This story is inspired by a minor character in “The Businessman and the Witchdoctor” by Ice Bear. It is written with his permission and he has my thanks.
Mary Ellen
Second Place:
My name is Mary Ellen. I have a blessing and a curse. My blessing? I am successful. I have plenty of money and a plenty of friends. I have a good job as a lawyer and, oh yeah, I am very pretty. I never tested to see if I could be successful as a model, but I have an above average body and no one has every complained about my face. I am between boyfriends, but I get enough cat calls while walking the streets to know that I still have it.
So, what is my curse? It is never good enough and it never will be. You see, I always come in second place. It does not matter what I am doing or who I am competing against. I am always good, but never quite good enough to be the best.
My therapist says I have a subconscious block that started when I was a baby. You see, I was the youngest twin. Being born a few minutes after my sister set the tone for the rest of my life. At age 6, when I learned to ride my bike, she learned to jump hers. At age 12, when I ed the swim team, she became the team captain. At age 15, when I developed an amazing set of breasts, she grew a pair that were nothing less than spectacular.
I was smart, beautiful, and athletic my whole life. My sister was a goddess that shadowed over everything I ever tried to do. Even though we were not identical twins, we were always expected to be the same. But I was never able to measure up. We were not the same and we never could be.
My therapist also tells me that this is why I have developed an unhealthy obsession with control. In real life, I exercise control by keeping boyfriends at arm’s length and demanding perfection at work. In my mind, I take that need for control further.
Mind control has been a fantasy of mine since the first time one of my boyfriends asked about meeting up with my sister. I was so sick and tired of being compared to her, that I imagined a world where I could make people forget she existed.
That thought grew and became my fantasy. More than a fantasy really. It is an obsession that consumes my thoughts almost all the time. The obsession sits in the back of my mind, always ready to spring forward when given an opportunity.
In a slow moment at work or on a quiet weekend; anytime I let my mind wander the fantasy takes over…. Me, a queen over a small country with total control over the men in the Queen’s Guard…. Me, finding a genie in a lamp and gaining a harem of men at my beck and call…. Or me, simply relaxing on my sofa at home ordering a set of twin brothers to entertain me. And, in every fantasy, there is my sister. She is a maid or a cook or servant. Always there, but always as the one to be forgotten. Of course, as an educated woman and professional, I know that it is just a fantasy. But it is this fantasy that catalyzed my downfall.
The Show:
You see, somehow, even though I know it is pointless, I always end up spending my weekends the same way. I go to some lame hypnosis show or magic act, trying to feed the fantasy of true power with a poor substitute. When I am feeling particularly brave, I will drive out of the city and visit a BDSM club. These trips always leave me feeling more frustrated than satisfied. Power, true power, can’t be volunteered. Doming over some wimpy man with mommy issues is not the fantasy.
This week’s show was supposed to be a little different. I heard from a friend with similar interests that it was “a can’t miss experience.” The act had no name, it simply said: “The Witch Doctor Dega Ualu.” Technically, claimed the ingénue introducing the talent, this was not hypnosis. What we were about to see was something far more ancient and powerful than any mere Svengali mesmerist. What we were about to behold was true magic.
I rolled my eyes.
The lovely young woman bowed—deeply, making sure none could miss a glance at her bounteous cleavage—and stepped aside as the self-described witch doctor took the stage. I had seen a hundred hypnosis shows by this time, and it was the first time in a long while that I was surprised by the act. The man skipped all the normal theatrics. He was bald and clean-shaven. It was hard to pin down his age. Dega Ualu was surprisingly …ordinary. He was dark-skinned but ethnically hard to pinpoint. Dressed in dark jeans and a lighter denim shirt, a worn-looking pair of loafers and a bolo tie, he looked more like he’d wandered in off the street than come to perform.
The first words from his mouth were as casual as his appearance.
“Dance for the people, girl.”
A spotlight shone on the girl to attract the eyes of the audience, but it was wholly unnecessary. The stunning woman was spinning on a cleverly disguised pole and she was enthralling the attention of the mostly male audience. Just as she started to remove her shirt, the spotlight dimmed on her as another brightened back on Dega Ualu. The split to the audience’s attention was jarring. We wanted to keep watching this marvelous woman, but it was obvious that we were supposed to be focused back on Ualu. Then, he spoke.
“You. Woman. Come here.”
It took me a few moments to realize that he was pointing at me. I wasn’t in the front few rows, which are notorious for attracting volunteer hungry people. I just wanted to watch and continue to build my fantasy. But it quickly became clear that he was not going to change his mind and I did not want to make a scene, so I rose and started to walk to the front.
For the first time since the beautiful blonde had started to speak, no one was paying her any attention. Despite the fact that she had removed her skirt and was reaching for her bra clasp, every eye in the room was on me as I cautiously made my way toward the strange evening’s entertainment.
As I approached the stage, the excitement level of the men in the crowd began to increase. It is always a crap shoot to know what kind of person will be called up. These stage hypnotist always try to find the best looking volunteers, but sometimes the pickings are slim. Everyone came for a titillating show, but as I reached the stage, the crowd was, I am certain, starting to feel they may get their monies worth.
“Tell them your name, woman.”
I found myself leaning down to the mic and saying “Mary Ellen Paige” without a moment’s hesitation. It was the first time I thought something might be wrong. Why did I just give my real name to a room full of perverts? I doubted that I had any co-workers here, but there could certainly be people from the courthouse.
“Take in the spirit of the rat”
I can hardly describe the next 10 minutes. It was… odd. I was a rat. And then I wasn’t. My arm suddenly belonged to the waitress and did whatever she wanted, even as my mind fought to make it stop. Then, just as suddenly, my arm was my own again. The whole ordeal felt very strange.
At this point, I was more confused than scared. Nothing overtly sexual had happened and we had to nearing the end of my part in the show. These things always use more than one volunteer. I thought I was going to be getting off easy, considering some of the things I had seen “volunteers” do at other shows. And, despite the embarrassment, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was thrilled. Not because I enjoyed what was happening to me, but because it was real! All my dreams of power and control could maybe, just maybe, really happen. Of course, my imagination always had me on the other side of the leash. I was supposed to be the one in charge, not the one obeying orders.
Still, if it was possible, then I would never rest until I made it mine! I was already imagining all the things I would do next when the man said something that stopped me in my tracks.
“Offer your body to the people”
“ummm, yes. Would anyone like to fuck me?”
The words were out of my mouth before I realized I was talking.
No one answered. It was simply too absurd a request. Everyone expects to see some flashing at a show like this, but a woman with a 9/10 body suddenly offering herself to a crowd of strangers. No one knew what to do. But my brain and my body were no longer my own and I just knew I had to get someone out there to fuck me.
I quickly started to strip out of my clothes. I had come in a woman’s business suit, but I quickly shed the jacket, blouse, skirt, stockings, and even the pedestrian bra. If I had known what was going to happen, I would have chosen better! I was just about to remove my panties when the next instruction was given.
“Keep those on” he said.
Okay, not naked, but it should be enough. It was time to try again. “Would anyone like to fuck me? I’ll do it. Or could I go down on you? You can use me however you want. Anything.” The shock had worn off and now the crowd was ready to react. Men started yelling out to me. Even a few women called for me.
Dega Ualu took control of the situation, he bid me to count the money in my purse—sixty-three dollars— then give it to him. The witch doctor clenched his hand around the bills, gesturing at it with the other hand in mystical-looking ways. Even now, I am not sure if I really saw a shimmer around it or if that is my imagination.
“This money is imbued with your freedom and I keep that freedom for you. Until someone makes me a better offer.”
Four men rushed the stage at once, shoving each other roughly. Only when they got there did they realize they needed to reach for their wallets. One of them backed away, howling that he’d been an idiot not to have more cash on hand. Another raised up a handful of bills to the witch doctor, only to have it slapped away by a third, who firmly placed his own money in the dark hands of the night’s entertainment.
“You go with this man now. He buys your freedom—you negotiate it with him now.”
Owned:
The next few minutes were a blur. I think my mind was still trying to process what was happening. I found myself following this man back to his seat where he rudely patted his thighs and made it clear he wanted to me sit on his lap.
He was dressed in jeans and a button up shirt. Something you would buy at Target or a cheap store at the mall. I was naked, except for my panties, and I sat down on his lap without any hesitation. It turns out, nothing has to actually be said out loud to compel obedience. I knew what he wanted, and I did it without thought.
He proceeded to crudely paw at my breast and my thighs. His hands were rough. Not just in the way he was treating me, but calloused and large. His body was slightly overweight, but certainly not soft. He obviously did a lot of manual labor.
When he started to reach inside my panties, another man, probably the club manager, quickly ran over told me to get dressed. He was obviously very uncomfortable the way the night had gone. Not nearly as uncomfortable as me, but it was more than he had bargained for.
The manager and my new master (when did I start to think of him as master?) started to argue. My brain tuned them out as I tried to figure out what was happening to me.
It was a dream come true. Mind control was real… “It’s a fucking adult entertainment show, why can’t she….” It was my worst nightmare. Had I really just sold my freedom for 64 dollars? “…Seriously, your going to call the cops on me?! What did I do?” Everything I had imagined was real. Mind control was not only possible, it was happening right now, but it was happening to me instead of happening for me. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
That last one was directed at me, and even though I was still distracted, my body obeyed.
The Ride: The man, I still didn’t know his name, grabbed me by the hand and pulled me behind him like I was a child. He dragged me over to my seat where I quickly grabbed my clothes and bag. He didn’t give me time to dress, but I was at least able to pull my jacket on. That is how I ended up in my suit jacket and panties, half walking, half being dragged out the doors of the auditorium and toward the parking lot. While my body was struggling to hide my nakedness and balance my things, my mind was torn between embarrassment at the people staring and dread as I was imagining and all of the things he was about to do to me. I was imagining all the things I would have done to him had the roles been reversed.
“Come on, Keep Up!”
I was no longer being dragged. I was beside him, matching stride for stride as we walked toward an old red pickup truck. At one moment, he was dragging me along and at the next moment I was by his side; the idea of lagging was unthinkable. The dread faded a little as I contemplated the mechanics of what was happening to me. I didn’t decide to obey him. My body wasn’t moved like a puppet and there was no voice in my head. I simply did as he said because my brain never had a chance to do anything else. Like the decision was made by something outside myself. How long was this going to last? The show was over! Surely, I would snap out of it soon.
The dread returned with a vengeance as we got into the truck and he said
“Alright, get those tits out. I want a show on the drive home.”
During the drive from downtown into one of the cities cheaper suburbs, he tested the limits of what this power could make me do.
- Get all the way naked, I want to see the goods
- Holy shit, this is crazy
- Alright, lay back the seat and play with yourself.
- Rub your tits too, I want you to be into it.
- Holy shit, unreal
- Now, keep playing with your tits and stick a finger in your ass. Feet up on the dash so I can see.
I had to stick my finger in the mouth first to get enough moisture to obey, but the idea of not obeying never even occurred to me. This man now owned my freedom. He had bought it for 65 dollars and if he wanted me to put my finger in my ass, that was what I was going to do.
When we pulled up to the cheap apartment complex, I was attempting to suck his dick. This is challenging in a car under the best of circumstance, but I was using my hands to pleasure my own ass and he was groping my tits with his free hand. It made the whole thing awkward enough that he was getting some pleasure, but had not yet finished. There were a few people in the parking lot, but he never bothered to tell me to get dressed and he was in a hurry, so I followed after him as naked as the day I was born and we climbed the stairs to the 3rd floor.
Inside:
In my imagination, I always took it slow. When I dreamed of my first slave, I had him strip slowly. There was music. He would rub my feet and fetch me drinks before the real fun began.
My master had no such control.
As soon as we walked in the door, he stripped off his pants and sat on the couch. He didn’t have to say a word, I knew what he wanted and that was enough. I got onto the knees in front of him and used my hands to lift up my breast. He reached out and used my nipples to guide me up onto my feet. Then he grabbed my hips and turned me around. Embarrassingly, the activities of the drive had turned me on enough that he slid easily inside me as I straddled him.
There was no way he was going to last long. I knew that the excitement of it all was going to be too much for him. But, he did last long enough for me to get a look around the tiny apartment I bounced up and down on his penis. The door we came through entered straight into the living room. It was filled with old furniture which looked like it might have been taken off of a curb somewhere and no two pieces matched. The only thing which stood out was the coffee table, which was far larger than most and made from a solid, darkly stained wood.
Directly behind us, where I could barely see due to having my back facing it, was a small kitchen and I could just make out the start of a very short hallway leading, I presumed, to the bathroom and a single bedroom.
He had a small fish tank which looked to be the only thing in the apartment that got regular care. The surfaces were covered in loose papers, dust and tools.
Just as I finished taking all this in, my prediction on his endurance came true. His grip on my hips intensified and I felt the hot stream fill me. I wondered, briefly, if that would break the magic. Was this whole thing just to get him off one time and then I could go?
But that wasn’t the end. Now, that he was satisfied, it was time for the creativity to begin.
“Wow. Very nice. Okay, Go get cleaned up and then come right back here. Let’s see what your made of.”
Despite the joy of what was happening to him, I could tell that he was, like me, waiting for the shoe to drop. He had rushed because he feared that this was going to end. But, as soon as it became apparent I was still obeying, he pushed to see how far things could go.
Over the next hour he tested my abilities and the limits of the magic controlling me. I stretched to show him how flexible I am. I proved that my tits are big enough for me to lick my own nipples, which led to giving him his first titty fuck. After that, he needed time to recover, so I danced on his coffee table, prepared him a sandwich and massaged his shoulders while he at it. Then, he had me put on an apron and clean up. I washed the dishes that were piled by the sink and cleaned the living room while he watched from the couch. By then, he was recovered enough and he told me to suck his dick again. I was massaging his balls with my palms and licking around his tip when he said
“Alright, it’s time for bed. This is going to be fun!”