When you first develop mind control abilities, you’re excited. How could you not be? It’s a staggering amount of power, even though early on, you’re relatively weak. You don’t know that, though. You just know that you can influence people, direct them, manipulate them. For me, that was the best part. The early days, when it was brand new and I was just learning how to best use the gift I suddenly had.
I’m not going to delude myself into thinking that you’d be interested in hearing my whole story. Trust me, you can probably guess about all of it. I used my powers for three things, basically - to gain influence and standing, to make money, and to get laid. In the beginning, it was exciting. The thrill of figuring out how to work around someone, how to get what I wanted from them. How to twist and turn them until they’re my personal little puppet. Getting them to forget the goals and morals and priorities they used to have, and replacing all of those with the desire to serve me. You can only imagine what a rush that was.
Then things changed. Long story short? I got too good at it. Put somebody in my way, and I had them wrapped around my finger in days. I’d see a good-looking woman walking down the street, and within minutes she was hanging on my arm, following me like a puppy. It was fantastic, of course. I had everything I wanted. I had more money than I knew what to do with, and I had small harems of gorgeous women all over the world. Who could possibly complain about that life, right?
Well, me. I was bored. There was no challenge. I could have literally anything I wanted. I tried shaking things up - I ran a Fortune 500 company for a while, using my influence to make it among the most profitable on the planet. You’ve purchased something from me, believe me. Nearly everybody has. I saw to that. That got boring, though, so I stepped down. I nearly got myself elected president of a smallish European nation, just to see if I could. I removed myself from the race, though, once I saw how easy it would be. Politics themselves don’t interest me, just the power they allow. I can have that without the boring, hard-work side.
Nowadays, I’m a man of leisure. My current fancy is creating an environment where I deal with nothing but completely obedient, drop-dead gorgeous women. It seemed like a worthwhile endeavor at the time. See, the idea was to create a place where literally everyone belonged to me. Nothing big, just some small town tucked in the middle of nowhere in middle America or something. A place where I would basically be a god. (Side note: tried that once. There’s still a tiny cult running around somewhere that literally worships me. Not all it’s cracked up to be, let me tell you.)
Anyway, I spent some time traveling the globe, recruiting. I’d find a woman who seemed suitable - basically, beautiful enough that she earned a place in my personal Eden. When I found one, I’d simply approach her and take control. I’d give her a task - after all, I’m looking for a fully-functioning town. I need doctors, mechanics, grocery store cashiers, the works. So I find a girl I want, assign her a job, and she sets off to learn what she needs to know. (I’m pretty sure one of the girls I assigned ‘doctor’ to was previously a lingerie model. Not that it matters - she’ll do whatever I want, up to and including devoting her every waking moment to becoming a world-class surgeon.) It’s taken a long damn time. The logistics alone are staggering. It’s not a small project, but then again, that was kind of the point.
I’m heading there this afternoon. My personal airline (staffed exclusively by staggering beautiful girls, obviously - haven’t you been paying attention?) is all set to make our first flight there today. It’s not done, but I think it’ll be fun to set up shop, see how things have been running without me, and welcome the new neighbors as the remaining girls move to town.
Hopefully this keeps me entertained for a while. I’m running out of projects.
Michaela was pretty annoyed about being here. Glasses? Seriously? That was going to ruin her whole look. She’d considered contacts, but the idea of putting something directly onto her own eyeball just… eughhh. Too creepy. So for a long time she just ignored the blurry vision, the difficulty reading, the headaches. Better than looking like a huge nerd, right?
But then she’d been pulled over for speeding. Turned out her license had expired. She hadn’t realized - who had time to pay attention to crap like that? When she went to renew it, she failed the eye exam. Miserably. One thing led to another, and she was left with a pile of fines, and the threat of losing her license unless she got corrective lenses.
So here she was, waiting in the optometrist’s exam room, annoyed and indignant. What was the big deal? So she had a hard time reading words at a distance. It’s not like she couldn’t see cars, they were friggin’ huge! So stupid.
The doctor came in, bustling about, setting right to work. He mumbled a greeting while his back was turned, shutting off the lights. He was an older guy, kind of disheveled and distracted. He flicked on a projector, the classic display of letters of decreasing size appearing on the far wall. “Okay,” he said, not looking up from his notepad, “tell me what you can see.”
Michaela huffed a little, unimpressed by the doctor’s completely disengaged and unprofessional attitude. “E,” she said, allowing her voice to express her frustration, “F, K, I, B. I can’t read the next line.”
The doctor looked up, glancing at the display. “Really?”
"Yes, really!" Michaela snapped.
He turned, glancing at her, seeming to notice her for the first time. “You know, I’m not really taking new patients at the moment,” he said, sounding like he was just realizing something. “Who was it that recommended you?”
"Some guy at the DMV," Michaela answered, not bothering to keep the ice out of her voice. "I don’t know his name or anything.”
The doctor nodded, tossing his notepad aside. “I see, I see. Yes, that makes more sense. Well, miss… ah…”
Michaela rolled her eyes. “Rosen.”
"Miss Rosen, of course. Well, let’s try something different. Look here, please." He guided her chin onto a support, tilting her head forwards so we was looking into some kind of gadget. The rubber scope she looked into wrapped all around her face, so she saw nothing but darkness. "Alright," the doctor said, "in three, two… one."
A series of quick flashes all but blinded her. Before she could react, there were two more. The last ones were somehow more intense than she expected. They made her feel like she was losing her balance, as though they’d messed with her inner ear somehow. Like they’d flashed right into her brain. She felt dizzy, disoriented.
The doctor pulled the gadget away, gesturing towards the wall. “Can you read the letters there, please?”
Michaela stared. The pinkish-yellow afterimages obscured her vision. The letters swam. “I, uh… I can’t really, uhm, see…” she said. Her words felt elusive, and speech was difficult. She felt sluggish, confused.
The doctor nodded, pressing a button. The dim light in the room changed, taking on a pinkish hue. “Focus, please, Miss Rosen. Read the letters for me, please?”
Michaela felt dizzy. Something was very wrong here, she knew that. But the doctor was acting as though everything was normal, and maybe if she just read the letters and got through this, everything would be fine. “I,” she said, some of them coming into focus. “A, M, A, B… I, M…” Her voice trailed off as the letters blurred.
The doctor adjusted something, the lights shifting again. “Very good,” he said, voice soft. “Please, continue if you can.”
Michaela watched the letters drift into focus. “B… O… D…” she said. Everything outside of the letters was getting dim, dark. It was like staring down a tunnel. It was hard to think. “U… M, B, D… um, I… T…”
Michaela couldn’t see the doctor in her periphery anymore. She felt the lights change more than she actually saw it. “Keep reading, Miss Rosen.”
Michaela couldn’t stop now. The letters were all she could focus on. They stood out, bold and sharp and clear. They filled her vision. “Z, C, A, N… T, T, um… H. I.” Michaela couldn’t… anything. Move. Think. React. There were letters in front of her, and she’d been told to read them, so she read them. That was the extent of her universe. “N… K… M, U, S… T, O… B, uh… E, Y.”
The letters stopped. Michaela felt like her head was lolling back and forth weakly. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent though. She just watched the letters, burning brightly before her.
"I don’t think you’re going to need glasses, Miss Rosen," the doctor said. "Your eyesight needs work, but it’s not that important for what you’ll be doing from now on." She nodded slowly, her mind dissolving into a thin mist.
"Now," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Read the letters again, please. From the top."
He said “Come with me,” and she left her friends at the club. They were confused, but it had been a while since she last hooked up.
He said “Get undressed,” and she ripped off a strap from her newly-bought dress. She was going to return it yesterday but that didn’t matter anymore.
He said “Quit your job,” and she did the next day. Her chief of medicine was surprised, she was doing well in her oncology rotation.
He said “Dress this way,” and she threw out half her wardrobe. She couldn’t believe she had so many ugly clothes.
He said “Just have some fun now,” and she stopped worrying. It was so much more fun to be a silly little bimbo.
"Oh, tell me more about what your perfect girl would be like."
"Big tits and brown eyes? And very fit? She sounds hot! But I bet all guys wish their girls had big tits, haha!"
"Always made up? Sounds like a lot of work, she would be pretty vain, don’t you think?"
"Oh, so she’d just be doing it to please you…I, uh…I guess I could see that…"
"You want her to be…dumb…and…um…like what does in-sate-ya-bull mean?"
I had to keep this secret from my best friend. I was in love with her. She was just so pretty and, well, if I was a poet, I’d say she was effervescent. When she walked into a room, it got brighter. If you made her smile, you’d be walking on air for the rest of the day. I just… I just had to be with her. But why would Ruth ever even look at me? She could have anyone she wanted, and I was just… me.
I snapped one night, and confessed my love to her. She smiled a sad smile. “I have that effect on people,” she said, solemnly. I was confused, this wasn’t a yes, this wasn’t a no. “You’re going to have to make a few changes.”
"Anything, Ruth," I said breathlessly.
I started working out, losing the little bit of padding I had around my thighs and on my stomach. I started growing my hair out, and washed the purple dye out of it. Ruth liked her girls natural. It took a while to get it back to healthy and strong, but it was worth it because Ruth liked it that way, and I would do any thing for her.
I started wearing a lot more make-up to make myself look the absolute best that I could. I had to forget the years of feminist rants against make-up that I had given. I wasn’t trying to please men; I was trying to please Ruth! I had to get up at 5 AM just to have enough time to put it on, but it was worth it, because Ruth said she liked my lips, and when I did sleep, I got to dream of Ruth. I started tanning.
Ruth was there, giving me just enough encouragement to keep me going. One day, she kissed me (I melted. It was our first kiss!) and said “Dianne, you’re going to have get your boobs done.” There was a pause.
I smiled. “That sounds like a great idea, Miss,” I cooed. I hoped for a second a kiss. Ruth smirked and gave me a peck on the cheek. And so I got my boobs done. She wanted them and I wanted her to want me. No, I needed her to want me.
After I healed, I was sure that Ruth would want me now. I counted down the days until the doctor said that I’d be fine. When that day finally came, I rushed to see Ruth. “Looking good, Dianne,” She said, and my entire world sang out in joy. “Get wet for me, Dianne,” She said, and my knees turned to jelly. I went from 0 to, well, 59. I was soooo close to cumming right there. “Stop,” she said, and I whimpered but stood up straight. “Beg for it, Dianne.”
It didn’t take a second, my mouth was moving before I really even consciously knew what Ruth had said, “PleaseMissRuthpleaseletmeserveyouilldoanythingforyou. Youretheabsoluteownerofmeandmybody. Illdoanythingyouwantmeto. Ijustwantyousobadly…”
Attn: All Laboratory Staff
From: Research Supervisory Group (Dr. Donald Evans)
Re: Lab safety
Just a reminder to please exercise caution with any and all experiments within the lab. This is an issue both of your own safety as well as the safety of the lab, not to mention the…
One day, they just grew.
I was still lying in bed when Amy came dashing into the bedroom, screaming that her boobs were swollen and that she needed to get to the hospital immediately. And swollen they were. Two round orbs, almost unnatural in appearance, projecting from her chest, pert and upright. An expanse of flesh that seemed to deny any rational explanation.
The next few weeks were a flurry of doctor’s appointments, specialist consultations and medical tests. However, just as it appeared there was some progress in determining a cause, Amy seemed to lose interest. Just like that. I was at home when the doctor’s office called to advise she had missed her latest appointment. Later, she said she’d been at the mall and just forgotten. She missed the follow-up too.
One evening, as we were making dinner, she mentioned off-hand that she didn’t mind her new boobs. They were, in her words, “actually kinda cool”. Needless to say, I was confused. To hear this coming from my otherwise stridently feminist girlfriend was bizarre.
While her growth spurt was sudden, the real changes were gradual. A slowly occurring shift that you don’t even notice while you’re living through it. Only with the benefit of hindsight do you realize that anything has actually changed.
Out for dinner one night, I realized that her tank top was lower cut than anything I’d ever seen her in. It was made of a stretchy black fabric that clung to her boobs, and then folded underneath in a woven pattern, as if presenting her assets on display. A display our waiter certainly noted.
She dyed a few strands of hair blonde at first, and then a few more. Our dinner conversation shifted from current events, to whether regular blonde, or platinum blonde was a sexier hair color. Frankly, I didn’t care what color her hair was as long as she kept waking me up with the morning blow job that had become our routine. Soon, I’d completely forgotten about her university essay on the indignity of oral sex. I think she had too.
I wasn’t alarmed when she quit her job at the library. She had always disliked her rather grouchy, elderly boss. I was surprised, however, when she decided to get a job bartending at a local club. She initially said it was just to fill the gap, but I don’t think she ever printed out another resume. Not to mention that typing would have been difficult with her manicure.
It took me forever to figure out what was going on with our budget. How often does a guy look in his girlfriend’s closet, I guess? The dresses, shoes, and jewelry nearly exploded out when I opened the door. She’d say that she always loved fashion, but I knew otherwise. I had to clear out all of her jeans and sweaters just to make room for her miniskirts.
Soon, she’d stumble home at 3 a.m. on Thursdays, a couple of girlfriends in tow, tottering on red platform heels 3-inches taller than anything I thought she owned and slurring about how she needed my cock. I’m always only too happy to oblige, and often she’d scream louder than that day she first discovered her growth spurt.
It was a few years later when I received the unaddressed note card in the mail, emblazoned only with the words “You’re Welcome” in black calligraphic script. I still don’t know who he is or how he did it.
She sighed. She had gotten rather used to waiting around at this point, but it didn’t mean she liked it any more than she usually did. She just wanted to get this stupid interview over and done with so she could do something else. Anything else at this point, really.
She was still annoyed that she’d been fobbed off onto this dumb story in the first place; ‘dollification’, what a crock. The guy was just some crank. Worse, he was some crank who kept blowing her off whenever she was supposed to interview him. He’d been a no-show at all of their previously arranged meetups and always called in with some excuse or other.
Clearly, being a crank mustn’t have paid very well because the phone he used was crap. The messages he left she had to listen to over and over again just to make some kind of sense of, just full of all this aggravating snapping and popping sounds.She kept finding herself zoning out trying to parse them, it was annoying.
His excuses were at least vaguely convincing once she finally managed to make them out: her skirt hadn’t been short enough, she needed to be blonde, he could tell she was still wearing underwear etcetera etcetera. Legitimate excuses she knew - and they were all her fault, because she was imperfect - but it was still annoying that he had to be so picky. This time she knew she had done everything right though. She had even gone that extra mile, making herself completely smooth and not cumming or even touching in the last week. That would show him: she could be professional even when working with someone like him.
She checked the time again and grudgingly had to admit he wasn’t actually late this time. Rather, she had showed up an hour or so early. She just didn’t want to miss him, that was all, though the logic of showing up early to not miss someone who had a habit of simply not appearing was shaky she felt it was still something she’d had to do, the complete lack of rationality involved not really factoring into it.
When her phone went off, she nearly jumped a foot in the air. She had just been waiting around for so long she’d almost forgotten about it. Fumbling with the rather impractical bag she had eventually settled on she pulled it out and brought it up. She used to carry quite a lot with her, but now she found that a lot of was just unnecessary, really.
"Hello?" She asked. Down the line came a very familiar quiet hissing and popping sound and she sighed happily; it was comforting, in its way. It was him.
"Hello little girl. I’m just ringing ahead to say I’m going to be a little late. You’re not waiting for me, are you?"
"Uh, no, I just got here. It’s fine, I’ll wait."
"Good girl. I hope you’re wearing something more appropriate this time."
"I’ll have you know it’s very appropriate! I even made my, you know, all smooth! At least one of us can be professional."
"Impressive, but are you sure?" He asked. Those little static sounds that so characterized his phone-calls were there, but quieter than normal; his voice was clear. Very clear, in fact; it seemed to fill her whole head. She blinked.
"Of course I’m sure!" She said, a little insulted. There was, however, the tiniest sliver of doubt. Was she sure?
"Maybe you should check."
"Check," there was no leeway in the way he said this, and she realized this.
"H-how?" She asked, quietly, looking around.
"You’re a big girl, do I really have to explain it?"
Heart racing and face flushing she looked around a little more, aware that there were people about but that beyond the odd glance here or there she was largely being ignored. Very quickly she hiked her skirt up and peered down. She must have looked ridiculous, but that wasn’t the point. Feeling the blood rush to her head she was relieved to see that, yes, she was just as smooth as she thought she’d been. It was rather pretty, actually; sort of hard to stop staring at.
"I checked!" She said, happily, straightening her skirt. Glancing up and down the street she was greatly relieved to see no-one looking in her direction.
"Well done. But you just looked, didn’t you? You need to touch, I’m afraid. To really make sure," he said. Immediately her heart started racing.
"Wha- I - I…" she protested even as she moved her free hand under her skirt. Her words trailed off into meek little whimpers as her fingers started tracing and stroking over her bare slit, eyelids flickering. The man on the other end of the phone seemed to realize.
"That’s my girl, that wasn’t so hard was it? Just keep touching, don’t worry about anything else," he said and she found herself relaxing; there really wasn’t anything else worth worrying about anyway, and she really was so very, very smooth. And soft. And wet.
"Mmm - uh - yes…wasn’t hard…" she panted. It was taking a lot of effort to keep standing, and the heels she’d picked weren’t helping.
"Just starting playing, little girl; it’s okay, I’ll let you," he said. She didn’t need much more encouragement. Biting her lip to stifle a particularly loud gasp she slid a slender finger into herself, body jerking as she did so. She kept playing and gasping and moaning, phone pressed to her ear the whole time.
"That’s it, that’s it, just keep playing, it’s so nice, isn’t it? I’ll be with you soon, my girl, and we can have a nice talk. Won’t that be fun?"
"Yes…fun…" she groaned, mewling softly as the line went dead. She watched helplessly as gawping passers-by stared at her but couldn’t stop even she had wanted to, and she didn’t want to. She was, after all, a professional.
Gina had broken up with Phil a couple of weeks ago, so it was a weird surprise to find a package from him sitting on her doorstep. It was even weirder when she opened it up and saw what it was - some kind of latex bodysuit.
Of course, none of that could compare to the weirdness of her urge to put it on - just for a minute, just to try it out, just to see what it felt like.
And however weird that was paled in comparison to the weirdness of the overwhelming urge to take some photos of herself in it and send them along to Phil.
By the time she was driving over to Phil’s place half an hour later, daydreaming about sucking his cock while wearing her new outfit, Gina wasn’t really worried about weirdness anymore.