Peter Brnovich held the device, the result of his latest investment in the talents of the most beautiful and brilliant inventor imaginable. Anya Berglund, a Nordic refugee who he had helped escape a trapped life in mob-riddled Moscow, watched her benefactor flip the disk around his fingers like a magician's coin.
It contained her ultimate fabrication, a micro device that modulated the wearer's voice, opening the unaware listener to hyper-suggestion, a potentially valuable bonanza for a hand-picked, wealthy clientele. Those wealthy clients could be military leaders needing to manipulate friends or foes, police negotiators, or just narcissistic men intent on dominating their underlings. After hearing Anya's briefing, Peter had some other ideas.
Anya was a natural technology genius, the daughter of a Volvo electronics engineer, who was instrumental in the car maker's voice-activated vehicle controls. When her father had peddled the trade secrets to the Russians for cash, she was the daughter they kidnapped and held hostage, guaranteeing his continued loyalty. They had not understood her ingenious potential for mercantile profit, heedless to the engineer's objections and explanations. They didn't see that she had the instincts for micro-technology, just as her father did, but instead relegated her dynamic beauty and energy to their strip clubs and brothels.
Peter looked straight at his buxom scientist. The curvy blonde's big blue eyes rode above high Nordic cheekbones that gazed steadily at his face as his own gaze fell lower. The tight stretchy top emphasized rather than hid her big round boobs.
He remembered that chesty grandeur during nights filled with stupendous sex before a lust-smitten Peter had lured her away from her down-market stripper-prostitute gig in Russia. The politically connected mob that had and still did consider her their property was not pleased with the loss of sex trade profits when she fled to America with the junior mobster. But business was business and Peter, when confronted, had pledged to negotiate a suitable financial settlement for his quixotic lapse in judgment, but only after his street crime in America rose to proper fruition. Their patience was growing thin and he needed a faster source of money soon.
She had pilfered the basics from hacked research websites, micro-sized the components, and perfected the design. The mind-bending device was ready for a real-world beta test before continuing to limited fabrication and selective marketing.
His voice was falsetto stern; he couldn't be harsh with the babe that had disrupted his budding crime fortunes in their mother country and who continued to routinely mesmerize his mind and tantalize his balls with recurrent nighttime ecstasies.
"Better not let me find out you've used it on me to get my money."
Her English was functional but was still gruff with the native Swedish accent.
"That would be unethical, not my style. And, besides, in your words, I wouldn't let you find out. I prefer to live, warming your bed, not hiding in the shadows, avoiding your wrath as well as the Russian mob's."
She rose to help Peter attach the necklace chain to the pendent and fasten it around his muscular neck. Her big soft breasts pressed against his broad back and he smelled her perfume. She adjusted the fit and stepped away; he turned to face her, the disk resting near his larynx.
"Is it always active?"
He watched her expression take on a dismissive look as she chortled her reply.
"Of course not; I'm not stupid. Casual words could be misinterpreted and foster bad outcomes. No, you have to be purposeful and press it to your throat as you speak. The effect should last about an hour."
"I'll come back in a week to report."
She pressed herself to his chest and took a long kiss. His hands roamed her back, a pat and squeeze of her amazing ass. She held his gaze as she issued her warning, more like a plea.
"Stay out of trouble, my darling."
"Not likely" he chuckled.
His eyes drank in her blue eyes and he hugged her close. The effect percolated his libido. He was tempted to simply throw her down and fuck her there and then, soothing his building lust at the moment. It had been a week or more since they had last been intimate and she would not have resisted. But he had other urgent duties to attend to. He just pecked her cheek in parting and added a playful smack on her ass.
Peter exited the cluttered workroom, where the walls and counter spaces were covered with parts and pieces of doohickies and thingamabobs. She was always tinkering with some electro-mechanical brainstorm.
He walked the dingy back hallway to the dilapidated building's side exit and into a smelly service alley.
This was the most obscure and secluded place he could imagine for the brilliant scientist to work. She deserved a modern workspace in a respectable office building on a research campus. But this hole served to keep their laboratory secret and his faithful genius from the nosy prying eyes and ears of Moscow.
He had some spare time before he was needed at his next appointment, a business associate's family gathering. He drove along the beach road, at a slower pace than the highway. He was stopped frequently at the crosswalks, waiting for small parties to cross the lanes from the offside parking areas. Sexy middle-aged MILFs hustled excited toddlers toward the dunes and surf. Bikinied college coeds in pairs and trios carried their kits along for a day of sun and fun.
He wished he could have brought Anya along, whether for a day at the beach or as his plus-one guest at the barbeque. Anya in a bikini would be a welcome sight anywhere. But theirs was a furtive life until the debt with Moscow was settled.
Peter enjoyed the view from the confines of his sports car but it didn't present any opportunities to test the device. He spied a coffee shop up ahead, the Bikini Beach Café, and pulled in to get some joe and idle away a bit of the excess time on his hands.
He stood before the counter and scanned the menu board high on the back wall. A curvaceous blonde barista waited at the cash register. The uniform of the day, probably every day, was a tight cleavage-forming bikini. Her name tag attached to the left boob booster read 'Julie'.
"What can I get you today?"
"A cold brew decaf."
Her fingers danced on the touchscreen; the motion jiggled her tightly encased breasts. He tapped his plastic on the credit card reader. A paper receipt rolled out and she passed it down the line.
"Anything else I can get you today, mister?"
He looked her over. She was college-aged, bright blue-eyed, and full-bodied with just the right proportion of soft roundness, and toned muscle. His mind ran a scenario; she probably had sucked off the entire football team in turns, humming in pleasure like a cum hungry cock lover. This bodacious babe could be the first try of the device.
His finger pressed the medallion to his throat as he spoke.
"A blowjob would be nice."
Her happy continence never faded but he perceived a subtle difference in her expression. Her eyelids blinked and a smirk angled her plush red glossed lips. She seemed to be pondering some naughty thoughts as she glanced aside at her workmates, busily brewing and pouring beverages for the handful of other customers.
Judging that her absence would not go unnoticed, she announced her intentions.
"I'm going on break; be back in 20 minutes."
She motioned Peter to come around the counter and took his hand as she pulled him to the rear storeroom and closed the door, flicking the lock. She uncovered a stacked box and pushed him to sit. She dropped to her knees, eager to get at his cock. He watched her tits jiggle as she bustled with his fly.
Her fingers worked frantically as she swiftly opened his zipper and tunneled in for the prize. Her cherry lips captured his emergent knob and suctioned in half the shaft in one strong slurp.
