From borisl@room3b.demon.co.ukMon Nov 6 16:29:39 1995 Date: Sat, 04 Mar 95 22:14:56 GMT From: Boris Ludmenkov To: dhuberma@copper.ucs.indiana.edu Subject: HOLD THE LINE [Attached File: C:\AMIPRO\DOCS\FUNANDGA\MINDCONT\TOLOUVRE\HOLDLINE.TXT Size: 70559] mc-hold-the-line.txt I did not write this story. This story was obtained from the internet or a BBS. Most of the multi-part stories were consolidated at the time, and some minor adjustments made, mostly of a cosmetic nature. Enjoy ! From: an26208@anon.penet.fi (Heimdall_) Subject: STORY: Hold the Line (mind control) Lines: 979 ******************************************************* A mind control sex story, in dialogue form, and therefore as graphic as your imagination cares to make it. I was intrigued by the story "Number Please" by the Mind Control Fan, which first suggested to me that it was possible to do an interesting mind control story entirely with dialogue. It's sort of like writing a radio play. (Say, MCF, if you're still around out there, drop me a line; haven't heard from you in a while.) Mind control is a fantasy, and should be kept that way. In the real world, compelling people to do things against their will is a Very Bad Thing, and none of my stories should be seen as advocating it. The reason for the odd form of my nickname ("Heimdall_" with an underscore) is that I switched to another name for a while, and when I came back I found that someone else had requested my former name. Which is entirely fair, and I don't want to tread on the toes of the nickname's rightful new owner, but I thought that for the purposes of posting a new story, I ought to keep continuity by maintaining (almost) the same name I put on my two previous ones. Distribute freely. - Heimdall, February 1995. ******************************************************* "Hold the Line" RING. RING. "Hello?" "Hello. To whom am I speaking, please?" "This is Tom Phillips. Who is this?" "Let's not bother about that, all right? You're just going to listen very carefully to everything I say, answer my questions honestly, and do anything I tell you, right?" "Um. Yes, I guess I am." "Good. Now, Tom, I've called you completely at random to ask you a question: who's the most attractive woman you know? Think carefully." "Hmm, let's see . . . I'd have to say that would be Michelle, Michelle Golding. She's a dancer, a friend of my wife's, and she's . . . well, I think she's absolutely gorgeous." "Fine. Do you have her phone number?" "Hang on a second, I'll have to look it up. Yeah, it's 555-2613." "Got it. Tell me, Tom, does your wife know how attractive you think Michelle is?" "Well, sometimes she comes over to the house for dinner, and Marilyn--that's my wife--always teases me afterwards. She says my eyes bug out when I look at her." "Do they?" "Pardon?" "Do your eyes bug out?" "I don't think so. I mean, I probably look at her a little harder than I ought to, but if you'd seen this girl . . ." "Mmm-hmm. I may get around to doing that, some time. Say, Tom, how long have you been married?" "Fifteen years." "Wow. Tell you what: tonight when you get into bed with your wife, you'll find that she looks exactly like Michelle. You'll feel like a horny teenager when you look at her, and act accordingly. Make her wonder what's got into you all of a sudden, all right? Don't tell her anything about it, though, and don't mention this phone call to anyone. You won't even remember speaking to me, and when you wake up tomorrow, you won't recall why you were suddenly so excited last night. Got all that?" "Yes. How . . . ?" "Don't you worry about that. Bye, now." "Good-bye." CLICK. * * * * * * * RING. RING. RI- "Hello?" "Hi, is this Michelle?" "Yes. Who is this?" "I'm a friend of Tom Phillips. I think you know his wife?" "Oh, yeah. What can I do for you?" "Well, Michelle, you can listen very carefully to me, and do whatever I say, without question or hesitation. Don't hang up, just listen. Believe whatever I say, experience whatever I tell you to experience. Understand?" "Ahum. Yes." "Good. You'll enjoy following my instructions. It makes you feel good to do whatever I say. Are you standing up?" "Yes." "Stand on one foot, until I say you can stop. There, doesn't that feel nice?" "Yeah, it does. Is there anything else you want me to do?" "Oh, lots of stuff, don't you worry. But I've been careless--are you alone at the moment?" "Yes, I am." "Nobody else around at all?" "No, I'm the only one in my apartment." "Good. There's a bit of a crackle on the line: are you talking on a portable phone?" "Yeah." "Perfect. Put your foot down, and go find a full-length mirror--do you have one?" "Yes, it's in my bedroom. I'm walking there now. Why does it feel so good to do what you tell me?" "Don't think about that, just think about obeying, all right? Your top priority is pleasing me, isn't it? And I'm pleased when you follow orders as well as you possibly can." "I'm at the mirror, now." "What are you wearing, Michelle?" "Jeans and a T-shirt." "No, I mean everything that you have on." "Oh, sorry. Tennis socks, red jeans, panties, a T-shirt, a bra. And silver earrings. That's it." "Can anyone see into your bedroom?" "No, I'm on the fifteenth floor. The door to the balcony is glass, but there are no other tall buildings around." "Fine. I'd like you take off all of your clothes for me. Describe what you're doing as you do it." "All right, I'll have to hold the phone against my shoulder. I'm taking off my socks, now. Now I'm unzipping my jeans, and pulling them off. I just took off my panties. May I put the phone down to take off my shirt?" "Go ahead." "Okay . . . There, it's off, and I took off my bra, too." "So you're now wearing nothing but earrings, yes?" "Right. Should I take them off?" "No, that's fine. Take a look at yourself in that full- length mirror, Michelle. I want you to describe yourself to me, honestly and in detail. Start from the top and work your way down." "Well, my hair is dark, and straight, and comes down to about my shoulders. My skin is dark, too--I'm black, by the way. My face is sort of round, my nose is fairly small, and people tell me that I'm full-lipped, whatever that means. My neck is long and slender, I'd say, and my shoulders and wide for my height, and muscular. I'm a dancer, so I work my arms and legs a lot. My, um, tits are, well, fairly large, but not huge or anything. I think my stomach is one of my best features--I work on it like crazy, sit-ups and stuff, and it's a washboard, if you know what that means?" "Yes, I do. Go on." "My waist narrows down, then my hips flare out kind of suddenly. My butt is, well, on the big side, I guess, but tight. I keep my, you know, pubic hair, trimmed and shaved on the sides, for when I'm wearing small costumes and swimsuits and stuff. My, ah, pussy is, um . . . well, I don't know what there is to describe, exactly." "That's fine. Go on." "My thighs are big and muscular, from the dancing again, and my boyfriend says they're my best thing, better than my abs, but I dunno. My calves are strong, too, and my feet are, well, just regular feet, I guess. Small, and high arches. Right now I've got red nail polish on my toenails. Oh, and I'm just under five-eight." "Well, I must say that you sound very lovely, Michelle. You're glad that I think so, aren't you? In fact, you're getting turned on right now. Thinking about me looking at you is getting you wet, isn't it?" "Oh, yeah. I wish you were here, to see me for real." "But I *can* be there, my dear. In your mind, at least. Why don't you lie down on your bed?" "Okay, I'm doing it. My legs are spread apart, so you could see everything, if you were here." "You're beautiful, Michelle." "Ahhh. God, say that again. Better yet, wherever you are, come over here right now." "All in good time. Wait a minute . . . are you expecting anyone?" "No, nobody's coming over tonight." "Okay. Now, you're going to feel whatever I tell you to feel--you'll feel it clearly, just like someone was really doing things to you. Maybe you'd better take off those earrings, now. Done? All right, someone is nuzzling your left ear. Feel it? Licking, sucking, nipping the lobe, doing all the things you like best." "Oh, man. That's nice." "That's me, Michelle. I'm there in the room with you, only you can't see me, only feel me, and I have as many mouths and tongues as I'll need. When I add new sensations, the old ones will keep on going, all right? I'm working on the other ear as well, now, both at once." "Mmm." "Now I'm teasing your two breasts with my invisible tongues, swirling around the edge of the nipples, doing whatever makes you hottest." "Holy shit, that's *nice*!" "You're getting more and more turned on all the time. Listening to my voice turns you on. The invisible mouths turn you on. The idea that I have the power to do this to you turns you on. You're getting *so* excited, Michelle." "Damn right. I don't care how you're doing this, I *love* it!" "Of course you do. A mouth is kissing its way down your stomach, now, down lower and lower, between your legs now, licking the insides of your thighs, teasing, getting closer but not quite touching *that spot*, closer, moving around it, licking, brushing over the inside of your legs, up and down . . ." "God, I can't *stand* it!" " . . . and now it's licking your clit, a nice, steady rhythm, one, two, three, four, five. It's doing all the things that you like, licking, sucking, flicking, teasing. Feel it? Now, don't you come until I say so, Michelle." "Ahhhh. I have a, ohh, friend who's heavily into, Goddd, phone sex. I'll bet it's, ahhh, nothing like this." "I'll bet it isn't." "Are you sure you couldn't come here and fuck me, right here, right now?" "Not quite yet, honey. Glad you asked, though. It shows you're thinking about pleasing me. I like that." "Glad, hahh, to hear it. Ohh, God." "Tell me what you feel, Michelle." "It's like there's about five invisible you's, hooo, all around me. Two are kissing my ears, two are, umm . . . where was I? . . . yeah, two are kissing my tits, and one is, ohhh, doing *fantastic* things to my clit." "There's a sixth invisible me. He's sliding his big, hard cock into your pussy, and he's starting to push it in and out, faster and faster. Feel it?" "Uhhh." "Would you like to come, Michelle?" "Are you kidding? *Yes*! Please! Pretty please!" "With sugar on top?" "With anything you, ahhh, like on top. Or on the bottom. Or anywhere else you want it." "I think you're falling in love with me, Michelle. You are, aren't you?" "Yeah. Yes, oh, God, I love you. I'd do, mmmm, anything for you, you've got to know that." "I certainly do know that. I'll let you have an orgasm in just a moment. Tell me, are you usually noisy or quiet in bed?" "I'm pretty quiet, most of the time." "How's the soundproofing in your building? Do people hear things through the walls?" "You can, yes-s-s-s, hear an ant cough through these damn walls." "Tell you what, Michelle, you can have an orgasm if you promise to scream for me. Be vocal. Whoop it up. Express yourself. Will you do that?" "Yeah, yeah. Anything. Am I going to come now?" "Soon. I'm going to count backwards: when I get down to one, you'll have the best orgasm you've ever had, all right? Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one." "Oh, God . . . ahh, ahh, ahhhh . . . AHH-AIIIIEEEEEE, YESSSSS, OH, GODDD, YESS, AH-HA~HA, ah, oh, ohhh . . ." "Oh, well done. The invisible me's are gone, now, Michelle. Stand up. Are you sweating?" "A little bit. I'm really, um, damp, down there, though." "When I tell you to hang up, go and take a nice, long shower, okay? You've done very well, Michelle. I'm quite pleased with how you've responded to my suggestions." "I'm so glad. If there's anything else I can do to make you happy, just tell me, please. Anything." "I think there may just be. Be home tomorrow at seven o'clock in the evening, and keep the line free. Wait for my call. You'll dream about me tonight, and think about me all day tomorrow. Don't tell anyone about this phone call, though, and don't act strangely in any way. Do you have previous plans?" "I was going to work out at the gym at around that time, but I can be here, no problem. I'll exercise here--I want to keep in shape for you." "A nice thought. I can tell I'm going to enjoy our relationship almost as much as you are. Well, let's see, have I covered everything? Oh, right. This boyfriend of yours, what's his name?" "Richard. Richard Price." "And his phone number?" "555-7635." "Terrific. I may give ol' Rick a call. I don't want you to call him, until I say it's okay, though." "You've got it." "All right, I think that'll be all for now. Good night, Michelle. Pleasant dreams. Hang up the phone, now." "Bye." CLICK. * * * * * * * RING. RING. RING. "Yello." "Richard Price?" "Yep. Who's this?" "A friend of Michelle's. An awfully attractive girl you've got there, Rick." "Who the hell are you? What is this?" "Doing worry, I'm not a lunatic, if that's what you're thinking, Rick." "Yeah? I don't know who the fuck you are, but you keep away from me and Michelle, all right? And don't call me Rick." CLICK. RING. RI- "Now, listen, jerk . . ." "Don't hang up, Rick, just listen to me carefully. You're going to do anything I say, without question, all right? Believe what I say, think what I want you to think. Understand?" "Urk. Yeah, but . . ." "No but's, Rick. Don't ask unnecessary questions. I think I'll keep calling you Rick--that's fine with you, isn't it?" "Sure." "And are you alone at the moment? Expecting anyone?" "Yes, I'm alone, and no, I'm not expecting anyone." "Good. Now, how long have you and Michelle been seeing one another?" "About six months." "Are things serious between you?" "Nah. Not for me, anyway, I'm not sure about her sometimes. She's a great lay, you know, that's all. I'm not thinking about settling down, getting married--forget that shit, right?" "I see. Do you love her?" "Nah." "Do you *say* that you love her?" "Well, hey, sometimes it's the only way . . ." "To get into bed with her, you mean." "Yeah. You know how it is." "Well, not really, Rick--sleeping with women has never exactly been a problem for me, for reasons that should be fairly obvious. I may even ask Michelle to sleep with me. How would you feel about that?" "I'd want to rip your throat out." "No. Wrong. You like the idea. In fact, you love the idea. More than that, you can't stand the thought of me *not* sleeping with Michelle." "Yeah. You should do it." "Well, gee, Rick, I don't know . . . I'm not sure, I'm sort of having second thoughts about that. Maybe I won't." "Aw, no, man, don't do that. You ought to fuck her, you really should. She's fantastic in bed." "Really? Well, maybe if you begged a little . . ." "Please, sleep with Michelle. Please, please, please! I'm begging you. I won't be mad. I want you to do it. C'mon, you've got to! Please?" "Oh, all right, if you insist. There, that's all settled, then. I'd hate to think I was sneaking around behind your back, Rickie. Let's see, what else can we talk about? Tell me something else about yourself . . . how about: when did you lose your virginity?" "When I was seventeen." "Hmph. And are you exclusively heterosexual?" "Damn right! I'm not a fuckin' faggot, man!" "My, my! Such hostility, Rick. It's quite unwarranted, you know. I happen to be straight myself, but what in the world is wrong with being gay?" "It's not natural." "Most things we do aren't natural, my son. You know, I think a little exposure to the other side of things would do you a world of good, maybe open your eyes a little. Hmm . . . For the next, oh, five days, you're not going to find women sexually attractive at all, starting right now. Women just won't do it for you, right? Tits and curves and pussies, they'll just leave you limp and uninterested. Do you have any soft porn around?" "I have some copies of *Playboy* and *Penthouse* in the bedroom." "Go get one of them, then come right back to the phone." "Just a sec . . . All right, I've got it." "Open it up and flip through it. Look at the pictures. Feel anything?" "Well . . . naw, these girls aren't sexy at all." "Not just *those* girls, Rick. All girls. For the next five days. Now, *guys*, on the other hand, you are going to find more and more attractive all the time. You'll find yourself looking at pictures of male models, noticing the male leads in movies, and getting turned on by them. You're going to start having erotic dreams about other men. Tomorrow you'll go and buy a magazine with pictures of naked guys in it, something like *Playgirl*, and you'll find that the photos will get you all hot and bothered. You'll masturbate looking at them. Understand?" "Yes." "Don't sound so glum, Rick, this'll build character. Now, for that same five days, I don't want you to call Michelle, or contact her in any way. The two of you had a big fight the other day, remember, and now you're really angry at each other. You can recall the fight, can't you? What was it about, Rick?" "It was, um . . . she was accusing me of just using her for sex." "A perceptive woman, our Michelle. Well, if anyone wonders why you haven't been seeing her, that's what you'll tell them, all right? And don't let anyone try to patch things up by arranging a meeting, or anything like that. This is a minor squabble, it'll blow over in a little while. In five days, to be exact. After that, you'll revert to your usual sexual orientation, but you'll always remember that period in your life when you felt the other way, and you won't look on homosexuality with such hostility, okay? At that point, you can give Michelle a call, and apologize. I think she'll forgive you. Until then, I'll be playing around with our dear Michelle." "Including fucking her, right?" "Yes, Rick." "That's a relief." "I'm sure it is. All right, let's wrap this up, shall we? When you hang up the phone, you won't consciously remember this phone call, but you'll keep following all of my instructions." "Got it." "All right, then . . . Oh, wait, I just had a thought. This is a good one, ha ha! Go out and buy yourself some panties, Rick, and wear them around for the next little while. Nice frilly ones, silk if you can find it. You'll feel *so* sexy wearing them. You can do whatever you like with them when the five days are over--you won't remember where in the world they came from, though." "I understand." "Good. Well, Rick, enjoy your little swing the other way. Take care, now. Hang up the phone." CLICK. * * * * * * * RING. "Hello?" "Hello, Michelle." "Oh, good, it's you!" "Why, my dear, you sound positively eager." "I am. I want to do stuff for you, um . . . I'm not sure what to call you." "Hmm. Why don't you just call me `lover,' okay?" "You've got it, lover." "Fine. What are you wearing, Michelle?" "Panties, a black full-body leotard, a headband, and strap-on weights on my wrists and ankles. That's everything." "Of course it is; you're not the sort of person who has to be told things twice, are you? You've been working out?" "Yeah. That's what the weights are for. They add a bit of extra resistance." "What sorts of exercise do you do with them?" "Oh, you know, leg lifts, arm lifts, sit-ups with the weights on my chest to make it tougher. And I wear them while I'm doing aerobics, to get the muscles working harder." "Uh-huh. I've just thought of an interesting experiment, Michelle, and I'd like you to help me with it. Have you got any free weights around?" "Yes, I have some dumbbells." "How heavy?" "I've got five, ten, and fifteen pound sets." "Go get the fifteen pounders." "Okay . . . All right, I've got them, lover." "Good. Now, hold them down at your sides, and lift your arms straight out to the sides, up to shoulder height. Keep doing that. How does it feel?" "Its, oof, damn tough! These are heavy suckers, I don't usually use them. Hoo-boy, this is burning my shoulders!" "Listen to me, Michelle: those weights aren't heavy at all. They're hollow plastic, there's no weight to them, they're no problem at all to lift, are they?" "Hey . . . yeah, this is a breeze! Why did I think they were heavy, before?" "Because . . . they *are* heavy, Michelle. Feel it? They're big, heavy, fifteen pound weights." "Oh. Yeah. Ouch." "Better stop now, Michelle. I don't want you to strain yourself. Put the weights down." "Gladly! Say, can I ask you something, lover?" "Sure." "The weights didn't *really* get light, did they? I mean, I just thought they did 'cause you told me to, right?" "Right." "Then, how . . . ?" "How did you lift them so easily? I'm not quite sure; I wasn't certain what would happen if I tried it. I *do* know that the mind can do some weird things, especially when I start mucking around with it. I'll bet you'd eventually stop being able to lift them, if I had you keep going--I think you're probably straining your muscles just as much as ever, you just aren't aware of it. But I don't want to do that. Your shoulders will probably be a bit sore, tomorrow, as it is. No, hang on, there's no reason for that: you won't feel sore tomorrow from today's exercise, all right?" "Thanks. You really know how to take care of a girl, lover." "Aw, shucks. So, I gave your friend Rick a call last night." "It's Richard. He hates being called Rick." "Funny, he didn't seem to mind when I did it. We had a nice little chat. He told me that he isn't in love with you." "Yeah, I know that. He thinks he's just using me for sex." "Isn't he?" "Well, I guess so, but I'm using him back, so it comes out about even, I reckon. I figure things would have lasted another few months or so, then I'd have let him down easy and moved on. But of course it doesn't matter now." "Why not?" "I'm in love with someone else, silly! You." "Oh. Um, right. That may not last much longer than, say, a few more days, Michelle. I think you and Rick may get back together after that. You had a big fight the other day, and you're not speaking at the moment. Remember the fight? You were getting on his case for . . . um, for just using you for sex. Jeez, that really doesn't make much sense, given what you just told me, does it? Let's see . . . oh, I know: you weren't *really* mad at him about that, you were just using it as an excuse to get rid of him for a while, you needed some time alone, but of course he wouldn't know that. If anyone wonders why you two haven't been seeing each other, you can tell them all about it. In a few days he'll be calling to apologize, and you'll `forgive' him and the two of you will get back together, for as long as you like." "I understand." "Good. And in the meantime, he'll be wearing panties and drooling over dirty pictures of other men." "*Richard*? He's the world's biggest homophobe!" "Well, I think that may be about to change. I made a few suggestions, and he was more than happy to go along." "Ha ha! That's perfect! I wish I could see it!" "I do amuse myself, sometimes. While we're on the subject, is there anything else about him you'd like to see changed, for when you get back together? Does he treat you all right? He doesn't get violent, or force himself on you, does he?" "No, no, nothing like that. Let's see . . . Well, there's maybe one thing, but . . . No, I couldn't ask you to . . ." "Out with it, Michelle." "Well, when we're in bed, he doesn't always spend as much time, you know, doing, um, oral sex on me, as I'd like. He says he doesn't like it, and I can't talk him into it very easily." "Easily fixed, my dear. I think you'll find, when you next encounter Mr. Price, that performing oral sex is absolutely his favourite part of the whole experience. Anything else?" "Can I make him bark like a dog every time I say the word `Pistachio'?" "Pardon?" "Just kidding." "Ah. Right. But enough about him, let's talk about us. I had some things in mind for this evening, Michelle, but earlier today I was suddenly struck by a desire to bring someone else in on this, to give you a little company. You must know lots of dancers?" "Quite a few." "Who do you know that's particularly good-looking? Someone . . . oh, let's get someone Asian, if you can manage it." "Oh, that's easy. Agnes Hong: she's a good friend of mine, and she makes guys on the street walk into telephone poles. You want her number?" "No, I want you to call her. Would she come over if you just called up and asked her to?" "Sure. We get together to rent videos a lot; all the stuff our boyfriends won't look at because it doesn't have enough guns and tits." "I apologize on behalf of my gender. All right, call her and invite her over. I'll phone you back in a few minutes to make sure she's coming, and then I'll give you my number so you can give me a ring when she gets there, all right?" "Okay, I'll call her right now." "Just a normal invitation, Michelle, nothing out of the ordinary." "Got it, don't worry." "Bye." "Talk to you soon, lover." CLICK. * * * * * * * RING. RI- "Hello." "Hiya, lover, it's Michelle." "Glad to hear from you. Is Agnes there?" "Yes, she's here." "Michelle, you just forgot my phone number. Now, put Agnes on." "Right. Agnes, there's somebody who wants to talk to you . . ." "Hi there, Richard!" "Nope, this isn't Richard." "Oh, sorry, I assumed that Michelle . . ." "No problem. Agnes, I want to you to listen to everything I say, and do whatever I tell you without stopping to think about it, all right? Think what I tell you, do what I tell you, no questions, no problems. Can you do that for me?" "Gurg. Um, yes, I can." "Good. You'll find it feels *so* good to do whatever I tell you to do: it's exciting, a real turn-on for you. Just relax and follow instructions, let yourself go. Now, tell me what you're wearing, Agnes." "Shorts and a blouse." "No, everything that you have on. Be complete." "Oh. I'm wearing sandals, black tights with shorts over them, panties, a silk blouse, and a bra underneath it . . . What are *you* laughing at, 'Chelle?" "She just recognizes the question, I imagine. Agnes, in a moment I'm going to have you hand the phone back to Michelle. While she's on the phone with me, I want you to do anything she says. Obeying her will feel just as nice as obeying me. Just stand still and wait for her to tell you what to do. Now put Michelle back on the line." "Hi there, lover." "Michelle, I'd like you to describe Agnes to me, the same way you described yourself yesterday." "All right, her hair . . ." "Wait. You won't be able to do a very thorough job with her wearing all those clothes, will you? Tell her to take them off." "Will she do that for me?" "Just try it." "You're the boss. Agnes: strip off for me, would you? Hey! She's doing it!" "Surprise, surprise." "Hey, this is fun! This would have been useful with Richard, lots of times. Okay, she's out of her blouse and bra, now, and she's peeling off her tights. Her shorts are off, and there go the panties. All right, stand up nice and straight, dear: I need to describe you. Her hair is dark black, and she keeps it cut short--really cute, I think. Her face is an oval, and *gorgeous*: dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, a perky little nose, and perfect teeth. I'd kill for her skin, it's so smooth, not a flaw on it. Aw, look, she's blushing! Her shoulders aren't as big as mine, and her arms are slender but the muscles are defined. Her tits are small, and they stand up and look at you, even without a bra. Her stomach isn't as developed as mine, if I do say so myself, but it's flat and smooth. Her waist gets almost ridiculously narrow, and her legs are amazing: nice and sculpted, all the way down. She's careful to keep the hair around her, um, pussy, shaved--so she can wear those killer bikinis she brings out in the summer . . . oh, there she goes, blushing again. Turn around, honey. Her ass is very nicely shaped, sort of like a heart, and you could bounce a quarter off it. Her feet are . . . well, *cute*. I don't know how it's possible to have cute feet, but she does. Oh, and she's probably about four or five inches shorter than I am." "She sounds like quite a looker. Good choice, my dear. Hold the phone up to Agnes' ear for a bit, and bring it back when she nods, all right? Agnes?" "Yes." "You have a boyfriend, right?" "Yes." "Serious?" "We're recently engaged." "Oh, congratulations. What does he think is your best feature, physically?" "Well, my butt, I guess. He sometimes says that he thinks Chinese women have the best buns in the world." "A bit of a sweeping generalization, but not without a certain amount of truth, I'd have to say. Nod your head, Agnes. Michelle?" "I'm here." "Agnes is a very attractive woman, isn't she?" "Yeah. Like I said, guys go gonzo for her." "Mmm-hmm. But do you find her attractive, yourself?" "Well, I can see that she's good-looking, but . . . well, I'm not gay, you know." "But you're not as narrow-minded as Rick, are you?" "No, no. Hell, whatever turns you on, I figure. Guys have always done it for me, that's all." "And that's fine. But right now, as you look at Agnes, you're starting to find that you can see why guys think she's so terrific. You're getting very turned on by her body. You're wondering what it would be like to run your hands over that skin you envy so much, to have those soft lips kissing you, touching you all over, moving down between your legs . . . Getting wet yet, Michelle?" "Oh, yeah. Shit, I've never felt this way about a woman before, but, man, she's one *sexy* package. Ha! You should have seen the look she just gave me!" "Let me have a word with her; hold the phone up for her. Wait for the nod, Michelle, and don't you dare act on those impulses yet . . . Agnes, sweetheart, how's it going?" "I'm fine, I guess. I was just sort of wondering . . ." "Yes? You can ask." "What did you do to Michelle? She's looking at me really funny. And sort of panting." "She wants you, Agnes. That nice little body of yours is driving her nuts. She's never had an impure thought about another woman in her life, but right now she wants to drag you off to bed as soon as possible, because I told her to feel that way. Comments?" "It's hard to believe. Michelle has always been so straight . . ." "And you haven't?" "Well, you know, a lot of the girls in the company have played around with each other a little bit. I wouldn't call myself bi, but I've been with a couple of women. It was . . . fun. Different." "Fun *because* it was different, maybe? Because it was breaking out of the normal conventions?" "Uh, yeah, something like that, I guess." "Sorry, didn't mean to get all philosophical on you. Tell you what, Agnes, take your hands and run them down the front of Michelle's body, from her neck down to her crotch, all right?" "Okay . . . Hey, keep the phone still, 'Chelle! She seemed to enjoy that. To say the least." "I thought she might. Agnes, Michelle is about the sexiest woman you've ever laid eyes on, isn't she? It gets you turned on just looking at her." "Oh, yeah." "Where are you two at the moment?" "We're in her TV room." "In a little bit, Michelle's going to strip and go into her bedroom and lie down on the bed. When she does, I want you to follow her, and go to work on her, between her legs. Bring her to orgasm for me, okay? Nod your head, Agnes . . . All right, Michelle, are you still wearing your exercise clothes?" "Yes." "Take them off." "Okay . . . done." "Go into the bedroom. Lie down on your bed, on your back, and spread your legs apart." "All right, I'm here. Agnes, what are you . . .? Oh. Mmmm." "Feels nice?" "That's the understatement, ahh, of the year. Man, she's *good* at this!" "She's done it before, I hear." "Yeah, I heard her say that. I never, s-s-s, knew that." "I learn the darndest things about people by talking to them on the phone. I'm going to leave you two to enjoy each other, in a moment, but first, I've thought of something I meant to ask you earlier: Are there any other women you know who've had problems with their boyfriends? Beatings, date rapes, crazy behaviour of any kind? Tell Agnes to stop for a minute, and ask her to think about it, too. You two confer about it, then tell me." "Right . . . Yeah, okay, we've thought of a few of the girls who've been dating some real jerks. Elaine, Pratma, and Constance. You want their numbers?" "Yes." "Elaine's is 555-3356. Pratma's is 555-0093, and Constance's is 555-5325. We could never figure out why they put up with some of the shit they've told us about. Can I ask what you're planning?" "I'm going to call them, get the numbers of these guys, and then I'll have a little chat with them. About their behaviour." "What'll you do to them?" "Well, I used to get really angry about that kind of thing, and I'm afraid I did some pretty nasty stuff. Nowadays I mostly just tell them to cut it out--or else I give them a nice, strong incentive to play nice. Spreading a little sweetness and light in the world, you know. Sometimes I get them to bark like a dog whenever they hear the word `Pistachio.'" "Ha, ha." "Actually, I've never done that one, but I often have a bit of fun with them while I'm at it. They deserve it, I figure. On the other hand, maybe *I* deserve it just as . . . Well, never mind about that . . . I want you to repeat to Agnes what I'm about to say to you, all right? You're going to stay in the apartment all night, making love to each other as often as you feel like, which will be quite often considering how horny you're both feeling right now. Enjoy it; enjoy each other's bodies. Explore each other. Experiment. Okay, pass that on to Agnes . . . Did she get all of it, Michelle?" "Yeah. She's grinning from ear to ear. So am I." "I figured you would be. Oh, and tell Agnes that she's to be back at your apartment at seven o'clock tomorrow evening, and she's not to talk to anyone about this phone call, or your night together. Tell her to bring along a suitcase with a few changes of clothes, and a couple of bikinis, the skimpiest she owns--you'll need a couple, too. Of course, you'll be home at seven, too . . . and don't you talk to anyone about what you're going to do with Agnes, either." "As if! Anything else I can do for you, lover?" "Ah, my dear, your willingness to please is pleasure enough. Have fun." "I'm sure I will . . . Agnes, quit it, that *tickles*!" "Good night, 'Chelle." "'Night, lover. Now, c'mere, you!" CLICK. * * * * * * * "Hold the Line" (Part 2 of 2) * * * * * * * RING. RING. "Seven o'clock, and all's well!" "Good evening, Michelle. How was last night?" "*Fantastic*! We didn't get much sleep, but . . . hoo, boy!" "I'm glad. Agnes is there, I assume?" "Of course, lover." "Put her on for a second. Agnes?" "Yes?" "Have I told you lately how much you love me?" "Pardon?" "You're falling in love with me, Agnes. When I ask you to do things, you'll do them because it's important to you that I be happy, not just because you're compelled to. Understand?" "I understand." "Fine. Now, for the duration of this evening, you're going to want to obey Michelle, just the same way you want to do what I say. What she says might as well come directly from me, and it'll be as much fun listening to her as it is listening to me. All right?" "Got it." "Fine. Get Michelle back on the phone." "Here she is . . . Love you, 'bye." "Hello again, lover." "Michelle, do you know a place called the Zanzibar?" "Yeah, it's a strip bar, isn't it? Downtown?" "Right. Have you ever worked in a place like that? Or Agnes?" "No, of *course* I haven't! Neither has she." "Can you guess where this is heading?" "Well, I'd guess . . . you're going to send us down there, or something, right?" "Yes, indeedy. You've always wanted to dance topless in front of an audience, Michelle. The idea really turns you on, standing up there in the lights with nothing on but a skimpy little bikini bottom, driving all those guys crazy with your sexy moves. I'll bet you'd be really good at it." "Yeah, I bet I would." "I want you and Agnes to go down to the Zanzibar, Michelle, and apply for a job as dancers, just for tonight. I've spoken to the owner, and he'll take you on, no questions asked. You'll need those bikinis--take both pieces with you, so you can take off the top while you're dancing. They don't go all the way to full nudity at this particular club. You'll each dance twice, I told the owner, and each time you finish your number, you'll have a terrific orgasm. When you hang up, tell all of this to Agnes. I've told her to listen to you." "All right. Lover . . . are you going to be there?" "Yes." "Great!" "I'm looking forward to it, myself. Are both of you free of commitments during the day tomorrow? I figured you probably would be, on a Saturday." "Yeah, we are." "Good. Come back after you finish dancing, and spend the night together again . . ." "Goody!" ". . . and I'll contact you in the morning. I'll see you at the club, Michelle." "How will we know you?" "You won't. *I'll* see *you*. Not vice versa, not yet. 'Bye, now." "'Bye." CLICK. * * * * * * * "What can I get you?" "Oh, just a soft drink, I think. Sprite, if you've got it." "Coming right up." "What's your name?" "Zeke." "No kidding? Well, tell me, Zeke, do you watch the dancers from behind the bar?" "Oh, yeah. It's not much of a job, but at least I get to see some nice tits and ass every night. There you go, one Sprite." "This is on the house." "Huh? Oh, yeah, sure . . . on the house." "Thanks. I hear there are a couple of new women dancing tonight?" "Now, how would you know that? But yeah, there are. Just walked in off the street and the boss hired them, just like that. Real knockouts, both of them. A nigger and a chink." "Don't *ever* use either of those words again, Zeke." "Right. Sorry." "That's all right, you can't help being an asshole, I guess." "Uh, yeah . . . There are some other people who want drinks, over there." "Let them wait. Lean in a little closer to me, Zeke. I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to believe it, absolutely and without question. You'll be completely certain that what I'm about to tell you is true. Here it is: if you ever deliberately insult someone on the basis of their race, your penis will fall off. Just drop right off your body. Do you believe that?" "Yeah, that's what'll happen, all right. Fuck, I'd better be careful." "That might be best. Don't tell anyone else that you believe that, though. And one more thing: when these two new women dance tonight, you're not going to be able to take your eyes off them. You'll get a raging hard-on as soon as you see them, each time. And when the second one dances for the second time, you'll have a big, messy orgasm when she finishes her routine. Understand?" "Uh-huh . . . Um, that's gonna mess up my pants." "That's the idea, Zeke. Go serve those other people, now. And then come back and bring me another Sprite." * * * * * * * "And now, let's welcome a new arrival at the Zanzibar, here for the very first time tonight . . . A beautiful young woman named Michelle!" "Wow. Michelle, you're certainly looking lovely, tonight. And so . . . coordinated. `You shouldn't mumble to yourself in public,' he mumbled to himself in public . . . Hey, Zeke? Zeke! Bring me an Orange Crush, would you?" "What? Oh, yeah . . . But I can't . . . I'll have to feel around for it, because . . ." "Because you can't look away from her, I understand that. Take your time." "Um, okay, where did I put those things . . . All right, I think I found it." "She's pretty good, isn't she?" "God, yeah. Sexiest I've ever seen, and I been workin' here a long time." "Try to remember to blink occasionally . . . There, she's done. Ah, and this must be the fair Agnes. Gorgeous, as advertised. Nice-looking woman, wouldn't you say, Zeke?" "Mmm-hmm. Man, she sure is." "Well, I'm off to sit a bit closer to the stage . . . Enjoy yourself, Zeke. Especially after the second performance." * * * * * * * RING. "Hi! Is that you, lover?" "What? No, it's Carol." "Oh, sorry, I . . . I thought you were someone else." "Sorry to disappoint you. Listen, do you know what's up with Agnes lately?" "What do you mean? I . . . I saw her yesterday, at, um, rehearsal, just like usual." "It's just that she hasn't come back to the apartment for a couple of nights, and usually she mentions something to me . . . I mean, I'm just her roommate, not her mother, but . . . She didn't stay over at your place, did she?" "Ah, no, she didn't." "Huh. Well, she's probably got some hot new guy wrapped around her finger, or something." "Or something, yeah." "Doesn't want to tell me about him, afraid I'll steal him with my irresistible charms, I guess. Like *she* needs to worry." "Ha, ha!" "Well, sorry to bother you, Michelle. Talk to you later." "No problem, Carol. 'Bye." CLICK. "What did Carol want, 'Chelle?" "Just checking up on you. Damn, I was really hoping that'd be him!" "Yeah, me too. Now, what can we *possibly* do to while away the time while we're waiting . . . ?" "Why, Ms. Hong, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting? Just what kind of a girl do you think I am?" "The yummy kind. Let's move into the other room, and I'll ravish you. Bring the phone . . ." * * * * * * * RING. "Hello?" "Hi, Agnes." "Ah, it's *you*! 'Chelle, it's *him*!" "You're as eager as you are sexy, my dear." "Did you see us last night? We *were* good, weren't we?" "Sweetheart, you were *fantastic*. Those other girls couldn't even begin to compare--you two were a pair of diamonds in the mud of the Zanzibar." "Hey, thanks, um . . . 'Chelle calls you `lover,' but I'm not sure what I should . . ." "You? You can just call me `sir.'" "Yes, sir! Private Hong, reporting for duty." "Listen, Agnes, I've got a new trick for you. We're going to dispense with the phone, for now. After you hang up, you'll find that you can hear me even without being on the phone. You'll hear my voice in your head, like a voice-over in a film. Michelle, you'll find that you can hear me that way, too." "You can *do* that? Should I tell Michelle?" "Don't worry, she knows--though she doesn't know it, if you see what I . . . Never mind. Just hang up the phone, Agnes." "'Kay." CLICK. "Um . . . sir? Are you there?" [Yes, Agnes. Can you hear me?] "Holy shit! I mean, yeah, I can hear you." [What about you, Michelle?] "Loud and clear, lover. Way cool." [All right, the project for the day: you're going to do a little bit of photography for me. You'll need a camera.] "I've just got a dinky little one. It's not very good." [Well, that won't do at all; we want these pictures to come out nicely. Take a look on the coffee table, in front of the TV. I think you'll find a very high-quality Nikon sitting there.] "Hey, where the hell did *this* come from? How . . . ?" [Just a li'l thing I do. Get dressed, you two: wear things that you can take off quickly, like maybe skirts with elastic waistbands and loose tops . . . panties and bras underneath.] "You got it. Sir? You knew we weren't dressed . . . can you see us?" [Very observant, Agnes. Yes, I, um . . . let's just say that I'm learning new tricks all the time.] "'Chelle, can I borrow this skirt? Great. And this shirt just slips right off . . . Okay, we're ready . . . but then I guess you can see that." [Right. Okay, here's the mission: you are to go to a convenience store, far away from anywhere you normally go--so you won't run into friends or neighbours--and buy a couple of magazines. I'll tell you which ones when we . . . when *you* get there. When you've paid for them, here's what I want you to do . . .] * * * * * * * "All right, I think this is far enough into the middle of nowhere . . . Lover? Still there?" [Present in spirit, Michelle.] "I can't remember what I'm supposed to do, exactly, except something about buying magazines." [I know. I told you to forget. Don't worry, you'll know when the time comes.] "Good. Say, can we, y'know, just sort of *think* stuff to you, instead of saying it out loud? People might stare." [Nope, I'm afraid I can't manage that particular trick. Just speak softly--I'll pick it up, don't worry. Go into the store, now.] ". . . the magazines are over here, 'Chelle. Hmm . . . *Guns and Ammo*, *Windsurfing Monthly*, *Cosmo*, *Scientific American* . . . What are we after, sir?" [Oh, pick up a *Playboy's Book of Lingerie*, I think, and . . . yeah, get a *Swimwear Illustrated*.] "I don't know if they have that one . . . Oh, there it is. Here, 'Chelle, I, ah, think you're supposed to pay for these." "Yeah, I think you're right. Gimme . . . Hi there, how's it going?" "Just fine. Will that be all?" "Yep. Say, that's a mighty spiffy uniform you've got there, `Bob.' Do they pay you extra to wear that thing?" "Don't get me started . . . That's twelve fifty-three total." "Here you go . . . Whoo! Man, it sure is hot in here all of a sudden! Isn't it awfully warm in here, Agnes?" "Yeah. Sort of muggy, too." "Might help if we got rid of some of these clothes, don't you think? Ahhh . . . *much* better. Do *you* find it warm in here at all, Bob?" "No, um, I . . . well, maybe just a little." "Hmm. Tell me, what do you think of these panties I've got on? And this bra? Is powder blue a flattering colour for me?" "I, uh . . . that's-seven-forty-seven-change-ma'am-have-a- nice-day." "What about Agnes, here? Come on, Bob, we're looking for a bit of male input. Her panties, and the bra . . . I couldn't wear that kind of frilly white stuff, myself, but I think she really pulls it off, don't you? How does she look?" "Uhm . . . She looks, ah, nice. *Very* nice. You know, I think it's *definitely* feeling a bit warm in here, I should check the air ducts . . . Oh, sorry, sir, may I help you?" "Who are you talking to, Bob?" "The guy standing behind you, ma'am." "Huh? We're the only ones here . . . Oh, I get it, I've got an invisible friend, is that it?" "No, I . . ." "Never mind, Bob. Put your eyes back in their sockets, we're outta here . . . Ha ha! Hoo-boy! Lover, you should have *seen* the look on his face . . . Oh, you *could* see, somehow, couldn't you?" [That's right, Michelle, I could see everything. Well done. Get back in the car, and you'd better put your outer clothes back on, now . . . We wouldn't want you to be pulled over by some zealous cop, would we? Or would we? That might be . . . nah, forget it, you'd better get dressed. Some other time, maybe.] "Bob must've been, what, seventeen? I betcha I know what he'll be thinking about tonight in bed. Or *who*, at least." "You've got a dirty mind, Agnes. What's next, lover?" [Well, those two magazines you've just bought are each full of pictures of nude, half-nude, and practically nude young women. I want each of you to take a magazine and look through it, cover to cover. Pick out the three pictures which you think are sexiest--best poses, best clothes. Then swap, and look through the other magazine and do the same thing.] "All right . . . Jeez, tough call . . . Okay, I've got three picked out. Done, 'Chelle?" "Just a sec, I'm trying to decide between these two . . . Okey-dokey. Here you go . . ." [All done?] "Almost, I think . . . Yeah, I'm done." "Me, too." [Any overlap in your choices?] "Um, let's check . . . Nope." [Great. All right, I want you to go out and buy yourselves some costumes for your photo shoot later. Try to replicate, as closely as you can, the clothes that the models are wearing in the pictures you've chosen . . .] "One of my pictures doesn't have any clothes in it . . . No, hang on, there's a bra on the edge of the bed . . . Where am I going to find one like *that*?" [Just do your best. There are a lot of lingerie and swimsuit stores in this city: check around and see what you can come up with. Do you both have credit cards?] "Yes." "Yeah." [Pay for everything with plastic. Oh, and buy one extra outfit each, something daring, that you think will make you look your absolute sexiest--try to make my eyes bug out like ol' Bob's, okay? All right, move out, and I'll be in touch again when you get back to Michelle's apartment. Be back there by six o'clock this evening.] "Sir, yes sir!" "You got it, lover." * * * * * * * "Aw, man . . . Shit! I can't believe this . . ." "What, 'Chelle?" "The key to my apartment, it's not on my key ring! How the hell could I have lost it? Damn!" THUMP. "Well, don't take it out on the door . . . Hey, looks like it worked, though: it's opening." [Hello, ladies.] "Hi, lover. The weirdest thing just happened: I couldn't find my key, but the door just swung open when I . . ." [I know. Take a look in your purse, Michelle.] "Why? Oh, here's the key. Hmph." [You've found the appropriate items, I assume?] "Yeah, we've got everything. Went to half the shops in the phone book, but we did it." [Show me what you've bought . . . Ah, yes, that looks very promising. All right, you two: until I say otherwise, you will believe that you are in the process of doing a series of photos for a magazine. Michelle, you're a model, and your dressing room is through that door right in front of you. Your costumes are in that bag you're holding. Agnes, you're a photographer; your camera's over there on the coffee table. The film's all ready . . . Now, all we need is for the model to finish dressing . . Maybe the photographer ought to check on her?] TAP-TAP-TAP. "Ms. Golding? We're ready to shoot." "Coming! All right, I'm ready. How do I look?" "Terrific, babe." [Stunning.] "OK, Michelle, whenever you're ready. Good, hold that." CLICK-WHIRR-CLICK-WHIRR. "Right, now turn up the heat a little bit, bring that shoulder forward a just a touch . . . Good, good!" CLICK-WHIRR. [*Very* good . . .] * * * * * * * [. . . All right, Michelle, you can stop shooting. Rewind the film, and put that roll over with the others, would you? You're no longer doing a photo shoot: remember where you are, and who you are.] "What? I . . . Oh, man, you mean that was all in our heads? Damn, I really thought I'd landed a modelling job! Does this mean I'm not gonna be rich, sir?" [These particular photos will be seen only be a very select audience, Agnes. An audience of one, in fact. Time for a new game . . . Have a seat on the couch, you two. I want you to do something for me. Pretend that you're giving someone a blow job. Just do it into the air, sort of like mime, right? And if you do it well enough, and really try hard to imagine that you're actually giving a blow job to an invisible cock, I'll be able to feel it, and you'll make me feel good. And if you *really* do well, you'll be able to feel it, too. Understand?] "Yes, sir." "Yes." [Good. Go ahead. Yeah . . . That's it.] "Feel anything yet, 'Chelle?" "No, I . . . Mmph? Mmm." "Is something happening?" [Yes, something is, ahhh, happening. Mmm, that's nice.] "Mmm-hmm." "Sir, I still don't . . . Ahh. Wumm." [You can, hahh, feel it now, Agnes?] "Yeff." [Ahh. Me, too.] "I've lost it, now, lover." [Don't worry, 'Chelle--oh, Agnes, good work!--everyone will get a turn.] "I just lost it, too, 'Chelle." "Mumfle." "Ah." [Yesss. In a moment, Michelle, you may experience--hah, God--the sensation of a liquid in your mouth. You should, uhh, swallow it. It'll taste like, s-s-s, your favourite drink. I, um, think it's coming . . . right . . . NOW!] "Mmmmm. Pina colada, hold the rum. Tasty!" [Ahhh-hum. Well, that was . . . very nice. Good job of . . . mime, folks. Go get changed into those extra outfits you bought for yourselves. Oh, and Michelle: wash your face, would you?] "Of course." ". . . OK, here we come . . . Ta da! You like?" [You wear fishnet with a rare elegance, my dear Agnes. I'm don't believe I've actually had anyone wear a full bodysuit of the stuff, for me. Very sexy. I'll have to keep it mind in the future.] "Hey, what am I, goose liver pate?" [Well, you *do* look delicious, Michelle. Going for the less-is-more look, I see, concealing just enough to tantalize. Mmm, silk! I like it.] "Why, thank you." [Now listen. In a moment, you are going to hear a finger snap. When you do, you will suddenly find that you are once again able to perceive me, with all of your senses. When you see me, you're going to find me absolutely the most attractive man you've ever met, or could ever imagine meeting. Ready? Here goes . . .] SNAP. "Awk! Where the hell did you come fr- . . . Holy shit, you're *gorgeous*!" "Thank you, Michelle." "You really are, sir." "Aw, shucks. And I didn't `come from' anywhere--I've been here since this morning. I had a little chat with your subconscious, told you not to see me, feel me, perceive me in any way except with hearing. Except, of course, for when I partially overrode those instructions, like when you were doing that little mime show just now." "So when we `heard' you in our heads, we . . ." "You were hearing me with your ears, just like usual. Except I told you to think it was some kind of telepathy. That was fun; sort of like being The Invisible Man, or a ghost. Now . . . I think I'd like one of you to give me a massage. Which one should it be?" "Me!" "Me! Back off, Agnes, I saw him first!" "Did not: we saw him at the same time!" "Well, I *heard* him first!" "Gee, ladies . . . you're both so eager! Tell you what: why don't we have a little contest to resolve this? I'm going to sit here and watch while the two of you, in those lovely outfits of yours, pose for me. Whoever's sexiest, wins. Go ahead." "How's this?" "Very nice, Michelle." "Yeah, well, check *this* out!" "Oh, *very* good, Agnes. Carry on . . . Nice, nice . . . Very sexy, both of you . . . Okay, that's enough. Well, it's a tough call, but in the end, I'd have to say that Agnes won it." "Damn!" "Now, don't worry, 'Chelle, you'll get your turn to rub oil all over me--you'll find some in that bag over there, Agnes. I'm going relax for a while, rest up a little bit, and then I think we'll all go into the bedroom and have a really good fuck." "Yes!" "While Agnes is doing this, Michelle, why don't you run out to the store--better get changed into something more conservative, first--and buy us some food. I noticed there's not much in your fridge, and we're going to need to eat after all the energy I plan to burn up." "You got it, lover." "Ahhh . . . You're very good at this, Agnes." "Thank you, sir." "Mmmm. This promises to be a very long, *very* pleasant weekend . . ." * * * * * * * DING-DONG. "Hi, Agnes, come on in. Did you pick up some videos?" "Hi, 'Chelle. Yeah, I got *Barton Fink*, *Much Ado About Nothing*, and, um, *Lethal Weapon* . . . hey, it's got Mel in it, all right?" "No argument from me. So what's up?" "Oh, nothing much. One strange thing, though: my credit card bill came yesterday, and there were all these bizarre charges on it." "Like what?" "All the most recent ones are wrong: they're from a week ago--last Saturday--and they're all from places like Bikini Village and Lynda's Lingerie, stores like that." "Man, that *is* weird! Mine came a couple days ago, let me just find it . . . yeah, look, it's got a lot of the same stores on it. I *know* I didn't go to these stores. I mostly stayed at home for the whole weekend, last week; did some laundry, watched some TV, that kind of thing. So I called up the credit card people, and they told me that it was some kind of glitch, and the charges had already been cancelled, I wouldn't have to pay them." "Bizarre. Last weekend . . . yeah, I did pretty much the same thing, nothing too exciting. I figured I'd remember going on a shopping spree like that. I'll call them tomorrow and straighten things out, I guess. So . . . how's Richard?" "Oh, fine . . . He came over on Tuesday night and we . . . made up, nudge-nudge-wink-wink. Everything's all right. Better than ever, actually. He was *so* considerate, if you get my meaning. I guess I just needed a little time away from him, y'know?" "Yeah, I know the feeling. All right, break out the popcorn!" * * * * * * * RING. RING. RING. RING. "Hello?" "Do you know two women called Michelle Golding and Agnes Hong?" "Pardon? I think you must have the wrong person." "Is this 555-1122?" "Yeah, but . . ." "Then I have the right person. Don't hang up. Listen to me, and do exactly as I say." "No, you can't . . ." "Yes, I can. I'm far more powerful than you are, you can feel that, can't you? Just listen to me, listen to my voice, let it guide you. Do what I say, think what I tell you . . ." "No! I won't . . ." "You will, in the end, you know. You can fight me, but I'll win eventually. You know that, don't you? You can feel it. Why not make it easier? Why keep fighting? You can't win." "I'll fight you . . . I'll . . . win . . ." "Fighting's so hard, isn't it? I can hear it in your voice. *So* hard. You're getting more and more tired. All this fighting, all this resisting. It's too much. I don't think you really *want* to win, deep down. Isn't it hard, always giving orders, always deciding, thinking, planning, controlling? Wouldn't it be nice not to have to think, to just listen, to let go . . . ?" "Let . . . go . . . No! Fuck you . . ." "Anger is tiring, too, isn't it? Why not just stop? You're *so* tired. You can't hide that from me, you know. I can hear it. *So* tired. Just say the word, and it's all over. You can relax, stop all this struggling. Just say `Yes,' and I'll know that you want to listen to me." "No." "Are you going to keep fighting me?" "Ye-- oh, nice . . . try. Keep . . . fighting." "Say it. Come on, just one little word, and it all stops. Say it. Now." "No . . . I won't . . ." "NOW." "Won't say . . . yes. Yes." "Listen to me very carefully, and do whatever I say, without question. Do not hang up. Understand?" "Shit. Yes." "Good. Well, that was a pain in the ass. What's your name?" "Brian. Brian Abercrombie." "Well, Brian, you were playing games with Michelle and Agnes, weekend before last, weren't you?" "Yes. I didn't hurt them, or anything . . ." "I know that. You'd be in *deep* shit if you had. Agnes is a friend of mine, y'see. As it is, you're in relatively shallow shit. But I still don't like to see my friends messed with." "How did you . . ." "Find out about it? Agnes's roommate told me that she'd been acting strangely, taking off and refusing to tell anybody where she was headed, disappearing all weekend and claiming she'd been home the whole time, stuff like that. It sounded like maybe somebody with the power had been poking around, so I checked her out, and sure enough, there were traces all over. She told me all about it, and I talked to Michelle next. You told her your phone number, Brian, remember? You told her to forget it, but she didn't, not completely. I got it back." "What are you going to do?" "Listen, call me `Master,' all right?" "Yes, Master. What are you going to do to me, Master?" "Well, like I said, I'm only moderately pissed off, so I think a bit of turnabout will be close enough to fair play. When I let you off the phone, you're going to go to Michelle's apartment. You will do anything and everything that either Michelle or Agnes tells you to do, without question, without hesitation. You will call both of them `Mistress,' and you will be their slave, for the next five days. And not a happy slave, either: you won't *want* to do what they say, but you'll have no choice. When the five days are up, you'll be free, but you won't ever give orders to Michelle, Agnes, or anyone they know, again. Understand?" "Yes, Master." "Good. Oh, and for future convenience: memorize the sound of my voice. When you hear my voice, you will feel very obedient and compliant. You'll want to give in to me, to do whatever I say. That way we won't need to go through that rigamarole about who's stronger again, will we? Who's stronger, Brian?" "You are, Master." "You got it. Well, I'm going to hang on to your number, Brian. It could be handy, having a slave with the power. Don't change numbers or move or anything without informing me first. You can leave a message with Michelle, and she'll tell Agnes, who sees me every once in a while." "Yes, Master." "Man, I *do* like the sound of that, coming from somebody with the talent. Though not much of it, right, Brian? I could tell as soon as I started to talk to Agnes that you were only a minor leaguer. I knew I could take you. And, hey, here you are. Oh: you took some pictures of them, didn't you?" "They took them of each other, yes, Master." "You like to keep souvenirs, is that it?" "Yes, Master." "Have you had them printed yet?" "No, Master." "Good. After I let you hang up, I want you to destroy the photos--rip the film out of the canisters and throw it away, or something. Or burn it, I don't care. Understand?" "Yes, Master." "You are just *so* docile! It's a pleasure working with you. What are you wearing, Brian?" "A T-shirt, underwear, blue jeans." "And how are you feeling? Happy?" "Honestly, no, Master." "Gee, that pains me, Bri, it really does. And I'm surprised you'd feel that way, considering that Agnes is there in the room with you. See her? You're naked . . . and she's giving you the best blow job of your life. Feel it? Your cock's getting rock hard, isn't it?" "Ahhh, yes, Master. Ummmm." "Yeah, that feels pretty good, I'll bet. So good, in fact, that I think you're about to have an orgasm. Right . . . about . . . now." "Ohhhh, man. Uhhhh. Oh, that's good . . . um, Master." "Yeah. Hey, Brian: Agnes isn't really there, is she? Imagine that. And you're wearing clothes, aren't you? You just spurted into your jeans." "Yes I did, Master." "Good. Take the bus to get to Michelle's place. Don't change clothes. Leave when you hang up--but take care of that film, first. Hang up, now." CLICK. * * * * * * * DING-DONG. "Oho! Brian, isn't it? Or should I call you `lover'? Do come in. Agnes, look who's here!" "Ah-hah! Hello, Brian." "Hello, Mistress." "Ooh, this is gonna be *fun*! 'Chelle and I have some great plans for you, pal." "Shut the door, slave. It's gonna be a long five days." "Yes, Mistress." CLICK. END. ******************************************************* I've never been sure about the appropriateness of including personal ads in stories, but hey, what the hell? I figure anyone who's made it all the way to the end of this story is likely to be a mind control aficionado, and therefore putting something here is a much more efficient way to reach the right target demographics than by randomly posting to everyone on Usenet. I'm interested in playing mind control domination/submission games, via email. We'd set up some sort of scenario in which one of us could control the mind of the other (within limits which would need to be defined at the outset), and go from there. I've done this a few times before, both as the dominant and as the submissive (I enjoy either role), and it's been a lot of fun each time; I'm currently looking for a new person/people. Drop me a line if you're interested, and we can talk. - Heimdall (an26208@anon.penet.fi), February 1995. ******************************************************* [End Attached File]