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2
"Isn't it true," he continued, "that all your major successes
were really other people's work, for which you cleverly stole the credit?"
Some guys liked to talk dirty. Cassie had been called any of a hundred "common" names while she was
doing someone. It meant nothing; she easily ignored it. But this guy was really starting to BUG her! Also, he
was too calm. She paused for a moment, waiting for him to beg her not to stop. When it became clear that this
was not going to happen, she broke the silence, herself.
"Now look," she demanded, "Are you SURE you're not in league with the Guy who gave me this talent?"
"Far from it; I have nothing to do with Him. Never have, never will."
"Then, is something deficient in my technique?"
"Not at all; your technique is flawless. Please continue."
Cassie suspected that as soon as she resumed, so would his inane diatribe. Fortunately, when she wanted, she could
make any guy pop in under two minutes, often in less than one. Her motivation was no longer to dominate, but simply
to get it over with, and get away - fast. She went down again, this time pulling out all the stops.
"...And isn't it true that you really have no leadership, no long term vision, and that your company has become
stagnant, even decadent, since you came on board?"
What annoyed her most was that the physiological arrangement precluded her making a rebuttal. This was the first
time in memory when she had felt anything at all during the act, and what she felt was supremely uncomfortable.
She distracted herself with the knowledge that in a short amount of time, she would own him.
"Here it comes," he warned.
Instead of pulling away, Cassie went down all the way, in a technique she had perfected long before the Devil's
gift. This allowed her to walk away without the least bit of evidence on her hair or expensive clothes. She never
had to do any time-wasting cleanup before the next meeting in her tightly-packed schedule.
Cassie's eyes widened with the emerging realization that she was not OK. Something was worrying her tonsils. She
backed off gingerly to avoid a mishap, but the tickle was still there. For her, it would be an admission of weakness
if, for the first time ever, she had to spit. She tried clearing her throat, lightly at first, but soon was engaged
in a wild, uncontrollable fit of coughing. She fought madly to relax and regain control. More than anything, she
despised being out of control. The coughs gradually subsided, but something was still wrong, deeper inside. She
hiccuped once. And again. Her stomach began to wrench and dry-heave violently.
NO! I am NOT getting sick! She said to herself. Not on my $3000 suit!
She tried to get up, but the walls started to sway. She had no choice but to fall onto her hands and knees, as
her stomach karaalbulated its entire contents into an irregular mess on the floor.
Cassie, still far from recomposed, managed to sputter, "Who... who are you, really?"
"Oh, you know me, or at least, you used to."
"That still doesn't help me."
"Haven't you heard, the Truth is hard to swallow?"
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