You are already forming a plan, but to enact it, you'll need a bit of cash first. At a word from you, Lily grabs the keys for the swim team's extra-large school van, and everyone piles in, with Lily driving and you riding shotgun.
Lily looks over to you as the girls resume making out, and asks again, "So where to?"
"Drive us to the rich part of town, I need some money first."
With a shrug, she drives you up there, and begins cruising for victims. It isn't long before you spot your prey, an older guy in a cherry-red convertible costing more than your house, with a trophy bimbo half his age hanging off his shoulder, giggling at him.
You stop beside him and call out, "I was looking for you! I have a business proposition for you! Why don't we go someplace private to discuss it!"
He looks perplexed, but drives to a public parking lot, with you following close behind. He parks and gets out of the car, giving you a stormy look.
"Okay," he says, "I'm listening. You have five minutes."
You give him a sly look. "Does your wife know about that slut in your car?"
He looks pained, and says, "No...she doesn't. And you don't know shit about how to sell yourself, son. You have thirty seconds now."
"In thirty seconds? Hardass. What if I told you I could make her okay with your mistress...and any other women you'd want to bang?"
Not a muscle twitches on his face. "I'd say that you are either a fool or a liar, and demand proof. Without calling my wife."
Another lazy grin. "Anything your girl there would never do?"
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. You want to humiliate yourself? Go ahead. Walk up to her and demand her panties. If you come back with them in your hand, I'm buying your ridiculous story. If not, I am having you arrested for your own good."
Your grin threatens to crack your face as you walk over to her.
"Hey, you there," you say, "You trust me completely and want to hand your panties to me, right now."
She gives you a slow smile and wiggles her panties down her thighs, handing them to you. A red silk G-string...very nice.
You walk over to the older man, waving the panties like a flag. His face is an amusing study, going from stoic, to slack-jawed disbelief, to purple embarrassment, to cold calculation.
"So," you say, casually, "I can reprogram your wife and any woman you want, any way you want, for a fee. $200,000, per woman, per session. Cash, up front, if you'd be so kind. However, you can't tell anyone without my permission, or otherwise allow my privacy to be compromised."
You feel your power taking hold at that last suggestion, and he wordlessly calls someone.
As they pick up, he says, "Jerry? This is Jonathan. I want to arrange a withdrawal. $400,000, cash. How long will that take you? I see. Thank you."
He turns to you. "That will take an hour to arrange. I assume you want it delivered in a briefcase, per the common cliche?"
At least the guy has a sense of humor. "A sack would be acceptable as well, actually."
His jaw clenches slightly, obviously annoyed at someone half his age taking such a superior tone with him, but he otherwise ignores it.
You have an hour to kill, though...how shall you spend it? |