Just Another Mind Control Story

He could do anything he wanted. With a wave of his hand he could own and home in the city. He could own the city itself. The world itself. He could make people worship him like a God. Like the only God. Well, more like the Devil really. Gods were pretty bland.

But if he were to suddenly make everyone a mindless things would get pretty boring pretty quickly. Such heavy handed actions lacked nuance. Nuance was important to him. It was his love of nuance, his love of The Game, that brought him to the glass doors of the Rose and Thorn restaurant. The place was a popular dining spot for upper class couples. Their food consistently wowed wealthy patrons and critics alike. Tables were booked months in advance and almost always for a special occasion. Casually entering alone, without a reservation, on a whim, was almost unheard of.

Unless of course, you were Him.

The door jingled a little as he pushed it open with a gloved hand. His feet strode purposefully across the red carpet at the entrance as he walked up to the hostess podium. Behind the podium was a woman in black pants and a black shirt. She smiled a trained, professional smile.

"May I have the name on your reservation sir?"

He returned her question with a smile of his own. The smile of a predator.

He took his time appraising the hostess. Her skin and eyes showed that she was of Middle Eastern descent. Possibly Iranian. She had her dark brown hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Her plastic smile was slowly starting to fade as his eyes lowered to blatantly stare at her modest chest. She was not blessed with noticeably large breasts but they were still noticeable against her tight, conservative button up shirt. A gleaming name plate on her shirt read "Arianna".

"Arianna," he growled from behind his smile.

"Sir, I..."

"Is it a family name?'

She swallowed as realization dawned on her soft face. She had heard of people like this. He was someone who could have anyone or anything He desired. He was a Controller. Fighting was useless. The best way to avoid being one of their victims was to avoid them completely. If they decided to pursue you though...

"It is Sir. I was named after my Great Grandmother." Her mouth seemed to move on its own. She could do nothing at that moment but answer him. When her lips once again were hers she felt herself say, with wild desperation,

"Do you like it?"

He took a step closer. "No. Naming a hot piece of ass like you after some dead woman doesn't make any sense. Change it."

Arianna's face grew warm. She knew that He was baiting her. He wanted her to get mad. She also knew now though that her name was no longer hers. Right now she had no name. She was just The Hostesses. The target of this man. Her lips acted on their own again.

"Change it...to what?'

The Man pretended to think for a moment. He slowly eyed her again up and down, his eyes lingering on her chest. She swallowed nervously.

"Where are you from?"

The question puzzled her. She could do nothing but answer though.

"I live in the eastern part of the city..."

He laughed.

"No, no no honey. Where are you From? Your An-cest-ors?"

He broke the final word into multiple syllables in order to emphasize his intentions.

"My family is Iranian. I'm third generation."

"Iran huh? Is that near... shit, what's that place called..."

The Man seemed lost in thought. This was her chance! The Nameless Hostess could escape. The door was right there. She began to move quickly, silently. Step after step brought her closer and closer to leaving the grasp of Him.

"Hey now! Back behind your podium missy! Did you ask your Boss's permission to leave early?"

Again he played with emphasis as he talk. The Hostess knew that He was not referring to Mr. MCann, the restaurant's manager, when he mentioned the word Boss.

"Help me out, what's near Iran?"

A Geography question? This man could literally rule the world and he was asking her a Geography question?

"Um... Iraq? Saudi Arabia? Azerbaijan? Oman?"

"You made that last one up!"

Just as she was about to rebut she realized that the man was right. Oman was not a real place.

The man snapped and he raised his head in a Eureka pose.

"Agrabah!"

The Hostess did a double take.

"What?"

"Hey, let me squeeze those tits. Lean over the podium missy"

She could feel herself leaning forward. Slowly the man's big, ape-like hands began to cup her breasts and squeeze them lewdly. She could see that some patrons and servers had noticed what was going on. People were silently beginning to make their way to the back exit. Unfortunately, He had also noticed.

"Nobody leaves without asking me for permission and permission being granted" he beamed as he continued to squeeze her breasts like fleshy stress balls. His grip was rough and crass.

'You know, Agrabah! Arabian Niiiiiiiiiiights!" he bellowed in an off key singing voice. The restaurant was silent outside of his bellowing and someone's quiet sobbing.

"Um, that was, a movie... Agrabah's not real."

He laughed.

"I'll tell you what is and is not real. Take your tits out."

She could feel her fingers unbuttoning her black shirt. As the garment folded back on itself the gold nameplate with her old name faded from view. She couldn't even remember what it said. Silently the shirt fell to the floor. He leered at her as her hands reached back to unclasp her bra. With some minor fumbling that too fell to the floor and her light brown breasts went on full display. The man grunted in approval and began to knead her flesh once again.

"Jasmine" he said "Your name is Jasmine. You are from Agrabah."

Jasmine's realization was instantaneous. Her name had always been Jasmine. It was a little embarrassing to be named after royalty but her mother had been so fond of that name. New memories began to form in her head. His command was interacting with her personal thoughts, feelings and life story. A seed had been planted and branches were growing on their own. She was Jasmine..."

"Ouch!"

He had pinched her dark brown nipples between his fingers.

"Earth to Jasmine! Come in Jazzy-baby!" He was all smiles. "Aren't you going to show me to my seat?" The man snapped his fingers.

The regular restaurant noise returned. Conversations restarted. Servers continued to hawk the overpriced specials. Couples held hands across their tables. With a snap of his fingers he had wiped their memories.

Once again the professional smile returned to Jasmine's face. She took no notice of the fact that she remained topless and that her breasts were on full display. Even her chocolate nipples were hard and at attention.

"Right this way Sir..." Jasmine trailed off as she scanned the restaurant for an empty table. They were at capacity. They were always at capacity. She turned to give Him the news.

"That table over there will be perfect."

She smiled again, sighed and began to walk towards the table He had picked out.