The Commander

This is my first erotic story – I welcome all feedback.

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I stood facing my bathroom mirror. A spindly boy wearing a beige sales clerk's shirt stared back. That was not my shirt. That was not my body. That was not my face. That was Jake. Jake stocks shelves at the Food King grocery store a few miles away. I jumped his body (that is, I took over his body) in the Food King parking lot and brought him home. Jake is my mule. I need him to jump someone else's body – my real target for today.

I use mules for a couple of reasons. First, when I jump into someone else's body, my own body instantly falls unconscious, and stays asleep while I am "away". So I let my own body rest safely at home while I doppelgang. Second, even though my host has no recollection of the period while I jump him, he might remember everything right up to the instant before the jump, including the moment I touched him. I can only jump through physical contact, so there is always a chance the host will remember someone touching them the instant before their memory loss. Similarly, when I leave a host, their own conciseness returns, as if they just woke up from a very long sleep walk. Again, there is a chance they will see me as they come to.

I am not too worried about Jake – nothing bad is going to happen to him today, and he won't try to track me down. He will miss an hour of work and won't know why. Or maybe he'll take the rest of the day off – it's up to him.

Walking in Jake's shoes, I returned to my bedroom and checked on my real body sleeping in my bed – everything looked normal. I locked up the house and armed the alarms. After I pulled out of the garage, I verified the main garage door had closed, and then drove to a twenty four hour parking lot on Millison Road where my car would not look suspicious parked there all day, or even overnight. I locked my keys in a secret compartment inside the car, then retrieved a ticket from the automated parking attendant machine, and placed the ticket under the windshield wiper. I walked a few blocks down Millison and one block over to the Mermaid Princess Beauty Salon and Spa. I scanned the small parking lot – the car I was looking for wasn't there because I was early, which is to say, I was right on time. I leaned up against a Ford Expedition SUV, as if it was my car and I was waiting for someone. Hiding in plain sight.

After ten minutes of waiting I saw the white Mercedes E350 convertible approach from the north. The top was down – perfect. An open parking spot near the front door of the spa awaited, so I repositioned Jake behind the empty parking spot. Predictably, the Mercedes turned into the parking lot, and headed straight for the best spot. I felt my excitement grow when I confirmed it was her behind the wheel. Fiona.

Two weeks earlier, I had jumped Fiona's boyfriend, Jet, and discovered he abused her. I sent Jet an unmistakable warning that the abuse must stop. Today was his first check-up.

Timing is everything. I started walking toward the just parked Mercedes – approaching it from behind, walking up the driver's side. Even from behind she was gorgeous. Fiona wore a short sleeve pale yellow cotton dress with small roses printed in a burnt wine colored pattern. Her long honey blonde wavy hair caressed her delicate shoulders.

I watched her intently, never taking my eyes off the back of her head. I leaned Jake's right hip into the driver's car door, and braced myself with his right hand. In a single fluid motion I pivoted Jake toward Fiona and touched the bare skin of her arm with Jake's left hand. She never turned to face me. She never saw Jake's face. She never had a chance.

Instantly my vision collapsed into a straw sized tunnel with dull black walls. When I regained my sight, I turned to my left and looked up and saw Jake wobbling against Fiona's car.

"Can I help you, mister," I said to him, knowing he was just now regaining his own conciseness, and had no idea where he was or how he got there. I had jumped completely out of Jake – he was on his own now.

"I ... I, ah ...," he stammered, pulling away from the car, turning slowly to survey his surroundings, but he did not walk away.

"Are you lost?" I asked in Fiona's voice. For the first time Jake looked at my (Fiona's) face, and realized just how beautiful she is.

"I ... ah ... don't."

"Do you work at Food King?" Confusion and skepticism washed over his face. "You're wearing a Food King shirt."

"Oh ... right."

I looked around to see if anyone had noticed Jake standing beside Fiona's car. I didn't think so. "Do you want a ride there? Its five blocks over. I'm early for my appointment anyway."

"Uh, yeah ... ah ... sure." He looked in various directions, wondering which way to Food King.

"Okay, hop in," I patted the empty passenger seat. Still dazed, Jake walked around the car, opened the passenger door, and climbed in. I started the car, backed out of the parking spot, and pulled onto the street. I looked over at Jake. "You don't look so good. Do you want me to drive you home instead?"

"Uh ..." Jake was too disoriented to mount a coherent reply.

"Where do you live?" When Jake told me his address, I asked if he lived alone – yes was the reply. "I'm taking you home."

Jake lived in a low-rent high rise. Not much else is affordable to a minimum wage stock boy living alone. I parked on the street, and chirped the doors locked on the open top convertible as I walked Jake to his apartment building. Thankfully I have had enough experience in other women's bodies to know how to navigate high heel shoes.

"I'll go up with you." I told him. He offered no resistance. I am willing to bet Jake has never spoken more than three words to a girl as beautiful as Fiona (technically he still hasn't). Fiona going up to his apartment vaulted Jake into a whole new sphere of bragging rights.

The elevator smelled dank and dirty. It clunked and groaned as we rose uncertainly to the eleventh floor. After the doors opened, Fiona's high heels clicked down the concrete hallway – any semblance of carpeting that might have donned these floors was long gone. The mosaic of stains on the concrete floor reminded tenants of better days. Jake pulled his keys out as we approached the doorway marked 1107. I followed him through the opened door, closing and locking the door behind me.

It was a tiny studio apartment – no separate bedroom. A single living/dining/bed room with an open kitchen, and a separate bathroom. No balcony. Most motel rooms were larger. To Jake's credit, it was tidy. A sofa (sofa bed?), one table, two chairs, a TV stand, and a small book case was everything Jake owned. It all looked like third generation hand-me-downs – I'm guessing not a stick of furniture was built after the Beatles broke up.

"Listen, thanks" Jake offered. "I'm okay."

"You look awful," I told Jake. "You need help," I cautioned.

"No, really – I was just a little confused back there. I don't know ... well, I ..." he was still trying to fathom how he got from the Food King parking lot to the Mermaid Princess parking lot in what would seem to him to be in the blink of an eye. Later he might realize he lost nearly an hour of consciousness, but I was hoping that detail would evade him, as it invites all sorts of questions.

"No," I insisted, "you need help." And with that, I reached behind my neck with both hands, and started unzipping Fiona's yellow cotton dress with burnt wine colored roses. It took much longer than I meant to – I am not well practiced in this maneuver. The accidentally slow-motion effect paralyzed Jake while a gorgeous five foot ten inch, stacked, blue eyed, blond girl undressed in the middle of his low-rent studio apartment. I finally got the zipper all the way down, so I pulled the dress off Fiona's shoulders, letting it fall forward to her knees. Fiona was not wearing a bra. Her perfectly sculpted 36D tits hypnotized the already speechless Jake.

I stepped out of the dress. Wearing only high heeled shoes and thong bikini underpants, I closed the distance to the gaping jawed boy and went down to Fiona's knees. Still speechless, Jake allowed me to undo his belt and unzip his fly before pulling his pants down. Next I withdrew his underpants, and like the Fiona I know, I neither teased nor waited – I took all of Jake's five inches into Fiona's loving mouth.

I've jumped enough girls (and okay, two guys) to have practiced fellatio. Like Fiona, I know how to deep throat, but I doubt I can go as long as she can with a ten inch cock deep down her pipe. I reached behind Jake with both hands and grabbed his ass, pulling him toward me, and I started bobbing his cock in and out of Fiona's mouth. Jake began singing a wordless song, going "doooooo wooooo ooooooooo dooooooo". What the Fuck?!

I pulled out and looked up at him. "Jake, are you singing?" He nodded, still ringing out a tune I didn't recognize. "Do you want me to keep going?" He nodded vigorously without missing a note, so I swallowed him down again while Jake sang. I alternated sucking and jerking Jake off while his singing grew louder, faster, and higher. Before too long I could taste his pre-cum, and I knew Jake was ready to pop. His singing gave way to shrieking as the notes collapsed into a warbling wail. I thought of a nice visual for Jake to remember Fiona by, and so as he started to cum, I pulled out and jerked him off all over Fiona's perfect face. Through it all Jake mutilated the final bars of his bizarre tune.

As his climax quickly ebbed, Jake at last grew quiet. I looked up at Jake with Fiona's cum streaked face and her big blue eyes and asked "All better now?" He nodded slowly, still thunderstruck.

I went to the bathroom and washed up. Without another word, I returned to the main room, put on Fiona's dress, and left the catatonic Jake standing in the middle of the room, his pants and underpants still crumpled around his ankles. I closed the apartment door behind me without looking back. Payment for mule services rendered.

Jake will remember this erotic coupling to his last day, and the unwitting Fiona won't recall a moment of it. Descending the clunking and groaning elevator, I smiled at the possible outcomes of the "real" Fiona shopping at the Food King at some future moment, encountering the forevermore bewitched Jake. I couldn't supress laughing out loud at my mental image of Jake serenading Fiona in the middle of the grocery store with his blow job song.

Back in the Mercedes, I navigated Fiona's car to her condo building by the water. As I approached the door to the indoor garage, I realized I didn't know which parking spot was Fiona's, so I parked in the outdoor visitor's parking, put the roof and windows up, and locked the car.

I knew my way to Fiona's condo apartment, having been there once before in Jet's body. As I hoped, Jet was not there when I stepped in. I had some research to do, and I had to be alone with Fiona.

I went into the bedroom and stripped off Fiona's shoes, dress, and underpants. I walked the naked Fiona to a full height mirror and admired her tall hourglass figure, all-over tan, magnificently firm 36D tits, long blonde wavy hair, high cheek bones, deep blue eyes, and perfect skin. Her shaved pussy crowned a pair of long, shapely legs. A professionally applied coat of pink champagne nail polish flawlessly adorned her fingers and toes. I couldn't imagine why Fiona needed a spa appointment.

I brought Fiona's hands up to her breasts, and started teasing her nipples, pinching and rolling them until they stood firm. Then I caressed Fiona's whole breasts tenderly with her own soft hands. I smiled at the thought of an old movie with Steve Martin in it – he had a line in which he said he could never be a woman, because he would stay at home and play with his breasts all day. I imagined back home a boner rising in my real body – something I knew was impossible, but the thought made me laugh.

Right. Research! I needed to find out how Jet was treating Fiona, and that meant sifting through Fiona's memories. Going through a host's memories is like looking at snowflakes in a blizzard – you can never find the exact one you're looking for. Even when you find a memory, you seldom understand its meaning. What I would do for a Google search engine for hosts' memories!

The one thing I had going for me was linkages – I can follow links from one memory to another, so if I can find one meaningful memory (I call this the root memory), I can usually link to other useful ones. I already had a plan on how to find the root memory. I lay Fiona face down in a downward dog position on the bed, and spread her knees open. Then I reached behind her ass, and ever so lightly I feathered her middle finger in circles around her asshole. The sensation tickled Fiona, but it instantly elicited the memory I was looking for – the time I rimmed Fiona two weeks ago with Jet's tongue. And that rimming memory linked to other memories – to Jet cumming four times, to the sweet things he said to her, to how he made her cum twice, to his going out afterwards, to him coming home with all bloodied and bandaged. There it was. I stopped on that memory, and examined it a little further.

People's memories are not like video files – it is not a frame-by-frame account of what the person saw and heard. It is more like a single fuzzy image that notionally represents a collection of events. Attached to each fuzzy image are emotions. Fiona's memory of Jet's bandaged and bloodied hand included emotions of fear and concern.

I realized I still had Fiona in the downward dog position with her bare ass pointing toward the ceiling. I held on to her memory of Jet's bandaged hand, rolled her onto her back, and slid her under the bed covers to make her more comfortable. The more relaxed I can make the host, the better quality the memories I can retrieve.

Concentrating on the bloodied hand, I sensed Fiona's memory turned from fear and concern to anger and suspicion when Jet refused to tell her what happened. This memory linked to the next vivid memory – Fiona helping Jet by undoing the bandage and inspecting his hand. Fear gave way to horror and revulsion as Fiona saw Jet's pulverized baby finger, but the anger and frustration returned when Jet kept on saying "I don't know ... I don't know" when Fiona asked what happened.

The next memory is Fiona getting dressed to take Jet to the hospital, and observing Jet's laptop carrying case, and a big argument Fiona didn't understand about how she was supposed to remind Jet he was to read his email as soon as he got home. Suspicion overtook Jet, and he checked his email before they went to the hospital. Fiona was looking for her car keys in the bedroom, finally found them, and when she came back into the living room, Jet was sitting there with the laptop closed. He was 10 shades whiter than before, and Jet shook uncontrollably. Fiona naturally assumed Jet was going into shock from the injury, and drove him to the hospital.

Next memory is in Fiona's car driving to the hospital. Jet didn't speak a word. Not one. He just shook like a frightened child. At the hospital, Jet told the doctor he slammed his finger in the car door. Fiona was scared and angry, because she knew Jet was lying, but she didn't know why, and he wouldn't tell her the truth.

Next memory is back home – Jet couldn't sleep for three days. He stayed home sick. He was depressed. Fiona was scared for him – something happened to him.

I started jumping through the memories a little faster. I tried different pathways, different connections, but nothing about sex or any intimacy between Jet and Fiona showed up in her recent memories. Better, I found no recent memories of abuse.

As painful as it might be, I had to find out exactly what Jet did to Fiona. I went backward through Fiona's memory linkages until I got to the night two weeks earlier when I (as Jet) had sex with Fiona. I worked my way through the fuzzy images until I found the one I was looking for – when Fiona was desperately apologizing to me for not swallowing all of Jet's cum. I touched on the panicked fear she had, and followed that memory link.

I didn't notice Fiona's breathing turning rapid and shallow, nor did I realize my own anxiety growing in sympathy to her memories. I did see Fiona's image of herself, lying naked on the very bed she was in now, her arms and legs tied spread eagle, and something else. There was something else, but I couldn't place it in her memory.

And then, Jet. He was saying something. What was it? I concentrated harder, but I couldn't hear his words, and then an image from Fiona's imagination emerged from her memory, like a ship slowly escaping the secret cover of a fog bank. It was an image of her own vagina with clamps attached to the labia, and wires on the clamps pulled tight somehow. It wasn't a memory of her actual vision, but rather a picture of how she imagined of how her vagina must look like. Her pussy lips were painfully splayed wide open in torture style, exposing her bare clit, urethra, and fuck hole.

In the next linked memory, Jet had a slick white pole – like a pool cue, but shorter – and he lowered the pole between Fiona's legs and then touched one end of the pole to Fiona's unfolded pussy. The memory of the pain was so vivid that I actually felt Fiona's agony as if it were happening again to her right then, in real time. I surmised Jet had used a cattle prod on Fiona's bare clit.

Only now did I become aware that Fiona's body was hyperventilating. Digging up past horrid memories was having a physiological effect in the present I couldn't control. The hyperventilation started to make me dizzy, but I pressed on – I needed to know more – was this the worst part of it?

I tried linking from this memory to another one. A few links later I found Fiona tied up again, but this time her ankles were tied over her head, and she had something shoved up her ass that delivered a severe electrical shock. I heard Jet saying "so how do like that ass play?" through Fiona's memory.

I was in fear of passing out from Fiona's hyperventilation, so I stopped searching for more memories. I discovered Fiona was sweating badly from recalling her experiences. I lay there in Fiona's body, secured the covers over her body to keep her warm. I searched for calm, neutral memories to sooth Fiona's body.

Based on the linkages of her memory, I guessed the cattle prod on her clit was punishment for not swallowing all of Jet's cum. The asshole punishment was clear. So it seems Jet punished Fiona for bad behavior, but he wasn't stupid enough to hit her or leave bruises. He liked using electricity. The fact that I couldn't find linkages to recent punishment let me believe The Commander's message had the effect I desired.

I lay there for fifteen minutes while Fiona's body recovered her composure. When I got up, it was 4:30 – Fiona would be expecting Jet home soon. Based on my last encounter, Fiona had supper ready for him, so dressed Fiona and went to the kitchen. I found some frozen chicken, cheese, some leftover bottled spaghetti sauce, and a store-bought salad – enough to scrape together a simple meal.

Jet arrived home at 5:15 – just in time for dinner. I did my best Fiona impression – big hug and kiss. It took him five minutes to settle in, and then we had dinner. He asked about my day – I told him Fiona went to the spa, but got a huge headache, so I came home to get some rest. Jet asked me if I went to the bank. That might be important – last time they were talking about Paris. I was about to lie my way out of it when I sensed Fiona's memory of talking to the bank teller. It must have become possible because I was going through so many of Fiona's memories, it was now easier to find the ones I needed. So I dodged that bullet by telling Jet Fiona's recollection of the bank – he seemed satisfied.