The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Story: Shaken, Not Stirred

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((codes: MC, MD, MF, HU))

Hi. I’m a mind controller.

A quote-unquote ‘evil’ mind controller, that is.

I recently went through a major change in my life, one that caused me to question my own essence, my very being. Really shook me up, it did. Most of you might think that a GOOD thing, what with me being an EVIL mind controller and all, but well, perhaps you’ll think differently when my little story is complete.

First of all, I have this power. I’m not one of those lame ass wanna-be’s that is forced to use some scientific gizmo, or do-hickey, or whatcha-ma-hoosits, to put someone under my spell. My power comes naturally... or rather, I was born with it, I doubt you could call what I do NATURAL. I’m not a psychic or anything; I can’t read a person’s mind, or sift through their thoughts, or shit like that. Hell, if I could, I’d probably be on TV or something, advertising with Miss Cleo, or Madame Petrosky. Naw. What I do is much simpler, more straight forward.

I simply TWINK a person, and make ‘em do what I want them to. I’m not exactly sure how I got this power, or where it came—

Huh? What’s that? Twink? Oh, yeah, I should probably explain that.

Well, back when I was growing up, back when the TV remote control first came out, my ma and pa bought this sweetheart of a set home from the store. I was kinda young back then, and my pop was still hanging around, the rotten bastard. Anyhow, the remote was one of those big heavy round things, kinda like a black plastic Twinkie. So my dad, he holds it up to me and says, “Look here boy! This here Twinkie ain’t the kind you EAT! This Twinkie controls things. It controls that there brand new TV I just bought. So I don’t wanna catch you even LOOKING at this goddamn Twinkie, or they’ll be hell to pay!”

I never much liked my old man. Hell, when he finally decided he’d had enough of family life and ran off with some redhead, ma and I were both happy. As the new man of the house, responsibility of the Twinkie fell to me. I controlled the TV then. I changed the channels and the volume, without having to get up and walk to the TV and do it manually. Oh, yeah. I had the POWER! I was the MAN! I now held the Twinkie! I was the Twink-meister! The Twink-inator! I was the absolute personification of Twink-iness... the purveyor of Twink-tatude... the Master of all that was Twink-tacious...

Okay. That sounded idiotic even to my own ears. I’ll stop now.

Anyway, my POINT is that the idea of a remote control being called a Twinkie stuck with me even as an adult, so naturally when I developed the power to control people around me, I called it TWINK-ing. ‘Nuff said? Good. Now back to the story.

As I was saying, I recently went through a major life change. Ever since my ma, God rest her soul, had died, I had lived pretty much only for myself. I had this great power to do pretty much whatever I wanted to. The world was my oyster. I had six beautiful, sexy bitches back at my place, all enslaved to me, willing to do whatever I commanded them. I had buku cash in the bank, gathered here and there from various sources, a lot of which was donated by the public to that very worthwhile charity, the Give-Stan-Allen-Your-Life-Savings fund. I didn’t care! It was all about me, my needs, my desires, my wants. I lived in my own little world, and it was da shiz-nit!

And then, one day, walking back home a successful night of ‘playin’—by which I mean using my power to Twink several women in the local college sorority into becoming my temporary bedmates—when something terrible happened. I was humming to myself, lost in thought, remembering that luscious Indian girl with the huge boobs, when I saw the light change. I stepped off the sidewalk, to cross the street just like I always did, when I felt a sharp tug on my collar. Someone jerked me back, hard, nearly choking me with the pressure on my neck. Seconds later, a black Plymouth screeched through the intersection, running the red light, missing me by INCHES!

The driver swerved wildly, missing a few other pedestrians, before crashing hard into the sign post across the street. I stood there, in shock, staring at the ground I had been standing on seconds earlier, staring at the fresh tire marks made by the Plymouth as it burned rubbed through the intersection. I glanced further down, at the crowd gathering around the crashed automobile, peering through the cracked windows, wondering if the driver was alright.

“Hey! Are you okay?”

I started, forgetting for the moment the person behind me, the one that had jerked me out of danger. Shaking, I turned to stare at the face of my rescuer. It was a young black woman, with a beautiful angelic face, deep hazel brown eyes, and long shoulder length black hair. Her face showed concern. “Are you okay?” she asked again, shaking me lightly. I was too much in shock to notice at the time how lovely she was, but believe me, I’ve replayed that scene over and over again in my head. She was beau-ti-ful! Realizing that she was waiting for an answer from me, I coolly, smoothly, replied that I was fine.

“Uh... oh God... that car... just barely... I think I’m gonna hurl... BLLLLEEEAAAGHHH!!!”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the BEST comeback I’ve ever given a beautiful woman before. Let you almost die in a screaming horrible death and see how smooth YOU are afterwards!

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, hugging me gently, in a purely platonic kind of way. “That guy... he was a maniac. I’m just glad I saw him coming and pulled you out of the way before it was too late.”

“You... you saved my life,” I replied, as the realization hit me fully. “I would have been street pizza if it weren’t for you.”

She smiled at me then, flashing the loveliest purest smile I had ever witness in my life. “I’m glad. Like the good book says, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’. I’m sure you would have done the same for me if I were in your shoes.” Then, still smiling, she walked across the street, going to see about the driver.

I stood there, stunned. She had saved my life. It hit me kinda hard, ya know. I would have been DEAD. D-E-mutha fucking A-D! Dead! No more me. Ever. Gone. And she had been an angel, sent down from above to save my worthless hide. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’. Huh. For years I had been doing unto others BEFORE they could do it to me.

‘I’m sure you would have done the same for me if I were in your shoes.’

I thought about that one too. The truth of the matter is, I probably wouldn’t have saved her, if I had seen that car coming. Most likely, it wouldn’t have even struck me what it would have meant until after the fact. I mean, unless things happening meant something to ME personally, I usually paid them no mind at all. Staring my own mortality in the face, I got a good look at myself, and I realized I didn’t really like what I saw.

My man, dear sweet woman, had had many a saying growing up. Hell, you think Forrest Gump’s mother had a lot of sayings? My mom would have put her to shame. It came back to me that she herself had always quoted and lived by the golden rule, of treating others the way you wanted them to treat you. When she died, I forgot that, and lived only for myself. And look what it had gained me.

At that moment, I decided to change my ways. No longer would I be a selfish prick, out for myself, my own foolish desires. From now on, I would help my fellow man, and strive to do the right thing. No more would I be Stan Allen, evil mind controller. From now on, I would use my powers only for good! I would be Stanley X. Allen, Friend to Humanity!!

Yeah yeah. I know. Lame. Trite. And very weak. But just wait, it gets worse.

Eager to turn over a new leaf, I made my way across the street, to where the crowd was gathered around the driver. He was alive, dazed, bleeding from a bad bump on the noggin where he hit the dashboard, but apparently otherwise unharmed. I got close enough to him to smell the problem—the guy was dead-on-his-feet drunk! I shook my head; in the old days, I would have Twinked the guy into a frenzy, turning his brains to mush, to make sure he was unable to feed himself let along able to get behind the wheel again. Instead, I thought about his problem, and how best to solve it.

Focusing my mind on him, I spoke softly, and Twinked. “From now on, pal, you’re not going to even touch a drop of liquor. You won’t feel like getting drunk ever again.” The guy went wide-eyed for a moment, then sighed, as the effect washed over him fully. Nodding, I left the crowds just as the police and the ambulance drove up. I glanced around for my angel, the woman that had saved me, but she had vanished. I had never gotten her name, or even had the chance to thank her.

Happy at the good deed done, I decided to head home. As a FORMER E.M.C., I had a nice little treasure trove of slaves at home to serve my every need. I decided, as I walked through the door, that that would be the next thing to change. Entering the living room, I saw all six of my girls already assembled, kneeling patiently, nude as the day they were born. I licked my lips slowly as I gazed at them. They were all so utterly delicious. It would be sooo hard letting them go... but I knew it was for the best.

“Ladies,” I said formally, getting their attention. “I have an announcement to make. As of right now, I am freeing you all from my control. I restore your free will, and give you back your freedom. You may all leave and go back to your own lives again. Oh, and I’m sorry for everything I did to you.” I twinked each one of them, then sighed, waiting for them to react.

They didn’t react QUITE the way I’d thought they would, however.

“You fucking son-of-a-bitch!” Wendy cried, kneeing me in the groin, sending me to my knees. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, huh? Getting rid of us? Is that it? Have you got another group of girls all picked out, so you’re tossing us to the side? Well, FUCK you, asshole!” The blonde stomped angrily upstairs to get her clothes.

Cindy and Mindy, the two Asian twins, helped me back to my feet... only to repeat Wendy’s move of kneeing me in the groin. “Bastard!” they said in unison. “Freeing us? Hell, we LIKED being your slaves! What the fuck are we supposed to do now, huh? Go out and get a damn job or something? And where are we supposed to LIVE? Do you know how fucking hard it is to find a decent Brownstone in this city? Damn pussy-ass wanna-be...”

I lay there on the floor, gasping for breath, my legs tucked up close to my chest. I had known they would take it badly. I had expected them to be upset... but to be mad NOT at being made into slave but angry at being FREED? The concept blew my mind.

Brenda, Linda and Lucinda stood over me, arms crossed in anger. “Oh, so you got nothing to say to me, eh, ‘Master’?” the angry Latino Lucinda snarled, tapping her bare foot on the floor. “I was a stripper working at the Blue Room downtown, making damn good money before YOU decided to pick me up. It’s been two years. Two fucking years!” She kicked me hard. “What do I do now, huh? They obviously hired someone to replace me by now, and the waiting list alone to get on at that club is miles long! Where the fuck do I go now?” She kicked again. “Hmm? Out on the street,” KICK. “somewhere,” KICK. “to turn tricks?” KICK. KICK. KICK. “You arrogant son of a bitch! You haven’t heard the last of this!”

To make a long story short (too late) I went through the same sort of thing with all six of the girls. When they finally left, I was black and blue, and bleeding slightly from my left ear. I almost wished that I had kept the damn bitches as my slaves, just so I could punish the shit out of ‘em... but that was the OLD me, not the new me. So I sucked it up and dabbed iodine on my cuts and bruises.

And thought on what next to do with my powers. I had plenty of ill-gotten money in the bank, but I couldn’t simply return it to all the thousands of people I’d taken it from, and good guy or not, I wasn’t about to go on a ‘Mother Teresa’ kind of trip and give up all my money and possessions. Fuck that. So, I figured, I might as well try and find a way to be a useful member of society again... and came up with the perfect solution.

I’d help the police.

It was simple, I explained to the desk sergeant. With my amazing powers, I could help them question suspects, and force them to tell the truth. I could go with them on volatile police cases, where hostages were being held, and force the bad guys to surrender without firing a shot. I could even work with the prison systems and help to rehabilitate the most hardened criminals. Yessir, I told the sergeant, I would become law enforcement’s very best friend.

It got me locked up for a psychiatric evaluation.

It dawned on me after the fifth hour of repeating the same thing over and over and over to my shrink that the scientific community, and the world at large, simply wasn’t ready to accept the idea of people with special powers. Things like that were better kept on the Saturday morning cartoons, or in the Sci-Fi channel, or late night on Cinemax... or maybe even on some online erotic mind-control story archive or something. Certainly not in the real world. Even with the proof I had given the doctors, they had rational explanations for it all, hypnosis, the power of suggestion, all sorts of explanations. So, I merely twinked them into releasing me, and I left.

The key, I thought to myself, was to take the law into my own hands, to fight the good fight and help the forces of right and good, but to do so clandestinely. I’d be a crime fighting vigilante, like Batman, but with mind powers instead of fancy expensive gadgets.

I made my way uptown, to the expensive side of town, where the business moguls and wealthy folk lived. I entered the penthouse suite of an old friend of mine, walked past the guard who waved, “Hi Mr. Allen, how’s it going?” and entered the office of the president of Royce Industries, Thomas J. Royce, III.

“Hey, Stan, how’s it going?” Thomas asked, clutching a phone in one hand, an ink pen in the other. “Be with you in a second.” Turning his attention back to the phone, he growled, “I don’t CARE what your excuses are, Reginald. You have until Friday to clear up this little matter so I can take the new proposal to the shareholder’s meeting. Chow!” Hanging up, he turned back to me. “So, Stanley, what can I do for you?”

“You could stop your evil ways, Tom,” I said deadpan serious. “I’ve seen the light, my friend. I’m no longer using my mind control powers for evil, only for good. I want you to do the same.”

Thomas looked at me for a long moment, before bursting into loud full belly laughs. He laughed and laughed until tears ran down his face. I stood there, somewhat miffed at not being taken seriously, and waited until his laughter ran down. “Oh... oh... I’m sorry, Stan,” he chuckled softly, “you just took me by surprise. Oh. but I did need a good laugh today. So, what do you REALLY want?”

I sighed. “Just what I said, Thomas. I want you to free your slave girls and turn over a new leaf.”

Again Thomas looked at me for a long moment. “You’re... actually serious,” he said after a moment, still smiling. “My God. I thought it would never happen. My good friend Stan Allen has finally met someone stronger than him, and had his brain warped beyond recognition.” He shook his head. “How sad. Truly, truly sad. You were one of the best of us, Stanley.”

“Look, Tom,” I said, starting to lose my patience. “I haven’t been mind-fucked! I’m just as much me as I ever was! I just had a near-death experience, and it got me to thinking about what I’ve been doing with my whole damn life! I’ve seen the error of my ways, Tommy, that’s all. Now, I want you to promise me you’ll turn over a new leaf as well. No more enslaving people against their will, no more using your slaves to commit crimes just for your amusement, and no more stealing information from the competition. Shit, man, you have more money that you could possibly spend in five lifetimes already! You have more women than you could possibly fuck! You have enough!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Tom retorted, getting to his feet. “You’re talking like a madman! Enough? Bah! There’s no such thing as enough! Besides, its not about the money or the women. It’s about the POWER. The CONTROL! Do you honestly think in a million years that I’d ever give this up?” He sighed, sitting back down. “Look, Stan, I’m sorry if your near death experience gave you a bit of a scare, but you can’t expect everyone else to simply change what works for them just because you had a momentary flash of conscience.”

That was about the response I had expected from him. It also made my job a hell of a lot harder.

“Okay, Thomas. I didn’t want to have to do this... but if I have to, I can MAKE you stop.”

Thomas looked at me, raising one blonde eyebrow. “Oh ho! So, you’re challenging me, is that it? Look, Stanley, we’ve been friends for a long time. You’re the one that showed me just how to use my powers, showed me how to get what I want. I look up to you like a big brother. Really.” His eyes narrowed. “But if you think for one second that you can take me, pal, you are sadly mistaaakkkk—eeeppp!!”

I twinked him again, just to be safe. His eyes rolled far back into his head. “Sorry, Tom,” I said softly, as I turned to leave. “It wasn’t personal. Really. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” I waved to the guard, Albert, as I left, consulting my list.

“Ah. Sarah Hartley’s building is just on the corner...”

* * *

It was a long, and trying week for me. Word quickly spread among those connected as to what I was doing, and those that didn’t run and hide came after me in force. The psychics were the worst, with their abilities to know what I was up to before I did myself. The hypnotists and mesmers were slightly easier, as I’d been trained in those arts myself, and knew what to look for... or rather what NOT to look for. The only real close shave I had, surprisingly, was with one of the techno-geeks, the lot I had so much disdain for. One guy had set up his hideout with redundant MC systems, and I fell for the second backup before I made it to him. It was sheer dumb luck that the guy hadn’t had time to plan for my quick arrival; had he programmed his system to do more than simply lull me into a trance I would have been a sitting duck. When he shut down the system to take charge of me himself, thinking I would still be tranced, I snapped out of it, and took him instead.

Luckily, we all keep a few secrets from the group. In addition to Twinking people, I had this natural ability to recover faster than most normal people, physically, sexually (yeah baby!) and mentally. But, keep that under your hat.

At the end of the week, I returned home, weary, but feeling warm with the feeling of having done some good in the world. I flipped on the TV and popped a pizza into the microwave (another side effect of freeing my slaves, I never learned to cook for myself) and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The news clicked on, and I nearly spit out the mouthful of brew I was drinking when I saw it. Grabbing the twinkie, I turned up the volume.

“...and our latest estimates are that the suspect, Ronald Edwards, killed seventeen people and injured another twelve before placing the gun to his own temple. Forensics say there was enough heroin found in Edwards’ system to, quote, ‘Kill a small bull elephant’. Police reports say Edwards was involved in a minor traffic accident earlier in the week, driving under the influence, but that as no one was hurt, Edwards was ticketed then let go. Edwards is survived by an ex-wife, Georgia, and his two children, Rhonda, and Jimmy. In other news, we have...”

I was totally floored. Edwards, the guy that had nearly run me over, that I had Twinked into not drinking again, had gone over the edge. It hit me suddenly that I’d once read a while back in some medical journal that doctors now believe alcoholics suffer from both a physical and psychological need for the toxins in the drink. I’d removed the psychological need to drink, but apparently his PHYSICAL need, his withdrawal symptoms or whatnot, had driven him to find a substitute for getting high. Heroin. In trying to HELP the poor damn fool, I’d only made things worse, and as a result, seventeen people died before he blew his own brains out.

“Damn. That’s some heavy shit,” I said softly, lifting the newspaper. I read, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. The Edwards thing was the main headline, of course, but the side story across from it concerned me as well. Thomas J. Royce, president and owner of Royce industries, was being indicted on twelve counts of fraud, embezzling, stock manipulation and numerous other crimes. In a sudden spasm of conscience, the paper said, he resigned from his company and confessed, putting everything in writing, even supplying the police with altered records and financial statements to collaborate the charges.

“SHIT!” I exclaimed. “All I did was make him want to give up using his powers and live an honest life!” Apparently I had overdid it, making him TOO damn honest.

Guilt is a terrible thing. In the space of five minutes I had gone from feeling exuberant about having done a lot of good, to feeling like a low-down piece of shit for having ruined so many lives. Eager to put this all behind me at least for the moment, I went upstairs, to prepare a shower. I received another surprise, for when I opened my bedroom door, I found three very angry looking women dressed in black leotards, holding what appeared to be silencer equipped guns. Naturally I reacted with calm and grace at this unexpected event.

“OHHH SHIIIIITTTT!” I screamed, dropping to the floor, lashing out wildly with my Twinkage.

You know, scientists have yet to discover a technical way to block psychic power. Yeah, there are a few real brainiacs out there that figured out how to suppress it, how to shield themselves from it somewhat, but basically, there’s no way to shut it out completely.

I recognized one of the black clad women holding the guns, in the brief interval between opening the door and diving for cover, as belonging to Sarah. Dr. Heartly had been one of those in the hypnotist group, with no psychic powers per sae, relying more on her own skills to twist lovely girls minds into becoming her sweet adoring lesbian lovers. A pity, in my opinion, because the doc was all that and a bag of chips! But the point was that Sarah relied on hypnotism, not technical devices, to do her dirty work. And yet, Sarah’s henchwoman was wearing what was clearly some kind of psychic shield around her temples. Which meant two things for me.

One. Whomever had sent them had known who they were up against and had planned accordingly.

And two. I was in deep ass trouble now!

All this went through my mind in a nanosecond, almost before I had even hit the ground. The women moved, charging my position, guns raised, not caring if I had a weapon or something myself, belaying their mind-controlled status. Drones care nothing for themselves, only for carrying out their Master or Mistress’ orders. I started twinking again, which slowed and confused them enough for me to crawl back down the hallway, but not enough to override their programming. They kept coming.

“Fuck!” I growled, rolling down the stairs, as several more bullets whizzed by. I hoped sincerely that no more of these black clad femme fatales were waiting for me downstairs. I landed in a heap on the floor, somewhat battered but still intact. The first floor was deserted, lucky me. Getting to my feet again, I ran to the kitchen, trying to think of some way out of this mess.

I was unarmed. I owned no gun, no baseball bats, no weapons of any kind, unless you counted the cooking utensils, and I seriously doubted my chances against all three of them armed with a Ginzu blade. Ever heard that phrase, ‘Brining a knife to a gun fight’? Well, I saw that once. It wasn’t pretty.

“If only I could get them to take off those damn shields,” I grumbled softly to myself. The shields. I thought about them quickly. They were basically like a small rugby helmet made out of metal, aluminum or something I think, with goggles and earpieces, to either block or relay visual and audio data as needed. The sounds of footsteps descending the stairs prompted me to action, so I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the first thing I found. And grinned.

If I had an hour or two to spare, I could have, probably, erected some type of hi-frequency device to cause a feedback loop in their earpieces, sending an agonizing feed into the receivers, which would not only cause them remove the helmets in pain, but would very likely shatter the hypnotic control over them. Of course, I didn’t HAVE an hour or two, more like ten seconds, so as they stepped into the kitchen, guns raised, I took aim with the bottle of whipped cream spread and went for the OTHER vulnerable part of the helmet.

The goggles.

Covered entirely with white sticky goop, the girls were unable to see me through their optics. The first one removed her helmet, wiping at the annoying goop as I twinked her into submission. The second girl followed suit, immediately falling under my sway as well. The third one, the one I recognized, was smarted than that, however. Rubbing briskly at her eyes, but keeping the helmet on, she fired blindly with her gun, filling my kitchen with bullet holes. Biting back the curses I wanted to hurl at her, I focused my power. Instead of three targets now, I only had one to worry about, and behind the fridge, out of gunshot range, I had time to concentrate. Turning up the full power, I twinked my hardest twink at her.

The girl went stiff for a moment, shaking her head... then slowly dropped the gun, raised her hands, and removed the helmet from her head.

“Whew,” I said wearily, letting out the breath I had been holding. “For a minute there, I didn’t think it would work.” Turning to my newly captured slaves, I faced the leader. “Okay, now I want to know what this was all about. Who sent you over here after me? Who was giving you orders through those headsets?” Even though she was mine now, I twinked her again for good measure, giving her an overwhelming, uncontrollable urge to tell him the truth.

“N... n-n-n-n... nnnoooo... no one,” she spat out finally. “No one... sent us. We... we came after you on our own. When Misstr... Miss... when Sarah,” she said with a sob, no doubt the newly reformed Dr. Heartly having commanded her not to call her that word anymore, “when she freed us, gave us back out will, we... we couldn’t take it. We wanted revenge, not on her, but on the one that did that to her... and to us!”

I blinked in amazement. “But... but you should be happy!” I protested naively. “You were all her slaves! Don’t you get it? I changed her for the better, and she freed you. Look at everything you’ve gained by having your lives back, your freedom—”

“You stupid fucking fool!” the second girl said, sobbing softly. “Don’t YOU get it? We gained our freedom, yes, but we LOST everything that was important to us! With Miss... with HER, we were slaves, we served her, but we loved her too! And she loved and cared for us, in her own way.” Sighing she shook her head. “Maybe it was just that we were slaves for so long... maybe being freed from her control could erase the changes being enslaved had brought about. Maybe its deeper than all that. I don’t know. All I know is that you fucking made a mess of our lives with you damned good intentions!”

More guilt. And I realized dismally that this wasn’t simply an isolated case. Very likely, it was only the beginning. I could clearly see in my mind’s eye coming home the next day and finding Thomas’ angry ex-slaves waiting for me, with bazookas, or Henry Vargas’s slaves armed with submachine guns, or Aaron Kid’s group armed with katana and ninja stars. The list of angry people wanting a piece of me would run around the block. And at the very end of the line would be my own six girls, wanting a second turn to kick the shit outta me.

“Fuck. A. Damn. Duck.” I said tersely through gritted teeth. “That’s it. That is IT! I give up. Fuck it! FUCK trying to be a good guy! I was a better good guy when I was a BAD guy!” I twinked all three girls again, sending them deep into la-la land. “Okay girls, listen up. I want you three to head back to Sarah’s place and bring her here. I don’t care if you have to lie, knock her out and tie her up, or whatever, just bring her here. While one of you brings her back over here, I want... you, the brunette, to contact one of Thomas Royce’s ex-slaves and have her come over here as well. And you, redhead, you contact one of Henry Vargas’ people and have them come over too. I’m fixing things back the way they were before all this.”

Nodding, all three girls left. And they carried out my instructions.

Let me tell you, as rough a time as I’d had before changing them all into ‘good’ guys, I had even more trouble changing them back again! Ugh. Most of them wanted badly to kill me, or dismember parts of my, ahem, lower anatomy. I had to tweak the desire for revenge out of them, and that alone took hours for some of them. Fixing everyone on my list, making them want to forget the whole ordeal (with no actual psychic powers, I could only make them want to not think about it, I couldn’t actually mess with their memories myself) and making them desire to NOT cut off my Johnson and put it in a blender (particularly Sarah, my God, what a vindictive bitch!) took a total of ten days. I then went back and fixed all the little faux pas they inadvertently made while under my ‘gaes of goodness’, such as Tom Royce’s run in with the law. By the time everything was back to normal, an entire month of my life was gone.

Still, I learned a lesson from the entire ordeal. Be true to yourself, no matter what. For good or for ill, you have to go with what works for you.

I reacquired my former slave girls again. Mindy, Cindy, Wendy, Brenda, Linda, and Lucinda, all seemed pretty happy to have things back to ‘normal’. Of course, I first made sure to pay them back in spades for their unruly behavior when I had freed them; nothing quite like putting the fear back into one’s underlings. But, eventually, I forgave them, and lightened up on the torture, and eventually things settled back to the way they were before. Life was once again good for me. And thus, my tale comes to a close.

Oh, yeah. One more thing.

I did eventually run into my sweet guardian angel again a few months later. Her name, as luck would have it, really WAS Angel! Angel May Dawkins. We talked a lot about that day, and I told her some of what had happened to me as a result. She laughed and shook her head, thinking it a lovely story, and I smiled and nodded, letting her continue to think so. She looked just as lovely as I remembered her. I told her she was the most lovely being I had ever laid eyes upon, and she blushed prettily, telling me thank you. I asked her, with a slight swagger in my voice, what she was doing for the next thirty or forty years of her life. She laughed again, telling me I was a real funny guy.

She still thinks so, even as she kneels before me, lovingly taking my cock between her sweet red lips. I decided to make her my newest addition, and though she wasn’t quite so happy about it in the beginning, she quickly warmed to the idea. When I go out on the town, I usually pick her to go out with, though to be fair, I sometimes rotate with the other girls as well.

Hey, just because I’m an ‘EVIL’ mind controller doesn’t mean I’m not a nice guy too!

((END.))