Will to Power
Chapter 1
My day at the workplace started not with coffee. My day started with the mop. Fortunately this beer store where I work is not so big and not too difficult for clean—only a pair of coolers, a couple of tables for people which too afraid of their wives to drink at home and too poor to drink in the normal pub, the bar counter and of course the toilet room. Beating the cockroaches and washing the beer spots on the floor—isn’t it the worthiest path for the man who grew up with stories about the great historical heroes, pioneers and conquerors, who since childhood felt worthy to be like them, to be one of them, who knew that was born for something more great and something more important than endless routine of drab working days and transient weekends? For man who dreamed about life full of adventures and victories? For now my greatest adventure is thirty minutes late, threatened with a severe reprimand by the boss, and my greatest victory is fat cockroach with long mustache, just drowned by me in the toilet.
The cleaning is over and I’m getting ready to open a store. Everything in my mind and feelings is protesting against one more day of senseless slave labor. Suddenly I feel something else inside me, besides irritation and despair. It’s something very unusual—some inner strength It originates somewhere in the solar plexus and moves inside and around the body as a wave of pleasant heat. Light electric discharges as if run through my skin, and my eyes exude some kind of invisible, but quite tangible energy. These feelings become stronger, then almost fade out, but very quickly come back again. Maybe, before now I would be scared. Now ... I do not know why, but I feel stronger, and I am intrigued.
Smiling at myself, I open the front door and unfold the door sign from the “Close” to “Open”. I have an expectation that this day will be much more interesting than all the previous ones. In anticipation of customers, I make the time pass by polishing the bar counter. I do this not with irritation, as usual, but with a certain degree of pleasure—I have an anticipation that it’s my past day of polishing and washing. Why I think so? Really, I don’t know. But I will not do this anymore.
And here she comes—the first customer. A woman of about 35 in appearance, slightly plump, with bright red hair. Her slightly elongated face with freckles could have been very nice, if not for the constant contemptuous expression directed at me. She is my constant customer, and one of the most annoying. Surprisingly, now for some reason I am glad of her visit.
I have seen her many times, but still don’t know her name. But I know her habits perfectly. But I perfectly know her habits. Now she will begin to ask for a long time and tediously about the freshness of beer and snacks, buy something, but still declare it stale, and still scold me for allegedly long service and boorish manners (such manners are demonstrated only by her). This shit happened too often, and with all my heart I do not want this to repeat again. Something is happening with me, as if what is happening is getting a little slower, and the air is thickening. A woman opens her mouth to say any insult instead of a greeting, but doesn’t have time to do so, stumbling upon my unusually piercing glance.
I look straight into her eyes, and she, still with her mouth open, freezes. Unexpected reaction. I, as if nothing had happened, smile and ask:
—is there anything I can help you with?
It seems that she is trying to pick her thoughts to answer, wrinkles her forehead, but all that she is able to say is:
—“I ... uh ... I would ... .. hmm ...”
Well, I seize the initiative.
—Can I offer you oatmeal stout? How about six cans? Or perhaps nine is better?
Usually, with a grunt, she takes only a little of the cheapest lager, and with disdain applies to all the more expensive and more complex. However, now her face suddenly becomes somehow relaxed and aloof, and she only says:
—Yes, I’ll take the stout.
I have never been good at direct sales. But now, elated by success, I continue my offensive.
—To this beautiful stout you simply MUST buy some stag meat! At least three packs.
Unexpectedly quick and unambiguous answer:
—Yes, if you say so.
A woman silently pays for it, picks up purchases and slowly begins to leave the store. I shout after her:
—Come again tomorrow!
She turns around, and briefly replies:
—Yes, I will come.
Her expression is now not only relaxed, but also a little ... dreamy? Without changing it, she turns around and leaves, leaving me to think about what happened.
It seems that the mysterious force, the presence of which I had vaguely sensed since childhood, but which has just awakened, allows me to influence the people around me. Moreover, apparently, I have a natural understanding of how to use this force—although I’ll need to figure out the details and limits of possibilities. How many interesting things I have to learn! Fortunately, I this store is a great field for experiments, and the test subjects, without knowing it, will start to come very soon.
The closer the evening, the more people come for a beer. And each of them is the object of my impact. I started with minor actions—— I convinced people to buy one or another product, to linger a little for a talk, or, if a person didn’t cause my sympathy, leave the store as soon as possible. In the last case, words were not even required, my negative attitude and an intent look were enough and the poor bastard flew out into the street like a bullet. Obviously, the strength and nature of the impact depends on my emotional state—when I am tense or irritated, the objects of the impact behave as if under the influence of a sedative, slightly lost and inhibited. If I feel sympathy and benevolence to the person, the “victim” sensate almost physical pleasure by my influence and the fulfillment of my requests. I was pleasantly surprised when a young shy girl, who usually comes in the evening to buy some salted peanuts, after my little effort of will and my modest smile, began to frankly flirt with me, showered with compliments.
The time passes unnoticed when you’re doing your favorite thing—and it seems that I just found my own. There is not so much time until the end of this incredibly informative working day, and I’m thinking about opportunities to hone my new skills on the way home. However, my thoughts are tactlessly interrupted. Lisa, the accountant of this store, walks in the door like a proud queen in the hobo shack. Without even giving me a glance, she heads to the computer to see the daily sales report.
Lisa is one of the reasons why I hate this job. Or, it would be more correct to say, I hated until today. Being a 30-year-old blonde with taut body and pretty face, she periodically became the object of my night fantasies. Being a narcissistic bitch who considers herself an expert in all spheres of life, she constantly became the cause of my daytime suffering. All my doings are absolutely wrong in her opinion, even in those moments to which the accountant should not worry at all. In addition, Lisa adored to snitch about me to the boss on any occasion and without it, and this her unpleasant habit repeatedly became the cause of unpleasant reprimands and fines. Okay, Lisa, this is going to change today. Today you will change.
The idea that this haughty ass will become mine soon is pretty exciting, , and now I feel not only a new surge of my inner strength, but also a powerful erection, hidden more or less under my clothes. I look at her, experiencing an exquisite blend of lust, easy anger and inexpressible thirst for revenge. She is distracted from the computer and turns to me. Her lips are compressed into something that I would call a frightened smile. Good start. It’s time to take decisive action.
—Lisa, do you want to say something?
She tenses, trying to formulate an answer. After 7-8 seconds, she timidly says:
“You ... today you looks some other ...”
—What do you mean, Lisa?
—You ... you seem ... better and ...
She wants to continue, but can’t decide to say what she think. I nudge her a little more straightforwardly.
—Lisa, tell, do you like me?
Lisa is confused, her cheeks turn red.
—Yes… no.. maybe? Today you are especially attractive. For some reason I feel from you such a strange power ... But you are ...
—Lisa, DO YOU LIKE ME?
—But you are ... you’re just a seller!
Anger is boiling up inside me. She considers me a second-rate man just because I’m a seller. This inappropriate conceit of the mediocre accountant simply infuriates me. The flames in my eyes are literally blazing. Liza backs away in fear, but I come up close and look down at her, breathing heavily. Now it is very difficult for me to control myself, but it is very easy to control her. I raise my voice.
—Who do you think you are, you little asshole? It’s because of you I hate this fucking job, you make my days unbearable. You count the bottles and peanuts in a cheap beer store, in the crappiest area of this shitty town, and you think it makes you better than me??
Lisa is crying. She is scared and she is very, very ashamed. It seems she wants to somehow fix the situation.
—Forgive me, forgive! I didn’t know that I hurt you! Could you ... forgive me? What should I do for this?
—No, I will not forgive you. But you can try to change it. On your knees.
She hesitates for a couple of seconds, and then begins to slowly kneel. Her blue jeans are touching the dirtiest place on the floor, but I don’t care. She is too.
“Forgive me, forgive me, forgive, please, forgive me,” she whispers, looking at me with tear-stained but almost faithful eyes.
I feel that invisible fire is burning in my palms—as in my eyes, even more strong. It seems that the palms also radiate the energy of my will outside. I’m vigorously lay my right hand on Liza’s head.
Time to the main part of our show is come.
—Listen to me carefully, Lisa. You considered yourself a big shot, but in fact you are just a loser who counts packets with peanuts in this hole. Your life is absolutely empty and meaningless. But do not worry, I want to help you. I will give you the meaning you deserve.
And then I unzip and pull down my pants.
Lisa is in a stupor. She understands without words what I want from her, and slowly, as the greatest treasure, puts my penis on her left hand, and the right one begins to gently stroke the balls. She says quietly: “I hope it helps you to forgive me,” kiss the penis and carefully put it in her little warm mouth. . Her lips fit the base of the penis very tight, and she swallows deeply—apparently, in this matter she has an extremely rich experience, I think not without an irony. The feeling is amazing, literally from the first seconds I feel the desire to release the contents of my balls into her mouth. But my goal is not momentary pleasure, and instead of surrendering to this impulse, I continue the reeducation of Lisa.
—As I said earlier, up to this point your life was meaningless. You did minimal paperwork without any lofty goal, and you poisoned my existence with your niggles. But now it will change once and for all.
Words come to me with difficulty, because Lisa has accelerated the pace of her movements, but I will mobilize all my will, and, maintaining a confident and domineering tone, I continue.
—From now on, your goal and your meaning is to atone for your tremendous guilt in front of me and do everything to make me happy. You will meekly serve me, and you will think only about my well-being....
She, continuing to suck, looks at me with eyes full of humility and repentance. I like to see her like this, but I’m not a sadist. So I add:
—And it will bring you the greatest pleasure.
With these words, I feel that I am close to a culmination. Apparently, not only me—my last words had a beneficial effect on Lisa, because her body trembled in orgasmic convulsions, and the speed of movement of her head becomes incredible, lifting me to the top of bliss. I feel a real sense of triumph, the joy of the conqueror, and if at that moment the customer came into the store and saw this excessively intimate scene, I wouldn’t fucking care. . And at the moment when I finish, releasing a tight jet inside Liza’s mouth, , I look up to the ceiling, and I see that the surveillance camera, usually aimed at the door, is now looking straight at me.
A second later my phone rang.