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It was important to bring out the natural blue in them. The color of the dress would only add to the effect. She carefully applied eyeliner and then began to curl her lashes. Just a touch of eye shadow was needed to give her eyes the appearance of being naturally big. Using dark red lipstick and lip liner, she wanted to give herself full lips. Small fake diamond earrings and matching necklace completed her look. She began to comb out her hair. Danielle dreamed of the day she could go to a salon and get a feminine style. Maybe a perm, maybe a nice wavy boob, it didn't matter. She would be happy with any cut that would make her more of a woman. By the time Danielle had gotten ready, it was all ready 8:30. She hadn't eaten anything that evening; she was way to excited to worry about food. She slipped on her shoes and walked over to the full length mirror by the bathroom. She turned back and forth admiring her work. She could see the changes that she had already made and wished. I reached inside Natalie and grabbed control of her arms and her legs. I walked her into the living room."Oh fuck, I'm a puppet" She shrieked. I could smell her pussy as she lubricated in seconds.Angela was still ignoring us. I removed that block and allowed her to remember the conversation between Natalie and me, or at least most of it.Angela looked at Natalie. She grinned a mean grin. "Carter, I don't want to be with this bitch, but I will for you. And if it gets you off to fuck with her, then I'm cool with that, cause I'm your girl, baby."Natalie moaned as I forced her body to go to her knees."Natalie, Angela isn't going to pay attention to any conversation about mind control, so she's going to think that this is all you." And what are you going to do to me?" I'm going to let you feel and remember everything I do to you. And I'm going to make you like it ... even though you hate it."I grinned."Natalie." I took off my shirt. "Time to play."I flooded my control, my power into her.
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I scooped the change from my pockets, counting through the quarters and dimes, and went to do what I knew would settle things. Doing what I knew Hunter Thompson, or maybe even Henry Miller, would do. I smiled at the clerk as I counted out my quarters and asked for a pack of cigarettes. What am I talking about? Oh, yeah, one night, a few months earlier, I spent three hours waiting to just be let past the glass doors of the waiting room into the real emergency room. The first hour I spent sitting in a plastic chair with a paper-thin seat cushion, listening to the non-stop monologue this grotesquely obese woman was carrying on with a wheelchair-stricken geriatric, all about how long she had been waiting there in the emergency room waiting room and how ridiculous it was. I desperately wanted to have a cigarette but I was afraid to give up my seat and step outside for a quick smoke, just in case my name was called to be seen. The day before I had gone in for my CAT scan, something I had.

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