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

by MC, Doctor

  I was looking right back at her, and so I was looking at her face when I walked through the door. As I passed the threshold, she acted startled by something, then her whole body language changed.

  She dropped to her knees, and wrapped her arms around my legs. “This slave loves you, Master!” Her face glowed like the sun.

  If I hadn’t met the SUV Driver, I’d think that Deborah was pulling a prank on me. But the last few days had taught me caution. “Why do you love me, Deborah?”

  “Because Deborah promised to be your devoted sex slave and servant girl, Master. This slave’s life now is to pleasure your eyes, pleasure your cock, and to obey you till you release me.”

  “Hoo boy.”

  ****

  What would you do if you suddenly got a hot stripper sex slave? Uh-huh, I thought so. What I did was to tell her to bring me her photo albums and yearbooks.

  Even knowing that somehow I was magically changing people, I had totally not expected to own Deborah. But within a minute of Deborah dropping to her knees, I resolved that I would not hurt her physically, emotionally, or financially. But to absolutely make sure of that, I had to know what kind of person Deborah had been, before her enslavement.

  An hour later, she was pointing to a swimsuit picture from 2005. “…And as soon as it did not hurt for Deborah to touch her new breasts, she walked into Club Physique. Deborah has worked for Club Physique ever since.” Deborah got a thought: “Does Master wish for this slave to quit work there?”

  “Huh. I’ll need to decide that, won’t I?”

  Deborah turned a photo-album page. I saw a picture of Deborah and Mike in late 2005; the couple looked happy and sexy. I tapped the photo and asked, “How is it that you and Mike stayed together for so long?”

  “He said such nice things to Deborah, and he brought Deborah flowers. He made Deborah feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “Okay, and what’s the other half of that? The Mike half?”

  Deborah smiled proudly. “This slave practices tricks with her pussy muscles, and this slave knows how to give two-hour teaser blowjobs. Or perhaps what Mike liked is that Deborah figured out how to give handjobs in a movie theater and never get caught.”

  I decided at that moment that I could look at the rest of Deborah’s photo albums later.

  Two minutes later, I was thinking, Jeez, she’s wet!

  And oh, since you’re wondering: She wasn’t lying about that blowjob stuff, and that pussy-muscles brag wasn’t bullshit either.

  Chapter 7

  I Make A Big Mistake

  It was the morning after I had fired Mike; also, the morning after Deborah had become my sex slave. Perhaps reading my face well, nobody at the Morning Meeting asked why Mike was no longer with us. I informed the group that I would soon promote one of them to Mike’s job; in the meantime, I was acting general sales manager. (Which meant, no more sitting in my office for the next day or two.)

  After the Morning Meeting, I remained in my inner office, intending to stay only a few minutes more. But Susie had other plans. Short of smacking Susie across the room (which I was not going to do), I couldn’t stop her from dropping her mouth onto my cock. Sometime later, Susie swallowed my cum, stood up, kissed me on the cheek, and sashayed to the door and her desk beyond.

  I stayed in my chair, realizing that I needed to face my responsibility.

  To summarize: In the last four days, the Ice Princess had become my eager porn-fantasy secretary, two strippers had given me blowjobs and phone numbers, and a third stripper had become my devoted sex slave. I know I’m likable, but I couldn’t believe that I’d made this happen just with my wit, good looks, and natural charm.

  The golden god had given me a gift, and had said to “use it wisely”—which meant that I could control it. But clearly it worked even when I didn’t control it. I had changed Susie, Sarah/Platinuma, Ashley/Gothika, and Deborah without trying to.

  I tried to recall everything I’d done since talking to the god, to try to see a pattern. But searching my memory was a waste of time, for my memory had too many holes in it. Damn, I was frustrated!

  “Timothy Richard Hanson,” I said, “you somehow better know exactly what your Power has done, and you better know what to say to women in the future to make your Power work some certain way, or else you might really hurt somebody.”

  I felt something click in my brain. I thought, Good God, somehow I’ve just worked my Power on myself!

  I walked out of my office. I strolled through the showroom, the inventory lot, the service bays, and the parts counter, all the time imperfectly recalling the last few days in my head.

  I wondered again why Susie kept insisting on sucking me off, not stopping when I told her to stop. What was up with that? But then somehow I knew that it was because my Power wasn’t being invoked then.

  Recalling my night at the Nimfo Club, somehow I knew—without knowing how I knew—that when I started talking to Gothika, my Power had not kicked in, so that she thought I was bullshitting her; but shortly after, my Power kicked in, and Gothika got convinced I wanted to be her friend and nothing more.

  In fact, the same Power-on, Power-off thing had happened with Sarah/“Platinuma”—

  Fuck. Damnation. Shit, shit, shit.

  I was Sarah’s boyfriend now. Not a pretend-boyfriend, and not a one-night boyfriend, I’m the guy whom she now loved and she now fucked. She’d sucked me off in the Nimfo Club not because that’s what sluts do, but because that’s what girlfriends do.

  ****

  I had run back to my office and, once I shut the door, I pulled out my cel phone and called Sarah. I forgot that she went to bed late and it was still early. She answered the phone in a sleepy voice. I said, “Oh, I’m sorry that I woke—”

  “That’s okay, lover,” she said. “I’d rather lose sleep to talk to you, than be awake for anyone else.”

  I heard the faint sound of a crying baby. I said, “You have to get up anyway, to take care of your child.”

  She yawned. “I don’t have kids. That’s Shelley’s little boy you hear. I’m sleeping on her couch.”

  “Um, don’t you have an apartment?”

  “Isn’t safe anymore. After you called me two days ago to set up our date, I finally called up Duke and told him: He and I were done, I was seeing someone else. The night before last, when I got off work, I got a feeling. I asked George—bouncer, ex-military, he’s huge—to walk me to my car. Outside, there was Duke. So now I have big bruises, but I’m not in the hospital, thank the Lord.”

  “I’m sorry about your bruises.”

  “You are so sweet. If you were here, I’d let you kiss them and make them better.”

  “Um, right. Listen, I’d better let you go back to sleep.”

  Sarah yawned again. “Wish you were here, honey. I’d cuddle you, and then I know I’d sleep like a log.” Sarah’s voice got sexy: “Or else I’d start a party, and then we’d both wake up.”

  As I put my cel phone back in my pocket, I thought, What have I done?

  ****

  The door opened, and Susie walked in. “You okay? I heard you were on your cel.” Susie’s face got that sex-kitten look. “Mr. Hanson, you look stressed.”

  The words slipped out: “Susan,” I said, “not now. Try later.”

  “I got you, you have to work. But remember, if your work gets stressful—I’m here to help you.” She smiled at me, and started to leave.

  “Susan, tell me: Have you stolen anything from the dealership, or cheated the dealership, since you started here?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hanson. I’ve always written `8:00’ on my timesheet, even when I’ve come in late. I’ve taken home two nifty pens, a black Ford t-shirt, and a pad of sticky notes. Please, Mr. Hanson, don’t fire me.”

  I said, “I forgive you, Susan.” She beamed as brightly as a beauty-contest winner, and then went back to her desk, happy enough to sing (quietly).

  I followed her out of my inner office�
��it was time to walk my property and to work the General Sales Manager’s job.

  I got a thought, and stopped by Susie’s desk as she was taking her seat. The golden god had told me that changes to people’s minds were irreversible, but surely there were ways around that. As a test, I said, “Susie, your hair ribbon?”

  “Yes, what about it?”

  “From now on, Susan, don’t wear a hair ribbon anymore.”

  The weird thing was, I had a hard time saying that sentence to Susie. Part of my own brain was fighting me, sending me a feeling of I shouldn’t be saying this! Truly, forbidding Susie from wearing her hair ribbon was as hard to say as reciting porn-movie dialogue to my Great-Aunt Hannah would have been.

  But less than a second had passed since I told Susie not to wear a hair ribbon. Now she said, “Mr. Hanson, I—”

  My cel phone gave its text-message beep. I pulled out my phone, glanced at the display, and told Susie, “Have any questions, we’ll talk later.” I rushed off.

  ****

  The text message was about a lawyer in the Service Department. He believed that his scheduled court appearance entitled him to head-of-the-line privileges for repair. I said to him, “Mr. Hollings, Edward, I’m sorry but…,” and then I reminded him that If I did it for you, then I’d have to do it for everybody, and then where would I be? was a time-honored legal principle that he should be familiar with. Mr. Hollings calmed down immediately, without me needing to cut the price. Amazing, huh?

  As I strolled around the dealership after that crisis, I asked every employee the same dishonesty-question that I’d asked Susie. I uncovered a salesman who regularly finagled his commissions higher, and a Parts man who evaporated F-150 parts to put on his truck. These two people I fired.

  Lesser thefts I forgave, which made many of my employees truly happy (thanks to my Power).

  I came to believe that only Mike had embezzled serious money, though there was still tens of thousands of dollars unaccounted for. I guess my father really was that sloppy in his bookkeeping. (Or else my father had caught a lot of crooks working for him, and had fired them so quietly that not even his own son got told why.)

  Walking through the showroom, seeing the salesmen in their tiny offices trying to close customers, it occurred to me: my Power could make me the biggest car dealer in the city! All I’d have to do was say the magic words to each and every customer, and Tim Hanson Ford would have a 100 percent closing rate!

  But if I did that, I would be a thief. Correction: I’d be something much worse than a thief, something evil.

  My cel phone rang. It was Kathy. “Hey, Kath, what do you need?” I asked.

  “Mr. Hanson? I’m at Susan’s desk. Come here quick, she’s babbling about her hair ribbon. She’s freaking me out!”

  ****

  I burst in the door of my outer office to find Susie sobbing while hugging Kathy. Susie’s left hand was pressed against Kathy’s back, and Susie’s right hand clutched her hair ribbon in a fist. Between sobs, Susie was saying, “…have to wear the ribbon, but he told me not to wear the ribbon. But I have to wear the ribbon, but he told me not to—”

  Seeing me, Susie wailed, “I don’t know what to do, Mr. Hanson, I’m so torn up! I have to wear the ribbon…”

  As Susie continued to speak and sob, I said to Kathy, “Go back to your office. I’ll handle this.” Then I got a thought, and I added, “Kathy, if you see an ambulance come on the lot, don’t tell anybody what it’s for.” Kathy nodded, and left.

  Susie’s brain is stuck in an endless loop, and I’m responsible!

  I reached my hand out to Susie, to give emotional support to her. Her free hand seized my hand, a long fingernail poking me in the process.

  This started me wondering. The same Command of mine that made Susie start wearing hair ribbons also made her get inch-long fingernails. When I told her to shorten her nails, she did, without her brain locking up. What had I said that time that was different from when I talked today about the ribbon?

  But then I realized, I don’t have to understand how the Power worked. Since I had worked the Power on myself, I knew what to say to get what I wanted. The one time I’d gone against my somehow-knowing, I’d made this mess. The way to fix the mess was to let my Power-rewired brain and its somehow-knowing do what they wanted to do.

  Well, it was good that I had a solution, because Susie was continuing in misery.

  I looked at Susie, and let my mouth run. “Susan, what I meant to say was, `From now on, don’t wear an ugly ribbon.’ Like a brown-plaid ribbon, or orange-and-green camouflage, that’s what I meant. I said it wrong.”

  Susie blinked, and stopped crying. She took a shuddering breath, and looked at the ribbon in her hand. “Mr. Hanson, I—that is, I want so much for you to—I mean, I can’t—is this ribbon okay to wear?”

  “Yes, that ribbon goes well with your skirt. Now, please go to the restroom and fix your makeup, and please put the ribbon back in your hair. Then take the rest of the day off with pay.”

  Susie rushed up to me, threw her arms around me, and said, “You’re a wonderful boss!” Smiling, she then grabbed her purse and dashed off to the ladies’ room.

  I felt like shit.

  A minute later, I was standing in Kathy’s office. I used my Power to convince Kathy that nothing weird had happened—I explained that Susie had caught a fever, which I sent her home because of. “And by the way, Kathy, please don’t talk about this to anyone else at the dealership. Susan would appreciate that.”

  ****

  After dealing with Susie and Kathy, I needed to decompress. I was thirsty anyway, so when I headed to the breakroom to buy a soda, I stayed there to drink it.

  Employees, for some reason, don’t linger in the breakroom when the boss sits there. After five minutes, I was alone—except for the TV in the corner. On TV was Jack Wilson. At Dad’s funeral, Jack’s “condolences” I’d ranked in the Top Three for insincerity.

  Right now, Jack was doing a commercial for his own dealership; and even with the TV sound turned low, I could hear every word. Jack was talking as loudly and excitedly as if he’d just won the lottery—but instead, he was talking about this week’s quote-unquote “sale”—

  “And this weekend, our already low, low prices will be even lower! You gotta come down and check us out!”

  Sheesh, give me a break, I thought.

  I’d been a car dealer for less than a week, and already I loved it. The money was good, but that was only part of the thrill.

  To walk through an inventory lot of hundreds of cars, and they all look great and smell new, and every car has my name on it—that’s a delight. To be there and watch when a young man comes on the lot looking for a used car, because he thinks that a used car is all he can afford, and we put him into the first new car he’s ever owned, so his kids get as excited as Christmas morning and the guy’s wife thinks he’s a hero—then I feel like a hero too.

  But I really dreaded making years and years of stupid car commercials, which was my duty to my dealership. C’mon, everybody old enough to sign a legal contract is old enough to know that Tim Hanson Ford’s salespeople work on commission—if we shaft the customer, we make more money; if we sell cheap, the salesman starves. So why insult the customer by talking about “low prices” that can never be low? For that matter, why call something a “sale” that happens once a week, or once a month? Jeez, no wonder the public distrusts car salesmen!

  I crushed the soda can between my hands, threw it in the Recycle box, and stood up. As I headed for the door, I turned my mind to the more immediate problem of naming a general sales manager to replace Mike.

  Chapter 8

  Owning A Sex Slave

  It was a few hours after I’d sent Susie home for her “fever,” when I remembered that Deborah was scheduled to work tonight. I stepped out of the showroom and phoned Deborah’s cel.

  “Good afternoon, Master! This slave wishes to serve.”

  “First things first: Do
n’t lose my house key, Deborah. I might not hear the doorbell at two in the morning.”

  “This slave will keep careful track of your key, Master. This slave is honored to be trusted with a key to your house. Does Master require anything else?”

  “Actually, what you keep saying is what I’m calling about. Deborah, when you talk to anyone but me, I command you to say `I’ or `me’ instead of `Deborah’ or `this slave’—and I command you to refer to me in public as `Tim,’ not `Master.’ If you talk to me where someone might overhear you, say `I’ and `me’ and `Tim,’ but not the word `obey.’”

  “This slave obeys, Master.”

  “Great! And if I’d phoned you at the club, what would you say instead of `this slave obeys, Master’?”

  “I’d say, uh, `I will, Tim.’”

  “Great, you understand. One more thing, and this is very important, Deborah: Do not do anything illegal. Avoid everything that’s drug-related, don’t solicit the customers, and don’t whore with the customers.”

  “Do you know that this slave would not say no if you pimped this slave?”

  “Not going there, Deborah. You owe me money, and you’ll pay it off, but this whole deal bothers my conscience enough as it is.”

  “You are wonderful, Master. This slave loves you.”

  Because I choose not to pimp you? My Power does weird shit sometimes.

  ****

  Later, sometime between midnight and dawn, I awoke to a line of bright light coming from the bathroom, and the sound of sink faucets spraying. Shading my eyes with my hand, I croaked, “Deborah?”

  The faucet sounds stopped, and Deborah stepped into my bedroom. “Oh, Master, this slave didn’t mean to wake you!”

  “It’s okay. How’d you do tonight?”

  Deborah grabbed her purse that had been hanging from the doorknob, opened her purse, and pulled out a wad of cash. “Master, this slave earned you $217 tonight. And that’s without this slave doing anything illegal, although”—her smile was proud and sexy—“this slave got two offers.” Deborah kicked her shoes off and sashayed toward my bed, dropping the green bills like rose petals as she moved closer.