Wak On By

I try to tell myself that it's none of my business. I don't know the woman in the green dress; she's not a friend, she's not a co-worker, she doesn't remind me of an old girlfriend I knew in college--there's not even a scrap of the sentimental excuses that might prompt me to do something stupid like picking a fight I already know I can't win. She's just some pretty young thing with hair that matches her outfit and milky white skin that spends too much time under fluorescent lights and a pair of earrings that I'd like to steal. She's not worth fighting over. She's definitely not worth losing over.

So I tell my steel-toed boots to keep right on moving, carrying me past the park bench where she's slumped with glassy jade eyes and a vacant expression on her face, slowly pulling up her skirt to reveal a pair of white cotton panties that look like K-Mart sells them in packs of six. Because that's one of the Strong sitting next to her--I can feel the charisma radiating off him in waves--and if I stopped to give him a piece of my mind I probably wouldn't be able to resist handing over the whole damn thing. He hasn't noticed me. He's preoccupied with his latest conquest and probably already thinking about getting his dick wet inside this other chick's cunt. I can just walk away and go about my business, one of the lucky ones this time around.

When I slow down, I try to pretend that I'm just rubber-necking a little. Who wouldn't? We're only human, after all, at least most of us are these days, and everyone's still getting used to the sight of people sinking into a void of blank, mesmerized bliss and surrendering to the power of a superior will. It's still unusual to watch someone nod vacantly, their jaw going slack until drool slowly trickles down their chin to drip onto their chest, their minds so completely subsumed by the charismatic force the Strong emanate that they can't think of anything but pleasing their controller. I'm not thinking about intervening or anything. I'm just surprised to see it all happen so openly.

I don't know why I would be. I've never met anyone Strong who's been even the slightest bit circumspect about using their power to control minds. Perhaps that's what makes you Strong in the first place; maybe something in the human brain responds to that kind of absolute, unshakable confidence on a deep and instinctive level and it's only now that society can produce individuals with that kind of total belief in themselves. It's as good a hypothesis as any--nobody knows what makes some people Stronger than others. It's not like scientists can ask for a blood sample or anything. Get that close to someone Strong while holding a needle and you'd probably wind up giving it to them as a present. At best.

So yeah, I'm not seeing anything new when I watch the green-haired woman lift up her hips and pull her panties down to her ankles, exposing her smooth-shaven cunt in the middle of a public park to anyone who might pass by. I'm not really surprised when I see a cop glance over in our direction and shake his head slowly, then turn around and pretend he didn't notice a goddamn thing. It's infuriating to watch the Strong whisper in the woman's ears and smile as she takes off her underwear and hands it to him like a trophy, but it's not really anything shocking. It's just life now. I'm used to it. Really I am.

That's a lie, obviously. If I was used to it, I'd be on my way now, grateful that I wasn't the one he noticed this time and I can go to work and hide in my office and not have to explain to my boss that someone with a will much Stronger than mine decided to stop me and play with me like a rag doll and I couldn't stop them. If I was ready to accept that my normal daily existence depended on not attracting the attention of some charismatic individual who could decide to collar and leash me and walk me home as their new pet, I wouldn't be slowing to a stop with my hands balled into fists and my whole body radiating anger. I wouldn't be picking a fight I can't possibly win.

Walk on by,

I tell myself, starting my feet into motion with a conscious act of will.

Walk right the fuck on by and leave him to it. He's Stronger than you are. He can make you do anything. You wouldn't even get close enough to throw a punch before you were falling to your knees and begging to serve. Walk away and let him have his fun the same way you do a dozen times every single day.

It's not exactly a comforting mantra, but it helps my fists unclench and gets me moving again, even if it does nothing for the sick pit of shame in my stomach.

I can hear her behind me, starting to moan and whimper, and I try to tell myself that makes it alright. Nobody ever does anything they don't want to for the Strong. If a straight woman finds herself kneeling and eating a stranger's pussy, if a trans guy ends up spreading his legs and begging to be fucked, if some dudebro who thought he was totally alpha winds up bent over and learning the true meaning of the word from a Strong man with a cock that's just straining to pop an anal cherry that day... well, they want to, don't they? They can't not want to. They can't imagine wanting anything that the Strong don't want them to want.

The woman behind me is happy right now. I'm not going to turn around and try to save her from something she's enjoying.

But I am going to take a left turn where the path forks, apparently. I'm going to start walking faster, my heavy boots clomping on the pavement as I follow the curve of the trail back around past a copse of trees that conceals all but a few glimpses of the woman and her new, impossibly commanding lover as he teases her pussy into slick, dripping ecstasy. I'm just going to circle back around again, just to see if she's okay, and maybe I'll make a final decision once I get back to where they're sitting. That's not the same thing as picking a fight, not really. That's just... leaving my options open. I'm doing fine, I'm early for work, and I'm not going to do anything stupid anyway.

But if I was. Well. I'd probably need to find a nice-sized rock somewhere along the trail, something about the size of a tennis ball. Something I could throw from a good long distance, well away from whatever weird emanations that make the Strong so damned irresistible, to hit him in the head and stun him so that he's off-balance and unable to really focus on me. Maybe they can't use their power if they're unconscious. I don't know, I've never fallen asleep next to one. And like I say, it's not exactly a burgeoning field of study.

And maybe I should grab a nice big stick, something I can use to really whale on the guy once I get him stunned and off-balance. If I'm going to go at this--and I'm not saying I am, I tell myself, I'm not saying I'm actively looking for trouble with one of the most powerful individuals on Earth who could easily decide to tell me to eat my own clothing and walk naked into a hornet's nest or something, because that would be stupid and I'm not a stupid woman even if I have a very finely honed sense of justice that's been simmering to a rage-boil for weeks now--but if I am, if I was, if I would be the sort of person who decided to pick a fight like this, I'd have to finish it. I'd have to knock him out, maybe even kill him. I won't, of course. But it's good to be prepared.

The rock is a little heavier than I wanted it to be. The stick is a little too light. But I'm, y'know. Prepared.

And I'm coming around the curve of the path again, into sight of the Strong and his chosen victim. I can see him doing something with her pussy, something a little bit confusing and hard to follow visually and--oh. Right. I see it now. He's shoving her panties into her cunt to get them good and wet. She's moaning and shuddering and trying very hard not to squeeze her thighs together around his thrusting fingers. It would be incredibly sexy if it didn't piss me off so goddamn much.

But I have to keep on walking, even if I'm not sure whether I'm walking to get past them and get my brush-fire rage under control before I do something I'll regret or to get within throwing range of the satisfyingly heavy rock in my right hand. I keep imagining closing to just the right distance and letting fly with it, watching it clunk into his temple and seeing him slump to the ground like a wounded doe. It's a very visceral mental image. It sustains me as my feet carry me forward.

It would be a mistake, I tell myself. It would absolutely be a mistake. I'm not a superhero or a soldier or some kind of ass-kicking action movie star. I pitched softball for the office team for a couple of years, I did a stint as a bouncer for a local lesbian bar for three months before I got a better job that didn't involve people trying to break bottles over my head. The odds are good that I'll probably miss with the rock and just make one of the most powerful people on the fact of the planet mad at me. I don't know what he'll do if that happens.

But I can fix that by getting a little closer. Just a little closer, not close enough to be affected by his magical whammy or his mutant power or whatever the fuck it is that makes the Strong so Strong. Just close enough to be certain I won't miss. I can do that. I can keep moving just a little longer, just enough to make absolutely sure. I kind of notice then that I've stopped even pretending I can keep right on going past them, but that's okay. I'm happier now that I don't have the option to walk away.

Another step, then another, multiplying until I'm less than thirty feet away. Then twenty. Then ten, the rock rolling out of my hand as my pace quickens with excitement. Of course I'm not going to throw it at him. I never really was. I never had any options at all, even when I thought I did; of course my feet were going to carry me back around the curve, back to the park bench, back into his irresistible power. I wasn't ever going to get away from him, and the only reason I ever thought I could was because my mind was still absorbing the endless flow of his Strength into my weakness and preparing me to properly serve his wonder and his glory and his might. My anger was just a little trick I played on myself to keep me from struggling while he opened me up to his control.

I let go of the branch as well, my eyes shining now with beatific excitement as I close the remaining distance and drop to my knees in front of the beautiful, glassy-eyed woman whose surrender showed me the way to true happiness. He takes the panties out of her cunt, shoving them into her mouth as an impromptu gag, and looks down at me with a smile. "You want her, don't you?" he asks, and of course I do now because he wants me to want her and I want whatever the Strong want me to want. I nod, my head bobbing up and down like a puppet on a string, and I can feel my mouth watering in anticipation. I can smell her wet pussy, but I have to wait for permission because that's what the weak do.

"Good girl," he says, pushing my head between the other woman's thighs. I can't help myself, I sigh in utter ecstasy and begin to lap away at the slick tunnel between her pussy lips. She tastes so good, so wet and drippy and utterly needy against my tongue, and I'm so consumed with pleasure at the opportunity to lick her out that I barely even notice the Strong flipping up my skirt and pulling down my panties as I brace myself against the green-haired woman's hips. It's all just so wonderful. I don't know how I could ever have wanted to fight it.

He thrusts deep into my sopping cunt, pushing my face into the other woman's pussy as he begins to fuck me hard and fast. I can hear myself begging for more, mumbling indistinctly around the mouthful of slick flesh that smears my face with musky secretions, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have chosen this particular path to work today. It brought me so much pleasure, so much endless bliss within the inexorable and superior will of the Strong, and I can only hope that he decides to use his power to make me his forever.

Oh god. The second I think of it, I know I want to follow him everywhere. I want to trot along behind him like an obedient puppy and present my cunt for fucking whenever he wants it. My pussy squeezes tight around his cock at the mental image, sending skyrockets of orgasm through my vacant mind that translate into ever more vigorous licking against the other woman's throbbing clit. I'm lost in a daydream of being collared and leashed and led away, taken away from my normal daily existence and owned forever and played with like a silly brainless rag doll. It sounds so fucking perfect that I can't stop cumming, not ever again. I'm trapped within the perfect orgasm that's the will of my new, Strong master.

Quicker than I imagined, his hot sticky semen floods my pussy, leaking out and trickling down my thighs before finally dripping onto the ground in small pearly droplets. I sag forward against my other lover in weary ecstasy; she looks every bit as vacant and dazed as I feel, her eyes staring unfocused into the distance as she lets out a last shuddery moan around her own wet panties. I want him to take us both, to make us eat each other out until he's hard again and then alternate strokes between our soaking cunts. I know that he's completely rewritten my brain to want that, but I can't seem to connect the slave I am now to the woman I used to be. I'm completely different now, fulfilled and content in my submission, and there's nothing left of my old self--

No. That's not quite true. We have one thing in common, don't we? Neither one of us was ready to walk away from this. And now we never will.

THE END