The Gizmo

Dear reader... I thought I'd have some fun. This is a silly mind control story. Please don't make it into something other than something fun to read. And if you get your jollies from it, that's great!

Please enjoy this silly story.

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Stu and Vicky have been married for ten years, as have their best friends, Paul and Linda. The four of them dated during high school, went to the same college, and settled into the same neighborhood. Paul and Stu both hold excellent jobs; Paul's in charge of multi-million dollar deals with a capital investment company while Stu is an electronics engineer specializing in medical equipment.

Paul is rough around the edges. It's what makes him successful at his job. Quick to make a decision, Paul's skills are admired by many. His flashing white smile and toned body certainly don't hurt his job.

Stu on the other hand never did anything without precise and accurate information. His skills in electronics earned him over a dozen patents, mostly in the medical field. Stu, much to the chagrin of Paul, gave away his patents so others could be helped. His hair is receding, and he is known around the hospital as a guy that will stop and tell funny stories to the sick kids. He's been the hospital's Santa Claus for the last five years. Money doesn't hold him prisoner. Methodical. Precise. Likeable. That's Stu.

Vicky works at the same hospital as Stu as a senior executive in charge of patient care. Vicky's shoulder length brown hair has just a touch of white in it. Vicky dresses like she is ready to meet the Queen of England. Always perfect—always. From her flawless makeup to wearing the latest fashions, Vicky epitomizes the upper middle class senior executive. Vicky's best friend is herself. There is an aura that surrounds her, letting everyone around know that her shit just doesn't stink.

Linda, however, seemed to relish the rougher side of life. She was drawn toward the bad boys. The ones that got into trouble at school, who made wads of cash, who rode the loud bikes, and could fight their way out of a bar.

Linda's hair, black as an un-lit alley, is usually tied into a ponytail. When she lets it down, it flows like a living river of black. Her hair picks up the light and reflects it around the room. Her eyes are pinpoints of black.

Linda works as a trainer at a local health club, and it lent her a look of a lean quick marathon runner. And while Linda was no taller than Vicky, Linda's legs seem to go on forever. Her gait, long and slow, she'd move across a room like a black Siamese cat looking for trouble—and usually finding it.

Neither one could be called stacked but, even in their mid thirties, men would ogle then as the girls walked by.

Although both have personalities that seemed to be one hundred eighty degrees apart, other than their hairstyles, they both have the same physical features and could almost pass as sisters. They are best of friends.

As was the custom, on the third Saturday of the month, they would make a night of it. Sometimes it was nothing more than a few drinks at a local sports bar down the road, sometimes a dinner date at a lounge. It was time to decompress and a time to enjoy life among friends.

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"They should be here any minute now," I said to Vicky.

"I almost wanted you to tell them we'd be out of town this weekend. The last time they were here, God... the tension between those two was as thick as butter and permeated the air."

"I agree."

I watched my wife set the bar. Vicky had to work a bit later than normal, and had yet to change out of her office attire. I'm kind of use to seeing her dress like she does, but tonight she seemed more refined than usual with a white shirt, charcoal-colored pencil skirt and high heels. Of course, Vicky never went bare legged. She told me years ago that her mother always said, 'Hosiery is the finishing touch to a woman's apparel.' And today, mother would have been proud. Vicky wore a shade of hose that she called 'barely there.' It didn't add much color to her legs, but made her legs shimmer in the light. Knowing my wife the way I do, that was the effect she was after.

Although my Vicky and Paul's Linda have been close friends since high school, there's always been competition between the two. Vicky makes good money, while Linda's job is more of a hobby. Paul's the breadwinner in their household. We've never talked too much about our finances, but I'd guess Paul makes considerably more than me.

The girls play games. I have a gut feeling Vicky didn't change out of her office attire because she was running late. She didn't because she knew Paul would eye her up in front of Linda. Best of friends, but always trying to get a little dig in.

Linda has been growing increasingly upset with Paul's non-stop ogling of the ladies for the last several years. Their marriage had become rocky and cracks were beginning to show. Paul constantly commented about other women and how he'd like to have sex with them. Those comments festered in Linda's mind like a rusty nail.

We heard the doorbell, and soon the sound of Paul's voice filled the stairwell. "We're here," he yelled.

"We're down in the den."

As soon as Paul rounded the basement steps, I had a drink in his hand. He took a sip then raised his glass to my wife who sat on one of the bar stools. Her legs crossed. "I like your outfit." He put the glass to his lips, stopped for a second buying some time, and then lowered it. "Nice legs."

Linda was a few steps behind Paul, and when she enters our den, she's in sweats and sneakers. Even I felt she should have at least put on some nice dress pants.

Paul made his way down to our small bar and put his drink down. He leaned over to Vicky and pecked her cheek with a kiss. I noticed, as well as Linda, how his hand cupped around my wife's knee.

Linda took a seat and wiggled the chair up. "Say, Linda, you have such attractive hair, why not let it down tonight?" I slid over a Captain Morgan with a dash of Diet Coke.

"It's been a long time since I had someone tell me they'd like to see my hair down." She glanced over at her husband, his hand touching my wife's knee on and off.

Had that been another guy, I'd have to explain it to him. But Paul? That's the way he is. He's a friendly touchy-feely kind of guy. Touch is a very human thing. When you allow someone to enter your personal space and touch you, well you've lowered your guard. That's why Paul is so damn good as an investment broker.

Linda shook her head and her long black hair fell across her shoulders. "You're very attractive, Linda," I said. But instead of smiling, she sat fuming; and watched as Paul rested his palm on Vicky's knee.

I went over. Paul and I began talking about the economy, while the girls chatted about girl stuff. Never, not once, did Paul comment about his wife's hair. It's gorgeous—shinny and black as a shadow in the moonlight.

Before the second rounds of drinks, Linda began playing her games. She'd talk her shit about how much fun it would be to have sex with Vicky. And every time Paul would comment on it, Linda would lay into him.

The same conversation cropped up the last time we were together. I knew Paul wouldn't hesitate seeing Vicky and Linda with their fingers between each other's crotch. I pondered my position. If Linda was susceptible to the gizmo, then I could put things in motion—satisfy my curiosity that the gizmo worked on another woman besides my wife. And to watch Linda's tongue work on Vicky's pussy in front of us. It truly was a win-win situation—especially for me.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not into showing off my wife's body to another man. But I certainly wouldn't mind seeing Linda nude, either. I thought for a few moments.

"Here's another one," I said as I handed my friend a screwdriver.

"Not too many more," Paul said as he swirled the liquid around in the glass, "someone has to drive tonight."

"Ah, maybe we'll just stay here tonight. Order a pizza or something," I said as we walked over to a door leading to my workshop. "Besides, Linda didn't exactly dress for a night out on the town. Anyway, let me show what I've been working on."

Paul followed me into my small and tightly packed workshop that overflowed with all sorts of electronic test equipment, old hospital apparatus, and other electrical odds and ends. I was anxious to tell Paul about my newest project; except I wasn't quite sure how I'd explain what I had stumbled upon with my electronic tinkering. Before the door closed behind us, I stole a glance of the two women sitting in the adjoining den both nursing a drink and talking girl talk.

Paul looked over at what appeared to be miles of wire spread out across an old cracked card table. He didn't seem overly interested in my project. Paul's mind seemed to wonder as I tried to explain what the jumble of DSP chips and Intel processors were doing. Several small fans hummed in the background. I could tell Paul's mind was still out in the den and the conversation Vicky and Linda had.

"You know, Stu, sometimes that wife of mine can be a pain in the ass."

I moved a wire or two while half listening to Paul as I doubled checked a circuit path in my mind. "Humm, why do you say that?"

"She talks shit. Not fifteen seconds ago, she said to us all how much fun it would be to undress Vicky in front of us. Then when I said I'd enjoy the show she blew a gasket. What I wouldn't give to see your Vicky all prettied up like she is at work and then striped. I'd love to see Linda licking Vicky till she came. Bitch." He practically spat out the word.

I scratched my chin. "Which one is the bitch?" Opportunity knocked the second time. "How much?"

Paul raised his glass to his lips. "Linda—classic bitch." He downed the majority of this drink in a few gulps and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "You know it's hard to believe that cute little feminine girl I use to play stink finger with in high school could turn into such a bitch." Paul finished the last of his drink. "How much what?"

I jiggled a few wires. Satisfied that nothing was astray, I looked at my friend and smiled. "How much would you give to watch your wife undress Vicky and then lick her pussy 'till she came?"

"In your dreams."

"No, seriously, how much?"

"Right..."

I pulled a small green notebook from my breast pocket and jotted a few things down and turned back to Paul. "I always thought you're the guy that put his money where his mouth was. You were when you were younger. You're getting old, Paul. Would it be worth oh say two-hundred?"

"I'll show you where my money is." Paul opened his wallet. "Here's my money. One, two, three, four and five. Five hundred bucks. Oh, and we're talking my Linda and your Vicky. Not two hookers with the same names. It takes a lot of bullshit to bullshit me. I do this for a living."

I grinned ear to ear. "All right then. Let's write down the details—"

"What fuckin' details?" He grabbed my arm—hard. "All I want to see is Linda strip Vicky and then munch away on Vicky's snatch 'till she comes. I want to watch the whole shebang. What more details do you need for Christ's sake?"

"She's still wearing her office clothing." I tapped my pencil on the pad.

"So?" He drummed his fingertips on the edge of the card table. "Okay, I'll be the joke of the evening and I'll play along." Paul rubbed his chin, then pushed the door open a bit, peeking out in the den. "What she has on now will be fine."

"Excellent choice. I concur whole heartily."

"Damn, you're really into this aren't you?" He peeked out of the door again. "Panties? She's got to be wearing panties." He turned to me with a question-filled face. "Christ, what bullshit is this?"

I didn't say a word; I jotted a few more lines in my notebook. Paul couldn't see what I wrote and I guess he assumed it was what we were talking about. I put the pencil down. "My turn."

Paul's eyes brightened in the dim light of the workshop. "Your turn?"

"Well yeah, you don't think I'm going to let Linda strip my wife down without me seeing what's behind door number two, do you? I want to see all of Linda's skin, too." I knew that Linda wasn't the girly girl that my wife is. Seeing Linda in a skirt wearing any sort of hosiery is as rare as a solar eclipse at midnight. It would make an excellent test for my gizmo. "Ahh... I know. A garter belt and stockings—"

"Now I know this is a joke. Hell, I can hardly get her to wear thigh high stockings when we go to an award banquet yet alone a garter belt. She doesn't even own one. Jesus, what shit are you trying to sell me?"

I ignored my friend and continued. "Well that's what I'd like to see her in, and I know my wife has several. Let's see. Heels of course and a bra—"

Paul grabbed my arm. A flood of anxieties seemed to bubble to the top of our conversation. "If you're adding things to your bucket list. A slip. I'd love to see my wife wearing a white slip."

"You're kidding?" I asked.

"No, I'm not. It cost me over two hundred bucks the last time she wore one."

"What are you talking about?"

Paul's face flushed. "That's how much Linda charged me to wear one when we went out a month ago. She knows I like seeing her like that, so it cost me."

I shook my head. "That's not how a marriage is supposed to work—"

"Listen, Vicky comes home from the hospital all prettied up—her job demands it. All Linda wears are those damn sweat pants every single day." Paul moved his head side-to-side. "Things aren't too good in our marriage right now."

I walked over to the card table containing all the pieces parts that tied the gizmo together. I thought deep and hard. Was I about to let the genie out the bottle? And if I did, could I get him back inside? I had to admit, I was anxious. The male part of my brain had been talking louder than the scientist in me. I wanted to see Linda nude. I, too, wanted to see Linda between my wife's legs. I clipped the small green alligator lead to a connection point. A small green light started to brighten and then dimmed. "Let's see if this works..."

We walked into the den with Paul lagging behind a few steps. "It takes several minutes for the effect of the gizmo to build up."

Vicky and Linda were sitting on the sofa chatting about nothing of great importance. I walked over and stood about ten feet in front to the two women.

I found that Vicky will blink her eyes three or four times and when she does, I know she is under my control. I took a few steps back. "Look," I said as I pointed my finger at Vicky. Her eyes were blinking as were Linda's. "That's it." I looked at Paul standing next to me. "Girls? Stand over here in front of me."

They stood and took a few steps. "Now Paul and I would like you both to do something for us. Would you like to help out? How about having a little fun tonight?"

They looked at each other. "Sure."

"Okay then. Vicky, I'll start with you first. Are you wearing panties?"

"Of course I am."

"That was silly of me to ask, wasn't it? But tonight, Paul and I would like to see you in something a bit more racy."

"Like what?" Vicky asked.

"Ooh, I don't know." I looked over my shoulder at Paul. I shrugged.

Paul sputtered as his train of thought derailed. Suddenly, he belted out, "Lacy panties, black if you have them. With the sheerest misty black pantyhose you own, too."

I looked at Paul, "Sometime ago, I found that Vicky has a bit of a fixation with anything nylon." I grinned ear to ear. "Fantastic choice." I looked at Vicky. "Wear a pair of your good heels, too. Any problems with that?"

Vicky smiled. "No problem. Do you want me to wear a bra?"

I looked over my shoulder at Paul. "Your call buddy?"

Paul stood in awe, almost in shock, at the laid back demure of Vicky. "Paul?"

"Ah huh, ah why not. Sure, I mean why not"

I grinned at Paul's predicament. "Wear a half-cup bra, Vicky." My wife isn't that heavy on top and when she wears a half-cup it enhances her cleavage.

The gizmo was working perfectly, at least on my Vicky. Now the moment of truth. Would Linda be under my control? She hadn't run up the steps screaming, so I felt confident, the gizmo had her under its influence.

"Now, Linda."

"Yes, Stu?"

I looked at Linda in her sweats and sneakers. "You need to show off that figure of yours. Vicky has some garter belts. Pick one out along with some beige or ivory-colored stockings."

Paul cleared his throat. "Oh shit that's right Paul, almost forgot. Linda, the same goes for you, too. Panties that barely cover your hairs down below."

"White heels, too, for Linda," Paul added almost sheepishly.

"That should do it for right now," I said. He grabbed my arm. "And a white slip, too."

Linda smiled. "Okay. Do you want us to get dressed now?"

"Yes, right now. Try and be back down here in say oh ten minutes?" I snapped my fingers. "Linda, half-cup bra for you, too."

Linda and Vicky walked briskly up the stairs. Soon we could hear them in the bedroom upstairs.

"What is this shit, Stu? Those two are in on it, aren't they?"

"Nope, they don't have a clue. They do only what I tell 'em to do. They're under my absolute influence—for right now."

Paul shook his head and smiled. "Bullshit!"

I moved over to the bar. "Here, I'd best make you another drink." I fiddled with some liquor bottles and handed Paul a glass. "It all started out about six months ago. I was working in the ER when a guy came in who got beat up in a car wreck. They wanted to do an EEG on him but he had so much damage to his skull, they couldn't. I thought I could come up with a way to read brain waves without the wires. That's how it started out, but like most great inventions... well months later, I came up with the project that occupies that card table in the other room. It acts more as a transmitter than a receiver of brain waves."

"You mean that pile of junk that looks like the day the radio blew up is controlling our wives?" Paul took a sip of his drink and placed into the bar with a clink of the ice.

"Not exactly controlling. I'd venture to say it's inhibiting certain parts of the brain. Look at this way. The gizmo, that's what I'm calling it, blocks certain brain waves like a dam holds back water. Since the part of the brain that controls reason is deprived of that information, I suggest whatever I like and the mind agrees."

"Just like that, huh?"

"That's my theory." I felt my eyebrows as they rose and wrinkles formed on my forehead. "The mind...infinitly complex. To be honest, I'm just speculating." I continued. "The mind is still sending out commands, but because the dam is holding them back, I'm free to insert whatever I want. Of course there are limits, some suggestions or commands won't work because just like a dam, a person's internal dialogue overtops it and they won't do it. I can't for example tell Vicky to go rob a bank or murder someone." I scratched my chin, buying time so I could find the words that explained how the gizmo worked even though I wasn't sure myself.

"There is a range issue, too. Since the gizmo is in the basement, the best range I've gotten is about ten meters outside our house.

"If I continue with the analogy of the dam, by holding back certain cognitive thoughts that normally constrain desires and fantasies, and then allow them to be released, the flood gates are opened." It's not rocket science. Men have been getting woman drunk since booze was invented. The booze lowers cognitive thoughts and inhibitions." I smiled at Paul. "It's like opening a bottle of beer, those depressed desires come bubbling up."

I blushed. "Vicky has a bit of a fetish when it comes to wearing nylon such as panties, stockings, and even pantyhose. She likes to be feminine. While the Gizmo is running, that fetish is allowed free rein. There's nothing holding those feelings back, like those beer bubbles." I tipped my head back and took a long gulp of my drink. "And I'm shaking the bottle."