Jon got home shortly after midnight. Valentina met him at the door with a brief wet kiss, clad only in one of his dress shirts. Standing at the top of the stairs in all of her athletic glory was Carolyn, who waved and motioned him to be quiet. "She’s sleeping now. Has been for about an hour," she whispered. "Val and I have been t aking turns all day. This is the second time she’s passed out. I don’t know about Val, but I’m exhausted." They all went to Carolyn’s bedroom, where the blonde flopped onto her bed. Valentina ran her hand gently along Carolyn’s slightly parted upper thighs. "Val, no," Carolyn complained and slammed her legs shut, drawing a displeased pout from the Russian. "Jon, can you do something about her? I’m beat."
"Come serve your master, ballerina," Jon casually said. In seconds, Val quickly scrambled off the bed and was on her knees in front of him. She lowered his pants and took him in her mouth. "You may reward yourself for being so obedient," he magnanimously offered. The ex-KGB agent let go of Jon’s hardening cock and slid two fingers between her legs, moaning happily. He absently guided her head with a gentle hand, commanding, "Softly, ballerina." Having pacified Val for the moment, he turned his attention back to the prone Carolyn. "How is she?"
"Not as bad as we’ve seen her. I think she was just beginning to come apart at the seams. We didn’t have to tie her down to distract her this time," Carolyn replied. "I think she’s getting better, Jon. This was a really difficult show. The venue bitched, the clients bitched, the sponsors bitched and the attendees bitched. No matter what she did, it was wrong." Jon suddenly groaned and Val purred, interrupting Carolyn’s thoughts. "Still, she called me during show close and made it back here on her own. She didn’t really begin to fracture until she walked in the door." She rolled over and looked at Val, who was humping one hand and using the other to help fellate Jon. "I’ll wait, but put her to sleep afterwards, OK? Sometimes her nymphomania is hard to deal with."
"Come softly, then sleep, ballerina." Jon tapped into Valentina’s brain and played with her sexual response region. Her eyes popped wide open, she squeaked, and thrust sharply downward against her hand. Jon’s cock came out of her mouth when she gasped for air. With her face turning bright red, she arched her back so that her head almost touched the floor. The Russian gave a soft moan, then collapsed limply on the floor. He turned to Carolyn. "You were saying?"
"It still amazes me how you can do that," Carolyn mumbled, almost face-to-face with his still-glistening erection. "Most men think with their penises. You think in spite of yours," the former lesbian said with respect. "Anyway, Maribeth’s gotta do show close-out and get prepped for Los Angeles in two weeks. She needs you." She ran a finger across the tip of Jon’s cock. "I want you too, but not tonight," she said. "Can Val take care of that for you tonight?"
Jon assured her that he would survive the night quite well without any more sex. "Valentina," he theatrically commanded, "arise and remain asleep. You will go to your room and go to bed, sleeping naturally and deeply. Obey me."
The girl stood up. From the depths of her induced sleep, she said, "Yes... master... I... obey," then left the room.
"You like that," Carolyn giggled. "I can tell by the reaction." She gazed at his erection, which had twitched. "I like that, too. It makes me wet. Maybe tomorrow night you’ll play with me?" she coyly purred. "Just like that."
Jon crept into Maribeth’s room. She was definitely asleep. His gentle probe did not detect any turmoil in her sleeping thoughts. Carolyn and Val had done well, because the brunette with the round body was truly in the sleep of the sexually worn out. He sat on her bed and gently touched her. Maribeth sighed, "Jon..." and wrapped her arms around him without waking. A smile came to her face.
The first time Jon met Maribeth was on a sixth floor ledge. She was threatening to jump. Jon had used his power to get past the police and was trying to get close enough to keep her from jumping. He succeeded in taking control of her. Once inside, she loudly accused him of controlling her, which, along with the suicide attempt, was more than enough to get her locked away in a mental hospital. The root of the problem was the short, round brunette’s obsession with being slender. It didn’t help that she worked around fashion models. She herself had been a slender teen model, but genetics kicked in when she was fifteen. By twenty, she had been through anorexia, bulimia, and every diet in the book. Suicide was her solution to her problems.
Jon visited Maribeth almost daily while she was in the hospital. He used his visits to attempt to put her psyche back together, spending at least an hour with her each time. Any hospital staff that queried him walked away believing that he was a preeminent psychologist trying some new experimental method on her. She improved enough in four months that he was able to get her released. Maribeth promptly fixated on him, and Jon suddenly found himself with a willing concubine. It also allowed him to continue her "therapy," and extend his study of the human mind, brain and his power. She was also fantastic in bed.
Now here they were, five years later. She was now just one of his harem of three, less fragile, but still quite fixated on him. Two years prior, Jon had pushed her back into the working world, to see how she handled a challenge. He believed that she was ready for it. He was half-right. She succeeded, but fell apart almost immediately thereafter. Jon’s power became the buttress that fortified Maribeth. She was very capable at her job, as long as he put her back together mentally after each show. She had needed him to do less and less after each succeeding show until now. It was encouraging that Carolyn had noticed Maribeth’s increased mental strength. Eventually, his fragile flower would be able to stand on her own. Jon fell asleep, still in Maribeth’s arms.
"Master?" Maribeth’s question was accompanied by a gentle brush of her lips across his cheek. "I’m better now that I’m with you." Jon slowly blinked himself awake. He was tired. "Owww," she complained. "My body hurts." Nonetheless, she sat up, eyes bright. "Tell me I’m sexy, master. Make me sexy again. I wanna be sexy," she babbled.
He resisted the urge to grumble at her and use his power to put her back to sleep. This was the Maribeth who needed to be slender and desirable to have any worth as a person. "Maribeth, you know I think you’re beautiful," he tenderly said, which was true.
"Show me," she coyly requested, exposing herself and spreading her legs invitingly. Unfortunately, she was not aroused in the least in spite of all the begging. She just needed the sex to validate herself. They’d been down this road many times before, and Jon had long ago learned that giving in would accomplish nothing. The first time he had accepted this invitation, she took it as Jon’s stamp of approval for this behavior. Since it was "approved" by her master, Maribeth did the same thing any time she felt stressed. This lead to dangerously indiscriminate sexual behavior if Jon wasn’t around. He needed to coax the strong, capable part of his slave back to the surface. The Maribeth posed so alluringly was insanely jealous of the models she worked with, and used sex only as a gauge of her own physical attractiveness. It was a pacifier that ultimately left her feeling no better about herself, and then she would need another "fix." "Don’t you want me, master? You know I’ll do anything," she said with a practiced sultriness, one that she did not feel. This woman belonged in a psychiatric ward.
"You must find me attractive and pursue me, Maribeth. That is just as important," Jon evenly replied.
"You can make me do it. You can make me do anything, if you want me bad enough." Ouch. He deserved that. It was always a temptation to use his power to take any woman he desired, regardless of her interest in him. As he got older, he did it less often, but he still did it on occasion, and that made Maribeth’s statement hurt. "Come on, master. Make me do it. Come and fuck me, and I’ll be all better," she cooed.
"This isn’t about me, it’s about you. Somewhere in there is a woman who is confident, sassy, smart, and very sexy. One with her own desires, who can make her own decisions. In life, and in bed." He ignored the hurt look on her face. "When you want me, and let me know, then you will be sexy to me. Do you want me, Maribeth? You must make the decision." Waves of frustration surged from the would-be vixen. "You must take responsibility for you. Sexy isn’t a label based on physical size; it’s an attitude and how well you convey that attitude to someone. You must make yourself sexy to me." Jon’s greatest strength as a psi was that he understood, as much as anyone could, the human mind. The brain may have been completely malleable with his power, but he appreciated the subtleties of its unadulterated form, and its intrinsic art.
"You don’t want me?" she whimpered.
"Not this girl. I want the sexy woman in that body." The room fell silent for a few minutes, as Maribeth’s inner struggle raged.
"Jon... they were... all of them... so... mean!" she suddenly exploded. "Especially the models! It was horrible!!!" The vixen turned into a volcano. Jon let her rage, funneling it harmlessly away from the rest of her psyche. She spent ten minutes releasing her pent up fury, then another half-hour on the pain her last assignment caused her. Finally, Maribeth flopped back on the bed, spent, her sobs fading to sniffles. "How can I face them in a week? I feel it happening again, Jon. I mean, I thought I did well, I didn’t call you," she said with a measure of pride. "But now I don’t have enough left. That inner calm you keep talking about. The stuff that makes me strong, you know, that makes me the one you find—" She hesitated. "—Sexy." At that, her nipples hardened noticeably.
"Like now?" Jon asked.
"Mmmm-hmmmm," Maribeth nodded. "I’m getting wet just thinking about you and me... doing—" The rest of that thought quickly became reality.
"Thank you, Maribeth," Jon said as they cuddled together.
"For what? For balling the only shrink who’s ever done me any good?" she playfully replied. He chuckled. "Jon?"
Turning serious, she confessed, "It was—difficult—being the sexy Maribeth today. I found her—"
"You’re getting better," he interrupted.
"I know that, because you didn’t have to go into my mind this time. But it was really hard. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold up in L.A." She took a deep breath. "I’m just being honest here. I feel it, just waiting for me to crack in the smallest way." Neither of them said anything for a while.
"Would you like me to go with you?" Jon finally asked. "I could be there for you." He didn’t really like the idea of being Maribeth’s crutch, but he felt that it was the lesser of all pending evils. This discussion represented a great deal of progress. Her recognition and description of her current mental state was significant. Any relapse at this stage might set both of them back several years.
"I know you’re working with Bridget on a case," she hesitantly began.
"Which," Jon sighed, "for the moment, is at a stalemate. Besides, Val has wanted to visit Hollywood ever since defecting, and I’m feeling guilty at having left her here alone for so long." He rubbed his temples. Just thinking about the case gave him a headache. "I need a break, too."
She smiled, one of true, heartfelt, joy. "Really? You will?" Maribeth jumped up and gave him a thankful hug and kiss on the cheek. "Can I fix you—" She checked the clock. "—Lunch?"
"Sure. We’ll discuss particulars after we eat," he smiled.