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Dave's Fiancee
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Dave's Fiancee Part 1
I was getting a "free" meal in my favorite restaurant. This was my
fifth day with the amplifier, and I was getting a better idea of the range
of its potential uses. Behind me stood a blank-faced waitress, massaging
me while absently rubbing her crotch against the back of my chair. The
floor show for tonight consisted of a group of thirty-something
businesswomen in town for a feminist management conference. They had
somehow jointly taken up the bizarre notion that the restaurant was Radio
City Music Hall and that they were here to audition as Rockettes. They
were dancing with linked arms on top of their table, high-kicking
vigorously, albeit disjointedly, splattering haute cuisine all over their
high-heeled shoes, their pantyhose, their executive skirts and blouses, and
most of the neighboring tables. The serving personnel walking through the
edible barrage scrupulously ignored them, as did everyone else in the
restaurant, as per my instructions. Frankly, I was growing a bit bored.
I looked around the restaurant to see if I could locate a suitable
companion for the evening. I noticed a trim, leggy brunette with a pageboy
haircut two tables over. The fingers of her left hand were intertwined
with those of her male companion. They were both hunched forward in their
chairs, faces a few inches apart, speaking softly. I hated to break up
such an idyllic scene, but I had my own needs to think about.
"The spaghetti," I projected to her. "Dump it in his lap." Even as
she was leaning over to kiss him, her right hand twitched, then shot out on
its own volition, overturning his plate. They both jumped up in
astonishment, his groin covered with twisted, sticky strands. "I don't
know how that happened," she began to stammer in astonishment.
"The wine," I added. "Don't forget the wine." Her right hand, coming
back to cover her shocked mouth, instead veered downward, closed itself
around her half-filled wineglass, and flung it towards his chest in one
continuous balletic motion. Wine splashed everywhere, covering his face,
causing him to stagger blindly. She rushed around the table to comfort
him, shrieking that she was sorry.
One final straw was required. "Slap him," I projected. "Slap him hard."
Her traitorous extremity drove itself into his face with a loud crack,
painful to them both. He tumbled over his chair, landing on his hip and
buttocks. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted up at her
crestfallen face. He extracted his legs from the chair with a groan,
turned over, climbed slowly to his feet, and staggered towards the
bathroom. She started to follow him.
"No." I projected to her. "Grab your stuff, run outside, and wait on
the sidewalk." She straightened abruptly, hooked her purse, and began
sprinting towards the door, leaping wildly over chairs, her face a mask of
confusion. She bowled over several people in the entranceway and crashed
out through the door. The inhabitants of the restaurant, disregarding this
as they had everything else, continued on with their polite dinner
converstations.
It was a noisy exit, but quite entertaining. I knew I had to follow her
quickly, because I had placed her in a fragile emotional state. I
proceeded to clean up after myself. "Pay for this yourself, leave yourself
a large tip, and forget that I was here," I projected to my waitress
masseuse. "Fall asleep in five minutes," I sent to my coterie of dancing
fems. "Don't remember anything about tonight when you awaken." I grabbed
a handful of after dinner mints and sauntered out.
My evening's companion was standing just outside the door, shuddering
and looking a bit shell-shocked. "Hi," I said, taking her hand. "Sorry I
was a bit rough on you in there, but it's been a weird couple of days. I
think the power is going to my head. You know what I mean? Anyway, we'll
be spending the rest of the evening together. I promise that I'll show you
a good time."
She blinked up at me in confusion. "What? You? How?"
"No time to explain," I projected hurredly. "Don't worry about it.
Just obey all my orders without question, and think happy thoughts." Her
eyes lost their focus, and her mascara-streaked face softened and took on
an abstracted smile. "Wait here a minute while I get a car." She nodded
slowly, drifting somewhere inside herself.
I stepped to the curb and looked around. That limo looked nice. I
commandeered the driver, and the limo suddenly made a squealing U-turn
through four lanes of angrily honking traffic to pull up in front of us.
The dowager inside was beating furiously at the window partition between
the seats. The driver got out, hurried over to the passenger door nearest
us, reached inside, and pulled the dowager out, gently, but firmly, placing
her on her feet. She rubbed her arm and started screaming at him. "You're
feeling carefree and generous tonight," I interrupted her verbally and
telepathically. "Offer us the car."
"Oh, how thoughtless of me," she apologized, looking very contrite.
"Would you like the car? Please, take it. I insist. I'd love to walk
home anyway."
"That's very kind of you. And since you're in such a giving mood, why
don't you offer your clothes to the first street person you see."
Her face lit up. "Why that's a marvelous idea." She bustled off,
uncharacteristically anxious to find a member of the degenerate lower
orders with whom to share her wealth.
"Come here, dear. Time for us to be off." My date trotted over
obediently, her nyloned heels slapping against the insteps of her jet black
slingbacks. The driver held the door for us, got in himself, and in marked
contrast to his earlier driving, pulled slowly and cautiously away from the
curb. I told him my address and we were on our way.
I looked over at my date seated next to me, my skin tingling at her
nearness. She had wide green eyes, a pert nose, and a pale complexion that
contrasted beautifully with her dark hair. Her lipstick was almost equally
dark. Her face was laid back in soft repose, showing the faintest traces
of a smile. Her low-cut black evening dress ended at mid-thigh, revealing
a pair of perfectly shaped knees. She was looking straight ahead, with
both feet on the floor, hands folded in her lap.
I suggested that she look at me and cross her legs in my direction. She
nodded and unhesitatingly complied with both requests. I ran my fingers up
her arm, across the top of her shoulder, and over her long neck to
delicately nudge her ear. My fingers then drifted along her cheek towards
the ends of her evenly cropped hair. I pushed softly at her temple, and
her head tilted in response, her expression not changing in the least. She
was not really human for me in that moment, just a beautiful, uncaring,
compliant toy, available for me to amuse myself with in any way I wanted.
I reached down to trace my fingers along the gentle bulging of the calf
where her legs crossed and felt myself getting very aroused.
"Rip off your dress," I requested, "but do it slowly." My date's hands
came up and began to rend the delicate crepe fabric, firmly pulling it
apart along several seams with soft ripping sounds, dropping each piece
when it became fully separated. She continued to stare at me, her smile
detached, her head slightly tilted. She shifted briefly in her seat to
slide down the remnants of the dress that she couldn't otherwise reach,
finally ending up with a hundred plus dollars worth of tattered ruin
heaped around her ankles.
"Now, take off your bra and throw it out the window." She did so
without complaint or comment, closing the window immediately afterwards,
the bra discernible briefly in the tailights as it fluttered to the ground.
My date's breasts were small and high-set, but perfectly shaped and
symmetrical. They were quite appealing. I unbelted and unzipped myself,
pushed down my pants and shorts, and slid lower in my seat.
"Rub my cock between your breasts until I get fully erect, then blow me
until I come." She proceeded to kneel on the spacious floor of the limo
and then slowly pushed her chest over my cock. She was still wearing her
panties, hose, and slingbacks. Her breasts were soft and smooth and very
warm. I hardened quickly in response to her ministrations. She shifted
position, and I briefly watched her dark bangs sway in counterpoint to the
steady bobbing of her head. I patted the amplifier in my pocket and closed
my eyes to focus solely on the resevoir of liquid fire that was pooling in
my groin and about to overflow.
We arrived in front of my recently acquired, fully appointed condo. I
had reached an mutually satisfactory arrangement with the previous owners,
the Fergusons. They agreed to give me full run of the place and to cover
all of my expenses. I, in turn, agreed to let them camp out using sleeping
bags in the small downstairs bathroom, using its window to come and go as
they pleased. It was a minor inconvenience for me, but I was willing to
put up with it. I brought them out occassionally to play with, to help
entertain my "guests," and to clean up my messes. In particular, I enjoyed
watching Mitzi Ferguson's response to my suggestion to combine nude
housework and aerobic dance. I suspected the Fergusons were out at the
moment, because their light was off. They were continually going out to
eat, because I wouldn't let them use the kitchen. I should say I wouldn't
let them use the kitchen to cook for themselves.
I projected some instuctions to my companions. The driver came over to
open the door for us. My date, unconcerned about her advanced state of
dishabille, climbed over me and got out to stand erectly next to the car,
her small but well-shaped tits thrust proudly forward. The driver got back
in the car and sped away. He was following instructions to take the car
back. Afterwards he would go out and get sufficiently drunk to totally
forget the evening's events, also making sure he got someone else to drive
him home. I guided my date towards the house and up the front steps, using
gentle pressure on either side of her nipples to show her where I wanted
her to go. I unlocked the door, and we went in.
I seated my silent companion on a large brown leather chair and sat down
facing her on the suede-covered sofa. I told her to close her eyes and
began projecting instructions for the next stage for our interaction.
"When you next open your eyes you'll be fully awake and alert. However,
you won't remember who I am, or how you got here, or anything else that
happened to you tonight. You also won't be able to get up from that chair.
I'll be asking you some questions. If you perceive yourself to be not
giving honest and complete answers to these questions, give yourself hard
pinches on the nipples with both hands. Keep pinching yourself until the
answer you hear coming out of your mouth is satisfactory. Nod if you
understand and will obey these instructions, but don't consciously remember
them." She nodded slowly, her brunette bangs falling forward and back into
place. "Okay, now open your eyes."
She yawned, stretched, and opened her attractive green eyes. She lifted
both hands to her forehead and started rubbing it. She obtained a glimpse
of the unfamiliar surroundings filtered through her fingers and something
clicked in her conscriousness. She bolted up in the chair and turned her
head in jerky birdlike motions to look first at me, then at the room, and
finally at herself. She shrieked, realizing she was clad only in
undergarments, and those only on the lower half of her body. She tried to
stand, but her arms and legs collapsed under her, and she fell back into
the chair, as if pulled by an invisible rubber band. She folded her arms
protectively over her breasts, pulled her legs together and looked at me.
She began speaking with barely controlled hysteria. "What is this place?
How did I get here?"
"Relax," I said. "This is my house, and you're my guest for the
evening. What's your name, by the way?"
She ignored my question and continued with her own. "Who are you? Why
can't I remember anything? What ... Ow! That hurts." Her hands,
previously cupped protectively over her breasts, had curled themselves
inward and were now clamped tightly to her nipples. She shook and turned
in her chair, but couldn't seem to make them let go. "What's happening to
me?"
"For your own sake you'd better answer my question. Now, what's your
name?" "Otherwise," I added conversationally, "you might end up with tits
so sore that you won't be able to sleep on your stomach for a week."
"Cindy Wells." Her hands immediately relaxed. "What the hell is going
on?"
"As I said, you're my date for tonight, and we're starting to get to
know each other better." "And that," I said, glancing noticeably at her
hands, "that is a little bullshit and lie detector I built into you." "It
helps speed the conversation along."
"What do you mean your date? I most definitely am not your date. I'm
engaged, and anyway, I've never even seen you before. And what do you mean
lie detector built into me? How could you build anything into me?"
This was not the way I had planned for the conversation to go, but it
was interesting enough for the moment. "Well, actually, you are my date,
because I am free to date and sleep with anyone I want." I smiled at her
mischeviously. "You see, I invented a handy little device that gives me
total control of the human mind, what people think, and do, and feel. I
used it to get you here. You came along willingly. Well, sort of. You
weren't really too aware at the time. Anyway, I restored your
consciousness, so we could have this little chat"
"I came here with you and don't remember it? That's not possible."
"Oh, but it is. Your being here is proof." I wanted to play some more.
"What's your breast size, Cindy?"
"None of your fucking - Ow! - 34C." Her hands relaxed again. "Why do
you need to know? You've already seen my breasts. I don't even know where
my bra is."
"One just likes to confirm these things. Now who was that guy you were
with tonight?"
"What guy? When?" She looked anxiously down at the tormentors waiting
patiently at the end of her wrists. "I honestly don't know what you're
talking about."
I realized that I had removed a little too much of her evening's memory.
I projected instructions giving her permission to recall events until right
before she met me.
"Oh, God. Poor Dave. That was horrible. I couldn't stop hurting him.
I didn't want to, but I no longer had any control over my actions."
"What was it like?" I was honestly curious, not having experienced the
sensation personally. The first feature I had built into the telepathic
amplifier was a lockout, making sure it could never, repeat never, be used
on me.
The words poured out of her, unprompted. The experience had been so
disconcerting, so unreconciable with the rules of life as she knew them,
that she had to talk about it with someone, anyone, even her erstwhile
tormentor. I don't think she had quite put that together yet, but I knew
she would.
"It was like my body suddenly decided to ignore me and start moving by
itself. At first, I thought I was dreaming. I saw and felt everything I
was doing to Dave, but I couldn't change any of it. And then finding
myself running out of the restaurant. That was the worst."
"How so?"
"I was running as fast as I could, with no idea of where I was going. I
was terrified. I could have run head-first into a brick wall, and I would
have been totally unable to stop myself." She shuddered, then looked at
me, eyes widening in terror. "You did that to me. You must have." She
screamed.
I projected rapidly and both of her hands came up to cover her mouth.
"Stop that," I telepathically ordered, and her scream died off into a
choked gurgle. "Calm down. You're going to be okay. I don't want to hurt
people. I just get off on controlling them for kicks. I'm basically a
hedonist. I'm no worse than anyone else would be in my postion. I just
have more opportunities."
She coughed and got her voice back. "You mean you're not going to hurt
me? You're going to let me go?"
"Well, eventually. I can guarantee you'll be leaving here sometime
tomorrow perfectly healthy and with no unpleasant memories of the
experience. Until then, I plan to more or less go with my impulses."
She looked resigned. "Are you going to rape me?"
"Well, not in so many words. You'll be enjoying it very much at the
time." She frowned, not sure how to take that. "So who is Dave?" I
redirected the conversation. "What's your relationship with him?"
"He's my finace. We were talking about plans for our wedding in two
weeks."
"Oh, you have my complete congratulations." This was marvelous, a
veritable hit. "What are your feelings like for Dave? Do you really love
him?"
"Yes, of course I do," she replied tartly, annoyed at the implication
that she would marry someone for any other reason. "I love him
more than I've ever loved anyone."
"So..., what kind of stuff do you and Dave like to do in bed together?"
She looked down at her tempermental hands, trying to choose her words
cautiously. "Well, basically, the same kind of things that all engaged
couples do." Her fingers twitched suspiciously in response to her
calculated imprecision, but remained in place.
"Please be more specific."
She looked embarressed. "Well, we play this little game where I dress
up in a nurse's uniform, and he pretends to be paralyzed. I wash him off
in bed and start soaping and rubbing his cock. The experience is so good
for him that he's healed, and we make love together. I'm the miracle
worker who's saved him and he's grateful to me forever."
"No, what are the specific physical acts that you've tried?"
"Well, if you must know, mainly fucking and oral sex both ways. We once
tried having him take me in the ass, while I had a vibrator stuck in my
cunt, but that wasn't too much fun." I noted it down. "Oh, and I guess
occasionally I give him hand jobs or rub his cock between my breasts."
"Yeah, I've already tried that with you." Her mouth hung open in
stunned silence. "Forget that," I projected. "Close your eyes." It was
time to alter her consciousness again and move on to the next stage of the
evening's entertainment.
End of Part 1
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