Chapter 19

"Ooooh, lover, that was good. I didn't think you'd have anything left after servicing your little bitch."

They were lying in Damon's bed, still panting from the exertions of their latest combative coupling.

"You just bring it out in me, I guess."

"So, where do you keep her? I can't see you letting something that needy out in the world. She'd fuck every pair of pants between here and there and still want more."

"Yeah, she is a demanding little cunt. Kind of like someone else I know," he joked.

The Dom gave a low laugh. "Flattery will get you anything you want. So, where is she?"

Damon nodded with his head at a door she had assumed was a closet.

"Really? Is she in there?"

"Yes. At least, she should be. I told my manager to put her down for the night."

"Oooh, goody. Can I see?"

Damon looked at her. "Why? You want some cunt? Don't you get enough with all those girls you have?"

"No, silly. I just want to see how you keep her so hot and pliable. I just want to steal your trade secrets. You are the best, you know."

He didn't catch the sarcasm. She knew he wouldn't. After a good fuck, a man's ego didn't let him think. He had fulfilled his God-ordained task of procreating. And just like God on the seventh day, the fuckers shut down and rested. Just like a man...

"In that case, OK. But no touching and keep quiet. I'm still working on her."

The beautiful, if bedraggled lady stepped gracefully out of the bed, using her nudity as a weapon. She knew she excited him. All was fair in this war and love had no part of it. She opened the door to Alex cage and the girl's plaintive wailing filled the bedroom. Her cries vacillated, quiet to loud, quiet to loud, in coordination with a large swinging pendulum. The lady saw the girl was nearly insane with frustration. A cruel smile of satisfaction crossed her lips. It was amazingly simple yet diabolical in its effectiveness. A true slut-making machine.

She recognized the latex clothing. Her girls each had their own, too. But the swinging arm, now, that was genius. Sheer genius.

Silently she shut the door. If it all worked out like she planned, she would get this little bitch for her own. Oh, God, what she could do with her. Such devotion. Such loyalty. Such a fucking waste on this prick. He didn't even know how to break her.

And the idea was planted and grew. It was brilliant.

"I can't believe there would be anything more you could possibly get from her after observing her performance today," she started, making the opening gambit.

"The bitch is stubborn."

"Oh, come on. She's dying to serve you. It couldn't be that hard."

"You have no idea."

Damon was opening up to this lady. His guard was down. She was easy to talk to. He had never had someone he could talk about his work with, someone who understood.

"Anything I could do to help?" she asked carefully. This was the make or break point.

"I don't know. I can't get her to commit, sort of."

Yes! She was in! Two moves and Checkmate!

"I'll bet you I can get her to commit to it, whatever it is, in three days. If I win, I get you for a week, in my parlor."

"Ha! Sure, after I softened her up for you!"

"Are you making any progress?"

"Well, no."

"So? How about it?"

"And if I win? I get you for a week?"

She didn't even hesitate. "Deal. Shake?"

"Done. So. What's your brilliant plan? What do I do?"

The beautiful woman leaned back in his soft bed and grinned. Game, Set and Fucking Match. God, he was going to look cute on his knees sucking her cunt.

"Nothing."

"Huh? Nothing?"

She sighed, like a trainer realizing they had a really stupid dog to work with. "Yes. Nothing. I'd suggest you turn off that ingenious machine, too. And then, you ignore her."

"Ignore her?"

"Yes. Give her the 'silent treatment.' Be there, but don't be there. Let her see you, but as far as she can tell, to you she doesn't exist."

"It'll never work."

"Then you'll have me in your sexy clutches for a week. And you'll only have lost three days. Sounds like a good deal to me."

"You're pretty sure of yourself."

"Let's just say I know women. I know that woman." She grinned, "At least, I sure the Hell hope I do." She paused. "As long as we're in this together, you mind telling me what it is she won't give up?"

He looked chagrinned. "A divorce," he said finally.

"You're shitting me. You married that little cunt?"

"No, not me. You met him earlier. Harold."

"Oh. I see. You're right. It could be hard to get a divorce from a dead man. Hmmm. That may take a bit longer than I estimated."

Damon looked at her, his interest piqued. He had swallowed the hook and she had just set it. Hard.

"You want out? Too rich for you?"

"No way, lover. Come over here."

Giggling as her newest victim attacked her with renewed vigor, the Dom salivated over her plans. This Mr. Smith liked to use drugs to his advantage. She had seen that at the photo session and again earlier tonight. He had one drug, apparently, that he liked to use with a very lethal effect. She didn't recognize it by its effects, but it was very good. He was very good at using it, too, and covering up the bodies. She would have never suspected anything like this from him and the police had obviously never connected him to anything. She had never had much use for actually killing people, but it never hurt to have it in her arsenal.

What Damon had forgotten about was her arsenal, her medical bag of tricks. Her newest little pharmaceutical helper was a Central Nervous System (CNS) drug that had failed spectacularly in the clinical trials. It had been intended to help severely depressed individuals by making them more open to suggestions, allowing therapists to alter their thinking patterns. If anything, it was too successful. The patients were so open to suggestion that their entire moral code could be influenced. A normally harmless person could be made to do the most reprehensible things imaginable without the slightest remorse or guilt. And all with only one dose.

Obviously the military was interested in guilt-free killing machines and had tried to hijack the project, but the company and the FDA had thought better of it and shut it down. She, of course, had a very good contact in the company's lab. All the samples that were supposed to have been destroyed had ended up in her vault. Her first three subjects, normal heterosexual college freshmen two weeks ago, had just put on an outstanding performance tonight at this very club as lesbian nymphomaniac cock suckers. They still attended college, but they served totally at her whim and without question.

As would this prick and his 'pet.'

Damon got out of bed and opened Alex' cage after their latest mating. He stopped the pendulum and she opened her eyes, glazed and unseeing. Staring down at the delirious girl, he wondered if she knew what was going to happen to her. In three days, he would have his 5 million dollars or he would have that bitch in his bed under his control. Either way, he couldn't lose.

He didn't even notice he was using the same words he had used earlier with Harold.

The next two days were pure torture for Alex. Alvin would get her up, feed her and walk her through her day. She was now a considered just a regular worker at the club. She cleaned the bars and waited tables.

She didn't dance. She had to tolerate the none-to-subtle pinches and advances of the club patrons. She did so stoically. While on the outside she was calm, inside she was a tightening coil.

She hadn't quite figured it out the first day. She told herself that Mr. Smith was just busy. He had a lot of important things to do.

Then she got her first paycheck. Alvin had handed it to her along with passing out all the other employees their checks. At first she had been excited, even jumping up and down. Then she saw the amount and asked Alvin why it was so much. He said Mr. Smith had told him to tell her that he had given her the earnings for her dance. Suddenly, Alex got sick to her stomach and had to rush to the bathroom. She threw up and was sick all over again when she thought about it.

Pale and wan, she came back and gave the check back to Alvin.

"Please, Alvin. Could you hold this for me? I-- I don't..."

"I know, Miss Alex. You're not a whore. You did that for him, not the money. It was a bad thing for him to do."

"But, why, Alvin?"

"I don't know, Miss Alex. I don't know anymore."

Mr. Smith made frequent forays into the club, more than usual, stopping and chatting with Alvin and the other employees. But never Alex. It was as if Alex didn't exist. He would see her and walk right by her. By the end of the first day she was in tears.

The second day was worse. She spoke to him, and he walked away. Alex was an emotional wreck.

Each morning and evening Alvin would hand her the clipboard with the forms. Each morning and evening she would shake her head and the tears would fall.