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"I mean, don't you really deserve a harem of scantily-clad office rapepets?"

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purrfection

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Slurping, suckling, moaning, licking, Adriana had never tasted a cock so beautifully good as her new Master's, eagerly blowing him in the back storeroom of the small office where they worked. Her tall heels clicked merrily together as her tongue worked up and down his brilliant shaft and bulbous, turgid head.

In fact, she hadn't ever tasted a cock at *all*. It was a point of pride for her, really—or had been—that she had never been with a man before, never done anything more intimate than holding hands. No man had ever *deserved* her, she felt. She was too gorgeous for most people, really, to even share a room with her.

And then...what was it, two minutes ago? It felt like a lifetime. Two beautiful, incredible, wonderful, best-minutes-of-her-life-ago she had walked in on her Master stroking his big beautiful cock.

She hadn't known he was her Master at the time. For some reason, she had thought he was just some *co-worker* of hers, another worker bee trying to plug away and work this capitalism shit out for himself like everyone else.

Adriana had thought that she was only at this office to begin with to appease her overbearing mother, insisting that any daughter of *hers* was going to *work*, even if she *was* a trust fund baby with millions of dollars to her name and a body so fucking hot that men got into fights in bars over who got to buy her drinks. That she was only barely nineteen didn't seem to bother them.

Adriana had even been—perish the thought!—strangely disgusted when she first saw her Master's cock.

But then the smell hit her. Taking hold of her olfactory senses, the heat slipping over her tongue and down into her belly, warming every single part of her. She *needed* to suck his cock. She needed to let him know how much he deserved. She had slipped down onto her knees and took him inside her plush, thick lips, his hands stroking the gorgeous mass of her midnight black hair.

Now, she looked up at him with worship in her emerald-green eyes, thick breasts urgently pressing against his thighs, a long trail of drool and precum amassing slowly in her sumptuous cleavage. Now, she knew the truth. That he was her Master. That she had started working here to be with *him*. That she was born to serve him this way, to be the wicked cocksucking servant he had always required.

Why had he been stroking himself like this in the middle of the day? It wasn't for her to wonder. She hoped it was because of her tiny outfit, though—that after weeks of mercilessly teasing him in teensy miniskirts and tight silk blouses, tall boots and stellar high heels, he had finally taken too much and needed a hot release in the middle of the day. Maybe he'd been doing it this whole time, and she had merely just now noticed.

But more importantly, didn't he have a girlfriend? Why wasn't *she* sucking him off, stroking him, getting pregnant from him, bearing him daughter after daughter to rape into his personal slaves? He complained often and loud, she recalled, about how weird it was having such a hot girl as his girlfriend who would barely even kiss him because of her own emotional hang-ups. The very notion that there was a woman with her Master already who *hadn't* been giving him everything was furiously frustrating to Adriana.

In fact, many things needed to be fixed, once her Master finished his load inside of her. He needed to hear all of it. The other girl employees who needed to be raped into his service and serve alongside her in a perfect elite harem of loving sisterslaves. The same with the boss. Adriana could volunteer to kill the men if he wanted; they didn't have any place near *Him*.

She would be his perfect little evil mind-controlled pet, and she would do her darnedest to make sure that he got *everything* he deserved.


* * * * *

A hot little fantasy for you. Your cum has been hypnotically powerful your whole life; you just didn't know it. Your girlfriend blueballed you; women teased you; your boss holds your job in her hand like a fragile little baby bird. You're going to be in charge of all of that...and I'll be there to help you along and persuade you of all the horrible things that need doing. Killing their families. Raping their daughters and sisters. Raping *them*.

I expect you'll be awfully resistant to these ideas. You're a good man, after all. But with so many beauties insisting that your power is Holy, I'm sure you'll come around. I'd love it if all of us were, eventually, totally in love with each other--your very elite slaves, a small number, perhaps no more than ten or twelve, adoring one another almost as much as we adore you...

Your cum is so powerful, so amazing. Its message must be spread, Sire.

Using supermodels as character avatars is pretty important to me. Their personalities are ours to make up, but their appearances and names ought to match with the models themselves.

I'm thinking this will move very slowly. If you'd like to back up before this and start even earlier, that's fine by me. Or, if you'd like for my own corruption to be slower—to not immediately be so certain of all the terrible things I'd like for you to do—that's wonderful as well. So long as that stuff (raping, breeding, murdering) is the end point, I'm definitely along for the ride.

If you're familiar, I'm thinking of something like Downing Street's mcstories classic “Talked Themselves Into It,” only with a fairly brutally dark twist.
 
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