The Demigod: Citrine 01

Please think about leaving me a comment if you rate. Helps me do better.

This is a work of fantasy and fiction. Any coincidental resemblance to actual places or persons is just that, coincidence. Copyright 2018, Coyote Howard.

Citrine: Chapter 1

Roland Piast was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, and he was filled with dread.

He was conscious of the fact that when he was awake, the only dreams he remembered were the bad ones. The nightmares. So while dreaming, he assumed it would turn badly.

He was in his student union building. It was during the day, beautiful and sunny outside, typical of a late summer day. There were people all around either at tables or in line at the on campus Starbucks or passing through. As usual in a dream, he was more on autopilot than driving anything.

He suddenly stood and shouted, "I order you all to worship me as a god!" he said with outstretched hands.

The room stopped what they were doing and as fast as they could either dropped to their knees or began to bow or chant in various ways as they began to worship him with orange glowing irises.

Roland could feel himself smile, his world's vision now having an orange filter on it, fading slowly until his next words.

"You there, woman, I order you to come worship your god's dick with your mouth," he said.

The woman had been proclaiming to him with outstretched hands like one might see at a Baptist church sermon, but when ordered her own brown eyes glowed a more intense orange light than from before, and she instantly approached him, knelt down on her denim laden knees and fumbled with the zipper to his cargo shorts.

As soon as his penis hit the outside world, it vanished again in her hot, wet mouth. her black haired, 30 sonething face bobbed on his manhood, her white cheeks reddening with exertion and excitement. She sucked him, fondled his balls, and swirled her tongue. Her goal was not merely to get him hard, to get him to cum, and suddenly he did so, flooding her tongue with his seed. She happily swallowed with appreciative eyes looking into his.

"You've done well, but there is more to offer," Roland said, looking at his slowly softening member buf feeling a surge of new energy.

"I order you to be hard again," he said to himself, and he instantly returned to raging with more orange light both in his vision and around his hard phallus.

The woman knew her role, and began to undo her jeans.

And Roland Piast's eyes snapped open, devoid of anything orange.

His chin was almost to his chest, he was slumped in his chair, and the book he had been reading had almost fallen from his weak grip off his leg to the floor.

"Fuck," he said, straightening himself out and sitting up straighter.

The dream was still fresh in his mind, but it was already beginning to fade. Wow what a dream it had been. He never remembered good dreams, but was a great one to finally retain.

Ha, that'd be cool wouldn't it? He said to himself with an inward chuckle. Yeah right.

Roland casually looked at his phone and saw nothing new. Typical.

Truth was, he didn't feel like a typical senior in college, majoring in political science more because that's what he was good at, the public speaking part, not because it's what he liked. He was minoring in physical education, he figured that could be a good back up plan and it looked good on a resume.

He was a jack of all trades really, a bit good at anything he tried. He was average looking, a shade under six foot tall, 170 pounds, brown hair he kept in a medium fade (his hair was thick and coarse, not allowing for anything much longer) and his eyes were a hazel color, when anyone could see past his very bland glasses. He preferred to wear what he was wearing today, all-terrain New Balance shoes, khaki cargo pants, a gray v-neck shirt under a navy blue half zip sweater. One would say he was unremarkable.

His father was an Army man, hauling he and his mother around the nation every three years, and it hadn't allowed them to put any roots down, which had caused Roland Piast to not become close to anyone other than his parents.

His father had died just last year in Afghanistan, which had been really hard. He made sure to call his mother every day he was gone since. It helped them both, as his father had instilled in him to be a man since as long as he could remember. It was the duty of a man. Nowadays there was so much about equality, yet there would always be roles to play. Roland had learned some from his father, some from his mother, and others on his own.

He'd learned that women were a treasure. They came in all shapes and sizes, all kinds of personalities and temperaments. He was not a player by any means, his father had taught him about honor, that being a man meant owning up. Roland was either honest with the women in his life about not being exclusive, or he broke it off with the woman he was with if he felt the need to try something different.

Sometimes it went better than others, again, he'd learned.

That would be cool.

With a sigh, the acuteness of the dream fading even after only a minute or two, Roland casually said out loud to himself with a wistful tone, "I order my eyes to see normally."

His vision blurred, everything he saw went slightly orange, and he blinked a few times, settling on winking his right eye and squinting through the lenses as the filter faded away in moments.

What the fuck? he asked, again to himself and pulled the glasses off.

He saw everything perfectly clear as the frames were pulled away, and instantly his heart rate began to rise.

No way. You're being stupid. This is stupid.

He looked down at the scar on his hand from when he was a kid, remembering it as something like a kitten they'd had for a minute had clawed him.

"I order this scar to heal," he said, and nothing happened.

Ha, told you, you dumbass. This is real fucking life man.

But, he thought, the skin already was healed. It had been a stupid dream, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"I order this scar to be normal, unblemished skin."

Again a light orange filter shown on his world, but this time he knew it was his just his vision, not anything actually visible.

His scar glowed a light orange as well, and when it faded moments later the skin was perfect, the scar gone.

Holy fucking shit!

Now the dream came back with sudden clarity, and everything that had happened in it. Maybe he was still dreaming.

He reached down and pinched himself with his nails, hard, inducing sharp but minor pain in his forearm.

Okay.

He looked over and saw a brunette woman that had just sat down with her coffee. He rose and walked over to her. She was alone and if he made a fool out of himself he could play it off and only be a creep to one person.

She was cute though. She had on low rise converse shoes, jean shorts that were low rise, a yellow tank top and some kind of bra with a light cream sweater over top. Her purse was a brown leather affair on the table top. Her hair was in a hasty ponytail and she had dark metal, thin rimmed glasses on, while her fingers tapped away on her phone. She looked up at him as he came to her table, a look of slight interest.

She probably thought he'd hit on her or ask her out or something.

"I order you to give me your coffee," he said simply.

Her body's outline flashed orange, and she immediately picked up her cup and lightly tossed it at him, which he wasn't ready for, trying to catch it out of instinct while letting out a surprised 'oh shit', before it ultimately hit the floor and splattered everywhere, the hot liquid burning his hands along the way.

"Owww! What the fuck?" the girl said, standing up as coffee hit her legs as well, her size now apparent at about five foot three inches tall, with a petite frame but decent, good looking B or C cup breasts. She took her coffee splashed glasses off and set them down. "Why the fuck did I just throw that at you!?" she exclaimed, the orange already gone from around her. "I just bought that! God damnit!"

But Roland Piast had an answer, his own irises' glow fading as well. Just like that, he could make people do what he wanted. Unless for some reason she had just done what he'd said automatically, and with results he hadn't thought of, and for some reason her body had glowed unnaturally with the same color of his vision.

"Sorry," he said automatically, then thought quickly. "I order you to come with me," he said, thinking about some damage control.

She immediately outlined in constant, unfading orange, went blank in the face and stood stark upright, then moved with him when he started walking. People were looking at the commotion now, and they needed to leave. But then he realized she'd just left, her phone was in her hand but her purse was still on the table.

"Go get your purse," he said to her, but she didn't do anything. "I order you to go get your purse."

She walked over still glowing orange in his vision, still blank faced, collected her purse in both hands and stood next to the table in the coffee on the linoleum floor.

Roland walked back over to her so as not to shout.

"I order you to follow me and act natural," he said, walking away again, but this time she got down on all fours and crawled after him, her hair starting to come out of her ponytail to look messy, her hands and knees and shoes still in the coffee, her purse now getting dragged through the liquid.

"Jesus christ," Roland said, rubbing his glowing eyes. This was getting ridiculous.

Alright, I've got to break this down. Make it work for me. Allow her to be her but to follow my orders still. Got to phrase it right.

"I order you to act as who you are, but to do as I say," he said, to which she suddenly blinked and stood up, looking down at herself in uncertainty, the orange fading this time as his own vision's filter faded as well. "Now come with me," he said, and she looked up and regarded him, then followed him as walked through the room, a Starbucks employee coming over to them.

"Is everything alright?" the woman asked as Roland tried to walk by, mostly to the girl.

"I don't know, this guy keeps telling me to do stuff and I just do it," the brunette said, making Roland whip around.

Shit! In the dream he'd addressed the whole room right?

"I order everyone to forget I was ever here, this girl as well," he yelled out loud, looking around to see the reaction.

The barista immediately ignored him, as did everyone else. To include the brunette.

But this time Roland felt an uncomfortableness in his chest. Not pain really, and not localized. It was inward, like his heart and lungs had tightened. Uncomfortable was the best description.

What is that?

Okay, so I can make people forget too. More and more complicated. The dream wasn't this bad.

"Tell me your name," he said to the brunette, and there was no light this time.

"Kayla Rene Hamilton," she said, startled like she'd not known he was there.

"Kayla, I order you to act as yourself but do as I say," he said.

"Okay," she responded. Orange.

"Come with me," he said, then backed away, she looked at him quizzically but followed.

"Ah, okay. Good. Oh, and don't tell anyone I'm giving you orders and that you follow them. Act normal," he said as well.

"Okay," she said again.

He quickly walked out of the union building and down to his car, getting in. Kayla did not, so he got out.

"Why aren't you in the car?" he asked.

"You ordered me to come with you, not to get in your car. I don't want to get in your car," she said.

It occurred to him just then what exactly he was doing. The implications of it ran through his mind at breakneck speed. He was forcing her to do things she was aware she had no control in doing. It hit him like a ton of bricks. Guilt washed over him like a wave. Then he saw her clothes and the coffee on them. And the deviant side of him spoke in his mind.

Roland had been carrying a dark secret he'd never told anyone but his various computers. He was into some pretty freaky shit. Rape. Bondage. Forced orgasms were some of his favorites. Forced feminization. Mind control. Impregnation. Insertion. Hell, he'd even looked up gay and bisexual porn before. So his rational mind went to work.

I can do what I want. I can even make them forget afterwards. Is it even rape if they like it? If I make them like it? Hell, I can MAKE them think it was their idea!

"Kayla, you still have to do what I say right?" he asked, his breath quickening.

"Yes," she said.

"Then I want you to want to do anything I say. I want you to feel happiness whenever you do as I say."

"Oh," she said, suddenly as if a switch were thrown in her mind, "well then we should get in your car."

Curiously, there was no orange glow.

They were down the street moments later, on their way to Roland's apartment on the other side of the campus, though not on the campus itself. He hadn't jacked off since that morning - but now he could have it handled for him.

"Give me head," he said to Kayla, who responded immediately.

She leaned over, using her hands to undo his pants enough to fish his cock out of his briefs, then immediately went to work on him, deep throating his slightly hard 6.5 inch cock in one go.

"Oh holy shit," he said, reveling in the feeling of Kayla's throat.

She had taken him all the way to the balls in the first go, then was using her tongue at the same time as her gag reflex fought with her order. He put his right hand on the back of her head and let her bob up and down, making him rock hard in seconds. She kept going all the way down, all the way up, fucking her own face with his dick. It was wonderful.

It didn't take more than two minutes of the ten minute drive before he felt the familiar feeling of being close to cumming, telling her to slow down before remembering the other part of his powers: he could control bodies as well. Even his own.

"Keep going," he said, suddenly excited. "Swallow all my cum."

She renewed her assault with her mouth, needing another minute to coax his balls to tighten up, his body tensing, his cum rocketing down his cock. She, sensing all this, took him again down her throat and let him shoot right into her stomach, sucking out what didn't shoot the rest of the way as she pulled off his member.

"Oh man," Roland said, his body relaxing. "That was amazing."

Kayla just leaned back over to her seat, looking out the window, but speaking, "Mmmm, it feels good to do as you say. That was really - nice."

"I order my dick to be ready to have sex again," he said, laughing out loud as his prick, which had been going soft, sprung to life again with an almost deja-vu like orange glow.

"Wow," Kayla said, watching from the other seat, able to comment as she was herself, just having to do as Roland said. "Where are we?"

That my doing? oh! She had glasses!

Her words reminded Roland that he had these powers, but what exactly could he do?

"Kayla, I want you eyes to both have perfect twenty-twenty vision."

Hmm, nothing. Let's try it a little differently.

"Kayla, I order your eyes to both have perfect twenty-twenty vision," and the filter of orange was applied, her body having it's own orange outline yet again.

"Whoa!," she said, sitting up a little straighter. "I can see clearly! You did that?"

"I sure did. Now Kayla, cum for me," he said, turning a corner.

The reaction was instantaneous. The girl's eyes snapped open like she'd been hit with a shock, her mouth dropping open as her hands flew to the crotch in her jean shorts, her upper body doubling over as her knees shot to her chest, then her hands flew out to the door handle and the center console of his Honda Accent, her legs shooting out and hitting the dash before going under to the floorboard, her body going rigid as her upper body flopped against the seat back, her mouth still open but her eyes rolled back in her head.

She was moaning and groaning, some occasional "oh my god"s thrown in there, gasping for breath. Her hips were gyrating in the air.

But she didn't stop.

Fuck!

"Kayla, you can stop cumming!" Roland yelled over her, 40 seconds in.

She stopped, her body going limp as her labored breathing filled the car.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck. I've never cum that hard before. Ever," she said, looking over at him after gasping and trying to catch her breath, smiling. "Holy shit."

"This is awesome," Roland said, parking the car on the street in it's normal spot.

She followed him out of his car, up the pathway to his door, and as he unlocked it, the order he'd given her before was still in effect.

"Kayla, I want you to want me to fuck you. To cum in you. I want you to be a slut for me," he said, to which she immediately responded.

She hopped up into his arms, her being so short, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. She planted her mouth on his and immediately her tongue shot out into his mouth, probing and wrestling with his.

Her body didn't stay static though, her midriff and chest pressing into his own as her hips humped his pelvis, eager to get the cock contained in his pants into her.

"Fuck me. Oh god, fuck me you stud!" she breathed into his face, her deep green eyes startling Roland as her desperation mixed with her urgent need to be filled with dick.

She was the picture of feminine sexuality, a wanton slut in the best way, just as he had ordered her to be.

He carried her to the couch and set her down on the armrest, putting her at face level with his crotch. Without prompting she unzipped his jeans and fished him out, immediately taking him into her mouth again. She was devouring his penis like her life depended on it, looking up at him and upon seeing his slight smirk back at her, she hummed and her eyes smiled back.

She pulled her mouth off but jacked him with her hand still, "You ready to take me yet?"

Roland needed little more encouragement, reaching down to take off his shoes and clothes, her doing the same, standing naked before him for merely a moment before leaning back on the armrest and spreading her smooth legs like the whore he'd made her.

"Come fuck the shit out of this hot pussy," she said.

He obliged and stepped in between her inviting legs, rubbing the head of his cock up and down her slit to get it slippery enough. The movements made her eyes flutter as the pleasure tingled up from her nether region. Up until now her own parts had barely been touched, but now they were.

They were about to be used and it turned her on all that much more.

He pressed against her hot opening, her lips spreading and allowing him entry. His cock stretched her walls, filling her like only a woman can be.

The order she'd been given was being fulfilled, and it made Kayla feel amazing. She brought a hand up to where his neck met his shoulder, her head lolling to the side slightly as they both reveled in the feeling of him sliding further and further into her sopping cunt. They were fullfilling the basest instincts on Earth, to fuck.

"Ohhhh God, yes," she breathed as he hit his full length, her smaller sized frame meaning his cockhead was about two inches below her belly button.

"You're damn right about that," Roland said as he pulled back halfway, then thrusted in again.

"Oh, shit," Kayla said, more pleasure building in her, her eyes rolling back slightly with his movement, her hair swayed as well as her body bounced with the thrust into her cunt.

He steadily fucked her, slowly building up speed and power, her loving every part, the order working it's power while her moans and gasps filled his apartment.

Truth be told, he hadn't been laid in a while, so as she looked up at him, took her other hand and grabbed his side, pulling herself up to kiss him, he lost it for the second time that day.