Mind Control Has Its Uses [NC] [Kidnapping] [Magical Realism]

Part 1

I’d spent years perfecting my art, but these days I spent more time dealing with the minutia of life than doing what I love. The problem with mind-control magic was that it took significant time to work, so I couldn’t turn every idiot that got in my way into a mindless footstool. Instead, I was stuck dealing with bad drivers, accountants, hold music, and the fucking HOA just like everybody else.

So I didn’t want to waste time and money putting up Christmas decorations. If I’d known that was a legal requirement to buying a house in this admittedly very nice neighborhood, I would have thought twice. I considered myself a good neighbor. I take my trash cans in on time, I overpay a local kid to mow my lawn, and my house is in very good repair.

That wasn’t enough for Catherine, the busybody HOA chair. I understand that being the young second wife of a prominent local businessman can lead to some insecurity, but she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in finding and fining every possible little issue in our neighborhood. I had the misfortune of living across the street, and she had the misfortune of hating me. At least, that’s how I saw it. I didn’t know how else to interpret a $300 fine for not having enough holiday cheer.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. Being the best interrogator the CIA ever had came with a lot of money, a lot of perks, and only a little guilt. Besides, I told myself, it was the subtleties of mind control magic or waterboarding. I know which one I’d pick.

Thankfully, as an external contractor, they didn’t want to know my methods, so my secrets stayed safe. I walked into a windowless room at a black site, spent a few hours with whoever had information, walked out of the room, told the officer what they needed to know, and went home with a big fat check for “consulting” from any number of legitimate fronts.

All of this meant I had a lot of time on my hands, minus the bad drivers, accountants, hold music, and fucking Catherine. I was friendly with Jim from across the street, and I felt for him. His wife had passed away a few years ago, and along came a 25-year-old with a perfect body, lovely face, incredible ass, and the soul of a jackal. What happened next was a foregone conclusion. Fucking Catherine.

Fucking Catherine… Now there was an idea. Fucking her over, of course. She wouldn’t get to enjoy sex with me. The CIA had offered me favors over the years, and I’d always declined, but this time I decided to call one in. Nothing crazy, just some surveillance. At least I’d be able to hear her plotting to measure the clearance on my mailbox.

I put in a call, told the team when the house would be empty, and let another team set up a nice little surveillance suite in my ground floor spare bedroom. I’d only asked for sound, but they decided to give me video from a few rooms as well, including the master bedroom. I didn’t complain, but if she started putting the moves on my friend, I was not going to watch it out of respect for him. 

Thankfully, she was home a lot more than he was, often with her best friend Nicole over. It wasn’t enough for her to use him for his money, she had to share it around her friends too. I’m sure many people would give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she felt something akin to love for Jim. Not me. I looked in those eyes and saw nothing but greed.

Late Thursday morning, I saw Catherine’s Range Rover pull into the driveway and watched her and Nicole step out after what I assumed to be an overpriced workout class. It definitely worked. Both of them were in matching booty shorts and sports bras that swelled in all the right places. Long, toned legs, tight stomachs, and boobs that pushed the boundaries of believable or fake. They each showed a light sheen of sweat.

“I am in desperate need of a protein shake, Nikki.”

“Me too.”

“Could you believe it’s been…”

The mics in the kitchen were overpowered by the sound of a $700 blender. I took the headphones off my ears and leaned back in my chair, watching my enemy in her kitchen. The sound of the blender started to fade and the voices came back in.

“… I think it’s been long enough that we can put together a plan,” I heard Catherine say. “I’ve been stuck with this little-dick loser for way too long already.”

“You’re really going to do it?”

“It’s been my plan from the start, I already told you.”

“But your life is so great already! You’d really… go that far?” I could hear some stress in Nicole’s voice, and saw her lean across the marble countertop toward her friend.

“He’s so old anyway, it’s not like a heart attack would come as a surprise! I want to live life to the fullest and go find some dumb himbos in Tulum, and I can’t do that tied to this loser.”

I had encouraged Jim to get a prenup when he’d married Catherine. Come to think of it, that may be why she hated me. I knew it included strong clauses against infidelity and also included a suspicious death clause. I’d thought the last one was overkill, but she was proving me wrong.

“One injection between the toes while he sleeps and it looks like a heart attack. I play the grieving widow for about a week, then I’m free to sell this suburban pile and move to a real city.” My heart jumped briefly at the thought of the thorn in my side departing my neighborhood for good, but then my calloused conscience took over. My neighbor was plotting murder.

There had to be something I could do, someone I could tell. But the voice recordings I had were technically illegal. I’d get in trouble for sharing them with Jim, let alone the courts. I’d burn bridges at the CIA and probably lose my job. I may even go to prison. I had to do something, though. I turned back to the video monitors.

Nicole had gone home. I knew she stood to gain plenty if her friend murdered her husband, and she would never stop her. Catherine had entered the master bedroom and started to undress. I started to avert my eyes, but they were drawn to the scene by both my fascination with hearing a murder plot, and good old fashioned lust. Fuck, she had an amazing body. Apparently, her breasts did not need that too-tight sports bra to stand up on their own.

Damn it, I needed to keep it together. This bitch was going to murder my friend. I had to look though, to see where she was keeping the injector. Maybe I could sneak in and steal… oh fuck, she was good at shimmying out of those leggings. And no panties for her, of course. I had to look, just to see if she kept any weapons on her. Not that her clothes left anywhere to hide.

Surprisingly, she didn’t walk into the master bathroom for a shower. I didn’t have a camera in there, and losing visual would have given me a chance to compose myself. I could feel an erection starting, despite my best intentions and my anger. Why did the bitch have to be so fucking hot. I watched as she climbed up onto the bed, fully naked now. She reached into a bedside drawer and pulled something out. Was it the injector she’d talked about? My eyes strained against the pixels on the screen.

A buzz on the audio feed told me that what she held was not a weapon. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as she laid back on the bed and opened her legs. I knew what would come next. I heard a moan leave her lips as she touched the vibrator to her already wet clit. I was rock hard, hating myself for how much she turned me on. Then I heard what she was moaning.

“Fuck you Jim, your money is mine, you deserve to die, fucking little dick, I’m going to be rich…”

I got angrier and angrier. I even lost my erection. I had to do something. Then it occurred to me. I knew her front door code from my CIA team. She was making enough noise that she would never even hear me come in. I could get in, steal her murder weapon, and get out while she was getting herself off to the idea of killing her husband. If only I knew where it was.

“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed a roll of duct tape from my garage and walked out the door. I had to stop this bitch one way or another, and I knew duct tape would fix it. I still didn’t have a plan, just an overwhelming desire to set the world right. My dick getting hard as I walked across the street had nothing to do with that bitch, I’m sure.

I walked up the front steps, punched in the code, and quietly opened the front door. Thankfully, our houses were at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, and I knew the neighbors were out of town or at work. As I walked into the house, I could hear her moans coming from the open bedroom door, and the buzz of the vibrator gave my footsteps cover.

I paused for a moment, trying to think of the right way to do this. As I did, I heard Catherine’s moans turn to screams. Damn, she was about to climax. I’m not sure what broke in me at that moment, but I knew that this bitch did not deserve one more bit of pleasure. I burst into the room.

I could see her face roll through shock, embarrassment, annoyance, and right back to the usual expression of disdain she reserved for me. At the very least, I’d definitely ruined her orgasm. Before she could say a word, I jumped onto the king-sized bed, roughly grabbed her ankle, and flipped her face-down. It occurred to her about a half a second after I shoved her face into a pillow to start screaming, but by then I was kneeling on her gorgeous, perfect ass, forcing her hands together behind her back, and ripping the roll of duct tape around them.

“I know what you’re planning, bitch,” I said into her ear as she struggled against my knee in the small of her back. I used my body weight to keep her pressed down into the pillows. If she could barely breath, it was better than she deserved.

“Mmmmfgh!” Was her only reply. I was enjoying this way more than I should have. But then again, shouldn’t everyone enjoy justice being served? Her lithe naked body struggling beneath my knee was intoxicating. I felt my erection grow again. It was just from doing the right thing, I told myself.

But what was the right thing to do now? I duct taped her ankles to her wrists in a secure hogtie, more to prevent her from escaping than out of any thought-out plan. I also triple-wrapped some duct tape around her bitch mouth, making sure to get plenty of her hair stuck in it. No matter what happened, I wanted her to feel some pain before she got to speak again.

As her struggles got weaker and weaker beneath my knee, a plan came to me. I’d let Jim borrow a wheeled trash can last week for his yard cleanup, and it was sitting in his garage, waiting for us both to be home at the same time so he could return it. Now seemed like a good time to take it back, and take some trash back with it. I tossed Catherine over my shoulder, carried her struggling body to the garage, and lowered her into the bottom of the trash can, knees first. At least it smelled like pine boughs instead of kitchen trash. She deserved worse.

I hit the garage opener and started wheeling the trash can back to my place. It rocked back and forth a bit, doubtless from Catherine’s struggles, and I made sure to bounce it off the curb on the way to my house. I parked the trash can in my garage and walked calmly across the street. Nobody had seen me, and our cul-de-sac remained empty. I parked Catherine’s car in the garage, straightened the bedspread, locked the front door, and closed the garage door. Finally, I walked back into my garage.

I had stayed on the straight and narrow most of my life, at least with regard to the rules of my craft. I could hear my old master’s words echoing in my head. “Nothing will leave you emptier than sex without love, and no sex is as loveless as that compelled by your magic.” But this bitch had used loveless sex and plotted against my friend. It seemed only fitting that I would use loveless sex to punish her. Damn, justice turned me on.

Part 2

I threw Catherine over my shoulder and carried her down the stairs to my basement lair. It sounded funny to describe it that way, but there was no better description. It was where I kept the tools of my trade, the accoutrements of my magic, and where I practiced my skills. Typically, I’d practice in a meditative state or on an animal, not on a human subject, but I did have the proper restraints and equipment for when the Agency had asked me to interview someone on short notice at home.

I should have blindfolded her as well, but duct tape on the eyes seemed a little cruel, even for a bitch like her. Instead, I flipped her off of my shoulder into one of my most treasured possessions, The Chair. I’d spent years focusing my magic to its resonance, and it made the effects of most of my efforts permanent. It also had the benefit of built-in modular restraints.

As I cut the duct tape on the bitch’s feet to put them into the restraints, she started to struggle. I could feel her fighting to both strike the back of my head and wriggle away from me in general. This wouldn’t do at all. But this was why the other half of my basement was a well-used home gym. I forced her feet into the restraints on the legs of The Chair, trying not to notice how this spread her still-dripping pussy wide open. I’d taken away her orgasm, but she seemed as horny as ever.

With her feet restrained, it was easy to force her wrists into the restraints. And there she was before me, the sexiest murderer I’d ever seen. Still naked from her self-pleasure session earlier, and still glistening with the lightest sheen of sweat. I suppose I couldn’t quite call her a murderer. After all, I’d prevented that. Regardless, it was time to punish her.

I slowly peeled the double layer of duct tape off of her mouth. My basement was soundproof. She could scream all she liked. I wanted her to scream. I could see her face strain with every strand of hair the duct tape pulled, but a brief glance downward showed me that her pussy was wetter than ever. “What the fuck is wrong with this bitch?” I thought to myself as I peeled off the last layer of duct tape from her lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch?!” She screamed as the duct tape came off. I had not missed her voice. At least she had less vocal fry when she was screaming. She continued to struggle against the restraints, and her pussy was dripping with… sweat? I focused my magic and reached into her mind. Under the anger, fear, and helplessness, there was something else. Arousal. She was turned on by what I had done.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I said right back, in a somewhat more restrained tone than her initial query. “I heard what you were planning to do. I know you’re plotting to kill your husband. To kill my friend.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! You know the prenup means I can’t get away with it being suspicious!”

The fact that the prenup was the first thing on her mind when I talked about murdering her husband was confirmation I didn’t even need. I sent another probe of magic into her mind, and this time changed her priorities. I couldn’t change things quickly, but I started moving one idea in particular - pleasing me - up in her mind. I needed her to reveal the murder weapon. I needed the proof.

I slapped her across the face.

“You were planning to inject him with something to give him a heart attack. I want to know what it was and where you were hiding it.”

She let out a moan. “How the hell could you possibly know that? Were you creeping on me?”

Countering an accusation with an accusation. She wouldn’t do too poorly in an interrogation room. But she’d already revealed too much, and it was only a matter of time until I got the full truth out of her. Not to mention that the bitch seemed to be getting turned on by her situation, even against her will. I continued my magical push on her priorities, and slapped her again.

“Oh fuck yes!” She moaned. “You like slapping me like that, don't you? Please give me some more. Please, I’m so close.”

I once again asked myself, what the fuck? Either she was a masochist, extremely horny, or my magic was working differently than usual. Oh well. She deserved some violence, the murderous bitch. I slapped her across each cheek with each hand, hard enough to leave a mark this time. She let out another long moan.

“I want you to tell me where your murder weapon is.” I said, while pushing again on her mental priorities with my magic.

“Oh my god! Fuck!” Her entire body convulsed against the restraints. Was the bitch really that turned on? She was on the edge of an orgasm already. All I’d done was violently subdue her, tie her up, throw her in a trash can, take her to my basement, tie her to a chair, and hit her. If that’s what turned her on, she was in for a long night.

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you everything.” She said, looking up at me. “I’ll do anything to please you, just please make me cum. I need to finish.”

What a horny little slut. No wonder she wanted more than her older husband. But she didn’t have to kill him. I reached into her mind with magic again, examining her emotions and feelings. Her number one priority now was to orgasm. It felt like pleasing me had moved up the list, although protecting herself and her secrets were still priorities.

I locked her wrist restraints together over her head and removed the ankle restraints from The Chair. In one swift motion, I threw her over my knee and used my elbow to shove her head down toward the ground. I locked her hands to a hard point on my left and her ankles to a hard point on my right, securing her across my lap. She barely even struggled as my hand descended to her bare ass.

“You. Are. A. Worth. Less. Bitch.” I punctuated each statement with a full-power spanking. My handprints stood out red against her creamy skin, contrasting with the bikini tan lines on her ass. I wasn’t holding back. She deserved this and much worse. I didn’t like how much pleasure she was getting from it, but I needed my answers. I kept spanking her, so hard that my hand started to hurt.

Her rising screams and moans as she got closer to orgasm annoyed me. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the crescendo to reach its climax. “Fuck yes!!!” I heard as my final spanking descended, along with my final insult, calling her the horny cunt that she was. Her body convulsed over and over, then finally went slack.

I unlocked the floor hard points, tossed her back into the chair and re-attached the restraints. “Now, I want to hear the whole story,” I said. I probed her mind once again, and saw, to my satisfaction, that pleasing me was now her number one priority. Usually my magic didn’t work that fast. Unless that orgasm had something to do with it.