The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jeff Coogan flew to Los Angeles the next day. He was booked in first class, and he was alone there but for a couple of wealthy socialites that spent their whole flight discussing education reform in the rise of massive open online courses. Jeff listened with one ear, wholly uninterested in the topic except when the man naively tried to argue against the capabilities of modern technology to handle the scope of the project, and Jeff had the hardest time resisting the impulse to jump in and dispute almost every single one of the man’s arguments.

That man would not be getting an IPO at the scale of SocialCircles, that much was obvious.

His eye kept straying to one of the flight attendants—a pretty blonde with long legs and a smile that would be an invitation if not for the fact that it was artificial. She reminded Jeff of Mary, and his cock stiffened at the memory of the pretty receptionist and how tight her pussy had felt.

He casually looked at the flight attendant’s finger when she gave him his Orangina, and he was disappointed not to see a tattoo.

Not every pretty girl you meet is going to be in the Network, Jeff, he chastised himself. He idly wondered what sort of incentive the group—the paperwork simply called it the Network, with all its Orwellian overtones—gave its members.

He still could not believe the experience with Mary just happened the previous day—he had relived it in agonizing details as he lay in his bed, on his newly acquired black satin sheets. He had been tempted to call her up right then, but he did not have her number, had never thought of getting it.

In the end, he had masturbated thinking of every detail of their encounter, of the feel of her lips on his, the feel of her breasts in his hands, the feel of her pussy around his dick, sheathing it, stroking it, sucking on it.

And amidst those thoughts, those memories, those fantasies, Rebecca took the place of Mary. Rebecca, his best friend’s wife, and he was both aroused and guilty to think of her in that way, imagining her in Mary’s place, letting him paw her breasts while she fucked him against a wall, her perfectly manicured nails scratching his back as he rutted against her, mumbling and groaning sweet nothings into his ear.

The hour flight was a slingshot, with barely enough time to get to cruising altitude before heading back down, and he disembarked before everyone else, carrying only an overnight bag. He liked to travel light. Besides, he could afford to simply purchase anything he missed these days.

Rivolli had told him that he would send a limo, and Jeff spotted the woman holding a Jeffrey Coogan sign right away. She wore a driver’s costume of the kind he thought only existed in television shows. In fact, she reminded Jeff of no other than Mercy Graves, and it immediately endeared her to him.

But it was the young woman next to her that caught his eye. She was a little bit older than he was and older than the chauffeur, but she was astonishingly beautiful—movie star beautiful. Long blonde lustrous hair, high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, kissable lips, and a body barely contained by a skirt suit whose severity was alleviated only by a short pleated skirt.

He walked towards the pair, trying hard not to stare at the blonde. He concentrated on the driver instead.

“Mister Coogan?” It was the beautiful blonde, who extended a hand in his direction. The driver merely smiled and put down her sign. “I’m Bianca Bearce, personal assistant to Mister Rivolli. He sent me to greet you. Welcome to LA.”

Jeff shook Bianca’s hand, thinking Sal, you old dog!

And then he noticed the pale blue tattoo on Bianca’s little finger.

Braided circles going around her finger as if a ring.

His breath caught for a moment.

“Mister Coogan, are you okay?”

He shook his head and looked at the blue-eyed beauty. “Yes, sorry. I was…”

“Flying can be trying, I understand. Is that all you have?” She indicated the bag on his shoulder.

“Yes. I travel light.”

“Same here. Lost one too many piece of luggage. Well, Mister Rivolli is waiting for you. Shall we?”

“Sir?” The driver extended a hand.

Jeff stared at her hand uncomprehendingly. Did she want a tip?

“Sir, your bag?”

Jeff smiled to himself. Of course. “No, it’s okay—”

He never finished. His head spun. He had seen the pale blue tattoo around the driver’s little finger.

“Sir?”

“Mister Coogan, are you all right?” Bianca was at his side, a worried look marring her perfect features.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, hating himself for appearing so weak. “It’s just been a rough couple of days.”

“Of course. We have a selection of drinks in the limo. Perhaps that and some rest will make you feel better.”

The driver was still standing with her hand toward him, and he hesitated for a second before handing her his bag.

He followed them out, with Bianca keeping up a nearly one-sided conversation where she described the various activities that she had been involved in since joining Salvatore Rivolli’s law firm seven months earlier, and Jeff listened while at the same time processing everything he was feeling.

These two girls here with him were members of the Network? How could that be possible? They were beautiful, sophisticated, poised. Bianca would have been at home next to any leading man, and had she told him that she had modeled when was younger, he would have believed it before going to hunt down pictures.

In fact, he would look her up when he had the chance. Bianca Bearce.

The driver—he had not caught her name—walked in front of them, carrying Jeff’s bag. She had slacks on, and they did nothing to conceal her slim body. Again, the thought that these two were available, in some form or another, messed with his mind.

Bianca reminded him of Rebecca, his VP Legal, in style and in elegance. She was younger than Rebecca, but conveyed the same sense of competency. And the clothes she wore, while still professional, were younger and called much more attention to her person. Rebecca’s vestment choices were meant to give a sense of power and domination. Bianca’s were more of a fashion statement. She wanted to look good.

The limousine was waiting in the parking area, and the driver stowed his bag in the trunk. Bianca invited him inside. They were off in the Los Angeles traffic before he knew it.

When Bianca pulled out her cell phone, Jeff sneaked a glance at her legs, almost fully exposed in the position she was sitting. Dark nylons sheathed her legs.

“Mister Rivolli. Yes, I picked up Mister Coogan. The flight was on time, surprisingly. We’re on the way to the office now. Yes, hold on.”

Bianca handed Jeff her cell phone. “Mister Rivolli.”

“Sal,” Jeff said into the cell phone, a year-old model that he noted in passing would have some difficulty running the latest SocialCircles app. “Jeff here.”

“Jeff! Glad you made it! How was the flight?”

“Okay. It’s flying.”

“Yeah, don’t get me started on that. So have you?”

“Have I what?”

“You know, used her?”

“What are you talking about?”

Rivolli made an exasperated noise on the other end. “Oh for fuck’s sake! I sent you Bianca to welcome you. You can’t not have noticed her.”

“Well…”

“Her finger?”

“Yes… yes I did.”

“So go ahead. Have some fun.”

“So I just…”

“Yes, you just. Why do you think I hired her? She’s a great assistant, that’s for sure—best I ever had in fact—but she’s also got the sweetest warmest mouth I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something. I recommend code 7, at least while you’re in the limo.”

“Sal, I don’t know—”

“Don’t be a wimp, boy. You paid good money for this. Enjoy it. Trust me. Now go and use my assistant. I’ll see you when you get here.”

The call disconnected, and Jeff handed her phone back to Bianca, who smiled at him, unaware of what her boss had said.

“So,” Jeff cleared his throat as Bianca slipped her phone back into the side pocket of her purse, “how long do we have before we get to Sal—to Rivolli’s office.”

“At this time of day, forty minutes. The curse of LA. In the mean time, would you like something to drink? The bar is small, but fairly complete.”

Jeff was trying hard not to let his eyes wander down to her legs, tantalizingly close, exposed, beckoning.

And she was a member. She had the tattoo. Rivolli had confirmed it, too. Now go and use my assistant, he had said. Use my assistant. He thought back to Mary, how she let him fuck her—no, how she made him fuck her. He thought back to Rebecca, beautiful and stern and with the same tattoo on her finger, married to his best friend, but a member of a Network that specializes in illicit sex.

“Mister Coogan?” Bianca was looking at him with concern.

She must think I’m a weirdo, he reflected. I can’t focus. Come on Jeff, you’re better than this.

“Sorry, I’m getting distracted. Yes, drink. Do you have any Orangina?”

“Huh, no, I’m sorry, I don’t believe we do.”

“Ah.”

“But… it’s just orange juice and soda, no? We have those. So I can whip up some homemade Orangina if that would satisfy you.”

“That sounds perfect,” he said. That’s it, Jeff, nice and steady and normal.

He watched her prepare his drink, and he made conversation—talking about social networking apps and SocialCircles—trying to make up for his flakiness earlier, and for what he was about to do. He wanted her to think well of him.

He took the drink she offered him. While she reached for a glass of soda water herself, he thumbed the Platinum Plan app on his cell phone. He took a deep breath.

“Bianca,” he said. “Adjustment code C007, member 8JHC3487.”

He was looking right at her, and this time he saw the slight stiffening in her body, the momentary pause, the way she closed her eyes as if to savor something known only to her.

When she opened her eyes back and turned to look at him, she had some of the same expression that Mary had had the previous day, and that by itself was enough to make him hard almost instantly.

Bianca swallowed, and licked her lips. She still had her water in her hand, and she took a sip, her eyes never leaving his. Her sip became a full swallow, and she downed her whole glass of water as if she was suddenly thirsty. She licked her lips again.

Not quite knowing what to do—Mary had taken the initiative when he gave her the code—Jeff kept talking, asking Bianca whether she used any social networking apps, whether she had heard of SocialCircles before, and Bianca answered his questions, though she was noticeably less focused than she had been earlier. She kept licked her lips, swallowing, her eyes sometimes darting from his face down to his crotch in a flash. She had a light flush on, and if Jeff were not mistaken—and he felt way too self conscious to check carefully—her nipples seemed hard as rocks and poking through her blouse.

“I’m sorry,” Bianca said eventually, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Look, I’ve got a big favor to ask of you.”

“Okay… What is it?”

She licked her lips again. Her eyes were burning with a hunger that was not lost on Jeff. “I’d like to suck your cock.”

Jeff had expected it, and not expected it at the same time. “You what?”

Bianca swallowed again, and edged closer to him. Her hand slid up his thigh, towards his crotch. “I want to suck your cock. I want to take it down my throat and suck on it until it explodes inside of me. I want to drink you up until you’re drained.” She looked feverish. Her hand had reached his cock, and was stroking it through his slacks. He was hard as a crowbar.

“Please,” she said, and the mounting desperation in her voice was clear. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just let me swallow you…” Her hand was pressing harder, and it was almost painful. She kept running her tongue over her lips, as if to keep them wet.

He looked at her, remembering Mary, imagining Rebecca, taking the plunge. It this was a setup, so be it.

“Show me your tits,” he said, slightly uncomfortable with the term, but remembering Mary’s reaction.

“Of course, anything,” Bianca said, immediately reaching for the buttons on her blouse. “I’ll suck on your cock topless, so you can stare at my tits as much as you want. Show me your cock, baby?”

She pulled her blouse off exposing a half-shelf bra that did little to contain her generous chest, and Jeff stared shamelessly as he pulled down his slacks enough for his cock to shudder in the air of the limousine.

Bianca stared at his cock with a shiver of appreciation, and her mouth opened, breathing hard. The sight of his shaft momentarily distracted her, and she fumbled with the hook of her bra behind her back. Finally taking it off, Jeff’s stared when her large breasts came into view in their full naked glory. Without thinking, he reached for one, hefting it in his hand, savoring the softness the skin, the hardness of her firm nipple. Bianca gasped at the touch, closing her eyes.

“I’ll let you play with them as much as you want if you let me suck you off,” Bianca said.

“Okay,” Jeff nodded.

“Tell me,” she said, her eyes never leaving his cock, her mouth open.

“What?”

“Tell me that you want me to suck your cock.”

“Huh, Bianca, suck my cock?”

Bianca swallowed, and trembled. He felt it through the breast he was caressing.

“Tell me…” she said. “Tell me ‘get on your knees, bitch, and suck my cock.’”

Jeff stared at her for a second, but her whole attention was on his cock. She was fighting some sort of impulse, trying not to let go.

“Bianca, huh… get on your knees, bitch,” he tried to make his voice stern, “and suck my cock.”

Bianca’s trembling become violent, her moan deep, and she never broke eye contact with his cock as she sank to her knees and slipped between his legs and without a word of warning slid the head of his cock between her lips and sucked it inside of her mouth.

Jeff wanted to continue kneading her breast and squeezing it as she blew him but soon he had to lean back and simply let himself be serviced because the sensations from his cock were too wonderful to allow him to consider doing anything else.

Bianca bobbed up and down on his cock, taking most of it into her mouth, sucking him with a fervor that ought to be reserved for truly decadent and soul-fulfilling endeavors. Blow job noises filled the limousine, and Jeff wondered whether the driver up front could hear anything.

He watched Bianca slurp up and down on his cock, her eyes closed in bliss, drool dripping off her chin, her lips sealed tight around his shaft. Below, her breasts bounced with every one of her movements, an enticing arousing view.

After what might have been seconds or what might have been minutes—Jeff had lost any sense of time as he simply wallowed in the glow of Bianca’s expert mouth—she pulled her head up and stroked his saliva-drenched cock. She opened her eyes to look at him, the fever still in them. With her free hand, she reached for his, placing it on her head.

“I want to take you deep,” she said, out of breath. Drool had drenched the top of her chest and made her breasts shiny with spittle. “Force my head down, baby. Force your cock down my throat.”

Jeff was taken aback. “What?”

Bianca has a feverish smile on her face, and her stroking was fast and harsh. Her hand clasped his onto her head. “I can’t do it on my own, baby. I need you to grab my head and force it down onto your cock. Force it all the way down, all the way in. Choke me, baby, and come all the way inside. Please!”

It was the tone of desperation of that last request that did it for Jeff. Disbelieving what he was hearing, but unable to resist the urge of his loins, he pushed down on Bianca’s head and slipped his cock back into her mouth. When it was as far in as it would go, he pressed down, hard.

Bianca closed her eyes and gagged as the head of his cock pushed against the entrance of her throat, but she did not pull back. She held position for a few seconds before letting go, and Jeff pushed her head back down and before long he was pushing up with his hips as well as driving her head down and Bianca was gagging loudly and saliva was dripping down abundantly and there were tears in the corner of her eyes that made her mascara run. It gave him a disgusting visceral thrill.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, waiting, expecting, hoping, and Jeff wrapped a hand in her blonde hair and with his other hand pushed down hard and did not let up, and his cock broke through the obstruction and sank deep into her throat, completely, the root of his cock smashing against her lips. Bianca stiffened and her gag turned into a retching that seemed to milk his cock from inside, and Bianca’s whole body shivered as she closed her eyes and Jeff luxuriated in the feeling of completely embedding himself deep into this beautiful woman’s throat.

She pulled back after several seconds, and looked up at him with teary eyes still filled with hunger, and she pressed back down and he pushed his cock in her throat once more. He fucked her mouth deep and hard and it was the most insane sexual experience of his life. Bianca was impaling herself on his cock, over and over again, uncaring about her own comfort, gagging and choking and fucking his cock with her throat like it was the only thing that was important to her in her world.

Through the haze that had engulfed him, Jeff could see that she had slipped a hand between her legs and was stroking herself frantically.

When at last Bianca pushed hard and stayed put with her lips at the root of his cock and her nose pressed into his lower stomach, choking madly around his shaft, her red-rimmed eyes staring straight at him through her tears, her face smudged with running makeup, Jeff could not hold any longer and exploded, sending spurt after spurt of semen directly down her gullet which she swallowed effortlessly, never letting him go, seemingly not even breathing, her eyes closing in wild appreciation.

Jeff returned to his senses a few minutes later, disoriented, and wondered if he had fallen asleep or had passed out. Next to him sat Bianca, working on her makeup, dressed again in her blouse, looking as though nothing had happened. His slacks were refastened, and the only way he could tell that anything had happened was the smell of sex in the air, his cooling skin, and the feeling of utter emptiness that hung about his genitals. He felt satiated.

Bianca turned to him, nodded. “We should be at the office in about ten minutes,” she said. Her tone suggested that nothing odd had happened, that she had not acted like a wanton slut hungry for his cock, and Jeff marveled at her acting abilities. He wanted to ask her so many questions, wanted to ask her about why she had done what she had done, how long she had been doing it, but the contract he had signed expressly forbade him to talk about any of that with Network members.

And so he turned and stared out the window, silently sipping his limousine-made soda and orange juice, while Bianca called Rivolli to let him know they were about to arrive.

Bianca led Jeff Coogan to Salvatore “Sal” Rivolli’s law offices, after the limousine had dropped them off at the entrance of a squat glass-faced building on Sunset Boulevard.

Rivolli looked up from his work when Jeff entered his office, and the broad grin that Jeff had known for years ever since Rivolli took him under his wing in middle school broke upon his face. “Jeff, you stinker!”

In a flash he was up and hugged Jeff, who always felt ambivalent about those displays of affection to which Rivolli was prone. The older man had always been very physical, both when happy and when not.

“Thank you Bianca,” he said to his beautiful assistant. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Not a problem, Mister Rivolli. Do you have any further need of me?”

Jeff’s breath caught at her words, at her phrasing. It sounded so innocuous given the setting, yet with what he knew it took such blatantly sexual overtones that he could not help grow hard again thinking about her on her knees sucking on his cock. Mary had been nice, but Bianca was something else. Perhaps it was her that he should ask out on a date. He could so easily see himself falling in love with her.

“Not this afternoon,” Rivolli responded. “Jeff and I are going to go down to the set and I’ll show him around some, introduce him. So you’re free to go and terrorize our partners.”

“Very well.” She turned to Jeff. “Mister Coogan, “it was a pleasure to meet you. Enjoy your stay in LA.”

“I—I will. Thank you Bianca.”

“Bianca,” Rivolli interjected as the beautiful woman turned around on her high heels and was heading to the door, “you still coming to the party tonight?”

“Of course. Seven or eight?”

“Eight would be great.”

“Perfect. Yes, we will see you there.”

Rivolli turned to Jeff when Bianca was gone, and his broad grin had a touch of the wolf in it. “So, what do you think?”

Jeff looked around. “Well, it’s pretty nice. I’ve been thinking of something with more glass in my new building and—”

“Not the decoration, you punk! Bianca! What do you think?”

Jeff felt himself redden. “She’s… nice.”

Rivolli laughed, harder than Jeff ever thought anyone could laugh. He wondered whether Rivolli was laughing with him or at him. But Rivolli slapped him on the back, laughing still. “Nice? NICE? You’ll never change, Jeff. God bless your heart. I can tell by your blush that she gave you one of her outta this world blow jobs. Fuck, the girl’s the best damn cocksucker I’ve ever met, and I met many, believe you me. And she’s the whole package, too: nice tits, a tight pussy, and an ass that won’t quit. Maybe you’ll want to sample it at the party tonight.”

Rivolli laughed again at Jeff’s expression. “Come on, I’m sure you’ve got loads of questions. Not sure I have many answers, but I’ve been dying to talk to someone about this stuff.”

He grabbed his briefcase from the side of his desk and gestured towards the door. “Come with me. I’ve got some business to take care of on the set, and I figured you’d enjoy seeing how the sausages are made. And you get to see some of the eye candy the show’s famous for.”

Jeff, who had the definite impression that there was a whirlwind about him threatening to engulf him and wipe him out, merely nodded. “Sounds good.”

Jeff was back in the limousine, with Rivolli this time. Bianca, much to Jeff’s chagrin, did not accompany them. Although how much he would have been able to concentrate had she been around was up for debate.

“We’re going to the set,” Rivolli said, as he checked something on his smartphone.

“The Kittens’ Den set?” Jeff knew that Rivolli was involved in the production, presumably as part of the legal team. He did not know the details though. But he loved the show, like everyone of his generation.

“Correct.” Rivolli was texting while talking, not looking up from the glow of the screen. “Fred Krueger convinced me to head legal affairs at Bad Dream Productions, which co-produces the show. Trust me, you don’t know what complicated is until you stared into the mess that is legal affairs for a television show. The stuff is enough to give you grey hair, when not just making it all fall off.” He ran a hand through his luxurious mass of still dark hair.

“So,” Jeff said, breaching the subject that had been on his mind since he first set foot in Los Angeles, “the Platinum Plan?”

“Ah! Amazing, isn’t it?” Rivolli slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Greatest thing ever, if you ask me. And the girls… fuck me! The best of the bunch, by far. Beats all the escort services I’ve ever seen.”

Jeff did not ask him how many escort services he had sampled. “Yes, they’re beautiful, all of them I’ve seen. I wonder where they find them…” It was a question he had had ever since first fucking Mary.

Rivolli smiled mysteriously. “An excellent question, Jeff my boy. One that I fully expected you to start asking, with that big brain of yours.”

Jeff noticed that Rivolli did not answer him. “So, Bianca, and the driver…?”

Rivolli smiled. “No accident, of course. Bianca interviewed and when I spotted her tattoo I knew I needed to have her on my team. Whether she was good for it or not, really. I would have found something for her to do either way. Turns out she’s sharp and I couldn’t function half as well without her. Funny how those things go. Michaela, the driver, I spotted her downtown and after checking up on her offered her a job as well. There are many others on my staff.”

“So you’re going out to recruit… Network members?”

“Network members? Is that what your account manager called them? Interesting. But anyway, yes, I do look for them now. I mean, can you imagine? Having beautiful women around ready to drop their panties at the snap of a finger, willing to service you in ways that even hookers would blanch at?”

“That seems… I don’t know… like you’re gaming the system or something.”

“Hey,” Rivolli shrugged. “It’s their business model. If I find a way to use it to my advantage, they can’t stop me. I’m not doing anything wrong here. Just… coalescing resources. Beside, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Kittens’ Den was a television series that had been running for the past couple of years, built around the notion of an organization taking in runaways and prisoners and altering and overwriting their personalities with technology straight out of a bad science-fiction serial in order to have them serve a variety of purposes. It was not an original idea by any stretch of the imagination, but the show was well done, and explored how such mind-controlled puppets—which the show called kittens when they were female and tomcats male—could be used as escorts, spies, collateral, and even soldiers.

One feature of the series was that it took full advantage of the permissibility of cable networks, and pushed the envelope to a remarkable extent on sexual exploitation in a mainstream series. That the show used guests stars of the highest order that often would end up showing up much more skin than expected was a nice bonus. The secondary actors and the extras went beyond even that extent and often veered into softcore pornography. The show was a ratings mastodon in the prime 18–24 demographic.

The studio where Kittens’ Den was filmed housed two large static sets and three areas where episode-specific sets could be constructed quickly. Overall, the atmosphere was less chaotic than Jeff had expected, after two years the process having turned into a well-oiled machine that ran without friction most of the time.

Rivolli walked Jeff through the main area between the sets—all of them being used in parallel, since scenes did not have to be shot in order—where the catering table was set up and where the various assistant directors discussed technical matters involving photography and sound and the sequencing of operations necessary to bring an episode into a form suitable for editing.

Jeff drank it all up, enjoying the buzz of technicality in the air—he wondered idly how he could get his building to foster the same energy; perhaps he needed a catering area, in the center of the building, around which cubicles could be laid out in a concentric pattern, to allow for mingling and for the free exchange of ideas—but he was constantly distracted by the skimpily clad young actresses that walked by him to and from the changing rooms, beautiful girls with bodies to die for, most of them not out of place on the cover of men’s magazines.

“Come on,” said Rivolli, smiling to Jeff. “Let me introduce you. Hey, Freddie!”

An thin gaunt older man with a dark piercing eyes looked up from what looked like a script and grinned wildly as Rivolli approached him. “Sal! What the hell are you doing here? Are we getting sued again?”

Rivolli laughed. “Not today, no. Just got some business to deal with. Brought a good friend of mine along, Jeff Coogan. He’s just started a company up in San Fran and he’s kicking it back in LA for the weekend.”

“Mister Krueger,” Jeff said, extending a hand. “Jeff Coogan.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeff. Any friend of Sal here is a friend of mine. Sal saved my ass more times than I can count.”

“I have no difficulty imagining that,” Jeff said. Rivolli had helped him too.

“Oh, guys—this is gonna make me cry.” Rivolli was rolling his eyes, but one could tell he was eating it all up.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Krueger said, looking back down at the script, “I have to go and talk to Bob about this next scene, because it’s just not gonna work.” He nodded to Rivolli and to Jeff before heading off.

Jeff smiled to a beautiful actress passing him dressed in the skimpy leggings and bikini top characteristic of the costume that kittens wore on the show. Rivolli nudged him. “Notice anything?”

“What?”

“Just look.”

“At what?”

“The girls.”

“That’s what I’ve sort of been doing. Tough not to. I mean, how do people get any work done around here?”

“Look carefully,” Rivolli said, sounding mock-exasperated.

And Jeff looked. For five minutes, he looked, sipping on an Orangina he had seen on the catering table, and saw what undoubtedly Rivolli had wanted him to see.

Most of the actresses going by around him, talking to each other and laughing or looking serious and concentrating on their lines, had a tattoo on their little finger.

Rivolli smiled when he saw that Jeff had noticed.

“They’re all…?”

Rivolli nodded. “Well, not all, but many. A great many.”

Jeff’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Did you…?”

“Had nothing to do with it. I noticed myself six months ago when I visited Freddie for something unrelated to the show. Took me by surprise, too. It was like winning the jackpot in Vegas. Just look at them!”

Jeff did, taking in the beautiful and skimpily clad women walking about or standing reviewing their lines or hanging out and laughing softly.

Before he could ask Rivolli what it all meant, his friend’s face changed and a flash of disgust crossed it. “Well, there he is.”

“Who?”

Jeff turned in the direction Rivolli was facing, and spotted an overweight man coming their way. The man would have been broad even without a good eighty pounds extra to carry around, and he looked, for lack of a better term, oily.

The man leered openly at the extras as he made his way toward them, and Jeff could see that they did not particularly relish the attention. Rivolli shook his head. “Disgusting pig. Look at him,” he said. “Not even able to take a hint. Well, let’s get to it then. Hey Georgios! Georgios!”

The aforementioned looked up, and grinned, and Jeff half expected his teeth to be yellow. There were not. But his grin did not improve his image.

“Georgios here co-produces Kittens’ Den with Freddie. When Freddie needed money, he went out and found someone. That’s before I came in, or I would have helped him. Instead, he found this Georgios guy.”

Georgios was getting closer, beaming broadly. Rivolli suppressed a shudder, then turned to Jeff. “I have to spend some time with Georgios. He’s been having issues with one of his subsidiary production companies, and Freddie asked me to look into it, give the man a hand. Because you’ve got to keep your co-producers happy, right? I’m not going to impose him on you. And I shouldn’t be too long anyway: half an hour, forty-five minutes? So just hang out, mingle. A word of advice: don’t sample the girls here, because it’s a bit too public. But don’t worry about it, they’re all coming to the party tonight, so if you see someone that interests you, just remember her and be patient. You’ll be able to freely enjoy them. And don’t forget that Bianca’s gonna be there too.”

Rivolli grinned, patting Jeff on the back once more. “You’re gonna have to pace yourself, my boy.”