Geisha

"I am sexually aroused, Tess. Very intensely."

"Very good, dear. Because I am about to lick your cunt until you scream. Feel free to lie back and enjoy my tongue and the ecstasy it brings you, dear."

And she did, drenching my cheeks and chin with her wet, drooling sex, even grabbing my head with her interlaced hands as she fucked my face. It was wonderful, and I don't even remember bringing her back out of trance afterward. She must have snapped out of it on her own, because when I woke up on the floor of my office, my face smelling of Angeline, I was alone. I used one hand to funnel the aroma from my mouth to my nose while I fingered myself thinking of her, what I'd done to her, and what she'd just done to me.

My cunt was sore from coming when my hands finally gave it a rest.

***

Things kept improving for Angeline; she raked in the cash from the outside at night, and spent her days alternating between sleep and fucking the most high-profile college professors she could seduce into our little house. Maria and Nikki behaved similarly, but were always willing to give Angeline her pick of the litter; they'd come to that agreement at some point. I don't think they got as much out of the infodumps as she did; each was happier staring at their computer screen, whispering what she'd found there while being serviced by her partner. Consequently, their customer base was both narrower and less affluent than Angeline's. They didn't seem to mind, though.

Me? I collected the money, as usual, but Angeline commented that she was concerned the tax men were going to notice the large influx of cash in my current bank accounts. She recommended some offshore banks and guided me through the steps to make the cash virtually untraceable. I thanked her with pussylove, and she smiled and told me, "Anything for you, Tess, baby."

I laughed my ass off when Nikki brought me the morning paper, and there, right on the page six, was Angeline's photo, under the headline, "Nobel Prize-Winning Physicist Mitchell Schaeffer Hobnobs With Elite at Charity Ball". On the illustrious little man's arm was, of course, my delightful, profitable protege, identified as "socialite Evangeline Royton". After Nikki left, I dug through the camera archives for the last several nights. Sure enough, two nights before, "Evangeline" had dragged a slightly drunken Mr. Nobel-Prize-Guy into her room. I fast-forwarded to the good part.

Evangeline was astride Schaeffer, and I was impressed the guy could hold his own against her sharp, powerful strokes without breaking. Her eyes were wild, her movements uncontrolled, and she was urging him to "Come on, baby, just a little bit more..." It was evident she was right on the edge, but what threw her over-- I shit you not-- was when the old geezer groaned something about wavefunctions and intrinsic mass coefficients. She exploded into a frenzy of screams unmatched by anything I'd ever seen before (let alone given her), and ground her pussy into his lap, heels curled under the chair to give her more leverage. For his part, he was gasping and slightly blue in the face, but he was able to thrust into her with his fading strength as he climaxed.

He relaxed back onto the chair and caught his breath, and as he drifted off to sleep she slowly extricated herself from his collapsed embrace. She tucked his deflated manhood back into his slacks, gave his bald pate a light kiss, and drew her skirt back down to knee-level. I personally thought she should have checked his pulse before she left, but she pulled a compact from her purse and checked her makeup instead. When everything was satisfactory, she unlocked the door and strode out of view of the camera. He'd left an hour later; she'd not returned that night.

For my own part, I didn't replay the recording I'd made of the event more than once. That night, anyway.

Twice, maybe. Three times, maximum.

***

Evangeline hardly ever showed up at the brothel anymore, but over the next year or so she showed up on decreasingly smaller page numbers in the newspaper.

I worried, at first, that all of this publicity would be dangerous to my business; prostitution is tolerated, at best, by law enforcement, and if people-- especially gossip columnists-- made any sort of connection between high-society parties and high-priced hookers, I would be in jail faster than you could say "Heidi Fleiss". But Evangeline was entirely discreet, and I found myself worrying about it less and less. After all, if she's got this big apartment flat in the ritzy side of town, she's barely ever going to be seen here, anyway. But I missed her. Her pussy most of all.

Business was still excellent, though admittedly the college kids and professors missed "Anne-Gillian" a lot. Nikki and Maria double-timed them, and that brought in sufficient revenue. I sent their earnings overseas, and even lost track of how much of it was in there. I didn't need it-- all the working capital I needed to run the business was available from the take on the other girls. This I was stashing away for some other purpose.

It wasn't until my final meeting with Evangeline that I understood what that purpose was.

She called me on my cell phone and told me to meet her at a lunch establishment downtown. I'd been there before-- had made my play at paying off the D.A. there, in fact-- but it was very expensive. I chose my most stylish dress and heels, and hoped that if I wore no panties she'd get the hint and we could go somewhere more private. I'm not bad looking for my age, and I still know a few tricks for seducing men and women.

She arrived late, the valet taking her BMW into his care as she threw him what I was sure was a large denomination bill.

She looked amazing.

Her dress was satiny, short, but all class. Her makeup was professionally applied, and I complimented her salon-styled hair as she shook my hand delicately and sat down across from me. I pulsed with erotic tension as her manicured nails left my palm, and I looked at her with what felt like love.

"Tess, darling, how are you?" Even her intonation had changed, subtly. She spoke with more confidence, and an air of joy with life. Why, then, did it sound sinister to me?

"Evangeline, you're stunning."

She didn't need to be told. "You're too kind, dear. But thank you, anyway."

"We've missed you, back at the house."

"I know." She smiled. I thought of vipers and my stomach tightened. "That's one of the reasons we need to talk. I'm not coming back to the house. Not now. Not ever."

I was stunned. How could she not come back? She was the center of the new business, she was the help I needed to shift the money around properly... and I wanted her. Needed her. How could she?

"Evangeline, no! Dear, if it's the workload, I assure you, you don't have to do anything with clients. Nikki and Maria are handling the education-fetish set, and the money they bring in is entirely sufficient. You won't have to do anything except act as my assistant." I discarded my shoe and slid my toes up her silken-hosed leg to let her know how I'd assist her. Or she'd assist me, rather.

"Tess, you stupid fucking whore, stop it before someone sees you." She hissed at me, eyes flicking to either side to ensure no one had seen either my movements or her angry retort. I instantly withdrew my foot from the early depths of her skirt, hurt, embarrassed, and angry. "I have a reputation to keep up, and it's dangerous enough to be meeting you here in public without you letting your pussy doing your thinking for you."

I sat quietly for a moment as she explained further. I didn't hear most of it, as I was slowly building to my own monologue. Before she was finished, I interrupted her.

"May I make a comment, Evangeline? Or should I say, 'Jilly'?"

She looked furious but, smiling fiercely, gestured to me, letting me continue.

"You can't do this to me, Evangeline. You can't, and you won't, and let me tell you why. I own you."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you don't think so, you think you're too good for us anymore, with your high-society parties and your Versace dresses, but I have one thing you don't know about. I have video."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Lots of video, in fact. Of you fucking countless men-- old men, young men. And women. In pigtails, in schoolgirl outfits, in leather and vinyl. And those are videos I don't think you want getting out in the society pages, hmmm?"

"You don't know. That could drive me up in their estimation." She smiled wryly. "So that's it? If I don't come back and work for you, you'll expose me for a dirty, filthy whore and ruin everything I've built?"

I was charitable. "Now, Evangeline, dear, you can certainly keep most of what you have built. I just want you to come back to me. To us." I smiled thinly. "And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get you back."

"I see. Fuck you, too, Tess. I'm not going for it. If you dare try that, I'll have your whole operation exposed and destroyed, and you'll be in jail."

The bitch had called my bluff, but I had my ace in the hole. "Well, dear, there's no need to get nasty about it. Casablanca potato."

It was her trigger phrase, the one that would put her under for me. I could easily get her to come back to me, now.

Unfortunately, instead of falling into a compliant trance, she laughed at me. Loudly. People were staring.

"Oh, Tess, you're hilarious."

"Did you hear what I said? I said--"

"'Casablanca potato', my trigger phrase. And a stupid one, at that, you obscene cow. That's old news, dearie. It was one of the first things I removed."

"You... removed...?"

She was smiling broadly. "Tess, you're incredibly stupid, and it's a wonder you didn't fuck me up seriously with your stage hypnosis. I wasn't about to have you put me in trance again at your whim. There was no telling what else you'd do to my head."

I was stunned. "How did you know?"

"That you'd put in a trigger phrase? I guessed, but I wasn't sure until you told me."

"Told you? You mean when I triggered you to find out where you'd been going at night, you somehow knew?"

More laughter. "No, I faked that night, too. I was never under for you, since that first time." She paused and looked me in the eyes, a smirk playfully gilding her mouth. "You told me in your email, and don't remember a damn thing about it, do you?"

I had no idea what she was talking about...

"Tess, I've been in full ownership of your mind for months. What do you think smart girls do?" She paused and winked. "Well, I suppose they're not all sociopaths like myself. Most of them have grown up smart and well-adjusted to a life of being bright, and of people treating them as bright. Not me," and now she was bitter, "Not me. No, I'm an obsessive, somewhat loony bitch with a brilliant mind, a newfound superiority complex, and a hatred for the people who took advantage of me when I wasn't all that intelligent. That includes my father, that includes most of my old clients, and that includes you."

I said nothing. What did she mean by "full ownership"?

It didn't take long to find out.

"Cognitive science is an interesting field, and I know all about it, now. Adjacent to it is behavioral science, and I learned all about that. I've been told by experts in the field that I have the rough equivalent of PhD knowledge in both disciplines. Or at least I do, now, after fucking the best data out of them. I'm also an expert in several other fields, none of which you'd understand, relating to subliminal messaging and computer-generated signalling. Your PC has been serving as a tool to subvert you almost since the day I networked it. And I got you to forget about emailing me, of course, but I certainly have not forgotten what you wrote.

"It wasn't too long after you altered me that I figured out what must have happened; I was desperate, craving more and more information each day, and coming loudly when I obtained it, and it was obviously not natural behavior. I started looking around on the internet, and found some very interesting sites. Hell, there are even people who get off on reading about hypnosis and other mind control. Fucking sickos. Anyway, I knew you had hypnotized me to be smarter somehow, but I didn't trust you and wanted details, so I ordered you to tell me what you'd done to me while I was in trance."

"Ordered? How?"

"You think you're the only one who comes up with trigger phrases? I programmed your computer, and your computer programmed you. And those fucking bitches Nikki and Maria, for that matter. It's all very simple. When I tell you--"

(And here, whatever it was she said, my nipples stiffened and everything grew fuzzy and surreal...)

"-- you'll go compliant for me and... Oh, I see it's working." I saw her grin through a haze of mushy obedience.

"I'll admit, my first idea was to make you reverse the whole thing, to make me normal again... but, why? Why be 'normal'? Why go through life like everyone else does, stumbling from day to day, year to year, bored out of their skulls? No, I enjoyed learning. Even beyond the orgasms, it felt good. I suspect the orgasms conditioned me to associate learning with pleasure in general, but whatever the source, I'm now long past caring." I saw a look in her eye I normally associated with people in need of a cigarette-- or a crack pipe. "And I wouldn't give it up. I just keep wanting more and more."

Even in my mental state, I think I looked at her like she was nuts. Technically, she probably was.

"And that's how you're going to help me, Tess. You, who never helped any one of 'her girls' unless there was a percentage in it for herself."

"What do you mean, Evangeline?"

"The offshore accounts I set up were not meant for you. I'm taking them. You will keep filling them, and I will drain them whenever I need to."

"But... what...?"

"I need investment capital. I'm starting my own company, and I need to put up some of my own cash or venture capitalists won't even talk to me."

"Your own company?" It was hard to think, to question. "To do what?"

Here she smiled and got a far away look in her eyes. "The eyes and ears can only process so much so quickly, Tess. I've got some ideas on making it all much faster."

I could only guess what she was playing at. "Why do you need my money? These venture... people... Can't you just control them like... like you've done me?" I loved her, why shouldn't everyone else?

She shook her head. "I suppose I could, but it takes too long, and I'd need to know them a lot better. And have control of their entire network or the traffic would be obvious. No," she continued, "I've analyzed the risks, and this is the highest leverage path to what I need. Your cash is mine.

"And you'll keep providing it for as long as I want you to. Won't you?"

"Yes, Evangeline."

"And do your best to hide from anyone who you're really working for?"

"Yes, Evangeline."

"Very good, Tess. You bitch."

I smiled at the term of endearment. There were more instructions, but I don't remember them. I'm sure they were too important for me to know.

***

And that's the way of the world, now. It's business as usual, of course: my girls give men what they want, collect the proceeds, and I rake it all in. A substantial chunk of those proceeds is now squirreled away into Evangeline's offshore accounts, for use when she needs working capital (or probably even just a new pair of shoes). I think her investments are more profitable than anything I can provide, and that she just keeps this arrangement going with me because she is vindictive about our former relationship.

Last night I saw a front page spread in the paper which showed a victorious-looking Evangeline, with the caption, "Royton Enterprises CEO reveals new brain implant technology." The article said that Evangeline's company had perfected an interface between the neurons of the human brain and an external computer which could, with some effort, be used to pass information from the electronic system to a person's conscious awareness. The article went on to discuss the potential medical uses of the device in assisting handicapped people, but all I could picture was Evangeline, my Evangeline, with a wire jacked into her skull, data pouring in, and her body coursing with orgasm, repeated over and over, as she learned anything and everything the world of man could provide her.

I wondered what the limit was to how much information the human mind could contain, and how soon she would reach it. I wondered if Royton Enterprises would eventually discover how to let her exceed this limit with offline data storage, or if they'd find her a way to erase what she'd already learned so she could "learn" it again. Her head swiss-cheesed with hardware so she could eke out that one last strand of knowledge and hit the orgasm she craved, as she instructed subordinates to discover more and more ways and things for her to learn.

I wondered, and I fucked myself in front of the computer, this tool which had been used to enslave me. Sick with horror, and lust, I came to orgasm after orgasm at the thought of Evangeline, inhuman, cyborged, knowing everything which could be known.

And wishing she'd let me join her, love her, lick her. She's made me think that, I know, but that only makes it all the more delicious.