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

"You're late."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Listen to me."

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

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

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

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

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

Panic gripped her rigid, pale face.

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

Allison sniffled out an answer. "Kim Bassinger."

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

"About seven o'clock."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me then. Tell me the things."

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

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

She nodded glumly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You all right Allison?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Call Vito for me Janice."

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

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

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

"Three years."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Any word yet?"

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

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

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

Nikki nodded. The Doctor's word was final.

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

"Like HIV Doctor?"

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

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

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

Nikki nodded.

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 her current semester. The word would spread, other schools informed and her name added to a black list. In other words, there would be no final Spring 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.

The End