Names Have Power: Tim's Magic Voice Makes A Harem

by MC, Doctor

  Something is weird here, I thought. But what I said to my secretary was, “Then I’m glad we had this talk, Ms. Cooper. I don’t want to fire you.”

  “Oh please, Mr. Hanson, you know my name. Call me Susan, or better yet, I’m Susie. How do you prefer the cream and sugar in your coffee?”

  ****

  At 3 p.m., Susan had film and videotape ready to show me. As I was looking at old images of my father (and of me), Susan asked, “Mr. Hanson? Suppose I gave you a thousand dollars of my money, and a list of all my clothing sizes. I took you to a mall, and asked you to buy work clothes for me. What would you buy me?”

  “My lawyer would advise me not to answer that question. No comment.”

  “Please, Mr. Hanson, I’m sure that you answering my question isn’t sexual harassment. Please answer, I need to know.”

  I thought, Let’s yank her chain and see if she’s really changed her attitude. Aloud I said, “I’d buy dresses that would show off your chest. Plus really sexy blouse-skirt combos. All with a hemline that is well above the knee. Plus the highest heels you could walk in, a garter belt, and sexy stockings.” To make the joke even more jokey, I added, “Ribbons for your hair, and a nail-salon gift certificate for a full set of top-grade long nails.”

  “No pants? No pantyhose?”

  “Hey, if I’m spending my evening buying you clothes, instead of watching ESPN? No pants, no pantyhose, forget it.”

  I was expecting Susan to be screaming at me by now, threatening lawsuits and EEOC complaints, loudly enough that she could be heard in Hawaii. Instead, she nodded. “I see. When would I wear this clothing? Casual Friday?”

  “What? I give up my hypothetical evening to buy you clothes for work, and you wear them one day a week? That’s not friendly.”

  She gasped. “You’re right, that is so wrong!” She squared her shoulders and looked at me. “I will go shopping tonight so that after today, I’m dressed friendly. Garters, stockings, and very high heels, the whole shebang, every day.”

  “Don’t forget the long nails and the hair ribbon,” I said. “Every day.”

  Susan eyed me. “You can count on me, Mr. Hanson.”

  This whole talk had turned strange. Why hadn’t Susan realized I was joking? Why wasn’t she mad at me and lecturing me about “inappropriate behavior,” like in olden days?

  ****

  Mike and Albert came to my office at five, to take me to the gentleman’s club. As they were walking me out, Susan asked, “Mr. Hanson, Mr. Hanson! How long should my fingernails be?”

  “Say what?” I said.

  “If I go to a nail salon to get long nails, and the nail tech asks, `How long?’, what should I say?”

  Much of my conversation with Susan today had been strange, and this conversation was even more strange. Worse, Mike was giving me a look that said, What’s going on? Are you fucking the Ice Princess? So, annoyed with her, I answered, “Hell, Susan, make the length what’s wildly impractical, and that makes every guy think you’re easy.”

  Susan nodded her head, then Mike dragged me to his car.

  Chapter 3

  I Learn Strippers’ Secrets

  Albert, Mike, and I had been celebrating at the Nimfo Club for an hour when the night turned strange.

  Mike gestured a circle to mean all the strippers. “See one you like?”

  I pointed to a big-breasted blonde. “Her, definitely. Platinuma.”

  “Oh yeah,” Mike said, “with that body she’d be fun for a few fucks, for sure.”

  “Well, I’d want to date her too, not just fuck her.”

  Mike snorted. “`Date’? As in, `Buy her dinner and chocolates and roses and shit’? Hell, Tim, all the women here are whores—except for the dykes, of course. Just hand ’em folding cash and you won’t need to worry, `Will she or won’t she?’ Fuck the roses!”

  “I hear you, Mike. But I’d still like to date her,” I said, and I meant it. Yes, she was gorgeous—gorgeous babes were apparently standard equipment at the Nimfo Club. But there was another thing: When she danced, sometimes there would show sadness in her eyes—but then a second or two later, that sadness would be masked again. She was human.

  Mike said, “Tim, I’m gonna do you a favor.” He got up, walked over to Sad-Eyes Girl, and basically dragged her to our table.

  Up close, I saw that under filmy lingerie, she had enormous tits (swear to God, they looked real). She also had long legs, platinum-blond hair (probably fake), and pale blue eyes (which I hoped weren’t contacts). She turned her eyes on me and—I blanked out.

  Lesson One of selling cars is: Learn the customer’s name, then say the customer’s name. Lesson Two of selling cars is: Say the customer’s name often. But when the sad stripper looked at me, I couldn’t remember what to call her!

  So I said, “Please, tell me your name.”

  She leaned down and murmured in my ear, “My real name is Sarah Elizabeth Buchanan.” She stood up and, at regular volume, then said, “But here I’m `Platinuma.’”

  “Thank you, Sarah—I mean Platinuma.”

  Mike whooped. “Damn, Tim, you are da man! Strippers never give out their real names.”

  Albert nodded. “I thought giving out your name was against club policy, Platinuma.”

  Sarah/Platinuma shrugged. “He looks like I can trust him.”

  Mike said, “`Trust him’? Platinuma, or Sarah, take a look at Tim Hanson here. He’s the new owner of Tim Hanson Ford.”

  She looked at me with funeral-face. “I liked your dad. He was funny to watch on TV.”

  “Hey, no sadness tonight,” Mike said, “the funeral’s over! Platinuma, tonight you be very, very nice to Tim here, because now he’s a rich car dealer.”

  I nodded and smiled shyly at her. “Yes, Sarah Elizabeth Buchanan, from this moment on, I’m your boyfriend. Well, for tonight just pretend to be, okay Platinuma?”

  She gave me a warm smile. “Not a problem. You’re cute.”

  ****

  Sarah started moving her body to the music, as she eyed me and smiled. At first I thought she was going to give me a standard table dance, but then she came even closer. Within seconds, she was grinding her pussy against my leg.

  “Isn’t that against club rules?” I heard Albert say.

  Mike said, “Supposed to be. Damn, she looks hot!”

  Sarah’s dancer legs had power. Sarah could hold herself up so that her pussy lips would just brush the cloth of my pants, moving down my leg, then she would lightly move back the other direction, which again made my pants caress her pussy lips. Her nipples got hard, and she bit her lip.

  Down my leg—rub. Up my leg—rub. Down my leg, up my leg—rub, rub. Sarah dragged her pussy all the way up my leg, then she grabbed my hand. “Touch me,” she murmured into my ear. “Please. I’m wet for you.”

  Boy howdy, she was. To a thump-thump bass beat, I stroked her clit and slowly pistoned her with a finger, and she shook like she was in an earthquake. I’ll swear she had an orgasm every fifteen seconds. If the sound system hadn’t been so loud, I think her moans would have gotten us both arrested.

  Suddenly she stood up, grabbed my other hand, pulled me to my feet, and said “C’mon!”

  “Where we going?”

  She nodded toward a part of the room enclosed with dark-tinted glass. “V.I.P. Area.”

  “Damn, Tim!” I heard Mike laugh, as Sarah dragged me away as fast as her stiletto-heeled feet permitted. “She thinks Ford dealers are rich,” Mike added.

  Inside the V.I.P. Area, we were lucky to find an empty booth. (Hell, we were lucky to see an empty booth. The place was a cave with loud music.) Sarah insisted that I order a drink.

  “What kind of drink?”

  “Doesn’t matter, but club rules are, you got to be invited by a dancer to come to the V.I.P. Area, and you got to order a fresh drink to stay here.”

  So when the cocktail waitress came around, I ordered a Coke. (I’d already reached my two-beer limit.) I had to explain to
the waitress that “Mike Brown” would be paying for the drink, but fortunately(?) she knew who Mike Brown was. When I tried to buy Sarah a drink, she turned it down. “It would be only ginger ale,” she explained, “regardless of what they charged you for.”

  The cocktail waitress left. Sarah said, “Good, now the rules are met.” She groped in the dark for my belt, which she then unfastened. Sarah was on her knees, and had my cock exposed to the dark air, before I realized what was going on.

  I can’t recall now, what her cocksucking technique was like. But I recall very well that I had never before enjoyed a woman so hungry to suck me off and to swallow me. When the cocktail waitress returned with my Coke, Sarah didn’t pause an instant. Sarah stopped milking me only after I patted her head and then I shook her shoulders, trying to get her attention. (The cocktail waitress, meanwhile, had stepped around Sarah and had continued with her business, which told me a lot about life in the V.I.P. Area.)

  By the time I was no longer seeing stars, and had put my cock back in my pants, Sarah was sitting next to me in the booth. I kissed her. I couldn’t see her face, but I think she was surprised. “Thank you very much,” I said. “I’m grateful, Sarah.”

  The cocktail waitress was walking by at that moment. Sarah grabbed her leg and said, “Hey Betsy, do you have a cocktail napkin in your pocket? Let me borrow a pen and your flashlight.” Betsy gave those things to Sarah, who said, “Turn your head, Betsy, so you can’t tell Yuri anything.”

  Sarah then wrote her phone number on the cocktail napkin, which she jammed into my pants pocket. Whoa!

  After Betsy the cocktail waitress left, Sarah said to me, “I’ve given you an X-rated dance, I’ve sucked you off, I stopped you from buying me a watered-down drink, and I’ve given you my phone number. How else can I make your night wonderful?”

  I put my arm around her shoulders. Damn, her skin felt nice. “Hmm, you told me your real name, which I guess is supposed to be secret. What are other secrets of this club that customers aren’t supposed to know?”

  Sarah pointed through the glass to a gorgeous redhead dancing the pole. “That’s Sunset. Hair color is real, tits are fake. No surprise, right? But that pretty pussy, that’s fake too.”

  “No shit?”

  “Hm-hmm. The manager doesn’t care, but Sunset’s legal name is still Robert.”

  “Wait, I’m confused. Isn’t the surgeries the expensive part, and going to name-change court the cheap part?”

  “Sunset’s sugar-daddy got arrested for embezzlement,” Sarah replied. She shrugged (I think) in the darkness.

  Sarah continued, “Going the other way, there’s Gothika.” Sarah pointed to a black-haired woman, currently table-dancing, who was wearing black lipstick, black nail polish, a skimpy black bikini, and black leather high-heeled boots. Each cup of Gothika’s bra was covered with a picture of a flaming skull. Instead of filmy lingerie to cover her stripper clothing, Gothika was wearing a knee-length black-leather coat. Gothika’s tits were gigantic, beyond even the pretense of being real.

  Sarah continued, “Gothika, it turns out, is honey blond, the only true blonde here. She is known here in the V.I.P. Area as a true champion of cocksucking; I’m told that her deep-throat is wondrous. That pink Lexus in the parking lot? She paid for that herself, cash, six months after she started here. But she parties only with girls.”

  “So what is Gothika’s real name? Bertha? Zelda?”

  “Are you ready for this? It’s Ashley. And Gothika says that Ashleys drive only pink cars.”

  “She sounds fascinating. I’d like to meet her.”

  Yes, Reader, I know Gothika was a lesbian whore. But I had to admire someone who made choices and took chances and pursued goals, rather than drifting through life, and who succeeded in life as a result of taking charge of her future. No big car dealer got that way by winning the lottery.

  After I said that I’d like to meet Gothika, Sarah was silent for several seconds. When she spoke, her voice sounded resigned. “Well, I have to leave in two minutes to dance my set, but stay here and I’ll bring Gothika when I come back.”

  ****

  Sarah danced on stage for three songs. When somebody gave her a cash tip, she looked at him and gave him a dick-hardening smile. But most of the time she was looking in my direction, even though the V.I.P. Area’s dark glass meant that Sarah couldn’t see my face.

  True to her promise, when Sarah returned to the V.I.P. Area, she brought Ashley/Gothika with her. “This is Tim Hanson the car dealer,” Sarah said to the black-haired stripper. “He wants one of your blowjobs.”

  “How much money do you have on you, Tim?” Gothika asked.

  “Whoa, halt, stop,” I said. “I said only that I wanted to meet you, Gothika, not get a blowjob from you.”

  “You are big-league shitting me now. I’m gone,” Gothika said.

  “Ashley, I’m telling you the truth, I’d love to talk to you for several hours over wine and find out how your mind works, and Sarah’s already told me that I’m not getting in your pants! As for your blowjob—believe me, Ashley, I’m curious about it, and I’d love to receive it. But I won’t ask you for it. Number one, Sarah has just given me a world-class blowjob. Number two, Mike Brown made me lock my wallet in his glove compartment. Number three, since you’re really good at giving head, Mike probably doesn’t have cash enough to cover your fee.”

  “It was `world-class’? Oh honey,” Sarah said.

  I thought, “Honey”?

  Gothika laughed. “Damn, you’re the first nice man I’ve met since eighth grade, and Sarah already claims you.” Gothika turned to Sarah. “How much time since you blew him? Half-hour, at least?”

  “At least.”

  “He’s recovered,” Gothika said. So saying, she dropped to her knees, and then Ashley/Gothika unfastened my belt.

  Meanwhile, I was pulling Sarah’s head down to my face. As Ashley was sliding her mouth down my dick, I was kissing Sarah’s lips. Sarah kissed me like she meant it.

  Sarah had been passionate in her cocksucking. Ashley sucked me the same way that an ace body-and-paint man hammered out a dent: Every second, she was thinking about what she was doing, and planning what to do next. The results of Ashley’s thinking and planning were wondrous indeed: Whether she was sucking the base of my cock, tonguing my wrinkled spot, slurping my head, or tonguing my dick hole, every moment was perfect. The blowjob was as intense as it could possibly be, without ever being too intense—it was what a blowjob was meant to be.

  ****

  Mike, Albert, and I were headed for the Nimfo Club’s front door. Mike said, “I have to say, Boss, you’re a cheap date. Your cover charge, then two bottles of beer and a Coke, that’s all I bought you? Shit, I once dated a girl who was planning to enter a convent, and she drank more than that. Guy, I had all these five-dollar bills for you to tip the girls with, and you never used any of them. Don’t bother telling me that you had fun.”

  As Mike stopped talking, Gothika strode up to me, pressed a cocktail napkin into my hand, grabbed my head between her hands, and gave me an eyeball-melting kiss. In my ear she murmured, “You won’t get to fuck me. I won’t let you lick me. But who knows where wine and conversation will lead?”

  “Fuck me,” Mike said.

  “To tears,” Albert added.

  Chapter 4

  Susan Has Changed

  The next morning I walked into my outer office, and already at her desk was Susan. At least, I thought it was Susan. What the hell?

  She stood up when I entered, and she seemed much taller. Then she walked around the desk, and I found out why she seemed taller: killer high heels. Which went perfectly with her sexpot outfit. “Do I look friendly enough?” she asked.

  I thought that maybe she was being sarcastic. But no, I realized, she was nervous, not sarcastic. Holy shit, she really wants me to like how she looks, I thought.

  “Do you look friendly enough?” I repeated. I picked my words carefully: “You look like yo
u just came from a party.” I didn’t add, A party at the Playboy Mansion.

  “But that’s good, right? Parties are friendly. So everything’s okay?”

  Other than this woody that your tits are giving me, all is fine.

  Truth be told, she wasn’t quite outrageous enough for me to send her home to change. And now she sure was nice to look at! But there was one thing—

  “Susan, when I talked about your fingernails, I meant half-inch at the longest. Inch-long nails are just too impractical for working in an office.”

  She looked horrified. “Oh, Mr. Hanson, I’m so sorry I misunderstood you! I’ll take care of that tonight, promise. But please, call me `Susie.’ `Susie’ is friendlier, don’t you think?”

  “No problem, Susie.”

  “Um, I’m sorry about my hair.”

  “Your hair?” Susie’s hair was long, dark brown, thick, and shiny—after her chest, her hair was Susie’s best feature. Today that dark-brown hair was pulled into a bun that was ringed with a chocolate-brown hair ribbon.

  Susie touched her beribboned hair. “I ran out of time, Mr. Hanson, I swear. Everyone knows that blondes are friendly, but with all the clothes shopping I did last night, and the nail salon, I didn’t have time to dye my hair! I’ll do it tonight, promise.”

  “Susie, you don’t need to dye your hair blond.”

  “I know I don’t need to, but blondes are friendly.”

  ****

  As I walked through the door to my inner office, I thought, I caused this somehow, my Power did this. But I have no idea what exactly I did!

  Before I had sat down, there was a knock on the door. I called “Enter!” and Susan stepped in. She put a cup of coffee on my desk, and turned to leave; but at the door she stopped and turned around. She said, “Mr. Hanson? I’ve been wondering: Why are men obsessed with harems? You don’t see women wishing that they lived with seven horny guys.”

  I said, “I don’t know why other men are obsessed with harems, but I know why harems excite me.”