Even mine.
* * * * *
East Side Pages, the bookstore where I worked, was a doomed enterprise. And like most doomed enterprises (even all of them?), there was much to admire about it. No one cares about something terrible falling apart, after all. Or at least if they do, they’re not sad about it.
In the middle of a city conflicted with every manner of race, gender, and class issues you could imagine, the bookstore is a natural equalizer. Cross-sections of every kind of people like to read. And in reading, they more about their own problems, more about the arguments that oppose them. They discover compromise and re-evaluate the strength of their positions. From fiction they learn the lives of others—a lifetime of reading fiction is the lifetime of knowing the lifetimes of thousands, for somehow even in all the strange lie of their factual being they contain a reality more spiritually satisfying than any other. New viewpoints, articulated and elaborated, backed with evidence and anecdote, are the lifeblood of new ideas to solve problems which plague communities for ages. It’s a privilege to work in a place with so much concentrated wisdom, humor, and hope.
But over the past few months, all that privilege had been weighed down by the cold realities of finance, and its ceaseless shadowing of every movement my beautiful boss, Dawn, had to take to try and keep us afloat.
Like most dooms, the doom of East Side Pages started with a person. And like most doomed persons, that doom started with her flaws.
She has an enormous number of qualities. Besides being absolutely heartbreaking beautiful and blonde (and of course, I would lead with that, horndog that I've become), she was intelligent, decisive, and introspective. As an eloquent speaker in the LGBT community, she found her purpose in society as the lesbian who gave back—the organizer, the meeting-former.
Dawn’s purpose, specifically, was that she wanted to save all the women in the city from patriarchy. Men were, while not necessarily foul creatures, fundamentally flawed creatures whose rule was perpetuated and validated simply by the fact that they had always ruled. I’ve got my graduate degree in liberal arts. I know exactly where her arguments are coming from, and I even drew from them to write my thesis.
But it’s funny how a little thing like having eager sex slaves to do your every last erotic bidding sort of rearranges your thoughts on the ills of patriarchy.
Everything I do to Mallory, my sex slave girlfriend, is absolutely perfect and correct. I know, because she feels wonderful with each new command, each new action I do to her. And I know she feels wonderful because I ordered her to feel that way, because her sensational body had become, over the past five days since I had discovered my incredible power, little more than the living instrument of my will upon her.
Just as she wanted. And just as I had made her want.
Thoughts on equality, noble and well-intentioned, start to slide away under the force of so much perfect, sensual control of a beautiful woman like Mallory. And the young, tiny beauty Lori. And I started to daydream, much more than I should, about taking Dawn somehow, and maybe even her beautiful black partner, Celise.
But Dawn’s flaws weren’t that she cared about equality. It’s just that she cared too much—past the point of sense. Every weekend, East Side Pages held a new fundraiser for a different cause, and each fundraiser with its own set of drinks and eats and seating, all of which was paid for out of the store’s earnings. She could have taken money from the fundraising itself, a token fee even to cover expenses, but she always insisted that the increased presence of bodies in the store would make up the lost revenue. She had too much guilt, and too much introspection of that guilt, to ever do what she perceived as taking advantage of the plights of others.
But it was the same bodies at every fundraiser, or near enough. And so they had seen what Dawn’s bookstore had to offer. And they didn’t care to buy any more than they had the week before, or the week before that, or so on.
This was all compounded by Dawn’s rallying against the status quo. Everyone who lived in that status quo—the entirety of the middle class—felt unwelcome in her store. Even the kids who grew up with the store, went to the rallies and parties she organized, eventually got nice jobs and started to feel their own wealth as a form of oppression when inundated with Dawn’s rhetoric. But those nice-job-havers wanted to enjoy their wealth, like anybody did. And Dawn’s positions didn’t allow them to enter her shop without guilt.
Dawn’s one last shot at redemption was the Ice Festival. The problem was, she didn’t have a chance of making it happen.
But I did. I was going to stop the doom of East Side Pages. I had the power in my hands. Or...well, my cock, really.
Thursday was the day before the Festival. Dawn was out of the shop, trying to drum up local business support for the Festival and to ensure that they would be doing their part. The owner of a nearby knife shop, Blade Works, was actually in charge of the festival itself, but there was no way that Dawn was going to leave her fate up to someone else.
She had her own control issues, just like I had mine. It’s just that mine ended up being more pressing than hers.
So, that morning, I was at the counter with my beautiful girl, Mallory, slowly grinding my fingers into her bare, wet pussy from behind her as she tried to catalog inventory. She wasn’t doing a very good job. It was a mean thing to do, distracting her like that, but I couldn’t help myself. Mallory was an absolute beauty.
The tiny pleated skirt she wore showed off the extravagant, shiny length of her tanned, toned legs. High heeled gladiator-style booties lifted her ass even higher, shaping her delicious curves for maximum male engagement. The only modest thing about her outfit was the shirt she wore, just a regular blue tee with a pink bear on it, but with the dense heaviness of her rounded chest and the way my presence made her nipples constantly erect in helpless arousal, there was nothing truly modest about it. Her dark hair was wrapped in sexy layers of volume around her hair, pinned up in an elegant mess. Small shiny strands attended her cheeks and brow.
“Baby, I know you’re...what you’re doing, but...”
“I can’t help it,” I said. “You’re so sexy when you squirm.”
I leaned in, letting her feel the hardness of my length against the bare back of her thigh. “You feel what you do to me?”
She gasped lightly. “How are you hard? After last night, and this morning...god. Master...”
Oh yeah. That was nice. Hearing her moan out my title like that.
Over the past several days, every time she’d gotten a load of my cum—and that was several times a day, if I could help it—I washed her beautiful brain with some basic tenets:
- She trusted me completely.
- She loved me totally.
- I was her Master.
- She was my eager, happy slave.
- Obeying me gave her pleasure.
- She loved my cock.
Occasionally, depending on my mood, some other notions would get thrown into the mix. That she wanted no man but me. That she was thrilled to be my girlfriend. That she daydreamed about being my wife.
That one in particular—the wife daydreams—was interesting to me because it seemed to wear off after a day or so. It was a passing fantasy, one brought to my mind as I had her under the influence of my cum and I imagined her beautiful young body in a bridal gown and covered in my cum. But then, the next day, she kept hinting at our life together, at what sort of weddings I liked, that sort of thing.
Ick. No thanks. Maybe, but not yet. Why commit myself like that to Mallory when potentially I could have any woman in the world think that way about me?
Strangely, though, just not mentioning that particular command anymore seemed to make it go away. Or push it under. Perhaps every time she went under, the most recent commands held the most weight with her?
I’d have to do more testing to find out. And sliding my fingers deeper into the hot, slippery wet folds of her pussy, I definitely knew that showering Mallory with my cum and layer
ing her servile mind with commands was one thing I could do whenever I felt like it.
The door rang, and Lori trotted into the store. Her face brightened when she saw me, and then strangely darkened. That was normal as of late. Due to shop responsibilities and generally just fucking Mallory (or being blown by her, or stroked, or her lovely body otherwise occupying my attention, as it did with my fingers while she inventoried), I hadn’t spent quite as much attention on Lori as I originally planned.
In short, I had been staving off fucking her only because of Mallory’s attentions and my attentions toward Mallory. But, with the Ice Festival tomorrow, I needed to make sure of where Lori’s head was. I needed her obedient. The bookstore needed her to be obedient, or else it would never survive. I knew that for a fact.
And even if that weren’t pressing, the constant confused arousal she showed toward me was enough to force my hand. She had been completely sober, as far as I knew, for close to four days now. Without the constant flow of weed into her system, her complexion had cleared up beautifully. The tired, stereotypical stoner bags under her eyes had faded, and she never seemed so worn out or annoyed as the day stretched on.
“Hey L-Lori,” Mallory breathed, moaning softly under my touch.
“Hey babe,” I said to Lori, smiling.
She shuddered just slightly and smiled back. “Good morning, guys.” She bit one lip. “Hey, do you want a coffee? Can I get you a coffee?”
She looked squarely at me, almost ignoring Mallory completely. Mallory noticed, but didn’t seem to mind. Other people besides me faded by her notice with ease now, most of the time.
Something was up. I followed Lori back, watching the sweet, tiny globes of her ass as I followed her. She wore skintight black denim jeans and a tight sweater that opened broadly over her modest cleavage. The buttons, open and spread apart, offered a look down to her sexy, firm cleavage, positioned neatly by a bright pink push-up bra. Fuck, but I wanted to put her under right away. She still hadn't sucked my cock, or anything else. It was easy to lace her coffee with my vials of cum, and I had taken to bringing several with me to work every day, just in case a good opportunity arose.
Thoughts of Minjee weren't far from my head. The statuesque Asian beauty still hadn't followed up with her promise to come back. But she would...and I would be ready for her.
As we neared her coffee stand, she grabbed me, pulling me down to her height, and whispered in my ear. “Can I talk to you? I need to talk to you.”
She pulled me back into the secret corner back by her coffee stand.
“Of course, babe. What’s up?”
She shuddered again. I saw her calm, visibly, but almost just as soon, her anxiety was right back up.
Calling her “babe” was something I was experimenting with. I knew I could leave post-hypnotic suggestions and imprints, but I wanted to find out if I could leave trigger words. It was, incidentally, the way that the girls' minds seemed to fade—just slightly—as they repeated my commands in their normal, non-tranced conversation that brought the idea on. Whenever Mallory told me she trusted me, or loved me, or loved to fuck me—all the words that I had trained her with—her face would get ever-so-slightly distant for the time of saying it. Like she believed the words truer and more to the core of her being than any other she had ever said. And this happened whenever she said these words to me.
Every. Single. Time.
I thought perhaps that the words themselves were re-affirming that hypnotic state of pleasure, trust, and obedience, just a bit at a time.
So, it was only natural that I try to find out if I could actively recreate that feeling. The command, then, was that every time I said “babe” to Lori, she would relax and trust me all the more, while simultaneously feeling a small spike of pleasure. The more she heard me say it—or so I had ordered her—the more intense the feelings would become.
Lori paced to and fro at one end of the secret table.
“I’m just...I’m just fucking confused.”
“What’s wrong?”
I was genuinely worried now. I hadn’t ever seen her act like this.
“I...I found some pot in the back of my closet. I was cleaning it last night. Just bored, you know. Trying to fill the time. And I wanted it. God, I wanted it. But I didn’t want it. And I had a bowl all packed, almost ready to go, but when I almost took a puff, I just...I just threw it away, and I felt so guilty and I didn’t know why...I mean I love that stuff. I do. But I know I don’t need it.” Slight glassy stare. One of the commands I had given her was to give up weed. “I’m just...I’m confused. And I don’t know why I’m confused, and so I’m scared...”
Her head hung down, hands covering over her face. Almost like a shield. Not enough of one to withstand what I had in store for her, though.
“I’m sorry you’re feeling bad.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't seem to notice it—or rather, my touch was so natural to her that she thought nothing of it.
“It’s all right.”
“I can take care of this, though.”
“What?”
“I can solve this. Will you let me solve this?”
She laughed. Her sea-green eyes sparkled just slightly. “You’re kidding, right? What are you going to do to solve me being confused? You have a fucking lesson plan or something?”
“I need you to trust me for a minute. Okay? Do you trust me?”
Bliss coated her voice. “Of course, Victor. I trust you more than anyone.”
I squeezed her body against mine, hugging her slight form. She moaned, almost inaudible. “I want you to suck my cock, okay?”
“Suck your cock?” She shook her head. Her knees bent down just slightly, nudging against my calves. Her tongue slid slow around her lips. “Suck your...s-suck it.”
Her words were heavy and slow.
“Lori. I want you to suck my cock. If you trust me, you’ll do this.”
“I...I do trust you, but...”
She sank all the way down to her knees now. Her hands quickly and adeptly took down my pants. Soon, my cock was directly in her lovely face. Those beautiful green eyes were clouded with lust.
“This is crazy. What if...what if Mallory...”
“Don’t worry about Mallory. Trust me, babe.”
Her voice was tinged with awe and pleasure as she began to stroke my long, firm cock.
“Trust...you...” she looked at my manhood with heated desire. “Why...why am I doing this?” she asked, licking at the head of my cock. Little knobs of precum attached to her tongue, sliding down into her mouth.
“Because you trust me completely,” I said. “And because you find me very attractive.”
“Oh...” her voice was already far away. “Right.”
No more resistance now. She plunged onto my cock. Her mouth was tiny, almost too tiny to take my cock, but that's what made her sucking all the better. I shoved forward, not very much willing to let her simply give me a blowjob. With my precum flowing down her throat, she was a mere puppet to taste me and know me as I willed. Her body vibrated with pleasure beneath me, and soon I had her backed into a corner between bookshelves, fucking her skull with abandon.
Own you. I thought. I fucking own you and you don't even know it.
There had never been a more electrifying thought than that.
Mallory walked by just briefly—and then smiled as she saw the scene unfold. I nodded back to the counter, gesturing for her to keep watch. Like a good, obedient slave, she did just that.
Mallory loved that her Master wanted to fuck other girls. I had made sure of it.
Now I could focus my attention back on Lori. I couldn't last at this pace forever, and especially not wide out in public. I unloaded on her, my hips thrusting with abandon. To my surprise and pleasure, she bobbed her head forward in time with my strokes, moaning with hot pleasure as I fucked her senseless. My load spilled out in hot waves of goo, sinking down into her throat and belly. Sinking her mind down to tha
t deep, dark place where I could mold her opinions, thoughts, and desires however I wished.
Stroking her hair, I waited until her eyes were completely white. It was marvelous to watch them shift slowly, the whiteness taking over the sea-green. This was my timer. The less white her eyes were, the less trance time I had left.
Dawn might come in at any time, even if she was out taking care of business. I had to take care of Lori as soon as possible.
“You don’t mind that you don’t want to smoke pot anymore.”
“I don’t mind that I don’t want to smoke pot anymore.”
She smiled, her relaxed body relaxing even deeper. Relief filling her, tension leaving.
“I don't want you to do any drugs.”
She nodded slightly. “You don't want me to do any drugs.”
“Doing what I want is more important than drugs.”
“Doing what you want is more important than drugs.”
“I don't like you getting high.”
“You don't like me getting high.”
“You don’t want to do any drugs.”
“I don’t want to do any drugs.”
“You want to suck my cock.”
Enthusiasm and heat. “I want to suck your cock.”
“You love to suck my cock more than anything else.”
“I love to suck your cock more than anything else.”
“You’ll suck me off anytime I want.”
“I’ll suck you off anytime you want.”
“Doing what I say makes you feel so good.”
“Doing what you say makes me feel...” she sighed happily, “...so good.”
“You’ll feel pleasure when I call you ‘babe.’”
Slight shudder. “I’ll feel p-pleasure when you call me ‘babe.’”
“You think you might be in love with me.”
“I think...I might be in love with you.”
“You don't mind sharing me with other girls.”
“I don't mind...”
“You don't mind sharing me with other girls.”
“I don't mind sharing you with other girls.”
Taking Total Control: A Mesmerizing Bundle Page 6
