Mandi

eXtasy Books

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 64,961
1 Ratings (2.0)

The Fire Genie will burn you, but the Master Genie will chain your will.

Pharmaceutically driven sex and corporate power lift Mandi to the top. A secret mind control potency reduces her to sexual slavery. At the end of her rise and fall waits a man who offers understanding and organic sex.

Mandi
1 Ratings (2.0)

Mandi

eXtasy Books

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 64,961
1 Ratings (2.0)
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Cover Art by Martine Jardin
Excerpt

“Call her Mandi. With an i.” Alex pats me on the butt. I dip my head.

“Man-dee.” They giggle.

The seats are of the same superior leather as the interior of the Bentley. Eddie the driver follows us on board and peels off his jacket to show a black T shirt stretched tight over a buff torso, and a pistol in a shoulder holster. He takes the seat in the row opposite of us, nearest the door. His sunglasses stay on.

Michelle and Annette bring us ice water before they buckle into seats facing us. Their skirts barely cover their goodies. Where they sit gives them a view of mine. The plane starts to roll. Alex places his hand where his little finger can brush the shave line of my pubes. Michelle and Annette giggle. I sip ice water.

Alex says, “If you’re not enjoying this…”

“I’m ready.” I meet his eyes, and find there a display of his burning will to dominate. For now. Alex doesn’t miss my instant of rebellion. The only reaction I see in those intense eyes is a glint of amusement.

The plane finishes the climb to cruising altitude and levels. Alex withdraws his hand from the border of my cunt and says, “Ladies, please show Mandi the boudoir.” Michelle and Annette pop out of their seats with a perky display of their tight assets.

“Man-dee.” Michelle or Annette offers a small paper cup. It holds a pill.

“A stimulant developed by one of my pharmaceutical companies,” Alex explains. “Field trials have proven it safe and effective, and rather interesting. We’re filing for FDA approval next week.”

Michelle or Annette shakes an identical pill from a bottle and hands it to Alex. He pops it into his mouth and sips ice water.

“You vil like eet, Man-dee,” Annette or Michelle prompts. Alex makes a point of not watching. The pill is plain, round, yellow, and uncoated. It has a Y stamped on it, making it look like a pie chart with three sections. I swallow it and drink. Michelle or Annette extends a hand. I accept her warm clutch and rise from the seat. I’m slightly dizzy. The brush of my arm against the childish breasts of one of the women tingles my nipples. Alex pretends to return his interest to whatever he’s reading on his pad, but I can see the bulge in his fine slacks. I let Michelle and Annette lead me to a door in a mahogany bulkhead. If I hadn’t failed to suppress my iota of rebellion, would Alex be walking me down this aisle?

The bedroom barely accommodates an antique French bed. A pink silk coverlet is repeated overhead in a ceiling video panel. So there are cameras going, and recorders. Wall sconces drip beads of crystal. What looks like a genuine Renoir hangs above a photo of Alex Leed finishing a marathon. A narrow doorway opens on a bathroom with hardly space to stand between sink, shower, toilet, and bidet.

Michelle and Annette undress. Their lingerie is sexier than mine. Nipples show darkly through sheer bras. One of them hops onto the pink spread, cocks her head, smiles, and holds out her arms. The other turns a dimmer to lower the lights, and puts her hand in the small of my back to press me toward the bed. The room seems warm.

I’m facing my first major I quit test. If I walk out of this room, the plane will land, the Bentley will return me to Leed headquarters, Belle will cut my quarter million-dollar severance check, and I’ll be on the street.

Michelle or Annette encircles me from behind. Her fingers pluck the second button of my blouse. The soft pressure on my breasts sends a wave of heat down a cord from my nipples to my crotch. “S‘il vous plaît, Man-dee?”

“Yes. Oui.”

She undoes the buttons, slips off the blouse, unzips my skirt, and pushes it over my hips. Every brush and tug runs fire under my skin. The pharmaceutical has awakened a genie that swirls a pleasure torch through my brain. “Which one are you?” I gasp.

“Mee-chelle.” She giggles and slips my bra straps off my shoulders. “May I?”

“Oui.”

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