S.I.M.O.N. Says (mc)

Synopsis: Simon Muldaur has a talk with a therapist.

The following story is a work of fiction. The characters portrayed within are a work of fiction as well, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is a coincidence and unintentional.

Copyright © 2010. This story is the property of the author, O'Melissokomos. Any duplication, in whole or in part, is forbidden without the express written consent of the author.

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Hi, hello.

Why yes, thank you very much. I will be taking a seat. No, there's no need for introductions. I already know who you are, doctor.

What was that? Oh, I'm doing fine, accommodations notwithstanding. Thank you for asking. The food here could use a bit more salt for taste, but that's just my opinion. The others here don't seem to mind as much, and I do agree that a low-sodium diet is healthier for everyone concerned—including me.

So, what do I owe the honor of your invitation? Answer a few questions? Sure, I can do that. It's not like I'm going anywhere. Ha ha. Just a little joke to lighten the mood. I assume that this is a private conversation just between the two of us? Good. I'm ready when you are.

Ok, let's start with who I am. My name is Simon, Simon Muldaur, adopted son of Dr. and Mrs. Arthur Muldaur and a junior at the Bairstow Academy for Young Men. My father works in a government-sponsored research facility while my mother is an senior administrator at some foundation of some senator (fund-ation is more apt an appellation, if you ask me). I have an older brother, Jamie, who is, incidentally, also adopted and was, until recently, on his way to finishing his Business Administration degree at graduate school this year.

Beg your pardon? Can you repeat the question?

Ah yes, he is indeed the very same brother whom our father discovered raping me in my room last week. My, you do like cutting to the quick, don't you? I wasn't getting to that till later.

I understand he's being held under observation in this very building. Unfortunately, no one will let me see him despite the fact that I harbor no ill feelings toward my beloved sibling. Everyone, especially my father, just assumes that Jamie was the one who forced himself upon me, but the truth of matter is, the devil made him do it, and that devil was me. It was I who told my brother to fuck me—not that he has any recollection of it.

Yes. I wanted it, and I wanted him to do it, and I loved every fucking second of his hard, thick 9-inch man-cock ramming in and out of my once-virgin ass.

Oh, I apologize for my rather colorful language, but if you've seen my brother (and I assume you already have), you'd understand why. He's quite a looker you know, a sportsman and a gentleman. I cannot even begin to fathom why anyone could have put him up for adoption.

I, on the other hand, might not have been as blessed with the same athletic prowess and charming countenance my brother has, but I've been able to make do with what I've given and more. You wouldn't believe if I told you, but you're actually talking to one of the most powerful men in the world, and it has nothing to do with money or fame—just power... and influence.

Ha, I can see from your expression that you're wondering how someone like me could be so confident—or delusional—in making such a ridiculous, megalomanicial claim.

First of all, it's the God's honest truth, and mind you, I don't take to invoking His name lightly.

And second, I had with me my Speech-Inducted Mental Override Neuralizer or simpy S.I.M.O.N., as I prefer to refer to my invention.

I know, I know, it smacks of narcissism. Let's just say I didn't waste my formative years in playing sports or surfing the net. I find social networking a tedious, frivolous activity.

How does it work? Well, it's quite simple, really. It instantly samples and retransmits my voice into a frequency specifically attuned to a person's mental wavelength and overrides his voluntary bodily control. I am also able to alter memories at will. Basically, I become the quintessential Puppet Master, but… there are limits. While I can command someone to stop breathing, he will only do so to the point he has to absolutely needs to take in oxygen to survive. It's all right though. I'm not out to kill anyone… not unless I have to.

You don't believe in mind control, you say? Ha ha. I don't blame you. Neither do a lot of other people, but that doesn't make S.I.M.O.N. any less effective on them. In essence, it's their brain that's directly hearing me and directing their bodies to act according to my instructions without question nor consideration as to why they're doing what I've just told them to do. The best part is that they won't have any idea that they're acting not of their own free will, which brings me back to my brother.

I've always adored and worshipped Jamie. To me, he epitomized what a perfect man should be, and he was perfect at doing everything I told him to do that night—sucking my cock, deflowering my ass, and literally having the most spectacular sex he's had in his life, that is, until our father walked into the room and caught us in the act, as it were. Needless to say he was furious, and before I could get the situation under control, he accidentally knocked me unconscious amidst the ruckus. When I finally woke up, I discovered I was here in the hospital and unable to speak normally until recently due to, I'm told, a severe concussion.

I suppose I should have been more careful in ensuring complete privacy, but the second I activated my device and told my unsuspecting brother to strip, my boy parts got the better of me. It seems that even one, such as myself, can get easily enraptured by the passions of the flesh.

Like I said, you wouldn't believe it even if I told you. Then again right after you erase the contents your digital voice recorder that you've had hidden in your hand, you aren't going to remember this conversation anyway. But before that, let's see how you're going to get me and my brother out of here.

How? Well, you're going to start by calling in Russell, that nice, big, handsome and very well-hung orderly waiting outside the door. And… what was that? Oh, that's not what you meant by how I'm getting out of here?

My dear doctor, surely you've realized by now that I am nothing if not resourceful. I may be young, but I am certainly not stupid. Since my free albeit involuntary admission to Fantasyland, I've been assessing the situation and biding my time. I've also been able to improve the mastery of my invention, as randy Russell can attest to. I was careless, once, and I'm not going to make the same mistake twice.

I'd like nothing better than for my brother to finish his studies and for our lives to return to normal. (What is normal, anyhow?) When Jamie and I get home tonight after you discharge us, I do believe I'm going to have a serious talk with my parents—especially my father whom I have to "thank" for putting us here in the first place.

Ah, I see that you finally believe me or that I'm at least serious about everything I've said, but even if you didn't, that wouldn't have made a difference. So please, don't bother covering your ears. You've been primed the moment I stepped in and you heard my voice. I literally had you at "hello."

Now, be a dear and take off that coat. I think I'm going to vent some pent-up aggression down your throat and have Russell cum up your ass with his very thick cock. I know I enjoyed it.

My my my, it would appear that you work out quite a bit yourself as he does and that you also possess an impressive package I'm already eager to unwrap.

That's it, that's a good boy. Are we all comfy-womfy? Let's play a game, shall we? It's really easy. It's called "S.I.M.O.N. says..."