The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Adjusters V: Intermezzi

Intermezzo: The Platinum Plan (3)

Jeff Coogan, an Orangina cut with a generous helping of vodka in his hand, was recovering from the whirlwind of emotions in which he had been engulfed for the previous two days.

Life was surreal.

Sal Rivolli sat next to him, sipping a green liquid that smelled sickly sweet.

They were on the balcony deck of Rivolli’s villa, enjoying the late afternoon breeze. Inside the villa, Rivolli’s staff were putting the finishing touches to the party that he was hosting that evening. It was, arguably, a party Rivolli was throwing for Jeff’s benefit: Jeff had generously accepted to invest in Krueger’s production house—a small payback for Rivolli’s own investment in SocialCircles.

“So,” said Rivolli, when the silence had stretched long enough. “What do you think?”

Jeff did not have to ask the topic. He had spent the afternoon surrounded by fabulous looking girls from the Kittens’ Den cast and crew, and had seen that nearly all of them had a tattoo around their finger, had known that they would be attending the party that evening, had known that he could have them, any of them, that they would happily spread their legs for him, or do whatever he wanted them to do, and it was still too much for him to process.

“It’s…” He had difficulty finding the right words. “It’s everything you hinted it would be.”

“Isn’t it? It’s amazing, really.”

“So, multiple thoughts in my head right now. Don’t know which one to pick.” He paused, and Rivolli merely watched him, a small smile on his face, encouraging. “Okay, the obvious one first. You said that when you hire now you look for members. Makes sense. Do you do that for Krueger, too? Do you go out and find crew and actresses from the Network?”

“Jeff, Jeff, Jeff… still with your knack to go for the question. And no, I don’t have any say in the hiring for Bad Dream Productions. And no, they don’t hire based on membership in the Network. I thought the same thing, but as near as I can tell, there’s no one that knows about the Network on staff. I spent a fair amount of money checking everyone out.”

“Then, what’s going on?”

“Indeed. All but one supporting actress hired were not part of the Network when they started, only to become members by their second month in. What does that tell you?”

“I’m not sure…”

“I did some digging for myself. Some careful checks on those actresses and new actresses coming in, lots of money spent. But I have a theory now. What do you know about the Network, or the girls in it?”

“Well, the guy I talked to, Srinivasan, was telling me that they’re girls who are looking for a bit of a thrill, making themselves available to satisfy the fantasies of rich men like, well, like us. Successful folks with IPOs or, in your case, established law firms.”

Rivolli nodded. “I was told essentially the same thing. Problem is, I don’t think it’s true. I don’t think they’re hired. Now, it’s surprisingly difficult to find information about the Network or the Platinum Plan. And believe me, I tried. With money, you can find out almost anything I’ve discovered. But this one’s a tough nut to crack. But looking deep into it, following through various subsidiary and shell companies, and asking the right people and bribing them and coercing them, you end up at the feet of a small company down in Costa Mala, which is a little island nation in the Pacific with draconian privacy legislation. I don’t think the trail ends there either. But that’s not the point now.”

“What’s the point?”

“If these girls are members, then they must interact with that company or something at some point or another. I mean, they must get approached, or someone must approach them. And they must be payed, or some sort of contract arranged. I mean, we’re talking about serious money here. But there’s no trail from any of the actresses to any of the companies in the chain, nothing to indicate any kind of economic contact. The financial paperwork is pristine.”

“So?”

“So I don’t think they’re hired. I think they’re being coerced. No, not in that way, not blackmail. Many of the girls I looked into had anything in it that would lend itself to coercion. And beside, you’ve seen Bianca this afternoon—do you think she was acting like she was coerced? No way. That girl loves to fuck when you tell her to. No, I think they’ve gotten their head messed with.”

“What? Seriously? You’ve been drinking the Kittens’ Den Kool-Aid, my friend…”

“I know how it sounds. But I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on. And there’s someone on staff at Bad Dream Production that knows about it, and siphons actresses into… well, whatever it is that they do. And it’s someone high up on staff, because there are a number of discrepancies in the books. Well hidden, for sure, but there are large payments going out at regular intervals to yet another chain of shell companies that eventually lead to… take a guess?”

“Costa Mala?”

“Costa Mala.”

“Wow…”

“Wow indeed…”

Rivolli’s watch beeped, and he grinned. “Ah, here we go…”

He stood and motioned for Jeff to follow him. He walked to one end of the balcony, where a panoramic viewer was set up, of the kind one found at belvederes and scenic overlooks the world over.

It was adjusted for Rivolli’s height, so that he did not even have to touch it before peering in. “Here we go,” he repeated. He sighed, a deep sigh of longing that intrigued Jeff. “Bet the water’s nice,” Rivolli muttered to himself.

After a few minutes, with Jeff wondering what he was supposed to do, Rivolli beckoned him.

“Have a look,” he said, sipping from his green drink, “and you’ll understand everything.”

Jeff looked through the viewer, and immediately recognized a pool, large, surrounded by a tall hedge on two sides, with the third side opening up toward the hills on a view of the valley rivaling with Rivolli’s own.

There was a shape in the water, swimming beneath the surface for two lengths of the pool. The shape broke the surface at the end of her lap, climbing out of the pool, and Jeff was impressed.

He must have made a sound, because Rivolli gave a little laugh. “Bet she just came out of the water.”

The girl in question was tall and thin and toned, with a body that belonged in a fitness magazine. When Jeff thought of the term California Girl, this is what he imagined at some subconscious level: long blond hair sticking to her wet back, tanned skin, nice breasts, flat stomach, a round ass barely covered by a yellow string bikini, legs that seemed way too long for her body.

She was beautiful—in a different way from Bianca, who was sophisticated and elegant. This girl was youth and innocence incarnate, a playmate, a friend. Someone you shared a beer with before fucking into oblivion.

Jeff watched the girl dry herself then stretch out on a deck chat to catch some late afternoon sun. She looked like an ad for sunscreen, or like the background shot of a music video for a boy band.

“You get it now?” Rivolli asked.

“I don’t think I do.”

“Her name’s Tracy,” Rivolli said. “She’s starting college in the fall. She moved in with her parents three years ago, when they bought the villa next door. The father’s a real estate big shot. A real hard ass. His daughter, though, well, she’s the cutest, sweetest little thing. And she’s a virgin. The most she’s ever done is give head on dates, and she really likes getting her twat eaten out.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

Rivolli shrugged. “Told you—you pay enough money, you can find out whatever you want, or almost. Anyway, Tracy.”

Jeff still did not understand where Rivolli was going with it. Unless… “Wait, is she in the Network?”

Rivolli grinned. “No. Or more accurately, not yet.”

Jeff looked at Rivolli.

“That’s one of the reason I’ve been digging. I want her. I want her bad. Ever been obsessed by something—someone? Well, I’m obsessed. Can you imagine having that sweet little creature at your beck and call, spreading her legs to invite you to plow her whenever you get hard, begging you to fuck her harder?” Rivolli made a face as if he were savoring in advance getting his cock inside his neighbor’s daughter.

Jeff took another look at the girl through the viewer—she was indeed delicious, though his tastes seemed to veer more toward professional women. Like Bianca. Like Rebecca.

Rebecca, who had a tattoo on her finger. Rebecca, who was married to his best friend, and his partner.

“So how are you going to do it?” he asked Rivolli, disturbed by where his thoughts were leading him.

“That’s what I’m still digging for. These guys are well hidden. Good enough would be for me to find out how to get her into the Network—get her tattooed, and poof, she’s free to use.”

Rivolli took a sip of his drink, swished it around in his mouth, then looked back in the direction of the girl, Tracy, wistfully. “Best though would be to just figure out how they do what they do, these folks, how they… convince… these girls, and just do it myself. Then I could get little Tracy here all to myself. Have her move in with me, and be my live-in, well, my live-in anything-I-want. No college for little Tracy, of course. Just hands-on training.”

While Jeff contemplated that project, Rivolli sighed again. “Can you just imagine sinking your dick into that soft, pure, pristine twat? Grabbing those boobs and holding for dear life as you plow in and out? Heaven, pure heaven. I’ll teach her to be the best fucking sex doll that ever existed.”

Rivolli fell silent, dreaming, and Jeff followed suit.

They were interrupted by a pretty young Hispanic maid announcing that guests were starting to arrive, and Rivolli thanked her.

Jeff could not help notice the pale blue tattoo on the maid’s finger, and how short her dress was.

* * *

The party was a grand affair, at least in Jeff’s limited experience. He paused for a moment to look around and take in everything, with the hope of being able to reproduce it back home, when he would decide to throw such parties to celebrate his company’s milestones. He particularly enjoyed the Frozen theme, where ice sculptures decorated various corners of the room, kept cold via dedicated cooling units that must have used an insane amount of power. Jeff reasoned that these would be easier to maintain in the colder San Francisco air. He wondered whether they might not look good in the lobby of SocialCircles’s headquarters.

The whole lower level of Rivolli’s villa was taken over, and a jazz band in the foyer served to enliven the atmosphere. The food was delicious, the alcohol ran freely, and everybody seemed happy.

Left and right, wherever Jeff would turn, a beautiful woman, often accompanied by a date, would cross his path, sporting a pale blue ring tattoo on her little finger. Long evening gowns and little black dresses abounded, and Jeff could not keep from getting hard at the sight, knowing what those women meant, what they would be willing to do. It made his head spin anew. At the same time, he could not believe any of it.

And then he ran into Bianca.

She looked stunning in a dark green dress that hugged her body from chest to mid-thighs, fitting like a second skin over a body that looked like it was built for sin. Tall heels and a complicated hairdo that sent her hair in a twisted braid over her head completed the look and did little to distract from her perfect body.

“Mister Coogan,” she said, holding a glass of sparkling wine in a small hand. “I trust you’re enjoying your time with us? May I introduce you to Sven, my husband?”

Jeff had to almost crane his neck to look up at Sven, a mountain of a man whose neck was almost wider than his head. He looked strong and fit and muscular enough to break a man with a twist of the hand. He had a pleasant smile though, which served to make it only slightly less frightening.

“Huh, pleased to meet you, Sven. Jeff Coogan, CEO of SocialCircles.”

All Jeff could think as Sven’s broad hand engulfed his own was to imagine this large brute mounting on top of dainty Bianca, furiously thrusting between her spread thighs, ripping her apart with broad strokes of what must be a gigantic cock.

“Hi,” said Sven, his voice as deep as his size suggested.

“Sven’s a defenseman with the Kings,” Bianca said, not a little proud of her husband. “Best scoring stats since Bobby Orr for the position.”

“Wow,” Jeff said, despite not knowing the first thing about whatever sport she was talking about.

“Bee,” Sven said, almost blushing, “it’s okay, you don’t need to advertise it.”

“If I don’t, who will? I’m just proud of you, baby. We all are.”

She stretched up to give a quick kiss to her man, and Jeff had difficulty reconciling the obvious love and pride he could see in her eyes and her every move with the otherworldly blow job she had given him earlier that day. Jeff remembered what Rivolli had said, that he believed that she was not acting that way out of something she wanted to do, but rather that she was somehow coerced into it.

The thought did not make his erection go away.

Quite the contrary.

Bianca took Sven away to promote her man and show him off, and Jeff watched her go, his eyes straying down to her perfect ass held up in that tight dress, her long beautiful legs exposed, and he dreamt of what he might do to such an ass and such legs if he were given a chance with them.

“Told you she’s got a great ass.” Rivolli was by his side, watching Bianca walk away as well. Then he turned to grin at Jeff. “And you should see it out of that dress, too. Miles better.”

Jeff merely nodded.

“You should take her upstairs. The guest bedroom is yours.”

“But… what about her husband?”

“What about him? Sven is going to be happily distracted down here, and you get to enjoy Bianca’s tight little ass in the privacy of your bedroom.”

Jeff stared at Rivolli, the thought of fucking Bianca’s right under her husband’s nose one that repulsed a part of him while exciting another.

As if he knew exactly what Jeff was debating, Rivolli smiled. “Sven’s never fucked her in the ass.”

“How… how do you know?”

Rivolli shrugged. “I paid a guy once to take Sven out and get him drunk and talkative. Really, I wanted to find out if he had anything to do with Bianca being… well, being a member in the network. And it doesn’t appear so. But Sven got really talkative, and he did reveal far more than he should have about his and his wife’s sexual proclivities. Point being, they have a healthy sexual relationship, but she doesn’t take him up the ass. But she’ll let you. She’ll even beg you. You know the codes.”

Leaving Jeff with that image, Rivolli let himself be grabbed by a young woman wearing a little black dress that left little to the imagination, and went to dance with her and another woman that Jeff realized with a start was Michaela, the limo driver, smashing in an evening gown slit up to her waist.

It took Jeff half an hour to make up his mind. Half an hour during which he walked around the room, trying to chat up people, eyeing the women, evaluating them, all the while his mind going back to Bianca and what Rivolli had said. Fucking Bianca at a party while her own husband, the man she loved, the man to whom she had promised love and fidelity, was at the same party, unaware, made him shiver without understanding why.

Bianca. Rebecca. Two beautiful women that Jeff desired, two beautiful women that were married to other men, two beautiful women his to use and abuse.

When Jeff made his way back around the room and ran into Bianca again by one of the punch bowls, he asked her if she could serve him a glass, and while she did he furtively looked left and right before leaning over and whispering the fateful words into her ear. “Bianca, adjustment code C005, member 8JHC3487.”

He watched with trepidation as Bianca stiffened slightly, the way she had done earlier in the day—was it really just earlier today? he reflected with wonder—and he reached out worried that she would drop the glass of punch that she had been about to hand him.

But she did not drop the glass.

She held it as she stared straight at Jeff with a look not unlike the one she had given him earlier. She took a step towards him, and Jeff could see a blush rising on her face, her pupils dilating, her breathing picking up.

“Hey sexy,” she said, her voice low. Around Jeff, the sounds of the party seemed to recede in the distance. Her voice was an invitation, an opening. It was a call to mate.

“Hi,” he said, feeling as lame as he sounded. “You look wonderful tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the step that brought her so close to him that he could kiss her merely by stretching his lips forward. She smelled delicious, and he convinced himself he could feel her heat even from where she was. “I chose this dress hoping that it would help me catch the attention of a man that’d find me good enough to fuck. What do you think, Jeff? Do I look good enough to fuck?”

Jeff swallowed, and nodded. He tried hard not to appear too eager. “That you do. Hot and sexy and fuckable.”

She shivered at his words, closing her eyes as if to savor them. “I feel fuckable,” she said. Opening her eyes, she smiled. “Wanna fuck?”

“Me?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, and she looked left and right conspiratorially before putting a hand on his chest. “Definitely you,” and she trailed her hand downward, “and your cock,” downward still, “and my tight little cunt.” Her hand stopped before his crotch.

“What about your ass?” The way she acted made him more daring, and he remembered what Rivolli had said.

Bianca’s smile grew wide. “Oh, you dirty dirty boy! You want to stick your cock in my ass? We’ll see… we’ll see how good you are, whether you deserve that sort of reward.”

Jeff swallowed. “I have a place,” he said. “Upstairs.”

Bianca’s eyes lit up, and he almost could hear the growl in her voice. “Let’s go.”

He followed her through the crowd of partygoers, the jazz music from the band a background theme to their escape. When he pointed to a staircase she headed up and he followed close behind, his eyes never leaving her ass, her legs, the way she moved like a feline driving him crazy. He kept wanting to peek up her dress, see what sort of panties she was wearing, knowing but hardly believing that he would see them for himself soon enough.

When they made it to the guest room, Bianca was all over him. She glued herself to him and kissed him, her body molding itself against his, her hands all over him.

“Oh baby I want you so fucking much!” she moaned in his mouth. “How would you like me?”

Jeff was catching up, and looked at her uncomprehendingly.

“Would you like me naked? With my dress hiked up and my tits hanging out? On my back with legs spread wide? On my hands and knees like a little hungry bitch? Or do you want to take me against the wall? Or do you want me to ride you and your fat cock? How do you want me, baby? Tell me! Or better, just take me—however you want—no need to say, no need to ask, just put me in position and take me, I’ll be your thing, your toy, your piece of ass!”

Her words, the way her body wiggled against his, the way her lips danced on the side of his face, all of it served to push Jeff over the edge. His hands were already running all over her body, and they now grabbed her ass more fervently than perhaps Bianca expected for she gasped and then moaned when he pulled her dress up over her hips and then found the thong she wore underneath happily nestled between her cheeks.

She gasped again when he slapped her ass, and moaned in his ear. “Oh yes, spank me, baby—I’m such a bad girl thinking about cocks all day long—cocks in my mouth, on my tits—cocks in my cunt, in my ass—cocks everywhere, fucking me, taking me, claiming me—”

She punctuated her tirade by kissing him again, while he alternately stroked her ass and slapped it, enjoying the feel of her flesh under his palm, enjoying how her crotch pressed into his demanding cock.

As if in a dream—he would later only remember flashes of what was happening—Jeff pushed Bianca onto the bed, and while she shifted to find a good position, leaning forward with her perfect ass raised high, he slipped her thong off and tossed it to the other side of the room.

Between her legs, he could see her pussy, shaved bare and glistening. Her lips were swollen red. She made little mewing sounds as she tilted her hips back and forth, fucking the air.

Above her slit, between her cheeks, her pristine rosette winked at him, daring him to breach it. He had not used the code his app labeled Anal Lust; he had not had the guts. But seeing her asshole right there before him, and remembering Rivolli’s words—“Sven’s never fucked her in the ass”—made him hesitate for a second.

Hesitation which last a moment too long, for Bianca whined, “Please, baby—fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

She did not push back against him, though. Jeff lined up behind her, his cock in line with her pussy, and she gasped and shivered when she felt his cock head flirt with her pussy lips. He savored the position, savored the feeling of kneeling behind this beautiful married woman prostrate on his bed, her dress bunched up around her waist, her perfect ass offered to his gaze, her drenched pussy ready to be taken, ready to be owned. He savored it all. He felt powerful. As powerful as when the IPO went through successfully.

“Please, baby,” she groaned. “Please fuck me! Grab my hips and tell me ‘Take my cock in your slutty cunt, you little bitch!’ Take me! Claim me! Own me!”

And he did.

Grasping her hips with both hands, growling “Take it all you bitch,” he thrust his cock forward while pulling her back toward, and he sank to the hilt into a tight oven-hot glove that threatened to make him come right there on the spot. Bianca let out of a wail as he split her apart, and he saw her hands clutch the bed spread.

He remained in place, embedded inside her, and waited for her to say “Please…” again before pulling out slowly and thrusting while pulling on her hips as hard as he could, forcing another scream of pleasure from the elegant young woman.

Bianca liked it rough.

And he gave it to her rough.

He fucked her hard, with long strokes, at some point reaching down to grab her hair and pulling her head back and he swore he could feel her pussy clench about his cock as he did so, just as her groans increased in volume and frequency.

She came when Jeff sucked on his thumb to wet it before twisting it into her ass as he fucked her hard. The feel of her pussy spastically grasping his cock forced a growling orgasm out of him, and he exploded deep inside her, pulling out just in time for his last few spurts to splash all over the back of her dress.

As he collapsed next to Bianca, spent, Jeff made a mental note to thank Rivolli—for inviting him to stay, for introducing him to Bianca, for leading him to the Platinum Plan.

* * *

Rebecca Delamy-Montreuil was standing catching her breath after a long grueling workout session when the front doorbell rang. She frowned, not expecting anyone in the early evening.

She headed down, her naked feet paddling on the thick carpeting. She stepped into the foyer, and thumbed the video display that gave her a picture of who was ringing downstairs in the lobby of their condominium building.

Much to her surprise it was her boss, Jeffrey Coogan, staring at her through the small screen. “Jeffrey? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s perfectly fine,” came Jeffrey’s voice through the small speaker.

“What are you doing here? Jacques is still at the office. He’s finishing up the presentation for Microsoft, he told me.”

“I know, I just saw him there. Listen, Rebecca—there was something I sort of wanted to talk to you about, one on one.”

“Can it wait for tomorrow?”

“Not really. It’s sort of urgent.”

“All right, hold on…” She keyed in the code that unlocked the lobby door and gave him access to the elevator. She looked down—she could not welcome her boss in her skintight yoga pants and her sports bra. She had just enough time to grab her dressing gown before Jeffrey knocked on the front door.

She let him in, and immediately noticed something was different about him. It was subtle. Of course, Jeffrey did not make house calls, but he also moved…. differently. WIth more assurance. He seemed less like the gawky teenager he sometimes looked like.

“How was your trip to LA? It was LA, right?”

“It was good. Really good. It was… eye opening.”

The way he said it made her stop and look at him. There was an expression in his eyes she had never seen before. It made her pull the dressing gown she had on tight across her chest and keep it close. She felt memories banging on the back of her head, and it made her angry, irrationally angry.

“Jeffrey, I think you should go now.” Her voice was even. She was doing a beautiful job controlling herself.

She knew Jeffrey had always fancied her—that much had been obvious from the start, from the first time they met, and so had Jacques of course—and they were cute about it in their own way, almost inoffensive compared to the high-powered lawyers that made up her daily world and that considered every interaction they had as a form of trial or negotiation that naturally had a winner and a loser. The lawyers she knew where braggarts rarely backed up by real skills, while Jeffrey and Jacques had undeniable skills—anyone could sense it—without a bragging bone in their body, except sometimes for Jeffrey who had an almost pathological need for acceptance and recognition. She and Jacques talked about it at night, sometimes. Jacques was kind and understanding and understood people, one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him.

“Jeffrey, did you hear? You should go.” She tried control herself, not to let her nervousness or anger show. She took a deep breath. She was overreacting. She must have been mistaken. The look he had given her had reminded her of law school, of her fellow students who had not enjoyed having a woman beat them at their own game, a look that she equated to let’s put the chick in her place. That was not Jeffrey.

“In a bit. I heard something when I was in LA that made me think that I needed to talk to you, something sort of urgent.”

“Something wrong with the company? With the IPO? I thought everything was going fine?”

“You could say that. Maybe it’s nothing, Maybe it’s something. I can’t tell. I’m not a lawyer. I just wanted to get your expert opinion on the matter.”

“And it can’t wait for tomorrow?”

He grinned slightly, and it was the Jeffrey she knew well now. “You know me.”

I thought I did, she caught herself thinking.

“Okay then, what is it?”

He took a breath, he looked nervous suddenly. “Rebecca, if I tell you, adjustment code C003, member 8JHC3487—does that mean anything to you?”

But Rebecca never heard the final question. At his words, there was a flash in her mind, a flash that her consciousness never saw as it obliterated anything on its path. Warmth coursed through her veins, making her tremble, and it was as if her eyes closed while they remained open, and when they were open once more, everything was different.

It was still Jeffrey in front of her, now looking at her with an intent look, half curiosity, half expectation, and there was a flush of arousal that coursed through her when she realized that he was waiting for something, waiting for her, for her reaction to something he had said or done that she could not for the life of her remember. He was expecting, wanting, demanding.

He had a look in his eyes that she knew well, a look she had seen often before. He wanted her, wanted her body, and that made her hot. She looked down, not willing to look at him in the eyes for too long, wondering what she was supposed to do. He was waiting, she knew, he was waiting for something from her. What was he waiting for? Did he ask her to do something? Did she blank when he asked her to do something? And she was not doing it. Was he getting disappointed? Was he upset? Was he about to punish her?

She could not contain the shiver that ran through her at the thought of getting punished. She did not want to get punished, yet at the same time she knew that she deserved it, she knew that she was not good enough and that she had to fight for every single scrap and punishment was merely confirmation of what she knew down deep in her bones. And somehow, that confirmation was everything—she pictured Jeffrey grabbing her and pulling her onto his lap and her bare ass, every slap of his hand on her ass resounding in the empty apartment, loud, hurting like nothing else, and satisfying that craving she felt deep in her gut.

She stifled a moan, not wanting to upset him further. Jeffrey took a step toward her, a hand out, and she wondered whether she should be naked in front of him, and she wondered whether that was what he had asked her, to strip naked for him, but she could not be sure, and she did not want to take any initiative. She was stuck. Her moan of arousal threatened to turn into a sob, and she wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, to ask what he wanted so that she could make it better. But he did not tell her to speak, so she did not speak.

Jeffrey reached out with a hand, and she braced herself for whatever he was about to do. She flinched when she felt his hand on her face, but he was merely cupping her chin and tilting her head up. He was looking at her. He did not look upset. He looked ecstatic. And he had a smile on his face. “Amazing…” he said. And somehow she knew he was not talking to her, so she remained silent.

His thumb was near her mouth, and she yearned to grab it between her lips and suck on it, to show him she was a good girl, that she could make up for whatever it was that she had done, that she could satisfy him, that she would be good for him. Only sluts suck on their bosses’ thumbs—everybody knew that, she knew that, her cunt knew that.

Jeffrey merely looked at her, his eyes roving up and down her body. He pulled the sides of her dressing gown apart, and she did not resist. She let him do whatever he wanted. She was his. Everybody knew that, she knew that, her cunt knew that.

He pushed her sports bra over her big tits, baring them, her nipples standing out even more in sudden draft. “Fuck,” he said. “Even better than I thought they’d be…”

She wanted to tell him that he could see them—touch them, fuck them—whenever he wanted, that all he had to do was snap his fingers, tell her “show me your tits” and she would, let him touch her, paw her, whatever he wanted. But she did not. She let him touch her tits, and he seemed to enjoy it, spending a long time just pressing them and caressing them and playing with her hard nipples, and it was driving her crazy and her cunt was leaking all over the place but she remained motionless until he told her what to do. She was a good girl, and good girls obeyed.

When he looked up again, the lust in his eyes was now raw hunger. He would take her, she knew that. Her husband always did when he looked at her that way, every boy she ever had always did when they looked at her that way. The boys in law school that sought to punish her for being a woman by reminding her the hard way that she was, indeed, a woman, with a cock pleaser between her legs, had looked at her that way before ganging up on her. They were all the same, and she was the same.

When Jeffrey spoke, she figured he would ask her to strip and get herself ready for him. But he took a step back, looked at her, and said “Let’s do this right. I’ve been thinking about this for three days now. Go put on something nice.”

Nice? she wanted to ask. She did not know what he meant by nice. Something sexy? Something slutty? Something elegant? What did he want?

“Go put on some lingerie,” he added. “And not just any lingerie. Go put on Jacques’s favorite. Go put on whatever it is you wear when you want your husband to fuck you like a slut.”

And she was so elated, because she knew exactly what that was!

She raced up the stairs, dropping the dressing gown on the way, pulling her sports bra over her head, ditching her yoga pants and her now useless panties, all in order to save time.

She knew exactly what to get. She still remembered Jacques when he saw her in it that first time. He looked like a boy who had stumbled upon a candy field with no one around to stop him from eating everything in sight.

It was still in a small box in the back of the closet. She opened it up, and pulled out the white satin corset that she had worn on her wedding night, complete with the fine lace stockings and the sheer bra and thong set. Her wedding lingerie. She had not worn it since that night.

She slipped on the corset and was pleased to see it still fit her like a second skin. All her time spent working out had been worth it to make Jeffrey happy tonight.

The corset cinched her waist, emphasizing her hips, and it made her look like someone straight out of a male fantasy. Jeffrey would love it, she knew. Any hot-blooded male would love it. She pulled her stockings on while she fantasized about walking out in the streets like that, with her white stockings and her white corset and nothing else on, everyone looking at her, pointing, snickering, leering—calling her a floozie, a slut, a whore out on the prowl hunting for a hard cock to teach her her proper place in the universe. The images were making her head spin.

Only one thing was missing from her outfit. She got out her pristine white pumps, the ones she rarely wore because they hurt her ankles after a while, but Jeffrey deserved her pain.

The corset was meant to be worn with the fine lace bra and the matching thong, and she thought about putting on before decided that Jeffrey would prefer her as she was now, with her tits flopping out and her cunt exposed and dripping wet. She took a last look in the mirror, made sure she looked the way a man would want her to look, and trotted out. She wanted to hurry, but the heels prevented her, hobbled her, and even that, the fact that she could not walk properly because she wore something purely for the benefit of a male’s prurient pleasure sent a blaze of lust down her cunt.

She thought about dropping down to her hands and knees and crawl down the stairs to him.

When Jeffrey saw her come down, his eyes took her in and devoured her, and she wanted to be eaten, consumed. She arched her back, pushed her tits out, legs spread slightly, cunt exposed. She was wet, and she was waiting for him to tell her what to do. She was ready for anything. She wanted him to tell her to drop to her knees and to suck his cock, or to drop down and spread her legs as wide as they would go and offer her cunt, or lick his feet, or suck on his balls.

“Oh, you and I are going to have a lot of fun, Becky,” Jeffrey said. No one ever called her Becky—she did not like it. Nicknames were demeaning. But Jeffrey could, and did. “So this is what Jacques likes, huh? No surprise there. You look fucking hot. White and virginal, like the sort of thing you’d wear at…” His face lit up. “Is that what you wore on your wedding night?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling herself blush, looking down at her heels, wishing she had had time to paint her toenails red.

“Nice! Very nice! Jacques’s a lucky fuck, I always said. Well, now, Jeff’s a lucky fuck, right?”

It was a rhetorical question. She knew better than to answer him. He was happy, that was all that counted.

“Tell me, Becky, did Jacques ever claim your ass?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, sir,” she said softly.

Jacques never did. Not that he would have minded. He probably would have liked it. She was the one that always refused it. Those law school kids, though, of course, were a different matter. Not that they asked her back then what she wanted. They just took her ass as if it was their due, and now, in retrospect, she saw that it was the right thing for them to have done, to teach her her place, to train her for what they knew she was and she was now just learning, a set of holes for powerful men to fuck.

“Well, then, I guess it’s all mine. A little bit of virgin territory to plunder,” Jeffrey said with a smile.

She did not disabuse him. If he was happy, she was happy. It would hurt, but she welcomed the pain. It was what she deserved.

Jeffrey pulled out a tube of lube from his pocket, and tossed it to her. “See, I’m nice. Lube yourself up, Becky, and show me that cute little bubble ass of yours. You’re going to be showing it to me a lot from now on, believe me. I discovered I’m sort of an ass man these last few days. Who knew?”

Rebecca shivered. She knew what he meant. That he would give it to her up the ass often. She turned her back to him and leaned against the table, bending over and lubing herself up, the way she had never done for any man.

Her boss was about to claim her, claim her ass, and here she was with her own fingers sliding into her tight hole, spreading the gooey cool substance, knowing what was to come.

Her boss would claim her ass for himself.

She was to be ass fucked.

Like a filthy slut.

She came for the first time before Jeffrey even touched her.

* * *

ADCORP CONFIDENTIAL MEMO to Adonai Davenham.

SUBJECT: Salvatore Rivolli

MEMO: Summary of report OB-33-09-545 attached as addendum to the Q3 Earning Report for the Platinum Plan program. Following reports OB-23-44-230 and OB-25-56-230 on the activities of Salvatore Rivolli (Platinum Plan membership 9SFR2216) attempting to uncover details about FCS Platinum Plan operations, confirmed by our liaison in Costa Mala who intercepted an undercover operator hired by Salvatore Rivolli, Investigation and Enforcement Division has been contacted to determine the extent of Salvatore Rivolli’s knowledge and that of any of his associates. Termination measures are recommended.

Close ties between Salvatore Rivolli and Frederic Krueger (FCS client ID 4341B332, see footnote [3]) via Frederic Krueger’s Bad Dream Productions are suspicious and should be investigated further to determine whether leaks occurred.

[3] Frederic Krueger benefits from a special deal with FCS (authorization SG-3321 by VP Sales) pertaining to procurement for Bad Dream Productions. See attached. Contract should be reviewed in light of Salvatore Rivolli’s possible contamination.