Push Comes to Shove (Patreon)

“You know, when you first came down here looking for blow jobs, I was scared shitless. Do as Junior says or kiss the job goodbye, I thought. Later, when I realized that you are just a massive slut getting your socks off getting fucked by us workers I thought this would be a great way to stick it to the man. Abuse his precious little shit for all the times he’d forced a sudden all nighter with no overpay.” He was trusting deep and hard. Angrily. The bench was inching forward for every thrust, and on each you yelped through the damp cloth. “But now, now I’m just disgusted by you, freak. I have no interest in you at all.” Just as he was about to finish, he pulled your hip towards him, getting deeper than you thought possible, and emptied his balls with pump after pump.

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen now. I’m gonna shove the biggest lathe tail stock I can find up your ass. I’m going home and have a lovely dinner with my wife. I’m sure she has weekend plans for us. At some point I will fuck her, like normal people do. And then on Monday I, or whoever comes here first, will untie you. Hopefully by then there is no penis on earth that can satisfy your distended slut cunt. Then you can build a sex dungeon like every other millionaire and leave us normal people alone.”

George reclined back, through the surface of the mirror. He felt ill, and not the queasy feeling you always get after farsight. How did it go so wrong? When did it go so wrong? He should have paid more attention, instead of playing Overwatch and Obduction and whatever else he had done instead of studying. He didn’t think this would fail the course for him. He undeniably managed to influence someone after all. But this wasn’t A+ territories either.

The project was easy, conceptually, but combined many of the things in the Telepathy course. “Use remote mind bending to cause a positive effect in the world”. He found an excellent subject. Rich, handsome, and an asshole. Not just the normal big brush save pennies on workers behalf. Small things too, like being late to appointments. Not holding elevator doors. Constantly trading in his sports car so he could drive the new one without number plates for six months. It was the perfect guy to instill some sympathy for the workers in his dads factory.

And it worked like a charm, given you’ve taken charms 101. After the push he became much more interested in visiting the factory. He tried to remember individual names and greet people he met. He dressed down a bit. Still fashionable with designer jeans and flannels, but no longer suit and tie. Lending the occasional hand sweeping the floor or carrying tools. George felt like he’d left things in a pretty good state. But apparently they were both fucked, although only one literally.