Date: Mon, 7 Jun 1999 19:28:24 -0500 From: Andy Maynard <willdmage@juno.com> Subject: TG STORY: "Chain of Command" (TG, magic, mind control, D/s, MF) This is a work of fiction. That's my story and I'm sticking to it! Any attempt to re-create these events may be construed as a violation of local, state and physical laws. Anyone reading this younger than eighteen years old, please remove your eyes at your earliest inconvenience. Anyone wishing to repost this to any free story archive is encouraged to do so. **************************** Tony Doors trudged fretfully through the sand, squinting in the harsh glare off the beach. He hated this middle-of-nowhere island and couldn't wait to get back to civilization. This was just a desolate hole in the ocean, certainly not fit for human habitation. He snorted his disgust as his subordinate suddenly took off towards the water. Alan Woodard loved this middle-of-nowhere island. The surrounding ocean would keep the temperature mild year-round, and the local vegetation provided plenty of fruit, while the shallow surf here was alive with shellfish... he looked around, grinning. A man could do a LOT worse, he knew, than to settle down on an island like this. "Well, Woodard?" His boss demanded. "Clams, scallops- it's a bivalve convention!" Woodard called back. "I even saw a couple of crabs!" "Too bad you didn't see any lemon or butter," Doors muttered. Here they were stranded out in the middle of nowhere, his business no doubt being liquidated after their situation was downgraded from "Reported Missing" to "Presumed Dead." He had a VITALLY important meeting he just HAD to make... and not just for the several billion dollars that the sale would bring in... he had staked his very life on this deal. Literally. And here this kid is treating this like a vacation!! That's what really steamed Doors: Woodard's insubordinate insistence on ENJOYING being marooned out here! Watching the kid laugh and skip through the surf. Doors almost wondered why he'd even hired him in the first place. Of course, Woodard was an entirely different person behind a keyboard, where he belonged. One of the smartest programmers of his generation, no exaggeration. His iterative programming codes, literally programs that themselves wrote programs far too complex and lengthy to ever be coded by flesh-and-blood programmers, had made possible most of the technologies that DigiGene marketed. Of course, a shrewdly-worded contract kept Woodard from working for any other high-technology company for at least five years if he ever quit, or was even fired. This leverage gave Doors the opportunity to take the patents on Woodard's work in his own name. He estimated that, conservatively, the young man had made him over eleven billion dollars over the past four years. Doors grinned, hoping the young man found his unexpected education in modern business dealings worth it. Now, though, the business opportunity of the year was slipping through his fingers. His buyers were not exactly patient, forgiving men, and his willingness to fly though the storm to close the deal wouldn't cut much slack with them if he was late... or, he thought with a chill, LATER. They needed to focus on somehow getting off this rock, instead of enjoying it like some damn-fool vacation! And Woodard himself... Doors couldn't help but notice, over the past few days, that the younger man seemed to be growing increasingly nervous, uneasy... almost, Doors thought grimly, as if he knew what sort of business deal Doors was setting up on this trip. So, while his brilliant mind would certainly be a loss, Doors had decided that his employee would require a small accident... certainly one his 'partners' could arrange. IF, he realized, they could ever escape this wild, primitive island hole. But Woodard was becoming more and more enchanted with this place- was even babbling about wanting to RETIRE out here on this nothing speck in the middle of the ocean... Doors needed to somehow focus the flighty but brilliant youngster on escape instead of homesteading. Woodard kept wading through the surf waving to and fro over his feet. Even with the shifting sands and occasional sharp bit of seashell, the distance between him and his boss felt good. Years of working for Doors had long since disabused Woodard of his dream of running his own high-tech company. Watching Doors and his Board of Directors literally feeding off their employees made him realize that he simply wasn't vicious enough to compete in such a savage ecology. Lately, though, he'd begun to suspect... Doors fanatical insistence on meeting his mysterious 'partners' had already resulted in one man's death. The pilot- Woodard thought his name was Bill, and was angry at himself for not knowing- had warned Doors that the tropical storm was strengthening too fast, but Doors had threatened to ruin the man's life if he didn't fly them through anyway- and Woodard had seen him carry through on that threat for far less. The pilot had died in Woodard's arms, never waking after the crash. Water was amazingly hard, if you hit it from 15,000 feet up. Woodard had swam as best he could, holding Bill's head above water, until he finally realized the man had taken his last breath. For the first time in years, Alan Woodard prayed, asking God to take Bill's soul, as he let the body slip from his arms to become part of the life of the sea. He wasn't surprised that Doors barely even noticed the young man's death. His obstinate insistence on meeting his 'partners' on time- even when that had obviously became impossible- reminded Woodard of the rumors he'd picked up on before leaving. Woodard had been part of the team that had developed DigiGene's newest line of gene-sequencers. Medical researchers could use it to investigate new cures and treatments for viral infections and other diseases... but what had always bothered Woodard were the groups of men in black suits and Army uniforms that came out every Tuesday and Friday to be briefed on the development of the gene-sequencer. As useful as it would be for medicine, it would be equally horrific if used in a biological warfare lab. And between the rumors Woodard had heard half-whispered, and Doors' insane insistence on flying through the storm, Woodard had an unpleasant suspicion that Doors' mysterious, unseen partners were planning their own bio-warfare effort- and if Doors' efforts to make the meeting in complete secrecy were any indication, the United States government would most likely take a dim view of their getting hold of Doors' gene-sequencer. They were just coming around a bend on the wide, flat beach when Woodard spotted a small metallic gleam on the edge of the jungle, twinkling quietly in the mid-morning sun. Woodard pounded out of the surf as the two men went over to fish it out of the clump of moss growing around it. "Antique?" Doors asked hopefully. After all the time wasted on this miserable little flyspeck, it would be small enough recompense for his trouble. "No," Woodard replied. "See here, where the moss peeled off? Too bright to be that old- but, at least, it should be usable-" He'd been peeling the moss off, and had rubbed away a bit of dirt left on the burnished surface when he felt a growing vibration from the lamp, and it was suddenly BULGING somehow... and hotter! He dropped the lamp as a burst of light poured forth, and seemed to gather itself in mid-air before settling to the sandy beach. Suddenly both men saw a giant- twelve feet tall at the very least- towering over them. Muscles rippled over a chest the size of a Volkswagen, and arms like oil drums moved as his hands traced an incongruously delicate sign in the air. "I greet thee, Master, and await Thy command!" His voice didn't exactly boom, but the low, powerful tones almost made the conch shells stand at attention. Woodard looked at the lamp lying on the sand, and up, up at the muscular giant standing before him. This was, obviously, impossible. A sidelong glance showed Doors was also sharing his illusion... and it was the closest thing the island had for entertainment. "You... you're a djinn, right?" Woodard asked. He'd never really gotten into Arabian adventures or 1001 Nights... maybe the shared hallucination came from his boss's subconscious? "Correct, Master," The giant replied, in a voice Woodard could feel reverberating in his chest cavity. "My name is Ash'Aileth. You, of course, may address me in any manner you please. I exist but to obey you completely, three times." Of course, the old 'three wishes' trick! Woodard had read "The Monkey's Paw" as a small child, and was well aware of how tricky the phrasing of such a wish could be. "So, let's see, you'll SO graciously grant me-" "I get the three wishes!!" Doors had come out of his funk at the thought of finally getting a way off this island. He stepped forward and looked way up into the djinn's face. "This man is MY subordinate! He obeys ME!!" Ash'Aileth laughed, a deep throaty booming that knocked coconuts loose from their trees two hundred yards away. "Your ranks and orders mean nothing to me," he said, pointing a finger like a baseball bat at Woodard. "The Master commands me!" Doors' mind whirled. He HAD to get out of here, and impossible as it was, this genie here was his one and only ticket out! "We BOTH found your lamp, genie! So you owe us both-" "Do NOT call me 'genie,'" growled the giant as he took one angry step forward. "I am a djinn, bound to the lamp and whosoever shall find it!" "Well," Woodard said, "The truth is, Ash'Aileth, we did both find the lamp together." "Hmmm... there is a way," the djinn muttered at forty decibels. "Master, you can take your three wishes, and then," he continued, not particularly happy about it, "Then, your Master may take possession of the lamp, and require three commands of me." Ash'Aileth regretted saying so, but was bound by both the lamp and his own honor to be perfectly honest with his Masters- not that his meticulous honesty had saved most of them from ruining themselves with their own wishes. His Master had a basically decent soul- not a Saint by any means, but a man who could restrain his evil impulses when making a wish. His Master's Master, on the other hand... Ash'Aileth had seen greed before, but never in his four millennia had he seen anything like the Darkness in Doors' soul. the man hadn't even spent the wealth he'd inherited, and would still risk untold lives merely to gain even more money he could never spend. His fears were confirmed as Doors stepped up and declared "Me first! I've GOT to get out of here TODAY!!" "He is my Master!" Ash'Aileth boomed, stepping over beside Woodard. "And after I grant him his three boons, then I must rest for a day and a night before I regain the power to obey the commands of my next Master." "Okay," Doors said, turning to Woodard. "The first command you'll give your genie is to-" "No," Woodard said. It wasn't something Doors was used to hearing, and the look on his face showed it. Woodard chuckled. "In case you haven't figured it out... I'm retiring. Effective immediately." "Look, the Boss is always right, remember? You don't understand- I HAVE to-" "YOU look," Woodard snapped. "I'm retiring to his island- so one of my wishes will be for a house here, so we'll have someplace nice to sleep until morning. Then you get your three wishes- and our friend Ash'Aileth here can probably make your 'partners' not care so much about you showing up late!" Doors hadn't thought about that angle, in his anxiety to get off the island... he could even order the genie to make them SO anxious that they'd up their already lucrative offer... or even... Doors walked a short way into the jungle to sit on a fallen log and think about all the most profitable ways to use this genie. It he were anywhere near as powerful as the stories and legends... he took the time for one dark scowl at Woodard. Yes, he thought, maybe even save one last wish to put THAT young whelp in his place for good! Woodard caught the look his ex-boss threw at him, but he had bigger matters on his mind. Turning back to Ash'Aileth, he asked "Okay... how much mass can you call into existence in one go?" Over the course of the next two hours, Ash'Aileth was impressed by the wit and intellect of his earnest young Master. While Ash'Aileth was constrained to be absolutely and scrupulously honest with all his Masters, the vast majority just started barking out orders. This one, though, was putting some real thought into it, cleverly asking Ash'Aileth the limits of his powers and abilities. The few who had previously thought to probe the djinn's capabilities had usually focused on circumventing his few inabilities- usually, Ash'Aileth's inability to take a human life. He COULD produce vast, hideously-armed armies for his Master (and had tragically, done so, when ordered) but this Master Woodard had no interest in killing off his fellow men. Unlike the greedy, sadistic musings the older and pudgier man was entertaining, Ash'Aileth thought. The Master was wise, and quick of wit- but, he feared, once the older man took possession of the lamp he would do some incredible mischief to this nice young Master. Once he realized that Ash'Aileth enjoyed being out in the real world, and even such a simple pleasure as talking with another, Master Woodard indulged him, talking about past times and present, the perpetual follies of nations and kings... it was, Ash'Aileth decided, the best day of his four thousand Millennia as he felt his Master come to a decision. "Okay, Ash'Aileth, produce for me a mansion to the specifications we discussed and agreed to earlier!" Ash'Aileth was pleased the Master remembered the correct phrasing- though, he would have produced the right structure even if his magnanimous Master had misspoke himself. Ash'Aileth seemed to flicker ever so slightly even as the two mortals felt the faint tremors underfoot as the island's coral base shifted ever so slightly under the sudden weight. Even Doors was impressed with the four-story edifice that suddenly looked over the lagoon. Between the spacious patio and the Olympic-sized swimming pool and the row of softly buzzing desalinization towers, he'd had created a pretty nice place to live. Doors realized that there might be more to the kid than he'd suspected... and, since he'd been made to take his wishes last, he might even just take it away from Woodard, after all... Beaming, Woodard turned back to the djinn. "VERY nice work, Ash'Aileth. Thank you." "My pleasure is to serve you, Master," Ash'Aileth said, and for once it didn't sound degrading saying it to this gracious Master. "And now... let's say... eight hundred million, in securities, stocks and savings, all properly documented and taxed according to government regulations." This time Ash'Aileth vanished for eleven whole seconds, and looked visibly strained as he re-appeared. "Ash'Aileth! Are you okay?" "Take no alarm, Master," he said, though his volume was noticeably subdued. "Your government is... intricate beyond imagination... setting your finances into place took considerable power, but," he declared, drawing himself up to his full twelve feet, "I am ready for your next, and final, wish!" Doors was amazed that the kid had settles for a paltry few hundred million... with such power at his disposal, he could have named ANY price- Woodard was concerned for the djinn; he hadn't realized what a strain his last wish would put on him. "Are you SURE you're okay now? Be HONEST, not obedient!" "I am fine, Master," Ash'Aileth said, touched by the mortal's concern for him. After all the venal, selfish and just plain sadistic wishes he'd been compelled to grant, it was a genuine pleasure to serve this gentle, compassionate Master... and was coming to dread the morning, when he'd have to serve the selfish oaf even now plotting against this one... As Woodard opened his mouth to give his final command, to guarantee his own health for his natural lifespan (immortality being beyond Ash'Aileth's abilities, much as he wished he could for this extraordinary Master) Ash'Aileth raised his hand. "Please forgive this most unworthy servant, noble Master, but your own Master plans to do you great evil when he gets power over me." Ash'Aileth saw his Master was considering using his last wish to send his evil Master back home, but visions of the harm the selfish master would do alarmed Woodard... and then his lightning-like mind hit on an idea... "Ash'Aileth, change that person," Woodard said with a widening grin, as he pointed to the surprised Doors, "Change him into an obedient slave girl, well-versed in pleasuring men and compelled to obey my every command, but NOT affecting her mind otherwise, and with a curvaceous blonde bombshell body five and one-quarter feet high, with breasts as big as my head that will always be firm and supple!" Enraged, Doors sprang up even as he felt his body being tugged... inward, somehow- he was shrinking and almost couldn't stand up as he felt his bones shifting and changing. His pants and shirt were shimmering, tingling against his skin as his hips pushed out and his ass rounded... He- no, he felt with rising horror his manhood shriveling, shrinking, drawing inside as she looked down in shock, feeling the long hair rolling along her bare back... This must be that damned genie's idea of a slave girl's clothes! A multicolored, translucent veil, barely more than a half-foot wide, wrapped around her swelling breasts and curved around her narrowing waist, where it was tied so that one transparent sash dipped barely enough to cover her sex, leaving her rear completely bare. Her breasts were already huge on her small torso, and still grew, until the point that the sash wasn't much of a cover, even if it wasn't sheer, showing off her pinkish-brown nipples to... to... those two!! With a high-pitched scream of rage and shock she charged out, only vaguely aware of how the dainty little sandals she now wore protected her feet from the underbrush. She was blushing furiously at the way her enormous breasts bounced and swayed as she ran. Grabbing a stick as a weapon she charged out and was just about close enough to- Woodard just casually pointed at her and said "Freeze." Enraged and humiliated as she was, she could only stand stock-still, her face frozen in its hate-filled sneer. She was acutely aware of how long her breasts were taking to stop swinging back and forth. "And now, Master," the genie was saying to that twerp, "I must return to the lamp, to renew myself until I am called forth again... tomorrow... by your slave girl." Ash'Aileth desperately feared what the newly-transformed girl would do to the more worthy Master, but the drain of discharging all his magic was upon him and he couldn't put off returning to the lamp. The last thing he was aware of that day was that his Master very kindly put the lamp in the cool shade, rather than leaving it out in the sun. After depositing the lamp back under the brush where they'd found it, Woodard came back to inspect his ex-boss, liking what he saw. "You may move again, BUT may not take any action regarding me without an explicit order." She dropped the stick, and put down her arms, which had been starting to ache. She blushed anew, noticing how even such small movements put her chest into such intensely feminine motion. She saw her chance, and turned to run away- and stopped, seeing the futility of it. One command from his EMPLOYEE- "her" employee, she thought, with a dead feeling in her stomach, would bring her back. "Well, what now, Woodard? You don't think you can ever get away with this, do you??" she demanded, hating her high-pitched girlie voice. Woodard just chuckled, hearing that arrogance and bluster coming from this incredibly sexy, delectable young lady... one he could order around and command at will... "Well, Tony, did you think YOU could get away with patenting your employees inventions as if they were your own?" He countered. The GALL of that working-class drone using such familiarity temporarily overwhelmed her good sense. "You are NOT to call me 'Tony!'" she thundered, before her eyes went wide with shock as she realized her mistake. "Yes MA'AM, Miss Doors. Whatever you say!" he said, laughing. "How about if I call you 'Tasha.' That's a pretty name... for a pretty girl," he said. Then he added, "You WILL answer to Tasha... won't you, Tasha?" She tried to hold her mouth shut, but couldn't stop herself from talking. "Yes, I will, Woodard," she said bitterly. "C'mon, lets check out the new digs," he said, and she couldn't help but to march along obediently after him. **************************** Woodard was relaxing in the spacious den, on the second floor, having sent Tasha back down for a lemonade from the well-stocked kitchen. The den, too, had thousands of movies shelved along two great walls, but for now Woodard was aimlessly flicking through the hundreds of channels he had on his 20' ultra-wide-screen TV... And here was Tasha, back already with his lemonade. It had been SUCH a treat, watching her walking out to obey his command for the drink... the well-stocked mansion included servants quarters, and clothing... for right now, Woodard wanted her in that tiny slip of see-through nothing she was wearing, but once she found she was able to walk in seven-inch heels he had ordered her to change at once. He had been amazed that the sexy sway as she walked could get even more sensuous, but as surprises went it was certainly a pleasant one. The way those stiletto-heeled shoes highlighted the lovely little muscles in her legs and backside was just too, too precious for words! He smiled as he took the ice-cold glass from the sullen-looking girl frowning daggers at him, raised the glass to his lips... and stopped just before he took a sip. "Tasha, you will ALWAYS answer every question of mine honestly! Now," he continued, "What all is in this lemonade?" Tasha looked like she had something unpleasant in her mouth, but could do nothing to stop the damning words. "Lemon juice, water, sugar, and roach poison." Woodard smiled. He'd expected something of the kind, and realized since he HAD ordered her to make the lemonade, that had 'released' her from the restriction he'd put on her to do nothing to him without his orders. "Okay, Tasha: You will NEVER attempt to poison me or anyone else, EVER again. When you are ordered to prepare ANY food or drink, you will make it good, and wholesome, and NOT do ANYTHING to ruin the food or drink, or harm anyone consuming it!" That should cover his bases, Woodard thought. As a programmer, logical loopholes were common, familiar ground for him, just as power and revenge were- or, rather had been, for Doors... On a whim, he looked up at the girl who so unwillingly and so completely served him... "Tasha, if our roles were reversed, what would you do to me after I tried to poison you?" Her face twisting, she replied "I would torture you to death, very slowly, jamming empty bottles up your-" "Tasha, go and fetch a leather belt from my bedroom, fast as you can!" Woodard couldn't help laughing as the buxom, barely-dressed babe half-ran, half-pranced out on her seven-inch stilettos. Once she returned, he applied a far more merciful punishment, while an idea formed in his head... **************************** Tasha crept out early the next morning. Her 'Master' had laid out her clothes for the day: a tiny, lacy pink G-string. Padding down the beach barefoot, it was all she had on- that, and a towering, unbelievable rage. HOW DARE HE??? The refrain kept thundering back and forth in her mind. As humiliating as being spanked by her own employee had been, it had paled into insignificance as the day wore on... Woodard had found he could put her under a hypnotic trance with a single command. The next thing she knew, she was naked, except for the leash he was leading her around on all fours in! And even training her to heel, roll over and beg weren't enough... she shuddered at how, when he clapped his hands twice, she suddenly dropped to her knees and begged, earnestly and eagerly BEGGED to perform oral sex on him!! And as much as she wanted the shameful thing done, he ordered her to take her time... for over an hour and a half she had played with his member, using her lips and tongue to bring him to the brink and then letting him relax ever so slightly, before finally making him climax in her mouth, and then... then... swallowing... By then neither of them were surprised that she had suddenly gained amazing abilities in the kitchen, too, as she served him an expertly-cooked Beef Wellington. He'd ordered her to dance for his entertainment as he ate, enjoying his culinary and visual feasts. It was at bedtime that the final debasement came. She was just slipping into one of the servant's bedrooms when he'd goosed her on her still-sore rump and simply said "Come." All she could do was say "Yes, Honored Lord," and meekly follow. Once in his grand bedroom, he told her that he was going to change her from a girl into a woman. His meaning became horrifyingly clear as he ordered her onto the bed on her hands and knees- and to arch her back so that her virgin womanhood was raised and ready for her 'Honored Lord.' She tensed as she heard his pants fall to the floor, and then felt his fingers playing around and in her slit, as he explained he wanted her lubricated to avoid hurting his precious little slave girl... The pain was almost as bad as the humiliation as he pierced her hymen. She could still feel surprised by how huge his hands felt around her tiny dainty waist, even as he drove in and out of her, using her as a woman, making her come as a woman... She pushed those horrific memories aside as she spied the small brass lamp under the bush that FOOL had left. "Hope last night was worth it, Honored Lord," she said, choking over the demeaning honorific, "Because, it was your last time as a man!!" She'd planned this as she lay in bed the night before, waiting for sleep to provide her with a refuge from the ordeal... and the morning, for her revenge. She would have herself restored- stronger, more vital, but be a MAN again, be in CONTROL again! Then a fast but comfortable boat to get back to civilization and the life of Tony Doors again... And then, the miserable TOAD who'd used her so shamefully... She'd considered having Woodard turned into a roach, a bedpan, and a whole variety of other things, before finally deciding: Once restored as the man she'd been, the next command to the genie would be to turn the 'Honored Lord' into a buxom, obedient girl- a girl with an eighteen-year-olds body... but only two inches tall. A girl who would heal fast, Tasha thought with an evil grin. She'd need to heal fast to survive the torments that little snot had coming now... with images of Woodard's tiny little female body-to-be screaming as she was impaled and mounted on a thermometer sticking way up her two-inch body, Tasha snatched up the lamp and rubbed, stepping back as the djinn appeared. Ash'Aileth looked down smugly at the pretty slave girl in her tiny scrap of lace. "I greet thee, Mistress, and await Thy command!" Tasha burned at the genie addressing her as 'Mistress-' one more thing that Woodard would suffer for- Tasha smiled smugly and opened her mouth to order the genie to restore her. "Grant to those living in that mansion," she started, her eyes wide with shock as she heard the words coming out of her mouth, "Grant them good health, long life, and very intense sexual drives and urges!" With a sick feeling, Tasha realized what had happened... her 'Honored Lord' had used the trance state he put her in to 'program' her, to make her recite HIS commands, instead of hers! Ash'Aileth chuckled, and to her horror Tasha found her already-huge breasts growing even larger, growing out and around and forming two beach ball-sized mounds of jiggling, swaying, intensely feminine flesh. As mortified as she was to find her chest growing to monstrous proportions, what was even worse was the feeling of longing, of desperate NEED she felt between her legs. The sudden intense need to feel a man inside her almost blinded her to noticing how much harder it was for her to keep her balance against the swaying and sloshing of her enormous mammaries. "My next wish," she found herself saying, "Is for my Honored Lord to own the legally-recognized title to this island, free and clear." The hated genie vanished for a second, before reappearing, gloating down at the hyper-buxom wench below him who had been one of the most powerful men of his land the day before. "My final wish," Tasha said, with a sick feeling in her stomach, "Transform the people I was scheduled to meet with into busty beach babes who will only act and talk about getting and pleasing men- but inside, deep down, they MUST remain aware of what is happening, even though they can't control it!" Four hundred and fifty miles away, in a hotel room at an out-of-the-way resort, six men were gathered, waiting for their contact who never showed up, languidly talking about the best way to spread viral diseases around for maximum loss of life. That is, until each man found himself transforming- they could see their own changes mirrored in their fellows as their bodies shrank and their hips and butts and breasts expanded, almost bursting the seams of their clothing, except their clothes changed, too, into tiny little string bikinis. Each woman desperately tried to scream their horror, but all that could come out was girlish giggles and an animated conversation about how they could show the maximum legal amount, or MORE, of flesh as they pranced out of their room, preening and flirting wantonly with every male they saw... Tasha Doors stood alone on the beach, watching the wake dissipate. After granting 'her' final wish, the genie had returned to his lamp, which then had sped off across the water too fast to see, though she COULD see the wake forming on the water from the shock wave in the air... Finally, she could see no more of the last trace of the lamps flight, and while her Honored Lord had left no command, the growing, insatiable need she felt deep in her aroused sex made her turn and walk, then run, her enormous breasts bouncing painfully, back towards the only man on the island. **************************** Sharon Leeds walked up to where Woodard was relaxing in his den, secretly happy he was noticing how well she filled out her brilliant red bikini. "The number two desalinator's humming along again, Alan," the lithe brunette engineer reported. It was REALLY nice, she thought, working for Alan instead of that creep Doors. Funny, how Alan showed her more respect when she was strolling around in a bikini than Doors ever had when she was fully clothed... to say nothing of the incredibly generous salary (PLUS loads of vacation time and other perks!) she was paid, just to live in a tropical paradise and do minor maintenance every few days. Back at DigiGene, she and Alan had worked on more than a few projects, and she was as impressed with his gift for computer programming as he was by her amazing skills in mechanical engineering. He'd never even hinted at 'requiring' his staff to wear skimpy bikinis, but a nice, gentle, rich and handsome man like Alan was rare enough that there was some usually good-natured competition among the other girls on staff to attract his attention. The girls' chat got rather more than "good-natured" when discussing the amazing virility of their laid-back boss. They'd all seen the enormous lump in the front of his swimsuit, and they'd all enjoyed deliciously naughty dreams about that lump... Alan took his eyes off of Tasha's little dance to watch Sharon sashaying towards the stairway. While all his staff were young, pretty and decidedly female, Sharon was also the smartest one of the bunch- probably, smarter than HE was, he admitted candidly- and, they'd shared a very friendly working relationship for several years. A grunt from Tasha brought his attention back. She was having trouble relearning to keep her balance after her new, custom-designed implants had given her a (literally) staggering bustline... but she had to get used to it, and he figured once she got used to dancing in seven-inch stilettos, then top-heavy Tasha would be able to handle anything. And Tasha's new form had even saved her hide several times by now. The dissolution of DigiGene had unearthed more than a few records of Doors' various dealings and sales to less-than-reputable customers, and for a while Woodard was getting almost weekly visits from the F.B.I., the C.I.A., and even Interpol. Doors was quite lucky to have a disguise so perfect that none of the grim, serious agents had ever connected him to the ditzy blonde dancing virtually naked for their always-helpful host... not that she'd ever shown any gratitude for that, Woodard thought, grinning. Woodard was seriously considering marrying Sharon, and he KNEW she wouldn't want someone like Tasha around then, as wantonly as she was always flaunting her body... all the rest of the staff knew what a cheap harlot she was, always so skimpily dressed that she was always 'accidentally' exposing herself... Woodard had decided that, once he married, Tasha would have a great career in porn movies. He'd already had her do a couple of photo shoots (she was invariably good-hearted enough to donate her entire earnings to childrens' shelters) and would no doubt become a major starlet in the industry. Just for a moment, as she struggled through her dance moves, their eyes met, and she flashed him a familiar look of absolute, undying hate. He chuckled at that, knowing the monster he'd wasted too many years working for was in there, perfectly aware, but unable to do anything but meekly obey. "Keep practicing," he said, as he got up to have a serious, heart-to-heart talk with Sharon about their future. "Just remember," he called over his shoulder to the struggling slave girl, "The Boss is always right!" THE END