Author’s Note: This story is sexually explicit and is not suitable for minors. This is a work of fiction. All characters are based on ones created by the author’s mind. This story is not to be posted or duplicated without the author’s expressed permission and this notice posted with it.
The Mind Control Tales:
Prologue
Point of view! There are many things in life that depend on our point of view. Take my tales for instance (well they aren’t really my tales. Just read on you will understand). Some may find them boring compared to their lives. Some may find them horrific compared to their sheltered existence. Some may find them erotic. Some may even find them humorous. So I guarantee nothing for you as a reader. These will merely be my memoirs. The proof of my existence.
So where do I begin? Which story do I start with? Mine of course. You will read the stories, but without mine you will not understand the pain. You see mine is a sad story, a horrific story and an unfortunate story. Sorry, again I write confusingly. I should just spit it out!
You see my life is one let down after another. Unlike most I know the guilty party. I know who gives me this ire. I have grown to hate them...
No. Hate is too strong of a word. Yet at this point no other can describe how I feel. For half of you the mere mention of the groups name will make you understand my dislike. As for the rest, keep reading and you will come around. Who has caused me pain you ask? Women!
When I was a boy of two years, my father died. My mother and her sister raised me. I was beaten daily. I was made the slave. Oh do not feel sorry for me. I suspect you will only come to hate me. When I went to high school I found the opposite sex to be a mystery. I would think a girl liked me, but when I asked her out I would receive a no.
One particular incident that sticks with me like a mole is when I called Cassandra and asked her out. Now I heard that the worst that can happen when asking a girl out is getting a no. Well that never happened for me. So now I got you thinking. Maybe her boyfriend beat me up? Nope! Maybe she said yes then stood me up? Nope! Do you want to know what response I got to “Would you like to go out with me sometime”? A laugh...
She laughed at me. What kind of a loser am I that asking someone else out would produce a laugh. Then she hung up on me leaving no doubt that I was not worthy. I cried myself to sleep that night. A sixteen-year-old boy cried himself to sleep. That one laugh shattered my confidence. I never even asked another girl out again until I was twenty-one.
Rejected again! Diane was her name. A beautiful brunette. She was nice about it. She explained how she had a boyfriend (and she did I checked). The thing was that on my first confidence build since high school I was shot down again. Skip to twenty-three. Her name was Trisha. She was a co-worker of mine. She was nineteen and very very attractive. She said yes. Great! My confidence soared. We made a date to go to a movie. That day at work, Trisha came up to me and said Jan, Tom and Karen were coming too. She thought I had asked her as a friend. She thought that it was just guys from work going out. That isn’t even the painful part. You see I told my friends about the date. Now I was embarrassed in front on my peers. My confidence fell to a new low. I still managed to stay happy, but things would get worse.
I stayed shy until my twenty-ninth birthday. I had become friendly with a girl named Kelly. Again she was beautiful, but best of all we got along. We were friends. I wanted more, but I had learned my lessons well. I never pursued anything. So on my birthday my friends decided we should go out to drink. After about twenty some odd drinks I had some confidence. Kelly had mentioned a sore back. I offered a massage and she accepted. I rubbed her slowly and sensually. I was happy. Maybe she wanted more. Then it happened she said she wanted to dance (oh that’s not what happened. No not for me. What happened was the utter need for twenty some drinks to come out). I bolted to the bathroom. When I returned I found Kelly and Tim on the dance floor. They swayed to the music. Then my heart was ripped out. They kissed. A long soft love filled kiss. I ran home and on my twenty-ninth birthday I again cried myself to sleep.
I hope sadness hasn’t set it, at least not for me. I don’t want your pity. I only want your understanding. The stories I will share with you are ones of revenge. I just want you to know where the hate comes from.
So I’ve cried for the last time. The next day I accepted my fate. I knew I would die old and lonely. The years pasted. Some fast, some slow but all without the love of a woman. My friends all fell in love and married. Do you even understand how much a wedding feels like a kick in the nuts to a guy like me? Of course not, how could you? So they found wedded bliss. Which produced children and in turn gave then grandchildren.
I cannot accurately describe my sorrow, my pain. Children look up to their parents with love. An emotion that I want so much... An emotion that I received so little of... So it came to pass that I wished to end my life. I didn’t want to die not ever having sex so at seventy I sunk my lowest. I prowled the streets looking for a hooker. Someone I could pay to do to me that which no other woman would do for free.
I found one too. A nasty, ugly woman that used the name Candi. We went to a hotel; well that’s what they called it. You know the place, one of those hotels so expensive they only rent by the hour. I stripped naked and positioned myself on the bed. Candi approached the end of the bed. She reached between her legs, no doubt to pull her panties from underneath her skirt.
I woke up a week later in a hospital. It turns out Candi was a mental patient. She mistook me for roast and decided to carve me up. I lost one eye, partial use of my left leg and the complete use of my penis (well I could still urinate out of it but that’s hardly the point isn’t it)!! Doctors said I was lucky to be alive. Yeah me!!! I was the proud recipient of 34 stab wounds. Scars I could die with. Could...Oh I have felt a new meaning for this word.
You see two years later a wondrous miracle or horrific tragedy (now you will see that whole point of view crap) happened. I received powers. Control over minds, bodies, emotions, and to a lesser degree time (I could only stop it not reverse it). I wonder which question is on your mind now. How did I receive this gift or is the question after healing myself who did I fuck first?
The first is irrelevant. A ring, a necklace, I am an ancient breed of warrior, an alien took pity on me, magic potions, genies, a wondrous computer program or how about magical toilet paper. You see the source is not important. I have them, that is all. As for the next question, well you forget mine is a sad tale. You see I cannot use the power to fix me; so controlling a woman to love me would be useless. Oh sure I would have the tenderness and love is love. Maybe love would be enough. I could finish my life knowing what love truly is. Oh how things are cruel. With these powers I am also given immortality. I cannot die. I will walk the earth until it is no more. Then I will float in space until the end of time. No my life is to be torture. My life is to be pain. Ultimate power with no ability to use it for personal happiness. So I sat brewing in my hate. I needed an outlet. I needed revenge. I needed a reason for being because simply existing wasn’t enough.
Then it came to me. How could I be the only one to suffer thru life like this? My release could come from giving pleasure to others that would otherwise suffer from my fate. I would punish the woman who would wrong me by making them slaves to those who would become me. Life is ironic in some ways. It pisses in the very water you need to survive. I would not let others fall into my hell. My lone pleasure will come vicariously thru them. And for those moments of hallow happiness I receive, I will give them the joy and love for life I could never have. That is why I say these are their tales...