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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don’t type things myself."  I think it’s  o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find  'little'  surprises  o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Dave's Fiancee (MF)
by Anon Author - 1994

*

I was getting a "free" meal in my favorite restaurant. This was my fifth
day with the amplifier, and I was getting a better idea of the range of its
potential uses. Behind me stood a blank-faced waitress, massaging me while
absently rubbing her crotch against the back of my chair. The floor show
for tonight consisted of a group of thirty-something businesswomen in town
for a feminist management conference. They had somehow jointly taken up the
bizarre notion that the restaurant was Radio City Music Hall and that they
were here to audition as Rockettes. They were dancing with linked arms on
top of their table, high-kicking vigorously, albeit disjointedly,
splattering haute cuisine all over their high-heeled shoes, their
pantyhose, their executive skirts and blouses, and most of the neighboring
tables. The serving personnel walking through the edible barrage
scrupulously ignored them, as did everyone else in the restaurant, as per
my instructions. Frankly, I was growing a bit bored.

I looked around the restaurant to see if I could locate a suitable
companion for the evening. I noticed a trim, leggy brunette with a pageboy
haircut two tables over. The fingers of her left hand were intertwined with
those of her male companion. They were both hunched forward in their
chairs, faces a few inches apart, speaking softly. I hated to break up such
an idyllic scene, but I had my own needs to think about.

"The spaghetti," I projected to her. "Dump it in his lap." Even as she was
leaning over to kiss him, her right hand twitched, then shot out on its own
volition, overturning his plate. They both jumped up in astonishment, his
groin covered with twisted, sticky strands. "I don't know how that
happened," she began to stammer in astonishment.

"The wine," I added. "Don't forget the wine." Her right hand, coming back
to cover her shocked mouth, instead veered downward, closed itself around
her half-filled wineglass, and flung it towards his chest in one continuous
balletic motion. Wine splashed everywhere, covering his face, causing him
to stagger blindly. She rushed around the table to comfort him, shrieking
that she was sorry.

One final straw was required. "Slap him," I projected. "Slap him hard." Her
traitorous extremity drove itself into his face with a loud crack, painful
to them both. He tumbled over his chair, landing on his hip and buttocks.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted up at her crestfallen face.
He extracted his legs from the chair with a groan, turned over, climbed
slowly to his feet, and staggered towards the bathroom. She started to
follow him.

"No." I projected to her. "Grab your stuff, run outside, and wait on the
sidewalk." She straightened abruptly, hooked her purse, and began sprinting
towards the door, leaping wildly over chairs, her face a mask of confusion.
She bowled over several people in the entranceway and crashed out through
the door. The inhabitants of the restaurant, disregarding this as they had
everything else, continued on with their polite dinner converstations.

It was a noisy exit, but quite entertaining. I knew I had to follow her
quickly, because I had placed her in a fragile emotional state. I proceeded
to clean up after myself. "Pay for this yourself, leave yourself a large
tip, and forget that I was here," I projected to my waitress masseuse.
"Fall asleep in five minutes," I sent to my coterie of dancing fems. "Don't
remember anything about tonight when you awaken." I grabbed a handful of
after dinner mints and sauntered out.

My evening's companion was standing just outside the door, shuddering and
looking a bit shell-shocked. "Hi," I said, taking her hand. "Sorry I was a
bit rough on you in there, but it's been a weird couple of days. I think
the power is going to my head. You know what I mean? Anyway, we'll be
spending the rest of the evening together. I promise that I'll show you a
good time."

She blinked up at me in confusion. "What? You? How?"

"No time to explain," I projected hurredly. "Don't worry about it. Just
obey all my orders without question, and think happy thoughts." Her eyes
lost their focus, and her mascara-streaked face softened and took on an
abstracted smile. "Wait here a minute while I get a car." She nodded
slowly, drifting somewhere inside herself.

I stepped to the curb and looked around. That limo looked nice. I
commandeered the driver, and the limo suddenly made a squealing U-turn
through four lanes of angrily honking traffic to pull up in front of us.
The dowager inside was beating furiously at the window partition between
the seats. The driver got out, hurried over to the passenger door nearest
us, reached inside, and pulled the dowager out, gently, but firmly, placing
her on her feet. She rubbed her arm and started screaming at him. "You're
feeling carefree and generous tonight," I interrupted her verbally and
telepathically. "Offer us the car."

"Oh, how thoughtless of me," she apologized, looking very contrite. "Would
you like the car? Please, take it. I insist. I'd love to walk home anyway."

"That's very kind of you. And since you're in such a giving mood, why don't
you offer your clothes to the first street person you see."

Her face lit up. "Why that's a marvelous idea." She bustled off,
uncharacteristically anxious to find a member of the degenerate lower
orders with whom to share her wealth.

"Come here, dear. Time for us to be off." My date trotted over obediently,
her nyloned heels slapping against the insteps of her jet black slingbacks.
The driver held the door for us, got in himself, and in marked contrast to
his earlier driving, pulled slowly and cautiously away from the curb. I
told him my address and we were on our way.

I looked over at my date seated next to me, my skin tingling at her
nearness. She had wide green eyes, a pert nose, and a pale complexion that
contrasted beautifully with her dark hair. Her lipstick was almost equally
dark. Her face was laid back in soft repose, showing the faintest traces of
a smile. Her low-cut black evening dress ended at mid-thigh, revealing a
pair of perfectly shaped knees. She was looking straight ahead, with both
feet on the floor, hands folded in her lap.

I suggested that she look at me and cross her legs in my direction. She
nodded and unhesitatingly complied with both requests. I ran my fingers up
her arm, across the top of her shoulder, and over her long neck to
delicately nudge her ear. My fingers then drifted along her cheek towards
the ends of her evenly cropped hair. I pushed softly at her temple, and her
head tilted in response, her expression not changing in the least. She was
not really human for me in that moment, just a beautiful, uncaring,
compliant toy, available for me to amuse myself with in any way I wanted. I
reached down to trace my fingers along the gentle bulging of the calf where
her legs crossed and felt myself getting very aroused.

"Rip off your dress," I requested, "but do it slowly." My date's hands came
up and began to rend the delicate crepe fabric, firmly pulling it apart
along several seams with soft ripping sounds, dropping each piece when it
became fully separated. She continued to stare at me, her smile detached,
her head slightly tilted. She shifted briefly in her seat to slide down the
remnants of the dress that she couldn't otherwise reach, finally ending up
with a hundred plus dollars worth of tattered ruin heaped around her
ankles.

"Now, take off your bra and throw it out the window." She did so without
complaint or comment, closing the window immediately afterwards, the bra
discernible briefly in the tailights as it fluttered to the ground. My
date's breasts were small and high-set, but perfectly shaped and
symmetrical. They were quite appealing. I unbelted and unzipped myself,
pushed down my pants and shorts, and slid lower in my seat.

"Rub my cock between your breasts until I get fully erect, then blow me
until I come." She proceeded to kneel on the spacious floor of the limo and
then slowly pushed her chest over my cock. She was still wearing her
panties, hose, and slingbacks. Her breasts were soft and smooth and very
warm. I hardened quickly in response to her ministrations. She shifted
position, and I briefly watched her dark bangs sway in counterpoint to the
steady bobbing of her head. I patted the amplifier in my pocket and closed
my eyes to focus solely on the resevoir of liquid fire that was pooling in
my groin and about to overflow.

We arrived in front of my recently acquired, fully appointed condo. I had
reached an mutually satisfactory arrangement with the previous owners, the
Fergusons. They agreed to give me full run of the place and to cover all of
my expenses. I, in turn, agreed to let them camp out using sleeping bags in
the small downstairs bathroom, using its window to come and go as they
pleased. It was a minor inconvenience for me, but I was willing to put up
with it. I brought them out occassionally to play with, to help entertain
my "guests," and to clean up my messes. In particular, I enjoyed watching
Mitzi Ferguson's response to my suggestion to combine nude housework and
aerobic dance. I suspected the Fergusons were out at the moment, because
their light was off. They were continually going out to eat, because I
wouldn't let them use the kitchen. I should say I wouldn't let them use the
kitchen to cook for themselves.

I projected some instuctions to my companions. The driver came over to open
the door for us. My date, unconcerned about her advanced state of
dishabille, climbed over me and got out to stand erectly next to the car,
her small but well-shaped tits thrust proudly forward. The driver got back
in the car and sped away. He was following instructions to take the car
back. Afterwards he would go out and get sufficiently drunk to totally
forget the evening's events, also making sure he got someone else to drive
him home. I guided my date towards the house and up the front steps, using
gentle pressure on either side of her nipples to show her where I wanted
her to go. I unlocked the door, and we went in.

I seated my silent companion on a large brown leather chair and sat down
facing her on the suede-covered sofa. I told her to close her eyes and
began projecting instructions for the next stage for our interaction. "When
you next open your eyes you'll be fully awake and alert. However, you won't
remember who I am, or how you got here, or anything else that happened to
you tonight. You also won't be able to get up from that chair. I'll be
asking you some questions. If you perceive yourself to be not giving honest
and complete answers to these questions, give yourself hard pinches on the
nipples with both hands. Keep pinching yourself until the answer you hear
coming out of your mouth is satisfactory. Nod if you understand and will
obey these instructions, but don't consciously remember them." She nodded
slowly, her brunette bangs falling forward and back into place. "Okay, now
open your eyes."

She yawned, stretched, and opened her attractive green eyes. She lifted
both hands to her forehead and started rubbing it. She obtained a glimpse
of the unfamiliar surroundings filtered through her fingers and something
clicked in her conscriousness. She bolted up in the chair and turned her
head in jerky birdlike motions to look first at me, then at the room, and
finally at herself. She shrieked, realizing she was clad only in
undergarments, and those only on the lower half of her body. She tried to
stand, but her arms and legs collapsed under her, and she fell back into
the chair, as if pulled by an invisible rubber band. She folded her arms
protectively over her breasts, pulled her legs together and looked at me.
She began speaking with barely controlled hysteria. "What is this place?
How did I get here?"

"Relax," I said. "This is my house, and you're my guest for the evening.
What's your name, by the way?"

She ignored my question and continued with her own. "Who are you? Why can't
I remember anything? What ... Ow! That hurts." Her hands, previously cupped
protectively over her breasts, had curled themselves inward and were now
clamped tightly to her nipples. She shook and turned in her chair, but
couldn't seem to make them let go. "What's happening to me?"

"For your own sake you'd better answer my question. Now, what's your name?"
"Otherwise," I added conversationally, "you might end up with tits so sore
that you won't be able to sleep on your stomach for a week."

"Cindy Wells." Her hands immediately relaxed. "What the hell is going on?"

"As I said, you're my date for tonight, and we're starting to get to know
each other better." "And that," I said, glancing noticeably at her hands,
"that is a little bullshit and lie detector I built into you." "It helps
speed the conversation along."

"What do you mean your date? I most definitely am not your date. I'm
engaged, and anyway, I've never even seen you before. And what do you mean
lie detector built into me? How could you build anything into me?"

This was not the way I had planned for the conversation to go, but it was
interesting enough for the moment. "Well, actually, you are my date,
because I am free to date and sleep with anyone I want." I smiled at her
mischeviously. "You see, I invented a handy little device that gives me
total control of the human mind, what people think, and do, and feel. I
used it to get you here. You came along willingly. Well, sort of. You
weren't really too aware at the time. Anyway, I restored your
consciousness, so we could have this little chat"

"I came here with you and don't remember it? That's not possible."

"Oh, but it is. Your being here is proof." I wanted to play some more.
"What's your breast size, Cindy?"

"None of your fucking - Ow! - 34C." Her hands relaxed again. "Why do you
need to know? You've already seen my breasts. I don't even know where my
bra is."

"One just likes to confirm these things. Now who was that guy you were with
tonight?"

"What guy? When?" She looked anxiously down at the tormentors waiting
patiently at the end of her wrists. "I honestly don't know what you're
talking about."

I realized that I had removed a little too much of her evening's memory. I
projected instructions giving her permission to recall events until right
before she met me.

"Oh, God. Poor Dave. That was horrible. I couldn't stop hurting him. I
didn't want to, but I no longer had any control over my actions."

"What was it like?" I was honestly curious, not having experienced the
sensation personally. The first feature I had built into the telepathic
amplifier was a lockout, making sure it could never, repeat never, be used
on me.

The words poured out of her, unprompted. The experience had been so
disconcerting, so unreconciable with the rules of life as she knew them,
that she had to talk about it with someone, anyone, even her erstwhile
tormentor. I don't think she had quite put that together yet, but I knew
she would.

"It was like my body suddenly decided to ignore me and start moving by
itself. At first, I thought I was dreaming. I saw and felt everything I was
doing to Dave, but I couldn't change any of it. And then finding myself
running out of the restaurant. That was the worst."

"How so?"

"I was running as fast as I could, with no idea of where I was going. I was
terrified. I could have run head-first into a brick wall, and I would have
been totally unable to stop myself." She shuddered, then looked at me, eyes
widening in terror. "You did that to me. You must have." She screamed.

I projected rapidly and both of her hands came up to cover her mouth. "Stop
that," I telepathically ordered, and her scream died off into a choked
gurgle. "Calm down. You're going to be okay. I don't want to hurt people. I
just get off on controlling them for kicks. I'm basically a hedonist. I'm
no worse than anyone else would be in my postion. I just have more
opportunities."

She coughed and got her voice back. "You mean you're not going to hurt me?
You're going to let me go?"

"Well, eventually. I can guarantee you'll be leaving here sometime tomorrow
perfectly healthy and with no unpleasant memories of the experience. Until
then, I plan to more or less go with my impulses."

She looked resigned. "Are you going to rape me?"

"Well, not in so many words. You'll be enjoying it very much at the time."
She frowned, not sure how to take that. "So who is Dave?" I redirected the
conversation. "What's your relationship with him?"

"He's my finace. We were talking about plans for our wedding in two weeks."

"Oh, you have my complete congratulations." This was marvelous, a veritable
hit. "What are your feelings like for Dave? Do you really love him?"

"Yes, of course I do," she replied tartly, annoyed at the implication that
she would marry someone for any other reason. "I love him more than I've
ever loved anyone."

"So..., what kind of stuff do you and Dave like to do in bed together?"

She looked down at her tempermental hands, trying to choose her words
cautiously. "Well, basically, the same kind of things that all engaged
couples do." Her fingers twitched suspiciously in response to her
calculated imprecision, but remained in place.

"Please be more specific."

She looked embarressed. "Well, we play this little game where I dress up in
a nurse's uniform, and he pretends to be paralyzed. I wash him off in bed
and start soaping and rubbing his cock. The experience is so good for him
that he's healed, and we make love together. I'm the miracle worker who's
saved him and he's grateful to me forever."

"No, what are the specific physical acts that you've tried?"

"Well, if you must know, mainly fucking and oral sex both ways. We once
tried having him take me in the ass, while I had a vibrator stuck in my
cunt, but that wasn't too much fun." I noted it down. "Oh, and I guess
occasionally I give him hand jobs or rub his cock between my breasts."

"Yeah, I've already tried that with you." Her mouth hung open in stunned
silence. "Forget that," I projected. "Close your eyes." It was time to
alter her consciousness again and move on to the next stage of the
evening's entertainment.
