Anyone under the age of 18, along with anyone offended by stories of a sexual nature or containing sexual situations or offended by the idea of mind control in any fashion, please do not read this story.
This story takes place in the fictional city of Chrystal Heights. This is not significant in any way other than I hope to continue creating stories involving this town.
The people and events in this story are fictional and do not represent anyone or anything from real life.
Synopsis: A support group meeting that could only happen in Chrystal Heights.
Mind-Controllers Anonymous
By: Chrystal Wynd
The cute brunette filled the Styrofoam cup with coffee. She added one sugar and one creamer, then picked up the cup and walked it to the man sitting at the head of the circle of chairs. She handed him the cup.
“Thank you, Cindy,” said the man. He had glasses, a high forehead and a brown ponytail.
“You’re welcome, Randy,” she said.
Randy looked around the circle. “All right, people,” he said. “Are we ready to begin?”
Nobody answered, but what little conversation there was died.
“Good, good,” said Randy. “Now, we have someone new tonight. John, why don’t you stand up and introduce yourself to the group?”
One of the men in the circle of chairs stood slowly. He was short-barely over five feet- and his eyes pointed in different directions.
“My name is John,” he said. “Some call me Odd John. But no matter. One day, all will bow to me. All will call me Master! And I will smite my enemies then. Those who looked down upon me...those who thought themselves so superior...those who dared to call me mad...I will smite them all! Men will tremble at the memory of their fates for a thousand years!”
“Thank you for sharing, John,” said Randy, “But that’s really not how we say hello here.”
John stared at Randy, eyes wide. Then he exhaled.
“Right,” he said. “Sorry. Habit.” He looked around the circle. “Umm...my name is John...and I’m addicted to mind control.”
The group intoned together, “Hi, John.”
Randy nodded. “So, why are you here tonight, John?”
“Because those fools fail to recognize my natural superiority!” said John.
“I’m sure, John,” said Randy, “but is that the only reason?”
“Well...no,” said John. “They caught me putting mind-control juice in a sorority’s Kool-Aid.”
“A sorority?” said a man. “You want to take over the world, so you tried to juice a sorority?”
“You have to start somewhere,” said John.
“Of course,” said the man. “Perhaps you should go to Namby Pamby Land and put mind-control juice in their drinks, too.”
“Now, Sam,” said Randy, “let’s be a little more understanding, okay? Not everybody has your mental domination power, so they have to do things a little differently.”
Sam began speaking in a high-pitched falsetto. “Ohhhhh, my name is Odd John, and everybody is so mean to me! They don’t let me give mind-control gummy bears to Girl Scouts!”
John’s face changed colors. “Oh, yeah?!” he said. “How would you do it, Mister Know-It-All?”
Sam’s eyes glittered. “Sorority?” he said. “Forget the sorority. Go to the strip clubs and street corners. Find the sluts, their scarlet lips puckered with false kisses, their sweet, angelic smiles bearding vile lies. Gaze upon the whores and their treacherous, life-giving bosoms, their—”
“He’s off again,” said a voice in the back.
John snickered. “Someone’s got mommy issues.”
Randy spoke up. “We’re getting off-base here, I think,” he said.
“Well, he started it,” said John.
“Did not. You did.” said Sam.
“I did?”
“Sam!” said Randy. “Stop that. We don’t use our abilities here.”
“Fine,” said Sam. “It was just a joke.”
“Now, John,” continued Randy, “how did getting stopped from taking over the world make you feel?”
John sat down and was quiet for several heartbeats. Then he answered, “Well...angry,” he said. “Frustrated. Betrayed. Ungrateful wenches!”
“Betrayed?” said Sam. “Betrayed is when your mother ignores your cries while she entertains a parade of men. Betrayal is when your first grade teacher ignores you to teach someone else the alphabet. Betrayal is Mrs. Hooper leaving Mr. Hooper to work a lonely corner store by himself while she tramps through the back alleys off that dark street called Sesame.”
“Umm,” said John. “I think you’re odder than me.”
Randy pointed his pen at John. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Kind of relieved, actually,” said John. “I was—”
Everybody jumped as Cindy suddenly squealed.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
A tall, leather-clad woman had Cindy bent over her lap. The woman was spanking Cindy’s rounded bottom.
“Stupid slut!” said the woman, her bare-handed spanks echoing. “I told you sweetener, not sugar!”
“Ow! I’m sorry! Ow! Please stop! Ow! No more! Ow! Please!” said Cindy.
Randy cleared his throat. “Mistress Fiona!” he said. “Please stop spanking Cindy! She is not yours to discipline.”
Fiona stopped suddenly, hand in mid-air. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I am terribly sorry. I quite forgot where I was.” She helped Cindy to her feet, giving her bottom a light pat. “There you are, sweetie. So sorry. You’ll fix that coffee for me, won’t you?”
Cindy squeaked a reply and scurried off toward the coffee table.
“Now that’s the way to keep ‘em in line, I say,” said a voice. The speaker was a tall, dark-haired man. “Sometimes dames just need a little guidance, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Mister Fontanna,” said Fiona, “don’t you think that’s a bit politically incorrect?”
The dark-haired Italian grabbed his crotch. “Yo, I got your political correctness right here, sweetheart.”
“Oh, I’d love to get you in my dungeon, Mister Fontanna,” said Fiona. “I’m sure I could eliminate your arrogance.”
“You just wanna spank me so you can touch my ass, sweetie,” said Tony. “I don’t blame ya, ya know what I’m sayin’? I mean, just check out these buns.” He stood and pointed his bottom in Fiona’s direction.
“Tony,” said Randy, “I think perhaps we should talk about what Fiona’s saying. Have you considered that perhaps she’s right? I mean, perhaps practicing a little humility wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yo,” said Tony, sitting back down. “You want humility? I’m a humble guy. It ain’t braggin’ if it’s true, you know I’m sayin’?”
“Humble?” said Fiona. “I suspect your victims wouldn’t agree, Mister Fontanna.”
“Hey, they don’t mind at all,” said Tony. “I mean, yo, I’m just swelling up the puppies a bit, givin’ ‘em a little boost in the caboose. you know what I’m sayin’? Hell, they’re grateful as all get out. They’re all over my cock, you know?”
Fiona spoke through clenched teeth. “Because you bimbify them, you—”
Randy cut in smoothly. “Fiona is just suggesting that perhaps your, ahh, ability contributes somewhat to their enjoyment.”
“Well, yeah, I hope so,” said Tony. “I mean, I’m not a dick or anything. I turn ‘em into fuckin’ wet dreams. They can get all the cock they want. Hell, they can even get some pussy if they want, you know what I’m sayin’?” He turned to Fiona. “You want me to send ‘em to you, sweetheart?”
“Mister Fontanna,” said Fiona, “what amazes me is that you’re actually serious.”
“Well, yeah,” said Tony. “I’m not a dick, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“You lack culture, Mister Fontanna,” said Fiona.
“That’s not true!” said Tony. “I know poetry and stuff.” He cleared his throat. “Hickory dickory dock...this chick was sucking my cock—”
Randy shook his head. “Tony...”
“What? What?” said Tony. “Those are words of deep culture from the poet laureate Andrew Dice Clay, Esquire. Yo!”
Fiona’s eyes became glaciers. “Oh, Mister Fontanna,” she said. “How you would wriggle and cry like a little boy.”
“Go ahead and try, sweetheart,” said Tony, “if you want a pair of knockers so big, they’ll squeak like balloons every time you hiccup.”
“Your enema would be legendary, Mister Fontanna.”
“When you walk, your ass would look like two Volkswagen beetles racing.”
“People!” said Randy. “Please, let’s get back on topic, okay?”
“Not a problem,” said Tony.
“Of course,” said Fiona.
“Good,” said Randy. “Now, how did that make you all feel? Can you—” Randy stopped suddenly and looked at the coffee table.
“Cindy,” said Randy, “what are you doing?”
Cindy turned her head at Randy’s voice. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. Then her shoulders turned. Her arms were bent at the elbow and her hands were open, but they were stiff and appeared locked in position. Cindy took two steps toward Randy. Her walk was jerky and she didn’t move her arms.
“I-am-get-ting-Mas-ter-Vir-gil-some-cof-fee-sir,” said Cindy. She turned and took two jerky steps back to the table.
There was a large wind-up key on her back.
Randy sighed. “Virgil!”
There was a burst of snorting laughter from the back of the room.
“Virgil,” said Randy, “what’s the rule here about turning people into robots?”
Virgil giggled. “I know, I know.” he said. “I was just experimenting, that’s all.”
“Virgil,” said Randy, “you know the rules. No robotizing the staff.”
“Awww, it was just a little joke,” said the bespectacled teen. “I didn’t hurt her any.”
“Amateur!” said a tall, dark-haired woman. She turned to the red-headed, latex-clad woman next to her. “Steph-bot...bring me some coffee.”
The redhead rose smoothly and walked to the coffee table. Her hands moved rapidly and a cup of coffee was ready in moments. The woman turned and walked back to the woman who had given the order. The redhead then placed the cup between her impressive breasts. The Steph-bot squeezed her breasts together just tightly enough to hold the cup in place. She then leaned forward carefully until she was able to pour a small amount of coffee into the dark-haired woman’s mouth.
The dark-haired woman swallowed her coffee, then looked at Virgil with a smile. “That is how you make a robot.”
“Hmmpphh,” said Virgil. “Big deal. My next robot is going to have USB ports and an SD slot.”
“Mine has a slot, too,” said the dark-haired woman. “It’s right between her—”
“Thank you, Elaine,” said Randy. “We’ve learned enough about robots today. Virgil, please remove your equipment from my assistant.”
“Awwwww,” he said. “Why does Elaine get to keep hers?”
“Because, Virgil,” said Randy, “the Steph-bot didn’t start the meeting as my assistant.”
“I never get to do nothin’!” said Virgil. Sulking, he stood and walked toward Cindy.
“All right, I think this would be a good time for a coffee break,” said Randy,
Everybody stood up and stretched. A few headed over to the coffee table.
“Wait a minute,” said Randy. He looked at Elaine, who had coffee dribbling down her chin as she stared straight ahead, eyes wide. “Elaine? Are you okay?”
Elaine didn’t answer. Everyone gathered around her.
“I don’t understand,” said Randy. “Is there something wrong with the coffee?”
“Ummmm...” said Odd John. “Oops.”