Hard Candy

Fuller glanced in his rear view mirror again. The expensive black Jaguar was still behind him, weaving through the waves of downtown cars like a shark. Fuller knew, he was the bait. He pulled his battered blue Chevy to the curb around the corner from Mazzio's Deli, and watched as the Jaguar glided to a stop behind him. Fuller marched to the rear of his car, and waited like a sentinel while Mr. Gerber exited the Jaguar.

They were an odd couple. Gerber was a handsome gray-haired business executive dressed in a custom made pin-stripped suit. He projected an image of wealth and success. Fuller appeared to be almost the exact opposite. He had dressed down for the occasion in old blue jeans, and a white sweatshirt with bright red letters printed on the front that said 'Stanford University'. This was the attire Fuller had chosen for his role as an unemployed, and disreputable chemistry professor.

Scanning the street for trouble, Fuller carefully popped open the trunks lid on the rusted Chevy. Keeping one hand on the lid to prevent it from flying open, he invited Mr. Gerber to peer inside at ten plastic milk jugs filled with water.

"Is that all?" complained Gerber with undisguised disappointment filling his voice.

"It's not what it seems," Fuller tried to assure him.

"It just looks like water. Pick a bottle," Fuller said. He almost added "any bottle", but caught himself just in time. He did not want to sound like a street hustler promoting a game of 3-Card Monty.

Mr. Gerber pointed to a bottle in the middle. Fuller unscrewed the cap, and made a big display of inserting a small plastic suction bulb into the jug of water and aspirating about 2 cc's of the fluid. Fuller transferred this liquid to a much smaller glass bottle, the size of his little finger, that had once contained clove oil.

"Just 5 drops," Fuller added in way of explanation.

"Is that enough?" questioned Gerber.

"It's good for 3 hours," Fuller re-assured him.

Fuller carefully screwed the cap down on the small clove oil bottle, and placed it in the right front pocket of his jeans. Mr. Gerber glanced skeptically at Fuller, and carefully stepped up onto the curb to avoid getting muddy water on his alligator shoes. Mr. Gerber was far from convinced.

"Let's go," said Fuller slamming the car trunk shut.

Standing at the corner, waiting for the traffic light to change, Fuller stepped back from the curb seconds before a white Lincoln Continental cut in close around the corner splashing dirty water onto Mr. Gerber's pants and shoes.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" yelled Gerber in anger at being sprayed.

Fuller and Gerber watched as the Continental pulled to the curb twenty feet away and the rear door swung open. At first all they could see was a pair of high heeled black shoes attached to a pair of long shapely legs that seemed to go on forever. Sensuously, a beautiful woman emerged, like a butterfly from its cocoon. She discreetly brushed her white business dress back down over her thighs.

Fuller, felt like a fortunate voyeur. It was a rare delight to witness a free reverse strip-tease by an elegant lady. The woman glanced in their direction and gave them both a look of disdain. Her white business dress was molded to the curves of her body. Shoulder- length black hair embraced a pixie doll face. Her red lips pursed together and her forehead wrinkled into a sneer of displeasure at their ogling her exit from the limousine.

In a gesture of disapproval, for their unwanted attention, she flipped her head around in a dismissive rejection and walked off in the opposite direction. Even walking away, their eyes remained riveted to the high-heeled wiggle of her shapely derriere. Her self-assured erect posture accentuated the wiggle with every footstep. She was one of those unapproachable women, with an attitude, who knew she was drop-dead gorgeous.

"I'd like to give that bitch a piece of my mind," muttered Gerber looking down at his expensive mud spattered shoes. "Some women are just born to be bitches, Gerber said.

"Come on," said Fuller urging him to cross the street, "We have more important things to do."

"Some women are born to be bitches," Gerber repeated, clinging to his anger like a mantra until they entered Mazzio's Deli.

They ordered coffee and croissants. The weather was pleasantly warm and sunny so they sat at one of the outside tables. A young tall girl with a blond ponytail served them. She had minor acne inflammation on her chin, but smiled in an attractive flirting way. Fuller guessed that Gerber would probably leave her a generous tip.

After taking a sip of coffee, Mr. Gerber began. "I need an absolute guarantee."

"I understand," said Fuller making a gesture of surrender by holding both his hands in the air as if he were being robbed at gunpoint.

"You'll have to convince me."

"I can do better than that."

"How?"

"I'll let you test it yourself."

"What do I do?"

"First, I need to explain that it's not an aphrodisiac."

"OK. So it doesn't drive women wild."

"Correct."

"That's disappointing."

"It's only an ego suppressant."

"What's that mean?"

"It means the person under the influence will obey any strongly worded commands given by others."

"Not just the person giving them the drug?"

"No. Anyone."

Mr. Gerber took a generous bite of his croissant followed by a sip of coffee, and mulled this over in his mind. He took a napkin, bent over and whipped off his shoes. No one would rush him into making premature decision. Fuller waited patiently. Mr. Gerber tossed the dirty napkin into an empty ash tray. His question for Fuller included his two favorite words, "power and control".

"So, it does give you the power to control women."

"Yes."

"But it doesn't create a Master-Slave Relationship."

Fuller answered the second half of this question carefully. He did not want to disappoint Mr. Gerber with too many realistic limitations.

"Technically, no. But if you arrange to be in isolation with the drug recipient, than you can manipulate the relationship in whatever way you want."

"If there are no outside influences, you mean?"

"Exactly," encouraged Fuller shaking his head vigorously in agreement.

While Fuller was agreeing with Mr. Gerber, the arrogant lady from the Lincoln Continental sat down several tables behind him. She crossed her long legs, slipping one of her high heeled shoes off so it dangled by the toe, and jiggled it impatiently while waiting for the waitress.

"What's the name of this drug?"

"It's a psychoactive Tri-Ethyl Acetilpolymotride."

"Yes, yes," said Gerber impatiently. "But what do you call it?"

"Hard Candy."

"Hard Candy?"

"Once you've used it, you'll realize the name fits."

"When can we test it?"

"Anytime you want."

"Isn't there a danger?"

"Not if I'm around to help you."

"How about right now?"

"We could test it on the waitress," offered Fuller.

"No."

Fuller frowned. He feigned disappointment, but relinquished control to Mr. Gerber. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, "Why not?"

"I have a better idea."

"What?"

"Remember that Lincoln Continental that splashed my shoes?"

"You mean that beautiful rich bitch in the white dress?"

"Yeah, that's the one. She is sitting several tables behind you."

Fuller moved to turn around but Mr. Gerber reached out with both hands to stop him. His eyes grew wide with alarm and he moved his head from side-to-side in a silent gesture of disapproval. He was like a kid at a candy counter who did not want anyone else looking at the piece of candy he was about to choose. The selfishness of the gesture was so transparent, Fuller almost laughed.

"No, don't look now," Mr. Gerber insisted lowering his voice into an exaggerated whisper.

Fuller stopped with a puzzled look on his face.

Mr. Gerber bent his head toward Fuller and gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Just tell me what to do."

Fuller pretended to be taken by surprise at Gerber's selection for a test case.

"Are you sure you want to test it on her?"

"Absolutely."

"But I don't think she likes you."

"Even better."

Fuller shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "OK, we need an opportunity to drop the drug in her drink."

Fuller removed a small, almost empty, clove bottle from his left hand jeans pocket and handed it to Gerber.

Gerber rolled the bottle between his thumb and forefinger staring intently at the bubble of fluid as if expecting a magic genie to appear.

"What's she doing?" Fuller whispered.

Mr. Gerber answered in a pig like squeal of excitement while Fuller silently wished he would return to whispering before he attracted unwanted attention.

"She took out her cell phone, and the waitress just delivered her order. She's shaking her phone like the battery is dead."

"All we need is a brief opportunity," Fuller reassured him.

"She's getting up and going inside to use the pay phone." Mr. Gerber unconsciously rubbed his hands together in nervous anticipation.

"OK, now's our chance," said Fuller.

Mr. Gerber hunched over the table in a huddle-like posture. "What do I do?" One of Mr. Gerber's knees accidentally bumped against Fuller's.

Fuller leaned back in his chair, breaking the knee contact, and confidently crossed his arms. "Drop the drug in her coffee."

"Now?"

"Now."

For a full minute, Mr. Gerber did nothing. Fuller waited patiently, not uncrossing his arms, chair tilted back. It was up to Gerber. Finally, he rose on unsteady feet. Fuller watched as he sauntered past the woman's empty table. He used his body to block the view from inside the Deli as he waved his hand over her coffee. It was all done in one swift motion. Without missing a step, Mr. Gerber walked past the table to a newspaper dispenser and bought the daily paper before returning to join Fuller.

"How long does it take?" Mr. Gerber asked even before sitting down. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He was pleased with his own pathetic performance.

"She has to drink the coffee first," Fuller answered wryly.

"Yes, but how long?" Gerber asked impatiently.

"Less than 5 minutes."

"That fast?"

"Yes."

Fuller picked up the newspaper, and moved his chair around so he could view the action while pretending to read. The woman returned to her table, took a bite of her croissants sandwich and sipped her coffee. Ten minutes later, she had finished eating, brushed the crumbs away, anchored her money with a salt shaker, and stood up to leave.

"It's time," urged Fuller, his voice filled with the knowledge of experience.

"What do I do?"

"Just walk over and invite her to join us."

"What if she refuses?"

"Just be insistent. Repeat your demands. Tell her she must."

Mr. Gerber looked uncertain. But Fuller urged him on. "You've already done the hard part. She has the drug in her system. Now you are in control. Relax."

Fuller stroked the reassuring hardness of the clove oil bottle in his right jean pocket while a nervous Mr. Gerber engaged the arrogant but beautiful woman in conversation. Within seconds, they both returned to Fuller's table. Mr. Gerber sat down, but the woman remained standing. Fuller frowned at Gerber. He was obviously inexperienced in Slave-Master Relationships.

"It's not polite to keep a lady standing," Fuller suggested.

Mr. Gerber caught the clue. "Sit down," he ordered.

The woman sat down, and immediately began protesting. "I really have to be going. I'm supposed to be meeting my husband."

"So you're married?" asked Gerber noticing her wedding ring.

"Yes. It was nice of you to invite me, but I really must leave." The woman half rose out of her chair.

"Stay seated," commanded Gerber. She sat back down with a puzzled expression on her face. For the first time, Mr. Gerber smiled at Fuller. "I think I'm going to like this."

"My husband is an ex-football player. He could smash you like a bug."

The woman's statement took Mr. Gerber by surprise, but Fuller helped smooth things over.

"If you shared the candy," Fuller began, "you could control two at once."

"Two women?" answered Mr. Gerber misunderstanding.

"I was thinking more in terms of a husband and wife."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"You could order the husband to prepare his wife for you. He could lift her dress, spread her legs, hold her arms. He would do whatever you wanted."

Fuller's comments ignited Mr. Gerber's imagination. "I could make her husband hold her while I fucked her?" Mr. Gerber shook his head in amazement. It seemed too incredible to be true.

"Are you talking about me?" the woman accused Mr. Gerber in a threatening tone of voice.

"Yes, my sweet."

"I'm not your sweet."

"Unbutton your blouse."

"It's not a blouse. It's a Jordach-Marcs Dress."

"Unbutton it," commanded Gerber.

The woman's hands brushed against her prominent breasts fiddling with the top button. Her breathing quickened. They could see nipple bumps where her breasts pushed against the tight fabric of her cream colored top. After undoing the top button, she paused.

"Keep going," insisted Mr. Gerber.

"But people will see me." The woman looked with dismay at people walking past on the sidewalk, but no one seemed to be returning her gaze.

"I want you to unbutton your dress," repeated Gerber in a slow measured voice emphasizing each word.

Time froze. This was the moment. Would she obey? Mr. Gerber nervously rubbed his hands together focusing so intently on the top of the woman's dress that he neither saw nor heard the waitress approach. As the women's fingers stroked the second button on her blouse, he could feel himself getting aroused. He was semi-hard when the waitress spoke.

"Is everything OK?"

Mr. Gerber almost jumped out of his seat in shock. He turned his head toward the waitress in anger.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine! Just leave us alone." He wiped a hand over his forehead before looking back at his slave woman. She was busy undoing the 5th button on her cream colored dress. A breeze blew open the top of her dress giving him a tantalizing glimpse of a lacy white bra. In a panic, Mr. Gerber yelled, "Stop!" She stopped, dropping her hands to the table with her eyes cast downward in shame. How much had the waitress seen? Mr. Gerber was uncertain. His heart pounded in fear at how quickly the situation could have gone bad. He would have to be much more careful. He was sitting outside in a downtown deli commanding a woman to undress. He had the power. She would strip naked in public if he forced her. The reality of the situation gripped Mr. Gerber. Hard Candy could be dangerous. Onlookers might mis-interrupt the situation and come to the woman's rescue. But the danger only made him harder. His member pulsed down inside of his leg like a puff viper. After a pause to steady the drum of his heart, Mr. Gerber decided to change tactics.

"Do you know what I'm doing?" asked Mr. Gerber.

"No," answered the woman raising her eyes to look at him.

"I'm stroking my cock beneath the table."

The woman looked at Mr. Gerber with an expression of shocked disbelief, and turned toward Fuller expecting him to do something. Fuller's face remained impassive, but silently he felt a wave of revulsion. This was disgusting. He never knew what to expect when he offered strangers their first taste of Hard Candy. He called it Hard Candy because of the way it opened up men's fantasies. The power to control women made men hard. Once they tasted its sweet rewards, they always wanted more. But he had expected better from this well dressed businessman. Why resort to masturbation when sex was available? Fuller waited, uncertain of how things would turn out.

"That's disgustingly immature," she shot back after Fuller had failed to register his disapproval.

Fuller loved her comeback, and almost smiled. Mr. Gerber was visibly stung by the force of her words, but quickly recovered.

"Can't I shut this bitch up?" he asked.

"Yes, but a whipped woman who doesn't scream is no fun," answered Fuller.

Fuller's sage advice almost sounded like a proverb. It was exactly what Mr. Gerber wanted. He wanted to degrade and humiliate this rich cunt in public. He wanted to hear her pain. Did it matter what she said as long as he controlled her actions? He would bend her to his own will until she begged for mercy. He nodded to Fuller in agreement before turning his head to renew his attack on the beautiful rich bitch.

"I'm going to share with you," Gerber hissed looking directly into the eyes of the bitch.

"Share what?" asked the woman.

"I'm stroking my cock beneath the table and I am going to squirt cream into my teaspoon," said Mr. Gerber moving his teaspoon under the table.

This time, the woman made no pretense of her expectation that Fuller put an end to this disgusting situation. She turned toward Fuller.

"Aren't you going to stop him?"

"No," answered Fuller, wondering if he was making the wrong decision.

They both watched in silence as Mr. Gerber's hands moved beneath the table. Mr. Gerber frowned at Fuller and with a look of intense concentration squirted cream into his spoon, dropping the paper half 'n half container to the ground. Carefully raising the spoon above the table Mr. Gerber offered it to the woman with a smile.

To Fuller's surprise the spoon was filled with a white liquid.

"Put the spoon in your mouth and swallow," demanded Gerber smiling broadly.

With a grimace of displeasure, the woman raised the spoon to her lips and shook her head slightly has if she had swallowed a bitter medicine.

"Lick the spoon off. Enjoy it." commanded Gerber.

Fuller watched the woman turn the spoon over and lick it as if it had been filled with ice cream, running her tongue around the spoon as her eyes filled with pleasure. Fuller admired Mr. Gerber's stunt. This had been an extreme test, but done discreetly in a public place. Maybe, it would all work out.

"Stop licking and hand me your panties," ordered Mr. Gerber.

The women's eyes grew large with alarm. Her mouth opened and closed in a silent scream like a fish out of water. This command had caught her completely off guard.

"I can't. I'm wearing pantyhose."

"Than take off your pantyhose."

Mr. Gerber could hardly contain his excitement. He was vibrating. He no longer cared if the waitress or other patrons in the deli saw the woman disrobe. They would not be able to touch him. He never laid a hand on the woman. She was stripping all by herself. Besides, he had Fuller as a witness. His hands were rubbing together faster than they ever were between his legs. Now, he really did appear to be masturbating. But he was not aware of how badly his movements looked. All his concern was focused on the woman in front of him who was obeying his commands.

The woman lifted up in her chair as if she were going to leave and appeared to be re-adjusting her dress. Sitting back down, she tugged at her pantyhose until it slipped past her thighs and down her legs. Bending over, as if to pick up a dropped napkin, the woman handed them to Mr. Gerber. One leg of her pantyhose almost fell into his coffee. Without thinking, he quickly brought the bundled pantyhose up to his nose and inhaled deeply savoring the intimate smell of the woman. A moment later, Mr. Gerber's face grew red with embarrassment for allowing Fuller to see him sniffing underwear. He looked up with uncertainty, but Fuller did not rebuke him.

"Put them in your pocket as a souvenir," suggested Fuller.

"I'm late. I need to meet my husband," complained the woman.

"We should let her go," agreed Fuller.

"No. I'm just getting started," insisted Gerber.

Fuller smiled benignly. It was just like taking toys away from a baby. Mr. Gerber must be at least fifty years old, and he still wanted to play. He had a new toy, and he did not want to give it up. Once they were hot and bothered, they wanted to keep playing forever. They just did not know when to stop. It was time to cool him down.