Bimbo Builder Academy Ch. 13

I suppose part of Clayton's system was the time factor, so that programming could take place over months and slowly seep into the subject's subconscious. That was how he'd done it to Natalie and Lena and Ava, and that's what he'd been trying to do with me. I took that system and threw it in his face all at once. I guessed it was like having his mind smashed repeatedly by a robot with a sledgehammer. It kind of... well, it stopped working perfectly. He could obey simple instructions, or playact the role of his old self if I needed him to go to the bank or deflect client questions about why their "product" was delayed, but it was like trying to do linear algebra with no knowledge of matrices. We couldn't solve the problem at hand because our tools were faulty.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to resist feeling a tiny sliver of relief, but I knew that every day we spent going through his meticulous notes was a day I wouldn't have to say goodbye to my lovely young companions.

For certain, things might have gone faster if we had more people on hand. Like, say, the police. Or whatever government agency deals with mind control sex traffickers. But I knew what happened when the authorities got involved. Almost immediately, the media was breathing down your neck, too. I'd gotten lucky at Denton, but there had still been a few local outlets sniffing around the abrupt dismissal of a promising young professor on the tenure track. I knew how much worse it would have been if any of it had gotten out. And the Brighton Barnsworth Academy scoop would be a thousand times worse.

No, if any of these young women wanted to return to some semblance of a normal life they would need anonymity.

In any event, going through Clayton's files ourselves was what gave me the solution we'd needed. The principal, it turned out, had been even more careful than I gave him credit for. He'd saved every bit of communication he could, every scrap of evidence, in scattered bits and pieces like a squirrel's winter horde. No client, had they been suspicious enough to hack into his material, would have found anything so obvious as a folder titled 'BLACKMAIL.' However, combing through his work, day after day, I began to piece together the principal's backup plan. The information had been well-hidden, and some of it encrypted to boot. But password protection means nothing when you have complete control over the man who knows the code.

Joseph Clayton's clients were captains of industry and society, wealthy 1-percenters who stood at the pinnacle of the world. Up that high, though, they had a vulnerability to spotlights. If I was afraid of the media, they were even more afraid. Harrison and Clayton, working together, went down the Academy's list of patrons. And, I have to say, I got a certain satisfaction watching Harrison explain to Aarav Khatri that he would be paying us six figures a year in hush money for the indefinite future.

There was usually some resistance, but showing a few email transcripts and phone call recordings was always enough to quell them. What were they going to do? As far as they knew, Clayton had them by the balls.

I was still mulling everything over when Ava turned from the railing and stretched, her movement breaking the tableau before me and snapping me back to reality. Then, the leggy beauty sashayed toward the rest of us and into the warm orange glow of the fire pit. The crimson-haired woman, alluring even in red and blue flannel pajama pants and a grey sports bra, knelt gracefully at my feet and rested her chin on my knee.

In the past month, chats with the woman — as well as going through Academy files on personality testing — had revealed that Ava, several years older than Lena and Natalie, was a natural submissive. This came to mind frequently, because she had the habit of casually acting in ways that I couldn't help seeing as sexual. I couldn't tell if it was intended to drive me crazy but now, at least, I could see the teasing tilt of her head as she looked up at me.

"Hey there," the woman murmured softly. "Thinking too much again, are we?" Her voice had a low, musical quality that warmed my core and sent shivers of heat out through the rest of me.

Of course, I hadn't done anything about the embers of desire that these women fed constantly. I'd been completely celibate ever since that weekend.

Natalie stirred from her own daydreams and sat up, using her legs to pull herself into a seated position then tucking them underneath her. "He's always thinking too much," she commented dryly. She pushed her some stray hair behind one ear. The purple-haired girl was wearing one of those brown, open-front cardigans that are longer than the jean shorts underneath them. Beneath the cardigan, a clingy top with black-and-white stripes hugged her perky breasts. "The real question is whether he's moping or planning something."

"Hey," I protested weakly. "I don't mope."

"Yesyoudo..." Lena mumbled, stirring awake on my other side. I was hyper aware of her hair as it brushed across my neck, and of her breath as she hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning away from me.

I was attacked on three sides, and could do nothing but chuckle softly and glance back into Ava's hazel eyes. "I guess I was," I sighed. "Thinking too much, I mean."

"Well, snap out of it, silly." Natalie's voice was light, but firm. "We've gotten a lot done the past few weeks. Almost all of the girls have been placed and sent home. Let yourself relax a little, professor."

"Thanks," I grunted, faking a scowl. For more than a month, I'd been trying my best to be a friend to these women — to be the kind of man that they could trust after everything they'd been through. But the way Natalie said the word professor still sent a surge of blood south and made me struggle not to pitch a tent in my pants. "Hard to relax, though, when you're covered in napping women."

"Are you complaining?" Natalie asked, arcing an eyebrow at me. She really did do a good aloof hipster girl look.

My scowl crumbled. "No," I laughed softly. My eyes went back to Ava's. "Thanks for saving me from my own brain."

The woman's full smile was bright, and the firelight played off her dark red hair as she shook her head. She pushed herself up to her feet. "I'll save you anytime. You're my hero, after all." Then, before I could do more than blink in astonishment at the sincerity in her words, she switched topics. "Besides, I was really coming over here because I wanted to check in on dinner arrangements. Anyone else getting hungry?"

There was a chorus of yeses from Lena and Natalie, and I nodded along. A smile turned up my mouth. "So," I asked. "What will it be today?"

After living a carefully ordered life for months on end— along with a mandatory diet and exercise regimen to shape them into the perfect pleasure toys — these young women loved to order takeout. Usually there was some good natured banter back and forth, but tonight Lena's suggestion met with universal approval.

"Friday night," Lena said, and she tucked the hood of her sweatshirt back, spilling her light blonde hair around her face and shoulders. "What's better than pizza and a movie?"

* * 8

Joseph Clayton had a fantastic penthouse apartment atop one of the Academy buildings. So, while the principal had moved into one of the dorm rooms left empty by a departing student, I had taken up residence in what was definitely the most expensive home of my life. Having the sky patio in the same building was just one of the many benefits of living here. I also had a wraparound balcony overlooking a beautiful cityscape, a kitchen full of the latest appliances (espresso was now a daily indulgence rather than an infrequent treat), a King-sized bed in a stylish bedroom, and a massive bathroom tiled in warm, gold and white stone. If I had designed it, it couldn't have been any more ideal.

And the greatest benefit of all was that I hadn't needed to spend a single night at my own apartment since the night I broke up with Julia. I know that I could have gone back for clothes and some essentials. Honestly, though, Clayton and I had approximately the same dimensions, and he had a more-than-ample wardrobe that I readily co-opted for my personal use. Odd as it may seem, I felt comfortable in the other man's outfits. After, of course, they all went through extensive dry cleaning.

The long and short of it, in the end, was that the living room at my place had a massive television and several comfy couches and reading chairs. And it was close. So the three younger women and I crowded into the elevator and headed up to the penthouse. The sun was down now, behind the buildings and the horizon beyond them, and the only illumination was from the pale moon and the glowing blue-and-orange lights of a modern city. While Lena and Natalie started browsing their phones for movie ideas, Ava looked for pizza places and I slipped into my bedroom to get changed.

Out of habit, I dressed in a business style when I left to work with the girls every morning. Slacks and a jacket, usually a button down shirt. I looked sharp, and beneath the short, dark beard that had found its way onto my jawline, my face was leaner and more defined than ever. I had been eating sparingly, even when Lena or one of the others ordered out, and despite distracting myself with my new responsibilities, I still managed to throw around some heavy weights a couple times a week. In fact, those workouts were pretty much the only time I got to be alone.

It should not have come as a surprise to me that the rest of the Academy buildings weren't, as it turned out, the academic homes of various other departments. Instead, they housed all the facilities Joseph Clayton might need to take a woman off the street and turn her into a plaything for his wealthy clients. This one, of course, was housing for the head of the school and all of the students. Others had rooms full of medical equipment and diagrams that seemed to be for cosmetic surgeries. One facility had comfortable lounge chairs and several rows of VR headsets. I could only assume that those were for even more intensive programming. One building, though, had a functional gym full of shiny, polished equipment. That was where I went to blow off steam. Everything, in the entire school, was run either by a computer or by controls that could be managed by a single person. Everything was precise, balanced and, dare I say, impressive. Joseph Clayton, more than I'd known, was a man who knew how to solve problems. He had built the Academy and, as far as I could tell, he ran it all by himself.

As I hung my button-down back in the closet and slipped out of my undershirt, I wondered if I should feel any amount of guilt about having turned a man who probably had a genius level IQ into a cardboard cutout of his former self. Then, I thought of Julia's tears when she remembered what Clayton had forced her to do. That hardened my heart right up. I slipped on a pair of lightweight lounge pants and a dark v-neck top, then stared at myself in the full-length mirror.

I hadn't turned on a light, so it was dark in the room. Mostly shadows and shafts of moonlight. Clayton's taste in colors was mostly muted lights and darks, which I appreciated, and I saw myself in shades of dark in that reflection. My hair had gotten a little longer, thick and dark, and my though my cheeks were mostly bare the lighter shade of my face was outlined on the bottom by the dark edge of a beard. Dark shirt, clinging to muscles that were obviously hard and defined. My bottoms, a lighter grey color, hung from my hips like an actor or model. I looked good. And, for a second, it made me wonder why I felt so out of sorts.

I was living it up. Dressed to the nines every day, spending time with beautiful women, absolutely no money troubles. I was in an apartment easily worth several million, had turned my enemy into my puppet and could use a pair of glasses or a trigger phrase to turn my companions into wanton, willing sextoys at any time of day or night. Was this not a perfect existence?

I stared into my face in the mirror. A shaft of moonlight lit the corner of a mouth that was pressed together in a firm line.

Julia.

The thought seemed to echo around in my head. I had cheated on the woman I loved, and she'd gone. And now, I was in the unenviable position of constantly wondering if I was ready to go back to her. If we had both had enough space, or if we still needed some time. Was I punishing myself, not letting myself enjoy life to its fullest extent?

I shrugged, and my shadowy reflection followed suit. No, I thought. I was doing the right thing — not forcing myself on women who only wanted me because of a messed up fluke of mind control. And I was doing the right thing waiting. Waiting to know what I should do about Julia. I was doing the right—

"Mitch?"

I started, catching my breath as I turned and snapped away from my thoughts.

Natalie was standing in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame with her head cocked to one side. The sleeves of her cardigan were too long, and the way her fingers curled around the cuffs was cute.

I sighed out slowly, and chuckled sheepishly. "You startled me," I said. "What's up?"

I heard Natalie snort, and I knew that the girl was rolling her eyes teasingly. "These jeans are uncomfortable," she complained. "Can I borrow some sweats?"

I smiled. "Yeah. Of course." I tried to sound accommodating, and walked toward her. "I'll get out of your way."

Natalie paused as she passed me in the doorway. Not long, but just enough for her hand to half raise, like she was going to touch my chest and stop me. But then she lowered it again and continued on. I shut the door behind me. Natalie had hung out here enough to know where my relaxing clothes were folded in the closet.

Chill out, Mitch, I ordered as I walked out into the living room. You're making yourself crazy.

A light was on in the kitchen at the far end of the living room, where Ava was chatting on her phone, and Lena had flipped open my laptop so we could stream whatever film she and Natalie chosen. She had logged in using my password, was figuring out which of our subscription sites had the movie. And the strangest thing was how normal this all felt. It was weird, to have placed myself in the friend zone with these absolute babes.

But that's exactly what I'd done.

Lena glanced up. "We decided we wanted to see a rom com," she announced. The penthouse was air conditioned, and she had pulled up her hood again. The glow of the laptop screen cast shadows on her face.

"Sounds good." I shrugged, wending my way around in front of her. Avoiding the power cord, I dropped down beside her on the couch. She had my laptop balanced on the wide, leather arm of the sofa, and I could see several tabs were open to different movie options. "Do you have a clear winner?" I asked, but Ava interrupted from the kitchen before Lena could answer.

"I'm getting an extra-large cheese pizza from Enzo's!" she called. "Topping requests?" The days of spending twenty minutes trying to figure out which restaurant to call were behind us. With Ava in charge, we just picked a cuisine and she handled the rest.

"Pepperoni!" I answered immediately. The Italian place actually did some of my favorite pizzas. They baked them in a clay, artisanal pizza oven and their ingredients were all top of the line. Added bonus, Enzo's meat selection came from their own deli of perfectly-aged Italian meats.

"Sausage!" Natalie's voice bounced in, muffled, from the bedroom. "Are we saying toppings?"

"Bacon!" Lena piped up, but softer. She was still swiping across the track pad and looking for streaming availability.

"Bacon and sausage?" I teased her. "You're making this into a breakfast pizza."

The young woman ducked her head, and I think she might have blushed. "I like bacon, okay?" she joked. "Don't be a hater."

It was such a youthful thing to say that it made me snuff a laugh and remember that I was bantering with a 20-something college student. I leaned in, bumping her with my shoulder and grinning.

She stuck her tongue out in my direction, then turned and started logging in to my Netflix.

I ignored the dull, throbbing heat that pulsed in my stomach when I watched the playful movement of her sculpted mouth, and tuned back in to Ava across the room as she laughed softly, then said, "And I think I'm going to be the adult and add mushrooms to that pizza, just so everyone can pretend we ate a vegetable... Yeah... Uh-huh, we got votes for pepperoni, bacon, sausage and mushroom... Perfect, we'll pay cash when your driver arrives... Have a good night."

Ava lowered the phone and gave me a thumbs up.

"Natalie!" I called. "Get in here if you want to start the movie before the food arrives, and bring the robe!"

Lena and I had a quick discussion about the last few movie options, while Ava set out plates and poured herself a glass of wine. Overboard — the old romantic comedy about a rich heiress who loses her memory and the carpenter who tries to convince her that she's really his wife — was quickly discarded for obvious reasons, so we settled on the classic When Harry Met Sally... and loaded it up onto the big TV screen.

"Ooh! I love this one!" Natalie bounced down on the couch next to me. She had gone for a complete outfit change, opting out of her jean shorts and cardigan in favor of a pair of thick sweatpants and a grey v-neck that was too big but fit perfectly across her round breasts. She tucked her feet up and I hissed as her cold soles pressed against my warm calf.

"Hey!" I protested, "Cold feet!"

But she just laughed softly and wiggled her toes.

"Do you have the robe, at least?" I sighed.

The girl's teeth glinted in the dark as she grinned, dangling a bundle of cloth in her hands.

It was a tradition we'd started on a previous movie night. Natalie invented the game, or at least knew it from some past life as a party-hard sorority chick. It was like Hot Potato, but instead using a silk kimono that Natalie had nabbed from Lena's closet. As the movie went on, we passed the robe around and around the group, and when the delivery man arrived, whoever was holding it had to go down to the bottom of the building to pick up the order. Taking the elevator all the way to the lobby was a cold and unexciting journey, so naturally, in order to spice things up, the stipulated rule was that whoever received the delivery was also forced to strip down and wear nothing but the robe and their underwear. Each of us had to hold onto the robe for at least a minute before we could Hot Potato it to the next person, and often we got distracted by the movie while the thing was in our lap.

Overall, the game led to a much more entertaining delivery experience. And, unintentional bonus, I swear our takeout orders arrived at least 75% faster once the deliverymen realized that they would be getting a giant tip and the opportunity to ogle a gorgeous babe.

"Good," I smiled back. "Ava?"

"Coming!" The redhead flicked off the kitchen light, carried her glass and wine bottle to the far end of the couch, and settled in next to Natalie. The wine bottle clunked softly on the coffee table.

"And... Play." Lena's voice was pleased as she pressed the space bar, music running through the speakers. The movie began. Just like there was no more pizza bickering, there was no more waiting while people did half a dozen different tasks to prepare for the show. By now, we had movie nights down to a science.

I had seen this film before. When Harry Met Sally... was about two people who, over the years, kept bumping into each other by accident. Eventually they became friends. And then more. And then they weren't sure how to handle it. It was a sweet, funny story, and I'd probably watched it with every one of my girlfriends over the years.