The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had taken three years of therapy to get to the point where he could

function normally without breaking down at the slightest mention of anything remotely associated with Grandther in his mind. Finally, he felt ready to look upon the things Grandther had left to him in his will. The executor unlocked the storage building and raised the garage-style door and read the paragraph in the will that dealt with the inheritance.

“To my grandson, Caeman, I leave the following, in the hopes that he will remember me fondly as he uses it:” read the executor. In his mind, Caeman heard the voice of his grandfather, speaking to him through the mists of time from beyond the barrier between this world and the next. “Firstly,” continued the voice, “the boat in which we, on our first trip out, set the record for largest catfish ever to be caught in Lake Mexia, and then when you were twelve, we set the record for the largest bass to be caught in Richland Chambers Lake. Both of them were on your line, as I recall. I just helped you reel them in, because you were too small to fight those big fish yourself. I hope you set more records in that boat. Our rods and tackle are in the back.” Caeman ran his hands over the old boat. It was a little the worse for wear, but it could be fixed. The old tackle box still held a merry red color. Caeman would have to replace the lines in the reels of the fishing rods, but nothing was wrong with anything there that couldn’t be fixed. “Secondly, that old bookcase you used to climb when you were little, along with all the books in it. It’s better than that plywood shelf you built with your mama’s help, God rest her soul. Not that I mind you using that rickety thing, I know you’ve got a lot of

memories vested there. But I know you’ll take care of my bookcase better than your siblings. I also leave you the cookie jar you were always getting your hand caught in.” Caeman chuckled to himself as memories of Grandther pulling him down from the top of that old case, bringing one of Memaw’s extra-large cookies down with him, came to him. They would always split that cookie and swear each other to silence, even though Memaw would always walk in and catch them in the act before they could get the last piece into their mouths. That, she had always joked, was why she made them so big. “Next is the gun case I’ve been promising you since you were twelve, but your mother wouldn’t allow it. I taught you myself how to handle a gun, and I know you’ll use them responsibly.” Images flooded back, images of countless days spent at the gun range, sitting in as he taught gun safety to dozens of young men, middle-aged men, and even some older men, though he hadn’t legally been old enough to take the course himself. “Further is the trunk my great-great-grandfather brought with him to this country. There are a few things in there from his time, but most of it was mine. I used to play with some of the old tools in there when I was a boy, and I caught you doing it a few times, too. It’s yours, now, my dear boy, and everything in it. Also to you I leave my house, in the hope that you will raise a family there and tell them about me, as well as anything contained therein which I have not willed to someone else. Further to this I add the pickup in which I taught you to drive when you used to spend the summers with us, the tractor and all its accessories, my tools and my cars, and enough money to take care of taxes and such for the next six years. I never considered myself a wealthy man. Most of what I had was cast off by others, and I made it work. You, my boy, were my treasure. My namesake. Hell, you even look like I did at your age. In you I survive.”

The executor started to continue on, but Caeman waved him down. The others had collected their share. His sister had gotten the cars that had gone back to Grandther when Memaw died. His uncle had gotten the lake lot and the speedboat that had been parked there. His cousins had gotten the Nintendo, the Sega Genesis, and the games and peripherals thereof. His aunt had gotten the computer, since she had always understood such things better than he. The executor had gotten an envelope with his fee, to be opened when all his beneficiaries had been read the will. He skipped ahead to the end. “I, Caeman Ivory Braddock, called Grandther by my grandchildren, being of sound mind but weak body, ask that my bequeath be carried out. Signed this third day of October, 1995.” Caeman closed his eyes against tears. His grandfather had raised him since the death of his parents in 1975. He had finally lost his war against cancer thirteen years later, but he hadn’t gone down without a fight. It was thirteen years the doctors hadn’t thought he’d have. Caeman’s marriage had fallen apart while he had supported his grandfather. In 1996 his wife, Alison, had left him, taking their twelve-year-old daughter with her. She was a nymphomaniac, and constant worry about Grandther had pulled his attention away from her. She had stuck it out for three years before sexual frustration had gotten the better of her. Rather than cheat on him, she had asked for a divorce so she could find someone who could satisfy her needs. He had agreed, as long as she took nothing that did not belong to her. She had also agreed to let Kathy visit during the summer. He supposed he still loved Alison (he knew for a fact he loved Kathy), but with Alison it had always been about sex. If she had her way, they would have done it all day, every day. That had been fine for the first month or so, but a guy does get tired, eventually. But that was all behind him, now, one of the many issues that his therapy had helped him come to terms with. He loaded Grandther’s things and prepared to drive home, after a stop at the apartment he’d never felt at home in, to gather his own personal effects.

Caeman woke up in his old room, half disappointed that he hadn’t been awakened by the smell of bacon frying on the electric stove. He got up and started breakfast himself. As the bacon fried in Grandther’s old cast-iron skillet, Caeman turned on the TV just to break the silence. After several minutes of futile channel surfing, he threw the remote into the old diner booth Grandther had restored. Now he remembered why Grandther had quit watching TV. Because he was using one of those old do-it-yourself satellite systems, not the dishes owned and programmed by some big, heartless corporation, the only thing he could pick up was the Home Shopping Network and church broadcasts. Even the rabbit ears on his TV at his apartment picked up more than the dish in the back yard.

“It’s a conspiracy to pry the hard-earned money out of our hands.” Caeman heard himself say. He surprised himself. “Jeez, I’m starting to talk like Grandther.” Grandther had always hated big corporations. Caeman went to the safe after breakfast. He had found the combination in an envelope in the tackle box. As he opened the safe, he found a note card folded in half so it would stand up. It said “go to the attic and look behind our picture.” Caeman pulled down the drop-down wooden ladder leading to the attic and found a maze of boxes and miscellaneous items. He eventually found a picture of a younger Grandther hung on the wall, with a very, very young Caeman sitting in his lap. He took it down and found a box inserted in a square niche in the wall. He opened the box and found something inside that looked like a small turquoise and ruby shield inlaid with gold to give the impression of an unfurled scroll. Caeman read the

piece of paper that accompanied it.

“Dear Caeman.” it said.

“I know as I write this that I am not too long for this world. So I made sure to leave you the house and most of its contents because of what I have to impart to you. Years ago, before I even met your grandmother, my own grandfather died and left me the item you see in this box. Our family has been keeping it for centuries, since the time of the ancient Celts, and now it is your turn. The Scribe’s Gate is quite a powerful item, because it allows travel between this world and fictional realms. Its potential grows as Man’s imagination continues to grow. The first time I actually used it, I had a fling with Lois Lane. Yeah, I know, it seems lame in today’s terms, but that was the limit of my imagination at the time. I’ve seen you write, my boy, and it’s good. You’ve always been more creative than I ever was. I could never write a book, and you’ve already got some million-sellers. I’m going to hang on as long as I can, hopefully until you’re emotionally ready to take on this responsibility. In the hands of a writer like you, the Gate imparts—dare I say it?—almost godlike power. You have always been able to create worlds of your own, now you have the power to visit them, or to have them visit you.

“I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I show this to you while I was alive? Because I honestly didn’t believe you were ready. Now, though, you’re as ready as you’ll ever be, I guess. So to you, Caeman Ivory Braddock II, I impart the keepership of the Scribe’s Gate, and all the responsibility that goes with it.

“By the way, I’ve still got the messed-up comics from my tampering in the box directly under the hiding place. I can’t sell them because after people look through them and see the results of my tampering, they think I bought a forgery—or worse, forged it myself and sold it to them to cheat them. Using the Gate permanently alters the particular copy of a work you happen to use it on. My issue #1 of Superman has Lois disappear and Superman spends the rest of the issue looking for her, only to have her reappear on the last page with the smile only a well-screwed woman gets. Everyone else’s copy remains unchanged. If you wanted to, you could describe a world and set up the characters, then travel into it and the story would write itself. Be warned, though. You can be killed in the story just as easily as you could in real life. So don’t go opening any airlock doors or lions’ cages. And under no circumstances are you to lose the Gate while visiting a story world. If a character leaves and doesn’t come back, you’re trapped forever.”

“Cheery thought.” Caeman thought to himself, but continued reading.

“Anyway, a few notes I’ve noticed about the Gate: It doesn’t work with broadcast shows. You have to tape it first. If you turn the page back or rewind to a place before you brought someone out, then use the Gate to bring them out a second time, the one from later in the timeline disappears, and the one that appears has no memory of anything you’ve done to her future self. Think of it as ‘resetting’ your visitor. However, making changes earlier in the timeline does not stop something you sent INTO the world from appearing. Removing something and sending it back to an earlier part of the storyline doesn’t alter its prior existence. I don’t know why. I’ve never understood time-travel myself. Gives me a headache just thinking about it.

“Anyway, my advice is to make copies of any tapes you plan on using the Gate on. Make lots of copies, and you can have lots of copies of the same character if you want. It works on objects, too. If you want a chunk of kryptonite, go right ahead and take one from one of my messed-up comics. I’ve got a T.A.R.D.I.S. in the basement if you care to use it. What good will it do me now? Oh, I borrowed Mr. Scott to make the controls more intelligible so you don’t need a degree in fictional computer interfaces to operate it. Go ahead and have a little fun with it, but at the same time let your conscience guide you. I’ve got some blank tapes in a box somewhere among all this stuff so you don’t have to immediately go out and buy tapes before you even get to try the Gate out.

“To use the Gate, just hold it in your hand and think of what it is you want to do (i.e. “Bring me that gem” or “Dog into the book” or “Bring her to me.") and it will happen. Easy, right? I probably don’t really need to tell you to let your conscience guide you. You’ve always had a strong one. Your father used to say...oh, how did he put it? ‘I wish he wouldn’t let that little wimp push him around like that,’ referring to your conscience. But your mother did more raising of you than he did, didn’t she? But I ramble on. Probably because I know these will be the last words from me you will ever read. I’ve already let you read all my old letters and you found my journal early on. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you. So much I’ve wanted to teach you. There’s not enough room on the page to even get barely started. Then again, maybe you already know the important stuff by instinct.

“Sincerely yours,

“Grandther.”

Caeman did find the tapes, but figured he had just the thing already. First of all, he went online and printed out a mind-control story someone had written about a man who built an enormous harem of sexual slaves using a mental amplifier. With a thought and a flash of light, the device lay on his desk. Caeman picked it up as if it were fragile. The Gate worked! Caeman looked at the printout. It was twelve pages longer! He flipped through it. The inventor of the amplifier watched in horror as his tool disappeared in a flash of light, and spent the whole rest of the story searching for his amplifier, having a great many erotic experiences along the way with his first mind-controlled test subject, before finally deciding he didn’t need it any more, since he already had all he could handle. The story on the screen remained unchanged. Caeman put on the fake glasses with the amplifier built into the bridge. It was a shame the author of the story had chosen to remain anonymous. He wondered if he should ask an author’s permission before bringing their fictional creations into the real world.

The doorbell rang. Wondering who it could be, Caeman went to the door. Upon opening it, he discovered a gorgeous young woman with strawberry-blonde hair, dressed in a white T-shirt, denim overalls, steel-toed work boots, and a straw hat. She looked like she had escaped from the set of “Oklahoma.”

Wow, you’re hot! he thought, and the young woman began to sweat profusely, one hand releasing the handle of the fruit basket she carried to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

“Um, won’t you come in?” Caeman stammered, while mentally calming himself. It’s cool, everything’s fine. he reminded himself mentally as she walked over the threshold. The young woman sighed in relief. Then Caeman remembered the amplifier, and took off the glasses to prevent himself from messing up his guest’s head with stray thoughts.

“How’d it get so hot out there all of a sudden?” she asked with a vague New Jersey accent.

“It happens sometimes.” Caeman replied noncommittally.

“I’m really glad you invited me in, Mr. Braddock.” she said. “I’m not used to sudden hot spells. It’s so much cooler up in Jersey.”

“May I ask why you’re dressed for a reunion with the cast of the kindergarten production of Old MacDonald?” Caeman asked. His guest laughed.

“I took a job with the repair shop because it was pretty much the only thing that hadn’t been bought out.” she said. “The hat is to keep the sun from roasting me alive...guess I should have gone for something better.”

“You’re new in town.” Caeman said, stating the obvious. “If you want, I’ll see if the truck works and we can head down to Wal-Mart and fix that wardrobe of yours.”

“I’d appreciate it.” she said. “I admit I have NO idea how real Texans dress, Mr. Braddock.”

“Down here we base most of our fashion sense on what doesn’t itch.” Caeman said. “And it’s Caeman.” The young woman cringed visibly.

“Do you have a nickname?” she asked. “My last boss was Steven Q. Caeman, and I sincerely doubt you want me associating you with him.” Caeman had heard of S. Q. Caeman. The man was a big-time newspaper tycoon in New Jersey who was suspected of many, many attempted hostile takeovers, though no one had been able to prove anything. Still, Caeman couldn’t start insisting that the townspeople call him Special K or something to make her feel better...but he really wanted this young woman as a friend. It occurred to him that a little judicious use of the amplifier could help. He re-donned the glasses.

The unpleasantness of your past is behind you now. he thought, and her expression grew slightly vague. It is time to form new associations, to leave the unpleasant ones in the past, and to cherish good memories rather than dwell on bad ones.

You trust me. he added. You know I would never harm you on purpose. You can confide in me, trust me with all your secrets as I in turn will trust you with mine and expect you to live up to that trust. You know that it is I who have made you feel this way, but it’s okay because you also know that I did it for your own good. You know that it is the device on these fake glasses I’m wearing which allows me to do this, and that it is one of my secrets with which I am trusting you. The young woman blinked, breathed deeply, and then smiled at him.

“Thanks.” she said. “I really didn’t need to be associating things here with my past. Since we trust each other now,” she said with an ironic grin, “I suppose I should tell you my name. Officially, I’m Lalia Lucretia Livingston, but my friends mostly just call me Ellie.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Ellie.” Caeman said. “That other name must be popular with the lesbian crowd.” Ellie laughed. She set the fruit basket on the coffee table. “These are for you.” she said. “Sort of a get-to-know-you present, since you’re the only neighbor for six miles in either direction.”

Caeman looked over the contents of the basket. “How’d you know what kinds of fruits I like?” he asked. She smiled, blushing slightly. He took the hat off her head and hung it on the hat stand beside the door. Her hair tumbled free, tickling her shoulders when it reached the bottom of its fall. She pulled a hairbrush and a makeup compact out of the pocket of her overalls and brushed her hair until it was straight to her satisfaction. Then she put her beauty aids away and smiled as if she were about to get laid. Caeman was picking up thoughts through the amplifier that made him blush, so he took it off. He put the glasses in his pocket as she approached him.

“So, um, how does the thing on your glasses work?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.” he said. “The guy that created it wasn’t too specific. All I know is that somehow it takes my thought waves and transmits them to other people’s brains and somehow that allows me to control...um, what are you doing?” She had begun to rub at his crotch with her hand, moaning slightly as she felt his penis begin to enlarge.

“To be perfectly honest,” she said, her voice husky as she gazed into his eyes, desire burning like a fire in her own sapphire eyes, “I’m making this up as I go along.” Her hands moved up his medium-muscled chest. “In keeping with the spirit of honesty, I feel I should let you know I’m not a virgin, but I’ve never...felt this way about anyone before. I feel like I can connect with you, like I can...share myself with you. I’ve had sex plenty of times, but I’ve never...made love.” By now Caeman was very turned on. He undid one of the fasteners on Ellie’s overalls. Her right nipple made a lovely little tent behind her shirt through her pink, silk bra. He had an impressive tent started in his own pants. “And I guess the fact that you can control me is kind of a turn-on.” She smiled, taking the glasses from Caeman’s pocket and putting them on his face, while her crotch took her hand’s place at his groin. He could sense her desire. She moaned slightly. “Oh, God, Caeman, I can feel how much you want me!” she husked.

“Let’s...” Caeman started, “...let’s go to my room.” he said. She undid the other fastener and then she kissed him hotly, wrapping her arms around him. She swung her legs up around his waist, still humping herself against his crotch through their clothes. He formed a command in his mind, and she climbed off him, whimpering in desire.

“Yesss...” she moaned. “Control me.” She was quivering with desire. He sent that her thoughts and words would still be her own, but her actions would be dependent on his commands. “Oh, yes!” she said, her body quaking. He had her kick off her boots and slide her overalls off. He lifted her arms, and she stayed where she was posed. He pulled off the T-shirt, revealing her gorgeous young body. Her pink, silken panties were practically soaked through. He massaged her young breasts with his hands through the bra, and she moaned through her teeth. He unhooked the clasp on her bra and took it off as he had done with the shirt. She stood there in her panties and socks, her nipples harder than any he had ever seen. Even his nymphomaniac ex-wife had never been this aroused. “P-p-p-please...” she stammered. “Take me.”

Lose the socks. he thought at her. She bent down and removed the socks, tossing them in the pile with everything else. “You wanted it this way.” he reminded her, kissing her passionately. He could sense she wanted to press herself against him, but couldn’t because she was dependent on his commands in order to act. She whimpered.

“It...it’s ecstasy...and torture...and all I’m doing is getting undressed!” she whimpered. The lust in her eyes was stronger than any he had ever seen. He knew he would have to fuck her soon or she would go crazy. He led her to his room, controlling her like a puppet. He found some yarn in the closet, and tied her hands behind her back. “Ooooooh!” she moaned, shivering. He slid her sopping panties down her thighs to the floor and had her kneel on the bed. He spread her legs, tying her ankles to the bedposts at the foot of the bed. She mumbled incoherently, rendered near-witless by the sexual torture she was receiving. Caeman took a body-pillow out of the closet and folded it double. He placed it in front of her and laid her down over it. The result was that her lovely young treasure was presented in a very appealing fashion. Caeman undressed quickly, then knelt behind Ellie, who was nearly mad with desire. She whimpered in pleasure when he put his hot, throbbing penis at her entrance. She cried out in orgasm as he entered her. He let her calm down before proceeding. He let her emotions guide him, bringing her as much pleasure as he could. She rode on waves of pleasure, climaxing over and over again. Finally Caeman couldn’t take it anymore and blasted his spunk into her. She passed out, her mouth open. Caeman undid the controls in her mind, freeing her to act on her own. Then he cut her physical bonds with a pocket knife he dug out of his discarded pants. He repositioned her so she’d be more comfortable and covered her with a light blanket.

Caeman dressed once more and slipped the glasses into his pocket. The connection between them had seemed to slip somewhat whenever the glasses slid down his nose during the course of their lovemaking. There had to be a way to fix that.

Caeman wondered if a story had to be finished before the Scribe’s Gate would work. He opened his word processor and began to type out a character description of a young scientist named Hokuto Minako, PhD., MD, and several other degrees, who was called “Minnie” by her friends, blessed with great beauty and extreme intelligence. He wrote of how she scorned a sorceror during college because she had to work on her thesis, and was subsequently cursed to obey any command anyone gave her, and that he had altered her body to his desires before being banished by a rival sorcerer. Caeman printed the document and activated the Gate, and Minnie appeared before him, dressed in a lab coat and nothing else, her lovely Asian features set in a scowl.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “As if I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t bring you here to screw you.” At least not yet. “Believe it or not, it’s your brain I need.” He handed her the glasses on which the amplifier was mounted. “This device is effective for its purpose, but it has some important flaws. First, everyone in town knows I don’t wear glasses, and these are too obvious. Second, they slip off during exercises such as running...”

“Or fucking.” Minnie said with disdain.

“Right.” Caeman replied, returning her scowl.

“From which I guess this is some sort of mind-control device.” she said, bringing the glasses toward her face.

“Freeze.” he commanded, and she froze. “Do not try to use the device against me or anyone else. Your task is to improve the device. And you are not to harm me or anyone else while you’re here, either. Serve me well, and I may summon a sorcerer to free you from your curse.” Minnie looked skeptical, but nodded. He spun through an episode of the Men in Black TV show which he had recorded seven times until he had a decent shot of the lab, then brought out a lot of the equipment. She examined the equipment, nodding in approval.

“It will suffice, for now, I suppose.” she said, her Oriental accent thick, but in a sexy way. “I may need you to...conjure...something else later.” Caeman nodded, and went to the attic. He found some of his mother’s old clothes from when she and his father had lived together with Grandther before buying their first house. He selected a pair of pants and a blouse, and brought them to Minnie.

“Put these on.” he commanded. Minnie complied. He found some house shoes and gave those to the geas-bound doctor. “It won’t do for you to be seen looking like something out of a porn movie.”

“It would help if I had an assistant.” Caeman went back to his computer and found a superheroine story he had written. He printed out a copy and took the amplifier from Minnie. He put the glasses on and activated the Gate. The person who appeared before him was sixteen years old, with curly, ruby hair down to the middle of her back, dressed in a black leather suit which was unzipped to show off her impressive cleavage. She wore mirrored shades and black leather gloves with the fingers cut off.

“Good afternoon, Nike.” Caeman said. He had named his superheroine after the Greek goddess of victory. Her story was actually a parody, and her powers combined elements of many superheroes. Nike took off her shades and glared at Caeman.

“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” she demanded.

“You are a character in a story I wrote, Nike.” he replied. “In a sense, I am your creator. My name is Caeman. You have been brought into this reality by means of a certain artifact I inherited from my grandfather. I brought you here at the request of another of my creations.” He gestured to Minnie. “This is Minnie. You will be assisting her.”

“Like hell I will.” Nike snarled. Caeman had been expecting this. After all, he had created her.

You will eagerly do as you are commanded. he thought, directing those thoughts at her. It makes you feel good to help others. That is the nature of all superheroines. It makes you feel even better to be praised. If you serve well, you will be rewarded. You know this, and will eagerly obey. Nike staggered under the mental assault.

“Thank you for opening my eyes.” Nike said. “I exist to serve. I will eagerly obey.” Caeman smiled and patted her cheek. Nike smiled in return, registering it as praise. Caeman turned to Minnie.

“Nike here will be serving as your assistant, Minnie.” he said. “Her powers will prove invaluable. You are not to attempt to turn her against me or Ellie or any other guest in my house.”

“Who is Ellie?” Minnie asked.

“A young strawberry blonde who is sleeping in my bedroom right now.” Caeman replied. “Speaking of whom, I’d better check on her.” He handed the amplifier back to Minnie.

Ellie felt gentle fingers on her cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled. The pillow beneath her head was soaking with her saliva—she had passed out with her mouth open.

“I’ve never had a love experience like that before.” she sighed. “I love you.” Caeman gave her a glass of water, which she gladly drank, moistening her dry mouth. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got a couple of people trying to improve the amplifier.” he said. “Minnie, the one in the lab coat, has something of a chip on her shoulder. Nike, the one in leather, promises to be more...amiable. Are you ready to go shopping?”

“Like this?” Ellie asked, gesturing at her naked body. “Maybe if you used the amplifier to make people not notice.”

“I’ve found some things close to your size. They used to belong to my mother.” He handed her a pair of jeans and a denim shirt. The shirt was tight, and she couldn’t button up the top three buttons. The jeans were form-fitting, but felt good. “I said ‘close to.’ My mother never had much of a rack until she got pregnant, and that was after she moved out of here, so there aren’t any post-pregnancy shirts lurking in the closets.” He gave her a pair of long, grey socks and gave her her boots back.

“I’m going to pop out of this shirt.” Ellie commented. “But I suspect that’s part of the appeal, isn’t it?” Caeman only smiled. “I’ll wear it for you, lover, but you have to bail me out of jail if I get arrested.” Caeman laughed.

Ellie was used to department stores and malls, and had never been inside a Wal-Mart before, much less the Wal-Mart Supercenter which had recently been built just outside the Mexia, TX city limits on Highway 84. It astonished her that they could put the entire contents of several department stores, a supermarket, and several malls she knew, all in one store. There was even a gas station in the parking lot, charging only a dollar and six cents for a gallon of unleaded gasoline. What astonished her even more was that Caeman seemed to know his way around. He guided her like an expert through the store, bringing her here and there and handing her things without even consulting a salesperson. She tried them on and found them to be an excellent fit.

The truck rattled on the way back home. As they made their way up Caeman’s driveway, it began to knock. It shut down just outside the garage, and Caeman had to apply a great deal of force on the brakes to get the truck to stop, since the power brake system required that the engine be running to work. Ellie took her purchases inside while Caeman opened the hood. He didn’t look happy when she returned.

“How’s it look?” she asked. Caeman closed the hood and drew a tarp over the pickup like a doctor would for a deceased patient. “That bad?”

“The block’s cracked like the Liberty Bell.” he said. “As bad as it is, you’d think I’d tossed ice water on it while it was hot. I’ve been meaning to rebuild the engine anyway.”

“Okay.” Ellie said. “Anyway, that Asian scientist you invited wants to talk to you.” Caeman followed Ellie back to the house. He felt a sting on the back of his neck, and suddenly the room seemed to be filled with noise. He could hear everything everybody was thinking. There were so many voices Caeman couldn’t make sense of it all.

Suddenly everything got quiet again, and he was only hearing three voices. Minnie’s, Nike’s, and Ellie’s.

“It will most likely take a little bit of time to get used to adjusting the gain on the new amplifier with your mind.” Minnie said. “But I assume that this is what you meant when you listed the flaws in the amplifier. You needn’t worry about it slipping off when you do your girlfriend now, or about it getting stolen, or losing it.”

“You implanted it in my head?” Caeman asked, rubbing where the sting had been.

“You have a keen grasp of the obvious.” Minnie replied dryly. “I fulfilled my part of the bargain.”

“Right.” Caeman said, taking the Gate from his pocket. He dug through his disks until he found what he was looking for: one of his few fantasy stories. He printed out a copy and found a scene involving the character he needed. Her name was Faria. She was an Elven sorceress with a strong empathic gift, whose pleasure was dependent on the pleasure of others. In a flash of light, Faria was edited out of the printout and standing in Caeman’s computer room. “Greetings, Faria. My name’s Caeman, and I have someone here who needs your help.”

“Yes, I’m feeling that.” Faria replied, approaching Minnie. “That’s a nasty curse you have there. Don’t worry, I’ll have you right as rain in a jiffy.” Caeman felt a distinct tingle as Faria began her spell. When it was over, Minnie was weeping in joy.

“Well, now that that’s done, I suppose it’s time I explained about this thing.” he said, showing everyone the Scribe’s Gate. He told the girls everything, starting with Grandther’s death and moving on from there. With the amplifier now firmly embedded in his brain, he could easily read the thoughts of the others. Ellie, Nike and Faria stared at the bejeweled Gate in silent awe, and figured that Grandther had been very wise indeed to pass the Gate on to Caeman. Minnie, on the other hand, was plotting how to take the Gate for herself and escape to a fictional world where she could rule with her superior mind. Caeman knew this could mean trouble. There was only one thing he could think of to do. He reached into Minnie’s mind and disposed of that devious streak, and took her ego down a few notches, making her more submissive and less disdainful, making her warmer, more caring, and opening her up to all the happiness that could come with being so caring. He allowed her to be aware that her mental condition was artificial, but that he had done it for her own good. She smiled then, a genuinely warm smile he could tell she wasn’t used to making.

“It seems your grandfather truly did choose the right guardian for the Gate.” she said. “I don’t suppose you’d mind removing my jealousy, too?”

“If that’s what you want.” Caeman replied.

“Please?” Minnie asked. “Logically speaking, jealousy really is a useless emotion that has never helped anyone. I’d like it better if I could be happy for other people’s happiness instead of wanting to take it away from them and keep it for myself.” The others volunteered for the change as well, and Caeman obliged them. He also removed their sexual inhibitions, opening them up to experience pleasure in thousands of possible ways, and he let them be aware of this as well. They moved closer and embraced him, Minnie’s balloonish breasts encircling him like an extra pair of arms.

Caeman’s eyes fluttered open, and glanced down to where Minnie knelt, using her large breasts like a big, fake vagina, taking his head into her mouth whenever it emerged from her cleavage. He didn’t resist, lying back and allowing himself to blast a load into her waiting mouth. She lapped it up eagerly. The commotion woke the others. Nike took Minnie’s place, and wrapped her super powered mouth around his cock. Minnie and Faria made a sixty-nine on the floor while Ellie sat on Caeman’s face. As Caeman took pleasure in the service of what he guessed was the only harem to beg their Master to make them his slaves, he couldn’t shake the odd feeling that he was being watched.