The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Impulse Control

by Pizzahead

Thirteen — Dawn of the Tomcat

Dawn had eyes that could flare a brilliant blue. She didn’t quite stop in her tracks when she spotted me slipping into a booth, but there was a hitch in her movements, and then the eyes, saying so much. My showing up like this, unannounced… No one else might notice, but she had strong feelings about me, and what had happened between us.

She was in what I assumed was her regular work uniform—white button-up blouse with a deep green skirt and matching tights, and a wide cloth belt that emphasized her hourglass dimensions. She carried on with serving steaming platters to a table about fifteen feet from me, and then approached, chewing at her bottom lip.

Resting a hand on a very fine hip she said, keeping her voice low: “I hoped you might return my call; I never expected you to just appear in front of me.”

Before responding I cast the impulse spell on her, and found that my sudden appearance might be a surprise to her clitoris, too, and a somewhat stimulating one. Whatever feelings she had about what had transpired two nights ago, and now my being here where she worked, her body had its own opinion, and her body liked it.

I hadn’t come here with the express purpose of following up on what I’d done with her the other night—I was genuinely starved, for food—but how else should I interpret the flaring of her clit on the impulse field? “It’s so good to see you again, Dawn,” I said, and with her clit available to me, I just couldn’t resist making it vibrate.

She let out a long breath before saying: “So, um, all those scratches… You open up a bag of cats or something?”

That made me laugh, and that got her to laughing, too. What a lovely laugh, those cheeks puffing out… I wanted her—how could I not? But was that even practical, on this crazy day of putting out fires, transitioning into a night that would probably be just as hectic?

“Dawn, can you carve out ten minutes for us to talk privately? I really think we should do that.” With a stronger impulse-nudge between her legs that brought a touch of her aroma into the air.

She licked her lips as she glanced back towards the bar. An additional impulse came alive in her, and betting that it would help our situation, I made it burn brightly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes!” she said, walking away with a determined step.

Why was I doing what I was doing? There were very few times in my life when I might choose a plate of onion rings or a hamburger over seducing and having sex with a beautiful woman, and this was one of those times. But I couldn’t resist learning, probing… Dawn had no attraction spell inside to make her need me, so among “my” magic-fed women, she was a unique test case.

When she returned a couple of minutes later, she had a plastic bag in her hand that smelled like heaven. She handed it to me, and in that exchange I felt metal touch my palm. I took the unexpected object, identifying it through touch, and deftly pocketed it as she explained: “You’re my cousin from Toronto, and I’ve been given a half-hour break to drive you to my house. You know my car—it’s in the employees’ lot out back. Start it and get it warm, okay? No one will disturb us out there, I promise. We can talk, like you said.”

Not one clue, verbally, that it might be her pussy that was entertaining the idea of doing most of the talking, yet watching the sway of her hips as she retreated to another table—that said a lot.

I did as she said, going out back, starting the car and getting the heat cranked. “This woman is an angel,” I said, because the air was already filled with the smell of french fries. She had remembered what I’d ordered the other night, and had packed an aluminum container full of them, along with packets of ketchup, a big pile of napkins and a plastic bottle of iced tea.

I slid to the passenger side of the car and had those fries devoured in about two minutes, chased down with the tea. Still waiting on Dawn, I pulled out my phone to see if I had new texts or voicemails from Nell or Meghan, and found three new messages from both. I took that number as a sign that they really were heading into the Nancy direction, their desire both dangerous and insanely hot. Nell’s last message was from only a few minutes ago, so I punched that one up to listen.

“John, where on earth are you? I called Meghan and she’s still at your new place but you haven’t been there at all today. She says she has no idea what happened to you—are you okay? Are you trying to make your way to me? Because listen—my mom and dad are going up the street to Martha Nevelson’s place for a late dinner, which means we’d have the whole house to ourselves for at least two hours! I can’t stop… I need to see you! I’ve been trying on old clothes from high school, thinking about the way you used to stare at me when I wore certain outfits, and how I could have… How could I have been so stupid?”

She laughed, but it didn’t sound like a happy laugh. It sounded like she was on her way to becoming unhinged.

“Remember how I was a cheerleader for that one year in the tenth grade? I knew how I looked; my boobs were almost too big, even then. But you… I knew you must be fantasizing about me, and I wish… Anyway, when I pulled that uniform out ten minutes ago, and put it on… You wouldn’t believe the way I stretch out the top of my cheerleader uniform now. It’s outrageous! Come to me, come and see… I need… I need to go all outrageous on you, on your beautiful cock, with your beautiful hands all over my tits. I feel like I’m going to… Oh John, ski here if you have to, just come here after nine, somehow! Please!”

My cock was at full mast as I checked the time—a bit under two hours before Nell would be alone at home. With it firmly established that her tits were a huge turn-on for me, she was reveling in how outrageous;y beautiful they were, and dying to share them with me.

The sky above the restaurant was a deep cobalt blue with stars just beginning to show themselves, the glow of a nearby streetlight illuminating the car’s interior in pinkish hues. The night was still young—there was time for Dawn and then a visit to Rock’s place, and I had something resembling a plan of action worked out in my head when I saw Dawn darting my way. She was a fast-moving figure looking so obviously fuckable even with a heavy coat draped over her shoulders, open enough that I could make out the jiggling shelf of her breasts as she quick-stepped to the driver’s side door. I cast the memory spell upon her and was rooting around in there before she even had the door open to join me.

Once she was in, there was no mistaking the mood my arrival and clit-flares had put her into—she positioned herself sideways on the seat, spreading her legs to place one foot upon the dash, giving me a view of her lovely thighs converging at damp tights. She lifted her ass and pulled those down to her knees with even more saturated panties following, and there she was, all wet and aromatic. I had just signed the lease on a brand new chalet as a love-nest, but tonight it sure looked like it was going to be sex in a car again.

“Don’t move yet; don’t speak,” she directed, both of her hands going between her legs. “There’s a lot I need to say to you before we… Before I…”

An index finger traced a slow circle around her clitoris, and she shuddered, licking at her lips. With my cock straining, I couldn’t resist casting the rheostat spell upon my meat, sliding the bar a little higher. Maybe I’d be a couple of inches longer and commensurately thicker than two nights ago, an unmistakable change to anyone possessing clear memories of how I’d been. Which, invisibly, I eliminated. There weren’t that many of them, really—she had only taken in sensory impressions of my cock that one night. Afterwards she had replayed some of that in her mind, and those thoughts could also be found, and snipped away.

She let out a breathy sigh before speaking again. “This is what I would have said to you if you’d answered your phone last night, okay? I wanted to explain to you… You see, I completely shut down my sexuality when Mike left; I thought it was the only way I’d be able to cope, or maybe even survive. Just deliberately numb; that’s where I was trying to be. I didn’t even play with myself, because… You see, I’m a sexual being—I like sex, a lot. And by that, I mean having sex with a man, a lot, like I might even have a problem, a condition. I told you the other night that I can be such a whore…”

It took a second for me to recall how I’d rewarded her every time she’d used that word, and I did so again, with a sharp flaring of her clit.

She hissed, her hips moving, an instinctive call towards gyration. When she spoke again she had a middle finger pressing between her pussy lips, not quite going at herself, but on more than standby.

“Sometimes I fell like I live for that, like it’s what I’m here for, my purpose. There were times before Mike left where he felt like he could barely keep up with me—I was an every night girl, and an in the middle of the night girl, and I’d usually want a lot more, like several times a day if I could get it. It could get frustrating for him—he’d want dinner and I’d be focused on having him eat me. But he knew enough not to complain, not when he had a wife that looks the way I look, wanting sex even more than he did. He calls me his ‘healthy whore’ sometimes—it’s an affectionate term, about how I just have this love of sex. He also calls me his big-tit wildcat, and I can be wild, leaving scratches sometimes, at least as bad as your face got from somewhere.”

Jeez—did this guy, Mike, understand what a fucking treasure he had?

“I thought I could… I had everything under control, or thought I did. Not perfect or anything—guys flirt with me all the time and every now and then I’d flirt back, playing with fire because the pressure inside gets so… And some friends have been telling me that I’ve been developing a short fuse, like I get irritated by things that would have rolled right off me before. A pressure-cooker; that’s what one of the other waitresses says I’ve become. But I was managing, trying to stay sane. And then you showed up and… Well, you know what happened. I’m not happy about cheating—I love Mike, I really do, but for me to go this long without… I thought I could do it somehow, but I’m a woman who needs to get off! If I don’t, I think it starts eating at me, like I’m not even healthy unless…”

I read an impulse arising in her to confess something. About her husband, or maybe feelings of guilt? I wanted to know, and pushed it out.

“I did a reading on you!”

Total brain-fart. “A reading?”

“Yes. Do you know what the I Ching is?”

“Uh, ancient Chinese… Something or other.”

“Wisdom, philosophy, a blueprint for correct behavior, both individually and within a society… It’s all that, and more. It can also help when faced with really tough choices. It’s not quite fortune-telling when used that way, but close.”

“Okay.” I had no idea where this was going, but her fingers were still probing at her pussy, her legs spread wide, so all was good.

“I’ve done Ching readings to help guide me through all sorts of big life moments, going all the way back to middle school—I have an aunt who got me into it. I did a Ching reading before saying yes to Mike’s proposal—I loved him, but I knew it would be really hard for me, being a soldier’s wife and having him away for so long. The book said I wouldn’t regret it; marrying him was right, even if it wouldn’t be easy for me. And the other night, when you were here and I started having all these intense feelings… I felt like I was spinning like a top so I did a reading behind the bar, to help me know what to do.”

“What did you learn about me?”

“Some, but it’s more what I learned about myself. I asked: ‘Should I make love to this total stranger?’ Because my body was telling me that I had to, but… I mean how old are you, truly? I didn’t rob the cradle, did I?”

“I’m eighteen. It’s all cool.”

“Anyway, the pressure was so strong that I didn’t even care, and that frightened me. So I threw my coins, and I got hexagram forty, Liberation.”

“Which is?” I thought my impulse magic was so powerful and it was—the pressure that had felt so strong, putting her in that position—but had our fuck-time really all come down to how some coins landed?

“The upper trigram is Arousing, which hits like a bolt out of the blue. It might feel like danger but its purpose is to release damaging stress and tension, bringing a sense of calm, and renewal. There are metaphors in nature, like a strong storm that removes the leaves from trees in the autumn—it looks like destruction in isolation, but it’s all part of a larger process of release, for future growth.”

Future growth—boy, had her coins gotten that one right.

“You couldn’t have known it, but I’d been feeling like I was tied in knots. Those people telling me that they’d never known me to be so agitated, and impatient—they were right. I was on a downward spiral. I needed to hit reset in myself.”

“I’m a reset button?”

She adjusted the leg planted on the dash to spread her legs even wider, and with both hands spread her pussy lips wide. “Look at me! Look at how sopping I am! I feel like… I don’t know why it’s you that gets me feeling like this, but here you are again and my body’s speaking to me in ways it never has before, like I’m being told… I did a quick reading on you, too, to be sure, and what I got assured me that you’ll do right by me. I hate what I’m doing to Mike, but somehow… I know it’s bigger than that, even if I don’t understand it all. You’re special, John, and doing this… It’s a good thing. A necessary thing.”

Unbelievable. I’d been able to read how the magic had been stimulating her body, but all these details about how she’d been processing that, and the context it had all gone into… I hadn’t had a clue.

Dawn glanced at the console clock and groaned. “It can only be a quickie tonight but…”

And just like that she had her knees planted on the seat, leaning onto me so her tits were pressed into my face. I cupped them through her shirt, squeezing them and finding her nipples, and when I pinched those and rolled them through her bra, I juiced her clitoris, loving the animal moan that escaped her lips. She worked at her buttons and unfastened her bra, and off came the bra with her tits surging free. Once I had warm tit-flesh in my mouth she worked at my fly, digging in and grabbing hold.

“Jesus Christ!”

Not hardly, but I loved the shock in her voice, and the wide blue eyes with the stupefied eyebrows. She took her breasts away from my mouth by going down on all fours, pulling my pants down below my ass so my bigger boner could stare her in the face.

“How did I…” she whispered, wrapping her hands around, squeezing and making me pulse.

How did she not remember, or how did she ever stuff her pussy with that thing? With old memories departed, I focused her mind and body on the now, by making her clit buzz with renewed energy. She gasped me right into her opened lips, and then it was her mouth stretching, absorbing, her tongue probing.

Dawn adapted well, gaining confidence to swallow more and more, and I rewarded her by staying there with her clitoris, vibrating it, filling it with energy. A blow-job would have been a perfectly acceptable go at quickie car-sex, but I wanted to feel my extra mass inside her. I pulled her head away and worked two fingers into Dawn’s pussy, and when I said, “Guide me into you,” I made her clit ache like it had been given the key to survival.

On my back, watching Dawn line herself up for penetration, it almost looked absurd for that much cock to be aimed at the open of a petite woman. She was so amazingly wet, though, all the impulse nudges having their effect, and she worked me in slowly, half-crouched with one foot on the seat and the other on a floor mat. Inch by inch by inch…

Halfway in she wrestled her shirt away, big breasts standing proud. She had such a beautiful torso, complete with a conspicuously tiny waist, and I watched the muscles there move as she moved and then we moved, incrementally at first, easing further inside her, letting her discover how much she could take. And then, once again gaining confidence, we rocked the shocks of Dawn’s car with more intensity, her love of fucking kicking in. She tilted her head back, and it struck me how sexy her neck and collarbones were, her flesh a hot amber-pink in the streetlight’s glow, her boobs not just bouncing up and down but tracing circles, the heat of our breath and bodies completely fogging the windshield.

“God yes!” she yelled, and that felt to me like a request, fulfilled by my mind giving her clitoris an extra-sharp thrill. She pulled at her hair, her head moving in a circle like in imitation of her tits, the wildcat in her starting to show itself. “Fuck me!” she yelled, and I thrust harder, faster. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”

In a perfect world, I would have tested the limits of her overactive libido, going at her for hours if needed, staying hard all night if I had to, seeing just how much this wildcat could take. We weren’t in that world, though—I wanted her to cum relatively quickly, as we were each, in our own way, under time constraints. Her clitoris was taking her there, the impulse towards release building, and I knew I had to keep my wits about me, because I wanted to give her something special, but didn’t want her to burst so strongly that she wouldn’t be able to go back inside and resume her shift.

I was gaining control through repeated practice—maybe, for the first time, I realized that repetition was making magic moments like this easier to navigate. I didn’t need to think the impulse effects into happening as before; it was becoming more like second-nature, my mind surfing the impulse field to relate to it more as a controlled flow.

With Dawn becoming a screamer again as she fucked me towards blast-off, I impulse-massaged her into being right on the doorstep of a fine climax, and held her there for perhaps twenty seconds, until I felt that inexorable stirring inside and my ass tightened. She wasn’t far off at all, gasping and saying “Yes!” over and over through a curtain of dislodged hair. With a psychic push the magic allowed us to cum as a duet, me shooting my load into her while I opened her impulse-door and shoved her through, Dawn crying out as each of us flooded the other.

When her screams of deliverance had subsided, she became a sighing machine for a couple of minutes. She leaned back against her door with her breathing making her breasts rise and fall, eventually drawing her hair to the side to make her face visible again. There was no mistaking that she had a certain glow, like a relaxation of the muscles around her eyes and mouth that could only come through cumming. Once her bra and blouse were back in place, and her skirt patted down between her legs, she looked very beautiful and fairly normal, smiling like someone having a great day. Although her wild hair and smell gave her away, as someone who’d had a great day.

“What’s next for us, Dawn?” I asked, knowing I’d be the one able to shape that, but wishing to hear where she was.

Another sigh, and then: “It’s probably best if we don’t think ahead too much.”

“Because of Mike, your husband.”

“In some ways I still can’t believe I’ve done this… You’re amazing, you really are. I’ve never been touched that deeply, and my body goes all… But Mike will get a short break back home in March, and when he returns I’m going to need you to be like the Ching reading said you’d be—someone who will do the right thing by me.”

“Like I disappear, perhaps even forever. No complications. No fucking-up your future.”

“There are already complications, in my head, or heart… I love him, I really do, even if… I’m sorry, you probably don’t want… You know.”

Don’t want to hear all that; I knew what she was thinking, no magic required. “I will do right by you,” I promised, and when I said the words I had my little plan in mind, where I could give her more than she could hope to know to ask for.

Dawn and I left her car together, she believing I must have my own car parked in the customer lot. She went into the women’s restroom to clean herself up, and I hit up the men’s room, for entirely different reasons.

Locked in the lone stall for privacy, I sat on the toilet and tuned-into Dawn from there. The memory spell was still active, and I searched, and started working with what I found. What I was attempting was so much more difficult than what I’d done with Nancy’s mom, or my dad. There, I’d only needed to locate and remove their most recent memories, a clean snip which had been easy-peasy. Here, it was more like careful surgery—her memories of me were scattered here and there, and I couldn’t just wipe out whole blocks of experience. I worked with tonight first, finding the moment when she’d first spotted me, and our initial conversation, plus the times when she’d been thinking about me. Snip, save, snip snip, save, save… I might as well be a film editor, shaping the documentary movie that was an hour or so of a young woman’s life.

I needed to cut out almost everything that had transpired in her car, but for whatever reason I left the experience of her orgasm there, and the bliss she’d felt afterwards that had her sighing so much. I could sense how new I was at working this magic, how inexperienced. Perhaps, with repetition, going in and selectively splicing wouldn’t take so much concentration, similar to how I could work clitoral impulses without have to go step-by-step so much. I was a fledgling magician still, not great at flying yet, but not completely helpless, either.

Dawn left the restroom and got back to her duties, and as she moved about I remained inside her, probing at memories of our first encounter. Getting so mysteriously turned-on by the teenager wielding impulse magic—gone. Agreeing to come meet Blizzard, with the purpose of having a “reset” fling—gone. Her orgasms, which she’d said had been such a tension-releasing force… Maybe I should have cut those out too, but again I left the memory intact. Without a context to fit her orgasms into, perhaps she’d believe she went home and masturbated herself into mind-fogging climaxes.

I had the sense that I was leaving her with a misshapen memory hole from that night, and a less severe version tonight. What I was doing was imperfect magic—she would still have my number in her phone, for example. It would take way too much time and effort to go take care of a detail like that…

Not my problem, just like looking into her husband’s eyes one day, and being able to say that she’d been faithful to him, with honesty, would no longer be her problem. Her Chinese fortune-telling book had said it would all work out, and now it had. If there were ragged edges to the repair job, so be it.

Would I ever see her again, and fuck her again? Who knew; right now there were much bigger issues to deal with. Stepping out from the toilet stall, I patted some cold water on my face with a paper towel, and thought the scratches already might already look a little less severe.

And then I caught my eyes, and held them. It was so odd, to stare at myself like that, my features and hair so familiar and unchanged, while inside I knew I was almost a different species now. I said to myself: “You are a reset button,” and let out a little laugh, knowing I could never have passed on fucking Dawn’s tits tonight without that message from Nell. Because I’d so wanted my new bigger cock cleavage-reaming Dawn’s boobs, but I wanted to fuck Nell’s wonders about ten times worse.

I got out my phone and checked the time, then texted Nell that I would be there as soon as her parents left, that she could count on it. And then, with about an hour before I could get my paws on Nell’s knockers, I called Rock.

“Rock? Are you in the cool room?”

“I am indeed.”

Perfect. Rock had taken over the rec room in his parent’s basement, and turned it into his guy-den of a writing and socializing space, and his parents almost never went there.

“Are you alone? And is the area in front of the couch free of furniture?”

“I’m… Yeah, but… Why is your voice echoing?”

“I’m in public restroom.”

“Okayyy.”

“Rock, sit on the couch.”

“Why? W-w-what are you—”

“Listen, make sure there’s nothing within a few feet of the couch and just sit there, with your legs up. Remember, this is Code Pineapple.”

Silence, except for the sounds of movement. “Okay, I’m on the c-couch! Now what?”

“Now you get ready to have your world rocked, Rock. This is going to be some life-changing shit, okay?”

“I want my life ch-changed.”

And so I obliged, by vividly picturing his room and uttering the spell to make myself be there.

* * *

My friend Rock was obsessed with the concept of the suspension of disbelief. As a writer of out-there sci-fi stories where he created entire ecosystems and civilizations, he insisted that even the most brilliant of ideas lacked any value unless he could draw the reader into caring about the characters that moved through his worlds. Only the characters weren’t real, which was a given, so why should anyone feel emotionally invested in them?

I could remember him going off one time, in his halting way, about the premier of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” back in the 1930’s, and how the Disney people worried that an audience wouldn’t be able to connect to characters who were, in reality, nothing more than two-dimensional drawings. The true test was the death and grief scene, where all the dwarves believe Snow White is lost to them forever. Their tears were nothing but ink and color, but the amazing thing was that the audience also cried, and those tears were real.

“The audience b-b-believed!” he’d said. “They knew it was imp-p-possible—there were no actual dwarves to feel anything at all, and a drawn girl can’t d-die, but suspension of disbelieve was conquered and the audience bought in, which produced real em-emotions! That’s the power of real art!”

Rock’s disbelief, regarding the news that I had gained magical spells I could wield for the purpose of—in my use of them anyway—getting my cock inside otherwise unattainable pussy, evaporated more quickly than I would have guessed. It helped that I started off with a bang, materializing in front of him out of thin air, so anything I said afterwards had that frame of reference. I also smelled, quite strongly, like fries, and if my friend couldn’t believe his eyes about my spell-a-porting from a restaurant two hours away, he could surely believe his nose.

After giving him just enough of a teaser about dead magicians and a book that was both alive and older than time, I provided another demonstration that was as close to home as he could wish—I showed him the power of the impulse spell by temporarily “curing” him of his stammering, as I’d done before. With invisible impulse help he was able to recite the whole Peter-Piper-picked-a-peck-of-pickled-peppers thing, fast and repeatedly, and to Rock that constituted a miracle.

“I’ve never been able t-t-to… You aren’t helping anym-more, are you?”

“It’s not like casting the spell and then sitting back and relaxing, magic all done. I have to stay inside you on what I call the impulse field, and it takes concentration.”

“T-try, okay? It’ll make everything go f-faster.”

It was excellent practice for me, to engage in conversation while also surfing and engaging upon the impulse field, a kind of invisible multi-tasking. It began with Rock musing upon what he’d already seen, me spell-a-porting into his room. He asked if I knew the science behind disappearing from one place and appearing in another—he insisted that even what we saw as magic had to be driven by fundamental laws. I didn’t know jack-shit about how the magic worked, and he got all excited about a theory for instantaneous teleportation that had been in some adventure book he’d just read.

“In this story, everyone knows it’s impossible to take a living creature apart atom by atom, and then reassemble those atoms correctly in a different location—it would take all the existing computing power in the entire world, and much more, to keep track of all the atoms that would comprise the body of a mouse, let alone a human. So the solution wasn’t to move the person; it was to manipulate the space they occupied. Fold space like folding a sheet of paper that has two dots drawn upon it, until what was once far suddenly overlaps. You just take a step and you’re right there in the new version of where you are, which is far away from where you were just a second ago.”

“That’s a great theory, only I never even took a step. I was just here. And tell me—what did that look like? Star Trek transporter or—”

“More like the blink of an eye, or my eyes. I mean that literally—I think I blinked, and you weren’t there when that started, and you were right in front of me a fraction of a second later. But a spell like that… It can’t just be magic. Everything operates through a method, through immutable laws of some kind.”

I could watch Rock’s brain working; he really wanted to work it all out. Not able to, he put that problem on a mental shelf, and leaned back into the sofa, and asked me to just tell my story.

And so I began to unfold the tale of the strange and lusty magic-patch quilt my life had become, starting with the rescuing of the old man in the lake, which Rock had already known about—partly. I went as chronologically as I could, which was more difficult than I would have thought. Life unfolds one event after another, but memory gives more weight to some experiences and less to others—something to remember when using the memory spell—and I occasionally found myself skipping ahead to highlight a particular event I thought especially important. It became obvious, too, that if I only detailed a timeline of outward events, without getting across my conviction that the book was orchestrating certain scenarios, then I wouldn’t be able to get what I needed from Rock. He had to see the picture in all its facets, many of which I had to admit I couldn’t know for certain.

I had no trouble recounting how I’d used the attraction spell on Nancy, and how I reveled in discovering that the clitoris is essentially an impulse factory. Once I got to the consequences of the attraction potion being inside of my stepsister and stepmother and Nell, though, it became more difficult to tell the story without smudging some of the details. Did he really need to hear, graphically, what leg-sex with Lila was like, or that my stepmother had a freakishly amazing pussy? Rock had had a thing for Meghan since pretty much forever, and he’d confessed before that Lila had also been something of an early fantasy for him. To rub details in his face, that Lila loved to use her beautiful legs as sexual instruments, and that the most impressive muscles on Meghan’s body were the ones that couldn’t even be seen…

He remained in the dark about most of that, and I knew early on that I wouldn’t tell him what I’d just learned about being able to rheostat my cock into growing larger—just because. Mostly, though, I tried to give an accurate account of all that had happened, even when I knew my choices were suspect, my motivations less than stellar.

There were a couple of things that Rock had trouble wrapping his mind around—specifically, my relationship with Nell, and then the fact that I had a re-loading dick. The first went like this: “So you’re telling me that you’ve had sex with Nell fucking Brockton? You’ve sucked on those monsters?” And when I said that I had, he wanted to know: “Are they as amazing as I think they must be? Because…”

“Better. I really believe they aren’t quite natural—not fake, but enhanced by magic. They’re like… You can’t believe them unless you see them, but then when you see them, you can’t even believe them. That’s how amazing they are.”

And the second fun-fact that Rock had a hard time getting over: “You could theoretically fuck Nell and Lila and your stepmom, twice or three times each, and then a whole roomful of random babes after that, and still be able to get hard?”

I guessed I could, and that made it difficult for Rock to believe that I had any problems to deal with at all. His reaction was understandable—I was a young guy who had Nell fucking Brockton in love with him, and I could make other hot babes want me, too, and then make their clits go thermonuclear. So life had to be nothing but royal flushes and easy touchdowns, right?

Yes but no, which made it time to tell Rock about the attraction spell turning out to be a sledgehammer in Cupid’s clothing, and how Nancy had become a sex-obsessed lunatic writing my name and sex-cheers all over her walls, with the rest of the women showing signs of heading in that same direction. I told him what I’d learned, through Dawn, of using nothing but impulse magic to lure a hot woman into bed, and about the chalet, and Nell and I making love there, then Meghan showing up in the ice storm. I could see Rock going a little dreamy, just picturing how during the worst weather in a decade, I’d been getting my cock steam-cleaned by my stepmom. And that was the perfect segue for describing the dreams that weren’t ordinary dreams, more like book-to-human communications that added up to a summons.

It was here that I drove home my suspicions about being played by the book, and Rock surprised me by saying he’d already assumed all of that. “What were the chances?” he kept saying—that my stepmother and stepsister would be two of the most gorgeous women in the entire state, and that a cluster-bomb like Nell would move in next door. “There were some voices in school saying you had to be the second-luckiest dude in the entire Midwest—the luckiest being anyone who even got to second base with Nell—because you got to live with Lila and Meghan, and then Nell was there right next door. I thought it had to be torture—you even expressed that, where Nell was concerned.”

I went on, and when I brought the narrative to the events of that very day, being reunited with the book and gaining three new spells, there was a point where Rock became visibly agitated. Because of the timing of his impulse to protest, I knew it was the memory spell that had him concerned.

“Wait, wait,” he said, able to speak smoothly with a little help from his friend. “If I’m hearing you correctly, what you’re telling me is that, if you wanted to, you could make me forget everything you’ve just told me? Make me forget that I saw you appear from nowhere right in front of me? Make me forget, forever, that weird fucked-up paranormal magical shit is real? Is that why you’re willing to divulge all this, because you know you can wipe it away?”

I nodded, feeling a little sheepish because I’d been wondering about that, the question of whether it might be better to make Rock forget. I suspected this to be the reason that the existence of real magic, which was true, was generally thought to be less likely than the existence of UFOs, which, as far as I knew, was false—it was in the best interests of those practicing magic to shape or eliminate memories of its reality every time they could.

“Don’t make me forget,” he insisted. “I want to know that magic is real. Knowing it for a certainty, not just as wishing it to be so or as speculation… That’s got to change my writing forever. I’ll be inventing stories from an entirely different perspective, a different world… It’s the difference between one science-fiction writer who believes the earth is the center of the universe, and then one who knows the earth revolves around the sun, knows reality. Don’t take this away from me, John. I won’t tell a soul, I swear. I’d swear it on my life, literally.”

“Then swear to help me, too, because I really do need that.”

“What, you’re going to try to take on whatever this book is? Or rebel somehow? Because I think I’d advise against that, emphatically.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m pretty sure that would be like a fly trying to engage a super-computer at a game of chess—there’s a inequality of scale here that I’ll never really be able to fathom.”

“What, then? Fixing Nancy?”

“She’s fixed; at least I think she is.” And I told him how I’d gone about doing that, with Nancy and then, much more reluctantly, Lila.

“Then it’s up to those two, and you, as to what happens going forward. Nancy’s not necessarily out of the picture—you two get to decide things like any couple who’re on the rocks. But she’s cured of the obsessive behavior, unless you want to dial her back up sometime. The same with Lila, right? And there’s the solution to all your problems—you just dial Nell and Meghan down, to where they’re still attracted but they don’t go crazy. I get that you’re like an on-call minion of this book, but when it comes to the women, you’re pretty much made in the shade, right? Or am I missing something?”

The problem—and I struggled some to get all the pieces lined up in my head—was that Nell’s reaction to the attraction spell had her super in-love with me, like wedding bells with a life of incredible tit-sex afterwards. I wanted that the same way the world wants the sun to rise in the east every day—it’s so right—yet I could already see I wasn’t going to give up fucking Meghan, and probably a whole lot of other women, too. I had a mental checklist of all the reasons I must give up fucking my stepmother, but I wasn’t going to. And I was pretty sure I’d want to fuck Lila again, once or twice or a bunch of times. I’d shown myself that it was possible to move on from a magical conquest, by cleaning-up my having messed with Dawn’s life, but that probably would have ended differently if Nell’s parents had stayed at home tonight.

“And those are just the women I’ve been exposed to in the past few days, and there are millions, all over the world. What happens if I return to school and there’s Stacy Putnam, looking the way she looks? What if I run into woman after woman that I desire, and I know I could take a crack at them with no real consequences? There’s Chinese pussy and French pussy and Thai pussy, and confused Valley Girl pussy and laid back Vancouver pussy and all-knowing cougar pussy… It’s the biggest menu in the world, and for me it might be all-you-can-eat. I know I’m going to want to binge sometimes. There’s no way I won’t.”

“Dude, you’re living every young guy’s secret dream. You’re living my dreams. I think no one could blame you about anything you’ve done up to this point, even about Meghan. It would be like thinking a tiger shouldn’t roar, or an eagle shouldn’t fly.”

I thought he was being too generous, considering that I was fucking my father’s wife. But I went on, describing what I could imagine of a future where I kept Nell close, maybe very close, like wedding bells. That picture made me feel all warm and happy and hard, but it also came with the need for chronic evasions, all sorts of lying about where I’d been, and no doubt having to wipe away memories time after time.

“Or if I was just up front with her to some degree, never about the attraction spell but the other women… Maybe, with the magic making her love me no matter what I did—the same with all of them—all of the women would find it perfectly acceptable that I was fucking a bunch of other women. I could even impulse them into doing me together. We could find some kind of rhythm, some kind of—I don’t even know what to call it…”

“A harem, that’s what it’s called.”

I nodded, seeing Nell and Lila and Meghan all on a big circular bed with me, taking turns sucking my dick, or eating each other’s pussies to please me. There were stirrings in my pants from that, but also the feeling that it wasn’t really what I wanted, and that I would probably have unanticipated problems on my hands. I tried to describe that to Rock, how I had the niggling feeling that I was being set-up again to make more mistakes, where an outcome of haremhood would mean that I hadn’t been smart enough to come up with something better.

Rock found a way to summarize, and it felt very true: “In a harem situation you can’t have that picture-perfect life with Nell; deep intimacy is one-on-one, not in a crowd. But committing to one woman, or believing you’d even have a shot at that… It’s just not the way you’re built now. It’s a cats vs. dogs thing—what you’re loving about being with Nell is a dog’s life, but you’ve been turned into a cat.”

I nodded, recalling how Dawn had said her husband termed her a wildcat. She freely admitted to having a sex-obsessed nature, wanting it way more than any average woman would. With nothing more than having her clitoris set on fire, she’d been compelled into doing something she’d believed she’d never do—being unfaithful to her husband—so how would a woman like her behave if she were in possession of all this magic, able to fuck anyone she wanted and then wipe their memories away? She’d go for it a whole bunch of times, just like I knew I would.

“I’m a magic-wielding tomcat,” I said. “I don’t want a harem—there’s something about that that gives me the willies. But I want to roam and have conquests, sometimes returning back to familiar spots—the best spots, like the special intimacy I have with Nell. Which is all great on paper, but it’s made of square pegs needing to fit into round holes.”

“Yeah,” Rock agreed. Thinking out loud he said, “When you mentioned the scale of things… I wonder how many events in history have been made to happen through magical means. Through the centuries, diplomacy engaged in or averted, battles won or lost, cures or inventions found… I was reading recently that it was impossible for Leonardo Da Vinci to possess as many skills as he had, the theory being that he was the front man for a team. But throw the existence of magic into the equation…” And then, after a brief pause, Rock voiced the question I’d needed him to ask all along: “How is it that I’m supposed to help? You’re the one who’s some sort of cosmic magician now. What do you want from me?”

“I need your imagination, your ability to see ahead. When it hit me today that the previous magician lived well into his eighties… I’m eighteen, and what do I know about the life of a cosmic magician ten years from now, or thirty years from now? I might be given additional spells, or not—who knows? And that’s the thing—there is no knowing what comes next because there is no mentor; the mentor is dead. I think it’s all set up that way—I’m given no roadmap and that’s a recipe for fucking up, which just solidifies my servitude to the book.”

“I can’t keep you from making mistakes. I couldn’t put a leash on you if I wanted to. Nobody could.”

“I know that. But I’ve been seeing—it’s pretty damn obvious—that I have my own impulse-control issues. Things start getting hot and heavy, and it’s like I can’t stop myself from ramping up the intensity. These spells—it’s not like I have superpowers—“

“You have superpowers. Not conventional ones, but come on. In a lot of ways you’re like the early Steve Ditko Spiderman—high school semi-outsider gets extraordinary powers, and has to figure out what kind of life he wants. He fought super-villains, while you’ll… I guess you’ll fuck a lot.”

I nodded, knowing myself enough to agree with that.

“So you want me to what, advise you not to fuck some girl?”

“I’m not asking for a policeman. But rather than continuing to blunder about, it sure would be nice to have some basic questions answered, or to even be clear about what questions should be asked. Fresh thinking, ways of using my handful of spells that I might not come up with on my own. If I’m a cat now then some brilliant tomcat thinking is what I need.”

“So I brainstorm, giving you options that you might not have thought of.”

“Exactly.”

“Like… You keep saying that you’re removing memories, as if that’s the only option the memory magic gives you. But you have that rheostat spell, right? Couldn’t you go in the opposite direction, and make some particular memory burn more brightly than normal? For that matter, rather than cutting a memory away, you could just dim it down, either a little bit or until it’s barely there. That happens all the time without any need for magic; certain memories get fuzzy, like after a few weeks or months you aren’t sure if you have the sequence of events right, or you aren’t quite sure if you said something with these particular words, or others that are similar. People get in arguments over remembering things differently, not because they have memory holes, just memories gone squishy.”

I was shaking my head and grinning, feeling my heart race. “That’s what I’m talking about! I probably would have come to all that eventually… It doesn’t matter. Just like that, you’ve come up with a better way of doing things than I thought of. It feels like I’ve been on a treadmill since I closed my eyes to sleep last night, my brain barely able to keep up. And I still have Nell and Meghan to deal with…”

“There’s no question that you need to cure them from becoming outright attraction-diseased, but before doing that, couldn’t you get a taste of them dialed way up, making this glow you can see burn as bright as the sun? Seriously, dude, I don’t think you’ve realized yet what you have in your toolbox. You’ve barely begun to go as far as you could with the magic at your disposal.”

“Tell me, then. Tell me how I can be an even more powerful tomcat.”

“I will, but… Nothing comes for free, you know. Even between close friends.”

“Don’t believe you’re going to be granted sex with Meghan,” I said, drawing a line in the sand. “You can be my Robin—I want you to be—but there are limits.”

“Nothing that provocative,” Rock replied. “And your analogy is wrong. I think I’d be more like your Alfred, and he drew a salary.”

“That’s a good point. I’ll pay you for your help. Maybe I can even pay you a lot. Help me figure that out, too. So far I’ve only performed the magical begging.”

“You can do so much better than that. You should be stealing from the super-rich; they’ve arranged the system so they can steal from everyone else, without even breaking the law.”

“Help me come up with a plan for that, then. How do I make a bunch of that money mine? I mean, ours?”

“Maybe you could help me get a girlfriend, too,” Rock said. “I haven’t stuttered once in what, forty-five minutes? It’s almost beginning to feel like that’s normal… I wonder, if we had a few regular sessions, just me reading from a book while you kept the impulse to stutter in check… I’ve had all sorts of therapy, and that’s helped a lot, but maybe just having my mouth get used to speaking normally could have some sort of lingering effect.”

“It’s worth a try.”

“But just in case, could you make a point of being around when I try to get a prom date? I was thinking I’d ask Gentry Harrison or Sandra Mayfield…”

“I’d be happy to do that.”

“Or… Holy crap, what if Stacy Putnam… That body…”

Stacy Putnam’s body had bubbled up in my fantasies ever since I gained the first spells, though I didn’t say it.

Rock sighed. “I should keep things realistic. So maybe, with Gentry or Sandra, there could be a way of using the impulse magic to help things along. While you’ve been out magic tomcatting, I’ve been sitting here in the same land of no-action as ever. Which completely sucks.”

And just like that I thought of someone Rock hadn’t even met—Sally, the repressed Dairy Queen virgin from earlier in the day, with her delicious pillow lips and that look in her eye that said she was dying to know what sex was.

“I’ll find a way to help, I promise.”

“Then I’m in. I’m going to brainstorm a treatise on the perils and possibilities of deviant wizarding, which I’ll get to right away, believe me. I might even be able to shoot you a rough draft tonight—in a way the entire world just changed tonight, and I can’t imagine I’m going to be thinking of anything else.”

“That would be great. But you said you already have some immediate ideas. I want to know them because from here I go straight to Nell. Out-of-control Nell.”

“You lucky fuck. But here’s what I was thinking—it’s your rheostat spell that makes all the difference, and that I think you haven’t really explored yet. The way you described your influence over impulses… What would happen if you added in the rheostat spell there? Some people are geared towards having impulsive natures—towards gambling, towards talking too much, or binging on Netflix or ice cream or sex or anything… So what happens if you cast the impulse-control spell and the rheostat spell, and you worked them together? You can already make a momentary impulse live brighter or die, so wouldn’t this be different somehow? With some magic thrown in, a momentary impulse becomes a tendency, and intensified from there the tendency becomes an obsession. That’s happening all by itself with the attraction magic; this would be an opportunity to sustain an impulse, and perhaps make it grow.”

“Fucking brilliant,” I said, seeing so many possibilities.

“Maybe you should proceed slowly, though, just in case…”

“Right.”

“But there’s more, because you can manipulate pre-existing magic, right? You did that on Nancy already.”

“Right.”

“And you said earlier that Nell’s boobs are most likely magical events. Somebody put a spell on them.”

“Not me, though.”

“Why the fuck should that matter? Because that’s the way witchcraft worked in the old ‘Bewitched’ show? Proprietary magic was just a plot device so Darren could get frustrated and make goofy faces, with Samantha having to solve family problems. But in real life… It’s magic on magic, and screw who put it there, as long as it’s there. Unless I’m wrong.”

He was probably right. I was ninety-nine percent sure that Nell’s tits had magic in them, which meant I might be able to… “Jeeezus,” I said, because if Rock was right, I could grow them, just like I’d fantasized. Or, alternatively, just make them even more crazy-incredible than they already were. And Rock didn’t know it, but the same would be true of Meghan’s pussy. And my cock, fuuuuck.

“Your, um… Being able to cum over and over… Doesn’t that mean that your cock and balls are magic-touched, too? Which might mean…”

He was like a mind-reader. “I was just thinking that,” I said, still not ready to admit that I’d already had the experience of growing my dick.

“That’s not all of it,” Rock moved on. “The way you can read and affect what’s going on within a clitoris… So some babe’s clitoris gets excited and you already know you can intensify that, no additional magic needed. Now imagine adding in the rheostat magic over top of the impulse magic. When you dial her up,something would change in that situation, right? But not the same thing you’re already familiar with, so maybe it’s more about how often she wants to have an orgasm, or how she feels about them, or how she feels about her clitoris… I guess it’s impossible to know, until you try it.“

And just like that, as if adding its voice to say, “Yes, try that,” my phone chimed with an incoming message. Nell, telling me her parents were putting on their coats, and would be gone in less than five minutes. Leaving the front door unlocked, she added. Come find me in my new upstairs bedroom. Hurry!.

“Everything is set with Nell,” I said, signaling to Rock that we would have to leave things where they were for the moment.

And I wondered: What on earth would Nell’s tits or Meghan’s pussy become if I added magic onto magic, rheostating them into being even more?