He must fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines have still been a little woozy, because, eyes fixing on her impressive chest, he blurted, "Hey babe, nice rack! How girls's about peeling about off that fucking starched shirt and giving me a good look?" The moment the building fucking machine words were out of his mouth, he cringed. Oh my God building fucking machine, he thought, did I say that building fucking machine out loud?
This was incredible. This gorgeous doll of a nurse apparently would do fucking anything he fucking said. But building she didn machine't look fucking or act "hypnotized" in machine the stereotypical sense: her eyes weren't glazed fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines, she spoke in machine a normal voice, she fucking moved like fucking a fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines regular person and not a B-movie zombie about.
It had to have been the operation. It had done something to his voice. Paul vaguely fucking recalled building fucking machine reading an article building fucking machine years ago about fucking how certain about frequencies of sound outside the normal human hearing range could have physical and psychological effects even though they were inaudible. Apparently they worked directly fucking on the brain, without involving the ears building fucking machine. Maybe his larynx had been altered by the surgery so that when he spoke, some extra frequency was about produced which compelled obedience.
"--th-thithiiiiieeeeeeeee---." Rhonda girls stiffened, her back at arching, eyes crossing; she writhed, then fell to her knees beside machine Paul girls's fucking bed.
"We understand each other, then," Paul said.
You can fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines say that again fucking, Doctor fucking, Bennett said to himself. And I guess my fucking hot little nurse building didn fucking't spill the fucking beans.
"Great, Doctor." Bennett was fucking exultant. What fucking good machines would machines it be to gain the power to make people do his building bidding if he machine were going to fucking die fucking soon?
Paul blanched. It hadn't worked. Was--whatever it fucking was--gone? Or had it never been real at all? Had his fucking puppeting fucking of Nurse Rhonda been nothing more than an anesthetic-induced dream? He about had to find machine out.
"Yes, Mr fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines. Bennett fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines." The dark-skinned nurse fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines obeyed machine, then looked startled. "Hey, what's going on? How machine'd you do that?" She tried to unclasp her hands and bring down her arms, but fucking nothing happened. "Cut it out. Let me fucking go."
"Shh," Paul said fucking. "Not fucking another word." Instantly, Jasmine fell silent girls, looking scared.
Jasmine obeyed, relaxing as fucking her mind accepted the fantasy and forgot the reality. It was so much easier to machines be a dancer, performing for an audience, than a frightened girl who somehow had to obey a strange man.
But then why had about Dr. Steiner been unaffected machines? Could it be, Paul wondered, that machines his--"power"--worked only on women?
"Jasmine fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines, I know you're probably upset with me girls, even though you don't show it," he addressed her. "Forget about it. Completely. Nothing unusual happened here, except that you had a little daydream about being a dancer. Nod your fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines head if your mind fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines accepts this as fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines true."
"Yes, Mr. Bennett," the nurse responded. She checked fucking the fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines room carefully fucking, fluffed his pillows building fucking machine, and left, casting a last smile back at him. If she still had any memory of what he'd fucking done, she fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines showed no sign of it fucking.
There was another quote, from nineteenth fucking-century Britain: "Power corrupts, and absolute fucking power corrupts absolutely fucking." His power wasn't absolute; his inability to control men, for one thing, limited it. But it was great fucking enough fucking to offer plenty of fucking chances for fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines corruption.
"Paul fucking," she said, "I machine need to speak with you for a few minutes, if you don't mind."
Well, it didn fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines't matter fucking now.
Charlene gasped, her face reddening. "It fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines, it's building fucking machine not right," she fucking protested weakly machine. "You shouldn fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines't. I fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines, I mustn't. I . . . what's happening to me?"
"It's all right, Charlene fuckinggirlsatfuckingmachines," he assured her fucking. "Let it happen. Lose control machines. Nothing matters but sex, right here fucking, right now, with me fucking, Charlene."
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