Toymaker Ch. 05byHandsInTheDark©
Watching Lisa crawl away in terror hand been...
Not hot, but... I don't have a word for this. Having power over people is one thing. Power is always a rush. There'd been that one pretty student, who had really, really needed a passing grade... I'd given in just that one time and let her suck and swallow her way to graduation. It had been intense and hot; she didn't like doing it, but it had been her idea, and watching her put aside her pride and kneel down had sent shivers down my spine.
That had been total shit compared to this. Lisa had crossed my will in a tiny way, just a question I didn't happen to like, and I'd sent her slithering, nearly wetting herself, to the corner to cower. The emotion I got from that was better than sex. Make a woman horny and she'll fuck you. Make her mindless with fear and she'll do anything.
Sure, I'd dabbled with pushing fear before, mixing a little of it into desire, because in women, the two have a connection. But pure fear created pure power. And pure power...
I decided to try an experiment. I took a hike down a busy city block, against the flow of pedestrian traffic. Whenever anyone got within three feet of me, I tried to immediately sort out their emotions, and shove fear at them. Some I just couldn't figure out that fast, but about three quarters of them got the hell out of my way, some flinching, some of the women gasping.
And fuck, that felt amazing!
A few of the women I passed were turned on by the fear they felt, but most of them wouldn't have rated a second glance from me pre-ability, let alone now. One, though, was gorgeous, with a cascade of red hair and long legs. She'd be... yeah. She was worth going back down the block for.
I caught up with her two blocks later. Killer legs in a short skirt, tight ass, shiny copper hair. The clothing was elegant, though, not slutty. She was window shopping, when most people were rushing to work. That meant money. Rich man's daughter, or rich man's wife?
Actually, I didn't care, as long as I could get her alone.
I settled in behind her as she walked. There was a Victoria's Secret outlet coming up -- perfect. I started to push desire into her mind, slowly and gently.
Immediately her walk changed. I wasn't sure she was even aware of the change, but suddenly she was an inch taller and her feet glided through each step, which did nice things for the way her ass flexed under the skirt. And then she slowed to check out the lingerie display.
Lingerie makes a woman fantasize just as much as it makes men, and her arousal began to ramp up in a way that I had nothing to do with. I knew how this worked -- she'd linger for a few moments, permit herself a little fantasy time, and then gather herself up and move on. That's something I've learned about women -- they give themselves little tiny emotional rides, eroticism or sadness or joy, all day long. A happy moment here, a sexy moment there. Little flashes.
Just as she was finishing her little ten second emotional bath, I pushed her arousal up, sharply. I could feel her fighting that -- women put time limits on these emotional indulgences, and her time was up for this one -- but I made it intense, and her eyes wandered to a shameless little black babydoll in the window. I slid an image into her mind -- her body, wearing that, bending over a bed, ass out, legs taut, hands reaching for her...
She walked into the store. This hadn't been part of my scheme, but it was too good to pass up, and I moved to a coffeeshop across the street, getting a cup of tea and keeping watch, and rearranging my wallet contents. She spent thirty minutes in the shop, and came out with three packages, and that tiny smile many women have when they buy lingerie.
I followed her again, and let her get another block. There was no reason to push desire into her -- she was quite warm inside. When she paused at a walk light-
"Miss, I need a word with you."
She turned, and I flashed a CIA card at her. You can get the blanks online; by the way, it's not legal to do this, so I'd skip that Google search if I were you.
"Agent Angelo Roxy, CIA. I need to discuss something you did, a block ago. Do you have a moment?"
But as I said it, I pushed fear into her mind. If you're asking "fear of what", you don't understand my ability. I can push images and emotions, but I can't push thoughts. It was just fear, and she had no idea what she was suddenly afraid of. From the way her emotions whipsawed, she might have been afraid of me.
"I- this is not a good time."
"You'll have to make it a good time, I'm afraid. Your name?"
"Marla. Marla Reid. What is this about?"
"We can't talk here. Follow me."
I headed for a seedy coffeeshop. She followed me, her emotions all over the place.
I sat in a booth and she joined me. "I'll get right to the point, Miss Reid. When you crossed the last block, you passed a green car, made eye contact with the occupants, and gestured. Can you tell me what that was about?"
"I... what? I didn't do any of that. And why were you watching me?"
"The car was under surveillance, Miss Reid, not you." I pushed fear again. "So you deny making contact with the occupants?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about! I never saw a green car!"
I stared into her eyes, pushing more fear and adding desire. She blurted out "what is this about?"
"I can't discuss specific threat- specific investigations, miss. Do you know a man, about five feet eight inches, bearded, Egyptian descent-"
I looked around. "Voice down, please. You match the general description of an associate of the driver of the car in question. Can I ask where you work?"
"I'm not employed. I'm visiting some friends in the city-"
"I'll need your current address, phone, and the names and addresses of those friends."
"Look, I haven't done anything-"
"Then you have nothing to worry about. The information, please."
"I don't have all their addresses here."
Lust and fear. I poured them into her. It was a toxic brew; she was terrified that she was in some sort of trouble, and being attracted to me was forcing her to consider me her only possible ally. I alternated the emotions, slowly, firmly. She trembled.
"I have to emphasize, miss, that this situation is extremely serious. I will have to bring you in for formal questioning if you won't provide those addresses."
"I- did you mention a threat, before?"
"I misspoke. This is just an investigation." I pushed fear. Deep fear.
"Are we... is something going to happen?"
I glanced at my watch. "I need that information, quickly, miss Reid."
"I -- I have it in my hotel room."
"Is it nearby?" Desire. Unaccountable desire for a man you do not know. Give the man what he wants and he'll protect you from the fear. She looked at my hands.
"Two blocks that way. I'm... very frightened by all this. Please tell me-"
"Let's go, now. Your cooperation is appreciated. Quickly."
Fear. Nameless fear. We got up and walked, quickly.
"I've only been in town for a day. Seeing college friends. We're not terrorists. That's what this is, isn't it. There's some sort of plot? Is it safe to be here?"
"What floor is your room on, Miss."
"I can't answer your questions. The best thing you can do is follow my instructions and provide me what I need."
Desire. Give the frightening man what he wants and he won't hurt you. He might even protect you. And you have something he wants. I pushed an image of her kissing me, rubbing herself against me, begging for my protection. I made her picture arching her back, pushing out her breasts as I unbuttoned her blouse.
"I don't know any Egyptians in this city. You have to believe me!"
"You know some in other cities? Have any of them recently returned to this country?"
"No, please, I'm just visiting friends-"
"Did anyone give you anything to give to those friends?" I ramp up the fear, the numbing weltering fear, and I push images. An image of your blouse off, you bra askew, my hand working your nipple as you whimper. An image of burning buildings. An image of your body, dressed in that black babydoll, held down and handled by dark, swarthy strangers. Fear, and your body coming helplessly as contemptuous fingers violate you...
"Please -- please, you have to tell me what's going on. I'm so scared!"
"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation. Let's just get to your room, quickly."
Desire. Your fear is turning you into a little girl, but the little girl can use her hot, all-grown up body to please the scary man. You can please him; you ache to placate him. Images of your hand stroking a huge, hard cock. Brushing your nipple against my mouth. Opening your legs and showing your wetness. Kissing me sluttily so I'll fuck you, pound the fear out of you. That babydoll, being torn from your body. Orgasm. Violent, fear-driven orgasm...
We enter the hotel. I open my cell phone, push a few meaningless keys, and close it. We get into the elevator. She's standing nearer than she needs to. My cock is hard. I can smell her perfume. Her nipples are starting to show. I appear to ignore her, but I run her mind wild with desire. Her head dips down, her eyes peer up. Her hair drifts up into her hair, fussing a curl of it against her shoulder.
We enter her room, and I close the door behind us, and then blast her with fear, disabling fear, as hard as I can. She sobs and drops to her knees, steadying herself with her hands, unable to think or speak. Pure terror. It's not fear of anything, it's just fear, and she flinches away from me as I stand over her. She can't form words; she's gone irrational and unreasoning in terror. Her nipples are rock hard.
"You'll do everything I say," I told her. "Take off the blouse and bra. Now, Miss Reid!"
Lust, brutal lust. Lust is much, much better than fear, and she embraces it, encourages it. The blouse comes off quickly, and then the bra. Her eyes go vacant, and she strokes her breasts for me, showing me what a good girl she is.
I go through her bags. The black babydoll is in there.
"You'll do everything I ask," I repeat. "If you do, I'll keep you safe from them. But you will please me. That's the price. If you don't..." Impossible fear. She's sobbing, inching towards me, pressing her breasts against my legs.
"Naked. Leave on the stockings and heels, nothing else. Then put on this." I drop the lingerie on the floor. "You're going to fuck me, Miss Reid. If you fight it-" Fear.
She stumbles out of her clothing, and into the lingerie, her eyes unfocused. I pull her over to the couch, sit down and pull her over my knee. My hand comes down on her ass, as I smash fear through her. Then again. Then again. Then again, but with desire mixed it. More and more desire with each slap. In two minutes, she's experiencing fear and desire, full bore, mixed together. Each slap of my hand forces a mini-orgasm through her. She's grinding her belly against my cock.
"Did you know that women sometimes come when raped, Miss Reid? It's involuntary and it can be very intense."
I side my other hand over her breast, and squeeze a nipple, roughly. She arches towards a full-on orgasm, which I stop. I force her to kneel on the floor, show her my cock, and choke her on it. She spasms in terror.
"Women want this, you know. They want to be driven out of their minds with fear and hunger, you all do, deep, deep down -- masturbate, Miss Reid. Do it, or-"
Choking, masturbating, aching to come, aching to please and completely obedient. It's the terror -- it's hypnotic. I'd read that fear and helplessness could be inducers to a hypnotic state. Now I knew it was true.
"You want this," I told her. "You want to be raped by my cock. That's the only way you'll be safe. You need to please me. You're dressed to be raped, you want to be raped, and you'll come uncontrollably from being raped."
I started laughing. I couldn't push thoughts into her -- but I could terrorize her into this hypnotically obedient state, and tell her what to think. I was the worst, most powerful man in the world on an endorphin high that nothing, not even orgasm, could touch.
She bleated like a sheep, and turned around, offering her ass to me. But I took her by the hair and put her on the sofa, facing me, ass balanced on the cushion edge, arms up over her head and behind her. I lifted and parted her legs, her long, sexy legs.
"Say it," I snap.
"Did someone forget to say please?"
"P-please r-rape m-me, daddy."
I get a condom on and force into her roughly. There's no need to push on her mind anymore. She comes. I spend a long time inside her, my hands working her hair, throat and breasts and hips, shredding cloth that gets in the way. I command her to stroke me with her legs, lick her lips, or slap her breasts for me. She keeps coming, randomly, her slit sucking my cock. When I finally come, it's not really better than the unending wave of pleasure I'm already getting from her completely enslaved emotional state.
She came as I did; I pull out, and she continued to come, randomly, reacting to whatever wordless pictures she has dancing in her mind. She had pretty orgasms, and I took pictures.
"You were raped by terrorists, Miss Reid. You won't report it because you're ashamed at how very, very good it felt and how many times you came. I rescued you and you serviced my cock, and it felt so good you begged for more. Cock always feels good now. You love hard cock. If we meet again, you'll show me how much you love hard cock. If you don't..." Fear. "If you do," Orgasm. "You live for hard, cumming cock, Miss Reid. Terrifying, hard, brutal cock, taking you over and over... come again, Miss Reid."
She did, in the scraps of her lingerie.
"Go take a long, hot shower. Then pretty up; men expect that of you, and you like how hard it makes their cocks. Then go about your day normally, never discussing this."
I pulled myself together and left. As I closed the door, she was robotically heading for the bathroom, trailing sexy bits of black lace.
I don't know if I'll see her again, but my guess is I've arranged to make quite a few other men happy, and that makes me chuckle. It doesn't matter if I see her again. There are no lack of beautiful women on earth, and now I have the key to them all.