"I object to you.  I object to intellect without discipline...to power without constructive purpose."        Spock in "The Squire of Gothos," from the original Star Trek series.

"Power corrupts.  Absolute power is kind of neat."  John Lehman.
 
 

My days and pleasures are varied, for with my powers of mind, all that I want is mine - in fact, I can literally satisfy every whim.  And I'm a very whimsical kind of guy, as you'll see.  Of course, to maintain my level of power, I need to occasionally put others in positions of difficulty, but after all, to each according to his need.  You would no doubt intone that absolute power corrupts absolutely.

But we're not here to seek your judgment.

Naturally, you would use powers such as mine to alleviate suffering and better the lives of the unfortunate normals around you.  I harbor no such illusions.  Let me describe a typical afternoon at one of my favorite amusement parks.  You would call it a shopping mall.

I had just finished conducting some "business" at the bank, and needed relaxation both for pleasure and recharging.  I wandered into a young women's clothing store - always a rewarding hunting ground.  After setting up a low level field to keep from being interrupted, I settled to business, immediately fixing on a still attractive woman in her 40s who was waiting patiently while her high school daughter picked out a few things.  Perfect.  I started a little mental rewiring.

Janet watched as Caitlin held up yet another pair of tight jeans.  When would her daughter learn to value comfort over style? Honestly, girls just didn't understand how they could be manipulated so easily, slaves to peer pressure and style. Especially styles designed to emphasize still developing bodies in such a deliberately sexy fashion.

Not that Caitlin didn't have a good body to emphasize.  Janet felt a slight twinge as she noticed her daughter's slim legs, the firm, round ass, the pert, upright breasts.  She suddenly seemed to exude sexuality.  Some boy would no doubt soon be drooling over that luscious ass in those tight jeans, wanting to reach under her shirt and caress her soft, young breasts, to tease the nipples till stiff and inviting for ...

Janet stopped, aghast at the way her mind was drifting.  She'd never even seriously fantasized about another woman before, and now to catch herself thinking such thoughts about her own daughter - it was disgusting.  She tried to look away, briefly catching the gaze of a young man who smiled back familiarly,  but found her eyes drifting back to Caitlin.  Well, why not?  Her daughter was beautiful and sexy.  There was nothing wrong with a mother noticing and being proud of that.  No doubt her subconscious had just launched itself randomly on a sexual theme.  To prove her point, she would keep her eyes locked on Caitlin, just to show she didn't really think such things.

Though it was hard not to.  Janet suddenly realized just how attractive a young teenage girl's body was, and found herself again drinking in Caitlin's lithe yet sensuous form.  Small breasts, still round and high, firm skin and muscle tone, coltish legs.  Sure, women in general were sexy - they worked at it - but younger girls, and especially Caitlin, they were really special.

Her daughter's white stretch top was just a tad short, and exposed her lower back when she leaned over.  Janet found herself mesmerized by the strip of flesh as it appeared and disappeared with Caitlin's movements.  Such smooth skin.  And the way her panties rode low, she could just see...

Janet jerked her head as she found herself licking her lips at the hint of Caitlin's backside.  She tried to study the clothes in Caitlin's pile, read the labels, anything to keep her mind off her daughter's pert, young behind.  Those firm, smooth globes, and the luscious treasure of her...

God, what was wrong with her?  The thought of licking another woman there had always disgusted her, and now she was actually staring at the crotch of Caitlin's jeans hungrily.  She had to get it off her mind.  She thought of work.  Boring, reassuring office routine.  The people she knew.  The guys - standard thoughts: just guys - hairy slobs, disgusting in their habits, repulsive.... She paused.  Was that the way she always felt?  Had to be, after all, they were men.  The women - also same as always.  They were beautiful, elegant, attractively dressed, smooth-skinned, perfumed, always sexy and arousing.  But not uncontrollably arousing she realized in relief.  That proved her thoughts were still normal.  She hadn't turned into some sex-crazed lesbian after all.

Of course, they were older women, not delectable young beauties like Caitlin.  Teenage girls were obviously much sexier than adult women.  And both were miles above men, she realized when she tried to replace thoughts of Caitlin with her husband.  Jim seemed almost repugnant as she imagined him now - so old (her own age!), hairy, and with that big, stupid cock hanging between his legs.  She shuddered at the thought, involuntarily contrasting it with the image of the glistening folds of a girl's delicious...

No, no, no! This was ridiculous.  She closed her eyes, willing her mind to clear, and thus missed the quick, appraising glance from Caitlin, who also seemed unusually flushed and distracted.  Seeing her mother's eyes closed, Caitlin's gaze lingered, sweeping over her mother's larger, if slightly sagging breasts (so womanly), then at her legs in their stylish hose.  So elegant, so beautiful, so mature, so...hot?

She put the jeans back.  Too subtle.  She wanted something daring and more blatantly sexy.  Something to catch ... someone's eye.  She picked out a very short, tight skirt and held it to her waist.

"What do you think, Mom?" she asked a bit shakily.

Janet found a scrap of cloth purporting to be a skirt being held for approval.  Of course it was outrageous.  It would barely cover her ass.  You'd be able to see...

She felt a rising warmth between her legs and tried to keep her voice steady.  "It's, um, a little short," she faltered, smoothing her own skirt and crossing her legs.  Somehow, her skirt rode even higher on her crossed legs despite her apparent care.

"Too short?" Caitlin asked, her eyes fixed on her mother's exposed thighs.

"Well, maybe you COULD try it on," Janet admitted hopefully.  "Then, I'll...I mean we'll see how it looks."

Caitlin nodded, unconsciously rubbing her thighs together before starting to the dressing room.

Janet found herself half standing.

"Um, do you need a hand?" she asked.

Caitlin hesitated, undecided, seemed slightly afraid, perhaps of herself.  "N...no, I'm fine.  I'll be right out."

Janet sat down, half disappointed, half relieved.  She needed to rest a while, that's all.  Too much work and stress.  It was making her head hurt.  And she was hot.  That's why she was wet, she told herself.  She lifted her skirt a bit more, feeling the heat between her legs.  If she could just...

As her hand moved towards her pelvis, Caitlin reappeared, and Janet gasped in surprise (and excitement).  As suspected, the skirt barely covered the tops of her thighs, revealing those smooth, slim legs in all their glory.  She had also rolled her shirt up, exposing yet more skin (so as not to hide the skirt waist, she had told herself).

Janet's mouth went dry, while Caitlin wiggled her hips experimentally.

"Not too short," she claimed, her spirits soaring as she could see her mother's obvious admiration.  She unconsciously ran her hand along her bare thigh in response.

"Oh, Caitlin, I don't know," her mother protested weakly, but not wanting Caitlin to cover up again.  "Could you even bend over without..."

"Let's see," Caitlin responded, immediately bending at the waist in a very unladylike manner, exposing her panties directly to her mother's view.  Her wet, naughty panties she realized with a shudder.  She reinforced the signal with another slight wiggle.

"Oh, God, Caitlin, I..." Janet flailed, almost losing control in her suddenly flaming desire.  She just caught herself before running her hands over her daughter's legs.  She could see the wetness at Caitlin's crotch, matching her own, and felt the burning shame at the realization.  "We can't...I mean, you can't...that skirt, it, um...God!  Your panties are, um...all wrong.  You should get new underwear.  Yes, of course, that's it."  Altered motherly instincts kicked in.  "You don't want to be flashing plain cotton panties like that.  You'll need something high-riding and brief.  Maybe a thong."

"A thong?" Caitlin seemed doubtful.  "You've always said...I mean, I've never even worn one."  A crafty look came to he eyes.  "Maybe you could pick one out and help me try it on?"

Their eyes locked, both on fire and losing the last semblance of decency and propriety.

"You could try one too," Caitlin continued softly.  "And a new bra, maybe.  Your tits are so ... I mean, you've got such great breasts, you should show them off.  Of course, you'd have to take off all your clothes, but, um, I could hold them for you. We could, um...do each other."  Caitlin's eyes were becoming hungry.  "C'mon, let's do it!  I'll start."  Caitlin's hands went beneath her skirt, and she shuddered.  Seconds later, her panties fell to the floor and were kicked away.

Janet stared, shocked, outraged, embarrassed, confused - and excited beyond belief to think her daughter was naked beneath the skirt.  When Caitlin twirled, sending the skirt hem up lewdly, and walked into the dressing room, Janet barely hesitated before following.  And she didn't even make the pretense of choosing new underwear for them to try.

I waited, savoring the last traces of embarrassment and resistance melt away, replaced by naked, guilt-inspiring, and oh-so-anguished lust.  I so love bringing families closer together.  It's so satisfying to make parents and children or brothers and sisters bond on an entirely new level.

I set a marker for the emotional relay, then walked away, after mentally instructing the clerk to check the changing room in a few minutes.  Sometimes, I prefer the sense of anticipation and surprise of not actually seeing the discovery.  It adds a touch of extra spice.  I was five stores away when the rush hit - a crescendo of shame and horrified humiliation that made me stumble.  Marvelous.  Prime stuff.  Almost satisfying enough to make me go back and reward the mother and daughter by removing their newfound sexual identities.

Almost.

Instead, I strolled to the food court for a snack.  My mind was fully recharged.  Now was time to play.
 

As I walked, I scanned for suitable targets, either for energy or fun.  A mother with a five year old suddenly found herself agreeing to buy a trashy, overpriced plastic toy that she had just dismissed in disgust.  She was surprised at her sudden decision to give in, and would be even more surprised to find herself agreeing with anything else the little tyke suggested for the rest of the day.  Just to tweak things a bit, I mentally suggested a few things for the child.  The toy store was about to ring up their largest purchase of the day.

A group of teenage boys were loudly discussing the attributes of nearby females, interspersed with boasts of what they had or would do in horizontal encounters.  As one graphically described his latest fuck-fest fantasy, they suddenly found themselves speaking in baby talk, their eyes going wide as they began using terms like "wee-wee" to describe their mighty sexual organs, and "goo-goo" nonsense words for sexual acts.  They stopped, utterly shocked, and looked at each other in disbelief.  I thought they sounded cute, so I fixed their speech patterns that way for the day, and as a bonus, made sure they'd relapse into baby talk the next time they were with their girlfriends.

A well-dressed businessman approached, speaking importantly on his cell phone, and glaring when I didn't immediately clear the way for him.  His eyes flicked scornfully as he pushed past, deliberately bumping my shoulder.

A second later, he paused, as a sudden and completely unexpected realization hit him.  He switched off the phone as he stared at the display window of the store he was passing.  Twice, he seemed ready to resist and move on, the struggle actually causing a light beading of sweat to form on his brow in his nervousness, and each time he couldn't quite tear himself away from the seductive pastels in the window.  He slowly, reluctantly entered the store, looking miserable and confused.

A clerk, used to men being ill at ease in a lingerie store, took pity on him.  She smiled reassuringly and asked, "Yes, sir, may I help you?"

"Um, yeah," he answered, voice quavering.  "I really liked that lace panty and bra set in your window."

"Of course, sir," she answered smoothly, using her well-practiced technique for nervous husbands and boyfriends.  "Silk.  Very sheer and very feminine."  She noticed his wedding ring.  "Your wife will love it.  Do you know her size?"

He seemed to shake with one last struggle, utterly embarrassed, but unable to deny himself.

"Not for her, for me," he finally blurted, driven by his new and profound need to wear women's lingerie.  "I'm a 16 shirt size with a 36 inch waist.  Can you find something that would fit me?  I'll want to wear them out."

The relief of his admission was almost lost in the humiliation at her expression: first, open-mouthed shock, followed by a smirk of barely restrained derision.  Professional that she was, she immediately covered her feelings and promised to see what she could do.

"And something sexy and frilly to wear to bed," he suddenly added, horrified as he spoke the new suggestion.  A few quick tugs, and his mind readjusted to the realization that he couldn't bear to sleep in anything else.  His shoulders sagged mournfully as she started to fill his order, but he couldn't deny the satisfaction he would feel to indulge his new feminine side.

His wife was certainly in for a surprise.  I decided to add some passivity and a reorientation to anal sex.  I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he started asking his wife to bang him that way within the week.  Too bad she wasn't around for a little reprogramming as well to make sure they both enjoyed it.  As a final touch, I made sure he wasn't too terribly concerned about hiding his new interests.  In fact, with luck, the outline of the bra beneath his shirt would be obvious when he went to buy his wife that double-headed vibrator he suddenly thought of.  That should make for some choice comments at the sex shop.

A nice bit of serendipity.  Life is truly a joy when giving.

I reached the food court without further incident, clearing a strategically placed table by suddenly releasing the occupants' bowel and bladder control.  I could have just told them to leave, but where's the sport in that, eh?  As their eyes widened in horror, they clutched their privates in dismay and bolted from the table, streaking towards the restrooms.

A shame they weren't in time.

Passersby cleared the table for me, and a man who had just bought himself some delicious looking Greek food decided to give it to me.  I told him to get me a different drink, and something rich for dessert, then released him.

While I ate, I looked around casually, no real plans as yet.  All the women nearby (well, the attractive ones) wearing skirts or shorts adjusted them to expose their legs completely in my direction.  Jackets and sweaters came off, and strategic buttons were undone.  Very nice.  I like to improve the scenery while I eat, and judging from the expressions on the males nearby, I wasn't alone.

A woman at the next table seemed upset at her boyfriend's obvious interest in the sudden display of flesh around them.  Before being too judgmental,  it's always good to observe from another's perspective, so I immediately switched their sexual orientations.  Suddenly, she was the one faltering in their conversation as she looked circumspectly around, entranced, embarrassed, and undeniably excited.  He, on the other hand, turned his attention coldly to his meal, inexplicably losing interest in the exposed beauties around him, as well as his lunch companion.  His attention only revived when a young man in tight jeans walked by.

I didn't give their relationship much of a chance after today.

At another table, a teenaged boy sported a goofy grin and obvious hard-on at his girlfriend's decision to suddenly hike her miniskirt to waist level, completely exposing her legs, hips and even her underwear.  Since she saw nothing unusual in her sudden exhibitionism, she noticed his reaction with annoyance.  Couldn't he ever keep his mind off sex?

A confused expression moved across her face as I readjusted some threads.  After all, I was once a teenager myself and had great sympathy for a boy's high sex drive.  She should see what it was like and have more sympathy.  Seconds later, she started to dart increasingly intense looks at the outline of his cock through his pants.  She hesitated, fighting herself, then looked around to see if anybody was watching.  Then, to his immense surprise, her hand darted to his crotch, and she sighed in relief as she gave in to her newfound compulsion to stroke any cock she could see.  He stared in surprise, but made no effort to stop her as she smiled shyly, thankful he would let her pleasure him, something that was now very important to her.  As his need grew, he pulled her up, and they left hurriedly, her hand still hovering near his bulge.  She bit her lip, fighting the need to fondle him more openly as they walked.  I knew she'd soon be surprised to find that she also had a strong compulsion to suck any naked cock that she saw, and would find herself desperately hungry for its cum, and I bet he wouldn't mind that either.

I suspected she'd soon be VERY popular with the boys at school.

And speaking of boys, two high school boys arguing interrupted my reverie.  They were raucous and almost deliberately loud, and their disagreement had degenerated into the casual obscenities so common for their age.

"Don't give me that shit!"

"Fuck, yeah!"

"No fuckin' way!"

"Way, asshole."

"Cocksucker!"

"You're the fuckin' cocksucker!"

Enough!  I silenced them, disgusted at their language, then determined to make them both right.

Confusion clouded their eyes, then cleared.  They exchanged tentative smiles as new desires took hold, then furtive glances at each other's crotches.  Without a word, they got up and headed to the restrooms together.

That would keep their mouths occupied with something other than mindless vulgarity.

Allowing me to return my thoughts to more pleasant subjects.

A woman nearby wearing a rather sheer, white blouse suddenly realized she had somehow put on a bra this morning.  In disgust, she reached up beneath her shirt and - very deftly I might add - managed to unhook and remove it.  She immediately tossed it in the garbage and walked back to her seat, breasts clearly outlined against the thin fabric, bouncing nicely with her stiff nipples poking through.  Much better.

Two women having lunch began to touch each other, casually at first, on the hand or arm to emphasize a point, but then with increasing frequency and for longer periods.  Soon, one had started tracing patterns on the other's shirt, moving from sleeve to front.  Far from minding, her companion's hand moved to caress her friend's thighs in response.  I wondered how much longer they could resist the building compulsion to bring the other to orgasm without leaving their table.

A mother and her 10 year old daughter were finishing up, the girl confused as to why her mother had pulled her skirt up in the middle of lunch, and why the men seemed to be staring like they were.  She was cute, but too young for any real fun.  Still, she shouldn't have to be confused like that.  On a whim, I transferred all of the mother's sexual knowledge, including actual biology as well as experience in techniques and positions, to the daughter.  The girl seemed almost unfazed, since much of the knowledge would remain dormant until needed, but her expression changed from confusion to disapproval at her mother's exposure, and a knowing smirk at the men's panting response.  She seemed to be more relaxed as she sat back in her chair, legs crossed casually.

The mother blinked as a large portion of her mind was erased.  She looked around, mildly unsettled, and a delightfully innocent expression now moved across her face.  Her body language changed too.  She crossed her legs widely, unconcerned at revealing the crotch of her pantyhose and the panties beneath, and wondered at her daughter's disapproving glare. I would have loved to see her in bed that night with her husband, and couldn't wait until she tried to have a mother daughter talk about sex.

I considered planting a relay to experience the moment, but decided to let it go.  You see, sometimes I just act out of general joie de vivre.

All the activity and the delightfully exposed bodies around me were having their effect, and I decided it was time to find a suitable candidate for my own pleasure.  I spotted her after just a few minutes of scanning.  Tall, beautiful, strikingly and impeccably dressed, she was a 28 year old up and coming attorney, ready to make partner.  Perfect.  I mean, lawyers are a favorite - a special weakness.  They are so often arrogant and smug.  Don't you just hate that in a person?  I doubt anyone could resist.

Even you.

I strengthened my general field to make sure any unusual (or blatantly illegal) activity was ignored, then directed her to my table.  She came, approaching in measured steps, cool and critical, still believing herself to be a master of the world, though obviously a bit confused by her sudden detour.  I let her stand awkwardly a minute, while she tried to come up with an explanation.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" she finally asked, looking at me almost angrily, but trying to sound nice.  After all, what could I have to do with her sudden need to be at that table?

"Don't bother," I replied.  "You'll be on your knees soon enough."

"How dare you?" she spat, coloring.  She made as if to strike me, but instead set her briefcase down and assumed a position at attention, her breasts thrust forward.

By this time, and to her credit, she realized pretty much what was happening. Rather bright.  Most people rationalize their actions much longer.

"How are you doing this?" she asked, the first signs of fear in her eyes.

"Does it matter?" I replied blandly, inspecting her closely.  "You seem to have decent breasts.  You shouldn't hide them behind that jacket.  What size are they?"

"You bastard!" she snarled.  "Like I'd tell you I'm 36-C."  She gasped at the end as she heard her own words.

"Not bad.  You should emphasize them more.  Maybe wear some padded bras and an open neckline."

She nodded without realizing it, as my "suggestions" were unconsciously encoded, while fear continued to supplant anger in her manner.  She took a deep breath, determined to take control, opened her mouth, then closed it, working her jaw in puzzlement.

"You can't scream or cry out for help," I explained.  "Not that it would make much difference, but it would annoy me."

"You fucking..."  She stopped, even more confused, and took off her expensive business jacket, dropping it carelessly onto the littered, ketchup-stained floor.

"I don't care for vulgarity, either," I added.  "So any time you swear, you have to lose a piece of clothing."  I nodded to myself, pleased at the inspiration.  "Not bad.  Might as well make that permanent too.  I'd watch your language from now on."

"Please," she started, the arrogance gone.

"I see you like expensive clothes," I continued.  "Nice, but too concealing.  That skirt you're wearing almost comes to knee level.  From now on, nothing past mid thigh will be acceptable to you."

She could feel the thought take hold and looked at me in terror.

"Your shoes are practical but boring.  Lose them."

She slipped off her costly, Italian leather pumps and tossed them into the garbage, accompanied by a look of anguish.

"When we're finished, buy yourself something sexy, with at least a 3 inch heel.  You should wobble a bit when you walk."

"Why are you doing this?" she pleaded.

"Because I want to.  Reason enough for you, I'm afraid.  I imagine most of your male coworkers will be appreciative also.  After all, you're a bit of an exhibitionist aren't you?  You want men looking at your exposed body.  You even flash your crotch or tits at them if you think you'll get away with it."

Well, she did now, anyway.  I added a few more touches about makeup and hairstyle that should help her stand out.

"Now," I continued pleasantly.  "To business.  Do you have sex a lot?"

A spark of the old resistance.

"None of your goddamned..."  She broke off, but too late.  Fortunately for her, she was wearing a scarf that could join the jacket on the floor.

"Careful," I warned.  "Or you'll be going back to the office shockingly underdressed.  Now then, how often do you have sex?"

She tried to keep her mouth closed by gritting her teeth, but it was useless.  "A few times a month, maybe." She finally bit out.  "Depends who I'm seeing."

"Tsk, tsk.  That hardly seems enough for a beautiful young woman like yourself.  You must be holding out on them.  Well, no more.  From now on, you'll find yourself MUCH more receptive, both to men in general and to anyone showing interest in particular.  Heck, might as well be open to lesbian encounters, too, right?  You like men and women.  You NEED frequent sex, and won't be shy about getting it, understand?"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, but I could already sense her mind conforming to my instructions.

"And be more open to suggestions.  After all, sex should be an adventure, and you want to try anything. Be creative.  We should also make it easier for you to provide quickies to keep your coworkers satisfied during the day given all the teasing you'll be doing.  Are you a good cocksucker?"

She colored despite herself.

"I am NOT a..."

I shut her up, getting a little tired of her continued stubbornness. She really should have known better by now, but I guess it's hard to accept that your brain is clay waiting to be sculpted by an artist like me.

"Attitude adjustment time. Hmm, let's see.  OK, this should be fun.  Tell me your name and occupation, you know, an introduction like we just met."

She looked worried but had to answer, even holding out her hand.  "Hi, I'm Amanda Burgess, esquire, attorney specializing in corporate law."

"Again."

She relaxed a bit.  That hadn't been bad.  "Hi, I'm Amanda Burgess, cocksucker."  Her eyes went wide.  She cleared her throat and spoke very carefully, as though concentrating on each word.  "I'm Amanda Burgess, and I'm...a...good...little...cocksucker."  She shrank in horror, nearly in tears, realizing the full extent of my power.

"Much better," I said approvingly, feeling her inner despair.  "Don't worry, I've left you an out.  Don't want you fired.  Yet.  You can still call yourself a lawyer, but keep it simple.  Any attempt to impress people and you're back to propositioning them, got it?"

She nodded weakly.

"Good.  Now then, let's test that claim you made.  You like sucking cock?"

She barely moved, a slight shake of the head.  I nudged her to answer truthfully.

"No, I hate it.  It's disgusting, and dirty, and....and, um..."  Her eyes lost focus as new ideas replaced old.

"You love the feel of a cock in your mouth."

She whispered, feeling the realization crystallize inside. "I love the feel of a cock in my mouth."

"You love the taste of cum."

I could feel her struggle.  This was eliciting a stronger denial, and she seemed to find one last reserve of strength.

"No.  NO!  I hate it!  You can't do this!  I won't let..."  Amazing.  She actually took a half step away before I reasserted control.  I decided it was time for the end game.

"You LOVE the taste of cum.  You crave it.  You NEED to feel men squirt in your mouth, to savor it.  You can't bear to waste a single, luscious drop."

She closed her eyes, and her tongue unconsciously licked her lips.

"It's your strongest need, your overwhelming desire.  Everything else is unimportant, your position, your job are nothing when you get this need.  Your craving is incredible - physically painful.  You need cum, and you have to have it now!"

Her eyes opened again, wild and hungry.  They fell immediately to my crotch.

"Please."  She licked her lips again.  "I need ... I've got to have..."

"The pain is getting worse.  Unbearable.  You've got to feel my cock in your mouth."

"Oh, please."  Her tone was becoming more properly pleading and desperate.

"But you've been bad.  You fought me.  Maybe I don't want you know."

"No!" she sobbed wildly, falling to her knees in front of me, staining those sheer, expensive dark stockings.  "You have to let me.  Please, PLEASE let me suck your cock."

"I don't know.  You didn't sound like you'd be very good."

"I am, I am," she promised shamelessly.  "I'm a good little cocksucker, just like I said.  I'll show you.  Please, please..." she trailed off while fumbling at my zipper.

"Well, all right." I smiled tolerantly.  "You'd better be good, or I might make you do something embarrassing."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" she gushed, tearing at my clothes.  "I'll be good. You'll see."

I helped her undo my pants and pulled sown my shorts, freeing my very attentive 8 inches.  She fell to in a frenzy, licking, sucking, and massaging my cock for all she was worth, desperate to feel me erupt in her mouth, and messing her very professional hair and remaining clothes in a very unlawyerly fashion.  Meanwhile, people around us talked and ate as though nothing unusual was going on.

To be fair, she wasn't bad, driven as she was by the furious need I had implanted, but her technique was unpracticed and haphazard.  Scanning her mind, I erased portions of her extensive legal education and replaced them with some of the advanced sexual techniques I keep on file in my mind (ever so useful when you take a virgin).  Her ability improved immeasurably, and I now leaned back, lost in pleasure as she moved like a pro.  In no time, her now expert technique and still desperate motivation brought me to the brink, and she began whimpering as she realized I was ready to give her the cum she craved.

I came with a moan, erupting in her ready mouth.  She moaned in response, greedily taking the whole load, savoring it, holding it in her mouth, and finally swallowing in ecstasy.  She refused to give up, and continued sucking longingly to make sure she got every drop.

I opened my eyes to see every guy in a 20 foot radius staring at his crotch in astonishment.  I like to share my joy, as you've seen, so I allow my own orgasms to trigger an ejaculation in any nearby men.  They don't get the pleasure of a real climax, and it's very embarrassing as they deal with wet, sticky pants in front of friends and family, but, hey, that's the kind of guy I am.

Amanda was finally slowing down, fingering herself shamelessly in her excitement, and still lovingly tasting the last of my load.  I nudged her mind to let her remember the enormity of what she'd just done - what she had become.  She jerked away, horrified and disgusted, yet still licking the traces of cum from her lips greedily, unable to deny the bliss of satisfying her new and quite permanent appetites.  She started to scramble away.

I savored her fear and embarrassment, then froze her.  I blanked parts of her recent memory - I wanted her to experience the confusion and humiliation of her new behaviors all over again - replacing the reality of our encounter with a false memory of a quickie blow job she had given a stranger over lunch.  A casual sexual encounter which would now be common for her.

She stood up, her hair, blouse and skirt disarranged suggestively, her dark pantyhose smudged and stained over reddened knees, but now wearing a vague smile and licking her lips in real appreciation.  I left her with a command to leave her disheveled appearance unchanged - it should make for some lively office gossip that afternoon - and released her to her new life.  She wandered off in her stocking feet, jacket and scarf abandoned, to buy herself some new shoes.  I knew I could trust her to choose the right kind now, and watched her leave with satisfaction, another job well done.

My changes might hurt her legal career a bit - she would probably be surprised to find that the next time she tried to remember something about workplace liability, she would instead recall extensive deep throat techniques - but, then again, maybe my enhancements would further her career.  They were certainly going to make her popular with the male partners.  Or the office boy, for that matter.

The men and boys all around me were hurrying, red-faced, to the restrooms to clean up.  I wondered if they'd find the teenagers still going at it?  Oh well, a bonus.  Temporarily sated myself, I fixed my clothes, implanted a mild tendency towards pedophilia in a teacher reading nearby, the sauntered towards the exits.

You probably don't want to know about my drive home.

In fact, you're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this in the first place.  Simple really.  My psychic power feeds on embarrassment, confusion, fear and shame.  As much fun as these random encounters are, the most fulfilling of all are victims who are aware of me, or those like me, and know what to expect.  It may be at a mall like this, or on the street, even at work, but I want to savor that moment, that initial rush when you realize what's happening, and the horror of what's to come.

Be seeing you.

END

Copyright 1999 by Nomdreserv