Chapter 1: Suzanne
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Mind Control, Hypnosis, Heterosexual, MaleDom, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: Suzanne - This story deals with the entrapment of an aspiring female model by the sinister narrator. The "hero" pursues an aggressive drug therapy program that remakes the demure Suzanne into a slut, a porn star, and his own personal sex slave.<br>(Written and first published in 1995)
The door to the building across the street opened from the inside. I sat up and peered through the eyepiece of the telescope, examining the warmly dressed figure descending the steps. It was her. The drab grey overcoat hid the curves of her nubile young body from view, and the wide-brimmed hat she wore shielded her face, but the cascade of blond hair flowing down her back, as well as the youthful spring in her step, gave her away.
I swiveled the telescope to follow her as she walked down the street, trying to figure out where she was going. Up until now, she'd only left the apartment to go to work, either at one of her photo shoots or at one of her temp jobs, or to go shopping. I had her phone tapped, and had kept track of her appointments, so I knew when she went to work. This wasn't one of those times. So it must be shopping. But the stores she went to were in the other direction. So... something else? May be it was a date. It was possible she could have arranged a date with someone without a phone call being involved. Unlikely, but possible.
I kept her in view until she disappeared down a side street three blocks away. I grabbed my coat and hat. Locking the door of the hotel room behind me, I rushed downstairs and out onto the street. Casually but briskly, I walked down to the intersection where she'd disappeared. No sign of her.
I thought for a moment, weighed the odds in my mind, and decided to wait. So I took up a position leaning against a building, watching the side street that my quarry had disappeared down.
Two hours later, after the sun had set and the streetlights had come on, she reappeared, coming out of a bar. She moved a bit less surely than usual, as though she'd had a bit to drink. I followed her at a distance of half a block until she reached her apartment building and re-entered it. Smiling to myself with the satisfaction of a mystery solved, I crossed the street to my hotel.
She began to frequent the bar, going there approximately every other night, always emerging a bit tipsy. I started going to the bar regularly as well, keeping an unobtrusive eye on her. The bar was not one of the upscale yuppie joints, but rather an old neighborhood establishment, catering to older men. As a result, she had to fend off a lot of passes from balding men with expansive waistlines. I found it amusing.
After watching this for four or five nights, establishing my bona fides as a regular patron, I made my move. My eyes were fixed on her as I strode across the room from my regular booth to the bar where she sat. Setting my drink down on the bar, I sat on the stool next to her.
She looked up from her drink, causing her lustrous blond hair to shimmer in the subdued light of the bar. I almost lost my breath as I look at her face. I'd seen it before in pictures, and from a distance, but never up close and in the flesh. She was stunning. I was pleased. Later on, almost any other aspect of the body could be modified, but the face had to be good from the start.
"Hi," she said, a smile creeping across that captivating face. I'm not bad-looking, if I do say so myself, and I was a good bit younger than the average suitor. Her ocean-blue eyes twinkled in the light.
"Hi," I responded. "I'm not very good with pickup lines, so I'll just have to tell you that you're incredibly beautiful."
She laughed a bit. "Thank you. That's very flattering." Modesty, of course; she couldn't possibly think she was anything less than gorgeous.
We got off to a pretty good start. She told me she was unemployed at the moment, temping and trying to get some part-time modeling work. I made a few jokes about the sorts of jobs you get from temp agencies, and she laughed and agreed with me. I bought her a drink, casually slipping a pinch of white powder into it. As the conversation progressed, she opened herself up more and more to me.
She had grown up in a small town in Montana. At age eighteen, she'd left to go to college in Michigan, majoring in "media arts." After school, she'd moved to New York City, where she'd worked for about a year as a catalog model for a few local department stores, making a decent living. It was a week-to-week type of existence; she didn't have any contracts, but she'd been getting quite a lot of offers for short jobs. She'd been well on her way to a successful, if not lucrative, modeling career.
Then, all of a sudden, within the space of a couple of weeks, the offers had stopped coming. The photo managers had started telling her that they were looking for someone a bit taller for such-and-such a shoot, or that what they really needed was a brunette, or a redhead, or someone with a more "motherly" look, or whatever. She hadn't had any work for about three months, and was filling in with jobs from temp agencies. What was really depressing, she told me, was that she had no idea why her career had gone belly-up so suddenly.
I had a pretty good idea what it was, myself. I knew quite a lot about her life, in some areas even more than she did. For the past four months, since I'd first laid eyes on her in a sportswear catalog, I'd been keeping a close watch on her. The reason she was having a hard time finding work was that I was bribing the photo managers not to hire her.
Well, strictly speaking, I wasn't bribing them not to hire her. But every time she applied for a job, I anonymously contacted the prospective employer, and pretended to be a relative of one of the other models applying for the job. I told them how I really wanted young Deirdre or Teresa or Holly to be successful, and wouldn't they please hire her if I gave them $1,000 cash? It'd cost a bundle so far, but I could afford it. I looked on it as an investment.
I reassured Suzanne that it was probably just a run of bad luck, something that happens to everyone now and then. She smiled sweetly at that, and thanked me for the support. I bought her another drink, and over the next hour I coaxed even more information out of her. She didn't get along well with her parents; they were extremely conservative and didn't approve of her career choice. She lived alone and had no real friends in the city. She had been in one relationship since college, and she'd broken it off three months ago.
Thanks to the drug I'd been slipping into her drinks all evening, she was now extremely trusting of me. When the bar closed, I suggested we continue the conversation at my place. She hesitated a second before agreeing. I took that as a sign that she didn't usually go home with guys she met in bars, which was probably a smart policy. A girl could run into all sorts of unsavory characters in a place like this. Me, for example.
We continued chatting as we walked to my apartment. Not my real apartment, of course, but one I was renting under an assumed name in a complex that catered to upscale young singles. I didn't want her to know where I really lived, just in case something went wrong.
When we arrived, she remarked on how clean and neat it was. (It was clean and neat mainly because I spent almost no time there.) I showed her to the couch and fixed another pair of drinks; light on the booze this time, because we'd both need plenty of energy for what was coming up. To her drink I added just a dash of a second, different drug.
I brought the drinks over to the couch and sat down. We chatted some more, and gradually our bodies moved closer and closer together. I managed to keep things calm until she'd finished her drink; I wanted to make sure the drug had taken full effect before we went to bed.
Once her glass was empty, I leaned over and kissed her. She responded with a fierce passion that let me know that I'd gotten things right. Making sure to keep control of the pace of things, I moved us from kissing into necking and petting. Her hands were vibrant, running across my chest, back and shoulders while she nibbled greedily on my earlobe. I lightly cupped her breasts and she moaned.
Fifteen minutes after she'd finished her drink (I was stealing glances at the clock on the wall) I began to go further, gradually moving the center of my attention on her body from her breasts down across her stomach. I caressed the insides of her thighs, occasionally coming close to her crotch, but never actually fondling her there. I could tell this was getting her excited.
After about five minutes of this, I got the desired response; she pulled her mouth away from mine and looked at me with flaming eyes. "I need you," she breathed softly.
The drug I'd given her was a rare aphrodisiac that had been commonly used in ancient India to heighten the female sex drive. Two milligrams, taken orally twenty minutes before the beginning of foreplay, was guaranteed to give a woman a mind-blowing orgasm, far beyond what she could ever have achieved unaided. Five milligrams would give such a powerful ride that she would probably come down with some sort of mental damage. For all I knew, ten would probably give her a heart attack. Naturally, it was highly addictive.
The formula had been lost for several millennia, but after three years of expensive on-site research, I had found the recipe. Requiring extracts from several rare plants, it cost a fortune to manufacture. Luckily, I had a fortune available.
I lifted her in my arms and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. Laying her gently down on the bed, I brushed my lips across hers as I unbuttoned her blouse. She was constantly moaning with pleasure now. I undressed quickly and lay down beside her. She quickly stripped her clothes off and embraced me, her crotch thrusting at my erect cock.
I didn't want to do that just yet, since it would still be about fifteen minutes before the drug had its maximum effect. I gently pushed her onto her back. Gently teasing her nipples with my hands, I lowered my mouth to her crotch.
Her pussy was soaked. I nuzzled it with my nose, causing her to tremble. Slowly, ever so slowly, in order to heighten her awareness, I began to tickle her clit with my tongue.
I gently probed the mouth of her pussy with my tongue, rubbing my upper lip against her clit while I did.
Sensing her building orgasm, I withdrew and began kissing her thighs to give her a chance to cool down. After a minute or so of this, I moved my attention back to her pussy. The first touch of my tongue immediately sent her back up.
"Ohhh, God... yes, yes!"
I brought her to the edge of orgasm again, and let her hang there for awhile. This would enhance the experience for her when I finally did allow her to come.
After ten minutes, she was writhing and moaning. "Ohhh... Alan... It's never been like this before... I need you so bad..."
"Shhhhh..." I gently admonished. "It's better this way. Just relax and enjoy it."
After another five minutes, she could barely contain herself. "God, Alan, I need you... I need you now. Pleeeeeeease."
I realized that the time had come. I pulled my body up alongside hers. Kissing her lips, I placed the head of my erect shaft at the entrance to her pussy. Gently, I began to make soft, short strokes into her.
"Mmmm... yeeeessssss..." she moaned.
I gradually increased the pace as well as the depth of my strokes. She was going wild with the sensations. I knew it was like nothing she'd ever felt.
"Ngggghhhh... ohhhhh... ohhh... yesss... harder... harder..."
When I knew the moment was right, I pulled out all the stops and began pumping my hard, eight-inch-long member all the way to the back of her cunt. She was writhing beneath me like a woman possessed.
"Oh, God... yes... yes... YES! YES! YES!"
I felt her orgasm shudder through her body. Her cunt gripped me tight as she screamed in pleasure. The walls of her pussy were like a velvet vise squeezing my shaft. I rode her as hard as I could, while her crotch thrust furiously at my cock.
Her orgasm lasted several minutes. Near the end, my balls boiled over and I began to come. My stick semen filled her cunt to overflowing, and I felt a large amount of jism squeezing out of her pussy around my cock.
We came down together. Her cries subsided, to be replaced by a series of quick gasps as she struggled to catch her breath. I kissed her on the neck. "That was great," I said.
"God, it was fantastic!" she replied. "I've never felt like that before."
I pretended to take it as a compliment. "Thank you." Everything had gone perfectly.
We quickly fell asleep after that. The next morning, I woke up well before Suzanne did, so I surprised her with breakfast in bed. She was delighted. After she'd finished, we made love again, and she had another mind-blowing orgasm, thanks to the secret ingredient in the orange juice. After she'd rested a bit, I told her I had to get to work, and offered to drive her home. She accepted. I got her phone number and gave her the number for my apartment, but told her that I was going to be very busy at work, so I doubted I'd be there much.
I called her the next day and asked for a date. She eagerly agreed. We made plans to go out to dinner at a fairly pricey restaurant. I assured her that I was picking up the tab.
That evening, I showed up at Suzanne's door fifteen minutes early, with a box tucked under my arm. She greeted me at the door with towels wrapped around her hair and torso, obviously having just gotten out of the shower. She ushered me into the living room and showed me to the couch.
"I have as gift for you," I said as I presented the box to her.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," she demurred, setting the box down and opening it up. Her eyes went wide as she looked inside. She reached in and pulled out a black satin party dress that glittered in the light. "Oh, Alan... you can't do this. This is too much."
"I wanted to do it," I replied. "You deserve the best. I was hoping you'd wear it tonight."
"Yes, yes, of course!" Suzanne reached into the box again and pulled out a pair of matching black pumps with five-inch heels. An expression of concern crossed her face as she examined them. She looked up at me questioningly.
"Is something wrong?" I asked innocently.
"No... no," she said, forcing a smile. "I'll just go back and get dressed." With that, she got up and walked down the hall. I smiled to myself. Another small step.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, looking breathtakingly beautiful. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders, which were bare except for the black straps of the dress. I'd bought the dress half a size too small, so it squeezed her slightly, pushing her breasts up over the front of the dress in an appetizing way. It similarly hugged her thighs and legs, showing off her excellent curves. The effect was amplified by the swing of her hips as she walked on the high heels. She wore a pair of simple earrings and a couple of gold bracelets on one arm.
"You look fantastic," I said. She did.
She blushed. "Thank you, Alan." She came over and kissed me. "Let's go."
We had a pleasant dinner, during which we discussed the weather, current events, movies, and her career. I steered the conversation away from myself. She trusted me implicitly now, and was very open with me; I didn't need to rely on a drug for that anymore.
After dinner, we danced a bit, and took a walk in the park. She thought it was all incredibly romantic, and I knew she was falling in love with me. She rested her head on my shoulder while we walked.
When we got back to her place, she tried to pull me toward the bedroom immediately, but I begged off. "Come on, there's plenty of time for that. Let's sit down and have a drink first. Besides, I thought it was only men that wanted to have sex right away after getting home." She laughed at that and allowed herself to be persuaded to wait. She sat down on the couch while I went in to make us drinks. Out of her sight, I added the contents of a small capsule I was carrying to her glass.
We sipped our drinks and chatted. Things progressed as they had the previous night, and soon I was carrying her into the bedroom. She was getting hot, and as soon as I put her down she immediately began to take off her clothes. I stopped her as she reached for the pumps on her feet. She looked up at me questioningly.
"Please, keep them on. I find them attractive."
She opened her mouth as if to protest. I allowed the slightest hint of displeasure to creep into my face. She closed her mouth, and said softly, "Okay."
I smiled. She smiled back, in a relieved way. I took off the rest of her clothes and mine as well. She lay back and I moved over her. As with the night before, I used my lips and tongue on her pussy and clit to bring her to the edge of orgasms and hold her there for several seconds, in order to heighten her desire and sensitivity. When the time arrived, I lowered my rock-hard shaft directly into her steamy pussy.
I stroked her gently and deeply, causing her to cry out in ecstasy. After a minute or two of this, I withdrew my cock. Gently but firmly, I grabbed her legs, with the pumps still on them, and raised them over her hips. I lowered them to my shoulders, giving my cock a better angle at her pussy. Before she realized I was changing our position, I thrust back into her.
She gasped in pleasure at my re-entry. I began to fuck her deeply, savoring the feeling of her soft pussy walls against my cock. Her moans increased in volume and frequency. "Yes... yes... YES!" She was loving every minute of this.
I picked up the pace as I felt her orgasm build. I reached down and began to fondle her erect nipples. She was tossing her head from side to side as she bounced her ass on the bed, trying to draw me in deeper on each stroke. Her moans reached a crescendo and merged into one long scream of pleasure, as the walls of her hot, wet pussy squeezed my dick, fueling my own orgasm. My cock throbbed as it spurted jism into her cunt.
Her scream stopped as she gasped for breath. My ejaculation continued, my cum dribbling out of her pussy. We stayed locked together for several minutes as she struggled for breath. I pulled my softening dick out of her soaked pussy, a thin string of jism following it. I lay down beside her and kissed her. "You were fabulous," I whispered.
She opened her eyes, blinked and turned to face me. "So were you."
We fucked again the next morning (after another "breakfast in bed," of course), and once again she experienced a mind-blowing orgasm. We lay in bed for awhile before I told her I had to get to work. I promised her dinner again that night, which she eagerly accepted. She was well on her way to being hooked.
Once again, I showed up fifteen minutes early with a gift. This time, it was a dress in fire-engine red, a strapless body-hugging design that left her knees exposed and tightly wrapped her hips and thighs. Also included in the box were a pair of matching ladies' gloves, two large gold hoop earrings and a pair of shiny red pumps with five-inch heels.
She pulled the outfit out of the box, and examined it, a frown of concern crossing her face. "Alan, you can't keep buying me these things. This is so... expensive."
I knew that the price wasn't what was really bothering her. She was worried about looking like a prostitute. Which was really kind of paranoid. The dress was a bit racy, but still within the bounds of taste. Quite conservative compared to what she'd be wearing before long.
"Relax. I can afford it," I reassured her. "Besides, like I said, you deserve it." I kissed her gently on the cheek. She smiled and went back into her bedroom to put it on.
She emerged fifteen minutes later, looking almost edible. The dress sparkled in the light. Again, I'd bought it half a size too small, so that her her breasts pushed out the top. I decided she was right. The dress, combined with the pumps and earrings, did make her look like a prostitute. Much more like an expensive, classy call girl than a cheap street hooker, but a prostitute nonetheless. I asked her to turn around for me so I could see the whole thing. She complied. "You look gorgeous," I told her.
We went to dinner again at a fine restaurant, and dined on shrimp and caviar. She was quite flattered at the amount of money she knew I must've been spending on her. Again, we talked about inconsequential things. After dinner, I surprised her by producing tickets to an operatic version of Shakespeare's "Hamlet" at the city symphony hall. She was suitably impressed.
We arrived at the hall half an hour early. Suzanne turned quite a few male heads as we strolled into the spacious lobby. I bought us each a glass of champagne at the bar to sip while we waited. She held her glass up between our faces. "To us," she said.
"No. To you," I replied, and clinked my glass on hers. She smiled at that and took a drink from her glass, imbibing not only champagne, but the dose of aphrodisiac I'd slipped into her glass.
We finished the drinks, entered the performance hall, and found our seats. After a brief wait, the lights dimmed and the show began.
At the end of the first scene, I glanced over at Suzanne, who I'd noticed had started squirming a bit. Suppressing my glee, I leaned over to her. "Are you all right?" I whispered.
"Yeah, I'm okay," she replied, a little embarrassed.
She managed to hold herself together until the middle of the second scene, when Hamlet was talking to his father's ghost. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Alan... I need it."
I did my best to look surprised, and I think I succeeded. "You mean now?" I responded, perhaps a bit too loudly, since the woman behind us shushed me.
"Yessss," she whispered back.
I paused, pretending to consider the situation. "You mean you want to have sex right here in this building?" I asked, forcing incredulity into my voice.
"Well... There has to be someplace. Pleeease," she whispered urgently, "I need it so baaaad."
I got up and led her to the aisle, much to the annoyance of several theater patrons. We hurried up the aisle to the foyer. She frantically gripped the inside of my arm as I looked around for a place we could slip into. I spied a pair of doors leading into what must be the reception area. I led Suzanne over and stuck my head inside.
The room was large, with a big table in the middle and number of chairs sitting around the outside wall. The table was covered by a fancy tablecloth. Arranged tastefully on top of it was a staggering array of food. No doubt it was set up for a reception during the intermission. Nobody was in it now, though. I hurried Suzanne inside and closed the door.
She threw her arms around me and plastered her lips against mine. I could feel the sexual energy bouncing around in her body as she gnawed hungrily at my lips. Placing my hands on her ass, I lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around me as I carried her to the edge of the table and set her down.
"Oh, God, I need it so bad..." she murmured.
I pushed a few trays of food out of the way and forced her to lie down on the table with her ass on the edge. I pulled away just long enough to unzip my pants and free my stiff cock. I pushed the red dress up her sleek legs, bunching it up around her waist. I shoved her panties to one side, revealing her already-soaked pussy. The drug was clearly having its usual effect. "Please, Alan, please..."
I lifted her legs up and rested them on my shoulders. "Here it comes, honey," I told her as I thrust my thick shaft into her moist pussy. She gave a loud moan of pleasure as my cock penetrated deep into her cunt. I grabbed her hips and began to take long, slow strokes, pulling her down onto my shaft with each thrust.
The aphrodisiac had turned her into an animal. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, providing leverage for her to thrust her ass into me with each stroke I took. She gave a sharp cry of pleasure each time my cock pushed through the soft folds of her pussy.
"Oh, yes... yes!" she moaned, as I pistoned in and out of her. Her eyes were closed as she twisted her head from side to side. As her noises intensified, I began to worry that someone would walk in on us. I decided that was the risk I had to take, though. I picked up the pace, pounding my hard shaft more quickly into her silky, wet cunt.
She quickly reached orgasm. She didn't scream this time, but I was sure her moans would easily carry to the lobby. I didn't care, anymore, though, because I was about to come, as well. Her pussy spasmed and gripped my cock tightly, and I felt my balls heave and begin to spurt cum. "Oh, God! Nnnnnngh!" she moaned as her orgasm swept over her. I shot my entire load into her pussy.
God, it felt good. I stood there for what must have been a minute while my orgasm passed. Suzanne was still lying on the table, her eyes closed, the red pumps on her feet resting on my shoulders, breathing deeply and moaning softly to herself. I looked up...
... and saw the kid. He looked to be about fourteen or fifteen. He was dressed in a theater uniform, and was standing in the service door carrying a plate of shrimp hors d'ouvres. His eyes were wide as saucers and his jaw was practically scraping the floor.
I had no idea how long he'd been there. Thinking quickly, I raised my index finger to my lips and made a gesture to be quiet. He didn't react, but just kept on staring. Suzanne's eyes were still closed, so she didn't notice.
I quickly withdrew my cock, eliciting a little whimper from Suzanne. A mixture of semen and cunt juice dribbled out of her cunt and began to pool on the table. I grabbed a nearby napkin and wiped away some of the excess before replacing her panties. Gently, and making sure to keep her facing away from the kid, I picked her up and set her upright on the floor in front of. She stumbled a little before regaining her footing. I reached down and pulled her dress down to cover her legs again, smoothing it out with my hands.
By this time, she'd regained her senses. "Oh, my God," she gasped, "I can't believe we just did that."
"Shhhh," I responded. "We need to get out of here."
She fought down her nerves. "O-okay. Let me get my purse." She turned around to grab it off of the table, and caught sight of the kid still standing in the doorway. She froze, startled.
"Excuse us," I said to the kid. "I think we must have the wrong room. We'll just be going now." I grabbed Suzanne's purse off the table. She was still in shock. "Honey... let's go." I said, pulling on her arm. She swallowed and allowed me to guide her out.
I hustled her through the door to the lobby. As I left, I gave the kid a wink. He hadn't moved since I'd first seen him.
On the way back to the hall through the lobby, Suzanne managed to look both flushed and white as a sheet. "My God, Alan, do you think he saw us?"
"No," I lied, "he walked in just as we were leaving."
She sighed with relief, but still seemed rather agitated. "But what if he had?"
"I don't know. Maybe you should have thought of that beforehand. It was your idea, after all."
She stopped talking and took on a thoughtful expression. We stayed for the rest of the show, but she had trouble paying attention. On the way home, she brought it up again.
"It's not so much that we were doing something dangerous and could've gotten caught; I mean, that's bad, but what I'm really worried about is that I wanted to do it. I mean, I just got the urge right there in the theater, and I had to have it."
I feigned perplexedness. "Well, I don't know. People get the urge in all sorts of weird places. It's not something you can control."
"No, but it's never happened to me like that before." She was thoughtful for a minute, then she leaned her head on my shoulder and placed a hand on my arm. "Maybe it's just the effect you have on me, Alan. If that's what it is, I don't mind at all."
I smiled and patted her head. You will mind, I thought. Oh, yes, you will.
I decided it would be best to give Suzanne a good night's rest after the episode in the theater. I didn't want to take things too fast just yet. So, I dropped her of at her apartment and promised to call her the next day.
At home, I allowed myself a drink to celebrate my latest success. The champagne Suzanne had drunk before the show had contained not one, but two drugs. The first was her normal aphrodisiac. The second drug was what was called a neural association enhancer. The effect of the drug was to temporarily increase the ability of neurons in the subject's brain to reconfigure themselves and make new connections.
The Russian scientist Ivan Pavlov had performed a groundbreaking experiment in behavioral study involving a dog, some meat, and a bell. Pavlov would ring the bell every time he fed the dog. After several days of this, Pavlov found he could get the dog's mouth to water by ringing the bell even without producing the meat. The dog's brain had rewired itself to associate the bell with food. And thus Pavlov discovered what scientists today call the Pavlovian response.
The new drug induced the brain to make such associations much more quickly. Experiments on lab animals with a similar drug had shown a dramatic decrease in the amount of time required to establish Pavlovian responses, sometimes by a factor of as much as five or ten. The version I had was tailored to the human brain chemistry. I had obtained it illicitly through a contact of mine in the military, where it was highly classified, and then reproduced it in my lab.
The drug had been in effect in Suzanne during our tabletop fuck at the theater. Her brain had begun to form associations between the various elements of that episode; the hard table under her ass, the danger of getting caught, the revealing attire she'd been wearing, the feel of the heels on her feet during the act, the slutty feeling of having sex in a public area, and, most importantly, the extreme pleasure of the orgasm she'd experienced.
This one episode wouldn't do the trick by itself, of course. But after only a few more drug-assisted experiences like that one, Suzanne would be well-trained, the Pavlovian response firmly embedded in her brain. By the time I was done with her, whenever the bell rang, she would crave meat. Not just from me. From anyone.