The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Yesmaster

Chapter III. “Can You Hear Me Now?”

Synopsis: Paul Bennett’s power to control women with his voice has gone to his head. He has quit his job to live off money earned for him by his “voice puppets.” His harem now includes a nightclub hypnotist whose abilities have already proven useful in diverting a police investigation by enthralling a male officer immune to Paul’s talent.

But the cops aren’t the only ones beginning to notice Paul’s activities.

Somewhere in Washington, D.C.:

“It’s definite, then?” The speaker was a nondescript man in his fifties, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. In an inside pocket of that suit rested a laminated ID card bearing his picture and the emblem of an arm of the Department of Homeland Security whose existence was unknown even to most members of Congress.

“Yes, sir,” said the voice coming from the phone handset he was holding. “Our people just confirmed a new incident, this one involving the police. The officers involved were scanned remotely while we interviewed them. The woman shows definite signs of unconventional mental tampering. The man’s been subjected to hypnosis. The post-hyp suggestions he’s been given seem harmless enough: standard memory suppression, some kind of ‘meet me again’ deal, nothing we need to undo. The amnesia’s actually convenient for us.”

The gray-suited man nodded. “We might’ve had to do something similar ourselves, otherwise. Is it confirmed about the nature of Bennett’s control?”

“Affirmative,” the voice from the phone said. “He has to speak to his subjects, and whatever he’s got only works on women. Research says it’s probably sonics, not telepathic.”

“Sonics. By voice? No equipment? That’s a new one,” gray-suit said. “But with those parameters, we should be able to handle him without too much trouble.”

“When do we move?”

“Soon. In the meantime, maintain surveillance.”

“Right, chief. Out.” There was a click, and a dial tone began. The gray-suited man placed his phone handset back in its base and returned to his paperwork.

Unaware of this conversation, Paul Bennett was visiting the library. He liked to read, especially historical dramas. He’d fallen out of the habit, though: first the cancer had stolen both his time and his energy, and then, after leaving the hospital, he’d been too busy exploring and exploiting his newfound voice power.

He’d found a new Civil War novel and was leafing through it, making up his mind whether to take it out, when he noticed the girl. Seated two tables away from him, she was dressed demurely in a knee-length skirt, plain blouse and low heels. Round glasses covered her eyes, and her blonde hair was tied in a large bun. What he could see of her figure looked very appealing.

She was reading, too. He craned his neck, and saw that her book, too, was historical fiction, a novel about Italy in Columbus’ time he had read a year ago and liked enough to buy when it had come out in paperback.

Paul set his own book down, got up and walked over to her table. She kept reading until he was almost there; only when his shadow fell across her table did she look up.

“Hello,” he addressed her. “Come on over top my table with me.” “No, thank you,” she answered politely. “I’m comfortable here.”

Paul was stunned. She’d said no!

Then it dawned on him. Something about the way she’d spoken, the way she seemed to be focusing on his mouth: she was deaf. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said! She had read his lips in order to understand him. And that meant . . .

She was immune.

Suddenly he wanted her desperately. He could have any ordinary woman—he’d had quite a few extraordinary ones. None of them challenged him. They’d do anything he told them to, and seem completely willing while doing it; or, if he felt like it, he could manipulate their minds as easily as he did their bodies, until their thoughts matched their outward obedience. But this girl, he’d have to win over as any other man might.

Breathlessly, he asked, “What’s your name? Mine’s Paul Bennett.”

“Eve,” came the answer. “I’m Eve Fernan.”

“Would you mind if I moved over and sat at your table to read?”

“Suit yourself,” she said. “It’s a free country.”

Paul retrieved his novel and moved over to Eve’s table, picking a seat facing her. He stayed there for another hour, trying to read while glancing repeatedly over at her. At last he got up, went through the checkout line and left the library with his book under his arm.

After Paul left, a man got up from another table and walked over to Eve. The man had been sitting at his table since he’d come in, about five minutes after Paul, discreetly watching. He gestured in front of Eve to get her attention.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said. “May I have a word with you?”

Eve hesitated, interpreting his words, and was about to tell him to go away when he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to reveal an official-looking ID card.

Eve’s eyes widened. “Is that for real?”

“I assure you, miss, it is,” came the reply. “Now if it’s all right with you, I’d like to speak with you about the man who was just sitting here. I think you can do your country a great service.”

Eve nodded. The man began speaking, slowly and quietly. Eve watched his face, reading every syllable intently. Finally, the man said, “Now here’s what we want you to do. . . .”

When Paul came back to the library two weeks later to return his novel, Eve was there again. This time she was reading a Raymond Chandler mystery, another favorite of his.

He got her attention and asked, “May I sit here?”

Something flickered in her eyes before she answered, “I told you last time, it’s a free country.” It wasn’t the friendliest greeting he could have hoped for, but it was better than a refusal. Paul sat down.

He kept trying to get her to talk to him. Quietly, of course; they were in a library, after all. Finally, she seemed to melt a little.

“Look, Mr. Bennett,” she said, “I really want to just sit here and read for a while, but if you like, we can go have a cup of coffee afterward. You seem like a nice enough guy.” Again there was a flicker in her eyes, but Paul didn’t notice.

“Fine,” he said. He picked out a book to read himself, and passed the time with it. Finally, Eve got up and moved toward the exit.

Paul caught up with her and positioned himself so she could see his face clearly. “Do you still want to go out for coffee, Ms. Fernan?”

“It’s Miss,” Eve replied. “And if we’re going to have coffee together, maybe you should call me Eve . . . Paul.”

“Thanks,” Paul said. “Eve.”

Their coffee date was uneventful. Paul didn’t notice the man at the other end of the counter who glanced in their direction every so often. After they’d finished, Paul offered to take Eve home, but she declined. Paul wanted her more than ever.

They began to meet more regularly. Paul tried a couple of discreet experiments on her, to see if her immunity to his power was due to a complete insensitivity to his voice or merely because she couldn’t hear his commands. It turned out to be the former: when he combined voice commands with written ones or with the American Sign Language she’d begun teaching him, she still did not respond. The commands themselves had been harmless ones, just in case that turned out to be true; with this woman, particularly, Paul didn’t want to risk making a fool of himself.

As time went on, however, she seemed to be increasingly troubled. They’d be enjoying themselves, and then, suddenly, she would look sad for a moment. When he asked her what was wrong, however, she always said everything was fine.

Paul might have understood if he had overheard a conversation Eve had, about six weeks after their first meeting, with the other man who’d approached her that day in the library. And if he had, things might have ended differently.

“It’s time,” the man had said.

“Do you have to do this?” Eve asked. “I know what you told me, and I’ve seen a couple of things myself, even though he’s careful around me. But—!”

“Yes, Miss Fernan,” was the answer. “We have to. He’s dangerous.” The man paused to adjust his coat, then continued: “You’re immune, but you know what he can do, and what he’s done. And the female hypnotist he’s got working for him now can put men under as well as women, covering the biggest hole in his own power. If we wait much longer, we’ll never be able to stop him—at least not without blowing our cover and letting the whole country know what kinds of things it’s got to deal with. If that happens, there’ll be mass panic.”

“You said all that before,” Eve replied. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. But it feels wrong, somehow, now that I’ve gotten to know him. There’s a good man inside him, I’ve seen it.”

“Maybe so. But you can’t back out now. Maybe—afterward—you can get to know that good man better. But right now, we have to deal with him as he is.”

Paul Bennett’s Christmas party that year was a real blowout. The word “orgy” might not have been an inappropriate description. Paul was getting ready to move to a new home, a private compound in Southern California which he’d bought with some of his investment money. There would be room enough there for much of his harem to stay full-time. It was well worth celebrating.

So was the success of his final revenge on Charlene Sands. The commands he’d given her at the close of their last meeting had wiped out all her business skills—he didn’t need them anymore—and erased everything she’d learned in school after the sixth grade. Suddenly, she couldn’t do the simplest thing right at work. She couldn’t even read most of the documents she was supposed to be handling.

And her name trigger was still in place, stronger than ever; Paul had broadened it so it worked no matter who spoke it, rather than only for him. When she’d gotten called on the carpet after one screw-up too many, her manager Darryl Wilson had unsuspectingly used her first name. After the third time he’d done so, she’d lost control and jumped him. That had been that; an hour or so later, after uncrossing his eyes and putting his clothes back on, Wilson had ordered a whimpering Ms. Sands escorted off the premises by security. Maria Delgado had informed him the week after Thanksgiving that Charlene, her mind increasingly sex-fogged by everyone’s casual use of her name, had signed on at the Club Sixty as a stripper and was now dancing on tables for a living. It served her right, he thought. He’d have to drop by some evening and catch her performance, just to rub it in.

Next year, Paul planned to run for office. Governor of California—that would make a nice springboard for a try at the presidency in four more years. He wouldn’t be the first, after all.

Officers Hannity and Benson were there, in uniform but off duty. Maria Delgado, AKA Lady Mesmer, was with Hannity, her arm through his; the burly cop had a slightly dazed smile on his face. Paul greeted them, and added to Maria, “I see he’s still with you.”

Maria smiled evilly. “Oh, yes. I’ve got him quite well trained.” She looked up at her glassy-eyed escort and asked, “Isn’t that right, my Robocop?”

Hannity stiffened, a bulge forming in his pants, and answered mechanically: “Yes mis-tress. I hear and o-bey.” Maria nodded at Paul and said, “He’s ready for action now, master. If it’s all right with you, I’ll see you later.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Paul said, laughing. The hypnotist led the cop away.

“That’s just weird,” Julie Benson said. “I know they like to role-play,” she grimaced, “but that looks a little too real.” Her eyes were slightly too bright, as if she’d already had a few drinks on the way over.

“But it’s not, of course,” Paul declared, and Julie agreed, “Of course, master.” She didn’t notice what she had called Paul. Once, he wouldn’t have dared program one of his conquests to use that title with other people around, but he was bolder these days.

There came a knock at the door. Paul opened it.

Eve was standing there.

“Eve!” Paul exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t remember ever even telling her where he lived, but here she was.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” she asked. She looked troubled. “It’s important.”

“Of course,” he responded. “Will the coffee shop down the street do?” At her nod of agreement, he continued, “Just let me get my coat.”

Shortly the two of them were seated at the coffee shop’s counter, steaming cups in front of them. Paul waited. Eve opened her mouth to say something.

Police sirens suddenly sounded outside, heading in the direction of his condo. Paul glanced toward the door. With his attention diverted, he didn’t see Eve produce a small syringe and drip something from it into his coffee.

The sirens fell silent. Paul turned back to his coffee and sipped it, waiting for Eve to speak.

She said something.

“What was that?” he asked. “I didn’t quite catch—!”

She spoke again. The words didn’t seem to make sense.

“Eve, I,” he paused. Colored spots were appearing in his vision, moving, growing. “Something’s . . . wrong, I don’t . . .!” He began to weave on his stool.

Eve said something or other in a soothing tone. Leaning toward him,, she put her arm around his shoulders, steadying him before he could fall.

“Hey lady, what’s the matter with your boyfriend?” the counterman asked. “He sick or something?”

“No,” Eve answered, struggling with Paul’s weight. “Just a little too much partying earlier. I guess the coffee wasn’t enough to sober him up. I’d better just get him home.”

“Need any help?”

“No thank you. I can manage. I’ve got a car right outside.” Eve half-lifted Paul off his stool. With her support, he stumbled to the door, mumbling.

When the two of them got outside, they were joined by the mystery man who had been meeting with Eve since that day in the library. “Good work,” he said. He helped Eve bundle Paul into the back of a waiting car.

“What happens now?” Eve asked.

“Now we finish the job,” the other answered. “Division Six is grateful for your help, Miss Fernan.” At her stricken expression, he added, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to kill him. We don’t operate that way—well, usually. We’re just going to take away a power he can’t handle responsibly.”

He looked at her meaningfully. “Of course, your silence is expected. This is a matter of national security, covered under the PATRIOT Act.”

Eve bowed her head in submission.

The government man drove off, his human cargo now fully unconscious in the back seat of his vehicle.

Sick at heart, Eve Fernan went home. She hardly dared guess how the government meant to “take away” Paul’s dangerous talent.

Back at the condo, the party was still in full swing when police in full riot gear burst in, guns drawn. “Everybody freeze!” they yelled. “This is a raid!”

The revelers, stunned, allowed themselves to be herded into the patrol vans waiting outside. Those of them who were unclothed—including Maria, Pete Hannity, and a now thoroughly drunk Julie Benson, who, egged on by partiers who’d seen her the time she and Hannity had first met Paul, was halfway through a repeat of that evening’s strip act—were permitted to rectify that situation before being hauled away. At the station house, all of them were charged with lewd and disorderly conduct; for some, drug charges were added. Officers Hannity and Benson were warned that they faced disciplinary hearings. By then, Hannity was fully conscious, having been awakened by Maria before his hypnotized state could bring still more trouble down on her.

Three weeks later, Eve Fernan was at the library, trying to read a book, when Paul Bennett came through the door.

Instantly, the book was forgotten. “Paul!” she cried, running to meet him.

He flinched as she touched him, and drew away. He pointed to her table.

She went back to her seat, and he sat down across from her. “Paul,” she said, breathless, “where have you been? What did they do?”

He raised his hands and signed, SILENTLY. SIGN LANGUAGE ONLY.

Puzzled, she complied, repeating her questions in ASL.

Paul reached up to pull away the heavy muffler around his throat, revealing bandages.

“Oh, my God,” Eve whispered.

YES, he confirmed. THEY CUT ME. THEY STILL DON’T KNOW HOW I WAS ABLE TO DO WHAT I DID, BUT THEY KNEW HOW TO STOP ME. THEY CUT MY LARYNX OUT COMPLETELY. He looked haggard. I’LL NEVER SPEAK AGAIN.

He stared at her across the table. YOU DID THIS. YOU SET ME UP. I TRUSTED YOU AND YOU HELPED THEM MUTILATE ME. WHY? His fingers shook as he signed at her.

THEY CAME TO ME, she responded, feeling sick. THEY TOLD ME WHAT YOU COULD DO, AND WHAT YOU WERE DOING WITH IT. THEY SAID YOU WERE DANGEROUS. THEY SCARED ME. THEY SAID THEY’D TAKE CARE OF IT. SO I AGREED TO HELP THEM. Tears starting in her eyes, she finished, BUT I NEVER KNEW THEY WOULD DO—she gestured at Paul’s throat—THIS.

Paul waited a long time before answering. I BELIEVE YOU, he signed at last. Then, I HAD IT COMING, I SUPPOSE. I WAS JUST AN ORDINARY MAN, AND ALL OF A SUDDEN I COULD MAKE WOMEN DO ANYTHING. ANYTHING! JUST BY TELLING THEM TO. IT GOT AWAY FROM ME. I CAN’T BELIEVE SOME OF THE SHIT I PULLED. He lowered his eyes, ashamed, before adding, BUT NOT WITH YOU. IT NEVER WORKED WITH YOU.

When he looked up again, his eyes were shadowed. I HAVE TO ASK. WHEN YOU WERE WITH ME, WAS IT ALL AN ACT? OR DID YOU REALLY HAVE FEELINGS FOR ME?

And the answer came: AT FIRST IT WAS AN ACT. I WAS SUPPOSED TO GET CLOSE TO YOU, GET YOU TO TRUST ME. Pain flitted across her features. IT MADE ME FEEL DIRTY. BUT AFTER A WHILE, I STARTED TO REALLY LIKE YOU. AT THE END, I ONLY WENT THROUGH WITH IT BECAUSE I WAS MORE SCARED OF THEM BY THEN THAN I WAS OF YOU.

Paul weighed her words before responding: AND NOW?

Eve signed, NOW I KNOW. I WANT TO BE WITH YOU. I LOVE YOU, PAUL.

And he signed back, smiling, I LOVE YOU TOO, EVE.

They got up and left the library together. EPILOGUE:

Paul Bennett and Eve Fernan eventually married, and still live in Paul’s condominium apartment. The government never impounded his various bank accounts and investment holdings, so Paul was able to legitimately buy the condo. They are expecting a child. They suspect, but can’t prove, that they remain under surveillance by Division Six of Homeland Security.

The effects of Paul’s power turned out not to be permanent after all. Without reinforcement, all the long-term suggestions he had given to his female subjects gradually wore off.

Rhonda Marks and Jasmine Thibodeaux returned to their regular hospital duties. Thanks to Paul’s earlier intervention, they suffered no penalties for their extended absence.

Charlene Sands slowly regained her memories and skills, and her name trigger faded away. She found, however, that she preferred life as a stripper to working in insurance. She is now touring the country as Charlene Chest, having undergone two enhancement operations. The money she earns from performing has been carefully invested, and she is now quite well off financially. Her website, www.charlenechest.com, is very popular.

Sylvia Cortez is remarried, to a wealthy clothing retailer specializing in erotic lingerie. She occasionally models some of his outfits for customers, and wears them more often in private.

Paula Roberts and Jennifer Berne continue in their professional careers. Both are highly successful.

Maria Delgado, AKA Lady Mesmer, continues to perform at the Club Sixty.

Police officers Pete Hannity and Julie Benson were officially reprimanded for their participation in Paul’s wild Christmas party. They kept their jobs, however, thanks in part to a discreet phone call to their commander from a representative of the federal government. They are now trying to put the past behind them.

Officer Hannity, however, continues to see Maria Delgado socially. He finds it very difficult to say no to her.

NOTE: It is the official position of the United States government that Division Six of the Department of Homeland Security does not exist. All claims to the contrary are to be considered irresponsible rumor and may be subject to federal prosecution.

END.