Perfecting the Act

"Perfecting the Act" is the 8th installment in the story of Randy Baumgardner, also known as "The Amazing Randy." I would recommend reading these stories in the order in which they were written starting with "The True Professional" (4 installments), continuing with the "Prison Psychologist" (2 installments) and then "An Amazing Gift." However, seeing as you're reading this now, maybe you'd like to finish this story first. If you do read this story, my longest to date, I would like to remind you, gently, that I and many others who write for this site, do so in the hope that readers will take a moment to comment. For me at least, while I prefer positive comments, if you hate my writing I want to know that as well. Thanks in advance.

One final note- Although submitted to the "Mind Control" section, "Perfecting the Act" could easily fit in the BDSM section. I chose to keep all of the "Randy stories" (no pun intended) in the same section.

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Perfecting the Act

Randy pulled up into the driveway of his parents' house and turned off his car. The tiny cape was well-kept with picture book flower gardens, a slate walkway leading from the driveway to the front step, and dwarf fruit trees in the yard. There was even a little home-crafted sign that said "The Baumgardners" in one of the flower gardens by the door. Before he could ring the doorbell the robin's egg blue wooden door opened and Randy's mother appeared, grinning from ear to ear. In a second her arms were around him trapping him in a maternal bear hug. "Hi, Mom," he said, surrendering to the love.

"Oh, Randy," she said as she guided him into her home, 'it's wonderful to see you. Your father is in the dining room having his lunch. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Mom, I have. I stopped at Micky D's on the way. It was a long drive, but, you'll have plenty of time to feed me over the next couple of days. I'd like to stay a while and talk to you and Dad about- I don't know- my future I guess."

"Of course, Randy, what an unexpected gift for your old mother and father."

"You guys are NOT old" he said as he gave his mother a hug.

"You need remedial math," she said. "Let's go see your father."

Later that afternoon, over cocktails on the back porch, Randy shared the purpose of his visit with his parents. "When I graduated from high school I decided that college just wasn't for me. I knew that with my gift there would never really be any financial troubles. When you can make anybody do or say anything you want a regular job just seems to be too, too 'limiting.' So, I decided to travel while I came to grips with my power and how, and more importantly, when to use it."

"I know that we've talked about this a few times and for the most part I've done everything the way we agreed that I should. No one knows I have this power except the three of us. I don't want the world to know. If the true extent of my power were known they'd put me in a cage and study me for the rest of my life. No way that's going to happen."

"We agree," said his parents, nodding their heads as they spoke.

"You don't have to be a big fish if you swim in a small pond," said Randy. "What I mean is that I find that I am most comfortable exerting my influence on one or two people at a time. I know that I can do more, but I'm just not comfortable having to control so many minds at once. Maybe that will change over time. I worry about slipping up and revealing myself. I want to use my power, but I don't want to draw attention to myself. I've been searching for a solution to this dilemma and I think I've found it. In fact, it's been right under my nose all along."

"Well?" his father asked. "Don't keep us in the dark."

"Dad," Randy said, "I want to develop an act and go out on the circuit, like you two did. And, I want you both to help me work on it. You guys are retired. What? You have something better to do?" he said with a smile, knowing that they'd be thrilled to work on their son's act with him. For forty years Randy's parents had worked the carnival and state fair circuit with a mentalist act. Now retired, they were consummate "carny" and knew the life from "tents up" to "tents down."

"Randy," his mother said, "are you sure? The circuit isn't an easy life. There's a lot of hardship."

"Yes, Mom," he said. "I'm sure. You know that I'll make all the money I want. You both know that I could get rich panhandling. For cryin' out loud, everyone I met would want to give me money if I simply asked them to."

I like the unknown, the adventure part of it. I like to travel and I love meeting new people. I want to see America and maybe later the world. You've known since I was a kid that I was a born performer. Remember when I used to give the planetarium shows for Mr. Clarkson senior year? I packed 'em in. I must have had a half dozen solid "Uranus" jokes. They worked every time. I need professional practice; I want to put in at least a year on the circuit before I strike out on my own.

For the next week, Randy enrolled himself in "Carny Life 101" with his parents. The Baumgardners were professional entertainers, recently retired, with almost a century's worth of experience between them. They talked about what the core carnival people were like. They talked about the business side of carnival life, and it was a business, designed to do what all businesses do- make money. They even gave him a stage name- "The Amazing Randy."

Most of their time was spent discussing the actual on-stage production of Randy's act. They talked about deception and misdirection. They talked about interaction with the audience and meeting the expectations of the paying customers. This was paramount, his father said. "If you say that for a nickel you are going to show folks a bearded lady, the people who pay to enter the tent are interested in two and only two things: tits and facial hair. You better have both."

They talked about professional ethics. The act could never put people in actual danger, although the perception of danger was always a money-maker. They talked about ethics with respect to Randy's unique gift. Randy's father, who was self-educated and a reader all his life, cited Lord Acton's Dictum: "Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely." Randy knew it.

Randy told his parents that he had already spent a great deal of time thinking about the proper use of his amazing abilities. He had not used his power foolishly, but prudently, accumulating wealth slowly and unobtrusively- enough to allow him to buy his parents their dream cottage by the ocean. For Randy money was unlikely to be an issue. There were simply too many different ways for him to make it. His bank accounts and stock portfolio were modest, especially after having secured his parents retirement and making sure that his aunt, with whom he had lived all through high school, wanted for nothing. He knew that he could have as much money as he wanted. Money wasn't what drove him.

The human interaction part of his ethical dilemma was a bit more problematical. Randy was by no means a paragon of virtue. He was not above using his power in a mean way, although when he did it was very rare and never without justification. Some guys just asked for it, begged to be taken down a peg or two. Induced pants wetting was one of his favorite punishments. Nobody was actually hurt and he had such fine control over his subjects that he could determine when where, how much, and in front of whom. Mean? Yeah, it was mean, but also very effective.

Women were a different thing altogether. He was a young man with all the pent-up sexual energy that single men his age have to reckon with. He had a marvelous and powerful gift which enabled him to have any woman or combination of women that he wanted whenever he wanted. Heady, compelling stuff.

What he'd come up with so far was a reasonable compromise. When he "bonded" psychically with women he could sense their willingness to be seduced. If he sensed that the object of his interest would truly object to his advances he disengaged quickly. He was not a rapist; at least in his own mind he wasn't.

His connection with his mark was a combined mind/body experience. The more he used his power the better he could fine tune his influence. If he sensed that a woman was concerned with some anatomical "insufficiency" he made sure that those misgivings were properly put into a mental vault to which he and he alone held the combination. If he sensed that his partner wanted to "open up" their sex life and try new things he would try to accommodate.

He avoided married women and women in long term heterosexual relationships like the plague. His power was useless against a bullet or a well-placed piece of masonry to the skull and there were far too many fish in the sea for him to deliberately put himself in harm's way. That would have been just plain stupid and Randy Baumgardner was not stupid.

Eventually, the act was hammered out right there at his parents' kitchen table. The first part of his performance would be strictly "G" rated. Husbands and wives would be called up to the stage and induced to reveal silly secrets; teenagers would be embarrassed in front of their dates- that sort of stuff. The key was to intertwine a flexible script so that he would always be working towards bigger and bigger laughs. Both of his parents made sure that he understood that unless you were named Henny Youngman or Rodney Dangerfield, the key to humor was always the setup, not the punchline and that setting up a joke correctly was where the creative art in the comedy business could be found.

The second half would be closer to an "R" rating. He'd get some beautiful woman to show a little extra cleavage to the audience. He would get a husband to drop his pants and waddle around in his undershorts or something equally benign. Randy's role would be kind of like that of a game show host whose contestants were a little beyond tipsy. There was plenty of room to operate and lots of options, and, he could literally make his mark do or say anything he wanted.

The act would evolve over time.

Eventually, the time came for Randy to leave his mentors and go to work. His father had called in a favor and had Randy set up with one of his old bosses. Randy was the son of two well-credentialed "carnys" and carnival folk took care of their own.

Randy knew better than to seek female companionship from his co-workers. He had a real secret to protect. Carnival workers were resourceful, jealous, nosy, and as street-wise as they come. Any and all hook-ups had to be away from work. He could hook up with a patron, which he did very occasionally, but co-workers were strictly off limits.

Randy was friendly and engaging, but he never drank with the crowd. He did enjoy a very occasional whiskey and plain water, but always alone in his dressing room or in a bar two or more towns away. One of his father's first admonitions to him after he had gained his power had been "Never forget, Randy; when the booze is in, the truth is out and you have at least one truth that must never come out- never."

All summer and into the fall Randy worked diligently on his act. It was good, but not perfect. Mostly he needed to increase the sheer volume of material he could use in his act. At barest minimum he needed enough to make sure that the same joke was never used twice in the same weekend. That took time and effort but Randy's parents had told him that when they were working each and every rehearsal would end with some kind of discussion of new material. It was "vital" they said. Eventually Randy put in the time and paid his dues- in cash. The act became more consistent and, more importantly, more popular. He was packing them in- every night.

After a particularly good Sunday night show Randy decided that he had earned himself a reward and after changing and removing his make-up, he got in his car and headed to a bar two towns away from the fairgrounds. It was late and a Sunday so he realized that the pickings might be slim, but he was trolling for hoochy tonight.

It was almost eleven when he entered the bar. He scanned the room and found an attractive, slightly older woman, late thirties maybe, sitting alone at the bar smoking a cigarette. There were empty chairs on either side of her. It looked to him like she was alone so he chose the one to her right, sat down, and ordered a Scotch and water. He waited until it was obvious that she was alone. When she fished into her pocketbook for a cigarette, he made his move. Before she could fish out her lighter, Randy produced one of his own, swiveled, and touched her arm as if to steady her hand while he lit her cigarette. An instant's touch was enough to establish control. He leaned over and spoke softly into her ear. "You will obey me completely. Don't you think that's a good idea? Let's talk a bit."

He pulled back to his normal sitting position and she turned to him and introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Sharon. "

"I'm Randy."

"Hi, Randy," she returned. "You're not a regular. From out of town are you?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm just passing through. You're local I take it."

Another two minutes of small talk revealed the fact that she was single and had recently ended a long term relationship. She worked as a secretary in a small law firm in town. Randy examined her as she spoke, sizing her up. Should he reel her in or throw her back? Sharon was a little rough around the edges and had a hard, high cheek boned, chiseled, slightly androgynous face- Nordic maybe he thought. Randy upped his age estimate to early forties. Still, she had beautiful, light skin which set off her shoulder length blond hair. It was the dress that settled the matter. Sharon wore a cobalt blue dress that not only revealed her pale shoulders but accentuated her cleavage to great effect. She was no cull.

Randy stared into her eyes and spoke. "Sharon, you'd like to get to know me better. Suggest that we move to a booth."

She looked straight into Randy's eyes and said "You know, Randy, you're interesting to talk to. Let's move to a booth and talk dirty." She giggled as she took his arm and they shifted to their new location. Sharon clearly had intentions of her own.

Once they landed in the booth, Randy established his dominance immediately. Reaching across the table to touch her hand, Randy established strong contact and began to search through her mind looking for sensations and feelings. There were plenty to be found.

As it turned out, Sharon was not the one to initiate the break-up. That made no sense to Randy, who thought that it was a rare fellow indeed who would walk away from that package. He sensed no hostility in her. She was neither a bitch nor a harpy. He did sense a kind of weariness, the kind born from deprivation. There was desperation in her as well. He considered ending the pick-up, but decided to induce her to tell her story in her own words instead.

"Tell me the truth, Sharon," he said. "Do you live alone?"

"Yes."

"Far?"

"No."

"Are you trying to pick me up?"

"Yes."

"Why me," Randy asked. "There are better looking guys in here tonight."

"All local," she said as she casually flicked her cigarette into the ash tray. Normally, Randy would command his companions not to smoke. He didn't like it, but for some reason he allowed Sharon to smoke. It fit her face and her mood, both. She reminded him a little of Marlene Dietrich, the movie star. "I don't want to look like the town pump. It's complicated," she said wistfully.

"Tell me all of it, Sharon. Leave nothing out. I'll get us fresh drinks." Randy returned with two glasses of water. "You like this drink," he said. "It's Scotch and water." Randy had already had his one allowed drink and Sharon was just shy of her limit. Drunken women were never fun. Randy liked his companions a little tipsy, "yesh" he called it. "Yesh yesh" was one "yesh" too many.

"Randy, you seem like a nice enough guy," she smiled. Heck, if you play your cards right, you might get lucky." She smiled and giggled a little laugh.

It was cute, Randy thought as he chuckled in response. "I'm holding a royal straight flush, Sharon" he thought to himself. "I guess I'll call."

"Randy, the reason I'm here alone is that my master has disowned me."

"Your master?" asked Randy.

"For the last twelve years I have spent every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night and Saturday and Sunday day serving my master. I am a well-trained submissive but my master has informed me that he no longer requires my service. He has purchased a replacement, younger and better looking than me."

"Younger, possibly," said Randy, "but certainly not more attractive."

Sharon smiled across the table, blushing just a bit.

"The relationship between a master and submissive grows and evolves, Randy," she said, "just like any relationship. I don't want to stop being a submissive, but it is always the master's wishes that matter. I miss him; I miss being possessed."

For the better part of an hour, Randy and Sharon talked to each other about "the lifestyle". Randy probed for details and Sharon provided them. Eventually, Randy took Sharon's hand and said simply, "You want me to take you home."

"Randy, how about you drive me home. I'm a little tipsy. Maybe we can grab a nightcap at my place."

"Sounds like a plan, Sharon," said Randy as he rose and covered the bill.

Once they reached her home, a small two story on a side street off the main street in town, Randy took Sharon's arm and gallantly escorted her through the front door. Once it closed, Randy looked Sharon in the eyes and said "Sharon you are my submissive and I am your new master." Before the words had hardly passed his lips, Sharon was on her knees, head bowed, arms extended, palms up.

"I apologize, Master, for my attire. Had I known you were coming I would have changed in preparation for your arrival. I am so sorry to have displeased you," said the blond supplicant.

"Go to your room; collect the proper attire; and return to me," said the hypnotist. In three minutes Sharon was back with an armful of leather items. "Set them on the coffee table here. Show me how you prepare yourself for your master."

Sharon placed the garments, along with their "accessories" out along the coffee table. "First, I take a shower and do my hair," said Sharon.

"Well, then I guess it's time for you to get out of those clothes. Take your time and put on a show for your master. Tease me a little," said Randy.

Sharon put on her most seductive smile and reached behind her neck. Grasping the tiny zipper, she lowered it slowly, enticingly until it reached the end of its travel at the base of her back. Then with a shrug of her shoulders and a shimmy or two of her hips, the deep blue dress was at her feet.

Randy took in the view slowly as he gazed into Sharon's eyes and then broke contact to survey her body. He was right. Sharon was no cull. At forty years old she was the owner of an impressive mature body. Her legs were long and shapely. Her hips were broad, but not overly large, certainly appropriate for her age and weight. Finally, her breasts, whose true proportions had only been hinted at by the blue dress, revealed themselves to Sharon's new master. They filled a lace demi-bra to capacity and then some. Sharon's tits were large and Randy couldn't wait to play with them.

"Sharon," Randy said, "it would please your master if you would come closer and kneel in front of me, right here." Sharon complied immediately. "Reach around and unclasp the bra." As the half bra fell to the floor, Sharon's tits hung unsupported on her chest. Randy examined her display carefully. "Sharon, I want you to remember this. You are a remarkable beauty. Never doubt that. Any man would be proud to have you as a submissive." Randy made a mental note to do something about her situation before the carnival left the area.