The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The world of Stockwood Manor turned upside-down overnight.

William (and poor José) were whisked away to jail in no time flat. José was quickly deported back to Mexico, and counted himself lucky to have escaped. William’s ultimate fate was not so generous.

Samuel, who had less sense than Adelle gave him credit for, had tried to make a run from the law. In his panic, the foolish man had made a dash for it with only his sports car and the cash he happened to have in the glove compartment. As the New York State Police, and then the FBI, conducted a manhunt for him, Samuel hid out in a roadside motel for a few days. But then he got bored. He located a heroin dealer, shot up, and then smashed his roadster around a roadside boulder. Thankfully for his sake, he was killed instantly.

This left Charlie Junior the last surviving heir named in Charles Senior’s will. Hardly able to believe his evil luck, Charlie assumed ownership of Stockwood Manor, and then his father’s ample bank accounts. It was Charlie’s ambition to live like a king in the great house for the rest of his days. He wanted to pass it along to Baby Chuckie, when the time came.

Hilda was coaxed into relocating to Stockwood, but not into Charlie’s bedroom. The fat woman refused to see her adulterous husband, and so she and Baby Chuckie moved into the coveted Guest Suite. This gave all the servants a great headache.

Poor heartbroken Wendy Viebeck was turned away by Charlie Junior, and by that point, she wanted nothing more to do with the name Oakwater. She moved to Paris, becoming much happier as she continued on to her autumn years.

William Oakwater’s trial was a media sensation, which exposed Eleanor Viebeck as an amoral manipulator. The National Guild of Hypnotists rushed to assure the public that Eleanor’s work was not credible and the success of her brainwashing techniques had more to do with the innocence of her victims than the reciprocating powers of hypnosis.

And Adelle?

After the murder, the trial, the newspapermen who hounded her, and the arrival of Charlie Junior and his family, the young maid decided that she had finally had enough of the world of the Oakwaters. She handed in her two-week notice to a surprised Mrs. Clatchet, then began making preparations to find a new position in New York City.

It shouldn’t have surprised Adelle in the slightest when she learned that all the Stockwood maids were also quitting. “To think!” Vivienne exclaimed one night after the servants’ dinner. “Charles Senior hired us because we have sexy bodies and he wanted to hypnotize us to sock his cock! How disgusting, no?”

Adelle couldn’t argue.

Mrs. Clatchet pleaded with the young women, but all four had made up their collective minds. Their little rebellion felt good.

“You should come with me to Manhattan,” Adelle coaxed Thérèse. “There are many rich patrons who would hire a pair of experienced maids! Com’on!”

“Ah, no,” Thérèse murmured. For no reason Adelle could understand, her friend wouldn’t be budged.

September 17th was the maids’ last day. In an act of solidarity, the four young women had conspired to all walk out of Stockwood Manor for the last time together. That afternoon, they changed out of their skimpy uniforms, switched to reasonable street clothes, and then threw themselves a mini-party in the servants’ common room.

“Look what I swiped from the kitchen!” Léonette giggled, unveiling two bottles of wine.

Adelle was slightly shocked.

“Oh, come now,” said Vivienne, already pulling out a cork. “This place worked us to the bone. Well except for lazy Thérèse here. I don’t think you handled a feather duster or vacuum cleaner all week!”

“Hey!” Thérèse protested. “I told you, I hurt my hand.”

“Aw, relax,” Vivienne smirked, smelling the bottle. “This was not a good job. I think we four deserve a little alcohol for our troubles.”

“Amen,” seconded Léonette, and passed out goblets.

After a few minutes, Adelle decided that her sisters were right; why not have one last drink on Charles Senior’s tab? It wouldn’t make up for the hardships she’d been put through… but she was unlikely to get any other compensation. So she filled her goblet, too.

The wine flowed, and soon the young women were laughing and making silly jokes. And all felt right with the world.

But Adelle’s smile faded when she noticed that Thérèse had left her goblet completely untouched.

The skies were gray as Adelle exited the gates of Stockwood, carrying her two suitcases. She had already seen Vivienne and Léonette drive off in their taxi. But she wanted to make one more good-bye.

Half a mile from the Oakwaters’ manor was the local bus stop. Thérèse was sitting on the bench there, wearing a plain street dress, overcoat, and a shawl over her head. The former head maid smiled briefly as Adelle joined her. Adelle set her suitcases beside her on the ground.

“You know, the bus won’t be along for maybe an hour,” Adelle told her friend, using French. “You sure you don’t want to take that cab with me? When I called, the man on the phone said my driver will be here in another twenty minutes.”

“Ah, thank you,” Thérèse replied, “but the bus is fine.”

Adelle paused, studying the road before them, and the New York countryside beyond that.

“Why didn’t you have any wine?” she asked pointedly. “I thought wine-tasting was one of your guilty pleasures.”

Thérèse gave a small smile and a shrug. “Didn’t feel like it today,” she said.

Adelle gave her friend a hard look. “No, that’s not it, Thérèse,” she replied softly.

The other woman didn’t respond.

“You’re pregnant,” Adelle said levelly. “With Charles Senior’s child. Aren’t you?”

Thérèse’s lips thinned. She sat straighter and looked out at the distant green hills.

“I didn’t understand at first,” said Adelle, “because you hid your tracks so very well. But it was you I saw that night in the Master Suite. You were the one crouching in the bedroom. You killed Charles Senior.”

“I don’t know why you say this,” Thérèse said loftily. “Mr. William killed Charles Senior. We all know that.”

“No…” said Adelle, shaking her head. “He couldn’t have. Mr. William was a horrible person, true, but he couldn’t have committed murder. That man couldn’t even tie his own shoes or pull out his own chair. He was entirely dependent on everything being done for him. And I’m certain poor, sweet José wouldn’t have killed on his behalf. Mr. William had motive and opportunity, but he lacked means.”

“But you, you had all three,” the younger woman continued. “Charles Senior seduced you, put his seed in you, then cast you aside when you confronted him. You knew that your time at Stockwood was numbered, and because you were hurt, you wanted revenge. So you bided your time.”

Thérèse’s jaw tightened.

Adelle’s eyes narrowed. “You had means and motive. But you had to wait for opportunity, wait for a time when the whole house was distracted and you could commit the crime and escape safely. So when Mrs. Hilda threw her tantrum, and then you knew I wasn’t going to serve Mr. Oakwater his brandy right away, you grabbed a spare rag, soaked it in a cleaning solution or rat poison, and then entered the suite. Perhaps Mr. Oakwater thought you were me until it was too late?

“But I came upstairs sooner than you anticipated. When you heard me enter, you tried to hide in the bedroom. You were lucky that I couldn’t make out your face, but when you realized I was about to snap on a light, you dove out of sight. And you broke the mirror, cutting your hand.”

Adelle took Thérèse’s wrist and gently turned it. There, across Thérèse’s palm, was a fresh scar, perhaps three weeks old.

The eyes of the two women met. Neither reacted.

“Ah. This is why you haven’t been using the feather duster or any heavy tool,” Adelle said.

Thérèse yanked her hand back, hugged her own stomach, and stared furiously at the horizon.

“Later that night,” resumed Adelle, “after I sounded the alarm, and when we all were staring at Charles Senior’s body in a state of shock, you found the first possible excuse to leave the suite. You volunteered to call the police. And you did call the police… but not before bandaging your wound and cleaning off any physical evidence on your body. Just like Mr. William figured.”

There was a pause.

“Why, Thérèse?” Adelle asked softly. “How could the sweetest girl… whom I thought was my friend… how could she do such a monstrous thing?”

Thérèse didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was low and angry. “Perhaps a five weeks ago, maybe more,” she growled, “I went to Charles Senior’s suite, as always, to serve him his evening brandy. But that night, Charles Senior and Ms. Vesper were there, waiting for me. Ms. Vesper insisted that I sit in one of the nice chairs, then began speaking to me, speaking without stopping. I had to look into her eyes as she talked. Soon, I felt very strange. I couldn’t keep my own eyes open. Somehow, that evil woman put me into a bizarre, magical sleep.

“I didn’t realize it, at first. Ms. Vesper was talking to me, and all I wanted to do was obey her voice. I couldn’t resist anything she told me to do. I was her slave.

“When I woke, I found that I was madly in love with both Charles Senior and Ms. Vesper. I allowed them to remove all of my clothes, and then have their way with me. I eagerly made love to them. I called Mr. Charles my master. I allowed him to fuck me as much as he wanted.”

A lone tear rolled down Thérèse’s beautiful and haunted face.

“Later, when Charles Senior grew fatigued, Ms. Vesper put me back under her spell. She told me that I would forget all that had happened. But the next night, once I returned to the suite, I would once again be in her power. And I would return every night, to allow Charles Senior to… deflower me as many ways as he liked.

“Then… perhaps a month later… I woke up with an upset stomach. I saw my doctor. And when he told me I was with child, suddenly all the erased memories came back. I knew what Ms. Vesper had done to me.

“And like a fool, I tried to confront Mr. Charles. That was the Saturday all the Oakwater children were at the house. In fact, the very hour when the bakers were sampling their cakes in the salon. I went to the Master Suite, told Mr. Charles that I knew what he was doing to me, and that I was now carrying his child.”

Thérèse’s voice caught. “He became so angry. He called me a greedy slut and a whore. Threatened to destroy me. And I begged with him, but he refused to listen.

“And then, Ms. Vesper appeared and put her under her spell once more. I tried to fight her, but she was just too powerful. She commanded me that I could never speak of any of this, no matter how hard I tried. I left the suite, broken and in disgrace.”

Adelle remained silent.

Thérèse angrily wiped away another tear. “What was I to do?” she asked bitterly. “Mr. Charles and Ms. Vesper had shamed me before God.” She crossed herself. “Mr. Charles was right; I was little more than his whore.

“So because I knew my soul was damned anyway, I decided to take revenge. When Mrs. Hilda created a scene later that day, I knew I could take advantage of the distraction. And so I did.

“When I entered the suite, Mr. Charles was alone. I had planned to surprise him, and then smother him with the poisoned cloth. But he spotted me first. I was lucky that he never suspected what I came to do. But before I could react, he used a… what did Ms. Eleanor call them? A trigger word on me. I fell back into a trance.

“’Go to the bedroom, and strip off all your clothes,’ Mr. Charles ordered me.

“And God help me, but I responded, ‘Yes, master.’ I had to obey him. I went to the bedroom and stripped completely naked while he moved about the suite, turning off lights.

“But after I was naked, Mr. Charles’ instructions were completed. He’d forgotten to command me to do anything else! I found myself completely bare, but with my mind my own once more.”

“So you rushed him before he could trigger you again,” Adelle filled in, understanding now. “The two of you struggled, but you had the advantage.”

“I can still remember how he writhed for his life,” Thérèse said sadly, gazing down at her hands. “It was so horrible, Adelle… You can’t imagine.”

“You’re right,” the younger woman scowled.

Thérèse looked away. “As he dropped to the floor, I realized I had very little time to escape. I flew back into the bedroom…”

“…but only had time to put on your maid’s dress when I arrived,” Adelle finished. “When I screamed and fled, you knew you had barely seconds before people poured into the suite. So you cleverly shoved your stockings into Mr. Charles’ trophy drawer and hoped that no-one noticed your bare legs.” The younger woman shook her head. “I should have seen that.”

There was another tortured pause. Thérèse turned to look at Adelle.

“You know what the truly horrible part of that evening was?” the older woman said, her voice trembled. “The truly horrible part was when I thought you would be punished for my sin.”

Thérèse’s eyes were bright with tears. “Oh, I felt so sick with guilt that night! I tried to push myself to confess, to save you… but I was so afraid.” She tried to take Adelle’s hands in her own.

But Adelle scooted away, putting half a foot of distance between the two women.

Thérèse’s face fell. She lowered her head, murmuring, “Well… thank God that you are safe.”

There was a long silence. In the distance, thunder rumbled within the gray sky.

Wiping her eyes, Thérèse straightened. She cleared her throat.

“No doubt you still know how to contact Monsieur Carpenter,” she said softly. “…so what will you do now?”

Adelle folded her arms. “Nothing,” she said flatly, and now she stared into the distance.

“Nothing?”

“I’m not qualified to be your judge, Thérèse,” Adelle sighed. “But what I want to know is… what will you do now?”

From down the road, a yellow cab approached. It slowed, then stopped. A middle-aged man with a beard and floppy cap stuck his head out the window.

“Hey,” he barked in English. “One of you ladies…” He checked a clipboard. “…Adelle Lamarche?”

Adelle raised her hand.

“Well, let’s go,” the cabbie said, annoyed. “Those your bags?”

“One moment,” Adelle told him sharply. Switching back to French, she asked the silent Thérèse, “Well?”

Thérèse sighed, an exhale of pain and misery. “At the end of this bus ride, there is the Sisters of Holy Mercy,” she replied in French. “A nunnery. I will join them. When my baby comes, I will give it up for adoption. And then, I will spend the rest of my days praying for the Lord to forgive my horrible sins. He will not forgive me… but I will pray all the same.”

“Hey, c’mon!” the cabbie snarled, in English. “Or am I leaving you?”

Adelle shot him an acidic look.

“Adieu, ma amie,” she murmured to Thérèse.

Then the young woman rose, hefted her suitcases into the cab’s backseat, and climbed in herself. The cabbie put the car in gear, and drove off.