The Reluctant Psychic Ch. 02

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* * *

I laid out on the deck for a long time, simply holding Magda. The soft tears she had wept earlier gave way to sweet dreams. I stroked her hair gently as she slept, and could feel my cock finally softening within her. But as enjoyable as the sex has been, I relished these quiet times even more. Times when the voices in my head were silenced, and my mind was completely my own.

I smiled as I finally realized that it isn't only the silence I enjoy. I really enjoy the warm comfort of having a woman lying on top of me, or lying close beside me. Magda's gentle breath on my chest calmed me as nothing else could.

I have a problem relaxing. Even with my girls' help, over the years it has become more and more difficult for me to find relaxation. I can never decide if it's because my powers are growing stronger, or that my conscience is becoming louder. The only time Anna, my conscience, doesn't seem to bother me is after I come in a woman or while I'm working. That is probably the only reason I work at all. I have plenty of money, enough to have a mansion, a fleet of cars, a private jet, and more than enough to support my family. Well, it isn't a family in the traditional sense, but I consider my girls to be my family.

As I lay there, a part of me felt that I should go to work, even on a Sunday. But I hate to wake Magda while she was sleeping so peacefully. If I had something important to do, I would never have been able to lay here. Anna would be prodding me. If I ignore Anna for too long then my headache returns. When my headache returns my girls start fawning over me, and that makes Anna really dig the spurs in. She really doesn't approve of my lifestyle, sometimes I don't even approve of my lifestyle. When she is at her most keen, Anna says, "You were raised better than this."

* * *

I believe that I've already mentioned my tenth birthday party, and my family's ensuing move. But I think it is important to point out how the birthday party was typical of how my parent's raised me. While my father was a clinical research psychologist, my mother's field was child development and early education. In some ways, I think I was a bit of a guinea pig for her methods, such as having to invite all the kids in the class to my birthday party.

But, even if I was a guinea pig, I never for a moment doubted my parents' love for me. Unlike most kids, when I was being punished and my parent's said they still loved me, I knew that they actually meant it. Some days, when I would be outside playing, I could feel the love from my mom come through the windows as she looked out at me.

Really feeling the hurt you cause someone who loves you, makes it a lot harder to make mistakes. Soon after we moved, I got in a fight with one of the kids at my new school. There was a cloud of disappointment hanging over the house for a week before I broke down crying and begged my parent's to forgive me. Luckily, the same was true when I did something of which they were proud. Their pride in me amplified my own sense of accomplishment.

This process of reinforced behavior was at the strongest toward the end of elementary school and through middle school. Actually, I would say it ended dramatically when my father died. But that is something I only think about when I am far away from anyone I care about, since my sense of loss...

* * *

I began slipping once again into melancholy and could feel my powers returning. I sighed as I thought my relaxation was over. That was when I felt Claire approaching. While Magda always seems to be around when I need a massage, Claire is the one who finds me when I'm hungry. Even if I don't really realize how hungry I am until she tells me the food is almost ready.

As a little girl Claire had been a dancer, or at least that was her passion. I still see her dancing in her dreams. They aren't dreams of something lost, but something that is still a part of her. When her father lost his job and could no longer afford lessons, she learned a more practical and necessary art: cooking. She isn't a gourmet chef, and she doesn't make fancy foods. She makes the sort of home cooking you only see on old black and white TV shows, hearty filling fare that comes in big bowls that get passed around the table.

Actually, Claire does make really fancy desserts, which the other girls love. Most of my girl's have a sweet tooth you wouldn't believe. I only ever have one bite, but it is always delicious and I make sure to tell her so. No, I don't abstain because of Anna, or my upbringing, I'm just one of those people who doesn't really like sweets. But I really do enjoy watching the girls devour Claire's concoctions. Even though I feel a bit jealous of the moans mere chocolate can elicit from them.

As Claire approached I looked up to regard her. She has ash blonde hair and she wears it in a short bob that always seems to cover one of her light blue eyes. As usual, she is wearing her "uniform" which is an white kitchen apron tied around her slim waist by a large bow in the front. Well, when she is cooking or serving food that is what she wears, or should I say that is all she wears.

She gave Magda a playful spank saying, "Get up lazy buns, clean up, it's time for dinner." Magda gave a little shriek, and her pussy clamped down on my semi-soft penis. Apparently she had forgotten that she fell asleep with me inside her, since her eyes shot open and she gave a bit of a shiver.

Magda looked down at me in mock reproach, "You bad man, taking advantage while a girl sleeps." She belied any remaining seriousness by sitting down further on me and giving me a final squeeze before slowly lifting herself off of me.

With one hand between her legs, keeping my come inside of her, she bent at the waist and gave me a quick peck on the lips. The she took off running toward the bathroom to clean up. I watched her cute little bottom running up to the house, with her hand clasped between her legs and grinned.

Claire sat down next to me and gently grasped my penis. She stroked the semi-firm shaft a few times, and licked her lips. "This looks tasty, but I don't want to ruin my appetite." She winked her unhidden eye coyly and said, "Well, one taste couldn't hurt," before lowering her head and to give my still moist shaft a long lick.

As she turned and walked toward the house, my eyes followed the gentle sway of her hips. The sides of the apron cut at an angle across her lower back and the top of her buttocks. The sides of combined with the smooth line of her exposed spine made an arrow that points right at her bottom. Actually the terminus of the arrow would be right were her pouty lips would peek out for an instant on each stride.

She must have sensed my gaze, since she turned around and wagged her finger at me. "Not until after dinner!"

* * *

Growing up, breakfast and dinner were always family affairs, another good parenting practice. I was an only child which meant that my mother, father and I would sit around our small table together. Our meals were always quiet affairs, perhaps a bit about the news, or an interesting case at the office, but also a lot of silence. While my parent's knew that eating meals together was an important part of raising a child, they didn't know how to go about it.

Also, as much as I loved my mother, she couldn't cook very well, and my father wouldn't even try. Until I was perhaps twelve, she would attempt cooking dinner a few days a week. But most of the time it was take out or something from the microwave. I didn't really mind, but I knew it made my mom feel less motherly.

On a few occasions I would get to eat over a friend's house. Everyone else seemed to have loud dinner tables where everyone had fun and laughed. Well sometimes there would be little fights as well, but on the whole they were more good than bad. I grew to envy those friends and those meals, even a meal that my friends and I ate on the living room floor in front of their TV meant more to me than month of silent meals with my parents.

Every couple of months, for a treat, my parents would take me out to a fancy restaurant. I didn't particularly mind wearing a tie, but my good shoes always seemed to be a size behind my sneakers. Oh, and when I say a fancy restaurant, I am talking the sort of place you have to take off your too-tight shoes to count the silverware.

These meals were even more stilted than the ones at home. There was no talking about work, and very little discussion of the news at such fancy places. A little bit of gossip and remembrances of times before I was born, or when I was young, seemed to fill up the evening's conversation. Well, except on nights when my mom had a bit too much wine, then the conversation would get a bit mushy, and I wouldn't understand the jokes. I noticed on those nights my father would drive home just a little bit faster.

But mushy or staid, I was always "tuckered out" by the time the waiter came to ask about desert. It was a little system we all worked out somehow. I would be "tuckered out", my father would say, "we'll stop for desert on the way home," and then we would all conveniently forget. Like I said, not much of a sweet tooth.

* * *

As I walked up to the house to clean up for dinner, I reflected that I did get something I really wanted: a noisy dinner table. I decided on a really quick shower to wash off the suntan oil and the remnants of lovemaking that had accumulated on me. Magda was already in my shower cleaning up, and we made short work of the mess. It is amazing how quickly two people can get each other clean, when they are actually concerned about cleaning each other. Yes, Magda did clean her favorite part of me a few more times than was strictly necessary, but not a lot more.

After getting dried off, I put on my black velvet smoking jacket (no, I don't smoke, I just like the look and it's comfortable), a pair of my best silk plaid boxers and my house shoes. Magda pillaged my closet to don one of my old button down dress shirts, a very loose tie, and a fedora with a giant feather sticking out of it. I didn't remember owning a fedora with a peacock feather, but she did look adorable so I let it be.

It might seem an odd way to dress for dinner, and someone observing my home from afar would marvel that anyone dresses for dinner at all. A few years before, when the meals in my home started becoming group affairs, the girls were in the habit of coming to the table directly from whatever they had been doing. Those who had been swimming in the pool still smelled like chlorine and dripped onto the chairs. The girls who had been having sex still reeked of musk and lubricant and often brought their toys to the table, and even used them on themselves or the others.

For a while I didn't mind the informality, I suppose a part of me was still rebelling against the staid boring meals I had as a child. But one day I suddenly snapped. I stood up, putting both hands on the table and declared "From now on you girls will get cleaned up before coming to the dinner table and you will all be dressed for the occasion!" Then I fainted.

The next thing I knew, I woke up in my bed with all my girls around me, and I had a throbbing headache. I could feel their anxious presence before I opened my eyes, and when I finally looked at their faces I could see they had been crying. I was also slightly shocked to see them all squeaky clean and fully dressed. When they noticed I had awoken they all started stammering apologies for their behavior; it broke my heart.

I didn't feel any better when Anna explained. She took me on a tour of the girls' battered minds, showing me how far reaching the effects had been. I had unleashed a wave of power at them, burning into their minds the shame and disgust I had felt. This made them disgusted with themselves and each other, and that mass feeling had rebounded toward me. My empathy shut down to protect my mind and knocked me out in the process.

Looking at the miserable faces of the girls I loved, I knew I had to fix this, and to fix it I had to use my powers. I don't like using my powers on my girls. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but I usually don't mean to do it. But this time I had to use my powers on them. I projected a wave of love and acceptance to each of them calming them and forcing them to fall asleep. As they slept I went to each girl and with Anna's help tried to undo the damage my outburst had caused. Anna wouldn't let me remove the girl's memories of the actual events that transpired, but I did remove all of the commands I had programmed into them.

By the time I was done, I could hardly see from the tears in my eyes. The girls had scrubbed themselves raw to try to be clean enough, and had been contemplating using boiling water and bleach on themselves to try to please me. I think that is why Anna made me leave their memories intact, so that every time I looked at them, I could see the memory of my outburst looking back at me. Leaving the memories intact also allowed the girls to remember what I had said, even though the consequences were unexpected.

* * *

Most of the girls were already there, but a few were still getting "cleaned up." With the knowing looks and giggles around the table, I knew they weren't in the shower for sanitary purposes. The girls who were present were dressed in a variety of outfits that looked like children had raided their parent's bedroom.

The girls couldn't remember the compulsion that drove them to clean themselves and get dressed up, only that they had done so. That left them to decide why they had done so. For the next few meals they were all very clean and very thoroughly dressed at meal time. Even without my powers telling them, they could tell by my face that I wasn't happy with the change.

During this time, I kept tight reins on my powers, and tried to have patience with them. Somehow, they kept getting together without my knowledge to discuss the situation. At dinner each evening they would unveil a new scheme. It actually didn't take them long at all to find something that made us all happy. The real joy for me was that it was entirely without my influence, since Anna had been watching me like a hawk, and every stray tendril of power was painfully brought to my attention.

The girls realized, before I even did, that what I wanted wasn't a scrub beneath the finger nails, dress to the nines dinner. I wanted the kind of dinner I didn't have growing up. One filled with light conversation about mundane things. No talk of work or the news, but jokes and tales of interesting things that happened that day. We all realized that it was nicer to come to the table clean. The girls also decided, on their own, that even if they spend the rest of the day fully nude, they would dress up for dinner. Of course, their idea of dressing up would cause a riot in a four star restaurant, and be illegal even for strip clubs in most states. But it was always good clean fun, since they made it fun, especially Sunday nights which were theme events.

Tonight's theme seemed to be gangsters and molls night. Half the girls were dressed as molls, and the other half dressed as gangsters. The group of molls seemed to have only two outfits among the lot of them, so while one got elbow length gloves and a corset, another had to make do with loopy pearl necklaces and stockings. I had a feeling the girls who got the dress parts of the outfits were the ones still getting cleaned up. But somehow, even with the shortage of complete outfits, they all did manage to have one of those flapper type hats.

As for the gangster side of the table, it seemed that Magda wasn't the only one who had raided my closet. It seemed that each girl had decided on either a dress shirt, or a pair of trousers. Keeping with the theme, the trousers were held up be suspenders which did little to hide their very womanly breasts. Even with the grease pencil moustaches and goatees and tucking their hair into fedoras, there was little disguising their feminine charms. Actually, it seemed to make them all a little sexier.

* * *

My dining room table seats about twenty people, with two at the head of the table, two at the foot of the table and another eight or so on each side. At the head of the table was a rather unusual table chair, since it was more of a straight-backed love seat. For each meal one of my girls was selected to share the chair with me. Don't ask me how they select who gets to sit there, they don't tell me and I don't snoop to find out. It seems to make them happy to surprise me, so I let myself be surprised.

Evidently it was Claire's turn since Judith and Ellen were sitting at the foot of the table and wearing only aprons. Claire loves to cook, and even seems to enjoy serving the meals, although another one of the girls usually helps her. But on nights she sits with me, she gladly turns over her duty to the others.

I saw Magda to her seat, and walked to the head of the table where Claire was waiting for me. While the sides of the table are occupied by the girls in theme outfits, and the foot of the table by girls in aprons, the woman at the head of the table always dresses elegantly. Sometimes I get the feeling that my "queen for the evening" acts as the surrogate mother for the evening as well. And while I might be brother, lover or even son to the girls during the day, at dinner I gravitate towards being the father.

Claire was wearing a long shimmering black gown that was suspending around her body by a web of silver strands attached to a black choker. The gown was relatively modest in the front, except where a silver web was all that hid her belly from view. The back of the gown, however, didn't start until her hips and revealed the beginning of the cleft of her bottom. I gave Claire an appreciative look and gave her a kiss on the lips before pulling out the chair for her.

This was the cue for everyone to be seated, except today the darling little gangsters all pulled out the chairs for the equally darling molls. They ruined the effect by giggling, since it was an elaborate joke to make fun of me. They thought my table manners were terribly old fashioned, and long since made me stop pulling out the chairs for them, unless they were my "date" for the evening. It is probably a good thing, since as my family grew, it would take a long time to see them all seated.

After everyone was settled, there ensued a moment of silence. I won't say that all the girls were saying dinner prayers, or even that any of them did. I may be a bastard who corrupts girls' minds, but I don't force them to believe as I believe. But I prayed, and we all kept our own thoughts for a minute.

I looked up and everyone started talking at once. Bowls and platters of food were passed around, and everyone ate heartily. Judith and Ellen were kept busy making runs to the kitchen to get this or that, and to bring out seconds that were warming in the ovens. There was such activity around the table that I barely noticed as the tardy girls trickled in. I probably wouldn't have noticed if not for the ribald jokes about what took them so long. The unwritten rule is that if they were busy with anything except for sex, we would have waited for them, so being late meant being caught.

Claire was especially friendly during dinner and leaned against me the entire meal. Usually she was a bit more coy, but tonight she kept one hand on my thigh all evening. She did nothing blatant, but by the time the meal was over and the girls were clamoring for desert, she had me as hard as a rock.

Soon, Judith and Ellen started clearing away the plates to make room for desert. As I've said, desert is always special, and when the latest concoction came out I could feel the girls drooling. I don't know what it's called, but it was light and airy, bathed in a white creamy frosting, and most importantly for the girls, it was made from chocolate. Once all the girls had a serving in front of them, and Judith and Ellen were seated again, I dipped my fork into the desert and brought a bite to my mouth. I barely had time to savor the luscious flavors, before the girls started in on their servings.