It was still moist and delicious. His party ninjas might be rude, but they knew pizza. Mustering some courage, Rick decided to stay up late and wait for them to return. Only ninjas could slip into his house and party with such stealth. When the late night talk shows were replaced by infomercials, Rick decided they weren’t going to show. Maybe they had moved onto another house and forgotten him. The next few weeks flew by. Rick was back to his usual pattern of clocking long hours and splattering his pent up energy on hand towels. Easter weekend came and went. On the Monday after the holiday, he awoke to find half-eaten plates of lamb chops, garlic mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus on the dining room table. There was a small folding table set up for younger guests, judging from the smaller plates and chocolate bunny wrappers. Rick made a sandwich from the left over lamb. On his way to his car, he stepped on an Easter egg in the grass. ‘Enough,’ Rick decided. Tax season was. “Yes, sir,” Patricia nodded. “Go to sl**p now, Patricia.” Dr. Schmidt commanded. He had implanted this command, allowing Patricia to obtain a trace state quite easily. Time stopped for Patricia. “Wake up now, Patricia.” Patricia blinked. She smiled, the session leaving her feeling warm, sexy and horny as usual. Intentionally or not, Dr. Schmidt’s sessions invariably left her quite aroused and in need of release. So Patricia was looking forward to what came next, probably partly due to Dr. Schmidt’s post-hypnotic suggestions. No matter. She didn’t care why, she needed release. “Now get onto the table and give us a show, my slut.” Mr. Johnson was so powerful, so commanding…she felt a tingling sensation in her pussy, felt herself growing moist. And he acknowledged that she was his slut! She smiled, happy to be deserving of such honor. Patricia stepped onto a chair, then onto the conference room table. Usually, when Dr. Schmidt brought her out of her trance, she was nude, but today she.
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