Author: Virtual Scott
Title: Lloyd's Angel
Part: 9 of 18
Summary: Lloyd discovers he has the ability to influence others with his mind;
can he think with his head instead of his cock as he struggles to control
his gift and come to terms with its ethical implications?
Keywords: MF MM mc rape

Lloyd's Angel: Saving Glory

November 2010

Thanks, Danny.

It was one of the "the merchandise has left the store" sort of problems.
One of the girls hadn't come in that night. It wasn't unusual, but there
was a protocol for these things. Had the girl given advance notice of the
absence? No. Was she answering her home or mobile number? No and no. Did a
discreetly vague query at her emergency contact number result in an
acceptable response? No. Was Lloyd in? Yes.

I sighed heavily and asked for the driver to bring the car around while I
looked at Glory's personnel file and printed a locator map for her
residence. Ironically, I would have been better off in my rumbled and
soiled suit, but really this wasn't the sort of job that called for a suit
at all.

Angel was still in the shower, so I ended up leaving without saying
goodnight and studied the map during the ride home. When we arrived, I fed
the paper into the conveniently installed cross-cut shredder, and told the
driver I'd see him the next day.

It seemed likely to be the sort of job that benefited from proactive
medication, so I gulped some aspirin and changed into a boring,
forgettable black sweatsuit. I left my wallet on the dresser, and took
only my license and proof of insurance.

I rehearsed various scenarios, none of them good, on the way across town,
and pulled up to the curb on a dark side street a block from Glory's
house. The ID and key went under the floor mat; my car was old but sported
one of those combination code entry systems. As prepared and deniable as I
could be, I started walking slowly down the block, just another old geezer
out for an evening stroll.

Glory lived in a small single-family residence, which was good, and there
were lights on, which could be good or bad. Increased numbers of people
meant increased volatility and decreased controllability; family
interventions were the worst, almost impossible to sort out. I didn't see
any movement inside the front windows.

Telling myself to quit stalling, I walked up to the front door and rang
the bell. There was no answer, but I concentrated and listened hard. There
was faintly audible screaming and shouting inside, which suggested things
might have turned violent. I consoled myself with the thought that, as far
as I could determine, there were only two people inside the house.

I started ringing the bell repeatedly, and finally one of the people
inside came to see what was going on. I pushed *I am not threatened by the
old man* and *contemptuous indifference* through the door, blind, and
braced myself for whatever might happen next.

"What do you want, you old motherfucker?" was the greeting I got. The guy
looked like a redneck who'd been drinking. Looking past him, I could see
Glory cowering in the hallway. She'd been beaten pretty badly; a quick
glance was enough to see a black eye, welts on her arms and legs, and
blood on her lips.

I hated physical violence, with a passion, but I hated those who dispensed
it even more. This creep was going to get what was coming to him. "Might I
borrow your phone?" I asked politely.

"What do I look like, a fucking operator? Fucking go buy your own phone,
pops -- I'm busy!" He slammed the door in my face, convinced that was the
end of the matter, but I'd braced my shoe by the jam and it bounced back
before it latched; he'd already turned away and consequently didn't see
the door swing open behind him.

I was sorry for what I was about to do to Glory, but I didn't have time to
think of a clever solution to the problem, and she'd suffered enough
already. *I love rough sex*, I pushed down the hall to her. *Physical
punishment makes me hot*. The resistance I felt tugged at my conscience,
but I kept pushing until it faded.

There was probably another five seconds before the guy noticed me standing
inside the door. I focused on him; it took almost no effort at all to push
*I need to put women in their place* into his mind.

I slowly pushed the door closed with my toe, but I needn't have worried.
The guy was already slapping Glory again, calling her a slut and a whore.
She gasped with every blow, but I noticed she wasn't trying to get away.

All Mr. Redneck noticed was that he had an erection that needed servicing.
He threw Glory against the back of the sofa and started plowing her from
behind, doggy style, while continuing to beat her and scream obscenities.
If he saw me at all, he evidently calculated that I was completely beneath
his notice.

That was as well, because my oh-so-great plan was already in danger of
unraveling. I hurriedly cast about in the kitchen before locating a bottle
of vegetable oil. Now came the part I knew I'd pay for in the morning.
Closing my eyes and struggling for calm, I focused on myself.

There was the tangled mass of my consciousness, an order of magnitude more
complex than any other I'd seen, and entwined with a forest of other
objects I'd never been able to visualize with anybody else. I held my
breath, searching, and then stroked carefully. If pressed, I would have
said that it was like laying memories into Angela, except I didn't
actually send anything.

Whatever the mechanism, the impact was immediate and definite. My
sweatpants tented out and I swayed dizzily as what felt like half the
blood in my body suddenly surged into my engorged penis.

I staggered in the direction of the rutting couple, and dropped my
drawers. I poured oil over my beet-red organ, not trying for neatness as
long as it stayed away from my shoes, and stepped up behind the guy, who
was still ignoring me. Heedless of my ballooning headache, I pushed myself
hard into his ass, using my position to grind further into him. As my tool
sank into his rectum, *this is the greatest feeling I've ever had* sank
into his mind with all the strength my splitting head could muster.

He stopped struggling against me and I could feel his sphincter spasming
involuntarily as he orgasmed hard and dumped his load into Gloria. I felt
nothing but disgust, for him and myself, as I pulled my still-rigid cock
out of him. He slid to the floor like a drawing unpinned from a cork board.

Ignoring the oil and shit covering my cock, I hauled up my bottoms, and
looked down at the human vermin before me. *Boasting about punishing women
makes me feel strong*. *I boast when I'm frightened or nervous*. I hoped
I'd be able to drive when I got out of there.

Glory was looking blearily around. "Lloyd?"

"Dial 9-1-1," I told her, slowly and clearly. "Tell them you're being
raped." I had to repeat myself several times before she moved brokenly
toward the phone; her asshole boyfriend was starting to stir.

"You can do this, Glory," I encouraged her. "Remember, you're being raped.
Make them believe it."

She nodded and dialed shakily. Her voice was slow and wooden, but people
in shock behaved in all different kinds of ways.

"Who you callin', bitch?!" the redneck demanded.

Absolutely perfect. I silently mouthed, "forgive me," and elbowed Glory in
her breast as hard as I could. She gasped violently, hopefully in arousal,
and dropped the phone; I could hear the dispatcher's voice asking if she
was okay.

I made my way to the back door, taking care not to step in anything,
opened it, and wiped the knob with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. After
stepping outside, I closed it the same way. I ghosted across the back yard
and through to the other side of the block without being seen. I was just
approaching my car when the police, all sirens and flashers engaged,
blasted through the intersection ahead on their way to the scene of the
crime.

It took me twice as long to return home as it had to make the drive out.
Once inside, my clothing went straight into the trash. It took a long hot
shower and several Sudafeds that probably did nothing good for my blood
pressure before my angry erection subsided and I felt at least physically
clean again. I didn't think I'd ever feel mentally clean, and not just
because of what I'd done to one scumbag who'd deserved it.