The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

They lifted the shot glasses, albeit unsteadily.

“Za tvajó zdaróvye,” said Kalliope

“Zah tvaya darovya,” echoed Kynthia, more or less.

They clicked glasses, somewhat sloppily. Then two more vodkas went down the hatch.

“No. Noooooo. Tvajó. Jo. Joooooo!” Kalliope admonished

“Tha’s wad I sed,” replied Kynthia, drunkenly offended.

“No ’s’not. Never min’. So ... so ... the two most ... stubborn people ... Iveevermet ... They finally go head-t’—head ... An’ both heads are still attached at the end ... An’ yah can’t tell me a friggin’ thing about it.“

“Nodegzackly, Kallip-Kallip-Kallii’panda. I jus’ can’t tell yah th’ bes’ stuff.”

“’S’not fair, ragmuf-ragan ... rag-a-muff’n.”

“Life’s not fair.”

“No, i’ss’not,” agreed the big woman, with a solid head nod. Then she bent closer and whispered, “So ... what can ya tell me?“

“Well,” Kynthia whispered back, “y’know my dear Auntie Anti-o? How she swears up and down tha’ she wuz nev’r mar-marrdy ... wedded to a man?”

“Yeah, an’ all the other ol’ broads stan’ behin’ ’er and nod th’r heads up-an’—down whenever she does?”

“Well,” she paused for effect, or perhaps to swallow a belch, “she was.”

“Duh. No shit, Sherlip-sherp ... geenyus. So what?”

“He wuz one-a Heracles’s’s twen’y.”

Kalliope sat straight up and shouted, ”She married her fucking slavemaster?!“

“Shhhhhh. Kee-pit down. Assalootly. No shit.”

Kalliope’s whisper now had a hint of harsh urgency. “An’ tha’s not one-a th’ biggies?“

“Nope.”

“Mother-fucker.“

“Shhh. Assalootly. Le’s talk about som’thin’ else. So ... Kallio-poley, you learn’d how t’ drink men unner th’ table in Russian?”

“Nah. Not rilly. Those guys ‘r’ proz. I kep’ up with ’em. Mos’ of th’ time. They were lotza fun tho’. Only one prollum. Drunk Russians reeeelly like Yakov Ssssssmirnoff.”

“Yeah, so wassa prollum with that? I like ’im too. He’z funny.”

“In Antarctica, you drill ice. In Soviet Russia, ice drills you.”

Kynthia busted a gut. Nearly fell out of her chair laughing.

“In Soviet Russia, ice drills you.”

Kynthia slapped her leg. “Tha’s rilly funny!”

“In Soviet Russia, ice drills you.”

“Heh, Heh, um.”

“In Soviet Russia, ice drills you.”

“A’right. I heard yah!”

“In Soviet Ru—”

“Give it a rest, Kalliope.“

“Eggzackly! ... So anyways, after the third month I hadda tell ’em that if they sed it one more time, I wuz gonna hav’ta leave bloody footprints inna snow ... allaway back to the coast.”

Kynthia laughed again, then paused. Thinking of what she knew about Man’s World she had to ask, “Um, did they know you well enuff by then t’ take that threat siris-sirs ... sear-ee-us-ly ... by then?”

“I wuz ten-time champ at Sadderday-night drunk arm-resslin’, mebbe ’leven-time. So ... yeah.”

Kynthia lost it again. She had to grab the table to avoid falling off her barstool.

Then came the saddest sound in the world. Last call from the bartender.

“One more?” asked Kalliope

“Nah, bedder not. I godda get s’m’ sleep. An’ yer gonna hava helluva hangover t’morra, Ossifer Kalliope.”

“Ooooo-kay. Give yah a lift?”

“Are you fuckin’ crazy? Yer not gettin’ behind a wheel! No, lemme ‘raise the shield’ an’ I’ll fly yah home.” Kynthia closed her eyes and a look of concentration came over her face for a minute. And then she looked up, sober as a judge.

Of course, Kalliope had been a judge before, so she couldn’t imagine what was so all-fired sober about them. But her friend was sober. Definitely sober.

“’S’not fair.”

As they walked out the door of Nike’s Wings, Kynthia smiled. “Life’s not fair, Kalliope.”

“No, i’sss’not. Di’n’t we do that one alreddy?”

“C’mon, Kallio-pooh-bear. Let me give you a lift.” It was the only place in the world where it was safe for her to fly in civilian clothes. She picked her friend up off the ground and away they went.

“Looks pretty fr’m up here. You ever comin’ home to stay, kiddo?”

“Probably not, K.”

“’S’a’right. Yer a hero. Makes us all proud ... Did I tell you I love you?”

“Yeah. Right before that last drink. You’re my best friend, Kalliope.”

“Hey! Don’t say it like yer never gonna see me again!“

They touched down at Kalliope’s door. “Sure, hon. Are you gonna make it in okay?”

“’Course I am. Door-t’—door service. Hhhhhhhoo could ask fer more? G’night, waif.”

“Good night, teddy bear.”

Minutes later, laying in her bed in her room in her mother’s executive mansion, she was ready for this day to end. It was a short day really with the massive time zone shift, but with her exhaustion from not sleeping the night before it shouldn’t be too hard for Annette to sleep. Even so, Cindi’s mind was buzzing.

«Antiope wasn’t the only one who fell hard for her slavemaster. Mamá wasn’t either. Take me, My Lord! Please take me! Please take me now!»

Suddenly she was in the pet bed in the penthouse. It was still mostly dark, but not completely. Rising and looking out the window she could see that dawn was breaking. Her Lord was snoring softly ... «No, that must be Greg. Julia said that Master never sleeps.» Her collar was on the dresser. She put it on, and very, very carefully pulled down the covers.

«Aha! This must be the famous “morning wood” I’ve heard so much about!»

Slowly she crawled up onto the bed and took Greg’s member into her mouth.

The male echo of Julia’s Aussie accent rose from the other end of the bed, ”OOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGHHH Annie, we don’t have toime. Master’s gonna swap me out any min—“

Cindi, pulled off and looked up suddenly, the nametag on her collar lightly jingling. “Mr. Wolfe, I presume?”

Greg was in shock, but managed to return volley, “Ah, Ms. Royal. Pleazhah t’ make your acquaintance. Um, lit’rally.”

She grinned and went back to work.

Muttering under his breath, he said, “Well, at least bring your wiggly arse ovah here so OI can NNNNNGGG return the fayvah.“

POP “Yes, sir, Mr. Wolfe. Right away!“

After she repositioned herself they resumed again, pleasuring each other. After a few minutes he gave her a crisp slap on the ass. Then, after a moment, he disengaged.

“Sorry, luv. You don’t know the code, do you.”

She gripped him at the base and took her time sliding off. “Code, Mr. Wolfe?”

All this “Mr. Wolfe” stuff from one of the mightiest superheroines in the world was making him even stiffer.

“Ah, okay then. Shahp smack on the roight cheek is our code for ‘cum’.”

“Our?”

“Annette’s and moine. When moy mouth is, um, otherwoise occupoied.”

“Oh, sorry. Won’t miss it again!”

“No, you won’t,” he said with a smile giving her another identical whack.

Cindi fell off her own elbows as the orgasm hit her, but then went straight back to work on his woodie.

After giving her clit a particularly nice nibble, he pulled back one more time. “Boss says two minutes, luv.”

She began to work him harder and faster. His tongue made magical sparks fly on her labia and clit. As the moment approached, he gave her one more good hard smack and unloaded into her mouth. Even through the orgasm she had the presence of mind to swallow it all. But she began tongue-cleaning him anyway just for good measure.

“Good morning, Cindi.”

While continuing her slurping and licking clean-up, she responded, ”Mmmmmmmmm I want to be your slave forever. I could never be happier. How may I serve you, My Lord?“

“Well, I sent you here first so you could get a head start in the shower.”

“Oh. Sorry, My Lord.”

“No, no. I liked your idea of how to start the day better, else I would have stopped you.”

“Yes, My Lord. Thank you.”

“But we are just a touch behind schedule. We only have eight hours, if that. Let’s not waste them. Maybe we should shower together to save time.”

“Mmmmmm Your wish is my command, Lord.“

I smacked her ass one more time and rolled us over so I could get up. She was a moaning, writhing mess as I disengaged and went to start the shower.

By the time she got there the shower was good and hot, and I’d gotten the shower mitt lathered up with Annette’s body wash, ready to go.

As she entered the shower she saw what I was doing. “Wait ... My Lord ... We’re not going to ...?”

“No. We’re going to get you clean.”

I had seen more puppy-dog eyes across the eons than you could imagine, but rarely as artfully executed as by Cindi right then. “But ... My Lord?” She cupped her breasts and pouted.

I held firm, but only over the strongly-voiced protests of my own penis. “You are going to make me breakfast, wench. But first, we’re gonna clean that filthy body before it goes into my nice clean kitchen!”

As she submitted to the inevitable, I handed her the shampoo. Then I started at her feet and worked my way up. Of course, I did take care to ensure that her vulva, her ass cheeks, and her glorious jugs were especially clean. One must prioritize, after all.

By the time I was rinsing off her shoulders and back, she was ready to rinse the 3rd stage of product out of her hair. As she leaned back into the water, I dabbed at her nose with the mitt.

She stopped and looked at me dead-seriously. “Please, My Lord, if I let you use that soap on Annette’s face, she will be very upset with me.“

“Hey! Who’s Lord around here?”

Cindi dropped to her knees and looked up at me. If anything she did “silent pleading” even better than “puppy-dog pout”.

I raised my hands in defeat and said, “finish up.”

Cindi rose, picked up the face soap and did face, ears, and throat while I re-lathered the mitt and began on myself.

As I stepped out of the shower Cindi was just finishing daintily daubing herself with the towel. I took it out of her hand and snapped her ass with it, eliciting a loud yelp.

“You’re wasting time. Get in the kitchen, baby bitch. Ham and cheese and whatever omelet for me and whatever you’d like for you. Coffee. Surprise me with a fruit juice. I want to be done with breakfast within an hour. Go.”

«“Less talk, more action.“» She did that, not me. With no more than a passing glance at her wet hair in the mirror, she was off and running.

When I emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later dressed in jeans and polo shirt, wonderful smells were coming from the kitchen, and coffee service was waiting by the couch.

Stepping into the kitchen, I kissed Cindi deeply, a promise for later, and gave her some commands to streamline her breakfast: permission to use cups, implicit permission to eat, et cetera. Then back at the couch I fixed myself a cuppa. Cindi had remembered that I care which coffee; a small note on the platter by the pot read “Kona dark”.

Breakfast did actually proceed fairly efficiently, although Cindi was really bothered by her wet hair. She wolfed down her fruit salad and begged me for permission to “take care of Annette’s hair”. I reminded her that she belonged to me, not Annette, but I told her she could after she cleaned up from breakfast. I had to add “if there’s time” to her retreating back.

Soon we were both ready to start the day. I told her to bring me what she found on the hook inside the hall closet door. She returned with the leash, carried in her teeth. I smiled. That’s the spirit, Cindi.

Taking the leash from her, I began, “Good girl. We’re going to go for a little walk. But first we need to establish some commands and some appropriate behaviors. You will be my well-trained, happy, and obedient pet. Do you understand?“

She frowned. “Um, not exactly, uh, My Lord. We’re going ... out?”

“Yes. Now—”

“Like this, My Lord?” She gestured to her naked form.

“Not exactly. You will be wearing shoes.”

Cindi was suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness. Did you know that it’s possible to blush with your whole body?

While her head was still spinning, I attached the leash to her collar. “Now, as I was saying, you will perform as commanded, immediately, enthusiastically and cheerfully. Your main commands are ‘Heel’, ‘Down’, ‘Sit’, and ‘Speak’. Do you understand?”

Nervously she replied, “Um, obey cheerfully. ‘Heel’, ‘Down’, ‘Sit’, and ‘Speak’. Yes, My Lord.”

“Now let’s define your commands. ‘Heel’. You will walk one pace behind me, on whichever side I am holding the leash. If I change speed, if I change direction, you will keep pace with me. If I stop dead you will stop without running into me.

“If for some unfathomable reason I break into a run, you may drop another pace further back. Heel is an implicit command whenever I am moving. If I start to move and do not say ‘heel’, then you should act as if I had. In general, I will only say ‘heel’ if you miss your cue, or if you seem distracted at the moment I start moving.

“I will not consider ‘missing your cue’ to be a failure, but merely an imperfection. There are only two ways you fail at ‘heeling’, falling behind or bumping into me. Either would be grounds for punishment.’

«Oh Gods!» thought Cindi «If they are all this complicated, I’m sunk.»

“’Down’. Kneel with your body and thighs upright.“

“’Sit’—“

“Excuse me, My Lord. Nothing more for ‘Down’?”

“Only that you will do it immediately, enthusiastically, and cheerfully, no matter what, but I shouldn’t have to say that again, should I?”

She flinched. “No, My Lord. Sorry.”

“sigh Alright. ‘Sit’. Kneel in a sitting position, ass touching heels of your feet.“

“’Speak’. If I order you with any variant of the word—‘answer’, ‘tell him’, ‘go ahead’, whatever—you may give one and only one response to whatever statement or question has come up. You will refer to the person asking politely as ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’. If I say ‘continue’ or ‘converse’ or some such you have my permission to engage in a conversation until I say ‘stop’. There is some implicit behavior here as well. If you look up at me for permission and I nod, that means ‘speak’. You may only speak in response. Otherwise remain silent.“

“I can never make any sound, My Lord?” she said with fear. Looking in her head I could see that she was thinking of all the times in her life when she had seen a child being cruel to a dog.

“If you are in pain or distress, you may make appropriate nonverbal noises. I will see what’s bothering you, unless I am doing something more important, like talking to a person. No words though. And don’t abuse it. No whining because you’re bored. If I say quiet, you will stop, unless it is a matter of life and death.“

Cindi nodded.

“Any other verbal commands you will follow perfectly and silently. Cock your head to the side if you don’t understand a command. I will decide whether to clarify or punish. Outside of commands there are other behaviors that I require. If I give someone permission to touch you, you will do more than just allow it. You will enjoy it. You will revel in it. If I give the leash to another person you will behave for that person exactly as you would for me, until the moment I request or take the leash back.”

She nodded again.

“So, do you need to practice?”

Cindi looked up at me expectantly. I smiled. “Good girl. Answer.”

«Good girl! Reward!» “N-no, My Lord. I think I understand. I am a happy, well-trained, eager puppy. My Lord ... I ... I want to make you proud of me.“

My smile broadened. “I want to be proud of you, Cindi. Don’t let me down.“

And so I took off walking. Cindi instantly fell into step on my right, heeling perfectly. She almost missed a step though when I walked past the front door to the hall closet.

“Annette’s topsiders are on the floor of the closet somewhere. Fetch them and put them on.”

Silent obedience followed. Soon she was heeling again, leaving the flat for the first time, walking out into the world stark naked at her Lord’s behest.

The hallway was short but wide and luxurious. There was only one other door, and of course the elevator. I pressed the down button and waited. She waited silently, one pace behind me. Her nipples were hard as rocks. Her sex was warm and wet. All over her body she was covered with gooseflesh. Her heart was racing. Her mind was racing.

«What is He going to do with me? Where is He taking me? What will people do when they see a naked woman on a leash? Will they confront us? Arrest us? Try to take me away from Him?»

The loud double-ding from the lift was the only thing that prevented her from missing her cue.

«“Pay attention, Cindi. Those are all my problems, not yours.“»

Cindi snapped out of it. I was speaking directly into her mind in her actual physical presence for the first time. It shocked her, but it reminded her that I was not without resources to handle ... situations. As we boarded the elevator, she resolved to be the best damn puppy in the history of dogs and to leave the rest to me.

“Down.” She was on her knees looking up at me with a bright, adoring smile. Soon the elevator double-dinged again. A small, 60-ish woman in a blue frock entered. An expression of shock crossed her face briefly as she noticed the naked girl on the floor. But she recovered quickly and smiled.

“Oh, Mr. Wolfe, is this your new pet?”

Cindi was clearly not surprised by the Aussie accent. She had a pretty good idea where she was by now. She was beginning to get the idea that maybe I had the whole city enthralled somehow. The woman’s question was certainly not what most people would consider normal. As far as Cindi knew people didn’t typically walk around naked on leashes as pets in Falkirk, Western Australia. She relaxed a bit. «He has everything under control.»

I answered the woman in Greg’s voice, “Yes, she is.”

“She is so beautiful. May OI, uh, pet her?“

“Go roight ahead.”

She reached down to stroke Cindi’s hair. Cindi leaned into it, smiling up at the woman.

“What a good girl. What’s her name?“

Cindi looked at me and I nodded.

“My name is ‘Cindi Cumdump’, ma’am!” she said, as brightly as Rebecca of freaking Sunnybrook Farm, holding up her nametag for the woman to see.

The woman jerked her hand away, shocked again. But she quickly recovered and resumed petting. By now the elevator had stopped again. Three men and another woman were there, all dressed in smart business suits, clearly successful, clearly well-to-do, but all very deferential to “Mr. Wolfe”, despite his, um, unusual companion.

“May I, Mr. Wolfe?” One of the men clearly had decided to get into the spirit of the thing, gesturing toward Cindi.

“Sure,” I said.

He dropped to one knee. He ran a hand up her arm, across her shoulder and collarbone to her nametag. “Cindi Cumdump, eh?” Down her chest into her cleavage. “OI bet you’re a good little cumdump, ahn’t you, Cindi?” Under her breast, hefting it, rolling a nipple.

Cindi was thoroughly repulsed by this guy, but she smiled at him shyly and pushed her chest out proudly. «“Good girl”»

“Speak, Cindi,” I said.

Cindi was a five-year-old girl explaining how she felt about candy. “Oh, yes, sir! I love it when My Lord dumps his cum in me. It’s one of my favoritest things!“

“’One of’, Cindi?” I asked amusedly, nodding my head for her to speak.

“Well, My Lord, I like it lots when you make me cum too!” Cindi hugged my leg and looked up at me worshipfully, incidentally dislodging the man from her breast.

The elevator dinged at the ground floor. Cindi’s admirers reluctantly disbursed. I moved toward the exit, and Cindi rose and heeled smoothly in my wake.

The ground floor of the condominium tower complex was large, open and opulent, with an atrium, a sunken fountain area surrounded by chairs and tables, shops and restaurants all around the edges, and a prominent concierge desk near the main entrance.

It was really more like a small upscale shopping mall than a condo building lobby. More importantly at the moment though, it was a hub of activity. People were everywhere, going to work, coming to work, shopping, window shopping, having breakfast with friends, having a leisurely cup of coffee with a newspaper or a book.

But now a wave of “time stoppage” seemed to be sweeping through the crowd as people recognized “Mr. Wolfe” and were shocked by the stunning bit of naked eye-candy obediently trailing behind me.

I was looking back at us through several of those other sets of eyes and I happened to notice that Cindi’s “full body blush” had returned. She had been doing well with just the few of us in the elevator. But this place was more public by several orders of magnitude.

Inside her mind she was battling the frisson of fear that engulfed her as we walked out of the lift. Dozens of pairs of eyes—if not over a hundred—were all slowly but surely training themselves on her. On her nakedness. On her vulnerability.

It was all she could do not to run around in front of me and hide herself against my chest, under my sheltering arm. And by now you’ve seen many times the effect that fear and humiliation has on her body. A sticky rivulet began to run down Cindi’s right leg.

She had no time to get used to it either. People were greeting “Mr. Wolfe” right and left, but I just waved and kept on walking. When I stopped to talk to the uniformed doorman, Cindi almost slammed into me, but managed to stop with just the barest brush of her breast against my back.

“Taking the morning shift today, Rupert?” I asked. The doorman was a large man, mid-forties and stout, not quite as tall as me. He had a pockmarked, rugged face more likely to be found on a farmer or a miner than on a spotless attendant to the wealthy residents of this place.

“Charles’ woife is under the weather, sir. And what with the little ones at home, he took the day. OI figured OI could pull down a double shift, roight? Rather than put some stranger at the door.”

People were coming in and out of the doors as we talked but Rupert noticed everything important about every one of them. Cindi noticed them too, staring at her, leering at her. Her libido was starting to overwhelm her. She was sidling to her left, trying to get behind me, to shield herself from those eyes that were tormenting her. That was not what I wanted, I needed her to suffer more. It was important.

“Sit,” I commanded. Then I took two steps away from her. There, she was completely exposed again. Of course I was still engaged conversing with Rupert though all that.

“That’s foine. Tell him OI hope she feels better soon. If not ... don’t pull another double. In fact, let’s see if we can fix this now.” Nodding toward the concierge desk, I said, “Have Fenton foind four quality nurse-nanny candidates to help out until—it’s Samantha, right?—until Samantha’s better. Send them over to interview with Charles, and let him pick the one he loikes. Tell Fenton OI mean ‘quality’ boy his standards—no, moy standards—not Charles’s. Oh, their oldest is, ah, ‘special needs’, isn’t he? Tell him to make sure all four have impeccable autism credentials.“

“Yes, sir. Charles won’t know what to say, sir.”

“Gotta take care of moy men, Rupert. You’re watching moy front door. Speaking of which, OI need you to come with me.”

“Um, away from your ‘front door’, sir? The one you need me to watch?” Inside he felt like the headmaster was telling him to play hooky. He was a bit suspicious.

“Yes, Rupert, OI need you to help watch something more important.” I nodded back toward Cindi.

“Miss Annette, sir?” Now he was just confused. He had never seen Mr. Wolfe’s wife behave so strangely. Of course, he had never seen this much of Miss Annette period. She had not been in the habit of traipsing around in her birthday suit like some fetish slave girl before, so perhaps she was finding the situation a bit odd herself.

“Yes, Annette and OI are going to need a lookout.”

“Um, OI see, sir.” After a sigh and a stray thought about “lifestyles of the rich and kinky”, he faced the inevitable. “Very well, sir. What about Charles?”

“We’re just going over to the park. You’re mostly just going to remoind people that it’s a proivate park and that OI own it. There should be plenty of toime for you to call Fenton when we get there. And let me just make it clear that what you’re doing for me is important. OI’m asking you to help me protect something that is more important to me than all the entrances to all the buildings OI own in the world.”

Cindi heard that. Rats. I thought she was too far gone to pick up what we were saying. «“Don’t get a swelled head, baby bitch. That doesn’t mean what you think it means.” » At least I thought I meant the importance of the plan, not of Cindi herself. I really needed to get hold of myself.

“Yes, sir. Very well then.” Rupert replied, oblivious to all this subtext.

And off we went. Cindi heeled obediently. She was a bit cold out on the street naked this early. But it was bearable. The unseasonable warmth was holding; soon she would be fine. The warming trend was a stroke of luck. I hadn’t expected to need to put her through this exercise for another month. But she was way ahead of schedule. Here on the street we saw many more shocked expressions at the naked woman, collared, leashed and submissively following her man. But everyone minded their own business. Good.

The ordinance had been out for four years now, long enough for everyone to get used to it. It hadn’t been hard for me to get the “Legal Exposure Ordinance” passed by the city council. What had been hard was keeping in out of the news. Hardly anyone living outside of Falkirk itself knew anything about it.

We.were waiting at the light to cross into the park, and I was beginning to think bringing Rupert was overkill. Just then an angry man accosted me. I should have seen him coming, but I was too focused on Cindi. Quite the little storm was going on inside her head at that moment.

In any case, the angry fellow started in with words instead of fists, so we had some time to react.

“OI don’t know what your game is, mate, but you better let go of that poor girl, roight now!”

Rupert intervened. “OI would take a different tone if OI were you, mate.“

“But he’s making her walk around starkers. It’s indecent exposure at least. Probably abuse too. OI’ve got a daughter her age, and ... HEY ... Stop that, you lummox!”

Rupert held the man away from us, facing the street. “Do you see the soign, mate?“

On a post over the street was the sign Rupert was indicating. A blue shirt with a red slashed circle over it: “No Clothes”.

“Since you’re apparently new to town, mate, let me clue you in on the ‘Legal Exposure Ordinance’. Any property owner can mark his publicly-accessible proivate property as ‘nudity allowed’ with a sign like that.“

“But this is a public street!”

“This is a publicly-accessible proivate street. The entire twelve blocks surrounding and including that park across the street is proivate property. That includes the streets and footpaths.”

“That’s crazy! Who could possibly own twelve proime blocks of downtown in the capital of W.A.?”

“The cobber you were just assaulting for starters; he’s my boss. Just pull your head in, mate.” It worked. The angry fellow stepped off.

Of course, all this excitement had just drawn more attention to Cindi. Of course, that just made her want to sink into the ground even more. Finally the light changed. As we crossed the street into the park, something inside Cindi changed. From somewhere—maybe from the cheerful green park itself—Cindi was finding her emotional second wind. «“Immediately, enthusiastically, and cheerfully”», she reminded herself, adding a bit of wiggle and bounce to her step.

It was just a small park, only two city blocks total, but it was well-landscaped, with plenty of trees and flowers, some nice grassy spaces, and a small but scenic pond at the far end. Despite the clothing-optional surroundings it was a popular morning hangout for mothers with small children, but none were here today, as I intended.

I stopped at a bench overlooking the pond. I ordered Cindi to sit, on the ground, of course. Then I took a seat, on the bench, of course. Cindi was looking at me with an amused but warm expression.

“Speak.”

“I’m wondering if I should go chase the geese, My Lord.”

“No, I’d have to let you off the leash. There are laws about that sort of thing, you know.”

She stifled a laugh.

Rupert was pointedly facing the other way; he was on the phone to Fenton, the concierge, arranging help for his mate Charles. Fenton was an officious prick, but he was the best “finder” on the entire continent. If I had needed those four nanny candidates to all have left-handed grandfathers, he would still get it done. His talent was a bit wasted as a concierge, but I needed him to mature a bit before I moved him up into the ranks of the company.

Back to Cindi, “On the other hand, if you wanted to dig up a bone, I know where you can find one.”

A shocked look crossed her face, but she stayed silent.

I almost finished saying “Speak” when she blurted out, ”Here, My Lord?“

She was actually right to be shocked this time. Public nudity might have been legal here, but public sex acts most definitely were not. Of course, that was not going to stop me today. I put my hand behind her head and guided it between my own legs. She soon had me exposed to the world, and then she was deep-throating me. Immediately, enthusiastically, cheerfully.

Across the pond at the far corner of the park was a sort of concrete sculpture garden. It had become a popular gathering place for skateboarders, as I intended. Although it was a school day, four self-styled juvenile delinquents had decided to ditch lessons today, as I intended. They were over there, jumping and shredding and smoking, as I intended.

It wouldn’t take much of a seed to make them notice what Cindi and I were doing. It would take almost no prodding after that for them to decide to come over and see if they could get in on the action. It would be easy to make them believe that they had caught us breaking the law and that they could blackmail us.

Cindi was already under orders to treat anyone holding the leash exactly as if it were me. She would do it. She would gang bang those dirty punk teens if I were to hand them the leash. She would hate every moment of it, but she would do it for hours on end if that were what I wanted. She would do it, immediately, enthusiastically, cheerfully, because her Lord demanded it.

So why was I hesitating? I was not worried about her catching something nasty from them. I knew these boys were clean. In spite of their tough-talking badass image, they were all drug-free, and they were all virgins, as I intended. But still I hesitated. Why? It’s not as if I was not going to do much worse to her down the line. I would have to. It was the only way the plan would work.

In the end, looking down at her—joyously sucking me off in public—I decided. It was good enough just knowing. I knew that she would do it. So I didn’t actually have to make her do it. That makes sense, doesn’t it?

There were truant officers out looking for the boys; I let them find them. I let Cindi finish giving me my morning trim. I sent Rupert back to his post at my front door.

Cindi and I took a leisurely walk around the park, now not as empty as I had been keeping it. She attracted even longer stares now. It was not surprising with the cum dribbling down her chin and onto her tits; her idea, not mine. Then I took her back home. She worshipped at my feet. We fucked like rabbits for the remainder of the morning.

While Cindi was making lunch, I was lying on the couch slowly consuming the beer she had just fetched me. I was wondering what the fuck went wrong out there. The set up had been perfect. Why didn’t I pull the trigger? Was I getting soft in my old age? If so, my sudden senility had really rotten timing. If I screwed this up twelve thousand years of life might come to a sharp, sudden end.

But truly she had been ready, weeks ahead of schedule. She would have done it. Did I really have to prove it? To myself? To her? Maybe I needed a telepath to read my mind. Maybe someone else could tell me what’s going on in there.

Cindi could tell that I was moody. She thought she had done something wrong, but she had no idea what it might be. So for lunch she was making me a Monte Cristo sandwich, with strawberry yogurt and steak fries. She was trying to make ‘hunky guy comfort food’. She was trying to cheer me up. It was adorable.

As for the plan ... well, there would always next time. And speaking of which, ah, there was Cindi with the plate and another beer. As she rose with my empty I gently grabbed her arm.

“Just a sec, Cindi.”

She resumed her kneeling/sitting position, eyes still full of concern.

“Next week, actually eight days from now, we will have a guest for dinner. The guest has requested rack of lamb. I need you to prepare a shopping list for Annette.”

“Should I make dinner for two or for three, My Lord?”

“Three.”

Her mood brightened a bit.

“The guest may have a big appetite.”

And dimmed. Without a word, she rose, found a pad and pen, began scratching out a rough note. She felt a twinge in her belly, but ignored it. She was wondering if she should go the British route—mint jelly, some sort of veggie, rice or potatoes—or do something a bit more ... creative.

The twinge returned with a vengeance. What if Annette’s body was getting sick? What if she had caught something traipsing around naked outside? Cindi had never been sick before. She didn’t know what it felt like. She knew intellectually about incubation periods, but had never actually felt the slow onset of illness. And she didn’t know the difference.

Cindi approached me cautiously. I was watching football, live Aussie football, “aerial ping-pong”. There was no need to keep up the “dream” pretense with recorded American sports any longer. It was St. Kilda versus the hometown Eagles. Alas, the Saints were steamrolling them.

“My Lord, I ... I’m sorry to bother you ... but I think—”

I turned, sat up, and gave her my full attention. “You think you’re sick.”

I examined what she was experiencing for a second. The twinge had an urgency to it, as if it was telling her to do something, to decide something.

“I have to bring back Annette, just for a few minutes.”

In her bed in her mother’s house, Cindi lay suddenly awake, hoping Annette was okay. She could hear Hippolyta moving around downstairs, trying to be quiet, trying not to wake her daughter, the girl with the super-hearing. She was still tired, but the sunlight streaming in the window made it hard to sleep. She rolled over and covered her face with a pillow. Annette would be back here soon, she should at least try to go back to sleep.

In the penthouse a groggy Annette snapped alert.

“Master, I’m pregnant, or I will be, if I allow this embryo to implant.” She said with a shy, happy smile.

“Boy or girl?”

She concentrated for a minute. “Boy. Greg’s, of course, Master.”

“Shit.” That complicated things a bit. I wanted Greg Wolfe to have sons, lots of them. But the plan ...

“Flush it.”

Smile turned sad. “Yes ... of course, Master ... It’s done.”

Okay, I can tell what you “pro-lifers” out there are thinking, so let’s clear the air. First of all, what part of immortal evil spirit don’t you understand? Can you imagine what I used to do about unwanted (by me) pregnancies before I bred this feature into my slave women? Actually, I’ve been trying to work my way up from “evil” to “amoral” for several millennia now, and I think I’m doing pretty well. So get off my fucking back.

Second, it was not a fucking abortion! Blastulae fail to attach to uteri all the time. All I’ve done is made it a conscious act of will. And it works both ways. Can you imagine how many pregnancies I’ve saved by forcing attachment of embryos that otherwise wouldn’t have attached? No? Then drop it.

Now while we’re on the subject, I can see that some of you are wondering what the big deal was about Greg Wolfe having sons. It’s just this: he was a nice guy.

You see, I screwed up. I’ve mentioned that I’m not a genius, haven’t I? Like the fool who found the trickster genie in the bottle, I made my wishes in the human genome. Of course, I had to wait hundreds or even thousands of years for those wishes to come true. Yet even with all the time in the world to see it coming, I, like that fool in any trickster genie story ever written, had failed to see the unintended consequences, the collateral damage, the ways in which I had knocked things out of balance.

It all eventually caught up with me. By then I had partially corrected the women. If you think they were pliant now, you should have seen the bio-automatons I had for slave women two thousand years before. Not one of them could have made Julia’s “underpaid prostitute” joke or Cindi’s “chasing the geese” joke if her life had depended on it. They had been obedient, they had been horny, but they hadn’t been fun. They didn’t have personalities—humor, sadness, anger—I wanted all that back.

So, having recognized my excesses with the women, I had started trying to correct them. I still had a long way to go, but it was going okay. Unfortunately it took me much longer to recognize my excesses with the men.

Most of my men were, not to put too fine a point on it, fucking sons of bitches. If I hadn’t ridden herd in them, literally, most of them would have become criminals, sociopaths. As it was, they were all nominally civilized, some were outwardly friendly even. But almost all of them were needlessly, pointlessly cruel to their women, some even to their children.

My women were who they were; they did get off on the rough treatment. But ultimate power corrupts, ultimately; at some point, most of my men carried their mastery of my women too far. So for a typical slave-woman, the thrill of submissive obedience was interspersed occasionally with periods of despair and despondency over ill-use.

Ten years ago I had first taken notice of Greg’s father because of his twin daughters, Greg’s sisters. They weren’t dreading the future the way my teen girls were prone to do. At first I thought that it might be something innate in them, a new female trait to spread through the herd. But the more I watched them, the more I realized that they saw their parents’ relationship as a positive example. Both of them ... each of them ... earnestly desired a relationship like their parents’ when her time came.

You see, Benjamin Wolfe was clearly the alpha male of his family: high, low, and middle justice. But he was a benevolent dictator. His wife, Michelle—Shelley—didn’t just submit to him; she clearly adored him. And the feeling was entirely mutual. This was one of my slave families that didn’t have to masquerade as a modern, well-adjusted, upper-middle-class, first-world family. They were one.

This was something I had to spread to the rest of the herd, the sooner the better. I searched the herd and found five other similar men, out of five thousand. But hey, I have the ultimate long-term perspective. These six would be the start of a project that would be complete in no more than half a millennium. That was perfectly acceptable to me.

All but two of the six had sons. I ordered the other two to remedy that situation at their earliest convenience. It was not often that I requisitioned children directly. The two families accepted the order as a compliment and an honor, and got right on it.

But of all six of these first-generation “nice guys”, Benjamin Wolfe was the gold standard. The Wolfe family already had a son, their youngest, Greg. At sixteen it was too early to tell if he carried his father’s complex and subtle dominant-but-nice nature. Unfortunately, Ben was 41, and hence had been “retired” by vasectomy the year before.

Of course, now I did know that Greg had inherited that aspect of his father’s nature. Needless to say I was more than a bit eager for him and Annette to have sons.

That’s all there was to it.

So now, of course, I come to you enterprising souls who want to know how Annette was able to divine all those amazing details about her incipient pregnancy. Answer: I have no freaking clue.

First I bred them to be able to tell when they were pregnant, the earlier the better. When they could do that, I bred them to be able to tell the sex of the child. When they could do that, I bred them to be able to tell who the father was. After that—and this was the really hard one—I bred them to be able to terminate the pregnancy as soon as they became aware of it.

I don’t know how they do any of it. But I do know that targeted, focused, long-term breeding programs work. Period. And that brings us back to where we started.

Now Cindi was back. She realized that whatever distress she had been feeling was gone. I told her that Annette took care of it. She was confused, but she got back to her meal planning.

When she was done she came to me, knelt, and reverently presented me with an envelope addressed to Annette. She cleaned up after lunch. She came back. She prostrated herself. She begged to serve me.

“My Lord, Yesterday you let me tell two people, two people very important to me, that I love you. My own mother knows and accepts that I serve you as a God. You found out what my mother was hiding all these years. You made her tell me who my father is.“

She paused and took a deep breath, clearly overcome with emotion. “I’m so grateful to you that I can barely put it into words. I love you more than life itself. I would walk naked through Piccadilly Circus at high noon for your pleasure. During the Super Bowl I would kneel naked at midfield and service every member of both damned football teams, if you only ask. I stand ready and willing to serve you in any way that I am able. How may I serve you now, My Lord? What can I do to make you happy?“

I smiled. No, I really hadn’t needed that little demo, has I? “Well,” I said, “I was thinking about seconds ...“

She looked up, a bit confused. “More potatoes, My Lord?”

“More Cindi.”

We had about an hour and a half left. If we were lucky. We would put it to good use.