The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I wake with a start not realizing that I’d fallen asleep. One moment, I’m chatting with Red while trying to recover my energy, and the next I feel her naked body draped over me, her breasts soft against my flesh, her powerful legs wrapped around my denim pants.

“Morning,” she says. “How did you sleep?”

My shoulders are sore, my back is stiff, and my neck is killing me. Still, I have to admit the truth: “Better than I have in a long, long time.”

“I bet,” Red laughs. “You were out for a really long time.”

“Oh, sorry—hope I didn’t keep you.”

She gives me a squeeze, planting a kiss at the nape of my neck. “I didn’t mind,” she tells me. “It gave me a chance to practice some of my weirder stuff.”

I cautiously look down at my body, patting myself down to make sure she didn’t grow a dick out of my bellybutton or something.

My motions are only half-sarcastic, but they get a cute giggle out of her.

“The meditation shit,” she says, giving me a gentle shake. “Seeing and sensing , transmitting and receiving, projecting and travelling, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds, uh...” I struggle for the word. “Weird?”

She gives my waist a little squeeze. “It is. Be thankful you don’t have to deal with that shit.”

“So,” I say, reaching around her to caress her firm haunches, “do we have time for a little more...”

She sighs. “I’m tempted, but the crew is going to be back to pick me up soon. Can I borrow some clothes? I need to be somewhat decent so they don’t make me do the chitin thing.”

“The what?”

“Exoskeleton. Armor we can grow, but it’s super gross and uncomfortable. We only use it for big jobs.”

“Meadowvale wasn’t big?” I ask.

She laughs to herself. “Not big enough to deal with that bullshit.”

Red plants a final kiss on my chest and then hops to her feet, draping her jacket over her shoulders, seemingly completely unconcerned that she’s otherwise exposed.

I, on the other hand, feel naked as soon as the warmth of her body leaves me, and scramble for my ugly black shirt before anyone can see my bare skin.

“You can help yourself to my spare clothes,” I tell her as I realize my shirt is both inside-out and backwards and have to start over, “but they’re kinda... burned up with all the rest of my worldly possessions.”

A little smile creeps onto her face. “Oh... right. Sorry?”

“Kinda my bad. Still, as much as I’d like to watch you run around naked all day, the thrift store in the strip mall down the road was turned into a clothing shop for a while.”

I expect her to hum and haw, maybe try to check cabinets for a blanket or towel or something, but instead she opens the door and stretches, the harsh mid-morning light streaming through around her gorgeous figure.

“The seamstress there used to babysit me,” I tell Red, trying to preoccupy myself so that I stop stealing glances at her almost-entirely-exposed body.

“She was there making inoffensive clothes like a good Christian for a while, but... one Thursday she went to mass and never came back. That must have been... three years ago? Four, maybe?”

“And there’s still stock?” Red asks.

“We vagrant-proofed the storefront shortly after she set up shop. We’re close enough to the edge of town that anyone roaming in from the East looking for trouble will hit that little mall, so some of us wanted to go big with the security, but she insisted on just putting up metal shutters. Turns out that’s all she needed. ”

Red nods. “Sounds like your friend is a smart girl. A lot of people try to use aggressive signage, razor wire, and dead bodies to turn scavengers away, but that usually just lets people know there’s something inside worth the risk. The only obstacle that will really scare away a desperate traveller in towns like yours is noise.”

I nod and continue to walk.

True to her dislike for silence, she quickly starts telling me about all the monsters she’s faced down in the ‘other side of the tracks’ as she called it: a hulking monster that sucks the musculature off its victims to get bigger, a giant sea monster whose head looks like an island, and whose mouth looks like a cave full of treasure, a hive of giant wolves with glow-in-the-dark fur that changes colours with their moods, baby demons who kill parents and steal their children to use as playmates... a few of her stories make me wonder if she’s lying, but given what I’ve lived through, I don’t think anything would seem all that far-fetched.

When we turn the corner, I raise my arm in front of Red, stopping her mid-sentence.

“If you wanted to cop a feel...” she begins, pushing her breast into my hand for a moment before realizing why I stopped her.

The shutters to the door are open.

“Did we miss something?” Red seems to ask herself.

I shake my head. “I can’t feel anything dangerous in there,” I tell her, “but there’s definitely someone inside. Should we go back for your gun?”

Red chuckles to herself, clenching her right fist. “That gun is the least dangerous thing on my person.”

“Well as much as entertaining as it would be watching you whip someone to death with your ponytail, maybe we should try asking politely?”

She relaxes her hand. “You joke,” she begins, “but my hair has enough energy in it to flatten this whole town. Probably half the state.”

“Wait, really?”

“Energy’s gotta go somewhere. The hair’s like a giant battery.” She looks to me with a smile, and I feel the end of her hair brush against the back of my neck as she makes a “Zzzt” sound with her mouth.

I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit, but my heart races and the area she brushed tingles, sending a shudder through my body.

“Sensitive boy, aren’t we?” she asks as we reach the glass doors to the shop.

It’s impossible to see any detail through the glass due to the years of neglect, but I can see the shape of someone shifting through the dirty glass. I can sense a massive spike of fear drive itself into the confusion of whoever’s on the other side.

I gently knock on the door, but it only makes the fear greater.

“They’re terrified,” I tell my companion.

She sighs. “Everyone worth saving will be. And you should watch out for anyone who isn’t. That’s why we want you to help them—fear makes people desperate, and easy to manipulate. This is luck, though; it gives you a chance to show me how you deal with it. Let me see if we made the right choice.”

Something about that doesn’t sit right. “And if you chose poorly?”

Red shrugs. “I guess this place gets a dark age like everyone else, and you get to live in a farm upstate where you can play with all the other bad super-powered people we’ve found.” Very quickly she adds, “That’s a joke, of course.”

I’ve been casually plugged into her mind this whole time, so I know that it’s definitely not a joke. She seems to like me, but she would have no problems putting me down if I turned out to be rabid. And her friends are coming back for her soon—I know I could force her to help me escape if I got desperate, but her leader seems to be immune to my little mind-tricks. Not to mention insanely dangerous.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say, trying to mask my own fear as I push open the door.

I hear a whimper and incoherent begging as the door swings open, thunking impotently against the brass bell I de-hammered the first time I broke in. But after a few moments, the whimpering stops.

I nudge a little bit of calm towards the figure I can barely make out cowering in the dark recesses of the store, but soon the mood swings wildly into joy and relief.

“Binky?” I hear.

Right. It’s been so long that I’d forgotten about the binky thing. “Jen?” I ask the skinny blonde woman cowering in the corner.

I can barely recognize her. She looks pale and sleep-deprived, wearing a big ugly brown potato-sack-fabric dress that’s way tighter than what the angels usually permit.

Jen’s eyes fill with tears as she nods and struggles to her feet. She must have escaped when Red and her friends were taking down the cathedrals and hidden in the shop.

She seems completely oblivious to Red as she ambles up to me and throws her arms around my chest, giving a whimper of pain as she squeezes. Returning the embrace feels like hugging a cactus, and it takes more than a little willpower not to recoil and try to throw her off.

Keep it together, man. You’re on trial here.

“What happened to you, Jen?” I ask as I release my hug, hoping she does the same.

Jen’s response is half blubbers and sniffles. “I heard Amy’s mom was killed, so I hugged her after service,” she manages. “You remember Amy, right?”

“I think so,” I lie. I knew Jen because she babysat for me when I was a kid—I only ever knew her friends as the hot one, the cute one, the other one, the other-other one, and the other-other-other one.

Hey, I was like ten. Give me a break.

Jen sighs. “The watchers thought it was too much, so they brought us to the basement to atone. They’ve been making me sew stuff for them ever since. I don’t know what happened to Amy.”

My heart sinks as I feel blood start to trickle down my chest, and I realize what they made her sew. “What are you wearing?” I ask as I gingerly place my hands on her shoulders and pull her off.

I can feel needles jab into my palms as my shirt sticks to her dress, caught on the barbs that I sincerely hope are only covering the outside.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes overflowing as she looks down at the holes her clothing has torn in my shirt. “I’m so so sorry.”

I want to reach out to comfort her, but from the red spots starting to spread on her dress I can tell that my fears about that thing were correct.

“It’s okay,” I tell her as I hold her hand and caress her cheek—the only two bits of exposed skin I can see. “Let’s get that thing off of you.”

Jen backs up and shakes her head, muttering “No, no, please, no, they’ll... they’ll...”

“They’re gone,” I tell her, easing the thought into her mind. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“They’re not,” she whispers, dropping to her knees, so used to her attire that she doesn’t even wince when the barbs jab into her legs. “They’ll be back. They’re always back.”

I turn to Red. “Will they?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Can’t say why they came, but it hasn’t happened before in recorded history. That means it took at least what, fifteen thousand years to happen? So probably not anytime soon.”

Jen continues to shake her head. “No,” she mutters. “It’s another test. It’s always another test.”

“Jen?” I ask.

Her breathing calms a little. I honestly can’t tell if it’s me who does it.

“Look into my eyes,” I command.

She complies, and her heart slows a little more. The terror drains from her soul. “You’re safe now,” I order.

The girl I knew doesn’t resist—but something inside her does. “I’m safe because I’m theirs, and they are good and eternal,” she mutters. “This is a test of loyalty, and I’m their loyal subject.”

“Look at me, Jen,” I repeat.

She goes quiet and stares into my eyes.

“Have you ever seen me with them?”

She nods. “I see you all the time. You’re always sitting two rows from the front, on the left-hand side.”

I sigh. “You think you see me. But have you ever really seen me?”

I don’t directly dispel the illusion my roommate wove to keep me safe, but I order her to remember true.

Her mouth hangs open for a second, as though she’s struggling to comprehend my words. “No,” she finally says.

“I’m not one of them,” I tell her.

“No,” she mutters. “You’re not.”

I clench my jaw. I didn’t mean to order her there. Did I just fuck up and force something into her head?

“So you can trust me, right?” I ask, careful not to push the question onto her.

She slumps a little. “Yes.”

“It’s over,” I tell her. “The things who did this to you are dead. They’re not coming back.”

I feel a sharp pain in my arm as Red gives me a whack in the shoulder. When I look over, she waves her hand over her chest and shoots a thumb over her shoulder.

“Jen, can you take off the dress for me?” I ask.

She shakes her head, once again saying, “Please, no, if anything happens to it who knows what they’ll do...”

“It’s okay. Please, take off the dress.” The command is polite, but still a command.

Jen goes quiet, and then reaches to her shoulder, working unusually complicated fasteners with bloodied fingers.

“Stop,” I quickly shout. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—” I begin.

Jen sticks her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, licking her new cuts. To my surprise, I don’t catch any fear in her eyes—she’s clearly used to cutting herself on that thing. The pain has become just a matter of life.

“Stand up for me,” I tell her. “Let me help you with that.”

Jen nods and slowly lurches to her feet, spreading her arms to give me access to the garment.

“How do I take this fucking thing off?” I ask.

“The barbed metal on the seams unclasps if you push hard enough and twist,” she says.

“Where are your scissors?”

Jen shakes her head. “It’s some kind of mesh,” she says. “I don’t know what, but they had me weave it into all their devices. You can’t cut it.”

I turn to Red. “Think you can whack it with your magic ponytail and make it disappear?” I ask.

She grins and furrows her brow as though she’s not sure if I’m serious, and then says, “I have something better.”

Red reaches into her left jacket pocket and pulls out what looks like a chunk of black rock, sharpened at one end. I might have guessed that it was a spearhead if it weren’t so obviously magic in origin.

With an impressive motion, she flicks the knife around, grabs it by the blade, and points the handle to me.

When I grab it, she quickly hisses in pain and pulls her hand away, and I hear a generous splash of liquid hit the linoleum floor. The edge of the blade glows a colour that seems impossible for my brain to comprehend, but that my eyes would probably classify as a purpley blue-orange.

“I didn’t expect you to turn it on,” Red mutters as she clasps her hand, running her thumb over whatever wound it inflicted. “You can stop concentrating to turn it off when you’re done.”

I nod and slowly approach Jen, feeling her hesitation and uncertainty spreading to my own mind.

“Stay very still,” I tell her as I pull up her neckline, pricking myself on a shorter barb as I peek down her dress to survey the damage.

When my pervy younger self dreamed of doing this to her in her babysitting days, this is definitely not what I would have imagined.

The needles are dug into her skin—likely why they made the garment so tight—but shorter barbs rest on top, offering new ways to torment her if she dares to touch anyone or anything.

“This is so fucked up,” I mutter to myself, almost as a mantra to grant the resolve I need to put an end to it. “Take a deep breath and hold very still,” I tell Jen.

By the time it occurs to me that it should be an order, she’s already stone-still and silent.

The knife cuts through the dress like tissue paper. It doesn’t even glow, melt, or smoke like I’d expect a glowing edge to do to a surface; it just effortlessly passes through, as if it weren’t even there.

I go down Jen’s chest and slow down when I reach her stomach. Her cleavage gave me some wiggle room, but it’s very tight around her midsection and hips.

I have to be careful. If this thing cuts through metal this easy, I don’t think I’d be able to tell if I accidentally went too deep.

“Take a few deep breaths,” I tell Jen as I pull the knife away.

I gently touch the base of the cut, right where her stomach reaches her sternum, and gently tug at the dress. Jen grunts as my ministrations pull some barbs into her back, but I can tell she’s trying her best to suck it up and stay strong.

“This would actually be harder if they weren’t such dicks,” I say, hoping it makes her feel a bit better.

It doesn’t.

“The smaller points are stopping it from pushing right up against you,” I explain. “Gives me some space to work.”

I look up to Jen’s face. She’s looking at me with tears streaming down her face, but I can tell the tears aren’t caused by the pain. It’s a swirl of hope and doubt—hope that it’s finally over, followed by the doubt of having been tricked into thinking the same so many times in the past.

“Hold still,” I tell her as I place a hand on her stomach, using it to steady the knife against the material.

I’m not exactly a surgeon, but using my left hand as a guide, I’m able to slide the blade down along her stomach without touching her skin.

Once we reach the crotch, I can lift my hand and do away with the rest of the length in fluid slash.

“Can you do my arms?” she asks, struggling to contain her emotion.

I trace from the neckline across her left shoulder and down her arm—slowly and gently, trying to steady her using my hand. I hear her yelp just below the elbow and she begins bleeding freely from the knick, but she doesn’t complain and keeps her arm out while I gently trace down her wrist.

Once the material is cut, the sleeve very slowly sloughs off under its own weight, causing Jen to scream as the barbs are all yanked straight downward.

“Oh fuck,” I mutter, scrambling around in a panic as the flesh is ripped away. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it would, fuck, jesus, fuck, fuck...”

I grab a handful of white linen button-up shirts from a nearby shelf and start to wrap them around her arm, and try to hide my horror when they immediately soak through a dark red.

“Focus on the other arm,” I tell her, trying to speak and order her calmly as my heart races a mile a minute. “Try to figure out how we can get that off without hurting you.”

Jen takes a deep, shaky breath, trying her best to think through the pain. “Cut the clasps at the seams,” she says, her voice little more than a whisper of anguish. “Around the shoulder and down the bottom.”

The clasps. I’m such a fucking idiot.

“You take care of that,” Red says as she gently shoves me away from Jen’s gushing arm. “I’ve got this.”

Okay, calm down, I order myself. She knows what she’s doing. Just focus on helping Jen.

Very suddenly, I feel much of the panic leave Jen’s mind on its own, and her pain seemingly disappear. Oh fuck me, she’s probably going into shock... and if she passes out and collapses in this fucking thing...

Focus up, man. She let you stay up late and watch your first horror movie. You owe her.

I prop myself up with the memories and get to it. Working around the seam clasps means that I can’t use my offhand to steady the knife, but it also means I don’t need to cut nearly as deep. One by one, the clasps pop, around the shoulder and under the arm, and soon the heavy garment is resting on top of her arm instead of ripping itself off by its own weight.

Gently peeling it back lets the barbs pull straight out instead of sliding down, and they leave a grid of little red bubbles in their wake. The rest of the skin on her arms is streaked dark with old blood, but it’s intact.

I glance up to Jen to see the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her, as though she’s just now realized that I’m not trying to fuck with her.

I look past her to see if her other arm has stopped bleeding, and...

...it has. Completely. And it’s completely clean. It doesn’t even have needle marks like the arm that I didn’t completely fuck up.

“Uhh, Red...” I begin.

Red chuckles to herself. “I told you I could heal.”

“I thought you just meant yourself.”

She shrugs. “You might want to keep going before you pass out.”

Can she feel my stress? “I’m fine,” I lie.

“Maybe for now,” Red says with a smile. “Your life force is powering that knife.”

“My—wait, what? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you turned it on before I could warn you, and damn near sliced my hand off.”

I want to argue, but I remember how quickly she released it. “Shit, I did?”

“Definitely clipped the tendons,” she nods. “Besides, that’s basically how all this magic artifact shit works. Didn’t you know?”

I slowly shake my head, my life force still burning away in my right hand.

“Well, now you do.”

I grit my teeth and swallow my objections, going to the seam running from Jen’s armpit to the floor.

“Wait,” Jen shouts once the first clasp gives. “Give me the knife. I can do it.”

The second clasp pops. “Keep your arms out or I might knick you again.”

Another clasp pops. “I put this together,” Jen says, her voice now pleading. “Please, I can do it.”

The clasp at her waist gives. “Hey, Jen, do you remember that movie I used to tell you was the scariest movie I’d ever seen?”

“The screwball comedy you thought was scarier than Hellraiser?” she asks.

Once the clasp at her hip gives, the rest of the dress hangs loose and it’s a quick trip to the ground. Pop pop pop.

“I wouldn’t say screwball,” I say defensively as I move over to her other side. “Raise your arm.”

I can tell she wants to refuse and demand the knife, but she can’t resist the order, and her arm goes up.

“The thing that scared me about that movie was the bit at the end. Where they get to choose the form of the last boss.”

Pop. “Really?” Jen asks. “That was the most ridiculous part.”

“On the surface, yes,” I say as I pop another clasp. “But something about it seemed extra spooky to me.” Pop. Three left until we’re past the thigh.

“The giant marshmallow man is the least spooky thing in that movie,” Jen says. I’m focused on the clasps, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

“It’s not the monster,” I say as her waist clasp pops. “It’s the irony. David Bowie could have killed them outright, but he wanted to use what they worshipped to wipe them out.”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t actually David Bowie, Binky. And I’m also pretty sure it was a girl.”

I chuckle a bit. “I was a pubescent boy, and she was doing gymnastics in a sheer bodysuit. I’m pretty sure I was trying to be clever.” Pop. Last one. I continue as I drag the blade through the rest of the garment, to the ground. “What scared me was that it wanted to use our symbols of hope, to break our spirits while it kills us.”

I put the knife on the ground and stand, gently tugging at the front of the dress to try to figure out how to take the damn thing off without tearing at her.

“My point is that Mr. Marshmallow Man didn’t wreck the city because the city did anything wrong,” I tell her, finally getting to the point while the wheels in my head turn. “He didn’t even really exist. The evil just took the shape of something they worship because they knew it would fuck with their heads.”

I lift one of the front flaps I’ve made and hand it to Red. She nods and waits for me to take the other side. Somehow, the barbs don’t seem to even pierce her skin—sure, her fingers felt coarse, but the dress rips into my flesh as soon as I touch it.

Of course the fucking thing flops down over my hand as we lift it, but thankfully we’re able to lift it over her shoulder and gently pull it straight backwards, carefully placing it on the ground, leaving countless pricks and gashes in my hand.

The dress finally on the ground, I ask Jen, “Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

She looks at me, eyes vacant with relief, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I pull the shivering woman in for a hug. “It’s nothing you did,” I say into her ear. “It was something bad that took a shape it knew would fuck with us. And it’s gone now. You’re free.”

I feel Jen squeeze me back and start to sob.

“Um, can I have a quick word?” Red asks, tapping me on the shoulder.

Jen nods and releases me, sniffing hard as she recomposes herself.

Red rushes me to the far end of the store.

“What?” I ask once we’re out of Jen’s earshot.

“Two things,” Red says. “Maybe twelve. Or twenty.”

I nod. “Binky?” I ask.

“Binky.”

“A present from my old roommate. He erased my name from everyone’s memory, and replaced it with a bunch of humiliating nicknames. I have no idea why.”

“Never would have guessed it had a sense of humour.” Her smile is playful, but I can sense she’s curious.

“I’m not sure if it’s all jokes,” I say. “It went out of its way to erase my personal information and make me feel insignificant. Like a cult leader who makes you cut ties with your family.”

She shrugs. “Still, I wouldn’t have guessed it would do anything so elaborate. It’s pretty impressive. Almost a shame it’s gone.”

I shoot her a look, and mash a smidge of realization into her mind.

“I said almost...” she says. “But...” she trails off as a few thoughts of what it’s done to me rush through her head and she adds, “sorry.”

I nod, weirdly feeling a bit guilty for coercing the apology. “No problem. And the other thing?”

“It’s Mr. Stay Puft.”

Fuck me, she’s right. “Ah. I think she gets the point.”

Red smiles warmly and nods. “You did good, Binky.”

I smile. “Please don’t make me erase your memory.”

Her smile slips for a second until she realizes I’m joking.

“Can you heal the rest of her like you did with her arm?” I ask.

Red sighs. “They’ll be back any time. Those points aren’t life-threatening, and I really need clothes.”

“I’ll take care of that. Just do what you can.”

Red takes my hands into hers and looks into my eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“Wait.”

“What?” I repeat softly.

“Nothing,” she says with a smile. “I just don’t want bloody clothes.”

Red darts off to get to work with Jen, and I’m left staring down at my clean, perfectly-mended hands. “Right.”

Fun fact: Women’s clothing isn’t rocket science. In rocket science, numbers means just one thing. Letters, too! You don’t have to worry about letters that mean numbers, or other letters that kinda mean numbers but just in a vague sense because the boob letter fucks with the size letter, making the right letter one that doens’t fit the other numbers at all, but it’s fine with some materials, and there’s a size number that technically counts for literally everything, but it’s rarely used because it’s not really accurate overall (even though you’d figure being accurate is only job)...

Anyways, four trips to the back and an honorary Harvard degree later, Red has the correct size of sports bra capable of handling her glorious assets (which are presumably labelled “D for Delightful”), a blousey shirt (which Jen nervously informed me is also known as a “blouse”) that’s the same emerald green as her eyes, a pair of the baggy tan cargo pants that the Baptist thugs wear (or, used to wear, I guess), and a pair of men’s boots, which are smaller than the foot-size she gave me, because of course they’re different, God is a sadist so why the fuck would they not be totally different.

I don’t know what Red does while I’m in the back, but when I come out, Jen no longer looks malnourished—she isn’t exactly her old self, but she no longer has the dark rings below her eyes, and her hips and ribs are no longer quite as visible—and Red is working her magic on Jen’s legs.

I try not to stare, but I’m starting to remember why I had a crush on her when I was little.

“Hey, Binky,” Jen says, oblivious to my irritation. “How did you avoid being caught?”

My name isn’t ‘Binky’, I silently order. Jen furrows her brow, as though she has no idea why she asked me what she just asked. I hope that Red doesn’t notice—this seems like kind of a petty use of my roommate’s gift.

“It’s a long story,” I tell Jen, snapping her out of her reverie. “I guess the short of it is that I got caught by something horrible, too. Pretty early on, actually. My captor just let me out for walks now and again.”

I regret my words as I form them. My roommate used pet metaphors constantly to remind me that I didn’t matter.

“Were you caught too?” Jen asks Red as she works her upper thighs.

Red glances to me as though to ask what she should say.

‘I think it’s safe to tell the truth,’ I think into her mind.

“I’m just passing through,” Red says with a smile. “Which stronghold were you held in?”

“Stronghold?” Jen asks. “They were keeping me in the cathedral downtown. I was able to sneak out while it was collapsing.”

Red shakes her head. “Ah. That wasn’t one of mine.”

Jen recoils slightly. “Yours...”

Red smiles up at her. “I burned all mine to the ground.”

I can feel the pit drop out of Jen’s stomach, and I suddenly understand why Red was hesitant to say anything. Sure, she cleared out the so-called righteous liberators—but those cathedrals were most likely full of innocent people who were coerced into being there. And if they were keeping prisoners in the cathedrals she burned... so there’s no way she didn’t catch some people we knew in the blaze.

I try to ease off Jen’s fear with my mind as well as my mouth: “She’s one of the people who came to free us from those monsters. Her and her friends saved us both.”

I feel Jen sink back into a sense of ease, and I pepper in a little gratitude for zest.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, parting her legs a little more to let Red closer to her pelvis. “You’re right. I should be grateful.

Red sighs as she starts at the calf of Jen’s other leg. “You’re right, too,” she says. “We’ve spent so much time running around taking out bad guys, it’s easy to forget about their victims.” Red cocks her head towards me and adds, “That’s what this asshole is for.”

The look Jen gives me is... unfamiliar. I have to access her mind to realize exactly what it is: approval, admiration, pride... and a sudden, massive surge of lust upon hearing that I’m the one who’s supposed to look after everyone.

“It’s fine,” Jen says, her eyes fixed on mine, but showing no outward sign of this new admiration. “But not with thee might aught save Glory dwell—fade, fade away, thou shore of Asphodel.”

Red continues to work in silence, but I have to ask, “What?”

Jen sighs. “It’s an old poem. All the Greek heroes and soldiers are supposed to go to Elysium, where they get to laugh and drink and fight forever.

But only heroes and soldiers get to go there, so everything they died fighting for ends up somewhere completely different, abandoned and forgotten.”

Red chuckles to herself. “I appreciate the hero thing, but I’m not dead, and I know who I’m fighting for. They just happen to be very, very far away.”

I feel the pink static blink into existence back at the old apartment, and feel a sense of frustration from Red as she moves her attention to Jen’s crotch.

“I’m outta time,” Red mutters, quickly rubbing whatever healing-mojo she has into Jen’s vagina and then shifting up to her breasts. “I’ll do the important parts, but then I’ve gotta get my kit on and jet.”

Jen’s breath catches in her throat as she’s very suddenly overwhelmed by sensation, fighting to get her words out through sudden shudders. “It’s o—okay. I appreciate what you’ve—oh fuck—” she jumps again as Red brushes her nipples, “d-done.”

Red nods. “Just make sure this chuckle-fuck takes a second to think it through the next time he’s taking off a torture device.”

Jen’s eyelids flutter as she nods.

Red, impervious to modesty, shuffles half-way to the door on one leg then the other as she yanks on her pants, and then tosses her jacket over a clothing rack to pull on her bra and blouse.

“Your girlfriend seems nice,” Jen says in almost a whisper. Her words are backed with a swirling mixture of hope and dread.

“Wouldn’t call her a girlfriend,” I mutter, watching Red cover her impressive body and then sling on her coat in one fluid motion. “I just met her yesterday.”

Just like that, Jen’s dread is dashed out, and I can’t help but smile a little for her.

“I’ll be back to square up later,” Red shouts over her shoulder as she reaches the door. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“How can I burn it down when my little flamethrower’s out of town?” I shout after her.

Jen is a little uncomfortable with the familiarity, but when Red waves at us she waves back.

I can feel Red’s presence blink back to the house where we’d spent the night, and then walk out to join her friends.

Jen opens her mouth to address me, but her breath catches in her throat when she realizes she can’t remember my name.

“Hey,” she says instead. “Can I...” she trails off and reaches out, touching my chest and giving my pec a little squeeze through the hole her dress had ripped in my shirt.

My first instinct is to stop her and advise her to take it slow, or maybe jump onto her and mash our faces together, but her actions remind me of how I felt last night—how long it had been since I touched another human being, and realizing how much I’d missed feeling flesh warmed by a different heartbeat.

When I lean back, Jen’s hand flies away as though my nipple just tried to bite her, and her mind races with apologies and self-doubt. As she watches me pull my shirt off and return to my position, her mind instantly freezes, and she cautiously reaches out again.

“Wild, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Mm?” Jen mutters as she absentmindedly traces her delicate fingers down my chest, gingerly avoiding the little cuts from her dress.

“How much you miss touching other people after a while,” I add. “I wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man, but I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed it until—”

I cut myself off when I feel a spike of jealousy threaten to ruin Jen’s mood. I gently tamp it down a little, paving it over with the knowledge that there’s Red is gone. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with this. It’s contact. Intimacy. Things we’ve been robbed of for so long.

Jen’s breaths get deeper as my thoughts sink in. She bites her lip and withdraws her hand as she looks me up and down. I can tell there’s an impulse she’s wrestling with, but I can’t tell exactly what.

“It’s okay.” Both kind words and a gentle order.

The impulse, it turns out, is not quite so gentle—Jen practically lunges at me, pushing my back to the dust-caked linoleum floor and burying her face in my neck.

Strangely, she seems to have no interest in going above my neck, instead licking and kissing all across my shoulders and chest, running her hands up and down my sides.

I reach out to hug her, but I feel her flinch as my hands press against the barely-coagulated prick marks on her back, and so I bring my hands to my sides and let her do her thing.

Her movements are methodical, as if she’s careful to taste every inch of me as she works her way downwards, moaning as she dwells on my nipples. All the cuts have already stopped bleeding, but she still stops at every single one give it a gentle little kiss and clean the area with her tongue.

For a moment, Jen glances up at me, her light brown eyes full of mischief. I give her a smile, and she giggles and begins to kiss down my stomach.

Jen rips open the front of my jeans with one hand (I’ve gotta admit, a bit impressive considering the awkward position) and yanks them down hard enough to make an audible tear. My erection springs free and bounces against her chest as she shifts her weight to the side, breaking off her barrage of lips and tongue just barely long enough to yank my pants all the way to my ankles.

She doesn’t even stop to take a look at what she’s dealing with (I’m not giant, but I’ve always been comfortable with my God-given gear); she just dives right into my groin, taking a deep breath through her nose as she grips my shaft and wraps her lips around my balls.

I’m suddenly very self-conscious about the state of my downstairs—I haven’t exactly had an incentive to keep up the personal grooming, plus I slept in my clothes and haven’t had a chance to bathe yet, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary—after so long surrounded by prudish women who smell of sandalwood and frankincense, she finds herself getting lost in the musk of a man’s sex... even if the concept of a sweaty ball sack would normally have put her off.

Wait, how do I know that?

I don’t have time to wonder. Jen only gives each of my testicles a few seconds of attention before she impatiently licks her way up the underside of my cock, and I find myself unable to focus on anything else.

When Jen licks her way from the base to the tip, she’s thorough. She swirls her tongue around the sides, letting out adorable little mewls with each breath. Once she reaches the crown, her tongue swirls around once, sending electric shocks through my body, then pulls it to the side and begins sliding her tongue back down to the base.

I don’t need to be psychic to tell that she’s dragging this out on purpose. She loves the feel of a hard cock in her hand, pressing against her face, resting on her tongue, filling her mouth...

As she thinks of it, I think of it—and when I process how hot this is, both our hearts race with lust. Am I projecting my excitement a little? Fuck if I know—and I’m in no state to care. Jen clasps the base of my cock with one hand and shifts her hips up, spreading her legs to slip her fingers into her thankfully-healed pussy. (Did Red know? Another question to boggle my mind for a millisecond before Jen’s greedy tongue slaps it out of my brain forever.)

Jen pulls her mouth off of my dick to moan, and takes the opportunity to smack my throbbing erection against her face. I lift my head to watch that cute face that I’ve crushed on for so long get smeared with spit and pre-cum. She doesn’t even look up—she takes a few breaths to slap herself in the mouth a couple times, then dives right onto it, stuffing the head of my cock immediately into the back of her throat.

I think I deserve a medal for resisting the urge to thrust deeper into her mouth in time with her desperate bobbing, but she’s doing more than enough to get my poor neglected (by other people anyway) dick to the edge.

“I’m... close...” I somehow manage between my own ragged breaths.

Jen doesn’t say anything, but she starts moving in double-time, whimpering a little before each time she plunges my bell-end into the back of her throat, desperately working the shaft with her hand to coax me along.

I can feel her own orgasm pending, but it feels like she’s holding back—something I’m ashamed that I’m unable to do for her, and my dick begins to pulse.

Jen pulls most of the way back, letting the first two jets of spunk fill her mouth. However, once she’s tasted me, she finally lets herself orgasm, pulling off my cock to moan and smacking my still-spurting dick against her face.

As my dick continues to let loose its volley, Jen points it around her face, her expression locked in orgasm as she turns her head for optimal coverage. Her pretty cheeks, her nose, her lips, her chin, her hand—by the time my dick stops twitching, she’s covered with more than I thought I could produce, and some still leaks onto my shaft and pools on my pelvis.

Jen’s hand slows, but it still gently guides her through a couple aftershocks, her expression blank for a moment as a string of cum leaks out of her mouth and onto my balls.

Her heavy breaths subside, and she finally looks up at me and smiles. She considers thanking me, but instead opts to sink back down and gingerly lick the stray semen off of my dick and the back of her hand.

“Mmm,” I moan. I can feel a blanket of satisfaction fall upon her mind, and decide to give her a little extra kick of pleasure and excitement as a token of thanks. (That’s appropriate, right?)

Jen yanks an ugly plaid dress off a clothing rack and uses it to wipe her face, and then blot some of the cum out of my pubes. Once we’re both somewhat clean, she tosses the garment aside and crawls up to lay down next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Welcome back to the land of freedom,” I say with a smile.

“I hope that wasn’t—” she begins, trailing off as she searches for the words.

Her subconscious is telling her that it’s no problem—it’s perfectly natural—but the part of her that was locked in a barbed wire dress for consoling a friend screams at her from a tiny corner of her mind.

“That was wonderful,” I tell her, reaching over to gently caress her arm.

She doesn’t want to admit it out loud, but I can feel that uptight part of her chipping away at this long-sought satisfaction, telling her that she’s used me, that she’s led me on, that she’s only seen me as an adult for an afternoon and she’s already fucked up our relationship.

“I can see them arguing, you know,” I tell her.

Jen looks into my eyes with a raised eyebrow.

“The little angel and devil on your shoulder, whispering in your ear. You’re conflicted about something.”

Her blonde head sinks back to the floor and she sighs. “Is it that obvious?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, a bit. Listen, I went through the same thing. You’ve been denied contact for so long... it’s natural to want to indulge.”

Jen nods, but she’s not convinced.

“Look, I’d like to say that we’re starting from square-one, but to be honest? We’re starting about 3,000 years before square-one.”

Jen shifts onto her side to listen.

“A lot of our cultural bullshit comes from religious roots. Especially when it comes to pleasure. We’ve grown up with abstinence-focused sex ed and pastors telling us the gays caused global warming because butt stuff makes Jesus cry. But now we’ve seen the building blocks of that shit. It’s repression and rage and pettiness and jealousy. It’s some prick with goose wings killing babies because of original sin, or force-feeding a guy his own intestines because they caught him eating a candy bar.”

I glance over to Jen, expecting her to be spaced out. I lost my point, but to my surprise she’s still giving me her full attention.

“My point is, now we know that moral compass is broken. We need to find our own direction. And from where I stand, I don’t see anything wrong with a little harmless fun between consenting adults.”

Jen nods and then shifts back to her original, more comfortable position on the filthy linoleum floor. I can sense a bit of irrational disappointment that I didn’t fall madly in love with her—but overall she does agree with me, and is genuinely relieved that she didn’t just use me or drive me away.

“Your friend said that you were supposed to take care of everyone who’s left,” she says. “Why?”

I shrug. “She says I’m the only one who was a part of this community who the angels didn’t fuck up.”

“So you’re supposed to have the only working compass?” Jen’s words are barbed with doubt.

I shake my head, not that she can see it as she stares at the ceiling with me. “Fuck no. I gave up on my compass years ago. I think she just trusts me because I know it’s broken.”

I leave Jen with her thoughts as I continue to stare at the ceiling tiles with her, enjoying her company.

“You grew up into a good guy,” she finally says.

I laugh. “You must have been a good influence.”

A few more moments pass in silence. It almost feels strange not listening in on peoples’ thoughts.

“Can I confess something... kind of terrible?” she asks, her voice suddenly nervous.

“You don’t remember my name,” I say.

“Well...”

I sigh. “I don’t either.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Long story.”

“Then what should I call you?”

Hmm. Sir had a nice ring to it, but I get the feeling Red’s the only one who would get it. “Call me whatever you see fit.”

“So like... biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch?”

I look over and smile. “Is that how you see me?”

Jen hugs my arm, gently pressing it against her tender body as she giggles. “Maaaybe... maaaybe not...”

I roll to my side and kiss her forehead. “We’ll figure something out later. Meanwhile, I could use a trip to the river. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a bit... sticky.”

Jen giggles. “Wonder whose fault that is?”

I lurch to my feet and offer Jen my hand. “One of life’s great mysteries. Now, let’s find me some pants.”