Names Have Power: Tim's Magic Voice Makes A Harem (5 page)

Chapter 8
Owning A Sex Slave

It was a few hours after I’d sent Susie home for
her “fever,” when I remembered that Deborah was scheduled to work tonight. I
stepped out of the showroom and phoned Deborah’s cel.

“Good afternoon, Master! This slave wishes to
serve.”

“First things first: Don’t lose my house key,
Deborah. I might not hear the doorbell at two in the morning.”

“This slave will keep careful track of your key,
Master. This slave is honored to be trusted with a key to your house. Does
Master require anything else?”

“Actually, what you keep saying is what I’m calling
about. Deborah, when you talk to anyone but me, I command you to say `I’ or `me’
instead of `Deborah’ or `this slave’—and I command you to refer to me in public
as `Tim,’ not `Master.’ If you talk to me where someone might overhear you, say
`I’ and `me’ and `Tim,’ but not the word `obey.’”

“This slave obeys, Master.”

“Great! And if I’d phoned you at the club, what
would you say instead of `this slave obeys, Master’?”

“I’d say, uh, `I will, Tim.’”

“Great, you understand. One more thing, and this is
very important, Deborah: Do not do anything illegal. Avoid everything that’s
drug-related, don’t solicit the customers, and don’t whore with the customers.”

“Do you know that this slave would not say no if
you pimped this slave?”

“Not going there, Deborah. You owe me money, and
you’ll pay it off, but this whole deal bothers my conscience enough as it is.”

“You are wonderful, Master. This slave loves you.”

Because I choose not to pimp you? My Power does
weird shit sometimes.

Later, sometime between midnight and dawn, I awoke
to a line of bright light coming from the bathroom, and the sound of sink
faucets spraying. Shading my eyes with my hand, I croaked, “Deborah?”

The faucet sounds stopped, and Deborah stepped into
my bedroom. “Oh, Master, this slave didn’t mean to wake you!”

“It’s okay. How’d you do tonight?”

Deborah grabbed her purse that had been hanging
from the doorknob, opened her purse, and pulled out a wad of cash. “Master,
this slave earned you $217 tonight. And that’s without this slave doing
anything illegal, although”—her smile was proud and sexy—“this slave got two
offers
.”
Deborah kicked her shoes off and sashayed toward my bed, dropping the green
bills like rose petals as she moved closer.

“Deb, I’m glad you did well, but I need to go back
to sleep.”

“Oh! Sorry, Master. But don’t worry, this slave
knows how to zonk you out.”

She did, too—after roughly a half-hour, I fell
asleep and stayed asleep (till the alarm went off). But her method was a little
different: It didn’t require sleeping pills, but it
did
require nudity
(hers and mine), and encouraged a condom. And during that half-hour that
Deborah gave me her sleep therapy, I was
very
wide awake!

The next morning, while Deborah was cooking eggs, I
opened up a brand-new notebook to its first page. I picked up a pen and wrote, “CREDIT:
$217.00; BALANCE: $217.00.”

“What is that, Master?” Deborah asked. “Something
for the dealership?”

“Actually, it’s for you,” I said. “I’m writing down
the money you pay me, as a credit. I’m charging you half the cost of groceries,
as a debit. If you have to pay income tax beyond withholding, that’ll be a
debit too. I’m not charging you for rent or utilities. When your balance
reaches forty-three thousand, I’ll free you. Feel free to check this notebook
for yourself, anytime you wish.”

“Oh.” From her tone, she didn’t know what to make
of all this. Finally she said, “Anytime you wish to free this slave is okay
with this slave, Master.”

“Well, Deborah won’t feel that way, once she’s
freed. And Deborah should know that she wasn’t kept one day longer than
necessary, or worked for one more dollar than necessary.”

Even so, Deborah probably will use a meat
cleaver on me in the first minute of her freedom
, I thought.
She volunteered
only for her body to be enslaved, not her mind.

Chapter 9
A Date With Platinuma

Monday at six p.m., I was sitting at a table in a
Chinese restaurant, waiting for Sarah/Platinuma to show up for our date.
Minutes passed, and still no Sarah.

And then she was just inside the front door,
looking for me. I waved, and she walked toward my table, with a smile on her
face.

(Actually, she didn’t walk, she prowled across the
carpet. Add in the sexy gaze she was giving me, and Sarah the big-breasted platinum
blonde looked sexier in blue jeans and t-shirt—and stilettos—than did the
hostess in her
cheongsam
.)

“Sorry I’m late, honey”—Sarah gave me a five-second
kiss—“but I had to drive all roundabout, so Duke couldn’t follow me. Plus I’m
not used to the Smith Freeway at rush hour. Forgive me?” Sarah took a seat to
my left.

I said, “I’m sorry you’re worried about Duke. You
still nervous about the other night, or is there a new problem with him?”

Both Sarah’s face and her voice got tense. “Um, Tim
honey, can we talk about Duke later? I really want to enjoy my evening.” She
smiled at me. “With my
new boyfriend
.”

Ten minutes later, I was saying to Sarah, “…mother
was a Car Show Cutie, who married Dad because, she’s often said, `Big Tim is
the real deal.’”

Sarah was smiling. “That’s so sweet.”

I continued, “Meanwhile, what Dad used to say was, `I’m
married to the nicest woman in the world,
and
the most beautiful woman
in the world. I should be arrested for bigamy!’”

She laughed. “Your family sounds so happy.” I felt
a hand on my knee.

When Sarah and I got up to leave the restaurant, I
had a raging boner. That was mainly due to Sarah rubbing my dick through my
pants, through most of the meal.

As we were moving between the tables, I heard a
woman’s voice say, “That’s Tim Hanson! You know, from commercials?”

A man’s voice replied, “So that’s why a hot babe
like her is with a guy like that. Because he’s rich.”

You’re not even close, pal.

Outside the restaurant, I pulled Sarah in for a
kiss. She put her left arm around my neck, while her right hand was Rubbing me
again. In a husky voice she said, “I think we can skip rounding the bases, and
go straight to home plate.”

I smiled at her. “Okay, follow me in your car to
my—”

Oh shit. Slave Deborah!

I grabbed Sarah’s shoulders and looked into her
eyes. “Honey, I want you to spend the night with me. But you need to know:
There’s someone living with me for a while, and she’ll be coming home about two
o’clock.”

Sarah shrugged. “Is she your wife? Because—”

“No, not my wife. But she—”

“Will you tell me to go home as soon as she walks
in?”

“No way. But she—oh hell, Deborah’s a sex slave.”

I don’t expect a stripper to be a hardline
feminist. But when I told Sarah I was keeping a sex slave, I expected
some
kind of nasty reaction. I sure didn’t expect to see Sarah
smile
.

“Mmm, my Timmy is a
love machine
. I guess I’ll
need to try
harder
to make you happy.” Sarah’s right hand began rubbing
my bulge again.

Thank you, Power. Things could have gotten very
ugly when I had two gorgeous women in my bedroom at the same time.

I walked Sarah to her car, then I started toward my
own car. As I walked past the back of Sarah’s car, I noticed that her back
windshield was covered with duct tape and a big rectangle of cardboard.

I walked back to Sarah’s car door and knocked on
her window. Seconds later, I asked her, “What happened back there?”

She sighed. “Duke happened. He used a brick.
Sometime last night, while I was working.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sarah and I were in my
living room, kissing. Correction: I was kissing Sarah while I rubbed her tits
through her bra; Sarah, as she kissed me, was loosening my belt and unzipping
me.

I grabbed my pants before they fell down around my
knees, and pulled my cel phone out of my pocket. “Hold on, I need to text my
slave,” I said.

Sarah then grabbed the waist of my pants, dragged
me to the couch, yanked my pants down, and pushed me onto the couch. “Okay, Tim
honey, you text her—
if you can
.”

While I tried texting Deborah, Sarah started
sucking my cock.
Eventually
I got the message sent, but before then, her
blowjob made me lose concentration a lot. I’m sure the same thing has happened
to you.

Chapter 10
I Put My Babes To Work

I was being shaken awake.

I looked at the bedside clock; it said 2:26. In the
darkness, I heard Slave Deborah whisper: “Master, is Sarah still here? Where
should this slave sleep?”

I was still nine-tenths asleep. I murmured, “Mmm,
that’s a good question.”

I felt Sarah stir, and then she asked in a sleepy
voice, “Baby, is your slave girl here?”

“Uh, yeah.” I thought,
Will I need to call the
cops soon?

“Can you turn the light on, please? I’ve met only
one sex slave before.”

I thought,
“Only one” sex slave?
I turned on
the table light.

“Wow, you’re beautiful,” each woman said at the same
time.

It turned out that they knew each other, a little.
Sarah and Deborah had met at another dancer’s birthday party.

Then both women got silent, and I realized that
each was waiting for me to make a decision. I moved to the middle of the bed
and said, “Slave Deborah, get naked and get in bed with us. But no sex
tonight—I’m too tired.”

“Mmm, did I wear Baby out?” Sarah said. She kissed
me on the cheek. To Deborah she said, “Let’s hope he doesn’t snore.”

“He snores,” Deborah said as she slid into bed and
put an arm on my chest, “but it’s a cute snore.”

“Deborah, turn out the light and let’s all sleep,”
I ordered.

“Yes, um…”

“Sarah knows about us, Slave Deborah. It’s okay to
use the words around her.”

“Then this slave obeys, Master.” Deborah turned out
the light. I kissed Sarah goodnight, then Deborah goodnight, then I fell
asleep.

I woke up later, when there was just enough light
in the room to see shapes. Sarah and Deborah were talking quietly over my rib
cage, and someone was stroking my cock.

“That feels good,” I said, then I fell back asleep.

When I woke up again, Sarah was gone from the bed,
and Deborah was pressed against me with her arm around my waist. My first
thought was,
Is Sarah mad at me? Why is she gone?

I tried to sit up, and that woke Deborah up. I
said, “Where is Sarah?”

Deborah said, “Relax, Master, she’s making
breakfast in the kitchen.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Um, she asked this slave to let her know when you’re
awake.”

I agreed to that, I got a “This slave obeys” in
reply, and Deborah got out of bed. Then my sex slave, wearing not a stitch of
clothing, sashayed off to talk to my girlfriend.

Life is good sometimes.

When Deborah walked back in the bedroom, she
giggled. “She told this slave, `Have
fun
.’”

I glanced at the clock; I had half an hour before
my alarm went off. Then my arm reached out for Deborah. “I’ll see that you have
lots
of fun.”

I was fucking Deborah when I felt a third hand
stroke my back. There by the bed stood Sarah, with a spatula in her hand and a
sexy smile on her face. “Breakfast is ready,” Sarah said, “
when
you two
are ready.”

I pulled into my parking place at the dealership
only fifteen minutes late. But I’d had only five hours of sleep, and now I was
feeling it.

I started the Morning Meeting by saying, “I’d like
to announce that I’m promoting Betty Jane to General Manager.” As everyone was
applauding, I tried not to yawn.

I hadn’t even finished the Morning Meeting when I
realized I needed more coffee. I raised my hand in a “hold on” gesture, grabbed
my empty cup, stood up—

—and Susan (who was once again dressed like a
sex-fantasy secretary) jumped up as well. “Do you need more coffee? Stay there,
I’ll get it,” she said cheerfully. “No cream, two sugars, coming right up.”

I handed her the cup, and she minced off on high
heels to the urn. I sat down.

“What’s with Susan being so nice to you?” Kathy
asked me.

“I have no idea,” I said.

Kathy’s face said she didn’t believe me.

Betty Jane also was eyeing me. “So you and Susan
aren’t…?”

Albert said, “Ease up, you two. If the boss is
tired this morning, it’s not because of
her
, it’s because of Gothika.”

I said, “Haven’t gone out with Gothika yet.
Yesterday it was Platinuma.”

Susan set my coffee cup down by my left hand. “Gothika,
Platinuma, who are they?”

“Dancers,” I said.

“At the club that Mike took him to,” Albert said. “Total-babe
strippers, and our new boss got both their phone numbers.”

Susan said as she sat down, “And no, Betty Jane,
Mr. Hanson and I
aren’t
dating. But it wouldn’t be sexual harassment if
we
did
.” She smiled at me. “But it sounds like I’d need to take a
number.”

After the Morning Meeting, I had a long G-rated
meeting in my office with Betty Jane, as I discussed her new duties with her.
As soon as Betty Jane left, I had an XXX-rated meeting in my office with Susan.
This time it took Susan longer to suck me off, because my dick was sore, but
Susan never complained. While Susan was slurping me, I managed to write an
online help-wanted ad for Betty Jane’s vacated position of Finance Manager.

After Susan left, I sat at my desk to work on
paperwork—and soon discovered I’d fallen asleep in my chair. To wake myself up
and get my blood pumping, I decided to walk around my dealership.

I walked into every department and let my employees
know that Betty Jane was now the number-two boss and that they were to treat
her with respect. With that task done, I headed for the employee breakroom, for
another cup of alleged coffee.

I was sipping coffee and chewing on a chocolate bar
when Bernie O’Toole’s car-dealer ad come on the TV. I watched him spout off,
rolled my eyes, and thought,
Jeez, why can’t you simply tell the truth?

And then I got a
great
idea. I threw the
rest of the vile black liquid down my throat, and rushed back to my office.

Actually, to Susan’s desk outside my office. “Susan
Cooper,” I said, “I am going to be making a new kind of commercial soon, and it
would be
very helpful
to me if you would star in it.”

Somehow I knew how she’d answer.

I called Sarah on her cel, and explained my idea.
She was game. (Ain’t love grand?) Deborah, I knew, had gone back to sleep, so I
left a message on her cel, ordering her to be at the dealership in the morning.
Next, I called the camera crew who regularly filmed Tim Hanson Ford’s
commercials, and gave them the where and when. With all that done, I went to
talk to Hank.

If you the customer tell me that you’ll buy my
new
car if I’ll buy your ratty
old
car, what am I going to do? I’m not
stupid, I’ll take your old car in trade. But new-car dealerships have standards
about what cars we’ll sell on our used-car lots: late model, low mileage,
mechanically sound, with nothing more than minor body damage. So what happens
to the rustbuckets that we buy but won’t sell? We sell those, a bunch at a
time, to used-car wholesalers, who sell them to mom-and-pop used-car lots.

The point is, even the classiest car dealership has
a few eyesores on the property somewhere, if you look hard enough.

Which is why I walked up to Hank, the Used-Car
Sales Manager, and said, “Show me the ugliest car I own.”

The next morning, Susan walked into the Morning
Meeting, dressed just like she’d dressed in olden days—if you ignored the top
three buttons of her blouse being unbuttoned.

“I like that you’ve returned to a more
professional
look, Susan,” Betty Jane said.

Kathy nodded. “As opposed to looking like a—like a…”

Susan said brightly, “Oh, I’m only dressed like this
because Mr. Hanson asked me to. For the commercial. Tomorrow, I’ll be dressed
in my regular clothes again.”

“Commercial?” Bobby said. “Susan, you’re going to
be in one of our commercials?”

By now, everyone was present, so I said, “People, I’m
making a major change to how we operate, and our new advertising will reflect
that.”

“What’s the change?” Albert asked.

“It’s a radical new idea, unheard-of in the car
business,” I said. “We’re going to be honest.”

Everyone but Susan stared at me.

“`Honest’? We’re honest now, we don’t need to
change,” Kathy said.

I replied, “We’re honest for car dealers. We don’t
roll odometers back, or put motorcycle oil into bad car engines to make them
sound better.
But
I myself have sold twenty-eight cars, and I’ve understudied
the job of every one of you, and I know there are
many
tricks to squeeze
a few extra bucks out of a customer. Starting today, those tricks stop.”

“You sure that’s smart, Tim?” Bobby asked. “That’s
going to hurt your bottom line.”

“It’s going to hurt you too, don’t think I don’t
know that. Short term, every one of you will see your performance-bonus drop.
You might well be tempted to quit and go elsewhere. Please don’t.”

Susan smiled at everyone. “You said `short term,’
Mr. Hanson. You think things will get better, real quick?”

“Yes. It’s a gamble, I admit that. But I think that
once the public becomes convinced that we keep all promises we make, and make
no promises we can’t keep, that we’ll be swamped.”

Silence.

I added, “Which reminds me. Starting today, this
minute, our people are
forbidden
to use the words `lowest price’ and `highest
price.’ As in, `We will sell you a Ford for the lowest price in town, and give
you the highest value for your trade.’ If a salesman wouldn’t say something to
his grandmother, the salesman better not say it to anyone else. Or I’ll have
his ass.”

Fifteen minutes later, the Morning Meeting ended,
and my managers walked out of my office (while giving each other “the boss is
an idiot” looks). Waiting outside by Susan’s desk were the camera crew, as well
as Sarah and Deborah.

Susan handed out copies of the contracts (which
Sarah and Deborah signed), Susan handed out copies of the script, then we left
to shoot the commercial.