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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.
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