Almost, I had fallen down in the bed to go to sleep—and then came booming knocks, thundering at the door. I expected the worst. Celise, backed up by a cadre of SWAT team members with automatic rifles. At that particular point, I felt like I deserved their bullets. When absolute power corrupts absolutely, it also corrupts your ability to rationalize if you've got a moral bone in your body. At that point, I still had one or two.

Instead, though, surprisingly, it was Wallace Sheffield. He was as large as ever, a small umbrella under one hand like a cane. His suit was tailored and blue, and a small gold chain stretched outward from one suit pocket.

“You live in a wretched little place. Did you actually convince my daughter to join you here?”

I suppose we were past the point of “hello”s at that point. Fair enough.

“Usually, we met at her place.”

Not, I thought bitterly, that anything ever happened there. I had been inside Audrey's luxury condo only once—and even then, for less than two minutes while she finished getting ready. The entirety of our dating life really took place in parks, museums, and at the bookstore. It seemed fun enough at the time, but looking back I could see how empty and lacking in intimacy it was. Especially with what I had now. But when you've never been with a girl before, just hanging out around a true beauty like Audrey seems like a religious experience.

“Do you know,” said Sheffield, pointing to the window down the hall, “there was a boy down that street taken up and thrown into the jail not long ago.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh yes. He tried to steal my cell phone.” He held out the phone, a display prop. “Newest model in its class. Ithingzit whatever. 7G, something like that. I can’t be bothered to keep up. Cost me nothing, of course. Would have cost me nothing to lose it. But it’s the principle, you understand? I let the boy take it. And then I called the cops. Later that night, they found him. Arrested him. Promising boy, apparently. Bright future. A football player for the West Side Chargers. You know them?”

“It’s a high school team.”

“That’s right. He had been talking with scouts. This is what the police told me. He had been talking with scouts when they found him. Lots of noise about him on the internet. College hopeful. University hopeful. A future professional player, worth millions. A bright boy. A promising boy. Fell in with the wrong crowd, and stole the phone to impress them. Isn’t that silly? All for pride.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why are you here?”

He didn't mind my questions. “I had them throw the book at the boy, of course. Teach him a lesson. Principle, as I said. It’s very important, principle. Or principles. I suppose a man can’t have too many, unless they begin to converge on one other. Conflate. You can’t have principles that transpose. They must stand independent, like buildings in a city. Clear paths to each. No broken stairwells of logic inside. You understand?”

“No.”

He looked at me and frowned. Disappointed. His analogy, whatever it was, was quite clear to him. He leaned forward on his umbrella.

“I spoke with my daughter recently.”

“Okay.” Suddenly, I very much didn’t like where this was going.

“She said she spoke with you.”

“That’s right.”

“I thought you and I had come to an understanding about such matters. You and her talking.”

“She came to me, man. Don’t get pissy because I was just there. She came to my work.”

“And yet you carried on with a conversation with her. One that she left away from feeling rather threatened, as I understand it. Does that bother you—my understanding?”

I shifted. “No.”

“It should. My understanding puts people in jail. People like you. Bright boys. Promising boys. I tossed a child into jail because he stole a replaceable phone from me, Victor. What do you think I’m going to do with you now that you’ve threatened my daughter?”

Well. Shit.

I tried my best not to gulp. Instead, I smiled.

“Look. If she felt threatened, I apologize. That’s not what I intended. I’d be happy to apologize—”

“Yes. Apologize. And quickly. Thoroughly. That will be the one thing that might save you from a jail cell. Or failing that, enough litigation to drown you in debt for the rest of your life. Do it well enough that she tells me about it. That place you work,” he referred clearly to the bookstore, disdain evident, “is done for. No more money. Not from me. And all the power I wield will thrown at it. Inspectors will find faults, day after day, do you understand? I know all of them. That is the beginning of your punishment. I make the calls on the morrow. Fair warning.”

* * * * *

After Sheffield left, I collapsed into bed. Dreams, or nightmares really, of all the cum-stained faces I had left in my wake flooded every image my brain supplied.

Even so, I slept. I overslept. I was exhausted from the night’s activities and all the bustle from the Festival in the days prior. I was exhausted from fucking for hours at a time, from filling up Dawn’s body and mind with everything I had ever wanted to give her, from spilling out the truth about the entire dirty situation to Mallory. I was exhausted from the fear of what I had done to the book store that I tried so desperately to save, and I was exhausted from trying to brainstorm some new solution to fix everything once again.

I. Was. Tired.

I slept until late into Sunday evening and found my phone blown up with texts.

A sampling from Lori:

8:20 AM - I  need you. I love you. Can't stop fingering myself thinking about you.

9:34 AM - When do we fuck? I need your cock in my cunt.

11:40 AM - Please come fill me up?

12:00 PM - Master. I should have been calling you Master. That's what Mallory calls you. And Big Bro.

1:30 PM – I promise I'm not doing any drugs, Master. I promise, Master. I'm not an addict anymore. I'm not. You saved me, Master.

2:20 PM - Please come fuck me, Big Bro?

3:39 PM - Am I in trouble, Master? Did I make you mad? I'm so sorry, Master.

5:08 PM - I just need your cock so fucking bad, Sir. I love you, Master.

8:15 PM – Please tell me I'm good, Master?

And so on. A lot more than that—all more frequent and urgent. And then from Mallory:

10:42 AM – I told Dawn Master told me to keep her happy and calm, like you said. She asked if she could lick my pussy. That would make her happy and calmest.

11:36 AM – Holy fuck. Mid-thirties lesbian with decades of pussy licking experience.Ughhh.

1:04 PM – I am so fucking pissed at you.

1:06 PM – God I fucking love you.

2:24 PM – I take it back. I think I love Dawn's tongue more than I love you.

2:24 PM – Kidding. But you know that. You know I can't love anyone more than you. You made it that way. Fuck why is that so hott???? I need Dawn's tongue again.

4:18 PM – I know you're exhausted, but I want you to snuggle me and tell me everything will be okay.

7:22 PM – We need to talk so bad. Seriously.

9:30 PM – Dawn loves loves loves licking my pussy. Fifth time today.

Who knew that having a mind-controlled harem would require so much upkeep? As entertaining as it was to have a cadre of women unable to resist your desires, I still very much needed them to be able to take care of themselves as well.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and let the images take me.

Mallory on her back. Dawn’s mouth between her thighs. That long blond hair spilling across Mallory’s stomach, tickling that sculpted core she worked so hard on—for me, always for me.

Mallory’s fingers tangling in those golden locks, pushing Dawn deeper, harder. Both of them moaning. Both of them desperate.
And the thing that made my cock twitch even now, even drained and exhausted as I was—neither of them could finish. Not without me. Not without thinking of me.

Dawn, a woman who had spent her entire life worshipping women, who had never once wanted a man, now grinding her hips against the mattress and whimpering my name into Mallory’s wet cunt. Her tongue moving with all that decades-deep skill and all of it pointed at me. Every flick and press and long slow drag of it dedicated to the thought of my cock. Her entire sexuality, rewired from the ground up, running on one frequency.

Mallory arching up off the bed, her massive tits swaying, her mouth open and making sounds that she only made for me. Gasping my name. Big Bro. Master. Victor. All of it the same word in her mouth, all of it meaning the same single thing.

Only my cock makes them cum. Only me. They lick and kiss for hours—all day, from what Mallory has texted me—and each and every time these two absolute knockouts orgasm, it’s for one fucking reason—me.

It’s hard not to feel like a living god. I don’t want to try to feel like anything else. I do own their minds. I want to fuck them up more. I deserve their submission, their orgasms, their endless lust, their obedience, their bodies, their wombs, and their beauty.

The image of Mallory’s hand fisting in Dawn’s blond hair, both of them saying my name, my name, only my name, kept my cock hard and my chest tight with the kind of pride that has no reasonable ceiling.

I could go over there right now. Mallory’s apartment was close enough.

I didn’t move.

My body refused. Every muscle in my back and thighs and arms had been pushed past what any normal man could sustain. Six hours of fucking Dawn. The Festival. Sheffield at my door. The whole cascading disaster of the past several days had compacted itself into my bones like concrete setting in a mold.

I was hard and I was done. Both things, simultaneously. Such was the life of a god who still needed sleep.

I put the phone face-down on the nightstand and closed my eyes, trying to think before I passed out.

In the darkness of my apartment, my schedule was all screwed up. I was refreshed now, to an extent, but I had to be at work in the morning. Not that I really had to work now—with me basically owning the place, according to the actual owner, and with the store's shutdown imminent as well. But work was where I would start taking steps to resolve everyone's issues.

I knew that if I wanted, I could have Lori over in a heartbeat and solve all her problems with a heavy dose of fucking and cum. But I knew also that the chances that I would control myself—that I would stop from fucking her head even more completely—were rather remote.

I texted Lori back immediately, telling her everything was fine. She was a perfect slave—she was lovely and beautiful and wonderful. She pleased me greatly. I apologized for being silent, and told her we would fuck, for certain, tomorrow.

A fountain of emojis later, she seemed rather pleased with the news.

I didn't know what exactly to say to Mallory. There was nothing else to say that wouldn’t result in her begging me—convincing me, probably—to come over and “talk.” So I stayed silent and wandered off back to bed, struggling not to call both of them and fuck them until they were competing to see who could get the most pregnant.

To occupy my mind, I watched the TV—but it was all romantic comedies and sitcoms on. Lesser men than I complaining and whining about the women who didn't want them. I knew I could fuck and own every last woman I saw on the screen, and have them give up their fortunes for another round with my cock. So, that was too much. I pulled out a book instead, and barely read two pages before thankfully, finally, falling to sleep again. This time, I dreamt of nothing.