Taking Total Control: A Mesmerizing Bundle

by Nadia Nightside

  And she loved it.

  “Catherine,” said Tasia. “Catherine, Catherine. Catty Cat Cat.”

  Tasia giggled, and the other girls giggled with her.

  “I...yes?”

  “We have to take care of you now.”

  Their arms looped into hers. The three of them so strong, operating as if entirely one unit, one mind. Catherine's body felt like it was one flame, burning and consuming every sensation. A fire that needed a constant intake of fuel. They tugged her down toward a chair.

  “Stop this.” Catherine’s voice became high in pitch. Even she didn't think she was convincing. “It’s not...you can’t do this. I’m the police!”

  “Master said to take care of you,” Belle whispered in her ear. “We’re going to take care of you.”

  “H-hey,” Catherine tried to struggle. She did. She truly did. But she couldn’t fight them.

  She couldn’t fight herself.

  They tied her to the chair with thick, soft, velvety ropes, and then walked further back into the warehouse, disappearing behind a corner. She could hear their giggles. The warehouse, so large and open, was made for reverberating soft sounds like kisses and licks.

  But only thirty seconds had passed before Warren returned into the warehouse, whistling happily. He shuffled through a small pile of belongings near the door.

  “Forgot my keys, sorry.”

  Then he stopped and turned.

  “They tied you up?” He shook his head.

  “Girls!”

  In seconds, the three slaves surrounded him, on their knees again. Tasia had lost her bra, her dark nipples fully erect in front of her Master.

  Master. That's what he was to them. It was so obvious. Catherine gulped, fine neck muscles pulsing. Fuck, but she wanted what they had.

  “Why did you tie up this police officer?”

  Detective, Catherine thought furiously, though for some reason or another she couldn’t dare to raise her voice in front of this perfect hunk. Especially not now that she was tied up. Restrained. Bound. Helpless. At his mercy. Her knees quaked inward, and she struggled not to knock them together.

  Made to submit, whether she wanted to or not. Accepting or not. Her state was a state of submission and helplessness, and there was no amount of thinking or wishing that would change it. She would be better off just by accepting it.

  Her state was submission; she had submitted. It was that simple. Like math. If submission was on one side of the equation, then submission had to be on the other, no matter the factors or symbols surrounding either.

  “You told us to take care of her, Master.” Tasia raised one elegant eyebrow, casting an amused eye at Catherine. “Now, she’s taken care of.”

  Warren put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Now you’ve done it. God. I thought I could have a little more time.”

  He walked over to Catherine slow and got down to one knee. It was a place that seemed intensely wrong for a man of his obvious power and stature.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” he said with a smile.

  Catherine's voice was small. “So, you’ll let me go?”

  It would have been the worst thing in the world if he did that.

  He made a face. “Not quite the time for that, is it? No harm will be done to you. But I have a few things to take care of, and frankly, overeager though they are, my girls are right. You’re a loose end. I’ve got to keep you under wraps.”

  “P-police,” she said, trying to help. “They’ll look for me, and...”

  It seemed as though he thought she was still trying to leave. “You said you were here on your own time. That means you didn’t report it in. Doesn’t it?”

  “Y-yes.” Her eyes fell.

  God, why was she so turned on? So completely at his mercy, so utterly honest and open.

  “Thank you for telling the truth. Let me ask you for another. Would you like to watch my girls pleasure one another while you’re tied up?”

  No. No no no no that’s wrong wrong wrong no I can’t I won’t I—

  “Y-yes!” she nodded urgently. “Ver-very much. Yes. They’re so...pretty. So glamorous.”

  He smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. A knowing, intimate gesture. Catherine could not stop her body from heating up even more, could not stop the moan that fled from her mouth, could not stop herself from needing his touch again. But Warren guided his slaves forward to Catherine's position, trading long kisses with each of them. Jealousy burned in Catherine's chest. How she wanted what they had!

  “Take turns with each other, ladies. Be gentle with the poor officer, but don’t untie her for any reason. If she needs to cum, help her out. And rest when you need it. That means all of you. I want you in tip-top shape for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Master,” they said in unison. Their eyes turned lasciviously toward the restrained Catherine. “Of course, Master.”

  Warren left, then, a big smile on his face.

  Belle, Katie, and Tasia got down on their knees and crawled until they were in front of Catherine’s urgent, needy gaze. And then they began to undress and adore one another’s bodies, inching ever closer to Catherine's needy cunt.

  Her first lesbian experience with so many, all at once. When Tasia—and of course it was Tasia, who had been sending little “fuck me” glances at Catherine since she arrived—finally pulled Catherine's panties down and administered her loving, knowing tongue to Catherine's pussy, the redhead came almost immediately.

  It was sensational. Her body convulsed in the chair, every muscle tightening and then relaxing. A hot ball of pleasure sped from her toes to her forehead and back again before finally settling in her midsection and blossoming outward like a flower. Her wetness against Tasia's face was evident, small sounds of schlicking and sliding as Catherine moaned out her pleasure.

  The feeling didn't seem to end, and Catherine noticed after a moment that was because Tasia had slipped her fingers into her while she worked, pressing them gently upward into Catherine's g-spot. And even still, continuing her licks. But these were physical concerns with the physical world. Catherine operated now on what only could be thought of as the pleasure world. Every breath was orgasmic. Every heart beat was bliss. Every neuron firing across her brain was a gentle lick of the rapturous lollipop that had become her body.

  Time lost meaning. Her sight faded. All she knew was blinding, white-hot pleasure. It swallowed her entire being up. Her voice became hoarse with the effort of screaming her love for the sensation. Her every muscle felt like liquid, her torso floating in clouds with the other limbs along for the ride.

  Finally, the feeling subsided, and Catherine looked down to see the three gathered slaves with rather surprised looks on their faces. God, she thought she would never come back. She had been there for months in that place, that perfect blissful place.

  “What did you do, Tasia?” Belle asked.

  “I just...licked her and fingered her a little. Like for two seconds. You saw.”

  Catherine moaned. She thought they had worked on her for days at least.

  But now, Tasia smiled, lowering her head again. The other slaves pushed inward, sliding their mouths over her breasts and neck. That end-all, be-all orgasm was only the beginning for Catherine, and the night was young.

  * * * * *

  Everyone had arrived at Melinda's house precisely on time. Carlos, her tall, dark-haired paramour, had even arrived early. That was just lovely.

  Melinda knew she was a woman who inspired punctuality. To be late would be akin to insulting her, and men always fell all over themselves to avoid insulting her. It was an advantage she had as a beautiful woman in a world full of men who treasured beautiful women above any other material object, and it was an advantage she took to heart and never took for granted.

  Except, of course, when it was really, really fun to do so.

  The men she had invited to dinner had taken their places around the table. Perhaps they were wondering why—as Melind
a had offered to cook them dinner—there were no cooking smells emanating from the suspiciously clean kitchen.

  Or, perhaps not. She suspected Harrington, red-faced and balding, was a high-functioning alcoholic, and there was plenty of wine available. He had already gone through three glasses in his fifteen minutes present. The other two—her lover Carlos and the banker Chandler—seemed too busy staring at Melinda’s expansive tits in her tiny little dress to notice little things like the hunger brewing in their stomachs.

  Her dress was made for her to be stared at. She was rather glad it was doing its job. The lovely deep red fabric was cinched tight around her waist like a corset, small ribs of fabric clinging to her torso and pushing her enormous tits up and out. They were on display, and if the display in the dress wasn’t enough to convince the men of that, then her necklace was—a glimmering, shiny thing that wrapped her neck with long, delicate fingers of gold resting on top of the twin globes she sported so enthusiastically. But not a single part of her was to be outdone—tall black heels on her feet, costing several hundred dollars each, pushed her legs on display, straightening their lovely surface and amplifying the naturally high bump of her sumptuous young ass.

  Chandler had already spilled a little wine on himself when Melinda bent over to refill the glass of Carlos. His eyes mooning over her enormous pillowy tits. It was possible, even probable, that she could have gotten everything she wanted from these men with just looks alone. But it would have taken a little more time. And certainly, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

  Yes—fun. She knew what the watch did. Annihilating wills. Erasing minds. The thought excited her deeply. All that control. No one would ever be able to tell her no, or to leave her out in the cold for days at a time. No one would forget to feed her or make her practice dance in drug-fueled marathon sessions. No one would ever be able to hurt her again. She pushed the thoughts of her parents aside, and focused on the men in front of her.

  Harrington looked a bit like her father, she noticed. In fact, they all rather did—that same balding spike around their forehead, the long shape of their jaws. Nothing like Warren's easy, handsome face—and hadn't that been why she found herself with him in the first place?

  At any rate, a cold, steel grip wrapped around her heart—this was for her own good. This would be wonderful. Satisfied that she was mentally prepared for the leap into destroying wills and minds, she clapped her hands together and positioned her purse at the end of the table in front of her. In the purse was the watch.

  “I am sure that you all are, naturally, wondering why you’re all here.”

  The men all nodded.

  Carlos was a highly successful architect in Chicago. She had met him—and convinced him that an affair with her was a perfectly natural, wonderful thing to do—about six months before. Their sex sessions had been rather tepid, actually, especially compared to the gusto that Warren brought to the table, but that was hardly the point. The point was that he was rich and connected, and was a way for the ascending Melinda to continue moving up.

  Harrington was Melinda’s boss. The top architect in Alder City. He was responsible for a number of bridges and buildings—or rather, his firm was, while Harrington ruled it with a drunkenly iron fist. He was naturally suspicious, and fired anyone who became too ambitious, after discrediting them of course.

  She had convinced Harrington to invite his friend, an investment banker by the name of Chandler, to the dinner as well. Chandler was an older gentleman with steel gray hair, perfectly parted down to one side. His suit looked like it had cost as much as Melinda's house.

  Melinda reached into the purse and withdrew the watch, looking at its engravings with some slight curiosity before returning her gaze to the gathered men.

  She had promised Harrington she had a remarkable business opportunity for all of them. Which was sort of true. She did have a business opportunity for them to participate in, it was just that it would exclusively benefit her.

  “I’m sure you’re waiting for dinner. Hungry, even. But, you see, that’s just not terribly important to me.” She smiled broadly, toying with the watch in her hands. “Carlos, you’re a terrible lover. Mister Harrington, I think you have tremendous talent, but the way you run your office is a shit-show. And I’m going to make sure you stop telling me to ‘smile, sweetheart!’ all the time. And Mister Chandler...” she just sighed a bit. “Well, you’re here because you’re rich from investment banking. So, I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you to imagine that I have rather little sympathy for the your hard work or how you’ve earned your money. Your kind are ruining this country.”

  They all bristled. Harrington even stood up. Chandler laughed, as if it were some joke—he’d heard it all before—but there was true hate in his eyes. Carlos was wide-mouthed, wavering in his chair.

  “Y-you said I was the best you ever had?” Carlos stumbled.

  “None of that is really material to my proposal,” said Melinda, ignoring Carlos. “I just wanted to say it to you at least once.”

  Harrington was incensed. “If you think for one second we would listen to any proposal from you, you’re absolutely...w-what are you doing with that?”

  She swung the watch in front of them, working its happy magic. A sparking, eager light danced out from it.

  The jaws of all three men hung slack. Harrington began to drool. His wine drifted to one side and then fell to the table, staining the tablecloth. She'd have to remind him to buy her another.

  Melinda’s pulse doubled. It worked. It actually worked. She’d had her doubts, or thought that perhaps there was some extra, secret trick to it. But no—it worked.

  “Now,” she said with a smile. “You are all going to listen extremely carefully to what I have to say. It’s so very important to listen to beautiful women, after all. And I am, of course, the most beautiful woman in the world. Aren’t I?”

  “Yesss...”

  “Say it. All of you. Tell me I am the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Melinda.”

  Her heart thrummed with excitement. Her entire body felt as though she had slid on top of some kind of cosmic live wire, the force of the universe humming inside of her every atom. Control. She was in control. Perfect, complete, uncontested, for the first time in her life.

  “That’s very good, boys. You’re all such good boys for Mistress, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Her hand came down to her clit, and slowly she began to touch herself. “Wonderful. That's so wonderful. Now, I want you all to listen very carefully...”

  * * * * *

  “Here we are,” said Warren, driving back up the drive to Joan and Edith's house.

  Immediately, Edith led Joan back inside and into the bedroom, and Warren followed. Their asses were both so pert and fit. It was a lovely experience simply to watch their young, tight bodies in motion.

  He would have his stepsister soon. His sister. There had never been a clearer, better thought in his mind.

  Joan paced from one end of the small bedroom to the other. She wore tall heels that made her legs in her black, trim skirt look phenomenal. Edith sat with Warren on the bed, casually sliding her fingers through the sides of his hair and whispering hot nothings into his ear. Her tits pushed heavily on his arm.

  “I don’t understand any of this.” Joan shook her head. “I was so mean to you, Warren. I was mean to you for so long, but it was all really about me. My fuck-ups. My fears. It never had anything at all to do with you.”

  Warren smiled. “It’s all right, Joan.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She sat down next to him, opposite Edith, and put a hand on his knee. Excitement gripped his heart, pushing him inexorably toward the course that involved only his stiffening cock and his sister's cunt.

  “I’ve been talking with Edith a lot. Did you know she’s been attracted to you for like, her whole life? Since the moment she met you. That�
��s what she told me. She told me that she had a really hard time with it, that like, she had always self-identified as a lesbian, but with you around, it threw her entire compass into flux. And she made up for it by being with me. That way, she could be close to you and still be a total lesbian like she thought was.”

  Edith nodded, her hand sliding up his other knee now. “But I’m not a lesbian, Warren.” Her voice was a soft, sensual purr in his ear. “I’m bisexual...just a really, really specific kind of bisexual.”

  Of course she was. Warren had made her that way.

  Joan’s hand moved up his thigh. She was more tentative than Edith. Taking her time. Not quite so sure of what she believed. But Warren could tell she knew his expectations—she knew he was smart enough to know what was happening. And those expectations, with her new fervent desire not to let him down, combined with Edith’s presence and encouragement, pushed her ever forward.

  “We both are,” said Joan, smiling nervously. “We just want to fuck you. That’s it. No other men.”

  There were a lot of ways to play this. He could have played dumb, or even romantic. Treat it like Joan was his long-lost lover. But the truth was that he never really wanted to love Joan in a romantic way, or at least, he didn’t think so. He just furiously wanted to fuck her. His desire to fuck her had taken over his whole life. Marrying Melinda. Hiring Belle. Always wanting to impress her, to please her, to make her proud to have him around.

  Proud enough that they could just talk like people.

  Close enough that one day they could slip into the back and fuck like rabbits like they had always been meant to do.

  They’d do it now. He wasn’t going to be done with her until her deliciously fertile body was as pregnant as he could make her.

  So no, he wasn’t going to pretend like he knew nothing of what was happening. He was going to take his right. Assert his dominance. Warren had earned it. He had earned all of this—and even if Melinda had the watch now, he had still earned Joan and Edith worshiping his cock with their sopping wet cunts.