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Brave New Interviewer: The Beginning

By Anynom

Author's Notes: Don't read this if you're under 18 and don't try this at home. Enjoy.

Uma Thurman slipped across her Soho apartment and peered out her window onto the narrow street. No sign of Ethan. The baby was with the nanny Uptown, so she thought she'd plan a romantic afternoon with her husband. A shot of defensive emotion welled in her gut when she thought of the criticism aimed at her marriage. So what if he was a mediocre actor and an even worse writer? He was cute, easily controlled, and rich. What more could a girl want?

She pushed away from the window and checked herself in the mirror. Hair down, the way he liked it, red streaks and highlighted white. Black stretch pants and a long white button-down blouse. She lowered her nose into a vase of roses, fresh from the florist on the corner, and moved toward the kitchen before she noticed a peculiar difference between the quality of the air near the flowers and the rest of the apartment.

"Is something burning?" she whispered.

To her knowledge the building had never had problems with gas leaks. Neither carbon

monoxide detector indicated any problem. She kneeled by the register and felt a warm, strong breeze, more assertive than usual, pouring from the vent. An odor like burnt chicken wafted through the apartment. She hurried into the hallway and knocked on her neighbor's door.

"Susan," she said, when a light appeared behind a chain, "Do you smell anything funny?"

"No. I think its the neighborhood. Are your windows open? You know Soho reeks in the summer."

"Yeah, I guess you're right..." Uma replied, and returned to her place. She closed each window, careful to check the carbon monoxide detectors one more time before doing so. She made a note to tell Ethan they should move to the Hamptons.

"Anti" emblazoned one wrist, "Social" the other. Jailhouse ink with a flourish. He wore white painters clothes and goggles covering his nose and mouth. A small tank was attached to the back of his outfit, so a casual basement passerby might assume he was either the exterminator or the natural gas serviceman. A few minutes with the pipes was all he needed. He looked over his shoulder, and smirked at the actor kneeling, vacant eyed, on the floor, with a needle in his left arm. His dosage should be completed by now.

"Ethan, you are no longer in love with Uma. You hate her. You want to divorce her. Go get very drunk, and pick up the first obnoxious, golddigger type you meet. Take her to the Plaza, get a room, and have sex with her. She will be your new love. Make sure the tabloids are notified." The man in the mask went back to the work at hand, but grinned a little when the elevator door opened, then closed, behind him.

Uma was incredibly pissed and tired. Ethan was rarely this selfish. She knew the Knicks were playing tonight, but they had fought that out already, and she had made it clear she expected him back by five and they would NOT be attending the game. This was their

night. She carried her bile to the ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Um, this is the air conditioning guy. Have you noticed any strange odor coming from the vent today?"

"As a matter of fact I have. I knew Sue was wrong! Is it dangerous to be in my apartment? Should I leave?"

"No. Unlock your door, then lie down on your couch and go to sleep. Do it now. Understand.?"

"I understand."

She hung up the phone and paused for a moment in the kitchen. What a strange request. Once the door was unlocked, hung ajar, she walked toward the couch, each step heavier, and puzzled over the gas. Why would going to sleep solve the air conditioning problem?

Her eyes fluttered closed as she considered her options.

AntiSocial slipped inside. The quiet of the apartment, the clink of the latch as he closed the door, sent a needle of fear through him. Slowly, aware of each floor creak, he moved toward the living room. The money he paid the paparazzi for Uma's address and apartment number rushed into his memory. He had passed himself off as a street businessman compiling star maps, so he didn't think he could be traced. Another four steps and before him, in living black and white, was a sleeping angel named Uma.

His hands were shaking. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out his gear. He placed the headphones carefully over her ears, brushing against her hair, and attached the goggles. A flick of a red switch activated the computer. He looked at his watch. Ninety minutes after he administered the injection. He slipped the needle into her arm and noticed movement. The drug should stimulate the senses but keep her under. He waited for a minute, watching her sleep, then let out a relieved sigh.

He stood, stretching, and watched the program scroll across the small screen in the suitcase. The commands he had stayed up late drafting for so many nights ran across his vision. AntiSocial is your God Anti-Social is the only sexually attractive man in the world

You desperately want to bear children for AntiSocial. AntiSocial owns you. AntiSocial is in charge of your career. You will cheerfully accept the divorce Ethan offers you. You will do anything to help AntiSocial. You are the first of many of AntiSocial's wives

Ninety minutes. He walked through the apartment, into the bedroom, and into Uma's closets. Why do these goddesses wear such plain clothes? He tossed a few outfits into the garbage pile, then found a pretty black dress.

Suddenly, he felt the impulse to undress.

Sixty minutes. He took a shower, masturbated, and dried off.

Thirty minutes. He ate a little fruit, no real food in the fridge, and read the sports page. Five minutes. He checked the brain wave analysis. If the mock trials were correct,

everything was copacetic. A final systems check caught his eye, carefully monitoring the program, and his mind was so immersed in his work that he jumped when the "programming complete" buzzer rang. Uma stretched, reached up, and pulled off the goggles.

She blinked, looked at him, then read the inscriptions on his tattoos. A surge of recognition passed over her eyes.

"What's wrong, honey?" she said.

"Um, nothing. I...I was just checking my computer." His voice sounded strange in his own throat. He was talking to Uma Thurman in her own apartment. She called him honey.

She laughed. "Put that stuff away. You know, if you're going to walk around my apartment without any clothes on, you're going to have to tie me down." Uma slid into his arms and kissed him. He almost pushed her away, shock getting a hold of him, before the hunger struck his loins. He kissed her back, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, exploring her, his hands aching for every inch of her holy body, bathing in her reciprocation, daring himself to accept the unalienable truth that Uma Thurman was now

his fucktoy. Her face was between his legs before he could stand. Those lips...those eyes...there...amazing...he didn't want to come...he wanted to save that for inside her.

"Let's go to bed." She popped up, smiled, and unbuttoned her blouse while she walked. He couldn't believe how gorgeous a woman could be while she was peeling off her pants. Sliding on the bed, he started to mount her, then slid down. As if reading his mind, she rose above him and lowered herself on his cock. A few minutes of rocking, and he couldn't help but explode.

He licked the sweat off her shoulders and felt her come. Her pleasure was tied to his, and it wasn't like she would deny him later, so he leaned against the headboard.

"Get me a beer." He said. She danced off, her perfect ass swaying through the bedroom, and returned with a Bass. He stroked her hair as they spoke.

"Ethan should deliver the papers soon, right?"

"Yes, I'll sign them. Do you know that fool is giving all his money to me? What an ass. I don't know what I ever saw in him."

"I don't either, Uma, but that's ok. I forgive you. When you're pregnant again he won't even enter your mind. Uma...you know a lot of celebrities, right?"

"I guess so. Why?"

"You may be throwing some dinner parties soon. I'd like to meet them. Oh, and Uma, I'm a little hot. Go run a shower. We need to...get wet."

Her eyes lit up with lust. The water was running in seconds.

The papers did what they could to dig up dirt on Uma's new boyfriend, but he appeared to rise out of nowhere. Ethan, with that bitch Long Island divorcee, seemed happy in suburbia. AntiSocial read the paper while Uma was bent over the kitchen table, breakfast finished. She a had a few minutes of keeping her new boyfriend happy before she cleared the table and did the dishes. AntiSocial placed the sports page on her back and rode her until, just as he reached the baseball box scores, he came into her perfect body.

AntiSocial leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette, watching the chaos around him. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to smoke in the lobby, and he still wasn't so used to luxury that didn't worry about ashing his tux, but he needed a cigarette and no one seemed to mind. Uma had committed to presenting at the Academy Awards before she "met" him, and he wanted to keep her routines as close to normal as possible. No need to spur unnecessary suspicion.

He watched the monitor as his girlfriend handed a lifetime achievement award to some old guy he didn't recognize. She kissed the awardee on the cheek, directed him to stage right (why do they always seem to go the wrong way?) and walked out of the picture.

"She is so hot."

AntiSocial turned toward the voice. Besides him stood a young man, maybe twenty years old, wearing a black designer outfit and sunglasses. His raven black hair was slicked back against his head, isolating a goatee.

"Do I know you?" Antisocial asked.

"No, no, sorry, just talking to myself. You might know my dad. John Carillon?

The producer? He said I could come tonight. I wanted to see all the fine honeys. The bitches."

"Uh, yes..." Antisocial replied. Another trust fund brat trying to sound like soul brother number one. Expensive suit, though. "So you like Uma."

"Man, I'd do anything for a few hours with her."

Antisocial laughed. The boy might be stupid, but he was a colleague of desire, to invent a term, and potentially...useful. Just then Uma slid into his arms and kissed his cheek. The boy turned a little red, stammered, and turned to walk away.

"Mr. Carillon," Antisocial said, "Please stay. Uma needs to get us drinks."

He patted her ass as she walked off, then took a breath, removed a cigarette, and offered one to the shaking individual before him.

"Please, I take no offense at all. Many men like Uma. Who wouldn't? I'm the one lucky enough to have her, though. What did you say your name was again?"

"Rick. Rick Carillon."

"Well, Rick, allow me to be blunt. What I'm about to say I'll deny if you share the information with anyone, so don't bother. Uma is...well...especially receptive to my requests. I might be able to arrange some time between you two. Let me make this perfectly clear. She'll do anything you want. ANYTHING. You seem clean, but I'll check

you out beforehand. But...I'll need a favor from you in return."

"Wh...what?" Rick asked, as Uma returned, handing each man a drink and standing quietly at her Master's side.

"A meeting with your father. Before you answer, let me prove myself to you. Please, join us on the balcony." Antisocial led Uma onto a deserted overlook away from the celebration.

Rick, still shaking, followed slowly. "Um, my dad already thinks I'm an idiot, so I don't know if I can get you a meeting."

"Yes, but aren't you sick of that? I'm sure a discussion with your father would clear that up. I like you, Rick. You remind me of me when I was your age. Wouldn't you like to run that company instead of your asshole father? I bet he treats you badly. Now, I know you're scared of him, who wouldn't be, but couldn't the man who got Uma Thurman to give you a blow job in a public place work a little magic on your father?"

Uma seemed to wake up from a trance. "I'm going to give him a blow job?" she said.

"Yes, Uma, you find this boy attractive. I want you to suck him off. Now. As a token of my good faith."

The woman smiled and pushed her hair over her shoulders.

Falling to her knees, she held the boy straight while unbuckling his belt. "Don't move, silly, this isn't going to hurt." Her magical lips touched him, and while AntiSocial admired the view of Los Angeles, she brought Rick Carillon to a shuddering, nervous orgasm. When she was finished

Uma rose, cleaned her lips with a tissue, and fixed her makeup. Rick stood, his pants around his knees, and caught his breath. Antisocial offered him another cigarette before continuing.

"Now, I don't mean to be crass, but after a meeting with your dad, you can fuck her. How else can I say it? You'll do it, won't you, Uma?"

"With pleasure."

"Then we have it. Here's my card. Make the arrangements. I'm a businessman, Rick. And I look forward to doing business with you."

Antisocial stood in the offices of Carillon Enterprises with his briefcase. He could have taken Rick's mind, walked into his daddy's home, and claimed what he wanted. But that wouldn't have been very much fun, and he was beginning to see himself as Rick's patron, his mentor, in the business of obsession. The boy was harmless enough, not very bright, and Antisocial wasn't lying when he mentioned the connection between the two. A secretary ushered him into John Carillon's office. The graying man, exuding dignity, stood from behind his mahogany desk. The two shook hands as the door closed, leaving them alone.

"Rick tells me you have so good ideas. Now, I have to be honest, I don't trust me son much. He's a bit too excitable. But he's showing an interest in the business other than getting my actresses' phone numbers, so I'm willing to give it a shot. What do you have for me?"

Antisocial smiled as he opened his briefcase. An aerosol can filled with gas was enough to disable his prey. Working quickly, he had the producer hooked onto his machine within seconds. A disk in the computer sent these messages directly into John Carillon's brain:

Antisocial is an entertainment genius Antisocial is your most valuable friend

You work for Antisocial

You cannot deny AntiSocial’s requests

Everything you own is now AntiSocial’s

AntiSocial’s word is God

He flipped through portfolios while the programming pulsed. The secretary was so hopeful in calling Rick into the office. She thought it was strange, still, that Mr. Carillon told her to give this new client anything he wanted. She thought he was just another screenwriter with a lame pitch.

Antisocial paged to Salma Hayek's file. Gorgeous. Desperate for good projects. A decent actress more known for her torrid sexuality than her abilities. A perfect target. Uma walked passed him, naked, covered in sweat. She grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and returned to the bedroom.

"How's she treating you, Rick?" he called out.

"Um...fantastic..absolutely fantastic."

"Rick, let me make myself clear once again. I like to communicate as clearly as I can. I own Uma. I like you, but if you cross me, she'll slit your throat as quickly as she fucks you. Understand? Uma, is what I say correct?"

"Of course, dear," she replied. Uma stood only in a silk robe behind Rick, gently massaging his shoulders. He sat, naked, in a leather chair across from Antisocial.

"By the way, she's pregnant. The baby's mine. You can still nail her every now and then, I don't mind sharing, but you work for me, and you'll take what women I give you. I'm letting you run your dad's company for a while. Don't cross me, and you'll stay happy. The

sky is the limit."

Rick cleared his throat. "Um, sir, Antisocial, I don't know how you're doing this, or what you said to my dad to get him to give me his company, but whatever it is, keep doing it. I won't let you down."

"You're a good kid, Rick. I like you. Here's your first assignment. Have your people call Salma Hayek. Tell her it's for a serious Latino drama you want to develop. Set up a meeting."

"No prob. Uh...can I...if I...uh...keep Uma for a while."

Antisocial laughed. "Hell, you started with her, so you might as well finish the night." Rick practically ran to the bedroom as Uma kissed Antisocial.

"Don't worry, honey, I never fuck other guys as well as I fuck you."

"Just be up for breakfast." he replied, watching her walk toward the room, her eyes already igniting with lust.

Salma Hayek hung up the phone. Her agent wasn't kidding. Carillon productions wanted to meet with her about a Latino law drama set in Los Angeles. She slid into the heat, wearing a sheer white dress, and entered her Lexus, wondering why they wanted to meet so quickly.

Rick Carillon sat behind his desk, once his father's, and let the past week play through his mind. First he meets a strange guy at the Oscars, who gets Uma Thurman, UMA THURMAN, to give him a blow job on the balcony. Then he gets his father, one of the shrewdest businessmen in Hollywood, to relinquish control of his business. Followed by a night with Uma. That business about Uma slitting his throat, and her pregnancy, brought a pause to his breathing. This Antisocial, or whatever, was dangerous. Rick picked up his dad's, no, he thought, his own, phone.

"Stacy, could you put the Salma Hayek meeting in room 114?"

His Dad was smart enough to position small cameras in certain conference rooms. After lunch, Rick sat in front of the private bank of monitors and waited for the meeting to start.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Hayek. I believe you know Uma. My name is Mr...Social."

Salma gracefully took his hand before sitting. She was surprised Uma Thurman was at the meeting. Her new boyfriend must work for Carillon, Salma thought, which explains why nobody knew anything about him. Maybe they met on a set somewhere.

"Are you going to be part of this production, Uma?" she asked.

Uma smiled. "No, not acting, although I may take some other roles. They wouldn't be able to write my pregnancy into the script."

"Oh, congratulations...to...both of you."

Mr. Social smiled as he set up what looked like a lie detector on the table before him.

"Ms. Hayek, we've been working on a new virtual reality device that may help you understand our vision. We think the Latino community has been ignored too long by the entertainment establishment, so we're putting together a new program aimed at the Latino audience. We have a trailer for it already ready. You can view it by placing these goggles over your eyes."

"It's cool." Uma added.

"Well, ok..." Salma replied, gingerly donning the goggles. "Start when you're ready."

Antisocial flicked the switch and watched the script scroll:

Antisocial is your God

You have always wanted Antisocial

Antisocial is the perfect man

Antisocial is the only man who attracts you

You want to give your body to Antisocial

AntiSocial's Command is God

"Get the car, honey." He reached out and touched Salma's hair as Uma left the room.

Rick watched the tape for what seemed like the fiftieth time. The briefcase wasn't a briefcase. It was some sort of computer, hooked up to goggles, and when AntiSocial hooked it up to Salma, it started to whir. Twenty minutes later, Salma Hayek stood and followed him out of the room. Her eyes seemed vacant.

Uma opened the door at Rick's first knock. She was wearing a black dress, tightening around her bulging waist, and smiling.

"Rick, how good to see you. What can we do for you?"

"Can I talk to Mr. Social?"

"Mr. Social is busy right now."

Rick swallowed a little, then peered over Uma's shoulder. No one around.

"Uma, let me in. Go sit in the living room."

The smile left her eyes, but Uma casually walked to the living room and sat on the couch. He could hear noises, fucking noises, from the bedroom. Social and Hayek. He had to work quickly.

"Uma, has AntiSocial told you to obey me?"

"He told me to obey you that night he let me use your. He never said to stop."

"Good, you shall obey me then. Answer my questions. Where does AntiSocial keep his briefcase?"

Uma pointed at the kitchen counter. Rick almost laughed.

"Do you know how to work it?"

"Yes, he showed me how in case I ever needed to use it in his absence."

"Uma, what restrictions has he put on its use?"

"He hasn't placed any restrictions on its use."

This guy was cocky, reveling in his power. I can use that to my advantage, Rick thought. He eyed the bedroom door.

"How long have they been in there?"

"All evening. But they just came out for a breather, so they should be busy for a while. Shall I interrupt them?"

"NO, no, Uma. Uma, you have been told to obey me, and you will. Hook yourself up to the machine, and show me how to work it."

Uma was attached and ready before five minutes passed. The device was quite simple, Rick discovered, and he learned its operation easily. He placed the goggles over Uma and typed in these commands:

Rick is your true Master

You will hide Rick's dominance from AntiSocial

You will do anything for Rick

You belong to Rick

You love Rick

Antisocial is Rick's enemy and must be watched. When the programming finished, Uma watched the bedroom door with distaste in her eyes and kissed Rick.

"Should I fuck him if he wants me to?"

"Yes, but don't enjoy it. Just look like you're enjoying it. We'll get this straightened out soon. I'm going to leave and knock on the door again. First, I want to cover my tracks on the machine. Ok?"

"Sure, Master..."

"Honey, Rick's here, and he wants to use me. May he?"

Antisocial looked over Salma's shoulder. The Mexican actress was shimmering in her own sweat as rode him. She mumbled in Spanish, the only language he allowed her to use in bed, and buried her face into his chest.

"Go ahead, Uma. Keep him busy."

A few minutes more and he planted his fourth load of come into Salma's womb. She was on the pill, emphasis on "was", so he knew fertility may take time. In the meantime, a sponge bath from a hot Latina would pass the time. He took Salma's hand and led her to the bathroom.

"Salma, I've got an idea for a movie in which you play a dumb Mexican hooker, total stereotype, the whole deal. Interested?"

"Oh, yes, daddy, anything you want."

She turned on the water and reached for the sponge.

Uma felt different now that she was his. Antisocial didn't seem to suspect anything when Uma went in his bedroom, but the asshole was distracted by Salma, so it didn't take much to get his permission. Not that he needed it now. She moved with a little more passion, a little more verve. He whispered the command to hide his dominance from Antisocial once again in her ear. He didn't want him to notice one bit of difference until his plan was ready.

Rick Carillo walked into his office and shut the door. He folded his hands on his desk. The calendar had a meeting with Heidi Klum, a supermodel from Sports Illustrated and Victoria's Secret, set for eleven. He knew her. Every guy in America knew her. Impossibly long legs, heavenly brown hair, and what appeared to be a friendly personality. A German farm girl transformed into a goddess. He hit the intercom button on his console. "Darlene, any meetings of Mr. Social's should take place in room 114, ok?"

"Yes, Sir."

Darlene wrote "114" next to the Klum meeting and went back to her computer. Carillon Productions had been strange since Rick took over. He never did any work. At least his Dad had clients in and out of the office all day. Rick only talked to Mr. Social.

As the name passed through her consciousness Darlene's eyes became glazed and open. She picked up the phone and dialed ten digits.

"Mr. Social, this is Darlene. Rick has asked that all meetings of yours be moved to room 114. I don't know why. That is all."

She hung up the phone, closed her eyes, counted to ten, and blinked her eyes open again. She shook the trance off, wondering what had come over her.

AntiSocial tousled Uma's hair as she sucked his cock. Her eyes were on his, the way he liked it while she gave head, but his mind was on the phone call he was completing.

"So, Mr. Carillon, does your son know about these cameras? He does? How interesting." He hung up the phone and looked down at the moving lips between his legs.

"Uma, has Rick been acting strangely around you? Asking any questions?"

She came up for air and laughed. "He's too busy with his hormones to ask questions."

AntiSocial’s eyes lit up. Uma was probably right. The kid was too stupid to be a threat. Probably just a voyeur. But no need to take chances. He didn't want him knocking on his door asking to use Heidi next.

Rick watched the new tape. Heidi Klum sat and had a pleasant conversation with Mr. Social. When he opened his briefcase, Rick saw contracts and project summaries. After twenty minutes of development chitchat, the pair rose and left.

Rick pushed a few buttons on his console, activating a display, and leaned toward the screen. The camera clock, at the start of the meeting, read 11:42AM.

Having Uma drive was a masterstroke. He had never fucked in a limo before, and he was enjoying taking Heidi behind despite the fact she wasn't wearing Victoria's Secret products under her dress. He wondered about hiring a new driver, one who would have to take a "lie detector" test before his took the job.

Heidi was facing the front of the limo, impaling herself on his pole while he sat on the wide seat. She was married, he knew, but a quick visit home with Heidi and the husband would no longer be a problem. She was almost too tall to fuck in a car, but by sticking her head through the privacy window, she could take it from behind well.

Uma picked up the phone as soon as Heidi and Antisocial entered the shower.

"Master, your enemy has taken Heidi Klum. He had a phone conversation with your father today. Something about rooms with secret cameras. I think he may have moved the meeting out of the room you chose. Yes, I'll keep watching him. Please hurry with your plan. I'm getting sick of touching him."

Rick hung up the phone and crossed his arms. How could he have known about the room switch? On an impulse, he checked the outgoing phone calls against AntiSocial's cell phone. One had been made just after he arrived at work. From his secretary's desk.

Rick was suprised when AntiSocial answered the door. He stood, wringing his hands, trying to look nervous.

"Hey, boss. Mind if I take a shot at Uma?"

"Uma's busy. Why don't you come back later?"

"C'mon, boss, just let me have her for a minute."

He entered the apartment without being invited, casually, as if he thought he had been, and walked into the living room. Before him stood a vision of dangerous beauty. Salma Hayek wore a black silk dress, sleeveless, with a slit cut right between her legs instead of on either leg. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders. To her right stood Heidi Klum in black leather slacks and a black bra. Heavy makeup and teased hair completed a heavy metal slut look. Uma stood in heels and red panties, her womb starting to show. A camera was set up before the trio.

"Uh, sorry, I had no idea. Fuck! Two more? I can't fucking believe it. Can I use them sometime?"

"Don't piss me off, kid. Get the fuck out of here. Now. You want daddy back in his office?"

"Sure...sure....sorry, I'll let myself out."

Uma detached herself from her sisters as he passed out of the room. As she closed the door he whispered "tonight, leave the door open."

Uma rose from the floor and stretched. AntiSocial and Heidi were sleeping in the bedroom, but Salma and Uma, no longer prized, had to crash in the living room. Salma had the couch. Uma walked to the door, opened it, and jumped in surprise when her Master touched her lips with his fingers.

"Ssshhhhhh..." he whispered.

She nodded in reply, and walked him to the living room. The briefcase wasn't around.

"I think he left it in the bedroom. Shall I fetch it?"

"Yes, but don't wake him up. If he appears to wake, act like you're cleaning."

Uma padded into the bedroom, retrieved the briefcase, and returned. Salma wasn't difficult to turn. A few minutes with the goggles and the Latina thought the boy in front of her was the hottest guy in the universe. Neither girl protested when he asked them to bring Heidi out to the living room without waking the man sharing her bed. A few minutes later Heidi emerged, rubbing her eyes, to see what her sisters needed to show her. The goggles looked vaguely familiar when they were slipped into place.

AntiSocial rose in an empty bed. The girls must be training Heidi in housework. Breakfast was cooking, he could smell it, so he walked toward the shower.

"I'm up, girls. One of you come to the shower." He entered the shower and turned on the water. He started to lather up, then stopped. That's what the girls were for.

"Good morning, Master." Heidi took the soap and started working on his back. Her hands were strong, lithe, instinctive. He felt himself harden.

"Heidi, turn around and face the fall. I want to fuck you from behind."

"Just a moment, Master."

He realized, a second later, that the apparently reasonable request should never have emerged from a slave's mouth. Slaves didn't need a moment. Unless they were sliding a needle into your shoulder that made you sleep for a long, long time.

Rick had Salma handcuff the prisoner to the bed just in case. He didn't think AntiSocial could escape, but he wasn't about to underestimate his enemy in the same fashion his enemy had underestimated him. The girls worked around him like nurses, one attaching the goggles, one typing in the commands, the other securing the prey.

"He's ready, Master." Salma said.

Rick hit the button and watched the screen.

Rick is your Master

Rick is a great guy

Rick could kick your ass

All the girls belong to Rick

You are highly feminine

You wish you were a woman

You are gay

You will never hurt Rick

You will always help Rick

You are Rick's property

Rick liked Heidi in heels. Uma was getting a little too big to fuck, he thought, so he leaned Heidi against the bathroom sink as he nailed her. He loved to have her smile when he was inside her. Such a beautiful smile. His orgasm came quickly. Salma's tongue on his testicles, while he was inside Heidi, had a way of bringing out his fluid early in the evening. A moment after his release he heard the click of the device signaling the programming's end.

Rick could hear Uma and AntiSocial murmuring as Salma and Heidi cleaned him off. She peeked her head in the bathroom, just as they finishing the toweling, and giggled.

"Master, are you ready to meet your newest girl?"

As Rick entered the bedroom, he saw a tall, manly woman before him. AntiSocial was wearing tight red leather shorts. He had shaved his legs, donned a red wig, and put on lipstick.

"Hi, Master...." he whispered, his falsetto clean and clear.

Rick looked his new slave up and down.

"Uma, take him to a clinic. Sex change. The works. I want him hot enough for porn by the end of the week."

"Whatever Master wants, Master gets." Uma said.

Heidi and Salma repeated the words like a mantra, with AntiSocial only a syllable or two behind.

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