Corporate Takeover: Part One, page 4
His cock, once more, had been left out of the party, but his new sensations were far more important to him... far more real. The tide of his arousal withdrew and he closed his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face.
Making Mandy
The room wasn't his, nor could he recall ever having been inside it before. The curtains were a sheer white, drifting against the breeze that blew through the inch gap in the opening, filling the room with the smell of cut grass from somewhere. The floor was hardwood, the furniture a deep cherry oak to match, including a chest of drawers and vanity mirror and tall wardrobe. The bed was soft, and he could feel light sheets on top of him.
When he tried to sit up, he found that his arms were bound to the bedposts to his left and right, his ankles similarly constricted by professional-grade handcuffs that rattled as he shifted his weight on the bed. His head throbbed, and he let it fall back onto the soft pillow beneath.
"Hello?" he called out. "Help!"
He could hear the sound of footfalls beyond the bedroom door and watched as it swung open, revealing Janessa wearing a worried expression. She crossed the room to the bed and brushed his short brown hair back from his forehead.
"You're awake. The doctor said it might be another hour or two. You're a quick healer. That, as they say, bodes well."
"Janessa, what are you doing?" he asked, rattling the cuffs. "Are you planning on kidnapping me? Look, I know hitting you was wrong, and I'm sorry, I really am, but you can't keep someone hogtied in your house. We are in your house, aren't we?"
"We are in a house," she grinned and sat on the edge of the bed. "I still have some properties that haven't sold, yet. This one just won't sell. It's so out of the way from anything, no one can figure out what to do with it. But I always liked it. I think it's quaint."
"Janessa, please..."
"I acted rashly, no doubt about that, but you just made me so goddamned mad, Martin. But, in the midst of all that darkness, I saw the light. You were right. No one wants me, no normal guy like yourself, anyways. So, after you were knocked out and I had more time to think, I realized that we could both be happy, Martin. You just need a better perspective."
"What perspective is that? You think I'm going to get some kind of Stockholm Syndrome or something if you keep me here long enough?"
"Don't be silly, Martin," she said, and the light manner of her voice worried Martin far more than the handcuffs at that moment. "My father was a professor at Columbia, taught history, especially military history. What he really loved, though, were stories of Cold War experiments and secret CIA missions, all that espionage stuff."
She idly ran her nails along his sheet-covered belly. Martin realized the sheets were satin, his favorite as she knew.
"I liked hearing him tell stories about programs designed to make someone act and believe just how you wanted them to. If I'm being honest, those stories turned me on a little," she said, bending close to his ear, as if sharing a delightful secret. "So, I believe what we are going to do is find out if a person can be completely changed through modification. I reached out to some people my father knew, and they put me in touch with some of the old timers who still remember those programs. A couple of them even conducted these experiments."
"What are you saying? You're going to make me love you?"
Janessa kissed his cheek, even as he turned his head away from her.
"No, Martin. I'm going to make you like me."
Martin's confusion was writ large on his face, but Janessa answered nothing else, patting his stomach as she stood and crossed to the drawers where a makeshift medical table had been arranged. She prepared a syringe and returned to him, tapping the end with her forefinger as she depressed the plunger and a thin stream of clear liquid erupted from it.
"What is that?"
"Just something to keep you calm, Martin. The doctors I'm consulting with insisted you remain sedated until they arrive. Shouldn't be more than a day. In the meantime, it's a good time to catch up on some beauty sleep."
"You're crazy. Someone will call the police. My friends knew I was going on a date and they'll find you."
"I don't think so, Martin. One thing money affords is privacy, and I've made sure that all records of our date, at least anything that mentions my name, is gone. And by the time you leave this room, there will be very little of Martin Frist left."
"Let me out of here!" he shouted, straining against the cuffs.
"So loud," Janessa smiled. "But not for long."
She stabbed the syringe into his forearm and depressed the plunger. Martin felt the sting of the syringe's contents injected into his skin and a warm tingling spread up his arm and through his whole body. His body sagged back onto the bed and the world turned gray and out of focus.
Before the darkness took him completely, he felt Janessa's slender fingers caressing his cheek.
Doctor's Orders
Derek was drenched with sweat when he returned home, his flannel shirt wet under the arms and at the small of his back. He'd been working construction all his life, scraping when the economy crashed, booming as it came back. He had traded a forty-hour-a-week employment for his own business, which meant longer hours, but he was master of his own domain. His father had been full of bad ideas, but controlling one's own fate, letting no one dictate what you can and can't do? That was one of his better notions.
He nearly stumbled over the package when he mounted the steps to his front porch, the interior dark and empty now that Nicole had gone. It was a plain white package with a pink ribbon running lengthwise down the center, another offset sealing it around the sides. He assumed it was something Nicole had ordered when he picked it up, lifting the folded note attached addressed to him.
'Derek,' it read, 'I'm hoping you were sincere when you said you would be willing to try anything to help yourself. In this box you will find the first steps to a wonderful change.'
He tucked the box under his arm and entered the dark house, his curiosity piqued. He imagined the beautiful doctor at his doorstep and a scenario played out in his mind where he was home when she had delivered it, leading to a scene of the two of them in Derek's bed, his mouth on hers, her soft body beneath him.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he tossed a frozen dinner in the microwave and opened the mysterious package. Tissue paper covered the contents and he ripped his way through the thin material until his hands found themselves wrapped in a silky fabric. When he lifted them, he realized that what he held was a pair of silken thigh high stockings. He frowned and dropped them on the table, digging deeper into the package for the promised note. Instead, he found a matching pair of panties.
"What the hell?" he asked aloud. A last search discovered a small portable disk drive, the words 'Read Me' written in permanent marker across the length of it. Ignoring the microwave that beeped behind him, he took his beer to the study where the computer sat.
He plugged the thumb drive into the pc and opened the folder. Inside, a text document was named 'Read Me,' just as the drive itself, and another file called HELP.EXE. He double-clicked on the text file and scanned the document.
'Derek, thank you for reading this far. You're curious, I'm sure, why I've left women's clothing in a box on your doorstep. I was struck by something you said - that you had gotten some of your worst habits from your father, while you praised your mother's more gentle nature. Without knowing the details, it seems certain to me that you grew up in a home where you had to be strong under your father's tutelage. I would like to learn what of your mother's influence may lie under the surface. All you have to do is simply hold the stockings in your hand and then play the other file on this drive. We can discuss the feelings you have during this session at our next appointment. Best, Dr. Hayes.'
Derek closed the file and sat staring at the screen. He frowned at the idea of sitting alone in the house, holding womens clothes in his hands while he watched a video, or whatever the hell Hayes had included. At the same time, he understood that Hayes held his fate in her hands. If she reported back to the judge - who was probably a dyke, a voice inside him called out - that he had not fulfilled his part in the counseling... he could wind up in jail, lose work, lose his home. He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Fine," he told the dark house, and stood quickly, retrieving the stockings from the box. He made a round of the first floor, closing the windows lest anyone see him sitting behind the computer like that. His neighbors were chatty types, and he'd already been the recipient of several visits from the nosy old hag next door with her casseroles, a tuna-based subterfuge to find out all she could about what had really happened between Nicole and Derek after seeing the flashing blues of police outside their home weeks before.
Secure in the knowledge he was alone, he finished his beer in a long swallow and sat down. He stretched the stockings between his hands, curling his fingers into the fabric. He gave himself a quick, resolute nod and double-clicked the file.
FLASH!
He blinked, the sudden intense color - a shockingly bright light pink - still floating before his eyes. When he focused again, he saw a black-and-white photo of a woman, maybe a secretary from the 1950s. She was smiling, sitting before a desk and typing. Behind it, lines swirled and turned. The image faded, replaced by another, this one a woman on a bed, pulling a stocking like the one he held in his hand up her leg, bunched at the knee as she unrolled it. Behind her, the image spun and swirled. Staring at it made it undulate, and he could feel his body sag in the chair as he stared at the screen.
FLASH!
This time, he blinked, but lazily, the color burning into his retinas. The picture of the woman dressing faded into another, a dark-haired beauty who looked over her shoulder behind her, smiling in nothing but her underwear - garters and stockings, panties, a bra that was only half-clasped. Then another image... and another... all of the photographs' subjects women in various stages of undress, but, to a one, they all wore similar lingerie, their bodies highlighted by the sheer stockings and satiny undergarments.
FLASH!
The spiral behind the images spun and spun, and Derek could feel a strange detachment as he watched. He lazily considered looking away and found that he had neither the strength nor the will to. He realized that a sound was playing, too, coming dimly from the small computer speakers, a pulsating tone coupled with a whispering voice that he could hear, but not understand.
Finally, the last image faded away, a close-up of a woman's legs and hips, adorned by stockings and lace panties. The spiral faded, too, the sounds from his speakers whispering one last time, then gone.
He blinked, sitting up in his chair, having slid down to his mid-back. He stretched his eyebrows up, widening his eyes to wake himself. His body tingled with a pleasant buzz, and he found himself rocking on his feet when he stood. Derek returned to the kitchen, suddenly aware that he hadn't actually eaten anything yet and pulled the food from the microwave. To his surprise, it was ice cold. He looked at the time on his phone, stunned to see that almost two hours had passed. More surprising, he realized that the stockings were still in his hands, only shifting from one to another when he was manipulating the microwave door.
He replaced the stockings in the package and reheated his food, disconcerted by the whole-body buzz that lingered with him as he ate.
When he slept, it was a deep sleep, and dreamless.
Lyka Bloom, Corporate Takeover: Part One
