CHAPTER ONE

 

The store, its shelves and tables cluttered with every conceivable form of trinket, smelled of plastic and leather.

Jack Wilson thought the leather scent was stronger, and for good reason. Ball gags, submission helmets, and silver chains dangled from shiny metal hooks sticking out of pegboards fastened to the wall. Leather harnesses, whips, straps, and accessories made from rawhide and cowhide hung from racks suspended from the rafters.

It reminded Jack a little of that feed store he used to go to when he was dating Carla a year or so ago. Carla was an equestrienne who competed in all sorts of horse events. She was always on the prowl for saddles and pads and kept several pairs of expensive English riding boots and half a dozen pairs of thick rubber muck boots in her closet.

Good thing she was a top saleswoman with her company and pulled in nearly six big ones a year.

The feed store had the same racks and hooks bolted into its walls as this place. It even had a similar rack suspended from the rafters. But instead of bridles and lead ropes and muck buckets hanging from hooks and rings, this place stocked accoutrements to decorate and control a smaller, much different type of filly.

The store's name, House of Kink, Incorporated, said it all. It handled toys and gadgets for every conceivable kind of sexual activity. It provided hot entertainment for a hot evening--or a series of hot evenings--to be shared and enjoyed with a wild, adventurous female. The single, most difficult part of the program was finding a woman who actually enjoyed subjecting herself to the humiliation resulting from these highly extreme activities.

Not too many females working in the executive offices liked getting down and dirty with a guy who worked in the Mailroom. The babes Jack dealt with enjoyed long, romantic cruises ... and evenings on the beaches ... and extended weekends at a time-share in Vegas ... or Bermuda ... or Belize ... in the company of a rich, resourceful executive, of course.

Jack wandered over to a metal apparatus called the "Love Machine." A weird-looking contraption, to be sure. Looked like a bunch of oversized handlebars soldered to one another at weird angles. Two bicycle-sized leather seats were fastened to its center. The instruction manual stuck to the wall behind it showed a shitload of positions a couple could enjoy on it, most of which he'd never seen before. The only one that looked like it wouldn't hurt was the one where the chick lay on her back with the small of her back on one seat, her legs spread and her feet in the stirrup attachments, as in a doctor's office. The guy could kneel or sit on the lower seat in front of her and chow down on her pussy or simply stand, grip the offered bars, and fuck her.

Using this machine without reading the instructions could cause you to spend some time and serious cash with the chiropractor for the next few weeks.

"Anything turn ya on?"

Jack turned.

The salesman was short and broad, looked like he might be around seventy, his curly white hair thinning on top. He also sported thick mutton-chop sideburns and a burly white mustache. He wore the sort of apron you'd expect to see on a hardware clerk carrying around nails, pencils, and a measuring tape.

Jack wondered what this old boy had in those pockets. Nipple clamps? A pussy ring?

"Looks like you got just about everything the average pervert could want in this place."

"Lots of folks go for this stuff," the old boy said. "Some ain't even perverts."

"What's wrong with being a pervert? I've been one for years." Jack kept his tone light. He knew to be careful about saying anything really stupid. Last time he was in one of these places, he'd asked the female cashier if she could demonstrate one of the peter pumps on display. He'd not only pissed her off, he was asked to leave the premises by her boyfriend, who owned the place.

The clerk grinned, showing off his dentures, which looked like two neat rows of Chiclets. "Need any help, don't hesitate. Just hunt me down."

"Got a minute?" Jack's curiosity was about to burst.

The clerk shuffled right back.

"You've got a lot of toys here."

"Just about everything. Want something ya don't see? We don't have it in the back, we'll try'n get it. Let us know, we'll get in touch with our Scandinavian buds. Scandinavians?" He chuckled. "They got everything. And I mean everything."

"That's cool. Really cool." Jack glanced around. No one was close, so there was no reason why he should be skittish about this. But he still found himself a little uneasy when searching for the right way to ask.

"What's on your mind, boy?"

"This stuff you've got here..."

"Yeah?"

"It's okay--I mean, it's really great. It's great if ... if you've got a dynamite babe who's interested in this kind of thing."

"Yeah..."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is this. You can have all the cool sex toys in the world, but if your babe isn't into any of that--"

The clerk nodded.

"You know what I'm saying, don'tcha?"

"Sure do. Yup. Sure as hell do..."

Jack shrugged. "Got anything ... for that?"

"For what?"

"You know. Get her in the mood. Make her more ... adventurous. Lower her inhibitions. Something that'll turn her on and make her want to see how much fun she can really have."

"Ya mean, like KY? They sell that stuff at--"

"I don't mean anything like that. I guess what I mean is..." Jack glanced around. They were still alone. "Something ... stronger?"

"Stronger?"

"Yeah."

The clerk blinked. He put his hands on his hips. "Y'ain't talking about that date rape drug, are ya? That pill they feed the ladies at those RAVE clubs?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Good." The clerk scowled. "We don't carry that kinda stuff here. Ain't right-know what I mean?"

"It's not legal."

"That ain't why we don't have it, boy. It's mean. Nasty. Lady's out cold. What good's that?"

"I know. I'd never do that." Last time Jack had bought something like that, the girl got sick and threw up. Nothing brings the evening to an end faster than a babe tossing her cookies in your lap.

The clerk was shaking his head, watching him closely. "Who in their right mind wants to get off with a lady who's unconscious?"

"That is sick, isn't it?"

"Worse. It's criminal."

Jack knew he was getting on this old guy's wrong side. It was time to say something to redeem himself.

I need to sound more like a naïve kid.

"I guess what I mean is, you sell anything that no one knows about? Something that might work like ... you know. Magic?"

"Magic?"

"Something that'll really make them go crazy. Something that won't actually hurt them."

The clerk nodded and grinned.

Jack wasn't sure about the clerk's grin. He didn't know if the old guy was thinking Jack was a moron or if he really had what Jack was talking about. The old man didn't look shocked. But that was no stretch. Being in this business, he'd probably heard every conceivable question imaginable.

Just to be sure, Jack said, "You understand, don't you?"

"Sure do."

"Really?"

"Follow me." The clerk crooked a short, stubby index finger, then turned and hurried down the aisle.

His pulse hastening, Jack followed.

***

At the rear of the store, the clerk pulled the drapes aside and slipped through them.

Feeling like a nervous kid, Jack followed the little guy.

The room was stacked with boxes piled high, carts, and palettes. An old roll-top desk cluttered with papers and notepads snoozed against a wall. The clerk opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic vial. In the vial were a dozen or so small red capsules. He unscrewed the white cap, dropped a capsule onto his wrinkled palm, and held it out.

"What's that?"

"A special formula."

"For what?"

"For the greatest night of your life."

Jack stared at the capsule. It looked about the same size as one of those Tylenol he took whenever he messed up his knee in the Mailroom, only this was a capsule. He wondered if the old man was putting him on. The grin told him nothing. But the old boy sure sounded on the level.

"What'll it do if I take it?"

The old man chuckled. "You don't wanna take this, boy. This is for the lady of the evening."

"What'll she do if she takes it?"

Another chuckle. "Whatever you want her to."

The old guy couldn't be serious. "You mean ... anything?"

The old guy nodded. He was no longer grinning.

"How much?"

"Ten bucks."

"That's all?"

The old man shrugged. "Not bad for the greatest night of your life, eh?"

"Not bad at all." Jack thought it over. Just ten bucks to get any babe in the world to do whatever you want. There had to be a catch.

"What happens if it doesn't work? Can I get my money back?"

"Oh, it'll work."

"You say that like you know for sure."

"It always works."

This was starting to sound like a con.

"What is this, exactly?"

"All you need to know is that it's a very old formula and has been passed down through the ages."

Yep. A con, all right.

"And it always works?"

"It has to. The formula is foolproof."

"I suppose it's secret, too."

The clerk grinned. "You got it."

"So you're telling me that if my girlfriend takes this, she'll do whatever I ask her to do."

"Actually, she'll do whatever you tell her to do."

This was sounding more and more like something unreal. Definitely a con. But Jack couldn't dismiss the old man's solemn mood. And for only ten bucks, it might be worth it just to see what it would do.

"All I have to do is give her this and tell her to--"

"That's the one thing you can't do, son. She can't know she's taking it."

"Why not?"

The clerk chuckled. "Why else? She won't take it if she knows what it is."

"You sure this isn't anything like that date-rape thing?"

"She'll be totally conscious."

"And she'll still do whatever I tell her?"

"And she'll love doing it."

"But how do I slip it to her without her knowing what I'm doing?"

He shrugged. "Put it in her drink. It dissolves quickly."

"Ten bucks? For one terrific night?"

A nod.

"How come there's no line starting at the door and extending all the way in here for a couple of these cool little dudes?"

The old boy chuckled. "Not too many know about this pill. We don't advertise it, for obvious reasons."

"Why not?"

The clerk grinned. "We only get a dozen or so in at a time. We advertise, we'd need a truckload coming in every damn day."

"You got that right." Jack studied the pill. "You sure there's no catch?"

"Only one. It lasts for only four hours."

"Then what?"

"It wears off."

"Then what does she do?"

"She'll go right back to being who she was before she took the pill. But she won't remember anything she just did--if that's what ya mean."

"That's exactly what I mean." Wow. Ten bucks for a night of ecstasy, and the babe doesn't even remember what happened. Wow, wow, wow...

Jack dug into his jeans for his cash. "I'll take ten of them."

"Sorry. Only two to a customer."

"Why can't I buy more?"

The clerk's expression was grim. "Store policy. This stuff's potent. And like I said, we don't get too many of 'em in, so we can't stock 'em. You wouldn't wanna deprive some other guy of having the best night of his life, wouldja?"

"I might. But I'll go for it. Two, then?"

"Twenty bucks and they're yours. But only give her one, now. Two could make her real sick."

"Just tell me one thing."

"Whazzat?"

"If this works as well as you say, how can I personally thank the cool dude who developed the formula?"

"Too late, my friend. He's dead."

"Really? How long ago?"

"A long, long time ago..."

"I'll bet he died happy."

***

That night, Jack put the capsules on the top of his dresser with his keys, hairbrush, wallet, and spare change. He stared at the pills the longest time, trying to imagine what they were, what was in them, who'd invented them and why.

Hell, he knew why. Any guy knew why. Every male who'd ever encountered a female knew why. Every male who'd ever lived had probably also imagined some successful way of turning a female into a sex slave without fear of retaliation or physical harm. If there even was such a way. If it even existed. If it would actually work.

The pill would work. At least, that's what the old man had said.

Was it a con? Probably. Had Jack pissed away twenty bucks? Most definitely. But he was determined as hell to try those pills on some unwitting victim.

The most important factor, of course, was who to try them on.

He worked with a lot of babes, and most of them were top-of-the-line. The classy type. The kind of female you'd expect to see accompanying a top celebrity to some important benefit. Or trotting the globe with a rock star. Or standing beside a CEO at a groundbreaker.

Babes that made his dick harden each time he thought of them.

If this pill worked, he could have his choice of any one of them. If the old man had told him the truth, these girls would not only do whatever he said, they'd do it willingly. Eagerly. And they wouldn't even remember what they did.

It only took him a second to decide who he wanted for his first candidate.

Ashley Fields, of course.

Jack had wanted to fuck her ever since she first started working in the main offices at The Precision Insurance Group, where Jack had worked the last five years. Ashley was cold and as standoffish as any Hollywood bimbo but was also one of the hottest babes in creation. She was thirty, tall and slender, with raven-black hair and the sort of drop-dead gorgeous body a guy dreamed about. Ashley was twice-divorced and drove around in a Ferrari--which told Jack that she'd either raked in some serious alimony from a couple of ex-husbands or that someone else bought her the car because he considered her a damned good investment herself. Jack knew it couldn't be from her present position. You can't afford a Ferrari, live in a townhouse in a snooty section of Winter Park, and spend a fortune on clothes each month, all on a five-figure salary.

They were great clothes, though. They fit her body like a glove. She knew exactly what to wear and how to wear it to show off those luscious curves. He particularly liked the black silk blouse and white skirt she wore from time to time. The blouse in particular. It was loose and V-necked, sleeveless, and went well with the tight white wraparound skirt that cleared her knees by a good two inches. When she wore that outfit and put on those three-inch red spikes, it made her close to six feet tall--his height.

Nose to nose. Chest to chest.

Dick to pussy.

Jack fell asleep with a hard-on.