The Semi Ethical Mind Controller

Are there ethics to mind controlling? Not as such, no. Let's face it, usurping another person's free will is, at its least objectionable, rude and intrusive.

That having been said, I try not to be too obnoxious about it. While I have used my power to make myself independently wealthy (some would say absurdly rich), I have done so completely within the law and without radically reducing anyone else's wealth to enhance my own.

When it comes to women I take a similar approach. I always make certain that they completely enjoy their time with me and that they can go back to their regular lives without consequence or burden afterwards. I have never, and do not ever intend to, permanently enslave a woman. I'll even admit that this is not motivated by any particular level of altruism.

For a start, I'm easily bored. Once I'm through with a woman that's it. I'm through. Secondly, there is the fact that I really don't want the responsibility and aggravation involved in maintaining a harem. It's just way too much work.

Case in point was a young lady I've had my eye on for quite some time, but simply hadn't gotten around to yet. Yesterday I decided to take the plunge.

She was the cashier at the local coffee shop downtown. Her body was the sort of thing that most men dream of, but never get close to. Her five foot frame sported wide, womanly hips that ended in a nicely rounded ass that was just the right size for her stature. It was big enough to be noticed, but not big enough to distract from the rest of her (unless, of course, you happened to see her walking away from you). Above that was a very trim twenty-two inch waist. Her Face was nearly angelic with wide, blue eyes, a cute, little button nose, and a smallish mouth with lips made to be wrapped around a hard cock. Her face was framed by thick, light brown hair that, had she not had it tied back for her job, would have cascaded down over her shoulders alluringly.

It is unlikely, however, that most men noticed these enticing attributes because the main attraction, perhaps I should say the two main attractions, was her chest. Her tits were startlingly huge for someone of her height. Like many retail workers she wore a polo shirt with the name of the business emblazoned across it as part of her work uniform. In her case the letters of the name "The Bean Bar" were wildly distorted by the size and shape of the prodigious bust behind them.

Each morning I go into town to run a few errands and always make the coffee shop my last stop before going home. For several weeks I've been ensuring that she knew my name and was ever so slightly turned on by my presence as I walked up to the counter each morning. Yesterday, while waiting in line to place my order, I decided to probe her mind a bit more deeply than I had before to find out exactly what sort of sexual desires and proclivities she had.

She liked older men. That's a plus given that I am, to all appearances, forty-five and she's nineteen. She liked to give and receive oral sex. Good. But, she didn't like for a man to cum in her mouth let alone swallow. That could be adjusted with minor effort. She liked to dominate during sex. Temporarily that had to go. She liked anal. Not my cup of tea, but I had to admit that she certainly had the ass for it. I can be flexible and accommodating about some things. She had always had trouble achieving orgasms even with some very capable lovers. That I could definitely fix.

I also found out that she got off work at half past three that afternoon, had no classes that day, and no pressing plans for her afternoon off. Perfect.

I try to be careful about these things. I don't just randomly demand that a girl go home with me for a good fuck. I don't want anybody, for example, to lose time from their job on my account. A woman should not find herself suddenly unemployed just because I'm horny. Similarly with students, I don't want to them to miss any classes because of my desires. There seems to be a decreasing number of decently educated people in the word as it is. There is no reason that I should add to that problem.

As I mentioned, I've been making sure that she has been slightly aroused by my presence each morning. For the last week or so I've tweaking that just a wee bit more each day. After all, it's no good if a woman finds herself aroused and about to be fucked by a man of whom she has had no such thoughts previously. That always requires a good deal of extra effort to calm the woman down (they tend to panic in such situations) and make her enjoy the experience. If I set the stage properly she will come to enjoy it all on her own.

That's another reason that I don't want a harem. The hunt is half the fun. The wild sex is just the payoff for a plan well executed.

Given her predisposition toward older men I thought it possible that my little plan might be working better than I had thought. I hadn't boosted her arousal level to the point that she might think it odd or wonder what was happening to her. I had only raised it to the level that she might think of me as someone special or someone about whom she might entertain some small fantasies.

As my turn came and I approached the counter she smiled dazzlingly and said, "Good morning, Mr. Throckmorton."

It was a beautiful smile. She had white, even teeth and thick sensuous lips that should never have been allowed to speak any words except, "Fuck me harder, Mr. Throckmorton," or, "I want suck your cock." That, of course, would all come in due time.

"Good morning, Daisy," I said, "How are you this morning?"

"Oh," she said as she crossed her arms under her chest mountains, "I'm feeling better than I have in a long time."

Folding her arms like that pressed her breasts together in such a way that the word "bean" disappeared into a deep, cloth-covered cleavage.

"I have no classes today," she continued, "and I'm getting off work early enough in the afternoon to actually go out and enjoy myself for once."

"Well," I said feigning surprise, "That's wonderful news. Have you any big plans for your time off?"

"Nothing specific," she said. Then she leaned over the counter, looked me straight in the eye and said flirtatiously, "But, given half a chance I can think of a lot of fun things to do with that kind of time."

"I've no doubt that you can," I responded in kind.

"Your usual this morning, sir?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "The usual. A large house blend to go. No room for cream. I'm a creature of habit I'm afraid."

"Not all habits are bad, you know," she said as she swiped my credit card through the machine, then she whispered, "and some bad habits are very, very good."

"I've no doubt that you know quite a few," I whispered back.

"I'll bet that you could teach me some that I've never heard of," she said in a breathy and enticing voice.

"I would certainly like to try," I said with a knowing smile.

Then I slid one of my business cards across the counter. She had enough on the ball to not look at it right then and there. However, she unfastened both the buttons her company polo shirt and stuffed the business card into the massive canyon between her tits.

She immediately re-buttoned herself and said, "Thank you and have a nice day," as though I was just another customer.

"You too, Daisy," I said with a big grin.

As I walked down to the other end of the counter to pick up my order I took the precaution of causing everyone in the shop, except Daisy and I, to forget that the conversation had taken place. All they would remember is that a near middle-aged man ordered coffee. It wouldn't do for her to get into any trouble for overtly flirting with a customer on company time or to get a reputation as a slut.

I knew that when she got around to looking at the card she would see that on the back I had hand written my home address and the words, "Six o'clock. Take a cab. I'll pay for the ride out and back."

Oddly enough the day passed rather quickly despite knowing what was coming that evening. I had much to do around my house that day. The garden needed weeding for a start. Yes, I suppose that I could hire someone to do that for me, but I take certain pride in doing myself.

As I mentioned I live in a rather small, two bedroom house on the edge of town. I bought it because it was situated on a quite large tract of land, several acres, in fact. Well, that and the fact that the blonde bombshell real estate agent who sold it to me was a fantastic fuck.

My nearest neighbor, on either side, is about a quarter mile away. I took the further precaution a buying up several acres of land beyond my original borders. I put a final lock on my privacy by doing my own unique brand of lobbying with the county and state governments. All of the land bordering mine, and much of the land bordering my immediate neighbors, is now either part of a state park or part of a protected wetland.

My neighbors are, of course, quite pleased with this. It means that nobody is likely to be building an industrial park, shopping mall or housing development on our back doorsteps. For me especially, though, this sort of privacy is essential.

I mentioned earlier that I am "to all appearances" forty-five years old. My kind, meaning people with special mental powers in general, tend to age much more slowly than most people. The age we portray to the public, after we pass one hundred eighty, tends to roughly our actual age divided by ten. So my actual age is four hundred fifty. When I reach four hundred sixty I will begin presenting myself as being forty-six.

It may sound excessively arrogant, but we call ourselves "The Powerfuls". There are three basic "varieties", if you will, of us. There are Controllers like me. I can implant a thought in your mind which can, at some point, be translated into an action. I can also, to a lesser degree, read your thoughts.

There are the Empaths who can sense and frequently feel the emotions of others to a degree that allows them work effectively around those emotions. Some are even powerful enough to be able to lightly manipulate people's emotions. This tends make them successful in the arts, but especially in business. You'd be hard pressed to win when negotiating a deal with someone who can feel and define your anxiety.

Finally, there are the Predictors. Just as the name implies they predict the future. As one might expect, given the fluid, sometimes random, nature of the space time continuum their prediction are rarely as detailed as one might like. However, they are, more often than not, frighteningly accurate. I don't completely understand the process, but it has been explained to me in the following way. The Predictor "sees" several different possible outcomes to any given situation, different "timelines" you might call them. The Predictor makes his or her prognostication by deciding which timeline would appear to be the most logical outcome based on current circumstances. They, of course, issue these predictions with the caveat that any change in those conditions could change the outcome.

There was, at one time, a fourth type. But, they are, as far as anyone knows, extinct.

As I pottered about the garden I noticed, in the distance, that my neighbor to the south, Lianne Weston was trimming her rose bushes. Lianne is the neighborhood MILF. She is absolutely, drop dead gorgeous. She is one of those rare women for whom the phrase "brick shithouse" is hopelessly inadequate. She also has a sex drive which defies human imagination. Of course, nobody knows that first hand except her husband, the paper boy, and me. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I had nothing to do with putting her and the paperboy together. She worked that out all on her own.

I briefly entertained the thought of spending some "quality time" with her just to take the edge off of my anticipation, but thought better of it. I suspected that I was going to need all of my energy to handle Daisy that evening.

When the appointed time arrived the cab rolled up in front of the house. I went out to my young lady, paid the cabby (with a generous tip), and led Daisy into the house.

She was wearing a white, cotton, sleeveless blouse with the top three button undone. The generous amount of cleavage it revealed jiggled enticingly as she walked. Her tan skirt was short, but respectably so. However, it was tight enough to fit her like a second skin. She rounded out the ensemble with a pair of high-heeled shoes. They weren't high enough to be considered "fuck me" shoes, just high enough to give extra grace to the long columns of her thighs. I decided that I was going to have to spend quite a bit of time licking and biting those later.

"This is very nice house, Mr. Throckmorton," she said.

"Thank you," I said, "But, since were not at the coffeehouse you can call me Howard if you wish."

She pressed herself up against me and said in a throaty voice, "Thank you. But, calling you Mr. Throckmorton will make me feel so much naughtier."

"And are you here to be naughty?" I asked knowing the answer.

"No," she said as she squeezed my hardening cock through my trouser, "I'm here to be a dirty, little slut."

Up to this point I had not yet exercised any control over her. I had been right that her desire for older men was working in my favor.

"That's good to know," I said as I pulled her closer by the firm, round globes of her ass, "I like dirty, little sluts."

"I can tell" she said as she ground herself against my, by that time, rock hard dick.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked trying to sound more casual than I actually felt.

"I'd love one," she said, "But, you should know that I'm only nineteen. So, it's not legal for me to have alcohol yet. I wouldn't want you to get in any trouble."

"I admire your forthrightness and your concern," I said, "but, I'd be willing to bet that a good many of you girlfriends are right now headed to some fraternity party to swill some sort of cheap, bargain beer and get groped by some inept frat boy. They will stagger back to their dorm rooms, half in the bag, and not quite knowing what happened."

Daisy nodded, "You're probably right."

I gestured toward the couch and said, "Please, have a seat."

As she walked away from me she gave her delectable backside an extra wiggle. It occurred to me that if she wanted that thing fucked who was I to deny her?

As she sat down I continued, "It's that last part about staggering home that will likely cause whoever gave them the beer to get into trouble."

"True," she agreed.

"You, on the other hand," I said, "are in a much more controlled situation. I do not intend to let you drink enough to lose control of yourself and I do not intend to send you home in any condition short of stone, cold sober. So, the possibility of getting me into trouble doesn't actually exist."

"That makes perfect sense," she said with a smile, "thank you for being so thoughtful." Then she added with a smirk, "And the groping?"

"Will be mutual and, I suspect, executed with equal skill by either groper," I answered with a wink.

She laughed and crossed her legs causing her skirt to ride up to show a wide expanse of her lovely thighs. Then I caught the thought in her mind. She was ready to suggest skipping the drinks and getting right down to the groping. As she was about the start unbuttoning her blouse the rest of the way I gently pushed the thought back and planted the thought that it might be more interesting to wait.

"Since you have had little experience with this sort of beverage," I said, continuing on the subject of drinks, "We should probably keep you away from anything heavy. No hard booze."

"Okay," she said.

"But, I see no harm in you having one or two beers while you are here," I said.

"Weren't you just decrying beer a moment ago?" she asked skeptically.

"I was decrying the cheap slime they swill at frat houses," I said, "There is such a thing as good beer."

"You mean like from micro-breweries?" she asked.

"Exactly," I said, "There are one or two excellent ones right here in town."

With that I went to the kitchen to retrieve one of my better beers from the refrigerator. I could feel her eyes on my butt as I walked away.

The moment I left the room she unfastened one more button on her blouse and parted it to show even more of her spectacular mountains of female flesh. I noted the thought and allowed her to do it. A bit of mutual teasing could make this quite fun. But, I tweaked he arousal levels a little more to keep her distracted and myself in control.

When I returned from the kitchen, beer bottle in hand, I saw that she had parted the upper half of her blouse enough that I could see the edges of her lacy, cream colored bra. The twin spheres of lady flesh bulged enticingly from the cups.

"Before I hand you the beer there are two things that need to be said," I told her.

"Like what?" she asked.

"First," I said as I bent down until we were nose to nose, "That is very sexy."

With that I bent down farther to lick her cavernous cleavage from bottom to top. She shuddered and her nipples hardened. By the time I stood up again they were making delightful dents in her blouse.

"Thank you," she said, trying to catch her breath, "What's the other thing?"

"Micro-breweries tend to quite effective and, at times, even artful at their core craft," I said, "However, they are absolutely wretched idiots when it comes to naming their products. So, don't let the name fool you. The beer is really quite good."

I handed her the bottle.

She read the navy blue printing on the plain, white label and exploded into gales of laughter.

"Deaf Raccoon?" she squeaked with mirth, "They call their beer Deaf Raccoon? That's insane!"

"See what I mean?" I said with a grin.

"That's the stupidest name for anything I've ever seen," she said as her laughter abated.

"Isn't it, though," I said, "Now taste it."

She lifted the bottle tentatively to her full lips and took a small sip.

She smiled and said, "That's very good. I see what you mean about swill at the frat houses. Compared to this they're drinking lightly flavored, carbonated water."

She took another larger sip.

"Drink that carefully and slowly," I warned her, "that's the trick to holding your liquor. Sip. Don't chug."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, "thank you."

"You're welcome," I said.

"With that kind of advice nobody can ever accuse you of trying to get me drunk so that you can take advantage of me," she said coquettishly.

I sat down next to her, put my hand on her thigh just below the hem of her skirt, and whispered in her ear, "Oh, there are much better ways to take advantage of you."

She uncrossed her legs and opened her thighs to give me better access as she asked, "Such as?"

"Such as this," I said. Then I kissed her.

She threw her arms around my neck and returned the kiss with an almost startling level of passion. As our tongues dueled my hand inched its way slowly up her thigh toward her moist honey pot. She moaned into my mouth and grabbed my wrist in an attempt to speed up the process. She opened her legs wider and tried to scoot down to bring her pussy closer to my slowly moving hand. Neither gambit worked.

She broke the kiss and said, "Quit teasing me."

"Eager?" I asked.

"Horny!" she answered, "I didn't come here to talk or drink designer beer." She reached out to try to unbuckle my belt and hissed, "I came here to FUCK!

While one of my hands was almost up to that dripping juncture between her legs I used my other hand to grab her wrist and move it away from my belt.

"Stop teasing" she said, "or I'll...oohhhhh..."

She moaned because my hand had just reached her pussy. The little slut wasn't wearing panties so my finger just slid right in.

Her voluminous bosoms heaved with her breathing. She started trying to hump my finger. That made her jugs jiggle and quiver.