NewU
Copyright© 2022 by TheNovalist
Chapter 42
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 42 - 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
It is human nature to view things comparatively, especially new things. After all, something can only be unique, or even identified at all, if it is first compared to anything else vaguely similar. The day that I had stood on the mindscape field with Charlotte and watched my city shimmer into being, I hadn’t thought it was anything special. Sure, it was big, and it looked cool, but it wasn’t until Charlotte saw it, and then I saw her city, that I could really appreciate just how different my city and my mind really were from everyone else’s. To say something is big, pretty, or impressive in any way at all only works when compared to something that isn’t as big, pretty, or impressive.
I was far from an expert on the variety of cities that were probably out there, but I had seen a fair few of them in my time. Charlotte, Jerry, Fiona, Uri, Sterling, the Evos at the compound, and, of course, my own. But that was about it. However, even by my admittedly limited knowledge, I could tell that Emma’s city–her mind–was something truly remarkable.
Atop the mountain, at the peak of that massive staircase, it stood magnificent against the uninhibited sunlight of the mindscape.
The city rose before us like a dream made real, a place so awe-inspiring that it seemed untouched by a concept so basic as time. It was a masterpiece of marble and gold, like the idealized artwork painted of ancient Greece, a monument of white marble built into the very bones of the mountain, its pale towers reaching endlessly skyward. Domes of shining gold crowned its highest spires, glinting beneath the sun’s eternal gaze and held aloft by towering pillars of that same white stone. The light bathed every stone, every arch, every bridge in a warm glow, and the very air felt alive with something ancient, something more than mere wind and warmth.
As we climbed the grand stairways that wound up to and then throughout the city, I couldn’t help but marvel at the craftsmanship beneath my feet. The stone steps were smooth as if worn down from the passage of countless travelers before me who had never been here. The streets were broad and bright, paved with polished stone that reflected the golden light pouring down from the heavens. The city seemed to hum with life, yet there were only the two of us. Even the ghosts that had inhabited every city I had ever seen were conspicuously missing here, yet they seemed to be just around the corner, just out of sight. There was a rhythm to it, a harmony. I could almost imagine the throngs of people moving throughout the city with purpose, musicians playing in shaded courtyards, their melodies drifting through the open archways and down the stairways that led to hidden terraces. Music, that music was everywhere. It wasn’t a single song or the sound of a single instrument; it was just ... music. It was as if the whole city, Emma’s entire mind, was constantly laced with some internal melody that, before now, only she could hear. The scent of flowering vines and citrus trees perfumed the air, mingling with the faint mist rising from the waterfalls that flowed under those arched bridges and cascaded down the mountainside.
Everywhere, fountains spilled crystal-clear water into intricately carved basins. Some were modest, nestled in quiet alcoves, their gentle trickling a soft whisper against the stone. Others were grand, great arcs of water leaping into the air before crashing down in shimmering sheets. Statues of gods and heroes stood among them, or at least that’s what they looked like until we got closer. Instead, they were sculptures not unlike the ones in my own city. The first we came to was one of Bob, not as he had been the last time she’d seen him, but as he had been in the prime of his life. A larger-than-life figure, towering over an open plaza, his warm smile and gentle eyes watching over her city, the exact visage I would have expected from a child looking up at their loving parent. But there were others; there was one of Isabelle, looking down with maternal love and pride, alongside others of her friends, their forms captured in perfect detail, their expressions serene as if listening to that endless music mixing with the unending sounds of flowing water.
The city didn’t merely sit upon the mountain; it was like it had grown out of it, shaped by a mind that seemed to understand the balance between nature and craftsmanship, a fusion of creativity, strength, and, most importantly, love. My city was large, sprawling, and modern-looking, but aside from that, it was devoid of anything that could be called real character; this one was different in every way I could have imagined. Mine had been built; Emma’s looked like it had been painted straight onto that single ethereal point where the mountain met the sky. Its bridges spanned dizzying drops, arcing high over open space as though they themselves had no fear of the depths below, where the foundations of the city and the mountain itself faded off into the clouds that surrounded it. Some bridges led to hidden gardens, where trees bore fruit in every color imaginable, their leaves rustling in the eternal daylight. Others connected the grand palaces and temples that overlooked the world below, their walls gleaming white beneath the sun’s embrace.
Farther down, where the mist thickened and the cliffs grew steeper, terraces jutted out from the rock face, their railings adorned with banners that fluttered in the ceaseless breeze. From these vantage points, you could look out to the infinite expanse of the mindscape clouds, yet it wasn’t the mindscape, or at least, it wasn’t part of it that I had ever seen before. It seemed like it was both separate from it, and yet above it at the same time. I supposed that made a sort of sense, considering she wasn’t connected to the mindscape but rather connected to it through me.
There was a romantic sort of poetic symbolism there. She didn’t have walls; she didn’t need defenses. If anyone wanted to hurt her, if anyone wanted to get to her, then they would need to go through me to do it.
Every other city I had been in, with the exception of my own, seemed to have something about it that spoke to the mind of the person it represented. Some looked like medieval towns, others like canal-laced cities; some looked like pinnacles of industrialization. Mine didn’t; mine looked too “new,” for lack of a better term, to have any sort of singular identifier like that. I thought that was more of a statement of who I was than anything else, but Emma had it, too. Her city looked ancient in a way that no other city I had ever seen, but at the same time, it seemed ageless. It was how I imagined an artist would paint their fantasy impressions of Ancient Athens, Troy, Rome, or Carthage, and yet it was so much more. Ageless wisdom mixed with timeless beauty as though this place had always been and always would be. That thought echoed my earlier one in the dream, the fact that Emma had always been there, just out of sight, just like this city had always been here, just out of reach.
But even as I looked around her city, even as we climbed, a huge part of me was just watching her. It had been a while since I had felt the sense of magical wonder that she was feeling now. I suppose it was the same as waking up one day after winning the lottery or something, looking at your bank account for the first time, and seeing that hundred million just sitting there. The sense of “holy shit!” that would instantly come with that. Then, seeing that same number there every day for a year. Don’t get me wrong; you would absolutely appreciate how much it was and how different it was to what most other people had, but that novelty - that “holy shit” moment - would inevitably fade away. Somehow, that hundred million would become normal. The same could be said for my city. I could only ever appreciate how different it was by comparing it to another Evo’s, but even then, that sense of prideful wonder had faded over the long months since I had first felt it.
Not only did Emma feel that “wow” right at that exact moment, but I did, too. not just because this was something new, different, and staggeringly beautiful, but because, through our bond, I felt what she did.
Her eyes, and her awe-filled gaze seemed utterly incapable of fixing on one point for more than a few seconds before flicking to the next, new, breathtaking sight. But it was her eyes themselves that really caught me, even more so than they always had. They were practically dancing with the wonder that filled them. This wasn’t just something new to her; it wasn’t even just something new to me either; this was something much more profound than the comparison between her city and mine, between her mind and anyone else’s; this was her. Every building, every ray of sunlight, every warm kiss of the breeze, and every soft, comfortable shadow. Every pristine white stone, every glinting color, every whisper of promise from every alcoved doorway, every scent in the air, every note of that unending melody- this was her, this was Emma. She was seeing her mind for the first time, but we were both also seeing the utter, stunning beauty of it. Something absolutely and undeniably unique. Something momentous. Something profound and real and true.
Every little detail about every little thing my eyes—her eyes—could see represented who she was as a person. Her hopes, dreams, fears, memories, loves, hates–hell, even her favorite food—all of it was here, laid out in an ever-ascending city that spoke more about the nature of her being and the beauty of her character than it ever could about merely its capacities.
Still, we climbed. We wandered through broad streets and narrow terraces, through hidden gardens and wide open plazas, and up the winding, artery-like staircases. All of them seemed to guide us upward; all of them offered that same spectacular view, and all of it gave me a deeper and deeper appreciation of just how breathtaking this woman was.
But there were other, more practical differences between her city and mine, or any other Evo city, for that matter. An Evo city was a lesson in metaphors; each building, every street, all of it had a purpose, all of it had some deeper meaning. The libraries, the marketplaces, the theaters, forges, mustering grounds, wells, hospitals, and banks all of them meant something. From a building that determined an Evo’s ability to heal or to understand value to a building that governed an Evo’s skill at a particular task or the function of distributing resources around the body, everything in an Evo’s city was a physical manifestation of a mental or biological feature of a living person.
Emma had none of those things, at least not in the same way.
There were no grand buildings denoting biological functions; there was nothing that represented her mental defenses or ability to store information; there was no system of ascending importance of certain buildings or functions based on how close they were to the city’s center; in fact, there was no city center at all. But Emma’s city had something that I realized I’d never seen in any Evo mind. It had dimension. It wasn’t just a sprawling mass of buildings nestled inside a set of walls; Emma’s city had height, and it had depth, just like the woman it represented. There was more to her than a simple set of metaphorical buildings or massive walls, there was character, there was beauty, and there was something singularly unique. I’d never thought of an Evo mind like that, except for maybe my own, and even that was just because it was bigger. Every Evo mind, when the exterior aesthetics were stripped away, was pretty much the same as any other; they weren’t quite uniform, but they were close enough for direct parallels to be made. Emma had no such problem; her mind was one of a kind, as - I now realized - everyone’s mind should be. Without even trying. Without even knowing how, Emma was showing me that there was more to a person’s mind than how it was laid out or how big it was. There was nothing at all in Emma’s city that was even remotely recognizable as a source of power.
Well, almost nothing.
Each building was a part of who she was rather than a metaphor for something someone could do. It was a difficult distinction to make, but I found myself trying anyway. Neither I nor any other Evo had a building denoting our understanding of a concept as simple as, say, our perception of right and wrong. The metaphor would have been obvious, even to me: a courthouse, right? Something that determined our sense of fairness and justice. I didn’t have one, and neither - I was just realizing - did any other mind I had ever seen. I mean, according to my own understanding of Evo cities, we were perfectly capable of understanding value or assimilating skills, but determining if something we did crossed any sort of moral line? Nothing. The more I thought about it, the more that fact gnawed at me. Let’s face it, no matter how noble we claimed to be, no Evo, not even me, was a particularly moral person; the limits we placed on ourselves in terms of abuses of power were entirely governed by that whole “keep your head down or the Inquisitors will get you” mentality. I, for example, had butchered hundreds of people and didn’t feel a shred of remorse for it because, as far as I was concerned, they had it coming. Those who chose to ignore the Inquisitor threat seemed to invariably end up as some power-hungry monster who didn’t answer to anyone higher than their own sense of greed. The tales of endless expansion of Evo powers had, after all, been what initially prompted the war between Evos and the Inquisition in the first place. I momentarily wondered if it was the Dragon who provided our kind with their moral framework, if he was responsible for our understanding of right and wrong, but that was a thought for later.
The point was that this logic could be expanded to cover almost every sentiment that governed an Evo’s character. There was no building denoting a sense of love or loyalty. There was nothing for generosity or wisdom - rather than just plain knowledge - their habits, their humor, even something as universal as their hopes for the future. Everything in an Evo’s city was directly tied to something they could do rather than the person they were.
Emma was the exact opposite. There was no library showing her ability to remember things, but there was a building that reminded her not of what she knew but how she had learned it. There was a building for her self-discipline, another one for her sense of family and belonging. Her memories, the things that were logically and clinically stored in my library, were, in her, spread everywhere, each one framed by the context in which they had been acquired. It was messy, illogical, chaotic, and so beautifully real. Her sense of right and wrong wasn’t tied up in a single building; it was meshed together with the memories that had taught her those lessons - each one repeated in a thousand different ways for a million different subjects - all of them woven together to give her an innate sense of morality. I had been right, for example, when I said that Emma’s visceral reaction to me was because my killing of the enemy went against everything she had ever known, but I had no idea as to how literal the truth of that observation really was. It wasn’t just something she had learned; it was part of who she was.
More than that, there was a marked and profound difference between our buildings’ actual physical construction. My library, for example, was a big building close to my monolithic spire that held my accumulated knowledge. I had never actually been inside it, but I imagined it would look precisely how one would imagine a library to look. Multiple floors filled with endless rows of books, each book representing a memory, a lesson I had learned, or a piece of information I had picked up at some point in my life. My internal editing station had given me the ability to perfectly recall anything that I had ever seen, heard, or learned, and it had also jammed a massive amount of new information into it as well. Some of that information, like my ability to understand computers or to play an instrument, needed my forge - the building next door - to translate that knowledge into an actual, performable skill. Still, there was a logic to how it worked, and more importantly, in this instance, my library looked like a library, or at the very least, it looked like a building. A great many of the more important-looking buildings in Emma’s city didn’t. A lot of them weren’t even buildings in the typical sense at all.
There was, for example, a temple devoted to knowledge, not the storage of it, not the accumulation of more, but an actual temple, a place dedicated to the quest for knowledge. This temple was simply a statement of the importance she placed on learning. Not on what she learned, not a self-congratulatory pat on the back for how much she had learned - like a library was - but just on the value she placed on always learning something new, of always expanding that knowledge, and of always defining herself as a person who wanted to grow, rather than someone who already knew. But physically, it looked completely different from anything I would have imagined. It was essentially a large domed roof held up by six intricately carved marble pillars, and that was it. No walls, no windows, no doors, no rows of bookshelves, just a space of open air surrounded by columns and covered by that beautiful gold dome. Beneath it, inside the temple, there was a fountain that looked like the quill of a feather pen, with water trickling down the feather’s side and into a basin that was wrapped around a stone depiction of a book. There was nothing functional at all about it, but then, there didn’t need to be. This building wasn’t about its size, its majesty, or its ability to serve a purpose; the temple only seemed to care about what it represented. Learning. Not knowledge. Learning.
But that was exactly the sort of mind Emma had. It was one that dealt in concepts, in abstracts, in ideas, not in function. Of course, she was perfectly capable of functioning just as well as anyone else; her lack of buildings dedicated to that was in no way an indicator of a lack of ability, it was just that she - her mind - placed infinitely more value on the idea and intention behind an action than on the action itself.
Then there was the music. There wasn’t some grand concert hall or any other musically themed building, and yet it was everywhere. Its melody whispered past the swaying branches of trees and floated through the broad open plazas. It had no recognizable tune; it wasn’t a song playing on an endless loop, nor was it a progression of different songs on a playlist. It was just music. It was her love of music. Her mind didn’t categorize that into something physical; it didn’t need that. It loved music, so it had it. It was such a refreshingly different approach to the uniform and clinical minds I had encountered before now. Something as simple as her love of it was all it needed to manifest it into something permanent. An unending, gorgeous tune playing to every corner of her city and the mind it represented. It was achingly beautiful.
Just like she was.
There was only one exception to the differences between her city’s buildings and mine. At the city’s highest point stood a grand palace, its walls inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, its steps lined with flowering vines that never lost their bloom. Outside it, almost like it was standing guard before the curved steps leading to the top, there was another statue. I recognized it immediately. It was me. Well, more accurately, it was us as we had been during the fires in front of the castle’s keep. My arm was wrapped around her, holding her close and safe against me, my other hand was stretched out toward the mindscape clouds, my palm facing outwards like I was barring entry to anyone who didn’t belong here. But it was her face that made me pause to look properly. She was looking up at me, her eyes filled with what I could only call fathomless levels of trust. I don’t know if that is how she had really looked at me when I summoned those final fires, but in this statue, I could almost see the awe-filled love in those eyes. But then, this wasn’t just a memory of that devastating battle, either. Nor was its positioning outside her Palace. She saw me as her protector, and I was protecting this spot in her city above all others: the center of her, the core of her mind, I was the guardian of everything she was.
I glanced at her, but she wasn’t looking at me—at least not the me who was currently holding her hand and wandering her city with her. Her eyes were locked onto the me in the statue. I saw a wistful, tender look in her eyes as she recalled the moment when she finally let go of her fear and fully invested her trust and confidence in me. Statues, I already knew from my own city, were representations of core, defining moments in a person’s life. It was oddly flattering to discover that I was already one of hers, even though I absolutely knew that there would already be a statue of her in my city, too.
Eventually, we started moving again. We climbed those steps, one of my hands trailing along the smooth marble railings, feeling the warmth of the stone beneath my fingers, while the other held Emma’s. No words had been spoken; there was no need. I was seeing, feeling, and understanding precisely what she was, and a few steps behind us, Jeeves followed with the simplest of smiles on his face. When we reached the top, we turned to take in the view, and my breath caught in my throat.
The city stretched below us, an endless cascade of white stone and gold, waterfalls and bridges, courtyards and temples, all bathed in the ceaseless light of the sun. Beyond it, the world unfurled in the serene, pristine white of the clouds. Towering banks of them dotted the distance, the sun’s light seeming to reflect off them, so its brightness came from every angle, and they looked like they were stretching into infinity. And above it all, the sky arched vast and blue, an ocean without end.
Even though we had climbed from that platform at the base of her city to its highest point, none of us had spoken even once. Emma’s eyes, like mine, were full of wonder and awe, glistening with happy tears at the sheer magnificence and beauty of it all, but more profoundly, she was seeing just how incredible her mind really was. I suppose it’s easy to be told that you and your mind are something special, but to see it - as I knew from my first time in my own city and the wide eyes of anyone else who had ever seen it - was something else entirely. My hand squeezed hers as we looked out in amazement.
“Is yours like this?” Emma finally asked, after what must have been an hour of wandering around within her mind.
“God, no,” I almost snorted. “Mine is much more...” I frowned, not really sure how to finish that sentence. “I guess mine is much more like every other Evos, just a hell of a lot bigger. Wait,” I turned to Jeeves, “If I can visit her city, can she come to mine?”
That smile on his face grew a little wider. “You are bonded now, and I am here. What do you think that means?”
I squinted at him. “I think it means you enjoy giving me half answers.” Emma was just letting her gaze flick back and forth between us.
Jeeves chuckled. “You don’t really have a city of your own anymore, and neither does My Lady,” he nodded to Emma. “Your cities have sort of ... merged. You are part of each other now, which means that I am, too. I am now the representation of your merged subconsciousness. So yes, you can both visit each other’s cities as you please, regardless of distance. To be honest I’m not even sure there is a boundary between the two anymore.”
My mind was already spinning with the implications of having a shared subconscious, but Emma seemed to have focused on a more pressing matter. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement immediately. “Can we see it now?”
“But we’ve only just found yours,” I answered slowly. “Don’t you want to explore a little more first?”
“Of course, but I can’t really appreciate what I’m looking at without understanding what you’re seeing, and I can’t understand without something to compare it to.”
“Well then,” Jeeves said with a smile, “let me help you with that.”
He stepped to the side and swept his arm out in a grand gesture, like he was wiping away the clouds that dominated our view, which, as it happened, was exactly what he was doing.
The infinite sea of clouds didn’t part like some old biblical story; they just seemed to melt away, fading until there was nothing left except the awe-inspiring and jaw-dropping view of the land of the mindscape, with my enormous, sprawling city directly below us.
I suppose that I’d never been given a proper understanding of just how big my city was, not really. I knew that it was bigger than anyone else’s; I knew that it was a lot bigger, but that doesn’t really translate to an actual physical size. The closest I’d come was the view from the top of my walls or from the balcony that wrapped around my central spire, but, again, that didn’t really help. The only way to really measure the scale of something when you’re right in the middle of it is to see how long it would take you to walk from one side of it to the other. I was now realizing that I had never actually done that. Sure, I could look at it and say that it was about fifty miles or so from the walls to the tower - a guess, at best - but that wasn’t the same as really appreciating how far fifty miles really is.
Anytime I wanted to travel to one of the more remote corners of my metropolis - for example, if I wanted to visit Becky’s memorial plaza - I had just kinda thought of it, and my mind was instantly transported there. On the other hand, I had walked through a number of different cities in my time. Charlotte’s and Sterling’s being the obvious examples. Emma’s city, in terms of simple scale, was about the same size as theirs; there was just a lot of uphill walking. You could walk from one side of it to the other in about an hour. Mine, if I was judging it correctly, was massive enough to make the same journey take about two days.
What that meant, in practical terms, was that the ground beneath Emma’s city was almost completely consumed by the sheer, mind-bogglingly enormous size of my eternal city, with a ring of the mindscape greenery wrapped around it and stretching out to the horizon.
For Emma, what she was seeing was simply a matter of size and splendor, but although I hadn’t really been given this sort of vantage point before, it still wasn’t anything new to me. My eyes weren’t drawn to the enormous scale of my city, though; they were instead pulled to the blackened, still-smoldering parts that had been so badly damaged during the battle of the compound. The damage wasn’t terrible; there wasn’t even a lot of it, and the parts that were damaged seemed to be completely swallowed up by the rest of the city and its shining magnificence, but to me, they were the blemishes that jumped out at me as if they were under a neon light. I had easily, almost effortlessly, beaten back the thirteen armies that had attacked me, but I hadn’t really ever paid attention to just how much damage they’d actually caused. It wasn’t like whole city blocks had been decimated, and the damage wasn’t irrevocable, but the charred buildings, the fire-damaged and cratered streets, and the blackened marks on the mighty marble walls all told that my mind and my city hadn’t escaped rom that fight unharmed. That would be something I would have to look into later.
Mental health, it would seem, sometimes required a bit of repair work to the mind.
“Oh, wow,” Emma gasped, her eyes wandering over the sight as if it were the most impressive thing she’d ever seen, which may very well have been true. “Is that ... Is that all you?”
“Yup,” I nodded. “That’s home. That’s me.”
“It’s...” she struggled for words, just as I had when looking at her new city.
“Big?”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she pressed herself to my side, her arms wrapping around one of mine. She let herself take in the pure majesty of the sight before us as I just smiled, enjoying the closeness and happiness she exudedr. My mind was working differently now, perhaps shaped by Jeeves’s quiet understanding of how all of this functioned beneath the surface. Emma’s city was above mine—not just physically but in meaning. I should have realized it sooner. The clouds, the distance, the way its golden light cascaded downwards—it was never just about height. In the mindscape, nothing was without meaning. And fresh from the dream the Dragon had woven for us, I found myself searching for what this revelation truly meant.
It was a reflection of us, of the roles we played and the forces we embodied. My city lay beneath hers, rooted in structure, in the cold clarity of justice, in the unwavering lines of law and order. Towers of steel and glass, streets built with precision, every system designed to maintain balance. Above it, Emma’s city stood in radiance, a vision of wisdom, rule, and governance, built on the very foundations that mine provided. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became.