THE POWER OF SUGGESTION

Mike pushed his cart up to the checkout line and studied the racks of tabloids and women's magazines. He was second in line, behind a woman with who was average size above the waist but had a gigantic ass. He watched silently as she piled her high-fat items onto the conveyor belt.

The small upscale grocery was only a few blocks from his house. He recognized most everyone inside, employees and customers alike, from previous visits. His cashier was a regular and had waited on him numerous times before. She had harshly dyed blonde hair over salon tan skin, and wore too much makeup for his taste. Her face had deep creases but she wasn't unattractive. She looked like she was in her early forties but still dressed like she was eighteen, with a spaghetti-strap halter top that didn't quite reach the top of her ultra-tight jeans visible underneath her employee smock. She had a damn good body for someone her age, including a big rack, but her clothes screamed Trailer Park. Mike took her for purebred white trash the first time he saw her, when she sported a small bruise under one eye poorly concealed by makeup. He noticed she tended to talk to the men in her lane a lot more than the women, and he'd heard her flirting with them more than once. He'd checked once – no ring on her finger. She'd engaged him in conversation on his last several visits, now that she recognized him as a regular, trying to pry a little personal information from him. Mike had been mostly unresponsive, which only seemed to encourage her.

Big Ass finally cleared out of the way and Mike moved up. He only had a few items, mostly frozen pizzas and a few bags of fresh fruit, plus a twenty-ounce cold plastic bottle of Diet Coke from the small cooler at the end of the checkout lane. The cashier, whose nametag – of course – read Darla, looked up at Mike and recognized him. She surreptitiously turned and glanced outside. He'd parked his big Mercedes – brand new – within view of the door. She gave him a big smile.

"How you doin' today?" she asked him.

"Fine," he said, tossing the last of his items onto the conveyor.

"I've seen you in here before," Darla said, the big smile still on her face. "You live around here?" She whipped his items across the scanner without even looking.

Mike looked up at her then, and pursed his lips. "Yeah, not too far away." He studied her thin, tanned face openly. She looked like she'd been rode hard and put away wet quite a few times in her life. He was willing to bet that's what she expected out of men, and life, and had probably learned to enjoy it..

"Michael, right?"

She had gotten his name off his credit card a week or two before. He was young and hot, and she'd noticed him the first time he'd walked in. He wasn't too talkative, but she'd noticed the lack of a wedding ring immediately. Not that that made much of a difference to her, if the guy was hot enough. This one was younger than what she usually went for, but the Mercedes had gotten her attention.

"Mike."

"I'm Darla." Her smile widened.

He nodded at her nametag. "I know." He dug out a big wad of bills and handed her two twenties. She pretended not to notice the big wad. He came in shopping at all hours, never buying much. She didn't know what he did for a living, but his hours didn't seem to be regular, and he always had a lot of cash.

She took a deep breath as she made change. "You married?"

Mike paused, and looked her straight in the eyes, almost daring her. "Nope."

She cleared her throat. "You, uh, maybe want to go out to eat sometime? I know this place not too far from here that's got great burgers."

"What time do you get off work?"

"What, uh, today? Um, five."

"I'll pick you up." He grabbed his bag of groceries and the receipt out of her hand.

"Um, but . . ." She looked down at what she was wearing. She thought the smock was hideous; she could only imagine what the cute Mercedes owner must think of it. She looked back up to ask if maybe she had time to go home and change first but he was already through the doors.

Mike caught up to Big Ass in the parking lot where she was bent over inside the rear hatch of a minivan. She glanced over at him when she heard the approaching footsteps.

"If you didn't eat so much crap you wouldn't be so fat," he told her.

The woman straightened up and her mouth opened in surprise. She'd never even seen this guy before.

"Your ass is gigantic," he went on, marveling at its size. Her bottom half was nearly as wide as the back of her minivan. Above the waist she was only slightly chubby, which made her back end seem even bigger.

"Just who do—" she began, as soon as she found her tongue.

"Shut up," he told her tiredly. He never stopped, only slowed down, and began walking faster as he neared his car. "You want a diet tip? You're only allowed to eat a meal after you swallow come."

The large-bottomed woman didn't respond to that, but a skinny middle-aged brunette exiting a nearby car heard what he said and gasped.

"You jackass pig!" she snapped.

Mike recognized this new woman. He saw her quite frequently at the store. His roaming eyes took in her Cadillac and her expensive clothes and two hundred dollar hairdo.

"Who said you could talk to me, you tight-ass trophy-wife bitch?" he snarled back at her. "You're not allowed to talk to me until you can fit this inside your clenched little rear." He tossed her the bottle of Diet Coke, which she caught reflexively. "Whyn't you go home right now and start stretching. You shop on Thursdays?" He pointed at the plastic bottle in her hand. "Next Thursday when you come in, I don't want anything peeking out but the bottlecap and a smile."

He climbed into his car without giving her or Big Ass another look. By the time he was out of the lot both women were in their cars and hurrying for home.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Darla asked him as the waitress took their menus away. She took a long, nervous drag from her cigarette, then a swig from the Bud in front of her.

They'd made small talk in his Mercedes on the way over from the Shop-Mor. She'd seemed a little ill at ease sitting on the fine-grained leather in her denim jacket. Mike had tried to hide his amusement at her discomfort. It was obvious she felt she was a little out of his league. She'd found out she was exactly twenty years older than him, old enough to be his mother. He looked older, but was really only twenty-three. If she'd known that she probably wouldn't have asked him out. She knew he could get younger, prettier women than her.

"Smoking's bad for you," he responded.

She squinted at him curiously, then nodded. "I know. God knows I've tried to quit half a dozen times. Always start right back up." She stared at her nails, which of course looked like crap, and she didn't have the bottle with her for a touch-up.

Mike nodded slowly. He stared at her tits under her thin top, wrapped in a bra just a hair too small. She had cleavage to spare. "Like the car?"

She looked at him, then smiled a little, almost guiltily, and glanced down briefly. "Yeah." She'd just been thinking about his car. How much did something like that cost? Fifty grand? More? She could barely afford next month's four-hundred-dollar house payment. When she saw him staring at her tits she inwardly sighed with relief and arched her back just lightly. Guys had been staring at her tits since the day they'd sprouted and they hadn't let her down yet. "Smells new." She sucked down the rest of her Bud, then looked around for the waitress.

"It is." He stared at her tits some more. Very nice. Big, double D's probably, and they had to be real, she didn't have the money for a boob job. He watched her sucking down more smoke. Women who smoked, he'd found, were usually much more oral than non-smokers -- in every way.

She stared at him earnestly, appraisingly, almost hungrily. This could get interesting, he thought .

"You want to know what I do?" he asked her.

"Yeah."

"Nothing."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "Nothing?"

He nodded. "Not a damn thing."

She wasn't sure if he was joking or not, then her eyebrows went up. "Inheritance?" she said, trying to conceal her excitement but failing.

Mike gave a little chuckle. "Nope. I'm a freelance consultant for about a dozen companies."

"Really? What kind of consultant? What do you do?"

"Like I said, not a damn thing. They pay me and I cash the checks, and I don't do a thing."

Now she seemed confused. "Then what are they paying you for?"

Mike smiled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Darla raised her eyebrows and looked at him. The change in light as she tilted her head made her wrinkles deepen with shadow. Her nose was a little too big for her face, he noticed. "Try me," she said tauntingly.

Mike tilted his head. So she wanted to play? He was really starting to like her. What the hell.

"You see this?" he asked her, turning his head and pulling his hair back a little. He stuck his forefinger out and buried it thumbnail deep in a divot she hadn't noticed above his left ear near the top of his head.

"Oooh, what happened?"

"Car accident," he told her. "When I was seventeen. I wasn't driving, a friend of mine was. Neither of us were wearing seatbelts. I went through the windshield. He ended up getting killed. Even with this big dent in my head, I felt fine. No bleeding, not a scratch on me. Didn't even hurt. They ran all sorts of tests, said I was a lucky bastard, and let me out two days later. It took me two or three months to notice something strange was going on."

"What?"

He smiled, and shook his head. "If I tell you to do something, you'll do it. Not just you, any woman. And you'll think it was your own free will. Doesn't work on guys, I don't really know why. With women it works every time."

She laughed. "What?"

"I know. I'm crazy, I'm a nut. That's why I don't mind telling you. Nobody believes it."

"What do you mean, they do what you tell them? Like what?"

He shrugged. "Anything. If I told you to rip off your clothes and dance around the table naked, or set your head on fire, you'd do it."

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. He shrugged again. "Told you you wouldn't believe me."

She blinked a couple of times. "What does this have to do with consulting?"

"All the companies that pay me are owned by women. They're small enough so that they don't have stockholders that'll get suspicious, and yet won't go broke paying me. I went in there and told them to pay me a salary and put me on the books as a freelance consultant. So they did."

She lit up another cigarette and stared at him through the smoke. Just her luck. "Boy, you sure don't look crazy, but I guess I can still pick 'em." She knew there had to be a reason he was still single.

He smiled at her. He really was starting to like her. "Sorry," he said with a big smile.

She shook her head again. "So tell me to do something," she suggested. "Bark like a dog, or pretend I'm a chicken."

He laughed out loud. "I could, but it wouldn't work. I mean, you'd think you were doing it because you wanted to. That you just changed your mind or something."

"Uh huh." She tapped some ash into the ashtray. Their waitress appeared then with another beer for Darla. Mike watched her for a second, as she leaned over the table, then noticed Darla staring at him. She jerked her head ever so slightly at the waitress, a smirk on her face. Like she was daring him.

Mike glanced up at the waitress. She was a skinny teenager with long blonde hair and a few zits she'd tried to hide with too much makeup. Her nametag read KRISTEEN. She had on a green uniform polo shirt over khakis. Over the khakis was the small pocket-laden apron stuffed with straws, napkins, and her order book.

"Kristeen," he said, as she straightened up to go. She turned slightly toward him, slightly breathless from running around. The restaurant was nearly full.

"Yes?"

Her breasts weren't very big, maybe big B-cups in a bra whose white straps occasionally peeked out, but underneath the baggy khakis it looked like she had a firm, tight ass.

"Tell me the truth," Mike said, "what kind of panties are you wearing?"

"Thong," the young waitress answered without hesitation. Darla looked up at her, then glanced at Mike, who was smiling and having a great time.

"Really," he said happily. "So you're a slut?"

"No," she replied, without any rancor. "I just like the way they make my ass look. And feel."

"Okay. Why don't you go into the bathroom and take your bra and thong off. Throw your bra away, you don't need it. Then come back out here and show me your thong. And don't forget to put the rest of your clothes back on."

"Okay.' She turned on her heel and disappeared toward the restrooms. Mike sat back and looked at his date.

Darla didn't say anything for a while. "She a friend of yours?" she asked after a while.

"Never seen her before in my life," Mike replied. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Kristeen returned to the table. It was obvious to both of them she'd taken her bra off. Her small breasts jiggled enthusiastically under her shirt as she walked across the floor. A white satin thong was crumpled in her hand and she held it out for Mike to see.

"Thanks," he said. "Not much fabric to it, is there? Why don't you eat it while you're checking to see if our order's up."

"Okay," the young girl said cheerfully. She popped the ball of white fabric into her mouth and began chewing as she turned and walked away. Mike looked across the table at Darla, who looked both angry and shocked.

"How much are you paying her? That was disgusting."

"Told ya, never seen her before in my life. As for disgusting," he paused and stared at her pointedly, "you need to work on your acting. I've just met you and I'd bet you've had things in your mouth that would make that thong taste like a breath mint."

She colored and angrily stubbed out her cigarette. Before she could respond Kristeen returned with their food. They both watched her chewing busily as she laid their plates on the table. "Don't ever wear a bra," Mike told her. "And when you're giving head, always swallow."

"Okay," she said, a half-chewed lump of thong in her cheek. "Is there anything else you need right now?"

Mike looked down at his food, then at Darla's. "No, I think we're fine," he told her. "You can throw whatever's left of that thong away."

"Thanks. Just let me know if you need anything." She turned on her heel and disappeared.

"These do look like good burgers." Mike looked up at his date, who looked like she'd lost her appetite. She stared at him, nervously sucking at her cigarette. He could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head.

"Did she really do that just because you told her to?" she asked after a minute.

"Yep," Mike said around a mouthful of burger.

She picked up her bottle of beer and quickly drank half of it down. "I think you know her, that you're pulling a scam," she said.

Mike shrugged. "Could be," he admitted. He finished chewing and stared at her. "But you're soaking wet just thinking about the possibilities, aren't you?" he said quietly. "That maybe I can make you do whatever I want just by telling you."

Her face turned dark red and she puffed furiously on her cigarette, but she didn't say anything. Her nipples were hard as rocks though her blouse. She hadn't touched her food yet. Mike took another bite of the big burger and chewed slowly. After he swallowed, he said, "If I tell you, or even ask you to do what she just did, I won't know if it's you doing it of your own free will or not."

She blinked and looked at him through the cigarette smoke. "Are you telling me you want me to go into the bathroom and—"

"If I tell you, you'll do it," Mike said pointedly, his voice free of doubt. "I'm tired of telling women what to do. It's getting boring. I want one that'll do it just because she wants to do it and not because I tell her to."

Darla finished another cigarette, not saying anything, and pushed around the fries on her plate while Mike worked at his burger. Suddenly she stood up from the table, paused a second, then turned and walked off. Mike kept eating, not looking up to see if she was heading for the bathrooms or the exit. He ate another four bites, sipping at his pop, and then Darla was back, standing beside her chair.

She seemed out of breath, and looked flushed. Her nipples were hard as rocks and every man in the restaurant who could see her could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. Mike held out his hand.

Her hand quivering, Jenny placed a wadded up ball of black satin in his palm. He could tell just from the amount of material that it was a thong. With a shuddering breath she sat back down in her seat and picked up her fork.

Mike set the wadded up underwear on the table next to his plate and watched as it partially unfurled. He looked across the table and saw Darla was staring at it as well.

"Do you want me to tell you to do something?" he asked her quietly.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She sat like that for over a minute, her face conflicted.

"You're a total slut, aren't you?" he said.

She licked her lips, coloring just slightly, then looked him in the eye. "Yes."

"Say it."

"What?"

"You heard me."

She sat and looked at him for just a second. "I'm a slut," she said in a voice husky with passion.

"Just a slut?" he prompted with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm a total slut," she told him.

"Really?"

"I'm a dirty little whore," she breathed. "The only thing I'm good at is fucking."

Mike smiled, and picked his burger back up. "I thought so."

In the restaurant parking lot, Mike sat behind the wheel and looked across the car at Darla, who was still breathing rapidly. Even in the shadowed interior he could see her hard nipples poking at her shirt. He'd left her panties sitting on the table next to the tip. She seen that but hadn't commented, just silently followed him out to the big Mercedes.

Jesus, I can't believe I'm doing this , she thought, as she stared at his silhouette. When he shifted on the seat, though, turning slightly toward her, she found herself sliding across the leather to him. A voice in her head echoed quietly: He's young enough to be my son, but the thought only got her more excited .

Mike said nothing as she expertly undid his belt and pants and sucked him into her mouth. He was soft at first, but the self-professed white trash slut was an expert cocksucker, as he'd suspected, and in no time had all eight and a quarter of his inches down her throat. He reached under her with one hand and undid the two buttons on her top so he could play with her surprisingly firm tits. Her nipples felt as hard as they looked and she groaned as he pinched them.

He squeezed and pinched her nipples and breasts, but the abuse only heightened her excitement. She was a drooler and a slurper, and soon the car echoed with the wet sounds of her bobbing, sucking mouth.

Mike said nothing when he was getting close, only placed one hand lightly on the back of her neck. She increased her pace, and a few seconds later he grunted and began spurting. She slurped even louder and swallowed it all, as he knew she would.

She sucked until she was sure she had it all, then sat up and wiped her mouth. Mike said nothing, just glanced from her down to his still undone pants. She bent back over and carefully stashed his equipment away before zipping up his pants and wrestling with his belt.

Mike started the car and put it into gear, pulling out of the parking lot as Darla slid back over to her side of the car. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her tits bounce as the Mercedes' wheels hit a pothole.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then he saw her shaking her head. "I'm an idiot," she said, finally buttoning up her blouse. She looked at him inside the dark car. "Crazy. You're fucking scamming me with a line of bullshit and I fucking fell for it. Hell, I still half believe it. And I don't even know who the hell you are."

He smiled. "Yes you do. And I know who you are." His eyes moved up to the rearview mirror, and he frowned.

"What?" She looked out the back window and saw a police car behind them with its lights going. Mike pulled the Mercedes to the curb with a sigh.

"I wasn't even speeding," he told her. "It's the car. Envy, or something."

Between the red and blue flashers and the spotlight aimed right at his side mirror all Mike could see of the officer was a silhouette until he was next to the car. By that time he had his license, registration, and proof of insurance in his hand and the window down.

"Was I speeding?" he asked tiredly, as the officer stopped at his elbow.

"You don't know how fast you were going, sir?"

Mike glanced up at the officer, then smiled widely, almost beaming. He turned to look across the car at Darla, then back up at the officer.

"Tell me the truth, why'd you stop me?" he asked.

"I saw the car. You're rich, you can afford a ticket, and I've got a quota," the female cop told him brusquely.

The officer had brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and a pinched face. Under the bulky Kevlar vest and duty belt it was hard to tell what kind of body she had but she wasn't fat.

"Tell you what," Mike told her with a smile. "I'll consider this a warning, and you can ticket somebody else to make your quota.'

"Yes Sir."

Mike glanced over at Darla. Her mouth was open slightly, and she had an expression of disbelief on her face. He looked back at the cop, who'd closed her ticket book.

"Hey, that's nice, what is that, a Glock? Hand me your gun, please."

"Yes Sir." The cop unholstered her pistol and handed it to Mike, making sure not to point it at him. Mike turned to Darla and just let her look at the gun for a minute before turning back to the officer.

"Could you bend down here please? Good. Now, open your mouth." Mike put the muzzle of the pistol into the officer's open mouth. He looked over his shoulder at Darla, who was too terrified to speak. "Suck it. Harder. Slurp a little. Good, very good."

"Thank you." He pulled the gun out of the woman's mouth and handed it back to her. "Hey, do you have a baton? Let me see it."

The cop reached behind her back and produced a short black shaft about eight inches long. "That's it? Seems kinda short."

"It's telescoping," she told him.

"Hmm." He studied her for a few seconds. "They say a lot of female cops are lesbians. Tell me, are you?"

"Yes, I am," she said immediately.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes."

Mike handed her his driver license. "Here, copy down my address. Film the two of you having sex. Use the baton, on yourself if she won't let you do it to her. Send me a copy of the tape. I want it within two weeks."

"Yes Sir." She scribbled his address into a small spiral notebook, then handed the license back to him.

"You have a nice night," he told her.

"You too sir. Drive safe." She turned around and walked back toward the flashing lights of her cruiser. Mike put the Mercedes into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb.

"Oh my fucking God!" Darla exclaimed. She stared out the back window of the big sedan, watching the lights of the police car fade into the distance. Then the lights went off and she could see the cruiser pull a U-turn.

"Told ya."

"You really can do it! It's like mind control or something! You just say it and they do it? Like they're hypnotized?" Unconsciously she had a hand between her legs, squeezing.

"Well, I guess it is a little like hypnotism, but everybody's awake."

He could hear her heavy breathing. "So you could tell me to do anything," she panted, "and I'd do it?"

"Yes."

"Run around naked, rob a bank, set my house on fire, fuck a dog?"

"Near as I've been able to tell." Interesting choices , he thought.

She was silent for several long minutes. She sat half-facing him, but in the passing lights he couldn't really make out her face. He could hear her breathing, though, which remained heavy.

"And you're a sick, twisted, son of a bitch," she said finally.

Mike smiled at her in the dark. "You bet your ass."

"God, I'm soaking wet," she panted.

"Is this it?"

"Yeah."

Mike studied the small single-story house through the windshield. It needed new siding and the detached one-car garage had definite support problems, but it wasn't a complete hovel. Over dinner he'd learned she was forty-three, twice divorced and childless, had three tattoos, and owned a seven-year-old Buick which was currently in the shop for a new transmission, which she wasn't sure she could afford.

"Want to come in?" she asked him, desperately trying not to sound desperate.

He sat against his door, not saying anything for a while. Finally he said, "I can have any woman I want do anything I want, and think it's her idea. And I do, a lot . But it gets old. I'm looking for someone who doesn't need me to tell them what to do. I'm a sick, twisted, perverted bastard and after almost six years of being able to tell any woman I meet what to do, and have her do it, I've seen and done everything, twice. And I'm going to keep doing it, even if you're around." He sat silent for another ten seconds. The perks she could figure out for herself. "You interested?"

She gave him another frenzied blowjob sitting right there at the curb in front of her house, gulping down his come noisily. She sat up, her tits still hanging out of her top, and he played with them for a few minutes inside the dark car.

"I don't like a lot of makeup,' he told her, making sure not to tell her. "And I prefer my women shaved." He sat and looked at her for a few seconds, then reached out and roughly pinched her nipples. She gasped and shuddered and arched her back ever so slightly. "How wet are you?" he asked

Her hand went between her legs. She'd soaked her jeans through. "Sopping."

"Good. What time do you get off work tomorrow?"

"Five."

He found a piece of paper inside the glove box and scribbled on it. "This is where I live," he told her. She took the paper, looked at him intently, and nodded. She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the Mercedes, not bothering to tuck her tits back in, then leaned back down as if to talk to him. Mike waited, then saw that she had leaned over only to show him her bare dangling tits. She shook them from side to side gently, then closed the car door and walked away toward her house.

POS CHAPTER 2

Mike awakened slowly as he did most mornings, blinking his eyes in the early morning light. He looked down his body to see Queenie had pulled back the covers only far enough for her to get at his cock. She was busily sucking it, dressed in her expensive work clothes – tailored suit, panty-hose, high heels, wire-framed glasses, and conservative makeup, which she always had to redo after waking him up.

He'd met her at a Starbucks one day, where she'd rudely brushed him off when he tried to make conversation. That hadn't worked at all. He learned she was married to a lawyer named Kurt and had a daughter, Ellie, aged four. As penance for her unwarranted rudeness she now stopped at his house on her way to work every day and woke him with her mouth. She thought it was her idea, and it got her so hot that she always begged him to fuck her, and he always said no. He'd actually told her it would get her really horny, just like he'd told her to always swallow both his and her husband's come – Mike wasn't against spreading the wealth, so to speak.

Mike always held off as long as he could, hoping to make her late for work, but after eighteen months Queenie had become a virtuoso cocksucker and before he was even fully alert he came with a grunt. She sucked the last drops out of him then quickly stood up, smoothing her skirt.

"I'm going to be late," she said hurriedly, producing a tube of lipstick.

"How's your love life, cunt?" he asked warmly.

"Fine, I guess," she said, touching up her lipstick.

"Fine? He fuck you in the ass much?"

She looked at him with an expression resembling horror. "Oh no, that'd hurt." She finished with her lipstick and checked her hair with her hands.

"Buy some good lube at an adult bookstore," he told her. "Astroglide, or something like it. If you can't find it, ask for help, and make sure you tell them exactly what you need it for. Next time you know you're going to have sex lube yourself up and put him in your ass without telling him first. You'll come every time."

"Okay," she said. She grabbed her purse. "Gotta run." She disappeared and he heard her making her way downstairs. He heard the front door, which she locked with her key.

That prick lawyer will never know who melted his ice princess for him , Mike thought. You're welcome, bastard . He got up and headed for the bathroom.

The fat teenage runaway he'd spotted in the mall was sitting on the toilet shaving her pussy. She wasn't fat after two months of eating only what he authorized, only slightly chubby, and he was happy to see her tits had only lost a fraction of their former impressive size. The girl had very fair skin and blonde hair, and smelled much better now that she took a shower each morning.

"Morning, Tits," he said, stopping before her. She stopped shaving and put her mouth around his still half-hard cock. With a sigh he released his full bladder into her waiting orifice and she began gulping down his urine. He bent over and played with her huge soft breasts as she drank, squeezing and kneading her pale flesh like dough. He heard splashing in the bowl as she released her own bladder. That day he'd noticed her at the mall she'd acted like a dog that'd been beaten too much and smelled like she hadn't bathed in a month. He hoped she'd come away from her time with him with some sense and manners, not to mention proper hygiene. Mike told her not to leave the house or talk to anyone without his permission, but that was it, and so far things seemed to have worked out. Sometimes he wondered what she thought of him, but she'd been told not to speak unless spoken to so he'd never know unless he asked, and he didn't care that much. Since the women he gave instructions to seemed to think things were their idea he supposed the chubby girl was at least satisfied with the situation. In a week or two he'd send her back to her parents, thinner and wiser and better behaved.

He took a long, hot shower while Tits finished shaving, then shaved in front of the sink while she crouched on the floor and shaved his balls. She sucked on them while he brushed his teeth, staring up at him with big eyes, his cock laying across her forehead. She was so pale her body was almost white, and her curves always made him think of the Pilsbury Dough Boy even though she wasn't fat anymore. Her body was either white or pink. White face, pink lips, pink tongue. Pink nipples, white tits. White pussy, but inside it was all pink. Pink little asshole. She hadn't worn clothes since he'd brought her into the house and he wondered idly how long it'd take her to get used to them again once he sent her off.

Tits couldn't cook worth a damn but she was trying. Mike read the paper while she bustled around in the kitchen, big tits flopping around. It was French toast this morning, which she overdid as usual, but he could eat anything if it had syrup on it. She knelt on the floor under the table while he ate, ready to service him if he gave her the signal. When he was finished he set the plate on the floor so she could lick up the syrup, which was all the breakfast she was allowed.

Her big white tits puddled on the cold floor next to the plate as she lapped at the porcelain. Mike stuck the handles of his knife and fork deep into the pink gash of the kneeling teen and stood up from the table. He went upstairs to get dressed. Tits finished licking the plate clean and then reached around to pull the utensils from her pussy. She brought both them and the plate to the sink and began washing and drying all the dishes by hand even though there was a new electronic dishwasher just a few feet away.

Mike had been thinking a lot about Darla's comments to him the night before. Her mentioning how his power of suggestion was a lot like what a hypnotist did had a lot of new ideas swirling around inside his head. He grabbed his gym bag, filled it with his workout clothes, and headed back downstairs.

"When you finish the dishes you need to vacuum and dust the whole downstairs," he told Tits, still washing dishes. "Do a good job. Then if I'm not home yet I want you to do the upstairs. If I'm still not home I want you to stick that big dildo with the suction cup on the bottom on the edge of the bathtub and fuck it like you're mad at it. It'll be good exercise for your ass and thighs and your stomach muscles. Enjoy yourself, but I don't want you coming."

"Okay," she said lightly, not turning from the sink. He smacked her ass playfully, leaving a pink handprint on her white cheek, and headed out.

Darla sat in his driveway, her headlights off, and stared up at the house.

Jesus Christ , she thought. The place was huge, with big bay windows and a fabulous chandelier visible inside the foyer lit up like a Christmas tree. Four car garage, walkway lighting, landscaping that probably cost more than her house. And her in a piece of crap Buick with a transmission she still didn't think was fixed. There was a maroon minivan parked up near the garage doors with the logo of a gourmet catering service on its doors. This is crazy .

She quickly checked her makeup in the rearview mirror – hardly any, compared to what she normally put on. She felt naked. Just a little highlight around her eyes and some dark red lipstick, plus some strategic dabs of perfume.

She was nervous and excited, and soaking wet, again wondering just what the hell she was doing and if this was all a big scam by some psycho. She stared up at the house again. Well, he was a rich psycho, if nothing else. She'd done crazier shit with guys that didn't have a pot to piss in, although there'd usually been alcohol involved.

She climbed out of the car and smoothed the wrinkles in her outfit, wondering once again if she'd chosen right. The night air felt cool on her wet pussy, and she surreptitiously squeezed her thighs together. Her nipples were so hard they ached. Well, too late now if he didn't like what she had on. At least this time she'd been able to go home, clean up, and change first. He'd told her to – no, that wasn't right. He hadn't told her anything. He'd asked how late she'd be working, then given her his address. It was nearly seven, but she'd gotten ready as fast as she could. She had no idea if he'd think she was late. She had no idea if he'd like her outfit, or makeup. She hardly knew the man, which had her scared and excited in a way she'd never been before, and she'd seen a lot of shit in her day.

She made her way up the wide flagstone steps, her five-inch heels clicking loudly, and pushed the illuminated doorbell. She took a deep breath, checked her hair with her hands, then quickly sucked in her stomach and stuck out her chest as she heard footsteps on the other side of the thick oaken door.

Mike pulled open the heavy door and leaned on it. He looked her over with appraising eyes. He'd wondered a lot about what she might wear. Would she go slutty, or classy, or white trash formal? And what, exactly, met her definition of slutty, or classy?

Darla wore a two-piece outfit of black stretch velvet, a sleeveless midriff-baring top over snug, low-waisted tights. A silvery dangle shone from her pierced navel. He hadn't noticed jewelry there before – maybe the grocery store wouldn't let her wear it. On her feet were shiny black pumps with heels that had to be close to five inches. Between the muted porchlight and the fuzzy velvet it was hard to tell, but he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra. The ensemble looked like something out of a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog, both cheap and slutty. While she did have a great body for someone her age, she didn't have the rail-thin arms of a teenager or the six-pack abs of an aerobics junkie. Her bare stomach had a little jiggle to it, not much, but more than Mike expected to see on someone wearing that outfit. Her gut bulged ever so slightly over the waistband of the tights, which for some reason got him hot as hell. He imagined nibbling at that curve of skin, pulling on that silver bauble at her bellybutton with his teeth.

She rubbed her palms nervously on her hips. "I wasn't sure what to wear."

Mike smiled. "It's perfect." He moved aside and she stepped in past him, staring at him nervously for just a second before looking away.

"Wow," she said, staring upward at the chandelier. Mike shut the door and checked out her ass. Firm and heart-shaped underneath the stretch velvet. Nice. She caught him looking but he didn't look away, instead meeting her gaze squarely. She took a deep breath.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," she said with conviction, almost pleading with him. He just smiled at her, noticing not just the tattoo of Minnie Mouse on her left shoulder but the tongue piercing. Total white trash. She was perfect.

"I'm not going to tell you anything," he said pointedly. "You hungry?

She realized that her stomach was gurgling, and that something smelled delicious. "I saw the van outside," she told him. "Did you cater dinner?"

Mike smiled at her. "Sort of. C'Mon."

She followed him across the hardwood floor, around the big staircase, and through a wide doorway. She found herself in his kitchen, and they weren't alone. Her mouth opened in surprise but she really had no idea what to say.

"Darla, this is Michelle, that was her van you saw outside. She owns the catering company, actually. She's an excellent chef, but she doesn't get to cook as much as she used to, so I ask her to come over now and then and cook for me. Michelle, this is Darla."

Michelle was at the sink, washing some greens. She turned halfway around and smiled at Darla. "Nice to meet you," she said warmly. "You're going to love what I've prepared," she assured her guest.

"Um, you too," Darla said. "Er . . . when are you due?"

Michelle looked down at her swollen belly and smiled happily. "Two weeks," she said. "It'll be our second." She turned back to the sink.

" Our ?" Darla asked, looking at Mike. He tried not to laugh.

"Michelle's married to an engineer, works for General Dynamics," Mike said. "They're practically newlyweds."

Michelle looked over her shoulder at them. "He's such a teaser," she told Darla. "We've been married almost four years already, he just likes to make fun." Michelle was a cute brunette with her hair cut in a short pageboy. Darla guessed she was in her early thirties.

Darla's eyebrows went up. "Oh." Her head was spinning. The whole situation was surreal – here they were, three adults, having a normal, relaxed conversation, and the whole time Michelle was completely nude. And neither she nor Mike seemed to think anything of it.

The pregnant chef's belly was hugely swollen, but showing only a few stretchmarks. Her breasts looked engorged and shiny with milk, her nipples big and dark. Darla had seen plenty of pregnant women nude in her life, friends or women at the gym, but she hadn't expected to see one making her dinner. She turned to Mike, who was enjoying her reaction. She looked back to Michelle.

"You like cooking in the nude?" she asked the chef.

"Very much so," she answered, not turning around as she chopped carrots. "I don't get to do it nearly as often as I'd like. It's Mike and my little secret."

"I bet."

"Would you like something to drink?" Mike asked Darla.

She gave a little laugh. "Yeah, but I don't know if I should."

Just then Tits walked into the kitchen and began setting the table. At first Darla could only stare in astonishment at the nude young girl, then finally the hilarious absurdity of the situation revealed itself to her and she had to laugh. "So who's this?" she asked.

"Tits," Mike said, with no further explanation.

"Well, no shit," Darla blurted, unable to take her eyes off the chubby girl's giant juddering breasts. That surprised Mike, and he laughed and laughed. Tits ignored them both and continued setting the table with the good china and silverware.

"How many other women you got hidden around this house?" Darla asked him. They were sitting on the huge leather couch in the family room, waiting for the dinner to finish cooking. She sat on the opposite curve so she could see his face. Between sips of her whiskey she kept glancing at Tits, who was kneeling beside the arm of the couch, staring up at him.

"Tonight it's just you. Michelle will be taking off just as soon as the food's on the table and she can get her clothes on."

"Just me?" she asked, nodding at Tits.

"I forget about her sometimes."

Darla stared at the teenager, whose pillow-like tits hung almost to her thighs as she knelt on the thick carpet. She threw back the rest of her drink and looked for a place to put the glass.

"Want to see the rest of the house?" Mike asked her.

"Sure, what the fuck."

"This looks spectacular," Mike told the pregnant chef, who was standing next to the table. She blushed with pride and rubbed her round belly unconsciously. Mike looked at . . . "Tits?" The girl was behind him and he pointed her at Michelle.

Michelle had made enough food for six people but Mike liked it that way; he always had leftovers if he needed them. He and Darla sat down at the polished table and stared at the steaming bowls of food. He lifted up lids, peeking and sniffing.

"I think we've got French and Chinese," he told his date.

Darla barely heard him. She was staring at Michelle, who stood in the dining room doorway moaning. At Mike's command Tits had dropped to her knees and buried her face between the pregnant woman's buttocks. Michelle gasped and moaned as Tits vigorously tongued her asshole. Tits wormed her face deeper and deeper into the chef's crack, then Michelle reached back with her hands and spread her cheeks apart to give Tits easier access. She gasped louder and pushed her ass back into Tits' burrowing tongue.

"You ever been with a woman?" Mike asked her, serving them both food.

Darla answered without taking her eyes off the women. "I'm not a dyke," she said.

Mike smiled. "Neither are they."

Darla looked back at him. Behind her she could hear moaning and wet slurps. She felt herself getting wet all over again. She shrugged. "Sometimes you get tired of guys. I've done a lot of crazy shit when I was drunk."

Mike grinned at her. "Sure." He set her filled plate down in front of her. The sounds behind Darla changed and she turned around again. Michelle was slouched in a big oak chair, her back to the dining room, legs hooked over the padded arms. Tits had her face buried under the pregnant woman's distended belly. The pretty chef sounded like a mewling kitten as Tits' lapping tongue drew her closer and closer to the edge. Michelle was pinching her dark nipples and rolling them between thumb and forefinger. Darla could see Tits' spread thighs through the chair legs. The girl was furiously masturbating as she licked at the pregnant beauty. The smell of pussy filled the room.

Mike saw the flush on Darla's neck, could see her breathing more rapidly. It was definitely going to be a hell of a night, and things had just started.

Tits wet her index finger and pressed it against Michelle's spit-slick asshole. The woman groaned. When the chubby girl slid the length of her finger into Michelle's ass in one slow push the woman cried out in tiny voice and came with a shudder.

Darla turned back to Mike, who regarded her with a smirk. "Is it like this around here a lot?" she asked him.

His face split in a huge smile. "All the time."

"So, what'd you think?" Mike asked his guest.

Darla leaned against the back of her chair and lit another cigarette. She looked at her empty plate, then at Tits, kneeling on the area rug next to the table. Michelle had dressed and left about twenty minutes earlier.

"About the food, or the show?"

He smiled. "The food."

"It was really good."

"Yeah, Michelle's great." He sipped at his water, then looked down at Tits kneeling on the floor beside the table. He pursed his lips, then looked up at Darla, who was watching him carefully.

"You want to see a show?" he asked her.

"What kind?"

Mike had to chuckle. "I've been thinking about what you said, how I was like a hypnotist. I never thought of it that way, but you're sort of right. I started thinking about the kind of things hypnotists do and thought I'd try a few things out. Lately I've been kinda bored and thought it'd be fun. You game?"

Darla took a long drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out on her plate. "Sure, what the fuck."

Mike wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Don't know if this'll work," he admitted. He looked over. "Tits!"

The chubby girl looked up at him. "Spread your legs," he told her. She spread her knees apart on the rug until both Mike and Darla could see her smooth pale mound with its underside cleft. "Lift your arms up, pull your forearms behind your neck. I like the way your tits look when you do that. Yeah."

"You can't move," he told her. "You're frozen in place. All you can do is blink. Look right at Darla, look her in the eyes. You're really horny now. You're getting just sopping wet."

The chubby girl didn't move, but Darla saw her breathing quicken. "I know you really want to play with yourself. It's too bad you can't move. Lucky thing I installed a small trapdoor in the floor underneath you. It's opening now. You know what I've got down there? A huge dildo, the biggest one you've ever seen. Long as my arm to the elbow and thick as my forearm. I've got it attached to a hydraulic fucking machine down there." Mike looked at Darla, his eyes twinkling.

"It's sliding up right now. Can you feel it spreading your pussy lips?"

Tits groaned. "Yessss," she breathed.

"It's going in, all the way in, can you feel it?"

"Oh God," Tits moaned, "it's huge." She was panting now, still staring right at Darla. Darla shifted in her seat.

Mike looked between her spread thighs. "That thing's got to be a foot and a half long," he marveled, staring at nothing. "And you took the whole thing. It's got thick veins on it, like ropes or something, can you feel them? It's sliding out now. Back in, out, in, out, wow, that's fast, look at that go. How's that feel?"

Tits' eyes were wide, her mouth open and panting. Her nipples were hard and pointing. "Oh God, Oh God."

"I'm going to leave it turned on for a while, okay?" He sat back and watched her for a while. This was working out perfectly. He'd thought it would, but every once in a while he had his doubts. Maybe one day he'd lose the power. Maybe that day was today. Nope, not today. He looked across the table at his white trash slut houseguest. Even with the fuzzy black velvet he could see her nipples were hard, and she was panting nearly as hard as Tits.

"But you can't come," he told Tits. "I know it feels good, but the only way you can come is if Darla calls you a cunt. Every time she calls you a cunt it'll make you come. Every time." Tits' body was vibrating now, and she was moaning, staring unflinchingly into Darla's eyes. Darla looked over at Mike.

He shrugged at her, and nodded at Tits. He didn't know if this would work or not, he'd never done anything like it, using a third party.

Darla sat in her chair for a few seconds, then slowly got up. It was but two steps to Tits. The chubby girl kept her eyes on Darla the whole time. Darla squatted down and put her face just inches away from the panting girl's. Carefully, Darla reached her hands out and cupped the girl's big breasts, squeezing them softly. The girl moaned louder, and cried out in pleasure as Darla pinched and rolled her nipples between her fingers.

A twisted smile on her face, one of Darla's hands dropped down, sliding over Tits' soft round stomach, across her smooth mound, and between her legs. The girl was so wet her juices were running down the inside of her thighs. Darla found her hard little clit and rubbed it a little.

Tits' gasped and moaned fiercely as Darla played with her clit, but she remained frozen in place. Darla didn't want to spoil the idea of a giant dildo filling the girl and so restrained herself from sliding a finger or two into her throbbing folds.

She brought her fingers, slick with the young girl's juices, back to her mouth and sucked on them. She could hear Mike, behind her, breathing, as she sucked at her fingers while staring into the young girl's eyes. An evil smile stretched Darla's features.

"Cunt," she said softly.

Tits cried out, her pelvis shaking, and Darla was right there, watching everything. Tits made little chipmunk sounds and gasped as the contractions rippled through her flesh for almost ten seconds. This was real, it was really happening. This girl wasn't faking, she'd really just had an orgasm. And Darla had given it to her using only the sound of her voice. Jesus fucking Christ. She looked at Mike, who was licking his lips.

"I guess it works."

The crotch of his jeans was swollen with an obvious hard-on. Darla flashed her evil grin at him, then looked back at Tits. The girl was still panting harshly, her breasts moving up and down, quivering ever so slightly, and for a second Darla couldn't figure out why, since she'd stopped coming. Then she remembered about the dildo. Darla leaned close, putting her lips almost against Tits' ear.

"Cunt," she whispered, and sat back to watch the effect. Tits' second climax was identical to her first, and by the end the girl was panting like she'd just sprinted a mile. Darla found she was rubbing herself through her velvet tights, which were soaked through. She stood up and peeled them off quickly, bending to pull them over her pumps. Mike saw her pussy was smooth shaven with dangling, dark pink lips. There was a tattoo of a thorny rose on her right ass cheek, old enough to have started to blur. Darla rubbed her pussy lips, feeling the slick folds squirt in-between her fingers.

"Cunt," she said again. She felt a hand on her ass as Tits grunted and quivered, gasping like a fish out of water. Mike's chair squeaked as he turned it away from the table, and she heard him fumbling with his belt. She kept staring at Tits, who couldn't look away.

"Cunt," she said once more, almost before Tits' last orgasm had ended. She pulled her top over her head as she heard Mike's zipper come down. Darla got down on her hands and knees, her face inches from Tits' heaving chest, her ass pointed right at Mike. She arched her back so her pussy would stick out at him -- guys loved that. She reached a hand between Tits' legs and found her pussy was gaping open and fluttering with orgasmic contractions. Darla's hand came away dripping with juices and she sucked at her fingers as Mike knelt down behind her. She felt the head of his cock press against her own slobbery pussylips and begin sliding in.

"Oh Fuck!" she growled, coming just like that. The veins on her neck stood out and her face turned dark red as her pussy clenched around Mike's penetrating organ.

"Nnnnnnnngggggg cunt! " she finally managed to grunt out through clenched teeth. She gasped, and caught her breath, then sucked one of Tits' pink nipples into her mouth as the girl shuddered through her fifth orgasm in as many minutes. As soon as he was all the way into her hot depths Mike started banging his hips into Darla as hard as he could. She could feel his balls slapping her clit at the end of each stroke.

She sucked on Tits' big fat namesakes for a while, switching back and forth between the two, while Mike gripped her hips and fucked her for all he was worth.

Darla let Tits' nipple finally pop out of her mouth. "Yeah!" she urged Mike. He was slamming into her so hard each impact made her grunt. "Fuck that pussy! You like it?" She looked at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah," Mike grunted between thrusts. She had a decent amount of muscle on her, he could feel it under his fingers.

"Yeah, you like fucking my pussy. You feel my cunt muscles squeezing you?" Tits began grunting again at the magic word. Neither of them noticed. Darla was still looking over her shoulder.

"Fuck. Yeah."

"I'm milking your cock. I'm milking your cock with my cunt. You feel how wet I am? My cunt's a fucking swamp. Oh, Jesus. Ah, fuck." She let her head drop down between her arms and watched upside down her tits swinging and his balls battering her clit with each thrust.

"Fuck!" Her pussy went from barely snug to handcuff tight every time she clenched her well-trained muscles. Darla laughed and pushed her ass back at him, loving the feel of his cock pounding deep into her guts. There was nothing like getting it doggy. She glanced up and saw Tits was stiff as a board, teeth bared in a grimace of excrutiating pleasure as her body was rocked by three nearly simultaneous orgasms. Darla couldn't concentrate on the young girl for long as Mike speeded up his thrusts.

"I'm gonna come," he said warningly.

"Yeah, fuck yeah," Darla told him, thrusting her hips back to meet his every stroke. "Cum in my cunt. Fuck my big-lipped hole. You like it when I talk dirty?" She hoped so; she'd been talking dirty to guys since before she really understood what sex was. That had been one of her first sexual discoveries – guys liked a girl who'd talk about it almost as much as one who'd do it.

"Ah, Christ," Mike gasped, right on the edge, his hips moving as fast as he could make them. "Yeah."

She lifted her head again and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Dump your come into my sloppy cunt," she told him. "Fuck me like a rag doll. Fuck my cunt raw. I'm just a big-titted cum-slut who thinks with her cunt."

"Uhhh!" Mike came hard, banging hard into her. She could feel him spurting inside her and she rocked back against him. His squeezing hands were hurting her hips but she ignored the pain, focusing only on his throbbing, spitting cock buried in her pussy.

He leaned against her for a few seconds, catching his breath. "Jesus," he said. He hadn't come like that in a while. Darla smiled back at him, feeling his cock start to shrink inside her. She looked up at Tits with a smile, hoping she'd enjoyed herself. She was surprised to see the girl's eyes rolled back into her head, only the whites showing. She was shaking, and as Darla watched the girl fell over with a thud and rolled onto her back, still quivering. Darla suddenly realized during her foulmouthed tirade she'd said the magic word. A whole bunch of times, more than she could remember.

"What's the matter? She okay?" Mike asked. He pulled out and sat back with a grunt.

"She's coming," Darla told him. She watched Tits for a few seconds in fascination. Still on hands and knees she crawled over to the shaking teen. Tits still had her arms behind her head, her face framed by the backsides of her upper arms. With her mouth hanging open and her eyes rolled back it looked as if she was having a seizure.

"Ooh, baby," Darla purred, staring at the soft-bodied teen as her body quivered and shook. She ran her hands all over Tits' body, squeezing her flopping breasts, stroking her clit.

"Coming?" Mike asked.

"She's got a few to catch up on," Darla told him with a laugh.

Mike studied the older woman watching the shuddering, near-unconscious teen, her face lit up with excitement and the realization of the true, awesome power she had over another person. He got up and stood beside Darla, both of them looking down at Tits.

"With true power comes responsibility," he told her. "I was in high school when this happened to me. I did a lot of shit I regret, ruined people's lives just because they pissed me off. It's still tough, but I do my best not to be an asshole. It's too easy, and I don't need to be that way. You understand what I'm saying?"

Darla looked up at him. His cock was right in front of her face, slimy with come and pussy juice. She could see how he couldn't take his eyes off the shuddering big-titted teen even while he lectured her. While she watched his cock started to get hard again. Responsibility my ass.

Keeping her eyes on him, Darla leaned down toward Tits, until she could hear the girl's stuttering pants in her ear.

"Cunt, cunt, cunt," she said very clearly, staring at Mike. Eyes still locked on his, she straightened up and slid her mouth over his suddenly rock-hard cock, deep-throating him to the base in one smooth motion. Mike let out a harsh exclamation of breath as Darla's head began pistoning back and forth and Tits began flopping and grunting on the floor, drool running out of her mouth.

POWER OF SUGGESTION CHAP 3

Mike sighed, half asleep, as he felt Queenie's mouth slip over his already hard penis. He felt her tongue moving up and down and around as he drifted in and out of sleep. The bed shifted and he felt a weight, then a hot wetness engulfed his cock. She'd no sooner sunk all the way down onto his shaft when she started moving her hips up and down.

Mike struggled awake, blinking in the dim morning light, only to see it was Darla squatting above him, not Queenie. His head flopped back down onto the pillow with a grunt.

"Expecting somebody else?" she asked. Almost all of her weight was on her feet and hands as she moved up and down, her big-lipped pussy milking his cock. Her hair was disheveled from sleep, the mascara around her eyes smudged. Mike watched her tits swinging as she pumped her hips.

"Actually, yes," he said.

She didn't get upset, just kept working her hips. She never liked to let morning wood go unused. After a while she settled down onto her knees and began grinding her smooth mound against him. His big dick made sloshing sounds inside her wet folds, which made her smile. He reached up and pinched her hard nipples, which got her hips moving faster. It was then she looked over and saw Queenie standing beside the bed.

"Hello," she said in surprise, her hips slowing but not stopping. Mike looked over.

"Queenie, Darla. Darla, Queenie."

"Hello," Queenie said. She was dressed in a tan blazer and slacks and seemed unsure what to do since Mike was already awake and she couldn't get to his cock.

"Queenie's my alarm clock," Mike told Darla, as her hips continued to churn.

"Yeah?" She could just imagine how the well-dressed woman woke Mike up.

Mike watched Queenie stare at Darla's thrusting hips, trying to catch a glimpse of the thing that was supposed to be in her mouth. He decided she'd paid enough dues for being rude.

"You don't have to come around anymore," he told Queenie. "Just head on to work."

"O-Okay," she said, a little hesitantly, still staring at Darla's nude, thrusting body.

"I'll see you around," he told her.

"Umm, okay. Goodbye." Queenie, a confused look on her face, disappeared through the bedroom doorway.

"What do you suppose that was?" Special Agent Fred Grimes of the FBI asked his partner.

The two agents sat in their car four doors down from Mike's house and watched the woman climb back into her minivan. She'd hardly spent two minutes inside the house.

"Don't know. Maybe he's not home, and she's checking on his cat."

"If he's a single man and has a cat instead of a dog, he's probably gay," Grimes said.

Their radio crackled. "That vehicle comes back to a Sarah McQueen, 424 Raldo Lane. No wants or warrants. One speeding ticket three years ago."

"Ten-four," Grimes told the dispatcher. He looked at his partner. "So we've got a soccer mom from the suburbs dropping by at seven-twenty in the morning, and the junker parked in the drive's registered to another woman entirely, down off White Trash Central. You sure this is the right house?" All the garage doors on the huge house were closed, and no other vehicles were visible. They'd been sitting on the house since six a.m., so if he'd already left for work it had been damn early.

"His driver's license comes back here, plus the cars we pulled up, and all the utilities are in his name."

"A Mercedes and a Hummer H2, plus two women from opposite sides of the tracks. Well, I'm intrigued. Shall we?"

"Yeah? Who the hell is it?" Mike yelled at the door. He'd been damn near ready to come when the pounding started.

"Mr. Curtis?" It was a man's voice.

"Yeah?" Mike had pulled on some shorts and was nearing the front door when he heard "FBI."

"FBI?" He peered through the spyhole in his front door. The man who'd spoken had his ID up and open so it was visible. "Cool," Mike said. "This should be interesting." He swung open the door.

"Mr. Curtis? I'm Special Agent Grimes, this is Special Agent Murphy, we'd like to ask you some questions." Grimes put away his badge wallet and stood looking Mike up and down. This kid was not what he'd been expecting, even though he'd seen the date of birth on the records check.

Mike looked at Grimes, in his boring grey suit, and then at Murphy, a pretty green-eyed blonde in a black business suit, and smiled.

"Sure, come on in," he said with a smile. He stepped aside so they could come in and he shut the door, taking the opportunity to eyeball Murphy's tight little ass. She looked about thirty and didn't seem too friendly. She made a point of not staring at him, dressed only in a pair of shorts. Mike smiled inwardly. This would be fun.

Mike led them into the house, heading for the living room. As they passed the wide curving staircase there was Darla, dressed in a pair of men's jockey shorts, pulling on a white tank top about two sizes too small.

"This is Darla," Mike told the agents. "Darla, say hello to the FBI."

Darla's eyebrows went up, but all she said was "Hello."

Grimes couldn't take his eyes off her bouncing tits as she came down the stairs. "Ma'am," he managed to get out finally. White trash, all the way, but she still had a body.

"Have a seat. You want some coffee? Darla, you know where the pot is?"

"I'll find it," she said, pulling her hair back and fixing it into a short ponytail with a rubberband.

Mike sat on the couch and the agents positioned themselves on chairs.

"So, what's up?" Mike asked them, making no effort to hide his appraising looks at Agent Murphy's body. She shifted uncomfortably, and glanced surreptitiously at Darla as the half-naked woman disappeared into the kitchen.

Grimes pulled out a notebook. "Mr. Curtis, were you in the Third National Bank on Lemon Street last Thursday?"

Mike smiled at them. So that's it , he thought. "Thursday? I think so," he told them. "I've got a checking account there."

Out of sight in the kitchen Darla was making as little noise as possible so she could hear what was being said.

"Were you aware that there was a robbery attempt while you were in the bank?" Grimes asked him.

"Yeah," Mike answered simply.

"Why didn't you report it?" Grimes asked him.

"Now, I know the tellers had to have called the cops," Mike said.

For the first time Murphy spoke. "Why didn't you stick around and wait for them to show up?" she asked sharply.

He shrugged. "I guess I didn't want to get involved."

"But you got involved," Murphy told him. "You spoke to her."

Mike shrugged again. "She was in line in front of me. I heard her telling the teller she had a gun and wanted some money and I just told her that was a bad idea."

Grimes consulted his notebook. "The teller says you told her to go down to the police station and turn herself in."

"Yeah, it was something like that."

"Are you aware that's exactly what she did?"

"Really? I know she turned around and walked out, I thought she'd already gotten the money. Wow."

"Don't you think that's odd?"

"What, robbing a bank? I don't know," Mike said. "You're the experts. Maybe she just realized how stupid robbing a bank was, sticking your hand in your pocket and telling everybody you have a gun."

"She had a gun," Murphy told him. "She turned it in to the desk sergeant."

"Well I'm glad nobody got hurt," Mike said. "Now, what exactly can I help you with?"

"Had you ever met the suspect before that day?"

"The robber? Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"We just find it odd that she walked out without any money and walked two and a half miles in the rain to turn herself in to the police."

"People do crazy things," Mike agreed. "Maybe she had an epiphany."

"As a witness to a crime you have a responsibility to come forward and assist the police," Murphy told him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I thought you guys had it under control."

The three of them went back and forth for several minutes, until Darla came out of the kitchen with several steaming mugs of coffee. She hadn't put on any more clothes and Grimes cleared his throat uncomfortably. Murphy just stared at her disapprovingly, especially when she sat next to Mike on the couch and curled her legs under her.

"This is a beautiful house," Murphy told him. "What do you do for a living?"

"Freelance consultant."

"What do you consult on?"

"Streamlining. I'm an efficiency expert."

"I see."

After another ten minutes the agents realized they would get nothing more out of him. They had nothing to begin with, only a grainy video of him talking with the suspect for four point four seconds, but her actions still had not been fully explained, even by her. They asked him about Sarah McQueen, and for a second he forgot that was Queenie's full name. He told them she was just a friend stopping by.

Grimes set his empty cup on the table in front of him and put his notebook away. "I'm sorry, but do you have a bathroom I could use?"

"Sure," Mike told him. "Down that hall, second door on the right."

"Thanks."

Murphy hadn't touched her coffee, and regarded Mike and Darla uncomfortably. Mike waited until he heard the bathroom door close.

"Tell me," he said to the FBI agent, "do you think I'm involved?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Believe me," he told her, "I'm not."

"Okay."

"What's your first name?"

"Kelly."

"Kelly," he said with a smile. "Well, Scully, I want you to keep me apprised of any investigations of me."

The stiff-backed FBI agent, hands clasped firmly in her lap, nodded once. Darla, sitting next to him on the couch, snuggled closer.

"You single?" he asked her. She nodded. Boyfriend?" She shook her head. "Lesbian?" She again shook her head. Mike could hear Darla breathing, and feel one of her tits against his upper arm.

"Excellent. Keep it that way. You masturbate?"

The Special Agent nodded her head. "Once in a while."

"At least there's that," Mike said. "I was beginning to think you were frigid. From now on, I want you to masturbate for half an hour every day before bed, or until you come, whichever is longer. Unless you're working, of course. You need to relax. Get a little wild and crazy, buy some sex toys off the internet, watch some porn. You like porn?" She shook her head. "You do now," he told her. "All of it, especially the freaky stuff. Whatever used to disgust you now turns you on, you'll be amazed. And if you have to wear underwear, wear a thong, your ass is too nice to be spoiling it with those pantylines. Shave your pussy, or better yet go to one of those laser hair removal places, make it permanent, that's the only way to make a thong look good. And don't wear a bra when you're not on duty, your tits aren't big enough or saggy enough to need one."

She nodded brusquely. The three of them heard the toilet flush, and nothing else was said. When Grimes rejoined them Murphy stood up and the two agents made ready to leave. Grimes gave Mike his card and said to call if he remembered something else about the robbery that might be useful, then the two agents headed out to their car.

"Man, he's up to his neck in something dirty, but I'll be damned if I know what," Grimes said after they were back in their car. "A kid that age, with that house? What do you think?"

"I think he's clean," Murphy said, looking him steadily in the eye.

POWER OF SUGGESTION CHAP 4

Darla rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. She'd gotten everything ready to go the night before, like she usually did, and now just had to wait for the pot to brew. She glanced out the doorway – Mike was still asleep. She'd bring him a cup of his own when she went back upstairs.

She shivered a bit in the cool morning air and felt her nipples harden. She'd taken to sleeping nude, but never remembered to throw on a T-shirt before coming downstairs.

While she was waiting Darla headed down the hall to the bathroom and peed quickly. She stopped in the doorway and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. She'd dropped a good ten pounds since she'd moved into Mike's house six months ago, and was happy to see none of that weight had come off her chest. All the fucking had something to do with it, but not having to worry about money was just as much of a factor. She still had a job, but being a nasty slut wasn't any work at all, she'd been one for thirty years.

Her tan was all over now, no lines, thanks to the weekly trips to the tanning salon, but she didn't want to get too dark, she didn't think Mike liked that. He liked the tongue stud, she was sure of that. She'd had that when she met him, plus the bellybutton piercing and the two tattoos. She hadn't gotten any more piercings since she'd met him, but the same thing couldn't be said about tattoos. She strode back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee before heading back upstairs.

At the top of the stairs she peered into Tits' room. Mike had wanted to return the girl to her family months ago but Darla had convinced him she was too much fun to send away. They'd been experimenting on her, seeing to what extent third-person control worked over her. It had worked perfectly that first night, the busty girl orgasming every time Darla called her a cunt, but since then they'd experimented with ever more encompassing commands. The last one she'd been given had been about as all-encompassing as they got – Mike had told her "You will believe every word Darla says."

He'd told her that over a week before, and the command still seemed to be working. Darla had pushed her in every direction possible, seeing if there was a point at which she wouldn't respond, but so far she hadn't found it. Mike, for his part, seemed to have forgotten Tits was as much under Darla's command as his, but Darla hadn't, not for a second. Tits was laying on her back, still asleep, knees spread far apart, the soles of her feet together. Her arms were outstretched above her head like her wrists were tied to the headboard, and indeed Darla had told her they were, just as she'd told Tits her knees had been tied down to the bed. She'd also mentioned to Tits that an eight-foot-tall horned, hooved, tailed Demon with red skin and an eighteen inch cock had risen from the underworld and was there to fuck her all night long. The show Tits had put on was amazing—it was obvious that not only did she believe what Darla had told her, but that in her own mind she could see the demon, feel him inside her, and had screamed with ecstasy at his burning touch.

Darla leaned over the still-sleeping form, exhausted from the night before, and pinched one of her nipples. Tits jerked awake and stared up at Darla with wide eyes, but didn't say anything.

Darla didn't know anything about psychology, but she had pretty much established to her own satisfaction that Tits would believe whatever she told her. How far that belief extended, however, was another question.

"You're not pregnant," she told the teen, "but sex with the demon will cause you to start lactating. Your tits will fill up with milk, lots of it," she told the wide-eyed girl. She decided she'd better give her a little guidance. "Within two weeks. First they'll get sore, then they'll swell up, then your milk will come in. When that happens you tell me. Understood?"

Tits nodded. Darla leaned down close, until her lips nearly touched the girl's pink ear. "Cuntcuntcuntcuntcunt," she breathed softly.

Tits' back arched up off the bed as she came, her namesakes flopping and jiggling wildly. A little smile curled Darla's mouth. If this little experiment worked….she could hardly imagine the results. The sky was the limit, not just for her, but for Mike, too. She turned and walked into Mike's bedroom, the room she shared with him, and set the coffee cups down on the bedside table. He was just waking up, stirring slightly under the comforter. She smiled happily and tugged it carefully off him. He was already sporting morning wood, and Darla quickly straddled him, facing his feet. That way, when he opened his eyes, the first thing he would see would be the tattoo on her back. She'd gotten it a month before, just a few simple words written on the stripes of a small American flag inked between her shoulder blades, something he'd called her when they were fucking.

DIRTY

CUM FED

COCK BRED

PREMIUM GRADE A

WHITE TRASH AMERICAN

FUCKMEAT

Mike looked out the windshield of his Hummer at the roof of the parking garage. They were far from the only car up there on a Sunday afternoon, but that hadn't stopped Darla from burying her head in his lap just as soon as he'd found an empty space.

"Jesus." Mike reclined his seat a little and watched her head bob in his lap. She'd always been good, but lately she'd been fucking amazing, the oral sex equivalent of Mozart, a Tasmanian devil in his pants. In less than five minutes she had him gasping.

She took her mouth off his cock with a loud PLOP! and kept stroking him with her hand. "Yeah? You gonna come? Come for me, baby. Come on my face. Come all over my face." With a grunt he did, and she directed his spurts with an expert's aim. Thick white globs landed on her nose, across her cheeks, on her chin. When she could get nothing more out of him her pistoning hand slowed and she licked the head of his cock clean and tucked it back into his pants.

"You ready to do some shopping now?" she asked him with a smile. He smiled back.

"You gonna clean up first?" he asked her, thinking it was a rhetorical question.

She looked him right in the eye. "Nope," she responded.

Surveillance Team 2 had pulled their van into a spot across the aisle from the Hummer less than a minute after Mike had parked and began filming him as best they could through the tinted glass.

"Another blowjob? Jesus, I can't even believe I'm saying that," the bearded man working the camera said.

"You know, if someone had asked me five years ago what I thought I'd be doing now….." his partner said, listening to the audio feed from the bug they'd planted inside the Hummer's dash. He got on the radio. "Foot Team, get ready, it sounds like he's getting close."

"Ten-Four," came the reply. "Lucky bastard."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

The audio tech could only shake his head. "Just get a closeup of her face when she gets out, this I've got to see."

After about fifteen minutes Darla got bored with the looks she was getting and used her fingers to wipe off her face as she and Mike walked around the mall. Some of the come had already dried and she had to use a Kleenex to finish the job. Then she ate the Kleenex, having made a promise to herself to never let a drop of Mike go to waste. She was sure he'd noticed.

Darla was wearing a jean jacket over a black leather bustier and jeans so tight she'd had to lay down to slide into them. She'd picked up on his thing for high heels and had on black leather pumps with near four-inch heels.

Darla wanted to hit Frederick's of Hollywood and Victoria's Secret to pick up some slutty underwear, and Mike wanted to grab a few DVD's at the movie store, so they split up after wandering around aimlessly for a while, watching the reaction of passing shoppers as they saw Darla's face.

On the way back from the movie store Mike came across the children's play area in the center of the mall. It was walled off, so the kids couldn't easily escape, and filled with rubberized pieces of food big enough to climb on. Enough dads were standing around the periphery watching their kids running around inside that Mike didn't stand out as a potential abductor. Nervous moms herded toddlers stumbling this way and that like drunks at last call, and Mike eyed them appreciatively. Motherhood took a toll on the female form, but there were usually some benefits to be realized, usually in the form of bigger, perhaps still milk-filled tits. He'd been fantasizing a lot about nursing women lately, he wasn't sure why, and coming across the play area unexpectedly seemed almost serendipitous.

A huge-cheeked blob of fat on two legs, presumably a girl since it was dressed all in pink, attempted to dash by Mike out into the mall proper. He took half a step to the side and the girl bounced off his shin and landed on her padded butt. A frazzled-looking young woman, presumably the mother, came jogging up. She had a little extra fat around her middle, but what Mike enjoyed the most was her D or perhaps DD-cup breasts jammed into a bra at least a cup size too small for their bulk, shaking like crazy as she ran up.

"Thank you, thanks," she said breathlessly. "Michaela, don't run away from Mommy," she said in babytalk to the toddler. She bent down and pulled the dazed girl back to her feet, and the girl promptly took off toward the giant bunch of grapes.

"Stay and talk to me," Mike said quickly, as the young mother went to chase her daughter. Her daughter really had nowhere to escape to with them standing by the only exit. "Tell me, what's your name?" he asked her.

"Kayla," she said, not taking her eyes off her daughter as she bounced from rubber food piece to rubber food piece.

"Kayla and Michaela?" Mike said. How white trash , he thought, but kept it to himself. "You married?"

"No." She shook her head. He looked down at her chest, tightly clad in a V-necked pink blouse. Definite sweatermeat.

"How old is she?"

"Michaela? Sixteen months."

"You still breastfeeding?"

She looked up at him, a frown on her face.

"Don't look at me, look at her," Mike told her. "Don't get an attitude, just answer the questions. I'm your best friend."

"I'm weaning her right now," the young mother told him. "It's a nightmare."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn't want the bottle, and my boobs are swollen and sore from the milk. I keep giving in to her when she cries and try to nurse her just a little, but then she just cries harder when I stop. I've got a breast pump, but unless it's coming straight from me she doesn't want it, even if I put it in a bottle."

"Are you working?" he asked her.

"No, I'm on ADC and food stamps. I just hope they last until she's old enough to put into preschool, then I'm going to go back to school."

Mike dug around in his coat pockets and found a pen and a scrap of paper. He scribbled his address on it.

"Don't give her any more of your milk," he told Kayla. "A little crying won't kill her, or you. But use that breast pump, I don't want your milk going away. This is my address. Come on over tonight, you're going to nurse me. You got any diseases?"

"No."

"Good. If I like it, we'll make it a regular thing. Come on over about seven. You got a babysitter you can use for a few hours?"

"Yes, but I don't know what I'm going to pay her—"

"I'll give you money for the babysitter," Mike told her. "Just make sure you're totally shaved before you come over, and wear one of your bras that don't fit," he said, nodding at her chest. "I have to buy cow's milk, maybe you can make a little extra money out of this. Oops, better go get her, that looked like it had to hurt."

He wandered away from the play area, really excited at the thought of trying out real mother's milk for the first time. There was still no sign of Darla at the gourmet pizza place on the lower level, so he sat on a decorative stone wall enclosing a long planter and watched shoppers walk back and forth.

A trio of teenage girls paused a few feet from him and chattered and giggled, looking around the mall. Mike studied their clothes and was struck by how fashions had changed since he was their age. All three of them wore low-rider hip hugger jeans, one pair so low Mike figured the girl had had to do some strategic shaving before leaving her house. They wore tight, belly baring shirts, and all three girls had belly-button piercings. He looked at their makeup, and earrings, and ugly clunky expensive high-heeled shoes and shook his head. When he saw the tongue piercings he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Girls, get over here." They frowned at him curiously as they clustered around him still sitting on the low wall.

"Don't give me any grief, just answer the questions. How old are you?" he demanded of them.

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen."

"Twelve."

"Who's got a tongue piercing? Stick 'em out. All of you? Christ. Do you know what the original historic purpose of a tongue piercing is? It's to provide added stimulation to the male while you're performing oral sex, did you know that? You get what I'm saying? You rub that little steel ball on your tongue against the underside of his cock and the guy comes faster. I'm not that older than you but when I was your age the only women who dressed they way you're dressed now were hookers. Or total unashamed sluts. Were you trying to look sexy, or to look slutty?"

"Slutty," said the twelve year old. She was the one whose jeans were slung so low it looked like they were hanging on her pubic bone.

"I don't know. Like Britney Spears. Is that sexy or slutty?"

"Slutty," Mike told her.

"Ummmm." The third girl couldn't make up her mind. Darla walked up and stood next to the girls, looking on with a knowing smile on her face.

" Are you sluts?" Mike asked them.

"I don't know. What do you consider a slut?" asked one of the thirteen-year-olds.

"At thirteen?" Mike said. "Shit, if you've had sex more than once. That includes blowjobs."

"Well sure, if you include blowjobs," the tallest one said. She was one of the thirteen-year-olds, and had the long lanky body supermodels starve themselves for.

"I don't think it's fair to include blowjobs, that's not really sex," said the girl that asked the question.

"Not the way you do it," said the twelve-year-old, smirking under her eyeshadow. Of the three she had the most mature body, with B- or possibly C-cup breasts on a small frame. Her friend stared daggers at her, but she pretended not to notice, instead regarding Mike with an interested gaze.

"So that's three yeses?" Mike said. He shook his head, momentarily amazed. "You know what I think?" he told them. "If you're going to dress like sluts, you'd better act like sluts or it's just false advertising. Either that or stop wearing clothes like that. Here, I'll let you make the choice. You can dress in clothes your mother would approve of, or you can keep dressing like you are now, but if you dress like a slut you have to act like one, and that means a lot more than just giving the occasional blowjob." He looked over at Darla.

"Darla, you're a slut. Why don't you tell them what that entails?"

Darla did, giving the girls a very detailed account of not just what sluts did (everything) and how (eagerly), but how often (everyday) and with whom (anyone who asked).

"Now," Mike said, when Darla had finished, "if you don't want that to be you, stop dressing like that," Mike told them. "Or maybe you just can't stand the thought of not dressing like that because it's too cool. That's fine, just as long as you realize that if you dress the part you have to play the part. So," he said, looking the trio over, "who's going to be a slut?"

 

 

 

 

          POWER OF SUGGESTION-CHAPTER 5

 

The sounds of groaning passengers almost drowned out the captain’s voice on the PA as he finished explaining why they would have to deplane.  Mechanical problem, not easily repairable, have to locate another plane, etcetera, etcetera.

Mike sat in the comfortable first-class seat, a wry smile on his face.  He knew things had been going too smoothly to last.

The visit with his parents had gone well.  He’d kept to his father’s oft-repeated guidelines—houseguests and fish start to stink after three days.  After the third day he’d been a little itchy to head home, and his parents didn’t protest that he was leaving too soon.

Mike had behaved himself the whole time—he’d come alone, and had hardly said anything to anyone but his parents, except for maybe that hot blonde in line in front of him at the gas station around the corner from his parents’ house.  He hadn’t had any in almost three days, and his rented SUV had tinted windows, so they’d been able to take care of business right quick in a nearby parking lot.  Of course, that feeling of inner peace had disappeared abruptly when he’d been confronted by the idiocy of the TSA people in the airport, searching everybody but the people who looked like potential terrorists.  Their incompetence caused a huge backup at the security checkpoint.

“You know what?” Mike had said, as he tried to get through the metal detector for the third time without it going off.  He had absolutely no metal anywhere on him, why the hell was it going off?  He addressed the two chunky black females in charge of the checkpoint.  “Adjust this damn detector,” he told them, “and only search those passengers who meet the profile of terrorists.  The line’ll move a lot quicker.”

“What would be nice is if they actually listened to you,” a harried-looking businessman said to Mike a few seconds later as they headed toward the gate.  “But what are the chances, huh?”

“A man can dream,” Mike said with a smile, provoking a laugh from the guy.

Most of the stewardesses Mike had seen on his last few flights hadn’t been much to look at, but the one in charge of First Class on this flight was smoking hot, a skinny blonde with short hair and a tan.  Her navy blue uniform blouse and skirt didn’t do a thing for her—she was hot in spite of what she had to wear.  Mike wondered how hot she’d look in something sexy.

When the stew—he refused to use the term flight attendant—came by, Mike crooked a finger at her and whispered quietly in her ear for about a minute.  She nodded and headed up the aisle toward the bathroom.  He leaned back and smiled—just because she had to wear an ugly uniform didn’t mean she had to wear any underwear beneath it.  Which brought forth memories of the time he’d joined the mile-high club.  Now that had been a trip.  Talk about flying the friendly skies.  But his pleasure was short-lived, as the takeoff was delayed and then cancelled, as whatever mechanical difficulty there was grounded their plane.

There was a first class lounge but they put everybody outside the gate in the waiting area as they worked on finding a replacement plane.  Mike wandered over to a kiosk and bought a Diet Coke and a magazine, then a book as well, in case it was that long of a wait.  The clerk was perky and had a very pretty face, but was a little chunky.

“No snacks, no desserts, and only eat three small meals a day,” Mike told her, trying to be helpful.  He was in that kind of mood.

The only vacant seats were in the middle of the gate area, and Mike found himself surrounded by a group of about fifteen boisterous high school girls, enough of whom were wearing logoed apparel for him to figure out they were some sort of team.  Several of the girls were reading, and four of them were watching a movie on a laptop, but the rest were talking, some into cell phones, and not quietly.  Boys, sports, clothes, boys, school, boys.  Mike looked at the movie playing on the laptop. 

Why didn’t I think of that? he thought.  Two seats over from him a lanky brunette was scrunched into a seat, knees to chest, reading a People magazine.

“Volleyball?” Mike asked her.

The girl looked up, saw Mike was speaking to her.  “Lacrosse,” she told him.

“Varsity?”

“Yeah, we’re all seniors.”

Mike looked around.  “You’re all eighteen?” he said.  “I must be getting old.  They still do chaperones?”

The girl made a face and jerked her head toward the restaurant.  The only likely prospects were a forty-something couple standing at the bar, looking irritated.

“Somebody’s parents?” Mike asked.

The girl made an even more unpleasant face.  “Mine,” she said.  She did not sound happy.

Mike snorted.

For the most part Mike read his book, and left the girl alone, but still, after an hour and a half, he knew her name was Ailee Thomas, the team was the Timberwolves, and they’d taken second place in the regionals.  He also knew more than he wanted to about many of the other girls, having been forced to listen in on their conversations.  Their comments about the movie playing on the laptop, a romantic comedy starring Ben Affleck and Sandra Bullock, were particularly annoying.

Ailee’s parents checked on the girls once or twice but spent most of the wait bellied up to the bar getting lubricated.  Mike watched them for a while and finally shook his head.

“They’re going to sleep the whole way back,” he said.

Ailee looked up from her Enquirer and followed his gaze.  “Let’s hope,” she said.  It was then that one of the airline employees got on the PA and announced that they would not be able to secure another plane for them until tomorrow, and the whole room erupted in groans and cursing.

Mike was on his feet and moving to the desk even before the woman was off the PA.  “You’re securing hotel rooms for everybody, right?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir.  But I—“

“Just do it, and quickly,” Mike told her.  He looked at the other woman standing next to her.  “You too,” he said.  “We’ve had to wait around long enough.”  Mike checked his watch.  Already almost six o’clock.  He stepped out of the way as the other passengers crowded around, hoping to urge the two airline employees to do their job to the utmost of their ability, not realizing Mike had already taken care of that for them.

After a few moments in thought, Mike realized that Ailee’s father was one of the people in line clamoring to talk to the blue-suited women.  Mike looked around, and saw Ailee’s mother standing just inside the restaurant looking out, a drink in her hand.  Mike looked over where he’d been sitting, the crush of people standing, sitting, and sprawled across the seats, then headed toward the restaurant with a smile and a determined stride.

 

 

Mike checked his watch when he heard the knock on his hotel room door.  Eight-thirty.  He let in Ailee and a short, stout blonde who looked at him, and then Ailee, in confusion.

“Where’s the party?” the blonde said.  “Who’s he?”

“I’m Mike,” he said.  “The party’ll be here when you two go get the rest of the team, bring ‘em in here.  Tell ‘em whatever you need to.  What’s your name?”

“Cammie.”

“What about my parents?” Ailee asked.  “They’re going to check on us at bedtime.”

“Trust me, I’ve arranged it so that they won’t be leaving their room until morning,” Mike told them.  And your dad’s going to be a very happy and sore man in the morning, he could have added.  He gave Ailee his room card.  “I’ll be in the bathroom.  Let me know when everybody’s here.”

They were back with the rest of the team in just a few minutes.  Mike didn’t want to spook them until all the girls were in the room, and didn’t show himself until Ailee knocked on the door and told him they were all there.  He could hear several girls asking where the alcohol was, they thought this was supposed to be a party.

“Who’s he?” several voices asked, as he stepped out.  Even with half a dozen of them sitting on the double beds the room was packed with girls, it was nearly standing room only.

“Quiet,” Mike said as many of the girls began asking questions of him and each other loudly.  “Trust me, we are definitely going to have a party.”  He smiled, and took a good long look at all of the young faces peering at him.  The lacrosse players were a rough-and-tumble bunch, some of the girls sporting band-aids and bruises from their time on the field.  Some of them were short, some tall, a few thick with muscle, but they were all in shape and as a rule lean and long-limbed. 

“No questions,” Mike told them.  “Just do as I say and you’ll be great.  Right now, though, you’ve all been sitting around in cars and plane and airport seats all day.  Go back to your rooms, shower and wash up, shave like you’re going to be wearing a thong bikini tomorrow, and then come back here.  Just dry your hair with towels, you don’t have to look perfect, and don’t worry about any makeup.  I want everyone back here in half an hour.  If that means some of you have to shower together, so be it.  T-shirts and shorts are all you need to put on.  Keep this a secret, and I’ll see all of you in a little while.”

They were all back in his room, hair damp and smelling of soap, within half an hour, barefoot and in baggy t-shirts and boxers.  He looked at their expectant, fresh faces, at the bodies hidden under the loose clothing.  None of them even needed bras, their tits were so high and firm.  Talk about untapped natural resources.  He made sure the door was locked, deadbolt thrown, chain across the crack, and turned to face the room.

“I’m going to get so wasted,” one of the girls said.

Mike smiled at them.  “This isn’t a drinking party, it’s a fucking party.  And you guys are going to have so much fun . . . .”

“I’m not gay,” one of the girls said with a frown.

“Maybe not, but until you leave this room all of you are bi,” Mike told them.  “And the biggest, horniest sluts you can imagine—you can’t say no, to me or each other.”  That got the girls blinking and looking around at each other with new eyes.  “Tonight you’re going to do everything you’ve ever heard about, ever seen pictures of on the internet, and love every minute of it.  It’s too bad you won’t be able to remember any of what happened in this room once you leave it, you’ll just think you spent the time sleeping.  Now, everybody naked,” he said.  “Throw all your clothes into the corner.” 

The girls were soon naked, and Mike saw several of them already groping and kissing each other.

“What you don’t know I’ll teach you, if you can’t figure it out on your own.  Don’t be afraid to experiment.  Who here’s a virgin?”  He looked at the hands and smiled.  Philosophically he was opposed to Viagra, but that hadn’t stopped him from procuring a prescription last year, just in case.  He’d popped one of the pills less than an hour ago.

“Now,” he said, pulling off his shirt, as several girls began sixty-nining on the beds, “who here thinks they’re good at giving blowjobs?”  Several girls raised their hands eagerly.

“Well, we’ll just see about that,” Mike said, sitting on the edge of one bed to take off his pants.  “Just remember, it’s not a good blowjob unless you swallow.  Luckily you all like the taste of come.  Somebody turn on the TV, I think it’s going to get loud in here.”

 

 

The two agents on the plane hadn’t been able to sit close enough to Mike in the crowded lounge to hear what he was saying to the few people he talked to, mostly girls from some high school sports team, which was a big red flag all by itself.  And the hotel was overbooked—they hadn’t been able to get rooms anywhere near the subject.  They’d had to settle for placing one man in the lobby to watch for departures, while the other made periodic walk-throughs of the seventh floor hallway.  The agent doing the walk-bys thought he heard female voices in the subject’s room once, under the sound of the loud TV, but he didn’t want to get caught with his ear to the door, especially when they weren’t ready to move on him yet.  But it irritated both of them they couldn’t hear what was going on in his room, they were used to having bugs on him almost everywhere he went.

 

 

“Unhh, God!” Mike grunted, as he came, fist pumping quickly on his cock.  The brunette on her knees before him opened her mouth wide and he shoved the head in past her lips and let the spurts fly.  There wasn’t much, seeing as he’d already come four times in two hours, but that wasn’t the point.  “Remember, don’t swallow,” he told her when he could talk.  “Okay, now this’ll be another round robin,” he said, looking around the room at all the flushed faces.  All the faces that he could see, that is.  A few of the girls were still working on unfinished business.  He helped the girl in front of him get to her feet.   She held her mouth open like she was cradling a fresh egg.  “You drool all the come and spit in your mouth into another girl’s.  Drool it down, French kiss her and squirt it in, however you want to do it.  She’ll taste it, then she’ll pick someone and put what’s in her mouth into the next girl, and so on, and so on, until you’ve all had a turn.  It’s called snowballing.  When it gets back to you,” he said to the girl with the full mouth, “it’ll mostly be just spit, but that’s okay, just swallow it, and that’s the game.”  They’d all already taken their turns trying to deepthroat him.  Two of the girls had no problem at all, but most had gagging issues.  Later on Mike thought he’d rectify that, explain to them how cocks wouldn’t make them gag any more, but first he had another plan.

He looked around the room.  “Okay, now who haven’t I fucked?  Cammie, you slut, put your hand down, I’ve fucked you everywhere but your ears.”  A lot of the girls laughed at her.  “Just for that,” Mike mock scolded her, “you’re going to have to wash your mouth out with ass.  Five minutes of tongue on everybody here, and shove it as deep as you can, but I’ll be nice, you can play with yourself while you do it, since I know how much it’ll turn you on.”  While he was talking a skinny blonde with long hair in a ponytail got onto the bed on all fours next to two girls tightly wrapped up in a sixty-nine.  Her pink pussy and tiny puckered asshole were plain for all the room to see.  Then entire room smelled like sex, and echoed with moans, soft coos, gasps, and cries of pleasure.  The room was wall-to-wall bodies, and the girls had been going at it hard and fast for hours  He’d had to crank the air conditioning just to get the temperature down to a manageable level.

“You haven’t fucked me yet,” the girl told him, waving her ass back and forth.  “Not in my pussy.”  She’d been one of the deepthroaters, a skill she’d never known she had.

“Weren’t you one of the virgins?”  Mike asked her.  She nodded.  “Lay on your back,” he told her.  “Okay, girls,” he announced.  “Gather ‘round, and I’ll show you how to have sex without worrying about getting pregnant if you forget to bring a condom.  It’s all about fluid dynamics and gravity.  Who’s got the baby oil?”

 

 

For a mere three days at his parents Mike hadn’t needed more than a carry-on, so as soon as he deplaned he was on the phone to Darla.  She had the Hummer idling at the curb by the time he made it out of the building.

“How was your trip?” Darla asked him, as he settled into the passenger seat.

“Good,” he said.  “I—“ he turned to toss his bag into the back seat and saw that Tits was sitting in the middle of the leather bench seat, naked, her arms outstretched to either side.  It was a good thing he’d put that limo tint on the back windows.

“I told her she was handcuffed to the shoulder belt anchors,” Darla told him.

“Ah.”  Tits’ tits seemed even larger than he remembered, hanging down almost to the tops of her thighs.  “Did her milk come in?” Mike asked, and glanced at Darla.

A huge grin split Darla’s tanned face.  “Yep.”

“No wonder you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”  He looked her over.  Darla had on a dark green camisole top—tight, no bra—over jeans and black high heels.  She saw him looking at her and smiled, then tugged the camisole up, rolling it up to just under her armpits.  Her breasts lay heavy and bare against her, bisected by the seatbelt.  Darla put the Hummer into motion.

“Did yesterday suck with the flight getting cancelled and all that?  I hate fucking airports.”

Mike smiled.  “I was able to keep myself entertained.”  The memory of laying spreadeagled on a bed, fifteen eager wet mouths working him over from fingertips to toes, popped into his head.

Darla looked at him, and as the Hummer hit a bump he watched her tits jump.  “I bet you were,” was what she said.

The Viagra had kept him hard until he was actually too sore and tired to fuck anymore.  He’d forgotten how tight teenage girls were.  He was pretty sure he’d been in every hole in the room, and come at least six times.  Finally he’d propped some pillows against the wall and reclined on one of the beds, his sore penis cradled inside Cammie’s soft mouth, his balls inside another girl’s, and watched those girls still awake going at it until close to six a.m.  Then he’d shooed them all back to their rooms and told them to shower before the chaperones came and got them.  He’d slept the entire plane ride back and he was still dragging.  But it had been worth it.

Darla drove through the traffic for a while, then offhandedly remarked, “I sure notice the bumps a lot more with this buttplug.”  She didn’t look at him, just kept staring out the windshield, both hands on the wheel as she navigated airport traffic.

Mike couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  “It is good to be back.”  He glanced over his shoulder at Tits.  “Cunt.”

 

 

“Dammit, we need more people on this,” Perkins said.  He’d had to sprint through the airport to make it to the chase car in time to keep up with the Hummer.

“It’s too sensitive,” Troley, driving, said.  “You know how it is.  If it’s off the books, they can’t use too many people or spend too much money or someone’ll pick up on it.”

“They could say he’s a suspected terrorist or something, justify it that way,” Perkins responded.  He could just see the roof of the Hummer ahead.  One surveillance vehicle was several hundred yards in front of it, and the electronics van was caught in traffic behind them, but still close enough to the Hummer to pick up the feed from its dash bugs.

“If this guy is what they think, at some point they’re gonna want to erase all of this, make everything, all the records, disappear.  The less there is, the less chance they’ll miss something.  They figure we’ve got enough people to do the job, and they’d give us more bugs if we wanted them.”

“Hell, we’ve got every phone, every room of his house covered,” Perkins said.  “Plus the vehicles.  But something like this, I’d hate to lose the guy because of manpower issues, and this guy, if he was interested in making trouble the way he is money and sex, he could be king of the world.”

 

 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Darla said.

“Yeah?” Mike replied, half listening.

They were sitting on a low brick wall, eating ice cream, watching people going in and out of the big movie theater complex next door.

“Do you ever wonder why?” she asked him.

Mike’s eyes moved back and forth as he followed the teenage girls and their mothers.  So many women, and only one of him.  It hardly seemed fair.  “Why what?”

“Why you?  Why not somebody else?  If there’s a God, then this didn’t happen by accident.  So why you?”

“I go out of town for less than a week and you get religion?” Mike said with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m a model fucking born-again Christian,” she said.  “The next dildo I get is gonna be in the shape of a cross.  No, really.  Think about it.  If there is a reason, why you?  Are you supposed to do something?  Or is it you because you’re not interested in becoming President and nuking everybody?”

Mike shrugged.  “I’ve thought about it, but . . . .”  He shrugged again.  “Who’s to say?  I just want to have a little fun if I can, get some money in my pocket.  I mean, you’re right, I could do a lot worse things.  You see her?”  He nodded at a busty teen in hiphuggers who was hanging on her boyfriend.  “I could tell her to blow me live on Regis and Kelly and she’d be happy to do it.  I could also tell her to buy a hatchet and chop up a bunch of toddlers at a daycare and make a stew out of ‘em, too, and she’d tell me it’s delicious.  It’s, I mean—“ he shook his head.  “I try not to think about it, you know?  Because it can get pretty fucking scary.  Maybe that’s why I keep to the sex and the cash, I’m afraid of fucking something up, something serious.  I already mess with people enough.  Can you see me as some sort of superhero?  Shit.  I tried to do one good deed, and it got the FBI knocking on my door, can you imagine what would happen if I was some crusader for world peace or saving the whales or something?  It’d be a disaster.  All I can say, if God has some larger purpose in mind for me, he needs to be a little less subtle with the hints, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.”  Darla sat looking over the parking lot, at the people walking back and forth, living their lives.  She finished her ice cream cone and licked her fingers clean.  “You want to see a movie?”

Mike looked up at the marquee, read what was playing.  “Something light, a comedy,” he said.

“Sure,” Darla said with a nod.  “Blow you in the car before or after?” she asked him.

A wry grin split his face, and he gave a little chuckle.  “Why not both?” he asked.