The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Charles felt like a young man again walking out of the auditorium, whistling gently to himself. Ms. Fremont’s class was located in a small annex of the psychology building with stairway access to floors with smaller classrooms. He glanced up towards a camera; no doubt connected to some campus security hub. The beads and trinkets that the uninitiated clutched to give themselves the feeling of security had always amused Charles. It reminded him of his teenage years where he had spent a good deal of time with a girl he fancied. One day she had been upset at something inane: a boy, or a grounding, or some such drivel. No amount of effort had been enough to placate her. Her problems had relatively straightforward solutions but she brushed them all away. She eventually got fed up with his entreaties and screamed at him “I don’t want you to FIX it! Just tell me everything’s going to be okay!” Those words had left a lasting impression on Charles. The chattel of the world didn’t care about freeing themselves from the trivial and the mediocre. They just wanted platitudes to make them forget. To assuage their fears. A meaningless phrase. A necklace from an ex-wife. A security camera inside a Psychology building. It was pathetic but it was also useful. After all, If there are no sheep missing, no one checks for wolves.

Outside the doors of the annex the sun hit Charles and a cool breeze swept past. He took a moment to savor them, closing his eyes and letting the breeze make a futile attempt to ruffle his perfectly trimmed hair. Never enough time, though. Always more work to do. A curt nod to the plain-clothes sentries posted outside and they melted into the scenery around the campus, watching for threats and always close at hand. The driver had been waiting by the black SUV while Charles had conducted his business with Elena and opened the back door as his charge strode towards him. Charles pulled out his phone as he took his seat and the door closed beside him. There was a stunning blonde beauty wearing a cocktail dress sitting on the seat to his right. Her hands were resting in her lap and she stared casually forward at the headrest in front of her. Charles glanced at her for a moment as he rifled through his phone contacts and then went back to his task.

“Silence Two, Brittany.”

Charles always switched Brittany to Silence Two when he made a work call. Silence One was more or less Charles’ default state for the girl, which forbade her from responding except when spoken to directly. In Silence Two, she would still obey commands but wouldn’t acknowledge them vocally. It was perfect for work calls where Charles might want her to do something small for him, or TO me, but couldn’t risk her interrupting. There was a Silence Zero mode, which let Brittany talk freely and make requests, but Charles mostly reserved that for special occasions or when he was feeling particularly lighthearted.

There was no reaction whatsoever from Brittany. The hours of training and Charles’ years of experience with this slave were his only assurance that his command would be carried out. But they were more than enough. The car engine came to life and the SUV pulled out towards Charles’ next appointment. He wiped a fleck of something off his collar and straightened his shirt sleeve as the phone rang against his ear. A male voice answered on the other end.

“Charles. How did you find Lady Fremont? As beautiful as the pictures would have me believe?”

The pitch of the voice was always slightly jarring to Charles’ ear. Somewhat higher than one would expect from a man of his station. And smooth as butter, when Charles knew firsthand that his temper was oftentimes...rougher than that.

“Yes sir, as beautiful and then some. It went as expected. I’ll administer her examination at 1800 tomorrow.”

“And what was your impression? Think she’ll pass?”

“The children were all whelps. Probably have to be disposed of regardless. Elena was a bit shaken but comported herself admirably given the circumstances. I expect she’ll fail and attempt a counterattack when she comes to the same conclusion.”

A sigh lilted through from the man on the other end of the call. “Very well. Thanks for handling this and let me know how it goes tomorrow. I suppose you’re on your way to Cedric now? Please try not to avail yourself of his services this time. I need you sharp for your negotiations and the deviant insists on these in-person meetings.”

“Yes sir, I’ll have the notes sent to you afterward. And I’ll call when I’m all wrapped up with Ms. Fremont tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

The call ended and he let out the tension that had been balling up in his chest. I just threatened the lives of two dozen women and yet a thirty second call with him has me shitting my trousers like he’s my grade school principal. Charles glanced over at his riding companion. Stoic and poised. Ready to kill, chat up, or suck off anyone Charles indicated. There would be time for that last one later. He rhumenated on the eternal struggle of men; ‘do you choose the lust riddled fog of arousal, or the post-orgasmic lethargy that follows?’ He had almost always opted for the former. Keep the mind full, even if it means filling it with somewhat less-than-productive thoughts.

It wasn’t until late evening that Charles returned home. The security had just switched to the night crew; a handful of guards for the house and no one else. He spent a few minutes reheating a leftover risotto that he had made the day before and then he went to the living room table and prepared to eat. His house, like everything else about Charles, was modest. ‘Elegance without opulence’ was his goal. There were a few pieces of tasteful art on the walls. A couple well situated arm chairs. A sleek, functional dining room table, in front of a not-too-large, not-too-small tv. The only thing that Charles had insisted upon for himself was a somewhat lavish kitchen. Cooking had always been his favorite hobby and life skill to cultivate. Something about the act of turning rough, unclean ingredients into a delicacy had piqued his interest from an early age.

Brittany had been tactfully shadowing Charles as he went about his evening activities. Having never been released from her Silence Two directive, she went around whatever room Charles was in as if she had something to do there. Checking for a cookbook, or wiping a bit of dust from a shelf. Staying just out of the way, ready to fulfill any request Charles might have. It had taken quite a bit of time to train that skill into her. Knowing which parts of her mind and in what amounts to take and leave was an art that Charles prided himself on. Brittany brushed into the room behind him and started fussing with a corner of a rug that might have curled a millimeter off the ground, but in all likelihood was exactly as perfect as the other three corners. Charles used a remote to turn on the tv to the local news channel and then sat down, carefully laying out his silverware and napkin before him in preparation for his meal. When he was situated he grabbed the fork in his left hand, the knife in his right, and glanced up at the tv.

“Suck Two. Silence One.”

“Yes Charles” Brittany answered instantly and moved to take her place underneath the table. As with Silence, Suck had different modes that Charles availed himself of in certain situations. Suck Zero gave Brittany autonomy to lavish his cock in whatever way she would want to if she were a normal, albeit lust-crazed woman. Suck One was a slower classier affair. Brittany might occasionally remove his member to lick from base to tip. Or lick his balls while using her hands to work his shaft. Suck Two was a mode he rarely had time to enjoy, but today had been long enough that Charles decided to reward himself with it. Her mouth would be his fleshlight. She would sink to the bottom of his manhood and work tirelessly there to bring him to climax. In this mode he could face fuck her at whatever pace he wanted. Or leave her impaled on himself, worshiping however much of his meat he had given her access to. He began consuming his leftovers and listening to the anchor drone on about some political scandal as Brittany fished his cock out from his slacks and set upon her task. She started by licking all over the semi-erect phallus to complete its tumescence. A respectable seven inches, but quite thick, it took a generous amount of saliva for her to coat it adequately, and then she slid it all the way to the back of her throat. Beautiful thin lips stretched taut over the invading cock. Once she was firmly implanted at the base, her tongue started moving (as much as it could) back and forth, giving a worshipful massage to the underside of the meat that had taken up residence beside it. The back of her throat began to gently constrict around the log, coaxing it methodically. Her hands snaked into his boxers and brought the testicles out into the open air, like an archeologist handling a priceless artifact. She rolled them around in one hand and used the other to stroke up and down Charles’ leg. As awkward as the angle was, she forced her neck down so she could stare up at her master’s face. Searching for any sign that he liked or disliked any particular thing she did, though years of training had taught her that every minute movement she made was exactly what he expected of her.

Charles extinguished his meal in complete silence, save for the news anchor and the small wet sounds coming from just below the table. After a particularly good bite, he cleared his throat, and then pumped the first load of the night into his slave’s diligent mouth. It was not animalistic. His balls churned and his cock strained, dumping his orgasm into her. The torrent of ejaculate flowing into her didn’t change Brittany’s demeanor or facial expression by a single atom, besides the fact that she had to incorporate swallowing into her technique. When the last drop had been claimed, her throat resumed its modus operandi and worked towards coaxing another load from the pampered snake.

One plate of food and two loads later Charles pushed his chair back a few inches from the table and reclined a bit. Suck Two would have his husk in this state until commanded to stop. Or until she collapsed from exhaustion. He finally allowed the news program to fade into the background and looked down into the face of his slave. Acknowledging her directly for the first time that day.

“Adequately done, my love. Are you still there, Brittany?” She nodded her head almost imperceptibly. Charles smiled paternally down at her.

“No love, I’m not talking about the beautiful husk throating me right now. I’m talking to the real Brittany. I know you’re down there, even still. The same arrogant bitch, prom queen, jock-loving whore. ‘Most likely to succeed’ -Hah! Maybe one day I’ll let you resurface and interview you about how much success you’ve had since high school.” He cupped her cheek and looked directly into her eyes as he demeaned her but he hadn’t suggested a change in her technique, so she didn’t react. His thumb traced a tiny circle on her cheekbone and he started to hum a soft tune. Brittany’s eyes unfocused and every muscle in her body relaxed as much as it could without interfering with her fellatio. She let out a tiny moan and sank down a millimeter further onto his rod. “Now drink it all down and then Goodnight One.” Charles let his drone’s tongue once again pull him over the edge and rewarded her with several more mouthfuls of his essence. Brittany stared up at him with nothing but duty and admiration in her eyes as she accepted her gift. When she had finished extracting every drop, twitch, and shudder from the member in her throat, she carefully replaced it in her owner’s pants and began carrying out his final command of the night; tidying up the dining room and preparing for bed. Charles spent a few more minutes flipping through channels and relaxing after his orgasms. When he finally made his way upstairs to the master bedroom, Brittany had just finished feeding Arthur and headed for the bathroom to wash up.

“How goes it, old friend?” Charles asked, running his index finger casually along the glass of Arthur’s cage, which took up an entire wall of the enormous bedroom. If he had heard him, Arthur gave no indication. He seemed content to lazily admire his own coil crushing the life out of the first of the mice that had been selected for the nightly sacrifice. In many ways the great twenty-five-foot-long anaconda was Charles’ spirit animal. Powerful. Deadly. But in a sort of understated way. When Brittany finished her bedtime ritual, she stripped naked and laid on the edge of the mattress to rest. Charles climbed to the middle and let the lethargy of her previous ministrations set it. People don’t give snakes their due as apex predators, he thought as he drifted off. Not without the sharp sting of hindsight, at any rate.

The next day went by in a haze of mundanity. After the day shift relieved the night shift, his driver taxid Charles to a seemingly never ending parade of meetings. He was thankful to be such an integral part of a distinguished IPO—involuntary persuasion organization—as The Movers. They had recently become the largest such organization in North America, and due in no small part to Charles’ personal efforts. But he couldn’t help but wonder if The Movers hadn’t become too...safe. Their early days had been scrappy. Turning civilians into spies. Turning spies into double agents. Or into fish food. Fighting amongst the other small groups for the right to sit at the table with the big boys. But now they are a big boy. The biggest, in fact. At least in this corner of the world. The wars were over. And once the smoke cleared, to Charles’ dismay, only reports and meetings remained. Charles was in one of those now. Fancy room. At the top of an equally fancy skyscraper. A room of safe people trying to figure out how to become even safer. And their voices were so crude. Charles could only just barely suppress the urge to sing out his frustrations for everyone in this godforsaken board room. Some of these cretins aren’t even Talented, he noted in disgust. But Charles was nothing if he wasn’t disciplined and so he kept his voice a business-like monotone.

He finally came alive on the drive to Elena’s university. This wasn’t going to be mundane. This wasn’t a report to a suit. This was battle. It’s such a shame it has to be one-sided, though. But Charles’ directive was clear; no counter attacks would be tolerated during an examination. More safety. Fewer risks. An equal shame that I’ll most likely have to dispose of Elena. Charles glanced over at Brittany; a rare beauty, to be sure, but only a blind man would choose her over Elena. Scratch that, a blind, deaf, and mentally unstable man. He wished he could go easy on her, if for no other reason than to luxuriate in her beauty again at some point. But Charles was, by all accounts, the least Talented of the captains. And there was no room in The Movers for a weaker captain than he. It wouldn’t do to have people so easily turned be invited to the inner circle. Elena had shown promise, though. Charles allowed himself to fantasize about her passing the examination and becoming his peer. Or even my lover, in time. He glanced over at Brittany: perky, alert, awaiting even the slightest hint of a command. I don’t need more husks. I need an equal. Someone with whom I can build and share an empire.

The SUV pulled up much closer to Elena’s annex, not needing to obfuscate his arrival this time. At exactly 6:00 pm, Charles bade his regular guards keep watch without the building, and sent his two personal bodyguards within. Havitz locked the stairwell to the rest of the psychology building and Anton entered the auditorium to make sure no one had gotten any ill-conceived ideas about ambushing the entourage. Just a formality. Usually. Charles preferred to protect himself with his voice. And failing that, with the gun resting in his jacket pocket. He patted it absentmindedly while he waited for the go-ahead from Anton and Havitz. A few seconds later he strode in behind them. The girls were seated roughly in the same spots that they had been the day before, and a quick headcount assured Charles that they were all present.

“Hello again, ladies. If you wouldn’t mind sitting front and center.” Charles added, singing the request ever so slightly. Several of the girls immediately rose and began to comply, but the rest waited a moment and then followed, almost begrudgingly. It appears a culling is indeed in order. As Charles ascended the stairs to the stage, Elena appeared, a bit disheveled, from a room just adjacent.

“Welcome back.” The greeting couldn’t have been delivered any colder if she had uttered it from the North Pole.

“Ah, Ms. Fremont. Do you mind...?” Charles asked rhetorically, indicating the room from which she had just emerged. He brushed past her and pulled back the curtain. Greeting him was the sight of a fully nude John Doe, bound at the ankles and wrists to a rolling chair. Despite his exposure he was still military-like. All hard angles with this man. And none so hard or angled as his cock; proud and pointing straight out from between his legs, following his line of sight like an erotic sniper-spotter pair.

“Hello John.” “Sir” John replied, but continued to stare forward at nothing in particular.

“Well, it seems returning him to his former glory was a bit harder than anticipated.” Charles was doing his best to conjure the quintessential primary school teacher talking down to a student with a late homework assignment. How excruciatingly disappointing. “Would that that was the test, eh Elena? Then we could all go home early.” But perhaps not the home you would have wanted. Elena remained stoic, but Charles could tell a fiery inferno burned just below the surface. He sauntered over and wheeled John out into the main room. As he brought the bound man to center stage, there was no reaction from the girls at John’s nude form. Seems Charles had done a decent enough job of impressing upon them all the gravity of the situation. Though you can always do a job better. “Elena, this is Anton.” Charles waved a hand indicating the man standing beside him with a pistol and knife in holsters on his hip. Anton was a burly man that filled out every inch of his armor and tactical gear. A scar ran nearly from the top of his bald head to his left cheek. Trophy from Fellujah or some other putrid hell hole. “Would you mind terribly if Anton used his knife to slice John’s throat open?” Elena inhaled sharply through her nostrils, and her eyes went wide.

“You...that’s not...I’m...” Charles let her stutter for a few seconds, her eyes darting from him to Anton to John, and, as Charles noted, to her students. Afraid they’ll see a crack in the old armor? She closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. Exhaling even slower and only then reopening them. “Not at all, Charles. Anton should feel free to comply with that request, if that’s what you want of him.”

An odd phraseology, but who am I to begrudge her the first step in her grieving process?

“Proceed, Anton.”

In one fluid motion, Anton slid beside John, unholstered his knife, and drew a single red line across John’s throat. The blade gently slid back into its holster before the first drop of blood peeked out through the gash in John’s neck. There was a smattering of gasps from the students and one girl gave a choked whimper. Charles watched Elena’s reactions hawkishly. Her lower lip trembled for a moment and she mouthed the words “Goodbye, John” to the man bleeding out in front of her. Her immaculate head tilted back, and she kept her elbows clasped in front of her tightly. Praying? But why, my love? I’m standing right here. John, for his part, remained silent and motionless as his life’s essence flowed out of him. After a few moments his head fell forward and his erection finally began to wilt. As Elena’s gaze returned from the ceiling, images of angels and beauty beyond words came unbidden to Charles’ mind. But when her eyes met his once again, they were replaced by hellfire and armageddon.

“You...you might have used him, Charles. There was no need for that.”

“Me? Use your slave? Please, mademoiselle. If you pass the examination, there will be competent and trustworthy bodyguards assigned to you. And if you don’t, well...”

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

“Very well. Gentlemen?”

At his direction, the two guards wheeled John’s cooling corpse to the back of the room and pulled up chairs close to the front of the stage for the examination, so the girls could observe—and to avoid the pool of blood. Havitz produced a small metal case and set it on the floor just beside Charles’ feet. Then both withdrew a couple meters so they could survey the room and watch the proceedings. Elena and Charles took their seats. Charles sat with his legs slightly apart, hands resting palm down on his thighs. Elena sat cross legged, letting her hanging foot bounce. Rhythmically? Her arms were folded tightly underneath her breasts. Or are they squeezing them together? Her gray pencil skirt was professional enough. Hair pulled back into a bun, and a somewhat loose white blouse. Not without a fair bit of cleavage, though. Why, Ms. Fremont, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were attempting some subversion.

“Before we begin, let me reiterate that any attempt to circumvent the examination is cause for immediate termination of you and your students.”

Elena nodded curtly.

“The purpose of this examination is to determine your ability to resist Talent. I will try to involuntarily persuade you using my Talent, and if you can demonstrate resistance to my satisfaction, you will have passed. Shall we begin?”

“Very well.”

“Excellent! Why don’t we start with how you’re feeling right now?” Charles asked with a light, cheary cadence.

“I feel fine, Charles. Except someone seems to have killed my bodyguard.”

“Let’s talk about that. Why did you like that particular slave?” Each word was a tiny dove fluttering around the women’s ears. Trying to find purchase. Elena visibly relaxed and her foot bounced a little slower.

“He was...a lover, at one point. Before—”

“Before you enslaved him, Elena? But I did my homework on you, dear. I know your lectures are filled with female supremacy this, and male subjugation that. Surely one dead man can find a home in your ideology, no?” Despite the relatively tame subject matter, every single syllable Charles loosed at the woman was tipped with poison. Sweet, seductive, and ruthlessly effective.

“It’s not that...I just...men are tools. But I really liked that tool.” Elena let her hands fall to her lap and uncrossed her legs. “Gods, and his tool, too.” She added in a half mumble.

She was coming undone. And quickly. But she was still managing speaking somewhat coherently, if not a bit more candidly. And she had managed to keep her gaze focused on his face through every volley. Not letting her own obvious arousal distract her. Nor the armed guards to her right. Nor the moan from one of her students somewhere offstage to her left. Not one to be left out of the fun, Charles also indulged in a brief traversal of Elena’s pert body.

“Mmm, how very...industrious of you, dove. I’m sure we can find other tools that could...how should we say...fill the void, though?” Charles let his legs open a bit and his hips roll forward, exposing a sizable bulge in his dress slacks. Several moans from the girls, this time. And one tiny delicious one from Elena. Charles looked over and saw many of the students rubbing themselves slowly. In fact, the only two not enjoying the festive atmosphere were Havitz and Anton.

It was at the discretion of the captains how, or if, they trained their bodyguards. Some of the captains enjoyed the security of being able to persuade everyone around them. Charles did relish having that option, but he also had his own insurance policy—currently resting in his jacket—and he preferred that his men be sharp in case their services were needed. So he had elected to painstakingly train his cadre against all but the most personal application of his Talent. They would not feel the effects of his voice unless he were to address them with it directly.

“Unnnngh. Yeah, fill.” Elena didn’t appear to be containing her arousal very well at all. How utterly pedestrian. She had relaxed more and more into her chair as the examination had progressed and was now staring with undisguised lust at her proctor’s mouth. Waiting for the next battery of mind-numbing sounds to slip past his lips. Hands continuously massaging her upper thighs. Charles unzipped his pants and freed his erection. He surveyed the room briefly and found every single student openly rubbing herself, moaning, and looking at Charles. And to each other? Confusion at their sudden elevated arousal, I suppose.

“Don’t be shy, Elena. You can stare at it. But girls, do be good and sit still.” He wouldn’t normally be opposed to a room full of attractive coeds pleasuring themselves to him, but he needed to keep as many factors under control as possible until the examination was over. Though judging by the wild gleam in Elena’s eyes, it seemed like it might be over sooner rather than later. She had split her attention between his face and his erection. Her right hand had strayed and began rubbing gentle circles on her pussy, underneath her skirt. The left found its way to her wonderful tits. After another minute she let a single pained moan seep out and slipped from her chair to the floor. She crawled the few feet from her chair to his, maintaining eye contact the whole way. How pathetic. When she reached Charles she put her hands on his knees and nuzzled his totem from beneath. She ran her nose along it and kissed the base gently. Staring intently at the meat. And my face. Seems she’s found a way to avoid having to split her gaze. Elena gave tiny worshipful kisses up the length of his cock, which had begun to throb in response. Reaching the tip, she smiled like a child who had accomplished some trivial goal. Her lips pursed around the tip and she sank, torturously slowly, down to the base. Still managing a smile at the corners of her mouth, though her current task was much less trivial. She began a slow oscillation along his member. Her tongue busied itself with short come-hither strokes along the underside; a tiny wet crossing guard showing his balls which direction to shoot their load.

“My sweet, stupid Elena, your oral tribulations are worthy of the highest praises a man can bestow upon his whore. Please reach over and open the case by my chair. But...unnnngh...for the love of God don’t stop what that perfect mouth of yours is doing.” She groped for and found the case without ever looking away. Reaching over, she pulled Charles’ cock down as far as she could without it popping out of her greedy mouth. With the case retrieved, Elena’s eyes beamed again and her blowjob returned ‘en force’ while her hands worried at the clasps.

“Expertly done, pet. Now I want you to carefully remove the item inside and direct it at your beautiful temple.” Elena fumbled with the case for a moment and then lifted a small, polished revolver to her head. Charles smiled and brushed a strand of hair off her face and behind the barrel. The effort was almost beyond him. Her tongue had a uniquely soporific effect. It felt as if languishing in it was seeping vitality from his limbs and delivering it to his engorged member.

“Wonderful. Now be a dear and pull the trigger.” Elena looked happy as a clam with the length of throbbing dick in her throat. Her eyes were watering slightly. Is that from her oral exertions or one final attempt at resistance? She gave one long blink and then squeezed the trigger.

‘Click’

“All done, Elena. Your examination results are exceptionally underwhelming.“ The gun stayed pressed to Elena’s temple, and it wasn’t until Charles suggested she lower it that she did so. Of course the gun he provided her wasn’t loaded. He would never give that option to an examinee. Or let them wield it so close to my erection, thrall or no. “I had high hopes for you, whore. I’m charged by my employers to now wipe your mediocrity from existence. Please know that I take no pleasure in your abject failure. Er, besides what you’re doing down there. Finish extracting my load and then we’ll discuss how best to dispose of you and your progeny.” Elena showed no dismay at having failed her exam or at the prospect of her own demise. She resumed her worshipful efforts with gusto and continued for a few minutes.

“Whore, your technique is beyond reproach, but finish draining my cock before I decide to bludgeon you to death with it.” Elena smiled a tiny bit wider around the meat she was pampering. Her eyes positively sparkled. She rotated her head around the pole in her mouth and for the first time since John was killed, she broke eye contact with Charles. She looked over at the two bodyguards standing a few paces away and...winked? The men retrieved something from their pockets and inserted one in each of their ears. No...no this isn’t right. She was never staring at my face in lust... Realization dawned on Charles too late. ...she was reading my lips. Elena’s hands had already darted inside his open jacket and retrieved his phone and the pistol holstered there. His insurance policy when all else failed. She slid them behind her, well out of reach.

“Havitz! Anton, now! Everyone who can hear this, murder Elena Fremont immediately!”

The words were sung so beautifully they might as well have been a commandment from God himself. Resistance obliterating syllables coated in nectar from orchards in the heavens. Three girls in the front row exploded out of their seats towards Elena with bloody murder pounding through their veins. The remaining girls were close behind and tackled them as they reached the stage. Wrestling them to the ground as they clawed and grasped for Elena’s throat. Charles had spent the intervening time trying and failing to stand up or shove Elena away. His legs were splayed uselessly on either side of her kneeling form, and his arms hung limply by his side. With inhuman effort he managed to raise one trembling hand. It came to rest gently on Elena’s shoulder as she continued to piston up and down. Just as gently, her hand pulled his away and left it to hang by his chair. She ever so slowly pulled her lips back off the throbbing dick.

“Charles, sweetie—” she gave a long, drawn-out lick from base to tip before continuing “why on Earth would you let me wrap my mouth around your cock like that?”

“Elena, stop. Stop! Stop this right now. You pass, yes. Yes you’re one of us now. Everything is fine. Stop!”

“I’ve spent a lot of time perfecting my craft...” her hands teased the slick shaft endlessly while she pontificated, “... and I have absolute faith in my abilities. So believe me when I say, the mistakes you made with me will be the very last mistakes you will ever make, Charles.”

“B...but how? I made sure...and you...John...”

“Last night I didn’t skulk away to go retrain John. I got to work. You made me burn a very valuable resource—” her gaze darted to John’s corpse at the back of the room “two valuable resources. The chief of police is one of my goodest boys, you see. So once you left yesterday, I had him run facial recognition on the footage from the security cameras outside my room.” The fucking cameras. “And lucky me, Anton over there was picked up for a bar fight a year before he joined up with you. Then my good police boy pulled Anton’s records for me, which required a warrant from a judge, and all of which was heavily expedited, of course. He’ll no doubt be investigated and fired for misuse of police resources. But I got my prize.” Elena paused to throat Charles’ captive meat a couple more times. He could only sit and moan, gawking at his blowjob with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “I waited for Anton to return home from his shift with you and then we...well we had a little chat much like the one you and I are having now, Charles.” Her strange remark earlier; she was making sure Anton would obey my command to kill John. “He eventually told me that he and Havitz were your personal babysitters. After a visit to Havitz, the three of us returned here to the girls and we all spent the night milking. It took nearly all night and about half a dozen loads from each of them but we eventually got every. Last. Yummy. Drop—” each word punctuated with a kiss to the twitching meat “of information about you.”

“Elena I...you can’t just—”

“No more of the song voice, Charles.”

“Y-yes.”

Elena removed the plugs from deep within her ears with her left hand while her right continued to corkscrew up and down his length.

“From there we let Anton and Havitz drag their emptied schlongs back home to resume their service to you, with the exception that my signal would let them know it was time to plug their ears and turn off your influence. You did a good job training them, but as you can attest, a man can only take so much with my tongue coiling around his brain. They told us about your empty gun shtick. About your schedule and your Talent. About how these exams usually play out. We spent the day planning and rehearsing. Thinking of likelihoods and pitfalls. Going through as many different scenarios as we could. Making sure our room was adequately soundproofed in case you screamed- thank you for not even trying that, by the way.” Elena rewarded his unintentional obedience with a series of kisses peppered along his shaft while it strained into the air, searching for release. “I only had time to enslave Anton and Havitz, I...I didn’t even have enough time to return John. Elena dropped her head and seemed to falter momentarily at the thought. “I can read lips, but the girls can’t yet, so we had three volunteers remain exposed to you. The others would watch those three and try to mimic any commands you might give. That was the riskiest part, by far.” The girls had forced ear plugs into the once-bloodthirsty volunteers and all had retaken their seats, waiting apprehensively for Elena’s signal. Knees bouncing. Hands wringing. Teeth grinding. They could tell Charles was on the precipice.

“If I had been more careful. If I had checked the girls or...or brought different guards. I might...I might have won.”

“Yes Charles. Perhaps. But you trusted your little trinkets.” How devastatingly ironic. “Your gun and your routine. Your guards. Hell you probably trusted your cock to not help me enslave you.” She added with a chuckle.

“Yes...yes I see, Elena. Well done. I know it’s not my place to ask but...may I have the mercy of a quick death?” He wasn’t expecting the laugh that bubbled up out of Elena at that moment; equal parts beautiful and hideous.

“Aaaahahaha. No Charles. I fear we might have a bit of a misunderstanding. I have so very many things planned for you, but I would be lying if I said any of them resembled mercy. It is true; I will allow you to die for me in time, but I will make sure that it’s excruciating for you. And it won’t come until I’ve wrung out every last ounce of service that your well-kept body can provide. It’s why I let you kill my John, after all. No, you were the prize, Charles. All of this was to get my mouth around you long enough to make you docile.”

“I see. Yes, very good. I...I see now.”

“Good boy. Now, I’ve already planted the flagpole of the matriarchy in you.” She indicated by waving his precum and spit slickened cock back and forth. The iron rigidity of the rod resisted her efforts, but the point was made. “The only thing left is to hoist the white flag. I’ve been holding you on the edge myself, but I’m going to start jacking you off in earnest. You can only ejaculate when you submit to me completely. But I want you to relax. Take your time with it. Enjoy your defeat.”

“Yes ma’am.” Charles sat motionless for a couple minutes while Elena pumped him. His brain cells used their last iota of free will to decide what to stare at as she completed his enslavement. The unanimous decision had come back in favor of her perfect tits, jiggling with her movements just beyond his erection. He gawked down at them openly until the end.

“I submit to you and the matriarchy, Elena. You win.” His dick pulsed and began firing off rockets of jizz that tried to touch the stars. At the raising of the white flag of surrender, the girls erupted out of their seats. They screamed with the primal ferocity that only victors in a life-or-death brawl can muster. Some hugged. Jumped. Laughed maniacally. Tore at their clothes. Collapsed on the floor in tears. Elena delighted in their victory and laughed along with them, tears of joy—and a few of sorrow—streaming down her face. She kept pumping him with a speed and force that would make an oil rig mechanic blush. The girls danced and sang while gobs of Charles’ defeat rained down on the group, like some charicature of a Pagan ritual. Charle’s ejaculation was prodigious and Elena wondered if maybe a raincoat should have factored into her planning. But as all things do, his orgasm eventually subsided. Throbs turned to twitches. Large ejections turned to small ones, and finally to trickles that oozed over Elena’s ever-pumping hand. The girls settled and regained their composure.

“Impressive, Charles. Truly. You’re a very good boy and I look forward to extracting more of those when I deepen you in the next few days. But for now, we’ll discuss what you’re going to tell your organization about my exam. Then you’ll call and send in the other members of your security detail. One by one, if you’d be so kind.”

Charles summoned the remainder of his male power—straining from the core of his manhood deep within his loins—and forced one final drop of jizz to leak onto her elegant digits.

“Yes, Ms. Fremont.”