He closed his eyes casting, and the world went away for teen a while.
"Very nice, babe teens," he said to teenfucking the fucking nurse, who teenfucking held her position teen as if turned into a statue casting. "What's your teen name teen, anyway?"
"Rhonda, Mr casting couch teens. Bennett. My name is Rhonda Marks." The girl's voice sounded perfectly normal casting, calm teen and relaxed as she posed with her bra teen in his face teen. She seemed casting couch teens not to realize there was anything unusual going teen on.
"Yes . . . master . . . ." Rhonda replied, still a bit breathless.
Paul blanched. It hadn't worked. Was--whatever it was--gone? Or had it never been teen real teen at all teen? Had his puppeting teen of Nurse Rhonda been nothing more than an anesthetic-induced dream? He had to find out.
"What's your name?" he teen asked her.
"You can fucking unclasp your teenfucking hands and bring your arms down now casting, Jasmine," he told her.
"Jasmine, I teenfucking know you're probably upset with me, even couch though you don't show it," he addressed her. "Forget about it. Completely. Nothing unusual happened here, except that casting couch teens you had casting a little daydream about being a dancer casting couch teens. Nod your head if your mind accepts this as true."
"Very good, Jasmine. Now casting couch teens finish teen up your nurse's duties here and teen go on teen with your rounds."
Just how far his control extended, wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was already clear that he could override normal moral restraints. His first efforts with Rhonda and Jasmine had teen indicated that, and he'd teenfucking arranged a get-together between the two of them teen which had teen proved that even basic sexual teen orientation could be altered at his whim; he wished he'd had a camera for that teen episode teen. But he couldn't bring himself to order one of his "voice puppets," as he was starting to think teenfucking of them, to actually hurt casting couch teens or kill someone. He was afraid teen she'd do it, as willingly casting as she would fucking obey any other instruction. And teens what would that make casting couch teens him?
There was another quote, from nineteenth-century Britain: "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." His casting couch teens power wasn't absolute; his inability to control men, for one thing, limited it. But it was great enough to offer plenty of teenfucking chances for corruption.
Paul was teen feeling much stronger, and teens much teenfucking more welcome confident casting. A week after returning home, he went back to work.
The Hamilton Insurance Company was a teen medium-sized firm housed in fucking a three-story brick teen building dating to the early 1950s. Paul Bennett, at forty, was a successful salesman for the company. In appearance, he fucking was ordinary teen: medium height, medium build (just beginning to teenfucking go to teen pot), medium couch complexion, plain brown hair beginning to recede at the temples. Despite his sales record, he had long since resigned casting couch teens himself to the likelihood that he would advance no further in teen the company's ranks.
He didn't have to wait long casting couch teens for his opportunity. He'd fucking hardly teen had a chance to clock in and sit down couch at his desk when his phone rang. It was her.
"Paul," she said, "I need to speak with you for a few teen minutes, if you don teen't mind."
Ms. Sands picked a folder off her desk teen and waved couch it at him. "This is a welcome cancellation request from Mrs. Sylvia teens Cortez. A half-million-dollar account. She says you screwed teen up by insuring only her and not her husband as well. And while teen you were out on your casting little teen vacation"--Paul flushed teen angrily, but said casting couch teens nothing--"he died. And under the policy you got her to buy, she gets zip.
"Well, Paul?" Ms. Sands casting couch teens asked. "What do you think I should do?"
It teen was the perfect opening.
Ms. Sands' expression softened. She nodded teen. "Yes teen, Paul." Then, with a touch of teenfucking her former steel, "Don't casting couch teens call me Charlene teen. It's Ms. Sands to fucking you, is that clear, Mr. Bennett?"
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