The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It looked like just another large envelope to him. Investigative journalist, John Silverton sat down at his desk in the media office then prepared to begin a brand new Monday morning. He placed his coffee cup down to the right on his desk then cleared the notes away from directly in front of him. Then he laid the large white envelope down before him and just stared at it, wondering what it might contain. There was no return address or name that might identify the sender. As he sat there, wondering, a familiar feeling of excitement came over him-one that, in the past, had always been accompanied by some degree of danger. He wondered if it would be so, again. Reaching for the top section, he slowly tore it away.

His fingers slipped inside then grasped the contents-only one single piece of white paper. He withdrew it slowly then laid it neatly out on the black desktop. His eyebrows slowly arched, as he read the title. Casually, but deliberately, he then glanced left and right about him, to see if anyone was in his close proximity. There was not. His gaze fell then once again, on the document. Picking up his coffee, he leaned forward, resting on his elbows and allowed his gaze to focus on the print presented to him, on the page. It read:

“Merino Apotheosis”

Are you interested in knowing what happens to the missing men and women ‘after’ they go missing? Think about it for a few days. I will contact you again for your seriously considered answer. Tell no one and don’t waste my time.

Lifting his gaze, John Singleton lowered his coffee down to the desk, glancing both ways, once more. Then, he again lowered his eyes to the neatly typed page in front of him.

‘Jesus,’ he hissed quietly between his teeth. He read the message through one more time then replaced it back inside the large, white envelope. ‘Jesus,’ he again repeated quietly, to himself. He then shook his head, wondering why all the fruit loops of the world seemed to write to him.

‘Do you think you can work with her?’ His boss asked, after informing him he had a new partner on the desk of investigative stories that had always been the sole domain of him, alone.

He glared at the man, knowing his boss knew he had no choice in the matter, if he wanted to keep the strange and unusual stories he wrote, alive and kicking, and, himself in a job, as well. His boss then told him that his section was getting a bit dull, of late, and thought that a combined point of view, from a woman, as well as a man, might just give it a much-need bit of spice, for the readers’ sake.

Christ, he thought, silently.

He believed that every word of every story he’d ever done had reader appeal. They were all unique and different, in their own right; stories of ghosts, ritual murders, witch’s covens, warlock’s covens-anything that bordered on the strange, the unusual, or the bizarre. He chased them down, with the ferocity of a bulldog-not letting go, until he had it all. Then he’d write them, and, they had all been successful-every single one of them. Why he now suddenly needed a woman’s point of view to spice things up, was beyond him? He cursed again, silently.

He had always hated that side of journalism; distorting the truth and presenting it, in a way, such that it very rarely resembled anything like the original truths of the stories, by the time the sensationalists and hack-editors got through with them.

And now this woman, he cursed silently, again.

He expected she’d probably die of fright, at the first crazy or frightening investigation they did together. His boss hadn’t even given him any say in the choice of his new partner. That, also, had made him angry.

God, he thought, what a bad stroke of luck.

He followed his boss to his office to meet her. He’d been told that she came from out of town, but that her references were very good. Her name was Christie Summers. She was tall and she was a natural blonde, and, she was beautiful.

‘Would you like me to take you to lunch?’ She asked, after they had been formally introduced then sent back out to their respective desks, which backed up against one another, such that she faced him, head-on.

They had chewed the rug for only a few minutes in the boss’s office. Now, they had been given their first assignment together and had just sat back down at their desks. They looked straight across at one another. He eyed her suspiciously. She only grinned back at him.

A nice grin, he thought, distracted, in a unique sort of way.

‘Trying to buy your way into my good graces, already, huh?’ He replied, when he realised his suspicious look wasn’t getting him anywhere, as far as subtle intimidation went.

She laughed, swivelling from side to side in her chair, mirroring him, as he had already been doing.

I know your game, all right, he thought—maybe. ‘Not at all,’ she said when she stopped chuckling. ‘Just thought it might be nice to get to know one another on an informal basis before we started working together. But, if you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. Just trying to be friendly.’

Then she just sat back and looked evenly at him, sending him on his first guilt trip. He hoped it wasn’t the first of many to come. That would be all he needed, he figured dryly-someone deliberately getting her way all the time, by tripping him out on guilt, over something or other. He’d had a woman like that, once, and hadn’t liked it. The relationship had not withstood the test of time. Neither had he.

‘Okay,’ he replied finally, freeing himself from the wreath of guilt, he believed she had just deliberately lain around his neck. ‘But that tactic won’t work all the time,’ he said, just to let her know he had her number.

She chuckled then stopped swivelling her chair to gaze directly at him. She seemed to have an unusual way of looking directly into his eyes, without blinking, he noticed. It was almost intimidating, even though her almond-shaped eyes were absolutely stunning. He didn’t like women who did that. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had such large blue eyes, he knew he would have said something to her, already, about that annoying habit.

‘Where would you like to eat?’ she asked, still staring right at him, although he had to admit that she wasn’t really staring, more of an unblinking, riveting gaze that never shifted from its point of focus-him. He grinned evilly at her.

‘How deep is your wallet?’

It was his stock standard answer whenever anybody asked him that.

‘Not very,’ she said with a grimace, pulling a slightly funny face with her answer. Great, he thought-the woman’s got a sense of humour. That’s all I need.

‘I know a little place,’ he finally relented. ‘Shouldn’t cost the earth.’

She smiled, but said nothing. He glanced down at the large, white envelope on his desk then up at the wall clock.

Two hours to go, he reminded himself-then we’ll be eating in one of the roughest canteens that I, personally, have ever had the misfortune to eat at, although he regularly ate there, by choice, for the honest company. That should test her metal, he grinned, flipping over the mysterious envelope that had been waiting for him when he had first arrived.

‘What’s the job?’ she asked, leaning forward to gaze upside down at the envelope.

Her first test, he thought, sliding the envelope from his desk.

He opened the drawer to drop it in then did so, closing the drawer, slowly. Glancing at her, he then looked down at the now-closed drawer.

‘My last story was on a country girl that had been abducted by a maniac. She had her breasts and thighs mutilated,’ she said. ‘I’m used to it. I can handle whatever you’ve got in that envelope.’

He smiled inwardly while her face remained expressionless. Then another wave of guilt washed over him, only this time, it wasn’t caused by her.

‘You never get used to it,’ he said sadly, recalling a similar case he had worked on, the previous year past. He thought of telling her about the content of the large white envelope, but then decided she was still too new.

Besides, he thought, the message said not to tell anyone-not that he put a great deal of significance on that. He received many of those types of letters. Most had some kind of implied threat in them, somewhere, simply in order to get his attention.

She outstretched her hand, for him to give her the envelope.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be interested in my tax file. ’

She looked up directly into his eyes again, with that piercing, blue stare.

‘Tax file?’ she queried, unbelievingly. Then she lowered her eyes, once again, seeming to study her outstretched hand.

He watched her bring forward her other hand then trace her index finger across her palm. Wondering if he should answer her honestly, he decided, for some reason that was lost on him, that he would.

‘No,’ he said just as flatly.

She looked up, with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. ‘Then why say it?’ she said simply.

‘Instructions.’

‘From whom?’ she asked.

Whom? He thought-Jesus.

‘From the tax file,’ he said.

She said nothing, just dropped her gaze back down to her empty palm then continued to study it, in detail.

‘What’s so interesting?’ he asked her, after several minutes of silence while she continued to gaze relentlessly at the centre of her hand. She kept turning it upside down then right side up, again. Then she lifted her gaze to look at him.

‘I’m waiting for your tax file-with instructions,’ she said quietly, her teeth clenched, as she spoke.

‘How about a girl who has been tortured before her throat was cut?’ he offered her, instead of the envelope. ‘It looks like certain parts have been cut from her body, including the nipples of each breast.’

‘I’ll take the tax file,’ she said flatly. ‘You can handle the missing body parts.’

He wondered how she would react, if he did let her read the information, in the large, white envelope. Again, she looked him directly in the eye, with that annoying stare.

‘I can keep a secret,’ she said.

He opened the drawer, took out the envelope then handed it to her. Without looking at him, she opened it then drew out the one, single page, with her long slender fingers.

‘Whereabouts did this come from?’ she asked curiously, as she read it.

‘It was here on my desk when I arrived,’ he replied.

She glanced up at him, as if he were a wayward child.

‘I mean,’ she said condescendingly,’ who brought it?’

Then she settled back in her chair, continuing to read and re-read the one-page contents.

‘I haven’t checked yet,’ he said. ‘I had only just read it when I was called in to meet you, remember?’

‘Have you received anything else like this in recent or not so recent times?’ she asked him then, bringing her chair, slowly to a halt, to stare at him in that way, again.

He was going to have to say something to her about that before she drove him crazy, he decided.

‘No,’ he answered, ‘nothing.’

He found himself looking at his new partner, but not really seeing her. His thoughts were fixed, once again, on the message in the envelope. A cold shiver raced up his spine. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Tell no one, it said.

‘Have there ever been others like that?’ she asked again.

‘I just said there wasn’t,’ he said, a little miffed, ‘none that I’ve read or heard about. But that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been-probably lots that have never been discovered or even opened. Stock records would know, I guess, if you could get access to them.’

‘Hmm,’ she said, sounding deep in thought. In fact, he was already planning a trip to his friend in the evidence room. He had paid the man enough in the past. It was about time he started to earn his keep.

‘I’ll look into that,’ he said finally.

Her penetrating blue gaze hardened, instantly.

‘You mean, we’ll look into that, don’t you? You have a partner, now, remember-to have and to hold, for better or for worse, until death do us part?’ Then she smiled at her own joke.

‘Christ,’ he retorted aloud, dropping his gaze from hers. Shaking his head in an exasperated fashion a few times, he heard her soft chuckle. Then she laughed aloud; a bright, cheery laugh that came from the depths of her belly-not an unlikeable laugh, if you liked that sort of laugh, which he did.

Glancing up at the grinning smile that was till spread across her face, like a cheeky little girl, he figured she had to be in her early thirties. Yet, when she had that grin on her face, she looked a hell of a lot younger, he decided-not that she looked old, by any stretch of the imagination.

‘Do you think they mean for you to meet with them?’ his new partner suddenly asked, from the depths of her girlish grin.

He had already been down that path in his mind and had decided that he’d just wait, unless he found out who sent the envelope, first. He doubted that would happen, however. More than likely, it had been hand-delivered then dropped at the door, to be found.

‘Probably, in time,’ he said. ‘They haven’t sent it to me for nothing. They must have an agenda, if you can believe what you’ve just read.’

‘Cut throats don’t usually happen as part of an accident,’ she said dryly then gave him another look, as if he were mentally challenged and not quite getting it.

He hated it. ‘What?’ he queried, curiously. ‘What has cut throats got to do with that in your hands?’ he asked, evenly, between his teeth. He gritted his teeth, as she answered. His annoyance, slowly, began to grow.

‘I have a lot of experience with missing persons,’ she replied quietly, ‘a lot.’

‘Maybe a connection?’ he said aloud, although thinking, more or less, to himself.

‘Maybe?’

‘Could be?’ he said.

It was all he wanted to say. How the hell would he know what goes through the minds of some of the sick, twisted people that sent hundreds of letters to him, every year? But there could be a connection, he concluded-there could be.

He sat back; still smarting from the condescending tone she had taken with him. Holding out his hand, she looked at him, hard, then placed the page back inside the envelope and handed it to him. He put it back in the drawer then closed it. Missing persons, he pondered.

He closed his eyes for a few moments then suddenly stood up, to walk quickly to the men’s room, without another word to her. He had to, so his new partner wouldn’t see the tears of anguish that instantly forced their way, into his eyes. He had thought about the terrible heartbreak he had suffered when his younger brother had gone missing, over twenty years ago. That fact, alone, in one way, had inspired him toward investigative journalism.

He returned within ten minutes then sat down at his desk, with a grin on his face. Before she could voice any suspicions she might have gained from his sudden departure, he beat her to the punch.

‘Let’s go to lunch,’ he grinned then added, with a gleam in his eye, ‘if it’s still on? And, if you’re still paying?’

Her annoying, direct gaze just stared at him, for a few long seconds: a strange look appeared on her face that he hadn’t seen before, in their short acquaintance, to date. She smiled then reached for her handbag-an over-the-shoulder black one, with a gold leaf clasp, in the shape of an angel.

As they left the building then headed for the underground car park, he’d decided to take his car. He knew full well that he was surely going to feel guilty, by the time she had endured her lunch at the Truckie’s Pit Stop; one of the roughest, meanest places to eat, in the entire city. If she were really going to impress him, he figured-it would be there, among the burly international truck haulers.

As he drove along, he wondered how long he would let truckies be themselves, until he called them off her. Luckily for him, he reminded himself-that he knew many of them, having come from a trucking family, and, this being his own neck of the woods. But first, he intended to see just how tough she really was.

After driving through the mid-day traffic, he was ready for a good feed to soothe the savage beast that had been let loose within him, by the day’s events. He parked in the small area, reserved for regular patrons, around the back of the eating house, away from several various makes of eighteen wheeler semi trailers. They were parked in one big circle, at the front of the café, like an old western movie, where the wagon trains all formed a circle, to bed down for the night.

He walked her inside. The humid heat of the cooking ovens was stifling, as they sat down at the back of the large dining room, after walking past several of the truckies who were known to him. At one of them, he had winked, as he’d passed. He had been the one he’d placed a short phone call to, before leaving his desk.

They were sitting at his regular booth. The wolf-whistles and catcalls, some nice, some not so nice, had followed them to their table. He noticed a slight flush to her cheeks. They faced one another across the small table. She was cracking already, he thought. And the one he had chosen to harass her, hadn’t even arrived at their table, as yet.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he apologised lamely. ‘If it weren’t for trying to save you money, I wouldn’t have brought you here-that, and the fact that they make the best steak and eggs in the city.’

She smiled thinly at him; still looking a little flushed in the face. Then she proceeded to settle herself more comfortably in her chair. He couldn’t be sure whether it was from the incredible, humid heat, inside the large room, or the embarrassment over the wolf-whistles and catcalls, as they’d entered, but she looked gorgeous.

Suddenly, he saw her eyes focus to the side of him and narrow, sharply. He assumed his plan was about to go into action. She held her gaze fixed past him, until the burly truck driver drew level with their table then leaned forward onto it, resting his huge paws on the clean tablecloth. He grinned helplessly across at his new partner, putting a look on his face that said: “Deal with it-the food’s really worth it.”

‘What’s a nice dame like you doing in a pigsty like this?’ The big man asked her in a raspy voice, from a million too many cigarettes behind the wheel of his truck.

At first, John Singleton thought she was just going to ignore the burly truck driver. She sat rigid and stiff, holding his gaze, in that same looking-through-you manner she had done with him, all morning. To his amazement, she hadn’t blinked once, yet. She was breathing with her belly, too, he noticed-her chest remained exactly where it was, almost, as if she were centring herself, in preparation for something.

‘I said, what’s a nice bird like you doing in a rat-hole like this?’ The big truck driver repeated, in the same breathy, raspy voice.

The strong aroma of garlic and cigarettes assaulted John Singleton’s nostrils, as it must have hers, he figured, since the big man was speaking directly at her face, only a foot or so, away from her. Her eyes narrowed again sharply. Then suddenly, she drew a quick breath, the scarlet colour returning quickly to her neck and cheeks, as she did so.

‘Actually, I’m trying to avoid ass-holes like you,’ she said, evenly, through her teeth, ‘and the one who brought me to this dump.’ she’d spat at him, quickly, with ice in her voice, as cool as a cucumber. Her eyes didn’t leave the truck driver’s, for a second. She went on, quickly.

‘Now, get lost before I drive all eighteen wheels of your truck, right up your own ass, along with a law suit, for sexual harassment in a public place. And if I have to tell you twice, the only place you’ll be driving your mangy rig from here, is straight to the police station. Feeling lucky, big boy?’

Things happened simultaneously, right at that precise moment in time. First, the truck driver’s jaw, as well as his eyes, opened wide, at the same time, like a pair of stepped-on garbage pails. Then they both snapped shut like a pair of rabbit traps. After that, she calmly rose to her feet and walked out of the place, shouldering the big man physically aside and out of her way, as if he was a seven-stone weakling on the beach.

John made to quickly to follow her, but found himself held fast in his seat by the big man’s huge paw quickly slapping down hard across his left shoulder.

‘Got any more bright bloody ideas?’ the man, who used to be his friend, snapped at him, giving him the full force of the garlic and cigarettes. ‘And if she slaps me with a harassment suit, you can be bloody well sure, I’ll be paying you a visit with every one those eighteen wheels she was talking about. And I’m gonna drive ‘em right up ‘your’ friggin’ ass!’

With that, the big man lifted the heavy weight of his hand from shoulder. It allowed John Singleton to quickly rise and follow her out of the cafe. He smiled weakly, as he passed.

Racing around to the back to the car park, he found her leaning against the side of his car. She leaned slightly to one side. Her right hand sat on her hip, as if she were preparing for round two. She is, he decided, as he came up to her.

‘If that’s the sum total of your intelligence,’ she said quietly to him, as he approached within firing distance, ‘no wonder you need a partner to help you get your work done. Got any more childish pranks you want to play before we go back? May as well get them all out of the road at once, so you can decide whether or not I’ve passed your little test.’

He stopped dead in his tracks, a few feet from where she leaned against his car. By the time she’d finished speaking, he still hadn’t moved any further forward, or closer to her. He wasn’t a complete idiot. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he walked slowly around to his side of the car then got in, without looking at her. Her stare had burned into him, as he’d walked.

Once inside the car, he leaned over then opened her door for her, again, not looking at her, as she slid down into the passenger seat. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he fired the engine into life, what life there was left in the old girl-an early model, shovel-nosed Celica Nark, soft-top.

‘Put your belt on,’ he said quietly to her, slowly letting out the clutch. ‘I wouldn’t want to be irresponsible in my duties as a driver who cares about the lives of his passengers.’

He could actually feel the side of his face seemingly burst into flames from the heat in her stare, but he kept his eyes locked and loaded, straight ahead, as he drove slowly out of the car park then into the traffic on the main road and back to the office.

By the time he and Christie were again, both seated at their respective desks, not one word had passed over either of their lips. He was actually beginning to get going on his next guilt trip, self-inflicted, when he decided that he had better show her some of the other side of him before he convinced her that what she had seen so far, was all there was. He looked across at her, snaring her gaze, when she looked up.

‘I guess dinner tonight, as a token of my sincere apology, is out of the question then?’

He held her gaze and hoped she could see the sincerity there. Her eyes turned as cold as ice, freezing the centre of his pupils, as she stared him down for several, long seconds, finally forcing him to look away, in order to defend himself, mentally. She scraped her chair backward on the floor, as she stood up. Then the card glided down and landed before his eyes, on the desk, in front of him.

‘Seven o’clock and don’t be late,’ she snapped, icily. ‘You’re paying and no tricks. I’m going home to unpack.’ And then she was gone, as quickly as that; leaving him to ponder the sense of what he had put her through for the sake of his own curiosity. Again, he was overcome with a guilt trip, self-inflicted.

Christ, he cursed-what a day, and what a fiery woman.

She was no tame pussycat, he decided-that was for sure. As for her passing his ridiculous test to see how tough she was-well, in his book, she had come up trumps, he had to admit. And, it had been a very long time, since any woman had done that in his eyes.