White Noise

White Noise, Part 3 of 10

z119z

© the author 2015

Comments are appreciated. Please send them to z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.

Chapter 5

On the following Monday evening, Mark sat in front of his computer watching the next installment of the concentration program that he was helping Jeff Ange test. It always made him feel great to watch the training videos, but that night he felt even better than usual. That morning when he checked his email, he had found a job offer from Sandman Personal Assistants. He had replied immediately accepting the position. Upon arriving at the bank, he had given a month's notice. His supervisor had been upset, less, Mark thought, because he regretted losing Mark than because he hated the thought of the work involved in interviewing candidates and training a new hiree. His only comment had been, "This comes at a bad time. I've got enough work already." Then he had sighed and motioned Mark away. He was already calling Human Resources as Mark closed the door to his office.

Mark didn't give his resignation a second thought. The bank wasn't his problem. His problem was his need for more physical exercise. Doctor Arkin had been adamant about that. And it was true. He had neglected his body once he had left school and started work. He had just been so busy at the bank and he had been so tired that he had let himself go and neglected his body. But it was time to stop making excuses. He had to find a gym and get back in shape.

Oddly enough, working out was the subject of the installment Jeff was having him watch tonight. It was almost as if Jeff knew about his problem. Jeff was so insightful and such a good friend. You just wanted to please him and make him happy.

Mark focused as instructed on the image of the muscular young man that appeared on the screen. The voice that accompanied the video introduced him as Joe, the manager of the Midtown Health Club on Silver Avenue. "You will feel much, much better if you exercise. Exercise will make you feel wonderful. Watch Joe's biceps. Watch how they move up and down as he exercises. Feel yourself performing the same exercise. Your biceps move smoothly up and down, up and down so smoothly. A wonderful warmth spreads throughout your entire body as you exercise. You feel so energized, so aroused. The doctor has told you to exercise. Joe will help you. Joe will make you feel so good. You want to work out with Joe. Joe will help you. Joe will make you feel so good. You want to work out with Joe. Keep watching the biceps move up and down. You want to please Joe. Pleasing Joe is very important to you. Joe at 22 Silver Avenue. . . ."

The training file repeated many variations of the basic message several times. That night as Mark slept, the Sandman 2100 unit also stressed the importance of exercising and pleasing Joe. Mark was a quick learner. He stopped by the health club the next morning on the way to work to schedule an appointment with Joe.

The club impressed Mark as a serious place. Like the rest of its clients, he didn't know that it was part of Sandman Enterprises, a very successful part. Nor did he know that its success could be attributed to its manager, Joe, and his motivational skills. The members of the Midtown Health Club took so much pleasure in performing well for Joe. The club was not large, and the membership was limited. In fact all the members were either Sandman units in training or fully functioning units and their patrons. Part of Sandman Personal Assistants' monthly service fee covered membership in the health club, and its clients were happy to pay for their own and their unit's participation. With a limited numbers of members, Joe could devote a great amount of attention to each of them. The results, as the members told themselves frequently, "speak for themselves."

Joe himself was a unit. Like many Sandman units, Joe worked and earned a substantial income, which he turned over to his owners, in his case a married couple. They were quite proud of his accomplishments and often boasted of their "protégé's" success. Physically, Joe was superb. He was also a charming and an extremely engaging young man. He exuded physical and psychological warmth. People liked Joe and wanted him to like them. He was a credit to his training.

"Mark, glad to meet you!" Joe beamed with pleasure, as he shook Mark's hand. The force of his warmth passed like a wave of pleasure through Mark's body. "So you're thinking of working out a bit."

"Yeah," Mark smiled back at Jeff. "It's kind of embarrassing to be so out of shape, especially around all these great bodies." They were standing just outside the weight room, watching a couple dozen people working out on the machines and the free weights. Sweat glistened as they strained to force their bodies into compliance. Unlike other gyms Mark had been in, the room was quiet, except for the occasional clang of metal plates against each other. The people in the room were so focused and intent that there was none of the usual chatter. Mark tried not to stare at the men—all of them looked terrific.

"Now, Mark, don't be intimidated by them. They weren't born with those bodies. If they can build themselves up, so can you. It just takes a lot of hard work and concentration to achieve a body like that." Joe pointed to a tall, well-built male surrounded by a weight machine. A bar attached to wires that passed through a complex system of pulleys with stacks of weights on the ends rested on his shoulders. As Mark watched, he squatted on the floor, pulling down on the bar and lifting a stack of heavy weights off the floor. As he pushed up against the bar with his thighs, another stack of weights rose from the floor. His thigh muscles bulged and shifted beneath his skin as he repeated the exercise over and over, his eyes focused on a distant spot only he could see.

"Why don't you come into my office, and we'll develop a program for you." Joe grasped Mark's right arm just above the elbow and led him into his private room. Besides the usual desk and computer and other office equipment, the room contained several weight machines, a collection of barbells, a stationary bike, and a running track. One long wall was covered with a mirror. Jeff and Kenneth Foster watched from behind the mirror.

"Why don't you strip to your shorts, Mark?" Mark looked around for a place to change. Joe grinned at him. "You'll have to get over your modesty in here, guy. This is a place for bodies. Get used to showing yours." Mark shrugged. He turned his back to Joe, knelt down and pulled a pair of red gym shorts and a jock strap from his bag. He quickly took off his shoes and slipped off his jeans. He hesitated a bit before pulling off his briefs. Once they were off, he quickly pulled on the supporter and shorts. When he turned around, Joe said, "And the shirt too." Mark pulled it over his head and put it with his other clothes.

Jeff leaned forward in his chair to get a better look. "We should preserve that air of modesty, don't you think? Some clients would find that charming and boyish."

"Yes, but Joe has his work cut out for him." Foster shook his head. Basically Mark had a trim body, but it was lacking in muscle tone and definition. "Another few years without our intervention, and he definitely would have been badly out of shape."

Joe walked around Mark, carefully examining him from all sides. "Height?" he asked.

"5 feet 7."

"Weight?

"165."

"What sort of exercise do you get now? Do you jog?"

"I haven't worked out since college. That was three years ago"

"Well, we'll fix that," said Joe. "Now, I'm going to touch you a bit to gauge your muscle tone. Make a fist and push against my hand." Joe held up his palm. As Mark did as he had been told, Joe examined the play of muscles in his arms and upper chest. "Keep doing that. I'm going to touch your arms and torso. Just focus on my chest and keep pushing against my hand." Mark did as instructed, his eyes focusing on the blue crystal that hung between Joe's pecs.

"Put your hand down, Mark." Joe stood close to Mark. a hand resting on Mark's shoulder, gently kneading it. "You have some work to do. But you're going to do some hard work for me, aren't you? You will enjoy working hard for me."

Both Jeff and Kenneth Foster held their breath. Mark's answer would determine how successful his training to that point had been. They needn't have worried. Joe in action was a beautiful thing to watch. Physical presence, warmth, charm, sex appeal—all combined to make Mark anxious to please. The look of hunger on Mark's face was answer enough. The choked "yes" that he managed to sputter out was superfluous.

"Great. You won't regret this, Mark." Joe gave Mark's shoulder another quick squeeze. "Now, let's get started, guy. We're going to begin by warming up. Stand beside me and watch yourself in the mirror. Just do what I do."

As Joe led Mark through a series of stretches, Jeff said, "You're right. He's got that `boy next door' look. As you said, we should aim for a nicely muscled hard body, but not a large one."

"Yes, Mark isn't the bodybuilder type. Let's get Joe to develop that quality. What do you think—larger thighs and a more rounded butt?"

"Yes, and maybe two to three inches more around the chest."

" Lucky for us, he is hairless. That will help with the boyish image."

"Hair needs to be shorter. Sort of like a brown helmet covering his scalp."

"Hmm, maybe. Get Erik to take a look at him and see what he thinks."

Joe finished the series of warm-up exercises. "Now, I want to show you how to do exercises properly. It's not just a matter of lifting the weights. You have to concentrate and focus on the muscle you are working on. The lift has to start in the brain, and then the muscle acts. Let me call someone in to show you."

Joe opened the door to his office and looked around the gym. "Colin, will you step in here a moment?"

"That's a surprising choice," said Kenneth Foster. Colin was physically one of Sandman Personal Assistants' most imposing units. Tall, incredibly well developed, he tended to overawe most people. Even Foster found himself feeling uncomfortable around Colin sometimes, and he had trained him. There was so much power and strength in Colin's body that it was easy to overlook how docile the Sandman programming had made him. He was one of Sandman's "trophy units." Because of his conditioning, Colin was completely devoted to his patron. And his patron was completely satisfied with Colin. The client had wanted a bodybuilder and paid a premium for Colin. He has been happy with his choice. Well, what lover of huge bodies wouldn't be? A naked hunk whose only thought was to please you, who moaned with anticipation when you approached him? A low maintenance, undemanding, sweet guy who thought of nothing but pleasuring you and had the physical training to control every muscle in his body.

"Mark, this is Colin. Colin has an incredible ability to focus on his workout. I want you to develop the same ability. It will require some work from you, but you can do it.

"Let's start with some stomach exercises. Colin, if you will lie down on the mat. Now Mark, kneel down here. Look at the stomach muscles. You see how they run from here to here. Now, the point of the exercise is to work the muscles by contracting them. You pull against both ends and lift the upper torso by contracting the stomach muscles. What you don't want to do is to use the neck or chest or back muscles to lift the torso. Make the stomach muscles do all the work. And you do that by focusing your mind on these muscles. See the muscles contracting in your mind and then make it happen. Now, watch Colin. Observe how his hands and arms are positioned. Hands locked behind the neck. Elbows pointed straight out, the arms straight out from the body at the shoulders. Don't bring them up around the face. Straight out. Put your hands here and here." Joe positioned Mark's hands beneath Colin's rib cage and just above his groin. "Now watch Colin as he contracts these muscles. Feel what happens beneath your hands. Don't be shy, guy. Colin's here to help you. Go ahead. He's not going to mind if you touch him."

Mark looked rather sheepish as he knelt beside Colin and positioned his hands on Colin's body. Colin grinned at Mark and pushed down on Mark's hands to press them firmly against his body. "Go ahead, Mark. I like being touched."

"When you're ready, Colin." The smile that had been on Colin's face as he watched Mark gingerly touch him vanished to be replaced by a blank stare. Colin was totally focused on what he was about to do. As Mark and the others watched, his upper body lifted off the mat smoothly.

"Now, you want to do this slowly," said Joe. "Don't rush it. Make the muscles work. Notice how on the release, Colin just doesn't relax and let his body flop back on the floor. He works the muscles on the way down too. Can you feel how they work? Colin, do another one and then we'll have Mark do some."

Joe had Mark trade places with Colin. Mark looked so small next to the two of them. Joe knelt at Mark's feet and had Colin position his hands on Mark's body to mark the upper and lower ends of the stomach muscles. "Now, I want you to focus on your stomach muscles. Feel where Colin's hands are. In your mind's eyes, see the muscle and bring the two ends closer together. That's all you have to do. Focus on the muscle. Bring the two ends closer together. Visualize Colin's hands and see yourself bringing them closer together."

Joe rested his hands lightly on Mark's ankles. As Mark contracted his stomach muscles and his head and shoulders lifted, the blue crystal between Joe's pecs came into view. Mark's training kicked in, and he felt a rush of pleasure and well-being each time he saw the blue crystal. The crystal meant focus, the mind concentrated on the task at hand.

"Good, Mark, that's good. That's really good. Now let's do another one."

Joe and Colin helped Mark exercise several muscle groups that day. As Joe was arranging Mark's future visits, Colin said, "Mark, I'll come in and help you for the first few days. Would you like that?" Mark's look of adoration was answer enough.

Sometimes the units surprised even Kenneth Foster and exceeded his expectations. "Joe and Colin definitely did alpha-plus work today." Foster smiled, "Arrange a reward for both of them, Jeff."

The man surveyed the other customers at the Kennel Club. It was a mixed group. Curs mingled with bitches. It was hard to tell what sex some of the costumes concealed, but he thought that there were more women than men. Of course, some of the costumes made the wearer's sex apparent. Women's breasts were on display, thankfully most of them hidden revealingly beneath fake fur, although a few disgusting bitches had opted to let "it all hang out." Pendulous ball sacks hung between the back legs of some of the men, and here and there the head of a cock protruded from padded sheaths covered with fur enclosing the shaft for most of its length.

The man stayed seated on a low stool at the bar. The bar was low enough to cater to those patrons of the Kennel Club who wished to drink on all fours, and that made sitting uncomfortable for the man, but he had no wish to stand and mingle with any of the groups clustered about the room. He was dressed in street clothing and drinking out of a glass. Most of the other patrons standing at the bar were drinking from dog bowls and either partially or wholly dressed in dog costumes.

The bartender, who wore a beagle's head over a bare chest, had been snippy when the man had ordered a club soda, no ice, "in a glass." He had no intention of drinking the soda. The place was filthy, and he doubted that the bartender had washed his hands, let alone washed them thoroughly. Who knew what the disgusting man had touched? The drink was merely an excuse for sitting at the bar. When the beagle had delivered the club soda, he had snidely remarked, "Club soda in a glass for the walker." The man knew from previous visits that "walker" was an insult. It meant someone not wearing a dog costume, someone who got off on being the human "owner" of a "dog." The doorman—a pit bull—usually kept walkers from coming in the club, but he had been open to persuasion.

He felt for the aerosol spray cylinder in his right pants pocket. It contained the newest version of the drug, the one that they were so excited about. The tube was small enough to conceal in the palm of his hand, and in the darkly lit bar, it would be the work of a few seconds to spray the beagle too. A few seconds later, the dog would do whatever he ordered. What would amuse the patrons of the Kennel Club, who went to such lengths to free their inner canine? As the man watched, the bartender walked to the end of the aisle behind the bar and bent over to retrieve a bottle from a lower shelf. The bartender was wearing a pair of revealing fur briefs that had been adapted to mold itself to his cock and balls. Perhaps he should suggest to the bartender to come prepared tomorrow night. Around midnight, when the crowd became its usual drunken mob, the cur would leap onto the bar, take out the sharp knife he had brought, and fix himself. Would that prove too realistic for the patrons of the Kennel Club? Perhaps it might start a fad. This group had so little imagination.

A raucous shout drew the man's attention away his contemplation of the revenge he would take on the bartender. A low, white picket fence made of some sort of preformed soft plastic surrounded the center part of the main room of the Kennel Club. The "play pen" was covered in fake plastic grass, transformed into an unnatural green color by the bright overhead spots. The floor of the play pen had been contoured so that it sloped toward several drains in the floor to make cleanup easy. Three fake tree trunks extending almost to the ceiling of the club were spaced around what looked to be a genuine fire hydrant. It was still early in the evening. Later, the play pen would be packed with drunks. At the moment, there were only two dogs sniffing around the trees and the fire hydrant. One of them lifted a leg and peed on a tree to mark his territory. A thick stream of urine splashed down the trunk and spread in a widening puddle across the floor. The crowd cheered. The other dog bounded over to investigate and soon lifted his own leg. The man turned away in disgust. The fur on the dogs' paws was sodden with piss. He resolved to reject anyone who entered the play pen.

Another dog stepped up to the bar, blocking the man's line of sight to the play pen. The newcomer was dressed like a greyhound. He was thin enough to get away being that breed. The head of his costume concealed his human head completely. The eyeholes were covered with realistic looking plastic eyes, but the plastic was clear enough that the movements of the man's pupils were visible and seemed to be movements of the dog's eyes. A long snout concealed the man's mouth deep within the "throat," and the dog's jaws were worked by movements of the man's jaw. The dog wore a thick collar. Attached to the collar was a chain. The dog offered the leather loop at the end of the chain to the man.

It was an invitation.

The man lifted the metal disk attached to the front center of the collar and read it. "David," he said. "Are you a good little doggie, David?" The dog nodded its head and yipped softly. The man scratched the dog behind its ears. He slid the leather loop over his hand. "You're going to be a very good doggie tonight, aren't you, David." It wasn't a question. He signaled the bartender. "Bring a bowl of water for my dog." In the lexicon of the Kennel Club, "water" meant beer.

The man didn't use the drug that night. David's elaborate costume had to have cost a fair sum of money. That argued that David had an income, either from a job or his parents. In turn, that meant David was connected. He would quickly be missed if he simply disappeared. In all likelihood, it wasn't David's first visit to the Kennel Club. He was known. Not only that, others had seen him at the club tonight and would remember his departure with the man. The man acknowledged that his own appearance had been noted. If asked, some of the Kennel Club's patrons might be able to describe him well enough for the police to trace him. No, David couldn't just disappear, at least not immediately. Besides he needed to check David out before he made up his mind. Sometimes, a costume concealed a lot of flaws.

He had quickly tired of standing at the bar. He let David pretend to lap up some of the beer in the bowl. The long nose on the costume meant that David needed to use a straw to drink liquids. The man was happy to note that David refused to do that. He was indeed being a good doggie. "Come on, let's get out of here." He tugged on David's leash and pulled him out of the club. They had to make a stop in the locker room. David was one of those who arrived at the club in street clothes and changed into his dog costume there. The man refused to let David change. His van was parked down the street. David could walk a couple of blocks in costume. In this neighborhood that would not be thought strange. Even so, there were a couple of catcalls. Some drunken weirdo who thought he was being funny barked. When the man unlocked the back doors of the van, David hopped up into it. He found the rug and curled up on it.

The man drove carefully to the spare townhouse that he owned. Sometimes he needed a neutral space in which to pursue his recreations. The townhouse was too small for his comfort, but large enough for a play pen of his own. Also, it had one feature that recommended it for the times he was trying out a new toy. It had a garage in the back that opened directly into the kitchen. He drove the van into the space and lowered the garage door before letting David out. No one would know David was there. Later, after they were finished, he would have David change into his street clothes and then take him away. David was in the rear of the van when they arrived and had no idea where they were. When they left, the man could ensure that David forgot the location of the townhouse if necessary.

The man led David through the kitchen into the living room. It would do for his purposes tonight. "Can I get you something to drink?"

The David dog shook its head. "May I say just a few things?" The voice was muffled by the headpiece of his costume.

The man nodded his assent.

"I've used self-hypnosis to help me be a dog. My trigger is `good boy.' If you say that to me, then I behave more like a dog. If that's what you like. I can also be more human if you want that."

"Good boy," said the man. He poured himself a drink and then sat down on the sofa. He motioned for David to sit at his feet. "Such a good boy," he said as he stroked the back of David's neck. David sighed in contentment.

David proved to be a very good boy indeed. A very obedient, well-trained doggie. When the man finished amusing himself with his new pet, David changed out of his costume. The man was elated to find that David's body was smooth and hairless. Out of the suit he was even thinner than the man thought. David was perfect. In the afterglow of sex, David had been only too happy to chat about himself. He was a business major at City University, lived in a dorm even though his family had a home in Brooklyn, and didn't have a lot of friends, at least none who shared his "interests." He had "really enjoyed" his time with the man, and he wanted to come back. His last class on Friday ended at 2:00. He could meet up shortly after that, and he didn't have to be back to the dorm until Sunday morning. He couldn't stay longer because he did have to study. He was sorry about that. Come to think of it, if he stayed with the man on Saturday, he would have to check his phone and maybe call his family. He hoped the man wouldn't mind, but his family would worry if he was out of contact for too long. No, he wouldn't tell anyone about meeting the man. That would be their secret. He was so grateful. It had certainly been his lucky night, and he hoped his "new owner" felt the same way. It was so difficult to find a "human" who liked doggie play and was willing to go along with it. It was even more difficult to find someone "as good at it as you, Sir." He smiled shyly when he said that.

The man patted him on the head and said, "Good boy. Doggies should be obsequious." They both laughed.

The man arranged to meet David at 2:30 at the Western Avenue entrance to the subway. That was far enough away from the university and David's usual haunts that no one would recognize him or remember him getting into a white van. David's training could start in a week. He would show them what he could do with the right raw material now that the drug was ready for more extensive testing than their protocols envisioned.

"Hi, I'm Mark, Mark Simmons. Mr. Foster told me to report."

"Yes, come in, come in. We've been expecting you. I'm Jason Wolfe. And this is Alan. I'm his PA."

Alan was seated on an easy chair in one corner of the room. He was dressed casually in worn jeans and a dark green knit polo shirt. He held a glass of whiskey in his right hand. When Jason introduced him, he lifted it slightly and tilted it toward Mark in greeting. He eyed Mark critically. Other than to note his presence, however, Mark paid no attention to him. His focus was on Jason.

The blue crystal hung from a slender silver chain around Jason's neck. It was all he wore. Jason was well over six feet tall, and the crystal was level with Mark's eyes. The glass had been molded into the shape of a cock. Jason's pecs bulged outward above his abdomen. The chain followed the contours of his neck and swollen pecs, and the crystal swung free in the deep channel down the center of his upper chest. Mark had a sudden urge to bury his face between Jason's pecs.

"Let's start by getting you comfortable. Why don't you take those clothes off?" As instructed, Mark wore only a tee and shorts. Jason grasped Mark's T-shirt by the bottom hem and pulled it over his head. He slipped his hands inside the shirt and quickly reversed it so that it was right side out again. He folded it neatly and then placed it on a nearby chair.

"That's lesson one. When you undress, dispose of your clothes in a manner that suits the person you're with. Look around you. Alan likes things to be neat. I keep his house that way because that's the way he likes it. It would bother him if you tossed your clothes onto the floor. Other men might find that too prissy and fussy and passionless. They want you to rip your clothes off and drop them heedlessly to the floor. They want you to be in such a rush that you don't take the time to be neat. Still other men want a striptease. They want you to be fully clothed and then slowly disrobe, allowing them to enjoy each new exposure of your body. We'll cover all these methods later. Being a good lover is all about satisfying the person you're with, and that includes such small matters as the way you reveal your body to him. Now continue undressing yourself."

Mark unbuttoned his shorts and unzipped. He stepped out of them and them folded them in half lengthwise and set them on top of his T-shirt. He unlaced his shoes and then aligned them neatly under the chair. His removed his socks and placed one above the other, folded them, and then set them atop his shorts. Finally he removed his briefs, folded them into a small square and added them to the pile of his clothes.

"Excellent. Now, walk around the room. Display yourself to Alan. Let him enjoy your body visually. No, not like that. Like this. Be open to what's going to happen. Just let your partner look at you. He will decide what he wants to do with you. You will become what he wants. But in order to decide that, he needs to observe you. Once you become a PA, you will learn your patron's preferences. But at first you must be ready for anything. You must be a blank slate for his desires. Never impose yourself on those desires. Now, try again."

Mark gazed at the blue crystal hanging on Jason's chest. His mind became blank. He was there to learn how to serve sexually. Mr. Foster had explained it to him. Jason was an expert on sex, and he would train Mark daily until Mark had mastered the art.

Jeff had assured him that he would find the lessons "pleasant." "Sublime really. Kenneth once rewarded me by giving me a day with Jason. It left me satisfied for weeks. And you soon get used to Alan being there. He likes to watch. He never says anything or does anything. He just sits there and takes it all in."

Jason observed Mark for another minute and then jotted down some notes. "That's fine for now. We'll return to this later. Now, today's lesson is on orally pleasing your patron. For the next few hours, I'm going to be the patron, and I'll be the top today. . . ."

Chapter 6

"What do you think?" asked Jeff.

"His progress has been so quick. It's been what—four months? We've never had a trainee become a unit this fast. You know what I think? I suspect that Mark has always been attracted to obedience and submission. All we've done is to help him along a path he was already following." Really, Foster assured himself, he was only guiding Mark where Mark wanted to go. "Mark's a born unit. It's his destiny. All we've had to do was to release the inner submissive." He had done the young man a favor.

Kenneth Foster watched Mark through the two-way mirror as he went through his daily exercise routine with Joe. Mark hung from a bar by straps attached to his ankles and shoes. His hands behind his head, his abs contracted, pulling his torso effortlessly up. As his head rose to meet his feet, Mark rotated his arms and shoulders to the left so that his right elbow touched his left foot. "His body is just perfect. It's just what I was hoping for. Have you seen the way he looks in street clothes? It doesn't matter what he wears. You just have to look at him to know that there's a great body beneath whatever's he wearing. And Erik's outdone himself this time. He's found the perfect look for Mark. Mark can go from formal to wild in a quick change of dress. And that haircut—who would have thought he could look both so elegant and so sexy at the same time? Plus Mark's manners are perfect now. You'd think he had been born to this. Rewards all around. You too, Jeff. Don't forget yourself."

Jeff chuckled. "Do you know what Alan told me the other day? He said that he looks forward to Jason's sessions with Mark. He thinks Mark's the best trainee Jason's ever had. In fact, he said he's thinking of leasing Mark so that he can watch the two of them whenever he wants. He doesn't want to lose Mark."

"No, that won't do at all. Alan might be able to afford to lease another unit, but we don't want him to have his own private sex show available whenever he's in the mood to watch. We'll need Jason to train other units in the future, and Alan might not look forward to watching Jason at work if Jason has a permanent partner. You'll need to make him forget Mark as soon as Mark's training is over."

"Yes, Kenneth. I will do that." Jeff made a note. "How much longer do you think Mark needs to meet with Jason and Erik? The twins are ready to start with both of them."

"Erik's finished. Ask Jason if there's anything else he needs to teach Mark. He'll probably come up with a list. He always does. I'll take a look at his suggestions and then decide. Jason's such a perfectionist that he's never satisfied, but I suspect Mark's patron won't know the difference. Of course, I'll continue my daily sessions with Mark up until the time he's leased."

Mark's training was going so well, thought Kenneth Foster, especially the daily training session using hypnosis. Mark now fell into a deep trance whenever he saw a blue crystal. It had been so easy to condition him to experience pleasure in submission and obedience. Mark had long since lost all ability to resist. In fact, his strong desire to obey and submit was behind his full conversion to unit status. Mark did whatever he was told. His body and mind were totally controllable. He experienced so much pleasure from obedience and submission that disobedience and resistance were literally unthinkable for him.

Under Foster's guidance, the concept of the "patron" was assuming an overriding importance in Mark's mind. For Mark, pleasing the patron, obeying the patron, catering to the patron, was his only purpose. Pleasing the patron was his only source of pleasure.

"Mr. Ange, Mr. Simmons," Jerome Olsen, the doorman at 457 by the Park, briefly touched the visor of his cap. "Will you need a cab today?"

"Thanks. Yes, we will." Jeff Ange handed Jerome a small folded packet.

Jerome didn't have to look to know that it was a two-dollar tip. Mr. Ange always gave him two dollar bills folded into a neat rectangle just for stepping to the curb and blowing his whistle and waving down a cab. That was in addition to the generous year-end bonus the company that owned 16C gave him every year. A lot of the tenants thought the year-end bonus covered all services for the year. It didn't. But then Mr. Ange was such a polite young man. And he didn't even live in the building. He just took care of the young men and women temporarily in town for training who stayed in 16C.

The temporary tenants were always polite and well-spoken too. And so well-groomed. Nothing flashy, mind. Conservative good taste. They were a pleasure to look at and to deal with. Always asked after his health and wished him good morning or good afternoon. Not like so many young people these days.

Mr. Simmons thanked him for opening the cab door as he slid across the seat to let Mr. Ange in. Mr. Ange gave him one of his big smiles and said, "Take care, Jerome." Lord, that man had a beautiful smile. It made you happy just to be around him.

"I trust that Roger has seen to your needs," said Robert Dennis.

"Admirably. I'm quite jealous. Your PA is so efficient. And so easy on the eyes."

"Yes, he is that. And excellent in bed as well."

"I was wondering about that. Now I am jealous. How did you find him?"

"Oh, I lease him from a company that specializes in providing trained, full-service personal assistants. They guarantee satisfaction. I can't tell you the name of the company. By the terms of my contract for Roger's services, I'm not allowed to do that. The people in charge insist on absolute secrecy. They are very discreet. However, I can arrange to put you in touch with them if you're interested. If you meet their requirements, they'll get in touch."

"I'm intrigued. Tell me more."

Albert Cooper had spent nearly fifty years of his life working in construction. He had begun right out of high school, at age eighteen. His uncle was a contractor and had taken him on and trained him. He had worked his way up to head foreman before the old man retired. None of his cousins had wanted the business, which didn't of course mean that they didn't want the money he earned for them. Parasites, all four of them, feeding off his hard work. He still chuckled over the dismay in their eyes when he told them he was retiring. No one else would work on the terms they proposed, and they had to declare bankruptcy a few months later. He didn't care. He had prospered under his uncle, and he had repaid him with hard work. But he didn't owe his lousy cousins anything.

It had been a hard life, long hours starting early in the morning, but he had enjoyed it. He liked working with his hands, and he was good at it. He had been retired now for eight years, but he still woke up at 4:30 every morning, ready to go to work. He couldn't break the habit. His wife had given up on trying to get him to stay up later and sleep in mornings. But he couldn't. Besides Pooch wanted her early morning walk. She lay patiently on her rug in the corner of their bedroom all night, but the moment Al got up, she wanted to go out. She barely tolerated his own visit to the bathroom and begrudged every second he took to get dressed. Not that she barked. She was too well trained for that. But her eyes tracked every movement he made. She especially hated winter mornings like today when it took Al so long to get dressed to go out. When he finally picked up her leash, she turned in a tight circle two or three times, wagging her tail furiously and chuffing softly in impatience. She would barely sit still when he clipped the leash to her collar, and she surged out the storm door as soon as he opened it and rushed down the front stoop to sniff at the gateposts that bordered the sidewalk leading to their house.

They had a regular route. Every day Pooch took inventory of the same tree trunks, bushes, light poles, fire hydrants. Each had to be assessed. But she came into her own when they reached Garfield Park. The park wasn't large—a block wide and four blocks long. At one end there was a children's play area with swings and a slide. It was fenced, and signs asked people not to walk their dogs inside. Pooch disdained the play area. It held no interest for her. For her, the park's attractions lay along the walking paths that crisscrossed it. She knew every inch of those paths, and in all but the worst weather, she led Al along each path every day.

Occasionally during the summer when it got light before 5:00, Al and Pooch would encounter an early morning jogger. And by 6:00, they would begin running into other dogs and their walkers. But in late February when the snow still lingered in shaded spots and the park was lit only by streetlights, it was deserted. Al didn't expect to see anyone—not that he worried about his safety. Garfield Park, thank god, was safe. The neighborhood watch kept a close eye on it, and any suspicious behavior led to a call to the police. Drugs had been a problem in the 1980s, but vigilance had eliminated them.

That's why Al's mind didn't register the person sitting on the park bench as a human at first. He thought someone had built a snowman and sculpted it to look like a man. He had to give the guy who had made it credit. If it weren't so white, you'd almost think it was a real person. He pulled out his phone and was starting to take a picture to show to Marge when Pooch started growling. She placed herself between Al and the figure on the bench and tried to push him back, away from the figure. "Down, girl, behave yourself," Al said in soothing tones. He petted Pooch on the head. "Nothing to worry about. Just a snowman."

He took a few steps forward to get a closer look. It took him several seconds to mentally switch gears and realize that he wasn't looking at a snowman, but at a naked man, a young man, almost a boy, maybe eighteen, nineteen at most. Something was wrong with the guy's arms and legs. They were bent at odd angles and swollen, pulpy looking. What he had thought were shadows were bruises. He almost dropped his phone when he called 911, his hands were shaking so much. When the operator asked him to check to see if the young man were alive, he cautiously touched the man's body. It was cold. "I think he's dead," he reported. "He's not breathing."

"Please stay on the line, Sir. A patrol car is on its way. The officers will want to talk with you."

The operator continued asking him questions. When she learned that Al was older, she asked if she should send the EMS, just to check on him. As Al later told Marge, "She was real nice to me. She kept talking to me until the police arrived." The first cops had been nice too. One of them had led him and Pooch back to their patrol car so that they didn't have to wait in the cold until the detectives arrived. The cop liked dogs, and he and Al had had a good discussion about them. The cop had even poured him a cup of coffee from his thermos. It didn't have any cream and sugar in it, but, what the hell, beggars can't be choosers.

The detective who showed up later wasn't so nice. Al could tell that Pooch didn't like him, and she was never wrong about people. The detective seemed to suspect Al of having something to do with the kid's death. He had shown Al some pictures of the dead guy that he had taken with his phone so that Al could take a close-up look and maybe identify the guy. The detective had seemed almost angry when Al said that he had never seen the kid before. He had assured the detective that the kid wasn't from the neighborhood. As he told the detective, any kid who sat out in the cold all night without any clothes—well, he had to be some sort of junkie, didn't he? Probably on this crystal meth stuff the news was full of. So out of his mind that he thought he was in Florida and took his clothes off to get a tan. He must have wandered into the neighborhood and fallen down and hurt himself. That was how he got all those bruises. Then he sat down on the bench to rest and froze to death. It wasn't until that afternoon when another detective, a women this time, Sergeant Trent or something like that, arrived to interview Al again that Al learned that the kid had been murdered.

"He's been posed. Whoever did this wanted to display the body. It's a statement. I didn't see any needle marks. So he wasn't a regular user, at least not of drugs you inject." The crime scene officer looked up from where he knelt beside the body.

Lieutenant Matteo Dell'uomo nodded his head. The body had been posed. There were many places to hide a dead body. Someone had wanted this body found, and found in this way. It was a public statement. The murderer had been proud of his work. He had arranged the body almost like it was a work of art. Like one of those white plaster statues seated on a park bench—well, they probably weren't made out of plaster. Plaster wouldn't do well in wet weather. Plastic maybe. He would have to find out. Maybe a crazed artist had graduated from imitation bodies to real ones. Unlikely though. Still it had to be checked out.

And it was too soon to assume that the victim was a junkie, but he didn't bother to point that out. They would know soon enough, and nine times out of ten drugs or alcohol were involved in the death of someone this young. The CSO was just stating the probabilities. The coroner's assistant had finished the initial processing of the man on the bench and declared him dead. From the various indicators, lividity, rigor mortis, liver temperature, he had concluded that the man had died over forty-eight hours earlier and been killed elsewhere and then transported to the scene. He thought the broken limbs and some of the bruises were perimortem. Others looked antemortem, but the autopsy would reveal more. At a guess, he would say that the cause of death was major blunt force trauma.

One of the crime scene investigators was busy photographing the body before it was moved. There was little Dell'uomo could do here. He would have to wait for the reports to learn more, but he liked to see the corpse in place at all the murders assigned to his squad. His impressions weren't admissible in court, but they would form the basis of his actions over the next several hours. He asked Susan Trent to organize the questioning of the residents of the area. Perhaps they would get lucky and find a witness, but he wasn't holding his breath. A witness, a concerned witness, would have reported seeing the body being dumped. But maybe someone had heard something or seen a strange car. He had already sent the old man who discovered the body home. Susan could re-interview him later to see if he remembered more after he had had time to get over the initial shock and calm down.

One of the patrol cops who had been first on the scene came over. "Lieutenant, I've got the head of the neighborhood watch here. It was his turn to do the midnight patrol of the park last night. He's part of a three-man team. He says they `swept' the park around 12:15. They found a couple of kids—teenagers—smoking over on the swings and sent them home. He knows the kids' names. But that was all they found. There wasn't any dead body in the park then."

Dell'uomo sent Samuels over to talk to the man. Samuels would contact the kids and talk with them. All the preliminary work was under way. The two crime scene officers would search the immediate area. When the corpse reached the morgue, other techs would take the victim's fingerprints and collect trace evidence from the body. Someone in the coroner's office would take blood samples and send them for analysis. Perhaps they would get lucky and the victim's fingerprints would be on file. A quick identification would put them that much closer to finding out what had happened. If the victim was on drugs, they would soon learn what substances he had been abusing. The coroner assigned to the autopsy would contact Dell'uomo so that someone on the team investigating the murder could be present when the kid was cut open. The autopsy promised to be long one. Someone had tortured the young man before he died, and each blow and injury would have to be photographed and catalogued and analyzed.

Dell'uomo waited at the scene until the senior crime scene officer released the body for transport to the morgue. There wasn't anything more he could do at the scene. He trusted his officers. He could rely on them to do what needed to be done.

"His name is Gilbert Harper." Kenneth Foster handed the folder containing the reports on Harper to Jeff. "I've never met him, but I've seen his name in business journals and newspaper reports. He invests in start-ups. He has a good track record. Robert Dennis recommends him highly. He's known Harper for years and feels that he can be trusted. They see each other socially apparently, and Harper met Dennis's Roger and was impressed with the level of service."

"So he wants a unit of his own?"

"Dennis has been discreet. He's just hinted at our arrangements. He offered to make an introduction if Harper's interested, which Harper is. I'm not sure, however, that Harper is thinking in terms of units yet. He may just think that Roger is nothing more than a stellar personal assistant. He probably doesn't realize the type of training Roger has received."

"That's something I want to talk to you about. The clients aren't able to break their conditioning and mention us directly, but we depend on word-of-mouth to get new clients. I've been thinking about ways we can cut out the middleman and arrange for new clients to learn of us without risking blowback to us."

"We can talk about that later. I look forward to hearing your ideas, Jeff. I'm sure you'll come up with something we can implement. For now, however, we'll trust to our current arrangements. All contacts will go through Dennis until we've had a chance to make sure that Harper can be trusted. I want you to put together a video for Harper of the units that are available. Include Mark as well. He's almost ready now, and he'll certainly be ready by the time that Harper been prepared for interviews. Besides Mark, there's Will and Chase. Dennis isn't sure whether Harper is gay or bi. So maybe you'd better include Allison as well. Let's show him a full range of options. I'll have Dennis give the video to Harper. Harper won't know where it came from. Meanwhile, I'll have Michael run a financial check on him."

"Are you sure about including Chase? He's not too old?"

"No, I don't think so. Harper must be 60. Chase is what? 38? 39? It's a pity that his patron went bankrupt and we had to repossess him. I know that the client used him hard, but he's still got a lifetime of service in him. He'll look younger to Harper than he does to you." Kenneth Foster smiled wryly in Jeff. "Maybe Harper prefers someone a bit older. Some clients do. Not everyone shares your tastes in men."

The videotape that Jeff put together was attractively produced. It demonstrated the skills of all four units and showed them both dressed and undressed. Of course, given the quality of Sandman's units, the question Harper found himself considering was less a matter of "Do I want one of these?" and more "Which one do I want?" Harper had spent a lifetime acquiring at least one of everything people in the circles he frequented thought worth owning. By the time he finished viewing the tape, he felt a gnawing hunger in his gut. He wanted, he needed, he had to have one of these obedient, docile personal assistants trained to be totally devoted to its patron. He found the thought quite entrancing and utterly irresistible.

Harper viewed the tape several times, fast-forwarding through the section that featured the woman. It was difficult to make up his mind. Mark? Will? Chase? Each more than acceptable. Chase was so suave-looking, the sort of man that maitre d's rushed to greet and seat at a prominent table. The perfect companion for nights at the opera and symphony or art-gallery openings. Now, Will on the other hand was a bit of the rough. Suited more to be a chauffeur or the caretaker for the Hamptons house. Will would have his uses, but it would be hard to find a reason to have him around on all occasions. Then there was the delectable Mark. He looked so much like that boy at Harvard. Tony Williams. The one Harper had had such a crush on all those years ago. Be honest, Gil, he thought. It was more than a crush. It was a raging hard-on. A pity Tony hadn't been interested. And the body on Mark. Much better than Tony's. It would be like having the dream of youthful first love all over again, but this time with a happy ending. Watching Mark strut around in the buff—well, it made Harper want to lie down and spread his legs. Suave? Rough? The stuff that once his dreams were made of? So hard to choose.

Harper watched the video several more times.

"Dennis emailed me to say that Harper has decided on Mark. Michael assures me that the finances are in order. I'll get Dennis to send him the link to the questionnaire. By the time he finishes filling that out, we'll know if he's programmable. If he responds correctly, we'll set up an interview at the Albion. I'll get Mark ready. I want you to go over Harper's file and then analyze his responses to the questionnaire to make sure he's under control. If you need to see him before he meets Mark, we can arrange a preliminary interview so that you can work on him."

"The subliminals in the questionnaire should be enough. He already went into a trance while he was watching the video. He turned his laptop camera on when instructed to do so, and I watched him. He didn't take his eyes off the screen. The questionnaire will reinforce that conditioning."

"Still, safer to be sure, Jeff. I'll wait to hear from you and then make the necessary arrangements."

"The Albion? I was just there over the weekend. This company must be doing well if they can rent a suite at the Albion for a business meeting."

"Gil, this is a company you can trust. They're our sort of people. Just don't let me down. And be prepared. If they like you, they'll let you sample the merchandise." Dennis sniggered. It took Harper a few seconds to catch on, but he joined in the knowing laughter. An image of Mark and those smooth, luscious, golden thighs pushing his legs apart filled his mind.

"Mark's in the next room. We'll bring him out shortly. I do need to talk to you about a few things first." Kenneth Foster sat on a sofa in the living room of the suite at the Albion Hotel across from Gilbert Harper. Both men sat in relaxed postures. Jeff served Harper the single malt with one ice cube he had requested and then took up his position along the wall behind Foster.

Harper nodded patiently. The younger man had been waiting when he arrived. He had such a soft voice. Well, not soft. Pleasant. Warm. He thought he had heard the voice before, but he couldn't remember where. "Mr. Foster will be here in just a minute. Please have a seat. May I offer you a drink?" He hadn't expected to feel so comfortable and at ease. Given the nature of the transaction, he should have been a bit tense. He always got tense before a negotiation. He thought it gave him an edge. But today he felt so relaxed. So reassured. So calm. So safe.

"First, you may ask the unit—Mark—anything you like. He will answer all questions truthfully. I will demonstrate certain features of the unit and his training. He is presently clothed, but I will have him remove his clothes during the interview. We ask that you remain seated during this part of the interview. After it concludes, you will be allowed to inspect the unit more closely. Do you agree?"

"Yes. That's fine."

"Jeff, if you will bring Mark in. Let me begin by pointing out some of the features of this particular unit. Mark is fully capable of becoming a personal assistant or a mid-level employee in office or home. As you can see from this résumé, he majored in accounting in college and was previously employed at a bank. There are tax advantages if you pay Mark a salary that's deductible from your expenses, especially since you can recycle the income by having Mark purchase things you would otherwise buy yourself or by paying the monthly service fee from his own earnings. Mark is extremely low maintenance. He will make no demands on you. He expects no presents, no special favors. He has been conditioned to satisfy all demands of his patron immediately and without hesitation or protest. As you will see, he has excellent interpersonal skills and can function in a business or social setting. It is easy to account for Mark's presence in your life if he is an employee. Legally, of course, that is what every unit is. Our contract is an employment agreement. Sandman Personal Assistants is providing a trained PA and nothing more. Mark is, of course, an organic unit and requires food and exercise. The exercise is part of the monthly service fees. We maintain all units in top physical condition. Of course, you not only get a excellent employee but a highly trained sexual puppet."

Harper blushed at the mention of sexual puppetry. Kenneth Foster appeared not to notice. He did not pause in his recital of Mark's qualities. He had found that treating the sexual side of the units as nothing out of the ordinary during the interview with a prospective client helped the clients move past that potential source of unease.

"Mark, like all our units, has been trained to obey his patron in all respects. The patron has complete control over the unit's body and mind. If you lease Mark, we will program him to obey you, and only you. There are no limitations on the control you can exercise. Mark will do whatever you want. And he has been trained to observe you and anticipate your wishes and desires. In short, Mark will think only of pleasing his patron."

Later, Harper would marvel at his passivity. Usually he questioned job applicants aggressively, but Mark was so charming and articulate. He answered each of Harper's questions fully but never verbosely. He said only what needed to be said and was honest about the limits of his abilities and experience. He was deferential and respectful but not obsequious. No one Harper had ever interviewed pleased him more. And that was with his clothes on.

When Foster told Mark to undress, he did so without fuss or false modesty. Harper had thought Mark's body spectacular in the video, but the small screen hadn't done his body justice. In person, Mark was magnificent.

"May I?" Harper gestured Mark to move closer.

"Of course," said Kenneth Foster.

Mark's body was so firm. It was like touching hard rubber. The flesh gave slightly beneath his fingertips, but he could only compress it so far. "He's flawless."

"If you would like to examine Mark more intimately in private, Jeff and I will leave the two of you alone."

Harper couldn't speak. He nodded his head yes. He hoped his desire wasn't that naked.

"The bedroom is through that door. Mark is supplied with condoms. I hesitate to mention this, but for obvious reasons the unit can be tested only with both of you wearing condoms. If you will permit me a small joke, we can't risk an unwanted pregnancy. It would lower the unit's value. Jeff and I will wait in the lobby bar downstairs. When you have finished your examination and are ready to continue our discussions, Mark will call us."

When the two men left, Mark asked, "Would you like me to freshen your drink?"

Harper nodded. He watched as Mark turned around and walked over to the bar. Beautiful. The boy was absolutely beautiful. When Mark brought his drink back, Harper stood up and placed his right hand lightly on Mark's ass. "May I?" he asked.

"Of course."

"You have a beautiful body. You must work out."

"Daily," said Mark. He sat the glass down on the table and then turned his body into Harper's embrace, letting the older man draw him in. He wrapped his arms around Harper and then kissed him gently on the lips. Jason would have been proud of his pupil. Mark's entire mind was alert for signals from Harper that would tell him what to do next.

Harper slumped slightly in Mark's arms, letting Mark hold him up as his lips parted slightly. Mark's tongue insinuated itself into Harper's mouth. When it met no resistance, Mark slid it further in. Harper's lips closed around it in pleasure and he mewled softly. Mark probed further, a little more insistently, and Harper responded by rubbing his own tongue against Mark's. Mark allowed Harper to enjoy the sensation for several seconds before pulling back. "Perhaps we should go into the bedroom." He stroked the back of Harper's head and gazed into Harper's eyes. Harper's response was a mute nod.

In the bedroom, Mark slowly undressed Harper, treating each new revelation of Harper's body to a prolonged appreciation with his fingers and mouth. The older man grew more and more passive as Mark explored his body. In one part of his mind, Mark noted Harper's acceptance of his worship. Harper wanted to be touched; he didn't want to touch. Harper wanted to be the recipient, not the giver. That is what pleased him. Mark was there to please him. Mark became the giver of pleasure. Later, when he gently entered Harper, his patron moaned softly, biting back on the sound. "Don't worry," said Mark. No one can hear us." He didn't ask if he were hurting Harper. He knew he wasn't. He would never hurt Harper. He was there to please. "Just relax. Enjoy yourself."

Ninety minutes later, when Foster and Jeff were summoned back to the room, they found a very happy man. The exhausted but satiated Harper signed the contract to lease Mark. Within three days he would hand Foster a certified check for $1.5 million and take delivery of the unit. He barely attended to Foster's explanation that the contract specified that the client could return the unit after five years as a trade-in.

Jeff gave Harper an email link to a site explaining the programming of the units and their commands. "Before you take delivery, we will program Mark to think of you as his patron. We will also give you a blue crystal. Mark has been programmed to obey the person with the crystal. We suggest that keep it with you whenever Mark is present. In the morning when you dress for work, make sure that Mark sees you put it around your neck before you put your shirt on. That way he will know that you have the crystal. He doesn't have to see it all the time. He just has to know that you have it."

Foster did not mention that no client had ever taken advantage of the trade-in clause to return a unit. Sandman Personal Assistant's current list of clients was completely satisfied. Unfortunately in the early days, this was not always so. There were some clients who, without help, quickly became bored, even with perfection. Boredom can lead to temptation. A few clients could not resist the temptation to see how far the unit would go in complying with their demands. Since the units were programmed to obey completely, they disregarded their own welfare to satisfy the owner's wishes. Those owners who quickly tired of the unit and wanted something new were especially prone to mistreating the units.

One early unit was beaten so severely that Jeff became quite upset. He suggested that Sandman take steps to guarantee customer satisfaction. The video each potential client now received contained subliminal messages that began conditioning the customer to anticipate the joys of ownership and to treat the unit as a cherished possession. The online questionnaire each customer completed identified those who were susceptible to Foster's methods. Jeff used his demonstration of the unit's control device to hypnotize the client lightly and make him or her amenable to further suggestion. The website explaining the commands programmed into the units also trained the client further in the duties and responsibilities of ownership. And despite Foster's explicit warnings to the contrary, its clients always exposed themselves to the white noise machine that their unit listened to daily. The unit was programmed to make sure that this happened. The unit always took the white noise machine to its new home, where the owner enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep listening to the message of how happy he was to be with the unit and how completely satisfied he was. At regular follow-up sessions, Jeff checked on the state of the unit and the client and, as necessary, fine-tuned them.

Jeff swung the blue crystal before Harper's eyes. "Mark finds it very relaxing to watch the crystal swing back and forth. It puts him in a very receptive state of mind. The crystal has that effect on everyone. It empties your mind and opens your imagination." Jeff continued in that vein for several minutes until Harper's eyes closed. When Jeff suggested that he would be receptive to further sessions with the blue crystal, Harper nodded.