Chapter 3
With more experimentation I learned the full range of attention I could control, from rapt, unwavering fascination to total unawareness. I used the latter effect on guards, ticket takers, and bouncers. I could have become a successful shoplifter. I could have got a position with the CIA. Instead I went to a fashion show.
The only sport jacket I owned was my one concession to disguise. I walked right in like a VIP. The security, and the very nicely dressed and made up young gatekeeper that under other circumstances I would have been tempted to seduce, all suddenly found the most captivating things on their phones.
I thought I'd try a model. I'd read about famous men who were modelizers. Why not a young, talented scientist working on a world-changing breakthrough? Hey, I was changing
my
world.
I grabbed some free wine, ate hors d'oeuvres while resisting the temptation to play with the servers, and waited for the models.
Who eventually walked out after way too much fanfare, speeches, and general overproduction. I was unimpressed. The clothing line was not exceptional. The garments hung well on the women, who were chosen for that single purpose, after all. But they were even skinnier in person than models look in videos and magazine ads. I don't find anorexia sexy.
I was sharing a stand up drink table with some exec-type guy. "Upmarket," he said as he ogled the models. I had a hunch he didn't mean the clothes. I was about to shoo him away with the eye trick when his phone played the first bars of some out-of-date pop song and I heard one side of a very interesting conversation. About stocks.
So after the call I did the eye trick the other way and got him bragging. A company I'd never heard of was ready to take off and he was part of a group about to take advantage.
I reversed the eye trick so he'd forget me and I left. The next day I did some due diligence re the company then drove across town and sold my car, a bit old but not a junker. Then I put it all on a margin buy of the stock's option.
A week later I sold the option for a 12x profit, bought myself a better set of wheels, and started looking around for ways to do it again with the ample leftover funds. I started attending financial conferences instead of the science ones I should have been going to. After some trial and error I was able to identify likely information sources, men with big egos who liked to tell everyone (and especially a "private investor" that was obviously a VIP keeping a low profile— the eye trick again) about the great things they had cooking. That is, talkative assholes. I called them TAs, a small private joke from academia. My portfolio grew rapidly.
As did my list of sexual conquests. Guys, re getting laid by female colleagues: don't judge a book by its conventional cover. Because there were also women at these financial events. Some of the most professionally sober and conservatively dressed women there redirected their considerable ambition and interpersonal skills towards more intimate goals as their cellphones got lost under a pile of business-appropriate apparel.
I hardly had to use my TK. For one thing, I'd upgraded my wardrobe. I could manage the unawareness eye trick for one or maybe a few subjects. (Yes, I called them subjects. Of my experiments.) But for mingling anonymously in a crowd it was easier to just blend in. For another thing, the now significantly long list and variety of women who had willingly and eagerly taken my semen into their orifices had established in me a masculine self-confidence that in itself many women found intoxicating. Seriously, I was getting as much nookie as any rock star, without the risk of going deaf during a drug-soaked year of touring. Or the effort of learning to play an instrument.
Then Kayla appeared. She was a top rainmaker in M&A, out-alpha-ing the male alphas. We met at a high end tech business thing and hit it off at once. I mean really. She wore her butterscotch blonde hair short in a severe cut that fit her severe business suit and her severe manner with most people. A manner she extended to me, on the surface, but which she leavened with body language that communicated the opposite. She touched me as she criticized my financial skills, the okay places of course, shoulder, arm; her non-TKed eye contact was exhilarating. I didn't need to dilate her or stimulate her at all. She just wanted me. I didn't try anything until we were out on a convention center balcony during a break, away from everyone, and I slipped a hand over her most precious pearl and did my thing a tiny bit.
I'd learned the hard way to start small. I'd gone through a disco period. It was easy as pie to get in them and nearly as easy to attract the tasty girl-women there, who were already looking for something special. I found a slim Black woman with natural short hair and even shorter skirt. We were necking and more in a back corner beyond the bar when I reached up into her skirt and touched her. I was right on target but, I have to admit, too turned on. With Hannah previously I'd been forced to start at a distance. This was the first time I was able to just start at max power. And my power was growing. I zapped her, but too hard, and she immediately, I mean instantly, came in an orgasmic spike as strong as anything I've ever witnessed up to that point. She cried out so loud I looked around to check if anyone had noticed, but the electronica was loud enough to cover our lewd actions. Luckily also she had her arms around my neck and was able to hang on while her legs recovered some fraction of their strength.
She stared at me for a moment. She knew something strange had happened. With an excuse I couldn't hear over the beat she turned and walked away and I never saw her again.
So I took it easy with Kayla, just a little to dip my toe, so to speak, in the water. She loved it, and presented me with a smile, with her mouth and eyes, but also her whole face, lifting up her chin to expose her very delectable neck. I'd seen such a smile before and called it the total smile, given only at special moments such as when a woman begins to undress before me, or kneels and looks up. It took all my will power not to drag her somewhere less public and aim the full battery of my charms at her.
But business first. Over dinner we traded tips. Kayla had her own methods, non-ESP, to get TAs to spill their guts. We spent most of our time at the hotel restaurant table on our phones, setting up trades for the next morning's market. I gave a scathing review at one point of an incompetent buffoon of a CTO who didn't understand his tech. I don't remember him or his company or what I said, but I do remember her comment:
"You have a cruel streak in you, don't you?" Somehow that remark came across as a compliment, not an insult.
Then she held up her phone for me to watch as she turned it off. "Now I'm all yours," she said. That total smile again. "There's something you might want to know about me." She waited for me to respond, but I'd been learning how to outwait. "I'm a sub."
"You look way more delicious than a sandwich." I wasn't totally shocked by her admission. My time with Samantha had given me some experience, of course, and I'd been reading up on kinks, but it was fun to play dumb for a little while.
"I'll do anything you want. Anything." She did a simple thing then, but one which contained worlds of erotic meaning. She undid the top button of her blouse.
She might as well have done a bump and grind strip tease right there in the middle of the dining room. My reluctance use my special skill on her dissolved in a flash of desire. I reached out with my TK to touch the nipples under her bra.
And to my surprise found metal there. I could tell from the lab work I'd done, the slippery way metal test objects squirmed under the TK field. "I want to see your breasts."
We went up to her room, where as soon as she'd locked and bolted the door behind us she knelt with her hands behind her head. "I await your command." She didn't have to wait long. I'd enjoyed a few more sessions with Samantha. This, I could tell, would be different. And maybe even more interesting.
Unlike Kayla, Sam didn't want to submit. Or obey. Sam wanted to be forced. After our first kinky scene she willingly let me tie her up, blindfold or hood her, incapacitate her in whatever way I wanted, but then she would resist. She'd try her best to get out of the bindings, so that I had to quickly get good at knots and cuffs. And of course there were the curses.
"Fucking asshole," was a common epithet. She might insult me calmly at first as she let me cuff and hood her. I had to use the hood. She'd rub off any blindfold during the scene even if I made her promise beforehand not to do that. So no mercy. I also got her a collar, a wide one because she would fight it when I used it to hold her down, which was necessary.
She was docile as I led her by a leash to the end of her couch, a convenient piece of furniture. "You're going to rape me again, aren't you?" she might say. That had been my intention the first time, pretending to be a stranger who'd broken into her place, but I'd chickened out. And anyway there was no way I could have disguised my voice. Or my cock. "Are you going to fuck me in all three holes? You're going to kill me when you're done with me, aren't you?"
"Worse. I'm going to kill the good girl in you and turn you into a nympho slut."
"Never! I'd rather die! No matter what you do you can't make me!" She got into her character. Also the plot, whose ending we both knew.
She let me bend her over the padded arm and tie her legs down, then fix her head by tying down the collar with her arms cuffed behind her. I made her totally helpless. But never silent. I never gagged her, in spite of the risk of the neighbors hearing. She needed the curses.
Then came the torture. I used both pain and pleasure. A bit of research revealed a long list of places on her that I could attack: inner thighs, breasts, sides, back, and so on. And I bought a charming device called a flogger, with which I made all those areas bright pink and made her yell out her denials that she was what we both knew she was. She got better and better at resisting my threats and torment:
"You're a slut, aren't you? Admit it." After a round of flogging had her begging for mercy. And me rock hard.
"No, no!"
