Cassie Meets Her Match
by Beca

Cassandra Jenks, impeccably outfitted in her Armani power suit, strode confidently into the hotel lobby. Everything from her clean short coif to her custom gold jewelry to the Pradas on her manicured feet boldly proclaimed BUSINESS. Ms. Jenks had an uncanny talent for closing deals. She received promotions more often than most people got raises, and had risen from Field Sales Rep to CEO in just a few short years. It was as if she had climbed the corporate ladder with a jetpack. Few suspected that said jetpack had been provided by the Devil.

For the usual price, the Devil had arranged for Ms. Jenks to be catapulted into a position of power. To aid her ascent, He had also given her extreme oral skills -- not to be confused with public speaking -- skills that would have put an Electrolux to shame.

"Good morning, Cassie," said the tall, dark man in a Men's Wearhouse suit, as he extended his hand. The hand belonged to Satyajit Kumar, President and Chief Technologist of a rival company.

"Good morning, Sandy," Cassie replied professionally, "Are you prepared to consummate the deal?"

"Absolutely," said Sandy, "that is, if you think you can handle me."

"Oh, I can handle you," she stated smugly. "You should be asking yourself whether you can handle me. Shall we adjourn to my suite, then?"

In multi-billion dollar transactions, there were almost always a few unrecorded terms. Sometimes it was money laundering, or fissile material, or perhaps the termination of certain individuals. This acquisition had a completely harmless condition: oral sex to be provided for a specified individual. Though the general public would have been shocked, this sort of thing barely elicited a yawn from Fortune 500 executives, many of whom were already members of the soul sellers' club. Routine stuff; business was business.

Cassie would normally have delegated the task to her PR liaison, except that Sandy had requested that the service be performed by Cassie, herself. Wise choice, she thought. No woman could match her. She knew that a few minutes hence, the man would probably be crying over the devastating realization that she would never do him again. This made her smile.

"They say you're the best fellatrix in the world," Sandy remarked, as they entered the suite, "And that you got your talent from the Devil."

"Of course," Cassie said, as she closed the door behind them. "You, too?" she asked offhandedly, as she extracted some kneepads from her oversized Gucci handbag. "Standard deal with the Devil, I mean?"

"Oh, certainly not!"

Without any further small talk, Cassie got into position and undid his slacks. Utterly average, she thought, What an ego, asking me whether I could handle him!

As she began, she felt neither attraction nor revulsion, but had to admit she always did get off on the control aspect. In spite of her physical posture, it was really she who was controlling him. She could play any man like a flute. And after the merger closed, she would discard this one like a used Kleenex.

"You've made a lot of acquisitions recently," Sandy mused. "In fact, the only way your company is making its numbers is by gutting other companies like mine."

Cassie was surprised by his odd remarks, but even more so by the fact that he could say anything at all. Most men lost the ability to speak by this point - that is, beyond incoherent moaning and gasping. She picked up the pace to shut him up.

"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?"