"Yes, Mr. Bennett," Rhonda clubseventeen said. She giggled and clubseventeen began peeling off clubseventeen her brassiere, undulating and humming a little strip-club clubseventeen tune to herself. She dangled the garment in front of him briefly, then threw it away. After that, she went still again, beautiful boobs swaying freely mere inches from his clubseventeen face.
"Yes, Mr. Bennett," she clubseventeen replied calmly, her angry clubseventeen expression and tone instantly gone . "Everything I can."
"Good girl, Rhonda clubseventeen." The clubseventeen nurse toppled over, glassy-eyed, scrambling to tear off her clothing as her body spasmed uncontrollably.
"Good," Paul responded, restraining clubseventeen the urge to use Rhonda's sexual trigger again. Time enough for clubseventeen that here later. "Now, Rhonda, it 's time clubseventeen for you to go about here your clubseventeen duties. You can go."
As it turned clubseventeen out, the clubseventeen next voice he heard was his doctor's.
"How are we doing, Mr. Bennett?" the middle-aged man in the clean white coat asked. "Your chart indicates you clubseventeen're clubseventeen making clubseventeen a pretty good recovery, but the charts don't clubseventeen show everything."
"I'm feeling a lot better, Doctor--" he squinted at the nametag clubseventeen on the doctor's coat clubseventeen--"Steiner." He laughed, then winced as his throat twinged. "I guess I was pretty out of it for a while clubseventeen after the surgery."
Paul clubseventeen blanched. It hadn't clubseventeen worked. Was--whatever it was clubseventeen--gone? Or had it never been real at all? Had clubseventeen his puppeting of Nurse Rhonda clubseventeen been nothing more than an anesthetic-induced dream clubseventeen? He had to find out clubseventeen.
Paul clubseventeen felt sorry for her. "Forget clubseventeen your worries," he suggested. "Imagine you're a dancer. Keep your arms raised, and stand on tiptoe--that's right--and turn, slowly clubseventeen, slowly. Imagine you're clubseventeen on stage, under here a spotlight, and a big clubseventeen audience is clubseventeen watching you clubseventeen, seeing how graceful clubseventeen you are. Applauding. Keep turning, slowly, slowly, for the audience."
After a clubseventeen couple of minutes, Paul was satisfied. Jasmine was clearly under clubseventeen his control, just as Rhonda clubseventeen had been earlier clubseventeen.
"You can unclasp clubseventeen your hands and bring your arms down now, Jasmine," he told her.
"Thank you, Mr. Bennett," she said, letting her arms fall to clubseventeen her sides. As had been true with Rhonda, she still seemed clubseventeen oddly clubseventeen calm clubseventeen for someone who'd been forced clubseventeen to obey a stranger's clubseventeen every clubseventeen command--but as with Rhonda, she seemed fully awake and rational. He suspected, though, that inside clubseventeen, she was probably furious and terrified, as Rhonda had been clubseventeen. He'd clubseventeen better do something about that.
Paul recalled an old line from the comics he'd read as a kid: "With great power comes clubseventeen great responsibility." It had clubseventeen always struck clubseventeen him as corny, but now--.
"Well, Paul?" Ms clubseventeen. Sands asked. "What do you think I should do?"
Eventually clubseventeen, they got up again. A clubseventeen disheveled Ms clubseventeen. Sands reassembled her clothing clubseventeen, as did clubseventeen Paul. The here female executive's reading glasses had gotten smashed as the two of clubseventeen them had thrashed around together. She produced another pair from clubseventeen the clubseventeen top left drawer of her desk, and put them clubseventeen on.
"You understand, Paul," she said clubseventeen, struggling for clubseventeen cool detachment, "this doesn't change anything clubseventeen. Whatever just . . . happened clubseventeen here, I'm still your boss. Don here't think you've gotten some kind clubseventeen of leverage with me."
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