“Fuck,” Mallory moaned. “Fuck. Master. God...”
Finally, I approached Audrey.
“Are you a virgin, Audrey? Have you ever had a cock before?”
She nodded happily. Her eyes trying to process my cock. It was still hard, even after all that cumming.
“I am, Master. Yours...I've never. Not ever. Had one. It will be yours. Only yours.”
I pushed Lori and Dawn away, and instead they shifted back to have their tits pillowing Audrey's head. Dawn's did the brunt of the work, of course, but it was still a hot visual.
I wasn't interested in a nice long lovemaking session like I had been with Mallory. I wanted brutal. I wanted ownership. I wanted Audrey pregnant and then pregnant again.
Pulling her legs up and crushing them to her chest, I shoved my cock into her orgasm-laden, dripping cunt. All of my weight driven down on her body.
I wanted a rut. Nothing more, and nothing less.
“Oh my god, oh my god.” Audrey's eyes rolled back in her head. She tried to shift her head, but Dawn and Lori's tits were right there. Her tongue slid over their nipples, inducing shivers of pleasure in each. I fucked her harder, my cock pumping furiously in and out of her tiny slit.
“Fuck her, Master!” Mallory moaned. “Oh god, fuck your slave!”
“Our slave,” I corrected, grunting harshly.
“Y-yes!” Mallory's grin widened. “Fuck our slave. Fuck our slave! Give her your fucking seed! Get her pregnant, oh my god! Fuck that virgin pussy so good!”
I wanted a rut. I wanted her pregnant and mine, and I wanted it as soon as possible. I had so many slavecunts to fuck. So much to own. I wanted to leave no doubt in Audrey's tranced little mind that no matter how long she had run from me, she belonged to me now. No longer my ex. No longer anything but my perfect little fuckslut.
Hot pleasure soared through my bones. I was going to unload. My cock, so huge and throbbing, had never felt more right at any time in my life.
“Do it,” Audrey moaned. “Do it, Master, please! Daddy, please! Take me! Take me back! I was so wrong. I need it! I need your cock. I was so wrong. I was so, so wrong, please! Please fuck me, Master! Please cum in me!”
I could only comply. My cum spurted out into her fertile young body. They all came with me—Mallory, Dawn, Lori, and Audrey. Minjee and Celise were too tranced to even notice what was happening. But the collective moaning and screaming of our orgasm filled the condo. I felt like the earth had moved. Even minutes after the initial orgasm had subsided, I was still inside Audrey, kissing her beautiful tranced face, spurting out little after-loads into her already overstuffed cunt.
Half the girls were now tranced or well on their way, cleaning up the remainder of my cum from the other babes. Mallory diligently licked at my cum from Audrey's cunt. They all snuggled in around me, but I wasn't done yet. They would all have a ride from me tonight, and every night, if I could help it.
* * * * *
It’s amazing what a few million dollars and the sexiest women in the city can do for a bookstore’s success. East Side Pages has opened up three more locations in the city, and is looking to set up a region-wide presence in the quad-state area. Nobody seems to mind much that ninety-five percent of my employees were women.
After a few months, I toned down the sluttified apparel of my employees, at Mallory’s suggestion. They didn’t need to look like sluts, really. They looked hot no matter what they wore.
And in a way it was hotter for me. In their hot clubwear, they were clearly unattainable by even the most hung, hunky of jocks that arrived. When they dressed down in tight jeans and tees, flirty dresses and skirts and brightly colored tights, they seemed all the more attainable—but they were still hopelessly out of reach for anyone who showed the slightest interest.
This didn’t stop my girls from leading them on, of course. Daddy needs lots of money to take care of his dolls. It was nothing for their focused morality to justify extorting married men (and women) out of their hard-earned cash.
In a few months, Mallory will be setting up a new modeling business for us. All the girls will have to pass a very particular interview process. First, they have to clear Mallory’s exacting screening standards...and only after they’re found hot enough to get through that will they get to sit down and have a drink with me.
Who knows? If I find a lady hot enough, I may even let her in on the secret the way I did Mallory. A Man like me deserves more than one Priestess. More than one Queen. Her initial attitude won’t matter much. I can shape that however I like.
It's all under my control.
# # #
Revenge On His Hot Assistants
Gorgeous women. Three of them. All kneeling in front of Warren, chanting his name in admiration. In worship.
They wanted him. By god, they all wanted him.
His body, tall and layered with dense muscle, felt electric. It wasn’t just lust. Of course there was that, as he was going to fuck each and every one of these beauties until they were overflowing with his unprotected seed. But it was more than that—it was power. Pride. Fulfillment. He deserved this. He had earned their adoration.
Their beautiful bodies were encased in tiny lace lingerie. Supple, hot breasts showcased just for his enjoyment. No one else. No one else had earned this—it was just for him. Their eyes were frantic with lust, watching him slowly take off his pants.
At the moment of the big reveal, the moment they saw his cock, each of them gasped in awe. They had seen it before, of course. But it still amazed them. The size. The thickness, the length, the way it hardened so quickly.
And they thought all of this—they knew all of this to be absolutely true—because he had made them think it. All three of these perfectly gorgeous creatures were absolutely and totally under Warren’s control. He had reshaped their thoughts, reformed their minds, and re-wrapped their every atom until they were living, breathing totems of devotion to his Will. Their pussies would only ever cum for him for the rest of their days.
His cock rose proudly, veins throbbing. Precum slid out, glistening over the head. Each loveslave before him moaned, licking her lips, hoping to be the honored vessel who took the first taste of the day of his cum.
Warren was born to be a showman. He’d known it since he was very young.
He was going to give these girls a show they’d never forget.
* * * * *
Just thirty-six hours before that messy, depraved scene, Warren arrived at his small workshop early in the morning on Monday. The weather outside was cool, and he wore a light jacket over his sweater, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm all through the day. A cold front was expected toward the afternoon, but he had forgotten all about it until he had driven halfway to work.
His focus layered on the incumbent cold to take his mind off the mess of his professional life. He had a show this Saturday, and he was resting all his future on it.
One big success. That’s all it will take. Just one good house and I can pay down the loan in good faith.
Loans. Pay down the loans.
God, but wasn’t that depressing. His life’s goal—the one thing that would relieve all the stress he felt right now—would to be able to begin to pay down his loans. Not to pay them down completely. Not to be rich, or have a nice house, or to run shows in Vegas and Los Angeles and New York—no, none of that.
Just one big show to pay down the massiveness that was his debt.
His workshop was a small place located at the corner of an industrial district deep in the inner-workings of Alder City. It was not an ideal place for a magician’s workshop, as the placement made commutes long and the trips he needed to make—trips for supplies to rehearse with or use in shows, or lunches with suppliers to lower prices down the line, or drinks with theater owners to maybe get a few points on the house take—were always made longer. And longer trips meant more time away from rehearsal and his ever-more-disagreeable assistants, Belle and Katie.
But, the re
nt was cheap. The rent was affordable. Or it would be, if Warren had anything closely resembling a living wage from his life’s work as a stage hypnotist and magician.
All around the workshop, then, were factories and distribution warehouses. He regularly had to swerve out of the way of truck drivers as he arrived. The workshop was squat and gray, several cloudy windows dotting the parameter of its surface.
Directly inside was a small office where nothing ever got done, no matter how he badgered Belle and Katie to work on inventory and dates for shows. At the rear of the first office were two doors. One led to his own office, where he lamented over his deplorable finances. The other led to the workshop area proper, where he and his assistants rehearsed shows in front of an audience of broken assembly-line machines that Warren couldn’t afford to have taken away.
Surprisingly, Katie and Belle sat in the front office, waiting on him. Usually, they were late.
Belle was a positively gorgeous young woman. Her thick dark hair was tied up in a loose ponytail that slipped down one side of her face. Her hair was dense and soft and shiny, made for gripping during desperate gasps for life in the deepest, hottest, most brutal ruts that a man could imagine. Her face, all cheekbones and bright blue eyes, dripped complete haughty distaste in a fashion that only the most beautiful of women can do. Her body was tight, toned by hours and hours of kickboxing and Pilates (which of course, she dragged Katie to—she had a horrible fear of being alone), and her bust had been “enhanced” some years before when she thought it would help her acting career.
It didn’t, but it certainly caught Warren’s attention. She possessed a whopping pair of 36E tits, enough to catch most men’s interest. He’d desperately tried to fuck her before settling with just having her work for him, and occasionally—shamelessly—hitting on her every day. Over the past five or six months, he’d stopped hitting on her, if only because his lack of good pay had fast eroded any good will Belle once felt for him.
Katie was sort of the opposite of Belle. Friendly, down-to-earth. She looked like a surfer girl, with long dirty blond hair that shimmered as she moved in the early part of the day, but would tangle into thick knots and rope-like braids as the hours of rehearsal stretched on. Her smile was easy, her body sensationally slim, and with a much more modest bust than Belle’s at 34B. The two were dear, good friends, though from time to time Warren got the feeling that Katie would love it if Belle wanted more than that. But Belle was either too firmly heterosexual or—as Warren suspected—to firmly asexual to care.
It was strange. He’d never encountered someone with so much pure physical beauty and so little sensuality as Belle. Sex was too light and frivolous an activity for her. She was all hard edges and discomfort.
It was a real shame. He’d have fucked her rotten in an instant—the both of them, really—wife be damned.
Warren would never admit it—to anyone, ever—but Belle was hired largely because of her similarity in appearance to his wife, Melinda, who in turn looked remarkably similar to his stepsister Joan. There was a whole nest of forbidden, hot taboo lust snakes curled around the roots of Warren’s heart. The thoughts were intimately his, and he would have been lying if he said that Joan’s face did not haunt him in his most private orgasmic thoughts.
But they were his private orgasmic thoughts, and as no one had ever called him on his choice of wife or assistants—they were positively gorgeous, after all—he rather thought he was getting away with something.
Besides, he thought often—Joan had dark green eyes. Melinda’s were more light green, and Belle’s were blue. They were all very different.
He had no sooner set his bag on the front office desk than did Belle sit down at the small folding chair across from it, arms crossed. She adjusted her skirt only briefly, not seeming to care overmuch that Warren had started to leer at her tanned legs. Her sweater was unbuttoned by necessity, revealing much of her overflowing cleavage. Behind her, Katie stood like an attendant, wearing tight leather pants and a hoodie that highlighted her slender, fae-like form.
“Katie and I have some concerns.”
Uh oh. He knew what this meant. Namely, that Belle had some concerns.
He smiled. “I’m always willing to listen to constructive criticism.”
“See, that’s the thing. There’s not a lot to be constructive about. That implies that something can be built again. Salvaged. I don’t think it can. Our take—Katie and I's—from the house has gone down for the past six months.”
“Of course, of course.” He began to drink from his water bottle. “This economy, you know. It’s not doing anyone any favors—”
“And your take has remained steady. I looked at the books.”
He coughed, water sputtering. For the first time since arriving, he noticed (with some embarrassment, a showman was supposed to be attentive, after all) that his office door was ajar.
“I-I see. Well. You have to understand, my income is the business’s income. What you get paid is derived from a series of equations, and...”
He trailed off. She wasn’t buying it.
The truth was that the only reason his income had remained steady and theirs had decreased was because if he gave himself less money, then the rent on his apartment with Melinda and the rent for the workshop would have nowhere to come from. He was a magician, it was true, but he couldn’t just make money appear from nothing. Instead, he used the next best thing—loans from the bank. And a few other less reputable sources.
Belle and Katie’s salary had become token as a matter of course. Warren made exactly zero dollars of actual profit. At least the two of them could get by on what he squeezed from their “revenue” from the loans. If he had his druthers—and what druthers he had—he’d pay the two girls top dollar. They did, he would openly admit, absolutely deserve the very best in pay. Thus far, he’d been lucky to keep them around. Their patience and dedication to his skill humbled him quite a bit.
Or, it had, anyway. Up until a few months ago. Then Belle started getting really nasty.
“We have a proposition for you, Warren,” said Katie, smiling. “We really think it’s best for everyone.”
“I’m listening.”
Belle squeezed her partner’s arm. Katie looked at her with quick flashes of lust, remembering to correct herself only after a moment.
“Katie has become something of an expert in card tricks,” said Belle.
“I’ve noticed. She’s tremendous. A great asset to our venture.”
“And my illusions are strong enough to carry a show all on their own.”
The standard set-up of their shows was that Katie would do a card trick or two to warm up the crowd. Belle would get them going with a few illusions, usually with Katie as her assistant, and then Warren would come out at the end and wow everyone with his own illusions and then really send it all home with a little hypnotism. Shows were just over an hour.
“Ladies,” he shook his head. “If you think that you can carry this show on yourself, then by all means, feel free to try.”
“That’s exactly what we’re proposing, Warren. We’re done with you.”
He coughed once again. That bluff had worked in the past. He supposed that was the problem with bluffs, though. Short shelf life.
“No matter the problems between us,” he tried again, “I’m sure we can come to some form of restitution. I know that business is on a downturn, but that’s only to be expected. If you’ll just stick with me for a few more shows, I know—”
Belle rapped her knuckles sharply. “We don’t want to work for you anymore, got it?”
“W-what?”
“We don’t like it. We never did. We don’t like the way you leer at our bodies. We don’t like how you make us wear those ridiculous outfits. All those idiotic feathers and sequins. We don’t like how your shows don’t draw. And frankly, Warren, we just don’t care for you.”
Warren had nothing to say in response, and even Belle looked rather surprised at her own vi
triol.
He gathered his dignity.
“There's nothing keeping you here. And no one. You want to go? You can go.”
And so she got up and left, snapping for Katie to follow.
Katie simpered out an apologetic smile. “She was a bit meaner than I would have liked, but we really do apprec—”
From outside, Belle shouted in. “Katie!”
Her car was starting up. Katie's face squirmed.
“Coming!”
The hot, goofy blonde stood up and ran out to catch up with her worse half. Warren was left alone, in the workshop, hands on his forehead, trying to work out what to do next.
* * * * *
After some time sitting in the silence of his workshop, Warren decided finally to go home. Maybe Melinda would have an idea of what to do. Maybe she would even volunteer to work for him again. God, that would be something. He’d been a fan of many women in his time, but on a good day (which was most days for his wife), Melinda put them all to shame.
Excepting, maybe, Joan.
There was a race he'd pay to see.
He pushed those thoughts aside as he got back in his car and began his long drive home. The traffic was light enough, being the middle of the day.
Despite all evidence to the contrary—all the money he owed, all the women he lusted after—Warren thought himself a rather simple man with a simple enough dream.
Being a stage hypnotist, a performer, was his dream.
Clean, straightforward. That was it. To do that and make money off of it.
But the crowds—they wanted something else, always. Something more. He made compromises.
Learn a little magic, he told himself. Just to ease them into the hypnotist act. And he did. Hire a few assistants. Let them do some nice sideshows for a while. Draw them in with a little flagrant tits and ass, and then he could do what he did best.
Do the show in a smaller venue. Work your way up.
Do the show less often. Make them really wait, really anticipate for the show.
Taking Total Control: A Mesmerizing Bundle Page 17