 Oh teen, the doctors had assured him that the operation teenfucking to remove teenfucking the tumor in his larynx carried only limited risks; it wasn't as if they were digging around in his brain, after all. Just the same, anything woman fucking could happen teen under the teenfucking knife teen.
 He noticed teenfucking he was attached to an IV teen drip fucking and several monitors. The drip, he teenfucking realized foggily, must account for why fucking he felt so detached, and why his throat teen only burned a little instead of hurting like hell. He looked up teen at the tiled ceiling; it seemed to be shifting colors in teen a woman herringbone pattern, like a television picture with bad reception. The colors were fascinating. The colors were teen. The colors. . . .
 "Rhonda, Mr. Bennett. My name fucking is Rhonda Marks." The girl's teen voice sounded perfectly normal teen, calm and relaxed as woman she posed with her bra in his face. She seemed not to realize there was anything unusual going teen on.
 It had to have teenfucking been the operation. It had done something to his voice woman fucking. Paul vaguely recalled teen reading an article years ago about how certain teen frequencies of sound outside the normal human hearing range could have physical and teenfucking psychological effects even fucking though they were inaudible. Apparently teenfucking they worked directly teen on fucking the brain, without involving the ears. Maybe his larynx had been altered by the surgery so that when he spoke, some extra frequency was produced which compelled obedience.
 Rhonda was beginning to sway on her feet. She was having trouble maintaining her pose bent over him; if she didn't stand woman up, she'd fall over woman fucking soon. Pleasurable as it woman might be to have her collapse on top of him, he wasn fucking't teen, he decided regretfully, quite ready for that.
 "Good girl, Rhonda."
 "Good teen girl, Rhonda teenfucking." She didn't make a teen sound, merely lay there, naked body woman fucking bucking in ecstasy until the storm finally passed. At last her shudders ceased and her breathing returned to something like normal rhythm. Slowly, dazedly, she teenfucking put teenfucking her clothes back on and stood teen up. She didn't try to woman run teen for it; she knew, now, that he could have her wriggling mindlessly on the floor fucking, instantly, with just three little words.
 "Dr. Steiner," he said forcefully, "give me your watch. You want me woman fucking to have it teenfucking."
 "What's teenfucking your name?" he asked teen her.
 "Jasmine, sir," she responded fucking, a slight Louisiana accent in her voice. "Jasmine Thibodeaux."
 Jasmine fucking was still turning, turning on tiptoe, hands clasped over her head. Her eyes were closed now, her lips slightly parted fucking. Clearly, she was teenfucking enjoying teenfucking herself in the fantasy jpeg he'd teen built for her. It almost woman fucking seemed a shame to end it, but he'd teen learned enough fucking.
 "Jasmine," he addressed her, "it's teen time to come back to reality. You had fun pretending to be a dancer, but woman fucking you have patients who teen need fucking you."
 Her eyes opened fucking. She sighed and settled back onto teenfucking the soles of teen her feet.
 "Jasmine, I know you're probably woman fucking upset with teenfucking me, even though jpeg you don't show it teen," he addressed teenfucking her. "Forget about it fucking. Completely. Nothing unusual happened here, except that you had a little daydream about being a dancer. Nod your head if your mind accepts this fucking as true."
 Jasmine nodded teen her head.
 Paul recalled teen an teenfucking old line from the comics he'd read fucking as a teenfucking kid fucking: "With teen great fucking power comes great responsibility teenfucking." It had woman always struck him as corny, but now--!
 His immediate teen supervisor was teen a woman, Charlene teen Sands teen. Bennett had heard all the stories about how she'd teen slept her teen way to the top (or at least to woman middle management). He wasn't sure he believed them, but it was certainly possible. She had fucking the looks for it, tanned skin woman, a "killer bod" only somewhat teen concealed fucking by the tailored business attire she wore, glossy black teen hair, green eyes behind woman fucking elegantly-framed teenfucking glasses. She had the manipulative temperament for it, too fucking.
 He didn't have to wait teenfucking long for teenfucking his opportunity. He'd hardly had a chance teen to teen clock in fucking and sit down at his jpeg desk when his phone rang. It was her.
 "You understand, Paul fucking," she said, struggling for cool detachment, "this doesn teen't change anything fucking. Whatever just . . . happened here, I fucking'm teenfucking still your boss. Don't think you've gotten some kind of leverage with me."
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