The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was a dream.

Dancing. Floating among clouds. Walking through fields of clover arm in arm. I had a strong happy glow internally, holding her to me. The stars seemed to reflect in her green eyes. With a bit of breeze the stars whirled about, not leaves, and certainly not us.

A nest lined in cotton. I could feel the softness of where she and I came to perch. For a moment I could imagine her with golden wings behind her shoulders. A dike had burst and the pleasure of connection was flooding me.

A halo could have floated above her head. She seemed saintly to me.

The bed was soft when I woke. Softer than it usually seemed to be.

Captain Neusome looked over the list of names he’d collected. There were almost twenty on it now. There now were too many to assign details to watch. The boss had told him there would be a delay until the special asset became available. Still, he was to keep running the basic searches. He folded the sheet up and put it in an envelope.

“Lieutenant, take this.” He handed the document to Lt. Evers. “Tell the sergeants to drop sending out details for now. Then run this out to the collection station.”

“Got it.”

If the boss didn’t come up with the special asset soon, he’d have to start over again running the searches and cross checks. The patterns they were looking for were pretty esoteric. Available data was likely to change at any instant. The names he had could end up dropped from the list. More would be added, then possibly dropped again.

The suspects in this were pretty amorphous. Even with the specialist they were only really getting a hit rate of one in five. Admittedly, that was a lot better than the one in two-hundred they’d started with.

One name mysteriously popped up he thought for sure they’d seen before. Some lady shrink who really seemed awfully innocuous. He thought they’d already ruled her out. Looking through the files, he found the notes from her being watched. There had been no reason given for dropping her name. He wondered.

Dialing the phone took seconds.

“Sergeant Williams.”

“Hey Chief.”

“Do you remember a shrink, a Doctor Alison Moore?”

“Vaguely. We were told to stop observing her.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

“It was you chief.”

“Me? I don’t recall having given such an order.”

“I remember it as if yesterday.”

“Put a detail on her again. We’re shutting down all the other details, but something about this bothers me. I will call with further direction later.”

“Yessir.”

He’d have to go meet with the boss in person. Meeting the boss was not something he liked doing. It was always creepy. Disturbing.

Detective Shaw sat for a while with Detective Cain with a cup of coffee. They’d been going over the list of people seen entering the medical building on Roosevelt Island. The plan was dividing up the names so they could do some sorting. They were looking for suspects who were more active than others. Things making a given person more likely to need a greater amount of contact with the Wizard.

Watching the building lasted around four hours the day they were there. In those four hours they’d recognized over forty people enter and leave.

“If there were this many in the short period we were there,” asked Shaw, “how many other people are under the influence of this mindbender?

“Ben said there were a couple hundred people in the building. It took him, what, three hours to clear out the mental programming. If you consider he could do such complicated stuff in three hours on a couple hundred people...” he stroked his beard. “It seems to me the mindbender may have been doing hundreds of people in positions of authority. The assistant DA we saw is a good example of having the ability to do some influence peddling.”

“So why do you think this wizard guy does this shit?”

“Other than he can?”

“Yes. Even if he can influence hundreds what use is it to him? The only motive I can come up with is he’s on a power trip. He can probably get all the money he wants without too much trouble.”

“Yet money is one of the things likely to attract unwanted attention.”

“Money, power, sex, the common motives people do twisty things.” Cain closed his eyes, letting a bit of pain show. Something he could do in front of his partner, but wouldn’t in front of others. “He’s a murderer. He killed Paully. He put the gun in Paul’s hand and made him walk into the precinct shooting. It doesn’t come much more premeditated than that. Even if we can’t prove he mentally programmed Paul to do that.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Shaw turned away from the notes he’d been making. “It’s not like we could stop him. It’s not your fault. We’re going to get the guy. Or Madison will, somehow.”

“That’s just it. The mindbender can’t face anything but vigilante justice. Anything Madison does is going to be impossible to manage. Well, in a legally reasonable way.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you remember, Madison turned the Russian over to us without killing him. All he did was set the guy up so he had to confess.”

“You’re hoping he’ll turn over this… puppet master?”

“If he can’t, we may have much worse problems than Madison playing vigilante.”

“I can’t even think about the wizard beating us or Madison at this point. The outcome in such a case is far more frightening than just forcing a CI committing suicide against his own will.”

When they separated, each had half the list of names. It might not be possible to trail anyone to the Wizard before Monday anyway. Cain wanted to get a start on it anyway.

For four years Hyman had been very active with his newfound ability. The first steps he took were to seize control of the company he worked for, manipulating a few stockholders until he had the controlling interest. He’d helped himself by reducing his expenses too, no longer having to pay for his meals when he ate out. Taking any clothing he wanted from stores. Having his groceries delivered by the store clerks. Pretty much everything he was required to turn over money for, none changed hands.

The hedonistic lifestyle became his habit. Any woman he wanted he took, even if it meant taking them literally off the arms of another man. Or woman. He didn’t care if he was doing to others what had been done to him. The power was his now and he was damned if he wasn’t going to use it.

Private detectives were suborned with his mental controls to find Epperson. This was one of the things on top of his priorities. She’d humiliated him. He wanted to gift her something similar in return.

After years of waiting, a lot of yelling at the investigators, and plotting to get even, he finally found out she was living out on the Hamptons. She wasn’t Epperson any longer, her last name was now Geres. She’d married into a wealthy family, using her own mental abilities no doubt. Amazingly enough and not to his surprise at all, several key members of the Geres family had met with untimely accidents or other remarkably unusual problems resulting in their demise.

He didn’t find that odd at all. In fact, he thought it a clever idea. There she was living out there in the Hamptons in a mansion. With far more money than she would ever use. Though, money didn’t bother him one bit, he rarely ever spent any.

The Hamptons is actually a string of villages along the southern fork of the eastern most end of Long Island. A long time resort area well away from the City and urban sprawl, in the past it attracted very wealthy families that built huge vacation homes. Going east to west, Montauk, East Hampton, Bridgehampton, Sag Harbor, Southhampton, Hampton Bays, Westhampton, and a number of other parts there about were flush with tourists and wealthy vacationers spending their time away from it all.

Karen Geres, nee Epperson, had managed to become ensconced happily in Southhampton with a over sized waterfront property. Hyman spent several hours looking at the photos of the property, and of her comings and goings. She apparently spent her spring, summer and fall out there, traveling abroad to warmer climes for the winter.

The pictures of her were not flattering. The years had not treated the cheerleader as well as she must have hoped. Not yet sixty and she looked like the sun had done far less than she would have hoped for in retaining her youth. If anything she looked crabby to him.

By comparison he was looking pretty good for his age at fifty-five. She definitely would recognize him if he simply went to see her. Going to see her would be exactly what would happen though. His anger and hatred was a living thing inside him. He certainly intended to feed it. Power flowed through him, he felt, enormous power. She’d never be able to stand up to him.

The mansion was white, had a carefully manicured lawn, well kept shrubs around the front, a large set of white steps leading up to massive double doors set in behind eight Roman columns that decorated the front. Getting to the stairs required driving up a long wide road which started at a set of wrought iron gates almost two stories tall. The gates had opened hesitatingly but with automated movement, the main house expecting a delivery truck. Who was he, or his driver rather, to tell them it was not the delivery they were anticipating?

Hyman walked up the steps to the greeting of a man who apparently was the majordomo, butler, whatever.

“Sir, you, you must be in the wrong place.”

“Oh, no, I assure you I am expected,” Hyman asserted.

“Madam is not exp,” silence came as Hyman looked at him, “Sir if you will follow me to the shore side lawn,” and the man started leading him in through the house.

The entrance was every bit as grand as the outside suggested with a great hall with a vaulted ceiling and two sets of curved stairs leading to the upper floors. The path to the back porch led through a long hallway that opened into a conservatory where there were a pair of glass doors which opened to the outdoors again. Before him was a maze of bushes and white statues done to look like Roman sculptures.

“If you follow the path, Madam is by the pool.”

“Thanks Jeeves.”

“My name is no...”

“Shutup. I don’t really care.”

Hyman strolled along the path past more of the statues, which he found quite dull. Why anyone would want such statues was beyond him. Once he spotted Karen, he grinned. Her eyes must be closed because she had yet to notice him. He kept walking towards here, noting no one else was around. They were separated by no more than four feet when she realized someone was present.

“The years have not served you well Epperson.”

She started. Looking up at him she smiled. It was not a nice smile. The intent on her face was clear. He was a toy to be played with as she’d done back in Gravesend.

“Well look who it is,” her voice cracked. “If it isn’t the perpetual virgin.”

At this point she still hadn’t made any effort to use her ability to force him to do anything.

“You’ve upped your game to full on bitch, I see.” He was waiting. When she made her move, he would be delighted to surprise her a second time.

“I don’t know how you got in here, Clyde, but you may very well be leaving feet first.”

“Don’t think so.” He picked up her drink from the table beside them and threw it at her. Okay, he had made a first move, but he wanted her to use the ability first.

With the drink mid-air, she had reached out to grip him mentally, to compel him to freeze. She sent an angry signal at him to keep him from making any further movement at all. To her shock, there was nothing for it to grip on. Somehow he managed to bat it aside as if it was an annoying gnat.

“Not so easy now, is it?,” he said.

“What the hell,” she scrambled off her chair on the opposite side of him and looked for a direction to run. She also slammed the full force of her will into a spear directly at him in hopes of gutting the mental power that shunted her initial reach aside.

It really didn’t matter. Karen was not effective as the guy from the beach had been that New Years Eve years ago.

Hyman clenched his fist as though to mimic the mental grip he was placing around her. She wasn’t controlled yet but she could feel the vise clamp down on her mind. She gasped, realizing she was going to lose herself. It occurred to her he was going to do what she’d done to so many others, take her mind from her, take her control and once again she would be nobody important. After all the other people she’d relegated to the state of empty headed marionette, it was going to happen to her.

“You managed to last so long with no one catching on to you.”

“Please, I’ll do anything you want, just let me go. Money, you can have all the money. Let me go and I’ll never come back.”

“You have no idea how humiliating what you did to me was.”“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” desperation seeped out with her voice. “Let me make it up to you. Somehow.”

“There’s nothing you can do to make up for what you did. My friend fled me. And you took my dignity.”

She whimpered helplessly, trying to move, but he’d taken that away from her.

“I’ll bring you anything. Anything!”

“Not likely. No. You’ll do what I want anyway. You just won’t have a choice. You know what the best part is? I’m going to let you still remain aware of what you’re doing. Because that’s what you did to me.”

She straightened up again and looked around.

“Come with me now,” he said. She took his arm and walked along with him, arm in arm.

Inside her skull she could tell she no longer could use her ability, at least, not without his instruction to do so. Every step Karen made she was aware at his command. She was imprisoned inside her mind with a window to the world, feeling, hearing everything.

The silent scream inside was inaudible and tortured.

Doctor Alison Moore was walking along Fifth Avenue when she realized two men were watching her. Not the usual kind of casual observation she was used to on a Saturday afternoon, but tracking her. It was an awareness developed as Ben taught her to use her ability.

He’d spent a lot of time going over how to defend herself from another telepath, helping her test it without pushing hard. She had no doubt if he wanted to, he could overwhelm her ability. Strength had come to her anyway, a skill with the ability making up for sheer force.

When the men tailing her swapped places the third time, she had felt them indirectly. Pausing she had tried to read from people near her until she found the first one. From him she caught enough thoughts to be certain it was her he was following. The second one was easy to find from him.

This was the kind of thing Ben had warned her about. Steps he took initially to correct the observers apparently had not worked. Returning to tail her was half expected anyway, but he told her he had hopes. Losing them immediately would serve no purpose, she thought. At some point there will be a benefit to it, she was sure. Still, this way she could keep tabs on who was involved. A call to Ben would alert him as well.

She looked in the window of the shoe store next to her. Oh, those look decent. Maybe. She stepped into the store. The two men took up watch positions outside. Fully aware of where they were, she continued shopping.

He watched Ben Madison enter his apartment building’s front door. He was hungry. Certainly Madison would be too. For a moment he considered pizza. Having done so much pizza this week already, he smiled, knowing his favorite lady would scold him for not eating well enough.

A short walk to the cafe at the corner and he got himself a booth by the window. Dropping his hooded coat on the seat beside him he looked up at the waitress.

“What do you have on draft?”

Detective Cain had chosen a Captain from the Fifth Precinct. The man worked in the building off Lafayette. When he got there, the man was still in his office. Inquiries told him the Captain came and went regularly. It could be their proximity to Number One, or to City Hall, but this building also housed the Rape investigation unit. Did the Captain do investigations himself?

Cain shook his head at the awkward moment that gave him, thinking about whether or not he really believed his own initial reaction to the mindbender’s confession.

If this guy was going anywhere though, it wasn’t happening soon. As long as he was in the building anyway he commandeered a work station, logging into his own account. Email, scads of it, had built up over the last three days. There were cases he was supposedly working that were on the books, unlike this little crisis involving the telepaths. Explaining this activity to his own captain would have raised more than a few eyebrows and possibly sent him off to count stitches in a padded cell.

He worked his way through the emails, replying, reading, filing them aside for later. Some time later the Captain he was here to watch stepped out of his office. Cain logged off the work station and tried to keep up with his man.

They were heading further downtown. Shortly though, the Captain made a sharp turn west. When Cain reached the corner he could see the Captain nowhere. He walked on the direction the Captain had gone anyway. When he came to the next corner his target remained out of sight.

Detective Cain shook his head. Dammit. Some how the Captain knew he was being followed. Finding him again would be a great deal of trouble just now. He wondered also if he’d been identified. There was nothing to be done if he had been.

The list of names came out again and he made a note by this one.

Hearing the door’s locked being opened, Ginny immediately set herself down in presentation for his arrival. When the door opened, she beamed her bright smile at him. He smiled pleasantly back at her then went about hanging up his jacket, emptying his pockets, and ensuring he’d locked the door behind himself before he walked over to her.

“Stand.”

She got to her feet and he gave her a soft little kiss on the lips, her eyes closing in delight.

“Good girl. We should have the makings for a chicken stir fry. Please start dinner.”

“Yes Sir.” She walked out to the kitchen.

Ben sniffed a moment. “Did Celia come by?”

She peered around the corner a moment. “No Sir, I have not seen Miss Dunne. Miss Oliver did come for a visit though.”

“Ah. That explains the perfume. I suppose that’s not a surprise. She just leave?”

“She left about half an hour ago. We spoke about the lifestyle this afternoon. She was curious; interested in us.”

“Okay. Food. I’m hungry. There really wasn’t much food involved in my visit with the detectives.”

He kicked off his shoes and settled into his armchair. Janet, by no means a real problem. She either was or wasn’t interested in him for future tender moments.

He’d rather she was, but he had other worries. The threat of the ‘wizard’ telepath still was on his mind even after the trip home.

Most of the city from his research seemed to be pretty heavily populated. Silence for a telepath really would rely on being able to filter out surface thoughts. He did it automatically without effort. He was pretty sure Dr. Moore did too. A lot of surface thought he intercepted from people tended to be pretty mundane.

Why would it be a problem for a telepath strong enough to be boss to the Russian? Why would it be a problem to filter the thoughts now? Could it be this boss telepath was strong in some ways and weak in others? Maybe there was a weakness to be exploited.

“Would you like a drink, Sir?”

“Not just now pet. With dinner will be fine.”

Two weeks after the visit to the Hamptons, Karen had another name change.

Inside her skull she was slowly losing what little sanity she had to begin with. Trapped as she was in a body commanded by Hyman, she was only an observer as she became only important for signing papers. Every piece of the Geres fortune slowly was transferred to his name.

About four months later he sat her down in front of him and she felt his mind in her head again. This time he wasn’t taking control. Instead he was destroying memories, thoughts, the most basic parts of what was Karen. In the blackness she still inhabited, he crept in. Of all the things she had done, she had killed people, she never had done this. He was eating away each piece of her mind in little increments. Retreating bit by bit she was lost in her own darkness. Finally at the last possible part of the abyss, what little was left was just her terror. The end came, he extinguished like the last ember of a candle.. Her mind was completely gone.

The body though he kept alive. He summoned an ambulance. They kept the empty husk’s heart pumping, breathing air. A body without a mind of any kind, there was nothing to detect from her brain at all. He stood by the body’s side after they’d all stepped out of the room.

Through the door outside the room one of the nurses looked at the woman on the bed and turned to the doctor.

“Doesn’t he know she’s brain dead?,” her expression displaying her dismay, “doesn’t he know this will do no good?”

“I’m sure he knows but wants his wife as he remembers her around as long as he can keep her.”

The body was on life support for another year before he let it die. No one would question how serious the marriage had been to him. Hyman got a measure of his revenge beyond simply killing her.

Killing her mind had been a pleasure beyond all expectations for him. Enjoying it was exceptional an experience so far as he was concerned. Trying it on a normal, he quickly learned, did not work. They simply had no place inside to retreat to as he broke their mind. Normals simply died.

It was another year before he found another telepath. To his joy, Hyman was able to take the telepath over and exert control. It was a young man who had learned of his powers only a few months earlier. Sending him to a dark abyss worked the same as it had with Karen. The rush of quashing the last little bit while it screamed mental terror was his drug. In getting his revenge he was able to build a new pleasure for himself beyond sex.

Oh, he kept taking sex slaves. He wasn’t going to give that up. Making women into helpless partners was still a trip he enjoyed. Not to mention the places he was able to stuff his prick.

Managing his power base became very important to him. There was no question he needed to find more telepaths. Certainly the talents and skills of the best normal minds could help him. Judging he wasn’t going to be able to just wander around and stumble on others he had to come up with a plan. Any unique talented telepath would be noticed somehow, by accident or ignorance. There were things common to all they did like collect women or money or … He needed a network of smart normals looking for him.

It took him very little time to gain control of a few gangs. They were useful for a few purposes, but didn’t seem able to help him dig out other telepaths. It would be a while and a broader base of control before he was able to maneuver a search pattern that netted him any telepaths.

As urgent as finding more telepaths was, something else was happening.

He found he had a new problem. Starting with his toes, then his feet, and then his ankles, he started to have a chilling numbness below his knees.

One of the things Detective Shaw hated most was stakeouts. Sitting in a car or in some kind of blind to watch the comings and goings of suspects was only a little better than waiting in long lines. At least he got to bring food with him and could listen to music, while sitting in most situations.

His ‘suspect’ was showing no signs of movement at all. Shaw slid down in the seat and tried to keep his eyes open. Chill as the night had become he still was drowsy. Sitting outside an apartment building he could only see a few windows with lights still on. That didn’t mean anything. One of them could be his man but since he didn’t know which window went with specific apartments he couldn’t tell.

It seemed possible he could work it out. Maybe. He argued with himself whether to do so or not.

A patrol car started up the street, using their spotlight to peek inside the parked cars. Probably, he thought, a normal activity in this neighborhood to keep the area secure. When the car stopped by him, the window rolled down.

He sighed and rolled his window down. He held up his badge so they could see he was not loitering. It was disturbing because this could give away his presence to the man he was looking for.

“Aren’t you Detective Shaw?,” asked the uniformed officer.

“Do I know you, officer?”

“I saw you in the news. Something about crooked Feds.”

He let out a deep sigh.

“Yeah, well that’s over. New case. New cases.”

“Something on my route? Seriously?”

“Maybe. Probably not. But if you don’t move along you’re going to blow any chance for me tonight.”

The uniform chuckled. “Okay. I’m on my way.”

Slowly the patrol car moved on. Continuing as it went to examine each of the parked cars along the side of the street as if it was normal.

Shaw wasn’t so sure it was normal. He wonder if he’d been made, spotted by his man. The likelihood of them doing such a close examination of parked cars tonight suddenly seemed small. What if that entire effort was just a means of identifying him.

Looking up at the windows on the apartment building he thought he saw a shadow move in one of the windows. Paranoia is not just a state of mind, he told himself. It’s basic survival.

The dress she was examining, she realized, was one of the poorer knock offs she’d seen in a while. Celia tried not to show how disappointed she was. The seller had other product they wanted to bring out. She was pretty sure this particular wholesale operation was entirely based on low quality knock offs. She’d been directed to check them out by her boss. Now the boss would have to decide if faked fashion was how the store wanted to do this, again.

Going through a couple of them in the last few months always brought out the same argument each time. Costs had to come down, so product had to be less expensive. Then she got into the discussion about the kind of market they were trying to attract, pointing out the poor quality stuff could be bought anywhere else, easily, already.

She waded her way through another two dozen samples making notes the whole time. Remaining neutral with the sales staff, she told them she’d be in touch. She might be. She very well wasn’t likely to be. She wasn’t even sure they did a passable job of dying the fabric, much less getting the stitching right. Explaining the failings would take some time. To date she had always succeeded in convincing her management the demographic they wanted as customers were smart enough to know something about product quality.

She’d been to half a dozen wholesale places today. The usual two that had maintained quality product she was used to seeing did not disappoint her. Making the purchases from them was a given.

Enjoying what she did was normal for her. It normally did not take an immense amount of time. It let her travel for the big ticket items. And most importantly, the work involved gave leeway for her schedule. Her manager, despite the efforts of being cheap, relied on her to keep the style in the stores up to a quality to draw customers.

By the time she got back to her desk in their offices, she knew what orders she was going to place and roughly when delivery would be. Kicking off her heels for a few minutes was in order. Brushing her hair back out of her eyes so she could relax felt good. Her mind drifted.

Drifted into thoughts of Ben. That last kiss they’d shared still seared her thoughts. Attraction was only a mild way of thinking of it. Inside she’d developed a burning heat when thinking about him. She did want to experience the high of what he’d done to her, without even having sex. She could only imagine it would be more powerful if they did.

In her mind’s eye she saw Ben with his eyes turning the silver color they did from time to time. First time she saw that was in the elevator with him. For some reason at the time she’d had some kind of click connection and she had no idea what it was. Yet that was the image that most clung to her thoughts as she dreamily sat back thinking thoughts of romance. And not a little lust as well.

Celia grabbed her purse, starting to dig through it for her cell phone. Scrolling through her numbers she couldn’t find his. Did she ever put his number in her contacts? He had given her his number. Where was it. There was a slip of paper it was written on, she was sure.

Emptying the purse to find the number was rewarded with his name and number on a small post-it note. Before she was going to call anyone, she had to put everything back in her purse. Sometimes she got a little obsessive about organizing, and she did this time. Partly to delay making the call she’d decided she was going to make.

Never one to have problems with making a cold call, or calling people she’d never spoken to by phone, this particular call had her fighting nervous anticipation. She had visions of herself saying all the wrong things. Her fingers were not as steady as usual as she dialed the numbers, having to start over once because she’d hit one of the numbers incorrectly.

“Hello?”

“Hi Ben. This is Celia.”

“What’s up?”

“I was thinking,” hesitantly, “maybe you would like to get together this evening.”

“Were you thinking dinner out?”

“That would be very good. I know of a nice Greek place named Persephone’s on Thirty-Eighth street off Sixth Avenue.”

“Persephone’s. Okay, I’ll give them a call and get a reservation in my name. What time would you like to meet?”

“How does six-thirty sound to you?”

“I might not be able to get a reservation that quickly but I will try. Six-thirty it is.”

“Good, I’ll see you there.”

“You bet!”

She sat back after the call and smiled. She felt relief. Somehow it seemed like things were getting much better. The sense of uncertainty started to flow away from her. A tide of dismissed troubles.

La Guardia’s customs had proven to be difficult to get through after 2001. Georgiy had to use his talent on several officials and security staff. He thought they’d have relaxed a bit eight years later, but it wasn’t his experience.

Not that it had mattered one bit. As a telepath he could get through almost any nation’s customs without actual paperwork. There were a few he wasn’t willing to try though. Somehow places with extreme dictators didn’t seem like they’d be particularly profitable anyway.

Once he got in among the general population of the city itself it was as though he always belonged there. The hard part was learning the quirks of the language. Certainly telepathy gave him a boost, but there was always some little piece of colloquial chatter he couldn’t understand. In the long run he managed to get an in with the local Russian mafia he found in Queens, taking over in just a few months.

There was a little jolt of change though. As cut throat a bunch as he’d picked up, other gangs were just as brutal. He managed to fold a few into his control. Usually it came at a cost of some of his own before he could get hold of the minds in the opposition he encountered. Which was fine but he came against one group where he could tell the minds were already manipulated.

It wasn’t hard to pick them up, just a change in programming. It interested him though that another telepath was picking up thugs, taking over territory. Remembering specifically why he had left St Petersburg, this was more like having an ally. Maybe.

Back home he had a substantial control over almost half the city, including city officials. When his talent manifested itself, he’d had a few months of fun. Then he set out to set up a little personal empire. He figured, what he didn’t control he could intimidate if he had the right kukol’nyy. Setting up his little empire had gone well. Was going well.

Some bunch of other telepaths took exception to his personal fiefdom’s existence. They didn’t approach him. It was more like they spied on him for a while first, even to the point of finding his sex toys. Pretty much what happened then was an ambush.

They’d blanketed him with their own abilities for a face to face talk. There were terms they told him he had to live by if he was going to continue to be a telepath in his own country. Among other things he disliked was limiting the number of playthings he used for sex. Most annoying was being told he had to give up his effort to rule. Being told to abide by their rules for telepaths wasn’t acceptable to him. He had no intention of giving up his personal budding empire.

In turn, it didn’t matter to them what he would or wouldn’t put up with. Piece by piece all the control he had carved out in the city was evaporating. One group to the north would go independent, then another to the south. There were too many of them to keep up reclaiming what he felt were his followers. When he was down to two groups left, he realized they could come after him specifically too.

It became time to flee to the west. Preferably somewhere he could pick up followers, the kukol’nyy, puppets if you prefer. Since he knew of few Russian groups in America, his destination was obvious. New York was supposedly a wide open city of opportunity.

So far he hadn’t encountered any telepaths here. A gang that had previously been altered implied another operation similar to his, and thus, another telepath. He sent a messenger. One of his most disposable followers of course. He thought about sending one of his sex toys. Since relocating he had developed a habit of killing them or more correctly having them kill themselves. He’d done so to avoid similar goody-two-shoes telepaths finding his cast offs to track him by. That it did not fit with his pattern of setting up control over gangs didn’t matter to him. Somehow it was just logical. Sending one of the newly converted gang members would be just fine for delivering a message.

A meet was set up between himself and this other telepath. The idea of an alliance appeared to be appealing to this other. Georgiy laughed to himself when he learned the other telepath was described as ‘The Wizard.’ They were to meet without followers, at an elevated station on opposite side of the tracks. That, he agreed, would be all the closeness they’d need for a first encounter.

Arriving early to the Smith-Ninth Street station he found a bench to settle into. He settled in and watched another train come and go before sensing the approach of this Wizard telepath. As a train left the opposite side of the platform, he saw a thin man on crutches across from him. Holding back laughter, who’d have thought he’d encounter a crippled telepath, he stood. Taking his time he stepped close to the edge of the platform across from the other man.

“Are you the wizard?”

“You must be the Russian.”

“Georgiy.” He couldn’t help but feel out the other’s telepathic defenses. Clearly not trying to be aggressive he reached out a thought as you might hold your palm out against a plate of glass. The man’s strength was present and obvious.

“I think you should come work for me,” the crippled man said.

“Why do you think I’d work for you? Maybe you should come work for me.”

“I take it that’s a no?”

“You would be right.”

“Well then. Why are we here?”

“Having an ally could prove, let us say, helpful?”

“I don’t need an ally. I have subordinates.”

It was then that Georgiy realized something had changed. He decided he need to strike at the other man quickly, sending out a mental blast as close to a pile driver as he could. It never reached him. Georgiy realized he had cut it off himself before it got there.

“I know you’re used to being in charge,” said the cripple, “and you will be in charge. After me that is.”

He felt the change. Knowing what was happening to him didn’t matter. His wariness about a potential ally had turned into knowing the man was an enemy to knowing the man was his boss. The telepathic ability was still there. The ability to act on his own was still there. His ability to operate independently was intact. There was a change only in how he viewed the Wizard and what he would do to protect the Wizard.

Georgiy was only the first in the effort Hyman made to collect a handful of loyal telepaths. A powerful one, and Hyman had insinuated his controls in with extreme caution, delicately, as he never had before. There had been no real resistance. It worked out just as he’d planned.

He’d wanted a network to find other telepaths. This was where he’d start. Build up a core group to help him bring them in and he wouldn’t have to worry about this problem in his legs.

Ben helped Celia into her seat. She’d shown up wearing a black skirt that sparkled with white specks flowing to the middle of her calves, a matching mid-forearm waist length jacket only partially covering a low cut red silk blouse. He’d noticed her heels too, a black pair of patent leather that were about three inches or slightly more that gave her some height. As he took his own seat, she picked up the menu.

The restaurant ambiance was a blue and white theme with a mural depicting a Greek Mediterranean island scene. White tablecloths dropped down halfway to the floor. A white sheet of paper covering the surface of the table. The chairs might seem a little flimsy perhaps, but they were suitable for dinner seating.

Celia ordered the moussaka, he ordered kleftiko, with him thinking eggplant and lamb was an entertaining variance in choices. The wine she’d chosen was sweeter than he’d expected, a pleasant surprise. For a while, they spoke about her job.

She told him about the counterfeit fashion wholesalers, the discussion about that with her boss. She talked about fabric. She explained things he had no idea were done, like the mercerization process. Then how dying had been changed by the introduction of synthetic dyes by some guy named Perkin. She talked about cotton, flax, silk, rayon, ramie, how the various yarns were spun. He listened, letting her carry most of the chatting they were doing.

A pause in the conversation came while they were eating. When she’d had enough to stop, she peered over her wine glass at him.

“I’ve been wondering,” she began.

“What have you been wondering?”

“Whether you and the detectives found the Mister Big behind Ginny’s kidnapping.”

“No. Detective Cain thought they’d found the guy, but he had fled.”

“Can you deal with him? Are you… you know, are you,” her voice tapered off.

“I don’t know what he’s doing now. A little deduction though and the detectives concluded he’s scared of me for some reason.”

“Why is that?”

“Because if he isn’t alone at this point, logically he should have stayed where he was. He has no reason to fear the detectives. He could, er, control them,” he looked around wondering if this topic shouldn’t be discussed elsewhere. But he shrugged, “If he has another telepath to help him, the thinking is he’d be able to overwhelm me. He had three associates I know about. Two of them are no longer a threat to me.”

“Three, but he’s only lost two? Doesn’t that suggest he’s got one more that could help him?”

“Yes, but think about it. He fled. Something may have happened to the missing one. A little Mediterranean looking guy, short, dark hair, named Carlos. I haven’t spotted him since that ugly Saturday.”

“This Carlos guy, just, what? Ran away? Disappeared? Maybe he just wasn’t in town?”

“Not in town? A thought that had escaped me entirely. Maybe he just had a falling out with the boss guy.”

“So this boss guy still might be able to gang up on you with a friend.”

“I can’t worry about that. He’s gone into hiding,” he sipped a little of the wine. “If he were going to confront me, I think he’d be willing to come to me. That’s something I don’t get.”

“It makes me uncomfortable to think you have someone trying to kill you.”

He smiled, “I like you a lot too and not just because you don’t want someone trying to kill me.”

She blushed. The pink in her cheeks highlighted both the light color of her hair and the black-white jacket she had on. He mused about how soft her lips looked and the depth he always saw in her eyes. Patience, he told himself.

“Thank you.” The waiter came over just then.

“Will there be anything else?”

“Just the check,” Ben said.

“Very well, sir.” He wandered off again, reappearing after a few minutes with the check in a little tray. Ben made a short show of looking at the check but drew out a card to pay, leaving it in clear sight of the aisle between tables.

He flagged down a cab with his arm around her waist when they stepped out of the restaurant. Leaning into him, she welcomed his warmth. It wasn’t even just the warmth. Celia was thinking to herself how her body liked being close to his body, proximity, contact, just touch. She refrained from comment as she leaned into him within the cab as they went uptown.

“Did you want a desert somewhere?,” he asked.

“What did you have in mind?”

He spoke to the driver and leaned back, saying nothing about where they were going to her.

“Are you telling me where we are going,” she tilted away from him so she could see his face. He had a smile. His eyes focused intently on hers.

“No.”

For a moment, she thought about trying to wheedle it out of him. Looking at his eyes made the hack ride feel more like she was floating. Instead of trying to apply any kind of feminine wiles on him, she gave way. There was no question in her mind she would like what he chose.

Shortly, the cab stopped a few blocks north of Columbus Circle. Ben tipped the driver probably more than was normal then took her right elbow in his left hand. He tucked her arm inside his, leading her west on sixty-ninth street. Soon they came to the corner of Columbus Avenue and a mildly busy looking place named the Magnolia Bakery.

Ben held the door for her, then followed her in. Fortunately there were open tables.

“I suspect you will enjoy their cheesecake,” he told her.

“I might not have enough room in my tummy for it,” she said. Celia was quite happy with the choice though. If he was going to take her for desert, this was a good option.

It did take a few minutes to get the attention from the waitress assigned their table. Ben was tempted to nudge their importance with her. Looking at Celia, he decided they’d have to take their chances. It might be convenient for him but he could wait on the mental control for a more appropriate time and situation.

Celia ordered something called an apple butter swirl cheesecake. Ben stuck with chocolate. Despite his willingness to experiment somewhat, he really was simple in his culinary tastes. He watched her lift the fork to her mouth and her pink tongue slide out under as she slipped it into her mouth. For her part, she realized the floaty feeling she had started having in the taxi was still with her, as if she was a little high.

“You still can’t read my mind?,” she asked him, wondering if maybe he found a way.

“I haven’t tried again. Should I?”

“Not just now, please,” she softened a bit looking at him. “I like not being like the other people.”

“Not until you say it’s okay,” he promised.

“It’s just, oh, I might be a little dizzy or something.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” she said.

“Why would you think that, not enough sleep last night?”

“Plenty of sleep I’d think. I am having a feeling like…,” putting her fork down, “I don’t really know how to describe it right now.”

“Maybe I better get you home then.”

“I’ve been enjoying your company though. Who else could I tell about my work day?”

“What, all the training you’re giving me on how to counterfeit fashion?”

She smiled gently. She noticed when she spoke that his eyes were usually on hers. It felt good to be listened to attentively. The floating sensation continued.

“I think maybe you’re right, we should get back uptown.”

After another lift from a cab, they arrived outside their apartment building. Ben was holding his arm around her waist still as they went to the elevator. She was leaning in against him again as he pressed the summon button for the elevator. When the doors opened she was close to clinging to him. She noticed herself wanting to simply attach herself to him as they got inside. He pressed the button for her floor, then his own.

Standing quietly together inside the traveling box, the reflection he could see of her was not one of drowsiness, as he expected. Instead he could see her eyes watching him in the gleam of the silver smooth metal before them. She was smiling in a contented and pleasant way. She did not appear to be tired at as she’d suggested might be the case.

The elevator’s doors opened on her floor. Ben moved to let go but she leaned towards the control panel and pressed the button with the close door arrows.

“I suppose I should have asked,” he whispered. “Your place or mine?”

“You should have asked,” she responded with a quiet tone of amusement in her voice.

They got off the elevator together. He unlocked his door and looked to Celia.

“Are you just dropping me off or would you like to come in?”

She stepped through the door and smiled at Ginny who was kneeling in presentation for Ben. She dropped her jacket as he locked the door and moved next to Ginny. Slowly she lowered herself to her knees, doing her best with the dress she had on to mimic the position the woman beside her had taken. With her eyes down towards the floor as Ginny remained in place beside her, she took a deep breath. Ben watched her solemnly.

“Celia?,” he said in gentle tones.

“Yes. I’m made a choice.”

“Are you sure you understand what you’re doing?”

“I’m positive I want this, Ben.”

She shuddered a moment, taking another deep breath. She didn’t dare look up.

“Please Sir,” Celia said. “This girl would like to offer herself. To you, Sir. I plead for you to train me in my submission.”