Hypno Harem 2: Harem-Scarem! (8 page)

E
lsewhere
, in a private room of 4Play, Chuck Schultz’s bachelor party was in its third tedious hour. “So, I don’t wanna embarrass Chuck here,” said Dave, Chuck’s best friend, “but when he said… when he, uh, told me he was, you know, gonna tie the knot with Donna, I said, ‘Chuck, since when the heck have you been into B and—“

Loud laughter mercifully drowned out the rest of the punch line, the eighth or ninth lame reference to kink that evening. The party of a dozen young men had reached that point when wit and affection increasingly depended on booze-enhanced cheer. Chuck, well-known for both his devotion to Donna and his vanilla tastes, was being a good sport about it all but he was starting to wonder how much longer this well-meant torment would drag on.

“So who’s got a story?” said Gary, a gangly man with a baritone voice and wispy Van Dyke who was playing Master of Ceremonies. “Paul? Lucas? Todd?”

“I’ve got a story,” said Todd uncertainly. “I mean, I think I’ve got a story. Well… not so much a story as a… sort of a…”

CRASH! The door to the private room suddenly flew open and a uniformed figure in black marched in. “STOP!” declared a commanding voice.

The men turned toward the newcomer, clad in full SWAT armor: bullet-proof breastplate, helmet and full-face visor, arm and leg armor, combat boots, thick black leather gloves.

The figure menacingly brandished a 21-inch metal riot baton. Chuck and the others took an involuntary step backward.

Three more figures in full SWAT gear strode in after the first, all wielding batons. Chuck and his friends took several more steps back.

“STOP!” the four figures commanded in unison, faces hidden behind their visors.

Chuck and his friends glanced nervously at each other. A police raid? What the fuck? What had they
done?

“This must be some mis—” said Chuck in a faltering voice.

“
Stop
!” barked the first SWAT figure. Chuck quickly shut up.

The figure lifted a visor to reveal a stern female face. “
Stop
,” she repeated, then burst suddenly into song.
“Stop in
the name of lovvvvvve!”

The three other members of the SWAT team likewise flipped their visors to reveal visages less stern but all female.
“Before you breaaaaak my heart,”
they crooned.

Chuck, Dave, Fred and the rest broke into relieved grins as the four women went into their choreographed routine.
“Baby, baby, I know where you go,”
sang Addie, whose voice made up in volume what she lacked in talent. “Each time you
leave my doooor.”

“Think it o-o-over,”
sang Daisy, Brownie and Happy.

“Haven’t I been goood to you?”
sang Addie as the girls danced in among the guys, stroking faces, rubbing against bodies, playfully poking their batons.

“Think it o-o-over,”
sang Daisy, Brownie and Happy.

Addie coyly clicked a handcuff on Chuck’s wrist.
“Haven’t I been sweeet to you?”

“Think it o-o-over,”
chimed Daisy, Brownie and Happy as they tousled the hair of Dave, Lucas and Todd.

After another verse and another chorus, Addie kissed Chuck lightly on the lips, unlocked his handcuff and marched back to the door, followed by her back-up singers. At the doorway, the four turned to the young men and wagged their batons.
“Stop! In the name of lovvvvvve… Before you breaaaaak… my HEART!”

Song over, the four girls ran out, returning for bows as the young men hooted and cheered and applauded.

“Gary, you son of a bitch,” yelled Chuck over the applause. “Was this
your
idea?”

“Guilty as charged,” said Gary with a grin. “Found ‘em online.”

“These girls?”

“Well, actually they’re part of a service called Rocketgrams. Lots of acts. I thought a cop number would be fun. But they scared me too! She used to be a cop, you know.”

“Who?” The applause was dying down now.

“Me,” said Addie. “I used to be a policewoman.”

“Yeah?” said Chuck. “Why’d you quit?”

She shrugged. “Long story. Glad you liked it. Daisy and the others, they showed me what to do.’

“Who’s Daisy?”

“That’s me,” said a girl removing her helmet to reveal a long blonde mane. “Harry, he owns 4Play, also Rocketgrams. He put us together with Addie. We had fun!”

“Well, you were all great,” said Gary. “Want to stay around? Have some drinks?”

“Well…” said Daisy.

“I’m afraid they’ve got to get home,” said Woody, appearing at the door with Berta in tow. He smiled at the three. “You girls go change.” They scurried off. He turned back to Gary and Chuck. “Sorry. I’m their manager. Promised their mothers I’d keep an eye on them.”

Gary eyed Berta, who smiled shyly at him. “Who’s this?” he asked Woody. “Another one of your acts?”

“I’m a li’l
girl!
” squealed Berta indignantly.

“Well, excuse me,” said Gary, nonplussed. He turned to Addie. “What about you? You want to hang here, have a drink with us?”

“I’ve got to go to work,” said Addie.

“Doing what?”

“Security guard.”

“That seems a waste of… talent,” said Gary sympathetically.

Addie shrugged. “Only job I could get after I got kicked off the force.”

“Kicked off! What did you do?”

Addie flushed. “Rode my motorcycle.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I was naked.”

“Hey, I read about that!” exclaimed Gary. “That was
you?
”

“Afraid so.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“No idea. It’s like I’ve got a big memory blank.”

“That so? My brother couldn’t remember where he’d left his laptop. He went to a hypnotist.”

“Did it work?” said Addie with curiosity.

“Matter of fact it did.”

“
I’m
a hyppo… hyppo… hyppotizer,” said Berta.

Addie glanced at her, then at the man holding her by the hand. “Have we met?” she asked Woody.

“Uh. Don’t think so,” said Woody.

“You sure? You look awful familiar.”

“Yeah. I’m positive. I’m, uh, good at faces. Don’t recall yours.”

“
Daddeee
,” exclaimed Berta. “She’s—”

“Not now, honey,” said Woody hurriedly. He turned to Gary and shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Glad the girls helped liven up your party.”

“They sure did!” said Gary.

“Daddeee, she’s the one you told me—“

“Not now, Berta!” Woody turned and quickly dragged her out the door. Gary and Addie watched them go.

“Strange pair,” said Gary.

“Uh-huh,” agreed Addie.

“Sure you won’t stay?”

“Sorry,” she replied. “Gotta make a living. Gee, he looks
so familiar
.”

G
od, he
was hard! His cock felt like it would
explode
. Was that possible? Had a cock ever actually blown apart? What a way to go! Maybe he should warn the girls
. Stand back, harem honeys. Beware of fragments of flying dick.

Woody was on the king-sized bed in what he liked to call the Master’s Bedroom in what he liked to call The Mansion, as in “Playboy Mansion.” It was really just a two-story house in one of Houston’s better neighborhoods, but it was old and well-maintained with a white column on either side of the front door. He was just renting for now; the place was big and expensive, but with four people—five now that Berta was spending most nights here—they needed the room.

“My turn, my turn!” squealed Brownie. She tugged at Daisy, who had her lips clamped tight around Woody’s member. She’d developed a rhythm that drove him crazy: suck and release, suck and release.
Ohhhh
.

Woody was wearing silk pajamas, royal blue. The girls were naked except for the collars around their necks, each with a little pet tag. “C’mon, Daisy,” said Brownie petulantly. “You’ve been sucking Master for ten minutes.”

“Nuh-uhh,” replied Daisy.
“Fy.”

“Five my ass! He’s gonna blow and then who’s gonna lick him clean? Not me!”

“Master, make her get off,” said Happy. “Daisy
always
goes first. It’s not fair.
We
want to blow you too!” Happy had her own technique; she started off fast, then slowed as soon as he hardened, barely touching him with her tongue. Exquisite torture!

“Time to get off, Daisy,” Woody said. He hated to make her stop but fair was fair. He sighed. Tough work, being a Harem Master, but somebody had to do it. “Go on.”

“Awww,” mumbled Daisy.

“You can lick my toes.”

Daisy reluctantly climbed off and Brownie dived on top of him. “Master is so BIGG,” she cooed. “Biggest cock in the world!”

“Well, heh-heh, I don’t know about that,” chuckled Woody. “You three make it feel that way sometimes. That’s for sure.”

“Because we
love
you, Master,” said Happy, kneeling on the bed and quietly waiting her turn.

“Um-hmmm,” agreed Brownie, already with five inches of cock in her mouth. Thing about Brownie, thought Woody, is she didn’t give blow-jobs quite the equal of Daisy and Happy, but she could
swallow
more of him than the other two. A real Deep Throat artist. How did she do it?’

“We
all
love you,” said Daisy, settling down to caress the big toe on his left foot with her tongue.

Woody smiled blissfully. This was heaven. Three beautiful young women totally devoted to his sexual pleasure, completely in love with him.

But then the devil of doubt raised its ugly head, even here in heaven.
Why
did they love him? Answer: because he’d mind-hacked them. Before that, Daisy—back when she’d been Candi—wouldn’t even give him the time of day, as snobby to him as her mother, Emma, had been hostile.

Dr. Popper’s book on Transcranial Influence had changed all that. In fact, it had changed his whole life. Before, he’d been just another struggling grad student. Now he was Woody Goodman, PhD, with a handsome research grant and his own office at Rice University.
That
he’d gotten on his own, without mind-hacking anyone. He wasn’t dumb. He just wasn’t… very sexy.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

And what about the girls? They were basically slaves, happy slaves to be sure, but what if he, ah,
“unhacked”
their minds? Would they love him still? Or would they hate him? Would they want revenge? Would they…
Ohhh, my God! Oh, that feels soooo…

“Ooo ly thah, Mathah?” asked Brownie, her mouth sliding up and down his rigid, purple-veined cock.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

“Oh yeah. Like it
very
much,” he said dreamily.

Happy had crept up to his pillow and begun to tickle his ear with her tongue. God! Who would have thought the inside of your ear was an erogenous zone?  “Do you like that, Master?” asked Happy.

“Uh-huh, keep it—”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

Woody’s eyes opened. Knocking? Who’s knocking? Had he dozed off? No, just lost in a fantasy. He wasn’t in the Master’s Bedroom surrounded by love slaves. He was sitting in his home office, door shut, reading. Reading what? He glanced down at the book in his lap.

The sad truth is that evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil. Eichmann was not a monster in the conventional sense; he was a monster in the

Oh, yeah.
The Banality of Evil
by Hannah Arendt. No wonder his mind had wandered.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

“Come in,” he called.

It was Daisy, stark naked except for her collar and a cute frilly apron. “Master?” she said. Woody detected something in her voice, something close to annoyance. Strange.

“What is it, Daisy?”

“Master, I can’t fix supper and mind Berta at the same time.”

Woody kept from rolling his eyes. Is that all? The problem with mind slaves is they couldn’t solve simple problems on their own. “Tell Brownie to mind her.”

“Brownie is busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing laundry.” Something in Daisy’s voice told him this was a chore not to be interrupted.

“Then tell Happy to mind her.”

“Happy’s gone to the store to buy toothpaste and toilet paper.”

“Oh. Well, tell Berta to watch TV.”

“I did. She says she’s bored with TV.”

Woody sighed. “All right.
I’ll
mind her.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Daisy. She didn't sound especially grateful. She sounded like this was something he should have been doing all along. Well, maybe he should have. Berta was his newest sex toy—lots of fun—but she’d also turned out to be something of a handful.

He put the Hannah Arendt book on his desk. “Daisy?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Do you think I’m evil?”

“Pardon, Master?”

“Evil. Do you think I’m evil?”

She looked baffled. “Evil, Master? You?”

“Never mind. Go back to fixing supper. I’ll look after Berta.” He followed Daisy out of the room. It shouldn’t be hard to keep a kid entertained for an hour or so.

B
erta
slammed down a pair of fours. “I win! I win! You’re the Old Maid!”

“So I am,” said Woody tiredly. He gathered the cards while Berta chanted
“Old Maid, Old Maid”
over and over. He looked at the clock. They’d been playing cards since 6:30. How long did it take to fix supper anyway?

Woody shuffled the cards. At first he’d lost on purpose but Berta was such a loud, obnoxious winner that he’d decided to take her down a peg. That was five games ago. She might look like a little girl but at the card table she was Bret Maverick.

Of course, Berta didn’t
really
look like a little girl. She looked like a grown woman pretending to be little girl. Cute and definitely a turn-on but it was all just a game and after a while he got tired of the game. But not Berta—Roberta, rather—she loved being a little girl, absolutely lost in make-believe.

Was that healthy? Who knows?
She
was the psychiatrist. She should know if this was just harmless fantasy or some psychological trap. And who was it a trap for? What about him? What did it say about Woody that he liked fooling around with a grown woman pretending to be a little girl? Was that sick? Was he bad? Was he evi—
No, not there! Don’t go there!

“Berta, how about you color your Bratz books for a while?” he suggested. Berta had several Bratz dolls and a stack of Bratz coloring books in her bedroom. Frankly, Woody wasn’t sure that he approved of the Bratz. They were shapely in an unseemly way for dolls and wore midriff-baring clothes and had seductive almond-shaped eyes and plump, sensual Botox lips that curled in little leers like they couldn’t
wait
to hop in bed. Daisy and the others didn’t seem to find anything wrong with them but he’d been shocked the first time he got a good look. The Bratz just didn’t seem proper for a little girl, even if she
was
thirty-four years old.

“I don’t
wanna
color!” shouted Berta. “I wanna play Old Maid!”

“Don’t raise your voice. Use your inside voice.”

“You don’t wanna  play Old Maid because you keep losing. You're a loser!”

“Berta, that’s rude.”

“Loser, loser, loser!”

“I am
not
a loser!” said Woody somewhat heatedly.

“Don’t raise your
voice
,” smirked Berta, in a sing-song voice, wagging her finger.

Now he was angry. “One more word out of you, young lady, and I’m going to put you over my knee!”

“
Word
,” simpered Berta, sticking her tongue at him.

Woody leapt to his feet, sending the cards flying. He lunged at Berta, knocking over the card table. He grasped for her arm but she dodged out of reach. All he got was a handful of air.

He’d scared her though. She backed away, eyes wide, tears forming. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she burbled.

“You’ll
be
sorry,” Woody snapped. He grabbed at her again. She dodged, making for the door. He slammed it shut just in time, managing to seize her by the hair.

“OWWW!” Berta shrieked. “Leggo, leggo!  You’re hurting me!”

“You don’t know what hurt
is
,” he growled.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” she squealed as he sat on a chair and hauled her over his knees. Her legs flailed wildly and a shoe came off to hit him in the face, knocking off his glasses. Furious, he raised her skirt and yanked her panties so hard they ripped.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Don’t hurt me, don't hurt me, don’t hurt me!” cried Berta. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!”

“Too late for that, young lady!” exclaimed Woody.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”

“You’ll be good and
sore
is what you’ll be!”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Woody brought his hand down hard on Berta’s naked rear. WHAP!

“Owwwww!”
she screamed.

He raised his hand again.

The door opened and he turned to see Daisy standing in the doorway, openly annoyed. “
Mas-ter!
I’ve been knocking for
five
minutes!
”

“What do you want now?” said Woody, patience strained. 

“Help, help!”
yowled Berta. “He’s hurting me, he’s hurting me!”

Daisy ignored her. “Supper is ready,” she said, lips pressed tightly together. “It’s getting cold. We’re all waiting.”

“All right,
fine
,” said Woody. Daisy strode out.

Woody let Berta off his lap. “You lucked out, young lady,” he told her. “Go wash your face and change your underwear, then join us at the table.”

“You ripped my undies!” fumed Berta.

“Go on before I decide to put you over my knee again.”

“You
scared
me,” she said, wiping at a tear. “That wasn’t fun.” She ran out of the room.

Woody stayed in the chair for a moment, waiting for his enormous boner to go down. He’d scared Berta. He’d hurt her. And he was
hard
, oh so hard. Jesus, maybe he really
was
evil.

“
Mas-ter!
” chimed Daisy, Brownie and Happy from the dining room.

“Coming!” said Woody, rising.

Berta appeared at the doorway. “I’ve washed my face and changed my undies, Daddee,” she said penitently.

“Good girl,” he said in a kindly voice. He took her hand. “Let’s go have dinner.”