Chapter 36: Dreaming

Mary was smiling at me brightly as she sat on the edge of the bed watching me sip my coffee. Slowly, her expression dimmed. First her eyes changed, with the light diminishing like someone inching down the dimmer on a ceiling chandelier. Then, some slight change in the musculature around the lips as if trying to hold the smile in place but losing the enthusiasm for it, making it fake. Finally, the loss of the smile altogether, the shifting of the shoulders, tilt of the head, the little indications she felt rebuffed. She pulled her hand away from me and looked away for a moment before her eyes returned to me again with a question in them.

“What’s wrong?”

I still could not decide if Mary could read my mind. If she could, whether through some natural skill or a talent imparted by Uncle Bert’s programming was not relevant now. The question was, if she could do it, what would she see? I do not mean the cerebrum, the frontal part where my conscious thoughts reside. I mean somewhere in the back, buried amid the clutter, in a dark and dank corner beneath smelly old secrets even I have long forgotten. Back where the devil dog lived.

Her hand moved tentatively towards me again, the tips resting on my thigh, light and still.

“We need to go see the Hermit. Can you call to see if he is there?” I asked.

“Yes. He has a phone if he decides to answer it. It is a long trip, over a thousand miles and we will need four wheel drive to get to him.”

She waited expectantly, wanting me to carry the thread of our conversation. I was silent, watching her.

“That is not the problem, is it? You are wrestling with something else.”

“Breakfast you two,” Andy called out.

“I want to eat in bed this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was said without rancor as she patted my leg, rose and left. I straightened the covers and stared out at the bright sunshine of the day. In a few minutes, Andy came in with a tray and sat it across my lap.

“Does his majesty want company?” she asked, her voice light and teasing.

“No.”

She pulled back, looking as if I had slapped her. She was embarrassed, wearing a little, frightened expression, accented by her left hand closed into a fist above her right breast, her wrist bent slightly angling the fist to her, as she does every time she fears she had disappointed or angered me.

“I’m sorry, Davy,” she murmured. “I meant no harm.”

“I want to be alone.”

“Certainly. Call if you need anything.”

Shutting the door silently behind her, she left me with a plate of eggs, ham, toast, jam, a slice of cantaloupe and two pints of orange juice. Sullenly, I begin to eat. As I ate, I thought.

I have not related to you the time I have spent working on the formula, the hours studying Uncle Bert’s notebooks, or the over a hundred thousand dollars I had spent on supplies and chemicals. Why relate all of that wasted time and money? I was unsuccessful and it was very frustrating. Once, I thought I had it. But, I was wrong.

That is not the issue, however.

You and I know the real issue, don’t we?

We know why I was a madman yesterday, why my good cheer and happy nature has deteriorated to the point of disappearing, why I barked at those darling women this morning.

The power. The goddamned power.

Uncle Bert may have been happy programming sex slaves left and right, fucking every thing he wished. He did not know of Cathy and how she used the power. He did not know she could influence men’s thoughts by focusing on them or by focusing on the thought she wished them to have. Cathy’s ability alone demonstrated what tremendous power the formula would bring.

You could walk into a room, find the sexiest member of the opposite sex and focus. Their attention would turn to you. Their sexual need would explode, their desire for you so great they would do anything. Do you wish to have them strip naked and crawl, begging to eat you? Think it! Do you wish for them to shove aside others, fighting to be your love slave? Think it!

And, it is not just sex. Set yourself up as a charity, some seemingly worthy cause. Walk into the millionaires club with a bushel basket. Leave with it full of checks. They would sell their spouses and children to give their money to you. Wealth accumulation would only be limited by the number of people you could meet and the time necessary to have property transferred to you.

And, the power. Do you wish to have a law passed, say something personal like all women you meet must show you their pussies or all men bow and kiss your feet? Work through our delightful Congress. Go into the Congressional gallery and think. Just think. Soon, the bill is passed and on the way to the President, who will sign it because he is already under your control. Then, it is law. Your law. And, the government must enforce it. When you control them who make the laws, you control the law and the government.

Imagine fifty or 100 or 500 people working in coordinated effort around the globe with the power to walk into a room and alter the thoughts of the occupants, to take over any government by this control.

What if the power could used over television? My God, the implications.

And, Mary’s power, if she could read minds. To be able to walk into a room and know what the others thought. Scan the audience at a world premiere where all the beautiful stars are in attendance. Ah, there is a tasty morsel secretly wishing to be butt fucked. One over there wanting to be publically stripped and humiliated. She would never tell a soul her deepest and darkest secrets, not even her wonderful and faithful lover. But, you would know. Make your approach. Success!

Combine the two. Then, you walk in a room, know who is friend and who is foe. Reward the friend by giving him control over the newly reprogrammed foe.

World domination.

Uncle Bert had no idea of the power he was leaving me. None. But, he knew unbridled power was evil. He said that in the messages he sent me. And, he was right.

Was I strong enough to resist? Would you be?

The fullness of my stomach, the heat building in the room from the sun beaming through the open curtains and my own tired state must have caused me to doze off. I was dreaming again.

I dreamed I was in the living room of the ranch house at Glenwood Springs, sitting in my easy chair. Instead of using my foot rest, my feet were propped up on the back of Cathy, who was naked and on all fours with her pregnant belly hanging down below her. She was not moving. Mary was naked and kneeling at my left, Andy at my right. Mary’s belly was bloated in pregnancy, probably nine months. Andy was pregnant, too, although less far along.

They all had heavy collars around their necks. The collars were at least an inch thick and wide enough to hold their head in a fixed position, like a posture collar, with the leather coming under the chin for control. They had thick leather collars on their wrists and ankles, too. They neither spoke nor moved.

A woman brought me a drink on a golden tray. She was naked and I first saw her bloated stomach heavy with child. She, too, wore leathers. When I looked up at her face, it was last month’s Playmate. As I looked around the living room, I saw the whole house was full of pregnant women in leathers. All their faces had the same dead expression, as if they were zombies or robots, programmed for a master’s needs. From the state of their bellies, I surmised the master felt a strong need to reproduce himself.

When I looked back at the couch, he was sitting there, as a human would, his hind paws crossed, holding a golden chalice in one paw and a cigar in the other.

“I was proud of you yesterday. You are finally beginning to realize what this power is all about. Who did you think was the best fuck?”

It was the second time he had spoken directly to me, the first when he referred to Cathy as a bitch. As I glanced around the room again, all the women had disappeared except my four: Andy, Mary, Lisa and Cathy. The four of them were on their backs in front of me, legs raised and spread, facing me so I was looking at their open and available pussies: Mary with her long, thick blonde hair and ring through her clit hood; Andy shaven; Lisa’s coarse black hair trimmed neatly, with rings through her hood and vestibule; and, Cathy’s bush like mangrove roots, a snarled mess of brown. All four pussies were bloated in need, wet, their own juices and a rich, white cum oozing from them showing they were all freshly fucked.