I sat alone in the room with a bottle of scotch and a fistful of regret. I had sent my slave out to get me some things and she disappeared to god knows where. I was getting ready to call another slave in when the door opened. Reaching under the desk, I grab my .3235 expecting the worse. In walked some dame and I immediately relaxed. "Micky Rodriguez," she asked, trembling slightly. "Yeah, what's it to you, slave?" I responded bluntly.
"I'm not a slave," she stated, indicating with her left hand the lack of a slave collar. It was at that point I took it all in. It was obvious from the fact that she was dressed, she was no slave, a rarity in women these days. She wore a conservative pair of shorts that revealed only the slightest sign of pubic hair, another sign of her freedom. Her top reached up to her chest, allowing her breasts to spill out nicely, and her arms were protected by arm-warmers. If religion hadn't been abolished, I'd say she was some bible-thumping grandmother from the way she was dressed. She was definitely post-pubescent, probably between sixteen and fifty, but its hard-to-tell these days. Her breasts felt almost natural, not genetically-engineered...
"Could you please stop feeling me up?" she asked. "Of course, ma'am," I responded, returning to my seat and taking my penis out. I began stroking as she told me her story: "Uh, well ... Detective Rodriguez. Fourteen days ago, my harem of twelve slaves disappeared for over three days. I used the GPS locaters to track them down to this place in lower Canada, by Cleveland," she said, trying to see if I was paying attention. I played her game, responding with a quick, "Yes, in Ohio."
Satisfied, not me yet, but the dame, she continued: "Yes, well, they hadn't run off, but were in fact kidnapped by this gentleman, a Mr. Jean-Paul Wong. Mr. Wong had been systematically killing some of my slaves, as well as using them for his own sexual pleasure. I sent in my husband to give him a piece of my mind, and..."
"Husband?" I said, incredulously. My god, this dame was a bible-thumper, "You're married?"
"Uh, yes. I was. As you can tell by my clothing, I come from a very strict upbringing. May I continue?" she gestured to me as I took a quick swig of my whisky. I nodded as I stared at her melons and continued my jerking. "Well then, as I said. My husband, Kwanye, he transposed over there and gave the guy a cease-and-desist. That was the last I saw of him. It seems Mr. Wong had him enslaved and killed."
"Wait," I said, calling this lady's bluff, "you can't enslave a man unless he signs himself over in a court of law. Is that what you're saying has happened?" She looked down, amazed that I could keep the cadence going as I questioned her. "Yes, Detective, that's exactly what happened. Whatever this Mr. Wong is doing, he has complete and utter control over my slaves. I think he's a mind-taker."
Shit, I thought, as I blew my load. Wait, did she just say 'mind-taker?' I looked up at her eyes as I responded "I find that hard-to-believe, and frankly, I won't take any of the crackpot cases you're selling." I got up, not bothering to address my indecency, as I led the non-slave to the door. "Thank you for your time, Ms., um, I'm sorry I didn't get your name?"
"Farfignewton," she said, an obvious smile on her supple lips, which I had noticed for the first time. My eyes widened at the name of the most powerful family this side of Atlantis. She turned quickly, and headed out the door. "Wait!" I yelled after her.
She merely stopped and turned. "I'll take the case, Ms. Farfignewton. This time next week, I'll have the mind-taker or my name ain't Micky!" I smiled as I reached out my hand to shake hers. She simply shook my hand in agreement. As I watched her wipe the gunk off her hand, I couldn't help but think of how lucrative a case this could be.
Three days had passed, and I had transposed myself to the Cleveland site. I had sent in five of my best, uncontrollable slaves, and sure enough, this Mr. 'Wong' had captured them all. As I peered at his commune from my makeshift duck-blind, I overlooked my options. I had fought some pretty nasty guys during my time in the Space Army, but this man takes the cake. A mind-taker in this day and age? It was merely theoretical, the talk of physicists and conspiracy nuts, if there's a difference between the two. The mind-takers had rearranged the world a thousand years or some junk ago, but common knowledge says they're all gone.
I hadn't believed Ms. Farfignewton's tale, assuming it was just another mind-taker wannabe who used ancient hypnosis, genetic resequencing, or good old-fashioned beat-the-crap-out-of-some-dude, but my surveillance revealed none of those things. My slaves had been taken upon first sight of this man. I thought I lived a gross, degenerate, inhuman lifestyle, but this man. Man, he was my idol. Day-long orgies, weekend outings, heck, even his slaves went out and had sex with other slaves by proxy. I couldn't stand the occassional violence, but he made it up with his acts of tenderness. Especially with this sweet blonde slave of his, who looked quite inexperienced before he messed with her. I was beginning to regret not having transposed a slave to spend time in the duck blind with me...
Shit, I thought, pulling out my .3235. This duck-blind was inviso-shielded from the outside world, so the only way someone would knock on that door would be if Mr. Mind-taker down there had 'telepathized' my coordinates. I crouched down low, my .3235 aimed directly at the door. As I prepared to pull the trigger, killing whatever was on the other side but not harming the door itself, a woman's voice was heard.
"Mr. Rodriguez," she said, almost in a monotonous tone, "Mr. Wong would like to invite you to dinner."
I laughed at this insane suggestion by some crazy slave. "Sure thing, Toots. Just let me finish my last will and testament before I go off and face Mr. I-kill-my-enemies-with-a-thought. Tell Braino over there that I'm willing to transpose the hell out of here whenever I want, but if he keeps sending broads like you over, well, tell him there's no such thing as running out of ammunition." I shot the .3235 out the left-side of the door, hopefully missing the messenger slave, but sending the message that I mean business. I waited several hours as I got my transposition stick ready.
.... There is more of this story ...