Triumphant Return
Twenty years.
Two decade had passed since Landon had walked these halls as a scrawny, awkward teenager, the preferred punching bag for the popular crowd. Tonight, however, was different. The post-doctoral research had concluded, the papers published in obscure journals, and the results were... spectacular. And certain people had found his research of great interest and had paid him quite handsomely to continue. Inhibiting the brain's prefrontal cortex morality centers using a precise cocktail of psychedelics and subliminal audio frequencies.
He'd proven that morality wasn't some divine gift; it was just a series of electrical impulses and chemicals. Ones that could be interrupted and redesigned.
The reunion was in full swing in the large gymnasium, a cacophony of forced laughter and desperate nostalgia. Landon spotted the DJ, a bored-looking kid in his early twenties probably hired for the night. He approached, slipping a stack of hundred-dollar bills from his inside jacket pocket.
"I've got a playlist on here," he said, slipping the kid a flash drive with the money. "Some real classics. Think you could mix it in?" The DJ's eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly, taking the flash drive and the cash.
Next was the phase two. Landon lingered by the refreshment table, waiting for a moment of distraction. When a group of former cheerleaders screeched and hugged, he made his move. He pulled a few small vials of clear liquid from his pocket, containing a synthesized derivative of psilocybin designed to lower suggestibility without causing full-blown hallucinations. He poured one each into the water, the tea, the lemonade, and the cola. Flavorless and odorless, it diffused into each drink and vanished.
He watched from a corner as the DJ plugged in the drive. The first track was a generic 90s pop song, but beneath the melody, woven into the very fabric of the sound, were Landon's messages:
You are so horny. Your body is hot. You need to fuck. Release your inhibitions. Touch someone. Now. As the music played, people began to drink the spiked refreshments.
The effects were subtle at first. A woman named Jessica, who Landon remembered as a prudish debate team captain, started laughing too loudly. Her husband, a beefy former football player named Mark, kept shifting in his seat, his hands attempting to rest naturally on his lap, so as to hide the tent that had started to form. Landon moved closer.
"Hey Mark, remember how you always had a thing for Sarah Jenkins?" Landon said, nodding towards a petite redhead talking to her husband.
Mark blinked, his pupils slightly dilated. "Uh, yeah, man. High school crush, you know?"
Landon leaned in. "I saw her looking at you a bit ago. Go say hi. Jessica won't mind. She looks like she's having fun with Greg over there." Mark glanced over. Greg, a former classmate, was indeed talking animatedly with Jessica, who was now giggling and touching his arm. A conflict flickered in Mark's eyes, but the subliminals and the drugs were winning. He shrugged, a grin spreading across his face, and ambled over towards Sarah, the bulge in his pants now on full display.
Landon worked the room like a conductor, a puppet master of desire. He found Kevin standing with his wife. "Kev," Landon said with a respectful nod. "Remember telling me I'd never amount to anything? Remember how you gloated about how your sister would never want to date a guy like me?"
The man's eyes glazed over. Landon continued, his voice a low persuasive hum.
"You were so protective of her because you knew everyone would be after such a hot piece of ass. You were right. Did it turn you on knowing how many boys had been inside your twin sister? And she's looking at you now. Not like a sister anymore. She looks... hungry. Your wife won't notice. Everyone's just... feeling good."
Across the room, Heather, a stunning blonde, was indeed watching her brother, a strange, unfocused smile on her face. She slowly licked her lips. Kevin swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on his sister as she began to unbutton the top of her dress.
The music pulsed, the bass thumping a primal rhythm. The sublimals were relentless now.
Clothes are restrictive. Skin wants to be touched. Fuck. Now. Here.
A couple, neither of whom Landon recognized, were openly making out against a wall, the man's hand already up the woman's skirt. Someone shrieked with laughter, and a pair of panties flew through the air and landed on the raised basketball hoop. The room was transforming, the polite facade of the reunion crumbling into a writhing, primal orgy. Spouses were forgotten, high school hierarchies dissolved in a sea of sweat and flesh. Landon saw Mark, the football player, now with Sarah Jenkins, her dress bunched around her waist as he took her from behind against a table, her own husband watching with a dazed, aroused expression. Mark's wife was bouncing on Greg's cock not 20 feet away.
And then he saw Sharon.
She hadn't been the head cheerleader or the queen bee but she had been Landon's first unrequited love. The girl who had publicly and cruelly rejected his prom invitation, telling him he was a "creepy little bug" she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. She was standing alone for a moment, looking around with wide, confused eyes, her lovely dress was already in a pool around her feet. Her husband, a smug investment banker Landon vaguely recognized, was currently receiving a very enthusiastic blowjob from a former student council member under the buffet table while she watched from across the gym.
"Sharon," he said simply.
She turned, her eyes focusing on him with difficulty. The drugs and the messaging had her completely pliant. "Landon? Wow. You look... different." Her voice was breathy.
"I am different," he said, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. Her skin was flushed, hot to the touch. She didn't flinch. She leaned into his touch. "Remember the week before prom, Sharon? Remember what you said to me?"
A flicker of something. Shame? fear? But it was instantly washed away by the chemical and auditory tide flooding her system. "I was... I was mean to you, wasn't I?"
"You were," Landon agreed, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "But you can make it up to me now, can't you?"
Her breath hitched. Her eyes, once so full of cruel dismissal, were now clouded with raw, animal lust. She nodded slowly, then more vigorously. "Yes," she breathed. "I want... I need..."
"What do you need?" Landon prompted, his other hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him. He could feel her trembling.
"You," she whimpered, her hands fumbling at his shirt. "I need you to... anything. Anything you want."
Landon smiled, a genuine, triumphant smile. He looked around the ballroom, at the scene of debauched chaos he had orchestrated. He had rewritten their reality. Even the DJ was getting head from the former debate captain. Good for him. He glanced briefly at the camera set up to capture memories from the evening, noting to grab the tape on his way out.
He turned his attention back to the willing, pliant woman in his arms, the symbol of his high school torment, now putty in his hands. "Good girl," he murmured, leading her towards an empty space in the middle of the dance floor, now littered with discarded clothing. "Let's start with you on your knees."
This was originally requested on my old blog by @spreez-2pot under the following ask: "Story idea: high school reunion where evil dom protagonist bribes the DJ and spikes the drinks, then tapes the ensuing orgy."
Your continued support is invaluable. If you want to do more, you can buy me a coffee, or if you want a story written just for you, commissions are open!
















