The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Three weeks later, Woolsby called for an after-breakfast staff meeting. Every Stockwood servant crammed into the basement common room.

“So there is some news,” Woolsby announced, standing rigidly before the little group. The old butler looked stern. “Ms. Viebeck has telegrammed; she set sail for American last week, and will be here at the mansion in little more than three days.”

The servants murmured. By now, Adelle had learned: Ms. Wendy Viebeck, former opera star, was Mr. Oakwater Senior’s fiancée. Adelle still had yet to see a photograph of the woman.

“Does that mean the wedding plans will be moving forward, Mr. Woolsby?” fretted Mrs. Clatchet.

The butler nodded. “Most assuredly. In fact, Ms. Viebeck has forwarded a long list of instructions to that effect. Which is what I must discuss with you all.”

The common room was now silent as a tomb. All eyes were worried and riveted on Woolsby.

“The weekend of August 21st is to be extremely important,” the old man said gravely. “In the interest of coordinating all the wedding fittings, ceremonial arrangements, scheduling issues, and other matters, Ms. Viebeck wishes to invite all The Family to the manor. They will—“

All the servants except Adelle gasped in horror. “All of The Family?” cried Mrs. Clatchet.

Woolsby nodded, wearily closing his eyes.

Immediately, the maids and footmen began to mutter amongst themselves.

Adelle made some quick calculations. Thérèse had mentioned that Mr. Oakwater had three adult children. Charles Wilson Oakwater III had a wife and baby; that brought the total to five. Five guests! What was so challenging about that?

But the rest of the Stockwood staff looked as if they’d been told the manor house was about to be under siege by an army of trolls. Gerald the Footman, in particular, was shaking his head in anger.

“Come now!” Woolsby barked, his dark eyes flashing. “Are we or are we not the finest servants in New York? We can—and will—rise to this occasion.”

Asserting control, the butler began issuing orders. All the linens were to be pre-washed. Vivienne and Léonette, the other two maids, were to prepare all twenty-one guest bedrooms. “We don’t know which bedrooms the guests will want,” he explained. “It would be inhospitable if all preparations had been made.

“Who gets the guest suite in the east wing?” asked Mrs. Clatchet warily. “You know how the Three Brothers fought over it last Christmas.”

Woolsby looked pained. “Whichever guest arrives first shall claim the suite,” he said simply. “Miss Adelle, you are responsible for that corner of the house.”

More assignments were made. “Miss Thérèse, you shall need to take over the management of serving all meals from the kitchen,” Woolsby instructed. “In fact—“

“Eh, pardon, Monsieur Woolsby,” Thérèse piped up. “Monsieur Oakwater Senior has put me on duty for his suite.” She looked uncomfortable. “Madame Vesper is, ah, lodging there and had said she will remain there up until the wedding. I am to attend her and Monsieur Oakwater Senior until the honeymoon.”

Adelle’s ears perked up. Thérèse was assigned to the Master Suite? She hadn’t heard that.

Woolsby’s face went ashen. “Ms. Vesper is staying with Mr. Oakwater?” he asked, aghast. “But when Ms. Viebeck arrives… how will…?”

Thérèse winced. “I do not know, Monsieur.”

The servants exchanged dark glances. From what Adelle could tell, poor Wendy Viebeck had no idea her future husband kept a mistress. Having said mistress living in the house when Ms. Viebeck arrived seemed like a volatile situation. Perhaps Eleanor Vesper was planning on slipping out the back door when Wendy Viebeck waltzed through the front?

Woolsby composed himself. “I will delicately bring up the matter with Mr. Oakwater Senior,” he said. He looked pained. “Although we might not behave in the manner that he does, it is not for us to judge him.”

“Perhaps Ms. Viebeck will stay in Albany until the wedding?” Mrs. Clatchet speculated.

“We will trust in Mr. Oakwater Senior to sort through these matters,” declared Woolsby. “Until then, I will manage the kitchens. Miss Thérèse will attend the Master Suite.”

The servants mobilized. Adelle didn’t quite understand why her colleagues looked so stressed, and made a mental note to ask Thérèse when the two had a moment alone.

Unfortunately, Thérèse seemed to have been abducted into the Master Suite. The head maid simply disappeared for long portions of the day. When she did emerge, she was exhausted and in no mood for idle talk.

So Adelle decided to focus on her responsibilities. The guest suite had been closed for a few months, so it fell upon her to air it out, vacuum and dust it off, remove the plastic from the furniture, and then refresh all the sheets, towels, soaps, and essentials. There was a lot to do.

Two days before the big weekend, the front door rang, and then Woolsby quickly summoned Adelle to the Great Hall. The young maid arrived, curious what was afoot.

A young man, perhaps in his late twenties stood by Woolsby in the foyer. He was tall and thin, with greasy black hair slicked back, a pencil moustache, and a wary smirk on his face. Even though he was indoors, a pair of black sunglasses rested over his eyes. The man wore a causal gray suit, except he’d opted for a black turtleneck rather than wear a white shirt and tie. He oozed impatience and disrespect. As he rolled his eyes about the house, he was smoking a black cigarette, which positively reeked of mint and pine. The man was carelessly ashing onto the foyer carpet. Adelle had never seen Woolsby look more outraged.

“Ah, Miss Adelle,” the red-faced butler said as the young maid approached. “This is Mr. Samuel Oakwater, second son to—“

“Well, well, well!” the man exclaimed. He stared at Adelle’s chest, lowering his sunglasses for a better view. “Who have we here, now, eh? Dig it! Papa brought on new French meat?”

Not knowing what to do, Adelle made a slight curtsey. “Monsieur.”

“Ahem,” Woolsby grunted. A pained expression crossed his face. “Mr. Samuel is Mr. Oakwater Senior’s second oldest son,” he informed Adelle. “He is, obviously, the first to arrive for—”

“That means the guest suite’s all mine all mine all mine, right, Daddy-O?” Samuel asked darkly.

“Er, well…” The butler searched for diplomatic words. “Master Samuel, we were wondering, if perhaps, you might allow your brother Charles Junior to have the suite for this visit? After all, he will be traveling with his wife and baby—“

“Nuts to him,” Samuel snapped. “He ain’t here yet? Too bad. The suite’s mine.”

“Ah, yes, sir,” demurred Woolsby. “Miss Adelle is assigned to the suite for the duration of your stay. Although she will have additional duties—“

“Got it, got it,” Samuel said dismissively, already moving to take Adelle by the arm. “Woolsie, have my trunks brought up straight away, eh? I mean now. Then I’m gonna want Papa’s brandy out on the back veranda. Not the cheap stuff, you dig? Chop-chop!”

Adelle was practically seized by the younger Oakwater and propelled back into the house. When he walked, Samuel wobbled slightly on his feet.

“You ’n me,” he leered to Adelle, “are gonna get to be best friends. Eh, doll?”

And he actually patted Adelle firmly on the bum.

It was hard to say what about Samuel was the most grating. He seemed unable to control his mouth, which rambled on and on, usually complaining or cracking off-color jokes. He smoked nonstop, and always using that brand of black cigarette. Adelle had never seen this cigarette before, but the stench was really quite potent. He walked so close to Adelle, he tended to bump into her as they moved through the house. And finally, Samuel had no manners whatsoever. He prattled to Adelle, never once looking at her eyes. Only her breasts.

Unfortunately, the guest suite was only partially ready. Adelle had stripped the bed and aired out the closets, but most of the furniture was still under plastic. The vacuuming had yet to be done, either.

“Aw, lookit this dump!” Samuel groused when he entered. He took off his sunglasses, walked to the couch, then surveyed the entire suite. “Nowheresville!”

“I will have the suite ready for you by evening, Monsieur,” Adelle promised.

Samuel scratched his rear end, thinking. He didn’t look like he did the second activity often.

“Ah, zonk it,” he grumbled. “C’mere.”

Adelle hesitated.

“I said, c’mere, birdie,” cooed Samuel. “I ain’t gonna bite.”

Against her better judgement, the young maid approached. In a flash, Samuel flicked away his cigarette. He wrapped his arm about Adelle’s waist, pulling her to him. Once Adelle could not escape, the young man flopped backwards onto the couch, pulling Adelle down on top of him. He laughed gleefully, pawing her breasts with his other hand.

Other girls might be stunned into allowing this behavior. But not Adelle. She’d tangled with too many eager boys back home in Lalouvesc, her village. She had her pride.

“No, Monsieur!” she shouted, and wrenched herself out of Samuel’s grip.

But the younger Oakwater was still laughing. He grabbed Adelle’s wrist. “Aw, c’mon, chickie, I was just—“

Adelle slapped Samuel across the face, hard.

The black-haired man stared at the maid, dumbfounded. Adelle loomed over him.

“I said no!” she said angrily, stabbing a finger at Samuel.

To Adelle’s surprise, Samuel fell back on the couch, laughing even harder. He fumbled in his suitcoat pocket for another cigarette.

Something clicked in place for Adelle. She’d seen this behavior before, in Paris, and then again in New York. Samuel was high. What he’d ingested, she couldn’t say, but the young man’s discoordination now betrayed him. He wasn’t right in the mind.

Disgusted, Adelle turned and extinguished the cigarette Samuel had tossed away. She hoped the young fool didn’t burn down the house.

“You’re assigned to Samuel for the weekend?” Vivienne the maid said, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh. I’d rather shovel out the stables.”

It was the evening. The servants were packed into the common room for their dinner. Everyone was present, save Thérèse. The oil lamps flickered, a sure sign that they were nearly out of fuel.

“Mr. Samuel is a handful,” Adelle admitted, poking her soup. “But he’s really just a boy in a man’s body, I think. Never really grew up.”

“Shh, don’t use names!” Léonette warned. The three maids were conversing in French, but Woolsby was frowning at them from across the table. Gossip about The Family was strictly forbidden.

“It’s a shame, really,” commented Vivienne, reaching for the salt. “I overheard Mrs. Clatchet say that in his teen years, Mr. You-Know-Who was really quite intelligent. But he’s let his brain rot away on drugs.”

“Its why he’ll never run his father’s company,” Léonette said darkly.

“He wouldn’t stop trying to put his hands on me,” grumbled Adelle. “He’s got to be the worst of The Family, no?”

Vivienne and Léonette grimaced. “Just… wait until the other arrive,” Léonette advised. “Then ask that question again.”

Later that Friday, the remainders of the Oakwater clan descended on Stockwood Manor. The first was William Oakwater, the eldest son of Charles Senior. Adelle and Léonette were moving floral vases in the Great Hall when he arrived.

“Is the guest suite ready for me?” the tall man demanded, removing his coat, but not bothering to look Woolsby in the eye.

“Ah, sir, about the suite,” the butler replied carefully. “I’m afraid your brother Samuel has already taken up residence there.”

“Sam? And you let the clod have it?” William practically snarled.

Adelle stole a glance at the eldest of Charles Senior’s children. Like Samuel, William was tall and thin, even taller by perhaps two inches. He was in his early thirties. His hair and moustache were light brown, trimmed by the most careful of professionals. Handsome yet arrogant, William surveyed Stockwood Manor as if he were a prince, a master of all he surveyed. He wore a crisp business suit, complete with a fresh rose in his lapel. His expensive shoes looked brand-new. Adelle noted that William spoke with a snooty air. She loathed him immediately.

A smaller man, perhaps Mexican, stood to William’s left. He, too, wore a suit, but also driver’s gloves and a silk scarf. Two of William’s suitcases were in his hands. A manservant.

“Well, then,” William rumbled. “Where am I to stay then, eh? You want to stick me in the toolshed behind the garage?”

“No, sir!” replied Woolsby, deeply offended. “Er, all the other guest bedrooms are available. If you would—“

“Fine,” snapped William. He shook his head. “I’ll somehow make due. I swear, the so-called ‘service’ in this house degrades a little more every year.”

He snapped his fingers. “Come, José.”

William strode into the house, completely ignoring Adelle and Léonette. His servant scurried after him.

“Oh, and Woolsby?” William shouted as he ascended the Grand Staircase. “I’ll be taking three bedrooms, one for me, one for José, the middle one to be made into an office. Have the bed and furniture removed, will you? I’ll need a desk and table set up. Also, send up all the newspapers, some wash supplies, and food. Good food, mind you? You have fifteen minutes.”

And with that, William was gone. Woolsby was left at the base of the stairs, trembling in exasperation.

“Good God,” Adelle muttered to Léonette. “He certainly thinks much of himself, doesn’t he?”

“Of the three Elder Sons, he’s the only one to be successful at business,” Léonette breathed back. “In this family, that’s required for the father’s love.”

An hour later, the third of the Oakwater sons arrived. Charles Wilson Oakwater III—derogatorily known as “Charlie Junior” to rest of The Family—was the only offspring of Charles Senior to have gotten married. Now, Charles III was tromping into the Grand Hall foyer, with his fat wife and Charles Wilson Oakwater IV in tow. Charles IV was a thirteen-month-old, red-faced baby, squirming about in his mother’s arms and screaming like a fire alarm.

Woolsby and Adelle were the only two servants available, as Léonette and the footmen were off rearranging the bedrooms to William’s satisfaction.

“Hello there, Woolbie my good man,” Charlie Junior said, already thrusting his coat and hat at the butler. The young man’s eye fell onto Adelle. “Gee whiz, what have we here? Hello, hello, hello! Papa has a new girl, eh?”

The youngest Oakwater son was perhaps twenty-five, also tall and thin like his brothers. And while William and Samuel had some fashion sense, Charlie Junior wore an ill-fitting, wide lapeled suit that was all wrong for his lanky frame. His haircut was also not quite right, far too bushy and flapping as he moved. Thankfully, he had chosen not to grow a moustache.

Indifferent to the glare of his wife, Charlie strutted right up to Adelle, his eyes locked on her chest. “You’re a pretty one, yeah,” he declared. In a lower voice, he asked, “You give massages? Noémie the maid used to give me massages, but she doesn’t work here anymore. In fact—“

“Charles!” the wife exploded.

Adelle remembered: Charlie Junior’s wife was named Hilda. The woman was short and quite overweight, with bulges of fat in her neck, waist, and arms. What she lacked in physique, she made up in the quality of her hairdo, makeup, and clothes; her coat, dress, and shoes, in particular were top-rate. She was a woman who took poor care of her body, but spent lavishly on its wrappings.

Charlie Junior made a show of rolling his eyes, then turned back to Woolsby. “Okay, okay, then,” he grunted. “Woolbie, the family and I will be taking the guest suite, and no excuses this time, get me? Have our luggage sent up there. Then, I’ll need… What?”

Woolsby was fidgeting. “Ah, I beg your pardon, Master Charles,” he mumbled, “but I am afraid that your brother Samuel has already, ah, occupied the guest suite. But perhaps—“

“What?” Charlie Junior and Hilda bellowed in unison.

“But perhaps the staff and I might make you comfortable in any of the third floor guestrooms?” Woolsby soldiered on. “Or in the cottage?”

“Now you see here,” huffed Charlie Junior, actually poking Woolsby in the chest. “You tell my worthless, idiot pothead brother that the guest suite goes to me, see? I mean… we’ve got Baby Chuckie!”

As if to back up his father, Charles IV screamed, “WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

Inside, Adelle flinched. Woolsby couldn’t ever confront Samuel, even if the middle Oakwater son was willingly setting the house on fire. Charlie Junior was putting the poor butler in an impossible position. Even now, Woolsby was staring at the youngest Oakwater with a helpless look in his eye.

“Ah, Monsieur Woolsby?” she said tenderly. “Perhaps we could place Master and Mrs. Charles in the Stratford bedroom? The Winchester bedroom is next door, and could be converted into a nursery.”

The Charlie Junior family stared at her. “But…” Hilda protested, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“The Stratford room is just off the elevator lift,” Adelle pointed out.

“Yeah…” Charlie Junior considered. “Yeah! Yeah, so it is.” His eyes swiveled down Adelle’s body one more. “And if we need anything, we can summon you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, eh?” he asked the young maid. “Okay, Woolbie, the Stratford and Winchester will do.”

Looking suspicious, Hilda shot an acidic glare at Adelle.

It was fortunate that the new guests were situated far apart within the great house. William, Samuel, Charlie Junior, and Hilda thought nothing of screaming at the servant staff for anything, any whim at all. Their demands were usually extravagant, made with little thought, and the expectation that their wishes could be fulfilled almost instantly. Not once did any of these orders come with a “thank you” or even an acknowledgement of labor.

As the sun was setting, Adelle found herself traipsing back through the Grand Hall, on yet another errand for Samuel. The young maid was developing a headache, and her feet ached.

To her consternation, there was an older, slender woman standing in the foyer, slipping out of a long, white coat. A servant in a chauffer’s uniform was setting down two large suitcases next to her.

‘Another Oakwater guest?’ Adelle thought in annoyance. ‘And she didn’t even ring the doorbell?’

Poor Woolsby was under William’s orders at the moment, and couldn’t possibly receive the new arrival. Adelle forced a welcoming smile onto her face, then approached the woman.

The lady was in her late forties, elegant and quite beautiful. Her hazel eyes sparkled, and her straight brown hair flowed down her neck in a graceful river. The woman wore a city dress with matching heels and a sparkling (but tasteful) diamond necklace. From her posture and movement, Adelle could tell that the woman had spent many years in refining school when she was a girl.

On her own, the woman opened the foyer closet and hung her own coat. She jumped a little when she spotted Adelle.

“Oh!” the woman gasped. “You scared me.”

“Madame,” said Adelle, still suspicious. “Might I help you?”

“You’re new,” the woman replied, studying Adelle with a gentle smile. “I knew they wanted to bring in a new maid, but I didn’t know how soon.”

“Oui,” Adelle merely said, wondering how to handle this situation.

The woman suddenly laughed. “Oh goodness me,” she gushed. “I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” She swept forward, warmly taking both of Adelle’s hands. “I’m Wendy, Wendy Viebeck. I’m Charles Senior’s fiancée.”

“Oh,” said Adelle. “Oh! Oh, Madame!” She blushed. “Please to forgive, Madame, I thought—“

“Goodness knows what you thought,” chuckled Wendy, a twinkle in her eye. “The fault is mine, I really should have introduced myself straightaway.”

The older woman sighed happily, looking about the Great Hall. “Ah, its good to be home.” She smiled at Adelle once more. “And nice to see a new face to greet me. Tell me, child, what is your name?”

“Adelle, Madame.”

“Well, Adelle, welcome to Stockwood Manor. I hope Woolsby and Thérèse have been helping you feel at home?”

The young maid blushed again. “Oui, quite, Madame.” She moved toward the suitcases. “May I help you these…?”

“Oh, leave those, leave those,” Wendy implored. “My dear, each weigh fifty pounds! Let Woolsby arrange for the footmen to bring them up with a trolley, when he has the time.”

Relieved, Adelle merely nodded.

“I suppose Charles is in his suite?” Wendy asked, checking her watch.

Now Adelle tensed. Was… the mistress, Eleanor Vesper, upstairs with Charles Senior? She didn’t know.

“I think I’ll pop up and surprise him,” Wendy said to no-one in particular. She beamed again at the young maid. “So lovely to meet you, Adelle. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

And without another word, she walked briskly to the Grand Staircase.

Adelle spent the next few hours bracing for… well, she didn’t know what. In her imagination, she could see Wendy flinging open the doors of Charles Senior’s suite, only to discover her beloved and Eleanor Vesper in a state of… well… The scenarios didn’t look good.

But aside from the Oakwater children bellowing at the servant staff, there was no eruption from the master suite. Wendy went upstairs to see Charles Senior, and then… all was quiet.

Still outraged over who possessed the coveted guest suite, the Oakwater children refused to dine with one another. They stubbornly remained in their bedrooms. The staff was forced to hand-deliver individual meals up from the kitchen, which was a logistical nightmare. How do you keep the soup hot and the wine chilled and the h’orderves crisp and the roast beef juices from running into the mashed potatoes when all of these things must be carried all across the house? The Oakwaters noticed every imperfection in the meal, and berated the servants without hesitation.

For her part, Adelle served the dinner to Samuel, still holed up in the guest suite. He ate in the little dining room, making crude jokes about Adelle’s figure the entire time. The middle Oakwater son was not terribly lucid; Adelle was certain that he had once again sampled his favorite narcotic. He also smoked his favorite stinky cigarettes throughout the entire meal.

“Eh, that’s enough,” Samuel slurred, pushing away his plate. “Take it all away.”

The young maid gathered up the dishes, set them on the trolley, then whisked everything away. The more time she spent with Samuel, the more he disgusted her.

Down in the kitchens, Adelle bumped into Thérèse. The head maid was also returning a trolley of dirty dishes. She looked dazed and tired.

“Thérèse!” Adelle said in French, pleased to see her friend. “Girl, you look beat.”

Managing a limp smile, Thérèse replied, “Yeah…” She blinked. “You are assigned to Mr. Samuel…?”

“I am,” snorted Adelle, setting her dishes into the soapy sink. “He’s a real charmer, let me tell you. So have you been attending Charles Senior this whole time—”

“That reminds me,” Thérèse said wearily. “When you’re done here, head up to the Winchester bedroom? Baby Chuckie needs a diaper change. And someone needs to feed him his evening mush.”

Adelle’s grim smile dropped from her face. “Me?”

“I can’t spare anyone else,” insisted Thérèse. “I’m sorry, it has to be done.”

“Sure,” Adelle allowed. But she was fuming on the inside. What did she know about babies? Nothing!

Baby Chuckie put up a great fight, screaming and flinging his dinner in all directions. Adelle spent more time wiping up his messes than she did actually getting food inside the little brat. The kid was young, but he definitely understood that he was an Oakwater: rotten, spoiled, ungrateful, and only happy when he could see everyone else was miserable.

After three hours, however, the little tyke lost steam. He yawned like a grizzly and without warning, dropped into a deep sleep, right there in his highchair. Adelle carefully wiped him down, transferred him into a swaddle, and then lay him in his crib. Then she dimmed the lights and slipped into the corridor.

As she staggered back to the Grand Staircase, the young maid realized how tired she was. All day long, she’d sprinted and slaved for the Oakwaters. And the day wasn’t over yet. And the weekend was only beginning!

It was a good twenty minute walk from the west to east wings, and then up to the guest suite. Adelle still had to turn in the bed and draw the evening bath for Samuel. Then, barring some calamity, she was off-duty.

The guest suite was quiet, even though all the lights were on. But Samuel was no-where to be seen. The ashtray was overflowing with the butts of his black cigarettes… but none had been recently lit. The middle Oakwater child was out.

Just as well, Adelle thought wearily.

She snapped off every light but the bedside reading lamp. Then, she moved to the master bedroom, drawing the heavy curtains over the French windows. Next, she pulled the oversized comforter off the four-poster master bed.

Adelle was about to open up the sheets when the suite’s double doors banged open. Two people, groping and kissing wildly, were staggering inside, a man and a woman. Obscured by the darkness, they fumbled about as they entered.

“Wait, wait, wait,” the man laughed. Samuel.

He twisted about, slamming the doors to the corridor shut. “C’mere, baby,” he demanded, and then the wild kissing resumed.

Adelle stood, frozen in horror. As the couple made their way towards the bed, she could see who the woman was…

Eleanor Vesper. Charles Senior’s mistress.

‘Quick, behind the curtains!’ the young maid thought. She was about to move when Eleanor looked over, and the two women’s eyes locked.

“Shit!” Eleanor yelled. “You!” Her eyes bulged.

Inside, Adelle wanted to scream in frustration.