Gently Bitten

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Prank Call

Marianne spoke firmly and clearly into the microphone.  "You do not remember your secret instructions.  But you will respond to your handler with automatic, unthinking obedience.  You will unconsciously orient yourself around your handler's desires and wishes.  It is natural to serve your handler."

This was the last stage of programming the sleeper agent's subconscious mind.  Marianne looked briefly through the glass at the subject, her gaze sweeping his bound, naked body up and down.  This one was a particularly *fine* specimen.  She had no idea what he did in real life-- what he would go back to as soon as they released him, never realizing that his mind had been reprogrammed, was now under someone else's control-- but she was certainly enjoying watching his muscular body as he breathed softly; his sighs as he helplessly accepted all of her suggestions and commands.

Time to imprint him on his handler.  "Your handler's name is--" Marianne looked down at the stapled printout, the programming form for this subject.  There was a post-it note over the name field, denoting a last-minute change.  Intake was getting *so* sloppy lately.  She read the note: Michael Hunt (Mike).  "Mike Hunt.  You will always, helplessly, obey Mike Hunt."

Marianne realized what was wrong with that at the same instant that she heard snickering behind her.  She muted the microphone and whirled on Betsy and Janice, who were now watching over her shoulder.

"What the HELL?" Marianne whispered furiously.

"Sweetie, you need to get *laid*," Janice sniggered.  "You work too hard, too much stress, it's not good for you.  This one's a freebie."

Betsy was smirking, and openly ogling the subject.  "He's not bad, eh?  We knew he'd be your type.  He's not even in the system.  Take him home!  Have some fun."

"We've each got a few," Janice added, nodding at the bound, mind-slaved man in the programming chair.

Marianne's eyes widened in shock at this news-- that her co-workers, far from restricting this horrible technology to rare, absolutely essential uses to protect national security, had been making sex slaves on the side, for their own enjoyment.  But Betsy poked her in the ribs.

"You have to finish it!" Betsy said, grinning.  "He's at the critical stage.  You have to finish up the suggestions, or it'll leave him all messed up.  That wouldn't be right, would it?"

Marianne stared at Betsy, outrage warring with desperation.  The two emotions fighting it out, leaving *just* a little room for lust to sneak quietly past on the side.

"Finish him!" Janice intoned, behind her.

Marianne shooed them both out of the booth, and turned the microphone back on.  She took a deep breath.

"It will seem completely natural and right for you to want to please and serve my cunt.  My cunt's wishes are the most important things in your world..."

Outside the booth, Janice turned to Betsy with a flourish of her arms.  "Flawless victory!" she declared.