The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Stunning

Chapter 4: Henchman!

It wasn’t actually JFK but an airport in Newburgh, NY we flew into, as it turns out. Dr. Rift’s affiliation was with a university in this small city. We’re waiting at the baggage claim for the bags to be unloaded. Sarah has her arm around me and is leaning against me tiredly. This makes me a little nervous, as I’m not quite old enough to be her dad and too old to be her brother or her boyfriend. An airport is never empty, but at this ungodly hour it’s as close as it’s ever going to be. Our flight’s passengers are the only ones crowded around a baggage conveyor; the other converyors aren’t even running. The group is a good size; it was a large flight. Around me I see a few couples, but mostly it’s businessmen on this redeye. I and one other business traveller are the two tallest there.

Isabel comes over and leans against me on the other side. We must look enough like a nuclear family to fool these other people, because nobody looks twice at the three of us cuddling familiarly. As Isabel leans in, Sarah pulls away and stretches. She starts to look around at the other people waiting. Isabel opens her mouth to say something to Sarah, but Sarah suddenly interrupts her.

“Hey look, FBI guys. They don’t mess around in this airport.”

Suddenly I’m wide awake. I look where Sarah is looking, and indeed there are two men wearing blue jackets with yellow lettering. One is taller with brown hair; the other shorter and stockier with white hair. They’re standing by the security station talking idly to the only guard sitting there, who laughs and shrugs. Then White Hair nods and breaks away to walk toward our flight. He’s scanning faces, and I quickly turn away. Why am I so worried?

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell Isabel. Fortunately, the bathroom is directly away from the G-man. I move toward it purposefully but not quickly, knowing that the Fed is still scanning. Could he possibly be looking for me? Could he be looking for the girls? I’m going to have to bet that he’s not, because all three of us making a break for it would be extremely suspicious. Anyway, if he does grab them, I can always cut them loose, but right now I need a plan because eventually I hqave to go by these Feds to get out of the airport. As I approach the bathroom, I notice two brunette women, a mother and daughter, go into the ladies’. And now I do have a plan.

* * *

As they come out of the bathroom, I’ve already got my shades off. The daughter is extremely sleepy, and the mother is extremely suspicious, being approached right outside the ladies’ room by a strange man in the middle of the night. I decide to focus on mom, and I sure hope this shit still works.

“Uh, which way is the baggage claim?”

Apparently I don’t look or sound like a pervert because mom looks relieved. “Oh, it’s back here. You can follow us, that’s where we are.” She keeps looking at me, probably because I don’t respond, just keep staring at her. Work, dammit!

“I meant, uh, the baggage claim for flight ... uh, 1701.”

“Yeah, that’s ours, you were on our flight? You must have sat behind us.” She starts to turn toward the baggage area.

“Uh, wait, I need to ask you,” I say to interrupt her, and she looks at me with an exasperated what-a-silly-man look on her face. WORK GODDAMMIT.

“It’s just,” and finally I see both of them slacken into an empty Stunned posture. “It’s just I need both of you to go to the baggage claim and find two blonde women, about your ages. Ask them to come back here, and come with them.”

They nod, then head off, giving little glances back at me out of whatever strange compulsion is filling their heads at the moment. I step back into the foyer for the mens’ room, in a spot where I can watch four women pass by. A subjective eternity passes; I wonder if the compulsion wore off when the two women went out of my sight. Should I have phrased that last command as a suggestion? Crap!

But then there they are, Isabel and Sarah walking ahead of the other two women and looking pretty confused. “In here,” I say, and bring the four of them into the stalls of the mens’ room. This gives me horny ideas, but I put those ideas away for the moment.

I make the two ladies I just met lock themselves in a stall together for safekeeping. Then I ask Sarah what the FBI guy was doing.

“He looked around at everybody. He had a picture in his hand. Uh, Grant, I think it was a picture of you.”

A picture. Not three pictures. So Isabel and Sarah are still unknown to them. “Girls, sorry, we’re going to be leaving without our baggage.” I explain the plan to them, making very sure Sarah understands what she’s going to do.

* * *

It takes about half an hour to set up. First there’s the cab driver, who, Sarah reports, didn’t want to wait around until she gave him the hundred. Then there’s the tall guy.

“Man, I’ve heard about sex addicts like you,” I hear him say, followed by a nervous laugh. “This is for real?” I am listening to him talk to Sarah as the two of them approach the bathroom. There’s a pause, then I hear him groan. “Yep, I guess you are.”

They walk into the womens’ bathroom, where I have moved myself, leaving the other three ladies waiting in the mens’. “Shit, this guy’s your boyfriend? Aren’t you a little old for her?” he leers. I smile wanly.

Sarah pulls him into one of the stalls, and I stand at the door of the stall.

“Hope nobody walks in here,” he says, then sits down on the toilet. Sarah looks back at me, and I nod. She unbuckles his pants and pulls them around his knees. She looks up at him.

“Take your eyes off him, and I stop sucking. Keep watching him, and I’ll take you to heaven. This is how he gets off.”

“Yeah, you told me. I don’t care, as long as you swallow ahhhh god.” Sarah has engulfed him in her mouth. She’s goes slowly so she can watch his eyes. And, good as his word, he is watching my eyes, only glancing down occasionally to take in the sight of my teenage toy swallowing his cock. I just smile. Sarah’s head bobs up and down on his dick. I step forward, rest my hand on her head, forcing her to either take him deeper or work harder to push up. She tries pushing back at first, then finally gives in and goes slower, taking his cock deeper in her mouth. She keeps up this sloppy rhythm for a couple of minutes, occasionally making a sound in her throat that says the cock is going too deep. He says, “Not that I have anything against it, but this is kind of homo—uh GOOD—uh homo...” He trails off.

As I am kind of enjoying watching this, I don’t tell my slut to stop. I even tell Sarah, to keep her going, “Use lots of slobber, that’s the best.” I chuckle as she makes a grunting noise and the blowjob starts to sound a little sloppier. Finally, I tell her, several minutes after I already know he’s under: “OK, he’s ready.”

Sarah sits up and wipes her mouth. “I still don’t understand what we just did.”

“I’ll explain on the way to a hotel. Right now we need to get out of here.”

* * *

I order Tall Guy to fix his pants, then tell him to go into the mens’ room. As he walks out, Sarah gives him a hard swat on the ass, and then giggles at me. I put an affectionate hand on her neck. Now the whole party is in the mens’ once again.

“What is going on with these people?” Isabel immediately asks me.

“Isabel, don’t ask any questions right now. I’ll explain everything in a bit.”

Quickly, I give Tall Guy the same suggestion I gave mom and daughter, that he keep his mouth shut and do absolutely nothing unless I ask him to do it. I arrange the three of them in the stalls and tell them what the signal is going to be.

My girls are wearing different clothes. There’s nothing I can do about the difference in hair color, so instead I have had everyone female put their hair in a tight bun, hoping the agents will focus on the style. Nobody had any wigs on them. I turn to my travelling companions. “Ready?” I ask. They both nod. “Let’s go.”

We start walking toward the baggage claim. These modern airports are huge, with literally hundreds of yards line-of-sight down some of the sections. The baggage claim is one such huge area, and I’m counting on having a lot of distance to run, and a lot of distance to be seen at. It’s important that they can’t see me clearly.

We turn down the last corridor and we’re out into the baggage claim area. We all start walking slowly toward the bags, me in front, the girls behind me on either side. Sarah points at the FBI guys, and shouts, “Look!” They don’t hear her, or they’re too distracted, because neither of them looks up from talking to the security guard.

I ostentatiously throw my arms out, holding back the girls. “Come on,” I mutter to myself. “One of you three idiots has to see this.”

The security guard sees us first, and points. One of the Feds looks up at us, then at his buddy, who has the photograph out. He looks down at it. They both look up at me. Then, slowly, they both turn and start walking toward us. They keep a steady walking pace in a beeline for us, obviously trying not to spook us. Very unnecessary; we intend to spook ourselves.

“Now,” I whisper.

* * *

“Hey, they saw us and they turned right around.”

“Well, that guy was the right build and everything.”

The two agents take off jogging toward the retreating people. They may not know why they’re looking for these people, but they know suspicious behavior when they see it.

“They’re heading for the gates!”

The two start running as the threesome disappears around a corner. The bathrooms are nearby, White Hair thinks. And sure enough, around the bend, the two bathroom entrances appear on the left wall, and the three people are nowhere to be found. They hear a scream echoing off tile from the bathrooms, and now they’re both sprinting, still 50 yards from the spot.

Suddenly, the three suspects burst out of the womens’ room and race full-tilt down the corridor toward the first gate. They angle straight for the moving walkway, and gain ten more yards on the chasing agents before the two adjust their direction of pursuit.

“They can’t get away from us in the gates!” brown hair shouts back at his partner.

* * *

“It worked!” Isabel whispers to me. No shit, blondie. I motion to the girls to let their hair down again, and then we quickly walk out of the mens’ room and hurry toward the exits. I glance back over my shoulder; the noise and the running has attracted a lot of attention, all of it in the direction of the gates. Perfect!

As we leave the bathroom, I tuck in the button-down shirt the guy was wearing. Who the hell gets dressed up in slacks and a button-down shirt on a redeye? The girls got it luckier; the two brunettes had been wearing casual tops, and sweat pants: Quick to put on. Now we look like a nuclear family again. A completely different nuclear family.

As we pass by the baggage claim, I see the security guard standing at his station glued to the feeds from the security cameras, watching the chase. He pumps his arm and says, “Yeah!” and I deduce that our decoys have been caught. Still, there’s no rush. They don’t know for sure that it was me they saw in the first place, and it’ll take them some questioning to make sure that Tall Guy isn’t me in disguise. With any luck, that questioning will take place at FBI headquarters.

I notice that the baggage handlers have unloaded the last of the baggage from the conveyors onto the floor. What the hell, I think, and lead the girls over to it. We collect our bags and are out through the wall of glass doors at the front of the airport.

The taxi driver is waiting for us.

* * *

Isabel and I are sitting in the lobby of a drab cement laboratory on the campus of Donald Hebb University. We’re waiting for the security guard at the desk, a heavyset hispanic woman, to get a hold of Rift on his office phone. Sarah wanted to stay at the motel room, but I decided to bring her anyway; she was now sitting outside in our new truck, watching for trouble and ready on the horn if any showed up.

The night before, I saw a black-and-white parked in front of the Hotel where the cabbie took us. Since the cop didn’t see us, we just glided on by and checked into a motel in town instead. After checking in, I went for a walk around the neighborhood until I spotted a “For Sale By Owner” sign. It was on a black Chevy pickup in great condition, parked in the lot of an Associated Supermarket. Nearby, I found a newly-sold 2000 Chevy Blazer, and quickly unscrewed the cardboard dealer’s plate from the back of it, which I brought back to the room.

This morning we walked over to the Associated and I called the number of the Chevy’s owner. The guy came out to show us his car. By the time we drove off in it, he believed he had sold his car two days ago to a 45-year-old mother of two, and thought he was out to pick up some groceries. The dealer’s plate on the back of the car completed the misdirection; now even if the car were reported stolen we probably wouldn’t get pulled over. I was getting used to taking stuff for free, I noticed.

Finally, the guard gets through on the office phone, and speaks briefly to someone I assume is Dr. Rift. When she hangs up, she presses a button at the panel in front of her and a cream-colored metal door with a square glass plate in the center of it automatically unlocks and pops open. Isabel waves goodbye to her and we step through.

* * *

Following the directions we were given, we find Rift in office 112, the 6th door on the left side of a purely functional laboratory hallway. Nobody else seems to be in the office. This university’s professors, it seems, are no more eager to be up early than their students.

Jeremy Rift is a black man in his early 50’s. He’s got a bit of a paunch, some gray hair in his short beard, and a receding hairline up above. I find him to be somewhat noble-looking and intelligent, but when he gets up and turns to get us some tea, Isabel’s jeans-clad ass squirms in her chair and she makes a He’s-Icky face at me. I only smirk.

I look around the room. There’s the desk too darkly stained to tell what kind of wood it is, our metal padded folding chairs, a mini-fridge in back. On Rift’s office walls: bland photographs of trips. The requisite scattering of framed degrees. And one piece of metal the shape of a hubcap, with a smooth surface. It’s a painted piece of Batman kitsch: A swirling black-and-white spiral. I think it was Batman, the old show, where I saw an artifact like this in the Riddler’s possession; he, spinning it, using it to mesmerize the mayor or Batman’s girlfriend or somebody like that.

We don’t skip the small talk. He wants to know how our flight was, where we’re staying, what the weather’s like in Oregon. I answer politely, trying to give my voice a note of urgency. Not soon enough for me, he asks, “When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned my research. You said you had a case study for me.” He leaves this hanging in the air.

“Yes. You said you’re looking for subjects, if I wanted to come into your office and meet you personally. And here I am, putting myself to considerable expense and some risk, showing up in your office.”

I put it together for him. “Cerebral Blood Flow Effects on Sympathetic Consciousness”, and what I translate “Sympathetic Consciousness” to mean: consciousness that is linked empathically to another human being. The head injury. My sudden effect on other people. And the telltale “classified treatment methodologies.”

Isabel is listening to all this—hearing it all for the first time, in fact. As I go on about what I know and what I can do, her expression goes from bored to tense to angry to shocked. I notice this; so does Rift, who’s been watching Isabel more than he’s been watching me since we came in.

“Doctor, if I were a freak of some other order, I would be afraid to be in this office, and I would expect no help from you. You’re just an academic, perhaps, but your work hints at connections to people who would want to grab me and put me in a box.” He frowns at this, and nods, and lets me go on. “I’m not afraid of that happening. It’s the nature of what I can do. If you’re having any thoughts about calling interested authorities, forget them, or it’ll be you they’re studying to find out why you decided to put a shotgun in your own mouth and pull the trigger.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his demeanor becomes frozen, stony. He nods quickly, then says, “You could be lying.” He sits forward, focuses on me completely for the first time. “I’ve had calls like yours before, people who put it together, people who thought they had the phenomenon. I just tell them to show up. It’s the best litmus test for what I do. The loonies don’t. That’s all of them, by the way, until you walked into the office.

“The positives I got before were basically useless. Teenagers who can do things under stress, maybe a few times. No control, no idea what it was for, and it always passed after a few weeks; there was only one case I ever examined where the phenomenon was still occurring. That was a woman in a shelter for abused women, and I managed to catch up to her only a few weeks after her case was documented. She talked to me because she was about to leave the shelter, and she needed a place to stay, and my number was on her caller ID. I told her no. She was beat up by her husband again after that, and the phenomenon stopped happening.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Grant. I don’t know what it’s for either. But you sure seem to. You seem to think it’s . . . what? Mind control? I’m not sure I believe in that. Between the story and the sunglasses, I think you’re nothing but a kook.”

I take the sunglasses off and look over at Isabel. She looks back at me, her lip quivering, confusion and fear in her eyes. We stare that way for about a minute, and I watch a drop of sweat trail down her forehead. She knows, now, why she obeys the things I tell her to do, yet she still can’t make herself look away. I don’t know if it’s because I programmed her to be my slave, or if she’s just a deer in the headlights.

Time passes. She goes under. I turn back to the doctor, look him in the eyes. He jerks back, grabbing the arms of his chair. He’s just realized what I can do to him.

“Rift, it takes a few minutes to work now. Just don’t make extended eye contact with me, and you’ll be fine. Understand?”

“Oh, bullshit,” he says, trying to reclaim his authority in this place, his sanctuary. “Why should I believe you have her in your control? You could tell her to do anything at all, and it would just be an act. Fuck this, I’m calling Janice.” He reaches for the phone. I notice he still hasn’t looked me in the eyes again.

“Call her, get her in this room, and then let me talk to her for a minute. If you don’t believe Isabel is really under my control, you’ll believe it when you see what happens to Janice.”

He looks up, the phone to his ear, and makes eye contact for only a second. Then he says into the mouthpiece, “Janice, I need you in here for a minute. Yeah. No, nothing like that, yeah, thanks.”

“Pretty poor security. They just get up and leave the desk?”

“She’ll lock the outer doors.”

We wait. The woman guard walks in and says, “Is there a problem, Dr. Rift?” She scans the room quickly, noticing Isabel sitting there but not apparently noticing Isabel’s slack posture.

“Janice, this man says he saw something interesting on the way into my office,” Rift says to the guard.

She looks over at me. “Oh?”

I follow his lead. “Yeah. I think I saw this kid. He didn’t look like a professor, and he wasn’t a janitor. Like a college kid, backpack and all. I would just think he’s a grad student, but he had this thing in his hands.”

“What kind of thing?” she asks, getting worried. “I didn’t see anyone on the cameras today.”

“Well, it was this black thing,” and I don’t have to go on. I recognize the expression on Janice’s face, the same one that is already on Isabel’s face. To Rift, I say, “It’s not that hard to get enough eye contact for this to work, but I’m getting tired of inventing conversations. You can help me with making it fast again.”

Rift ignores me. “Janice? Janice are you all right?”

Janice doesn’t respond. She’s breathing steadily, her thick breasts rising up and down, nothing else about her engaged with the world in any way.

“Janice, show Dr. Rift your ass.”

Janice turns, facing away from the prof. She leans forward slightly, presenting her butt to Jeremy. He is breathing shallowly, observing this. His head is glistening; I’ve got him good and nervous now.

“Janice, I wanted you to show him your bare ass.”

Janice stands up straight and immediately unzips her gray guard slacks. She hooks her hands into her underwear and pulls her pants and panties down to her ankles. She leans forward again, now showing her bare, wide, tan-colored ass to Rift. She’s still breathing in the same rhythm, demonstrating as much emotion as the metal hypno-wheel on the wall next to her.

“Enough!” Rift chokes out, his voice quivering. He waves his hands at Janice, pantomiming pushing her away and out of the office.

“Janice, put your pants on, go back to your station, sit down, and completely and utterly forget that Rift ever called you and you ever came in here. You don’t remember anything that happened from the moment you got up to the moment you sit down.”

The obedient guard does as asked, yanking her pants around her ample butt, shutting the door behind her on her way out.

Rift is still staring at the closed door. He looks me in the eyes once, then his eyes flick to Isabel and back. “Her? Can you make her do that?”

Instead of answering, I state, “You like her, Jeremy.”

He grunts, then walks around his desk to sit on it, directly in front of Isabel. He stares at her. He tentatively reaches out and touches her face. He looks up at me, seeming to ask permission. I just give him a look that says: Whatever You Want.

He moves his hand from her cheek to her mouth, then pushes his index and middle finger between her lips and into her mouth. Isabel doesn’t react at all.

“Rift, can you help me?”

He continues his exploration of Isabel. He jumps off the desk and puts his left hand on her right breast. Then he grabs both breasts and begins massaging them. “Yeah, sure. Maybe. What do you think I can help you with?”

“Well, you know the theory about this thing. I want to know what’s really going on. I want to make it more powerful. It’s already—” I stop. I’m not sure I want to tell him that it’s becoming less effective. Then I remember I can make him forget it all. “It’s losing power. At first all I had to do was take the shades off and people became like this . . . became Stunned.”

He nods. He’s still exploring Isabels body. Now he leans forward and licks her ear. “If she’s acting, she’s good. I wonder if a sternal rub would affect her?”

“What?”

“It’s how you tell if somebody’s faking unconsciousness. I have a paramedic friend who taught me about it.”

He leans forward and, with the knuckles of his right hand, roughly rubs Isabel’s chestbone up and down. She doesn’t react in the least.

“Fuck me.” He looks over at me. “If somebody’s faking unconsciousness, a sternal rub gets them up. It hurts like a bas—like a fucker. You can’t do it to yourself though, here let me—”

“I believe you. And you believe me now. Right?”

“Right,” he says, and goes back to sitting on his desk, staring at Isabel. “Isabel, take your clothes off.”

Isabel doesn’t move. Naturally; it’s not Rift who put her under, it’s me, and I’m pulling the puppet strings. Nevertheless, I’m relieved. This is the first time my authority over my victims has been tested.

“Isabel, lick his ear.” Immediately she stands up, leans forward, and plants her wet tongue in Rift’s ear. Then she sits back down. To Rift, I say, “You want her.”

“Yes.” He pauses. “I think I can fix that problem of yours. But, why don’t you just zap me and make me do it?”

“I could. Not into this zombie state she’s in, she’s not even really conscious, as I think you just demonstrated. But I could plant suggestions, as I did with her. She thinks she’s here of her free will, but she’s here because I told her she’s my slave, and therefore she is. I could do the same with you. But I don’t have any idea how effective these suggestions are when I’m not around, I don’t know how long they stay in the brain, and I don’t want to drag you around with me, no offense.

“Bottom line, if you agree to help me, I don’t have to worry about whether the power is really working. A deal, a contract of sorts, is what this calls for. I want to give you something in exchange for your services. Two parties on equal footing.”

Rift, still looking at Isabel, grins toothily. “I want her.”

“Well why the hell do you think I brought her?”

* * *

“I mean it, Grant. I want to own her. Use your suggestions. Make her obey me. Do that, and I’ll fix that brain-melt of yours. A haircut! My god, it can be anything at all, can’t it.” He chances a glance over at me. I nod.

“And I can do it. Those ‘connections’,"—Rift makes finger-quotes in the air—“you know, they set me up with equipment about two years ago. I hardly used it at all. It’s not good for anything else, so they left it here. It technically belongs to the U.S. Government, but why would they want it back tomorrow?”

“Then it’s all settled.” He nods. “Isabel, look the doctor in the eyes.” She does so. “Isabel, you’ve been my slave. But in one minute this man, Dr. Jeremy Rift, becomes your owner, and you are his slave. You will do anything he says. You will continue to obey me, but you must also obey everything he tells you to do. You will be pleased to serve him. You will forget you ever had another job, or another life. Your life will now be devoted to this man. Your daughter belongs to me, still. This man is your whole universe. Do as he commands.”

“Hey!” Rift growls at me. “What do you mean, she still obeys you?”

“I don’t want her, Rift. I brought her to do this deal. But I have to protect myself. I don’t know what you might use her for, but I have to make sure she can’t be used against me. I probably won’t even be interested in her after today. Hell, keep her away from me, and you don’t have to worry about whether she obeys me.”

He looks unhappy, but he grunts affirmatively.

I put the shades on. Isabel relaxes a little as I do so, but she still has that plasticity that says she’s under. I can’t explain how the power works on her any more or find any consistency; at first, it started working the moment they made eye contact, and stopped working the moment they broke eye contact. Over time the onset period has been much longer, as I’ve already described. But the dissipation is no longer instant either, and may or may not even depend on whether I maintain eye contact. I controlled our body doubles at the airport with powerful, carefully worded suggestions to act as they should act even though I would not be present to hold them Stunned, but I can’t explain why, even now, the power is holding Isabel long after she’s stopped looking at my eyes.

* * *

Maybe Rift will explain these things to me later. Right now, I want to help him break in Isabel.

Isabel blinks several times in rapid succession like she’s adjusting to bright light. Then Rift smiles at her, and she smiles back at him. She turns to me, and says, “You’re a bastard. A horrible fucking bastard.”

Rift says to her, “Isabel, you love me, don’t you.”

“Of course, Jeremy dear. Grant, I fucking hate you. I just want you to know that.” She stands up out of her chair and looks at Rift with adoration. She wraps her arms around him gently and begins to kiss him on the lips. Rift grabs her butt cheeks roughly and begins to knead them as Isabel pushes her body into his, her mouth into his, her knee, ever so softly, into his inner thigh and up and down across his groin. As they kiss, she closes her eyes and her breathing slowly builds up force. Rift swats her hard ass with one pale palm, then grabs both cheeks and says into her mouth, “I want to fuck your lilly white ass.” Her eyes flash open at this, and she sighs, “Mmmmmmm,” through a lascivious grin.

I want to be sure. “Isabel, put three fingers up your ass.” Isabel slides off Rift and, with a glare at me, unzips her ultra-tight jeans and wrestles them off over her blue heels, with Rift holding her steady. Then she strips out of her green thong panties and, still glaring at me, stuff her fingers into her mouth to get them wet with her spit. Then she leans forward, rests a hand on Rift’s leg, and starts to work the sloppy fingers into her asscrack.

“That’s enough. Go back to what you were doing.” She sighs, her hand comes out of her buttcrack, and she leans into Rift again, once again getting into the mood of the kiss and pressing her now unclothed lower extremities into his lap, urging him to do something to her.

Shed of the jeans, Isabel is now wearing only a flimsy blue-gray blouse and the blue heels. Rift grabs her chin in his hand and roughly tilts her head up to his. She grunts softly and obeys his unspoken command, stepping back a few steps, kneeling down, nuzzling his crotch with her nose. Her firm, round ass sways in front of me. Rift undoes a belt, and pushes his slacks and boxers down to his ankles, revealing his dark cock, not yet fully erect. It droops into Isabel’s waiting mouth. Her tongue begins to flick the tip, then she grabs the still-hardening dong and shoves the thick head into her mouth.

“Grant, what say we seal the deal?” I just sneer at him and position myself behind Isabel. “Isabel, tell me how you feel about Grant,” he says to the bobbing blonde head in his lap. With a slurp she pulls the cock out and starts to say something. Rift lightly slaps her on the cheek. “When you are sucking my cock, you will keep sucking my cock, even to answer a question.”

Isabel pouts with a frown and a sniffle and then goes back to stuffing his cock, now completely erect, as far as she can into her throat. Then she looks up at him and hums, “Mmmees nn baf-ted.”

“That’s right. He’s a bastard. Ok, that’s enough head, now give me that ass.” Isabel stands up and twirls around for Rift. She leans forward—toward me—and places her hands on her knees. She looks back at him over her shoulder, her bare ass a gift for him.

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“I’m going to fuck your fucking asshole, you white slut. Damn it, I’ll need some lube.”

On a hunch I go to the mini-fridge and find inside it a plastic case filled with individually wrapped mini pats of butter. I grab a few of these, toss some to Rift. “Enjoy!”

Rift looks like a kid in a candy shop. He quickly opens one of them and smears it over his index and middle finger. I put my pats of butter on the chair and move directly into Isabel’s face.

“Suck me, sweetie.”

This time, no glare. She simply resignedly leans forward a little further and begins to undo the button on my jeans. To keep her balance, her ass cheeks rest against Rift’s legs and her ass crack naturally spreads open. Rift shoves his greasy fingers into her ass as her mouth closes around my head. She grunts and her eyes bug open, but she manages not to let my cock slip out of her warm mouth.

Oh, GOD that’s good.

She starts to suck, and her mouth is warm, and wet, and tight, and her tongue works on me. It’s all the better knowing she’s hating every minute of it. Behind her, Rift is enthusiastically cramming two fingers and another pat of butter into her bunghole, and then using the same hand to grease himself up. “Get ready, honey. You’re about to be sodomized by your first black man.” He stands up, shoving her away from the desk, and her head involuntarily shoves forward as well. My cock gags her, and she chokes, and I feel my tip tickle her tonsils.

I put a steadying hand on her head so she can’t pull me out, and I watch as Rift aims and makes several stabbing attempts to push himself into her butt. Finally he grabs an ass cheek with one hand and his cock head with the other, and manages to work just the tip into her asshole. I know this because her eyes are bugging, she’s sweating like a pig, and she’s stopped servicing me. Rift, his eyes gleeful, is cramming his black dick into her butt one inch-long shove at a time, and with each shove she pushes against me, and gags, and makes that “Kck!” sound that feels so good on my dick.

Finally his buttery dick is in as far as he wants it, and he begins to pull out, and she moooaaans, her slobbery vibrations on my cock like liquid heaven. Her hands, which she’s got on my hips for balance, I take in my hands, making a platform. I bob her up and down on her hands, making her jab her head down to keep it on my cock. This makes her gag more.

Rift has grabbed her waist and is grunting rapidly, assfucking her now with quick pushes. Her hair is stuck to her head with sweat from the exertion of staying upright, taking Rift’s hard dick, and working mine up and down. With each bump Rift gives her, her little tits swing forward inside her blouse, which is getting sweaty.

“Mmm, nnng, mmm, nng” she grunts with each thrust. Her eyes, wild, open and look up at me, pleading to be allowed to take my cock out of her mouth. I relent, and sit back in the folding chair. I put my arms around her back and hold her sweaty body up while Rift finishes anally exploiting his new possession. Her arms grab around my chest for support, and her guttural cries and grunts suddenly fill the room. Her face is bewildered, her hair is ragged, and I’ve never seen anything so sexy.

Pump, pump, gasp, shove, shove, gasp, “Aiihee”, push, shove, grunt.

Finally Rift pulls out of her and says, “Get your face on my dick.” She spins around so fast I think she’s going to fall over, and then her mouth engulfs his dick with an almost grateful expression on her face, and adoration in her eyes as she looks up at him. He gingerly takes her head in both of his hands as his eyes roll upward, then her slurps turn to gulps as she swallows his cum. This continues for several minutes, until at last her sweaty, sticky face rests against his crotch and neither of them move. Rift gets up and sits his naked ass down in his chair on the other side of the desk. Isabel sits on the floor, closes her eyes and rests her head on the corner of the desk. Her face and hair are soaked with sweat, as is her flimsy blouse, which is stuck to her body and shows her bare pointy breasts. Not for the first time I think what a nice body she has for a mommy.

“Your turn, Grant,” says the new owner.

With a smile, I get up and grab a couple of the butter packets off the chair.

“Oh, shit,” Isabel slurs.

Her ass is already greasy and sweaty and red, so I smear the butter on my cock and tell her, “Lean across the desk, put your ass in the air.” She climbs to her feet wobblingly and stretches over the blotter obediently. As she does so, I shove my cock against her asshole, which hasn’t quite puckered shut all the way. My greasy cockhead slips into it without too much trouble, and she gasps, “Aihuhhh.” I keep pushing until my whole dick is inside her.

“Hold on for your life, you cum catcher.” I grab her hips and start to thrust, building up a furious pace, punishing her already bright-red ass with my dick. My balls slap against her clit over and over and she gasps over and over as her abused asshole takes even more punishment. I’m pretty close from the gagging blowjob she gave me earlier, so it’s a matter of a few more thrusts and then I empty my balls into her butt. My pulsing cock softens quickly inside her, making her squirm.

I look up at Jeremy Rift, and he looks back at me. We reach across her back about to shake each others’ hands, but we both notice at the same time the butter grease on each others’ fingers. Rift barks a laugh and we swap hands, shaking with our lefts. Done deal.