The Practice

Dent looked at his watch, his thick black brows knitting in anger. His deep-set
dark eyes drilled beyond his office door. It was opened by a thirtyish woman in a
tight knit red skirt holding a cup of coffee. Keeping her eyes on the carpet, she
minced on her high heels to serve the coffee. Her hand trembled slightly as she
placed the porcelain cup and saucer before the man.

"You're late."

She nodded, bit her lower lip. "Yes Sir. I'm sorry Doctor Dent. The bus--"

"Cut the excuses." She stopped talking abruptly. His dark eyes rolled over her
cleavage, tight and bursting in the form fitting sheer white blouse. The implants
had definitely been worth the expense.

"Dock yourself the entire day's pay, ."

Her bright red lips puckered in outrage. "But Doctor, it wasn't my fault. I'm
only ten minutes late!" The whine was half-kittenish, half-pout.

"Betsy, if you are late again, you're fired. Understand me, honey?"

His secretary went pale. A day's pay was a lot of money to her, but it wasn't
worth her job. And she was damn lucky to have a job this good. She nodded meekly.
"It won't happened again Sir."

Dent nodded. "Of course it won't. Now get out."

Betsy smiled weakly. As she turned, she felt Dr. Dent's eyes on her ass as she
minced on her red "fuck me" pumps. She sighed with relief as she shut the door.
Whew! She was lucky she hadn't lost her job, but the lost pay scared her. She
made so little as it was being Dr. Dent's secretary. The rent was due and she, as
usual, was broke. She shuddered. She'd have to make it up to Mr. Billage the
Super in other ways. Another sigh.

It was hard being a single working girl. Betsy Weston was a thirty-five year old
secretary going nowhere fast making all of eight dollars an hour, hardly enough
to make the rent on her shabby apartment. The rest of her life seemed so
dead-end. She knew, just knew Doctor Dent would inevitably fire her in favor of a
younger girl. Even though every single extra dollar went to pay for aerobics,
make-up, sexy if cheap clothes and lingerie. He still fucked her, but she knew,
just knew she was always on the edge of being fired. And as dead-end a life as
she had now, it was better than being out on the street. She absently applied a
fresh coat of red lipstick, anticipating Dr. Dent's mid-morning blow job.

What a piece of ass. That was what he had said when he had first met her in
California, after he had gotten out of prison.

It had been at the Beverly Hills Hotel lobby and she was so surprised that she
didn't say anything at first, just stood there with her mouth open. Then her face
got tight and she turned away.

"I said you're a hot piece of ass."

She turned back to face him. Her tan face was red now with anger. Her lips moved,
but what came out surprised her.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

She had shaken her head trying to knock some sense back into herself, but he held
her still, sitting her down and putting her in a light trance as he probed. She
was Doctor Elizabeth Weston ("Liza" to friends, she hated anything else), a
psychoanalyst with a degree from Harvard. He quickly established that she was at
the hotel to address a group of eminent colleagues, was a published authority on
her subject and something of a hotshot. She was a pretty and slim, if somewhat
flatchested, blonde engaged to a prominent California legislator. And she had a
lot of dough-- like hundreds of thousands-- in the bank. Liquid.

It was lucky for him that she was the first broad he had hooked up with once he
was out of the joint. She had given him the idea to begin with-- not consciously,
but still it was her example that set his plan in motion. It burned in him that
here was this uppity blonde with her fancy education raking in the bucks while he
was being passed around for a fuckboy by the brothers in the can for packs of
cigarettes. Well, that changed quick.

It was awkward at first but the science boys had gotten him started o.k. He
probed like he was taught and reached in and began to make alterations. Liza
became 'Betsy' in short order. Memories were constructed and a new behavior
instilled. After a couple of days of non-stop rape at her place, he had her make
a couple of calls. They resulted in breast implants which boosted her 32B to a
more acceptable 36C, paid for in cash after some major withdrawals were made from
her bank account. Liza's last communication with her old life was a letter to her
fiance explaining that she was a lesbian and that she was so ashamed of it that
she was leaving everything behind to start over with a new lover. And when they
boarded the plane East, it was as Doctor Dent and his bimbo secretary Betsy.

Getting established was simple. Betsy had given him the idea. Just set himself up
as a psychoanalyst that specialized in women's treatment, advertise in the yellow
pages and wait for the phone to ring. It did and had been ringing for six months
now. He had dozens of 'patients'--of all different ages, races, social standing
and the like. Except for the very old and the very young, he spared not one. Each
and every woman or girl that came within his sphere changed forever.

Armed with the new power that the scientists had unwittingly bestowed upon him,
he would exact his revenge. Women would pay for putting him in prison, for
forcing him to do the depraved things he had done in order to survive. He would
invade their minds and discover what would shame and humiliate them most. Then he
would transform them into the most stereotypical male sex fantasy he could
imagine and send them back to the men in their lives as fearful, compliant toys,
eager to please and obey MEN.

And that's what he'd keep doing, day after day after day. At least as long as he
could avoid Frantz.

"Dr. Dent, Sir? Mrs. Dillon is here for her 10:00."

"Show her in Betsy. And refill my coffee cup. Mrs. Dillon," he greeted her as his
patient entered his office, "would you like a cup of coffee?"

The expensively dressed woman nodded curtly. "Thank you, no."

He curtly waved Betsy out of the office and focused on his visitor.

She sat down across the desk from him and crossed her legs. He admired the white
stockinged limbs, then the trim hips and chest above them, finally resting his
eyes on the pleasant vision of the forty two year old blonde. Allison Dillon was
one of his regulars, had been for a couple of months now. This was her weekly
visit into Manhattan from Long Island, where she normally spent her days playing
tennis, playing bridge, shopping and doing whatever the wives of wealthy lawyers
do on Long Island.

"How have you been? Any urges coming back?"

She shook her head, big diamond earrings swinging loose. "Nothing." Her delicate
lips, painted with a peach lipstick, pursed in a prim smile. "No. I haven't
picked up a pack all week!"

Allison had originally come to him for help in quitting the habit of smoking.
That was easily enough settled but first he wanted to see some patterns develop.
Dent had learned early on that it was too easy to just go in and start making
changes. Probing didn't make you all-knowing, at least not at first. So he had
gradually tuned down her smoking over the last month after some phoney-baloney
therapy schtick he made up as he went along. She had been skeptical at first, but
sure enough the smoking urges went away. Now she thought he was a fucking miracle
worker. Unfortunately for Allison, that wasn't where the miracles were going to
end. He was ready to start playing with this one.

"Actually, I have another problem that has come up Doctor, one that I need help
in coping with." Her small blue eyes tightened, her small hands balled into
fists. There was a slight flush on her sharp, wan cheeks.

"Please continue." This was unexpected and he listened without probing.

She looked out his skyview window, across the jungle of skyscrapers. It was a
moment before she resumed speaking. Then it was snapped out in the open. "I'm
fairly certain that my husband," the word was infected, "is having an affair."

"I see. How do you feel about this?"

The blue eyes narrowed. "I feel like taking him to the cleaners. That's" she
snapped, "how I feel about that." The smile was as slitty as the eyes were.

He couldn't resist any more and he dove in, even as she proceeded to spill her
intents to take the house, take the summer place, the Mercedes, the stock-- He
tuned it out as he began to probe. He saw the situation-- late nights, calls at
odd hours, unexplained absences, the whole nine yards. Then he saw the husband
and who Allison thought was his partner in crime, Tracy something, a cute junior
partner at his law practice. He began to withdraw because the bitterness was so
intense. He stopped her in mid-sentence and she remained frozen as he checked her
file.

When he had the number, he dialed it himself. The receptionist apologized that
Tracey was too busy to take calls, then he concentrated briefly. She promptly
apologized and put him right through. A young friendly voice and he could see why
Allison's husband was interested. She was young, hot and fucked her superior like
a monkey in heat. Out of curiosity, he waded in a bit and discovered that she was
really hoping to make senior partner by doing the nasty with the older man, that
in fact she was just using him. This was accomplished in a second and he returned
to the questioning voice, ordering it to transfer him to Mr. Dillon's line. Now a
masculine voice answered.

"Who is this please?" The voice was rich with authority and worldiness.

Dent dove in. He found Tracey top of mind- he wanted to fuck the young lawyer
during lunch. He liked her, liked her a lot and thought she liked him a lot too.
Wrong-o, counselor. Dent dove deeper and hit the wall that was Allison. The whole
picture emerged-- she was a real bitch on wheels. Same attitude about sex-- it
would mess up her hair. More interested in his money than making him happy. No
time for kids-- that would distract her social activities. His bitterness real,
as opposed to hers which seemed so selfish. Dent slipped in what he had learned
about Tracey. The thought would later seem to Dillon like an inspiration, but the
truth of it would take hold. Armed with the knowledge of how the junior lawyer
was using him would give him the advantage he needed to take what he wanted from
her without himself getting hurt later on. Probably keep her on her back by
promising her the ever elusive senior partnership-- which would never come.
Justice.

Now he returned to his bitch of a client. This had worked out well. He hadn't
been sure what he had wanted to do with her actually and this had given him an
idea to try out.

"Listen to me."

Her ears perked and the eyes met his in silent obedience.

"Your husband is a brilliant lawyer and he has figured out a way to keep all his
money from you if you get divorced. You will get nothing. You will be destitute.
A laughingstock. Broke. Understand?"

The eyes were scared now. The new knowledge was unexpected and frightened her.
She nodded, her short blonde helmet of hair shaking. The shrew was being tamed.

"You are right that your husband has a mistress at his office-- but you were
wrong to think you could do anything about this. Your husband makes the rules,
not you Allison. Besides, look at what you are competing with." He filled her
mind with endless scenes of prono movies featuring her husband and a Tracey with
a young, movie-perfect body that put her own trim frame to shame.

"You can't compete with that, can you? Not unless I can show you a way. And
unless you do SOMETHING, your husband will divorce YOU."

Panic gripped her rigid, pale face.

"You must try all you can to keep him interested in you. You could be in better
shape-- sign up for membership at a health club at once. Get back to your high
school senior weight and clothes size as soon as possible. Go to a tanning salon
on a regular basis. What is your husband's favorite actress?"

Allison sniffled out an answer. "Kim Bassinger."

"Then get a recent photo and start making yourself up like her. Dye your hair
blonder and let it grow out. Spend a lot more time on make-up in general. When
does your husband get up-- when he deigns to sleep with you, that is."

"About seven o'clock."

"Then you'll get up at six and spend an hour making yourself pretty for him
before he gets up. No more wasting time with your worthless suburban friends.
Spend free time reading articles on how to please your man. Without him, you're
nothing and you know it."

She nodded dumbly, knowing it was true, she was such a bitch--

"You need to explain to him that you understand how things are for him. That your
marriage is everything in the world to you, that he is the center of your world.
And that since you are just a silly little wifey, you know he needs to spend lots
of time away from you so he can make money to keep you nice and safe in your
comfy little lovenest. In fact you will refer to yourself as your husband's
'little woman' with pride when asked who you are. You will make it clear to him
that he need never have an excuse for spending time away from you. Because you
know-- YOU KNOW-- that if he is pushed into a corner regarding his mistress, it
will be you, not her, that he gets rid of. Understand?"

Allison Dillon sighed with the newfound knowledge. It was true. She was the
expendable one, not his bimbo.

"Luckily for you there are some things that your husband's mistress doesn't do
for him. And because she is so young and sexy and nice he doesn't make her do
these things-- though he could if he wanted. You understand that your husband is
a very powerful man and that you are completely dependent upon him, don't you
Allison?"

"Y-yes, Dr. Dent." The voice was still hard, still filled with natural pride. But
it was humbled now, broken.

"Good. These things...you know what they are, don't you?" He probed her and
collected all the things she had avoided in sex over the years, the things she
found most distasteful, most unpleasurable, most humiliating. He placed them all
on the tip of her tongue, most offensive first. And behind them all he reformed
the black fear of divorce. She physically gagged, then reluctantly swallowed.

"Tell me then. Tell me the things."

"B-bondage. Anal sex. Oral sex." Her voice grew softer with each item.

"Your husband's mistress doesn't do these things for him. But YOU will have to do
them to try and keep him from divorcing you. It is your only chance. You will
never like doing these things-- that will never change. But you will have to
pretend that you do. So that he is pleased to do them with you. Understand?"

She nodded glumly.

"Good. You will have to prove to him how enthusiastic you are about pleasing him
in these ways. What is your sexiest piece of lingerie and how old is it?"

"That would be my white babydoll nighty. It is about seven years old."

"He is probably bored with it-- as he is bored with you." Dent liked the way she
cringed at this comment. He dove back in and looked into her chest of fears and
dislikes, grabbed a handful.

"You have been too preoccupied with what you think is appropriate for you to
wear. You have always known how unappealing your husband found your lingerie
choices yet worn the same boring underthings despite this. If you are to remain
Mr. Dillon's silly little wifey, those days are over. You will dress to entice
and amuse your husband from now on. Your own desires count for nothing. And you
know what men like to see women in, don't you?" He watched her review the catalog
of slutty panties, bras, bustieres, and other items of lingerie she had always
thought inappropriate to a lady such as herself.

"You will obtain a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog and arrange to have an
account started at the local outlet." Dent chuckled. "Your husband will probably
have no problem with this. Then you will ask him every morning what item he would
like to see you in that evening-- if he chooses to come home. You will purchase
what he chooses, then wait for him at the door in evenings with his favorite
drink to greet him-- wearing your new pretties and nothing else.

If it pleases him, you will then perform one of the acts his own mistress does
not do for him. You will not wait to be asked. You will suggest each one till he
has made a choice. And then you will assume the appropriate position and begin
pleasuring him the way he has specified. And every time he puts his dick in your
mouth, you will taste his mistress'es pussy and be reminded that you are no more
than a substitute fuck, until he can get back to loving his beautiful young
mistress."

A thin bead of sweat ran down her neck and she bite her lower lip in realization
of this now immutable fact of her existence.

"With every new lingerie purchase, you will discard a matching piece of old
underwear. You will do this until your entire collection of lingerie is composed
only of what he wants to see you in. You will begin the same process with your
day clothing. You will ONLY purchase clothing from Frederick's of Hollywood,
unless told otherwise by your husband. But you will not ask him for permission to
buy from another source. If he asks why you are buying such slutty clothing, you
will answer him that you want to be sexy for your man."

The Long Island socialite nodded, face blushing but secretly pleased to have this
opportunity to hold onto her marriage.

He let go of her mind. She blinked and unconsciously wiped the sweat from her
neck. "It seems hot in your office, Doctor." Her voice had lost it's hard edged
quality. It was softer now and more hesitant.

"You were saying about your husband, Allison...some news I believe?"

She blushed and looked away. "It was n-nothing, Doctor. I'm just thrilled to be
Mr. Dillon's little woman, that's all." The blonde housewife inhaled quickly,
then drew the breath in more softly.

"You all right Allison?"

The blonde gave him a perky, girlish grin-- entirely put on-- and nodded.

"I'll see you next week then. Good bye Allison."

The woman rose and left. He watched her look about her nervously as if the whole
landscape of her life was unfamiliar to her now. It was a common reaction to
probing this intensive. The disorientation would eventually subside until the
passage of time would cement the new conditionings. Then if she ever reflected on
how her life had changed, it would be like someone considering their life before
some new invention they now used. It would be impossible to really visualize her
life without it.

Dent considered the visit in satisfaction, making fists of triumph, tapping the
desk with his pen and swiveling himself around in his desk chair. Kidlike, he
giggled and thought about the gift he'd just given his client's husband. He'd be
suspicious at first, wondering why his bitch shrew of a wife had suddenly
transformed into a nymphomaniac. Had she caught on to his affair with Tracey?
Then she'd insinuate that she did know about it, that she was scared of being
dumped and that she knew he held all the cards. That she would do whatever he
said. Happily. What would Dillon make of that? When he had read Dillon's mind on
the phone, he saw the lawyer's potential to be a real prick. He hoped so. He
needed the physic juice that would come from Allison Dillon's humiliation. This
one had been fun, but taken a bit out of him. He had a small headache.

It was time for his mid-morning blowjob from Betsy and he called her in. He had
done a man's job this morning and he certainly deserved it. His secretary, eyes
lowered respectfully, slipped out of her red dress (he liked her in panties and
bra only when she blew him-- one of his work rules) and knelt before him.
"Doctor" Dent loved his work. Just loved it.

The DMZ Gangstas were responsible for one of the most amazing scientific
breakthroughs of the late twentieth century. Specifically MC Gangsta-mon, the
Jamaican who ran the black section of Crilledge State Penitentiary. Because it
was Gangsta-mon who told Harry Dent that he intended to make him his personal
bitch.

"I know, mon, you run out of cigarettes, you been givin' it away for protection.
But from now on you give it to me for free."

Gangsta-mon towered over him, caressing Dent's shoulder through his denim shirt.

"I get screws to move you in my crib. No mo' 'mon' for you-- you be my sweet
Mary-girl. I give you pretty things to wear, fuckboy-- you dress up like 'ho for
Gangsta-mon. You be my bitch and keep me happy-- you too pretty a white boy to
keep it fresh. You get your shit ready, Mary. Screw comes for you in two days."

The concept of being a Jamaican ganglord's transvestite sex slave did not appeal
to Harry. But there weren't a lot of options. There was no way he could fight
it-- Gangsta-mon had the brothers on his side and the white prisoners were few
and cowed in this facility. No Aryan Brotherhood to team up with. And the warden
and screws could give a shit. Most of the screws were crooked to begin with. And
skinjobs-- rapists like Harry-- were at the bottom of the prison food chain.
There'd be precious little sympathy for anything the Jamaican did to him.

The infirmary was a long shot, but maybe he could buy time. The doctor didn't buy
his chest pains jive, but his eyes did light up when he started to beg him just
to keep him for observation. Probably sensed his end-of-the-line desperation. He
looked at Dent closely, then checked out his file. He sat reading for a while and
occasionally h'mmmed. He asked the prisoner what a college educated guy was doing
at Crilledge. Dent shrugged, told him he got framed. For the umpteenth time. Like
he would believe him any more than the guys who sent him up.

It was true though-- he had been. He had just started his first job, magna cum
laude degree in accounting in hand, making more than he ever thought possible.
His folks proud as hell-- first in his family to get a degree and work with his
mind, not hands. Things were looking great. Then a Catholic sorority girl he had
dated senior year went to visit her parents on vacation. Her diary found its way
out of her luggage which her mother naturally picked up and read-- all about how
Dent had popped her little girl. Then confrontation with Little Miss Amnesia. Who
soon became Little Miss Date Rape Victim. They had arrested him without warning
at work. Her dad, a state senator, couldn't have it out that his daughter was a
slut, so Harry became the false arrest poster boy. During the trial, which
drained his parent's retirement fund, my mom had a heart attack and died. After
he was sentenced-- to ten years-- his dad got sick. He died right after his son
went in. In a way, it made it more bearable for Harry.

The prison doctor listened politely but Harry knew he didn't care. He seemed more
interested in the way Harry talked rather than what he was telling him. Dent
thought maybe he was queer for him-- in prison everyone seems queer for you if
you're a short thin white boy-- until he picked up the phone and made a call.

"I think I have an appropriate subject for you."

That's how it started. The science boys were there in about an hour, al identical
in their government issue black suits and dark glasses. Dent was told he could be
out of Crilledge Pen in about ten minutes if he signed some release forms. He'd
go to a Fed facility-- better food, better accommodations, chance of parole.

"Why?"

Director Frantz, the chief science boy, responded. "You have natural high
intelligence, are ambitious and have excellent promise."

Harry shook his head. "No, no. Why would you let me out of here?"

Frantz looked at the prison doctor, who shrugged. "For medical experiments, Mr.
Dent."

Betsy slipped her dress back on. Her lips were sticky with her boss'es cum. She
would have liked to have wiped off the excess jism with a kleenex, but he didn't
allow that. Instead she flicked her tongue over the salty goo and swallowed. A
thought occurred to her and she smiled briefly as she buckled his trousers up. He
hadn't cum all over her face and clothes like he sometimes did. She hated that
because it always brought snickers from the guys at the bus stop went she went
home, many who assumed she was a prostitute. Maybe he was becoming more
considerate of his secretary's feelings--

"Get out front-- now! Mrs. Baxter and her daughter are due any minute!"

She sighed. "Yes Sir! Right away Sir!" How could she have forgotten? The Baxters
were his new Monday 11:00 AM. Betsy rose and trotted out to fetch Dr. Dent's next
appointment.

Dent felt better now. Betsy was an accomplished cocksucker and knew how to get
her boss off but good. Not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction of knowing
it. The taste of her fear of losing her job was as good as the feeling of red
lips that wrapped themselves around his cock. Delicious! Even as she reappeared
with his 11:00, he thought of keeping her late tonight. Maybe putting her to work
doing some filing for him. Like filing his dick up her nice tight ass. The
worried look on her face and the way she wriggled her ass quickly out of the
office made him think she knew there was the possibility now.

"Ah Mrs. Baxter-- sit down please."

A freckled, fresh-faced woman with short straight auburn hair nodded. She was
thirtyish but young and trim, with boyish hips and small pert breasts underneath
her stylish, conservative day dress. Her bright green eyes flashed at him with
pure friendliness and her smallish mouth smiled nervously. Behind her a tall,
coltish blonde teen in jeans and a pink sweater looked at him with less civility.

"Dr. Dent, my daughter Cody. Cody's a sophomore this year at Hiram Academy for
Girls." The teen, either from embarrassment or rudeness, sat down without
acknowledging the introduction. Awkwardly, Dent and the mother followed suit.

Dent settled himself in. "How can I help you, Mrs. Baxter?"

The woman looked at her daughter, who coldly looked away. "Oh! Janice, please!
Ah, Cody and I are having some problems. Nothing major I think-- still, I thought
you could help us talk it through." The young blonde twisted her sweater sleeves
sullenly.

Then she lost control. "God Mother, you're so dense!" Cody spat. "A pyschoanalyst
for God's sake!" She exhaled in exasperation.

Janice Baxter smiled lamely. "Uh, mother daughter problems as you can see. Cody's
a good kid, really she is--"

Cody looked at her with dagger-eyes. "God Mother! Stop it already!"

"But she's getting a little wild in her behavior. Boys and all. She had a boy
over to watch teevee a few days ago and I found them---"

"MOTHER! It was one kiss! WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL?" Cody was embarrassed, her pretty
face blushing and struggling with her anger and embarrassment.

Dent nodding soothingly, suppressing a grimace. The girl's screeching wasn't
doing a thing for the dull hurt in his head. "A difficult and confusing time for
both of you, I'm sure. And what does Mr. Baxter say about all this?"

Janice's green eyes dimmed a bit. "My husband died five years ago in a car
accident, Dr. Dent."

The doctor apologized. "It must be very hard for you to raise a daughter on your
own. Any family available to help you?"

The young widow shook her head. "No. Just me. I'm sort of involved with a man--"

Dent watched Cody roll her soft blue eyes in obvious disgust. Janice caught it
and continued on, a little more shakily, "But I don't know how serious it is,
actually." Cody gave her mother a softer glance. The black mood subsided between
them. Calm ripples now.

A typical mother-daughter row. Boring and typical. He saw these fairly often and
had developed a number of interesting mother-daughter scenarios that he trotted
his clients through. The reference to the unseen boyfriend was intriguing though.
Maybe this case might have a new wrinkle. He put the two into a light trance and
explored.

First the mother. Janice was young-- only thirty four. That meant that she had
been pregnant with Cody when she was nineteen. He saw her as terrified college
girl and equally terrified college boy hurriedly getting married, then settling
down to a humdrum married with child lifestyle, sans college degrees. He took on
construction work and she stayed home, the household barely scraping by on his
income. Then when Cody was all of nine, he was killed-- the tragic result of
faulty scaffolding. A settlement of eight hundred thousand dollars eased the
pain, but left her lonely. Very lonely. That's when Vito entered the picture.

He had worked with the dead husband on construction crews on and off. He was big,
dark and brooding with lots of muscles and, at twenty-six, eight years younger
than Janice. Vito had just started calling on Janice and she was falling for him
fast. Till something had happened-- something involving Cody. Janice herself
didn't know and Cody wouldn't say, but it was clear that she was already
disengaging herself from her new love because of her daughter's hate for the
young man. She was planning on telling him it was over the next time he took her
out.

Dent had to know what had happened. It wasn't hard to find. It was resting high
on Cody's consciousness. The flighty teen was just blooming into her full
sexuality, with small budding breasts that she was especially proud of. But aside
from her kiss with the boy (she was telling the truth-- it had just been one kiss
that her mother had caught her in) she was as virginal as fresh sheep's wool. And
though she was pleased with the way her body was developing, she was equally
self-conscious of it. And when Vito had caught her by surprise on the staircase,
fresh from the shower with only a towel around her, it was a shattering moment.
Not that he had done anything-- to Dent's disappointment-- but she had been
uncomfortable with him since then. It was something Cody had seen in the young
man's eyes that had bothered ever since then.

"Call Vito for me Janice."

The redhead didn't ask how he know what her boyfriend's name was. She simply
dialed the phone and asked for him. Dent gestured for her to hand him the phone.
Cody watched dumbly, unthinking and mute.

Dent took the phone. Was this Vito? It was? Yeah, the young man's voice gruffly
barked back. What the hell did the caller want-- he didn't have time to fuck
around. Dent made the connection, focusing on the man's unseen psyche like a high
speed modem making contact with another computer. He locked in and searched out
what he needed. The relationship with Janice wasn't top of mind-- she was merely
a broad, nothing special. But the daughter. She was a cutie. He had caught her
once sneaking around in her towel and fantasizing about raping her for days
afterward, just throwing her down and doing her, popping the little bitch-- but
then reason returned and the fantasy was returned to the dark room and he
returned to find satisfaction with the mother, who after all wasn't a bad piece
of ass. Dent smiled and hung up. Vito was his kind of guy. He fixed his stare on
Janice.

"Janice, you need a man in your life. How long has it been since before Vito that
a man made love to you?"

"Three years."

"And how often does Vito make love to you now?"

"At least once a week." The answer held no shame, no hesitation. Cody sat in a
self-contained cocoon of silence, oblivious. He'd get to her soon enough.

"From now on, you don't ever go longer than two days, and then only with Vito. He
is the man in your life. There will be no others for you. And your secret dream
is to become his wife and keep a home for him. Sex with him will be better than
any other sex you have ever enjoyed including your dead husband. Janice, that
includes sex of any kind he prefers. Understand?"

The auburn haired woman nodded, her small mouth twisted in a lewd smile of
agreement.

"Good. You will stay with him and be proud to be his girlfriend. You will depend
on him to make all the important decisions in your life for you. You will give
him your insurance money and ask him to invest it for you-- in his name, since
you will tell him you are so stupid when it comes to money. You will ask him for
an allowance from it, in an amount which he deems appropriate for you and Cody.

You will ask him if he would please move in with you and Cody, that you need a
Man Around The House to run things. Especially because of all the problems you
are having with Cody."

Then her will stiffened a bit and he cracked it back down. She slumped in
docility and he continued. He wished he could shake the lingering headache.

"You will ask him to take responsibility for Cody's discipline. She is at the age
when she is getting boy crazy and she needs a strong hand to keep her in line.
Cody must learn, like her mother already knows, who is in charge in the
household. 'Uncle' Vito is the Boss. You will tell Vito that you assume he will
be very stern with Cody and administer any kind of punishments he thinks are
appropriate on a regular, if not daily, basis. You will suggest that a spanking
time be established before Cody's bedtime. At that time, Cody could be spanked
for all the naughty things she has done that day."

Janice nodded, ears intently listening and recording the commands. Dent turned to
Cody.

"Honey, 'Uncle' Vito will be moving in with you and your mother very soon. You
are very frightened of him and you should be." Dent swept up an image of a
towering redwood tree of a man in a dark forest before her. "He is very cruel and
could hurt you if you don't do what he tells you to. You'll never like him, but
you will always fear him more than anything in the world. There will be no back
talk, no sassing or disobeying him. You will live in terror of displeasing him."

Cody's blue eyes widened, her dirty-blonde hair hiding her frightened face now.

"You will ask Uncle Vito's permission to do things now, not your mother. He is
the boss, not her. Every night at seven-thirty you will get yourself ready for
bed. You will always wear a little tee shirt that is cut to show off your flat
tummy and a pair of cotton bikini panties in bright colors-- no whites allowed.
You will present yourself to your Uncle Vito for Spanking Time. You will confess
one naughty thing that you did that day and if you can't think of one, you will
admit to thinking bad things you would like to do with boys. Uncle Vito will then
take you over his knee and give you your well-deserved spanking. When he is done,
you will give him a kiss and get into your bed so that he and your mother may
make love or whatever else Uncle Vito wishes to do."

Cody's pink nails dug into the armrest, but her bowed head said that this was
fear not anger, at the things that were going to change in her life. It was just
the beginning for the fourteen year old, thought Dent. Just the beginning. He
blinked them back and stood up abruptly.

"Well, ladies, it was a pleasure. I think we ought to meet again this time every
week. I'm confident that we can work through this period in your lives together."
He extended his palm. His head throbbed.

Janice looked up, somewhat dizzied by the transition, of which she was only
vaguely aware. "Uh, sure, Doctor. Next week at 11:00. Thank you. Come on, Cody."

The reedlike blonde teen rose and looked at him and took his hand. There was a
sliver of fear there.

"You've been a good girl about this Cody. A very good girl." She stifled a weak
sigh and nodded, the fear dissipating. She wouldn't have to worrying about
embarrassing Uncle Vito at the Doctor's today. From the way her tight jeans
swayed as she walked out, Dent got the sense that her little ass was already
sensitive to the spankings that her Uncle Vito would soon give her.

"Any word yet?"

Dr. Newman Frantz shook his head. "No. He's out there--we just don't know where
yet. Jesus, a sociopath who can control minds! And I let him walk out of here
like a zombie!"

Nikki Liston, his assistant, shrugged. "Not a lot you could have done Doctor. Not
with the power he has now. We'll keep looking. Doctor, are you sure you don't
want the FBI or NSA alerted about this? They have the resources that--"

"NO! And don't bring it up again! It would ruin me professionally. Just keep
reviewing the media feeds and searching the internet--we'll find him. We know
enough about him to track him down eventually."

Nikki nodded. The Doctor's word was final.

"If only I hadn't given him the only sample treatment available. The only hope is
that the chemical composition can be lifted from his bloodstream. I think it can
be passed on through the blood."

"Like HIV Doctor?"

Frantz nodded absently. "Yes, that's what I said, didn't I? For a research
assistant, you ask obvious questions." Nikki held her tongue. The doctor could be
a challenge to one's patience, though he was brilliant.

"Sorry Doctor. Anyway we know he's a sociopath that hates women."

"Because of his conviction, yes." Frantz rubbed his eyes. "Look into any
female-related service or activity--he might be using his power in some way to
subvert a perfectly normal women's group for the sadistic thrill of it."

Nikki nodded.