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Subject: {ASSM} From Where I Sit {Tullius} (MF mc)
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Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2007 07:10:05 -0500
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<1st attachment, "wheresit.txt" begin>

Author: Tullius <tullius@cantshootfs.cjb.net>
Title: From Where I Sit
Summary: Ferdinand the Polesitter rules the whole world, but he still 
can't get any.  At least, not directly.
Keywords: MF mc

Disclaimer: If you're under the legal age of majority in your 
jurisdiction, you should have been amply warned not to read this by now, 
but for the sake of the incredible levels of repetition demanded by 
lawyers I'll say it again.  This work of fiction is just that, fiction, 
any similarity to a real person or persons, living or dead, is 
coincidental.  Moreover, it's a piece of fiction intended to be read by 
open-minded adults, and should not be viewed by minors.  If you're under 
eighteen years of age, you are duly warned to read no further, and the 
author disclaims all civil and criminal liability that might be 
construed to result from anything that happens to you if you do so.

Redistribution of this work is allowed under the following conditions.  
Firstly, it must be verbatim, and this disclaimer and boring copyright 
stuff must be attached.  Second, you must not accept any payment for 
redistribution of this work, even if that payment is only to cover costs 
of the distribution medium.  Third, you must email me at the above 
address to let me know that you're redistributing it.

The author will accept positive feedback and praise of all kinds with 
blushing gratitude, pay due heed to respectfully-phrased constructive 
criticism, and send flames to /dev/null with extreme prejudice, possibly 
rebutting them in an annoyingly calm and reasonable tone if he can be 
bothered.

***

"I believe the time, your Most Sapient Highness, has not yet come for 
our session here to end."

The voice of the High Priest was serene, but any of his subordinates in 
the priesthood would have found the atmosphere in the arboretum anything 
but tranquil.  Such a one would have felt the power arcing between the 
High Priest and his student as the latter tried to leave and the former 
tried to detain him.

Ultimately, the Crown Prince won, and replied to his teacher in a tone 
that tried to mimic the other's, but was in the end far too exultant at 
the victory to truly mock serenity, let alone convey it.

"Can it have slipped the mind of your Most Puissant Eminence that this 
is my palace?  That here I am entitled to do as I please?"

"Hardly, just as I am sure that your Highness is aware that his Blessed 
Majesty, your Highness's father, has mandated that I instruct you in the 
ways of the talent that is your birthright for no fewer than three hours 
in each day."

"Your Eminence is famed for wisdom, therefore it cannot have escaped 
your Eminence that my father is a doddering, infuriating," here the 
Prince's voice rose in pitch until he sounded much younger than his 
twenty-eight years, "insane old fool!"

*

Far away from the palace of the Crown Prince, which was situated in the 
centre of an expansive forest estate on the outskirts of the new world 
capital of Megalopolis, his Most Blessed and Gracious Majesty, Ferdinand 
the First, known to his people (when they thought themselves unobserved) 
as Ferdinand the Polesitter, grinned at the naivete of his son.  The 
poor boy thought that just because neither he nor the High Priest could 
read a mind further away than the next room, no-one could.  To be fair 
to Prince Maximilian, Ferdinand had thought so himself, until he earned 
his popular epithet by making the discovery that it was all a question 
of altitude.  From his seat on what the citizens down below called The 
Needle, he could reach into the minds of every human being within a 
hundred miles.  If one of those should happen to be a telepath also, he 
could use his power to take over that telepath's mind and use him or her 
as a repeater, extending the range of his influence.  One day, some 
forty years ago, he had arranged to have a web of his priests in 
moderately tall buildings spanning the entire globe, and had used them 
to broadcast his Message.  He, and the priests who served him, were the 
messengers of the one true faith, the faith of which all religions were 
merely imperfect copies.  Communicating in the language of pure thought 
meant that he could divert himself endlessly by watching the different 
ways people interpreted the Message.  He was known variously as Messiah, 
Mahdi, avatar and occasionally The Reincarnated Lennon.  The raw power 
necessary to send the Message, even inducing all his repeater-priests to 
re-transmit with all their strength, had left Ferdinand seriously 
weakened.  He was impotent, prematurely grey and had started to walk 
with a cane at the age of thirty.  Since he had not loved his long-time 
partner, the mother of his only son, enough to tell her about his 
talent, she had left him.  He had loved her sufficiently, however, to 
allow her to go with her mind intact.  So it had remained, by and large.  
Ferdinand tried not to think too hard about the measures the priests 
must have taken to induce her to let their son undergo the necessary 
training to succeed his father, without telling her exactly of what that 
training would consist.  In fact, Ferdinand tried not to think too hard 
about his ex at all.

It would not do, Ferdinand decided for the umpteenth time, to let his 
loving people know what their godhead spent all those hours on the 
Needle doing.  Notbeing able to satisfy his needs directly, the Emperor, 
now fifty-seven and looking over ninety, was in the habit of making a 
select few of his six-plus billion subjects' wildest dreams come true.

He stretched his awareness out through the minds of everyone within 
range, took subtle control over the minds of a few priests, causing them 
at the most to stutter briefly before co-opting their subconscious minds 
for use as repeaters and leaving the rest to get on with whatever it had 
been engaged with.  He had a small inward chuckle, as he always did, 
over the sheer volume of sexual thought that he could hear from the 
inhabitants of Megalopolis and its environs.  Teenagers had the funniest 
minds to listen in on.  The sheer volume of their fantasies made it 
almost impossible for a telepath to ignore them when they were in range; 
it offered a handy barometer by which they could measure the 
entertainment value offered by their sermons.  Opening his mind to all 
such thoughts within the extended range offered by the Needle and the 
depth of his talent offered Ferdinand an embarrassment of riches from 
which to choose.  Usually he preferred fantasies that had a bit of 
substance to them, if only because it was fun to watch an ambitious 
teenager enter upon a daydream because he was horny, choose one that was 
too wordy, and end up skipping most of the exposition.  Winnowing 
through the mass of hormonal fever available was just beginning to prove 
an impossible task when a new voice made itself audible above the 
hubbub.

"Hey, sweets.  I missed you."

"Not like I missed you, cutie-pie.  I'm sorry I had to step out, there."

The voices were coming from the same mind.  The first one, the female, 
was almost the archetype of the cheesecake fantasy bombshell, but with 
nuances that spoke of intellect, and, which is more, wisdom.  The second 
voice was the regular internal monologue of the hapless individual that 
had come under Ferdinand's mental inspection.  Intrigued, he rooted 
around in the young man's psyche: he was nineteen, was named Monty 
Edwards and had given up on finding love.  Or rather, he had given up on 
finding another human being to love.  Instead he had constructed an 
ideal mate using his unusually powerful imagination: she was busty, 
blonde and had a butt that just wouldn't quit, but more importantly she 
had wisdom beyond her years (her birthdate, celebrated religiously by 
Monty, was March the 3rd, 2012, making her a year younger than him), and 
a fundamental kindness of spirit which had been lovingly formed under 
the influence of an equally imaginary doting grandfather.

Ferdinand was fascinated; he had been searching for something new for 
some time, and this was original in his experience.  What was most 
piquant about the situation was that Monty couldn't quite picture his 
mate's face.  Her smooth, vanilla ice-cream thighs, her hourglass curves 
and generous bosom; her waist-length hair the colour of sunlight shining 
through clear honey, even her dainty feet were all readily visible in 
his mind's eye, but her face eluded him.  He knew facts about it: that 
her eyes were a little close-set and a bright blue the colour of flax 
flowers, that her nose had a habit of twitching, and that overall her 
countenance reminded him of an unbearably cute bunnyrabbit were known; 
he had told her so on more than one occasion.  But the immediate 
impression her face was apt to make on the eye, beyond its surpassing 
cuteness, was a mystery.

For the moment, Ferdinand remained an undetected and passive observer, 
listening to the imagined conversation between the two love-birds.

"I think I may have to put my arms around you, squeezy hubby."

"Oh, good.  That way you won't notice that I have to put *my* arms 
around you and squeeze you until you've only just got enough room to 
breathe."

"Suits me, big teddy bear."

"I love you, Bunny."

"I love you too."

*Ugh, he hasn't actually named her 'Bunny', has he?*  Ferdinand thought 
to himself, before digging about to find the answer: in fact she was 
named Antonia, but the saccharine nicknames and baby-talk were a part of 
their relationship that they both recognised as a necessary and 
comforting reminder of the blissful status quo within their marriage.

Ferdinand decided to get proactive.  He put Monty into a mild comatose 
state and cast around the immediate neighbourhood for someone close 
enough.

He found her, sitting alone in front of the TV, enjoying an hour's 
brainless relaxation whilst contemplating what to do with the rest of 
the evening.  It was only half past nine.

Her name was Laura Sachsen.  Her hair was the wrong colour, but that 
wouldn't matter.  She had the boobs and the body, and she lived in the 
same apartment building as Monty.  Ferdinand had Monty get up and 
sleepwalk to the front door when she got there.  He let her in, and she 
followed him to his bedroom.  As soon as the door had shut behind them 
Ferdinand put the finishing touches on their temporary mental 
re-programming, and opened their eyes.  They kissed with passion, Monty 
believing he was playing tongue-hockey with his love, and Laura's 
submerged self not thinking very much of anything.

"Mmmm," Monty murmured in pleasure, "let's see these boobs."

He and Bunny undressed each other slowly, sensually, stopping to drop 
light kisses on each other's revealed bodies.  When her breasts were 
free, he began nuzzling them overenergetically, like a blind rabbit, 
before latching on to her nipples and running his tongue around them.

He kept this up for a while before his lover disengaged him and said 
"Naughty teddy bear!  You know you're not supposed to do this unless 
you've got something..." she placed a hand on his shaft, "for me."  He 
was harder than he could ever remember being, and thinking that this 
fantasy was a doozy.

Bunny bent over in front of him and looked back with lust in her eyes.  
"Stick it to me, big teddy bear."

He didn't need to be told twice.  Ferdinand felt the walls of her slick 
tunnel welcoming Monty in, felt the delicious heft of her big breasts in 
Monty's hands as he thrust into her.  He took her lovingly, as Ferdinand 
sensed that he was trying to get an idea of her wants, he began feeding 
him a stream of feedback that Monty assumed was coming from her pussy.  
He worked with it, and they both moaned with the heightened pleasure.  
He didn't, couldn't last long under those conditions, and shot his load 
into her as he felt her own orgasm.  They lay down, relaxed in one 
another's arms, and Antonia purred softly as he fell asleep.

When he woke, he was alone, but he thought he heard a voice, the tail 
end of a dream he couldn't remember.  He was dimly aware that the voice 
was the Emperor's, but he couldn't have reacted even if he'd known how.

"Thanks, kid," the voice said, "that was good stuff.  You've made an old 
man very happy.  Here's a little something by way of thanks."  The voice 
faded away like the grin of the Cheshire cat, and Monty found that he 
could see the face of his love clearly in his mind's eye for the first 
time in his life.
<1st attachment end>


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