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POLL WINNER: Memory Alteration (Chapter 7)
🕑 Added 2022-07-30 16:38:47 +0000 UTC---
Word Count: 4403
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I wasn’t sure what changes I wanted to make to Misty beyond the standard (if such a word could even apply to someone with my powers) “make her like me romantically and sexually” modifications. That’s pretty much what I’d done to MJ, and she much loved me now like a boyfriend who had the very real potential to be something even more. That’d required me to erase all the affection she’d ever had for Peter Parker, but it’d worked. It was hard to believe that someone as strong-willed as Misty could be affected so easily by my powers, but as I felt her way through my mind I was forced to acknowledge that she was just as vulnerable as MJ had been. If I wanted, I could erase every single one of her memories and start from scratch, creating an entirely new life and identity for her.
A huge part of me recoiled at the idea of doing that to anyone. It’d be just as good as killing them. Worse, even, because their body would have been usurped by a completely different person. It was such an undignified and ignoble end, and there wouldn’t even be a funeral held because no one would really know the full extent of the damage except me. I’d never let anything like that happen to Misty, much less do something like that myself. I promised that I’d never erase someone’s personality; not unless they truly deserved it.
That still left me unsure of how to proceed with Misty. MJ was already my girlfriend, and I was happy with that arrangement. Besides, it’d look awkward if I started dating a woman in her thirties. I wasn’t even finished with high school! I’d nurtured a crush on her for a long time, though. Hell, my first fantasies about women had been dominated by Misty. I used to imagine her coming over when Mom wasn’t around and taking my virginity. As I grew older and met more women, those fantasies became less common, but I still had them fairly often.
So, did I want her to be my fuckbuddy? No, I wanted more from Misty than just her body. I wanted her love, too, something more than what she’d shown me in all the years we’d known each other. I wanted to be the number one man in her life. Her port in the storm that she could retreat to when her job and life in general became too much to deal with. I wanted to help her, to console her in the same way she’d done for me. Heh. She’d never allow anything like that. Misty was strong, and not just physically. She hated relying on others, even though she felt like it was her job to help everyone else. It was annoying and hypocritical. If there was anything about her I would change, that would be it.
Nodding mentally, I rewound Misty’s memories back to when she’d just met my father. It was painful seeing him again, talking and laughing like he was still alive. His warm chocolate-brown eyes glimmered curiously as Misty introduced herself to him as his new partner. Sergeant Gregory Marcus had needed no introductions, but he’d gone through with it anyway, briefly telling her about himself and his time on the force. Then he’d asked about her life and why she’d decided to become a police officer. Unlike many of his peers who were normally very dismissive of rookies, he’d given her his undivided attention as she relayed her life story to him.
She’d grown up in the city, and while most of her peers were thinking about going into business or working on Wall Street making millions, she’d always wanted to be a police officer. To serve and protect the city that had birthed her and shepherded her growth as a person.
Misty had always felt like a part of city, just as she felt that the city was a part of her. New York was known as the city that never slept, and to some that made the city seem like a machine. Those who’d lived there knew different. The city was far too expressive and alive to ever be something so automatic and lifeless and cold and distant and calculating. It had always felt like home, so as soon as she graduated college with a degree in criminology, she’d applied to the NYPD.
The training had been intense and unforgiving. As a woman with lower upper body strength than her male colleagues, she had to work twice as hard to be recognized, but she never let it embitter her. She never complained or let it make her miserable. Instead, the woman who I’d grown to see as something approaching an aunt or older sister had seen every obstacle thrown her way as a challenge. Every ache, every sore that came as she stretched herself well beyond her own limits brought a smile to her face because she knew it meant she was growing, and not just physically stronger and more durable, but mentally as well. She’d honed a tolerance to levels of stress and pain that had crushed many of the male applicants in the police academy, but it was still a surprise to her that she had been accepted so readily into the ranks of the NYPD – even more so when she’d been paired with an officer as seasoned as Greg Marcus.
He was a dark-haired white man in his late thirties with a five-o-clock shadow and a chiseled jaw. She’d noticed the women who worked in the police station; both officers and administrative staff alike were drawn in by his handsome looks, charming voice, and roguish smile. He didn’t seem to notice or care, however, and she’d smiled when she noticed the ring on his finger.
Sergeant Marcus had been policing the streets almost as long as she’d been alive. She’d heard of his exploits in the academy, and knew he was good friends with Lieutenant Stacy and that the two had graduated the academy together.
Yet, despite all of his experience on the street, he’d welcomed her with open arms, showing her everything “those lazy, do-nothing desk-jockeys in the academy” as Greg had put it, had neglected to show her. It was a real eye-opener for her, just as it was for me. There were times I had to pause Misty’s memories because of how difficult and… and wonderful it was to hear my father’s voice again with absolute clarity, like he was still alive and right there in front of me. It was even worse when he’d welcomed her into our family and I saw her meet the younger version of myself for the first time. Mom and Dad had laughed when I’d hidden from her behind the kitchen counter out of shyness. Mom was nagging me to come out and threatening to ground me if I didn’t, but Misty had just laughed it off and gone back there herself.
Realizing I couldn’t hide from her any longer, I’d put up a brave front and introduced myself. And Misty, amused, mentally remarked about how much I looked like a miniature version of my father. Then she’d introduced herself and I quickly took a liking to her, even going so far as to mandate that she sit next to me when we all had dinner together. Misty had acquiesced immediately.
Something about that interested me. I wanted to replicate that feeling, somehow. I wanted to instill in Misty a need to acquiesce to my wishes. I solidified the memory in her mind, accentuating its importance. I made her remember that she liked being near me and that doing what I asked had made her feel very good about herself, like she’d done something totally and completely right. I felt my changes reverberate softly throughout her memories, where my dad sometimes still lived.
But my father wasn’t alive. He’d died screaming in an explosion. No. Stop!
Fire. Smoke. Burning meat. Agonized, tortured screams. I shunted them away as fast as I could.
He’d saved her. Greg Marcus – the best police officer Misty had ever known and a man she’d grown to love like an older brother – had grabbed her at the last second and thrown her away from the explosion, trading his life for hers. He’d given everything for her, leaving a broken, grieving family in his wake.
It wasn’t fair, Misty had thought. She’d never had much in the way of family. Greg had always teased her about her boyfriends and made a habit of asking when one of them would finally pop the question, but somehow she’d always known she’d end up alone. She thought that it should have been her who died in the explosion, not Greg.
I was tempted to erase that guilt; she’d done nothing wrong and it wasn’t her fault that Dad had sacrificed his life to save hers, but something stopped me. I could feel her guilt. I could feel it underneath all the memories she’d gained after. If I got rid of it, something told me there was a chance that what came after might go with it.
Out of curiosity, I started perusing her romantic history, looking for something I could use. She hadn’t dated a lot of men since she left college. Not enough time. But there was one man who she did date that really came as a surprise. Luke Cage, a bonafide superhero and member of the Defenders, one of the vigilante teams that patrolled New York’s streets. I’d heard about them in the news and on the internet, but I never imagined I’d ever see them up close, especially not through Misty’s eyes. They solved problems that ordinary police officers couldn’t, and while Misty understood the importance of having a means of dealing with superpowered individuals like mutants who were often too strong for ordinary cops to handle, it seemed her own relative powerlessness had never been clearer.
Misty had known she would never be as strong or durable as someone like Luke Cage or as skilled with martial arts as… Iron Fist. Danny Rand? The guy who runs Rand Enterprises? What the hell is it with billionaires and vigilantism?
I was getting off topic. Where was I, again? Ah, yes. Misty couldn’t bend steel like Jessica Jones or navigate purely by sound like Daredevil. Instead, she was a flesh and blood human, albeit one with extensive combat training, expert investigative skills, and an advanced mechanical arm. Compared to people like She-Hulk (apparently she’d met Jennifer Walters on more than one occasion, and oh boy was it amazing to see the busty, green-skinned lawyer up close) and Ms. Marvel (who was apparently a gorgeous ex-air force pilot named Carol Danvers. I mean, I already knew she was hot just based on her voluptuous figure and how she barely crammed her big tits and juicy bubble butt into that tight costume of hers, but it was nice to see she had a beautiful face to compliment that amazing body of hers. She seemed kind of arrogant, though.) who could level entire cities with their abilities, she might as well have been a water balloon filled with blood.
Fuck. I couldn’t help but think about Misty falling completely under my sway and agreeing that introducing a bunch of superheroines to me so I could brainwash them would be a very good thing. What was really amazing was that I knew I could do it. Misty’s memories were like an open book to me, and I could edit them however I pleased. She had no defense against me, and as far as Misty was aware, She-Hulk and Ms. Marvel had no innate resistance to telepathy.
But was my power technically telepathy? I couldn’t read people’s thoughts or command them in realtime. In fact, time seemed to stand still whenever I used my power. I had absolutely no idea what limits (if any) there were to the amount of time I could spend within someone’s memories. I’d been inside MJ’s head for what seemed like days as I obsessively poured over her recent memories to nurture in her an obsession with me. In the real world, no time had passed at all. Could a telepath even react to something like that?
Whatever. I’m getting ahead of myself. None of that’ll even matter if I don’t get Misty on the same page as me. The question was, how was I going to do that?
Effort-driven personal growth was everything to her. If you lied, cheated, or took the easy way out, you weren’t helping yourself reach your potential. That’s why she wasn’t the biggest fan of people who had superpowers, and it seemed like it was part of the reason why she and Luke Cage hadn't worked out. Here she was, over a decade of training and experience behind her, yet someone like Luke Cage didn’t really need her beyond her investigative skills. If the two of them ended up fighting superhumans, she’d just get in the way. She’d be a weakness for Luke’s enemies to exploit. After a fight way too close for my and apparently Luke's tastes, Luke had put his foot down. He wouldn’t tolerate Misty getting involved when he or the Defenders fought supervillains.
Misty had reacted predictably and angrily broke off their relationship. What made it even worse is that she felt like she was being childish. Why should it have mattered if Luke could withstand just about anything? It wasn’t his fault his skin was nearly impenetrable and hers wasn't.
But she had to be one who helped others, not the one who was helpless. She wouldn't stand to be protected or saved while others endured the fire. Never again.
I hummed mentally.
She’d really loved Luke. Had imagined marrying him one day. She still did sometimes, when her loneliness and regret outshined her anger.
She was so alone, trapped between the mundane world inhabited by the unpowered and the one treaded on by people with superpowers. She denied it, wanted desperately to believe that she didn’t need to belong anywhere or with anyone.
It was clear she wouldn’t accept any feelings for me while she still harbored them for Luke Cage, so I started making her forget about them. It wasn't difficult. Like MJ's relationship with Peter, Misty's relationship with Luke had certain watershed moments that made Misty realize she cared more about him that she did before. I simply made her forget having those realizations or the events altogether. After a few minutes of work, she'd forgotten everything she loved about him, or that she had ever loved him. His warm, almond-colored eyes. His gentle smile that belied his large frame. All gone. In their stead, I left nothing but her residual anger from the breakup that now existed without any meaning or purpose. I gave it a reason; let her remember Luke callously dismissing her lack of superhuman abilities. I made her remember him telling her that she was useless in a fight. That she was nothing but a weakness for his enemies to exploit.
The last vestiges of Misty’s love for Luke died like the final embers of a forest fire.
I watched from behind her eyes as she broke up with the man who would have been the love of her life. This time, there were no nagging doubts. No regrets or heartbreak. Instead, she felt relief and hatred. She’d given everything she had to help Luke and he’d spat in her face.
I hate him! I hate Luke Cage!
The thought had come to her mind naturally and I cemented it there like a brand on her brain. I saw her love for Luke drain from her mind like water from a sink that had just been unclogged. Hatred, cool, and dark, bubbled out of the drain. It polluted her memory of the man, tainting even the small positive feelings she harbored towards him.
Needless to say, Misty’s heart was wide open to me now.
Sorry, Luke. You seem like a decent guy, but Misty’s mine.
As Misty watched Luke walk away from the site of their breakup, arms crossed and jaw set with hurt, she allowed herself a small satisfied smile.
I stayed with her, forcing her to remember thinking about me. I’d never call her useless or insult her abilities. Hell, I thought she was one of the strongest people I’d ever met, and I’d told her so. Her mind focused on those memories, and she latched on to them like a drowning woman would a floating log.
No matter what happens, I can always count on Adam. He’s so handsome and sweet. He’s not like other guys. He’s always been there for me, and it wouldn’t bother him if I ever tried to protect him.
It should have bothered me to twist Misty’s platonic, nurturing love for me into something far less innocent. It was wrong. It was plain evil by most people’s standards. Yet, as I made Misty remember thinking about how handsome I was, how aroused she felt whenever I looked in her direction, and how much she depended on me for companionship, few things had ever felt more right to me.
I seized her guilt, too. That overwhelming despair she’d felt at being unable to save Dad. I twisted it into something new, something that would bring her closer to me. Before, Misty’s guilt had obligated her to take care of me. To make sure I was safe and fed and grew into a responsible young man. Now, she remembered feeling a cold, suffocating guilt whenever she refused to talk to open up to me about her problems. She trusted me. I’d never hurt her, so why had she kept me in the dark about her life for so long? It was wrong. It was evil. It was… ungrateful. Yes, she’d been ungrateful.
She smiled as she thought about me, even as guilt and shame ate at her insides.
I’ll never keep Adam in the dark again. I’ll tell him everything I’ve been up to since I left the force. He’ll listen. He’ll offer advice and I’ll take it to heart like I should have been all along. I… I really should apologize to him.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as she thought about sitting me down and explaining everything to me, and listening to my advice in turn, and I let her feel a twinge of arousal.
Where the hell did that come from?
I poured over her memories of me. Every time she’d ever helped me, I made her remember her guilt recede and her pussy tingle with arousal. Another spike of guilt seized her, then. I was her partner’s son. She shouldn’t have been having these feelings for me. She shouldn’t have been lusting after my body. She shouldn’t have been lying awake in bed at night thinking of me, her hand trailing between her legs to rub her drooling, unsatisfied pussy.
I edited her memories throughout the years, making it so she remembered that she loved thinking about me and that it was one of her favorite things to do. I made her remember that she loved doing what I said as much as she feared the guilt and shame that came with even minor thoughts of holding anything back from me. I made her remember loving the sound of my voice; she could just listen to it for hours. She remembered staring at me when she thought I wasn’t looking, marveling at how handsome I was and remarking on how ugly Luke had been by comparison.
Sarah – my mother – wasn’t the ideal nom. Misty knew that. In her memories, she wished Mom would take care of me, and she had more than one memory where she’d confronted Mom for ignoring me.
It hadn’t ever gone anywhere. I’d have seen the results, and so would Misty. I was alone, just like her. No one cared about Misty. She was alone. Her one true friend had died saving her. But his son had lived, and he was alone, too. He was just like her, before her own powerlessness had destroyed everything she loved.
She’d been over to take care of me sometimes, but her life was pretty busy. I made her remember coming over more. To make me food and watch movies with me. I made her remember loving it all.
She wanted to be close to me. I was her light – the one person in her life who didn’t make her feel like shit. The one person who gave a shit about her. She needed to be around me. It helped her cope with her job as a private investigator. Anytime she faced any difficulty, instead of letting her remember bottling it up, I made her thoughts turn to me for comfort.
I edited her memories of the discussions we’d had together. I made her remember opening up to me about her work, of all the superheroes she worked with. I made her remember feeling relief for the first time since my father died.
I drifted into the memories of her worst nightmares, too, shifting them. Now, they featured something worse than all the traumas she’d ever endured: my disapproval. My rejection of her. Of me spewing the same biting words she now remembered Luke saying. It cut her like a knife even as it crushed her. She feared it worse than death, now. She couldn’t lose her own coping mechanism. She couldn’t lose me.
She hated the idea of hurting me. She feared the look on my face should she ever offend me. She was tortured by thoughts of earning my disapproval or ire. I was the only person in her life she liked. The only person in her life she loved.
I had Misty forget about her love of New York. The city was a machine; a thing. So were the people in it. Most of them didn’t matter. She didn’t remember them ever mattering. Instead, I let her remember that there was still someone she needed to serve and protect.
Whenever she thought about Luke or Danny or Jessica Jones, or most people, her emotions grew cold and hollow. Sometimes hateful. After all, why should she worry about anyone when I was the only one who listened to her when she bore her heart?
Her dreams were different. I let her mind run wild with intense fantasies about me. One of those fantasies had Misty on her knees, staring up at me as I sat on a throne, naked. She’d stare at my cock, marveling at its thickness as it twitched to hardness. She licked her lips, wishing she could reward me for being there for her, but also feeling guilt for selfishly desiring me for herself. She’d never dreamed about a man before like she had me.
Adam’s so mature and handsome. He’s grown into a remarkable young man. He’s always been there for me when I needed him, and oh God do I need him. He’s the only thing that makes life worth living and work worth doing. Would it really be so bad if I showed him just how much he mattered to me?
The thought repeated again and again in her mind. It made her pussy quiver and gush. When she’d awaken, her sheets would inevitably be drenched. She’d think about me, what I’d think if I ever saw her like this and knew what she’d been thinking about.
In her everyday life, she thought about me. Of pleasing me. Of making me happy. And she felt guilty that she wasn’t making me happy. That she wasn’t doing what I said. That she wasn’t serving and protecting me.
She thought about quitting her job, but I made her remember that I wouldn’t like it. I didn’t want her to change her routine too drastically. But she thought about it constantly. She wanted to quit and stay by my side every second of every day. She’d be fully armed and ready to kill anyone who threatened me, and she’d be ready to whatever it took to gain my approval. Even my very glance was enough to put her on cloud nine.
I went back to the near-present and let our early dinner play out. She stared at me. Her pussy pulsed and tingled.
He’s so close. God, he smells amazing.
She didn’t mind that I’d gotten a girlfriend. Actually, she was pleased. It meant someone was making me happy. A part of her was disappointed, though. She’d wanted to be that for me. But she wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t want to upset me, even though the guilt of keeping that secret gnawed at her insides.
Wow. She actually love-loved me now. Like MJ did, but a lot more intense. There was a pervading sense of duty, too, and the threat of crushing, overwhelming guilt should she fail.
Her heart skipped a beat when she caught me staring at her breasts. Her cheeks flared with embarrassment.
God, keep it together, Misty. He’s over ten years younger than you and you’re letting him send your heart racing like a schoolgirl. Tch. I guess it’s not surprising considering I dream about him every goddamn night.
Satisfied with the changes I’d made to Misty’s mind, I concentrated. The world shattered around me. Darkness danced across my eyelids. I opened them and saw Misty sitting across from me. Her brown eyes gazed at me lovingly. Beside me, MJ was digging into her food. My hand still rested on her thigh. She touched it with her free hand and moved it between her legs. I could feel her dampness even through her jeans.
I glanced over at her, but she pretended like nothing was going on.
“So Misty, what’s it like being a private investigator?” she asked.
Misty hummed, but before she answered I chanced a glance down at her breasts again. Instead of clearing her throat like she had before, she smiled and leaned forward, causing her large ebony breasts to squeeze into the top of her cleavage.
“Oh, it has its ups and downs. Hey Adam, do you mind if borrow you for a few minutes after dinner? I’d like to talk to you about something in private if that’s okay.”
