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The Case of the Psychic Predator

For BBBUUU

By Draconicon

Barrett Rusely waved at the departing Malamute, smiling to himself all the while as the other canine walked down the steps of the office into a waiting car. It wasn't the Malamute's own, of course. It was one of many that the psychologist owned, shared among his many clients. Nor would the Malamute remember that he had been the one driving it, if all worked out well. It usually did.

"Make sure that you take it to the right garage; you won't get it fixed if you don't get it to the right mechanic."

"Yes, yes, I know, Doctor. Thank you."

The hypnotized dog got into the car and drove off, unaware of the hundreds of thousands of dollars in the trunk. For his part, Barrett shut the door with a smile, and then made his way back to his office. The foxhound walked with a little bounce in his step, knowing that his bank accounts were going to be swelling quite happily by the end of the day.

As he sat down in his office amidst the well-polished wooden furniture, surrounded by a polished gleam that came from everything and left the room feeling like it was filled with sunlight, the foxhound leaned back in his chair and gave thanks for his abilities. He still didn't know where they came from, nor did he know what had sparked them, but they had made his life a hundred times better in a hundred different ways.

Better at my job, and better at life.

He smirked, chuckling as he closed his eyes.

Yes. Patients with drug problems, street contacts, stolen goods...everyone comes to me for confession. And now, I can charge them what they can actually afford, he thought to himself. Fourteen kilos of cocaine from one client sold by the marketing head of another company, and the money distributed through four different bank accounts before coming back to mine by four other patients...heh...

It was a steady job, at least, and while he was sure that someone would catch on eventually, all it would take would be one meeting with him and they'd be right back to letting him work.

He whistled softly, and the housekeeper on the other end of the building turned around to leave. A long-established command, that, and one that he was glad that he had instituted at the beginning. Even if he could handle multiple witnesses, he didn't want to try if he didn't have to.

One more appointment today. Who could it be?

Barrett reached down to his book, flipping through the pages until he found his schedule. Running his finger down to the bottom line, his lips turned up in a grin as soon as the bell to the office began to ring.

Quentin Tharrow. Mouse librarian, confidence issues, and with one hell of a swollen rump for his species. This is going to be a good day.

"Come in," he called out, and the door opened. A white-furred mouse with a dainty pair of glasses and a tight, if somewhat patchy, suit walked into his office. "Aw, Quentin, are you still feeling that nervous?"

"It's...hard to get used to this suit."

"Well, it fits you nicely. You should feel good about it."

"I...well, I do. And things are getting better, doctor. I just...I always worry that it's not happening the right way. But...that's what these appointments are for, right?"

"Just listen to that little voice, Quentin," Barrett said. "As long as it's still talking, you still need these appointments."

The mouse nodded, taking a seat. As soon as they were both comfortable, the foxhound crossed his fingers over his lap and let out a soft hum. Not much, just a simple vibration that filled the room, and as he did, he felt himself swept up with it, pulled along with the vibrations until it felt like his mind filled the room as much as the sound did.

And since Quentin was in the room with him, he could fill the mouse, as well.

The hum continued for a few short seconds, just long enough for him to slot a bit of arousal into the mouse's mind. He let it fade away, and he slid back into his body at the same time. The slight disorientation that always came with the out of body experience faded quickly, and he smiled.

"So, have you been continuing with your exercises?"

"Y-yes, I have. I've been doing all the journal-keeping you said, and trying the mirror speeches. Affirmations too, of course."

He nodded, humming again. The mouse blushed, but the foxhound was already expanding, already filling the room again. The pressure of his touch landed on the mouse's mind, adding to the arousal, increasing the heat that the rodent was feeling from being in the smaller room. And then the sound faded, and he smiled again.

"If you're uncomfortable, you can take off your clothes. It's quite warm in here, I know."

"I know, it's just...It's not quite right, is it?"

"Not right?" Barrett laughed, the barking sound culminating in a whistle.

The sound was one that he had always excused as a personal habit, just something that he did for the hell of it, and nobody ever called him on it. However, if the hum spread him around the room, the whistle was like a targeted dart, shooting right for one specific thought.

That thought was the doubt in Quentin's mind, and the whistle impaled it, stilled it. The mouse went stiff for a moment, then seemed more relaxed.

"Heh, I guess you're right, doctor. It is a bit...silly."

"Of course it's silly. A confident man can show off anything he likes, can he not? Why should you hold back, hmmmmmmmmm?"

The feeling of spatial shifting, of being in one place and then all over the place, stretched him over the mouse's mind again. Once more, he left arousal behind, heat, and this time, a bit of extra trust. By the time that he had come back to his body, Quentin was nodding, completely in agreement with him.

"This...is for my own good. Yes?"

"Completely for your own good."

Nodding, Quentin stood up and started stripping down. It didn't take long for his patient to get down to nothing but his underthings, his other clothes tossed in a heap in the middle of the room. Despite the young man's confidence, though, he blushed as he sat down, and of course, Barrett knew why.

The lacy pink panties that the mouse wore were quite obvious, and they hugged his slight bulge tightly. As Quentin crossed his legs, the foxhound gestured at them.

"I'm glad you're keeping to these confidence-building exercises, too. Are you comfortable in them, hmmmmmmmmmm?"

"Not...always, but feeling alright now..."

"Heh, I thought you might."

But not for long. Barrett let out a whistle, his thoughts following the dart of sound. It shot right through the rodent's confidence, and suddenly the blush on his patient's cheeks was brighter than ever. Quentin almost rocketed out of his chair trying to grab his jeans, but the foxhound grabbed him by the wrist, holding him still.

"No, no. You can do it."

"But...but I'm wearing..."

"And is that a bad thing? Hmmmmmmmmm?"

The humming and the whistling on their own was a powerful enough tool on weaker minds, but when he had the chance to touch someone, his grip on their minds was a great deal more intense. He preferred it this way; working with a simple stare worked with many, and the sounds worked with others. But touch...touch brought a sense of control that nothing else could match.

He whistled, killing off the fear again, and as he brought that shrill sound higher and higher, he laid about the inside of Quentin's mind, slaying the doubts, the worries, everything that stood in his way and wanted to keep him from getting what he wanted. The mouse went loose and limp in his grip, and had to be leaned against the desk.

"Don't worry, Quentin. I know exactly what you need. Just forget about things for a bit; I'll show you what you need..."

Barrett continued to hum as he stripped himself from the waist down, letting his cock out as he hustled the mouse onto the desk. He pulled the rodent's panties down, letting them dangle from one ankle. That round, lovely rump was just begging for attention, and he was looking forward to taking his latest 'payment' from the little guy.

He rubbed his cockhead up and down against that pucker, feeling it already loosening a little in response to what it was trained for. The foxhound smiled, patting Quentin's cheek.

"Don't worry. You'll learn how to do this on your own soon enough."

With one more hum, he slowly slid inside, savoring the feeling of that tight pucker. Quentin's hole had never failed to get him off before, and he was looking forward to feeling it properly for the first time in too long.

#

After sending Quentin home with a command to come to the office with a vibrator in his ass next time - all under the guise of keeping up with the confidence building - Barrett started the process of closing up for the night. He left the TV on in the lobby for some background noise, and went to the backdoor to whistle for the cleaning staff. He wasn't about to do this all by himself, after all.

Barrett had every intention of going home when he was done, but just as he was walking out the front door of the office, a car with no markings on the side drove up to his front step. Two men in suits stepped out, one wearing a mask, the other wearing a pistol with a strange set of bullets in his belt.

"Mr. Rusely?" the weapon-carrying one asked.

"Yes?"

"We're going to have to ask you to come with us."

"...Certainly."

It couldn't be that serious. If someone had slipped his control, then he would have the right to confront his accuser. If someone hadn't, they had nothing on him.

After all, who would believe he could control someone's mind?

The End