A week passes...

You seriously can't believe it—you're starting to get bored.

You're back at poolside, watching the girls flounce around in the shallow end. Their big, bouncy tits jiggle in the water like pool toys. You sent them in to cool off after another busy morning of fucking their brains out. Now they can't seem to keep their hands off each other; whatever you did to them seems to have sent their sex drives through the roof; there's barely a minute of the day when they're not busy stroking, squeezing, or sucking something. The only thing that can get them to stop is when you pound their tight little bodies.

All of that was great at first, but it's been a week now and the novelty is wearing off. There's no challenge in any of this, obviously. They're both just conveniences now. Why spend this incredible power on just the two of them? Isn't there a whole world of possibilities out there? You decided it was time to go explore some of your bigger and better options. After a somewhat lengthy search to locate your pants (you haven't needed them in a while), you tell the girls to sit tight until you're back. As you're heading for the door, it occurs to you to leave explicit instructions that they not get so distracted fooling around that they forget to eat, sleep, and shower now and then. They nod and giggle and say in unison, "Yes, John, whatever you say."

Your new car is right where you left it, but on second thought, the Cadillac parked across the street looks more your style. After a few words with the owner, he happily hands over the keys. You drive conservatively until you get to the highway, after which you open her up, watching the speedometer climb—70, 80, 90...your thoughts race even faster than you heart as you swerve back and forth between lanes, pushing the caddy as hard as it will go. Distracted, your thoughts start to wander, and...

Suddenly, you come to your senses and slam on the brakes, almost sending yourself into a spin. When you finally skid to a stop, your heart is running double time and cold sweat is soaking your shirt. You could have been killed. Walking around with all of this power has made you feel invincible—but of course, you're not. Ultimate power over your fellow human beings is one thing, but it doesn't make you any less human. You've got to remember that.

Once you're done chiding yourself, you notice the blue and red flashing in your mirrors. For that matter, you notice the distinctly unhappy looking man knocking on your driver window, badge gleaming in the afternoon sun while one hand sits on his sidearm. Your shit-eating grin is visible in his mirrored shades as you roll the window down. "Out of the car, now," he says.

"Aren't you even going to ask for my license and registration?"

"This is some serious shit, kid. Get out."

You play along, putting your hands against the hot metal of the hood and even letting the cop pat you down. You could send him packing anytime you opened your mouth, but something tells you that if you just let this play out there may be something in it for you. When you see the cop reach for the radio on his bike, it finally occurs to you what that may be. "Say, Chief, before you call this in, why don't you tell me if you've got any sexy ladies on the ****? Maybe even some working this section of highway today?"

"Rodriguez is working today. I'd let her slap the cuffs on me anytime," he replies in a tone that suggests he's not even really aware of what he's saying. "That is, of course, if I wasn't pretty sure she'd take my eye out if I tried and if I could get my damn wife off my back for long enough."

"That so? Tell you what—rather than arresting me, how about you get Rodriguez on the radio and tell her to come make this collar instead? And once you do, how about fucking off and leaving the two of us to it, huh, buddy?"

"What the fuck did you just say to me, you little bitch?"

Oh.

Your heart nearly stops for a moment. The cop is looking at you as if he's about ready to take his gun out and blast your brain to bits. Did your command really not work? What was the reason for this?

"I was alright with divulging the information about Rodriguez to you for some reason beyond me," he comments, as if slowly realizing that he said things he wouldn't have normally, "but you've got to be out of your fucking mind to demand something like that from me, kid! Do you understand the situation you're in?! I could put your ass behind bars forever and no one would fucking question it!"

Hm...despite things not exactly going in your favor, you're feeling relatively calm, and for a good reason: this is starting to make some sense.

"Officer," you speak up very clearly. "Calm down. There's no need to be upset with me. Just relax."

Almost as if he's fighting something on the inside, he blinks with a flustered look in his eyes for a moment before he takes a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Uh...sorry," he randomly blurts out, looking as if he had no idea why he was angry in the first place. "I guess that's what happens when I skip out on my anger management classes."

A wicked smile crawls on your face as you see your testing bearing positive results. You had initially suspected a hidden mechanic like this from the beginning, but you're happy to have been able to have been able to confirm it so quickly. You can safely conclude that mental states have some relative effect on a person's suggestibility and their likelihood to heed your commands. While that seems like it would go against the idea of "universal" acceptance since it would result in some people not following your commands, as you expected, telling them to change their mood and shifting their mental states to a more positive and more suggestible one is as easy as it sounds. After that—

"Now that you've calmed down," you proceed, "could you call that Rodriguez woman here and leave us be?"

"Sure thing," the cop says, helpful as a loyal dog.

—things work as they normally would.

To be honest, after the very clear lack of difficulty and challenge with your boss' daughters, the idea of overcoming someone's negative mental state and forcing them to become more amiable so that they'll listen to you is sounding like more and more fun by the second.

A few minutes later, he's gone roaring off back to his route and the very confused looking Officer Rodriguez has just arrived in his place, parking her own bike right alongside the caddy and dismounting. Looking her up and down, you see that she's a curly-haired Mexican woman with nice shapely legs to fill up those chaps and nice big assets strapped beneath her jacket. She snaps off the aviator shades and gives you the hands-on-the-car line as well, but this time you're more than happy to oblige.

She tells you not to get cute during the pat down, to which you simply chuckle to yourself. "All right, what's going on here?" she asks as she finishes the search, turning your around. "Why did Lewis call me all the way over here and then just take off? And wipe that shit-eating grin off your face."

"Sure thing, sweetcheeks. Before we go any further, though, why don't you lose the top and show me what you're working with?"

"Good idea," she says with a small nod, tugging off her gloves and helmet. You look on with pleasant surprise as she throws her jacket onto the ground and pulls her tanktop up over her head. The sports bra underneath can barely contain her before she strips that away too. You're intrigued by how you didn't need to **** a mood shift on her—you're left to assume that she must be a very agreeable and approachable person by nature, even when on duty. That's going to make this a lot easier.

With her now standing topless before you, you let out a whistle as you scan her"Nice equipment, officer."

"I told you not to get cute," she counters sharply as she smacks you on the side of the head. "Put your hands back on the car."

You wince and rub the sore spot on your temple. A week with the girls back at the house has made you forget what it's like being around a woman who can think for herself even while under your influence. Well, turning the tables is easy enough.

"How about you put your hands on the car instead?" you subtly command in the form of a question as you bravely back away from the car. "No matter what happens, keep them there until I say so, got it?"

"Right," she says, assuming the position. Her ass in those chaps was criminals in its own right. How could she wear something that tight in this heat?

"Now, you better have some fucking I.D. for me," she sternly states, still assuming her role as a cop talking to a highway speeder even though she's topless and bent over your car. The absurdity of it is both amazingly humorous and insanely hot.

"Uh, yeah, I don't have any. I'm not even licensed to drive," you casually admit with a carefree laugh and a shrug. Looking like she's about to bark at you, you quickly interrupt her. "Honestly, though, who cares? It's not that important. In fact, just forget about all that for now. Instead, why don't you tell me your name."

"Adriana," she says with a sharp tone, still trying to keep some sort of authoritative tone over you. You should fix that.

"Well, Adriana, you've got an amazing ass and a fantastic rack. I'm really going to enjoy releasing some fluids into your body," you openly share, causing her to look at you with disgust. Before she can even think about rebutting, you continue in a way that will prevent such a reaction from occurring again. "Oh, from now on, it's going to be perfectly fine if I talk to you like that, understand? In fact, from this point forth, you're just going to agree to anything I say. I'm your new commanding officer, both on and off duty."

"Yes sir," she squarely agrees, her voice not nearly as loud or confrontational as it was seconds ago.

Suddenly, her radio squawked, an older man's voice calling out to her from the dispatch center. "Ignore that," you say with a quick shake of your head as she begins to reach for it. "Instead, peel those chaps off."

Surprisingly, she doesn't heed your command, instead looking at your somewhat awkwardly. Your confusion regarding her refusal to act increases rapidly until you realize your error.

"Uh, right," you stammer with a sheepish laugh. "You can take your hands off the car now. Sorry about that."

Releasing her palms from the vehicle, she begins to strip down. When she begins to take off her boots, you inform her to leave those on, liking the idea of her wearing nothing but those. Now fully nude except for her feet, her tight, tanned body is already sweating in the afternoon sun. You walk in a circle around her and inspect her thoroughly before ordering her to her knees. She drops quickly with a snappy "Yes sir!" and moments later you've got your cock in front of her face, the tip pressed against her lips.

"Now, Adriana," you say powerfully, enjoying the reversal you've created. "You're going to suck your commanding officer's cock right here. You have no problem with that, right?"

"Of course not, sir!" she responds quickly, having fallen into her new position as your subordinate with little issue. "My body as a whole is for you to use as you please, sir! Fuck me in any way you see fit as much as you'd like, sir!"

"I'm glad you understand," you chuckle as you slowly insert your length into the warm depths of her mouth. Her luscious, pouty lips make a tight O around your shaft as she begins to bob up and down, curls bouncing on her naked shoulders. You lean back against the car door. Here you are, getting a blowjob from a hot, naked highway patrol officer on the side of the road, right next to your stolen Cadillac, but it hardly makes you think twice. Power is easy to get used to.

"Up on the hood," you tell her after enjoying her splendid blowjob technique for a while. "Legs spread."

"Yes, sir!" she announces as she winces at the hot metal on her bare ass, but like a true trooper, she doesn't complain. She does moan, though, as you stick your thick cock into her tight little Mexican pussy and pound her until you're pretty sure she leaves dents. You've got to be careful not to make a habit of this or she'll end up with back problems, but she doesn't seem to mind (because, of course, you told her not to). After what feels like a delightful few hours of reaming her insides so pleasurably, you squirt a load of sticky cum onto her juggernaut tits and watch her smear it into her naked skin. No sooner are you done with her than you order her to dress again, which she does without comment.

You consider just leaving her here, but having your own personal police escort might be useful, so you tell Adriana to ditch the bike and hop into the backseat. "And keep your mouth shut until I tell you otherwise, got it?" In another 50 miles or so you'll pull over and give her another stick and squirt, just to make sure you keep a clear head.

As you drive, your mind is deep in thought after the encounter you just had. A badge, a gun, a uniform...those are things people respect, or at very least, things they notice. You've got more real power than any cop in the world, but nobody knows it by looking at you, whereas one look at Adriana and they'll defer to her right away, even though she's basically just your walking blow-up doll at this point. Power is a funny thing like that. What good is having it if it's hidden all the time? After half an hour of thinking about it with the open road passing you by, the most brilliant idea in the world hits you—so brilliant that you slam on the brakes and spin around in your seat to face Adriana, who regards you with a neutral expression.

"When I tell you what I'm thinking, tell me that it's the greatest idea in the world," you command suddenly to her.

"Yes, sir!"

"Officer Rodriguez," you begin, taking a deep breath. "I've decided to declare my candidacy for President of the United States."

"That's the greatest idea in the world, sir!" Adriana chirps affirmatively without even blinking.