Authors Note: This is my first story and I am eager for any feedback through the site. I am writing a novel also based in the "Mind Control Sisterhood" universe, so this short is effectively testing the water.
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Rob liked precision. Rob liked predictability. Rob liked the programmable. It was about being in control.
He pulled the bank balance from his smartphone onto the budget program he had created on his laptop. Not good news, but it was precise. It all tallied up. It did mean, however, he had just enough money to see him through the next two weeks till the end of term, when his parents would release the next tranche of funds. His father was strict on sticking to their arrangement, but Rob couldn't complain as it was a generous deal compared to most of his fellow students. And Rob approved of careful financial planning. It was good to plan ahead and control as much as possible. At least money obeyed the rules of logic; not like most areas of life, not like people.
His father was a successful accountant but, rather than following in his footsteps, Rob opted for a Computer Science degree, confident that his specialisation in networks and security could lead to a lucrative career. More than this, for Rob, computer science was all about precision and predictability – he loved the feeling of power that programming and problem-solving gave him.
A sharp knock shattered his reflection. He looked up from his laptop to see his housemate's eager face peering round the bedroom door.
He was friends with Andy simply because they shared a house. In reality, they had little in common. Rob was a fantasy fan – computer gaming, books, movies, even board gaming. Andy was more into sport. They had computer studies in common, of course. And beer.
"Fancy going out for a pint, mate?"
"Can't tonight, Andy. Stony broke till the Christmas break."
"I could lend you a little till the New Year."
"No, you can't. You are a crazy man with debts you will never repay this side of graduation."
"Yeah, me and ninety percent of the student population – it's you that's the weirdo. And I don't mind a bit of debt. In a few years' time, we will both be rich tech wizards. Don't be so serious – live a little."
"Sorry, mate. Can't take your money. It would mean I will start next term a bit short if I do. Apart from that, I have work to do."
"So very serious. You have basically nailed a first – you can afford to relax a little. Won't your old man give you a break on the money front just this once?"
Rob gave a thin smile. "No chance. Apart from the rules, news just out – marriage number two is on the rocks, so he has my mother and my step-mum and her two brats to support – and now, of course, he will get skewered in the divorce settlement."
Andy laughed. "Oh, boy – no more SMILF for poor little Rob?"
"Poor little Andy, you mean. It was you who lusted after her."
"Well, she was a hot forty-year-old step-mum, I'll give her that."
"Yeah, yeah. We all know what you would like to give her. Don't worry. They are breaking up because my dad is having an affair with someone at work. I expect her to be not only younger, but prettier."
"Even younger? Brilliant. What age?"
"I didn't ask, but from what he said so far, I would guess ate twenties. But no, I didn't ask him to send a photo, you perv."
"Your dad, man. He's awesome. What age is he?"
"Fifty-two next month," groaned Rob. "It's embarrassing."
"Is it though? When you are his age I bet you wouldn't mind a hot twenty-something to keep you young at heart."
"Not wrong."
"Hey, talking of women, we could go to The Carriage – might see Sarah there."
"And that's supposed to tempt me? We broke up. We don't want to gaze at each other across a crowded student pub with tender feelings of mutual hatred."
"Yeah, she dumped you two months ago and you have been a miserable prick ever since."
"Fuck you." Rob said amiably. "Why don't you ask John to go with you?"
"God, no. The housemate from hell. I can just about stand him when it's the three of us, but the boredom of listening to him all evening on my own? No way. A night in is better than that."
Andy retreated, leaving Rob thinking about Sarah.
They had only been together for six months. The best thing to come out of the relationship was that he had managed to put his virginity behind him. He wasn't too upset when she called it a day, as the relationship was boring for both of them. And she was plain in the looks department, although he had no illusions about himself; he was a skinny geek, no great catch.
But he was clever enough to learn from watching his father. Rob knew that his own attractiveness to women would increase over time as his career brought him more income, wealth and status. A time would come when he had enough leverage to attract sexy women, a time when he would hold the balance of power in a relationship if he played it smart. It was all about being in control!
Until then he would have to accept having less power in relationships with less attractive girlfriends and make the best of it. He had tried to get Sarah to inject some glamour into their love-making. But Rob had never been good at persuading people, particularly girls. Pity people were not programmable. Sarah refused point-blank to wear sexy lingerie or even makeup. She complained he got too many of his preconceptions of sex from internet porn.
Not entirely wrong.
He tapped his keyboard and called up his latest wank website. It was an escort service specialising in elite dominatrices. God, this site was driving him to distraction. These women were so entrancing. But did men actually pay a thousand pounds an hour to be with them?
He had discovered the site two weeks ago. The home page had a tongue-in-cheek business world theme to it: "Do You Need Strict Corporate Governance? Experience Market Domination by Hypnodommes Who Mean Business". Stunningly beautiful dominatrices graced this and the other openly available web pages. They were fully dressed in sexy "office wear" with no more exposure than a flash of cleavage and perhaps a stocking top. But Rob had found even that stuff a huge turn-on.
The camera angle of the photos was usually from a position lower than the women so they appeared to tower over the viewer displaying haughty superiority in their expressions; immaculately made-up faces of breath-taking beauty looked down domineeringly with utter disdain and an aloof assumption of authority.
A series of pages were made out to be a "Goddesses' Guide to Power Dressing in the Office: A Teasingly Sensual Takeover of his Intellectual Property".
There was a section on eyewear where beautiful, hypnotic eyes were framed by elegant eyelashes and stared out from behind large designer spectacle frames. "Accentuate your eyes. Use them to entrance and enchant him. Mesmerise him without mercy."
Another page displayed massive breasts straining against tight blouses, diaphanous materials revealing teasing suggestions of black lacy bras and Basques struggling to contain gigantic tits. "Overwhelm him with your irresistible breasts. Captivate him with a cleavage he would happily be smothered in. Suffocate to dominate."
Tantalising upskirt shots, crotches hidden in shadow with an occasional suggestion of panties. Intricate stocking tops supported by suspenders. "Pull him in, creating an absorbing fascination with scintillating stocking tops and suspenders. Pussywhip him into submission."
There were sections on glossy lips, stocking-clad legs and skirts stretched tight across buttocks.
The footwear page varied from shoe to ankle boot to knee-length boot, all in perfect patent finishes with soaring stiletto heels. "Elevate yourself above him in heels that ensure you look down on the loser. Pierce his peace of mind forever and trample on his self-esteem."
Rob had spent a week masturbating to these pages before bothering to hack into the exclusive gallery. The site explained that the more explicit VIP photo gallery was only available to clients who had used the escort service. Gaining access had not been as straightforward as he had expected. He initially obtained a guest password that worked in some areas, but not the photo gallery. Next, he thought he had accessed administrator's rights only to watch them become inoperable. Finally, he sent an email enquiry and stole the access rights of the dumb employee who responded. Technically illegal, of course, but he was confident the owners of this type of website would not rush to involve the police.
The VIP gallery showed the dominatrices in more explicitly sexual and iconic clothing. Catsuits and corsets made of shiny leather and latex. Knee-high and thigh-high boots, all with punishing high heels. The Goddesses now brandished an assortment of whips, paddles and riding crops with obvious relish. In place of smouldering imperious stares, their expressions were cruel sneers and perfect white teeth bared like a predatory animal about to strike.
Rob regarded this site as his greatest find to date. And this without any real nudity. What was it about dominant women? Like most men, he found the leather and latex arousing and the "toy" weapons stimulating. The suggestion of danger.
This sense of danger was exciting, he guessed, combined with the loss of his precious control and predictability. A power switch. There was a high novelty factor inherent in this fantasy. But he could laugh at the absurdity of finding this type of thing so sexy. He knew these women were only acting; playing a part for profit. The idea of a dangerously dominant woman was simply a fanciful fiction. After all, these sort of women, malevolent sexual predators, didn't actually exist; they were a fantasy and nothing more.
The sleek black car swept forward, relentlessly seeking its goal, headlights stabbing into the winter night. In response, the darkness opened its maw, yawning with a callous indifference.
Samantha sat in the reclining rear seat of the Mercedes S class, casually flicking through the report on tonight's target. It was a short report, a straight-forward case – a twenty-one year old Computer Science student at Derby University.
She gave a jaded sigh. "Easy meat."
She was an experienced head-hunter. Some nerdy student offered no real challenge. But she rallied herself, there was still the siren's pleasure of seduction, the sensual delight of enthralling an innocent. And tonight was special – her hundredth acquisition in her seven years with the Sisterhood.
This geek had triggered an alert on one of the Sisterhood's bait websites, a site appearing to be an escort service specialising in dominatrices and explicitly targeting rich and powerful businessmen. The exorbitant charge out rate ensured that bookings were only from affluent and influential clients, the type the Sisterhood was interested in meeting. The site did lie about the cost of a meeting, however. If an applicant was deemed suitable material, the price was much higher: his willpower, his mind, his very being.
Her target tonight had managed to hack past a number of barriers to gain access to the VIP photo gallery. This qualified him as a member of the second group of people the site acted as bait for: men with advanced hacking and computer skills, a valuable resource to the Sisterhood. He had been detected, counter-hacked and researched. This research confirmed Rob was skilled and intelligent enough to be of use to the Sisterhood.
Samantha felt the car change direction. Looking up, she could see they were leaving the motorway. They had travelled over two hours from the Sisterhood's London base.
"How long until we arrive, Benji?"
"Approximately ten minutes, Goddess."
