Tantrum

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!

I lay in my bed, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun, plunging my bedroom into a darkness that matched my mood. The plastic Scepter of Dominion sat on my nightstand, its cheap gold paint catching what little light filtered through the fabric. I'd been staring at it for hours, or maybe days—time had lost all meaning since Claudia walked out.

"Please," I whispered to the plastic toy for what must have been the hundredth time. "Please give me back my power over her. Make her mine again." The words tasted like ash in my mouth, and self-loathing washed over me in a fresh wave. What kind of monster was I, praying to a game piece to strip away a woman's free will? But I couldn't stop myself from trying, from hoping that somehow this stupid plastic scepter was the key to everything.

I'd tried everything—holding it while concentrating on Claudia, waving it around like a wand, even sleeping with it clutched to my chest. Nothing worked. Of course it didn't work. It was just a piece of molded plastic from a board game. The cosmic joke that had made me the owner of all women probably had nothing to do with this stupid toy.

Tears welled in my eyes again, spilling over to soak into my already damp pillow. I'd lost count of how many times I'd cried today. My eyes were swollen and raw, my throat aching from sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my chest.

I reached for my phone, checking it for the millionth time. No new messages, no missed calls. I'd been trying to reach Claudia non-stop for the past two days—calling, texting, messaging her on every social platform I could think of. Early this morning, I'd discovered her number had been disconnected. When I checked her social media accounts, they were all gone—deactivated or deleted, I couldn't tell which. She'd erased herself from my digital life as thoroughly as she'd removed herself from my physical one.

Yesterday, in desperation, I'd called Le Petit Château and asked for Jeanne Beaumont. When she came to the phone, her voice professional and deferential, I'd asked if Claudia was there. She wasn't. No one had seen her since she left my apartment. For a brief, terrible moment, I'd considered commanding Sophia and the other women at the restaurant to find Claudia, to bring her to me, to… I shuddered at the memory of that impulse. I'd thanked Jeanne for her time and hung up instead.

I'd even thought about calling Renee. Maybe Claudia had gone to her. I could have used Claudia's girlfriend as bait to lure her back. But I didn't. Some small part of me—the part that wasn't completely consumed by grief and desperation—resisted becoming the monster Claudia now knew me to be, not entirely, not if I could avoid it.

But that's what I was, wasn't it? A monster. I'd used women like toys, commanded them to do whatever I wanted, taken whatever I wanted. And the worst part was, I'd convinced myself it was okay because they didn't seem to mind. Because the cosmic joke had rewritten reality to make my ownership of women seem normal and acceptable. Because I'd made stupid rules to feel better about it.

But Claudia was free now. The only free woman in a world of slaves. And she had seen the truth of what I was, what I'd done. The look of absolute revulsion on her face haunted me every time I closed my eyes.

My phone buzzed, and my heart leaped into my throat. I fumbled with it, nearly dropping it in my haste to see if it was her. But it was just a notification from a random app. I tossed the phone across the room, where it bounced harmlessly on my carpet. I'd been doing this all day—snapping at every buzz or vibration, hoping each time that it would be Claudia, that she'd changed her mind, that she wanted to talk.

But deep down, I knew it wouldn't be her. The look on her face when she left—it wasn't just disgust and anger. I had rotted in her brain.

Despair curdled inside me, fermenting into something darker, hotter. Anger bubbled up through my chest, scorching away the pathetic tears. I sat up in bed, the sheets falling away from my unwashed body.

Who the fuck did Claudia think she was? She didn't want me? Fine. Who fucking cared? I owned ALL OTHER WOMEN. Every single one of them. I was sitting here crying over the only bitch in the entire world who had a problem with what literally no one else cared about.

She wasn't special—she was an anomaly. A glitch in the system. I saw it clearly now, like a veil had been lifted from my eyes. Opinions were just opinions, and the ones that mattered were the ones that drove the fucking world. And in this world, MY world, I owned women. That was normal now. That was reality. Claudia was the only one blind to it because I had been stupid enough to push her back into the past, into the mindset before my revolution. Before I became The Owner, the one and only.

"It doesn't matter," I muttered, climbing out of bed. My voice sounded strange in the silent apartment, rough from disuse and crying. "It doesn't fucking matter."

I could get other sluts. I could have any woman I wanted—their asses, pussies, tits, mouths—I owned them ALL. Every single one. Why was I wasting time mourning the loss of just one?

I grabbed the first clothes I found on the floor—a stained t-shirt, jeans with a small tear in the knee, mismatched socks. I didn't bother showering. I didn't bother brushing my teeth or combing my hair. What did it matter how I looked? I was The Owner. They would take me as I was.

I stormed out of my apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind me. The afternoon sun hit me like a physical blow after days in darkness, but I didn't slow down. I marched to my Porsche, fumbling with the keys, my hands shaking with rage or adrenaline or both.

The engine roared to life, and I peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing against the asphalt. I had no destination in mind—I just needed to move, to get away from the apartment that still smelled faintly of Claudia's perfume, that still held echoes of her laugh.

I weaved through traffic, pushing well above the speed limit, not caring about the horns blaring around me or the angry gestures from other drivers. Let them be angry. What could they do to me? I was The Owner. I was untouchable.

A small voice in the back of my mind whispered that I was being reckless, that I was acting like a child throwing a tantrum. I silenced it by pressing harder on the accelerator, watching the needle climb past 90, past 100. The world outside became a blur, and for a moment, I felt something close to peace in the chaos of speed and danger.

I sped down the highway, my mind a chaotic storm of rage and hurt, when flashing blue and red lights appeared in my rearview mirror. The wailing siren cut through my thoughts, and for a moment, I considered just flooring it. The Porsche could probably outrun a standard police cruiser, right? But even in my anger-addled state, I recognized that would only make things worse.

"Fuck," I muttered, pulling over to the shoulder, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

A tap on my window made me jump. A police officer stood there, mid-thirties with a military-style haircut and mirrored sunglasses that reflected my disheveled appearance back at me. I lowered the window, the mechanical whir seeming unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

"License and registration," he said flatly. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going back there?"

"No," I admitted, fumbling for my wallet.

"One hundred and twelve in a sixty-five zone," he said, his voice hardening. "Weaving through traffic, endangering the lives of everyone around you."

As I handed over my license, I noticed a second officer standing a few paces behind him—a woman with short blonde hair tucked under her cap, athletic build visible even under the bulky uniform. When our eyes met, something flickered across her face—recognition. Her posture changed subtly, becoming more deferential, though she maintained her professional demeanor.

I raised my hand and waved at her like an idiot, grinning. She hesitated, then gave a small, confused wave back, clearly uncertain about the protocol for greeting her owner during a traffic stop.

"What are you doing?" the male officer snapped, looking between us with growing irritation. "Officer Baker, do you know this individual?"

"Not personally, sir," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. "But I… recognize him."

The officer turned back to me, his face hardening. "Mr. Moore, you're looking at reckless driving, excessive speeding, and potentially endangering public safety. That's a mandatory court appearance, possible license suspension, and thousands in fines. I'm going to need you to step out of the vehicle."

I laughed. I actually laughed, the sound harsh and unhinged even to my own ears. Who did he think he was?

"Is there anything I could give you to make this go away?" I asked, surprising myself with the boldness of it. "To just let me go?"

The officer stiffened. "Are you attempting to bribe a police officer, Mr. Moore? Because I can add that to the charges."

I glanced past him to Officer Baker, who was watching our interaction with increasing discomfort. "Would you like to fuck your colleague?" I asked bluntly. "I own her. I'm The Owner."

The male officer's head snapped around to look at Officer Baker, who nodded reluctantly.

"He is, Rick," she confirmed, her cheeks flushing slightly. "That's him."

I could see the wheels turning in Officer Rick's head as he processed this information. His posture changed, the rigid professionalism giving way to something more calculating as he looked back at me.

"I can turn her into your personal slut if that's what you want," I offered, feeling a twisted sense of power return. "She'll do anything you want."

Officer Rick licked his lips, clearly tempted. "Yeah?" he said, his voice lower now. "Maybe... just a bit of fun for a bit."

I nodded, turning my attention to Officer Baker. "You will fuck this man any way he wants for the next forty-eight hours," I commanded.

"Yes, Owner," she replied, a shudder running through her body.

Officer Rick handed me back my license, already reaching for his colleague. "We're good here," he muttered, not even looking at me anymore. "Get out of here."

I didn't need to be told twice. As I pulled away, I glanced in my rearview mirror to see Officer Rick pushing Officer Baker against the hood of their patrol car, his hands already working at her uniform buttons. She was busy undoing his belt.

The sight should have made me feel powerful, vindicated. Instead, all I felt was hollow, but I certainly wasn't done.

I found myself driving aimlessly until I reached Riverside Commons, the sprawling shopping complex on the east side of town. The massive three-story structure dominated the landscape, its curved glass facade reflecting the late afternoon sun like a giant mirror. The parking lot was packed—it was Saturday, prime shopping time for families and teenagers with nowhere better to be.

I parked the Porsche haphazardly across two spaces near the main entrance, not caring if I inconvenienced anyone. Let them deal with it. I was The Owner.

Inside, the mall hummed with activity. The central atrium rose all three stories, capped by a massive skylight that bathed everything in natural light. Fountains burbled in decorative pools while shoppers moved between stores like schools of fish, bags dangling from their hands. The air smelled of pretzels from Auntie Anne's, perfume samples from Sephora, and the artificial vanilla scent the mall pumped through its ventilation system.

A couple caught my eye—early thirties, both dressed in that casual-but-expensive weekend wear that screamed "comfortable middle class." The woman was stunning—shoulder-length chestnut hair with caramel highlights, a heart-shaped face with full lips, and a figure that her simple sundress couldn't hide. Her breasts strained against the fabric when she laughed, which she did often at whatever the man was saying.

I followed them, staying a few paces behind, close enough to catch snippets of their conversation.

"You're terrible," she giggled, swatting his arm playfully. "We are not naming our first child after your fantasy football team."

"The Cincinnati Bengals is a perfectly respectable name for a child," he protested, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Little Cincy for short."

"In your dreams," she said, leaning into him with such easy affection it made my stomach turn.

I hated it. I hated their easy happiness, their obvious connection. I hated that they had what I'd lost—what Claudia had taken from me when she walked out.

Before I could think better of it, I strode forward and grabbed the woman's arm, spinning her around to face me. Her eyes widened in surprise, then recognition.

"Hey!" her boyfriend shouted, grabbing my shoulder roughly. "What the hell do you think you're—"

"Wait, Mark," the woman said, her voice suddenly deferential. "It's him. It's my owner."

Mark's grip on my shoulder loosened, though his expression remained thunderous. I could read the thoughts passing across his face as clearly as if they were written there: This asshole owns my girlfriend. He can do whatever he wants with her. I don't like it, but that's just how it is.

I smiled at him, enjoying his discomfort. "Your girlfriend is very pretty," I said, not taking my eyes off him. "I think I'll borrow her for a bit."

"We were just leaving," Mark said stiffly, trying to maintain some dignity.

I ignored him, turning to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Jessica," she replied, her eyes downcast.

"Jessica," I repeated, savoring the power I was about to exercise. "Be disgusted by Mark. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, the thought of him touching you—it all makes you want to vomit. And at the same time, be super horny for me. You can barely control yourself around me."

The change was immediate. Jessica's face contorted in revulsion as she looked at Mark, and she physically recoiled from him, yanking her hand from his.

"Don't touch me," she spat, wiping her hand on her dress as if she'd touched something filthy.

"Jess?" Mark's voice was small, confused. "What's happening?"

"God, even your voice is... Yuck!" she said, stepping away from him and toward me. Her eyes were hungry now as she looked at me, her pupils dilated. "Owner," she breathed, pressing herself against me. "Fuck me, please..."

Mark stood frozen, his face a mask of horror and helplessness. He knew the rules—I owned all women, including Jessica. If I wanted to turn her against him, that was my right. He could do nothing but watch as I wrapped my arms around Jessica's waist and pulled her close.

"Please," she whispered, her lips inches from mine. "Kiss me."

I did, claiming her mouth roughly, making sure Mark could see everything. Jessica moaned into the kiss, pressing herself against me with **** need while Mark watched, devastated but unwilling to challenge The Owner.

Movement caught my eye—three young women, probably college students, standing a few yards away, watching the scene unfold. They were the epitome of the girl-next-door type—one blonde with a high ponytail and a cheerleading physique, one redhead with freckles and a curvy figure, and one with sleek black hair and delicate features. All three wore the uniform of college girls everywhere—leggings, oversized sweatshirts, pristine white sneakers.

When they noticed me looking, they exchanged glances before the blonde stepped forward. I could see the compulsion working on her—the need to offer herself to her owner even if she found the situation distasteful.

"Do you want to fuck us?" she asked bluntly, her voice carrying in the mall atrium. She didn't sound particularly enthusiastic about the prospect, but she wasn't resistant either. It was as casual as if she'd asked if I wanted a sample from a food court vendor.

"We're all available," the redhead added with a shrug. "If that's what you want."

"Whatever you want," the third girl said, her voice soft but resigned.

I laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. This was power. This was what I deserved. This was what Claudia had rejected.

"All of you," I said, releasing Jessica and gesturing to include her and the three college girls. "Get on your fucking knees. Now."

They complied immediately, sinking to the polished tile floor of the mall, Jessica still looking at me with manufactured desire while Mark stood helplessly by, other shoppers moving around the scene with only mild interest, as if a man commanding four women to kneel before him was just another day at Riverside Commons.

I laughed again, the sound edging into hysteria. This was my world now. Mine.

"I want all three of you hungry for my cock," I commanded, my voice carrying through the atrium. "You can't think of anything else. You need it more than you've ever needed anything in your life."

The change was instant. The three college girls' expressions transformed from passive resignation to **** hunger. The blonde's eyes darkened with manufactured lust, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. The redhead moaned softly, her hands already reaching for my belt. The third girl, the one with sleek black hair, trembled visibly, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.

"Please," the blonde begged, her voice husky. "Let me taste you."

I nodded, and she scrambled forward on her knees, her fingers fumbling with my zipper. The other two crowded around, their hands roaming over my legs, my hips, anywhere they could reach. Jessica remained kneeling a few feet away, still staring at me with that same **** want while Mark stood frozen in horror.

The blonde freed my erection, gasping with artificial delight as if she'd uncovered some precious treasure. Without hesitation, she took me into her mouth, moaning around my length as if it were the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. The redhead and the dark-haired girl fought for position, one kissing my thigh, the other trying to fondle what the blonde couldn't fit in her mouth.

Around us, mall-goers gave us a wide berth, their expressions ranging from disgust to embarrassment to **** fascination. No one intervened. No one said a word. This was my right as The Owner, distasteful as they might find it.

"Switch," I commanded after a minute, and the blonde reluctantly pulled back, allowing the redhead to take her place. She attacked her task with enthusiasm, taking me deeper than the blonde had managed, her eyes watering with the effort. The blonde and the dark-haired girl continued their worship of whatever parts of me they could reach, hands slipping under my shirt, caressing my chest, my stomach.

I spotted two security guards approaching, their faces set in stern disapproval. A middle-aged woman in a floral dress stopped them, gesturing toward me.

"That's him," I heard her say. "That's The Owner."

The guards' expressions changed immediately. They stopped in their tracks, uncertainty replacing determination. They looked at each other, then back at the scene before them, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to challenge my authority. They retreated to the edge of the growing crowd, standing awkwardly with their hands clasped in front of them.

"You," I said, pointing to the dark-haired girl. "Your turn."

She eagerly replaced the redhead, her technique different—slower, more deliberate, her dark eyes never leaving mine as she worked. The blonde and redhead busied themselves removing their tops, exposing their breasts for my pleasure without being asked.

"All of you, strip," I ordered, and they complied immediately, shedding clothes without concern for the public setting. Jessica followed suit, her sundress pooling around her knees as she knelt. Mark made a choked sound but remained rooted to the spot, unable to look away from his girlfriend's betrayal, though I knew that he didn't see it as more than an unpleasant reality.

I commanded the blonde to lie on her back on the hard tile floor. She did so eagerly, spreading her legs in invitation. I positioned myself between her thighs, pushing into her with one rough thrust. She cried out, not in pain but in manufactured ecstasy, her back arching off the floor.

"Keep licking my cock," I told the other two girls, who immediately took turns with their mouths on me when I pulled out of the blonde, running their tongues on what they could reach between each new thrust. Jessica crawled closer, **** to be included, and I commanded her to kiss the blonde, to swallow her moans.

I lost track of time as I moved between the four women, taking each of them in turn on the mall floor. The redhead on her hands and knees, the dark-haired girl with her legs over my shoulders, Jessica straddling my lap, riding me while Mark watched, tears streaming down his face. The crowd around us grew, then thinned, then grew again as shoppers came and went, all maintaining a respectful distance from The Owner exercising his rights.

When I finally approached climax, I pulled out of the dark-haired girl and commanded Jessica to finish me with her mouth. She eagerly complied, taking me deep and moaning as I exploded down her throat, her eyes locked on Mark's devastated face the entire time.

I collapsed onto the cool tile floor, completely spent. The four women remained around me, still under the influence of my commands, still hungry for more despite my obvious exhaustion. Their naked bodies glistened with sweat in the mall's artificial lighting, their eyes still dark with a lust that wasn't their own.

"Stop," I gasped. "All of you, go back to normal."

The change was immediate and devastating. Confusion replaced desire. anxiety replaced eagerness. The three college girls scrambled for their discarded clothes. Jessica's eyes cleared, and she looked around wildly before spotting Mark. Understanding dawned on her face, followed by a muffled gasp as she reached for him. He hesitated only a moment before rushing to her, wrapping his coat around her naked body and helping her to her feet.

I remained on the floor, unable to move, unable to process the magnitude of what I'd just done. People continued to pass by, some still watching, others deliberately averting their eyes from the aftermath of my depravity.

The two security guards approached again, their earlier deference replaced with sturdiness. I was done playing with my toys, and now I was just a dude with his cock out in the middle of a mall.

"You better get going," one of them said coldly. "And get that thing put away. No one wants to see it."

I fumbled with my clothes, my fingers numb and clumsy. My mind felt shattered, fragmented into a thousand pieces that couldn't form a coherent thought.

I stumbled toward the exit, the cool evening air hitting my face like a slap, but it couldn't wash away the filth I felt coating every inch of my skin.