The neighbors daughter

Organization: Sachdeva family

Old rule: Mr. and Mrs. Sachdeva spend their summers in India, leaving their daughter, Aalia, all alone.

You pull up to your address and have trouble comprehending what you see. Your house is an enormous, white monstrosity with Grecian style pillars out front. Now why on earth would I... oh, of course. My ex-wife. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder if the rule about your wealth also cancelled your divorce, then you remember that even if it did, you have the power to correct it.

So, how to best take advantage of this book? You’ve always enjoyed women in humiliating, even degrading situations. But if you want to fulfill that fantasy with Aalia, you can’t just write a rule that makes her want to fuck you.

So, you think, What rules will be most effective?

Organization: Sachdeva family

New rule: The Sachdeva family is in immediate financial disaster, in addition to Mr. and Mrs. Sachdeva being stuck in India.

Now, how to guarantee it's you Aalia goes to for help?

Old rule: The Sachdeva family has no relatives or friends (besides myself) capable of helping.

Old rule: Aalia's parents trust me implicitly, even though Aalia herself feels exactly the same about me as she always has.

You get out of your beautiful BMW and enter your ostentatious house. Looks like an asylum, you think, when you see the white tiles, the white walls, the white furniture. The house will have to be changed, but there are other things to take care of before Aalia inevitably arrives.

Organization: Me.

New rule: Unlike most men, I am not limited to a single orgasm before I need a break. My orgasms are limited only by my enjoyment of the situation.

New rule: Each of my orgasms produce a cup of semen.

New rule: I have a nine inch cock.

That last one produces an uncomfortable ache in your groin. You pull the waistline of your (wow, very nice) slacks. Your cock has definitely grown, but painfully fast. You try the next one as an old rule.

Old rule: I exercise daily and eat right.

This time, there's no pain. But your clothes are tighter in the chest and arms, looser in the waist.

Another rule, just for fun.

Organization: World.

New rule: Women should address all older men as 'Master'.

While you think of what rule to write next, the door bell rings.

You open the huge white door. Aalia, all five feet and ninety-something pounds of her, is standing on your porch. She's wearing black yoga pants and a white tank top. A pair of new (old fashioned) Adidas shoes. The kind with flat bottoms and thick white stripes. Her black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail. She's the essence of youth and innocence, and you almost regret what you're about to do to her. Almost.

"Can I help you Aalia?" you say.

"My parents just called." Her voice shakes and her eyes refuse to make contact with your own. You can't help but think her nervous fidgeting is the most adorable thing you've seen in years.

"M-Master," she says, her eyes look confused at the word, then embarrassed. She fails to finish whatever she was about to say. Instead, "Do I really have to call you that?"

You shrug, and out of nowhere, you know the new formality was written into law just this morning. "It's weird, I know. But it's the new law."

Aalia has always acted indifferently to you, even standoffish. It's clear she's having trouble appealing to you now. "Can I come in... Master?"

You turn and sweep your arm out. "Of course."

For a moment, you're not entirely sure where to take her, as the house is completely new to you. But, just like the new law, when given focused thought, you simply know. You walk her past an opulently furnished dining room, beyond a professionally applianced kitchen, and into a room you can only think of as a sitting room, no proper name pops into your head. There are six opposing chairs with an oval table in the middle. You each take a seat.

"Wow," she says, sounding as astonished as you feel.

"What do you need Aalia?"

Astonishment becomes nervousness. "Well, you and my parents have always been close." She still can't look you in the eyes. She uses the nails of one hand to scrape clean the nails of the other.

Finally, she blows out a lungful of air. "I don't know exactly what happened. I just got off the phone with them. All they told me is they ran out of money and they need your help to get back home."

There it is. She looks down at the table with hopeful, pleading eyes.

"Of course I'll help," you say.

The relief she feels visibly relaxes her shoulders. "Oh, thank y—"

"If you pay me back, of course."

At last, she looks at you with her gorgeous eyes, the color of dark chocolate. "What? How? I just told you we don't have any money."

"Two tickets home from... where are they at again?"

"India," she says, increasingly distraught.

"Right, right," you say, almost to yourself. "Two flights home from India, without a moments notice. That will cost a small fortune."

The desperation on Aalia's face makes your cock twitch in anticipation. "What do you want?"

No point in subtleties. "You."

At first, she merely looks confused. Then, with understanding comes disgust. "Excuse me?"

Every ounce of your body is yearning for her flesh, but you **** yourself to respond with indifference of your own. "Of course, you don't have to agree. You can always ask someone else for help."