearing him. "You have a movie to make."
Jon handed a copy of the finished video to the pimply-faced courier at the door. Parrott had arranged the pickup. Jon scanned the delivery boy’s mind, intending to get an idea of where the video would be delivered, and maybe find Parrott that way. He found a familiar post office box number and location—it was the same as the one for Four Hour Productions. Hank Parrott seemed to be taking extraordinary steps to hide his whereabouts; Jon’s phone contact for the man was a rent-an-answering-service. Simply put, the agent knew where to find Jon, while Jon could only leave a message for Parrott. He sighed. He’d have to play this hand out some more. He closed the door, then returned to the den, where both women were eagerly waiting his return. "May I start the movie?" Val asked excitedly. He waved at her to go ahead. After all, she was one of the stars.
"I gotta tell you Carter, that was some spicy shit you sent me! Whooo! My johnson’s still jumpin’! You got any more like that?"
Jon smiled. Considering how hot the tape had made the three of them, he had correctly guessed that Parrott would be similarly affected. "No, at least not in the can. I was hoping I’d have Bambi to make it a three-way for the next one. I’ve even got a title, ‘Chain of Command.’"
A muted moan came over the receiver, followed by a soft, "Baby, stop. I gotta take care of some business," then Bambi’s girlish giggle in the distance. Parrott’s voice returned to full volume, leering, "Sorry, Carter, but you know how these porno babes are. Half-hard and they think it’s for them allatime."
"Yeah," Jon lied. "So you like the idea of Bambi in a threesome with my girls? No dudes for the moment."
"Like it? I love it! Especially with the hypnotism angle. That looked so real. Can you do that in the next movie?"
"As long as Bambi’s hypnotizable. Tam’s in charge of that part. The blonde," Jon replied.
"You mean that was real?" Jon could hear the excitement inside of the amazement, even over the phone. So Parrott was into mind control. How much? "So, if she is hypnotizable, we’ve got a movie, if the contract’s right."
"Far as I can tell," Jon returned, sounding every bit the cool, self-possessed businessman. "Bambi’s star power should sell lots of vids, and then there’s all the Internet stuff we could do."
"Right! Oh, right." It was obvious that Parrott hadn’t thought of that angle. "OK, I’ll get something drawn up and sent over to you for review in the next couple of days. Quick highlights—Bambi gets 50% of residuals, ten grand up-front, and that’s not leveraged against sales. We’ll share still and clip rights fifty-fifty. Make me an offer on the Internet stuff, ‘cause I don’t have anything hooked up. You do the footwork, I’ll be reasonable with the split."
"Now there’s a sticky point," Jon interrupted. "I need a face and a hand shake to do business. Besides, we don’t even know if Tam can send your girl under deep enough to make the movie work. I know Bambi’s a star, but we definitely need a screen test. We may have to re-write the script."
The line was quiet for a couple of seconds, then Parrott eagerly said, "Yeah, I see your point, Carter. If this Tammy chick can do guys, too—we could be sitting on a fuckin’ gold mine! When’s a good time after Wednesday—it’ll take that long to get the draft done." The meeting was quickly arranged, and Jon had taken another step towards his goal.
"By the way, Carter," Parrott said before hanging up, "are you that Russian girl’s agent? You could make mega-cash off her at ten points, let alone fifteen. She’s got a perfect body, exotic looks, and that voice… ohhh, that accent could make a dead man cum in his coffin." Jon replied no, he had an exclusive contract with her. "You might want to re-think that. Anyway, I’ll see you Thursday at two. Your place." The phone clicked off.
The trap had been sprung. Now it was time to see what it caught.
The house was cleaned, a buffet had been catered in, and all Jon had left to do was to pace nervously around the den, ignoring Valentina’s efforts at distracting him with seductive, if clothed, posing and fuck-me-now looks. "Calm down, Jon," Carolyn urged, "they’re not due for another fifteen minutes, and you know they’ll be late. It’s an old ploy. He’ll use your nerves to gain an edge in negotiations." That made Jon stop pacing, only to resume a minute later. Carolyn groaned; then she gained an inspiration from looking at Val. She walked over behind the sofa where the Russian was. Leaning over the back of the couch, she whispered, "Let’s rape master, Natasha."
Carolyn tackled Jon and Val grabbed his pants. Jon was so self-absorbed that he was completely unprepared for the attack, even though both women had been thinking about it well before they got to him. He was also unable to focus enough to make them stop, with his mind concentrating on Parrott, the possible psi, and Bambi, his unfortunate slave. His lesbian lover kissed him passionately, deeply, giving him an erection, which Val wasted no time in uncovering, then engulfing with her mouth. She took him into her throat with a look of pure glee. As Jon gasped in pleasure, he looked at Carolyn. "Damn I wish you weren’t gay!" He moaned; Val was giving him her best head, which was very good indeed. "I love you," he managed to moan at his blonde.
"I know," Carolyn smiled, giving him a wet kiss before attacking Val. Jon didn’t care which one of his harem he mounted—Val just happened to be closest. She purred loudly before having her head planted firmly in Carolyn’s muff by Carolyn.
After about forty-five minutes of frenzied activity and a massive orgasm on Jon’s part, he sat on the floor, naked and panting, leaning against the sofa. Val was sprawled in the middle of the den, also naked, and with a big smile of contentment. Carolyn walked around leisurely, picking up everybody’s clothes with a big smile of her own. The doorbell sounded, and a mad scramble for clothes ensued. Jon had wanted to be composed and cool, but the disheveled, panting man who met Hank Parrott and Bambi at his door was the polar opposite. Jon sensed that Parrott’s estimation of him grew at his appearance. He found that somewhat perverse. "Sampling the merchandise, Carter?" the slightly overweight man smiled with a leer as he entered. Bambi giggled and said hi, dressed in an almost-overtaxed top and tiny skirt with extremely high heels. She teetered in behind her agent.
As he turned to lead them into the den, Jon quickly realized that Hank Parrott was not the eraser: there was no psionic leak. Shit. He cautiously probed the man’s mind. Parrott’s thoughts were moving incredibly fast, far too fast for Jon to gain any information that way. That was something he’d seen many times; it indicated extremely recent cocaine use. Trying to take control of the agent in his present mental state would be a waste of time. It would require too much effort to do much more than fight the effects of the drug. He needed to force Parrott to focus on something. Jon also didn’t appreciate the leer Hank gave Val, who responded with a bit of a body tease and a flirtatious smile.
Carolyn didn’t appreciate it, either. She walked over to Bambi and critically inspected the bimbo as if she were a new car. "This the babe I’m supposed to hypnotize into my big-titted pussy licker?" Parrott nodded dumbly, his mind sent on a quick flight of fantasy, giving Jon an idea of how to get the man to focus on one thing. Carolyn looked at Jon. "Shouldn’t be too hard."
"Think so?" Jon causally asked, getting an affirming nod from Carolyn. "Let’s make sure you can put her under deep enough." He turned to the porno star’s agent. "No sense in talking contract if she can’t do the script." Parrott nodded again, dumbly. "Let’s all go to the den and make ourselves comfortable, then Tam can get to work on Bambi’s screen test." Bambi gushed about how excited she was to work with Jon and Natasha and Tam, and that she was ready to do anything to be in this movie. Hank Parrott followed the group, mumbling something incoherent. Jon sensed that the cocaine rush was losing its effect as Parrott’s fantasy gained strength.
Carolyn patted the sofa. "Have a seat next to me, Bambi," she pleasantly said, "this sofa is very comfortable. It’s so nice, soft, and comfortable. I want to make sure it’s comfortable for you, too, because you can’t relax unless you’re comfortable." Bambi giggled and nodded. "Just relax… let your breath out… and listen to my voice… This is your screen test," Carolyn purred, her voice becoming smoother and softer. "I want you to show me how well you can relax and listen to my voice… my soft, soothing, voice… That’s right… you’re relaxing so well… and listening to my soft voice… helping you relax even more… just listen… and relax…" Jon stopped monitoring Parrott, and began to assist Carolyn by slowing what little cognitive function Bambi possessed. He saw that Carolyn would be able to hypnotize the porno star without his help, but he gave Bambi’s mind a little push to speed up the process. Bambi’s eyes went blank, and Carolyn picked up the cue.
"Now… Look deeply into my eyes!" Carolyn commanded, and Bambi obeyed, defenseless to any suggestion. "You are in my power now, Bambi. Deeply in my power… Going deeper… and deeper… and deeper in my power… you must obey me now, Bambi. You must obey me. You must obey me. You must obey me—"
"I… must… obey… you. I must… obey you. I am in your power. I must obey you…" the enthralled porno star began to repeat in her breathless, girlish voice. "I must obey you."
"Very good, my dear," Carolyn wolfishly smiled. "Now relax completely and sleep now!" Bambi’s eyes slammed shut, and her body fell limply to the side. Carolyn looked up at Jon and Parrott. "Yeah. This will work. She’s pretty easy to put under." Bambi’s agent was hardly breathing, and his erection was visible underneath his pants. There was just a trace of the cocaine’s effects in his mind.
"Is she really under? What can you make her do?" Hank panted.
"In this state? Just about anything I tell her to," Carolyn stated matter-of-factly. "Remain asleep, and open your eyes, Bambi." The porno star did so, her eyes glazed and unfocused. "Who do you obey?"
"I obey you," the entranced girl said.
Carolyn pressed on. "You will always obey me, isn’t that right?"
"Yes… I will always obey you."
"You are my slave, Bambi. You will always obey me. I am your mistress," Carolyn said, with a trace of theater. "Tell me. Who am I, and what must you do?"
"I am your slave," Bambi responded on cue. "I must obey you. You are my mistress." A smile crept onto her entranced face. "Yes… my mistress. I must obey," she sighed.
"I command you to undress, and play with your pussy."
The response was as swift as it was predictable. "Yes… mistress… I must obey." A few seconds later, Bambi was naked, and a few seconds after that, she had stuck two fingers into her rapidly moistening sex, while the other hand was busy stimulating her clit.
"See?" Carolyn said with a touch of pride. "I can make her do me in the movie."
"Wow," Parrott breathed. "That’s almost better than—oh, never mind."
"Better than who?" Jon immediately asked, dropping his hold on Bambi, and returning to Parrott’s mind. The agent’s racing thoughts had frozen for an instant, leaving a very clear image in his head. It was a tall, youngish-looking man with stringy black hair, and sunken eyes. Definitely the "Goth" look.
"Nobody," Hank nonchalantly lied just before Bambi let out her first sharp cry of arousal. "Wow, she’s really getting into—" His voice died as Jon stopped monitoring and clamped down on the agent’s mind.
"Bambi, stop and sleep," Jon said, brushing the girl with a flick of his power. Her sexually excited moaning was a distraction at this point. The noise stopped, and Jon returned his attention to her agent. "Tell me who you were thinking about a second ago. The young man with the black hair. What’s his name?"
"E-e-em…" Parrott stuttered, fighting Jon’s control with every ounce of will he could muster. He was intent on not answering the question. Jon merely increased the strength of his mental grip and repeated his question. "E-e-em—eeee—milllll," the agent gurgled, unable to hold it back.
"What does this Emil do?"
Parrott started, "he—he—he makes…" then fell silent, panting and gasping for breath. He was putting up a real good fight. Jon hadn’t had a battle like this with a non-psi in a long time. He quickly became aware of the blind fear permeating Parrott’s mind as he worked around the barriers that were hastily erected to prevent his mental meddling. Parrott was fighting him, aided by the adrenal rush of fear and desperation. Jon stopped battling for control of the agent’s mind to take a closer look at the fear and its source. It wasn’t that Hank Parrott was trying to protect his livelihood. It was the memory of a threat that the eraser made to him. Emil had told Parrott that he would wipe the agent’s mind if he ever revealed Emil’s identity and abilities to anyone. Now it all made sense. The room was silent for several minutes while Jon dug into Parrott’s memory and carefully excised that incident while preserving everything else. Jon figured that without the memory that inspired it, Parrott’s fear should subside. He steeled himself and attacked again.
"What does this Emil do, Mr. Parrott?" Jon asked sharply, the tone of his voice mirroring his annoyance at the man and the toll the sustained mental effort was taking on him. This wasn’t much easier than it had been a few minutes ago. Parrott may have lost a little ground, but he was still putting up one hell of a fight.
"He—he—he makes girls forget everything then he makes them like a new person," Parrott finally exhaled, clearly unwilling to give Jon any more information than he had to.
"What’s his last name? Where can I find him?" Jon immediately demanded, redoubling his mental attack.
"I—don’t know. He—calls me." This was extremely tiring. Parrott’s fear was still strong enough to keep Jon from being able to establish a firm grip on the agent’s mind. It made it slick to his mental touch. Although it usually took fear some time to diminish naturally, there was very little change in the level of Parrott’s panic. Apparently, this was tied up with Hank Parrott’s sense of self-preservation. The porno agent may not have had any idea of what he was afraid of, but he knew that he good reason to be afraid. Jon had neither the energy nor the patience to wait for nature to take its course. "GAAACK!" Parrott’s horrible, choked noise and sudden nosebleed were the heralds of Jon’s newest mental assault as he punched his way to the center of the agent’s brain. It was time to strike at a different front. Jon found Parrott’s self-preservation instinct. It was well entwined with the essence of Hank Parrott, deep in the core of his mind. Working methodically, and as quickly as he dared, Jon removed every trace of it. He withdrew from Parrott’s mind to give himself a breather, and immediately felt the weakness and overwhelming fatigue from having to work with so much of his power in such close mental quarters. He had been forced to take extreme care to leave the remainder of the core of the agent’s mind intact. Jon didn’t care if Hank Parrott eventually wound up a lobotomized zombie; he just couldn’t afford for it to happen just yet. He still needed the agent’s knowledge. Jon’s knees sagged as the room began to wink out on him. No, not now, he thought, I’m too close, I can’t stop now. Drawing on the strength engendered by his daily intense physical regimen, he fought his way back to full consciousness. However, in order to do it, he had to ignore Parrott.
Hank Parrott blinked a few times. That weird feeling in his head was gone now. Although Hank no longer had any self-preservation instinct, he knew he didn’t like what was happening. The Carter guy was some kind of cop or something, and was somehow making him rat on Emil. There was something spooky about him, because Hank quickly figured out that Carter was also the cause of his nasty headache and the freely flowing nosebleed that was trickling off his chin and onto his hundred-fifty dollar shirt. Carter seemed kind of out of it at the moment, so this was a good chance for Ol’ Hank to leave this weird scene—the Bambi chick was still zapped—she was on her own. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about Carolyn. He barely saw a flash of motion at the edge of his vision—then he yelled in agony, grabbing at his knotted hamstring as his left leg went limp for a few seconds. The damn dyke kicked me! He snarled with rage. As he whirled to attack her, Hank felt the strength go out of his arms and legs. "Now, where were we, Mr. Parrott?" came the rhetorical question from a chillingly familiar voice.
The Carter guy walked over to Hank without a trace of his earlier frailty. Hank saw an evil smile, and Carter casually said, "I think it’s time you told me everything you know about this Emil character." Hank didn’t think Emil would want him to say anything, but he just couldn’t hold it in, no matter how hard he tried. "I don’t know how the kid does it. But I kept noticing him at porno parties, and he wasn’t in the biz that I knew. He always had a girl with super big tits with him, just falling all over him, doing whatever he told them to do, just like he was a god. And he seemed to have a different one every coupla weeks. I finally got the nerve to ask him about the babes one time, and he told me that he guessed he was just plain lucky." Carter was doing something to make him talk, and Hank couldn’t stop.
"I told the kid that if I was that lucky, I could make a fortune in the biz as an agent or producer," Parrott continued. "The kid gives me this funny look, like a light bulb or sumpin’ went off in his head, and then he says that it’s possible, and that he hadn’t thought of that. He asked me if I wanted to be partners, cuz’ he didn’t know the biz at all, just liked goin’ to the parties cuz’ he liked women with huge tits. He told me that before I brought up this idea, he’d just let the women go after he was done with ’em."
"He had this one chick under his power then—she was the first babe we used. We called her ‘Kityn.’ She was still waiting for her surgery, but I convinced him that with her look, slight alterations would be much better for the biz. And he said, ‘what the hell, I’ll try it your way.’ And Kityn made money hand over fist, once I told him how she should be, but he wasn’t interested in her for himself—her tits weren’t big enough for him. Two weeks later, he shows up with Bambi. He had his fun with her—then gave her to me. I didn’t want her as an actress—I don’t like tits that big—it’s goddamn unnatural. But there are lots of guys who will make videos with her because tits like that will sell a ton, so I basically had him make her the perfect client. She always does what I tell her to, and she won’t do anything I tell her not to. I dictate her career one hundred percent, and take fifteen points off the top. Then, of course, she’s got a great mouth and pussy, so I use it anytime I want. He also set her up like that."
Jon pressed his lips together tightly, fighting his instinct to do something terrible to Parrott. "Do you have any idea of Emil’s whereabouts? What is he doing now?"
"Funny you should ask. I hadn’t heard from the kid in about a month, but he called me two days ago telling me he’s got a replacement for the Kityn chick. Someone with an innocent look who I can turn into a total slut with a word. She won’t care where or how or even what she gets—as long as it gets her pussy and her ass and tits touched. He was gonna make another one for us since the original disappeared. I got a meeting scheduled with him for Wednesday. He wanted me to check her out and see if she’d do. Fresh-faced innocents don’t grow on trees, he said, but he thought he had a live one."
Jon felt ill; the casual disregard both men showed for the women they used was evil in its purest form. It took an enormous amount of self-control to avoid tearing Parrott’s brain apart from the inside, piece by piece, so that Parrott would feel as much agony as possible. Instead, Jon reached deeply into the agent’s mind, wielding his mental skill like a laser scalpel, removing his ambition, his greed, his cunning, and finally, his will. "Mr. Parrott, you will obey me. You have no will beyond mine. You must obey me. I command, and you obey. You obey me perfectly, faithfully, and with no thought as to why you are doing what I tell you to do. Is that clear?" Jon coldly said. "Tell me. You have no will before mine. You serve me. You will do everything I tell you to."
What was left of Hank Parrott emotionlessly said, "I—have—no—will. I—serve—you. I—will—do—everything—you—tell—me."