I woke up the next day a satisfied man. I had controlled and enslaved my busty housewife neighbor and my state of mind had never been better. The only thing that bothered me was how utterly simple and easy it was. When I was a younger, my now deceased grandfather told me that if something was too good to be true, that meant that it probably was.
Well, I had the whole day and my parents were out, as usual, so I dialed my slave Heather's cell phone.
She picked up on the third ring, "Hello?"
"Heather, this is your Master speaking," I commanded, "Are you alone?"
"W-what? Who is this? What the hell are you talking about?! Is this some sort of prank?"
My heart sank and my brain span into panic mode. Did my powers wear off after a certain amount of time? Had I used my powers correctly, whatever correctly may mean?
Fuck. "Um, err... yeah this was a prank," and I hung up, hoping she didn't remember enough about last night to know what I had done to her. Shit. I dropped my phone on the floor and sat down on a wooden kitchen chair, the pit in my stomach exploding into a well of frustration.
Just then, I heard the front door open. "Mark? I'm home," My mother's voice, "Mark?"
"I'm here, Mom." I sat up and picked up my phone, hoping she wouldn't notice my frustration.
She came into the kitchen, "Hey Mark. Oh, you look awful. What happened?"
That was the thing about Mom. She was the only person in this insane fucking world who ever cared about me. My father wasn't home enough to care. Judging from how long he was absent on business, I wouldn't be surprised he was cheating on Mom, the bastard.
"Nothing happened, Mom. I'm just not feeling well today. I think I might take a nap."
"Okay, honey. I think I might take nap too. Work for the day got cancelled. We're just not busy anymore like we used to be."
I nodded in sympathy and walked to my room, easily collapsing on my familiar bed. I instantly fell asleep.
I woke to a house of silence. Not a single bird chirped outside and the sky was steel gray with rainclouds. I decided to go downstairs and make something to eat when I passed my parents' room to find my mother fast asleep under the covers. She looked so beautiful and pure. I wished I could ask her for advice about Heather, because Mom always knew what to say to me to make me feel better, but she would hate me if I told her about how badly I had hurt another person, and she would never understand why I felt justified in doing it either.
But there was also the matter of my powers. I decided I would try to ask her in her sleep. Maybe I could converse with people in their sleep.
I quietly crept into the room and knelt by my mother's perfect sleeping form and pressed my lips to her delicate ear, whispering.
"Hey, Mom."
"Hi, honey," she spoke in monotone, and was still, as if she were a corpse speaking from an ancient grave.
"I have a problem that I need you to help me with, Mom. Do you think you could help me?"
"Yes, Mark. Mommy's here to help you. What's the problem?"
"Mom, I'm having trouble telling you this."
"Why?" She almost sounded hurt.
"I'm afraid of what you'll say to me. I'm afraid you'll hate me. Please promise not to hate me."
"I promise not to hate you, Mark," and she was silent.
I then felt something strange in my head. Somehow I knew that she wouldn't hate me for what I was about to say.
"I have powers of suggestion. I forced a married woman to be my slave, but I made her like it. I never told her to stop being my slave, and now she has. What do I do?"
"It sounds like you just told her what to do when you forced her to be a slave. Married women can be very committed to their husbands. Maybe instead of telling her what to do, you need to change how she thinks as a person. You might not be able to do that if she loves her husband so much, but I think you ought to try. I believe that if you tried to enslave this woman, you would not have done it if she were nice to you all the time. You have a gift, Mark; I know you can sense people who are cruel and cold in this world. You've always had that instinct. I don't approve of what you're doing, Mark, but I still love you more than anything, and I will never stop helping you."
"Thanks Mom. I love you too." I whispered, and kissed her on the cheek, fighting back the tears that bashed at edge of my eyes. I stood up and tucked Mom under the covers. A part of me wanted to go further and see what I could make Mom do, but I crushed that part of me under my boot. I could never hurt her like that. I would never be able to justify that. I wanted her, but I would never force her to want me.
I left a note for Mom and walked away from the house, proud that I still had someone who loved me, but for now, I had a job to do, specifically Heather. I swore that she would be mine before the night was over
I stealthily crept toward the Richardson residence, careful to approach the house from the side that was not illuminated. I leaned up against the cold, fabricated wood side of the house and peered in the kitchen window. Mrs. Richardson, in all her busty glory sat on one end of the table, and another man, presumably her husband sat on the other. In the middle sat a child of about eight years of age. The boy's hair was a shade of blonde, just like his mother's. I didn't know she had another child. I was about to leave and return when the house was emptier when the mother, Heather, gestured to the child's elbows which jutted out onto the table. The boy looked panicked, and quickly retracted his elbows under the table, but it was too late. The father got up from his seat and watched while Heather slapped the child across the face, again and again. She stopped, gesturing with her index finger again, and sat her fat ass back down.
There was no more negotiation at this point. Heather was going to be mine. Child abusers deserve the worst forms of torture, and God knows what that bitch had put her son through. But I would make sure Heather learned what it meant to be truly beaten into submission. The father deserved a similar fate, but I decided I would change him and mold him into a better father for his son. But Heather was not going to stay -- the father would remarry soon after Heather gave birth to her newest child, and she would be mine to abuse until I decided otherwise. Tonight, my monster was going to be let out of its cage, and I don't just mean the one beneath my skin.
I waited outside until the lights were out, and I silently tested the front door. Locked. Undeterred, I navigated the yard until I reached the backyard, the sight of so many wonderful things that happened yesterday. I couldn't wait to have that woman at my beck and call again. But I had to focus on the main issue here of getting her under control, and the even greater issue of Heather's abuse of her son, and his father's inaction.
I silently tried the back door and found it unlocked. I prayed the Richardson family did not have a dog and stepped inside house. The air inside the house was cool and dark, filtered continuously through a top-of-the-line air conditioning system. I walked through the hallway and looked into the living room, which was filled with televisions, couches, computers and high-tech sound systems. Not too shabby.
I was about to head upstairs when I heard a snore coming from the living room. I moved back into the room and looked again. I saw a dark, sleeping form curled up on one of the couches. I approached the figure and easily recognized him. It was the husband, the poor fellow. His bitch of a wife might not be abusing just her child after all. I leaned over the emasculated man and began to whisper once more.
"Hello Mr. Richardson."
"Hello," he grumbled.
"Why do you let your wife abuse your son?"
"I can't do anything about it. She said she'd divorce me if I told anyone and make it seem like I was the child abuser. I didn't want to risk that. Not with my son at stake."
"It seems your son is at stake right now, Mr. Richardson. You have a chance to show him that you care, that you love him, and that you aren't going to abandon him."
