tagMind ControlMy Only Talent Ch. 16

My Only Talent Ch. 16


Note: The descriptions and accounts in these stories are fictional and do not portray any actual people or events.

Saturday dawned cool and clear, perfect weather for football, all though it would warm up later in the afternoon. The football game would feel more like an intermission to the events planned for today. The game time had been moved up to 11AM to accommodate the TV network's schedule, which made for a very early start to the day for the forty acres football fan. I walked over to Lara's apartment to meet her, so we could walk to the stadium together. We had an early appointment at the breakfast buffet in the north end zone suite while the majority of her father's guests took a tour guided by some of the ESU foundation big wigs, who would work the guests for donations for everything from named buildings and endowed chairs for professors down to nearby parking spaced on game days and engraved patio pavers.

When Lara opened the door she was an absolute vision: she had begun to look better and better all semester, due, I modestly assumed, to being properly loved and adored every week (along with the occasional whipping to keep her stimulated), and she absolute sparkled with energy and vitality. She had upgraded from her normal super hot coed football game outfit to a highly sophisticated hot rich girl costume, something with the cut of an expensive basic black dress but realized as a form fitting orange and white sweater dress with a culottes style micro short skirt and high rise burnt orange ostrich leather boots. She added a low hanging bespoke diamond necklace from Neiman Marcus that clung to her plunging neckline and somehow managed to say 'understated major wealth' while also saying 'overstated major breasts'. If she was out in the stands in the sun, the network TV cameras would have never left her alone for a second, but she would be in closed areas much of the time. I doubted anyone even noticed me walking next to her, but lots of heads swiveled as she went by, and I heard popping and dopplering Suzies from all directions as we walked toward the stadium. I was certain my Suzie receiver was far more sensitive than ever before, and continued to improve.

"You look amazing, Lara! Is that outfit just for this occasion?" I began.

"Yep! I might wear it again to something else, though. It seems to be drawing some attention!" she smiled. Then she smirked, turning to grab my arm and speak right into my ear, "Do you think it could get me invited to a dorm room and fucked like an animal?"

I gulped, but before I could respond, she said, "Suzanne just won't shut up about that! I might be jealous. She keeps talking about how she 'just loves the smell of stale pizza in the morning' like that old Vietnam War movie we saw at the film festival, and then she giggles! She said you made her sneeze five times. I have only been able to make her sneeze like that twice, when she had very powerful squirting orgasms! She does taste extra good when that happens, doesn't she?"

I sensed her crafty Suzie signal sparking, seemingly looking to challenge me. But I thought I knew that she really wanted some attention, and what kind of attention she craved. I leaned into her and said "You'll get fucked exactly how, when and where I want, slut! You are mine! Mine alone! Do you read me?"

She smiled that wonderful, tight little smile and her Suzie flamed with excitement.

"Tonight I may take you down to the laundry room in my dorm and tie you out on one of the folding tables, whip you with a coat hanger until your ass is bright red, and then fuck you in three different orifices! Not too many people do their laundry on Saturday nights, but the ones who do will get quite an eyeful!"

Her Suzie flamed with humiliation and shock, which her luscious libido and imagination quickly converted to excitement. Burning, rabid excitement, accompanied by a strong Suzie carrier, well modulated with images of her ass in the air, whipped red and repeatedly penetrated and then covered with come. My come. She was so my kind of girl. I looked sideways at her and that incredible little smile was spread across her face, and her nipples were threatening to push through the cashmere sweater top. Oh happy day, or night, or anytime she is around.

We got to the stadium even before Bevo and the band did, and headed up to the suite behind the north end zone. I needed sustenance to make it through the day and hopefully arduous night with Lara and later Millie, too. The guests that did not go on the tour seemed much more interested in getting a Bloody Mary than a breakfast taco, and that gave me a clear shot at the calories. Habanero sauce and fresh squeezed orange juice complemented the tacos perfectly, and soon even my appetite as satiated.

I was starting to wonder about that, too, because I was eating many more calories than I ever did in high school, even during the height of tennis season, but I still felt hungry all the time and was not gaining any weight. Every day I woke up starving, and even if I ate a huge carbohydrate loaded breakfast on MWF days because I knew I would miss lunch to run, my stomach growled so loud in the afternoons before dinner that people would look at me funny. Maybe it was just the stimulation of daydreaming about the wonderful women I was keeping company with. I guess that was why I also never masturbated anymore. I saved it up for the weekend, and loved the positive comments from my girls about the volume of my first ejaculation on Friday nights.

The tour group was soon due to arrive back at the suite, so Lara and I departed for our assigned outpost behind the Megatron video screen near the south end zone. Marie Oroterrassier and her business development minions had efficiently distributed invitations and admission and drink tickets to the high roller's lounge to her target audience that wouldn't fit in the suite, and we were there to meet, greet, and engage, all for the glory of the American insurance business. Many of the targets had done business with old line Europe companies for generations, and Lara's dad had to find a way to overcome that inertia to break into the world market. There were also lots of people that were just ESU fans or their guests, with no connection to Lara's dad. The first guy to arrive, even before the tour returned, was a stuffy British type in his eighties Marie was pissed at being dissed and resigned to working the south end zone, while Lara's dad and Lillian Gush, his new girlfriend, held court in the corporate suite in the north end zone. I had not been in range of Marie for some time, and I was now detecting some unusual Suzie signal activity from her, but it was unlike anything I had encountered before. She used to be sending for Lara's dad, but with a strange hardness and laser like focus, hovering near him an interposing herself between him and other women like she was guarding him on the basketball court. Now that she was separated from him and he was with Lillian, Marie was sending some strong Suzie, but not for me or anyone else specific, just sort of radiating lust. But it did not interfere with her efficiently working the crowd. Steadman Cracker, her vaguely effeminate assistant, hovered around her fetching drinks, food, laughing strangely, and producing business cards for her to give to selected targets. It was funny, but I could almost sense a little Suzie signal blip when she spotted someone she recognized as a potential customer. Maybe she was sublimating her sex drive to improve her dedication to targeting her business prey? I found it was almost like strong and medium Suzie: strong for clear targets with a good book of business that she wanted to close today, and medium Suzie for prospects that could prove lucrative later.

The British guy elicited no response from Marie, who immediately moved on the other targets. I decided to practice my bullshitting skills, as the UDP guys termed it, and introduced myself.

"Hello, I'm Robbie Roberts"

He looked at me with mild dismay and shook my hand perfunctorily. "Abelard Peters, here from Liverpool."

"Are you enjoying your visit to Texas?"

"Yes. This is my first excursion to your charming capital, although I have come to Houston and Dallas many times in the past."

"Austin is very different from the rest of the state. Are you here for the race?"

"Yes, showing the flag for the team we help sponsor, and glad handing our customers who are race fans, and trying to keep El Supremo under control."

I wasn't sure that was. "I am helping out someone to entertain customers. I am an ESU student. What's your line of business?"

"Construction: shipyards, dry docks, oil platforms, port facilities, airports, even military bases. Are you an indsitrial? What business are you helping with?"

"Insurance, something I assume your business has to have?"

"Indeed young man! Risk management and mitigation is just as important as the actual construction."

I mentioned one of our cases from Engineering 101, an infamous international construction litigation case that went on for years, with the legal costs easily dwarfing both the claimed damages and the original contract amount. He made one of those very British "harrumph" sounds.

Ask for the order, a voice in my head said. "Would you consider allowing an innovative new entrant to compete for some of your future insurance requirements?"

"If the innovation resulted in lower costs for our firm, and the company in question truly had the assets to back the contracts, perhaps." He took a business card from gold holder and gave it to me.

I smiled, thus having already done my business development duty for the day. "I'll put someone in touch with you." I put the card away in my shirt pocket, my father having taught me to make a clear demarcation between business and social communications. Marie having been very efficient at providing tools to her minions, I deftly swiped the QR code on his guest badge with my Smartphone, which downloaded his contact information from the registration database for the invitations and uploaded it to the company CRM, along with my information and date and time stamping it. I don't think he even noticed that it happened. "We have quite some time before the contest begins. May I show you around the stadium for a bit?"

He said he had been a little late to catch one of the offered tours, so I gave him a walking tour. Our badges got us everywhere but the field. He was most impressed by Bevo, who was being brought in as we overlooked the south end zone, and was amused by the story of how Bevo got his name. He laughed, "football hooligans must be universal, whatever the shape of the ball!"

I bid him adieu as I watched Lara holding forth with a group of younger guys, all obviously mesmerized by her, whatever she might be saying. I moved close enough to hear her, and took the business card from my pocket and truly looked at it for the first time. It read, "Abelard Peters, Chairman of the Board, Tier Group." That's not bad for a freshman, Robbie. I opened the bizdev app, scanned the card, and made some notes on our conversation, then turned my attentions to Lara, which was not much of a challenge. As she finished her little spiel about her dad's company, everyone in the group gave her a business card, and two asked her out for a drink tonight. She looked up at me and I saw a flash of that tight little smile that I loved so much, and then she smiled and graciously declined. She was so my kind of girl.

I saw a familiar face, and couldn't place him for a moment, and then I realized it was one of the corporate recruiting guys that Lillehammer had introduced me to at the distributed education meeting. By this time Lara had taken my arm, and I introduced her, stumbling at just the right point, as I had forgotten his name. But he was so dazzled by Lara he might not have remembered his name either. She got his card, I scanned it and was reminded of his name, and he and Lara chatted for a minute. I turns out he was an operations guy who was called on to do his required duty to do college recruiting every other year.

I made a few more contacts, about a tenth as many as Lara did, and then it was almost time for kickoff. The corporate box being fully occupied with customers, we made our way to two seats in the upper deck with a good view of the game that Lara's dad got from a ticket broker. These seats may have been too high up for Lara to get coverage from the 'fan cam' the network used to highlight babes in the stands, but she sure got plenty of looks from other fans. The ESU band did their pre-game thing, and the teams took the field, and Old Smokey fired a powder charge with no cannon ball, the resulting boom announcing the kickoff.

ESU was on a roll, and the outcome was never really in doubt. At halftime, we talked with some of the people around us, and then Lara said we were probably going to miss lunch, and asked me to go down to the concession area and bring her back an order of her secret vice: stadium 'nachos'. Despite her apparent wisdom in falling for me, my faith in her taste and intelligence was momentarily shaken.

Although they look like crispy fried tortilla strips smothered in cheese, they are certainly not. The chips are more like third rate generic ersatz imitation Fritos with some vague spots that may be food coloring to make them look toasted, that have actually been deep fried in giant industrial vats in some anonymous and unsanitary slave and child labor factory overseas and shipped by boat, staying at room temperature in shipping containers also populated by rats for months, with plasticizers and other unknown carcinogens from the plastic bags they are shipped in gradually leeching into them. I once worked a summer at the concession stand at the little league baseball park near my house, and distinctly remembered the shiny electric machine that continuously stirred and occasionally dispensed the 'hot cheese' over the 'nacho chips' sold there. It always smelled like a burning skunk that had been doused with vinegar, and a curled and decaying decal on the side of the machine proudly stated "No Dairy Products Used". I asked the manager of the concession stand how they could call it cheese, and he said they don't, they call it something like 'special nacho sauce' for the 'special nacho chips' and that it looks like bright yellow cheese but is actually some kind of corn syrup, whipped and spun and cooked up to look like cheese. But everyone else calls it cheese, and real cheese would be much better for you than this stuff. I remember coming back to work at a Monday night baseball game and discovering that nobody had cleaned up the concession stand after the games on Friday night, and finding several uneaten orders of these so called 'nachos' standing on the counter. Nothing had had touched them. Beetles, ants, cockroaches, rats, crows, and seagulls were all too smart to eat this stuff, but not humans. If you left this 'cheese' out for weeks, mold wouldn't even grow on it. And the so called jalapeños on top are grown with grey water and animal contaminated compost, canned in also questionable water, perhaps not really heated enough to kill the harmful bacteria and then the cans are stored in the desert for a decade before their price falls low enough to be used in this culinary crime.

I managed to hand them to her without letting any of this felonious concoction actually touch my skin. She cried "Oh! Thank you, Robbie, these are the best!" and proceeded to scarf them down enthusiastically with much 'ooh-ing' and 'ah-ing'. This spectacle from an otherwise intelligent Hockaday honors grad that spoke three foreign languages fluently, but wouldn't try the most wonderfully prepared Menudo because it was too 'icky'. My work here is not done. I shuddered until she finished them. It was an image I would have to purge from my memory if I ever wanted to really enjoy kissing her again.

The second half of the football game went well enough to let the 2's and 3's finish out the fourth quarter, and playing time towards lettering was had by all. Not even the 1's covered kicks worth a darn, though. But ESU chalked up another victory. Lara's dad could leave his burnt orange suit in the closet this year, but next year he might have to dust that puppy off.

We headed north for the end zone suite and a post game reception where the guests could put away a few afternoon drinks before heading somewhere else for cocktails and dinner. We were invited to go to dinner with the inner circle from Lara's dad's company, where I understood they would debrief the business development work and assign follow ups to the big targets. When we arrived at the suite, it was standing room only, especially at the bar. Marie Oroterrassier worked the room expertly, as did Lara's dad and Lillian Gush. My stomach growled loudly, so I took advantage of the appetizer bar that the drinkers were leaving largely unused to get some protein in my system so I could survive until dinner, which would likely be after 8 PM. Luckily there were some tasty venison sausages, along with plenty of iced tea. I was becoming more and more concerned about my seemingly unbounded appetite. My grandmother used to kid me about having a tapeworm, but my ESU admission physical exam would have caught that, I was sure. When I began doing the strength and conditioning class next semester with Suzanne's famous exercise mentor Bob the Knob, I might have to cut back on my running mileage to keep from wasting away.

After we said goodbye to all the reception guests, Lara and I walked over to the dorm, she wanting to the see the 'scene of the crime' that Suzanne had so vividly described to her. I texted Ralph, who had previously agreed to help me with my planned surprise for Lara that we were on the way, and that he could set our plan in motion. The lounge lizards wore the same incredulous stares that Suzanne elicited from them, some of them likely refusing to believe that Lara was actually with me. It was so early in the evening that there were very few pizza boxes in the wastebaskets, so little or no yeasty smell was permeating the halls, yet. We spent a few minutes in my room, with Lara admiring my logo blanket and textbooks briefly, and then trying to kiss me. I managed to put the image of the offending nachos from my mind, and got excited enough to put my plan into motion.

I reached into my closet and grabbed a paper covered coat hanger, and threatened her with it. "OK, slut, time for a little cleanup down in the laundry room. I am going to get you and your misbehavior sorted out!"

She looked shocked, and wide version of her tight little smile grew across her face. I gave her one little swat on the butt, and pushed her toward the door. We rode the elevator down to the basement, she breathing a little hard and looking around self consciously; me watching her pulse in her lovely neck and wanting to see it race and pound very soon. When the elevator reached the basement, I saw several people in the vending area, and made sure that Lara saw them too, and then marched her into the laundry room. There was no one there, but there was a partially eaten cheese pizza in the wastebasket, and the smell was unmistakable. Lara looked pleased.


Lizzy Faye Reagan had lost her damn contact lens while she was doing her damn laundry, which she wouldn't have been stuck in the damn dorm doing on a Saturday evening after a football game if her damn APA fool boyfriend hadn't gone home for his damn momma's damn birthday this damn weekend. She wouldn't be the only fine AKA pledge sister crawling around under a damn laundry table sorting through stale Fritos, decaying M&M's, and spilled laundry detergent, finding ants and the occasional quarter, but no contact lens so far. Damn, damn, damn! Then she spotted something shiny reflecting what little available light there was under the table, and finally found her lens. She was just about to crawl out from under the table when the door to the laundry room banged open and she heard someone walk in. From her vantage point, she could see a pair of pretty fine looking women's burnt orange colored ostrich leather boots on some long female legs, and a pair of white sneakers below khaki pants following right behind them. She froze, and looked for an escape route.

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