The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For some reason, the self-inflicted shot has a more harsh impact on my companions’ psyches than the shots meant to kill them.

I suppose it makes sense for Gwen and Bell—they were both sheltered from the first days of the invasion and the massive amount of blood that was shed by both the angels and the demons. And I suppose Karen, not realizing the full extent of what Lou had done, may have seen him as an analog of her own situation—someone who had been goaded into terrible deeds in a desperate attempt to survive. She doesn’t seem shaken, but she still has to struggle to hide the fact that she feels uncomfortable being around the body. But seeing the man’s body laying on the ground after having taken his own life is profoundly disturbing to Jen, and Jen’s discomfort is profoundly disturbing to me.

Disturbing, but also refreshing in some twisted way. The man said he wanted to take her hostage, and still she feels sympathy for him. Somehow, after all this time, and after all she’s been through, her humanity is still fully intact.

“Well,” I say, lurching to my feet, “guess that’s that.” I reach a hand down to Bell, who is flat on their back, whimpering a little as they wait to reclaim the wind I’d knocked out of them.

When Bell looks up at me, they see me through what looks like a Vaseline-smeared lens form the old back-and-white movies—partly in the physical sense from the tears that had been knocked into their eyes, but partly in the figurative sense as they realize that I may have just saved their life.

Bell reaches up and wraps a dainty hand around my own, and I yank them to their feet.

“Thanks...” they mutter, trying desperately not to look at the brain-caked wall.

I smile. “No problem. Sorry I knocked you down kinda hard.”

Bell tries to put on a brave face and shakes their head. “It hurt less than a gun would. So what’s the plan here?”

I take a thoughtful breath and watch Bell wriggle their nose. I can’t say I blame ’em; the yard is full of death and decay, but there’s something about the wet iron of fresh blood that catches you off-guard. Best to get what we came for and leave.

“There’s definitely nobody else here,” I tell everyone, “so we should be good to split up. Kitchen, bedrooms, garage—there must be a basement. If you find bullets, try to find a matching gun out front. I don’t think any of us really know how to use them, but I’d rather they come with us than have them end up with a sentinel who can use ’em.”

My mind replays what the tall blonde said to Lou in his memory. I have no clue what’s in the barn, but one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want any of my compatriots to see it. “I’ll take the backyard and the barn,” I sigh.

“I’ll go with you,” Bell says, shielding a desire to be near me until they stop shaking.

I’d rather endure this nest business alone, but this is the first time either Gwen or Bell haven’t had me at arm’s length. I don’t know if I can afford to push them away.

“Okay, but be careful. If there’s anyone, or anything dangerous still here, it would be hiding in that barn.”

Bell steels themselves and nods. “I’ll tread lightly,” they say, their tone as steadfast and serious as their delicate flighty voice can get.

“Great. But first, let’s find a blanket or something to cover this poor bastard.”

I’m not surprised that Gwen chooses to tag along with Bell and I—Jen and Karen ran off to the basement, and after what we just went through it’s understandable that she wouldn’t want to be alone—but it’s still a bit frustrating. She’s truly innocent (or at least as close to innocent as you could possibly get in this fucked-up world), and I can’t imagine what horrors are waiting for us out back.

I nod to Bell and Gwen and head out to the front, Bell hot on my heels and Gwen trailing sheepishly behind like a lost puppy. There was a two-port garage out front—with any luck, we might find a pickup truck and gas can tucked away in there. Unlikely, of course—the whole town ran out of gas within the first year or two, home generators burning through whatever didn’t go up with the gas stations and attempted escape vehicles.

Sure enough, the garage doesn’t even have a derelict vehicle in there—it’s all packed with an entire shop class worth of woodworking machines with a music player tucked in the corner. Definitely a solid find, but not particularly useful for hauling loot.

“Um,” Bell says, gently pulling at my sleeve. “Can I ask you something?”

I look over to see a blush lay into Bell’s delicate effeminate face, and can’t help but smile. I’ve seen Bell happy and sullen, but bashful is definitely a new look.

“Sure.”

“What was that... what made that man lose his mind?”

“What, my knife?” I ask, patting the little stone blade that Red had left me.

Bell nods. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen.”

I pull the weapon, the blade glowing with unnatural energy. “I don’t know, exactly. A friend of mine gave it to me after she saved my life.”

Bell’s eyes dart to the house. “Jen?”

I chuckle a little. “She saved Jen, too. With this very knife, no less. It’s a tool that can cut through anything.”

I wave it back and forth slowly, taking some time to admire the blade. It’s quite mesmerising—the edge somehow seems to shimmer with every colour in the visible spectrum at the same time. “I think she may have taken it from a monster of some sort.”

Bell and Gwen both stare at the luminescent blade, both processing what exactly it means to wield an unholy weapon. Even one so stumpy and unassuming.

“It’s just a tool,” I tell them. “Just like these machines. Sure you can use them to hurt people, but you can also use them to rebuild. Whether it’s good or bad depends not on what it is, but how you use it.”

Bell nods slightly, but Gwen remains silent, not entirely buying it.

“Like the artifacts,” Bell says with a slow nod.

“The what?”

Bell glances to Gwen, silent but wearing an expression of confusion on her face.

Bell lets out a musical sigh. “The angels brought holy relics that the priests kept locked away. Some of them used to get chatty and tell me about them. One was this big sword that had been used to smite people and creatures of a faith they deemed unworthy. They told me that’s what happened to the southern Baptists.“

Right. There was another sect of Baptists. They had disappeared so long ago that I had forgotten. “That wasn’t the angels?”

Bell shakes their head. “Nope. Just one angry guy with too much power who didn’t like the idea of a black angel.”

The thought makes me shake with a revulsion that I thought I couldn’t feel anymore. “A holy tool, used for an evil purpose,” I say. “So it doesn’t bother you that I have this?”

Bell shrugs. “It’s weird that you have it. Even if a friend of yours did give it to you, it’s weird that they’d have it.“

I nod. “It’s... a very long story, and it’s not mine to tell. I’m sure you’ll meet her eventually.” I look past Bell to Gwen and see an uneasy look on her face. I flick the knife around and slip it carefully back into its leather holster, careful to let go of it before it has a chance to slice through. I add, “How about you, Guinevere?”

Gwen’s eyes dart around between myself and Bell, clearly uncomfortable with the tool but already feeling excluded.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’re allowed to have your opinions. Like Bell said, it’s a weird thing to have—and to be perfectly honest, I was uncomfortable with it at first, too.”

Gwen begins to rub her left arm, her eyes gazing down and off to the side. “So why do you have it?”

I gently push a little calm into Gwen’s mind as I answer, “Because it saved Jen’s life. Cut her free from a torture machine. I thought using it would suck my soul out or something, but I later learned that it’s just a fancy machine, no different from an angel’s sword or a woodworker’s lathe.”

Gwen stares at the ground as she silently mulls this over. I give the ‘this is a helpful tool’ camp a gentle nudge, and then move around to the back of the house.

The back yard is extremely promising. Right against the rear of the house is a large fenced-in coop with about ten chickens and one big rooster waddling around like he owns the place. On the other side is some loose soil—likely the final resting place of the woman on the couch from Lou’s memory, and the only person he’d buried. There’s a large grassy yard that expands behind the house, giving a lush green buffer, neatly manicured and mostly free of the cherub massacre that rots out front, between the house and a patchwork of fields that, by my best guess, appear to be wheat, potatoes, carrots, peppers onions, watermelons—fuck, even pumpkins from the looks of it.

And to the side, the barn, with its large doors open just a crack.

“So,” I say to Bell as I mosey on over to the chicken coop, assessing the setup as though I know what the fuck I’m doing. “Sounds like you were privy to some pretty sensitive stuff for someone who worked the kitchens.”

Bell sighs. I can tell they don’t want to talk about it, but they also feel like they need to—that I’d find out sooner or later, one way or the other.

“I wasn’t allowed in the kitchens,” Bell tells me. “They didn’t trust an ‘it’ with their food. Or anything, really. At first they were sure that one of us would try to sabotage their food or their clothes for what they did to us. By the time they realized we weren’t a threat, the precedent was already set.”

“So... did they just hang out with you all day?”

The daggers Gwen shoots from her eyes let me know that that’s not the case.

Bell, however, just laughs it off. “Actually, for a little bit, yes. But... the church had strict rules about sexual gratification. You weren’t allowed to give or receive pleasure from a person to whom you’re not married. And all the clergy, a lot of the sentinels, and more than a few watchers were unmarried.”

I feel a pit in my stomach as I get where Bell is going.

I’m surprised that they don’t seem at all upset when they say, “Well, a person is a man or a woman. We were... I guess loopholes is the best term I heard them use.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

Gwen’s mind classifies it as a sex slave, but Bell’s mind has a very different outlook.

“No need to be,” they say. “There were only three of us, so everyone treated us very nice. And I know they were terrible people who did terrible things, but it still kinda made me happy that my job involved bringing joy into the world.”

Bell glances over to Gwen and sighs. “I know it’s a messed-up way to look at it. Gwen thinks I tricked myself into thinking that so I could cope with it. But...” They shrug as they trail off.

“Can I be perfectly honest?” I ask.

Bell nods, expecting revulsion.

“That’s a beautiful way of looking at it. Fucked up that they used you like that, but there haven’t been many people in that screwed up world who could say they managed to make a positive impact.”

Bell’s brows scrunch at me. “What about you?”

I shake my head. “Wish I had something I could look at in a beautiful way. But I’m hoping that together with you, Gwen, and the girls inside, that we can make up for lost time.”

“Listen,” they say, a little too quickly, “if you ever want me to show my gratitude, I’m... I’m really, really good with my hands and tongue.“

The offer takes me aback. To be honest, the second ‘really’ alone has me curious, but my brain still doesn’t know what to think about Bell—an ancient part of me from the before-times is struggling to reconcile Bell’s delicate facial features and the lithe features that fill out that white blouse like any nubile young woman (likely they were given hormones when they were ‘loophole-ing’ them, if not outright changed the same way Red had done to herself) with the vestigial member that they have packed away in those rugged denim jeans.

“This definitely isn’t the time or place,” I tell them. “And while I appreciate your outlook, it would still seem... well, morally awkward, I guess, given your past.“

Bell nods. “Fair enough,” they say, masking a disappointment that’s weighted down by over a decade of people voicing their disgust for them. (From what I get out of the sting they feel, I would wager a solid majority of the people in Bell’s life had disapproved of the loophole—not because they saw it as wrong or sinful, but because they perceived Bell and their two friends as sub-human.)

Careful not to let a silence drag out as I get lost in Bell’s thoughts, I quickly add, “But if you ever feel amorous, please don’t hesitate to wear your sexuality on your sleeve. I don’t want my own weird hang-up to keep you from doing what makes you happy. Especially if you’re making others happy.”

This lightens the load a little, and Bell once again tucks their self-doubt into a corner of their psyche and returns to their chipper sing-song persona. “To be honest,” they say, “I could sexually gratify men and women all day long and it still wouldn’t make my mouth feel as dirty as singing one of those damn hymns.”

I’m taken aback—not by the suggestion of participating in a blow-bang, or the revelation that Bell had been used by males and females, but at the fact that the only thing they considered traumatic was having to singing shitty Jesus music.

“That’s a shame,” I tell them. “You do have a majorly impressive talent there.” I quickly rifle through my mental catalogue for songs with difficult vocals and finally settle on, “For a while there I was hoping that I might actually be able to hear The Great Gig in the Sky again.”

Bell’s eyes drift upward as they scan their catalogue of hymnals for something that might roughly translate. “Gig?” they ask.

I can’t help but chuckle a little. “Pink Floyd. Before your time. Technically before my time, too, but it seems right up your alley.”

“Music from before the cleansing,” Gwen meekly interjects. “From outside the church.”

I can practically hear Bell’s imagination trying to visualize what non-hymnal music might sound like, but their efforts are all bells and organs, and I have to remind myself that drums and string instruments have been forbidden as far back as they can remember.

“The house has power, and this was a household full of middle-aged men. I guarantee you they have some Floyd for you somewhere.”

“Jen says it’ll blow our minds,” Gwen adds in a hush, feeling as though she’s eavesdropping on a personal conversation that she desperately wants to be a part of.

I chuckle. “Pretty sure classic prog-rock isn’t what Jen was thinking of when she said that, but yeah, it definitely will.”

Bell’s mind races, and they’re barely able to keep their flighty indifferent facade with all their excitement. “Could you sing me a few bars?”

I laugh. “Not in a million years. Now, you two poke around and see if you can find some sort of a cage we can use to transport those chickens; I’m going to check out the barn.”

Leaving my companions behind, I spend the long walk to the barn trying to imagine how different my memory of that song is from reality. I hadn’t really thought of it since the collapse. What if it’s garbage? I’ve been into a lot of music that I’d liked at the time which turned out to be dog shit to the more refined palate.

I clear my mind and steel myself as I reach the doors and, with a great yank, I see—

Not much. There are two massive chicken wire pens that take up half the barn, one with a dead body that, thanks to Lou’s memories, I know had burst from the abdomen with a flock winged monsters, and another with a few bodies’ worth of broken bones scattered beneath a dozen or two dead cherubs.

It’s not a pretty sight by any stretch of the imagination, but when I heard “nest”, I had thought I’d be walking into a slaughterhouse, with rotting bodies lining the walls, dangling on hooks from the ceiling, giant rat nests of viscera all over the ground...

The cages are disturbing because of their purpose, and the bodies are not-ideal, but these guys actually seemed to run a pretty tight ship when it came to keeping this nest deal clean.

Looking to the other side of the barn, I can’t help but smile.

A four-wheel ATV. It looks like the engine has been ripped out and replaced with two electric motors, and it’s still plugged into the wall of the barn. Even better: hitched onto the back is a decent-sized flatbed that they must have been using to lug remains out to wherever they’d been dumping them.

We’ll want to lay down a tarp or something, and keep an eye on the juice since there won’t be any way to charge it when we’re back in town, but this thing has got to have enough battery life to make some round trips to town and back, right?

Next to it, a flatbed wagon, nowhere near as fun-looking as the first—with what looks like a rickshaw handle jerry-rigged onto the front, its front propped up on what looks like a wooden DIY kickstand.

It disturbs me more than a little that the rickshaw seems to have gotten much more use than the ATV. I don’t know where they were dumping the remains, but it’s gotta be closer than town.

Maybe we’ll have to take a rain check on the joyride. As much of a pain in the ass dragging a load of supplies into town would be in the rickshaw, I can’t imagine it would be any easier to shove a giant four-wheeler with a dead battery.

“Next time,” I say to the machine, giving its dust-caked fender a gentle pat before dragging the rickshaw wagon out of the barn.

It pains me to admit it, but the farmhouse is a dream.

The entire roof is covered in solar panels, powering a water heater, a refrigerator, the full workshop in the garage, an electric range with full-sized oven, and even the entertainment system I’d seen in Lou’s memory.

The basement is a looter’s paradise: row upon row of preserves, the most recent dated no more than a week ago, plus a mountain of clean empty mason jars, a pressure cooker, and a bunch of other tools that I’m assuming have something to do with the canning process.

This place is truly wonderful. These people really outdid themselves. This is literally everything I talked about building in Misthaven, already assembled and neatly packaged for us.

And every fucking one of us can’t wait to take what we need and leave. Watching Lou end his own life has tainted this place for all my companions, to the point where they’re far more comfortable standing in a field of thousands of corpses, human and monster, rather than by one sad, angry dead man.

My quick pass of the house is a bit disappointing as music goes, but then I remember the pair of speakers plugged into a little music device in the garage and, sure enough, it’s loaded up with enough classic rock to make a sane man spontaneously sprout a leather jacket and a shaggy moustache.

The location is actually perfect—it’s away from the interior of the house that’s got everyone on-edge, and we can turn on the light and close the door to shut out the massacre out front. Sure, it may seem irresponsible—but frankly, all my companions need the break.

Of course I invite Jen and Karen into our garage-shop listening party—after all, it was technically Jen’s idea first. Jen responds to the suggestion by smiling and scurrying back into the house, emerging a few moments later with a stack of glasses, a giant-ass unlabelled bottle of home-made cider, and a big shit-eating grin.

“Jesus fuck,” I say as Jen pours everyone a glass. “They really did keep themselves busy, didn’t they?”

She sighs and shrugs, the promise of music still brought low by the corpse she’d had to dance around to get to the kitchen. “When you kill all your neighbours, I guess you gotta do something to pass the time,” she says.

Like learn the guitar, a nagging voice in the back of my head hisses at me.

When everyone’s settled in with their beverages and I hit play, I’m taken a little aback with how calm the song is. I remembered it being this crazy whirlwind of vocals, not some melancholy little piano medley.

I glance over to see Jen and Karen’s reactions; Karen’s eyes sparkle with recognition, and Jen gives me a little smile and takes a sip of her (again, it pains me to admit) fucking delicious cider.

When the vocals come in, the garage goes silent. Jen and Karen let an introspective nostalgia wash over them, Gwen closed her eyes with a little smile on her face as she savors the unfamiliar experience...

...but Bell is a different kind of quiet.

Bell’s mind swells with the vocal track, radiating anger and loss as the vocals soar—not at us, or at the music, but at a distant memory—something so ever-present and non-specific that even with a little curious digging I can’t figure it out.

Bell’s emotional journey continues along with the song. Desperation creeps in—a sense of imbalance in the world, and an impotent struggle to change it. The memories it dredges up are even more nebulous than the last, and I realize they aren’t even thinking of anything specific—just an abstract state of being that they’ve lived their whole lives.

After a few moments of that, the vocals fall, and so does Bell’s mental state. Sadness. Hopelessness. Depression. But Bell greets it like an old friend, and experiences it with a deep, cleansing catharsis.

Finally, the vocals even out, and a contagious smile comes to Bell’s lips. The lady singing the song chills the fuck out, and the song ends.

I tap the pause button before the thing has a chance to shuffle to AC/DC’s “Big Balls” (which, don’t get me wrong, is a fun track, but might upset the mood a little), and we stand there in silence.

“Well,” I say after a few moments. “That was a bit more of a trip than I remember.”

Karen takes a dainty sip of her cider and Jen laughs a little. “Really? I thought you were the one who wanted to listen to it.”

I shake my head. “I remember it being crazy. I didn’t remember it being that.“

“It was a bit scary,” Gwen says, swirling the untouched alcohol around in her glass. “It was cool, but...”

“Scary, huh?” Jen asks. “I remember hearing my dad put that on a bunch when I was a kid, and I never got scary from it.”

Bell takes a deep breath, and catches their tongue. For the first time, the girls notice the tears streaming down their face.

I don’t say anything, but I nudge Bell to speak their mind.

“That’s because you didn’t know death,” Bell says.

Jen and Karen glance at each other, and Gwen simply nods.

Silence.

“I guess we didn’t,” I say.

Bell takes a deep breath, collecting themselves. “I’m actually a bit surprised it doesn’t hit you that way now. It’s a song about experiencing death, which we all have. Many, many times. Listening to it was like re-experiencing how we were ripped apart again and again, every time someone we’ve loved was taken from us.”

I’m flabbergasted. “Jesus,” I mutter, “I’m sorry...”

Bell waves me off. “For what? The emotion was so real. It was loss, and sadness, and anger... it wasn’t proselytizing the masses about how much we love the monsters that have taken everything from us. It was real. Raw. Beautiful.“

A few moments more of silence.

“Is it weird that I want to balance us out with some Weird Al?” I finally ask.

Bell’s eyebrows dart up excitedly, but Jen says, “Yeah, I’m thinking no on the music that’s all inside jokes about a pop culture that doesn’t exist anymore.”

When I roll up the garage, the midday sun is already beating a hasty retreat. By the time we load up the rickshaw with non-perishables, cider, and guns, it’s already made a beeline for the horizon, giving us barely enough time to shove the bodies off the driveway so we can make it to the street without losing our loot.

“Back to the farmhouse?” is all I need to say to get unanimous consensus to flee from hot water and electricity to the humble house down the street from whence we came.

We crack a jar of pickled peppers (presumably peck-picked by Peter Piper (shut up, that joke got a laugh from Karen)) and boil some rice over a fire for dinner, and as everyone beats a retreat to their rooms, I take Jen by the arm and pull her aside.

“Listen, there’s something I found out at the farm that I need to talk to Red about.”

Jen gives me a cute little smile. “So no orgy. That’s fine, because I’m honestly a little tired anyways.”

I nod. “Right. But we left things a little weird, so I just want to make sure that you’re okay if we end up...”

Jen narrows her eyes. “We’ve been over this. But yes, I owe that woman my life, so if she wants to have ghost sex or whatever, then she’s got my blessing.”

I scan her mind for jealousy—usually “Fine, go ahead” is code for “If you do this you will wake up without a penis attached to your body”, but I can read that Jen is actually okay with it—partly because it justifies her little plan to repopulate the western hemisphere with her, and partly because she knows Red is a supernatural transient (her words), and could never be anything more than a side-piece.

Jen and I head up to the master bedroom. I lay down on my side of the bed and send a “Visit me tonight, I found something important” along that pink wire.

I don’t even have time to kick off my socks before my soul is ripped from my body, and I immediately collapse onto the pillow.

Somehow, Red manages to grab me by the jaw and slam me against the wall, mashing her face into mine. It’s crazy that I can actually feel a sharp pain from the impact—and great that I can feel those big soft pink lips mashing into mine.

Hang on, info first, I try to say, though my words come out as more “Hmmngf, nffnf mmmf” against her embrace.

Red doesn’t relent, pressing her naked body against mine, and I have to focus to make myself intangible to her.

Red passes through me and thumps against the wall with a whack hard enough to cause Jen to jump, and Karen to stir from her nest of pillows, mutter to herself, and fall back asleep.

“I actually have something important to tell you,” I say as Red squares off and prepares for another rush.

Red’s shoulders relax a little as she stands down. “Wait... so that something important isn’t hanging between your legs?” She glances down at my half-mast soldier before adding, “Or I should say, pointing at my knees?”

I feel my brows furrow. “No. Well, that is important, but—well, I ran into the survivor from the cherub nest to the south.”

“Don’t know. When your town’s south was being cleared out, I had a sexy psychic clearing out my own south with his wonderful fucking tongue. I’m sure he can vouch for me. He’s yea-big,” she raises her hand to my height, “kind of a giant dork...”

I ignore her comment and continue. “There was a survivor inside. He wanted to kidnap the girls.”

Red seems completely unsurprised. “Well, I told you not to trust the people outside town.”

“He wanted to kidnap them to breed more cherubs.”

The sexy redhead’s beautiful tits jiggle a little as she shrugs her powerful shoulders. “Crazy does as crazy is.”

“And he could.”

Red chuckles a little. “Let me guess: He forced a cardinal to ordain his penis so that his jizz would be holy. No, wait—he injected holy water into his ball sack and is positive that the swelling is God’s light and not a horrible infection. Ooo, no, he jammed the knuckle bone of a dead saint into his dick hole to consecrate his urethra.”

I shake my head. “He transplanted an angel’s testicle into himself.”

Red’s eyes widen. “Ouch. That’s a new one. How desperate do you have to be to try that?”

“I don’t think it was desperate. He got the nut from the church. It’s how they bred the cherubs.”

The look of curiosity slides off Red’s face. “That’s... well, I don’t like to say impossible, but... surprising.” She’s clearly trying to keep cool, but I can see the implications racing through her mind. If it can work that way, then it’s possible that every nest tender who’s been left alive could be raising another flock. “If there was something otherworldly, they would have felt it.“

I think for a moment. “I don’t know. I couldn’t.”

Red’s emerald eyes lock with mine. “Why would you?”

A few silent moments pass. Below us, Jen has started to work at my physical body like a nurse or a mortician, stripping off my clothes and laying me out on top of the covers in a comfortable-looking position.

“I mean... I could always feel them. Like balls of light and dark static. How do you think I figured out how to reach out to you?”

Red thinks for a moment. “Have you felt this static with anyone else you’ve found?”

I shake my head. “Just you and your friends.”

“If you do, let me know.”

“Alright.”

I consider changing the topic, but Red’s mind is still grinding away at the revelation. “It’s possible that whatever power that organ had was lost when its owner was taken out, which would explain why we couldn’t feel it,” she wonders aloud.

“Or the static was just insulated inside his nut sack,” I add.

“Where’s his body now?” she asks.

I hesitate to answer. “Who says he’s dead?”

Red looks down at Jen, who is laying on top of the covers next to me, giving my forehead a gentle kiss before curling up at my side.

She makes a decent point. “Karen had tortured her, and we managed to work through it,” I say.

Red crosses her arms under her chest, lifting her glorious tits up as though to distract me as she glares disapprovingly. “Karen didn’t try to fuck a pack of demons into her.”

I nod slowly. “His body is in the kitchen of the house. And he shot himself, by the way.”

Red nods slowly. “By his own volition, I’m sure.”

“Yes!” I jump to say, before guiltily adding, “...mostly.”

She shrugs and smiles. “No skin off my tits how he died. I’ll send someone back to fetch the body and check it out. What kind of wounds were on the dead cherubs?”

“Did you want to know who cleared the nest?”

Red nods. “Only fair they should be the one to lug the body back.”

“It was Nightcrawler and MC Hammer.”

It takes Red a second to realize what I mean. “Oh, H and Nina. A cherub nest is usually a one-man job. I wonder if they’re fucking?”

I watch Jen’s hand idly stroking my chest, and feel the sensation of her gentle fingertips against my skin. “Not in front of me,” I idly say.

Red nods. “Well, thanks for reaching out. I’m sure it’s nothing, but... if not we might have a little backtracking to do. Or a lot of backtracking.” She sighs. “Or fucking years of backtracking. Is that it?”

I decide to try something. I mentally pinch that pink cable that connects us, and am glad to see that she doesn’t blink out—so it’s a pipe, not a wire. “Yeah,” I say, keeping it pinched.

Red blurs for a moment and then gives me an I’m not going to put up with your shit look.

“You know I can fuck up your brain if I brute force my way out, right?”

I chuckle to myself. “I do now. But there is one more thing.“

Red opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, her jaw locks open, and she begins to slowly drift towards my crotch, her entire body lowering in space, lining up with my rising cock like she’s docking a space shuttle.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra plays in my head as she slowly drifts closer and closer. “Something important,” I add as her emerald eyes stare up at me with happy, lustful anticipation.

I feel her struggling against my grasp, trying to thrust herself onto my astral rod. Even though we technically don’t breathe here, she’s somehow projecting the sensation of hot breaths onto my turgid length, whimpering slightly as she silently begs up at me with gaze.

“Anxious little thing, aren’t we?” I ask, the head of my dick hovering in her mouth, careful not to touch the sides.

A thought occurs to me. Red could slam me against the wall. I could taste the savory flavor of her lips. How much control do we have over ourselves here?

To test, I flex the muscles deep in my crotch to make my member bob up, bouncing against the upper palate of her wide-open mouth. I can sense a jolt of excitement flash through her lust-addled mind as she feels a splash of pre-cum drip onto her tongue, salivating as the taste spreads across her mouth.

I glance down at my body. I’m fully erect, and my physical shaft bobs every time I flex my spirit-knob, but I’m only dribbling a little clear viscous liquid onto my stomach, not spurting like I’m doing in Red’s mouth.

So we’re allowed to embellish a little. Fascinating.

I’m pulled out of my reverie by the feel of a coarse, wet tongue gliding along my frenulum, and look over to see a mischievous glint in Red’s eye.

I reach down and caress her round face. “You tenacious little minx.”

Red responds by swirling her tongue around in happy little circles, the rest of her body still frozen in-place.

“That feels nice,” I tell her, “but perhaps you could get a bit—” I take her head in my hand and slowly sink my dick into her mouth. I release her throat, making sure that she can feel the bulbous head of my cock press against it, letting her offer a little resistance, making her have to consciously work to suppress her gag reflex as my thick meat begins to slide down her windpipe. “—further down,” I finish.

Red’s body trembles with what almost feels like a mini-orgasm as she feels me push deeper. She starts to struggle to free her arms, desperate to maul her big sensitive tits and pretty little pussy (which, I notice, she’s left as-is since I saw her in person).

I stop half-way down her throat, and she looks up expectantly.

“Keep it going,” I order.

Red obediently begins to swirl her tongue around in little circles again, tickling the lower-third of my shaft.

“Good girl. But the spot’s a little lower.”

The short redhead’s mind is a tempest of lust and satisfaction as I very slowly slide further down, letting her tongue trace a continuous row of little 8s until I feel her nose bump against my pubis and her lingual ministrations change to broad laps at my testicles.

“That’s it,” I say, enjoying the feel of her throat massaging my shaft. “Keep going. Just like that.”

Red doesn’t gag, gargle, or gasp, but I can tell from the pressure in her mind that she can’t breathe either. I would honestly be happy staying here all night, buried deep in the wet tight warmth of her willing throat.

But I’m not here to be happy. I’m here to be satisfied.

I place a hand on the back of her head and slowly slip my long throbbing rod half-way out of her throat, then thrust it back down for good measure.

Red’s tongue continues to work, but it starts to slow down, and I realize I may be pushing it a little, so I slowly pull out of her throat. As I pull out of her throat and emerge from her mouth, thick strands of mucous connecting my fully-engorged dick to the deep recesses of her mouth, drooping and stretching across her lower-lip and chin.

Once my dick is completely clear of her mouth, I release control of Red’s head and face, and she takes a deep gasping breath, looking up at me with a blissful smile as more small pseudo-orgasmic tremors roll through her body.

“That was pretty bold,” Red says between heavy breaths. “I was starting to think that you didn’t have it mmmph—”

A fat cock ends her posturing by forcing its way past her lips, across her tongue that’s still wagging with bravado, and returns to its cozy second-home in the back of her throat.

“Shush, Tammy,” I tell the redhead. “You’re not down there to run your mouth.”

Red’s cheeks flush as I use her old name, and she obediently begins to bob her head, her lips curling against the taut flesh of my over-excited shaft, her tongue doing what it can against the invader in her mouth.

“This is nice and all,” I say nonchalantly as I begin to rhythmically pump my hips against her face, “but I feel like I’m missing something. There’s just some little flavour that’s missing. An extra twist of zest. What is it...”

Red gurgles as she tries to force a suggestion out around my cock.

“No, that’s not it,” I lie. Of course, I have no way of hearing what she was trying to suggest, but her mind has been begging for it since I first scraped her tonsils with my meat thermometer.

“Ah!” I say, snapping my fingers. “I know what we’re missing.” I close my eyes and focus hard. I can make imaginary fluids that she can feel and taste. There’s no reason this shouldn’t work.

Red’s eyes shoot open with surprise as she feels a soft latex buzz press up against her clit. Her body convulses like she’s having a grand seizure as I reach into her mind and massage her pleasure centers, coaxing the sensation through her body, amplifying it even more as I feel her throat tremble around my dick from her massive full-body orgasm.

I feel like I should be convulsing too, but miraculously I’m able to stay rock-steady (pun intended) within her throat as she completely loses control.

I gently wiggle the little vibrator I manifested around, bringing a couple of aftershocks while I slowly slide my cock out of her throat, standing over her and stroking it slowly. When I release her body, she doesn’t exactly collapse to the floor—but she does what I assume to be the floating ethereal equivalent, letting her body hang limp in the air, hands gingerly caressing her glorious neglected breasts.

Red looks up at me, breathing heavy, but eyes still full of life. Between breaths, she huffs at me, “What—was—that?”

“What that blowjob was missing: an earth-shattering orgasm.”

A naughty twinkle glints in her eye. “Only one?”

With that, she lunges at me, and before I can think to take control of her, she’s already on me, the rough skin of her hand wrapped around my lower shaft, using her spit to glide her fist up and down in time with her mouth as she delivers the most efficient, masterful blowjob I have ever experienced.

I actually try to reach out to slow her down, but when I try to focus on controlling her my brain immediately misfires with a jolt of pleasure, and before I know it I’m moaning out loud (which I never do), feeling waves of lust radiate all around me as my cock succumbs to Red’s cute little unrelenting mouth.

Red moans alongside me as she feels the first splash of cum cascade onto her tongue, filling her mouth with spurt after spurt of white heat. I grab the sides of her head by instinct, pulling with all my might, but with one hand on my hip she’s able to easily keep anchored in place, her tongue pressed against the underside of my head, savoring my musky taste as it fills her mouth.

Somewhere between a moment and an eternity later, some of the blood finally leaves my massively over-stimulated member, and she pulls off with a big, loud, victorious gulp.

“Holy hell,” I mumble at the redheaded semen demon. “You don’t fuck around.”

Red smiles, thumbing a bit of fluid that had escaped her lips and dribbled down her chin. “I do,” she says, “and I’m really fucking good at it.”

“So, do you want to cuddle a while? Go for a walk—err, float?”

Red floats back up to full height (relative to my plane, so she’s still a ways shorter than me) and wraps her hands around my dick, stroking it gently. “Sure, then maybe I can braid your hair and we can swap tampons. Or maybe you can fuck my spirit so hard that my fucking body can’t walk straight.”

Before I can think to crack wise about needing a rest, I realize that I’m not exhausted at all anymore. In fact, I’m fully hard—even more than fully hard, as if someone had pumped twice as much blood into my dick as it’s normally meant to fit.

“Fuck me. You can heal.”

Red shakes her head and says, “No, fuck me, I can heal.“