The Commander

This is my first attempt at an erotic story. I welcome all feedback.

The grocery store cashier rang in my total - $12.49. Her name tag – Wendy – rested gently over her left breast pocket of the beige grocery uniform shirt. I paid with cash, as always.

"I just had back surgery," I lied as I shoved the change into my jeans pocket. "I'm not supposed to lift anything heavy. Can I get some help carrying these water jugs to my car?"

"Sure thing," Wendy soothed in her artificially sweet tone. "I'll just get someone for you." Scanning over her checkout counter, Wendy spied a shelf jockey two aisles over, wearing the same beige shirt with the Food King circular logo on his front pocket. "Jake!" she called out, "can you do a carry out." Her nonplussed tone and slack body language screamed apathy. Just another long, lifeless day.

"One minute," Jake called back. He actually took only about 10 more seconds to secure a macaroni and cheese box pyramid display he was building. Jake surveyed my situation on his way over, and without another word, picked up the two 10 gallon water bottles with the ease that comes with youth and exuberance. He would be perfect.

I walked ahead of Jake to the car. The morning fresh air held promise of another hot summer day. I thought of the beach – a stroll along the sand looked like the order of the day. As I approached the car I used my key FOB to unlock all the doors. I asked Jake to put the bottles carefully in the back seat while I opened the front right door. I retrieved a dollar bill that was waiting for me in the coin holder. I waited for Jake to slam the rear door shut, and then held out a dollar bill for him – not enough to make a big deal about, but enough that someone on minimum wage wouldn't turn down.

"Oh, thanks mister," he offered has he reached for the dollar bill through the open passenger door. My visual world collapsed into a small dark tunnel, as if I was looking through a black straw. I imagined this must be what people experience when they have a stroke. Unlike a stroke victim, my vision returned to normal a moment later, and I braced myself against the car, anticipating the inevitable moment of disorientation.

"Get in the car," I ordered Jake, holding the front door open for him. He obeyed silently. "Buckle up," I added before closing the door beside him. I walked around the front of the car, opened my door, and stepped in. Jake was sitting silently with his seatbelt firmly buckled.

I started the car and pulled out of the parking space. At Burnsdale Road I turned right, and head south for three miles, then I turned left onto Brook Lane, then a right, and navigated down the twisty streets in one of a thousand sleepy suburb neighborhoods.

As I approached the house, I looked to my silent passenger. Everything seemed fine. I pressed the remote control button, and turned into the driveway just as the opening garage door rolled up out of view. I pulled into the middle of the two car garage, turned the car off, and pressed the garage door remote. I waited in the car until the door banged shut before opening the car door. "Unbuckle your seatbelt," I told Jake before I stepped out of the car. I went to the security alarm panel, and entered the garage door access code. I opened the passenger door. Jake just sat there. "Get out and follow me."

Jake dutifully walked behind me. I unlocked the door to the house. Immediately a beeping panel warned me my second security system had sensed my entry. I shielded Jake's view of the key panel and entered a different code to silence the internal alarm. I locked the door to the garage, and re-armed both alarm systems.

I walked down the hallway, turned left before I got to the TV room, and made my way to the main floor bedroom. Jake followed like a duckling. Everything was waiting in my bedroom exactly as I had left it. I took all my clothes off while Jake stood motionlessly. I picked up the adult diaper waiting for me on the bed and fastened it to myself. Next I donned the neatly folded sweatpants and T-shirt. I attached the medical sensors beside my bed to my fingers and chest. They measured blood pressure, respiration, body temperature, skin galvanic response, and ECG. I checked all the readouts.

Satisfied everything was good, I lay down on the bed. "Come over here, beside me." Jake obediently drifted across the room, and stood at my side. "Sit down on the edge of the bed." I waited until Jake was seated before I held his hand.

The tunnel vision came back, but this time it lasted longer – maybe five seconds. When it was over, I steadied myself. Satisfied I was fine, I stood up beside the bed, and went to the attached bathroom. I looked in the mirror, and I saw Jake's face looking back at me. He was wiry – even a bit scrawny. His parted dark brown hair seemed like it needed a hairstylist or a stick of dynamite – either would be an improvement.

This is probably a good time to explain body-to-body transfer. I think I had this ability since birth, but I never really figured it out until about five years ago. I am still learning new aspects of the transfer, sometimes with surprising, and even dangerous results. I can transfer my entire mind – my conciseness – call it my soul, if you will – into another body whenever I want to. I have to be in physical contact with the other person. That's what happened when I took Jake's hand on the bed.

When I transfer out of my own body, it goes into a sleep – maybe a coma – I'm not entirely sure. I have no idea how long I can stay out of my own body, but while I am "away", it still has its own biological needs, such as breathing, waste dump, and food. Because my comatose body cannot eat, I have to re-inhabit it before it gets too hungry or thirsty.

Recently I discovered I can jump only part way into a host. That's what happened in the parking lot. In a partial jump (I call it a skip), I stay fully alert and functional inside my own body, but I also assume general control over the host. A skip is like putting the host into a hypnotic trance. The host still has his own motor control, but absolutely no will power, discretion, or judgement. I totally own the host during a skip. I discovered that talking to the host – giving it verbal commands at the same time I control the host from within his own mind – creates a mind lock that overpowers any possible resistance.

When I jump (not just skip) into another body, I take total and complete control over the host's body. I can make it walk, talk, eat, fuck – anything I want. And best of all, I sense and feel everything that the host would normally feel.

I am working on a new transfer – I haven't perfected it yet. I call it lurking. Lurking is like read-only skipping. Like skipping, I keep control over my own body. When I lurk, the host has unfettered control over his own body, thoughts, judgement, will power, and discretion. I literally hide somewhere in the back of the host's mind – like a stowaway passenger. While I lurk, I see and feel everything the host sees and feels.

You have no idea what opportunities await me. Just last week I jumped a guy with a searing hot girlfriend. She's five feet ten, had gorgeous blue eyes, wavy blonde hair to match her curvy figure, and big, firm tits that stand up and salute! I happened to see them a couple of weeks before I jumped him. They both got out of his BMW. She gave him a long French kiss while he groped her ass with one hand and felt her pussy through her cotton dress with the other. They stood there on the sidewalk like that for fifteen seconds before they walked into the condo building. Man, I thought, I've got to jump that. Two weeks later and a little research, I was in.

Jumping takes a lot of careful planning and execution. I can't just walk up to a guy and jump him, because then my own body would fall down in a coma. That's why I brought Jake back to my house. Jake is not the target – he is just a mule. I use him to get to the real target. When I jump from one person to another (I call that a leap), the person I jumped from suddenly wakes up, as if he has been sleepwalking. He has no memory of any part of the jump.

I can only usefully jump people who speak English as their mother tongue. Early on, before I became careful, I leaped a Spanish speaking host – it was a disaster. I couldn't control him, and he had no control over his own body. I/we quivered on the floor like a victim of an epileptic seizure. Thankfully the still dazed mule was still there, and when he touched us, I leaped back into the mule. Since then I do all my homework before jumping.

My homework on the blond girl's boyfriend, Jet, (yes, that's his name) is an ad executive, but I don't think he works very hard. He is English speaking. He makes over a quarter million a year from his inheritance investments, and he's only 32. He owns a luxury condo down by the waterfront and drives a BMW. He gave his gorgeous blond girlfriend, Fiona, a Mercedes convertible last year.

I used a mule to leap Jet in his underground parking lot. As Jet, I rode the elevator upstairs to his condo. Fiona was waiting for him/me wearing a tightly clinging hot black mini dress.

"Dinner's ready." She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me long and hard with a warm open mouth. No French this time.

"Can't wait for dessert" I offered enthusiastically.

"I read your email about Paris today – you're getting an extra helping of dessert tonight, big boy!" I gathered their relationship was mostly physical – he bought her bling and took her to Paris, and she reciprocated with carnal gratitude. I don't think either of them expected to grow old together – that wasn't the point. They were both having fun, and they filled each others' needs, for now.

Cooking was clearly not part of the deal – dinner was actually lousy. Perhaps neither of them cared – maybe it was all about the dessert. So after she cleared the plates in that hot little dress, she – oops – dropped a knife, turned her back to me, and bent over at the hips to pick up the knife, offering me a clear view of her bare ass. Jet's cock saluted in wild appreciation. The game was afoot. I decided to play it out a little more – being too eager didn't seem like Jet's style. "A little clumsy, are we?" I chided playfully as I watched her perfectly shape ass straighten up and walk into the kitchen.

"I guess I had trouble holding on to it, being so wet and slippery and all," she called back without losing a beat.

Before I could think of a witty reply, she returned from the kitchen and walked right up to my chair. She pressed her knees to the edge of the seat, and leaned forward, letting her dress-bound tits smother my face. "If I don't suck you off right now," she whispered, "I'm going to bust."

I am guessing this was a private joke. Not knowing the appropriate reply, I decided a new approach might spice things up a little. Nothing to lose. "I didn't hear the magic word," I nagged with a schoolmaster's scorn.

She straightened up and backed up two steps while the gears turned. I could tell this was a tipping moment – either this was the most brilliant card I could have played, or Jet is in the doghouse tonight.

When I jump, I can access my host's memories, but they are all jumbled up. It's like rooting through a box of 10,000 jigsaw puzzle pieces one piece at a time, without the benefit of the picture on the puzzle box cover. I can randomly connect to any single memory, but I might not have any idea of its context or meaning – what does a random memory of a girl riding a bike mean?

One helpful thing about the host's memory is I do seem to be able to follow links from one memory to another. The girl on the bike memory, for example, might link to another memory of a baby in a woman's arms. It is a decent bet (but not certain) those memories are two recollections of the same child at different ages. But is the girl on the bike the baby or the mother in the second memory? The more I know about my host's situation before I jump, the faster I can process his memories coherently. It's all in the homework.

I can also link my host's memories to what I physically see in real time during a jump. For example, if I look at a movie poster through my host's eyes, I might connect to my host's memory of watching that movie – who he went with, the movie theatre, and so on.

The host's memories are too disorganized, and the memory links are too slow for me to use in a live setting, such as a conversation, so I have to make it up as I go along. I am getting better at predicting what works.

At last Fiona brought her palms together below her chin. "Pleeeeeeeese," she played along. Jet was definitely out of the doghouse.

"I am sorry – I cannot hear the plea of a woman wearing any clothing."

Two more steps back, but this time there was no hesitation. She crossed her hands in front of her tummy, and hoisted the black minidress over her shoulders, and let it drop to the ground. A naked goddess stood before me. She was everything I could have imagined. She has a perfectly proportioned figure. Fiona's gravity defying breasts were nothing short of a miracle. Her skin was smooth and perfect. Her all-over tan and shaved pussy were driving me to distraction. I wanted to take here right then, but I needed to play it cool like Jet would, so I just sat there in silence while Jet's boner doubled.

She stepped closer again, and then dropped to her knees, again bringing her hands up in prayer position. "Please, may I please, please, please suck you until you are dry?" Her big blue eyes locked mine with a delicious wanting.

"Okay," I offered as I lowered my hands and started caressing her tits, "but I want it 69 style."

"You got it, big boy," she smiled. That's the second time she called me that, and I understood why after she unbuckled Jet's trousers and pulled out his massive cock. It had to be nine, maybe ten inches fully erect. Without wasting a moment, Fiona plunged her open mouth over Jet's swollen member. I leaned back in ecstasy, already forgetting about the 69 stipulation. She slowly engulfed all of Jet's cock. God bless her, for Fiona was a deep throater. She licked Jet's balls with his cock buried right up to her lips. Fiona withdrew and looked up at me with those big blue eyes.

"So, big boy, where do you want your 69?"

I stood up and slipped off Jet's shoes and socks before dropping his pants and underpants to the ground. I took Fiona by the hand and walked her over to a 7-foot long sofa in the living room. I took Jet's shirt and undershirt off, and then I lay down naked, propping my head up with a pillow. Jet's massively erect cock beckoned her closer. This guy was the whole package – six foot one, dark hair, strong chin, broad shoulders, muscular without being freakish, rich, handsome, hung like a horse, and a killer girlfriend who can't wait to blow him.

"Time for dessert," she smiled. Fiona straddled Jet's face by placing one knee on the inside of the sofa cushion, keeping her other foot planted on the floor. She lowered her pussy onto his mouth. I started probing her delicious lips with Jet's tongue, and then move up to her clit. She shifted her weight for better balance before leaning forward for what I knew would be an all-time record breaking blowjob.

Fiona wasted no time. So many girls who have given me hidden pleasure spend the first five minutes licking around the tip, kissing the sides. Teasing, they call it. No teasing for Fiona. She drew the entire length of Jet's massive shaft into her warm mouth right away, and started sucking earnestly. When most guys I jump get a blowjob, the girl alternates between mouth and finger work, but Jet's ten inch pleasure rod let Fiona suck me savagely while simultaneously jerking me with her hand in the lower half of Jet's cock. Once in a while Fiona took the whole cock in, but she always returned to the two frontal attack – mouth and fingers.

I repositioned my arms to give my fingers access to her pussy. I spread apart Fiona's lips and stuck Jet's tongue as far up her fuck hole as I could. I then returned to her clit, and offered erotic tongue flicks. I didn't sense Fiona was getting any benefit from my oral stimulation, so I returned to invading her pussy hole again while my index finger circled around Fiona's pretty little rose bud.

I touched a finger to Fiona's pucker hole, and that linked to one of Jet's disconnected memories. Either he enjoyed it, or she did – it wasn't clear, but it was a strong memory. Betting on a good outcome, I spread her cheeks with my hands and started rimming Fiona's anus with my tongue. Her response was instantaneous – Fiona started moaning while she redoubled her sucking action. I started to lose focus as I could feel Jet's balls churning. My salvation was coming. As I passed that unmistakable point of no return, I jammed Jet's tongue up Fiona's asshole as hard as I could. When I couldn't hold it any longer, I exploded waves of Jet's cum into Fiona's pretty mouth. As soon as she felt Jet's orgasm erupting, Fiona went deep on me, taking in the whole ten inches, and she funneled Jet's jism directly down her throat while sucking rhythmically to Jet's geyser. At the very top of the list of all things unimaginably, mind blowing, hard-core fantastic is having a girl deep throat you at the instant of ejaculation. There are no words. I had no idea how much money Jet had spent on this girl's bling, only that it was not enough.

Impressively, Jet continued dumping waves of his love salve down Fiona's throat. I started to wonder who would last longer. She had to be deep throating for at least twenty seconds without drawing a breath of air. The trooper held on for at least another dozen seconds until Jet's spasms at last quieted. This guy was unbelievable – rich, handsome, hung like Godzilla, and an orgasmic fire hose that would drown a three alarm blaze.

When she was sure she had swallowed Jet's last drop, Fiona at last pulled away and drew a hard recovery breath. "Holy Fuck!" she hoarsed between labored gasps. Jet's post climactic body went limp with satiation, so I just lay there and enjoyed the view. Fiona was still panting in her 69 top position, and her engorged pussy glistened with her own excitement.

After a few minutes, Fiona finally lifted her wide open pussy lips from my face. She still had one leg on the floor, and she appeared to be cramping up. I sat up and offered her space on the sofa to rest against me. "You were incredible," she broke the silence.

"I'm pretty sure that's my line."

"No I mean ..." and then her face beamed when she got it. "Oh! Thanks." I am guessing Jet doesn't compliment her on her sexual prowess – an oversight I would work on.

"What I meant to say," she began again, "is I have never seen you go – you know – for that long. I thought I was going to pass out."

"I was very impressed how you held on for so long," I offered warmly. Another big smile.

But now her brows sunk in concern. She was waging an internal debate about bringing up the next topic.

"It's okay," I offered her permission. "Just say it."

"Well, it's just that, well that last time I asked you to ... you know ... do that thing with your tongue on my ... you know what I mean."

"When I rimmed you."

"Yes!" She screwed some more courage before continuing. "Well, it's just that you got so angry at me for even mentioning it. You even ... well, you remember what you did." I could see an opening – a door – that Jet probably never considered before.

"I know," I replied for the new Jet. "It's just that, well, Fiona, you are just so fantastic that I needed to get past my problem with that in order to, you know, be there for you the way you are for me." Tears burst down Fiona's cheeks. Clearly Jet had never allowed a conversation to go that direction before. It's too bad Jet will have no recollection of any of this when I jump out. Hey – who knows – maybe this will spark something in their future relationship. As if. Everyone has known a Jet in their days. In truth, there is sad hope any of this will make any difference. Tomorrow Jet will (honestly) deny ever saying any of this, and Fiona will have to re-assess her role in their relationship. Then again, who is to say that is a bad thing? Fiona won't be a goddess forever. They are bound to break up eventually – I am just helping Fiona come to her senses before she wastes too many years of her precious youth on this looser. On this rich, tall, handsome, over-endowed, tsunami ejaculating looser. Yeah, you're probably right – I just might be a douche bag.