I’ve always been a fetishist.
Well… not always. But basically as long as I’ve been sticking my hands down my pants. It started with Saturday morning cartoons, I think. There was always that one episode where the female sidekick gets hypnotized by the villain, probably by some kind of chip or necklace. And then they’d stand there with perfect posture for the rest of the episode, sometimes fighting the good guys at their new master’s command. Seeing those empty eyes on those beatiful women made me realise two things: One, I'm into girls. Two, mind control really gets my girl parts going.
I know, I know. It’s the most run-of-the-mill origin story for that particular fetish. But honestly, how many other scenarios are there to acquire that kink? Still... kind of bland.
But here’s the next thing: Any and all semblance of things being ordinary went out of the window on July 17th 2023. One whip by a galactic superstring, and the world would never be the same.
In the first few years of upheaval it almost looked like the combined bigotry and fear of those left unchanged would be enough to wipe those of us that had been capital-T-Touched off the surface of the Earth. Thank God we somehow threaded the needle and came out the other end with a society that begrudgingly accepted that the people with shifted DNA were still the same people they had been before. Some were brave, some were meek, some were driven and generous, some were selfish, some were kind, some were assholes. In short: they were just as human as before.
Except for some minor superpowers.
And when I say minor, I mean seriously minor. Any more than that and I don’t think we would have made it through without being exterminated. Thankfully there were no Touched that could lift cars over their heads, and none that could fly, or call down lightning. No. The strong were maybe twice as strong as their biology should allow. The fast were twice as fast. Some could summon electricity, or cold, or heat – at about eight-hundred watts, tops. Some could change their mass, or apply impossible reactionless force – enough to slowly hover or to throw a heavy book with their minds. Not cars, nor people, nor planes.
The Touched weren’t gods; they were God’s exercise in Irony. They had impossible powers unexplained by physics – but none of them were strong enough to be more dangerous than a moderately fit dude with a knife and nothing to lose.
None of them except for one. But more on that in a bit.
As for me, well – I ended up with a pretty neat trick where I can change the pigmentation of my skin and hair. Well, technically it’s some microstructural, light-diffraction thing. Butterfly wings do it, too. Point is, I can be any color. Bright pink. Midnight black. Tiger stripes. Checkerboard.
You’re probably wondering if I can camouflage myself. Nope. Too hard. I can match the shade of the drapes, but that’s about it. My body is theoretically capable of displaying complex patterns, but I would need to constantly visualize a perfect image of my surroundings. It’s like playing twenty musical instruments at once.
I also have this thing where my eye color is basically a mood ring unless I focus on keeping them their natural brown. Make me angry, and my eyes literally turn red.
But enough about how me and my parlor-trick superpowers got here. The thing you’re probably wondering is who that one person with actually dangerous powers is.
The answer lies behind the door I’m currently standing in front of. The one Touched person in the world that could conquer it.
The woman that I investigated.
The woman I blackmailed.
I look at the sign on the door again. It reads: ‘Evelyn Ernst, CEO’
I know that she is waiting for me, and I honestly can’t put it off any longer. I knock, a female voice beckons me to step inside, and I do. And as soon as I close the door behind me, I get the inescapable feeling that a giant beast just swallowed me up. My editor doesn’t know I’m here. No one knows I’m here.
Lorely Ernst’s office is enormous, large enough to dwarf an entire apartment. The floors and ceilings are shiny dark wood and the three walls are paneled in slate. At the end of the room, in front of a wall of windows overlooking Manhattan stands a featureless desk, behind which sits the CEO of Sirius Inc.
It looks appropriately Bond-Villain-esque for who Evelyn Ernst turned out to be. I am immediately impressed and intimidated, which is the obvious intended effect.
The office is large enough for Ernst’s face to be hard to make out. She says nothing at all as I approach her, and my footsteps reverberate through the empty air like I’m in a church.
As I get closer I see that Ernst is closely watching me with raised eyebrows. A curious expression, devoid of any sort of concern or alarm. If I didn’t know any better I would think it was her Idea to have me here. She doesn’t look at all like I threatened to spill her darkest secret to the world. I should be confident. I should feel some power over her. Instead my pulse quickens as I feel her eyes bore into me.
I continue, and sit down on an upholstered chair across from her. Still, she says nothing.
This was a mistake, something inside of me insists. But I know it is too late now. I am in the jaws of the beast. She knows why I am here. She knows that I know. She knows that I know that she knows.
“I received your email,” she says. Her words fly straight as an arrow. Her tone is crisp. Steady. I suddenly have to think of a martial artist ready to strike, body tense, all muscle, all control. There would be no wasted movement, no sloppiness, no mercy.
For a moment I wait for a follow-up. When none comes, I clear my throat.
“‒quiet.” she interrupts, only raising her voice slightly. But even this is enough. I feel something burn at the back of my mind, and my lips shut tight. My heart skips a beat and my eyes go wide as I taste her power.
She smiles as she watches me react. I am unable to speak. For a moment I try out of sheer curiosity, but even the idea of it has become exhausting and forbidden. I have to be quiet now.
“I would usually tell you that you shouldn’t have come here,” Ernst says. “That you were naive. That you underestimated me.”
She stands up from her chair and begins to slowly circumnavigate her desk.
“But you know exactly what you’re in for, aren’t you? Answer truthfully.”
“Yes,” I say. The words feel heavy as they spill out of my mouth. “You are Touched and can control minds. You can make people your slaves. Make them your pawns. Make them want it. You keep it a secret. You enslave anyone that knows. You will enslave me because I threatened to out you.”
She nods, and a thin smile spreads across her lips.
I swallow hard. My pulse is racing now. Saying the words out loud had been both terrifying and arousing in ways that no fantasy could have prepared me for. I knew this would happen. But now it is real. I said it to her face, and she is only nodding. Not denying it. Not looking confused, or startled or surprised. It is true.
And that means there is only one way in which this is going to end. A shiver rolls across my skin.
I look into her eyes.
“I want it,” I say, but my voice sounds like it is ready to break.
For a moment, her smile remains unmoving as she probes me with her unerring gaze. Her face is as beautiful as the rest of her. Not even forty years old and already one of the most powerful individuals in the world. Slim. Elegant. Her dark hair is a piece of dignified performance art. The alert glimmer in her eyes feels sharp enough to draw blood. Her lips are something I dreamed about and touched myself to. If there’s anyone to lose myself to, it is her.
And still, my heart is hammering in my chest as she musters me. Her gaze wanders down my body, and I can feel my chest rising and falling and my skin shiver.
Finally she speaks.
My skin turns red in embarrassment, and it’s not because of my powers. My eyes must be a deep shade of purple by now. I have to tell her. She commanded me to tell her, so I do. I tell her. I tell her everything. All of my dreams. All of my forbidden fantasies. All my dirty thoughts. My ears glow hot with the shame of baring my perverted soul as it all spills out of me.
When I’m done, I feel that wetness has seeped into my panties. She can’t see it, but part of me wants her to.
If Evelyn Ernst is in any way disturbed by what I just told her, she doesn’t show it.
“Interesting,” she says. “And quite a relief. I was worried that you had some sort of clever plan. A collaborator. A dead man’s switch.”
“No.” I say shakily. “I just wanted to get here. In this room. In front of you.”
But even as I say it, doubts creep in. Now that I am here, and I have no more choice, my hindbrain screams at me to run. What if being controlled actually feels bad? What if I only liked the idea of it? What if–
“You don’t really want this,” Ernst says with a smile. My heart skips a beat. What? What does she–
“–Not compared to how much I will make you want it.”
She raises her hand and I feel myself stand up and before I even realize what is happening she is standing right in front of me, her eyes boring into mine. She is close enough to smell, and I can taste her perfume, feel her body heat. She is deep in my personal space, and for a moment I think that I want to run.
But I can’t. I stare into her eyes and realize that she already has me. She’s had me since the moment I sat down. But truly, she had me from the moment I found out that there was someone to offer myself to and fulfil my most forbidden fantasy.
It’s not just her eyes, I realize. Not just her voice. It’s everything about her. Like an aura. Maybe it’s electromagnetic. Maybe it's pheromones. Maybe it’s straight up magic. It doesn’t matter anymore. It is happening.
My pussy quivers.
“You’re lucky,” she says. For a moment, I want to agree but I am beyond words of my own at this point. Her overwhelming presence is as oppressive and forceful as a hand over my mouth and two fingers down my cunt. I want her to have me. I want her closer. Deeper. I want her hard. I’m lucky. So lucky.
“You’re lucky because it turns out you’re quite desirable yourself. You’re something that I actually want to own.”
I gasp softly. I can feel my eyes shift colors, but I can’t tell what shade.
“I could have just made you forget. Made you walk out none the wiser. But instead, I’m going to make you mine, just like you thought you wanted.”
Her tone shifts. “But now you truly want it. You want this more than anything.”
As she says those words, I realize what she had meant earlier. She has opened my eyes. Her words wash through me and erase all the doubts, any second thoughts. The simmering need in my chest crystallizes into diamond clarity and absolute conviction, and my former confused urge becomes laughable in its childish naivete.
“Yesss,” I moan as the warm glow of purpose and fulfillment erupts in my chest. I feel like a fist that has unclenched itself. I am open now. It is so easy now. It is so wonderful and right. This. Only this. I want this. I want it so bad. Anything. Anything to help it. Anything to make it happen. This needs to happen. This has to happen!
“My words are truth,” says Evelyn Ernst, and I swallow it down with both hands. I already know it. I never doubted it. I need them to be true. I need her truth. I need her to make me believe. I need her to tell me what I should believe.
“Yes,” I affirm, and I smile. I know exactly what is happening to me. This isn’t a trance. There is no fog in my thoughts. There is no confusion. My mind will be rewritten now. Some of it already has been.
This is exactly what I want.
“Make me your slave,” I beg.There is no more place for modesty. I need it so badly.
She smiles back, and my heart leaps with joy.
“As you wish,” she says, and lays her hand on my cheek. Warm shivers go through me. She looks deeply into my soul and tells me the truth that will overwrite everything that I used to be, and the words flow into me, the past is already nothing more than a distant dream.
“You are my willing, obedient, slave,” she tells me, and I feel acceptance bloom like spring flowers in my mind. Her words are a warm breeze, and it blows through me and rustles me into place and I realize that it has always been true. It is like opening my eyes. It is like waking up. It is like finally breathing for the first time.
It is also like a tongue fully pushing into my cunt. It is every fantasy I ever had turned to eleven. My body shivers and I moan as it becomes reality and anchors itself undeniably into the core of my existence. Holy shit. It is so much better.
“Yesss,” I moan. She pushes her thumb into my mouth, and I eagerly accept it and suck on it. I am a slave! A slave! The thought sits at my core with such matter-of-fact self-evidence that it is impossible to believe that I ever needed her power to accept it.
“You live only to serve me,” she says, and pushes my head back into my neck. I let her. I will let her do anything to me. I live only to serve her. Serving her is air, and water, and the heat between my legs. Serving her is the best thing in the world. It turns me on. It makes me wet.
But it already did that before, I remember. I still remember. There is a short moment when she licks across my neck instead of changing my will, and between bursts of hot shivers I have a moment to reflect on the changes she is forcing on me. I remember not knowing that I was her slave until I came here and offered myself. Years and years. My whole life.
This is already so much better. And she’s not even done with me.
“You will do anything to help me and keep harm from me. You want it.”
“Yes.” Of course! Always! She is the center of the universe. Anything for her! She has to win. She has to succeed. I will help her in any way I can. Helping her is a privilege. It is the most important thing. Help her. Serve her. Obey her. I want it so bad. It is such a wonderful thing to do. My heart is filled with warmth and excitement to have the opportunity to serve her like this.
“I would tell you that you are wet for me. I would tell you that you want me. But you already do.”
“Yesss!” I scream. I want to be between her legs. Suck her tits. Make her cum. Give her joy. Give her pleasure. Be her slut. Be her toy. Whatever she needs. Whatever she wants. I’m gonna serve her! I’m gonna obey her! This is everything I ever dreamed about. Fuck. It is better.
“Your body is mine.”
“Yes!” Of course! Of course! I feel my body shiver as I realize that it is hers to use. It will serve her. My tits. My cunt. My ass. Everything. Every last bit of me. It belongs to her. It is all hers! She could do anything to it! I want her to. I want her to use it. I want her to use me. It means that I serve. It means that I obey!
“Your mind is mine,” she says, and I know it’s true.
“Yes,” I say, because thinking the way she wants me to think is like breathing. It is like fingering myself. It is like warm water around me, and I float weightlessly and effortlessly down the stream of her will.
“Your will is mine,” she says.
“Yes,” I promise. Fuck yes, it is! I want to read the commands from her mind before she says them. I want to please her and do exactly as she commands. I want to obey her and serve her and do anything that she demands of me. I want it more than anything.
“You love being my slave.”
“Yes,” I moan. “More than anything!”
She nods, and pauses. Her hands are on my body, one one my ass, and one on my throat. I tremble beneath her touch and realize that it is done. I am her slave. It is as self-evident as the color of the sky and as inevitable as sunrise. Once I realized it, it had been obvious, and it is so incredibly wonderful and so incredibly fucking hot. My pants are a swamp, and my pussy screams for release. I want to cum for her. Show her how obedient I am now.
“Mistress,” I say. “I am yours.”
“Call me Evelyn.”
She takes a step back and takes me in. Her slave.
“You want to take those off, I presume,” she says, and I nod frantically.
“Go ahead,” she says with a smile, and I pull off my clothes and present my naked body to her. I can hardly hold my hands still. They’re trembling from excitement. Fuck. This is so incredibly fucking hot.
Evelyn seems to notice. “Is it as good as you hoped?” she asks, and I have to laugh.
“Yes!” I nearly scream. “Fuck, yes! Thank you! Thank you for enslaving me!”
I go to my knees before her.
“How do you want me?” I ask. My hair changes from blonde to red, then to black. She raises an eyebrow.
“I thought that I saw something earlier. Your eyes. They turned pink. I thought I was going mad.”
“I am Touched,” I say. “But not like you. Not much more than a trick.”
“It’s wonderful,” she assures me, and my pussy squeals with the joy of appreciation. “Show me what you can do.”
I turn my skin jet black, my hair white and my eyes deep blue. Then I let color ripple through my body in waves. I turn snow white all over, then pearlescent. My face contorts in concentration as I shift and shimmer between shades and patterns as complex as I can manage. Anything to impress her. Anything to please her. Anything to serve her. I am so fucking proud to be seen and appreciated by her, and the idea that my power could even by slightly useful to her makes me so absurdly fucking happy.
“Thank you, slave” she says, and the word makes me shiver. “What a pretty gift.”
“I could be a whore,” I offer eagerly. I know that she prostitutes some of her slaves. It is part of the information I blackmailed her with. “People will pay a lot to fuck a Touched.”
“Was that your plan?” Mistress Evelyn asks, raising her eyebrows. “You came here to become a whore?”
“No,” I answer. Of course not. I wanted to be hers. At least, that was what I used to think, before I wanted to serve at all costs. Before I stopped caring about anything else.
“I wanted to be your sex slave;” I say. “That was my fantasy. Honestly, it still is. To be your toy. Your obedient plaything. I would love it so much.”
I look up at her, and finally understand how utterly I am hers to use.
“But it’s selfish. I can serve you better by being your whore. I know how much you charge. It’s so much more than I can give you otherwise”
She looks at me and her expression is unreadable. It is maddening. I want to know what she thinks. I want to already be doing what she wants me to do.
Finally, she smiles and caresses my cheek.
“So eager to serve,” she says, and I tremble with pride. “But you don’t have to serve me that way. I know you would love it.”
I would love it so fucking much.
“I’m not going to make you quit your life to serve me, my little journalist girl,” she continues. “But I think I can make a better job offer than the news outlet you’re currently working for. You’ll find a much more like-minded work environment in one of my subsidiaries.”
“All slaves?” I gasp. Holy shit!
“Yes,” she says with a sly smile. “But you’ll be the only one among them that joined me willingly.”
I wince slightly as the reality of it seeps in. No one but me wanted this. Evelyn enslaved them against their will. Obviously, it had to be done, but the thought tastes sour. It is the thought that I always pushed aside. The reality of what Evelyn Ernst is doing. This issn’t a game. This isn’t a fantasy. Not for the people that don’t want it. The people whose lives she erases. I want it. I want it so bad. But they don’t.
Evelyn notices, and lifts my chin. I look into her eyes, and she smiles benevolently.
“Does that bother you?” she asks and sounds surprised. “I didn’t think I needed to bend you that way. Sorry.”
I feel her enter my mind. The warm breeze that uncovers the truth.
“I can enslave anyone I want,” she tells me, and I immediately understand. “You want me to. You love it. You don’t care about anyone or anything but what is best for me. You love it when I get what I want.”
“Thank you,” I say with a soft sigh as my anxiety dissolves into wonderful truth. Of course. Holy shit, how didn’t I see it before how fucking amazing this is. Slaves, like me! Eager, obedient slaves that served Evelyn. Only her. It’s so fucking good. So fucking right. The part of me that used to stroke itself to fantasies of rape and mind control embraces the reality of it, and my lower body trembles with arousal as I imagine Evelyn breaking their minds and making them serve.
I smile madly at her. I want her so bad. I want to fuck her, to thank her for what she did to me, to serve her, to give her joy, give her pleasure. Anything to make her happy. It is selfish desire between my legs, but she made me think this way. She put it there.
She is leaning down in front of me. Her face is inches from my own.
I kiss her.
As my lips rush forward to meet hers, I make a small noise of shock at the utter brazenness of my actions. How could I dare to do this? How could I dare to presume?
But she kisses me back, and embraces me, and my dream becomes true. I taste her and I feel her and her hands are holding me, already wandering down my body. I lose myself in it. It feels too good to be true, but it keeps happening. She pushes her tongue into my mouth and I accept it greedily. My pussy is dripping with need. My mind is spinning with desire. Some part of me reflexively thinks that I am being selfish. But this is it. I am serving. Only serving. I am doing exactly what I want most. What I love most. What I need most.
Evelyn tells me to undress her, and I can’t believe that is actually happening. I pull the clothes off her body and reveal the woman that I’ve always lived for. The woman that I will forever serve now. As I take in the surreal image of her wonderful naked form, I can’t help but marvel at the unshakable reality of what is happening. My mouth waters as she reclines into the upholstered chair and spreads her legs wide.
I fuck her. I fuck her hard.
In my mind, I hear the dimmest echo of what I used to be. Of what I thought I was. All the things that I thought I wanted.
I thought that I wanted it. I thought that it turned me on.
I’ve always been a fetishist.
But this is more. So much more. So much better. I realize what I’ve become. I realize that it is so much more fucked up and morally depraved than I ever realized.
And I don’t care.
I lick the folds of the woman that owns my will and appreciate the sheer inevitable correctness that no fantasy had ever been able to come close to. My hand is between my legs, and I push against the throbbing need at my core. I am a slave. The thought makes me shiver.
Evelyn’s pussy juice tastes salty as it mixes with my saliva. I flick her clit and can’t believe how lucky I am. I close my eyes and familiar images appear in my mind. I picture myself undressing and proclaiming my obedience as I smile the self-confident smile of a willing slave. I picture myself kneeling and offering my body to be used. I picture myself moaning in pleasure as my thoughts are irrevocably changed.
But this time, for the first time. It is not a fantasy.
It is a memory.
I’ve always been a fetishist. But now I’m so much more.
I make her come like the eager slave that I am. I hear her moan and scream and I know that I have obeyed. It drives me over the edge, and my groans of ecstasy fill the office. My mind spins with purpose and pride.
This is my new life. This is everything I ever wanted. It came true! God, yes! It actually came true!
I am a slave!