NewU
Copyright© 2022 by TheNovalist
Chapter 39
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 39 - Pete is a normal guy. A college student, a friend, and the quintessential black sheep of his family. That all changes one rainy autumn night at the hands of an out-of-control car and a well-placed tree. Waking up in hospital, he realizes that something is different. A whole new world opens up to him. New friends, hot nurses, cities of the mind, and a butler that only he can see. But the shadowy specter of unknown enemies lurk in the background, ever watching and ever waiting.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Mind Control Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Horror Humor Mystery Restart Superhero Science Fiction Extra Sensory Perception Paranormal Magic BDSM DomSub Rough Anal Sex Cream Pie Facial Oral Sex Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Body Modification Doctor/Nurse Small Breasts Geeks Revenge Slow Violence
Despite her mother’s explicit instructions, it was plain to see that Emma was not a happy camper. She was muttering, cursing, and mumbling insults under her breath with every brisk step taken through the labyrinthian halls of this mighty castle. Under normal circumstances, I would have had to kick into a jog to keep up with her a few times, but in all honesty, I wasn’t in a rush; more than that, I wasn’t in the mood to justify her attitude with the response of picking up the pace as she doubtlessly wanted or expected me to. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted; physically, I was fine. The previous night’s sleep had all but replenished the energy reserves I had expended with the Sect and the infusion of power into Philippa when Faye had given herself over to healing our friend. More than that, the encounter in the Conclave, the rapid, unexpected, and utterly ruthless intervention of the Dragon should have, at least in theory, drained enormous amounts of energy from my powerplants. But it hadn’t.
It was a strange sensation. I was acutely aware of the power it had taken to smash through the wills of the thousands of people there; I had more than a passing idea of how much energy it had taken to ... well ... spontaneously mummify Thomas and the other traitors as well. Each of them had taken more than the combined energy I had expended during my entire semi-voluntary stay with the Praetorians, and I had done it almost eighty times. Yet I couldn’t feel a single ounce of power missing from my reserves. It was like the Dragon had taken on that responsibility himself. That, in turn, raised the interesting, albeit slightly concerning question of if the Mantle had a vast, unimaginable power source of its own or if maybe it had the ability to draw it from somewhere else because, despite the inconceivable amount of power it had used up in the dispensation of its justice, I had the distinct impression it could have kept that shit up all day.
The reason I wasn’t in a rush had nothing to do with physical exhaustion and everything to do with the mental strain that was starting to push down on me again. The fight with Charlotte - despite us having seemingly made up since then - still bothered me, the encounter with the judge and all the questions that had dredged up, the loss of Faye, the change of leadership within the sect, the reappearance of Rhodri and all the self-recriminatory sentiments that had unearthed, and then, of course, the Conclave and the appearance of the Dragon.
Facing the overwhelming sensations of your own self-loathing, regrets, and guilt is never the best way to spend a Thursday afternoon, but - even though the Dragon seemed to have returned to its dormancy - those feelings still lingered. That self-doubt, those questions over the fundamental nature of who I was compared to who I thought I was or who I wanted to be, and the enforced realization that not only was I far from perfect, but had done some pretty fucked up things over the past few months, was a lot to take on in only a few short days. It felt like my life, or at least my sanity, was unraveling within me; every thread of who I was and who I aspired to be felt like it was flapping around within the storm of my identity crisis. When I returned from Ukraine, I had taken a literal and figurative long look in the mirror and decided I didn’t like what I saw. I had resolved to be better, to do better, but it had taken the Dragon to really show me how long that particular road really was. And I was a long, long way from the end of it.
They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Well, that may have been true, but on the journey to my own redemption, it felt like I was still lacing up my boots and had a whole bunch of barriers to get past before I even took that first step. Just that thought alone was exhausting.
All of this added together made the inexplicably hostile Emma the last person on earth I wanted to deal with. I had no problem in facing accusations, especially ones I had already leveled at myself. What I had a big problem with, however, was having them leveled by someone unwilling to listen to my side of things or even understand that I didn’t need her to point out my flaws. Emma, in her own immediately apparent self-righteousness, had already tried and sentenced me for crimes she had absolutely no comprehension of.
So fuck her; she could wait for me because I sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to chase her down the hallways.
Finally, after what must have been close to fifteen minutes of walking, she arrived at a large wooden door - exactly the kind you would expect to find in an actual castle - opened it, turned, expecting me to be right behind her, then started to look pissed when she finally spotted me a few dozen yards back along the hallway and taking my own sweet time following after her. She started tapping her foot impatiently.
“I have better things to be doing than waiting for you!” she snapped as I closed the distance to about half.
“Yeah? Like what?” I shrugged back.
“Work! Maybe you’ve heard of the concept?”
I shrugged again. “Then go do that.” I stopped, turned, and started walking back the way I had come.
“Where are you going?” She gawked at me. Apparently completely taken aback by my disregard for her sense of self-importance.
“You’re not the only one with better things to do. I’ve got a war to fight and a manhunt to plan. I don’t have the time, the patience, or the crayons to deal with a child having a tantrum because Mommy made her do something she didn’t want to do.”
She spluttered a few times. The shock in her voice probably matched the look on her face, but I was heading in the opposite direction, so I didn’t actually see it. It was probably something I would have found funny, though.
Funny–that was something the old Pete had dealt with. New Pete didn’t seem to have time for humor anymore. New Pete was cold, sharp, impatient, and utterly without the bandwidth to deal with petulant princesses who wanted to pick a fight for no other reason than to satisfy her own set of obsolete ideals.
“She gave you an order as well!” Emma’s voice barked along the corridor after me.
“Nope,” I called back without turning around. “She gave me a request. Isabelle knows I don’t work for her, nor do I answer to her. We have a mutually beneficial partnership, and she asked me nicely. I certainly don’t answer to you. I’ll let her explain the difference, though.”
“Everyone works for her.” This one was tinged with a little doubt.
“You should probably look into that.”
“Urgh, Fine!” She called after me after a few moments of what must have been some frantic mental acrobatics. “Could you please join me in my office so I can carry out my orders?”
I took a deep breath, spun around, and started walking back toward her, purposely keeping that same unhurried pace. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I muttered as I stepped past her and into her office.
As rooms go, there are obviously lots of different types, but you can generally guess what sort of room you will step into based on the building in which it is located. You wouldn’t, for example, walk into a pensioners bungalow expecting to find a fully stocked armory, nor would you expect to find an assembly line for car tires in a hospital. The same thing happened here. Every room in the castle was ... well ... it was a castle. They all had stone walls, and even the few that had been plastered were done so in a way that still left the shape of the stonework visible. It had been built before the invention of electricity, so every power outlet and every line that fed them were literally just bolted to the walls rather than dug into them, as you would find in more modern buildings. Everything echoed, everything felt cold and hard, and it seemed like it would be an utter nightmare to heat during winter time. Emma’s office, however, looked nothing like this. It looked exactly how you would expect a modern, professional office to look; it was just sitting in the middle of a castle. It looked like someone had managed to surgically remove a room from some glass-fronted highrise in the middle of a metropolitan city’s financial district and just dumped it into whatever wing of the castle we were currently standing in.
Large windows looked out onto the grounds, albeit a different set of gardens from the ones I had seen from my apartment here. The smooth walls had been painted an off-white cotton color and were lined with minimalist-style bookshelves and display cases. The floor was covered in a rich, thick, dark burgundy carpet, and in the middle of it sat a simple wooden desk. It was how I always imagined a corner office at a hedge fund to look. In fact, it would have looked a lot like the offices of some of my college professors, although admittedly, their bookshelves were a lot fuller and a lot less neatly organized.
I must confess, I was surprised, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. Emma was a princess, literally, and she clearly had a very high opinion of herself, or at least she had a high opinion of her opinions. She seemed to be that infuriating sort of person that liberals like myself get criticized for all the time. Someone who has an opinion that they can’t back up, decides that it is morally right, then berates anyone who dares to have an opposing one, labeling them as some variation of the word evil for even considering to have an alternative point of view. Personally, I have always thought that these sorts of people were idiots; sure, have an opinion, but also have the backbone to defend it intelligently. Of course, not all liberals are like that, and not all conservatives are lazy enough to think that they are, but Emma certainly seemed like she was. So, she was rich, spoiled, opinionated, clueless about the real world, self-righteous and self-important. Just the sort of person I would usually roll my eyes at and ignore. So why did her office look like she actually worked for a living?
Let me be clear here. We would all know what I mean when I say there are two types of book collectors: One that actually reads the books, and one that puts them on the shelves to display them, just so they could say they had them, without having the first idea what was written inside them. Emma, by outward appearances, would have easily seemed to fall firmly into the latter category, but every single book was not only dog-eared but full of bookmarks and post-it notes jutting out of the top of them. Every display case was filled, not with some pointless piece of sculpted art, but with pictures of her mother and other people I assumed were her friends and maybe extended family. There was even one with her and Bob. There were pictures of her in different parts of the world, some I recognized by the landmarks in the background, others in places that only held importance to her. Some were of her with groups of children, some were her at construction sites in obviously third-world countries, and none of them seemed to be the “rich kid showing off the places mommy paid for me to visit” kind of pictures I would have expected.
One corner of her desk had a laptop pushed at an angle, but the rest was filled with stacks of papers and meticulously handwritten notes, and the whole room smelled of sweat. Not that unpleasant musk of somewhere like a gym, but of a room that had far too little ventilation for the amount of time it was used. Emma clearly spent a mind-boggling amount of hours in here, and judging by her desk and the notes poking out of the top of books, she was obviously working hard for all of that time.
Okay, so re-evaluation: Never let it be said that I place the slightest amount of importance on faulty first impressions. Emma was rich, spoiled, opinionated, clueless about the realities of my world, self-righteous, and self-important, but with a good work ethic in a role she apparently took very seriously.
Fucking people. Why did they always have to be so damned complicated? Why couldn’t assholes have no redeeming qualities? Because - and I loathed to admit it, even to myself - this was the office of a person I could respect.
In the few seconds it had taken these thoughts to run rampant and naked through my mind, Emma had closed the door behind her and moved to her side of the desk, gesturing me to sit into one of the simple leather chairs closest to me. Without a word, and still taking in the office around me, I took a few steps forward and lowered myself onto the proffered seat.
“Alright, look,” she said after a few moments of looking at me and a sigh, “we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” I was about to answer with something polite, or at least something that indicated a willingness on my part to rectify that, but no, she had to keep talking. “I’m obviously not happy being forced to work with someone like you, but I have my orders, and it’s best if we keep things civil and get this over with as soon as possible.”
“Someone like me...” I repeated, the question asking itself.
“Someone who thinks killing is a perfectly acceptable answer to a problem.”
“Oh, is that who I am?” I asked, my tone giving off the distinct impression I was bored. I still wasn’t looking at her. My eyes were scanning over the books to see if there were any I recognized.
“Isn’t it? How many of our kind have you killed?”
“No idea,” I shrugged.
“That many, huh? Let me guess,” she glared at me. “All of them were in self-defense, and you are totally innocent.”
I snorted out a laugh. “I am far from innocent, and no, not all of them were in self-defense, but most of them were. There were more than a few that I hunted down intentionally.” My mind was thinking about the Inquisitors killed at the abandoned factory where Becky was murdered or Mary’s house just prior to that. I wasn’t sure if the Evos killed in the Praetorian compound counted as people I had hunted down. Technically, they had attacked me, but I had intentionally put myself in that position, and I had thrown the first punch, so to speak.
“And not a single shred of remorse,” she scoffed.
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“You don’t seem very sorry or guilt-ridden to me.”
It was my turn to scoff. “Ah, so because you can’t see it, it can’t possibly be true.”
“It doesn’t matter what I see...” she started.
“You’re right about that,” I threw back, but she carried on regardless.
“There is never... never ... an excuse to kill one of our own.”
“They didn’t seem to have gotten that memo. Should I have just let them kill me?”
“You just said that they weren’t all in self-defense.”
“I did. But I didn’t say they wouldn’t have killed me if I didn’t act first. I also said most of them were in self-defense. You seem to have ignored that part.”
“That sounds like a feeble justification to me,” she said, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.
I finally pulled my eyes away from her books and turned them to her. “It must be nice to be so wonderfully naive. Have you ever considered the possibility that the reason you get to have an opinion at all, or the reason you get to sit in this office, do your work, ask your questions, and pass judgments you have no right to, and ignore points that don’t agree with your narrative, is because people like me do the fighting so you don’t have to?”
“Oh, so you’re a hero. Should I be thanking you?”
I snorted out a laugh. “You don’t even know what you would be thanking me for, and even If you did, you wouldn’t understand it. But no, I’m no hero.”
“No, you’re an animal. You think that might makes right. You believe any problem can be solved with violence, and you kill your own kind without a second’s thought, too stupid to realize we are an endangered species.”
I nodded slowly. “And you think that life... your life ... would be possible without people like me. You’re right: I am an animal. You have no idea why I have done the things I have been forced to do, but your people made me what I am. I wanted no part in this and was put into impossible situations ... by your species, and I have done things that will haunt me for life. I have to live with that, not you. You will never understand what it took to push me to this, and you should be very grateful for that, but you are wrong. Not every problem can be solved with violence, but there are some problems that only violence can solve. Yes, I’m an animal. But sometimes, you need an animal to keep the monsters away.”
My voice was calm and level. It wasn’t a frenetic scramble to defend myself, just a simple statement of facts. Spoken with no more force or enthusiasm than explaining why her laptop needed electricity, I could see from the look on her face that it had struck a nerve.
“Violence is never the answer,” she repeated, although I didn’t know who she was trying to convince.
“Yup, and I hope you never have to find out how wrong you are.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“When the gun is pressed against your head, your opinions may change.”
“I would never...”
“No? What if it was against the head of your mother, or your friends, or your children? What about then? Would you let them die for your principles?”
“Are you saying you lost children?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I thought not,” she rolled her eyes. She didn’t like being challenged, and the venom in her voice was getting thicker with every syllable. “What about your parents? Were they killed in this entirely fictional and self-justifying scenario??”
“Yes,” I answered simply. Emma blinked, and her lips parted in shock. “Friends too, also a girlfriend. None of them had any idea about any of this...” I waved my hand around the room. “ ... all of them were innocent, and this was before I became an animal, when I was mostly clueless about it all myself. They killed them anyway, just for the crime of knowing me. They killed them to get to me. So the next time they tried the same thing, I killed them first because they weren’t going to stop until I stopped them.”
Okay, it wasn’t entirely accurate, but it was close enough to make my point, and the pained expression on Emma’s face told me that reality check had hit her right where it hurt.
Nothing like getting bitch slapped by some facts, right?
“Why?” she finally said after at least a solid minute of her staring at me.
“Why what?”
“Why would they attack you for no reason? You said you were clueless about all this, so what was it that made them come after you and the people around you if you weren’t a threat?”
I sighed and slumped back into my chair and sighed. “If you can work out the answer to that, let me know.”
She frowned, looking down at something on one of her notes for a second before looking back up at me. “Then what is different about you? Compared to other Evos, I mean.”
I shrugged again. “I guess there are two, but I don’t know if one ties into the other. I have been told that I am one of, if not the most powerful Evo to have ever lived.” She rolled her eyes a little but didn’t say anything. “But I am also the only Evo to have ever been awakened during adulthood.”
Her eyes widened. “You weren’t awakened as a child?”
“Nope.”
“But ... I thought all Evos were awakened in childhood.”
“So did they. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know how that happened or how that changed things, or even if that changed things. I don’t even know if that is why I am as powerful as I am.”
She frowned again, but this time, it looked more like an intense professional curiosity than the result of an attack on her beliefs. It was not something I was going to complain about.
“What exactly do you do here?” I finally asked. Emma had been sitting in thought for quite some time before I spoke, and waiting there, just watching her silently think to herself, was not a productive use of my time, considering everything I still had to do. Besides, I hadn’t quite gotten over her attitude, and aside from those last few questions, she hadn’t given me any reason to believe that her spontaneous hatred of me had worn off yet. I had learned long ago not to bother trying to change the minds of people who hated me for no reason. My parents had taught me that lesson long before I came into my powers, and it was one I was putting into effect again with Emma. She didn’t like me, cool, have fun with that. I’m out as soon as I no longer have a reason to be here. The question I asked was to hurry that process along. I didn’t really care about the answer.
“I’m part biologist and part historian,” she answered after her train of thought was derailed.
Trains were, apparently, still assholes.
I gestured for her to carry on. It was an answer, sure, but not much of one. She sighed. “My job is to track the history of our kind, both branches of it, and also monitor any changes in our abilities. Who can do what, and so on, then look for patterns. The idea is to find common ground that can reunify our species into one, as it should be. Although I must admit, the information you brought us about the Conclave and the lies being told to the Evos there about the war still going on explains why it has been so hard to find Evo volunteers. I suppose I should thank you for that.”
“Volunteers for what?” For a moment, I suddenly and fleetingly had mental images of involuntary medical experiments, chrome tables and screaming.
“Well, this, really,” she gestured between the two of us. “Just talking, getting an idea of who they are, what they can do, how they see the orders they work for. That sort of thing.”
“Hmmm, I’m sure you haven’t been able to get many answers from Evos for those questions.”
“No, not many. We have found the odd rogue, but they didn’t have a clue about the Conclave or the Sect, and they could only talk about their own powers. Invariably, they set off to find the Conclave, and we haven’t heard from them since.” I frowned, in my city, Uri was suddenly paying very close attention. “What?” She asked, seeing my face.
“I’m pretty sure the Conclave, or at least the general population, haven’t had any experience with rogues. In fact, they think they are a myth.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying I don’t think any of those rogues made it to the Conclave.”
“What? None of them?!?”
“Not from what I know, no.”
“But ... where...”
“Dead, probably. Or they were snatched up by the Praetorians.”
“Jesus,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, her breath quivering a little as she looked back down at her desk. “We’d never heard of these Praetorians before you.”
“Neither had I, nor had any of the rank and file Evos in the Conclave or the Sect. How many rogues were there?”
“Almost a hundred.”
“Yeah, they definitely didn’t make it there then,” I shrugged. “There is no way that many rogues could have made it to the Conclave without Uri knowing about it.”
“How can you be so flippant about it?!?” She suddenly yelled. “They were people!”
“And they were killed anyway. No reason, no motive; they had power, and someone else wanted it, so they were killed. Or maybe they were killed to keep the peace a secret. Or perhaps they were pulled into the Praetorian’s ranks and are now out there killing other Evos and Inquisitors. This has nothing to do with being flippant, these are just facts, and facts don’t give a single flying shit about your moral outrage. Do you think the world works the way you want it to, just because that’s what you want? Fucking hell, you have no comprehension of how sheltered you are, and you have no idea what things are really like out there!” I barked back. “You don’t like me, congratulations, I don’t care. But taking your disappointment with the world out on me doesn’t change anything.”
“And fighting and killing does?!?”
“YES!” I yelled back, matching the intensity of her voice. “Because for every one of those monsters taken out, there is one less person out there hunting and killing the people you keep saying should be saved. There are two sides to this, Princess...” I could see by the way she bristled that she hated being called that, which was even more reason to call her it. “ ... that is what happens in a war! There is our side and theirs. It doesn’t matter how much you or I want the war to be over; it is never going to happen while they want nothing more than to fucking kill us! And make no mistake, Princess, that is what they want. They will torture you to break you - there are rooms full of people who have already had that done to them only a few hundred feet from where you are sitting - and if that doesn’t work, they will kill you without a moment’s hesitation, and your moral outrage about it won’t stop the bullet hitting your fucking head! You need to grow up!”
“Grow up? Who the hell do you think you are? I’m not a child!”
“Then stop acting like one! Because every time you dismiss the war or the fighting or the killing as something that shouldn’t be happening, all you are doing is burying your head in the sand and doing nothing to stop this shit from going on forever! You are giving them license to carry on! Your skepticism may let you sleep at night; it may keep you sane, but it won’t keep you safe, and it certainly won’t save your species!”
“OUR species!” She practically screamed back. “You are part of it too!”
“Wrong again! I was born a human. I spent twenty years living as a human, and all I have known since I became one of you is pain, loss, suffering, and war! That is on you, all of you, not me! But as long as you people keep trying to fucking kill me, enslave the rest of humanity, or generally act like entitled little cunts just by virtue of how you were born, I am going to keep fighting back! I don’t owe you or the rest of YOUR species a damned thing. The faster you realize that, the better. There’s your answer. That’s what’s different about me compared to the rest of you. I don’t want power, I have no intention of playing by YOUR rules, and I don’t give one solitary fuck what you think of me!”
Emma blinked again. “Wait, what? Who is trying to enslave humans? Nobody in our species is unevolved enough to want that!”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I laughed sarcastically. “All this moral outrage, all this bullshit about killing being wrong, and you don’t even know what we’re fighting against! Well, pay attention, princess, perhaps you’ll learn something: That is precisely what the Praetorians want; that is what they offered me if I joined them: complete subjugation of the human race, all Evos and Inquisitors united under a single banner, as long as they follow their rules. Any outliers, any non-conformists, and any opposition are to be hunted down and slaughtered. The Inquisition? Gone. Me, you, your mother, anyone else in this castle, most of the people you have ever known? Killed unless they swear fealty to them. The Conclave? Gone. The sect? Gone. Only the Praetorians. Endless fucking war until everything you have ever known is burned to the ground, and they are all that’s left. This isn’t some idle plan; they are actively pushing their agenda right now, and you are sitting here arguing that we should all be sat down singing kumbayah, then having a fucking tantrum when that doesn’t happen in reality! But do you want to know something? They are winning! And that should scare the shit out of you. But no, you just want me to apologize for doing what I have to do, for killing them when they forced my hand, for feeling bad for people who would happily see you, me, and everyone else we have ever loved tortured to death on a whim, and for defending fucking idiots like you! You are a painfully naive, spoiled little rich girl; I am a fucking soldier; there is no way on Earth you are ever going to get it, and you don’t have the knowledge, the experience, or the authority to judge what a soldier is forced to do in war. So maybe we should stop wasting each other’s time!”
“You don’t get to speak to me like that! I am...”
“Or what?” I growled back. “What are you going to do? How are you going to stop me? Are you going to say please? Are you going to tell me how important you are? Are you going to tell me you’re offended? Do you think that is going to work on them? That is what you don’t get! These are just words, nothing more, and there is nothing you can do to stop me from saying them. How are you going to stop them from gutting you like a pig? Because that is what they’ll do! Will you ask them nicely to stop? Will you tell them how naughty they’re being? Will you throw another tantrum? Or will you finally pick a side, pick up a weapon, and do what you have to do to defend everything you love? Because I promise you, I fucking promise you, that day is coming! So come on, tell me, what are you going to do? You’re pissed off, great, now what?” She clenched her jaw and held my eye but said nothing. “I didn’t think so. Let me let you in on a little secret. The only right and wrong in this life is judged by the people who are able to enforce it, or at least defend it; anything else is just words!”