Controlling the Girl Next Door (The Magic Remote Book 1)

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Controlling the Girl Next Door (The Magic Remote, #1)

Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

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Further Reading: Mesmerized! Nine Stories of Mind Control

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J
ared couldn't believe what he had found, cleaning out his grandfather's trunk in his closet.

His parents had assigned him any number of odd jobs to take care of. This was number one hundred and seventeen, and he was getting a little nervous. There were only one hundred and thirty things on the list, and once he stopped taking of them, he was afraid they were going to start charging him rent.

Up until this point, everything in the old trunk had been fairly dull stuff. Old outfits with gross color combinations and wide collars, packets of letters from pen pals in Germany and Australia, dusty old parts of models of trains and small wintery towns, that sort of thing.

Then he came upon a videotape. It was tied with twine to a thick remote the size of a chalkboard eraser and a weird-looking helmet apparatus, gold metal with little violet glass pieces inlaid upon it.

It was all odd to him: the apparatus, the clicker, and especially finding a videotape—his grandfather would have already been quite old by the time VHS had even been invented.

Maybe that was why Jared immediately went downstairs from the attic, into his bedroom, and dusted off his old VCR from his closet.

Jared had gotten the VCR as a birthday present when he was about ten. The very next year, DVD took off, and he had to save up and get a player of his own seven years later, as his parents had been scared off from buying any media-output device from then on.

Now, Jared was twenty-five, still living in his parents home. Five months ago, he had been laid off from his telecommunications job. It was a kind of blessing, as he had never liked it very much, but he did miss the regular paycheck.

He also missed the freedom of being on his own and doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted. Living with his parents, now, was humiliating. They didn't charge him rent, and his mother made home-cooked meals every night, and somehow that made it all even worse.

Sitting down in front of his small flat screen television, he popped in the VHS to the old VCR. He was happy to find that both of the old artifacts still worked.

The video flickered on, showing some kind of interview session in a white room. There was a woman sitting on a chair.

A man's voice said, “Is it on?”

The woman said, “Yes. I see the light. It's blinking.”

“Wonderful.”

A face came into view—his grandfather's face! Younger, though. Much younger than Jared had ever seen him. He was wearing the same crown that Jared had in his hands. His grandfather adjusted the camera for a moment, and then moved back behind the camera.

“All right,” his grandfather said. “I have this remote here. We are testing it, yes? Seeing whether it works.”

The woman nodded. She was strikingly good looking—wearing a dark blue pantsuit. Her lovely brown hair was done up in a thick ponytail above her head.

“I want you to tell me how you feel about me,” his grandfather said.

She shrugged. “You're a nice man. You pay me well. You don't ask for unreasonable things.”

“And in a romantic sense?”

She blanched. “Really, Doctor?”

“This is for science, my dear. Please.”

“Fine. I don't really have any romantic feelings toward you. When I first worked here, you asked me out, and I declined. You were very professional about it, which I appreciated then and now.”

“Wonderful,” said the doctor.

Jared heard a clicking sound, and then a deep humming, and then a bright purple light flashed across the screen.

“How do you feel now?” his grandfather asked.

The woman just moaned in response, staring forward blankly.

“You feel wonderful,” said his grandfather.

“Wonderful,” the woman echoed, nodding happily, smiling.

“You always feel wonderful when I'm around.”

“Always wonderful when you're around.” Her smile grew wider, a flush moving up her neck.

“You've adored me for some time now.”

There was a cut in the tape. Static filled the screen for a moment.

Jared found his cock was hard as a rock. Was he holding . . . did he have some kind of mind control device in his hands right now? Was that what the crown and the clicker were?

The picture came back. The woman had her shirt off now, her fingers shoved deep inside her pussy. Her other hand was massaging her tits through her skimpy, lacy bra.

“You are my slave.”

“I am your slave,” said the woman, pouting hotly and pouring herself into the words.

It wasn't blankness on the woman's mind, Jared realized. It was
zeal
. She so firmly believed everything she heard that no other thoughts could fill her head.

Jared felt his cock pushing up through his shorts. He kneaded his cock through the thin material, rewinding the tape.

“I am your slave,” the woman breathed.

He rewound it over and over.

“I am your slave,” the woman breathed again. Hotter and hotter each time.

His pants slipped around his ankles. His shaft already slick and hard with precum. How was he supposed to do anything else? He paused the video on her blank face, small bits of drool sliding down from her lips.

His arm pumped furiously as he jacked his hand up and down his cock. Above him, the air-conditioner switched on. His seven-inch shaft was completely slick, and jacking off seemed almost an afterthought to the feeling of the air pressing in so forcefully on his wet, sensitive shaft.

The woman on the screen was so hot. She was so controlled. This was so surreal. He had to come. He had to. He couldn't help it. She couldn't help but obey and he couldn't help but come.

Groaning, he spurted out onto his hand, the thick white cum filling up his palm quickly. He struggled to shift around, grabbing a tissue off his nightstand before laying back on his bed. It took him a moment to clean everything, to let his thoughts clear.

Okay.

Okay.

Now he could concentrate. He needed to get himself under control.

Control. That was the word of the day, wasn't it? At the foot of his bed was a device that would allow him to control whoever he wanted, fuck whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted . . .

No. Himself. He needed to stay under control.

He needed, no matter what, not to run wild with this device and put every girl he could find into a deep, everlasting trance that would forever bind her to his cock.

Oh god. He was getting hard again. He sat up on the bed, putting his shorts back on and staring down at the device, at the image of the controlled woman still on his television screen.

He couldn't do anything like that.

That was immoral, to do something like that. To take some hot babe like Mrs. Russell across the street, and fuck up her whole mind into thinking he was her total god, dominating every thought she had for the rest of her life to think only of his greatness and his cock.

Fuck.

Okay.

He needed to get someone else here, that was the solution.

Contemplative, he stepped over to his bedroom window. Outside, he could see Carmen Russell sunbathing her sumptuously hot body in her white, pink-striped bikini. Mrs. Russell's stepdaughter.

He had always really like that outfit. She was flat out gorgeous, just like her stepmother.

Light brown hair, viciously long legs, wonderful breasts that were just the right size to spill out of a man's hands, and the kind of face that he imagined ancient Valkyries were supposed to have. Severely sexy, with an elegant, regal turn to her nose, full lips, and that delicious kind of distinction to her chin and jaw that models had.

She had modeled, he knew. Little vanity shots for  local businesses. He had jerked off to them more than once. Anybody she talked to knew she had big aspirations of going big time. Probably she could make it, too.

Maybe he could convince her to come and take a look at this tape, give him a second opinion?

Yeah, sure, he told himself. That's all he wanted from her. A second opinion.

* * * * *

C
armen wasn't sure what to make of Jared Harrison, even as he led her over to his house.

It was the first time she even ever really been on his lawn. The Harrisons' house was always a strange one within Meadow Heights. Most of the residences were large estates, with enormous swimming pools and multiple layers of backyard, and a three-floor minimum, like Carmen's house. Her father was an engineer, and made enough to own the house completely, no mortgage at all.

The Harrisons, though, were teachers, or librarians, something like that. Something low-paying.  Their paltry little two-story, fourteen hundred square foot house reflected that. They had moved in long, long before the property values went up. Carmen thought smugly that, even so, they would still be paying the mortgage on it when she was earning her third graduate degree on her father's dime.

It was nice to have some privilege, to enjoy a place in the world. Her forays into modeling were just reflections of that part of her personality—it wasn't about being admired, for her. No, it was about showing off.

Jared Harrison was usually nice enough, she supposed, but it seemed like every time she or her stepmother were outside, he had some reason for being outside as well.

When Carmen was sunbathing, he had to trim the hedges.

When Carmen was washing the car, he had to wash his car, too.

When Monica, Carmen's stepmother, was doing yoga in the gazebo in the backyard, he was watering the backyard lawn.

These little instances added up. She and her stepmother talked about it quite often. They were close in age—Carmen only eighteen, and Monica twenty-five.

At first, Carmen had found this proximity in age a little disturbing, and grew distant from her father for a time. But, she found Monica to be a really wonderful person—giving and thoughtful—who was used to all the pressures Carmen had felt at high school as one of the hottest girls around. Monica always had killer advice on what to wear, what to say to guys to turn down dates and let them down easy, and how to know when someone was only talking to her for her looks. Carmen was going to college at the end of the summer, and Monica was full of good thoughts on which classes had the most men in them.

But, today, Jared didn't seem like he was only talking to her for her looks. Even with Carmen wearing nothing but a teensy string bikini, a tiny near-transparent white wrap around her lovely ass serving as a skirt, and a pair of pink platform sandals—he looked her in the eyes with every word he said.