(Note: all characters are 18 and over)
Grayson Nichols found an unmarked package sitting on the porch. He clumsily juggled it and his college textbooks and struggled up the stairs. He threw it all on the bed and went to take a piss. He limped down the hallway with his leg sliding. In the bathroom mirror, he saw a wide-shouldered, decent-looking guy. He had been robbed of so many possibilities. Perhaps he would have been an athlete. No one would ever know. A decade ago, a bully threw him down a drainage ditch and shattered his leg. The knee shot pain down to his foot, which seemed to ricochet back up to his neck.
His stepsister's voice rose above the sound of his stream. "Goddamn it Leggy, I need to use the bathroom. I have to get ready for a date."
Ugh, this fucking slut
. "Whatever."
Later, he decided to open the unmarked package. He pulled out a copper box covered in ornamental carvings. He hinged it open, and inside was a statue of a meditating person holding a bowl. Under the statue was a clay tablet with strange writing in a strange language. He blinked. No, it was English, and it was in normal print. Jesus, he needed to get better sleep. He read the tablet.
Fill the bowl with sand and write a command.
The command must be legible.
Write as many commands in a day as you wish.
A person cannot be commanded more than once a day.
A person cannot be commanded for more than 137th of a day.
A person must be properly identified.
He did the math on the fraction of a day, which came out to a little more than ten minutes. It sounded so stupid. What kind of joke was this?
That night, he was about to toss it in the trash when he paused. Shit, might as well give it a try. For the fun of it, of course.
There, he knelt in the backyard, grabbing a handful of sand. He struggled back to his room. He had to wait a minute as the pain rubberbanded up and down his body.
He let the sand filter out of his fist into the little bowl in the arms of the statue. He took a mechanical pencil and wrote one line, a command to his stepsister.
Amy Nichols will come into my room completely naked in the morning and stand for one minute
.
He had struggled to write the whole line in the sand. It wasn't easy to get down a lot of words. Anyway, it didn't matter. Soon, he went to sleep.
When his eyes opened, the light behind the blinds painted his room in bright bars. The calls of robins disturbed the dawn. He put a pillow over his head, and his alarm peeled just as he began to drift away. There was nothing worse than the morning. He sat up, his calf threatening to cramp. His back hurt like hell. God forbid he have a decent morning.
Amy walked into his room. She had a halo of light blonde hair around an arrogant but lovely face. Her cold blue eyes looked frightened and confused. The shadow of the binds lay across her fair skin and bent along the curves of her body. Her ghost nipples stuck out in the chill. They were marvelous nipples. Her pussy lips were right there, no less visible through the light hair than if she had been shaved.
He didn't give a damn. He examined her openly because he saw no reason to hide his lust. They hated each other. And that fact made this all the more pleasurable.
She ran out of the room as soon as she could.
He looked at the statue. "So, that was interesting."
Hours later, he sat in his World Civilizations class. All he could hear was Professor Cruz and the scribbling of notes. He couldn't stop thinking about the writing in the sand. It was a revelation. It would change his life.
Cruz was in great shape for a forty-year-old woman. "Class, I want you to write a single-page paper that expresses your opinion on what led the Khan of Khans to take over such a great extent of the known world. Tell us if you think Mongolia was destined for empire. If not, how was Genghis Khan able to shake the world."
The hottest girl in the class sat two seats behind Grayson. He glanced at her and saw her taking notes on a laptop. Tiffany Strauss was her name. If he conquered her, it wouldn't be noted in the histories. But then again, everyone had to start somewhere.
Haste makes waste, they always say. He didn't waste. The next few days, he tested the statue. Amy could only be controlled when he used her full name or SSN. Perhaps there were other ways, but that's all he could deduce.
Amy no longer spoke to him or looked at him. He hadn't made her do much. Not yet. But she knew something was wrong. Especially after she entered his room naked a third time, he twisted her nipples and groped her firm tits. She opened her mouth when he flicked her nipple hard. She left when she was under her own control once again.
If you've been starving and someone gives you a cake. You don't eat it all in one sitting. You savor that fucking cake.
He slid his foot down the sidewalk as he crossed campus to the gym. His body hurt as much as always, but the pain seemed inconsequential. He had a mission.
