Lust
Chapter four: recruitment.
Of course I knew exactly what was wrong with her: the only professional help she needed was a policeman to throw my ass in jail, but there was no way I was going to tell her what I did. After all, I had just almost killed her. So the first thing I did when we got back was to go storming over to where I bought the drug and demand an explanation. As it turned out, of course, I was storming right over to the Organization. In hindsight, they treated me exceptionally well—we rarely have such patience and goodwill anymore.
I burst right in through the main doors and stormed blithely past the security guards—of course they must have seen me well in advance on the cameras. Someone must have decided to let me past. I ended up going straight to Mr. Sweat himself and demanding an explanation.
As I remember it, he simply raised an eyebrow and repeated my words exactly like I spoke them, ‘an explanation?’ he asked, ‘what, exactly, would you have me explain Mr. Thomas?’
To this day I still try to recapture the exact intonation that he used when he said my last name—it was the perfect mix of benevolent concern, humor and powerful threat. Just the way he said my name was enough to deflate me totally. I tried to hold on to my sense of indignation, but instantly I found I was on the defensive.
‘What exactly happened, Mr. Thomas, that you come here in such an anxious state? Was our product somehow unsatisfactory for you?’
I stuttered and stammered and pleaded, ‘No, it was great but...’
‘But what, Mr. Thomas, but what? Did you do something that you shouldn’t have?’
‘Uh, I guess, but..’
‘You guess? Have you come to me then to confess a sin or is it to fuss about my products?’
‘I, uh,..’
‘Mr. Thomas—is your little Anita all right?’
I was momentarily taken aback that he knew my girlfriend’s name, but then I remembered the brief interview I had before I bought the drugs—perhaps I had mentioned her name then. I proceeded to tell Mr. Sweat a brief summary of what had happened. He listened with benign interest—all the time I felt I was taking him away from more important matters.
The more I talked to him, the more I realized how much I had enjoyed fucking Anita like I had. I realized that I was there only to allay my guilt. I realized that I would do it again if I could. Mr. Sweat was the perfect psychoanalyst: he listened to me quietly as I worked things out in my mind—commenting only when I started to veer off track from what we both knew was the truth.
By the end of the interview I was relating to him in great detail exactly what had happened to Anita. His unabashed fascination was heartening—it made me feel less guilty. Finally Mr. Sweat put the cards on the table—he suggested that I bring Anita into the organization for further ‘treatment’. I really didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was not going to be good for Anita—at least the Anita I knew—and it was going to be very good for me. I also knew, with a growing sense of alarm, that there was no going back for me—I was not dealing with amateurs. I knew I would never leave the building unless I conceded to do everything that Mr. Sweat ‘suggested’. Within an hour of storming into the building I was on the phone to Anita inviting her ‘to see some really great art work at this new gallery I found.” She had already gone to the psychoanalyst whose tape I let you listen to.
The minute she walked through those doors, Mr. Angles, I knew she was not going to come out again the same. I remember it still—how strong and independent she looked walking briskly down the hall to meet me. Her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor and her legs swooshing seductively in her professional clothing, a briefcase held under one arm. A few hours later I would see her covered in sweat, mounted at both ends by strange men and screaming in ecstasy. It took her only a few days to break—she was one of our easiest cases, but it took me a lot longer to get used to what I had done. Two people broke that day, Mr. Angles, two lives were irrevocably changed—hers and mine. And you know what? I don’t regret it one bit—every time I wake up to her suckling my penis in her mouth—her or any number of other women that I have broken—I don’t regret it one bit!”
Mr. Thomas sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his mind run through the memories, then he pressed a button on his console and addressed Mr. Angels.
“It felt so good, Mr. Angles, it felt so good to see her like that—to see her break. I’ve seen it many times since, but nothing beats that first time—when you see your loved one give herself up to you—when you see it in her eyes. When she is so totally yours that you are released from any responsibility or any mutual dependency. When you know, finally, that you are a bad man. When you know that you have her forever to fuck—to use or abuse without remorse. It is terribly flattering, even years later, to have her fall to her knees at your slightest command and throw all her being into pleasing you without even the slightest hesitation or thought of reprisal.
The scale of power is irreversibly tipped—thrown over really—to your side. You win. Game’s over. You are God. Your whim is her command. Mr. Angels, why don’t you see for yourself...”
Just then the door swished open and an absolutely gorgeous woman stepped inside. She was tall and incredibly luscious looking, with full, shiny lips and sparkling eyes and a curvy, seductive figure. Her hair fell lightly around her shoulders and bare arms. She was wearing loose-fitting linen pants and a tank top. Besides for a small gold bracelet her only adornment was a small tattoo on her right arm.
She looked at Mr. Thomas and waited.
“Anita, please this man.” he commanded.
Anita smiled seductively as she approached the startled-looking man. Mr. Angles hardly knew what to do with himself as the incredibly tall woman knelt before him and lightly spread his knees apart. She had a dreamy, pleasant look on her face as her delicate fingers pulled on his zipper and worked open his button.
Mr. Angels kept looking back and forth between Mr. Thomas and Anita, unsure of what to say or do. Anita worked down his underwear, letting his member spring free. Giggling, she stared at it, and then began to lick the very tip. Mr. Angles groaned in response.
Mr. Thomas arranged the papers on his desk and got up to leave, turning back to address the enraptured Mr. Angels only as an afterthought. “Oh, Mr. Angels, I presume your decision with Kris is a ‘yes’?”
Mr. Angels only groaned an affirmative as Anita expertly dove down on his erect member.
“My secretaries will prepare all the paperwork—our fee, as we discussed, is two and a half million dollars—and, of course, our men will not touch Kris in anyway. She will be yours—completely yours.”
The poor firecracker was so pent-up that he evidently popped even before Mr. Thomas was out of earshot. The last thing he heard of Mr. Angles before he stepped out of the room was a heartfelt and totally shaky sigh, “fu—that will be so—fu—oh my god—so fu-cking—wonderfully—perfectly—oh my GOD—ohh—so fucking wonderfully FINE!!!”
“Always a satisfied customer,” Mr. Thomas thought as he shook his head and smiled wryly.