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Out of Control

Control stood by the window looking at the rain soaked street. For the hundredth time that day, he asked himself why he couldn't be more like his assigned name. But still he had no answer.

Oh yes, he was in control most of the time. Or he tried to think so. But not during what he called his rutting period. He usually didn't think about sex at all, much less of it as the animal act of procreation. He made a point of trying to channel all of his baser energies into his job. Double dealing and manipulating the situation gave him enough of those satisfying surges of intense pleasure - most of the time.

As for the physical and messy side of sex, every night before sleep he would stroke, squeeze and manipulate himself until he released. He forced himself to do it daily, alone in his bed or in his bathroom with the lights out. Although he checked his home everyday for hidden cameras and microphones, he knew he could never be too sure of ultimate privacy.

After all, he had been the one who had ordered that pictures be taken in a certain State Senator's private bathroom. The photos of the well-known Christian, family oriented man, jerking off to pictures of women with missing limbs was priceless. Even if Control thought what the Senator did was harmless, the guilt-ridden man had fallen over himself, agreeing to cooperate with the Company after the idea of releasing the very well detailed photographs to his home town was presented to him.

On the relatively rare occasion when Control felt the need, the overpowering urge, for the presence of another person to achieve that sexual release, he did what he did tonight. He got a hotel room under an assumed name and put in a special order for a companion with a discreet house, listing what he wanted the paid escort to look like, and the acts that he would want performed.

He always knew what special service he wanted each time. The variations on the theme of intercourse were well known to him. Hell, fifteen years in India and the Orient had taught him more than most people could imagine in their wildest dreams - or in their wildest nightmares.

Calling out for sex was dangerous. Although it left him open to anyone who cared to try extortion on him, he didn't care if his coworkers or his bosses knew about it. There were already so many false rumors about him in circulation that no one would pay much attention to such a boring thing as the truth. And if anyone listened to it, he could live with stares and smirks and embarrassed silences. That wouldn't bother him in the least. Anyway, it would only take a few phone calls on his part; a few faxes to the right people, and it would be hushed up.

No, if his secret came out, he only cared that he would be forced to face his untidy urges, and think about it for longer than he wanted. That might be too dangerous, too much of a strain on his already over tightly wound psyche.

He rubbed his forehead and thought. Maybe he should make himself cum twice daily? He had hoped that by this age he would be beyond the constant heaviness and tingling in his balls and penis that he couldn't escape, when these episodes of uncontrollable lust overtook him.

He put his hands deep into his pockets as he leaned on the windowsill, and heaved an impatient sigh. When the hell was his "guest" going to take the money and get out?

He tried to clear his throat. Damn, he always felt a lump of emotion clog his airway whenever he finished doing what he just did. Every time he had even a fleeting glimpse at what his life was really like, he felt filled with self-loathing, and self-pity.

Usually the overwhelming lust to feel another warm body against him was triggered by a fight with McCall. He had thought about it many times. The craving always started to build after an angry encounter with his oldest friend, but not every angry encounter would be followed up by the wave of fantasies that washed over him, making his head pound, his throat dry and his cock respond to even the slightest stimulation.

He shook his head angrily. That had to mean something, but he would rather that he didn't think about it too deeply. That way meant madness; he knew that to his very marrow. But still, he couldn't keep his mind from working on that idea so soon after the warmth and sensual sensations of...

Could it be that, for so many years as McCall's colleague, he had somehow slid into the role of sloppy seconds? Through all these years, with every woman McCall had bedded and deserted, Control had slipped between the sheets after he left. With every one of McCall's "great passions," Control had not only felt the need to comfort the abandoned and heartbroken women, but to posses and ultimately to bend them to his will and unusual sexual appetite.

Luckily, Control had always been in the position to make sure the women never saw McCall again. And as it worked out, Robert had thought himself lucky to have never run into any of his ex-lovers after he had finished with them.

Young, beautiful Manon Brevard had sobbed heartbreakingly against his chest after Robert left her pregnant and alone. Control had been the one to urge her to accept when Phillipe Marcel proposed marriage to her two months later. As Control remembered, he had just finished sodomizing her when he gave her that advice.

Phillipe had been a godsend. Talking the young police officer into proposing marriage to Manon had worked out perfectly, for Control had become bored with Manon and her pregnant body almost right away. To make sure she married Phillipe, Control had not only given the policeman a glowing endorsement, he had literally given the bride away on her wedding day.

And just a few years later, he had secreted Robert's cool and sophisticated Carla in a monastery in Germany after McCall had broken that love affair off. When Robert mentioned starting a search for her, Control had to think up something, so he told Robert that Carla had run away from him and her other lover, the hired assassin because she couldn't choose between them. He had solicitously implored Robert to leave the poor woman alone.

Then for a whole month, Control had played the concerned friend, visiting Carla every day. Which was all the time it took before she had begged him to restrain and mount her in that narrow monastery bed.

That affair lasted, what? Two months? Then, when he had tired of her, he introduced her to Holden and suggested that she could become the next shinning light of freedom to his country. It all worked out fine. Carla had helped Holden build a fair and democratic nation.

In 1970, Control had been the one to order McCall back home to his wife and son after he learned about his affair with Doctor Lauren Demeter in the Nigerian Civil War in Biafra. Under the guise of concerned friendship, Control had been able to thoroughly use and abuse the depressed Dr Demeter after Robert went home.

He had made Lauren think that she would find solace tending to his needs as another one of her soldiers. He had done such a good job of brainwashing her that after he left, Lauren became the owner of as sordid a reputation as any women he had ever known. Almost every soldier who passed through her camp had a damn good chance of having Lauren play doctor with him at least once.

And in '84, when Robert left Meredith to return to his job helping Astiz in South America, it had been Control who had stepped in to comfort the poor woman who had been through so much physical torture on her last assignment.

McCall's abandoning her had broken her spirit to such an extent, that it only took two months of Control's screwing her senseless while undermining her self respect, to get her to agree to sell other women's bodies for money.

And as for Kay, Robert's abandoned ex-wife, it had been a pitifully easy thing to snag her. What an emotional catastrophe Kay was! Control had used her hatred of Robert to spark the idea in her simple head that a sexual liaison with Robert's oldest friend would be a hard blow to her ex-husband.

Kay had embraced that idea to the max, and she had been the one who approached him to sleep with her. After their first time, Control had gently suggested that since Kay had been a virgin when she married, that it was possible Robert had left her because she was too staid and boring in bed. Kay had pleaded with Control to help her spread her wings - to help her expand her sexual experience.

Not only had he had taught her to do things that debased her, he also spent time doing things to her that most deviants wouldn't do to barnyard animals.

Control involuntarily shuddered to himself at the memory. Sometimes he even sickened and frightened himself.

After that last debauched and animalistic encounter, Kay had become so overwhelmed with shame and guilt that she had begged Control to swear that he would never mention it to anyone, ever.

Gentleman that he was, he had never breathed a word of their little adventure.

He heard someone moving behind him and he turned around quickly. The prostitute, tall, blonde and attractive, was fully dressed. Long slender fingers picked up the pile of cash Control had left on the table in one fluid motion.

"Etait tout à votre aimer? Était-ce satisfaisant?" The voice was smoky and smooth, like aged whisky.

"Yes, everything was fine," Control answered and curtly pointed to the door.

As he heard the tumblers of the lock click, Control realized that the prostitute he had ordered, that had fulfilled his violent hunger for coloring and body type, looked just like - McCall's children - the same children that McCall had abandoned for so many years!

Control snorted with amusement as he picked up his coat from the back of the chair and made to leave the room himself.

Well, well. At least he was true to form.

 

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