Moderating Power

Author's note: Hey there! I hope you're having a wonderful day! Just a quick interruption in your scheduled reading to inform you that I've created a Discord server around hypnosis, mind control and transformations, with a focus on concept stories. I'll also keep everyone updated about my upcoming stories (big novel underway) there. Feel free to join!

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I sat on my couch, staring blankly at the wall as the setting sun cast long shadows across my messy apartment. Empty energy drink cans littered the coffee table, dirty clothes formed small mountains on the floor, and the faint smell of three-day-old takeout lingered in the air. But for once, I wasn't bothered by the chaos around me. My mind was too busy trying to make sense of the chaos inside.

How does someone act morally when they literally own half the world's population? When women don't really care what happens to them because some cosmic **** has rewired their brains to accept it as natural? Sure, it seemed surprisingly hard to truly hurt them—they bounced back with disturbing ease—but I had still managed to hurt Melissa, even a little. I'd seen it in her eyes, that moment of emptiness when I'd taken away her passion for art. And Damien… the look on his face when he'd come home hadn't been anger, exactly. It had been something worse: disappointment, concern, pity. I'd hurt him too, and he wasn't even mine to command.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I wiped my eyes, suddenly aware of how swollen they must be from crying, and trudged to the door.

Zoe stood in the hallway, still in her work clothes—a pencil skirt and blouse under a cardigan with a cartoon character pin on the lapel. Her long black hair was pulled back in its usual messy bun, and her oversized glasses slid slightly down her nose as she looked up at me.

"Hey," she said, her expression shifting to concern as she took in my appearance. "You look like shit."

I stepped aside to let her in, watching as she surveyed my apartment with a slight frown but no comment.

"Thanks for coming," I said, my voice hoarse. "I'm sorry for taking up your time after work. I know you probably had plans with Marcus or something."

Zoe snorted, pushing past me into the apartment. "Are you seriously apologizing to me for asking me to come over? I'm your property, Oliver. Of course I'll drop whatever I'm doing if you tell me to!" She set her purse down on the kitchen counter, carefully moving aside a stack of unwashed dishes to make space. "So what's the emergency? You sounded pretty messed up on the phone."

I sank into my gaming chair across from her, running a hand through my already disheveled hair. "I went to see Melissa."

Zoe's eyebrows shot up. "Melissa? Why would you—"

"And I… I used my power on her. I made her stop caring about art—you know how important that is to her. Then I made her hate her boyfriend. And then…" I swallowed hard, fighting back fresh tears. "I turned her into this… this mindless sex thing. She couldn't think about anything except sex. She was just… gone. Everything that made her Melissa was just gone."

I expected shock, disgust, maybe even fear. Instead, Zoe's expression relaxed, almost like she was relieved.

"Oh, is that all?" she said, adjusting her glasses. "From the way you were acting, I thought you'd done something really bad."

I stared at her, incredulous. "Are you serious right now? I basically mind-**** my ex-girlfriend! How is that not 'really bad'?"

"****?" Zoe laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that made her black eyes shine. "Oliver, you own her. She's yours. You can't **** her," she said, her voice matter of fact, like she was explaining something to a child. I was tired of feeling like a child. "Our consent is always... implied. I guess it's not always... pleasant for us, sure, but if you have a Barbie doll and you decide to cut off all its hair or paint it a different color or whatever, that's not ****." She shrugged, as if her words were not completely mind-boggling.

I groaned in frustration, burying my face in my hands. "But she's not a fucking Barbie doll, Zoe! She's a person!"

"Well, yeah, technically," Zoe conceded, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. "But also, she's your property."

I stopped pacing and stared at her. This was Zoe—my friend who'd once given a twenty-minute lecture about the importance of consent in gaming communities, who'd organized a charity drive for women's shelters last year. And here she was, shrugging off what I'd done like it was nothing. Like women were just toys for me to play with. Like everyone did. Why was I even surprised?

She sighed, leaning forward. "Did you leave her like that?" Her tone was gentle, soothing, like she was trying to calm a frightened animal.

I shook my head, my shoulders slumping. "No, I undid it all before I left. She's fine, physically."

"And mentally, Oliver. At worst she's a bit shaken. But she'll be okay. I can promise you that."

"The problem is that it's wrong," I insisted. "Just because I can do something doesn't mean I should."

Zoe sighed, a look of fond exasperation crossing her face. "Okay, look. I can see that treating women 'properly' is important to you, even if I don't really get why you're so worked up about it." She made air quotes around the word "properly," as if it was a quaint concept. "So why don't you just set some clear rules for yourself? Boundaries about what you can and can't do with women. That way, you won't have to feel bad afterward."

I stared at Zoe, still annoyed by how casually she dismissed it all. But what was the point in arguing?

"Rules," I muttered, standing up and beginning to pace around my cluttered living room. "That's… not a bad idea, actually."

Zoe watched me with an amused but tired expression, her legs tucked underneath her on my couch. "I mean, if it'll help you sleep at night. Though I still don't get why you need them."

"Because it's wrong to just… do whatever I want with people," I insisted, stepping over a pile of laundry. "Even if they don't seem to mind."

"Okay, okay," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. "So what kind of rules are we talking about here? Like, 'Thou shalt not turn thy ex-girlfriend into a horny zombie'?"

Despite everything, I snorted. "That's definitely going on the list."

Zoe pulled out her phone, her thumbs hovering over the screen. "Alright, let's get specific. What exactly are you worried about doing?"

I thought about it, trying to articulate the moral boundaries that seemed so obvious to me but apparently made no sense to anyone else in this new reality.

"First off," I said, "I should never make women suffer lasting physical pain. That's just… basic human decency."

Zoe nodded, typing it into her phone. "Got it. No ****. Though honestly, Oliver, I can't imagine you torturing anyone. You cried when we watched John Wick because of the dog."

"Second," I continued, ignoring her jab, "if I alter a woman's mind, it should always be temporary. No permanent personality changes or memory wipes or… whatever."

"So basically, return toys to the shelf in the condition you found them?" Zoe asked, still typing. "Makes sense."

I winced at her wording but nodded. "Third, I should respect a woman's life. No derailing careers or making them abandon their kids or anything like that."

"So no life-ruining commands," Zoe summarized. "Though technically, you could just command them not to care about their ruined lives."

"Zoe!" I groaned.

"Just saying!" she defended, adjusting her glasses. "I'm trying to help you think through the loopholes here."

I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. "And finally, I should never threaten a woman's relationships with others. No breaking up marriages or friendships or… whatever."

Alright, so here's what we've got," Zoe said, reading from her phone. "One: No lasting physical pain. Two: Mind alterations must be temporary. Three: Respect her life path—no career or family derailment. Four: Don't mess with her relationships." She looked up at me. "That about covers it?"

I nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. Having these boundaries written down somehow made them more real, more binding. "Yeah, that's good."

Zoe tapped a few more times on her phone. "Aaaand sent. Now you have your very own 'How Not to Be a Supervillain' guide."

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see Zoe's text with the list. I saved it to my notes app, labeling it "Power Rules."

"Feeling better?" Zoe asked, her expression softening.

I sank back into my gaming chair, suddenly exhausted. "Yeah, actually. Thanks."

"No problem," she said, stretching her arms above her head. Her work blouse rode up slightly, revealing a strip of skin at her waist. "So, what do you want to do now? We could play on your Switch, I could ride your cock until you forget your own name, we could order pizza and watch a movie, or…" she glanced around my disaster of an apartment, "I could help you clean this place up. It looks like a frat house threw up in here."

She listed all the options with the same casual tone, as if fucking me was no different from ordering pizza. Which, in this new world, I guess it wasn't.

As Zoe finished listing my options, something clicked in my brain—a pattern I'd noticed but hadn't fully processed until now.

"Hey, Zoe," I said, leaning forward in my chair. "I've been wondering about something. I've noticed that women don't seem particularly eager to do most things they wouldn't normally want to do—they're kind of resistant until I specifically command them. But when it comes to sex, almost all of you just… offer yourselves up. Except for, like, older women or women who aren't... conventionally attractive." I frowned, trying to make sense of it. "What's that about?"

Zoe looked at me like I'd just asked why water was wet. "It just feels… fair that I offer sex." She shrugged, adjusting her glasses. "I know I'm not too bad looking, and I've seen how you look at me." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "You're not exactly subtle, you know. Your eyes practically bug out of your head whenever I wear that Legend of Zelda shirt that's a size too small."

I felt heat creeping up my neck. "I… I've always had a bit of a crush on you," I admitted, staring down at my hands.

"No kidding," Zoe snorted, rolling her eyes. "I've known that since freshman year when you kept 'accidentally' sitting next to me in the computer lab."

I thought about it for a moment, trying to piece it all together. "So, if I understand correctly, women feel a natural compulsion to make themselves available to me, sexually, if they suspect I might want it?"

"Bingo," Zoe confirmed, snapping her fingers. "It makes sense, right? It's probably the most obvious use of us we could think of. After all," she added with a wry smile, "most men are a bit one-track minded about that sort of stuff."

She stood up, stretching again. "So, what'll it be? Gaming? Fucking? Movie? Cleaning? The night is young, and this nerdy girl is at your disposal." She did a little mock curtsy that somehow managed to be both silly and strangely alluring.

Despite the temptation—and God, was there temptation—I shook my head. "Maybe another time. I think I need some alone time to process everything."

"Fair enough," she said, grabbing her purse from the counter. "Just text if you change your mind. I'm literally always available to you now." She headed for the door, but turned back with her hand on the knob, her brow slightly furrowed. "Hey, random question, but… do you have any idea why you now own all women?"

The question caught me off guard. It was the first time anyone had asked about the why of it all—including me. I'd been so caught up in the how and the what that I hadn't even considered the why.

"I… I have no idea," I admitted, suddenly dumbfounded. "It just happened."

Zoe nodded, seemingly satisfied with my non-answer. "Yeah, that's what I figured. Unless you've been secretly messing around with some ancient artifacts or making deals with demons lately. I was just curious. Anyway, see you later!"

She was about to close the door behind her when I called out, "Zoe, wait!" She paused, the door halfway closed. "Stop torturing Marcus with... you know..."

She smirked, "Good call, he's close to losing his mind. And thanks, I'd rather not be a bitch to him if I can help it."

And with that, she was gone, leaving me alone in my messy apartment with more questions than answers. Why me? Of all the men in the world, why had this cosmic power fallen to me? Was there a reason? A purpose? Or was it just some random supernatural accident?

I stared at the closed door, feeling the weight of ownership pressing down on me. I had a feeling I was only beginning to understand what it truly meant.

After Zoe left, I slumped back in my gaming chair and swiveled toward my computer. The Discord server—"Finding The One"—was still open in my browser. I refreshed the page, watching as new messages populated the chat. The server had grown since I'd last checked, but not by much—from around 20,000 users to about 35,000. In a world of billions, that was barely a blip. It confirmed what I'd been suspecting: the vast majority of people didn't seem particularly interested in finding out who owned all women.

What was even more interesting was that a small number of women had joined the server too. They were a tiny minority—maybe a hundred or so out of the 35,000 members—but they were there, asking questions, offering information. It made me wonder if this had something to do with personality types. Maybe these people were just naturally more curious, their curiosity strong enough to push against whatever cosmic **** was making everyone else accept this new reality without question.

I clicked through to a channel called "Sightings" that hadn't existed the last time I checked. The most recent post had over a hundred replies and was pinned by the moderators. My heart rate picked up as I clicked on it.

PossibleSighting_LePC posted by user DarkMatter42:

Guys, I think I found him. Check out this Instagram post from yesterday. Woman named @SophieAdventures was at Le Petit Château and look who's in the background.

The post linked to an Instagram photo of a smiling brunette woman in her thirties, posing with a glass of wine. In the background, slightly blurred but definitely visible, was me, sitting at my table. And there was Claudia, topless, leaning over to serve me food. My stomach dropped.

I clicked through to the actual Instagram post:

SophieAdventures: Lovely lunch at Le Petit Château today! Food was amazing as always. Oh, and I bumped into THE guy lol. He later told all the hot women to get naked which was kind of weird. Anyway, their crème brûlée is to die for! #foodie #citylife #justanormalday

The casualness of it was surreal. Like she was mentioning a minor celebrity sighting rather than a cosmic event that had changed the fundamental nature of human society. Below were a handful of comments:

FoodieQueen76: OMG their creme brulee IS amazing! Was thinking of going there this weekend!

JaketheDog: Wait, you saw HIM? That's crazy! What was he like?

SophieAdventures: @JaketheDog Just a normal dude tbh. Kind of average looking. Didn't talk to him directly.

MarcusP: Anyone know his name or how to contact him? Nothing urgent, just want to ask permission for some things.

SophieAdventures: @MarcusP No idea, sorry!

I sat back in my chair, my heart pounding. They were onto me. They didn't have my name yet, but they had my face and they knew where I'd been. The few women on the server, had all "recognized" me from the photo. It confirmed men had no clue who I was and couldn't recognize my face, while every woman now knew it instinctively, apparently even from a low-resolution blurry image. It was only a matter of time before they figured out who I was, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine. What would happen then? I mean, yeah, most people didn't give a shit, but what about the few people who did?

I stared at my computer screen, my heart hammering in my chest. They were going to find me—that much was inevitable. The only question was how it would impact my life when they did. Would I be hounded everywhere I went? Would men line up outside my apartment, begging for permission to sleep with their wives?

The thought made me break out in a cold sweat. I'd never been good with attention. Hell, I could barely handle ordering at a drive-thru without rehearsing what I was going to say three times in my head. But maybe... maybe I could get ahead of this. Control the narrative, as they say.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, opened the camera app, and held it at arm's length. I looked like shit—eyes puffy from crying, hair sticking up in all directions, a three-day stubble on my chin. Perfect. Let them see the real me. I grabbed a scrap of paper from my desk, scribbled "I'm the Owner, 03/11/2025" on it, and held it up next to my face. Click.

Before I could second-guess myself, I created a new Discord account for the server—"TheActualOwner"—and posted the photo with a brief message:

"Hey everyone. I'm the guy you're looking for. Yes, I own all women now. No, I don't know why. I've been lurking here for a while, and I figured I should introduce myself before someone else does it for me. I'm sorry about all this—I didn't ask for it and I'm still figuring it out. I'd appreciate being left alone while I sort through this mess. Thanks."

I hit send, then immediately regretted it. What the hell was I thinking? The server erupted with activity—hundreds of messages appearing in seconds, my DMs filling up with friend requests and messages faster than I could process them.

I clicked on a few, my eyes widening at what I saw:

DarkMatter42: Hey! Is it really you? Can I have permission to sleep with my ex-girlfriend? We broke up last month but I miss her.

GamerGuy88: Dude, there's this fitness instructor I know... Any chance you could lend her to me for a weekend?

FitnessFanatic: Owner! I'm yours! I live in New York so probably too far, but I'd fly to you if you want. I'm a personal trainer, very flexible ;)

The messages kept coming, a bizarre mix of men treating me like some kind of sex-lending library and women casually offering themselves up like items on a menu. Some acknowledged the distance might be an issue but assured me they'd travel if I commanded it.

I frantically typed out a response to the flood of messages:

"Please, I'm serious about wanting to be left alone. I didn't ask for this power and I'm still figuring it out. I don't want to be bombarded with requests."

The women on the server seemed to take my plea more seriously. One user named GamerGirl23 wrote: "Guys, maybe we should respect his boundaries? He seems overwhelmed." Another, FitMom42, added: "I get it. Must be a lot to process. Take your time, Owner."

But the men were relentless. The messages kept coming:

RichardT: Just one small request, man. My girlfriend left me and I just want to talk to her. Can you tell her to call me?

SportsGuy77: Come on, don't be selfish. You have ALL women. Can't you share just a little?

My hands were shaking as I typed, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. This was exactly what I'd been afraid of. I'd thought revealing myself would give me some control, but it was having the opposite effect.

"STOP!" I typed in all caps. "Don't make me command the women around you to make your life hell."

As soon as I hit send, I regretted the threat. A few users immediately pushed back:

AnonymousGamer: Lol how would you even know who our girlfriends are? You don't know who we are.

TechBro42: Empty threats, dude. You can't command women you don't know exist.

But others seemed more cautious:

DarkMatter42: Guys, maybe we should back off. He could issue broad commands. "All women whose boyfriends are on this Discord server, do X." That would work, right?

JakeFromState: Not worth the risk. People can be found online pretty easily these days.

The chat was descending into chaos. In desperation, I typed:

"I command all women on this server to defend my need for privacy and help me get some space."

Almost immediately, the tone of the female users shifted:

GamerGirl23: EVERYONE BACK OFF NOW. He needs space and you're all being incredibly disrespectful!

FitMom42: This is exactly why he doesn't want to engage. You're all treating him like some wish-granting genie instead of a person.

BookishBabe (a Mod): Anyone who continues to harass the Owner will be banned from this server. First and last warning, guys!

The men's reactions were a mix of surprise and resignation:

SportsGuy77: Whoa, that was fast. Fine, I'll back off.

RichardT: Sorry, man. Didn't mean to overwhelm you.

AnonymousGamer: This is bullshit. He can't just take over everything.

DarkMatter42: Actually, he can. That's the whole point. Let's just give him some space, guys.

I sat back in my chair, heart still racing. Even in this microcosm of the internet, the power I held was terrifying. With a single command, I'd turned the women against the men, creating instant defenders out of people who moments ago were just curious observers.

But even as some users backed off, others continued to message me privately. The notifications kept pinging, each one making me flinch.

As I was about to close the app and walk away from this disaster, a private message notification popped up from someone called "OldSchoolMod":

"Well, that was quite an entrance! Not exactly how I would have handled it, but hey, who am I to judge the Owner of All Women? I'm Greg, by the way. Admin of this little corner of chaos you just set on fire."

There was something disarming about his message—no requests, no demands, just a touch of humor. I hesitantly replied:

"Sorry about that. I panicked."

"No worries, kid. Been running online communities since the days of dial-up. Seen worse meltdowns over Pokemon trades. Listen, I've made you an admin. Seems only fair that the Owner would help run the biggest Discord server dedicated to him, right? No pressure though—I can handle the day-to-day for a while if you just want to lurk."

I stared at the screen, surprised by the notification confirming my new admin status. Greg seemed genuinely nice, not at all fazed by the situation.

"Thanks, I guess? I don't know the first thing about running a Discord server."

"It's like riding a bike, except the bike is on fire and everyone's screaming. You'll get the hang of it. I've removed all of the male mods—keeping just the women and adding a few more. Figured they might be more... receptive to your guidance."

He invited me to check the mod-only channel. When I clicked it, I found several women already discussing how to handle the situation:

BookishBabe: We need to lock down this server ASAP. Too many people harassing the Owner.

GamerGirl23: Agreed. Should we start banning the worst offenders?

FitMom42: Owner, if you're reading this, just give us the usernames of anyone DMing you with requests and we'll take care of it.

TechSavvyChick: You should probably disable DMs from server members and restrict friend requests. I can help you set that up if you want.

Greg chimed in: "TechSavvyChick's got the right idea. Lock down those DMs before you drown in a sea of 'can I fuck my neighbor' requests."

I couldn't help but laugh at his bluntness. As I was about to respond, another message appeared from a mod I hadn't seen before:

LiteraryLady: Wait, what's going on? I step away for twenty minutes and everything's on fire? Who's this new admin?

There was a pause, then:

LiteraryLady: OH! Just saw your messages... How can I help you? Do you want me to ban anyone?

I admitted to Greg and the other mods that I had no idea what I was doing. "I just wanted some control over the situation, but it's spiraling."

Greg's response came quickly: "Look, we could start banning everyone who asks for permission to bang their girlfriend, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this server. Most of these guys joined specifically to find you so they could ask exactly that. The server won't last long if we shut down its main purpose."

I leaned back in my chair, considering his words. As annoying as some of these guys were, I could understand where they were coming from. They just wanted to go back to some kind of normalcy with their partners. Even if, bizarrely, they didn't seem to find it that weird that they needed permission in the first place.

"Why did you even start this server?" I asked.

"Curiosity, mostly," Greg replied. "I was surprised that so few people seemed to care about who suddenly owned half the population. Found a few other guys ready to start looking, gathered them here."

Greg seemed to be among the very few people who were interested in the situation out of curiosity rather than wanting something from me. This was both strange and refreshing.

"Alright," I typed to the mod channel. "I'm going to make an announcement. Try to calm everyone down, let them know I'll think about the situation and figure out what I'm going to allow. In the meantime, ban anyone who gets too aggressive or insistent, and make sure people give me some space."

The women moderators responded with immediate agreement. I took a deep breath and typed out my announcement:

"Hey everyone. Sorry about the chaos earlier. I'm still processing all of this, just like you are. I understand many of you have joined this server hoping to get permission regarding women in your lives, and I'm not ignoring that. I'm going to take some time to think about the best way to handle this situation, and I'll keep you posted. For now, please respect my need for space and follow the moderators' instructions. Thanks for your understanding."

As soon as I posted it, the server exploded again with notifications, but the moderators moved quickly. I watched as they issued warnings, deleted inappropriate messages, and banned the most aggressive users. Within minutes, they had the situation relatively under control.

"Thanks," I messaged the mod channel. "I appreciate the help."

"No problem, Owner," BookishBabe replied. "We've got your back."