Natasha did get married. I think she sort of loves the guy, too, even though she straddled my lap in her wedding gown not twenty minutes before saying her vows. We fucked again during her wedding reception, and I can’t count the times since then that she’s arranged things so that I ravage her body practically under her husband’s nose.
It sounds terrible, doesn’t it? But it all balances out. Sometimes the guy gets to take an otherworldly sex ride that he never would have gotten, all thanks to the commands Natasha asks to be placed into her. We’ll never confess to him what we do behind his back, but I’d bet there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance that he’d be okay with it, if he understood that Natasha’s sex drive is significantly enhanced by my influence. Especially where he’s concerned.
If you did your math correctly a little earlier, you’ll know that I am thirty-ish as I write this, and Natasha is a bit older than that. She still looks incredible — I think she’s going to be one of the extraordinary ones, one of the women who don’t peak until sometime in her late forties, or even in her fifties. She’s even more fit than when I met her, and age deepens this woman’s beauty, giving it even more character. She is truly astounding.
I wouldn’t say that she loves me, but she does feel something special for me, or she wouldn’t keep coming back. Even though she lives two hundred miles away from me now, she still appears out of nowhere, ready to fuck my brains out in the unlikeliest places at the unlikeliest times, in ways that only she can do. She’s my one voluntary lover, the rogue flash of feminine freedom in a sea of control, and it’s still the best sex, no matter what I can make other women do. Sometimes we fuck completely straight, while other times she has a special request to make, and I use the crystal to shift her consciousness or her body in that direction. Her ideas are always good. The woman knows what she likes, and I always end up liking what she likes.
We never really speak of the terms to our special arrangement. We just live it, suddenly coming together and then cumming together in some incredible way, and then she is gone. It would be a crazy arrangement in the minds of normal people, and undoubtedly crazy to the twisted sensibilities of a mind-control junkie like you. But it works. It might even be good for my soul, what little I still have of one, to have this one woman in my life remaining outside of my clutches.
I sometimes think that I love Natasha, but it isn’t quite that. It’s her body and vitality that I adore, along with her natural penchant for turning sex into an Olympic event filled with creativity and risk and deception. But we’re also bonded by something bigger than the sex, bigger than either of us, even if we don’t understand it.
Again I’ll remind you that I could be wrong about this. I’ve been wrong about other things, like the way Natasha slipped out of my mind-grasp way back when. Because of her, I assumed that all of the suggestions implanted by the crystal were temporary. I wasted time and energy for a while, scrambling to reinforce my influence wherever I could, trying to hold off any similar cases. But Natasha is the only one. No other woman has shown the slightest signs of being able to break past my commands.
I thought it might be her force of character. I thought it might be a case of extraordinary willpower, or her history with the Anton the Magician, or her history with the crystal itself. That last one might be true, but not exactly. As I said before, it’s Josh.
I’m not talking about the strength of a mother’s devotion to her son, as it might appear. No, I’m talking about something else, something I missed for a good long time. You see, Natasha and I both have our roles to play, even if we don’t know where this story ends. I thought I had something mostly figured out back then, but I missed the fuller implications. I knew that Josh was really Anton’s son. I could see Anton’s features when I looked at him, and I could see that Josh recognized something in me as well. I thought he saw knowledge in me, an awareness of his origins that no one else shared, save for his mother.
It wasn’t that. Josh saw a trace of fatherhood in me because the crystal had me in its grip, and Josh is the crystal’s son. That’s right. The genetics are Anton’s, but DNA is merely parentage in the world of matter. In the crystal’s world… Well, God knows what the crystal’s world is. Anyway, I know this little secret now, and I think Natasha knows it, too, even if unconsciously.
Josh is a teenager as I write this. He attends high school. He drives a car. He plays football. He has a girlfriend. He’s scary smart, and scary beautiful. And every now and then, when Natasha has asked me to visit her home, and I’ve accepted, Josh and I still get along quite well.
I like him, although I don’t know what the fuck he is. I don’t know the ramifications. I don’t know the future. But the dreams have become more troubling of late, which is worrisome.
I suspect that the crystal has special plans for Josh, and I’ll be a part of it in some way. I sometimes imagine a grand and thrilling event, where we join forces and triumph together, with all of humanity groveling at our feet. It could happen. But the dreams don’t feel like that, not even close.
I get this feeling, and it isn’t good. I know I’m important, but for how long? Am I merely a temporary crystal-keeper? Will Josh inherit this unknowable, living gift in the future, in some inescapable event that turns me back into a normal human being?
I sure hope not. I don’t think I’d want to live without the crystal, to tell you the truth. You can’t expect me to go from this position to just being a normal “Brian” again. It doesn’t matter how well I do in my political career, or how high I go. I could amass the greatest fortune in the world, but it wouldn’t be enough. Without the crystal, I think I’d probably deliver the bullet myself, the one that Natasha spared me.
I’ve thought the unthinkable, that maybe I should take care of Josh. You know what I mean. Without him around, I might get to hold onto the crystal longer. But the crystal would never let me do it. I’d find out just how much power “I” still have within myself, wouldn’t I?
I think I already know the answer. Like I said in the intro to this long tale, I’m surprised that I’m even being allowed to write it, and I don’t think that means I can do whatever I wish, or stand firm against anything. It merely tells me that the crystal doesn’t give a shit about what you, the reader, know, or what you think.
We’ll see how it all works out, won’t we? If I get to hold onto the crystal, you’ll feel my power some day, I don’t care who you are. And if you read in the papers that a promising political career came to an inexplicable, violent, suicidal end… Well, you’ll wonder if that was me, won’t you? I mean, you aren’t stupid enough to believe that my name is really Brian, are you?
That’s it. No redemption in the end. No feel-good send-off. I like to control women’s bodies and minds, and I’ll keep fucking them and fucking with them every which way I can for as long as I can. You don’t approve? Well let me tell you something — it’s hot down here in hell, way hot, and there’s nothing like the feeling of heat searing the tip of a big hard dick. If a time comes when I can’t get my mindjob jollies any more… Well then, bang, game over, with no bonus lives saved up. The end.
Christ, what a weird place to wrap up my little memoir. Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t believe a fucking word of it.