0 comments/ 86158 views/ 2 favorites Hard Candy By: DafneyDewitt Fuller glanced in his rear view mirror again. The expensive black Jaguar was still behind him, weaving through the waves of downtown cars like a shark. Fuller knew, he was the bait. He pulled his battered blue Chevy to the curb around the corner from Mazzio's Deli, and watched as the Jaguar glided to a stop behind him. Fuller marched to the rear of his car, and waited like a sentinel while Mr. Gerber exited the Jaguar. They were an odd couple. Gerber was a handsome gray-haired business executive dressed in a custom made pin-stripped suit. He projected an image of wealth and success. Fuller appeared to be almost the exact opposite. He had dressed down for the occasion in old blue jeans, and a white sweatshirt with bright red letters printed on the front that said 'Stanford University'. This was the attire Fuller had chosen for his role as an unemployed, and disreputable chemistry professor. Scanning the street for trouble, Fuller carefully popped open the trunks lid on the rusted Chevy. Keeping one hand on the lid to prevent it from flying open, he invited Mr. Gerber to peer inside at ten plastic milk jugs filled with water. "Is that all?" complained Gerber with undisguised disappointment filling his voice. "It's not what it seems," Fuller tried to assure him. "It just looks like water. Pick a bottle," Fuller said. He almost added "any bottle", but caught himself just in time. He did not want to sound like a street hustler promoting a game of 3-Card Monty. Mr. Gerber pointed to a bottle in the middle. Fuller unscrewed the cap, and made a big display of inserting a small plastic suction bulb into the jug of water and aspirating about 2 cc's of the fluid. Fuller transferred this liquid to a much smaller glass bottle, the size of his little finger, that had once contained clove oil. "Just 5 drops," Fuller added in way of explanation. "Is that enough?" questioned Gerber. "It's good for 3 hours," Fuller re-assured him. Fuller carefully screwed the cap down on the small clove oil bottle, and placed it in the right front pocket of his jeans. Mr. Gerber glanced skeptically at Fuller, and carefully stepped up onto the curb to avoid getting muddy water on his alligator shoes. Mr. Gerber was far from convinced. "Let's go," said Fuller slamming the car trunk shut. Standing at the corner, waiting for the traffic light to change, Fuller stepped back from the curb seconds before a white Lincoln Continental cut in close around the corner splashing dirty water onto Mr. Gerber's pants and shoes. "Son-of-a-bitch!" yelled Gerber in anger at being sprayed. Fuller and Gerber watched as the Continental pulled to the curb twenty feet away and the rear door swung open. At first all they could see was a pair of high heeled black shoes attached to a pair of long shapely legs that seemed to go on forever. Sensuously, a beautiful woman emerged, like a butterfly from its cocoon. She discreetly brushed her white business dress back down over her thighs. Fuller, felt like a fortunate voyeur. It was a rare delight to witness a free reverse strip-tease by an elegant lady. The woman glanced in their direction and gave them both a look of disdain. Her white business dress was molded to the curves of her body. Shoulder- length black hair embraced a pixie doll face. Her red lips pursed together and her forehead wrinkled into a sneer of displeasure at their ogling her exit from the limousine. In a gesture of disapproval, for their unwanted attention, she flipped her head around in a dismissive rejection and walked off in the opposite direction. Even walking away, their eyes remained riveted to the high-heeled wiggle of her shapely derriere. Her self-assured erect posture accentuated the wiggle with every footstep. She was one of those unapproachable women, with an attitude, who knew she was drop-dead gorgeous. "I'd like to give that bitch a piece of my mind," muttered Gerber looking down at his expensive mud spattered shoes. "Some women are just born to be bitches, Gerber said. "Come on," said Fuller urging him to cross the street, "We have more important things to do." "Some women are born to be bitches," Gerber repeated, clinging to his anger like a mantra until they entered Mazzio's Deli. They ordered coffee and croissants. The weather was pleasantly warm and sunny so they sat at one of the outside tables. A young tall girl with a blond ponytail served them. She had minor acne inflammation on her chin, but smiled in an attractive flirting way. Fuller guessed that Gerber would probably leave her a generous tip. After taking a sip of coffee, Mr. Gerber began. "I need an absolute guarantee." "I understand," said Fuller making a gesture of surrender by holding both his hands in the air as if he were being robbed at gunpoint. "You'll have to convince me." "I can do better than that." "How?" "I'll let you test it yourself." "What do I do?" "First, I need to explain that it's not an aphrodisiac." "OK. So it doesn't drive women wild." "Correct." "That's disappointing." "It's only an ego suppressant." "What's that mean?" "It means the person under the influence will obey any strongly worded commands given by others." "Not just the person giving them the drug?" "No. Anyone." Mr. Gerber took a generous bite of his croissant followed by a sip of coffee, and mulled this over in his mind. He took a napkin, bent over and whipped off his shoes. No one would rush him into making premature decision. Fuller waited patiently. Mr. Gerber tossed the dirty napkin into an empty ash tray. His question for Fuller included his two favorite words, "power and control". "So, it does give you the power to control women." "Yes." "But it doesn't create a Master-Slave Relationship." Fuller answered the second half of this question carefully. He did not want to disappoint Mr. Gerber with too many realistic limitations. "Technically, no. But if you arrange to be in isolation with the drug recipient, than you can manipulate the relationship in whatever way you want." "If there are no outside influences, you mean?" "Exactly," encouraged Fuller shaking his head vigorously in agreement. While Fuller was agreeing with Mr. Gerber, the arrogant lady from the Lincoln Continental sat down several tables behind him. She crossed her long legs, slipping one of her high heeled shoes off so it dangled by the toe, and jiggled it impatiently while waiting for the waitress. "What's the name of this drug?" "It's a psychoactive Tri-Ethyl Acetilpolymotride." "Yes, yes," said Gerber impatiently. "But what do you call it?" "Hard Candy." "Hard Candy?" "Once you've used it, you'll realize the name fits." "When can we test it?" "Anytime you want." "Isn't there a danger?" "Not if I'm around to help you." "How about right now?" "We could test it on the waitress," offered Fuller. "No." Fuller frowned. He feigned disappointment, but relinquished control to Mr. Gerber. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, "Why not?" "I have a better idea." "What?" "Remember that Lincoln Continental that splashed my shoes?" "You mean that beautiful rich bitch in the white dress?" "Yeah, that's the one. She is sitting several tables behind you." Fuller moved to turn around but Mr. Gerber reached out with both hands to stop him. His eyes grew wide with alarm and he moved his head from side-to-side in a silent gesture of disapproval. He was like a kid at a candy counter who did not want anyone else looking at the piece of candy he was about to choose. The selfishness of the gesture was so transparent, Fuller almost laughed. "No, don't look now," Mr. Gerber insisted lowering his voice into an exaggerated whisper. Fuller stopped with a puzzled look on his face. Mr. Gerber bent his head toward Fuller and gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Just tell me what to do." Fuller pretended to be taken by surprise at Gerber's selection for a test case. "Are you sure you want to test it on her?" "Absolutely." "But I don't think she likes you." "Even better." Fuller shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "OK, we need an opportunity to drop the drug in her drink." Fuller removed a small, almost empty, clove bottle from his left hand jeans pocket and handed it to Gerber. Gerber rolled the bottle between his thumb and forefinger staring intently at the bubble of fluid as if expecting a magic genie to appear. "What's she doing?" Fuller whispered. Mr. Gerber answered in a pig like squeal of excitement while Fuller silently wished he would return to whispering before he attracted unwanted attention. "She took out her cell phone, and the waitress just delivered her order. She's shaking her phone like the battery is dead." "All we need is a brief opportunity," Fuller reassured him. "She's getting up and going inside to use the pay phone." Mr. Gerber unconsciously rubbed his hands together in nervous anticipation. "OK, now's our chance," said Fuller. Mr. Gerber hunched over the table in a huddle-like posture. "What do I do?" One of Mr. Gerber's knees accidentally bumped against Fuller's. Fuller leaned back in his chair, breaking the knee contact, and confidently crossed his arms. "Drop the drug in her coffee." "Now?" "Now." For a full minute, Mr. Gerber did nothing. Fuller waited patiently, not uncrossing his arms, chair tilted back. It was up to Gerber. Finally, he rose on unsteady feet. Fuller watched as he sauntered past the woman's empty table. He used his body to block the view from inside the Deli as he waved his hand over her coffee. It was all done in one swift motion. Without missing a step, Mr. Gerber walked past the table to a newspaper dispenser and bought the daily paper before returning to join Fuller. "How long does it take?" Mr. Gerber asked even before sitting down. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He was pleased with his own pathetic performance. "She has to drink the coffee first," Fuller answered wryly. "Yes, but how long?" Gerber asked impatiently. "Less than 5 minutes." "That fast?" "Yes." Fuller picked up the newspaper, and moved his chair around so he could view the action while pretending to read. The woman returned to her table, took a bite of her croissants sandwich and sipped her coffee. Ten minutes later, she had finished eating, brushed the crumbs away, anchored her money with a salt shaker, and stood up to leave. "It's time," urged Fuller, his voice filled with the knowledge of experience. "What do I do?" "Just walk over and invite her to join us." "What if she refuses?" "Just be insistent. Repeat your demands. Tell her she must." Mr. Gerber looked uncertain. But Fuller urged him on. "You've already done the hard part. She has the drug in her system. Now you are in control. Relax." Fuller stroked the reassuring hardness of the clove oil bottle in his right jean pocket while a nervous Mr. Gerber engaged the arrogant but beautiful woman in conversation. Within seconds, they both returned to Fuller's table. Mr. Gerber sat down, but the woman remained standing. Fuller frowned at Gerber. He was obviously inexperienced in Slave-Master Relationships. "It's not polite to keep a lady standing," Fuller suggested. Mr. Gerber caught the clue. "Sit down," he ordered. The woman sat down, and immediately began protesting. "I really have to be going. I'm supposed to be meeting my husband." "So you're married?" asked Gerber noticing her wedding ring. "Yes. It was nice of you to invite me, but I really must leave." The woman half rose out of her chair. "Stay seated," commanded Gerber. She sat back down with a puzzled expression on her face. For the first time, Mr. Gerber smiled at Fuller. "I think I'm going to like this." "My husband is an ex-football player. He could smash you like a bug." The woman's statement took Mr. Gerber by surprise, but Fuller helped smooth things over. "If you shared the candy," Fuller began, "you could control two at once." "Two women?" answered Mr. Gerber misunderstanding. "I was thinking more in terms of a husband and wife." "Why would I want to do that?" "You could order the husband to prepare his wife for you. He could lift her dress, spread her legs, hold her arms. He would do whatever you wanted." Fuller's comments ignited Mr. Gerber's imagination. "I could make her husband hold her while I fucked her?" Mr. Gerber shook his head in amazement. It seemed too incredible to be true. "Are you talking about me?" the woman accused Mr. Gerber in a threatening tone of voice. "Yes, my sweet." "I'm not your sweet." "Unbutton your blouse." "It's not a blouse. It's a Jordach-Marcs Dress." "Unbutton it," commanded Gerber. The woman's hands brushed against her prominent breasts fiddling with the top button. Her breathing quickened. They could see nipple bumps where her breasts pushed against the tight fabric of her cream colored top. After undoing the top button, she paused. "Keep going," insisted Mr. Gerber. "But people will see me." The woman looked with dismay at people walking past on the sidewalk, but no one seemed to be returning her gaze. "I want you to unbutton your dress," repeated Gerber in a slow measured voice emphasizing each word. Time froze. This was the moment. Would she obey? Mr. Gerber nervously rubbed his hands together focusing so intently on the top of the woman's dress that he neither saw nor heard the waitress approach. As the women's fingers stroked the second button on her blouse, he could feel himself getting aroused. He was semi-hard when the waitress spoke. "Is everything OK?" Mr. Gerber almost jumped out of his seat in shock. He turned his head toward the waitress in anger. "Yes, yes, everything's fine! Just leave us alone." He wiped a hand over his forehead before looking back at his slave woman. She was busy undoing the 5th button on her cream colored dress. A breeze blew open the top of her dress giving him a tantalizing glimpse of a lacy white bra. In a panic, Mr. Gerber yelled, "Stop!" She stopped, dropping her hands to the table with her eyes cast downward in shame. How much had the waitress seen? Mr. Gerber was uncertain. His heart pounded in fear at how quickly the situation could have gone bad. He would have to be much more careful. He was sitting outside in a downtown deli commanding a woman to undress. He had the power. She would strip naked in public if he forced her. The reality of the situation gripped Mr. Gerber. Hard Candy could be dangerous. Onlookers might mis-interrupt the situation and come to the woman's rescue. But the danger only made him harder. His member pulsed down inside of his leg like a puff viper. After a pause to steady the drum of his heart, Mr. Gerber decided to change tactics. "Do you know what I'm doing?" asked Mr. Gerber. "No," answered the woman raising her eyes to look at him. "I'm stroking my cock beneath the table." The woman looked at Mr. Gerber with an expression of shocked disbelief, and turned toward Fuller expecting him to do something. Fuller's face remained impassive, but silently he felt a wave of revulsion. This was disgusting. He never knew what to expect when he offered strangers their first taste of Hard Candy. He called it Hard Candy because of the way it opened up men's fantasies. The power to control women made men hard. Once they tasted its sweet rewards, they always wanted more. But he had expected better from this well dressed businessman. Why resort to masturbation when sex was available? Fuller waited, uncertain of how things would turn out. "That's disgustingly immature," she shot back after Fuller had failed to register his disapproval. Fuller loved her comeback, and almost smiled. Mr. Gerber was visibly stung by the force of her words, but quickly recovered. "Can't I shut this bitch up?" he asked. "Yes, but a whipped woman who doesn't scream is no fun," answered Fuller. Fuller's sage advice almost sounded like a proverb. It was exactly what Mr. Gerber wanted. He wanted to degrade and humiliate this rich cunt in public. He wanted to hear her pain. Did it matter what she said as long as he controlled her actions? He would bend her to his own will until she begged for mercy. He nodded to Fuller in agreement before turning his head to renew his attack on the beautiful rich bitch. "I'm going to share with you," Gerber hissed looking directly into the eyes of the bitch. "Share what?" asked the woman. "I'm stroking my cock beneath the table and I am going to squirt cream into my teaspoon," said Mr. Gerber moving his teaspoon under the table. This time, the woman made no pretense of her expectation that Fuller put an end to this disgusting situation. She turned toward Fuller. "Aren't you going to stop him?" "No," answered Fuller, wondering if he was making the wrong decision. They both watched in silence as Mr. Gerber's hands moved beneath the table. Mr. Gerber frowned at Fuller and with a look of intense concentration squirted cream into his spoon, dropping the paper half 'n half container to the ground. Carefully raising the spoon above the table Mr. Gerber offered it to the woman with a smile. To Fuller's surprise the spoon was filled with a white liquid. "Put the spoon in your mouth and swallow," demanded Gerber smiling broadly. With a grimace of displeasure, the woman raised the spoon to her lips and shook her head slightly has if she had swallowed a bitter medicine. "Lick the spoon off. Enjoy it." commanded Gerber. Fuller watched the woman turn the spoon over and lick it as if it had been filled with ice cream, running her tongue around the spoon as her eyes filled with pleasure. Fuller admired Mr. Gerber's stunt. This had been an extreme test, but done discreetly in a public place. Maybe, it would all work out. "Stop licking and hand me your panties," ordered Mr. Gerber. The women's eyes grew large with alarm. Her mouth opened and closed in a silent scream like a fish out of water. This command had caught her completely off guard. "I can't. I'm wearing pantyhose." "Than take off your pantyhose." Mr. Gerber could hardly contain his excitement. He was vibrating. He no longer cared if the waitress or other patrons in the deli saw the woman disrobe. They would not be able to touch him. He never laid a hand on the woman. She was stripping all by herself. Besides, he had Fuller as a witness. His hands were rubbing together faster than they ever were between his legs. Now, he really did appear to be masturbating. But he was not aware of how badly his movements looked. All his concern was focused on the woman in front of him who was obeying his commands. The woman lifted up in her chair as if she were going to leave and appeared to be re-adjusting her dress. Sitting back down, she tugged at her pantyhose until it slipped past her thighs and down her legs. Bending over, as if to pick up a dropped napkin, the woman handed them to Mr. Gerber. One leg of her pantyhose almost fell into his coffee. Without thinking, he quickly brought the bundled pantyhose up to his nose and inhaled deeply savoring the intimate smell of the woman. A moment later, Mr. Gerber's face grew red with embarrassment for allowing Fuller to see him sniffing underwear. He looked up with uncertainty, but Fuller did not rebuke him. "Put them in your pocket as a souvenir," suggested Fuller. "I'm late. I need to meet my husband," complained the woman. "We should let her go," agreed Fuller. "No. I'm just getting started," insisted Gerber. Fuller smiled benignly. It was just like taking toys away from a baby. Mr. Gerber must be at least fifty years old, and he still wanted to play. He had a new toy, and he did not want to give it up. Once they were hot and bothered, they wanted to keep playing forever. They just did not know when to stop. It was time to cool him down. Hard Candy Standing in front of the washing machine, Sofia looked at the unusual business card she'd retrieved, along with some loose change, from her husband's pants pocket. On the card were the words "Hard Candy" with a telephone number and the cryptic phrase, "Call If You Dare." The card itself appeared to be a photocopy of some sort of tan background with the two large capital letters "HC" in some kind of thin, dark, sans-serif font. These two letters were unusual in themselves for being somewhat less than precise around the edges and at an angle to the rest of the card. Well, she thought, now that I've saved this card from death by drowning in laundry detergent, I guess I ought to see what needs to be done with it. She set it aside and finished getting the washer started. Then she picked up the card and walked out of the laundry room to ask her husband about it. She found him in the living room disinterestedly watching some mindless program on the television. "Howard, I found this in a pair of your pants while I was doing laundry," she said, casually handing the card to him. "What is it? Is it something you need to keep?" Her interest in the matter sharpened a little when she noticed his eyes widening a bit and him taking in a breath at the recognition of the object in question. Sofia was a shrewd observer. "Oh, I was given that card when I was at the big-box home center store yesterday," he explained. "There was this woman in front of me in the checkout line. She was buying a long piece of some kind of chain. She handed me the card." "So, it was somebody you met, then," Said Sofia, matter-of-factly. "Well, I didn't exactly meet her..." Howard began hesitantly, and then went on to say, "I never saw her before, but I noticed she had an interesting tattoo on her arm. It was a tattoo of a woman in what looked like a swimsuit, and she was wearing boots and holding what must have been riding crop. We were in line there for several minutes, and I got a real good look at it and realized that it was a tattoo of Bettie Page. You know, that famous model from the 1950s. It was kind of eerie. It was like Bettie Page was looking right at me." "And then she just gave you this card." "Well, I was intrigued, so I said to her, 'Isn't that a tattoo of Bettie Page,' which I guess wasn't a particularly brilliant conversation starter. And about the same time, it was her turn to pay the cashier. She just looked at me for a second, and then she reached out and put the card in my hand. She never said anything to me. Then she turned around, bought her chain and left." "Interesting," said Sofia. "So, is this card a keeper, or should I throw it away?" "Oh, uh, throw it away. No need to keep it. No need at all." And with that, Howard returned to his television program, in which he now had a new found interest, and Sofia went back to the laundry room. Now, isn't this a little odd, thought Sofia. Howard's telling me to throw this card away, and yet he took the trouble to keep it in the first place. If he didn't want it, he could have thrown it away himself rather than keeping it in his pants pocket and bringing it home. Sofia's well developed sense of intuition kicked itself up a notch. I wonder if there's something about this that Howard's not telling me? Both Sofia and Howard knew who Bettie Page was. She'd been a beautiful and famous--infamous--pin-up who'd been been the poster girl for the mid-twentieth century BDSM crowd and was still iconic even today. So, concluded Sofia, my husband had a chance meeting with a dominatrix yesterday. And he was going to keep her business card. How VERY interesting! What Howard neglected to mention to Sofia was the more accurate description of the encounter. As soon as the identity of the tattoo registered itself in Howard's mind, and as soon as he'd made the mental connection between it and the likely occupation of its owner, Howard developed an immediate erection. And when the lady turned to regard Howard after he spoke to her, she looked him over and noticed it. She looked back up at him, looked directly and provocatively into his eyes and held his gaze for a good five seconds or so. Then she gave him her card and turned away without so much as a word. The little demon that sat on Howard's left shoulder whispered into his ear, "SHE'S HOT!" The little angel that sat on his right whispered, "Better not." On occasion, Howard wrestled with his demon for control, but today they both chose to just cuddle each other closely. The little angel was shut out. Howard watched her walk off. Her tight fitting clothing accentuated her well toned body. She works out, Howard thought to himself. She's strong and supple and walks like the cat that owns the jungle. Howard was so preoccupied with this woman that the salesgirl had to say, "Sir, you're next" three times before it registered with him. "Oh, sorry," he stammered, and paid for his purchases. Once in his car, he looked at the card she'd handed him. He didn't have any idea what he would or could do with it, but he stuffed it into his pocket. And then sort of forgot about it when other matters displaced it from his consciousness. Until now. Now he found himself wondering what it would be like to be under the sexual control of a woman like that, a woman with enough authority to make him do whatever she wanted. He got another erection thinking about the possibilities. Well, it'll never happen, he concluded and went into the kitchen to fetch himself a beer and some corn chips. Sofia had no intention of throwing the card away, not just yet, anyway. In fact, over the next week, she made a point of leaving it in plain sight several times, knowing Howard would see it, because she wanted to see what he'd do about it when he did. Howard certainly did notice the card, but he neither threw it away himself or commented on it, which was something else that Sofia found very interesting. Sofia was an attractive, beautifully proportioned woman, but her sense of self was reflected in a conservative taste in attire and deportment. It wasn't that Sofia was without passion--she had plenty--but rather that she believed that the display of passion was better left to the privacy of their own bedroom. She'd graduated college with a bachelor's degree in psychology, and her goal, which she had achieved, was to fall in love with and marry a good, honest man, and stay home and be a good housewife. They were both in their mid twenties and had been married for five years. Howard was a mechanical engineer who had a well paying job at a large corporation. He understood machinery and mathematics. Females, on the other hand, were baffling, especially to engineers, and were frequently the subject of conversation at departmental lunch breaks. "You know," one of his colleagues said during lunch one day, "If it wasn't for the fact that women had pussies, there'd be a bounty on them." This observation was met with gales of laughter and high fives all around. "Well, I'm of the mind that the 'Rawhide' approach is best," observed one of the older men. "The 'rawhide' approach? asked Howard. "What's that?" "Sorry," said the old man, "It was before your time. 'Rawhide' was on TV years ago. It was about some cowboys and their adventures on the cattle drives. It had a theme song about life on the trail herding cattle, and the song had a line in it that's just my take on how to deal with women: Don't try to understand 'em. Just rope, throw and brand 'em." More raucous laughter followed. Howard didn't exactly agree with all of this, but he went along for the ride. He did admit to himself that he didn't understand Sofia at times. For example, he could see the sense of getting an engineering degree. You could make good money with that. On the other hand, what good did a degree in psychology do for anybody? All it was good for was to get a job at Starbucks serving coffee. And Sofia said she wanted to find employment somewhere after they got married. She said she wanted to contribute 'her share' to the relationship, which suggested that he wasn't able to provide. He patiently explained to her that he made more than enough money for the both of them, so why shouldn't she stay home? It took some doing, but he convinced her of the logic of this, and after a while, she agreed that he'd been right. She was sensible sometimes, especially when she'd see things his way. And, of course, he was proud of himself for being able to have a stay-at-home wife when so many others had to work to make ends meet. And not to mention that she was usually up for sex as soon as he got home. If either of them were asked, they'd claim that they had a happy relationship that included a generally satisfying, monogamous sex life. Howard appreciated what he had in Sofia but could take more from her if she were willing to give it. She would make herself available to her husband whenever he wished, and she was good about both giving and receiving oral. Howard was disappointed with her reluctance to try anal, though. "When you have anal sex, then I'll have anal sex," she'd calmly tell him on the occasions when he'd bring up the subject, so he had stopped mentioning it, because never in a million years would he even consider being the sex partner of a man. For that matter, Sofia would never consider taking some other partner, and Howard would never go out and solicit one either, but he saw his chance meeting with this dominatrix as an opportunity that was sort of dropped into his lap. He just didn't know what he should do about it. What he did know was that he could never share his submissive fantasies with his wife. Sofia just wouldn't understand, he was sure of that. Actually, Sofia understood a lot more than Howard realized. She just didn't think it was necessary or wise to volunteer all of it. Especially with Howard. He was the husband, the man, the one who was supposed to be the head of their relationship. Better for their relationship for her to gently suggest things when necessary rather than try to boss him around. This also was a part of her conservative upbringing. It was why she'd made that statement about the anal sex whenever Howard had asked about it. Sofia had done her research. She understood it had the potential to be painful as hell if it wasn't done gently and gradually, and she knew Howard's tendency to rush into things at times. She figured if Howard would consent to have his own ass violated first, he'd learn what not to do. It wasn't her place to explain to him that it didn't necessarily need to be another man's penis doing the penetration. He'd figure it out eventually, and then it would be "his idea," and he'd have another reason to be proud of himself. And, so, after a week had gone by with Howard pointedly avoiding any mention of that business card, Sofia decided she'd need to formulate a plan to deal with this obvious fixation Howard was having about being submissive to this dominant woman. It had the potential to wreck their marriage, and Sofia was having none of that! In her mind, a story floated into her consciousness. It was something she'd heard her father talk about once, about an event that took place when he was a young boy. He'd gotten hold of a pack of cigarettes, and his own father had caught him smoking one. "Well, son," his dad had said, "If you want to smoke, you ought to do it right." So his father made him smoke the entire pack right there in one sitting, and, of course, he got nauseously sick and threw up. He'd said he never had the desire to smoke another cigarette, ever again. I need to do some research, she thought, and then said to herself, "Well, the card does have a phone number on it..." For his part, Howard had certainly noticed that card sitting around and had kept his mouth shut about it. Don't draw any attention to it, he thought, and maybe she'll forget about it and it'll just go away. And after about a week, it did. When nothing was said about it, and another week had passed, and then another, Howard figured it was all done and gone, and he was safe to be alone with his fantasy once again. It wasn't that he didn't love Sofia. He did, very much. But there were just some things she couldn't understand and that he'd need to keep to himself. That was what being a man was all about. Anyway, his birthday was coming up in a couple more weeks, and their anniversary the week after that. She's probably thinking about those, he decided. Yeah, that's what's on her mind, he said to himself. I'm sure of it. The day before Howard's birthday, Sofia told him she'd arranged a special surprise gift for him that involved something he'd been wanting to do. When he pressed her for details, she smiled coyly and said he'd have to wait until then to find out, seeing as it was a surprise. She did mention that he'd need to do everything he was told if he wanted the surprise. The next day, his birthday, was a Saturday. She surprised him with bedside coffee and sweet pastries and presented him with a card and some small presents. He was almost beside himself with anticipation of his surprise gift, but Sofia made no mention of it all that morning. They both had showers, hers was first, and he was thinking that they would be going out somewhere, and that would have something to do with it. He got out of the shower and dried himself off. Walking out of the bathroom, still naked, he was surprised to see his wife standing in the living room fully dressed and waiting for him. She clapped her hands together and said, "Are you ready for your surprise?" "Can I have it now?" asked Howard. "Well, very soon," answered Sofia. She pulled a dining chair out into the middle of the room. "You have to be prepared first, so stand behind this chair, face the chair and lean over it." Howard was a bit confused by this request, but he did as he was told. Sofia produced a brown paper bag while he was getting into position and pulled out some lengths of rope. She proceeded to tie his ankles to the back legs of the chair. "Now bend over forward so I can tie your wrists to the front chair legs up near the seat,"and she did just as she said. Howard felt mildly ridiculous in such a bizarre position but figured he could play along with whatever game this was, seeing how it was his birthday present. "I'll bet this is how they prepare students for a paddling in those English boarding schools," he observed out loud. "Oh, yes, indeed," answered Sofia with a smile in her voice, "How prescient of you to notice that. Just a few more things, and then we're all ready. Next, we're going to have you wear this blindfold," she said as she positioned it over his eyes. "Can't see a thing now," said Howard. "Good," said Sofia, "That's the way she requires it." "Uh, excuse me? Who requires it?" Howard asked, now with just a bit of a nervous edge to his voice. "Well, your lady friend with the Bettie Page tattoo, of course. That's your special birthday present. She's coming here to have her way with you. That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Howard nearly choked. "No, honey, no! That was just... that was just..." Sofia bent down and pulled the blindfold away from Howard's face and looked him square in the eye. "Howard, you're not trying to tell me you haven't been fantasizing about this woman, are you? Be honest now, Howard." "Well..." "So, your wish is about to come true," said Sofia, effectively ending the conversation. She let go of the blindfold and it came to rest onto Howard's face with a sudden snap. "Ow!" Sofia knew that the pain of the blindfold's elastic strap would soon be the least of Howard's ordeals. "Now, before I go..." she began, and Howard interrupted at once. "Before you go!?" Sofia sighed, "As - I - was - saying. Before I go there are several things that need mentioning. First, I won't be here. Once you're secured, I will leave and will not return for several hours at least until my lunch date with my girlfriends is over and you've experienced your birthday gift in full. Second, I'm putting this ball gag in your mouth. I'm not going to fasten it in the back just in case you get a sudden wave of nausea and need to spit it out. And here's a towel on the seat of the chair for you to drool onto. Now, I strongly suggest that you keep that gag in your mouth, because unless there's some emergency that requires you to release it, there will be (how can I say this?) displeasure. Got that? OK, one last thing. I need to read the contract to you." Sofia unfolded a paper and began to recite: "Terms of Service: "For valuable consideration in the amount of $1,500 in the form of fifteen new one hundred dollar bills, the dominatrix agrees to take said client Howard as her temporary submissive slave. "Howard will submit to each and every ministration that the dominatrix provides. "Howard and his heirs agree to hold the dominatrix harmless in the event of any injury. "By the signatures that follow, both parties acknowledge these terms." Sofia folded up the paper. "There. That seems clear, doesn't it? Now, Howard, since you're 'all tied up' as it were, I took the liberty of signing the contract in your name. I'm putting the agreement in this envelope along with the $1,500 in cash." Sofia used one hand to spread the cheeks of Howard's ass and placed the envelope between them. When she released her hand, the envelope rested snugly in between. He was sure he looked totally ridiculous. Howard was at a total loss for words. He wasn't completely certain that all of this was really happening. It must be a dream, he thought. Well, he reasoned, if it's not a dream, I can easily topple this chair over and work my way out of these ropes. "Alright, dear, I'm leaving," said Sofia cheerfully. "Have fun with your birthday present. Oh, I almost forgot!" And Sofia went into another room and returned with two eight foot two-by-fours which were notched in the center. She set them onto the floor and made a cross out of them. Pushing them against the chair, she fastened them onto its legs with woodworking clamps. It was impossible now for Howard to topple the chair. "Have fun! Cheerio!" were Sofia's last words, and in a bit, Howard heard the front door open and close. "Mmfff" was all he could say. And then there was silence. Which was followed by more silence. And then, still more silence. Howard had no idea how long he waited, alone there in all that silence. He might have even fallen asleep a little except for the extreme discomfort from the position in which he was tied. He began to wonder if anybody was ever planning to come for him. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Howard heard the front door being opened and someone walking into the house. He could hear the click of either high heels or boots on the hardwood floor. It was a heavy sort of sound, and it was different than the sound his wife made when she walked on that floor. He knew who it had to be. Howard could picture in his mind that strange woman's cat-like gait, and he knew that right now she owned this room and everything in it, especially him. The dominatrix had arrived! She took slow, purposeful strides through the room, and Howard could sense that she was standing nearby. He flinched when she snatched the envelope from between his ass cheeks, and he heard her opening it and counting the cash. He heard the closing of some kind of pocketbook or purse and figured she was putting it all away for safekeeping. Then he heard the sound of hands rummaging through another bag, followed by a little pause of quietness. He felt hands as they fastened the straps of the ball gag behind his head. Presently, he felt some sort of rope-like thing being traced across his buttocks, and it came to him that this must be the riding crop from that tattoo. Hard Candy Howard tensed up in anticipation. The crop came to a stop and rested there on his ass. Then it was withdrawn. Nothing had happened, and Howard relaxed a little. Then the crop came down with a fair amount of force right across both cheeks. There was an immediate flash of pain, and he jumped, or tried to, but of course there was nowhere he could go. The initial wave of pain went away and was replaced with a slowly developing burn. He got an erection. The crop came down again, and there was another surge of pain. Well, it hurts, but it's nothing I can't handle, he thought. The strokes kept coming at about five second intervals and kept up for several minutes. Then they stopped, and the crop was held to rest against his skin. It stayed there for a little while, but then the strokes returned, this time harder and with less time between each of them. It occurred to Howard that perhaps the first set were done just as a warm-up. His erection got stronger. Howard winced a little with each stroke of the crop. The intensity and repetitiveness continued, but after a little while, Howard's sensation of the cropping began to change. He couldn't exactly say it was pleasure he was feeling, but the pain was beginning to morph into something manageable and almost comfortable as endorphins were released and began flooding his brain. He realized this woman was leading him on a journey, and he was becoming content to go along for the ride. After a time, the cropping stopped, and he felt her hands tracing over his bruised ass cheeks. Although it was plain to see he had a strong erection, she made no move to touch him there, nor did she say a word. He knew she was going through her bag of toys once more, and then he felt something cold being squirted along the cleft of his ass. It was some sort of cream or gel, and she used her fingertips to massage it around and into his anus. After a minute, he felt her taking his hand and having him feel something. It was hard, long and round. It felt like a man's organ, and he figured it to be about the same size as his. When he heard her shimmying around he guessed it was some kind of strap-on thing, and this was confirmed when he felt the head end of the thing rest against his greased anal opening. She began leaning toward him, using her body weight to press it into him, and it finally slid inside. She held it there. If Howard thought the crop was painful, he really had his mettle tested with this. It hurt! It stung and it burned and it was more than he could stand, but he couldn't get away. She pulled out from him and waited for a minute or two. Then she began once more. It was still uncomfortable, but not as bad as before. Only about an inch of it was inside of him, but it felt like much more than that to him. She was patient, and for that Howard was thankful. She put both her hands on his hips and began stroking it in and out of his ass, very, very little at first. Howard's bowels began to accommodate this violation, and her thrusts began to deepen. It took a while, but she was persistent and able to get him to take all eight inches of it, Howard's hard cock began to swell out each time she thrusted into him fully. The pain was gone. Howard experienced a pleasure he'd never felt before. He was beginning to believe he could have an orgasm just from this pegging, and then... ... she stopped. She withdrew her man-tool and untied Howard from the chair, but left him gagged and blindfolded. She led him into the bedroom and positioned him on his back and tied his wrists to the bedposts. Once more, there was a pause as she went into her bag of tricks. He felt her put something else in his hand. It was another phallus, but this one was at least twice the length and twice the thickness of the first. She got into a lotus position between his legs and had him wrap them around her waist. In this way, both of them were comfortable, and she had full access to his anus and genitals. This new phallus was not something she wore. She worked it by hand. He felt it touching his dilated ass and then entering him. He had to concentrate on relaxing to keep it from hurting. As before, she slowly worked it into him. Once it was most of the way inside, she took his cock in her slippery hands and began stroking him. She was deliberately slow, maddeningly show in doing it. Howard ached to have an orgasm, but every time he got close, she'd sense it and stop stroking his cock and switch to massaging his balls a little . Then she'd pull the phallus almost completely out of his ass and push it back in ever so slowly, over and over for a while before returning her attention to his cock once again. This went on for the better part of half an hour, and it was driving him crazy. He was approaching his orgasm again, but this time, she increased her stroking rhythm a bit, just enough to push him over the edge. She heard him making incoherent sounds through his gag as she used her hand to keep on stroking the length of his cock. She could feel it suddenly become even more engorged, and she knew that he would come. She felt his muscles convulse, and she had the pleasure of watching him shoot his semen a foot straight up. Three good shots of it followed by quite a few smaller twitches. Howard was in ecstasy. He'd never experienced a more powerful orgasm in his entire life. It was almost as if his pelvic muscles were pushing against the phallus and adding more force to his ejaculation . But even more than that, his whole midsection from his stomach down to his thighs resonated with a warm, peaceful afterglow. Never had he felt such a thing. The satisfaction was incredible! He was lay there with his stomach covered with his own semen. He was still rock hard. She was making just the smallest hand movements now, but after a minute or so, she began stroking him in earnest once more. She would make him go for two, but this time, there would be no teasing. It only took about five minutes, and Howard was being pushed over the edge once again. Once she sensed that he was at the point where his orgasm was inevitable, she changed her grip. She wrapped one hand over the head of his cock and used her fingers in a swirling motion to massage the most sensitive underside. The intense shivering, tickling sensation she created was driving Howard crazy. He couldn't stand it, but at the same time, he didn't want her to stop the stimulation. Being tied up, he had no choice about it anyway. He ejaculated once again, and more semen dripped onto him. She let him rest for a minute and then spun the phallus between her palms and slowly removed it. The twirling sensation was thrilling, he thought. Once it was out, he was surprised how empty and deflated he felt inside. In a little while, she went to the bathroom to fetch a towel and a wet washcloth to clean him. As he lay there, spent and empty, completely sated, he couldn't imagine that he had anything left to give. Still not saying a word, she untied his wrists and had him flip over onto his belly. She then retied the wrists, and the ankles, too. He was spreadeagled on the bed. She made a special effort to insure he was as tightly stretched as he could be, and then she tied even more restraints at the knees and his waist. He could hardly move at all. There was another pause as she fussed with her toy bag, and by and by, she was presenting some other thing for his hand to explore. He touched some kind of tapered cylinder that could have been made of wood. If it was another phallus, it was a small one. One end of it terminated into some kind of metal rod about a half an inch in diameter. So, maybe the cylinder thing is some kind of handle, he thought. And the metal rod was almost a foot long, he guessed, as she pulled it through his hand. And then the other end of the metal rod expanded into some kind of flat surface with some sort of design to it. Further investigation with his fingers discerned that the design was the embossed lettering "HC," but the letters were backwards. Something began nagging at Howard's mind, but he dismissed the thought. Couldn't be, he said to himself, couldn't possibly be. She removed the object and busied herself. He heard a "clank" as something metallic was set down on the bedside table, and soon it began making a hissing sound. This was followed by something being scratched, and the hissing sound was changed into a dull roar. Howard began to smell the aroma of propane being burned, and his stomach sank. He now knew for sure what the object he felt had to be, what it could only be. It was a branding iron. She's going to brand me with a red hot iron, he thought. I didn't sign up for this! And then it all came together for him. That "HC" on her card against the tan background. It was a photo of the skin of some man's ass where she'd branded him. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! Adrenaline coursed through him and enabled his "fight or flight" responses. Howard began pulling against his restraints, pulling violently, but it was to no avail. She'd secured him all too well. He was hollering through the ball gag, "Noooooooo, nooooooo!" She allowed Howard to struggle for a bit. Then she sat down next to him and put a hand on the back of his upper thigh to steady him. It was the same sort of touch that a mother might give to an apprehensive four-year-old who was at the doctor's office and dreading a vaccination. It communicated the message that she sympathized with his fear, but what was going to happen would inevitably happen nevertheless. It took over fifteen minutes for Howard to begin to calm down from the worst of his agitation. Even then, as he lay there, he was continuously shaking in fear. She kept her hand on him the whole time but still said not a word. Meanwhile, the branding iron in its stand basked in the flame of the propane torch. It now had a rosy glow to it. Just about ready, she thought. Only a few more things to extract from the bag, and then we're good to go. Giving his thigh a pat with her hand, she got up and made sure all was ready. Howard knew that the critical moment was approaching quickly. He knew he was going to be branded on his ass, and it would hurt worse than anything else he'd ever experienced, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to prevent it. How in the hell did I ever get into this in the first place, he thought. He could feel the radiation from the red hot iron as she held it a little distance from his ass. Maybe she'll just quickly touch it and pull it away, he thought hopefully. But then, the image from her business card came to mind, and he knew she'd hold it there for a good long time and let the burn manifest itself well. His pulse was racing and he was close to hyperventilating. Any second now, he thought, the pain will begin, any second now... And then, suddenly, he sensed several things at once. The nerves on the surface of his skin were sounding an alarm that an extreme change in temperature was taking place at a certain specific spot on the right cheek of his ass. He could feel a sizzle there. It wasn't quite a burn yet, but he had no doubt he'd feel the beginning of the horrible pain it in a second or two. His ears reported the sound of something frying. His nose detected the sickening aroma of flesh being roasted. She's really doing it! Howard thought. Like some animal, I'm being branded! Howard screamed in his ball gag. Then he passed out. He came to in a few seconds, although he thought he might have been unconscious for a long stretch of time. Hands were removing the ball gag, and then the blindfold. He'd been deprived of sight for so long that he squinted for a few seconds to adjust to the room lighting. And then he saw, standing beside him... Sofia. Sofia!? He looked up at her with a stunned expression on his face. "I... was... branded," he stammered. He'd realized he wasn't in any immediate pain and rationalized that all the excitement had masked it in the same way that a wounded soldier sometimes doesn't know he's been shot until well after the rush of the fighting has ended. I must be going into shock, he thought. Sofia spoke to him soothingly as she began to untie him. "You didn't get branded. Look," she said once he was able to move about a little. She pointed to a small table just behind him. On it was a plate holding a lamb chop. In the middle of the lamb chop was a perfectly formed "HC" with a wisp of smoke still wafting up from its charred middle. "What you felt on your butt was a piece of dry ice. I held it there just long enough for you to feel it. At the exact same time, I plunged the branding iron down onto the lamb chop. Your imagination did the rest. That spot might itch for a day or two from the dry ice, but no real damage was done." By this time, Sofia had removed all the restraints. Howard noticed that the evil iron was back in its stand with the torch turned off. He had to look at himself in a mirror before he was completely convinced he'd not been branded. Once he'd calmed down, Sofia brought him some ice water to drink. He looked like he'd been through hell. She explained that the dominatrix had never been there at all. It was an experience that Sofia herself had orchestrated. "Then where did the branding iron come from?" he asked. "Oh, it really does belong to the dominatrix woman, and she really uses it on some of her customers, but she does it for real." The thought made Howard shiver. "So how did you get it?" "Once I figured out that she was on your mind, I called her. She and I had several productive chats, and I was able to rent the branding iron from her for a day or two. Very convenient." Convenient, thought Howard, but he didn't say anything for a long time. Then, almost inaudibly, he said, "I was a stupid fool," and she could feel the crying in his voice. Sofia took both of his hands in hers. "Howard, I love you, and I will never allow anybody or anything to come between us. Now you understand the danger of keeping your feelings from me. I'm your wife, and I'm the one you go to when you have needs. That woman is dangerous, and you could have destroyed yourself with her. I'll get that iron back to her, and we'll never speak of this again. Now, you came twice already. You had your fun, so it's my turn. I'm asking you, husband, to satisfy me, so buck up. I'm sure after those two monster orgasms that your soldier won't salute for a while, but perhaps you could give me a good tongue lashing in an appropriate spot?" Howard was only too eager to be the doting husband and atone for his evildoing. He lapped at Sofia's pussy like a dog on a bowl of gravy. When he made her come for the third time, he thanked his lucky stars for being married to such a smart, affectionate woman. And good tasting, too, he thought. Later that evening, both of them were quietly holding each other. It occurred to Sofia that men really weren't capable of the management of a marriage relationship. They're just not wired for it, she thought. We women have to do it if we want it to happen. Well, that's why I majored in psychology. One thing Howard knew for sure was that he never wanted to see a picture of Bettie Page ever again. Then a new thought occurred, and he suddenly exclaimed, "What happened to the fifteen hundred dollars?" "It's paying for a shipboard excursion you and I are taking next week. I arranged for us to celebrate our anniversary with a cruise to see the Alaskan coast." It would be a good time for them, Sofia thought. Time to repair Howard's bruised self-esteem. Time to heal. Time to bond again. Time to love one another. "Oh. Good idea. Good idea." They both drifted off to sleep, still in each other's arms. Several hours later, Sofia awoke with a start when Howard blurted out, "Hey! I had anal sex! Does that mean that you'll do anal sex now?" "Now that you know what not to do, now that you know firsthand that gentleness and patience are necessary, then, yes, I will do anal sex with you. And, judging from your experience, I expect I'll like it." "When?" "On the cruise, love, on the cruise." *** Hard Candy Coating He amazed me, to put it simply. He was all charm, laughter and intensity in a sexy man package. When I look back and think about it, my hard candy shell never stood a chance. He made me hungry for passion, romance and all things woman. He snuck in past my tough edge and found my creamy center, so to speak. I'd seen him forever, just about as long as I'd known everyone else. We exchanged the mandatory hugs, but nothing more. I was aware of him on the outskirts, a regular guy, witty, kind. Then, in an instant our lives touched. I needed an ear, so I grabbed the closest familiar face I could find. Damn, how lucky am I that it was he. The switch from proverbial shoulder to cry on to lover seemed fluid. It was just a natural occurrence. A mutual need. He sparked my interest, dancing around me, weaving laughter, heat and need. I thought it would be a momentary slaking of lust. It became so much more. Have you ever opened a bit of yourself to someone, and had that vulnerable spot caressed, reveled in? Damn, he was so good at reading me. I loved the way he looked at me. What I saw on his face when his eyes caressed my body. The lust in his eyes when his hand stroked his cock while he looked at me. The way he told me to spread my legs, so he could rub his fingertips over my panties, and slide the silky material between my wet lips. He loves my pussy covered in my panties, the flimsy, and pink, silky ones. I love watching him stroke his cock while he touches me, as he causes my panties to get wetter. The way his hand glides in long strokes as he stares at my panty covered pussy. Mmmmm, I can feel him. His fingers searching at the wet edges of my panties, pushing them to the side, sliding along my lips as he continues to stroke his cock. He knows I love watching him masturbate. His fingers are slipping between my lips. I need to touch him. I strain forward my hand searching for his cock to stroke it for him, it causes my pussy to contract and squeeze his fingers. He twists them, toying with me, making me wetter. I feel his cock in my hand. He's so thick I can barely wrap my fingers around him. I think of the way he fucks me and start grinding my pussy onto his fingers. I firmly stroke him, matching the thrusts of his fingers. I'm watching all of this, taking it in. I want his cum in my hand. I think of how he makes me feel. Not a particular way, but that he makes me feel at all. I arch my back, moaning. I start stroking him and rubbing his cockhead against my clit in small tiny wet circles. Damn, he makes me hot. I slap the head of his cock against my clit, shocking my body with his cock. My hand is stroking him harder, pulling at him faster. I am so close. He turns his fingers inside me, hooking them back. I know he knows the spot. It's like he created my body for his pleasure. He knows I'm going to cum as he puts pressure against the front wall of my pussy. He can feel my involuntary contractions, can hear my panting gasps. I feel his cock swell that extra bit, the way it does right before he cums. With his fingers deep inside me I start to cum, rocking myself on his fingers. He looks down and sees my panties pushed to the side, his fingers in my wet cumming cunt and his cock against my clit. It's enough to set him off; he clenches his ass muscles and spurts against my clit. I am soaked in our cum. His cock is in me now, my panties in his hand, my heart.... well, my heart cradled in his care. We rock for hours. He's shattered my hard candy coating, and I hope he does it again tomorrow. Hard Candy "What if her husband comes here?" warned Fuller. "I'll control them all," answered Mr. Gerber with his eyes full of lust. "Yes, you will," agreed Fuller, "but now is not the time." Fuller said it slowly, emphasizing each word. Mr. Gerber looked at Fuller, and down at the empty clove oil bottle lying on the table. A look of agreement passed between them. "You're right. I was being premature and selfish." "That's better," said Fuller trying to massage Gerber's injured ego, but secretly agreeing with both Mr. Gerber and the woman. Fuller thought Gerber was selfish and disgustingly immature. Mr. Gerber turned toward the woman. "You can go to your husband, but first show me your Driver's License." This last request took them by surprise. The woman looked at Fuller before searching in her purse. She handed over her Driver's License. Mr. Gerber took a notepad out of the breast pocket of his suit and wrote down her name, Mrs. Patricia Wallington, and address. "What's your telephone number?" She gave it to him. He returned her Driver's License. "Before you leave give us $10 to pay for our coffee." The woman took a $10 bill out of her purse and handed it to Mr. Gerber as she rose to leave. After the woman left, Fuller spoke first. "Well, what do you think?" "It works. It works much better than I imagined." "Is it worth the price?" "Absolutely. I just wish I had this drug when I was a teenager." "Than it's a deal?" "Deal," said Mr. Gerber. When they shook hands, Gerber sprung his surprise. "It's a deal, but I need the formula." "You want the formula too?" "Yes." "But a 10 gallon supply should last you a lifetime." "I have a strong libido," smiled Mr. Gerber. "But you only need a few drops." "I intend to live a long, long time." "You took the woman's Driver's License for a follow-up session didn't you?" "Yes." Before I'm done with her, she'll be begging me for mercy." "You insist on the formula?" "Yes. It's the formula or no deal." Fuller shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "OK. Let's do it." They returned to their cars. Mr. Gerber removed the plastic water jugs from the trunk of the rusty blue Chevy, and Fuller took the briefcase of money from the trunk of the black Jaguar. The last thing Fuller did was hand Mr. Gerber a computer disk which contained the formula. Before Fuller could even get back into his car, the Jaguar had pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the late afternoon traffic. A few minutes later, the white Lincoln Continental parked behind the blue Chevy. Fuller slipped into the rear passenger door. "Mind if I ride with you Mrs. Wallington?" Fuller asked keeping his voice formal and proper. "Did you get the money?" she asked as the Lincoln Continental drove away leaving the stolen Chevy for the police to tow. "Yes." Fuller unsnapped the briefcase displaying $400,000 in bank wrapped $100 bills, and closed it. The very proper Mrs. Wallington broke out in giggles. "My God! Where do you find them?" "The teaspoon was a bit much," Fuller admitted. "Filling their heads with fantasy nonsense about Hard Candy." "It's more than a fantasy." "Stroking his cock beneath the table like a naughty boy." "It's not nonsense." Mrs. Wallington broke into a smile. "That jerk made me pay $10 for his coffee." "Hard Candy is real." Mrs. Wallington shook her head in mock amazement. Suddenly, she stopped, her face grew serious, and she broke into a frown. "If Hard Candy is real why didn't you give it to Gerber?" "Because I gave him jugs of water." "No, why didn't you just drug Mr. Gerber's coffee and order him to give you the money?" "That would be dishonest." "And what we're doing isn't dishonest?" "Not really." "How can you say that?" "Mr. Gerber really got what he paid for." "Which was?" "Control over women." "You mean he got Academy Award Acting by yours truly." "You weren't acting." "Like hell! I was acting my ass off." Fuller reached into his right jeans pocket and took out the small clove oil bottle. He held it up for her to see. "This is just water. Mr. Gerber really did dump Hard Candy into your coffee." She stopped smiling. "You're joking, aren't you?" Without answering her question, Fuller held both her hands and looked directly into her eyes. "It's time for you to go home to your husband Mrs. Wallington. Expect a visit from Mr. Gerber. This afternoon was just a preview of coming attractions. Tonight, the Academy Awards begin, and you will be the star."