[mc, mf, fd. hy, hu]
((On June 2015, I hosted a writing challenge in The Garden of MC dedicated to revenge stories. This was my entry for it. Now, revenge can come in many forms, and I happened to think of one wrapped up in a very out of ordinary storyline. This also allowed me to play some more with a certain character and simply go with the flow. I’m not going to tell which character it is, because she’ll do herself in the flow of the tale))
Let me tell you a couple of things about Portugal. Located on the Iberian Peninsula, in southwestern Europe, it is the westernmost country of the continent, being bordered by the Atlantic Ocean to the west and south and by Spain to the north and east. The Atlantic archipelagos of the Azores and Madeira are also under its sovereignty although they’re considered autonomous regions with their own forms of government.
Although nowadays its influence has declined greatly, Portugal was once home to one of the greatest empires of the world, and also one of the longest-lived ones spanning almost 600 years. It spread throughout a vast number of territories that are now part of 53 different sovereign states, and left a profound cultural and architectural imfluence across the globe. There are over 250 milliom Portuguese speakers today and…
… I’m sorry, surely you didn’t come to check this writing to receive a History lesson, but rather looking for a tale of retribution, correct? I’ll be getting there in a minute, but let me just say you really shouldn’t dismiss these little snippets of information as something useless and redundant. Information is power after all, and one never knows when certain notions may prove useful down the line.
Anyway, I trust you recognize my “voice”. If you read my little adventure with the Powells before, you have the obligation of remembering me on the fly. If you didn’t, and this is all new to you, then you should probably check a little piece called Adjustments before reading this one. Just a friendly advice, but you’re free to do what you want, obviously.
Where was I? Ah, yes, Portugal. The reason I started talking about said country it’s because I was recently there and now I can finally put down to paper what happened in my little visit. Though I had already been there a couple of times in the past, it was the first time I actually had to do a little work, and that meant dealing with a fellow by the name of Miguel Santos.
Now, Miguel is a late thirties shy guy that believes he can spin a tale or two. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about his literary prowess, but I do get upset when I discover someone knows more about me than they should. I was convinced that him getting his hands on such sensitive information about myself and my line of work had to be more than a coincidence, so I left my beautiful home at Silver Bell Towers to sort things out.
During the flight, I used my trademarked skills to unearth as many details about him as possible, including social networks accounts, embarassing pictures and a list of writing aliases, one of which proved to be most… interesting.
Check this out: mind-control erotica! Yes, you’ve read that correctly. He takes pleasure in writing pieces about powerful, ravenous women draining weak-willed men into submission for their sexual gratification. The moment I discovered this, I grinned from ear to ear because I knew I had just hit the jackpot. Confronting him about his recent discoveries was sure to be a lot easier now.
The moment the plane touched down in the capital, Lisbon, I wasted no time in getting things done. Thanks to the beauty of GPS tracking, I knew exactly where he was in real time, so I decided to head out to his apartment and wait for him to arrive. On my way there, I took the liberty of purchasing a few distinctive items to facilitate the process even further. If you’ve already went back to read the previous account, then you’re aware electronic locks are no match for me let alone simple, old-fashioned ones.
I waited for him for about an hour and a half, more than enough time to settle myself in, pour a glass of Port and check the contents of an external hard drive I found hidden inside a desk drawer. The erotica was strong in that one and each new insight into his more than kinky mind made me feel a bit hot… and wet.
“Mas que raio…?” I heard him protest as soon as he arrived, and saw me sitting idly on the sofa. If you don’t know your Portuguese, that little sentence of his can be roughly translated to our “What the hell…?”, and he was right. I sure was going to give him hell unless he told me everything I wanted to know.
“Quem diabo és tu?” he continued, slightly angry but also somewhat taken aback. I know I’m quite attractive, and he knew it too because he was more eager to admire my good looks than anything else.
“Silence!” I immediately retorted in a commanding tone that made him quiver. “I’m the one asking all the questions, here! Close the door and come to me, Miguel!”
He blinked, disoriented, surely trying to understand why, all of a sudden, a woman he had never met before was ordering him around inside his own house. Realizing just that, I gave him an extra nudge by standing up and giving him a clear view of the strikingly powerful corset/boot combo I was wearing.
“Now!” I demanded as it became exceedingly hard for him to think about anything else. At that moment, he dismissed my intrusion and simply found himself doing exactly as he was told. After complying, he stopped right in front of me, aroused and embarassed.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked looking him straight in the eyes.
“No,” he replied. “Should I?”
“Seeing you’ve been writing about me as of late, yes, you should.”
He blinked again as his brain processed the magnitude of what I had just told him.
“Writing about…? No! Come on, that’s… okay, who put you up to this?” He asked in a much more defiant tone than I was expecting.
“I said I’m the one who’s doing all the questions! Your role in this is to simply listen and comply! After all, you like that just a little bit too much, don’t you?”
His silence betrayed him as much as his hard-on.
“You’ve been very naughty, Miguel. How did you find out about me? Answer me!”
“I… I really don’t know what to tell you.”
“Are you really trying to play dumb with me?” I asked sternly.
“I’m not trying to play anything.”
“Your stories are awfully detailed. Said details must have come from somewhere!”
“I… I guess I have a very powerful imagination, that’s all!”
“We’ll see about that…” I smirked, pointing at my laptop. “I want you to sit in front of it, and look at the screen, Miguel! Do you understand?”
“I’m not going to repeat myself, again! Do you understand what I want you to do?”
“Yes,” he muttered. He was so excited on the inside that he really didn’t know what else to say.
“Good, Then, shup up and obey!”
He sat dutifully and stopped bothering with the strangeness of it all. Although I had imposed silence upon him, an involuntary gasp slipped by when the mesh of interconnected green and purple spirals began to play out before his eyes. Having one’s fantasy come to life so unexpectedly is quite a powerful revelation and Miguel’s neural cortex responded with an endless array of euphoric signals. When I leaned against his left ear, and whispered:
“I’m now going to take control of your mind.”
he believed it to be actually possible and made that belief an inescapable certainty. In just a matter of minutes, he was completely mesmerized, and I could finally get the retribution I was hoping for.
However, here comes the funny part, so funny that I’m still trying to come to terms with it all. While under, completely unable to resist anything I suggested, I inquired him once more about how he knew all those things about me, and you know what he said?
A dream! He dreamt it all! There was no conspiracy, no hidden agenda. He just had a wild dream and then, upon waking up, started filling in the blanks in the best way he could. The character’s name is his favorite name of all time, which happens to be my name as well, and her physical description matches my own because I’m his type, apparently. How crazy is this?
Too crazy, I know, but sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. I don’t believe in coincidences, fate, or anything of the sort, but there’s power in those words, too. Knowledge and information have ways of disseminating themselves via obscure pathways. On a sub-atomic level perhaps we’re all connected to the same basic tenets from which all ideas arise and, on rare occasions, said connections come bubbling to the surface of conscious life, and mysteries such as this one occur.
I came to Portugal looking for a little bit of revenge only to discover that, instead of punishment, a reward was more in order. It wasn’t really Miguel’s fault that he and I had been somehow caught in the tangled web of the unseen intelligence of the world. I could only try to accept the mystery in itself for that was beauty in that, too.
So, about that reward… I don’t think I really need to spell it out to you, do I? I mean, what would you do if you had a completely obedient hypnotized male wanting nothing else but to cater to your whims, no matter how dirty they turned out to be?
I stayed in the country for over a month finding out just how deep my own perversions go. I lost a lot of potential jobs and money in-between, but that’s fine. I needed a break, anyway. Miguel is unlikely to remember most of what happened, though he can always dream about it. Information always gets out in one way or another but, right now, reliving everything in my head, has me wanting to get off, instead.
Will you be so kind to leave now, then? Or stay and watch, whatever… when the time comes, I’ll deal with you, too.