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

by MC, Doctor

  “Deb, I’m glad you did well, but I need to go back to sleep.”

  “Oh! Sorry, Master. But don’t worry, this slave knows how to zonk you out.”

  She did, too—after roughly a half-hour, I fell asleep and stayed asleep (till the alarm went off). But her method was a little different: It didn’t require sleeping pills, but it did require nudity (hers and mine), and encouraged a condom. And during that half-hour that Deborah gave me her sleep therapy, I was very wide awake!

  ****

  The next morning, while Deborah was cooking eggs, I opened up a brand-new notebook to its first page. I picked up a pen and wrote, “CREDIT: $217.00; BALANCE: $217.00.”

  “What is that, Master?” Deborah asked. “Something for the dealership?”

  “Actually, it’s for you,” I said. “I’m writing down the money you pay me, as a credit. I’m charging you half the cost of groceries, as a debit. If you have to pay income tax beyond withholding, that’ll be a debit too. I’m not charging you for rent or utilities. When your balance reaches forty-three thousand, I’ll free you. Feel free to check this notebook for yourself, anytime you wish.”

  “Oh.” From her tone, she didn’t know what to make of all this. Finally she said, “Anytime you wish to free this slave is okay with this slave, Master.”

  “Well, Deborah won’t feel that way, once she’s freed. And Deborah should know that she wasn’t kept one day longer than necessary, or worked for one more dollar than necessary.”

  Even so, Deborah probably will use a meat cleaver on me in the first minute of her freedom, I thought. She volunteered only for her body to be enslaved, not her mind.

  Chapter 9

  A Date With Platinuma

  Monday at six p.m., I was sitting at a table in a Chinese restaurant, waiting for Sarah/Platinuma to show up for our date. Minutes passed, and still no Sarah.

  And then she was just inside the front door, looking for me. I waved, and she walked toward my table, with a smile on her face.

  (Actually, she didn’t walk, she prowled across the carpet. Add in the sexy gaze she was giving me, and Sarah the big-breasted platinum blonde looked sexier in blue jeans and t-shirt—and stilettos—than did the hostess in her cheongsam.)

  “Sorry I’m late, honey”—Sarah gave me a five-second kiss—“but I had to drive all roundabout, so Duke couldn’t follow me. Plus I’m not used to the Smith Freeway at rush hour. Forgive me?” Sarah took a seat to my left.

  I said, “I’m sorry you’re worried about Duke. You still nervous about the other night, or is there a new problem with him?”

  Both Sarah’s face and her voice got tense. “Um, Tim honey, can we talk about Duke later? I really want to enjoy my evening.” She smiled at me. “With my new boyfriend.”

  ****

  Ten minutes later, I was saying to Sarah, “…mother was a Car Show Cutie, who married Dad because, she’s often said, `Big Tim is the real deal.’”

  Sarah was smiling. “That’s so sweet.”

  I continued, “Meanwhile, what Dad used to say was, `I’m married to the nicest woman in the world, and the most beautiful woman in the world. I should be arrested for bigamy!’”

  She laughed. “Your family sounds so happy.” I felt a hand on my knee.

  ****

  When Sarah and I got up to leave the restaurant, I had a raging boner. That was mainly due to Sarah rubbing my dick through my pants, through most of the meal.

  As we were moving between the tables, I heard a woman’s voice say, “That’s Tim Hanson! You know, from commercials?”

  A man’s voice replied, “So that’s why a hot babe like her is with a guy like that. Because he’s rich.”

  You’re not even close, pal.

  Outside the restaurant, I pulled Sarah in for a kiss. She put her left arm around my neck, while her right hand was Rubbing me again. In a husky voice she said, “I think we can skip rounding the bases, and go straight to home plate.”

  I smiled at her. “Okay, follow me in your car to my—”

  Oh shit. Slave Deborah!

  I grabbed Sarah’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Honey, I want you to spend the night with me. But you need to know: There’s someone living with me for a while, and she’ll be coming home about two o’clock.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Is she your wife? Because—”

  “No, not my wife. But she—”

  “Will you tell me to go home as soon as she walks in?”

  “No way. But she—oh hell, Deborah’s a sex slave.”

  I don’t expect a stripper to be a hardline feminist. But when I told Sarah I was keeping a sex slave, I expected some kind of nasty reaction. I sure didn’t expect to see Sarah smile.

  “Mmm, my Timmy is a love machine. I guess I’ll need to try harder to make you happy.” Sarah’s right hand began rubbing my bulge again.

  Thank you, Power. Things could have gotten very ugly when I had two gorgeous women in my bedroom at the same time.

  I walked Sarah to her car, then I started toward my own car. As I walked past the back of Sarah’s car, I noticed that her back windshield was covered with duct tape and a big rectangle of cardboard.

  I walked back to Sarah’s car door and knocked on her window. Seconds later, I asked her, “What happened back there?”

  She sighed. “Duke happened. He used a brick. Sometime last night, while I was working.”

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later, Sarah and I were in my living room, kissing. Correction: I was kissing Sarah while I rubbed her tits through her bra; Sarah, as she kissed me, was loosening my belt and unzipping me.

  I grabbed my pants before they fell down around my knees, and pulled my cel phone out of my pocket. “Hold on, I need to text my slave,” I said.

  Sarah then grabbed the waist of my pants, dragged me to the couch, yanked my pants down, and pushed me onto the couch. “Okay, Tim honey, you text her—if you can.”

  While I tried texting Deborah, Sarah started sucking my cock. Eventually I got the message sent, but before then, her blowjob made me lose concentration a lot. I’m sure the same thing has happened to you.

  Chapter 10

  I Put My Babes To Work

  I was being shaken awake.

  I looked at the bedside clock; it said 2:26. In the darkness, I heard Slave Deborah whisper: “Master, is Sarah still here? Where should this slave sleep?”

  I was still nine-tenths asleep. I murmured, “Mmm, that’s a good question.”

  I felt Sarah stir, and then she asked in a sleepy voice, “Baby, is your slave girl here?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I thought, Will I need to call the cops soon?

  “Can you turn the light on, please? I’ve met only one sex slave before.”

  I thought, “Only one” sex slave? I turned on the table light.

  “Wow, you’re beautiful,” each woman said at the same time.

  It turned out that they knew each other, a little. Sarah and Deborah had met at another dancer’s birthday party.

  Then both women got silent, and I realized that each was waiting for me to make a decision. I moved to the middle of the bed and said, “Slave Deborah, get naked and get in bed with us. But no sex tonight—I’m too tired.”

  “Mmm, did I wear Baby out?” Sarah said. She kissed me on the cheek. To Deborah she said, “Let’s hope he doesn’t snore.”

  “He snores,” Deborah said as she slid into bed and put an arm on my chest, “but it’s a cute snore.”

  “Deborah, turn out the light and let’s all sleep,” I ordered.

  “Yes, um…”

  “Sarah knows about us, Slave Deborah. It’s okay to use the words around her.”

  “Then this slave obeys, Master.” Deborah turned out the light. I kissed Sarah goodnight, then Deborah goodnight, then I fell asleep.

  ****

  I woke up later, when there was just enough light in the room to see shapes. Sarah and Deborah were talking quietly over my rib cage, and someone was str
oking my cock.

  “That feels good,” I said, then I fell back asleep.

  ****

  When I woke up again, Sarah was gone from the bed, and Deborah was pressed against me with her arm around my waist. My first thought was, Is Sarah mad at me? Why is she gone?

  I tried to sit up, and that woke Deborah up. I said, “Where is Sarah?”

  Deborah said, “Relax, Master, she’s making breakfast in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Um, she asked this slave to let her know when you’re awake.”

  I agreed to that, I got a “This slave obeys” in reply, and Deborah got out of bed. Then my sex slave, wearing not a stitch of clothing, sashayed off to talk to my girlfriend.

  Life is good sometimes.

  When Deborah walked back in the bedroom, she giggled. “She told this slave, `Have fun.’”

  I glanced at the clock; I had half an hour before my alarm went off. Then my arm reached out for Deborah. “I’ll see that you have lots of fun.”

  I was fucking Deborah when I felt a third hand stroke my back. There by the bed stood Sarah, with a spatula in her hand and a sexy smile on her face. “Breakfast is ready,” Sarah said, “when you two are ready.”

  ****

  I pulled into my parking place at the dealership only fifteen minutes late. But I’d had only five hours of sleep, and now I was feeling it.

  I started the Morning Meeting by saying, “I’d like to announce that I’m promoting Betty Jane to General Manager.” As everyone was applauding, I tried not to yawn.

  I hadn’t even finished the Morning Meeting when I realized I needed more coffee. I raised my hand in a “hold on” gesture, grabbed my empty cup, stood up—

  —and Susan (who was once again dressed like a sex-fantasy secretary) jumped up as well. “Do you need more coffee? Stay there, I’ll get it,” she said cheerfully. “No cream, two sugars, coming right up.”

  I handed her the cup, and she minced off on high heels to the urn. I sat down.

  “What’s with Susan being so nice to you?” Kathy asked me.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  Kathy’s face said she didn’t believe me.

  Betty Jane also was eyeing me. “So you and Susan aren’t…?”

  Albert said, “Ease up, you two. If the boss is tired this morning, it’s not because of her, it’s because of Gothika.”

  I said, “Haven’t gone out with Gothika yet. Yesterday it was Platinuma.”

  Susan set my coffee cup down by my left hand. “Gothika, Platinuma, who are they?”

  “Dancers,” I said.

  “At the club that Mike took him to,” Albert said. “Total-babe strippers, and our new boss got both their phone numbers.”

  Susan said as she sat down, “And no, Betty Jane, Mr. Hanson and I aren’t dating. But it wouldn’t be sexual harassment if we did.” She smiled at me. “But it sounds like I’d need to take a number.”

  ****

  After the Morning Meeting, I had a long G-rated meeting in my office with Betty Jane, as I discussed her new duties with her. As soon as Betty Jane left, I had an XXX-rated meeting in my office with Susan. This time it took Susan longer to suck me off, because my dick was sore, but Susan never complained. While Susan was slurping me, I managed to write an online help-wanted ad for Betty Jane’s vacated position of Finance Manager.

  After Susan left, I sat at my desk to work on paperwork—and soon discovered I’d fallen asleep in my chair. To wake myself up and get my blood pumping, I decided to walk around my dealership.

  I walked into every department and let my employees know that Betty Jane was now the number-two boss and that they were to treat her with respect. With that task done, I headed for the employee breakroom, for another cup of alleged coffee.

  I was sipping coffee and chewing on a chocolate bar when Bernie O’Toole’s car-dealer ad come on the TV. I watched him spout off, rolled my eyes, and thought, Jeez, why can’t you simply tell the truth?

  And then I got a great idea. I threw the rest of the vile black liquid down my throat, and rushed back to my office.

  Actually, to Susan’s desk outside my office. “Susan Cooper,” I said, “I am going to be making a new kind of commercial soon, and it would be very helpful to me if you would star in it.”

  Somehow I knew how she’d answer.

  ****

  I called Sarah on her cel, and explained my idea. She was game. (Ain’t love grand?) Deborah, I knew, had gone back to sleep, so I left a message on her cel, ordering her to be at the dealership in the morning. Next, I called the camera crew who regularly filmed Tim Hanson Ford’s commercials, and gave them the where and when. With all that done, I went to talk to Hank.

  If you the customer tell me that you’ll buy my new car if I’ll buy your ratty old car, what am I going to do? I’m not stupid, I’ll take your old car in trade. But new-car dealerships have standards about what cars we’ll sell on our used-car lots: late model, low mileage, mechanically sound, with nothing more than minor body damage. So what happens to the rustbuckets that we buy but won’t sell? We sell those, a bunch at a time, to used-car wholesalers, who sell them to mom-and-pop used-car lots.

  The point is, even the classiest car dealership has a few eyesores on the property somewhere, if you look hard enough.

  Which is why I walked up to Hank, the Used-Car Sales Manager, and said, “Show me the ugliest car I own.”

  ****

  The next morning, Susan walked into the Morning Meeting, dressed just like she’d dressed in olden days—if you ignored the top three buttons of her blouse being unbuttoned.

  “I like that you’ve returned to a more professional look, Susan,” Betty Jane said.

  Kathy nodded. “As opposed to looking like a—like a…”

  Susan said brightly, “Oh, I’m only dressed like this because Mr. Hanson asked me to. For the commercial. Tomorrow, I’ll be dressed in my regular clothes again.”

  “Commercial?” Bobby said. “Susan, you’re going to be in one of our commercials?”

  By now, everyone was present, so I said, “People, I’m making a major change to how we operate, and our new advertising will reflect that.”

  “What’s the change?” Albert asked.

  “It’s a radical new idea, unheard-of in the car business,” I said. “We’re going to be honest.”

  Everyone but Susan stared at me.

  ****

  “`Honest’? We’re honest now, we don’t need to change,” Kathy said.

  I replied, “We’re honest for car dealers. We don’t roll odometers back, or put motorcycle oil into bad car engines to make them sound better. But I myself have sold twenty-eight cars, and I’ve understudied the job of every one of you, and I know there are many tricks to squeeze a few extra bucks out of a customer. Starting today, those tricks stop.”

  “You sure that’s smart, Tim?” Bobby asked. “That’s going to hurt your bottom line.”

  “It’s going to hurt you too, don’t think I don’t know that. Short term, every one of you will see your performance-bonus drop. You might well be tempted to quit and go elsewhere. Please don’t.”

  Susan smiled at everyone. “You said `short term,’ Mr. Hanson. You think things will get better, real quick?”

  “Yes. It’s a gamble, I admit that. But I think that once the public becomes convinced that we keep all promises we make, and make no promises we can’t keep, that we’ll be swamped.”

  Silence.

  I added, “Which reminds me. Starting today, this minute, our people are forbidden to use the words `lowest price’ and `highest price.’ As in, `We will sell you a Ford for the lowest price in town, and give you the highest value for your trade.’ If a salesman wouldn’t say something to his grandmother, the salesman better not say it to anyone else. Or I’ll have his ass.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the Morning Meeting ended, and my managers walked out of my office (while giving each other “the boss is an idiot”
looks). Waiting outside by Susan’s desk were the camera crew, as well as Sarah and Deborah.

  Susan handed out copies of the contracts (which Sarah and Deborah signed), Susan handed out copies of the script, then we left to shoot the commercial.

  ****

  A young office worker (SUSAN) is standing by the open hood of an old car. BLACK SMOKE RISES FROM THE ENGINE. Susan has a black oil smudge on each of her cheeks and her forehead. Susan looks sad.

  A red late-model Mustang convertible drives by, with two young women in it. SARAH is driving the Mustang; DEBORAH is riding shotgun.

  DEBORAH (to Sarah): We need to help her!

  CUT TO:

  The red Mustang is parked on the shoulder, ahead of the dead old car. On the back of the Mustang, instead of a regular license plate, is a “Tim Hanson Ford” dealer tag. Sarah and Deborah are peering into the old car’s engine compartment as Susan gestures.

  (Note that while nobody is dressed slutty or sexy, it is clear at a glance that these are three very attractive young women.)

  SARAH: You need a new car.

  SUSAN: I don’t know anything about cars. I’m afraid a dealer will cheat me.

  DEBORAH: Then you should go to Tim Hanson Ford. They’ve started a No Cheat Guarantee.

  SUSAN: They work on commission, right? They’ll make more money if they cheat me.

  SARAH: True, but the new owner, Timothy Richard Hanson, wants you to come back in five years. And ten years. And twenty years. And he wants you to tell your friends and coworkers to go to Tim Hanson Ford. He knows you won’t do that if you think he’s picked your pocket.

  SUSAN: And if I do get cheated there, then what?

  DEBORAH: Then Tim Hanson fires the guy! Right then!