House Hunting

"Why don't you upgrade your home?" she asks, by no means robbed of her practical nature despite her loosened inhibitions. "Now that you have what I can already see will be a lucrative investment, why not have your house remodeled?" She gasps and her eyes open wide as she claps her hands just below her chin. "Or you could buy a new one!"

You cock an eyebrow at her, recalling a house you saw only once but loved nonetheless, and a smile crosses your face. As with your finances, you would *normally* delegate the monotonous task of acquiring a new home, but you get the idea that you could have a great deal of fun doing it yourself. "Donna," you beam, half in anticipation and half in appreciation, "that's a wonderful idea, thank you." You give her a soft kiss, which she happily returns, then you leave for the door. "Remember to dress soon. Nobody outside your office will object to your nudity, but anyone who pokes their head inside will react normally." You leave as she acknowledges and return to the main bank lobby.

Outside Donna's office, you hear a low, but heated discussion between a teller and a customer. The line of customers waiting to be helped is rather long, and the one remaining teller (her nameplate reads, "Stephanie") is getting frustrated at the prospect of helping all these customers herself. You squeeze through the line to get to the two arguing women, the teller a pretty Indian girl and the customer an elegant, thirty-something blonde woman clearly unaccustomed to being told she's wrong. By how she's talking, and the tight bun that holds her hair, you guess that she's a lawyer or high up on some large business's ladder.

"I am sorry," says the teller, "but you cannot withdraw that much money; your account only has two hundred fifty--"

"I *know* how much is in my account, Pocahontas,” (both you and the teller raise eyebrows at the jab – she’s not remotely Native American), “and it's well over ten thousand dollars! Now give me my money or I'll talk to your manager, and I promise you, I'll make sure you can't even get a job flipping burgers by the time I'm done talking with him!" While she never raised the volume of her voice, her tone was certainly far past civil.

"Ladies," you say, grabbing their attention, "my name is John Doe, and I'm here to help you resolve this issue."

"If you're not the manager, you can walk away," said the businesswoman with a dismissive wave. She clearly didn't think you were the manager, considering your age and appearance.

You just smile. "Both of you stand still and silent." They both watch you, no longer *willing*, let alone able, to speak or walk way as you turn to the rest of the customers, most of whom are growing agitated. "Ladies and gentlemen," you announce, making eye contact with the overwhelmed teller as well, "I'm John Doe, and you're all going to wait patiently for your turn to be helped. You'll find that Stephanie over there is not only very good at her job, but also very sexy, and you'll spend your time waiting in line fantasizing about having sex with her. Steph," you say to the teller, "you like being ogled, so undo the top couple buttons to your blouse, there, and enjoy the attention as you help your customers." With the crowd under control, you return to the now silent women.

"We'll start with you," you say, looking at the teller. "Tell me your name and what the issue is. Use only facts, and be honest."

The Indian girl takes a breath. "My name is Amala. This woman asked to withdraw seven hundred and fifty dollars, but her account does not have that much money. When I tried to explain the situation, she argued with me and grew upset." She falls silent, having explained her side.

You turn to the businesswoman. "And now let's hear your side."

The woman huffs, still rather upset. "My name is Sophia Schmidt. When this girl told me the account's balance, I grew upset and embarrassed. I suspected my husband had taken out the money, but I wanted to save face, so I accused her of incompetence instead." She looks annoyed, rather than repentant at admitting this.

"I see," you say. "Clearly, you're in the wrong, Mrs. Schmidt. As punishment for harassing this poor girl and wasting her time, as well as threatening her job, you're going to obey her until I say otherwise. If she tells you to do, say, or even *think* something, you'll obey." The woman looks devastated, fully aware that your words are now true. You turn to Amala. "As for you, my dear, I can easily see from how you look at Mrs. Schmidt, here, that you not only find her incredibly sexy, but also want to punish her for how she's acted today and, likely, for all her life. You may both move and speak now."

Sophia immediately begins yelling at you, starting with, "Who the hell do you think you are?!" and going from there. She's so focused on your decision that she doesn't notice the pretty teller eyeing her up and down.

Two minutes ago, Amala would have been happy to just see the angry woman leave. As Sophia is yelling, however, she realizes that you're right: the woman, bitch that she is, *is* very sexy. Her lips spread into an aroused smile, then part as she speaks. "Sophia, darling, stop yelling at the poor man." At once, the woman stops, and turns to stare, wide-eyed, at the teller who is now in control. "Thank him for settling our matter so that he may be on his way."

Sophia looks at you, her face suddenly wearing a pleasant smile. "Thank you so much, John," she says with a smile. Immediately, the smile falls and she turns to Amala. "You can't do this to me, you stupid Indian bimbo!"

Amala only laughs. "Name-calling, are we? So be it. You, Sophia, are the bimbo. All you care about is sex and being pretty, and you are not very bright. On top of that," she eyes her new prize, her next words holding a rather haughty air, "you are madly in love with me and want to make me happy above all else."

Sophia's scowl lingers for less than a second before it melts into a dopey smile. She giggles, then gasps as though she'd forgotten that Amala is standing before her. She gives her chest a squeeze as she flirts with the pretty teller. "Hey baby. Wanna let me eat yer pussy?" She slowly flicks her tongue out of her mouth as though Amala needed a visual aid.

Amala laughs, and hers is spiteful, rather than silly. "No, my darling, I am still on the clock. Leave me your phone number, then go about your business." You give a short chuckle -- stupid as she is, you doubt Sophia will be able to unlock her car, let alone leave the parking lot. "I will call you when I am done with work; I expect you to take me out to a nice dinner." Despite her recent downgrade in the brains department, Sophia rattles off her phone number, causing you and Amala to both raise your eyebrows yet again; it seems that somewhere, deep within her mind, all her knowledge still lives. Perhaps she won't have so much trouble leaving, after all.

Sophia gives Amala a quick goodbye kiss, but, before she can leave, the real manager *does* arrive. He's a tall, muscular man with a chiseled jawline and a chest wide enough to still intimidate that small part of you that hasn't yet come to terms with your new power. That part of you has little say any longer, however, and you open your mouth to introduce yourself when Sophia does so first.

"Hey cutie!" she practically cries. "I’m Sophie! Um...can I suck yer cock?" Amala stifles a giggle at this, and the manager looks instantly and utterly shocked. You chuckle a bit as well and then feel a sudden dawning of devious inspiration.

*Any man to whom Sophia offers oral sex will accept, and, after the deed is done, will become a woman, his past and memories, as well as the memories of those who know him, changing to suit this. Sophia and I will be immune to this memory alteration.* "Kabam!" You smile at the thought of Sophia wondering why all these men are losing their dicks after she blows them, and nobody believing her, even if they manage the superbly difficult task of understanding her.

The manager's shock shifts into a professional smile, his eyes showing thinly-veiled lust. "Well, Sophie, perhaps we could discuss your issue in my office." You let out the iconic "whip-whoo!" of a wolf-whistle as he leads the bimbo into the room from which he'd emerged and shuts the door, and Amala laughs again.

"Thank you so much, John," she says, sweetly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thanks," you tell her, "I've already been helped." You give a nod to Donna's office and then flash a smile. "Have fun with Sophia." With that, you turn to leave and bump directly into your mother’s husband, Dylan.

He grabs your shoulder. “I thought that was you, John! Why the hell aren’t you in school?”

You struggle for a moment, caught off-guard at your step-father’s sudden appearance. He’d been as much of a bully to you as his daughter over the last several years, and it takes you a moment to realize that you can finally fight back. You smirk at him despite the pain of his powerful grip. “Hi, Dylan. I’m John Doe.”

His face screws into a look that is more irritated than quizzical. “Did you go retarded or something? I *know* who you are! Now come with me; I’m taking you to school and whooping your ass when you get home!”

“Let go of me,” you command, and he does. “Stand still and shut up for a minute.” You turn to Amala as Dylan stares at his watch. “Introduce this asshole to Sophia once she’s done with your boss.”

She gives your step-dad a grin and then looks to you. “Of course, John.”

You return to Dylan. “I’m going to leave, and you're going to forget you saw me. You'll be able to move when Amala here introduces you to her friend, Sophia. Understand?”

"Yes," he growls through clenched teeth. You pat the man's back and stroll past him, leaving him frozen in his last few minutes as a man.

You just step onto the sidewalk outside as a silver sedan pulls up alongside. The passenger window rolls down to reveal Leah leaning over from the driver's seat. "Heya handsome," she says, "you going my way?"

You climb inside and tell Leah where you're headed. Now that you're both outside the bank, Leah is no longer at the mercy of your suggestions, but your earlier conditioning still holds firm, and she ogles and flirts with you at every chance she gets. You learn, as she drives, that she lives with her boyfriend, and wonder, only briefly, if you should release your hold on her.

"Here we are," she says, as she finally parks the car in front of a large, three-story house with a very nicely-kept front lawn. She frowns at you with sad eyes. "Am I ever going to see you again?" she asks.

You look around the neighborhood as you consider your answer. Your decision isn't easy, as the area seems brimming not only with very nice houses, but also, if the current sampling is any indication, a *lot* of attractive women. At the moment, you see two women chatting on the front porch of one house, at another a thirty-something couple has just come home with groceries, and there are no less than four college-age women out jogging on the small bit of sidewalk that you can see.

Not to mention the house of Holly's mother and Dylan's ex-wife, Jolene Anderson, outside which you currently sit.