I step out onto the dark, rain-swept streets of Chelmerton, pulling my hood up over the cap concealing my long hair. I've played with my powers, assayed some experiments, and I'm ready. I've spent too many years here in the underbelly of a city that's already mostly underbelly, trying to claw my way up and failing at every turn, and I’m done playing by the rules. Tonight begins my rise.

Of course that’s easier said than done. I have big plans, but I can’t jump straight to them, not on my own. My powers are useful, but I need more: I need muscle, someone skilled at gathering information, and someone who can get me into places I’m not supposed to be. Most of all, I need to acquire them in the form of people who won't particularly be missed.

I’ve been scouring old news stories and listening in on a police scanner for weeks. I know who I want, and I know they’re active and out of jail. I just need to know where to find them. But that’s what I’ve been scouring local dark web discussions for, and why I’m on this particular rainy streetcorner.

I approach a man in a shabby raincoat kicking the dirt on the street corner. Despite his appearance, I know he’s the man I need to talk to. I step forward, towering over him. I’m taller than most people I meet to begin with, and the heels on my boots add an extra couple inches to my height. Like my cap and the green contacts I put in before leaving the house, the goal is to make sure that even if someone who sees me tonight describes me to the cops, there won’t be any connection to sweet, struggling little Jenny Miller.

The man looks up as I approach. “Yeah? What are you looking at, chump?”

“Pokenose Paulie?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he says. “Who’s askin’?”

“I’m new in town,” I reply. “But I hear you’re the man to talk to for news the papers don’t hear.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What kinda news?”

"Looking for Punchline, the Jay, or Wrench. Got info on where any of them might be tonight?"

He eyes me up and down, pretty clearly liking what he sees. He’d better; the years of paying off what this body cost me are half the reason I’m still stuck in this dungheap of a town. “And what’s in it for me, eh?” he finally asks.

"A chance to curry favor with your obvious superior, worm," I reply sneeringly. As I do, I push awe and fear into him.

He rides back on his heels, eyes suddenly wider. Success! I think. Some people are harder than others, but it seems like his mind isn’t as guarded as his attitude. Not for the first time I wish I could actually sense that, or anything that would help with using my powers, but nope. My mental powers are all push, no pull.

“Punchline,” he stammers. “I hear she’s planning something at Martial’s Club tonight. Something… big. Well, for her, anyway.”

I grin. "Perfect. Thank you, worm, your service will be remembered." I keep the awe and fear in place, but add a healthy dollop of gratitude at my meager praise.

“Th-thank you… ma’am…” He retreats hastily, ducking his head and almost bowing in reverence.

Thankfully, Martial's Club isn't far. A quick hop on the subway and I'm there, a run-down, industrial-looking place, all that’s left of the factories that used to be everywhere this side of town. Or so I’m told—it was well before my time.

In the distance, I hear what I’m sure is several cars backfiring at each other, eventually followed by a siren as I walk down the dingy street. A flyer whipping by at knee height in a gust of wind is the only spot of color on the dark street as I walk under the static-gray of midnight clouds reflecting the city’s lights.

As I turn the corner onto the block where the club’s entrance lies I see the place is thronging with crowds, unusual given until recently it’s had a pretty mid rep. As I approach, I listen to the chatter around me, and hear several different people saying the words “Big Top” or something similar. I try to listen in more closely; it’s hard with all these people, but I get the impression there’s some kind of circus-themed event happening tonight.

I drift through the crowd to the entrance, trying to project disinterest and incuriosity around me. I don't matter, nothing to see or worry about here... Pushing feelings on multiple people at once is way less reliable, and if I’m honest I’m not entirely sure it works at all, but I make it to the entrance without anybody stopping me or getting mad I’m cutting.

I flash the bouncer my ID and push boredom and impatience onto him. That’s one trick I’ve used a fair bit, so I’m not surprised when he waves me on through.

Inside, the club is rather different from what I expected. It’s a dark, grotty, industrial place, everything I expected from the exterior and the neighborhood, but almost the entire dance floor is taken up with a massive tent, with a chain of gold balloons around its perimeter, gathering towards the back of the club, at least from what I can see. Most of the patrons are busying themselves at the bar, with a general air of waiting for something.

Weird, I wonder if this is Punchline's "something big"? I think. I follow the chain, looking for the entrance to the tent.

It doesn’t take me long to find one—not the main one, but a loose piece of cloth which allows me to sneak in. It’s empty inside, except for a woman busying herself at the center with a large, round, bulky device.

She looks to be in her early 20s, average height, with chin-length, straight, reddish-brown hair, and wearing a long green knit jacket over a lacy purple and black jeans. As I approach, I can just barely hear her muttering to herself, “A joke to them, am I? I’ll show them all…” There’s really only one person she could be: Punchline, just as Paulie promised.

"I just bet you will," I say. As I do, I push curiosity onto her—I want her wondering who I am, not murdering me on a whim.

Her head snaps up. “Who the hell are you?” Her voice is a low contralto, almost soulful.

I push my hood back. "I suppose I'll need to come up with a name eventually. I'll think about that. But for now...” I smile. “Think of me as your new employer."

She laughs. “I don’t think so, sucker. I’m strictly freelance.” She returns to her work, fiddling with the device.

I know her rep: sent to juvie for robbery and assault, and after getting out at 18 almost immediately wanted again for more robbery and some manslaughter. Stories say she’s violent, aggressive, and completely unhinged, convinced she’s the abandoned daughter of crime royalty and ready to kill anyone who says otherwise, but basically just another gimmicky thug in a city full of them. "Ah yes, Delia. Of course. You work alone. So very alone... forgotten, abandoned, nobody believing that the Jester's your father, not even him..." I push loneliness and sorrow.

She doesn’t respond, instead turning back to her work on whatever that machine is. “Whatever,” she says. “Leave me alone. I don’t need you.”

I add to the loneliness, layering in helplessness and the beginnings of an attraction to me. She’s got a surprisingly cute face and looks pretty fit under that jacket, and it’s an easy lever for control. "What if I need you?" I ask.

She falters, staring at her work like she’s unsure which switch to throw as the final step in her preparations. After a moment, she looks up. “What do you mean?” she asks, quietly, far more softly than anything she’s said up until now.

"I'm heading up in the world," I say, slightly increasing the attraction and reducing the helplessness. "I need a team—young, hungry, on the rise together. You're my first pick for that team."

Delia stands and takes a step towards me, raising a hand to her head. “Wh-what… Are you doing to me?”

I grin. "A demonstration of why you should join me. I'm going to own this city." I raise her attraction even further, and add a brief thrill of excitement when I say the word own. At the same time, I bring her helplessness down another notch.

She smiles and straightens up. “Kinky. Confident too, I like that. Still, I told you, I work alone. And you don’t want to miss the big surprise, do you?”

"Definitely kinky," I say, adding more attraction and another thrill. "And I'm certainly looking forward to what you're planning on doing to these fools that underestimated you... But wouldn't it be fun to have a repeat audience for once?" I add another thrill of excitement.

“Mmmm…” she squirms, the smile growing, and stalks closer to me. “I guess a… partner in crime to the clown princess doesn’t sound too bad…”

I step in still closer and stroke the fingertips of one hand down her jawline, adding still more attraction and excitement. "No, it doesn't, does it..?"

She gasps, shivering. “It’s a Jester-Gas bomb. I’m going to turn these sheep into my insane posse. Wanna see some chaos?” She looks up at me with need in her big brown eyes—not sexual, though the squirming suggests there’s some of that in the mix, but like she’s begging for approval after letting me in on a secret.

Which, I suppose, she has. "I'd love to," I say as I push more excitement and attraction. "I assume you have a safe vantage point to watch?"

She nods. “Up in the eaves.”

I offer her my arm. "Shall we, my dear?"

She takes a remote out of her pocket, and then takes my arm. “Let’s dance, partner…” She leads me out of the tent into a backroom area of the club. Somebody glances at us as we enter, but I push disinterest on them; either because of my powers or because Delia has somehow persuaded the club staff she’s a legitimate event organizer. From there, we take a metal staircase up into the eaves, where we can easily watch the carnage she’s about to trigger below.

I stand behind her up there, tracing fingers along her shoulders and arms, increasing her attraction and excitement still more. "Ready when you are, lover," I whisper in her ear, and then bite it just hard enough to hurt.

She manipulates the remote, and a dance remix of circus music begins to play, along with a pre-recorded message: “Welcome, all, to the greatest show in the world!” We watch as the crowd file into the tent, able to watch them through openings in the top.

I can see Delia noticeably getting more and more jumpy, eager, and horny—she’s breathing hard, her face and what I can see of her collarbone are visibly flushed, and even through her blouse and presumably bra I can see the outline of her nipples. Her finger hovers over the large button in the center of the remote, and she leans back into me, sighing in pleasure.

I nibble at her neck. "Do it," I whisper. "Press the button." I wrap my arms around her waist and lift the hem of her blouse to begin to tease the skin of her belly.

“Mmmm… yesss…” Delia turns to me and, grinning presses the button. Below, the device blooms open, but something’s wrong. Instead of exploding into the air, it just hisses, and only a tiny wisp of green gas emerges. The crowd just shrug, and continue partying.

“Shit.” Delia’s face is a mask of pure disappointment, shading into panic.

I kiss her, hard, adding another thrill and a rush of delight. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes wild, she sobs, uncontrollably. “It’s not fair! It didn’t work! I hate this!”

"Shhh," I say, patting her hair and projecting soothing calm. "This is why we need a team. You and me, we're big picture thinkers, idea-havers, creative types. We need technical-minded henches to handle the piddling details so our plans can live up to our grand visions..." I kiss her again, and push another thrill of delight, excitement, attraction.

Delia melts into me, seeming to forget her troubles momentarily. Breaking the kiss, she buries her face in my chest and murmurs, “Get me out of here, whoever you are.”

"I thought you'd never ask," I reply.

I don't really have a lair yet—that needs either money or the knowledge of where to squat, and I'm planning on acquiring both by means of recruitment—so I take her back to my apartment.

"This place is, um, nice, I guess?" she says.

"Not really," I reply. It isn’t—a studio in a less-bad-but-not-great neighborhood, with barely enough room for a couch, a TV, and a bed. Closing the door behind me, I pull her to me, again sending delight, excitement, and attraction through her.

"Fffuck..." she whimpers, before pushing me away momentarily, and fixing me with a hungry stare. "What are you?"

"The next big thing," I reply. "Future ruler of this city, if not more." I grin and turn her desire up a notch. "And the gal who's going to be giving you the best lay of your life in a few minutes."

She squirms as I flood arousal through her. "Oh, gawd... yesss...."

I take her chin in my hand, tilt it up, and kiss her again, this time adding in feelings of submission alongside the thrills of pleasure and arousal.

The weight of her in my hands begins to increase as her knees begin to buckle. "I just want to be taken seriously..."

"You will be," I say, guiding her down to her knees. "You are going to be the enforcer, and lover, of the queen of Chelmerton, first among all my slaves." At the word slaves I flood her with pleasure, desire, and submission even more intense than before.

I can see the war happening in her face, the confusion as the feelings I’m giving her push down her desire for independence, for power. I only know what she’s experiencing because I’m making her experience it, making her want to let go, to surrender. I’m making my voice, my touch, my power just feel so right.

"Yes,” she purrs, smiling up at me. “I am your slave..."

"Good girl," I reply, and reward her with a wave of pleasure and submissive lust. As I do, I drop my pants and panties as quickly as I can, revealing slender, smooth legs and my hard cock. "Show me how you can serve me..."

"With pleasure...." Her smile morphs into a maniacal grin, and her fingers begin to lovingly caress and stroke my cock, giving me little thrills of arousal and pleasure of my own.

"Mmmm," I sigh, and reward her with another burst of pleasure as I stroke her hair.

She gets to eager work, her lips surrounding the head of my cock as she begins her ministrations. I crank her pleasure and desire higher the deeper she takes me, and soon she’s given over completely to the task, her moans vibrating along my shaft as I facefuck her.

I can feel myself getting close, so I pull back suddenly. "Stand up," I order. "Strip for me."

She nods, and rises, slowly. As she begins to undress, she holds my gaze steadily. "They never took me seriously. Always respected and feared him, not me. I was always just... just a punchline, to a joke he got credit for. But with you... we can rule this city, and I can have my revenge..."

"That's the idea," I reply, enjoying the show. I toss a little bit of satisfaction into the blend of emotions I'm pushing. "People won't even remember his name by the time we're through."

Naked now, her tight little body as lovely as I’d imagined, she laughs and stalks over to me. "Good. Very good..."

I've finished stripping myself in the meantime, so I grab her hips and pull her against me for another hard kiss, again hitting her with pleasure, desire, and submission.

"Please... please.... please...” She moans. “Don't hold back! Make me your slave!"

I push her backwards over the arm of the couch to land on it on her back. "With pleasure," I reply, climbing over myself and beginning to stroke teasingly up her thighs, amplifying the pleasure and desire of every touch.

She melts into the sofa, her hands tight on my back. “I can feel it,” she murmurs. “Feel myself surrendering my body, my mind, everything I have, to you…”

I thrust into her, and as I do I open up the floodgates: all the pleasure I'm feeling as I fuck her cycling back into her, all the satisfaction of claiming her transformed for her into the satisfaction of being claimed. Her eyes are wild as she pants and gasps, her future with me, for me, anything for me, sealed.

I fuck into her over and over, claiming her completely, pushing her higher and higher until I feel her trembling on the verge of orgasm—and then I hold her there, using my powers to keep her from tipping over. "Call me Mistress," I command.

"Fuccck...” she groans. “Fuck... yesss... yesss... yesss... YES! MISTRESSSS!!"

"Is there anything you wouldn't do for me?" I demand.

"Nothing!" she screams. "Your rule is supreme!"

"Then cum for me, slave!" I shout as I start to cum myself, pumping her full of my seedless spunk while I not only release the hold on her orgasm, but amplify it.

White heat envelops her as we reach climax, and she cries out. “Thank you..! You found me..! saved me..! made… me… a-NEW!” As the comedown hits us both, she snuggles under me, seeming quite happy to be a sex kitten for me.

I idly pet her perky breasts—not large, but perfect handfuls—as we snuggle. "This is the start," I say. "You'll be the one that scares people, or takes them out if necessary. I'll manipulate them in other ways. We'll need a couple technicians for our little group too... I'm thinking maybe your acquaintances the Jay and the Wrench..."

"Mmmm, of course, Mistress...” she replies sleepily. “I'll lead you right to them...."

"And then I'll fuck them into loyal slavery just like you, won't that be fun?” I give her a kiss on the temple.

She giggles. "Oh yes, we can be your Birds of Praise...."

I grin broadly. "Oh, I like that. I've been trying to think of a good name for myself and our new gang... how does Psyqueen and the Birds of Praise sound to you?"

"Perrrrfect...." she purrs.

"Wonderful. How about I order us some Chinese, and we take to the bed for the rest of the night?" I can feel my mind tiring from all the emotions I’ve pushed tonight. I’m going to need a break and some protein before I can deepen her conditioning and submission. The feelings I put on people don’t last long, at least at first, so I really need her to get fully addicted to serving me, so used to obedience being pleasurable that she feels it whether I push it or not.

“That sounds wonderful, Mistress,” she replies, and pulls me in for a kiss.