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Toymaker Ch. 01

By: HandsInTheDark



I'm not going to write about how I came across my ability. Even if I did, you wouldn't be able to get it for yourself; I was very lucky. If you tried, you might get something different, instead, and it would probably kill you or drive you insane. I'll just say I was doing research into parapsychology, the study of weird mind abilities, and also into magnetism. A freak accident happened, and it left me changed. Very changed.

The changes have not all been positive. As I describe what's happened, you'll think I have it made. But it's not all good. 

So what is this Ability? In part, I can read people's... I can't say thoughts, but something closer to their emotions. From some people, I get nothing at all – that's rare, though. If your emotions are very intense, I can "read" them from much further off – in fact, I can't avoid it. That's more of a problem than you'd believe.

And in part... I can affect people's thoughts and feelings. I can make you happy, or sad. I can make you off-the-wall hyper, or so relaxed you fall asleep. Yes, I can make you horny. Fear, excitement, trust, curiousity – I can "push" on all of these.

There are people I can't "write", but I have no trouble with 90% of the people I've tried it on.

(Right off, I know what occurred to you first. Yes, I'm rich. You don't want to play poker with me, though that's not how I make most of my money.) 

There are all sorts of limits to what I can do. The big one is distance. Alone, I can only "reach" about five or ten feet. If I'm carrying a strong magnet, I can get to about fifty feet. Walls don't make much difference, but metal blocks the "reach" of my ability completely.

Another limit is time. I can go for a few hours, continuously. If I push it further, the ability fades out suddenly and I end up sleepy and headachy.

"Writing" is complicated. I have to feel around in a mind, figuring out where the emotions "are" and how to push on them. Imagine walking up to a control panel with lots of knobs and switches, none of them labeled. Most people's "control panels" are more or less the same, but a good number of people have unusual layouts; many times, I can't just push and immediately get what I want. But by tweaking the knobs very slightly, and reading the results, I can figure out just about anyone's controls, sometimes in a couple seconds, sometimes much more slowly. I don't literally see it like a lot of knobs, of course. There's no way to describe what it feels like. It's more like fumbling in a dark closet for particular shoes when there are dozens of shoes involved. 

**

It went down like this – I was in the Bubble, our name for a device which was supposed to operate as a psi-amplifier, but which was so incredibly unstable and inconsistent in operation that our results were barely better than random chance. I was following a lead started by some Russian parapsychologists fifty years ago, involving magnetism and some crazy stuff involving quantum mechanics, and I was getting nowhere, but suddenly one of the pieces of gear blew, and everything else went into some crazy kind of feedback... by the time my assistants got power turned off, most of the gear was smoking, and I was unconscious. When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at my three assistants, one of them crying. I had a bizarre and brief episode of aphasia, and then things settled down and got normal again... except, I was on the edge of crying, and I was shaking like a leaf. Given the smoking equipment, I had some reason for this, but the reaction was way in excess of the cause.

Being a guy, I wasn't about to give in to some inexplicable tears in front of my staff, so I headed for a bathroom so I could get a grip on myself. But after I'd moved fifteen feet, I suddenly felt fine. I stopped, turned around, and headed back into the room – and the urge to cry returned. 

And when I focused my attention on Mary, the youngest of the lab assistants and the one that was still wiping her eyes, it suddenly got worse. 

It didn't take long for me to figure out that I was "reading." At first I thought I'd somehow gotten my emotions linked specifically to Mary – she'd been closest to me when the gear blew. But then Alice threw a kind of nervous tantrum about the ruined equipment, and John, who was right next to me, got quietly but intensely pissed at her. It was like a shout in my ear, and I suddenly had to get away from John. Just then Mary came over to me to apologize for falling apart – and since I now had some idea what was going on, I focused my attention on her. 

Females have a complicated emotional world they live in, and it's nothing like the male world. Even though she'd calmed down somewhat, I found myself drowning in feelings I couldn't even process, some of which I didn't have names for. I stopped myself from backing away from her – I didn't want to start acting too weird – but instinctively I did something, something I didn't understand, and she abruptly blinked.

"Whoa," she whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"I... wow, what a strange thing that was. I've been an emotional mess all morning. You know, I'm in that part of my cycle, it just happens. And just now it all went blank. It's just... freaky. Like someone put the emotions into deep freeze. Did the experiment do this? Because if I can reproduce this particular effect in other pre-menstrual women, I'm going to be rich..."

"We're not going to be reproducing much," Alice said. "I don't know what tore through this gear, but it's toast, and the data recorders contain trash. We just lost fifty thousand in gear and have nothing to show for it."

"We're closed for the day," I said, abruptly. "Go home. Don't talk about this to anyone yet – the university is not going to like it. I'll try to figure out what the next move is."

They didn't like it, but I convinced them to take off, and I did as well. I walked across the campus, trying to think. 

I didn't care about the ruined gear, even though it was likely the end of my work here, or perhaps anywhere. Reading emotions... and that thing where I'd apparently changed Mary's emotions... that was all that mattered. Was this temporary or permanent?

As I walked, I got nailed by a very different emotion, very intense.

Two people – somewhere – were making love. I had no idea where, but it was a boy and a girl and they were both near orgasm. The guy's emotion was searing, intense, like a blowtorch. The woman's was fantastically complex and ornate, like being caught in a blizzard of snowflakes, all different colors. Suddenly the guy came, and then the girl did – and so did I.

I shook my head, and got up off my knees, which I'd involuntarily fallen to. People were looking at me, and I acted like I'd gotten dizzy – in a sense, I had. Luckily no one came over to investigate, and luckily I hadn't soaked though my jeans. I stopped, breathed... and tried to "read" again.

I got them again, the two of them. It was faint; they were both in afterglow. I could still tell boy from girl, and suddenly I was jealous of girls, because right then I learned they have this wonderful kind of afterglow that males don't have anything like. (For the actual orgasm, I'll take 'guy' for total intensity, but women win it afterwards.)

Suddenly a window opened just ten feet from me, and through the swinging curtain I saw a flash of skin. Yeah... I hadn't hallucinated any of that. I made a point of remembering which window it was, because if I could learn to hold myself together while reading, eavesdropping on their sex was hotter than the wildest porn ever.

I was freaking out, at this point. I knew I'd changed and could do something that maybe no one in history had ever accomplished, but I was terrified that I'd also screwed myself up badly, and that whatever this was, would eat my brain or drive me insane or just plain kill me. I resolved to get off campus and get home in a hurry. 

But when I found myself walking past an all girl-dorm, I knew why I was doing it.

And... bingo. There was a woman in there, who was doing a deep, intense sexual burn. She was alone, and she was slowly toying with her sexuality. I settled on a bench with my back to the building, and she must have been just on the other side of the wall, because I started to get detail. I couldn't quite hear her thoughts, though I got enough clues to know she had some dark fantasies going, and was reading some kind of erotica involving very dominant men. She tormented herself with a near-orgasm, then let it back down, then built it up again. I focused in hard, addicted to what I was experiencing, and I could sense every touch of her vibrator; but it was the depth of her submission to her fantasy men that turned me inside out. She was imagining herself being taken over and over, by man after man, and coming closer to orgasm each time. Suddenly she lost control and went over the edge, hot and freefalling and shuddering and urgent. She peaked twice, the second much harder than the first, and then suddenly collapsed into an afterglow. And then she was sad.

I'd come again, but this time I knew it was going to happen and managed not to collapse or make noise. It was dizzying, though, and I was breathing hard.

I remembered how I'd – somehow – affected Mary's emotions, back in the lab. What about this nameless coed? Could I...

I fumbled, "reading" her, then trying to "write." I had no idea how to do it, only that I'd done it once by accident. Strange feelings washed over me, some mixture of my own and hers. It was like shapes, or smells... Within a minute I was doing something that had an effect on her. It was very hard to control – and what I bumbled into first was some kind of fear reaction, like I'd given her a panic attack. I couldn't see what I was doing. Nothing made sense – but suddenly I found something that just felt right, and I pushed on it.

She went wild. Immediately she was masturbating, frantically, and I heard her moan, faintly, through the window behind me. I pushed hard, and she came, instantly, and violently, and I kept pushing, making her peak over and over in rapid succession. I head a faint thump and felt a wash of shock – she'd fallen off the bed, I'd realized. I kept pushing, making her come over and over on the floor.

I let go, suddenly terrified that I could be doing damage to her, for all I knew. It has been an unbelievably erotic experience for me, but I was literally fucking with the unknown, and the implications were suddenly horrifying. I got off the bench and got to my car.

Closing the car door did something interesting – I suddenly felt cut off from the world, eerily so. I opened the door again and stuck my head out. There was... something. I pulled back in and closed the door. The something went away.

And it clicked. When mostly surrounded by metal, I couldn't read, and the faint background noise of people's emotions, a noise I hadn't even realized I'd become aware of, was blocked.

When I got home, and into the apartment building, the background noise returned. I got to my apartment, I wrapped my head in tin foil, and started laughing. That blocked it, even with openings for my eyes, ears and mouth. Good to know, for emergencies.

**

I spent a lot of the day in search engines, trying to figure out what had happened to me. I found plenty of fiction, and some claims about yoga that claimed something vaguely like the connectedness I experienced when I wasn't surrounded by metal, but nothing creditable that was anything like my reading and writing.

I heard a quiet thump – Majorie, my next door neighbor, had gotten home. She was around 22 and gorgeous, but she liked guys younger than me, so we'd had friendly conversation and nothing else. I knew a little more about her sexuality than I should have; the wall between her bedroom and my living room was thinner than she might have liked. She generally had a guy over about once a week, and it wasn't always the same guy. I'd had my share of fantasies about grabbing that long blond hair, bending her over the back of a sofa and fucking her from behind.

I "read" through the wall, shamelessly, but got nothing. She wasn't within reach. I pulled together a little dinner, trying occasionally, impatiently. At one point I heard a faint male voice through the wall – she wasn't alone tonight. Just the thought of what I might get from her had me aroused and hard.

It took almost an hour, a very frustrating hour, but suddenly I got something. She was horny, and while I couldn't get thoughts, I was certain she was turning herself on with the thought of teasing her male friend. Horniness comes in flavors, I realized, and each unique kind of desire, each fantasy, affects the emotions differently. The co-ed had been driving herself wild with submissive, yielding thoughts. Majorie's desire was more about what her body would do men, and didn't feel at all submissive. They were both hot, though. I was immediately erect.

Then there was a little thrill of fear and excitement – I guessed he was touching her. 

I smiled grimly, and tried a little writing. My idea this time was to very, very lightly toy with her sexuality, instead of just pushing on it like I had for that woman in the girl's dorm.

She was very, very hard to figure out, emotionally; much more complicated than the coed I'd blasted earlier. I kept it to light, experimental touches, and finally found something that worked on her.

Slow, very gentle "touches". She wasn't aware that she was being messed with, but her arousal went up. I kept gently toying with, as the guy with her touched her. I could tell when she started touching back, and I rewarded her with a slightly firmer push. Fuck, her response was hot! I grabbed my cock and stroked, slowly. It was suddenly very hard not to slam her mind as hard as I could, and force wild orgasms out of her... but I was determined to learn more about this.

I formed an image of her in my mind – leaning back against a wall, legs open, being touched and handled, being made to arch and offer her pussy. I tried to "send" that image to her, pushing it into her brain. I didn't know exactly if that would work or what it would do, but it felt right, somehow.

There was a soft thump – she'd leaned against the wall – and a soft moan, barely heard through the wall. The guy with her didn't need more encouragement, and I could feel her wild response as he handled her body. Then I could feel the fire explode in her, and guessed he'd fingered her.

But I didn't want this to end in any hurry, and I pushed another image at her – her, kneeling, kissing his cock. She felt a flash of fear, but I pushed it again, harder. I heard another moan, and then a soft thump as she went to her knees. I pushed more images – her hands behind her head, her pussy pushed forward and rubbing against his leg as she sucked him. Apparently she thought it was all her own idea, and she found that submissive, slutty pose extremely hot. 

And then I pushed, edging her towards orgasm, and then suddenly away again.

She went crazy. She didn't want to stop sucking him. But she ached to come, and grinding her clit against his shin wasn't quite getting her there. I pushed and stopped, pushed and stopped, until she was ready to scream. And I could feel him getting impatient with her haphazard, distracted sucking. 

I pushed another image at her: elbows and knees, ass up, head curled against the wall, taken hard from behind. It was probably too submissive a pose for her, because I could feel her being a little shocked at herself, but it's how I wanted her to be, and I hit her with fast, light pushes, edging her ruthlessly with that image in her mind. In seconds I heard her give a frantic whimper, and offer herself up.

Immediately she got taken, and thumped against the wall. I rewarded her with faster, harder taps, pushed her to the very brink, held her there... and continued to hold her there as the guy came inside her. I could feel her wild frustration through the wall, and wickedly, I decided to deny her her release entirely. She thrashed against the wall, and then I got to "read" her faking an orgasm. It was fascinating.

I took myself to bed, and ended up masturbating myself to sleep. Controlling her, even with her orgasm ruined, had been very, very hot.

**

The next day the university called me to say I was done experimenting on their dime. I wasn't surprised. There'd been no useful results from the research (none that I was ever going to publish), and we'd blown up a lot of gear. I smiled and called an old friend, Will.

"Will? James. You still got that poker game going?"

"Hey, James, what's new? Yeah, game's still going, why?"

"I want in. I've been sharpening my game some..."

"James... last time you lost two fifty and you swore you wouldn't be back. You're welcome to sit in, but I don't want to hear any whining when you get cleaned." 

"Don't think I'll get cleaned. Is Angela still in the game?"

"Yeah, and her game has only gotten sharper. But if you're hoping to get your hands on her, forget it. She's all about the cards when she's at table. She's more of an ice queen than ever."

Pretty, pretty Angela. Lovely, innocent face, sweet curves, and a mind that calculated poker like a computer. She'd walked away with over two hundred of my money last time I'd played, and her smile had been just a little mocking.

"Hell, no. I just want my money back."

"Forget it. You won't get a penny. I lose fifty to her a week, on average."

"My place, tomorrow night?"

"James... you gone a little crazy or something?"

"Nope. Just feeling like the cards are going to talk to me tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll be happy to take your money, and so will the rest of the crew. Bob was going to be unavailable this week anyway. See you at eight?"

**

I sent the next day studying poker odds and practicing against an online poker practice site. Then I pulled out a thou in cash, spent a little on good snacks, wine and some harder stuff, and lemonade. The lemonade was for me – I had no idea how alcohol would mix with my new ability and this wasn't the evening to find out. I dumped a tablespoon of vodka in the lemonade so if anyone picked up my drink, they'd think it was hard. I dressed as well as I could, given my wardrobe.

Angela showed up first, just before eight. Blouse, skirt, pearls. She was a marketing exec somewhere, and didn't appear in public unless she looked good. She looked good now, though not quite in Majorie's class. I pushed that comparison out of my head. We chatted, and she managed to bring up how brave I was being, crossing cards with her again. I just smiled, a little mockingly.

Will, Peter and Tom showed up, in that order, and after ten minutes of chitchat and setting out snacks, we opened up a new deck and got down to play.

My problem at poker wasn't so much knowing the odds, though my recent research told me I hadn't been folding enough. I just tended to put too much hope in what I thought were cues other people put out, when they looked at their cards. The solution to that was simple – I wouldn't be looking at faces during the game.

The first deal sent me a 3 and an ace down, and a 3 up. Not a very strong opening, but I decided to stay in. Angela folded outright, and so did Tom. My next card was a 7, and Will was showing a pair of fives. I folded. Will ended up with a small pot, based on a trip of 5's.

The next deal I got a 2, 5, and J, and folded outright. At seventh street, Angela took it with just two pair. She wasn't afraid to semi-bluff, I remembered.

But the next deal I got K and J of hearts down, and 9 of hearts up. This was a shot at a flush, and vague hope of a straight. The next card was a jack of spades, and Angela was showing two queens, diamonds and spades. Now I had to think. My pair was under hers, and potential flush was a longish shot, whereas she had a shot at trip queens. Only one other heart was showing on anyone's porch, but that didn't prove much. I decided to stay in for a couple streets and see if things improved.


Toymaker Ch. 01



My next card was a jack of diamonds – no help on the flush, but three jacks in hand. Of course, if Angela was hiding a third queen, I'd get squashed. It was time to read.

Angela was feeling very confident, and that's all I could tell. I decided she already had the third queen. Everyone else at the table was planning to fold, so it came down to whether the next two cards to me would be two hearts, or contain a jack, king or nine. The other porches showed a couple nines and a king, but no queens... I folded.

Angela raised an eyebrow at me, and I raised one back. "What the hell, it's a friendly game," she said, and flipped her cards up. Three queens and a 4 and a 7, and three of the cards were diamonds. Her odds of a flush were about the same as mine, and her odds of a full house or four kind were better. I flipped mine up, and she nodded. "You had a shot, but mine was better. Good call on your part."

The next hand was wild. By fifth street I was holding three queens, two hidden, and an ace kicker. Angela, Will and Pete folded at fourth. Tom was showing three diamonds, A K 8. I read him. He had nothing but hopes; he was hoping to bluff me out. I bet high and he stayed in, and my next card was the other queen. He sighed and folded, and I reached for the pot. I was in positive territory.

As I pulled the chips in, I gave Angela a very light, sexual nudge. She was very easy to write and her emotions were very easy to navigate. She blinked, and started studying her chips.

The next three hand, everyone folded before fourth street. The hand after, I had a pair of aces at third street, and Angela showed two sevens. I raised high, but she stayed in. By fifth street I had aces and nines, and I read her. She wasn't quite so confident this time. We made it to seventh, and her two pair, failed flush bowed to my ace high pairs, and she pushed the pot my way.

I gave her a light tap, as she slid the chips my way. Unconsciously she licked her lips. I tapped her again as I stacked the chips she'd given me, without looking at her.

The next four hands all collapsed at fouth street, with Will and Peter pulling in small pots. I folded on third street on the next hand, and watched Angela pull a decent pot in from Tom.

On the next hand, I had a glorious, queen high flush at sixth street, and Angela was feeling confident. I made her pay high for the seventh card. My flush beat her straight, and once again she pushed a pile of chips my way. I leaned on her sexual response harder, this time. 

She shifted in her chair, and flushed slightly. I caught her eye, and smiled at her. She smiled back, shifting slightly again. "Damn, James... looks like you plan to take me down, tonight."

I caressed her responses, very, very lightly, as I spoke. "Just taking what's mine to take, gorgeous."

I read freely after that, and did a lot of folding on third or fourth street. When I stayed to sixth, I won, except once, when I deliberately lost so it wouldn't look too odd. Whenever Angela pushed any chips my way, I toyed with her response, lightly, but longer and longer each time.

Then I had a reasonable shot at a full house, queen high, but with Angela once again feeling fairly confident. I decided to try something new. I pushed an image into her mind – her body on the table, stripped naked, all our hands on her. Just for a fraction of a second – but her eyes went wide and she swallowed. I toyed with her response more, lightly, just to the point where it was distracting, and then stopped. And then started again. She recrossed her legs, and got her last card. Her confidence collapsed, and I guessed she'd missed a flush she'd had three shots at. Her one pair fell to my two pair, and this time, as she pushed the chips my way, I pushed an image of my grabbing her wrists and dragging her body over the table, and pushing her head down in my lap, while toying with her forcefully. She gulped down some wine, and excused herself and headed for the bathroom.

We broke for drinks and small talk. I was up three seventy, about three hundred of it from Angela. I decided to lose about fifty at the table, aiming to stay near three hundred up, by the end of the night. I passed the bathroom door as I got more chips. Reading her through the door, I checked to see if she was masturbating. She wasn't, but from the little shivers she was feeling, I guessed she was blotting herself up. I smiled.

Lemonade for me, and hard drinks all around, including for Angela, and we did the last few hands. I lost seventy to Pete and Will, took thirty from Angela, and then it was ten pm, which was closing time for the game. People started to clean up. I pushed on Angela again, watching her closely. Her hips shifted. She liked what she was feeling. I smiled at her. 

Angela sat next to me, smiling back. She was very... warm, inside. "You had a good game. Tell me... how did you do it?"

I pushed, lightly, but continuously. "I've been practicing, that's all. I didn't used to fold enough, and it cost me." I smiled, and pushed again, harder, making her shift and recross her legs. "Why, do you want a rematch?" I tapped the deck.

"It's a bit late for that," she said. I toyed with her, then pushed an image of her with her blouse open and my hands inside it. She licked her lips, consciously, not unconsciously.

I shrugged. "It's Friday, and you're down quite a bit. Maybe you can recover a little. But don't worry, I'm not going to go around saying I had my way with the best player in town. The secret of your loss is safe with me."

I could feel her every emotion – desire, her attempts to play it cool, her wondering at herself for the flirting she was starting to do. She hesitated. "Stay," I suggested, and got up to see the other three off. She was still sitting when I got back, and her emotions were careening all over the place. I sat across from her, and began the light pushes again. "What are you doing these days, James?" she asked.

"Research at the university," I said. "But I'm finishing that up – it wasn't a profitable line of inquiry. I'm considering trying my hand at pro poker, if I can tighten my game up a bit more."

"One lucky game, and you want to go pro," she smiled. 

I gave a longer, slower push. "You really think it was luck?" I picked up the cards and shuffled. "Let's see if you're right. It's just you and me now."

"Two player poker isn't much of a game," she said. She was flushed and her nipples were becoming visible.

"Depends on the stakes," I said. I gave her a long, slow push. Her eyes closed, and she shivered. I smiled. "Fifty min a hand, one hundred max. Unless you want... bigger stakes."

She looked at me. I looked her over, openly. "I do," I added.

"I really should go," she said. But I toyed and toyed, and she didn't move. 

"I'll be open about what I want," I said. I felt the thrill of excitement in her as I said that, and I knew I had her. "Hundred dollar limit – but if we both have a hundred in, the bet switches. One hundred to you if you win. A minute's kiss, if I win. Safe enough, since you know you're the better player."

"You think my kiss is only worth hundred dollars?" Her eyebrow went up. Now she was both amused and aroused. Deep in every woman is the fantasy of being so hot that men will pay for their attentions.

"I want to find out." I said, smiling lightly, and pushing her hard enough that she had to swallow, and focus on not betraying any reaction. I pushed another image at her, and it wasn't a mere kiss I made her imagine.

"And how often do you pay for... kisses?"

"Exactly as often as you get paid for them. It's a wager, Angela, not prostitution. As you say, two handed poker isn't much of a game. This makes it interesting..." I pushed her over and over, quick, intense "and if you were really going to leave, you already would have."

I dealt, continuing to push her. The first two hands folded early, and then we both caught something decent. I let her win sixty. The next hand folded, and then we both, again, picked up a possibility. We played it to max bet – she swallowed as she did the final raise. She lost. She had no idea that I knew she'd wanted to lose.

I put my hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth against mine, slowly increasing the push. I kept my hands above her shoulders, but kissed her long and slow and suggestively, and I could feel the heat and confusion and need pouring from her. Her lips parted, and with every touch of my tongue against her lips, she skyrocketed inside. It didn't show in her kissing, but I read how molten it made her. When I finished the minute, I returned to the cards, and coolly shuffled.

"You're not the James I knew," she said, softly. "He was a fish with a deck of cards, and he always looked without touching. What happened to you?"

"Something you seem to like." I dealt, hitting her with unpredictable pulses, fast, slow, featherlight, or hard enough to alter her breathing. She stared sightlessly at her cards, and played mechanically. "This time, I'm going to pick where I kiss you, " I said, and pushed images of lips on her nipples, throat, clit, thighs, wrists... she suddenly folded, shaking, and just looked at me, eyes wide. 

I moved and sat next to her, hammering her. I tangled my hand in her hair and made her look up at me; my other hand cupped her breast. She looked down at my hand, and I unbuttoned the blouse as she watched, shivering, panting. Another push. Suddenly she arched wantonly, and I undid the bra and worked her nipple between my fingers, then brought that very hard, hot nipple to my lips. I sucked gently at first, then rougher. She moaned, helplessly, pushing her nipple deeper into my mouth. 

"I'm – not like this," she whispered. "We're both being so... bad... oh!"

She loved bad.

I kissed her mouth again, and ran my hands slowly over her belly. I poured hunger into her mind, and image after image of her body arching, writhing, begging, and then taken, over and over... when I opened her skirt and plunged my hand into her panties, she gave a soft, frantic cry and tilted her hips up, begging wordlessly for more. I pushed her towards orgasm, and away, and towards, and then when she was feeling like she really might come, I opened my jeans and guided her mouth where I wanted it. 

She wasn't good at sucking. Maybe she really was an ice queen, with no experience in pleasing men. It didn't matter. I made her lick my cock over and over, while I fingered her, bringing her close to orgasm and then letting her fall back again, but faster and closer each time. She was in flames, aching to come, and aching to please me.

I was drunk with power. I was going to pick what position I took her in, and when she got to come. Normally I like from behind, but now I wanted to see her face, just as I let her come. 

I got her on her back and pulled the panties off, leaving her in pearls and heels. She begged me to use a condom, and when I took one out of an end-table drawer, I got to feel her reaction to the fact that I had one waiting. It could have gone either way, I knew – she could have been put off by it or turned on by the confidence it showed. I made sure it was the latter. When I pulled her legs apart, she tried to resist a little, but I yanked them apart and I could feel, without trying, just how totally that turned her on. I ran the head of my cock along her slit... she rocked her hips against me, and her legs wrapped around me, and I took her, pinning her wrists against the sofa, pushing animal need and a touch of fear into her. She came quickly, helplessly, sobbing and writhing, and I pinned her to that state, making her continue to come, taking my time about coming myself.

"Fuck," she whispered when I let her go. "What... was that? I've never... I mean, it was..."

"Intense," I finished. I decided to just read, and savor her stunned confusion and her very deep afterglow. Lovely face, and the rest of her wasn't bad at all... but I now knew I could do better. If you can control a woman's emotions and sensations, you control the woman. My next door neighbor, Majorie, wasn't going to have a chance. Neither some other women I'd always had an eye for. 

"I just don't do that," she whispered. "I... I mean it wasn't my first time or anything, but... I've never been easy, you know? I've never felt anything like this. And you knew. Shit, it's kind of scary."

"I'm not kiss and tell," I told her, cupping her breast. "You don't have to worry."

"But you planned this," she whispered. "Suddenly having the game be here. Gunning for me in the game. Making those plays – it was literally hot, seeing you beat my game like that. It was like I was naked. Poker's my game, but it's never been... hot, like that. How the hell did you do it?"

"You're right," I said. "I wanted the game here, to make sure I got you here, and then tried to be sure you'd stay afterwards. I worked up my play to make sure I could hold your attention. And you're right about how hot it got... I was hard every time you leaned forward and pushed chips my way. At one point I pictured grabbing your wrists and dragging you across the table-"

"Shit," she whispered, shaking a little. "I don't... usually... have those kind of fantasies at the table, but every woman player I know has them afterwards. Wagering her body, playing well and losing anyway. Getting dragged onto the table, chips scattered, having to give it up to the winner, maybe while the others watch... you're not supposed to know that shit."

"Right," I said. "Every man has the same one, winning a woman's willing body. It's not really a surprise that women have it too." I sat up and pulled her into my lap, and began stroking her belly and breasts. "And now I'm going to make you come again."

"Um," she said nervously. "I... it doesn't happen. I'm a one-a-night kind of girl. You already got me to come pretty fucking hard, I won't be... shit... shit, how do you do that? Fuck, I must have a thing for older men and never knew it. Fuck, that feels... so... good!"

I spent the next half hour, pushing her slowly towards orgasm. Just touches and kisses and nibbles, and a fingertip – and slow, steady pushes and little flash images of her getting fucked on a poker table, and over the back of my sofa, and up against a wall... and then I wrapped her hair in my hand and forced her mouth against mine and made her come, over and over and over, as she kissed me. For five minutes straight. She was sobbing softly when I was done, and spilled in a heap in my lap.

"Oh... kay." She whispered, brokenly. "I don't know what you put in the drinks, but I'm leaving now. You've literally got me scared and shaking. If you used a drug, you used too much."

"No drugs," I said. "But you don't really think that."

"I don't know what to think, except ... I'm not going to spend the night with you when I'm this crazy. I need to get sane."

I pushed an image – her waking up in my bed, slowly, languidly, and then my hands on her, dragging her back against me, bending her, pushing my hardness against her ass...

She bolted up and pulled on clothing, shaking. I kept up the images – her against the wall, her learning to suck my cock, her opening her legs and masturbating in front of me, begging to be used. When she bent to straighten her shoes, I hit her with an image of being grabbed and remorselessly taken from behind like that... she gave a ragged gasp, brushed past my offer of a good night kiss, and ran out of the apartment.

I chuckled, softly. I was well up for the evening, which more than settled the score between us. I'd come hard, watching miss innocent professional ice queen melt into a hungry, desperate slut before my eyes. I felt good. I'd call her in two or three days, and listen as she talked herself into making our after-poker activities a regular event.

**

I spent the next few days resting up, thinking about what I was going to do with this ability (other than the obvious), and practicing poker online or against a computer, where my ability didn't give me any sort of edge. I set myself a limit of a hundred dollar loss a night, and read voraciously during the day. It would take me months to get truly good, and years to get good enough to win at a high level with real predictability, but I wasn't stupid, and knew if I tried to get by just on my special ability, sooner or later, someone would figure out I had a trick of some kind, and I wouldn't get games. I had to be legitimately good enough that my cheat looked like careful play.

I quickly worked out one thing for certain – poker wasn't going to be my main source of income. Casual, medium stakes games would be a safe place for me to be – no one would be good enough to be sure if my game was "too good". But they'd net me maybe two or three hundred a night, maybe a thousand a week, keeping it safe. Fifty thou a year. That was not enough. Bigger stakes games would drive the payout way, way up, but I'd eventually attract attention in the professional poker world, and I did not want attention. Attention would bring questions. "Freak accident in a parapsych lab" would come to light, and that would tear it.

**

I ran in that weekly game for a few weeks. Each time I made sure to do well, but not a vast scale. On the third week the cards were just bad to me, and there was nothing I could do about that, but I still managed to break even. I tortured Angela sexually, across the table, every time I won. 

Angela stayed after each game, and I made her do increasingly submissive, dark things each time. After my last game with them – I made four hundred that game – I made her kneel to me and lick my feet, then my thighs, then my balls, and then masturbate while I fucked her ass. When I came, I pulled her into my lap and bit her throat and breasts while she continued to masturbate for me, and then I hit her hard, watching her thrash through repeated orgasms . When I finally let her go, she sobbed and said she had to stop seeing me before she "lost herself" entirely. 

That suited me. I was ready for better playmates, both on the table and off.

**

I got a job as a waiter in a country club. 

This may seem like an obvious ploy, but it doesn't work for most people. The usual story – waiter hears a hot stock tip, and doubles his money overnight - is fantasy. First, stock tips don't usually double your money. And hot tips exchanged over a power lunch are, frankly, not actually hot, most of the time. As my ability quickly taught me, most of these tips are either outright lies – stock traders and bankers are a cutthroat bunch – or idle boasts. The very rich never talk about their real game, or only talk in lies.

But I had my ability, and it changed everything. I could read the emotions behind overheard statements. I could push people's emotions, making them more trusting or more talkative. I could add extra alcohol to drinks to help that process. By my second week I identified the regulars who had real insider information, and I knew when they were telling the truth. That got me a week over week 15% return on my investments, then 20%. Then, after a month, I got my big tip, and went all in on an IPO that had been rigged... and made 220% on forty thousand dollars. That evening, I moved up to higher stakes poker in the richer parts of town, and began pulling in two or three thou a week, being careful to lose the occasional play deliberately, so I'd look good enough to be interesting, but flightly enough to take on. I got offers to move up to still bigger games – and gained respect when I said I was heading there, but wasn't ready yet. In fact, these guys were good enough that I got some odd looks, and I realized I might never be able to head for bigger pots. Poker was going to be limited to maybe a hundred thou a year – great money but I was certain I could figure out a way to do better.




Toymaker Ch. 01



I seriously considered doing an escort service – I could give great sexual experiences, or just great emotional experiences – to just about any woman, after all. But looking into it, I saw the sort of women who hired escorts. The money would have been great, but I just wasn't going to go there.

I started gunning for Majorie, my next door neighbor. Girls don't sleep with their next door neighbors, so this was a difficult project, but I wanted her – tall, full breasted, tight small waist, appealing hips, great legs. The long blonde hair, just long enough to cover her breasts, was a plus.

I started with the usual small talk we always engaged in when we ran into each other, but I supplemented it with little good feelings – happiness, amusement, curiosity. When she got hooked on that, I started mixing in small sexual feelings. Within a week, she smiled whenever she saw me, and would often head my way.

I planned my trap.

**

I ran into Majorie in the elevator, a week later, going up to our apartments. It was what I'd been waiting for, and I small-talked, and worked her responses over, a little more directly. She was not the easiest girl to write, and I had sudden insight into why she changed guys so often.

But by the fourth floor she was looking distracted, and by the seventh she was chewing her lip. When we got out on ninth, I brushed past her, not quite touching, and slammed her with a flash of hunger, short and intense. She made an embarrassingly clumsy goodbye, citing a need to go shopping before dinner, and darted for her apartment.

That fit my plans perfectly.

I got into my living room, and read her through the wall as she climbed onto her bed and started to masturbate. Smiling grimly, I wrote her to make her still needier... but I denied her her orgasm. After a very angry and frustrated half hour, she gave up.

I grabbed a laptop and headed down to the foyer for the apartment building. It was a small space, and not very busy. I opened the laptop and waited.

When she came by with her empty grocery bags, I looked up. "Majorie," I said, "could I have a moment?"

Curious, she came over. 

"I'm doing research into paraphsychology. I'm running an experiment that needs volunteers, chosen at random. I'm asking every fourth person that passes me to participate. It's an hour of your time and you get twenty dollars for it – not much, I know. There's no risk and no personal questions, though you do have to talk about feelings, and make predictions about things. Can you help?"

"Um... when?"

"Any time you like, this week. You can have a friend with you at the time, as long as your friend doesn't actually talk to you, and stays some distance away from you."

"Where?" 

"My living room – which is why you should feel free to bring a friend. Or we can use the university, but then it has to be late evening, so we can get lab time. I know that's less convenient. I'm sorry it's such a rush request, but I'm behind on the research..."

'Well... alright. Can it be tonight, after I shop?"

"Let's see..." I clicked around on the laptop. "Hm. Okay, but then it has to be my living room; the labs are booked tonight. Can you get someone to observe at short notice?"

"Well... look, you seem alright. I don't think I need anyone to keep an eye on you... As long as I can record the whole thing on my cell phone. I don't want to be rude, but a girl can't be too careful."

"Audio only. No visual records of the experiment are allowed. Good enough?"

"Ok. And I'm going to call a girlfriend and let her know, and call her again afterwards. I mean, don't be insulted, but... you know."

"Any precautions you like – I understand completely. Oh – no metal jewelry, like bracelets. And have you had any alcohol today?"

"It's six o'clock," she said pointedly. "I haven't even had dinner yet."

"Sorry, I'm more used to the social habits of professors." That got a giggle out of her.

"Alright", she said. "Seven thirty or maybe eight."

"Thank you very much."

**

She showed up in – of course – sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt. I got her to my improvised set up – two chairs, back to back, in the middle of the room, one facing a screen; and two buttons, each on a cord, sitting on the chair towards the screen. There were also headphones on it, and a camera pointing at that chair from the corner of the room. The camera appeared to be off.

"I'll sit here, facing away the entire time," I said. "You'll be watching short sequences of images, or clips from videos. Each one is about five minutes long. Some make no sense; don't let that bother you. If at any point the video makes you uncomfortable in any way, you push the red button and it stops. If during the video you feel certain you know how it's going to end, push the blue button. Don't try to reason it out – just go with any impulsive feeling you get. If you're not feeling pretty sure, don't push the button. As fair warning, the sixth video is mildly erotic, but only some kissing and touching, nothing you wouldn't see in a PG-13 movie. After each video I'll have questions. Please, no talking during the videos. Does that all sound ok?"

"Um... sure. What is it that you're testing for?"

"I can discuss that afterwards." I settled in my chair. "Get comfortable, get the headphones on, try to make yourself calm and peaceful, and tell me when you're ready."

She settled. "Ready," she said. "Here we go," I replied into my microphone, and I started the first video.

It was an abstract image – a red cone, viewed from above and to the side. Suddenly a pink rubber disk fell down on it, horizontally and exactly centered over the cone. It hit, deformed a little, and sprang back into the air. It clearly wasn't a video recording of a real event – the movement was too perfect, which made it look and feel surreal. The disk fell again, making exactly the same movement. To a male, the moment the disk started to spring back up, the shape it made was vaguely suggestive of a breast with a nipple poking upwards. Women tended not to make that particular association – though it was possible Majorie would in this case, because I'd modified the video, and there was a single frame subliminal at that point, showing a real woman's breast in about the same position.

Subsequent subliminal cuts showed the breast arching up, to meet a motionless pair of lips. 

I worked her responses, very, very lightly. She began a slow simmer immediately, and it flared every time a subliminal frame flashed by.

After four minutes she pushed the blue button, and said "the cone's going to tear through the disk, right?"

I rewarded her with a small surge of sexual pleasure. "Very good," I spoke into the microphone. "Let's jump forward and see." And I jumped the video to the end, where that did in fact happen. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd guessed something different - I had video endings for the six most common guesses.

I had her get the next one right, as well – it involved a woman balancing a red tennis ball on her nose, and then a carrot. The subliminal cuts involved a very similar woman, licking a man's balls and cock. When she made her guess, I again rewarded her with a warm rush of sexuality, and showed her the ending she'd "predicted".

The third scene was a pair of ballet dancers, but whenever the man grasped the woman in any way, there was a cut of an almost identical woman having an orgasm, with a man behind her, grasping her. It was not a coincidence that the man in the subliminal looked a lot like me.

Subliminals by themselves don't have a big impact on people, and they don't have any useful long term effect. But I'd guessed that in combination with my ability, they became a lot more effective. Reading Majorie, it was obvious I was right.

I worked Majorie's responses constantly during this video, still keeping it light. She was building up a very deep, warm reaction to the procedure. She didn't make a guess on this one, or the next one, which involved drops of water slowly falling from an icicle, and subliminal cuts of a woman's hand reaching up and milking a man's huge cock to orgasm.

During her fifth video – a slow motion video of a fuse burning, and then a firework going off - she began to have overtly sexual dayreams – I recognized the whipsaw pattern of arousal, distraction and shame in her emotions. She made it through the video without hitting buttons, which meant she'd also watched subliminal clips of a man, masturbating to orgasm and splattering a bound woman's very aroused body with his come.

I paused the sequence, and asked the set questions.

"Majorie, it's the 'questions' part of the experiment. What did the third video make you feel, if anything?"

"Which was the third?"

"I can't answer that. Go with whatever one you thought it was."

"Um... the icicle one, I think? It made me tense, somehow, waiting for each drop to fall. That kind of surprises me because it should have been this peaceful, natural scene, but I was really wired."

I pulled up a still image from that video, with a big drop of water just about to drip free of the ice. In the video, it was about three frames before the subliminal cut of the man jetting. "Does that image make you feel wired and tense?"

She stared at it, and her arousal surged. Her unconscious mind knew, even if she didn't, that there had been something very hot just an instant after this picture, and she was unconsciously willing the screen to show that subliminal clip again. "Yeah. Tense."

She wasn't being totally truthful, but I didn't expect her to explain that she was getting turned on by an icicle. I pushed on her sexual response. She tensed her legs and squirmed a little, and hid it by stretching.

"I'm going to run the video forward from that point, in a repeating loop. I want you to watch, and be able to tell me if it drips the same way it did the first time you saw it. Focus on your feelings as it happens, as well."

The clip was only a second long, looped thirty times. Each time the drop fell free, there was a different subliminal cut, showing the woman's hand pump the guy to orgasm, and then showing his cum dripping on her breasts as she masturbated and came. Majorie's arousal skyrocketed, and she stared, mesmerized, at the image. When I stopped the loop, she shivered and glanced at my clock. I had a pretty good idea that she wanted to get back to her bedroom and try masturbating again.

"Same drop falling, or a different one?"

"Um... different? I'm not sure."

"Did it break free faster, or slower?"

"Faster. I think. I don't know. Can I see it again?"

I smiled and played the same loop again, toying with her as she watched. She could barely sit still.

"Faster."

"Was watching it drip, over and over, calming?"

"Um... no."

"Do you remember the video with the ballerina?"

"Yes."

"How many times did the man lift and toss her?"

"Um... seven?"

"Now the questions get very bizarre. Answer quickly without thinking about it, just say the answer, we'll be going very fast. Here we go. Did the disk want to tear?"

"Yes."

"Did the icicle want to melt?"

"Yes."

"Did the dancing woman want to kiss her partner?"

"Yes."

"Did she kiss him after the dance or before it?"

"After."

"Should the fuse have been longer or shorter?"

"Shorter."

"Did the firework want to explode?"

"Yes."

"Did the girl want to eat the carrot?"

"Yes."

"Was the tennis ball happy?"

"Yes."

"Did the icicle feel warm or cold?"

"Warm."

"Why did the girl balance the carrot?"

"Um, she was told to."

"Are you frightened of fireworks?"

"No."

"Which dancer lit the fuse?"

"The man."

"OK, now we do free association. Look at the screen. There will be a rapid jumble of images, keep your eyes on them. I'll say words which have nothing to do with the video, and you'll immediately say the first word that comes into your head. Starting... now. Train."

"Obey."

"Storm." "Thunder."

"Wet." "Warm."

"Hands." "Grip."

"Burn." "Explode."

"Yes." "Please."

"Frozen." "Thawing."

"Dance." "Club."

"Winter." "Summer."

"Balance." "Fall."

"Touch." "Taste."

"Cruel." "Hard."

"Slippery." "Curve."

"Green." "Light."

"Dangerous." "Experiment."

"Whisper." "Secrets."

"Shiver." "Shake."

"Taste." "Carrot."

"Come." "Again."

She was blushing furiously. The screen was showing a jumble of images from the videos, but there was a thick scattering of subliminals in it, and my toying with her responses was driving her crazy. And she was aware that the words coming out of her mouth all had sexual import.

"Tingle." "Skin."

"Wicked." "Thoughts."

"Male." "Female."

"Fuse." "Burning."

"Hands." "Legs."

"Water." "Melting."

"Flower." "Blooming."

"Poem." "Rose."

"Ball." "Red."

"Very." "Intense."

By the end she was breathless, and not because of how fast the questions had gone.

"OK, breathe now, that went well. Just three more short videos. For the next one, you put the blue button down – you're not asked to predict how it ends. It's erotic, but nothing too over the top and nothing trashy. Any objection?"

"Um... no. Um... you're not going to stay in the room, are you?"

"I sit right here, and face away from you. Relax... It's not a test of your sexual responsiveness, and no one's ever going to know if you lick your lips or anything. Hotter stuff plays on daytime soap operas, anyway."

I hit play, and read her carefully.

The video featured a very attractive young woman, likely an under-twenty, giving a hunk of a guy some warmly flirtatious glances. The video had overtones of the forbidden, because the man was early thirties; just enough of an age difference to make it wrong. She was sitting, legs and feet together, hand toying with a strand of her hair. Her clothing was upscale, a pencil skirt and tight silk blouse, and his was flannel and tight jeans. Just seeing the opening scene had Majorie's sexual urgency soaring. 

He stood and walked towards her, and it showcased the size of his package. The camera slid behind the girl, and showed how she arched her back and how her breast curved up for him, without showing her face. The dark smile on his face had Majorie shivering.

He settled his hand behind her neck, and drew her to her feet, then kissed her, hard. She made a pretense of pushing him away, but he sucked and nibbled her lower lip, and there was a close up of the way her eyes fluttered closed, and then the way she pressed her breasts against his chest. The only sound in the recording was their increasingly frantic breathing, recorded close and loud, and every time either of them gasped, Majorie burned hotter.

Then the subliminals started – the same couple, doing it all – sucking, fucking, coming in a dozen different positions, the man taking ruthlessly and the woman offering more. Majorie saw none of that consciously, of course. All she saw was the man push the girl against the wall, put his hands on her sides, and very slowly and firmly, run his thumbs over her nipples, making them large and hard through her blouse. The girl moaned, sluttily, her head falling back against the wall, pressing herself against his hands. The silhouette shot showed his huge erection through the tight jeans, and the way her hips tilted upward, begging for it. She reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, and then she leaned forward and sensually licked along the hard muscle of his chest... he grabbed her ass and forced her to rub herself against his erection. 

She kissed and licked his mouth, hot and sensual. Suddenly he took her by the waist and turned her to face the wall, her palms flat against it, just above her head. Her nipples grazed the wall as she thrust her ass outward, and he unzipped the skirt and let it fall to her feet. He rubbed his huge lump against her panties, and filled his hands with her breasts. She rocked for him, whispering obscenities, as his hands gripped and squeezed tighter.

I pushed on Majorie. She ached to masturbate, but there was no way she was going to here. She snuck a look back at me, to make sure I wasn't watching – I was engrossed in my laptop, of course, but I rewarded her for peeking with an animal surge of desire. She couldn't see the laptop screen, so she didn't know the camera in the corner was showing me her movements and expressions. Her head snapped back to the screen, in time to see the guy working the woman's very erect nipples through the silk blouse. 

Majorie's fingers were twitching, playing along her thighs, and from the incredible focus of her thoughts, I knew she was trying very hard to control her breathing. Just then, the guy grabbed and tore the blouse open, and dragged it down the girl's arms, pulling them behind her back and trapping them. The balconette bra barely covered the essentials, and he slid his fingers in and very firmly, very slowly, twisted her nipples. Majorie was squirming now, holding her breath, and alternating between adjusting the way the hair fell on her neck, tracing her fingertips on her thighs, and closing her hands into fists. Every time she adjusted her hair, touched any part of herself, squeezed her legs together, or licked her lips, I pushed. 

Suddenly the girl in the video turned, opened her legs, and pulled her arms free from the blouse. She undid his belt and smiled, wantonly. The scene faded as she plunged her hand down into his jeans, and as he reached for her panties.

I gave Majorie a few seconds to focus her thoughts again.

"You... must watch different soap operas than I do," she said.

"I don't watch soap operas," I said, calmly. "I only go by what my girlfriends tell me. The experiment dictates we move straight into the last two videos without delay. They're tame. You don't need the blue button for them. In the first few you had the option of stopping and predicting the outcome. In these the video will abruptly stop, and you'll have two seconds to predict what happens next."

The next video was quite tame – an attractive young woman and man running along a course, each balancing an egg in a spoon, surrounded by a cheering crowd. The subliminals showed a couple just like them, the woman bound to a table and the man drilling her with an enormous cock, with a crowd around them, watching and masturbating. When the video froze, I snapped out "Predict!", and Majorie blurted out that the woman would drop her egg, which turned out to be correct.

The final video was an extreme closeup of the face of a grandfather clock, showing the minute hand approaching the 12 position, with the ticking quite loud and echoey. It was lit by flickering light, as if from a candle or a fireplace. Very faintly in the background, but still supraliminal, was the sound of men and woman's voices, but it was impossible to tell what they were doing or saying. Some of the sounds could have been soft laughter or sounds of foreplay, and in Majorie's state that's how they'd be interpreted.

The subliminals in this one were interesting. They were images of a man undressing a woman, going down on her, rubbing his cock against her lips, and then fucking her to orgasm. But they were arranged backwards, so they started with the fucking and ended with the dress being unzipped. There were clues to make it obvious the sequence was backwards – her hair and lipstick got increasingly neat as the pictures went on. With the idea of the passage of time pushed so strongly by the video, the overall effect put intense but unconscious pressure to make the events in the images happen in the right order. In the 70's it was believed that this would make women more willing to fuck, but the research was shot down before it could be rigorously tested. 

The video froze just as the minute hand was snapping to the 12.

"Predict!"

"The clock chimes."




Toymaker Ch. 01



"Quickly, how many times?"

"Uh... nine."

The hour hand wasn't visible in the close up, so pretty much any guess was fair game. I played the clip where it rang, slowly and deeply, nine times. With each slow, tolling gong, I hit Majorie with a burst of intense sexual need. She bit her lip to stop from whimpering.

"That ends the experiment," I said. "You've been an excellent subject; thank you very much. There's an envelope in the drawer next to you, with the promised payment and a phone number to call if you think you're having any strange aftereffects, like odd dreams. That's not uncommon, and having a phone number means you don't have to bang on my door at 3am, and ask me why the hell you've been dreaming about aroused traffic cones or singing goldfish."

That got a laugh out of her, as she stood up. "That actually happens?"

"No one's complained to me about traffic cones, but I've gotten a call about a singing goldfish. Turns out the guy had a new neighbor move in, with a cat... don't ask me how he got from a cat wailing to a goldfish singing Britney Spears songs. The mind is a dark, kinky place, especially at night."

She was aching to get to her room and masturbate, but she was also burning with curiosity over the experiment. 

"So... ok, that was a very freaky hour. How did I know the clock would chime nine times?"

"Hm. Alright, we can discuss the experiment now – but you have to stop and delete the recording you talked about making. And if you're going to call your girlfriend, now's probably the right time."

"Oh," she blushed. "The girlfriend thing... I didn't bother."

"Same with the recording," I said. "You never started it."

"I started it in the hall- Ok, shit. I'm so busted. I never figured out how make it record anything over ten minutes. How did you know?"

"You'd have started it in front of me, to make sure I remembered, if you really had any doubts about me. But you're psychic, and you knew you were safe here."

"Psychic, huh? Wait... how did I know the clock would chime nine times? What was all this, anyway? A lot of it felt... weird."

"Have a seat," I said, gesturing at the couch. "Rum and coke?"

"I can't stay long," she said. "I still have things to do tonight." She blushed a little when she said it.

"I know," I said. "I'm psychic, too." She blushed more, and I smiled, walking past her to the kitchen. 

I was hard as a rock, and the jeans I was wearing didn't hide it well. She noticed as I walked past, and I hit her with another firm push, just as she glanced. I felt the little shocked flicker in her emotions as she realized that even though I had at least fifteen years on her, and you never, ever fuck your next door neighbor, that she could have an alternative to a vibrator tonight... if she wanted one.

"Small rum and coke then, to celebrate your newfound psychic skills. You rated high enough, by the way, that if I get a second round of funding, I'll need to bring you back for more tests." I brought her the drink, and I didn't make it too strong. That would have given it away.

"So, here's the idea," I said. "Most people have something like a psychic ability, and we call it cleverness, intuition, a dozen different things. It's precognition, really, but it only works in very specific circumstances. Make a guess – where do you think foretelling the future could be really useful?"

"The lottery."

"Sure... but for most of human evolution, there weren't lotteries around. Pick something that would always be useful to know, something very important to people no matter when in history they lived."

"Um... I was an art major..."

I hit her with a slow, deep wash of need. She shifted on the couch, and re-crossed her legs. Slowly. She was very, very turned on.

"Oh," she said. "Relationships. How successful the guy is going to be – fuck, that sounds incredibly shallow. How good a mate he'll he. Or she'll be."

"Very close. Here's the major premise. Precognition shows up where it matters, in sexual things, because that's all evolution cares about. For men, it could be useful when it comes to finding sexual partners. For women, the goal is to find a safe provider. I know it sounds sexist, but evolution is very sexist. So the premise is, when a woman is interested in a man, she has access to a kind of precognition that helps her decide if he's going to do well by her."

"But... how many times a clock gongs?"

"Stay with me, here. Evolution is blind, and can't do miracles. Long term precognition is hard, so evolution can't give you that. So you can't get a man's whole future. You only get a very simple kind of short-term precognition ... and you only get it right when you need it. When do you think you need it?"

"Well, I guess when I first meet a guy? No, it's..." she blushed deeply. "when sex might happen. Arousal. That's why that hot video was in there. You're saying arousal is when it's most important for a girl to know if the guy is going to be ok."

"You did a little better than random chance before the hot video. Afterwards, you were right both times, against difficult odds."

"That's... wild," she said, fascinated.

"The really odd thing is, it works in reverse in men. Men get less intuitive when they get aroused. Now guys, let's be honest, want sex a whole lot of the time. Women are more selective. So when a man approaches a woman, he might well get told no, and precog would tell him that. But what good is that? It doesn't get him what he wants. So men learned to tune out the precog, and instead they just push ahead and try to get lucky, in spite of the odds. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take – so men have learned to ignore the little voice that tells them not to take the shot. Evolution took the hint and men didn't keep precog, if they ever had it."

"But some girls fall for abusive men."

"You've felt the urge to be with inappropriate men." I pushed, hard. "Bad men are virile, tempting... Some girls are wired to want that virility, very deeply. So they are selecting for what they think will give them better sex or a stronger mate. They are still precoging – and using the answer they get. There's even evidence that precog signals you with increased sexual hunger – if a guy turns you on, and your precog says he's ok, you get hotter, even if he's not obviously what you'd consider your type. If it says he's a bad choice, the desire quickly fades back out, no matter how smooth he is. Your deepest urges are pretty good guideposts for leading you to what you really need."

That was an unfair card to play, seeing as I was keeping her so hot she had trouble holding still, and making it surge cruelly every time she made eye contact or said something I liked. 

"Wow. This is... I mean, it's fascinating. Is the research going well?"

"I've just started the trials. I need more subjects. But I think it's going to come out very positive. That leaves me with the problem of conducting the second stage experiments... it's going to be very, very... hard."

"Why?" She licked her lips, unconsciously.

"Well... think about what's going to be involved. It's one thing to show you a PG, borderline-R-rated clip and test small variations in your behaviour. No one minds that. It's another thing to really ramp up a subject's sexual response and do more... direct testing. I can find willing volunteers, that's never a problem ... but universities are prudish, and will shut the experiment down."

"When you say really ramp up someone's sexual response... I mean, you said you wanted me for the next experiment...."

I looked at her, pouring it on. "On a scale of one to ten, how hard would you say that video hit you?"

"Um... I'd rather not say."

"I don't blame you. Well, in the 80's researchers came up with much, much more intense protocols than just watching videos of men and women touching. Turn the ten into a one hundred. The research was banned. So, of course, I can't use those approaches. I need to come up with something a little more... restrained."

I was pushing images into her mind. She was shivering.

"No... you... mustn't use those approaches," she said.

I smiled. "You're curious."

"I... my, it's getting late..."

"Psychological research has a dark side. Especially in the 70's and 80's. Women subjects were given erotica to read, and when it got them got hot, they were put in special chairs, with straps... they were shown videos a lot longer than the clip you saw. The chair vibrated in certain ways – you can imagine how - but never enough to quite set them off... when they were whimpering, they'd be escorted into a dimly-lit room with four handsome, nearly naked men. The men would give the woman more erotica, and tell her to read it aloud to them... and would undress the woman as she read it. Try to imagine the effect that had. And then they'd all touch her, or themselves in front of her. When she could no longer think or speak coherently, they'd put her back in the vibrating chair with straps again, perform tease and denial on her for an hour at a time, sometimes with toys. Sometimes there were stimulants involved, or hypnosis... I'm sure you've had those awful times when you wanted release and didn't get it... well, some of these experiments were a full week long. And they had to turn away volunteers."

Her nipples were visible, even though the thick, loose sweatshirt. "I... I really have to go now," she said, unsteadily.

"If you do, you'll fail to come again."

She looked up at me, stunned. "Shit...how... you're psychic. You're... evil. You..."

I stood up, blasting at her. Her eyes wandered unsteadily to my obvious erection, and she moaned, helplessly, and shrank into the sofa. I sat next to her, took her hair in my hand and brought her mouth against mine. She was too stunned to kiss back, and she tried to curl away from me, but I put my other hand up her sweatshirt, and worked her nipples between my fingernails, pushing intense reactions through her for each small stab of pain. That broke her. She shuddered from head to toe, and started kissing back, soft and hot, erotic fear and uncontrollable need pouring out of her. I moved my hand down into her sodden panties, speared inward, and she cried out, hips rocking upward, squeezing down on my finger.

"Yes," I said against her lips. "I'm evil. And I'm going to make you come over, and over, and over. You won't be able to stop yourself. But first..."

I bent her down and forced her mouth against my jeans, over my cock. "You're going to open my jeans."

Hands shaking, she obeyed. She discovered there was no underwear underneath, and I pushed myself into her mouth. "Masturbate while you taste me. That's right. Slower. You're on the edge of coming already, but you don't get to come until I let you. Lick it!" I pushed an image of her being taken from behind and coming violently, and she licked and sucked me frantically. I speared her again with two fingers as she worked her clit, and she shuddered on the edge of orgasm, sobbing "you're bad... you're bad" over and over, as she licked.

"Now, over the back of the sofa, facing the screen. You liked that video... you're going to watch how it ends... while you get fucked."

I positioned her shivering body, and pulled up on her hips to get her to tiptoes. And then I shoved into her, ramming her pussy, slamming her hard with my ability with every stroke. She came in seconds, watching the woman on the screen get suddenly and violently fucked by a cock the thickness of her wrist. 

When I let her come down, a few minutes later, she shivered in a heap on the couch and looked up at me, eyes wide. "You... didn't come... oh, fuck..."

"You're right, I'm not done with you. You're precoging very well. Lie on the sofa, legs apart, one leg up over the back, one to the floor." I reached into a drawer and took out a vibrator.

"You... no, you can't expect me to come again after that! I didn't breathe for like two minutes!"

I laughed, softly and evilly. "You're going to look into my eyes the entire time, and you'll burn. You'll come again for me, Majorie. Very, very hard. That's a fucking guarantee."

I played it over her thighs, lightly. Her eyes were huge, and her emotions were closer to fear and awe than desire, but I spent the next ten minutes bending them, slowly and relentlessly, to a torrent of slutty, animal need. I could feel what the vibrator did to her, which made it easy to torment her into a frenzy. After three minutes she was whimpering. Then panting. Then gasping. Then shaking. 

I sat her up, perched her ass on the edge of the sofa, and put her arms behind her, with instructions not to move. She stared helplessly into my eyes. The vibrator went to her clit and stayed there, and I buried the head of my cock – and no more – inside her. She sobbed in need.

My other hand stroked her neck, breasts, and belly. Her hips began to shake, and I reminded her not to move. By the eight minute mark she was shuddering uncontrollably, and I pushed my thumb between her lips and stroked them. She sucked it helplessly, and I slowly fucked her mouth with it. That drove her insane. "Please," she whimpered suddenly. "I need to come. Please. Please! Oh please! Please fuck me, please!"

"Ask my cock to rape you."

She moaned "Yes! Rape me!"

"No. Look down at my cock. Beg it to take what it wants. Beg it to rape you, roughly."

"Oh fuck that's sick... fuck..." she looked down at it, throbbing, just partway inside her. "Take me. Fuck me. Rape me hard. Make me take all of you OH FUCK!"

My hands gripped her breasts, and I pounded into her, brutally. She came uncontrollably, violently, and only then did I push her to her limit.

She lost her voice after three minutes, lost the ability to do anything but twitch helplessly after ten. Then I pulled her forward and kissed her nearly unresponsive lips for the next few minutes, as she wept and her eyelashes fluttered. When I finally let myself come, fifteen minutes later, and let her finish her orgasm, she went totally limp.

She whispered, "H- H- How.... How did... "

"Mmm. Not telling. Let's get you into bed."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Can't move. Nothing works."

I gathered her up in my arms, and she curled in, whimpering softly, more out of shock than anything.

"I... fake it a lot, you know? But that... I didn't know that was possible. You... said you have girlfriends. Plural. Now I know why. Why haven't I ever heard them screaming?"

I kissed the top of her head. "Do you know what a ball gag is?"

"Oh fuck," she whimpered. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck..."



Toymaker Ch. 02



I'm frankly amazed I got away with that. The entire experiment had been bullshit from beginning to end -- the premise, the experiment format, and of course the conclusion -- but Majorie had bought it all

I saw Majorie again three days later. I called her, and told her to come over, right then and there, and hung up.

She did.

I'd left the door ajar, and she peered in... the room was pitch dark. "James...?"

"Come in and close the door."

"This is frightening. You're scary enough, without this..."

"Do it."

She did.

"Find me."

When she got within fifteen feet, I could sense her fear and arousal. I chuckled, softly. Both her fear and arousal went up, and she felt her way towards my voice. I rewarded her with intense hunger, no little taps, just an unrelenting blast. She moaned, softly.

Then her hand fell on my leg. My bare leg. Shaking, it slid upwards, and found my stiff cock. She moaned again, handling it obsessively, and I rewarded her with an image of her bound body, coming.

"Kneel, and press your cheek against my cock. No kissing or licking."

She got down between my bare legs, and rubbed lightly against my hardness, her hands stroking my thighs and balls. She was shaking.

"You frighten me," she whispered. "Did you... hypnotize me, with those videos? I just... burned. And dreamed about it afterwards. And now this..."

I turned on a desk light. It had a dim, 1 watt bulb in it, wrapped in dark cloth. It illuminated her faintly, but didn't shine on me, so she was handling and petting a man she couldn't make out.

"You'll be obedient this evening," I told her. "Completely obedient. Do you understand?"

She looked up, nodded unsteadily, that sweet, innocent face wide-eyed in erotic fear. Unconsciously she arched her shoulders back, lifting her breasts up to my gaze.

"When I snap my fingers, you'll stop whatever you're doing, and remove an article of clothing. You'll throw it behind you, and then go back to what you were doing."

Her breathing increased, and she pressed her lips against my cock; I could feel how she wanted to open her mouth and suck it. She ached to placate the scary man. I didn't have to push on her emotions; she was already smoldering.

I smiled, and snapped my fingers.

She was wearing a blouse, skirt, stockings and heels. She reached back and took the shoes off, kicking them away, and leaned forward, but I snapped my fingers again.

She hesitated, and then got the blouse off, staring into the darkness I was sitting in. Her nipples were hard inside the sheer bra, making sensual peaks.

"I'm going to make you into a slut," I told her. "The more I make you do, the hotter you'll get and the more you'll want my cock. Let me tell you how this ends. You're going to have a long, deep and violent orgasm. During it, I'm going to grab you and fuck you, roughly. You'll have no control over your reactions, none at all. You'll respond as you have never responded before, to every rough pound of my cock. You're too used to men who worship your body and treat you like glass. I'm going to slam my cock into you and use your body like the man-pleasing fucktoy it was meant to be."

Her trembling fear melted into a swirl of intense eroticism, sucking her down, filling her with a need to submit. I didn't put it there; I just watched as her need to become a good and obedient girl grew. Before my ability, I had no idea how fear and submission and eroticism connected in the emotional world of a woman. Women, I learned, love men they can trust, but they don't become fully sexual with a man they aren't a little afraid of.

Another snap, and she peeled the pantyhose off. "Start sucking, slowly," I told her. "With your free hand, stroke yourself. Everywhere but the inside of your thighs and clit. I want you to feel how fuckable you are."

There's no feeling like the emotions of a woman in flames. I could feel her getting addicted to what I was doing to her -- and feel myself getting addicted to her hot, sexy desperation.

Snap. The bra came off. She bent over again, pressing her nipples against my thighs as she brought her mouth to my cock. I pushed into her mind an image of her body being taken from behind by an unknown man, as she sucked me. It set off fireworks in her. She sucked faster, more sensually.

I grabbed her hair and forced her head back. "Now look at me."

She could only barely make out where my face might be, but I had her face lit well enough that I could see the huge, hungry, trembling eyes. I snapped. She stared at me helplessly as the skirt came off, leaving her only in her panties.

"Do you want my cum?"

"Yes," she stammered, still running her hand over her torso.

Stroking her body in front of me had her embarrassed, and I let her welter in that embarrassment for a few seconds. Then I reached forward with a pair of scissors and cut her panties, starting from the waistband, straight down past her slit. They parted like curtains, clung loosely for a few seconds, and then slid awkwardly down her thighs. The feeling of exposure and vulnerability in her, as they parted, had me so erect it hurt.

"Masturbate. Make yourself wet for my cock."

"Oh fuck, please, I-"

"Without discussing it."

She knelt there, in flames, stroking her breasts and rubbing her clit, eyes wandering unsteadily between the darkness around my face, and the dimly lit, erect cock. I rubbed my cock, slowly and lightly, and her eyes settled there, helplessly fascinated. Her lips parted. Her eyes were huge.

"Say it, quietly, over and over: I want your cum."

"Please, that's-"

"Now."

She swallowed. "I... want your cum." She was bright red, and her nipples were hard cones. She licked her lips.

"Over and over!" I pushed a flash of fear into her, and she moaned, unevenly, and then again, sluttily.

"I want your cum. I want your cum. I want your cum. I want- your cum. I want your cum. I want your cum... I want your cum! Oh fuck this is so wrong! I want your cum. I- want your cum! I want your cum... I want your cum, I want it, I want your cum on me, I want -- oh fuck I'm so wet! I want your cum, I want your cum, I want it so bad, please I want your cum, please, please!... oh fuck please I want your cum!"

"Masturbate faster."

"I want -- oh please! Please! It's so intense!"

I stood up, looming over her, pushing my cock against her face. She sucked my cock, but I pulled her back by the hair. "Keep masturbating, lick my balls, and whisper 'please fuck my pretty, slutty body.'"

She pressed her face up between my legs, whispered it and then started sobbing out "please -- please!- please!-"

I reached into her mind and hammered her with the sluttiest images and urges I could. She licked faster, and then collapsed to the floor, masturbating and writhing. I picked up a vibrator, knelt down and pulled her shaking, shuddering body against mine. I forced the vibrator between her legs, and sucked a nipple deeply into my mouth, and bit down on it, slowly, pinning her on the edge of orgasm as she frantically fingered herself.

When she was convulsing and completely incoherent, I pushed her over the edge, put her on her back, and pushed my swollen cock deep into her. Savagely, I fucked her exploding firework of a body, gripping her by the throat and hip as I pounded. I tried to hold out, but the thrashing of her hips, the shaking of her breasts, the helplessly open mouth, and the unbelievable intensity of her emotion would have made a dead man come. Tears poured from her sightless eyes, as I gushed into her.

When I was done I forced her over the edge again, and gathered her weakly thrashing body against mine, so I could kiss her mouth as she came.

**

When she had nothing left, I let her go limp. She was sobbing, softly, and it took a moment for me to understand she was speaking.

"Thank you... thank you... thank you..."

**

Her eyes closed, and I carried her to bed, and tied her, spread eagle, to it. She became vaguely aware of what was happening as I adjusted the knots.

"James? James... no. Please. You made me pass out, what more do you want?"

I stroked her belly, slowly and lightly.

"James... you just came. You can't want more!"

I chuckled. "You did a good job sating my cock, beautiful. But I told you -- I'm going to make you my slut. I'm going to teach you to crave."

"James, please no-"

I kissed her mouth, the kind of slow, soft kiss that stops conversation dead. My lips moved gently over hers, over and over, until she kissed back, and then whimpered because she'd tried to put her arms around me and couldn't. I nibbled her lips, slowly and sensually, and then licked them. Her eyes fluttered closed, and I slipped a hand under her neck and lifted, exposing her throat as her head fell back. I nibbled it, lingering at the hollow of her throat.

"That's... your scheme, is it?" she said dazedly. "Rough fucking, followed by gentle, affectionate teasing? That's- it won't work- You can't... fuck, James, stop, stop, please, I haven't even gotten my breath back..."

I kissed downwards, along the curve of the top of her breast.

"Please, it's... when I'm tied up like this... your mouth... I can't think. You're petting my belly... your lips... please, my nipple aches already and... James, I'm trembling, please just... oh gods, you're going to ... just kiss and stroke me... until you're hard again... and then... fuck, you're relentless.... Did you... did you like the way I came? I was an animal... isn't that what you wanted? Take me rough again... not this gentle, seductive... it's like quicksand... oh! No teeth, no, just suck... oh! Oh no, please, I'm so... no, not there! I can't think when you touch me there!"

I brought my lips to the corner of her mouth, and kissed, slowly, over and over. She closed her eyes and tried to hold still, but bit by bit she turned into the kiss, and kissed me dazedly as my fingertip tracked along her slit, very lightly.

"That's right, Majorie, kiss me. You love to kiss. Over and over and over, don't think, just feel. Give me your soft, pretty lips, feel my finger move a little deeper each time... you're my fucktoy, bound and helpless and wet and ready to give me anything I want. You're going to have another orgasm, when I tell you to. There's nothing you can do to stop it. Kiss me, pretty fuckdoll. Kiss me, beg me for more with your lips and tongue...."

This was hotter than fucking. I didn't have to push on her. I coaxed her body along until she had no resistance left, and was panting, and writhing slowly in her bonds.

I wanted to learn more about her sexuality. I had a very easy way to do it -- I simply had to push images into her mind and feel her responses, one after another.

Two men, touching her. Her urgency soared. Most women, I've learned, liked that one. I made her picture kissing one cock, then another, then back to the first... she licked my lips and began sucking on my tongue, moaning.

I added a woman to the imaginary mix; that did nothing for her. But when the two men turned and grabbed the other woman and team fucked her, Majorie arched and whimpered, grinding her clit against my hand. She loved the male sexual hunger, the animal, amoral lust, and watching it play out on another helpless female drove her wild.

I made her picture walking, naked, blindfolded, to an open window, showing her body to people she couldn't see. She cried out suddenly and tried to bring herself to orgasm against my hand.

Wow. She knew she was beautiful, and if I was going to make guesses, she'd made a habit of concealing and downplaying her body, to avoid the kind of attention that beauty brought. I suspected that, deep down she hated that; she wanted to flaunt herself, make men burn for her. Some women became strippers; others, like her, probably had deep, dark fantasies about it. I smiled. I was going to make her do bad, bad things.

I was hardening again. Her hot, soft kisses, the way her lips flowed against mine, had me throbbing. I speared her suddenly with three fingers, then took my hand away from her.

"Please," she whispered. "I- I think I could come again..."

I picked up the vibrator, turned it on and pressed it against her opening, hard.

"I- oh! Oh fuck, how do you do this to me?"

I slid it up over her clit, and then fingered her roughly. She cried out.

"You're a slut," I told her. "I don't have to make you one. You love this. You love being hot and fuckable and the way I want to plunder you. Don't you."

"Not a slut," she moaned.

I shoved a pillow under her ass and moved between her legs, my cock in hand. The vibrator abused her clit and the head of my cock began tapping, then banging against her slit.

"'Wet, fuckable, helpless slut," I snarled. "Say it!"

She thrashed, her head tossing back and forth, her blonde hair snapping from side to side. "No! Slutty is bad!"

I pushed my hardening cock in, just burying my head inside her, and then did things with the vibrator that she couldn't fight. I pushed with my mind, reveling in the fact that she had no defense against it.

"Wet. Fuckable. Helpless. Slut," I growled again.

"Want to come - fuck I need to come again -- please just take me, this is torture!"

"Wet. Fuckable. Helpless. Slut. Say it!"

I could be as merciless as I liked. My ability made me the cruelest, most intense edge-player ever, and I made the vibrator into a sexual torment she'd never imagined, backing off at the last possible second and then starting again just before the ache started to subside. I rocked my cock against her, not pushing further in, just adding to her torment. She ached to draw me in deeper.

"Wet," she moaned. "Fuckable! Helpless! Oh shit, stop, I can't think!"

I pinned her there with my mind, and did things with the vibrator that would have had her screaming over the edge. Her stomach convulsed in need and her body was a rigid arch in the bonds, but she couldn't come.

"Say it," I said, softly and deeply.

"Slut! Fuck your wet helpless slut! Please, I want to come so bad!"

I turned the vibrator off and shoved it into her mouth, and then I moved my cock inside her, the way I ached to. I slammed her against the edge again and again, and then without warning pushed her over, watching her beautiful, bound, desperate body thrash. I pulled out, pumped myself for a second and came on her as she shuddered.

Perfection.

When I could breathe again, I untied her, and she crawled against me. We fell asleep together, almost instantly.

She was mine, after two dates.

**

So, you're wondering about guys. Do I mess with them?

Only once, in a sexual way, and it wasn't for my gratification.

It was on the subway, where people sometimes tend to be assholes. It was very crowded, and this guy pushes his way on. Expensive suit, late forties. He pushes past a pregnant woman, steps on a foot -- he's unaware of all this because he's on his cell. "Not less than a mil four," he said, followed by "yeah, fuck that, right? Listen... want to have some fun?... Yeah, sure. But listen. Want to have some fun? Have him do a variance report. That will force him to explain all his deviations from the plan... well, yeah. Of course. It's not fun if no one gets hurt..."

He plants himself in the middle of three women half his age. "Yeah? Who cares? Did I mention a mil four? Fuck that. Make him go for mil six. Call it a stretch goal... he'll fuck it up, and I'm coming in at a mil nine... look, I'll be there in an hour. The damn limo service... right, just stall. Yeah..."

Meanwhile, he's got his cock up hard against the blonde, and he's smiling at the brunette. Neither is impressed. I don't know if he can see the wedding ring on the brunette, but I doubt he cares. All three women are emoting their disdain so loud that I can't shut them out. Then he looks down the brunette's blouse, and smiles at her again.

I've established that I'm no angel. Psychic vampire, mind rapist, call it what you like. I know I'm no one to throw stones. But the river of revulsion in this cabin is spiking, I can't block it all out, and no one can do anything about him because he's not doing anything illegal. In the press of bodies, he can claim the cockrub he's getting isn't his fault. But I don't have to be in his head to know what's up with him. And then he whispers something to the brunette, and she's so revolted she chokes back sudden tears.

I blast him, as hard as I can, with sexual arousal. The way the train is shaking, and as close pressed in and we all are, his fun little bump-the-junk game goes suddenly out of control. He grinds, and then cums uncontrollably a second later.

It's not the sort of thing that's easy to hide, and the blonde woman shrieks in the most magnificently furious outrage I have ever seen. The crowd crushes itself to give her room, and she steps away, and turns to see the guy grappling with the end of sudden orgasm, and a spreading stain on his suit pants. In fury, she points and shrieks "That fucker just came on me!"

"Fuck, blondie-" the guy gasps out, and it probably wasn't the best choice of words he could have made. Nor should he have stepped at that moment towards the blond, even if it was only the movement of the train that caused it. The people around him explode with rage.

I have never felt anything like that. I could literally feel the rage jump from person to person, rippling and growing like a living being. And then suddenly one guy, a little oriental fellow, balls up the rage and puts his fist into the guy's solar plexus, and when Mr Millions crumples over, he whips his fist around and down on the base of his skull. Someone else gets a foot into his knee, and then he's on the floor, oh-so-accidentally kicked in the face by another man. A least ten cell phones are suddenly open. "Press charges," I tell the blond. "Animals like this usually have a record; and you're the only one who can see he gets the cage he deserves. I'm happy to be a witness." She gets five other volunteers immediately.

A nerdy guy four bodies down looks up from his cell. "There's police on call at the next station, and they'll be ready to pick him up. They want us to wait until they take him. They don't want him to get lost in a crowd and run."

"Run?" says the oriental fellow. "If he so much as sits up I'll cave in his ribcage." He leaned over Mr. Millions and hissed, "My daughter was raped by a perv like you."

Five minutes later we were at the station, and I saw him taken away. He wasn't going to make his meeting.



Toymaker Ch. 03



And then, I hit my real windfall.

I'm not actually going to tell this part of the story in detail. I found the wife of a very rich man, and conned her to the tune of over two hundred thousand. I played it well and she never suspected she'd been taken. But due to the way the con was structured, it wasn't in my best interest to run into her again, which meant I was going to have to relocate. And that meant dumping Majorie.

I found that hard. It's not that Majorie and I had much in common. She was young and there was enough of an age difference that conversation went slowly sometimes. (This became an ongoing problem - my turn-on is women in their twenties, but intellectually I need someone with more life experience.)

But in spite of that difficulty, she was turning into a hot, hot fuck, ever more enslaved to the storm of emotion she felt at my feet. And I loved that. Call it shallow, sure. But I was hooked on her sexual ecstasy.

I considered convincing her to move with me -- I probably could have done it. But I'm not that much of a prick. She had a life; dragging her with me as my sex slave meant taking that away from her until, eventually, I really did tire of her.

But I am a bit of a prick, because the argument that swung it for me was just this: I could find another Majorie, in fact an endless variety of them.

My last "regular" night with Majorie was memorable. She knocked on my door, wearing only a tight tee and shorts. It was part of our routine - she had to come to me looking slutty, and risk being seen that way at my door by neighbors. When she got through the door, she took it all off, walked over to me, knelt down and kissed my foot. She was always in flames by that point -- she'd been well conditioned, by many orgasms. She'd also been forbidden to masturbate, or come with anyone else, so I was deeply associated with her sexual gratification.

I stood her back up, and walked her over to the largest window in my apartment, and pulled back the curtains. It was evening and the room was lit, and anyone happening to look our way would get an eyeful. She turned deep red.

"Look up."

She did, and found I'd replaced the curtain rod with a steel bar. There were two handcuffs locked onto it. She gasped.

"Put them on."

She did, and I bound them to the opposite sides of the windows, so her arms were wide apart and up over her head, forcing her to step up against the window glass. She was already starting to shake.

I put ropes around her ankles and drew those apart as well. She whimpered a little as the coldness of the glass pressed against her nipples. She knew better than to beg for mercy, but horrified embarrassment washed off of her, along with arousal.  

I got behind her and moved my hands, slowly, up over the inviting curve of her hips, and along her sides. And then I pushed slutty hunger and need into her mind. I let shame and lust fight it out in her for a time, and then pushed harder, to make sure lust won.

We were many floors up, so she couldn't be seen well from the street, but there were plenty of buildings around with a good view of the window. I cupped her breasts, and began working her nipples, squeezing them between my fingers and forcing them against the glass.

"Are you wondering how many men can see you, right now? How many can tell you've been bound here and are being toyed with? How many are taking their cocks out and stroking?"

My hand shifted, and suddenly I caught her hair and pulled her head back, roughly, so I could demand kisses from her mouth. She tried to resist kissing back, but that didn't last long. I bit her lips and then broke the kiss.

"Take me to bed," she moaned.

"You'll have to earn that," I told her.

I fetched a device I'd had special built for this occasion. It was a vibrator, but it was not one that a woman would ever have invented. The body of the device had elastic ties on it, making it easy to attach to a leg. The head swiveled, so it could be positioned easily. It also... adjusted. Part slid inside, and curved upward, like a typical vibrating dildo. Part stayed outside, overspreading the clit. These two parts clamped together under the tension of a screw, trapping the clitoris between them. With the screw tightened, it didn't move no matter how much the woman writhed, and there was no way to back away from the vibrations. A control wire ran from it, allowing me to independently control the vibrations of the inside and outside parts. A design like this had been developed in the 80's for some research that never saw the light of day. It had been quietly nicknamed the Bitch Tamer.

I spent a few minutes attaching it. Majorie couldn't see what I was doing very well, but it wasn't hard to guess, and even before I turned it on she was panting.

"How... how do you do these things to me?"

"You'll never know. Lick your lips. I want you to think about the men who are watching you."

"There's... I mean, no one's looking... are they? Did you... oh gods, did you tell people to watch?"

"Yes." I turned on the vibrator, on the lowest setting.

"Oh shit. Oh shit no. No, it's wrong. James, please! I don't like this!"

"You're lying." Which wasn't quite fair; her horror and her secret craving to show off were in a locked battle again. "The reality is, deep down, being wanted makes you hot, and the more men that want you, the hotter you get. "

I flicked the room light off and on a few times. Show time. She whimpered in erotic horror. "Fuck," she whispered. "There's someone in the building across the street, he's looking-"

I turned the vibrator up a notch, letting the relentless, uneven vibrations sink into her skin. She gasped.

"I'm going to toy with you until you don't care who sees what."

"James, please no, someone will call the police-"

"In this city? Now you need to be silent." I came up behind her, and tied a blindfold around her eyes. "That will make you harder to recognize. Now you need to listen. The vibrator has twenty settings, and you're on number two. Every time you make noise, I will turn it up a notch. Do you understand?"

"Yes -- shit!"

I turned it up to three. She gasped in rage, and I turned it up to four. I could see her shivering. Every woman was different, but back in the day, most women would come eventually on five, pretty damn fast on ten, and the toughest, most stubborn would go to pieces around thirteen. Twenty had only been used to punish women after they came too soon.

I ran my hands over her back, and then along her sides, slowly, enjoying the full swelling of the sides of her breast. "Men who see your body, all want to fuck you, Majorie. Not make love to you: fuck you. You know this. You feel their eyes on you, and it makes you hot. You've hid that, learned to fight the arousal, but tonight you won't be able to. Tonight you'll lose all control. The thought of men throbbing, wanting to fuck you, pound you, pumping their swollen meat in their fists while watching you fight not to come..."

She bit her lip, but she was already molten inside. I slapped her ass suddenly, and she squeaked; now she was up to five.

"Rigid cocks wanting to plunder your mouth, pussy, ass... aching to open you, pound you, taking you selfishly, demanding more and more from you... men wanting every part of your pretty, pretty body under their huge rough hands, man watching you whimper, sliding helplessly into sluttier and sluttier need, thinking about what it would feel like to push into you just as you lose control..."

I dipped my finger into some oil, and pushed it without warning into her ass. She shuddered from head to toe, her imagination going out of control.

"And now, one more little surprise for you." I opened my laptop, plugged in headphones, and put them over her ears. "There. You can hear me through this microphone? Just nod... good. There really are men watching you, my pretty slut. But I made a deal with them. They had to call into my laptop, and when I click, you'll be able to hear them all, through the headphones. They won't speak to you. They'll just masturbate while looking at you, and you'll hear the noises they make. One hand on the binoculars, another on their cocks... they are almost all here. Get ready, Majorie."

She exploded in every emotion possible, at those words. Lust, rage, excitement, shame... I had to sit down just to process it all, and for a moment I couldn't speak or think. But I pulled myself together, and clicked the button.

There were only two men actually on the line. There are not a lot of people I'd open Majorie up to like this, even though a distant window. But a friend had hacked me up something a little special, and I was also able to play three recordings into the mix. They were also masturbation sounds, and they had nothing to do with Majorie, but she'd never be able to work that out. She'd just hear a lot of men coming.

Men and women are deeply wired to get off on the sounds of the opposite gender cumming. It makes perfect sense; the female orgasm convulses the belly in an attempt to draw sperm in deeper, so evolution knows that's a good time for a man to cum. Majorie tried to fight her reaction down, but those sounds sank straight into her mind, and she was fully aflame in seconds. I got behind her and stroked her again, cupped her breasts, bit her neck and ground my cock against her ass. She moaned, suddenly and long and deep and helplessly, and I turned the controls up to eight.

Then I pushed her, stopped, pushed her again... she fought like mad to hold it back, but then there was an explosion in her mind -- I guessed one of the guys on the line was cumming. She arched helplessly, and what she felt, even over the lust, was a kind of intensely pleased satisfaction. Her body had made a man come. A second after that and she was throwing herself over the edge as hard as I've ever felt.

I pinned her there and turned the control up to eleven.

She screamed, repeatedly, writhing in a kind of agonized ecstasy, her mind a bright white flame of desperation. I slapped oil on her clenching ass, took my cock out and ground it against her, and got my fingernails into her nipples. And there must have been another orgasm on the line, because that's when I found out that it was possible for a woman to come even if I was pinning her down. She came magnificently, and started screaming "Fuck me! Come on me while they watch! Use me! Fuck me up!"

I think I set a record for getting a woman out of handcuffs. She topped to the ground, still tied by the ankles, and I got the vibrator off of her and myself in her. She kept coming, holding the headphones to her ears and sobbing in desire, working her hips for me, unable to stop coming. I pounded her until I couldn't take it another second, then pulled out, and came on her breasts and belly. I fingered her, gasping, until she kind of went still. Then, with trembling hands, she cupped the cum off her skin and licked it up. The headphones slid off her; the line had gone dead.

She whimpered incoherently, and it took me a few seconds to realize she was saying "close drapes... close them..."

I staggered to my feet and closed them. She crawled to my feet and wrapped herself around them. I smiled down at her.

"There's -- things -- in a woman -- that should never come out," she whimpered. "Darkness... No one should see... you made it come out... scared... so scared... you're evil..."

"Yes." I scooped her up, and carried her to the bedroom. I kissed her and pet her all over, just enjoying how nicely shaped she was and how utterly I could bend her. Shuddering, she fell asleep, clinging to my thigh, with my hand in her hair. She was perfect. I'd have to find another one like her.

**

Want to know one of the quick ways I can pick up cash? I go to a bar, especially if there's a convention in town. I strike up a conversation, and complain about being psychic. When the laughing starts, I wager ten dollars (it moves up for fifty after a few scores) that I can guess what number they are thinking of, from one to ten. I don't actually read thoughts, but there's a simple trick that makes it work for me. I have them write the number down and hand the paper to one of their friends. Then I close my eyes and say the numbers from one to ten, aloud, slowly. When I speak their chosen number, there's a little emotional spike that happens, no matter how good their poker face is. I get it right over 95% of the time --when I run into the very rare people I can't read, I still have better than one in ten odds of getting it right, because there are patterns in the numbers people pick.

I have no idea why, but men in general rarely pick the number two, and women strongly avoid one. Few people pick ten, and plain women never do. Women are very fond of prime numbers. People who have just eaten, amusingly, often pick eight. And mostly, everyone likes seven.

My best run was the night that a convention of bankers was in town. I made two thousand that night; there's nothing like the foolish arrogance of people who think they are the masters of the numbers. Every one of those fuckers brought one of their friends over, so they could watch them lose, too.

Between poker winnings, investments and the last windfall, my cash position was around four fifty. If I gave it over to an investment broker to handle, I could just let it grow at 7%, and that would take care of my eventual retirement, but it wouldn't give me current income. And as much fun conning rich women was, it wasn't a game I could play twice in the same town.

**

I made an anonymous, fifty thou contribution to the university. It was a conscience thing; I'd blown up their gear, and I didn't blame them for shutting down the research.

That afternoon, I got a call.

"James... it's Angela."

"Hello, beautiful," I said. "I'm... surprised to hear from you. How are you?"

"Not well," she said. "I'm in voluntary checkin at Madison. You've heard of it?"

"Yes. I'm so sorry... Was it your work? I know you did some high pressure stuff."

I sounded cool, but I was suddenly terrified. Madison was psychiatric.

"No," she said. "It's... more personal issues. I'd like to talk to you. I know we weren't... anything but fun and games, but I really need to talk to you about... those fun and games."

"Angela... What does your doctor say about this?"

"Please, James. I just need to talk to you. Here, at the hospital. It's not more than that, just talk. As friends."

I owed her this. "I'll be there in about an hour," I said, and hung up.

**

There was no fuss about letting me talk to her. As a voluntary patient, she could see anyone she liked. We got a small room to meet in, with a soundproof door and a window onto the main floor.

She gave me an tentative smile. "I'm going to go straight to the point. Since I stopped seeing you, I've had... issues. Sexual issues. I keep flashing back to the things we did, imagining them vividly. It was happening at work, when I slept, when I saw friends. I'd feel uncontrollable sexual need. Sometimes I got release by masturbating over and over. Sometimes I couldn't get release at all, no matter what I did. And then I... started throwing myself at guys, trying to get experiences like... we had. That was... a mistake," she said, her voice fragile.

"I'm so sorry," I said, earnestly. "But I don't think we should get back together, it sounds like I was somehow very bad for you-"

"Not asking for that," she said, unsteadily. "We were never together, James. We were just playmates, friends with amazing benefits. If I wanted another playdate, I wouldn't have asked for it here. I'm here to ask you if you... did something to me."

"That's cr -- that's absurd. What could I have possibly done?"

"I looked you up. You were doing parapsych research at the university, and they cut you off, very suddenly. No one would say why, but maybe it was an ethics issue? What were you researching?"

"It wasn't an ethics issue -- we had a lab accident and ruined some expensive gear. And we'd had no results to show for months of work... they just pulled the plug, that's all. We were studying the effects of mental activity on random chance, and nothing to do with anything remotely sexual."

"And the next night, we were playing poker and you had all the luck in the world. Including getting lucky with me. I practically crawled to you, and had orgasms like no one's ever seen. Every time I was with you I was a volcano, and... I've never been like that, ever. And don't take this wrong, but you're too old for me, and even so, just sitting here, I want you. I don't know what happened, but there's no way this is normal. You were studying random chance -- which sounds like luck to me. That's an expensive wristwatch you've got there. People say your poker game is pretty damn good. Maybe poker isn't as random for you as it is are for me? Maybe nothing is."

"Even if it was possible to affect random events -- and I was looking at random events at the quantum level, nothing as macro as a playing card -- that doesn't affect how cards are shuffled. You're way, way off base."

"But it could affect your luck when it came to knowing what to do with those cards. James... I know you have something going. When we were together, I was insanely needy -- when it suited you that I was needy. I wasn't otherwise. And you're a great guy and all, but you're not what usually flips my trigger. I'm not the sort that licks feet and begs for sex. Women like that are out there, but I'm not one of them. I know exactly what I like and don't like... but now I'm obsessed with things that used to horrify me. And even when I... arrange to get them from other men... it doesn't work. Fuckdamnit... I'm broken. And I think you are responsible somehow."

"Angela, I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what happened to you, but it makes me very sad, and I hope you can get good help here." I got up to leave.

"Alright, you won't talk. Let me make you a different proposition. Let's go pro together."

"There's no such thing as teams in pro poker. And you know this. Pairs get spilt up at the tables, for very obvious reasons."

"But online, it can be arranged."

"No. There are ways of detecting colluding players. My play is clean. I'm not going to muddy it up, not when I have a real chance to go pro someday."

"James... please. I want what you gave me -- no matter how you did it. I wasn't an ice queen when I was with you. I was... I had something new, wild, I felt alive. Please give it back to me, even if it's not good for me, I don't care!"

"Goodbye, Angela. I hope things get better for you. Don't call me again."

She cried, and I couldn't block out her sadness. I left.

**

It was at this time that I realized just how wicked I'd become. I can't describe my reaction to this well. I knew what I did was wrong and selfish; I just didn't care much. Somehow, being able to do something, made it ok that I did it. Nietzsche might have been proud of me, but I was not proud of myself.

But I certainly didn't stop, even after seeing Angela. I realize, now, that I'd stumbled on a drug so addictive that I'd gone out of control on the first day. At the time, I only knew I was on a joyride and made women moan in delight, and it was all good.



Toymaker Ch. 04



It was time to get out of town. I left Majorie a note, explaining my research had been classified by the government, and I was going to work at a secret lab across country. I filled it with touching comments about how I'd miss her. Given how easily she'd accepted all my other stories, I was certain she'd buy this one. I'd been quietly moving my stuff into storage for a few days, so the final moving out went quickly and unnoticed.

**

It's not that hard to find women who are up for one nighters, in bars. It becomes very easy when you can set their lust to overload. But the kind of women you find that way... it's just never been my thing, either before or after the ability.

What I found amusing, these days, were late night subways in college towns. I'd get on one, wearing a high end suit and tie, and find a train cab that had a pretty young woman in it, alone, reading. I'd sit twenty feet away and open a book, never looking at her. (This irritates women, by the way. They want to be at least glanced at.)

Women tend to read romances, and it wasn't too uncommon that my chosen victim was enjoying a little tingle from her book. I'd amplify it, lightly, and then more and more. Going slowly and steadily, in two or three minutes I can get most women to the point where they are very ready to masturbate, but of course no woman is going to do that in sight of a strange man on a subway. I enjoy a woman in this state -- looking at nothing, shifting a little, pretending to turn pages, sometimes blushing, checking the time. And finally, glancing at me to see if I'd noticed anything.

That's when I'd hammer them, full force. They'd start clenching their legs, biting their lips, and trying like hell to pretend nothing strange was going on. I'd wait until they were on the edge of an involuntary orgasm, and then look over and say... "Come, hard."

It turns out most women can come without giving much sign of it, but afterwards there would be this horrendous blush, and they'd flee the train at the next stop, without saying a word to me.

Sure, it was childish. And bizarrely innocent, given what I was capable of. I was starting to realize, I think, that I might have been a little be out of control; this was my way of getting cheap thrills without doing anyone any damage. Harmless fun, all the way around.

Until Keiko. She was this small, gorgeous Asian woman, barely 5' 2", with a tight, slim waist and a very nice rack. She hadn't been reading, but she'd been having a hot daydream, and when I hammered her, she shivered visibly and lowered her head to hide her arousal. I slammed her to the edge of orgasm, over and over, fast, until she moaned aloud, looked over at me and hissed "You!"

"I?" I smiled at her innocently, and pushed her to the edge and held her there. To my surprise she got up and walked, unsteadily, towards me, and then sat one seat away, staring at me. "How?"

"How what?" I said, allowing my smile to turn wicked. She'd never be able to prove anything, after all.

She shook her hair back over her shoulders, and arched. Her nipples were very large and hard, under the blouse. "You're fucking with my head," she whispered. "I know what you are."

"Do you." I backed off, and pushed again. She moaned, eyes darkening, eyes drifting to the bulge in my pants.

"Incubus," she whispered. "I know what this is. You'll torment me like this until I fuck you. I wondered if I'd ever meet one of you. Fuck... just... just let me come."

"You know I won't," I said. She had a crazy fantasy life, but she was hot enough that I didn't care. "You'll give me everything I want... and then you'll come so long and hard and fast that you'll weep."

"They warned me if I messed with the powers that this could happen," she said, panting. "Is it true that you're invisible to everyone else?"

"No. That part is mythology," I told her. "We just choose to approach when a woman is alone. Now cross your wrists in your lap, palms up."

She hesitated, raising her eyes to mine, swallowing. I smiled, warmly.

"Now!"

She obeyed, and I tapped the inside of her wrist, whispering "servitutem sua." I doubted she knew much Latin, but it sounded impressive, and I had to suddenly pull her from sliding over the edge into orgasm when I did it. "Now cup your breasts to me, and whisper your name, followed by 'praedam omnes corporis'."

"Keiko, praedam omnes c-corporis... " she dropped her hands to her thighs, her eyes wandering to the floor. "What did I just do," she whispered. "I know omnes means everything."

"I think you know what you did," I said, smiling darkly, eyeing her body. She looked down at her shivering body, and then looked up at me. "Everything?"

"Only until sunrise," I said. "Don't you know the rules?"

"I'm very new at this," she whimpered. "I... had no idea things like this could happen so fast."

"You will do everything, give me everything of your body I ask for," I told her. "You'll come helplessly and uncontrollably, drinking my seed. I will exhaust you, leave you weak and shaking. If you please me I will return each night. If you try to fight the pleasure I give you, I will make you cry out in an agony of need and hunger you can't imagine. Do you understand all this?"

"Oh fuck... fuck... yes..."

I should have thought of this angle weeks ago. New agey and witchy covens are in the damn phone listings; girls like this wouldn't be very hard to find.

"You get a choice. Your place, or mine?"

"I have roommates-"

I chuckled, slowly.

"No! Please no. Adrienne is a virgin! Shit, I shouldn't have said that-"

"And would it make you hot, to watch her crawl helplessly across the floor to my feet, and then kiss and lick her way up my bare leg-"

"Please no," she whimpered. Her terror and lust -- she found the idea unbearably hot -- beat at me.

"Very well. She is not my concern. My place, then. Oh, you're frightened? It's only a hotel room. We are getting off at the next stop, my pretty little plaything."

"If- if I run away?"

"Then I will find you again... and I can be very... merciless, when my victims disappoint."

The train slowed. I made her burn, then writhe. When the doors opened, I got up and walked out, and she followed, helplessly in my wake.

Two blocks, and we entered the high end hotel in the middle of the city. Once in the express elevator, I pushed for the top floor, smiling, and told her she had fifteen floors to get out of the blouse and bra.

"When we get out..." she whispered.

"There are only four rooms on the top floor, and the... beings... who have rented them have seen enslaved women before. You have twelve floors left."

I could not believe she was falling for this. She got out of the blue blouse and pretty bra, and then I spread my hands over her breasts and made her look me in the eyes, while I filled her head with images. She moaned wetly, rubbing herself against my hands. "There's... some things I've never done," she whispered.

I just chuckled, enjoying her fear.

The doors opened, and I led the way. Luckily, no one else was in the short hallway. When I opened the door to my room, she bolted inside. I locked us in.

I could afford to rent the best room in the city, but I hadn't had this ploy in mind when I did it. It worked perfectly, though. It was probably in her head that the forces of darkness had unlimited funds at their disposal.

"Kiss me," I snapped. She did, shaking, as I traced my hands along her bare sides. When I got to her jeans, I traced my fingers lightly across her stomach, along the waistband, and then grabbed the front of the jeans and jerked upward, slamming the seam of the jeans against her clit. She gasped against my lips. "Naked," I snapped.

"Is it... is it going to hurt-"

I slammed her with hunger. "Only disobedience hurts."

She obeyed, stepping out of the pretty shoes, then peeled down the tight jeans and sodden panties. I wadded the panties and pushed them into her mouth, and then lead her over to the bed. "Palms on the bed. No other part of you touches the bed. Feet a foot apart. You do not bend your knees. You do not open your eyes."

She was gorgeous in that small, cute Asian way. A pert little ass, perfect breasts, and nice legs. I loved the shining, black hair that flowed down her back, inviting hands to grab it and bend her. She was a perfect little toy. She bent over the bed, shivering.

I fingered her for fifteen minutes, edging her as ruthlessly as I knew how. When she was literally screaming for mercy though her panties, I snapped "Come!" and pushed her brutally over the edge.

She tried to collapse on the bed, but with one hand in her beautiful long hair, and two fingers of my other hand hooked up inside her, I didn't let her. I kept her coming in that position for ten minutes, then pushed her onto the bed and rolled her to her back, and took the gag out of her mouth.

"fuck... oh fuck... fuck I'm dizzy..."

Violent, long orgasms, I was learning, really broke a woman's self-control down. Something I'd always suspected (and was now sure of), was that a woman's orgasm had less to do with a man's technique, and more to do with how the woman thought about the man. In turn, a woman's orgasm changes how she thinks about the man. Many women are wired to yield themselves to a man who gets them off, hard, and the harder they come, the more they yield. The unnaturally long and uncontrollably deep orgasms I could inflict made women very... pliable.

I fetched a black suit tie, and blindfolded her. Then I got beside her and sucked her rounded, pretty breasts, while stroking her belly and thighs. She shivered as she got hot again, and it amused me that I wasn't pushing on her. She'd bought into this fantasy and was doing it to herself.

I brought her mouth to my cock, and she licked it, over and over. "Serve my cock," I growled. "Adore it. Need it. Please it... and it will give you back a thousandfold." I chuckled softly as her licking turned frantic, and I stroked her breasts and thighs and belly as she worshipped at my pillar. Her breasts were wonderful, with cones for nipples that invited fingers. As I toyed with them, I pushed again, and built her need back up until she was shaking so hard she had to stop licking.

"You'll come only when told," I whispered in her ear, suddenly, and she cried out. I toyed with her clit next, and she went insane.

"Please... please... burning... never like this... please... can I... please, please...."

I bent her legs upwards and apart, and positioned her ass at the edge of the bed. As she quivered, blindfolded and waiting for what was coming, I pulled on a condom and entered her, very slowly -- forcing her to come, suddenly and sharply, every time I slid in a little more. She wrapped her legs around me to pull me in deeper, but I gripped her hips hard and forced her to take it at my pace. "Say 'omnia'" I snarled, and she cried it out, coming harder, writhing and arching. I pounded her tight, aching body until I was on the edge of coming, and then, snarling in need myself, I stopped. This was fucking wonderful and I wanted to make it last.

"Please," she whispered weakly. "Can't breathe... can't think... too intense..."

But an incubus would not be merciful, and I smiled as I grabbed her hair and forced her to her unsteady feet. I marched her to the large window at the end of the room, looking out over the city. I pushed her up against the window, looking out, nipples against the cold glass.

"Look out over the city," I said. "All those women, and I came to you. Many of them would be jealous... let's show them all what they are missing .Let's show them all how hard you come when you're toyed with."

I pressed against her from behind, pushing my cock down so it was in the valley of her ass. "Say please", I growled in her ear, and she moaned the word.

I took her breasts in my hands, forcing the nipples against the glass, and bit her ear as I forced another orgasm out of her. She sagged, legs useless, and only being trapped between me and the window kept her up, as she shuddered and sobbed and begged for mercy.

"Mercy? From an incubus? Let me show you what that means."

I half carried her back to the bed -- and put her on it, face down, legs spilling to the floor. I stripped off the condom and grabbed a handful of lubricant, and rubbed my cock and her ass with it, and she began whimpering again. "I've never- please, no-"

I pressed in to her ass, very slowly, and I didn't push on her emotions because I didn't plan on having her come for this part. She was weltering in a dark, fearful eroticism which wasn't pleasure, but was somewhere between lust, terrified servitude and awe. She lay there, as inch by inch, I worked inward, and then I rocked myself inside her, wondering how long I could hold off my orgasm. Moaning, she tried to crawl away form me, but I grabbed that beautiful hair and pulled back, and the sight of her aching back, helpless under my hands, made it inevitable. I poured out into her, reveling in her intense, conflicted reactions. And then, panting, whispered "Now... you find out... what the cum of my kind does."

I pulled out, rolled her to her back, sat on the bed a few feet away from her -- I didn't dare lay down - and pushed her through an hour of orgasm after orgasm, without touching her. The way her body arched, as she masturbated helplessly, was beautiful. When I let her go, she sobbed, and instantly fell asleep.

I glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. I set the alarm for 3am and ordered room service; toast and tea for myself, hunks of dark chocolate for her. I shook my head at the forty dollar tab when it arrived -- I could play the part of a force of darkness well enough, but I'd never be in the league of a major hotel chain for pure evil.

I finished the tea while looking at my conquest. Some girls didn't look so good after the male orgasm. Her looks held up well -- she was a shapely little thing with an adorable face. It hadn't been very nice of me to cash in on whatever witchy or new age or whatever beliefs she was into, but I decided I didn't care. Ignorance, I judged, carried risks, and that wasn't my problem.

I wondered if I could risk sleeping as well, and decided I'd better not - I was pretty sure that forces of darkness didn't sleep, and if she woke up first I'd end up spinning some other crazy lie to cover my snoring. I washed up a little, and put the TV on a porn channel, with the sound off, so if she woke up early she'd believe I had an insatiable interest in human females.

Watching her sleeping suddenly made me wonder about reading and writing people as they slept.

I read her, focusing in hard. Nothing, except faint, strange echoes of... no, I couldn't get it. It was exactly like trying to listen to a conversation that's too far off -- you think maybe you're catching some of the words, but you can't quite tell how many you got right.

Then I tried writing, very gently. That was hard; even though I knew "how her controls were laid out", when she slept they were oddly morphed, strangely shaped... there's no good analogy. It was different in there, but still vaguely familiar. I decided to try her desire again, since that's what I knew best.

She shifted, uneasily, and then, lightly, began breathing faster. Oh, that was hot... I began to experiment with pushing images. Maybe I could make her dream.

First, an image of my cock, stiff... she licked her lips, but what echoed deep inside her was fear. So could give her an erotic nightmare; that just figured. I pushed an image of her body in chains, and that cock sliding into her... she began panting, and shifted again... and then whispered something that sounded like "no" and "please".

Hm. What about women? The next image was of a pretty blond woman, tall, toying with her chains. She shifted again, still panting. Was she bi?

So the next image was the blonde opening her blouse and bending Keiko's head towards her breasts. Keiko licked her lips again in her sleep, and I caught an echo of something... shame.

So. She was at least somewhat bi, and not proud of it. The next image had the blond's hands on Keiko's breasts... Keiko shifted again, and I could see she was getting wet.

In the next image, the blond had Keiko's wrists trapped in her hands, and in the shadowy background, my figure appeared... Keiko moaned.

I smiled and let her finish the nightmare as she liked. She had a very naughty fantasy life.

How far could I take this with her? I was certain I could have her back here in a day or two, and I liked that idea. But if she believed in incubi, there was some chance she knew other girls who did too. And if they were also hot...

I smiled, darkly. She believed she'd somehow come under my spell and had to do things I wanted her to - but that was a long way from getting her to convince a friend to come here. But if I could pull it off...

Of course, there was my biggest limitation -- I couldn't control more than one person at a time. And switching back and forth wouldn't work well, not for this.

I'd have to convince Keiko to take part in my plan without actually influencing her as she did it. I gave that some thought...

The alarm went off. Smiling, I watched Keiko waking up.

It took her about five seconds to get to "wait, where am I?" and maybe three more to get to "oh fuck, oh fuck, an incubi!" She sat up suddenly, and then cried out because she was already stiff and sore.

Still smiling, I went over to the bed and turned off the alarm. "Welcome back, my little fucktoy. Come sit with me."

I retreated to the chair facing the screen, and settled myself.

"I thought... this was a dream," she whispered.

I didn't look back at her. "Do you often have dreams like this?" And then, "Look at this fucking amateur, on the screen. She has no clue. You can always tell the humans from the succubi..." I turned my head, then. "I told you to come over here."

She was shaking. "I'm scared... please. I can't believe this is happening -- I only barely believed-"

"NOW!"

Shuddering, she got out of bed, limping a little as she moved towards me. She stood next to my chair, panting in fear.

"Close your eyes, and stand there. You'll answer my questions."

I ran my hand over her belly, then her hip. I read, without writing. She was all fear, no arousal, but I could fix that... and would, but not yet. My hand moved up her side, and over her breasts, slowly.

"Do you know why I came to you?"

"No. No! Please let me... sit down, please-"

"I think you do know. Tell me."

"I don't! I- was it- did I do a ritual wrong?"

"Don't be a child, Keiko. You know what I am. It would be something sexual... ring any bells?"

"That- that evening, with Lisa... but that was a month ago..."

Bingo.

I caught her nipple, and twisted it, slowly. Helpless arousal flooded her, and I didn't put in there.

"Tell me, what happened... and what you did."

"It was her idea... I mean, I never came on to her... we were reading, and she started talking about tantric stuff. That's not really my path... but she was saying that we needed to break down our preconceptions and understand that everything was good... she talked me into doing stuff like yoga, strange positions, while she steadied me with her hands... she started petting me, kind of. And she's so pretty, it was kind of like a compliment to be pet by her, and she kept talking about having to break free... suddenly she said we both had to masturbate, with the other watching. She took off her clothes, and... I did too. We sat in chairs facing each other, and... I mean fuck, I had no idea how hot that would be, I had no idea about ... liking that. After a bit she got up and kissed me, and then went down on me. And then... I went down on her. She'd been with girls before, and she knew what to do... she got me to cum really hard. Afterwards she said I needed to do more with sex magic... I didn't want to, so I've kind of been avoiding her..."




Toymaker Ch. 04



"Deep down you loved the way it felt. And wanted more."

"But -- sex magic, it doesn't work with two women, all the writings talk about man and woman."

"Yes. You were on the wrong path. I am here to put you, and her, on the right one."

"But-"

"Silence. You will sit in my lap, facing the screen."

She did, shivering. I picked up a small container of oil, rubbed some into my hands, and began to pet and massage her breasts, firmly. I was in love with her breasts -- firm, full without being ridiculous, with perfect, pointy nipples. I leaned on her sexual response as I rubbed them. Her eyes drifted to the images on the screen, and after a few seconds, she panted again. "Oh, fuck, you're-"

"Evil? And what are you, child? A naked woman sitting on my naked cock, trying not to think about it pushing up into you... let me show you what a slut you are. Masturbate, while staring at the screen. You may not speak, even to beg. Touch your clit, feel my hands on you, watch those two women get the fucking they ache for... and burn."

I toyed with her breasts and belly for fifteen minutes, building her slowly and ruthlessly towards a hurricane of need. I denied her orgasm, even as she tried again and again to go over the edge... then I laughed, low and cruel.

"You may speak only to answer my questions. Answer them as I like and you'll come so hard you faint. Will you give your body to me, when and where I want it?"

"Yes!"

"Will you give me Lisa, so I can do to her what I do to you, and bend her to the right path?"

"Yes," she moaned.

"Will you obediently masturbate, while watching me take her from behind, watching me force her to come helplessly, knowing that at any moment I might grab and fuck you instead?"

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Yes!"

"Kneel on the floor, and suck me off, as testament to the promises you have made. I bind you."

She slid to the floor, still masturbating, insane with need, and sucked me. My eyes drifted from her appealing form to the video, back and forth, until I grabbed her hair in my fist and came down her throat.

"Now," I panted, "I show you some real sex magic. Three fingers of your left hand up your slit. With your right, work the clit." I pushed the chair back, sliding to a kneel in front of her. "Look me in the eyes and do not look away."

I fondled her breasts and threw her violently over the edge, with no warning. "Come! Keep coming for me. Keep masturbating. Do not stop. More! You're a fuck slut, a sexual puppet, a channel for lust. More!"

A video of her reactions would have knocked the crappy porn on the screen, off the planet. She thrashed, screaming hoarsely, eyes wide and locked on mine, her slippery breasts slapping against my hands. When she collapsed to the floor I made her keep going, until with a single, broken sob, she passed out.

I smiled, put her in bed, and collected her phone number from her cell phone. I wrote a note and tied it to her wrist, strewed her with dark chocolate, and slipped into the next room to book a room in another hotel. I wouldn't be here when she woke up, and that amused me.

I packed up quietly, set the alarm to 10:30am so she wouldn't miss the noon checkout, and slipped out, very tired, very sated, and very, very amused.

I wondered if she'd even dare taste that chocolate.

**

Two days later, I placed a call to her phone from a public phone.

"Hello?" She said, hesitantly.

"Hello, my slave," I said. She gasped, softly. I chuckled. "You have six hours to collect your friend, Lisa, and introduce her to me. Where will the introduction be held? I recommend somewhere very private."

"But- she -- I -- she's... six hours?"

"If you can't comply, then you can come to where I'm staying now, alone, and I can spend time showing you what it means to be bound, and fail a command."

"Shit! No. Um... I... I can't tell her about you. She'd never believe me."

"She'll believe everything after she meets me. I can do to her what I do to you. And I will... while you watch, masturbating and waiting your turn."

"Oh... oh fuck... what do I tell her?"

"Tell her you put on perfume and you're masturbating. Tell her you have a black candle you dedicated to Isis, and you want her to slowly fuck you with one end of it while you watch the other end burn. Tell her you've met a man that can reveal the first key of Aretstikapha -- she'll probably wet herself if she recognizes the reference. It doesn't matter what you tell her as long as it works. Where am I meeting the two of you?"

"I... um... my roommate is out this evening..."

"Address?"

She gave it, with a tremor in her voice. "Eight pm," I said, and hung up.

**

In these paranoid times, housing for college students is rigged with cameras and locked doors with card swipe access, and I don't have a card. So I stopped at a pizza place and got a pizza, 2 bottles of soda and three subs, and headed over to the dorm, a half hour early. Three minutes later, a nice student popped out, saw me holding food and held the door open for me to go in. I walked down the hallway, found a small kitchenette and left the food in it, after throwing away one slice and writing "up for grabs" on the box, knowing the odds are outstanding it will all be gone before I leave.

I found an unlocked bathroom and pulled a change of clothes out of my backpack. Two minutes later the wig, old, worn jeans and tee shirt are in the trash, and I'm in a black silk shirt, grey slacks and leather shoes.

Smiling, I knocked on Keiko's door. She opened it, eyes wide. "I thought you'd call and have me let you in..."

"Why would that be necessary?" I brushed past her, and get a look at Lisa.

Lisa's trouble, I realized. She's late 20's, quite pretty, and has a very skeptical look on her face. And she's got a very odd "emotional layout", making her hard to read and probably hard to write. I needed time to sort that out...

"Keiko, lose the sweatshirt and bra. Now."

She blushed bright red, but obeyed. I watched Lisa carefully as she did, and started to sort out what was going on in there. All I got is skepticism and cool disdain. Wait, was that a jealous flash? But I couldn't decide if it was over Keiko's rack, or my control of Keiko.

I turned my mental focus to Keiko, and hammered her desires. She immediately blushed deeper, squirming, and then panting. I looked at Lisa, and smiled. She didn't smile back.

"I know guys like you," she said. "Fake spiritualists who have a taste for domination. You always find the young, pretty girls, and can talk a good game, but it's all show. I've seen it before."

Yes, I thought. In a mirror, every morning. I had Lisa figured out, intellectually if not emotionally. She was into whatever flavor of dark spirituality it was, because it made her cool and relevant and scary to others -- and able to get her hands on occasional women like Keiko. She's not that different than me.

I leaned on Keiko, hard, and she gasps, and suddenly sits down. "Fuck... how do you do this..."

"Hypnosis, probably," Lisa said. "Look, I'm not into threesomes with strangers. Keik said you had knowledge of the occult, but she doesn't even know your name or discipline. The grip you have on her is impressive, but I think I'll just go and let you two have your evening."

"You want to be able to do this as well," I said to Lisa. "But the path you're on doesn't lead there. In a few minutes, Keiko's going to come, violently, with neither of us touching her. I want you to study her as she does. If in five minutes you're not convinced, then I'll walk out the door. Fair?"

"And why would you want to teach me anything? Warlocks are not known for sharing."

"I'm not a warlock. Keiko didn't tell you much... but I don't blame her for that."

I went and stood behind Keiko's chair. "Keiko, look only at Lisa. Nothing else."

Behind her back, I raised my hand, and pushed her towards orgasm as fast as she could go.

"Oh fuck... I need to touch myself... fuck, please!"

I closed my hand into a fist, and Keiko sagged in the chair, flushed and panting.

"Well rehearsed act," Lisa said.

"I'll prove it's not. Keiko, look at the small plant across the room. Lisa, join me behind Keiko. You'll flip a coin that only we can see. Tails, I drive Keiko to the edge of orgasm. Heads, I let her relax. You make sure I'm not whispering commands or touching her or giving any cues at all."

Lisa smiled and walked over, pulling an Othello disk from her pocket. "Black is tails."

"It's not an act," Keiko said. "Lisa, you know me better than that. You should, anyway."

"Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof," Lisa said. She flipped the disk into her hand, and it came up white. I made Keiko sag into relaxation. Lisa looked at her, nodded, and quietly turned the disk over.

I hit Keiko as hard as I could. Helplessly she dug her hand into her sweatpants, arching and moaning. Lisa watched, fascinated, and then licked her lips. I held up five fingers, and started counting them down. When I got to 2, Lisa turned the disk over again.

Keiko cried out. "No. I was so close! Please Master, please!"

Lisa showed me the black side again, but I shook my head. "I'm not your vibrator, and you have your proof."

I switched and read Lisa. She was aroused, and that made sorting out her controls easier. I leaned on Lisa's arousal, ramping it slowly.

Lisa's eyes moved over my face, and then over Keiko's body, and then my face again. She had a good poker face, but that didn't help her here.

"Alright," Lisa said. "How did you do it?"

"Keiko, what am I?"

"An incubus."

I slammed Lisa's arousal level up. She gasped, staring at me.

"You didn't believe in us," I said to her. "Keiko did, but you were too busy being cool and in control to ever consider whether anything you talked about was real. You were doublethinking -- half toying with the possibility that maybe there was a spiritual world, half being above it all and cashing in on the benefits of being witchy. Neither one thing or the other." I pushed harder, making her tremble. "You're going to join Keiko on the couch. Now. And you're going to apologize for that crap you pulled a month ago, spouting that tantric shit so you could have your bi-curious moment. Move!"

The look of shock on Lisa's face was priceless. I obviously pegged her right, so from where she sat, I was psychic and clearly able to screw with her sexual urges. Incubus was the only explanation available to her, and fear began to leak out of her. She sat next to Keiko, quickly.

"I... admit I was... looking for a chance to play with you that evening... You're... temping, and I-"

"Stop," I said. "Take off the blouse and bra. You're going to be topless, and you're going to stroke your own breasts while you tell her just what it is you find tempting about her. Keiko, get naked and masturbate while she explains how hot she finds you."

I was finding this fascinating. I'd never gotten in the head of anyone as bi as Lisa. I'd always vaguely assumed that bi women looked at other women the way I looked at women. But as Lisa looked at Keiko, I felt a completely unfamiliar emotional landscape inside her. I wish I had the words to describe it, but I don't. Lust without testosterone is a whole different planet, and women get something different from women than they do from men. When Keiko got her clothing off and began to masturbate, what happened in my head and what happened in Lisa's head were both extremely hot, but very different.

I continued to beat on Lisa's needs as she took her bra off. But I pushed them in a different direction -- away from wanting to masturbate and more towards wanting Keiko. "I... what I find tempting about you. You're... fucking hot, for one thing, and so new at all this... I admit it, touching your breasts and watching you wonder why it felt so good, wonder if it was ok that it felt good... it's sexy. I... want to touch you, want to make you hot, want... fuck this is embarrassing. Women are so sweet, compared to men, you're so touchable and warm and... I want you."

I sat next to Keiko, and fondled the breasts that Lisa was aching to get her hands on. Keiko moaned, softly, leaning back against me. I didn't have to push her, which was just as well because I was busy making Lisa so hot to touch Keiko that she was shifting and twitching on the sofa. Lisa stared at my hands on Keiko's breasts, and suddenly moaned and leaned forward, to kiss Keiko's mouth.

I put my hand between them. "I'll decide when you touch Keiko," I said. "And if you want anything, the jeans and panties come off first."

Pride and lust battled in Lisa. She was clearly used to calling the shots. I made sure lust won by a landslide, while licking and biting Keiko's ear. Lisa was suddenly pulling her jeans off, then her panties. I grabbed her hair and pulled her face close to Keiko's. "Lick her lips. Tongue tip only. Slowly."

They'd both thought I was talking to them, and both obeyed. They were both burning now. I twisted Keiko's nipples, then brought my hands to Lisa's breasts and gave them similar attention. Lisa covered Keiko's mouth with her own, and I dragged her back off by the hair.

"No. One of the things I will teach you, is how sexual magic really works. You've both been lead off the path by reading too much Crowley-derived crap, too much modern shit. You need to take up older practices if you want any power here." I was deeply amused by the crap I was making up on the fly. It was pretty damn inventive and they were both hanging on every word. "It's not pleasure that brings it -- it's desire. Hunger. Make each other ache with need. Make her burn for that kiss. When she finally gets it, make her desperate for your tongue on her nipples. Make her know that orgasm is inevitable -- but she won't get it for hours. Both of you need to learn this. Show me you can make the other beg."

Now came the hard part. I had to play the part of a dispassionate demon while two hot females did their level best to turn each other into moaning sluts. I was already hard, and the emotions coming off of them both were so intense that I couldn't ignore them. I opened my suit pants and took out my cock.

My experiences with lesbian sex were internet videos, which are uniformly such fake crap that I usually turned them off a minute in, no matter how hot the actresses were. I like fantasy as much as the next guy, but come on. It's bad enough that the awkward camera work, and the constant repositioning of the hair, screamed "this is two actors faking shit". But the usual premise -- two women who barely know each other suddenly get a bilateral urge to get it on -- is so painfully stupid that not even a finely sculpted rack and good wigs make it work for me. I like watching women succumb to genuine temptation, not following a clumsy script.

So watching these two was educational. Not fussing with hair, no rubbing of nipples on nipples. They both went straight for kissing, and slow, light, caresses of each other's backs and sides. I stayed in Lisa's head, pushing her desire for Keiko, but I could feel the emotions of them both. It took them time to get comfortable with each other, and they gave each other that time. It was seduction in slow motion, compared to what a man would do. Lisa traced Keiko's lips with her tongue, over and over, until Keiko's mouth finally opened. Keiko's fingertips spent minutes on the sides of Lisa's breasts, until finally taking her nipples between her fingers and pinching down, slowly and firmly. Lisa spent even longer on Keiko's belly and thighs, and even the,n when her finger finally began to trace Keiko's slit, it was featherlight, and avoided the clit. I burned to push them along faster, to force an orgasm out of one of them, and I was literally trembling to hold it back, My self-control apparently wasn't what it once was.

When Lisa finally tipped Keiko backwards and sucked on her nipples, while inching a finger into her I ached to masturbate and then fuck Lisa.

Keiko suddenly slid two of her fingers up into Lisa, and Lisa moaned, softly, rocking sensuously on her hand. Keilo drew her feet along the backs of Lisa's legs, and that set off fireworks in Lisa. Lisa responded by giving Keiko the slowest clit massage I'd ever seen. The response was fascinating. I'd always turned women into fireworks. They were turning each other into boiling water.

Finally, Keiko moaned and turned to me. "Please, fuck please... I'm going insane.... can I come?"

I smiled. Those were the three best words in the English language.

"No," I smiled. "You see... you lost, Lisa got to you before you got to Lisa. So this is Lisa's night to go deeper into what I was talking about. And your night to learn how to burn.

I opened my backpack and took out the restraints. In two minutes, I tied Keiko up, spread eagle on the sofa, with pillows under her ass. I bent Lisa over the ottoman, in front of Keiko, and put a vibrator in her hand. "You can use this on yourself, Lisa, or on Keiko. Not both."

Lisa smiled wickedly, turned it on, and brushed it slowly over Keiko's clit. Keiko arched, slowly and involuntarily. I slowly and disdainfully toyed with Keiko's nipples, as she did. Keiko's moan turned animalistic. "Don't come," I told her. "If you come, you lose power, and Lisa gains it. Fight the orgasm."

This was all Lisa needed to hear. She turned merciless with the vibrator, and with her tongue, and with her fingernails. I pushed my cock into Keiko's mouth to silence the suddenly frantic whimpering. Keiko fought to control herself, but in minutes she began to fall apart, and as she fell apart she started to suck my cock, mindlessly. Lisa got crueler, slapping Keiko's clit with the vibrator, sinking her long red fingernails into Keiko's nipples.

I shifted, taking away Keiko's pacifier. "Don't come," I whispered in Keiko's ear, and then licked it, slowly. She was sliding helplessly over the edge, and the more she fought it the worse it was going to be. "No... don't... don't, Keiko, I'll punish you..."

She exploded uncontrollably, and I slapped the bases of her breasts and lightly bit her neck. Lisa fucked her with the vibrator and sucked on her clit. Keiko's second orgasm followed her first immediately.

The pleasure pouring off of Lisa was fascinating. She loved forcing Keiko's orgasm. It was hot, but I didn't want her to get above herself, so I blasted her with a desire to come. Moaning, she turned the vibrator on herself.

"Either-or, remember?" I snapped. I plucked it out of Lisa's hand. "If you want this, it will be me using it on you." I stood over her, cock hard.

Defiantly she masturbated, fast and hard, but I just pinned her on the edge, and laughed as she cried out in frustration.

"It doesn't work that way, Lisa. Disobeying my kind doesn't get you pleasure. Now if you want to come, you're going to have to suck me for it." I pushed harder, turning the desire into agony. She lasted almost ten seconds, and then, moaning and whimpering, she crawled up my leg and sucked me, sensually. She looked good, naked, sucking me off in my suit, and I let my eyes travel her desperate body and Keiko's shivering one until I was very, very close. Growling, I pulled Lisa to her feet and shoved the vibrator into her, making her stand on tip-toe, with my hand tight in her hair, while she came for a full two minutes. Then I dropped her and the vibrator, turned, and fucked Keiko's bound body brutally. Keiko spasmed, not quite coming, as I unloaded into her, snarling.

When I could breathe again, I smiled at Keiko. "What does the come of my kind do to women, Keiko?"

She whimpered. I laid a hand on her belly and forced her through a ten minute orgasm, still bound. Her desperate thrashing was going to leave her pretty sore, I thought.




Toymaker Ch. 04



I sat down, eyeing my two toys. "Lisa, untie Keiko and rub her legs. She'll be sore. That's her punishment for not holding out when told to."

Lisa did this, looking at me. "You... you know, I've read about this a little. You're not much like an incubus."

"Your accounts of incubi are mostly made up tales to explain pregnancies and sleep disorders. Pregnancy? Dolphins? Are you serious? We're about sexual power, or what used to be called licentiousness. Unrestrained sexual freedom."

Keiko sat up, moaning. "Oh gods... I hurt."

"Per aspera ad astra. It's good for you. Pain is part of this path. You'll hurt more, tomorrow."

I eyed them both. "You'll sleep together this evening. That has nothing to do with sex. When you both come down from this little adventure, you'll probably start freaking out and you'll want the company. If I were you two, I'd discuss this with exactly zero other people. I'll call Keiko in a few days -- clearly, neither of you are to have orgasms in the meantime." I packed up.

"And you- you expect us to just obey you," Lisa said.

I sighed, walked over to her, and caught her face in my hand. I blasted her full force, with fear, not lust. She shrieked in terror, and crawled away from me, sobbing and incoherent.

"When you learn the ritual to constrain the likes of me," I told her, as she curled on the floor in a corner of the room, head in her arms, "then you can discuss obedience and disobedience. In the meantime, you'll obey. I'll use fear and lust to shape you like putty if you don't. Good night."

I walked out, smiling. I liked Keiko, but not Lisa, so much. Lisa would be taught to kneel and beg for mercy, and maybe be required to explore humiliation. Fucking her up, while I enjoyed Keiko... yeah. Oh yeah.



Toymaker Ch. 05



Watching Lisa crawl away in terror hand been...

Hot?

Not hot, but... I don't have a word for this. Having power over people is one thing. Power is always a rush. There'd been that one pretty student, who had really, really needed a passing grade... I'd given in just that one time and let her suck and swallow her way to graduation. It had been intense and hot; she didn't like doing it, but it had been her idea, and watching her put aside her pride and kneel down had sent shivers down my spine.

That had been total shit compared to this. Lisa had crossed my will in a tiny way, just a question I didn't happen to like, and I'd sent her slithering, nearly wetting herself, to the corner to cower. The emotion I got from that was better than sex. Make a woman horny and she'll fuck you. Make her mindless with fear and she'll do anything.

Sure, I'd dabbled with pushing fear before, mixing a little of it into desire, because in women, the two have a connection. But pure fear created pure power. And pure power...

I decided to try an experiment. I took a hike down a busy city block, against the flow of pedestrian traffic. Whenever anyone got within three feet of me, I tried to immediately sort out their emotions, and shove fear at them. Some I just couldn't figure out that fast, but about three quarters of them got the hell out of my way, some flinching, some of the women gasping.

And fuck, that felt amazing!

A few of the women I passed were turned on by the fear they felt, but most of them wouldn't have rated a second glance from me pre-ability, let alone now. One, though, was gorgeous, with a cascade of red hair and long legs. She'd be... yeah. She was worth going back down the block for.

I caught up with her two blocks later. Killer legs in a short skirt, tight ass, shiny copper hair. The clothing was elegant, though, not slutty. She was window shopping, when most people were rushing to work. That meant money. Rich man's daughter, or rich man's wife?

Actually, I didn't care, as long as I could get her alone.

I settled in behind her as she walked. There was a Victoria's Secret outlet coming up -- perfect. I started to push desire into her mind, slowly and gently.

Immediately her walk changed. I wasn't sure she was even aware of the change, but suddenly she was an inch taller and her feet glided through each step, which did nice things for the way her ass flexed under the skirt. And then she slowed to check out the lingerie display.

Lingerie makes a woman fantasize just as much as it makes men, and her arousal began to ramp up in a way that I had nothing to do with. I knew how this worked -- she'd linger for a few moments, permit herself a little fantasy time, and then gather herself up and move on. That's something I've learned about women -- they give themselves little tiny emotional rides, eroticism or sadness or joy, all day long. A happy moment here, a sexy moment there. Little flashes.

Just as she was finishing her little ten second emotional bath, I pushed her arousal up, sharply. I could feel her fighting that -- women put time limits on these emotional indulgences, and her time was up for this one -- but I made it intense, and her eyes wandered to a shameless little black babydoll in the window. I slid an image into her mind -- her body, wearing that, bending over a bed, ass out, legs taut, hands reaching for her...

She walked into the store. This hadn't been part of my scheme, but it was too good to pass up, and I moved to a coffeeshop across the street, getting a cup of tea and keeping watch, and rearranging my wallet contents. She spent thirty minutes in the shop, and came out with three packages, and that tiny smile many women have when they buy lingerie.

I followed her again, and let her get another block. There was no reason to push desire into her -- she was quite warm inside. When she paused at a walk light-

"Miss, I need a word with you."

She turned, and I flashed a CIA card at her. You can get the blanks online; by the way, it's not legal to do this, so I'd skip that Google search if I were you.

"Agent Angelo Roxy, CIA. I need to discuss something you did, a block ago. Do you have a moment?"

But as I said it, I pushed fear into her mind. If you're asking "fear of what", you don't understand my ability. I can push images and emotions, but I can't push thoughts. It was just fear, and she had no idea what she was suddenly afraid of. From the way her emotions whipsawed, she might have been afraid of me.

"I- this is not a good time."

"You'll have to make it a good time, I'm afraid. Your name?"

"Marla. Marla Reid. What is this about?"

"We can't talk here. Follow me."

I headed for a seedy coffeeshop. She followed me, her emotions all over the place.

I sat in a booth and she joined me. "I'll get right to the point, Miss Reid. When you crossed the last block, you passed a green car, made eye contact with the occupants, and gestured. Can you tell me what that was about?"

"I... what? I didn't do any of that. And why were you watching me?"

"The car was under surveillance, Miss Reid, not you." I pushed fear again. "So you deny making contact with the occupants?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about! I never saw a green car!"

I stared into her eyes, pushing more fear and adding desire. She blurted out "what is this about?"

"I can't discuss specific threat- specific investigations, miss. Do you know a man, about five feet eight inches, bearded, Egyptian descent-"

"No!"

I looked around. "Voice down, please. You match the general description of an associate of the driver of the car in question. Can I ask where you work?"

"I'm not employed. I'm visiting some friends in the city-"

"I'll need your current address, phone, and the names and addresses of those friends."

"Look, I haven't done anything-"

"Then you have nothing to worry about. The information, please."

"I don't have all their addresses here."

Lust and fear. I poured them into her. It was a toxic brew; she was terrified that she was in some sort of trouble, and being attracted to me was forcing her to consider me her only possible ally. I alternated the emotions, slowly, firmly. She trembled.

"I have to emphasize, miss, that this situation is extremely serious. I will have to bring you in for formal questioning if you won't provide those addresses."

"I- did you mention a threat, before?"

"I misspoke. This is just an investigation." I pushed fear. Deep fear.

"Are we... is something going to happen?"

I glanced at my watch. "I need that information, quickly, miss Reid."

"I -- I have it in my hotel room."

"Is it nearby?" Desire. Unaccountable desire for a man you do not know. Give the man what he wants and he'll protect you from the fear. She looked at my hands.

"Two blocks that way. I'm... very frightened by all this. Please tell me-"

"Let's go, now. Your cooperation is appreciated. Quickly."

Fear. Nameless fear. We got up and walked, quickly.

"I've only been in town for a day. Seeing college friends. We're not terrorists. That's what this is, isn't it. There's some sort of plot? Is it safe to be here?"

"What floor is your room on, Miss."

"Fifteenth. Why?"

"I can't answer your questions. The best thing you can do is follow my instructions and provide me what I need."

Desire. Give the frightening man what he wants and he won't hurt you. He might even protect you. And you have something he wants. I pushed an image of her kissing me, rubbing herself against me, begging for my protection. I made her picture arching her back, pushing out her breasts as I unbuttoned her blouse.

"I don't know any Egyptians in this city. You have to believe me!"

"You know some in other cities? Have any of them recently returned to this country?"

"No, please, I'm just visiting friends-"

"Did anyone give you anything to give to those friends?" I ramp up the fear, the numbing weltering fear, and I push images. An image of your blouse off, you bra askew, my hand working your nipple as you whimper. An image of burning buildings. An image of your body, dressed in that black babydoll, held down and handled by dark, swarthy strangers. Fear, and your body coming helplessly as contemptuous fingers violate you...

"Please -- please, you have to tell me what's going on. I'm so scared!"

"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation. Let's just get to your room, quickly."

Desire. Your fear is turning you into a little girl, but the little girl can use her hot, all-grown up body to please the scary man. You can please him; you ache to placate him. Images of your hand stroking a huge, hard cock. Brushing your nipple against my mouth. Opening your legs and showing your wetness. Kissing me sluttily so I'll fuck you, pound the fear out of you. That babydoll, being torn from your body. Orgasm. Violent, fear-driven orgasm...

We enter the hotel. I open my cell phone, push a few meaningless keys, and close it. We get into the elevator. She's standing nearer than she needs to. My cock is hard. I can smell her perfume. Her nipples are starting to show. I appear to ignore her, but I run her mind wild with desire. Her head dips down, her eyes peer up. Her hair drifts up into her hair, fussing a curl of it against her shoulder.

We enter her room, and I close the door behind us, and then blast her with fear, disabling fear, as hard as I can. She sobs and drops to her knees, steadying herself with her hands, unable to think or speak. Pure terror. It's not fear of anything, it's just fear, and she flinches away from me as I stand over her. She can't form words; she's gone irrational and unreasoning in terror. Her nipples are rock hard.

"You'll do everything I say," I told her. "Take off the blouse and bra. Now, Miss Reid!"

Lust, brutal lust. Lust is much, much better than fear, and she embraces it, encourages it. The blouse comes off quickly, and then the bra. Her eyes go vacant, and she strokes her breasts for me, showing me what a good girl she is.

I go through her bags. The black babydoll is in there.

"You'll do everything I ask," I repeat. "If you do, I'll keep you safe from them. But you will please me. That's the price. If you don't..." Impossible fear. She's sobbing, inching towards me, pressing her breasts against my legs.

"Naked. Leave on the stockings and heels, nothing else. Then put on this." I drop the lingerie on the floor. "You're going to fuck me, Miss Reid. If you fight it-" Fear.

She stumbles out of her clothing, and into the lingerie, her eyes unfocused. I pull her over to the couch, sit down and pull her over my knee. My hand comes down on her ass, as I smash fear through her. Then again. Then again. Then again, but with desire mixed it. More and more desire with each slap. In two minutes, she's experiencing fear and desire, full bore, mixed together. Each slap of my hand forces a mini-orgasm through her. She's grinding her belly against my cock.

"Did you know that women sometimes come when raped, Miss Reid? It's involuntary and it can be very intense."

I side my other hand over her breast, and squeeze a nipple, roughly. She arches towards a full-on orgasm, which I stop. I force her to kneel on the floor, show her my cock, and choke her on it. She spasms in terror.

"Women want this, you know. They want to be driven out of their minds with fear and hunger, you all do, deep, deep down -- masturbate, Miss Reid. Do it, or-"

Choking, masturbating, aching to come, aching to please and completely obedient. It's the terror -- it's hypnotic. I'd read that fear and helplessness could be inducers to a hypnotic state. Now I knew it was true.

"You want this," I told her. "You want to be raped by my cock. That's the only way you'll be safe. You need to please me. You're dressed to be raped, you want to be raped, and you'll come uncontrollably from being raped."

I started laughing. I couldn't push thoughts into her -- but I could terrorize her into this hypnotically obedient state, and tell her what to think. I was the worst, most powerful man in the world on an endorphin high that nothing, not even orgasm, could touch.

She bleated like a sheep, and turned around, offering her ass to me. But I took her by the hair and put her on the sofa, facing me, ass balanced on the cushion edge, arms up over her head and behind her. I lifted and parted her legs, her long, sexy legs.

"Say it," I snap.

"R-r-r-r-ape m-mm-mm-e."

"Did someone forget to say please?"

"P-please r-rape m-me, daddy."

I get a condom on and force into her roughly. There's no need to push on her mind anymore. She comes. I spend a long time inside her, my hands working her hair, throat and breasts and hips, shredding cloth that gets in the way. I command her to stroke me with her legs, lick her lips, or slap her breasts for me. She keeps coming, randomly, her slit sucking my cock. When I finally come, it's not really better than the unending wave of pleasure I'm already getting from her completely enslaved emotional state.

She came as I did; I pull out, and she continued to come, randomly, reacting to whatever wordless pictures she has dancing in her mind. She had pretty orgasms, and I took pictures.

"You were raped by terrorists, Miss Reid. You won't report it because you're ashamed at how very, very good it felt and how many times you came. I rescued you and you serviced my cock, and it felt so good you begged for more. Cock always feels good now. You love hard cock. If we meet again, you'll show me how much you love hard cock. If you don't..." Fear. "If you do," Orgasm. "You live for hard, cumming cock, Miss Reid. Terrifying, hard, brutal cock, taking you over and over... come again, Miss Reid."

She did, in the scraps of her lingerie.

"Go take a long, hot shower. Then pretty up; men expect that of you, and you like how hard it makes their cocks. Then go about your day normally, never discussing this."

I pulled myself together and left. As I closed the door, she was robotically heading for the bathroom, trailing sexy bits of black lace.

I don't know if I'll see her again, but my guess is I've arranged to make quite a few other men happy, and that makes me chuckle. It doesn't matter if I see her again. There are no lack of beautiful women on earth, and now I have the key to them all.



Toymaker Ch. 06



I spent some time with Keiko over the next few days. Now that we know that I can bend women into a deliciously hot, obedient froth, you'd think I wouldn't bother with a sexual scam that takes as much work and quick thinking as the incubus ploy. But Keiko had a perfect little body, and was conforming to my manipulation very nicely, and I liked that.

In effect, my ability gives me a difficult choice. My ability allows me to pick up a new toy, in a matter of minutes. New toys are new adventures, new emotions, new surprises. It's like having a new package to unwrap every day. On the other hand, a woman I spend more time with, is inexorably molded into an ideal sex toy. The molding process is automatic; when you can fuck with the pleasure/pain response of a woman on a moment by moment basis, you are in effect performing very efficient conditioning of their emotional response. Fear and sexual arousal are the two most effective conditioners available.

In effect, all my toys are fully programmable. And programming them improves them. But they lose the ability to surprise me.

For this part, though, I liked having Keiko around, and teaching her some games.

**

In keeping with the incubus scam, I was teaching Keiko to dress like a slut, and encourage men to want her body, with glances, movements and words. When she wasn't in class -- I didn't want her slutting out on campuses -- she was denied bras and panties, and I quickly pushed her daily wardrobe into bare midriff and short skirt styles, and then into outright fuck-me clubwear. Sometimes I sent her out to do her errands like that, and sometimes I walked with her, keeping her sexuality at a near boil while she practiced strutting and smiling at guys we passed. I conditioned her to feel deep arousal when men eyed her, head to toe, openly. I took the word slut and tramp out of her vocabulary, and replaced them with phrases like sexual empowerment, freedom of expression, and even made an argument that having her bare side-boobs lightly stroked in public, was a first amendment speech issue. Then I'd take her back to my room and toy with her or fuck her. By the fourth day of this, she was a well-programmed cocktease who turned every head we passed, men with lust and females with intensely angry envy.

So that Friday, I gave her a mission. I put a leashed collar on her throat, and told her she was going to sexually torment a male on the subway. I gave her very explicit instructions, and she was horrified, but when I explained that the alternative was a full night of very intense tease, denial, spankings and ruined orgasms, she came around.

The game was simple. She dressed as provocatively as we could get past the police, did a careful and sexy job with makeup, got into high heels, and put perfume on. I had her masturbate for five minutes, while kissing my cock, and then she walked with me, leashed, onto a very crowded rush-hour subway car with a whole lot of men on it. (Oddly, they had no trouble making room for her, even if it meant giving up things like breathing.) I held her on a short leash, opened a newspaper as best I could in the press of bodies, and proceeded to ignore everything around me, just another ruthless Master of a completely dominated submissive slut.

Slowly, she slid her hand onto the thigh of a man pressed against her. Her hand was shielded from view by her and myself and her chosen victim, so the guy didn't exactly protest. Then, just as slowly, she slid it over his cock, and squeezed, lightly. He gasped, and she went into her practiced routine -- glancing up at him, touching her finger to her lips in a shhh, and cocking her head very slightly towards me. The message was obvious -- she was a naughty little submissive who was trying to get away with something against the rules, under the very nose of her Master. Then she'd proceed to trace the outline of the suddenly swollen cock with her fingertips, over and over, until it was stone hard. I, of course, saw nothing, but his emotional state was impossible to ignore, and there were times it was very hard not to laugh.

Then she settled the base of her palm under the head of his cock, and her fingertips down along his balls, and gave him the sort of massage he'd wanted all his life. She'd also lean back against him a little, letting him look down the loose, open neck of her outfit, showing off her very hard nipples. Occasionally, but very briefly, she'd look up at him with that Expressionless Asian Face which can be so very hot in some circumstances, or lick her lips and shift against him.

The rules were, she wasn't permitted to let him come. If I judged he was getting close, I'd absentmindedly pat her ass, and she'd back off, as if afraid she was going to get caught.

Some men simply turned red and took it. Others tried to handle her back a little, which I allowed, because in Keiko's sexually hyped state, being handled by strangers made her go insane. If they got too obvious about it, I'd fold up the newspaper and make her switch places with me. That never failed to cause a burst of hate from the victim, which I found very amusing.

Every once in a while I'd turn the tables on Keiko -- when her victim rubbed her breast with an elbow, I'd stroke her thigh and push wicked images into her mind. Keiko was not allowed to make any noise whatsoever, or move away from any touching... sometimes she'd end up shuddering, in frustrated need.

After doing morning and evening rush hour (with an afternoon of sitting in my lap, watching erotic video in between), Keiko had fondled six men, and she was so utterly turned on that I was afraid the rocking of the train would set her off. I took her back to my room, and took out the Bitch Tamer. She sobbed at the sight of it.

"It's simple, Keiko. I've told you that sexual hunger gives power. By torturing those guys, you have become stronger. Now we're going to build power, with your own hunger. I'll use this on you, lightly, for ten minutes. If you make no noise, I'll reward you with an orgasm. If you make noise, I'll punish you and then we'll start over."

"I can't," she moaned. "Gods, one touch with a fingertip right now... and you're going to use that on me? Please no. Please, fuck, you're not human."

"Thanks for noticing. Lift that hem. Now."

I got it affixed, and I did in fact have to pin her to the edge to prevent her from coming just from having it inserted. I turned it to the lowest setting, and had her sit on the sofa, legs wide apart. She bit her lip, and then began shaking. I "let go" of my grip on her, forcing her to hold back her orgasm by herself, and set a timer for ten minutes, where she could see it. She stared at it, legs trembling.

"Think about how those hard cocks felt under your fingertips -- the way they throbbed, the way they ached to fuck you. Think about them running to bathroom stalls and jerking off as fast as they could, thinking about your body-"

She shuddered. I reached over and parted the top of her outfit wide, exposing her nipples.

"Those men are thinking of nothing but you today. They can't have you but they can't stop fantasizing about you; all they can do is picture your body and ache and maybe fuck other women and hope that helps. It won't. All they will see is your body, no matter who they fuck-"

She was writhing now, eyes closed tight, lips bitten shut. I stroked her nipples, very lightly.

"They will smell your perfume on them all night, and it will make them jerk off, again and again. They'll picture you sucking, or bent over, and they'll fuck their fists, imagining your mouth or ass, imagining you working them skillfully, begging them to come faster."

She arched, belly quivering, eyes sightless. Reading her was an intense emotional joyride.

"What would it be like to run into two of those men, some evening, just you and them? They'd grab you, they'd punish you for teasing them, they'd-"

"Fuck! Fuck I have to! I have to come now!"

I turned off the vibrator, picked up a small wooden ruler, and slapped it, sharply, on a nipple. She spasmed, crying out, her orgasm denied.

"Now we have to start again."

**

By the third failure, I had to put the ruler away, because at that stage the slap was as likely to trigger an orgasm as prevent one. She was glowing with sweat, and she trembled whenever I touched her. I kissed her trembling lips; she tasted like desperation.

"You can do this, Keiko. Ten minutes, that's all. You can gain that much control over yourself. Until you have that, there's no power over others. Become the woman that can fuck three times a night and pick if and when she comes, and you'll have power over men. Ten minutes."

I set the vibrator to two, and began to stroke her breasts, lightly. I kissed her mouth, and bathed in her weltering, agonizing sexual hunger. Her lips sucked mine, pleading and begging for help I would not give her. Tears flowed; but finally the timer dinged.

I set the Bitch Tamer to thirteen, and sucked her nipples, roughly, as she went screaming over the edge. I kept her coming for an hour, whispering to her about men using her body, one after the other, filling her and covering her with cum. Then I came on the floor, made her lick up some, roll in the rest, and rub it into her skin.

Best fucking day of my life.



Toymaker Ch. 07



I knocked on the door, smiling. When Lisa opened it, she tried to slam it again, but I had my foot in the door already. She held it as closed as she could, leaning her body against it, emoting fear.

I gave her a sharp taste of much more intense fear, and she scrambled away. I went in and closed the door behind me, and tossed a package to her.

There were piles of books on the table, and I walked over to them.

"You read, I see." I thumbed through some of them. Demonology, mostly. "Mostly you read trash, but you read."

She looked at me, from a safe distance. I smiled. "Nothing, absolutely nothing, in any of these books, is going to give you the power to block me out, Lisa. I am telling you the honest truth here. It's pointless."

"There's always a way."

"Actually, not true. Warlocks have been selling that 'we can always control the forces' crap for ages, but the fact is, you don't begin to grasp what's necessary, and you won't get it from books. You will never be out of my reach." I nodded to the package. "Get changed."

"Get- what?" She looked inside the bag, and gasped.

"Yup. It's hellfire time. We're going clubbing."

**

I look about thirty five. Lisa looked maybe twenty seven at most. She wasn't too old to go clubbing, but I arguably was. That gave her one compelling reason to wish she wasn't heading to a club with me.

Another was the dress I'd made her wear. It was an open weave polyester mesh, the kind of fabric they use for making bags for washing lingerie in. It was about 80% open and 20% weave, so it hid absolutely nothing. It was skin tight, dark red, and she was naked underneath. The clinging mesh emphasized her large nipples very nicely. Even in this city, the outfit wasn't even remotely legal in public; but the club I'd bought access to was semiprivate and discreet.

As we pulled in, I gave her a short speech.

"You'll do as I say. You'll have intense pleasure as a result. But it's all going to be very public. And if you do anything to piss me off, and that's easy to do, you'll have other public experiences which I guarantee you will never forget, no matter how many years of therapy the courts assign you. So you will behave. You will be not just obedient, but subservient, to me and anyone I hand you to. I know that's not in your nature... that's so too bad for you. You need to be straightened out on what sex is for and what it is not for, in our special little world, so you'll endure whatever I wish. Now, one last thing." I handed her a vibrating egg. "Slip this in, and it stays in all night. The remote control is safe with me."

"Let me just say this once, for form's sake," she said, bitterly, squirming the egg in. "'Clubbing's not my scene.'"

"But tonight it's your obscene," I said. I tested the remote control, and she bit her lip. No matter how embarrassed and horrified an attractive woman is to be dressed like that in public, the end result is always arousal. Dress a woman for sex, put her where man can see and want her, and her body responds. After a few seconds, she cursed softly, her hands fisting and her toes curling. I smiled, and turned the egg off.

**

Lisa's emotional state was fascinating. On some level, she was afraid of me. On another, she hated me. On yet another, my control of her lusts made her hot for me. And above it all, she felt doubt, not believing I was an incubus but having no better theory. I fucked with her brain stem until her nipples were two rigid cones, and went through the door with her.

Once in the club, I broke off from her immediately -- she wasn't going to run off anywhere -- and got the lay of the land, walking around the club.

The club held about 100 people tonight. It was a hangout for twenty-somethings with money, and as clubs went, it ran hot.

It wasn't a BDSM place, and it wasn't a fuck palace. The management was firm on one rule -- cocks stayed in pants. However, they turned a blind eye to partial nakedness (or total female nakedness if the woman was hot enough), limited sexual acts that didn't interfere with anyone else, or high end drug use as long as no one got stupid. In two visits here I'd seen women mouth the front of a guy's pants, men fingering women (not usually to orgasm) and naked breasts being massaged, but those appeared to be the general limits.

Being able to read, made it pretty obvious who was using ecstasy - the emotional fingerprint is unmistakable. About a third of the women, but only a few guys, were using. This didn't surprise me; ecstasy can suppress orgasms in men and can actually decrease interest in penetration, but it can be a big fucking On switch for many women.

As I walked, I pushed on the women I passed. A quick push gets a woman hot, but what happens after that depends on the situation. If there's no other reason for arousal, a woman's emotional state will usually settle back down. If the environment is sexy, she might stay at the new level. If she's being subjected to direct and arousing stimuli, pushing just accelerates the rate of climb. Of course, for most women I can push hard enough to force masturbation in a few seconds, or orgasm without masturbation if I spin it a little differently. But that wasn't the goal at the moment.

What I had in mind for the evening required a lot of sexually responsive people, so I continued to push women up, as I walked. (Men don't need to be pushed -- put them next to an aroused woman in a tight dress and they had no trouble getting there without help.) Women dancing, kissing or on ecstasy would go soaring even on a light push.

I circled back around to Lisa, who was, unsurprisingly, talking to some guy. She was dressed as an easy score, and I had no doubt she'd be hit on all night.

This particular guy was handsome, as best as I could tell, and was dressed rich without being flamboyant. He'd do, for my purposes.

I eavesdropped. Lisa was lying shamelessly about her background -- she was, after all, pretty decent at conning people. She was playing it cold and haughty. Not, I thought, her best move -- cold and haughty, while dressed as a slut, triggered rape fantasies in many men. Either she didn't know this or she figured she was safe enough in a club.

I ramped her up, mercilessly but slowly. My goal was to keep here unaware that I was doing it, but she knew that, as an incubus, I could fuck with her desires, and quickly worked out that this had to be my doing. She turned, and gave me a look.

I smiled and turned the control in my pocket, ramping up the vibrator a little, while pushing her fast and hard. She turned away from me, but that left her facing a hot guy while she was battling with an extremely intense sensation. I moved off, stopping the mental push but leaving her vibrator on. I had more women to toy with.

A tap on my shoulder... I turned to face Lisa.

"Stop. Please stop. It's torture. You want me to come in public... let's do it, then. Force it out of me."

I laughed. "You think that's what I'm after? Making you come in public? That will happen to several women here tonight. It's commonplace. I have nothing commonplace in mind for you."

I took a small knife out of my pocket, and unfolded it. She stared at it. I ran my thumb along the edge.

"In fact, you will not come until I tell you do, no matter how badly you want to. Hold extremely still."

I pulled at the spider's web of mesh, and applied the knife. It cut easily, and I let it snap back into position. The mesh pulled back from the slit I'd made, exposing her left breast. Her nipple jutted forward. The break in the fabric would instantly draw every eye to that nipple.

"Men will want to touch your exposed breast. If they do it, you will let them. And each time you approach me uninvited, I will make another slit in your outfit."

"A-and if I disobey, and just leave?"

I pushed an image at her. I won't even describe it, but she went pale.

"I wouldn't try the restraining order idea, either," I told her. "You'll remember that intense fear I can make you feel, the irrational and uncontrollable terror. It wouldn't be a nice thing to make me do to an arresting officer. Especially if I had to keep it up for an hour or so, to make a permanent example out of him, just for you."

She stared at me. "I'm done," she said, suddenly, her rage flaring. "I'm done with covens, witchcraft, all of it. Fuck you and your idea of putting me on the right 'path'. You pegged me exactly right -- I was a sham, half in, half out, cashing in on the advantages of being scary and mysterious. Well, fuck it. I've seen what it's really about now -- what you're like, what evil is. I don't know if you're really an incubus, or have mental hypnotic powers, or what the fuck you are, but you're evil and vile and I renounce the whole fucking scene. Whatever you are, I want to be the opposite."

"Very well," I said, calmly and coldly. "I'm powerful, intelligent, rational, in control of myself, and enjoy my existence. So I will grant you your wish -- I will make you the opposite of all those things."

She eyes got huge, and her rage collapsed into terror. She stepped back, but I amplified her terror and smashed her with arousal, the same brutal mix that had turned Marla into a mindless sex toy. This wasn't what I'd planned for the evening, but my dislike of Lisa had just flowered into hatred and I was going to crumble her into tiny, tiny bits.

She collapsed to her knees, then her hands and knees. I slid one foot forward, and pushed into her mind the image of her kissing and licking my shoe. She acted out the image, whimpering.

People stopped and looked. This kind of abject humiliation got attention even in clubs that catered to domination and submission, and this club wasn't the home of that sort of crowd. These were all people who thought they were being all bad for feeling each other up and doing a little MDMA.

Different people react differently to scenes of utter domination. Many women claim to find it distasteful, but the reality is that most women find it warming and some find it uncontrollably arousing. A tall, busty blonde nearby was staring so avidly and emoting lust so intensely that I "heard" it even over my focus on Lisa. I fished the remote out of my pocket, gestured her over, and handed it to her.

"What is-" and then she stopped, dawning comprehension on her face.

"Play with her," I said. I remembered this girl from the previous sweep of the room -- she was doing ecstasy. People on ecstasy often feel invincible, like they could do anything... she wouldn't be able to resist.

She hesitated, but that dark ribbon of desire to control another human being, present in almost everyone alive, twisted around her emotions. She turned the knob, slowly.

Lisa sobbed, limbs trembling, licking faster.

Blondie looked at me. "This is... so damn hot."

I looked the blonde over, slowly and obviously. That sent hot little emotional ripples through her. She was at least 5' 10", unnaturally blonde hair, a very sultry face, with a 37DD rack, probably artificial and barely confined by a skimpy black halter. The bared 25" waist looked toned. The black pencil dress, slit to her hip, covered more of her long legs than I liked and didn't really work with the halter, but I could think of solutions to that. She was a woman who had gone far out of her way to look pleasing to men -- and who could be made to go further.

I dropped Lisa for a moment, and shoved slutty, needy sensations into the blond. She licked her lips and began swaying slightly, toying with the controls. "She's... very into you."

"Once you know what a woman wants, they become yours," I told her, looking her in the eyes. She went wild inside. Some women just cannot resist a bad man. I toyed with her a little more firmly. "What's your name?"

"Winsome."

I switched back to controlling Lisa's emotions, before she recovered her self-control. "You're going to join our little game, Winsome. Sit in that chair. My little plaything is going to give you a bath, with her tongue. When she does a good job, you reward her with those controls." I forced a near orgasm out of Lisa, to show everyone how into the idea she was.

Winsome sat, licking her lips, her emotions a hot blur. I look Lisa by the hair and guided her mouth to Winsome's foot, mostly exposed by the strappy high heels she was in. "Clean her feet."

Another blast of fear and lust, and Lisa's will collapsed completely. She licked Winsome's feet, pushing her tongue between the exposed toes. Winsome giggled a little, nervous and aroused, and rewarded Lisa. I let Lisa get almost to orgasm, over and over.

"Is she doing a good job, Winsome?"

She blushed pink, and nodded.

"But she can do better, don't you think? She can do more."

She blushed bright red.

"Now my little plaything is going to lick your cute little belly button. You'd better be a little less generous with your rewards, though -- she's not used to such a nice master. Don't you want to see her... beg?"

I moved Lisa's face again, directing her by the hair. Lisa was broken and would go where I put her, so I switched my focus to Winsome.

As Lisa licked her belly, swirling her tongue at the belly button, I pushed an image of Lisa's tongue swirling a completely different hole. And then pushed Winsome slowly towards orgasm.

As far as I could tell, Winsome wasn't bi. But she was flying, in control of another pretty woman, and the center of attention of a growing cloud of people. It made her so hot she couldn't sit still. Her nipples were huge.

I laid my hand on Lisa's head, and did a stage rendition of reading her mind. "What's that? Oh, you do, do you? I suppose you've been a good girl all week...."

I looked at Winsome. "She'd like to lick your breasts clean. Reward her if that's ok."

Lisa shuddered. She liked women's breasts. Winsome hesitated again, but that was for show. She turned the control up, past halfway, settled a hand in Lisa's hair as she'd seen me do, and settled Lisa's mouth into the valley of her breasts, in the deep V of the halter. Lisa moaned, licking sensually and eagerly. I pushed Winsome, and she whimpered, softly, eyes drifting between me and Lisa. I had them both.

I got behind Winsome's chair. "If I may?" But it was not a question. I settled my hand on the knot at the back of Winsome's neck, and let my fingers caress the side of her throat, while pushing her nearly to orgasm. She nodded unsteadily, and I untied the knot... and slowly, slowly, millimeter by millimeter, parted the halter. I could feel Winsome's reaction to the cloth moving across her nipples, and her intense awareness of how everyone around her was fixed on the sight of her breasts becoming more and more revealed, and how very, very deeply she was turned on by having a strange man expose them.

The crowd reacted. Men ran their hands over the sides of their dates, and then over their breasts. Their dates allowed it, unwilling to let Winsome soak up all the male attention, or turned on by what they were seeing, or just too high to care what touched what as long as it made them feel shinier and hotter. One woman slid her hand over the cock of the man she was with, rubbing slowly through the suit pants. Then a few more did.

I revealed Winsome's nipples, a bit at a time. Lisa licked at them frantically, digging her tongue under the cloth to get more, and Winsome's whimpers turned hotter. I paused, reveling in the swirling torrent of animal sexuality forming all around me. Then Winsome moaned, half in shame for what she was doing and half from insane arousal, and turned the control to full. At the same time, I dropped the halter away and put my hand on Winsome's neck, arching her breasts forward more.

Lisa sucked helplessly on a nipple, then came, slow and hard. The overall visual effect was if Winsome was fucking Lisa's mouth with a hard nipple, and it caused Lisa to orgasm. The torrent of desire around me increased.

"She'll come again, if I tell her she can," I whispered in Winsome's ear. "But she'll have to lick up and down the length of your legs, to earn it... stand up and show everyone your legs."

Winsome nodded, moved Lisa aside, stood up and unzipped the pencil skirt. It slid down her legs, leaving her in pretty thong panties and high heels. "Legs, slut." I said. "Oh, and there's one more thing, Winsome. This."

I settled behind her and brought my hands along her sides, and then over her breasts. I caught and twisted her nipples with slow, cruel sensuality, as Lisa panted, licking the length of Winsome's long, toned legs, moaning softly when her tongue stopped at Winsome's thong, then sliding back down again.

Winsome was in flames. I nestled my cock in the valley of her ass and pushed images into her head until she suddenly whispered "Please... please make her lick me, please, lick my... Please I want to come. Make her make me come."

I pushed the appropriate image, and Lisa, moaning wantonly, licked the front of the thong, up and down, fast and hard. I switched the images to Winsome... fast, furious, degrading images of Winsome pleasing multiple men, of Lisa coming as Winsome spanked her, of Winsome kneeling at my feet and begging for my hands...

She came, long and slow and hard, and withut further help from me. I made her stand for the whole experience, and then dropped her into her chair, with Lisa shivering at her feet.

I pointed to a stunning little brunette, who reminded me a little of Keiko, standing in a clump of other girls. She looked young and innocent and I liked that. "You. Come to me."

She whimpered in something like embarrassment, but was about to step forward when one of her friends suddenly got between us. She whirled to face her brunette friend, so all I saw was a flash of reddish hair, billowing out.

"Janie... what is wrong with you? You don't know this guy. Snap out of it!"

Janie blinked, and turned deep red, suddenly realizing how badly caught up in the moment she'd been. Red-head turned around and looked at me. She was pleasantly pretty, tall, with striking grey eyes, but they were sparking with fury now.

"This isn't that kind of club," she said to me. "You don't belong here. Take that broken thing you call a date and go."

The mood was shattered, and I went blind with rage. No little bitch walked in on my play and fucked it up. I read her -- she was an easy read -- and I slammed into her with the shattering terror and hunger I'd learned to break women with. When I was done with her she'd be in for a lifetime of cowering in alleyways, hoping the next customer would be nicer to her.

She moved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and my ability slammed into a brick wall. I'd ran into a few people I couldn't read and write, but no one had ever been readable and then suddenly decided I wasn't allowed in. Whether she's done it consciously or unconsciously I had no idea. I pounded at her mind -- and got nothing. She'd turned her back to me and was telling her friends she was heading back to the dorms and they were welcome to come with her.

My little party broke up, and I choked down the urge to grab the red-head's neck and break it. But I had a mess to clean up here, first. After that... I'd find a way to track that bitch down. I'd make her talk, by purely physical means if necessary, and find out what the fuck she was, and then I'd make sure there was one less of them in the world.

But for now, there was this unfinished business. I bent down and entered Lisa's mind, and whispered in her ear.

"You're a whore I found and decided to spend some time with in a club. You had a nice evening but now you have to go back to whoring. You let anyone do anything with your body for ten dollars an hour, and you're not smart enough to get a decent pimp. You just got fired from your day job because the people there found out what you do at night, but that's ok because you need that time to sleep. Your fondest hope is to pull in fifty or sixty dollars a night. You know you aren't worth that much, deep down. Your friends abandoned you months ago and you'd never bother them with your troubles. Here's twenty dollars -- you can find your own way home. Keep the dress."




Toymaker Ch. 07



I had no idea how much of that would stick, and for how long, but if it stuck for even a few days she'd have fucked up her life enough that recovering might be hard. I made sure the vibrator was set to maximum, and smiled. This wasn't what I'd planned for her, but in some ways it was better.

I stood up to have a few words with Winsome next, but she'd suddenly fallen asleep in the chair. Ecstasy can do that, I remembered, especially if she'd had a few drinks. I considered waking her up and taking her back to my hotel room -- no, bad idea. I was leaving a very fucked up victim in my wake here, and giving anyone a trail back to me was a poor plan.

I spent a few minutes in the club, asking after the red-head, but no one seemed to know her. I took off before Lisa pulled herself back together and got back to her life of whoring.

**

And now, we are up to the present.

There's no words for the lingering rage I feel. No one fucks up my domination of my toys, and if I can, I'll find that red-head, somehow, and bring her down. But I've got no leads, so I figure this is going to take a while.

I'm writing this account because I'm trying to understand this long, strange trip I've been on. As long as I was in total control and could bend just about anyone's emotions, I felt... well, cool, calm, and above all powerful. Now that I know there's someone out there who can fuck with me -- maybe more than one? -- it's all different. So I've been spending the evening writing and thinking.

I'm evil. I know it very well. But I'm also unrepentant. I'm a maker of toys, and some of my toys, like Marla and Lisa, I have set free for others to enjoy. Others, like Keiko, I am never going to give up. I am powerful and free to make these choices, and no one can change them. I am a god, and people are my food, entertainment and shelter. And if sometimes I spit out their bones, it's their fault for being so willing to follow their desires into dark places.

But I'll write this exactly once -- deep down, I feel loathing; deep, personal loathing. No so much because of Lisa; she was a faker and a bitch and needed to be taken down. Marla, though... I was drunk with power and I overindulged myself. It was wrong, loathsome, and yet, so very, very hot. The power... fuck, the feelings I get from it are barely human; you'd never understand.

But right now I need to... revel in my power again. The fact that someone wrecked my fun, that one night a week ago... it made me feel weak, and that's unacceptable. I will exercise my power, and more ruthlessly than I ever have before. I must. It is the price the world pays for trying to toy with a toy maker.

It's going to be very simple.

I've found a woman who rides a bus on a regular schedule. She even looks a little like the red-head from the club -- different cut of hair, fewer freckles, but the same general build. She's got some sort of emotional problem -- she emotes constant sadness, self-loathing, helplessness... emptiness, above all. (I can only assume she suffers from clinical depression.) We've exchanged a few words -- her name is Windy (no, not Wendy, she was very specific about that). She works in the garment district and is not certain how much longer she'll have her job. She's perfect.

You have power over someone when you can make them do something they do not want to do. There is something that people do not want to do, and that even I cannot force them to do. Because it takes more than a twist of the emotions, to contemplate suicide. There are defenses that hold up, even against despair.

But this depressed girl -- if I read her right, and she's a very easy read - does not have that defense. So I am going to twist her loathing into an unanswerable raging current, and then let her find a knife beside her. And then, on a bus full of people, I will bend her emotions so darkly, that she will do what no one wants to do. The knife will plunge into the heart, in front of a dozen witnesses. Simply to escape the unanswerable loathing.

I know the drug-like rush I get from exercising power, and there is no power like this. Tomorrow is going to be the best day of my life.

**

Police Prelim Report 4/12/----

Officer Alex Dobrasena, Homicide

UCR code: None (Apparent Suicide). VNA code: 26-A.

Location: Transit Bus 53, on Mercy St. (Northbound)

Victim was a Caucasian, about 5' 11", male, blond hair, app. age 35. Death was caused by a serrated army knife, recently purchased by victim, and was self-inflicted. Call came in at 7:25am, medical team OS 7:35am. I arrived OS 7:36am.

Multiple witnesses report victim talked quietly and intermittently with the primary witness (see attached WS from Windy Grey), for a few minutes; some reported they had talked on the bus before. The victim then removed a knife from his pocket, apparently in order to get to a cell phone, and laid the knife on the seat between them. He did not open the cell phone, but suddenly returned it to his pocket, picked up the knife and pieced his chest with an upward movement, sobbing in pain. He then turned to the primary witness, seemed suddenly shocked or horror-stricken, and spoke, variously reported as "You are-" or "You're the-" and collapsed to the floor, thrashing. One witness placed the time of death as 7:24:35. No attempt was made to touch or remove the knife. Primary witness checked victim's wrist for a pulse and found none. No other contact with the body was noted until med. team OS.

Primary witness reports having spoken to the victim on the bus before, but knew very little about him, except to say he'd seemed depressed in the past. After interviewing three other witnesses, it was obvious she had played no part in the death, and she was released to attend her classes. She had no explanation for the phrase he spoke as he died, and did not recall hearing it, citing shock.

Unusual agreement among witnesses. Only account conflict was that one witness reported primary witness whispered to the victim as she knelt to take his pulse: "You thought you were the only one?" Primary witness denies this and states she only begged people to call police.

Hospital confirmed COD, knife passed near heart and death was rapid. Prelim drug test was negative.

**

I'm releasing this story because I found it on a used USB drive in a second-hand store. The file was buried under some crappy commercial encryption with a default password that a five year old could look up online. At first I assumed it was fiction, and I'm publishing it that way - because what else would I do? But the police report I appended above is real, and some quiet checking I did confirms that the details that are publically available, all check out.... including a parapsychology research lab that was shut down, a good few months back, in the next city over.

I don't know what to believe. But a student graduated recently from the local college, by the name Windy Grey. I tried to track her down -- I got pretty persistent, actually - and got nowhere. Except this: a week ago I got a letter in my mailbox, hand delivered, no stamp:

We don't mean harm to anyone and I don't wish to be bothered. Thank you for your diligent interest, but there really isn't a need for alarm or concern. Let's please leave it at that. --W

Make of it whatever you want. I'm publishing this anonymously and I'll never talk about it again.