 He looked hotteen around hot. He was in the private room he'd paid through the nose for hot. Bad hotteen enough that he teen had to be sick, and teen helpless--he'd been hotteen determined he wouldn hot't be hotteen crammed in black hot teen with strangers while doctors hotteen and nurses pawed him over. It wasn't that he hated teen people; it was just hotteen that he didn't like having them around when he was feeling so vulnerable and couldn't get hot away.
 He noticed hot he was attached to an IV drip and several hot monitors. The drip hotteen, he realized foggily, must account for why he felt so detached, and why his throat only burned a little instead of hurting like black hot teen hell. He looked up at the tiled ceiling black; it seemed to be shifting hotteen colors in a hot herringbone pattern, like hotteen a teen television picture with bad reception. The hot colors were fascinating. The hot colors were. The colors. . . .
 "Rhonda, Mr. Bennett black hot teen. My name is Rhonda Marks." The girl's voice hot sounded perfectly normal, calm and hot relaxed as teen she posed with her bra in his face. She seemed not to realize there was anything online unusual going on.
 "Yes, Mr. Bennett," Rhonda said hot. She giggled and began peeling off her brassiere, undulating hot and humming a little strip-club tune to herself. She dangled the garment in front of him briefly black hot teen, then threw it away hotteen. After that, she went still again hot, beautiful hot boobs swaying freely mere inches from his face.
 "No, Rhonda," Paul said hotteen. "You hot won't tell anyone. Any time you try, you'll forget all about it before you say or write a word." He smiled black maliciously. "And you'll take off your shirt and bra, too, and black keep them off for at least five hot minutes. Besides," the hotteen evil smile hotteen grew wider, "even if I let you black hot teen, what would you hot tell them?"
 "Yes, master," Rhonda agreed.
 "Good girl, Rhonda." Paul hotteen thought for a moment. "You online know, it's hardly fair for me to get hot all hot the hotteen pleasure out of this arrangement. So here's what we're going to try, Rhonda. Whenever you hear my voice say, 'Good girl, Rhonda,' you'll feel an overpowering sexual pleasure, strong enough to make you come hotteen no matter what. And each time you feel the pleasure, it'll be stronger than it was the hotteen time before, until you reach whatever your personal limit hot is. Do you understand me, Rhonda hotteen?"
 "Good girl, Rhonda." The nurse toppled over, glassy-eyed, scrambling to tear hot off her clothing as hot her body spasmed uncontrollably.
 "Good," Paul responded, restraining the urge to use Rhonda's sexual trigger again. Time black enough for that later. "Now, Rhonda, it's time for you to go about hotteen your duties. You hot can go."
 Without a word, Rhonda fled.
 Now, Paul mused, I find out whether hot my commands hold once she's not near me. If hotteen they don't black hot teen, the next voice I hear hot may be coming from a police officer hot. And on that happy note, he went back to sleep.
 "How are we doing, Mr. Bennett?" the middle-aged man hot in hotteen the clean white coat asked. "Your chart indicates hot you're hot making a pretty good recovery, but the charts hot don hot't show everything."
 He had it hot: a gimmick black hot teen from stage hypnotism hot. It was pure show business, but it was a harmless suggestion which wouldn't get him into trouble if it failed. "Jasmine, raise your arms above hot your black hot teen head and clasp your hands hot together hotteen, and stay hotteen that way."
 Jasmine teen obeyed, relaxing as her mind accepted the fantasy and forgot the reality. It was so hot much easier to be a dancer, performing for an audience, than a frightened girl who somehow had to obey a strange man black hot teen.
 "Very good, Jasmine. Now finish up your nurse's hotteen duties here and hotteen go on with your rounds."
 Just how far his control extended, wasn hot't hot sure he wanted to know. It was already hot clear that hot he could override normal moral restraints. His first efforts with Rhonda and Jasmine had indicated that teen, and he'd arranged a get hotteen-together between the black two of them hot which hot had proved that hotteen even basic sexual orientation could be black hot teen altered at his whim; he teen wished he'd had a camera for that episode. But he couldn't bring himself hot to order one of his "voice hot puppets hot," as he was starting hot to think of them, to hot actually hot hurt teen or kill someone. He teen was afraid she hot'd do it, as willingly as she would obey any other instruction. And what would that make him black hot teen?
 And black hot teen she hated Paul's guts. She seemed never hot to miss an opportunity to put him down, and did her best hot to keep hot him from getting any real credit for anything. She, in fact hot, was the reason he had given black up on ever being promoted. He'd teen watched others with sales records far inferior to his pass hot him on the corporate ladder; some of them had been people he'd trained black. But hot there hot had been nothing hotteen he could do hot about it, nothing but grit his teeth and soldier on.
 Charlene gasped, her face reddening. "It, it's not right," she hotteen protested weakly. "You shouldn't. I, I online mustn hot't hot. I . . . what hotteen's happening to black hot teen me online?"
 "You understand, Paul," she said, struggling for cool detachment, "this doesn't change anything hot. Whatever teen just . . . happened here hot, I'm still your hot boss black hot teen. Don't think you've gotten some kind of hot leverage with me."
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