Alpha Eyes

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.

I stepped out of the Uber and waved at the man as he pulled away.

Nice guy,

I thought. At least, he'd let me have the ride in peace, sitting in the back on the 15-minute drive through the City to my building.

I'd refused to drive for a year. Ever since the night of the crash.

I shook my head. Now wasn't the time to think about that. Now was the time to think about my stepmother, Laura, and the fact that she had paid my therapist to drug me.

Why?

I realized I probably should have asked Silvia before I sent her home, dressed in her little black dress with her hair wild and her eyes still glazed. Anyone who saw her would be able to tell she'd just had a thorough fucking.

I grinned at that thought, at least.

Therapy is definitely going to be more fun from now on.

Slipping my hand into my pocket, I gently rolled the glass vial in my fingers. There was a secret here, a secret that I needed to uncover. And I needed to move quickly, because there were obviously plans already in motion with me at their center.

I stared up at my building with my usual sense of awe. 45 stories of glass and steel, a gorgeous monument to modern architecture. The Scotts, it was called, after my dad. He owned it.

Had owned it.

He owned a lot of buildings downtown: Scotts, Starside, Soaring Heights... This was the last building he'd ever built, the one he'd wanted to live in.

"I know its vain,"

he'd said to me once.

"But I always wanted to see my name up on a building. A big building. A beautiful one. Ya know?"

I shook my head and climbed up the stairs.

Nigel opened the front door, lowering his head in a small gesture of respect. "Dilan! Hello. I hope you're having a wonderful day, sir." The doorman's face had its usual look of contented positivity. Nigel had been one of my father's first hires as a budding entrepreneur, and my dad had wanted to make sure the man had a job in whatever building my dad ended up living in.

I couldn't bring myself to complain, but most of the time seeing the older, white-haired man, portly and smiling with a white mustache, struck me with a spike of sadness.

"Hey..." I muttered, looking away as I walked past and not meeting his eyes. I forced myself to think about something else.

I could still feel Silvia's bubble floating on the edge of my awareness. But it was farther away now, and more delicate. I knew that, if need be, my therapist would still hear and obey specific instructions, but I didn't know how I knew, and I still had no idea the extent of our connection.

I probably should have been anxious, but it's hard to be concerned when you've just come from fucking a gorgeous woman's brains right out of her head.

The thought warmed me as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse.

The panel by the side of the array slid open, revealing a numerical keypad. I reached out and punched in the 4-digit code.

1995.

My birth year.

My dad had picked it.

I shook my head and took a deep breath as the doors slid closed.

Focus.

* * *

I glanced furtively around as I stepped out of the elevator and into the entry of the apartment. Straight ahead, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the City skyline. But I wasn't looking at that, stunning though it was. I was glancing at the antique wooden desk by the elevator, and the long, narrow silver platter where we usually kept the car keys.

They were laid out in a neat row, six keys, but two were missing: the Porsche and the Tesla.

Laura and Stephanie were both out, then.

My shoulders slumped with relief. I had time, then

I rolled my shoulders and strode through the entry, turned and headed down the hallway to my bedroom. It was the guest bedroom, originally only intended for visiting relatives, but I had been relegated to it in the aftermath of my father's death.

The dark wooden door swung quietly open and then clicked shut behind me. I turned the lock and walked to my bed. I sprawled face down on the queen-sized mattress and let myself relax.

Time to think.

It had always been me and Dad, ever since my mom died. Since that was basically before I could remember, it had always been me and Dad. Just the two of us.

Then, he'd met Laura.

My father had been a great businessman, but laughably timid when it came to love...

It was something he'd often said to me, with an easy chuckle and a sheepish grin.

You know, Dilan,

he'd say.

Your mom practically had to trick me into proposing to her. I'm not sure I would have been able to screw up the courage otherwise.

His face would cloud over for just a moment then, before he would gruffly say.

I love that woman.

But then, when I'd gone away to school, Dad had gotten lonely. I didn't want to blame myself, but I knew I could have come back more, spent more time at home. It wasn't a money issue, or even a time one. I'd just gotten so wrapped up in my own things that I'd neglected him. At least, that's what I told myself, according to post-crash therapist number two. He said that I still felt deep shame and guilt, and it was preventing me from moving on with my life.

Dad met Laura through one of those services, a high-class matchmaker who gets to know you and then sets you up with someone they consider to be a good match.

Ironically, Laura had been on a date with another man at the same restaurant. She had recognized him, walked over his table, and complimented him on one of his buildings. She said she knew him from a magazine article about the building, which she'd seen one day.

She told him that she'd heard he designed all his own buildings. Ever since his first one. She admired his creativity. Right there, in front of my father's date and her own, she asked him to dinner.

My father was a gentleman, so he had politely declined. But when he left, he found that she had bribed one of the coat room attendants to slip her card into his jacket pocket.

Dad had always admired confidence, and a willingness to chase after what you wanted.

He was hooked.

The next date he went on was with her.

My father and stepmother had only been married for six months when he'd died.

***

I heard the sound of a dramatic entrance, which is difficult to do when you don't have a front door to slam, and the sound of stomping feet coming down the hallway toward me.

I wondered what Stephanie was so mad about.

I could tell it was my stepsister because of her tread, which was heavy and direct. Steph didn't fuck around.

Laura, on the other hand, seemed to float about like an elegant fairy queen. Or maybe a sneaky ghost. She would appear suddenly, when you didn't expect her, and would fill a room with an aura that seemed to indicate good graces and breeding. Whatever those meant.

The footsteps halted outside my door and there was a momentary pause. Then, I winced as the sharp sound of knuckles on wood pierced the air.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

There was a pause.

Bang!

"Open up, Dilan! I know you're in there!"

I sighed into the pillows and considered what to do. Then, a wicked thought flickered across my mind. "Just a sec!" I called, raising my head.

I pushed myself off the bed and crossed to the tall, standing mirror in the corner. I looked myself up and down, then stared into my eyes. The irises glowed like molten silver, the side effect of whatever drug cocktail my therapist had put in my drink and then dripped into my eyes. I nodded. Still the same, then.

The headache that had accompanied the transformation had dissipated, as had the raw sensation of irritation in my eyes, but I wasn't sure if they might flare up again. In fact, I had no idea if what I was about to try was going to succeed.

But fuck it. My "family" was already coming after me. I didn't have much to lose.

I heard the sound of the handle being twisted and shaken angrily. "Dilan! If you're fucking masturbating in there like a goddamn 15-year-old, I swear to god above—!"

Her voice cut off sharply as I strode across to the door and twisted the lock, tugging it open.

The Cinderella story had gotten it all wrong.

Ugly stepsisters? Not in this household.

My 25-year-old pseudo-sibling was statuesque, blonde like her mother, with her hair in an elaborate braid that made her look like a Viking princess. She had a physique that was long and strong from countless hours in the gym, at kickboxing, at yoga and at whatever other types of physical training she did. I worked out more than most, but I swear my stepsister probably could have competed on American Ninja Warrior.

"What's up, sis?"

I flicked a glance at Stephanie's face and saw her blink in surprise. She looked taken aback.

My voice was low pitched and calm, and my stance didn't have its usual cowed, hunched and browbeaten posture. And I never called Stephanie "sis".

But then her usual arrogance returned.

"What's up, sis?!"

Her surprised expression turned into a scowl, and she barely even looked at me before she strode past me into the bedroom, gesturing angrily. "What the hell? Where

were

you? What is fucking wrong with you?"

Oh, by the way, Stephanie has a dirty mouth. It's one of her defining characteristics, as far as I'm concerned.

Her rant continued.

"It's bad enough that you need someone to drive you every time you go anywhere, like a fucking teenager, but then when I take time out of

my

day to show up at

your

therapy you aren't even around?!"

I suddenly remembered that Laura had offered Stephanie to pick me up from therapy today.

I just want you two to spend a little time together,

Laura had said.

You know, as siblings. How bad can a quick car ride be?

Oops.

What can I say? I was distracted. A lot of stuff had been going on.

At the time the offer had seemed thoughtful, if odd. Now, I suddenly realized that the reason Laura wanted Stephanie to pick me up is because Stephanie was probably too wrapped up in her own little world to notice that her step-brother had just been hypnotized and drugged.

Stephanie spun on one heel, turning back to cross her arms under her substantial rack. She was wearing a v-neck and a pair of joggers that hung off her hips and showed several inches of flat, toned stomach.

I slowly turned to face her, not meeting her eyes.

"Well?" she demanded. "Do you have anything to say? Jesus Christ, Dilan! Look at me when I'm talking to—!

Oh..."

I had raised my head, tired of her tirade. My silver eyes pierced her gaze, shining through the distance between us and cutting her off mid-sentence.

My stepsister's mouth was still open, paused and slack, her eyes staring as she slowly blinked.

One thing I knew for certain, as I stared into the woman's icy blue eyes, Stephanie definitely hadn't been involved in the plot to drug me. She was too direct, not nearly subtle enough to try and pull off something that underhanded and sneaky.

Her face had gone slack, her arms falling to dangle by her sides.

"That's better," I commented to no one in particular.

I guess now I know these things still work.

"A tiny bit of peace and quiet."

Stephanie just stared, her chest rising and falling as she took in long, slow breaths.

I risked a glance down the front of her v-neck shirt, which was a little too tight to truly contain her busty figure, then glanced hurriedly back into her eyes. I didn't want to risk losing control of the woman.

But damn...

I'd known Stephanie for three years or so, and I'd always thought she was hot. But there was something about her standing there, with those wide, blank eyes and the empty, thoughtless expression, that just shot a jolt of lust straight through my body.

I didn't look away, feeling myself sinking deeper and deeper into those bright blue orbs.

I felt a familiar pressure building behind my forehead and in my ears, like in a plane after takeoff. My eyes tingled, like I'd been reading for a long time in the dark or staring too long at a computer screen.

It's happening again,

I thought, and as I thought it I watched my stepsister's expression.

It was startling how quickly I'd adapted to my enhanced vision, to my ability to notice the tiny muscle twitches and flushed skin that indicated that her body was reacting to my strange new ability. Her breath was coming a little faster now, and there was a redness creeping up into her cheeks. I was absorbing all of those details without even looking away from Stephanie's eyes, just noticing them in my peripheral vision and locking them together to complete a puzzle.

"You're getting turned on..." It was a comment, not an instruction, but I saw Steph's breath hitch and her nipples began to stiffen in her sports bra. I could see the tiny hills that began to form in the front of her shirt, through the fabric of the sports bra she was wearing.

"Yes..." Her voice had lost its angry edge. It had lost most of its expression, in fact. But to me, her body was as expressive as ever.

I saw the way she shifted her weight, leaning toward me. I saw her pupils widening as the pressure mounted behind my forehead, like there was a balloon expanding inside of my skull. I focused, forced myself to focus on the pressure as I remembered what had happened with Silvia.

So close...

I didn't know how I knew it, maybe it was the heavy, shadowy presence that was stirring in my mind. Maybe that was the source of all of these insights. But I didn't focus on it, didn't let myself be distracted from staring, unblinking, into Stephanie's beautiful baby blues.

Then, in a second, everything

snapped.

My stepsister moaned, dropping to her knees. Her thighs clamped together and her body shuddered, one hand falling to the floor to support herself. But she never looked away, her gaze locked into mine with complete, wide-eyed focus.

I staggered back like I'd been struck by a physical force, the pressure disappearing in a single instant as another tiny bubble of consciousness

popped

into existence in my mind.

Stephanie.

I didn't say a word, just staring at her and recognizing that some part of her mind had just been stolen away by mine.

My stepsister blinked, then, and her breath came faster. Her mouth moved, and she spoke. What she said threw gasoline on the fire of my arousal, making it impossible for me to ignore the mounting tension in my pants and the tension that clenched in my core.

"Yes, Sir...?"

Oh. We were going to have some fun.

***

My stepsister lay on her back across my mattress, her hands massaging her big, round tits. They sat atop her chest, her nipples hard and pink and begging for attention.

I admired Stephanie's tan, the way she didn't even have a bikini line breaking the perfect skin tone from her toes all the way up to her beautiful, expressionless face. Her blonde hair was still all tied up, and I knew I was going to love the sensation of those intricate braids under my fingers. For now, though, I was going to have some fun.

Can you hear me, Stephanie...?

I was kneeling between her spread thighs, one hand stroking slowly up and down my rock hard cock. My clothes lay in a heap on the floor behind us.

"Yes, Sir..." I loved the way she tugged at her nipples, pulling and twisting on them and moaning as she responded to my unspoken question. She didn't even realize that I wasn't speaking aloud, her eyes glazed and unfocused, lost in the pleasure.

I grinned. I wanted nothing more than to bend down and slide my cock into that tight snatch, fucking her until she couldn't cum anymore. But I waited.

How do you feel?

"Mmm..." My stepsister actually purred, arching her back as her tongue came out to moisten her full lips. "

Sooo

good, Sir..." Her eyes focused for a minute, tracing down my body to focus on my thick manhood. "I want..." She started to reach for me but I stopped her with a thought. Her body froze, her eyes wide.

Then she sighed, pleasure shooting through her as she obeyed, relaxing back.

It feels so good to obey, doesn't it...?

I asked silently.

"Yes, Sir..." I could tell she was getting more and more turned on, her body shivering as her arousal grew higher and higher.

Now, slut...

I relished using the word, and I said it again out loud. "Slut... My hot little slut stepsister..."

Stephanie sucked in a breath, her eyelashes fluttering as ecstasy surged through her at my words.

I want you to tell me what you actually think of me.

A cute little frown came down on Steph's face. I could tell she almost didn't want to say anything, didn't want to say something that might anger me.

Go on...

"I thought you were a loser," she said, and even though her voice was mellow and slow I could sense the underlying hesitation. "You never did anything important. Why should you get to be rich just because your dad made a bunch of money?" Her voice took on a different tone as she continued, though, saying words that she had evidently thought many times before. "My mom wanted your dad for his money, and I got to come along for the ride. Neither of us wanted your ass around. Especially with him gone, you were just dead weight. An extra fucking expense."

I scowled, then, feeling my anger rise. My good mood dimmed slightly.

An extra expense?!

They

were the ones leeching off my dad's hard-earned money — Laura wouldn't have to work for the rest of her

life

, for crying out loud! — and here they were calling me a dead weight?

Yeah...

I thought.

This slut is getting exactly what she deserves.

"Alright, Stephanie..." I muttered, and I lowered myself down onto my hands. I stared into my stepsister's face, watching her eyes go wide and blank as she met my silver gaze.

I didn't know how this new, strange ability worked. But it did. And I was going to use it to get revenge on the women who had tried to use my father. Who had tried to drug me for some reason I hadn't yet gotten around to uncovering.

"I'm going to fuck you," I told her, and I swear she had a mini orgasm just hearing those words. Her face twitched, her breath hitching. She was so turned on by this point, her mind so far gone, that the bitchy, uptight stepsister I knew was gone. There was just this gorgeous, busty, bimbo.

Ready to suck and fuck and obey.

And I want you to talk dirty to me while I do...

Stephanie shuddered with pleasure at the idea, her frown of concern at my displeasure growing back into a thoughtless smile of excitement. "Yes, Sir..." she breathed, her blue eyes glowing. "Please... Please fuck me..."

But I knelt back on the bed, putting my hands on my hips. I relished the power that I wielded, felt it flooding through me.

Earn it, slut.

Her eyes widened slightly with surprise, like she couldn't imagine a man who didn't want to just take her, fuck her tight, athletic body at the soonest opportunity. Then, she sat up, swung around onto her hands and knees and looked up into my face. Her voice took on a whole new cast, a purr that was sweet and needy and exactly what I wanted to hear.

"Please fuck me, Dilan..."

I closed my eyes, soaking in her words. I felt the mattress shift under my knees and then felt her first soft touch on my throbbing cock. Her fingers circled around my girth, caressing me gently.

"Please, use my mouth like your own personal fucktoy."

I heard her moan, then felt her tongue slowly, sensually circle around the head. I glanced down in time to see her take my cock and rub it across her cheeks, over her lips.