Date: Sun, 14 Oct 2018 14:42:56 -0700
From: Leon Horn <princeleonh@gmail.com>
Subject: Price of Power Pt. 1

Feedback is much appreciated. You can send me any comments or concerns
to princeleonh@gmail.com. This is the first entry so I have an idea of
where I want the story to go. but I am open to ideas.


Price of Power : Part 1

Power. True power. We quest for it, we fight for it, we kill for it.
History is made up of stories of great men that sought after power. But
what happens once they get it? What happens to these great men, after the
glory, after the battles? Do they ever question what it cost them?

"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's
character, give him power."

Lincoln said that once. But what is the measure of power? There is a case
to be made that its money. Many believe that its knowledge. While others
consider influence a true measure of one's power.

My mother had wealth, but she was a rather weak woman. She was my
grandfather's last remaining child. He was an incredibly wealthy man with
deep southern roots. He was of Creole descent, as was my mother. I know she
had been beautiful once. From the pictures around our house, Men would
often stop and stare, until they saw my father that is.

My father was an impressive man. He stood around 6'4". He was from
Brooklyn. He was a giant among men. His arms were as big as my head at the
time, and his legs were tree trunks.  His features looked like they were
carved from stone. My father was your typical handsome Italian man. He
might have even been more handsome if he didn't wear that perpetual scowl.
But underneath that cold exterior was a blazing inferno. You could see it
in his eyes, the way he would look at you, or when he spoke. He used to be
a "Made" Man. Apparently, he was apart of the Mafia or something but gave
it up when they had me. He never talked about his past, in fact, he hardly
talked at all.

The power he has was less tangible. I wasn't something you could put your
finger on like money, but he still exuded it nonetheless. My father was a
heavy drinker, and would often get into screaming matches with my mother.
She would scream back, then you'd hear a sickening crack. Like the first
strike of thunder in a spring storm, then a deafening silence. When I was
old enough to understand, around 11 or 12, I couldn't seem to fathom why
she wouldn't want to leave. Even when my father's attention turned to me
she still refused to go. That's why I always believed she was weak. She
feared my father more than she loved me.

As a child, you don't often understand why your parents choose to abuse
you. You do all you can to please them, but yet it doesn't seem to end.
There was no respite, no place that was safe in that house. My mother and I
lived in perpetual fear of my father. That was his power, the power to
shake us to our core just by entering the room.

Years and years of abuse, tend to change a person. Especially when you are
as young as I was. I didn't have many friends and talked very little. By
all accounts, I should have been a fairly popular kid. I had my mother's
creole features, soft dark hair that anyone with my skin tone would be
jealous of. And my father's bluish-gray eyes. Which I've been told is
somewhat rare even for someone of Italian descent. I was tall for age, and
well defined. I didn't play any sports but in some vain attempt to appease
my father I helped him with his job at the construction sites. I wasn't
allowed to do a lot, but I helped where I could in the summer. I had seen
the girls staring at me. The same looks that some women gave my father.
Bimbos, he called them.

I never had an interest in girls. Honestly, my only goal was to make it to
the next day. And not irritate my father too much. But there is only so
much you can take. There is only so long your body can stand being in
survival mode before you snap. And when my father came home one night
particularly drunk, I knew this time would be different.

The yelling began between him and my mother. That never lasted long, but
this time, when I heard that crack the yelling continued. There was another
crack, this time I heard a deafening crash instead of silence. It was quiet
for a moment. I was afraid to investigate. Afraid that my father would turn
his wrath on me next. But this silence was different. Something else hung
in the air with it, A sense of dread that was almost palpable. I crept to
the door, hoping to whatever God was up there, that he didn't hear me.

When I pressed my ear to the door I could hear sobbing. But not from my
mother. I silently turned the knob. It felt like it took a century, every
second it took me to turn the knob the more my mind raced with what I would
find behind the door.

When I finally got it opened and peaked inside. The world seemed to freeze.
It was my mother. She lay on the floor in a heap. Lifeless, unmoving. My
father crouched over her body. There was shattered glass everywhere. And in
the darkness, you could almost miss it. A growing pool of blood coming from
her head. I gasped, and he looked at me. His head snapped in my direction
like some predator that had caught wind of its next prey. I stumbled out of
the room. And my giant of a father followed me out. His towering figure
cloaked in shadow.

"Is this my punishment," he said. I couldn't tell if he was talking to me,
but I couldn't answer even if he was I was frozen in fear.

"You are just like her... a disgrace." I didn't know what he was talking
about, but I was shaking so bad I was practically vibrating. Everything I
had was telling me to run, but my body wouldn't move.

That's when I noticed a glint of light in his hand. A piece of glass. My
eyes traveled from the glass to his face. And hot tears streamed down my
face.

"Daddy! Please!" I had found my voice at last, but I knew it was too late.
I had never called this man daddy in my entire life, but I thought I would
make some last ditch effort to remind him I was his son.

"Shh quiet now. I'll fix everything" His voice was calm, which was maybe
the most disturbing part of it all. He raised the glass. My heart pounded,
and my mind raced. I closed my eyes. My head was buzzing now.

"STOP!" I screamed, knowing in my mind it was futile. But when I opened my
eyes my father stood motionless over me. Frozen in a downward swing.

I scrambled from beneath him, and stood and just stared at the man that had
for the past 14 years had been my father. He had really meant to kill me.
Now all I could do is stare, as he still hadn't moved. Something tugged at
my brain. I had no idea what it was, but my vision began to grow dark and I
could hear a voice.

It was my fathers, but his mouth hadn't moved. I couldn't make out what he
was saying at first, but I could feel the anger. I struggled to try and
understand what was happening. As the voice grew clearer, I knew he was
trying to break free from whatever held him motionless. And somehow in the
back of my mind, I knew it was me,  I somehow did this.

And then it occurred to me. The sickest of thoughts. The thought one forms
when they have been abused by their father for years. My heart began to
race again. My head buzzed even louder than before. The idea took hold like
a weed. But not in my mind.

"Kill yourself," I whispered. Almost too soft for anyone but me to hear.
But my father had already heard it. The voice in his head was screaming
"No" over and over again. He begged for his life. I heard him plead to
live. I heard all of it, as I watched him put the glass to his throat and
violently slash his own throat. Then the voice grew quiet. I slumped
against the wall and passed out from exhaustion.

Someone must have heard the yelling and called the police. I was woken up
by a police officer busting the door down. I was still too weak to even
move. He picked me up and I remember wrapping my arms tightly around this
man I had never met.

...

I awoke in a hospital room. My mind raced. I tried to sit up, but the room
was spinning. I knew that they were going to dissect me, or put me in a
cage to study me. That's what they do to freaks, right?

I passed out again, this time my dreams were just that night playing over
an over again. Was I really the one that made my dad kill himself? Was I a
murderer. These questions raced through my mind. But one scared me the
most. If I could make a man kill himself, what else was I capable of.

When I woke up, a nurse told me I had been asleep for 3 days. I would have
gasped if my lungs didn't feel like they were full of lead. I asked her
what happened. Where were my parents? Maybe it had all been a dream. A
hallucination.

She shook her head and said she would fetch the doctor. When the doctor
returned he entered with a police officer, that looked familiar. It didn't
occur to me, until much later that it was the same officer that had carried
me out of the house.

According to police reports my father had killed my mother. And in some
alcohol-induced anguish committed suicide. Only I knew what really
happened. They left me alone,

 Shortly after my mother's burial, I went to stay with my grandfather. My
father had family that lived closer but my grandfather insisted. And when a
man with as much money as he had insists you live with him. You don't
usually say no.

My grandfather was a withered man in his 70's. But he had a gaze that could
make a lion tuck tail and run. My grandfather adored my mother and took
every opportunity to put my father down. He would often go on long rants,
about how he knew my father was nothing but Yankee trash among other
things. There was a fury in his words he wasn't able to express. I was
thankful I didn't resemble him more.

My grandfather allowed me some time off school. I think he was worried
about how my parent's death had affected me. But to be honest I couldn't
have been happier. Perhaps that made me a bad person but I was free from my
father's abuse, and in some macabre way so did my mother. This time off of
school also gave me time to think about what actually happened that night.
I wasn't but something in my gut told me. My father didn't stop mid
filicide to kill himself.

I began to see if I could produce the effect again, in less stressful
conditions of course, or if I was simply going insane. My grandfather
employed a groundskeeper. Some local that was working to pay off school. I
knew his name was Kyle, but aside from that, the man was a mystery. He
seemed nice enough, a bit slow though. A perfect candidate to test out my
new "powers".

I hadn't really spoken to him much, preferring to keep to myself. But today
I needed to at least feign social skills. I made my way down to the pool,
to find that he had already begun cleaning up around the patio. I gave him
a quick hello and sat on one of the nearby pool chairs. He smiled at me but
otherwise didn't pay me much attention. Focusing on the harrowing task of
pool cleaning.

I started off by simply trying to make him do something small. A jerk of
the arm, and odd sound anything really. But I had no luck whatsoever. I
began to think perhaps it was a fluke and was just the situation that made
me believe I had some sort of abilities. But I know I heard my father's
voice, I told myself.  That it hit me.

I tried one last time not to force him to do anything, but simply to hear
his thoughts. My brain got all fuzzy again, and then I began to hear
someone speaking. It came in like a weak radio signal and sounded far off.
But I focused in on the voice. What was it saying?

"Damn, it's hot out here. Can't believe the boss has such a killer pool and
never uses it. Sure as hell wants the damn thing cleaned all the time
though."

I was blown away. I was actually able to hear his thoughts as if he was
actually talking to me. I focused more and the static cleared out.

"I wonder if he'll mind if I take a quick dip."  He looked over at me. "Nah
that kid might say something. Better not. Don't wanna be known as the guy
that slacks off on the job. Since this is the only one I've actually been
able to hold down for more than a week."  He went back to cleaning,  and
his mind trailed off in a random direction and tangent thoughts.

I sat back truly astonished that I actually just read someone's mind. I
spent several weeks practicing on him. I began to know a lot about him,
without ever saying a word to him. I grew good enough that I didn't even
have to leave my room to hear his thoughts. I would often sit in my room,
lay in bed and just listen to him think his random thoughts. Eventually,
they began to wander off to sex as all young men did at that age. I was in
the throes of puberty. My body was being battered by waves of hormones at
every moment of the day.

I think I began to form some sort of psychic bond with Kyle. When his
thoughts inevitably wandered off into a sexual nature I could feel his
arousal, which only sparked my own. It created a sort of feedback loop.
Kyle not as slow as I first believed him to be, began to wonder why
something so innocuous would make him so horny.

We continued this for several months until one evening it reached a fever
point. He had just begun to finish his work for the day, and his mind
wandered to going home to jerk off. Just the idea alone was enough to get
him slightly aroused. I had gotten proficient enough that I was able to
still listen in on his thoughts without actively concentrating on him. It
was almost like music playing in the background. But when something
interesting comes on you turn up the volume.

And as usual, his arousal lead to my arousal. But maybe it was the heat of
the day or my ever increasing hormonal output. But I immediately went into
overdrive. I could feel the same thing inside Kyles mind.

"Fuck! Why am I already getting hard."  I knew Kyle get several boners
throughout the day. Which seemed normal for a guy his age, even if he
hadn't had any sexual thoughts that day. But it was always more interesting
when he got one because he was aroused.

I was already rock hard at the time. I began to slowly jerk off, just
listening to see what he would do next.

"I'll just have to do this quick, There's no way I can walk out of here
with this tent." I was shocked. I had never been in his head when he jerked
off before. I wondered if I would be able to feel it, but my question was
almost immediately answered.

My grandfather had a pool house, that he let would let Kyle use when it was
hot and he needed a break from the sun. He must have chosen that spot to
stroke one out because in no time I was being assaulted by waves of
pleasure.

I closed my eyes, and I'm not sure how,  but I was able to see through
Kyle's eyes. Everything he felt I could feel, and because of our bond he
could do the same with me. I could hear him moaning, not just in his mind,
but with his own ears. This was trippy it was like I was inside him
experiencing everything he was, and it was glorious. I continued to jerk my
cock, as we worked each other up from afar.

"Ah fuck this feels incredible. Ah fuck, ahh fuck " He kept saying it over
and over again.

I could feel him grab his cock, it was already slick with a bit of precum.
He stroked slowly at first, he wasn't in a rush. But the sensation was
intense. I was still new to this sort of stimuli, but goddamn was I already
addicted.

I  could feel how slick his cock felt as if I was holding it myself. I
could feel the heat and the weight. Kyle wasn't the biggest but since he
was bigger than me it didn't matter. His cock was perfect.

He began to stroke his balls in conjunction. And it was hard not to gasp
aloud. Never had I thought to play with my balls, and what a mistake that
had been. But as he began to fondle himself a thought occurred to me.

And maybe because of how strong the link was at the moment. It didn't take
much. A single wandering thought.

Finger your hole

My brain buzzed and my heart pounded. I had been thinking that, but it
echoed in his mind so loudly and so firmly. I almost listened to the
command.

And with no hesitation, Kyle wet two of his fingers with his spit and
plunged them into his hole. The insane amount of pleasure sent a shockwave
through my body. He kept fingering himself reaching a spot deep inside. And
he must not have done more than graze it before another pleasure wave hit
me like a tsunami.

My body trembled, or maybe it was Kyle's body. It was almost impossible to
tell anymore. He shoved his fingers deeper, and my hole twitched in
response.

I was writhing on the bed, this wasn't a simple afternoon jerkoff. My body
contorted as I reached the edge. But when Kyle grazed that spot inside him
again, it sent me hurtling over the edge.

I couldn't take it anymore my cock erupted with globs of molten cum flying
everywhere. I could feel Kyle's Earth-shattering orgasm at the same time,
and somehow I was able to cum a second-time seconds after my first. I think
I passed out, or maybe he did. I didn't move for several minutes. I
couldn't even if I wanted. My body looked like I had just walked out of a
twelve man orgy and got covered by every single one of them. It would be
easier to describe where the cum didn't land.

My room smelled like sex and sweat and I just basked in it. My first
pseudosexual experience and it was the greatest moment of my life. I could
hear Kyle thinking about how much of a mess he made. So I guess it must
have been the same on his end. I decided that perhaps that was enough for
today.

A thought did occur to me though. I was able to compel him to finger
himself when a few months ago I wasn't even able to make him twitch his
arm. I was getting stronger.

I had several more encounters with Kyle over the summer, but I knew with
fall approaching that meant two things. One, he would be around a lot less,
and two, my grandfather would want me to start attending school again. He
had already begun to drop hints that he wanted me to attend a private
school for gifted youths... no not that one.

I suppose I didn't have much of a choice. I had never been to private
school, my father believed only stuck up pricks went to private schools. My
grandfather agreed to enroll me for the upcoming fall semester and would
show me around the campus. From the pictures he showed me it looked nice
enough, but what really caught my eyes. Was a picture of the rugby team
mid-practice.

I was never one for sports, but with my awakening into puberty, it was
pretty obvious what the object of my desires was. I'd often fantasize about
going down to see Kyle when he was in the middle of his (thanks to me)
regular mid work jerk offs. And finishing the job for him, being able to
see him cum with my own eyes.

For now it would be a fantasy.I didn't want to push him away, and I had no
idea how'd react to that. The thought did occur to me, that I could make
him. But I wasn't there yet. I wasn't sure I was that strong yet. And it
was wrong....yeah that's the real reason.