The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For the People (Chapter 3)

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: Emily begins her new mission, and Devin has a meeting with the corporate brass.

DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, event, or organization is entirely coincidental.

“For a man who claims to work discreetly, you really do like to make a big splash.”

Devin looked across the desk at Giotto Falcmaro. He didn’t look at all like the CEO of one of the world’s biggest corporations. Falcmaro had inherited Tellamon Holdings International just ten years prior from his dear departed grandfather, who had started the company decades ago when he had first come to the United States. Now, at the tender age of forty-five, Giotto Falcmaro was one of the richest men in the world. And one of the hardest to please.

“You gave me a tight deadline. Bold moves are sometimes necessary.”

Falcmaro’s eyes flicked up to meet Devin’s before going back to the tablet he was reading from. “‘Congressional Beauty Queen Goes Glam Under Pressure . Her Latest Interview Will Shock You,’” he quoted from one online news source or another. “I assume you have a plan behind this?”

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” Devin answered simply. “Everything is right on track. She’s got more media coverage—and thus more power—than ever before. She’s on every news channel, in every blog. Huffington Post is basically imploding in a civil war just because they don’t know what to do about her. No one is even reading her bill, they’re so distracted, and she’s working noon and night to change the thing to exactly what you want.”

“How could you know that? You aren’t with her every minute of the day.”

“I stop by when I can. But I’ve got her bugged. Cell phone, office, car, home. The usual.”

Falcmaro set down the tablet in surprise. “How did you manage that? Capitol security isn’t easy.”

“She gives me access to whatever I ask from her. I had an hour alone with her phone. I spent the night with her last Wednesday. What more do I need?”

“Unbelievable.” Falcmaro rubbed his eyes. “You’ve got to be some kind of sorcerer.”

Devin just shrugged. He very carefully kept his professional secrets to himself. The more mythology his clients created about him, the less likely they were to try and steal his technology.

“What’s she been saying?” Falcmaro continued.

“Take a listen for yourself.” Gamely, Devin opened up the audio file from the last time he and Hobart met, a couple of days ago.

The CEO and the fake journalist listened together for a few minutes, until Falcmaro gestured for Devin to pause. “Dumb? You want her to be dumb?”

Devin sighed. “I know it’s not ideal. But the conditioning that I do is tricky. There’s a balance to it. Breaking down her belief in her own abilities will really help the rest of the training stick. But if you pay attention, I linked most of the ‘stupid’ belief into her interactions with men, specifically sexual and romantic ties. Her political acumen should be more or less untouched. Don’t worry, she’s far from brain dead. She’ll be a shark when we need her to be, and I can keep tweaking as we go, if something slips away from optimal.”

It was a familiar diatribe, and Falcmaro took it with a considering ‘huh,’ thinking to himself in the silence. Devin let the wheels turn without unpausing the recording.

“You’re really something, Cavenshaw,” he finally admitted. Devin didn’t know if Giotto actually believed that was his real last name. Probably not. “Why the hell are you doing this kind of work? You could be the king of... whatever you liked, with this kind of talent.”

For the hundredth time, Devin found himself liking the dapper CEO of Tellamon. He had a directness and an earnest way of looking at the world that reminded Devin of his friends from college. No wonder he had been able to keep expanding the company so adroitly since his grandfather’s death.

Devin chuckled. “I spend most of my time traveling the world in a private jet, sampling the best and most beautiful sights and sounds the world has to offer. Not to mention the food. Not to mention the women. I couldn’t burn through my net worth if I tried, and I’m so diversified that most people will never have any idea who I am. Why would I give up all that just to be President?”

Falcmaro seemed to consider that for a moment. “A man after my own heart.” He glanced at his tablet again. “What’s the girl doing now, anyway?”

* * *

“Congressman…”

“Congresswoman.” Emily corrected the senior representative from Georgia.

O’Donahue’s eyes bulged for a moment. “Congresswoman. My apologies. I just want to make sure that I’m understanding you right here. You want to just abandon your bill?”

The minority leader’s thick Savannah drawl made Emily smile. He sounded a little bit like a Saturday morning cartoon. “Not abandon it, Mr. Leader.” Unlike when O’Donahue spoke to her, Emily made sure to use his preferred form of address the first time. “I want to re-write it. Not necessarily from scratch, but close to it.”

O’Donahue’s eyes shifted under their enormous, snow-white eyebrows to gauge the reactions of the other two congressmen in the room. Hortenblau, with his perfectly layered bronze tan, simply shrugged. Wilde, a trim 40 years old with salty temples and a shining bolo tie, clicked his tongue absently. He barely shifted his gaze from Emily to acknowledge the leader.

“Re-write it to say what, exactly?” O’Donahue emphasized the H in ‘what’ with an expulsion of breath.

“I feel like you haven’t been hearing me for the last twenty minutes,” Emily said, her patience wearing thin. “I’m prepared to give your caucus significant control of the language in the bill to pursue items that you’ve already expressed an interest in.”

“Such as?” Hortenblau must have had a cold. His voice was even more nasal than usual.

“Corporate tax cuts, for one,” Emily ticked off her fingers. “A global liability shield. Elimination of fraud statutes for pension holdings, insider trading, and targeted investments.”

Silence reigned for a moment. Hortenblau’s jaw actually dropped.

Congressman Wilde finally broke the quiet. “Global liability from…”

“Civil suits as well as criminal charges,” she answered. Emily had always liked Wilde. He was much sharper than the rest of the congressional Republicans. More reasonable. He had the feel of a cool young uncle who kept up with the latest in pop music. Well, at least country music.

Hortenblau started to blubber in amazement, but O’Donahue silenced him with a hand. “And what are you hoping to get in exchange, Congresswoman.” He somehow managed to make the title sound sarcastic.

Emily tossed her hair over her shoulder and let her smile get pageant-bright. “The joy of helping strengthen America.”

That statement shut them up again. For the hundredth time in twenty minutes, all three of them snuck a look at the neckline of Emily’s top. Maybe that was doing the work of shutting them up, really.

“Can we have a moment to confer?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be right outside, boys.” It was easy dropping the ‘boys’ in there at the end. A little flirtatious, far less professional than was appropriate. Just how she liked it.

Emily rose smoothly and strode into O’Donahue’s outer office, closing the door behind her. The minority leader’s scheduling secretary sat at her desk and cast a baleful look at Emily. She was a pretty young blonde from O’Donahue’s district, certainly used to covert looks and romantic advances from powerful men that were just dangerous enough to be fun. She had certainly been the best looking girl in her high school, maybe even her university. But with Emily in the room, the girl might not as well have even been there.

Emily has dressed to impress for her big meeting with the Crackerbarrel Triplets, as they were sometimes referred to scornfully by her Democratic fellows. She had gone without a suit jacket of any kind, already a minor breach of tradition. Instead she was wearing a hunter green tank top with thin straps that rode wide on her shoulders and an angular neckline that almost made it look like a corset at first glance. That started her outright breaches of the House code of decorum. The lace material had an opaque cream backing that nearly matched her skin tone, giving it a sheer appearance. Her white banded skirt had a hem that climbed high up her legs and was tantalizingly slashed with sheer nylon around mid-thigh. The high waist coupled with tall, green sequined heels to make her legs look impossibly long. Altogether she looked more like a high-priced escort scoping out clients at a hotel on Freedom Plaza than she looked like a Congresswoman.

Nor had anyone in town—or perhaps the country—missed that fact. None of the cable news networks had shut up about her shifting personal style, and every interviewer she’d faced in the last two weeks had asked her about it. She would have been well within her rights to shut down questions like that; it was beside the point, after all, and it wasn’t like any of the men in Congress were ever questioned about their fashion choices, as long as they didn’t commit the heinous crime of wearing a tan suit.

But instead she cheerfully answered them all. “I don’t think that serving my country means I have to sacrifice my Constitutionally-protected right to free expression,” she had said more than once. “That’s part of what makes America so wonderful. Our individuality is a strength, not a weakness.” She always made sure to punctuate the answer by uncrossing and recrossing her legs, or running her finger along her neckline. Something to draw attention to the shining skin that she took such delight in showing.

The whole thing had had a polarizing effect on the country. Lower-income men and women had embraced her view wholesale, and even in other demographics many women were using her as inspiration to show their own tastes in clothing. And show their skin, too. One of her aides had informed Emily that the prevailing term on the internet for her clothing was “Slut Watch 2018.” Emily had been wryly amused at that.

She took her phone out to answer a few emails while she waited. Before she could get very far, O’Donahue’s secretary—Tracy, that was her name, right?—got her attention.

“Can I get you anything, Congresswoman?” Her tone was friendly enough, but Emily had been through the ringer in high school as much as anyone, more than enough to recognize the seething hatred underneath the polite facade. “Water, coffee?”

“No thanks,” Emily chirped. “Actually, you can tell me this. Are you and the Leader having an affair?”

Tracy’s eyes bulged out of her head. “Congresswoman… I don’t…”

Emily clicked her tongue ruefully. “That’s a shame. You’re never going to get where you want to go without working his dick.” Tracy’s gaze darted around, looking for someone, anyone else within earshot. But the office was quiet during the day’s typical lunch hour. “You’re not working with what I’ve got, obviously, but with a little change of clothes, some better makeup, a little aggression… You could be a nice piece of ass for him.”

“Congresswoman, I don’t think this is very appropriate…” Tracy stammered. Emily was impressed. Even in that mousy tone, talking back to a representative showed courage.

“To hell with appropriate. Where has appropriate gotten you? Behind a secretary’s desk, that’s all. And you’re gonna stay there unless you learn to love opening your legs for your boss. For whoever can get you what you want.” Emily leaned far over Tracy’s desk. The familiar weight of her breasts dragged her forward, her flimsy top barely supporting them. To think, for all those years she’d let herself be annoyed by that weight. Now she reveled in it. “Trust me, it feels good,” she whispered.

Before Tracy could fire back, the door to O’Donahue’s office opened and Congressman Andrew Wilde stepped out. “I’m sorry, Congresswoman Hobart,” he began, struggling not to be distracted by Emily’s ass as she remained bent over at the waist. He didn’t succeed, not by half. “We’re going to need to cut this meeting short. We need to get some more opinions and get back to you.”

Emily locked eyes with Wilde and straightened up slowly, keeping an arch to her back to exaggerate her tightly-covered curves. “Sure thing, Andy. Can I call you Andy?”

To his credit, Wilde almost managed to pull his eyes from Emily’s chest long enough to answer. He made a solid effort. “If I can call you Emily.”

“I wish you would.”

Emily turned to go, but Wilde fell in step behind her. Tracy watched them go, shuddering at the sight of the retreating Congresswoman and her bizarre, alluring suggestions. She glanced down at her own body, full of loathing for Congresswoman Hobart. Deep down, though, some part of her knew that that loathing was really for herself, and that what she had for Emily was only fascination and envy.

In the marble-lined corridors of the Capitol building, Emily threaded her arm through Wilde’s, as if they were two close friends strolling along the riverbank at sunset. Several people cast looks in their direction, which suited Emily just fine. She loved the attention.

“I hope everything went well in there,” she prompted her male colleague.

Wilde cleared his throat and forced himself to watch where he was going. “Very well, thank you. Some might say, too well.”

“Some people don’t know how to be thankful for a good thing when it comes to them.”

“Congresswo—”

“Emily.” She interrupted him. “There are a lot of things you can call me, but Emily is the absolute most formal I’ll take.”

A portrait of George Washington loomed over them as they turned down another corridor. “Emily. With all due respect, what’s going on with you? The kinds of things you were just offering us in there, those aren’t anything that any Democrat would even entertain. Quite a few Republicans, for that matter. Let alone the single most passionate consumer rights advocate the Congress has ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great for our agenda, and I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but…” He seemed at a loss. “I want to know where this is coming from.”

They stopped walking, and Emily realized that it was because they were outside Wilde’s outer office. It was in a less-trafficked part of the building, far from the elevators or a view of the dome that made some suites much more coveted than others.

“So what you’re saying is,” Emily briefly mocked O’Donahue’s twang, “that you want me to tell you my whole political strategy in thirty seconds in the middle of a hallway.”

Wilde sighed. “Good point. Come into my office, let’s talk. I’ve got a few minutes before my meeting with Ways & Means.”

Emily let the middle-aged representative lead her through the outer suite and through the stately double doors into his private office. It was decorated very differently than Emily’s own office, with much more cream and white in the palette.

Wilde stepped over to the sideboard where a few crystal decanters sat waiting. “May I offer you a drink?”

Emily followed him, her steps as slow and sinuous as a snake’s slither. “You may. But I’ll earn it myself.”

Wilde turned in confusion and was met with Emily pressing herself against him, her breasts compressing against his chest as her leg slid around his hip. He managed only a small grunt before her lips met his. To his credit, he recovered quickly, and the awkward kiss gained heat in mere seconds, his arms wrapping around the former beauty queen and pulling her into him.

A growing pressure against her stomach told Emily how much Andy Wilde was enjoying himself, and her hand snaked between the two of them, finding the rigid bulge in his pants in short order. “Mmmmm now that’s much better, isn’t it?”

“Emily, god…”

“I told you,” she said into the air as his lips began hunting their way down her neck. “That’s the most formal thing you should call me. But we’re not being very formal now, are we?”

“You’re so bad, honey… I want you, right now.”

Emily cooed in joy at his declaration. Her hips bucked a little. “I’m here, baby. If you want me, take me.”

As if that wasn’t enough enticement, Emily turned away from him and bent over his desk, keeping her feet widely spread, her legs straight. With one hand she balanced herself on the desktop, and with the other she reached back and pulled her skirt up, letting it slide over the curve of her ass, baring the lacy pearl color of her thong to him. “I can be as bad as you want.”

Something in her words or posture injected some sense into Wilde, who immediately backed away. Panic was in his eyes. “Wait. Wait, no. We can’t do this.”

Emily didn’t budge. “What are you worried about? Your wife?” She snorted derisively. “Look at me. Your wife is nothing compared to me.”

“Oh my god, Katherine…” Apparently Wilde hadn’t been thinking about his wife, and the mere mention of her deepened his horror. “No, I was just… We could get in so much trouble.”

“You mean you could get in so much trouble.” Wilde’s silence confirmed her suspicions. She thought for the briefest moment. “Here, give me your phone.” He hesitated, and she held out her hand. “I’m not going to call your wife. Christ. Give it.”

With painful hesitation, Wilde reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone, then handed it to the half-bare Congresswoman.

Without straightening up, and being careful to keep her massive hanging cleavage in the frame, Emily opened up the camera on the phone and started taking a selfie video. “Hi everyone,” she said without preamble. “I’m Congresswoman Emily Hobart. It’s… what, July 6th? And I’m about to fuck Andrew Wilde like you wouldn’t believe. He’s not coercing me or taking advantage of me. I’m not drunk. I just think he’s the sexiest man in this entire town, and I need him pound me right here on his desk like the slut I am. Just thought you might want to know.” She blew a kiss to the camera and winked, then ended the video.

Wilde was so stunned that he missed the catch when Emily tossed the phone back to him. It skittered along the floor, forgotten. “What... What if I showed that to someone?”

“Then people would know the truth about how I feel about you,” Emily said sweetly. “Now I’ve got nothing over you, but you’ve got that video, in case you ever doubt how sincere I am.”

Something shifted in Wilde’s gaze. The fear fled like water down a drain, leaving behind it a kind of violent, consuming fire. “Emily… I’m your political enemy. The other side of the aisle.” He took a step toward her, he eyes on the strip of lace covering her pussy. “With that video I could end your whole career. You’d be a joke in this whole town. You’d never get re-elected to anything, not in a million years.”

Emily closed her eyes, her body humming as he talked. “I guess I’d better do a good job keeping you happy then, shouldn’t I?”

She felt her thong pull away from her body, sliding down her legs as Wilde tugged on it. Her pussy felt suddenly cold as the open air of the office hit her wetness. “I think you’re going to do a very good job, honey.”

Emily wasn’t ready for his cock, not at the speed that he shoved it into her. Fortunately, her pussy was practically gushing, and he slid into her to the hilt without so much as a second’s pause. She cried out, her voice soaking into the thick wood paneling of the room. Pleasure surged through her. His cock wasn’t the biggest she’d ever had, but her pussy squeezed back against it with eagerness, thrumming with every stroke.

It was like Emily was trapped in an oven. Her skin radiated heat. She’d always liked sex, had always enjoyed it immensely, but this was different. She reveled in it. She hadn’t been with a man since decided to set free her inner slut… Well, except Devin, but that was different. He was her friend, and she enjoyed how he used her when they were together in a friendly way. But this, opening herself up to a man who wanted her like this, who had coveted her body from across conference rooms and restaurants and corridors, who was now releasing all his pent up fantasies in her… Her mind burst over and over, her whole world collapsing in on the pressure in her pussy.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “Fuck me, fuck your little slut.”

Wilde’s hand wrapped up in her hair and pulled her head back, wrenching a happy moan from her as he did. “Take those huge tits out for me, slut. Show me that body, that award-winning body.”

Emily was only too happy to oblige, her crinkled nipples running across the smooth surface of the desk as they swung back and forth under her pounding motion. “Not so scared of me anymore, are you?” she grinned. Wilde just laughed. “So you believe me when I tell you I want to reverse that bill that you all hated? Work with you to help big companies get more power?”

Wilde laughed again, high and feral. “God yes. Perfect.” Emily didn’t know if he was referring to her ideas, or her body. She hoped both.

“Mmm good… Because I actually have another one I didn’t mention before. We’ll need…” She paused to yelp as Wilde changed his pace, hammering at her slower but harder. “We’ll need to really work on it. It’s unprecedented. Maybe cause a Constitutional crisis.”

Wilde’s hands gripped Emily’s hips and flipped her over with little help from her. He was stronger than he looked, moving her 5′10″ frame with apparently little effort. She landed on the desk on her back, her skirt hiked up around her hips and her legs spread wide in the air. “Ooh… Somebody’s Texas strong.”

Her cutesy smirk faded in an instant as Wilde used his greater leverage to piston in and out of her. She craned her neck up, getting a good view of her pussy lips gripping at his cock, his face red and snarling and powerful as he took his pleasure in her.

“Fuck the Constitution,” he growled. “Tell me.”

“Exactly. Exactly!” Emily arched her back, pleased both with Wilde’s attitude and the spot inside her that his cock had found. “I was thinking about… corporate eminent domain.”

Wilde stopped, his cock head just barely separating Emily’s pussy lips as he looked down at her. She felt painfully, horribly empty. “As in… allowing corporations to take public land?”

“Maybe someday,” she admitted. “But there’s not that much valuable public land. I want them to be able to take land from private citizens. Everyday people. No money, no negotiations. Just take it.”

Wilde shook his head in amazement. “Emily… You sweet, sexy bitch. I don’t know where you came from, but I don’t care. I’m here to help.”

With that, he began working his cock in her again. Emily gleefully spread her legs wider, glad to have been able to do another day’s good work for the true power in America. It felt good to do the right thing. Very, very good.

* * *

Giotto Falcmaro silenced the live feed from the bug in Emily’s cell phone. “Good god in heaven. What did you do to this woman?”

“Thinking about your wife?” Devin asked knowingly.

“Well… yeah.” Giotto laughed at himself. “Am I that obvious?”

“Don’t blame yourself. Obvious wishes are obvious for a reason.”

Falcmaro took a sip of prosecco from a steel flute on his desk, then thought. “You said there are other bugs?”

“Mm hmm. Office, car, home.”

“Show me.”

Devin obligingly pulled up links to the live feeds from the other listening devices and sent them to Falcmaro’s private email, an address that only a couple dozen people in the entire world had access to.

He looked up to find Falcmaro’s personal assistant hovering by his elbow. “Yes, sir,” she asked her boss.

“Entertain Mr. Cavenshaw for a few moments, please. If you wouldn’t mind?” The last question was directed to Devin, but he knew that it wasn’t really a request. A man like Falcmaro didn’t allow his eccentricities to be questioned.

“Of course,” he answered graciously.

Falcmaro’s assistant was a statuesque olive-skinned beauty named Janine. Devin had met her briefly on each of his past visits, but she made more than enough of an impression. She was no match for the almost unbelievable sexiness of Devin’s favorite Congresswoman, but even so she could have left Tellamon’s offices and gotten a job as a lingerie model inside of a day. Her lean figure had the spartan grace of a roaming gazelle, a lavender sheath dress hugging her curves.

He followed Janine out to the office’s antechamber and accepted her invitation to sit, but demurred from having a bottled water. She began to ask him questions, pretended to be interested in his life, and laughed delicately at his jokes. She was very personable, every bit the welcoming host, and despite the situation Devin found himself increasingly attracted to her.

But of course he would not indulge. He supposed that Falcmaro had to try to ferret out Devin’s secrets. It was to be expected. No doubt Falcmaro had cameras and microphones and every type of electromagnetic recording device in the world trained on Devin, waiting to see how exactly he would seduce and corrupt the gorgeous mediterranean woman across from him. They would find his secrets and then take them, or at the very least duplicate them. It was Falcmaro’s natural course of action.

So Devin took the only prudent course. He laughed and chatted with Janine for a full half-hour, polite and friendly as could be. But his phone stayed in his pocket, and Janine’s mind stayed her own.

Finally Falcmaro called him back into the cavernous office. It was built into the sub-basement of the Tellamon headquarters in Long Island, and the decor had been planned to accentuate the coziest aspects of the cave-like setting. Dark stained wood and black glass furnishings mixed with occasional outcroppings of unworked stone to create the feel of a bear’s den. It was adventurous and tasteful at the same time, and it could probably survive a nuclear bomb.

Devin was surprised to see a dark shadow on the businessman’s face. He hadn’t expected Falcmaro to take it so hard when Devin thwarted his obvious plan of sabotage. His danger sense went on high alert, and he located the Emergency Device that he kept in his pocket, another bit of his proprietary technology that he kept with him for dangerous situations, like assaults or kidnappings.

But no mooks appeared from the walls. No cage slammed down on him from the ceiling. Instead, Giotto Falcmaro spoke in the low, dangerous tone of a panther in the treetops.

“Who’s Moira?” he asked simply.

The question caught Devin off-guard. “Moira?” He had to think for a moment. “The assistant. Or rather, the chief of staff, for Hobart.” He remembered the elfin girl with the sharp eyes. She looked like the kind of woman who could make you fall in love with her in two hours flat, but only if you beat her at a rock climbing competition first. Quite a firecracker. Practically the only time when she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room was when her boss was around. “Why do you ask?”

Falcmaro definitely wasn’t falling in love with Moira. His voice held deadly calm.

“Because she’s going to be a problem, that’s why.”

TO BE CONTINUED...