This story contains Mind Control elements, although the focus is exhibitionism. If Mind Control offends you, please read no further. It involves the characters introduced in "The Director's Kitten" and "The Director: Lucy."
***
Lucy hesitated before typing the information. What she was about to do violated her professional ethics. But she didn't know of any other source of help for her patient, Julie Ann, who she had been seeing for months. Julie Ann was obsessed. Her fantasies were a constant distraction to her, yet she refused to take the slightest step to get what she wanted.
In that way, Julie Ann reminded Lucy a little of herself before she had met the Director. Her hang-ups were different. Lucy had become jaded through a series of okay but ultimately unsatisfying sexual and kinky experiences, whearas Julie Ann had almost no sexual experience at all. Her grandmother had pounded into her the notion that she should be ashamed of her body because bodies were distasteful to God, especially sexy female ones. A fair amount of that pounding had been done with a hickory switch.
She typed out the email, and hesitated. She got up and paced around her small apartment. She was aware the Director might enjoy helping Julie Ann with her problem, and she knew that she was strongly driven to please him. Was that clouding her mind? She also knew the Director valued the rest of her life, and would not want her to get in trouble. He seemed to have his own code of honor, too, and he had never asked her to use her position as a Psychotherapist to glean information for him, although she knew other women made daily reports to him of things they found that might be of interest.
She walked back to her computer. The email link she had with the Director was secure, with multiple layers of encryption. Professional ethics had never envisioned that someone like the Director, who had supernatural powers of control and disguise, could exist. She would let him make the decision of how to use the information, if at all.
That was one of the lovely things about the Director. He made the decisions, and all she had to do was follow them. For her, submission was liberation. She hit send.
***
There was something different about the man who sat down in the corner booth, and Julie Ann wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't overly handsome, although he looked fit. He was casually dressed in jeans and a tight black shirt. He wore a black mask over his face, so perhaps he had a cold, or was afraid of getting one. His intense steel gray eyes were the only obviously remarkable thing about him. That and the fact that he had somehow gotten the corner booth, which would easily seat five, despite being by himself. They never seated a group of less than two there.
"May I take your order?" she asked him.
The man swept her with his gaze, and then nodded. "Two eggs, scrambled, with cheddar cheese. Three strips of bacon, not over-cooked. And three buttermilk pancakes, with butter on top. Soft butter, please. I don't need syrup."
"Got it."
"And Julie Ann?"
She nodded. How he knew her name was no mystery, as it was written on a silver tag she wore above her left breast.
"Yes?" she asked.
"You're a very attractive woman."
She blushed and hurried away.
She loved the attention, but it made her nervous. Sometimes, when guys stared at her chest, almost too nervous to do her job. The diner she worked in had its employees dress conservatively: black pants, and pale blue blouses buttoned all the way up. Her blouse was snug due to her large breasts, which she was both proud and ashamed of. Men liked to look at them. She knew she should want them to look at her eyes, instead, so she wore striking eye makeup, her lashes laden with mascara, and pale red eyeshadow.
In fractions of a second the man had seemed to take inventory of her entire body. She ought to resent that. It shouldn't turn her on. Especially from some guy who probably had a cold. With the mask, she couldn't even tell if he appreciated what he saw. She was being viewed without being viewed back. Why was that exciting? Something to talk to her shrink about.
She took a moment to catch her breath, and then resumed taking orders. As she helped other patrons she had the sense that the man's eyes were following her. Didn't he have a phone to look at like everyone else? When her back was turned to him, she imagined his intent gaze, undressing her with his mind. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to work in the nude, or topless. It was something she thought about a lot.
"Sausage, French toast, eggs over easy. Got it," she said.
"I said fried eggs, not over easy," said the bespectacled man she was helping.
"Oh! Sorry, maybe it's me who is over easy. Oh, no, I meant your wife was over easy?"
"I was scrambled," said the thin-lipped woman he was with. "Not easy."
Julie Ann had noticed her ring and the way the two were close together and had jumped to the thought that she was his wife. He wasn't wearing one, though. Maybe they were having an affair, a hot, torrid, illicit affair.
She took a deep breath, pulled out her pad, and wrote down the order. She hardly ever had to do that, but right now she was flustered. The act of writing helped her focus. The two might be having an affair, but she was pretty sure it wasn't that torrid. They seemed more like the kind that would watch old episodes of Seinfeld together.
She hurried away and passed the masked man's table. Again, he looked her all over. His gaze didn't linger, but neither was it fixed on her face, and he showed no concern whether she noticed or not.
She managed to get past. Her panties were wet, but fortunately, the company slacks were thick. Unfortunately, they didn't breathe much, so once she got turned on she was likely to be aware of her panties for the rest of the shift.
The masked man's food was ready. She had to lean over to set the plate down in front of him. He put his hand on her wrist, holding it with a loose grip she could easily break. "It's a shame you're so buttoned up," he said. "I imagine the view would be exquisite."
This time she was too shocked to run away. People looked, sure, but no one was that bold.
He took his mask off. His features were plain, unremarkable. "Don't worry, I'm not sick. It's just a precaution I take. I need a refill on my water. If you like, you can unbutton three buttons on your blouse when you return, just before you lean over to give me my water. In the corner here, no one will be able to see but you and me, and then you'll button it back up. It will be our secret."
His touch was warm. Even though what he was saying was outlandish, from him it sounded almost reasonable. He withdrew his hand.
"I await your return," he said.
She grabbed his glass and turned quickly away.
On her way to the fountain, she looked over her shoulder. He was right. The shades were pulled. In the corner booth no one would be able to see what she was doing but him. She couldn't believe she was considering it, but she thought about it from angle and there was no way she could be caught. She pushed the button for water, held it, and looked behind her again. The man was smiling at her confidently.
The water splashed onto her hand, and she was reminded of what she was supposed to be doing. Another table had ordered a coffee, so she filled that too. She dropped off the coffee first, and then returned to the man in the mask.
I'm going to do it,
she said to herself.
Just this once.
The idea Grandma might be watching from heaven made her nervous, even though she didn't really believe in heaven anymore. At the same time, she wanted to tell Grandma and her hickory to go to hell, although she didn't believe in that either.
She faced the corner deliberately, and with her right hand, warm from the coffee, she unbuttoned buttons. How many had he said? More than two. She unbuttoned four, just in case. She didn't want to disappoint him.
She leaned over, blouse gaping, knowing he could see down her shirt. She wished she had a nicer bra, but the plain white was nice for being unnoticeable beneath the pale blue blouse. She hadn't expected anyone to see it.
He didn't even pretend to look anywhere but down her blouse. For a moment, she froze, and breathed as he stared. She decided she didn't have any good reason for leaning over that long. She straightened, using both hands to button up hastily.
"You did well, Julie Ann," he said. "Next I require a small little cup, the kind you put syrup or butter in, but empty. And I expect the same view."
"Not happening," she thought she would say, but she didn't. She nodded, and went to serve other customers, her heart racing. She took her time, out of a combination of nervousness and a desire to savor what she was feeling. But in the end, she returned. She hesitated.
"The buttons, Julie Ann," he said.
She nodded, and unbuttoned them, and then leaned over to give him a nice long look as she placed the empty butter cup next to his plate. He had, she noticed, eaten just half his food. He was a slow, careful eater. Perhaps he, too, was savoring. He definitely seemed to be savoring her breasts.
