The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Caldwell (she no longer thought of herself as an agent) glanced to her side and saw her partner motionless. She had felt the need to wash off the caked sweat of the night before for several hours now, and this was the perfect time, while her partner was recuperating. Ever since they had pulled up next to that little white house, everything had been different. She had felt more pleasure since then than she had ever felt before; she was sore, but felt satisfied. As she walked the few feet to the bathroom door, her nipples hardened. She reached down and felt them, then shivered as a spark of pleasure hit her brain. The overwhelming urge to pleasure herself smashed against what remained of her self control. Quivering, she opened the door and turned on the shower.

After a brief wait for the water to warm, she sat in the shower, pulling the phone-shaped head toward her. She adjusted the setting until the water slapped her skin, making a noise that had become familiar to her. She put it over her pussy and tilted her head back, opening her mouth, catching the water that sprayed off her slit, tasting her flavor in every drop. It felt so good. The cold air that blew against her skin made a delicious contrast between what was going on below and above. Wait a minute—cold air? Frowning, she sat up and pulled the curtain back.

An open window was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

Agent Davis lay on the soft bed of a small bed and breakfast in a quaint little New Hampshire town, completely exhausted. The past 24 hours had been life-changing; all of his memories of before appeared hazy, as if he were viewing them through a shower curtain. The soft hiss of the shower aroused his attention. And speaking of... He grinned.

Davis gingerly pushed himself up. So, Caldwell needed a shower without him, eh? He padded over to the door and paused, gathered himself, and burst in.

“Surpri—”

The word still hung in the air as death took him.

Lieutenant Blair Woodsley, NHPD, leaned back in his new chair. Purchased just this morning from the Lower Back Warehouse two towns over, it was a marvel of modern engineering. It had a fully mesh seat that adjusted to the contours of the spine, a sonic massager and a built in phone. It cost more than his first car. He was considering divorcing his wife and marrying it.

“Ooooooh, Christ, what a chair.”

“I’m sorry chief. Am I interrupting something?” Bradley Whitcomb: the newest member on the force, the first recruit they’d had in ten years. He was the kind of man who found a shaving-cream pie shoved in someone’s face irresistably funny, and would stop at nothing to deliver said pie. This comment was actually witty for Bradley.

“Fuck off, Bradley.” He grinned. “What is it?”

“Sir, sorry to bother you, but...”

Bradley looked serious. This was a first.

“What is it? Come on, out with it?”

“Sir, it’s the B n’ B. There’s been...something horrible...” He rushed over to Blair’s trash can, emptied out the paper, and puked what had to be several days’ worth of food into it. Blair was speechless. He couldn’t imagine what could do this to a kid like Bradley, who could put a cow’s heart in one of the officers’ mailboxes.

“Which B n’ B?”

“Unngh...Doosty Inn...Urk...” Bradley turned back to the can as Woodsley rushed from the office.

Ten minutes later he pulled up next to the Doosty Inn, established 1952. The sole remaining landmark of what once was a fairly steady tourist business, the inn had escaped the economic trials and tribulations of the past fifty years with low prices, the best flapjacks in town and a small but thriving drug trafficking business. Their donations to the local police force had paid for his chair. It wouldn’t do to have too sensational a case happen at the Doosty Inn; what if the FBI stepped in? Oh, Christ.

A whole train wreck of events paraded in front of his eyes. The meth lab, the small marijuana farm in the backyard: discovered; his department: investigated; Blair: in prison, being fucked in the ass by some 8-foot tall man who was in prison for triple homicide. His wife would divorce him, and probably shack up with Bradley. That clown would fucking shove shaving cream pies up her cunt! The well of emotion and frustration boiled up within Woodsley until he exploded.

“FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” He slammed the steering wheel repeatedly, as if trying to hammer it into the engine. After several minutes, he put himself together and stepped out of the car. Good. No one had noticed his little...episode.

“What room?” That was all he needed to say to the man in the lobby.

“206.”

Woodsley was immediately struck by the lingering presence of sex as he stepped into the small but tasteful bedroom. The bed had certainly been well used and clothing was flung about, but what really alerted him was the smell. He hadn’t smelled a bedroom like that since his honeymoon—that is, until yesterday, when both he and his wife had both rushed home from work at about midday and fucked each other silly. Odd, now that he came to think about it, that both of them would feel that itch.

A voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts: “I think you should look in the bathroom, Officer.” That would be Mr. Dootsy the Younger. He was responsible for the recent diversification of the bed and breakfast into the world of drug smuggling. And, Woodsley reminded himself, the chair, the vacation to Cape Cod and the box of Cubans that were his current mistress. Dootsy was of the school that believed crime should be a way of life as well as a job. Since he had started dealing, he had purchased several black suits and a rackful of beautiful silk ties and had grown a small mustache. The mustache did not flatter him; his long, pointy nose and small eyes made him look like a weasel impersonating an actor impersonating a gangster. Still, he did pay for the chair...

“Ok.”

Fifteen seconds later he was puking his guts out into the small hotel trash can. Christ! He had never seen anything like it before in his life. The remains of two naked people, strewn about the small bathroom, each part gnawed as if by some beast. Their eyes stared out from their heads; their mouths were fixed in soundless screams. And on the floor of the bathroom, paw prints, shaped like a dog’s, but far too big...

“What is it, Gramps?”

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“What?”

“Tell me you didn’t use the necklace to come here.”

“Uh...”

“Gaahhhh! You............” His grandfather compressed his lips tightly and inhaled deeply, trying to control himself.

“What?”

“Do you have ANY IDEA what you’re doing? I mean...FUCK!”

Josh flinched. His grandfather had never scolded him before by swearing at him. This was a whole new world of pissed off.

“Look, Gramps. I really don’t have any idea what I’m doing. You know why? Because YOU DIDN’T TELL ME ANYTHING.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be fooling around with the necklace now. It’s not even supposed to work until it’s been worn for twenty years.”

“Why?”

“It has to adapt to your brain patterns. Look, we really don’t have time for this. You need to get back to the living. Just crossing over may have...well...if I were you, I’d see if anything strange has happened. Where are you living now, by the way?”

“I’m still in your house, Gramps.”

“Hmm...I left some stuff down in the basement. Check the secret drawer in the desk, third drawer down on the left. Take the pen out of the holder on the desk then pull the drawer all the way out.”

“Thanks. Gramps......why are you here?”

“Read the files, Josh.”

“Gramps...”

“Go. Staying here is only making things worse.”

Josh wound a finger around the necklace and wished he were back in front of his grandfather’s house. A whirl of wind, sound, light, and electricity surrounded him. Now he knew how a bug felt being flushed down the toilet. WHOOOSH.

Kate had been rubbing herself for several hours now, and, though she had cum time after time, she was getting bored. She missed the feeling of having a big cock lodged inside of her; that full, complete feeling she had when merged with another human being completely.

The doorbell rang. “Fuck!” she thought to herself. She had completely forgotten that she had scheduled the phone company to send a man over to install a second line for her house. She couldn’t get out of bed—she would have to stop touching herself; make those wonderful feelings inside go away. Or...would she?

She went down the stairs as gracefully as she could with one hand firmly wedged inside her pussy, feeling out every last nook and cranny inside—even the ones whats-his-name couldn’t reach. So it was with her left hand that she opened the door, and her left that she pulled Carl the phone guy into her house. He was one of the guys who had gawked at her since middle school; he certainly didn’t need a second invitation. The unspoken pact he had made with the other men of the town not to date her went out the window in a second.

“Carl...”

He was feverishly unbuttoning his pants. “What, Kate?”

“Carry me up to the bedroom.”

“Whatever you say, Kate.” He laughed nervously.

As he finished taking off his clothes, Carl took stock for a moment: Kate, the women of his (and everyone’s) dreams stood in front of him, nude, glistening with sweat, her brown hair falling messily on her shoulders, her green eyes underlined with dark patches, but still feverish with desire, her large breasts, jutting out toward him, begging for his touch, her small patch of brown hair between her legs, her long bronzed legs. As he ran his eyes down her body, drinking her in, she stared at his cock, licking her lips in anticipation. Yeah. This was it.

He picked her up in one quick motion and walked up the steps. Freed from obligations to move, or stand, Kate began stroking her pussy again. Carl laid her down on the bed softly, then jumped on top of her. Afraid that this was a dream, or a vision, and that if he delayed too long she would vanish or change her mind, he immediately slammed his cock into her. She was definitely not a virgin anymore; he slid easily inside her.

Kate was in ecstasy. This cock was bigger than the one before. It strained her boundaries even more than they already had been. This was sex. And yet...was this all? It was better than before, yes, but was this as good as it got? She had to know.

Carl had only been pounding her for about a minute yet he already felt like he was about to cum. He had simply waited too long for this day, fantasized too much. He was in a trance, focused solely on the sensations coming from his cock. Until...

“Carl?”

He stopped abruptly and shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What?”

“Is there anything better to sex than this?”

Oh, so she was kinky? He wasn’t good enough? Well, he had a few tricks. “Ok, Kate, do what I say.”

“Ok.”

“Say, ‘Yes sir!’”

“Yes sir!” Kate was already getting in the mood, putting real excitement into her reply.

“Spread your legs as wide as you can, Kate.”

“Yes, sir!” She stretched her legs as wide as they could go, exposing her engorged cunt to him.

“Now tilt back as far as you can so your legs are pointing toward the back wall.”

“Yes, sir!” Now her tiny asshole was exposed as well. He slammed himself back into her cunt at this new angle, and she gasped in response. After several pistoning strokes in and out of her, he rubbed his finger against her sopping wet slit, moistening it. Then, after plunging himself as far into her as he could, he penetrated her ass with his finger. He was rewarded with a long, low moan. He began thrusting into her again with vigor. As he continued, his first finger was joined by a second, and, finally a third.

The feeling of being totally filled was almost there for Kate. She recieved countless pulses of pleasure from the ultrasensitive inner walls of her pussy and, now, her ass. The pulses seemed to run together, maginifying each other. They moved easily up and down her body, as if she were a spring or rope in her high school physics class. They intensified and intensified until it seemed her body was one large pulse, vibrating up and down. She felt warm rushes of cum spurt inside of her as Carl let himself go. As he stopped his thrusting, the pulses gradually decreased in speed and size, until finally she was a limp rope again. That had been...nice...but she didn’t feel that moment of blessed release, when ordered pleasure dissolved into chaos. But she liked what he had done with her ass.

“Carl?”

“What?”

“Do you know someone who could put their cock in my ass?” Carl recoiled, shocked by her boldness.

“Damn, Kate.”

“What?”

“Just...I never thought of you saying things like that. Yeah. I got a friend. Where’s the phone?”

She pointed and he dialed the number. “Steve? Yeah, it’s Carl. Dude, you are not going to believe this...”

Josh felt as if he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Every muscle cried out in protest as he slowly pushed himself up off the porch floor. Getting down to the basement and popping open the secret drawer would have normally taken him about two minutes, but in his state it took him ten.

After finally opening the drawer, he was greeted with a worn manila folder, stuffed full of yellowing documents. His grandfather had scrawled the word “MANACHLORITE” across the front. He sat back in his grandfather’s old black leather recliner and perused the documents.

The file started with a bunch of memos, which he quickly leafed through, noting only the headings. “Meteorite Containment Practices,” “Chemical Analysis,” “Manachlorite’s Effects on Animals,” “Security Leak Precautions” “BBQ Celebrating Privatization, Sunday.”

Here was a handwritten note from his grandfather.

“Josh, if you are reading this, then my lawyer, as instructed, has told you how to access the drawer. Happy 44th birthday! You may have noticed strange things happening as of late. This is not an accident—it is a direct result of the necklace I gave to you. The necklace is made of a substance, manachlorite, which adapts to a person’s brain waves and can turn visualization into reality. There’s not much I know for sure, but the following, at least, is true. Do NOT use this necklace frivolously. It will attract the government’s attention and can alter the personalities and behaviors of others. Do NOT overuse it. The more you use it, the more powerful it gets and the more attuned it becomes to your wishes, to the point where even a passing fancy becomes reality. This happened to my friends and co-researchers—don’t let it happen to you. Good luck, Josh.”

“What the hell did I do? Oh, God!”

He tucked the file under his arm and sprinted out of the house. He had to talk to Kate. He had to fix things. He had to.

Kate was in heaven. She crouched over Carl, letting his thick cock impale her, driving it into her as far as it would go. Steve stood next to the bed, thrusting into her ass again and again.

“Yeah, you like that? You like that?” Steve was a talker.

“Ooooohhhh yeah. Don’t...ahhh....”

“That’s right. You take it. You take it like a slut.” He started slapping her ass with his hand, adding yet another sound to the cacaphony. She was screaming now, Carl was grunting, his cock was making wet sucking sounds as it thrust in and out. Steve was yelling, spanking her, driven wild by the sound of his balls slapping her ass as he pushed himself in. This time, she found her release, embraced the chaos, could let herself plunge into the feelings washing over her body, cleansing her. Her fingers raked Carl’s chest as both he and Steve exploded into her.

Then the dog started barking downstairs. A shower of broken glass crashed onto the floor of the hall outside her room, and she heard a soft thump, then a snarl.

Roger Thompson, Executive Director of the Bureau of Abnormal Management, toyed with the unfamiliar bracelet on his hand as his private jet began its descent into Manchester Airport, New Hampshire. He had realized that he had forgotten to place it back in the seized equipment room before he left. If there were to be any day his...indiscretions...were to be discovered, today would certainly be the best—bigger fish to fry didn’t even come close to describing the situation. According the Yurometers at the bureau, someone had successfully crossed over to the world of the dead and back. At first Thompson had simply been concerned about someone making a power grab, like the five scientists had done back in the 70’s. Robert, Richard, Paul, Charles, and “Skip”—no one in his line of work needed to refer to their last names.

He could picture the devices they had used as they were now—sitting in a case made predominantly of plexiglass (but reinforced with titanium bars) in the center of the seized equipment room. Such innocent looking devices, each a piece of jewelry. A ring, a bracelet, an earring, an armband, and a watch, each made of that curious red metal. Despite numerous tests, no one had ever been able to figure out how they worked—for any that tried (including Roger) they were just gaudy pieces of jewelry. The scientists weren’t talking; though the loss of possible information was regrettable, Roger had had to have them killed. They hadn’t gone down easily though—“Skip,” the most dangerous of them all, had killed so many would-be assassins that Roger had had to order a missile strike carried out.

The scientists haunted him. They had been so weak to begin with; so easy to stop. The Yurometers at the Bureau had registered the abnormal surges of power; when agents came back reporting nothing out of the ordinary, he had simply dismissed it as a glitch. The Yurometer kept insisting on psychic activity, though, and the disruptions gradually increased in force until it became clear that the agents had, in fact, been misled—or brainwashed. Had he only realized what was going on at the beginning—no! Might-have-beens did him no good! He wondered, though, what had gone on; how the Five—so law-abiding their whole lives—service with distinction in World War Two—had gone so wrong.

The bracelet began rotating of its own accord. “Holy shit!” Roger tried to pull the bracelet off of his wrist but it was moving too fast now—it was a blur around his wrist. The jet around him vanished suddenly—he was floating in midair—then it was back, and he was in his leather seat again—then it was gone—then the world went dark.

When Roger opened his eyes again, he was in a small laboratory, staring at the backs of six men in white lab coats who were speaking gibberish to each other. Glass beakers lined the black countertop that ringed the room, and a wall calendar prominently displaying Marilyn Monroe and the words “MARCH 1954” hung on a wall next to a rusty pair of green doors. Through round windows on the door Roger could see an empty hallway that stretched on for what seemed like forever.

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?” No one paid any attention. “Hey! Assholes! I asked what was going on?” Still no response. “HEY!” He walked toward the shortest one, and laid his hand on the man’s shoulder—and watched the hand sink right through and emerge from the small of his back. What was this? An illusion? A movie? He stepped back and tried to pay attention to what was going on in front of him.

“Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah!”

“Blah blah blah, blah BLAH blah blah.” The group chuckled.

“Blah, blah blah blah blah. Blah?”

“Blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah easily moldable. We could make it into anything we want.”

“We don’t know anything about metal-working though.”

“I know, but we could learn. I don’t want to give this to someone else to handle, do you guys? This is our secret, right?”

“I guess so, Skip.” Jesus. The bracelet had...oh dear God.

“Well, lets put it back in its place. Lunch is almost over.”

“I’m so tired of this job. Why couldn’t just one of us work here and let the others in to examine it?”

“Christ, Rick. Do we have to argue about this every fucking day? This is a helluva lot less suspicious than five total strangers trooping down a restricted area at night.”

“Sorry, Skip.”

Skip turned and walked directly at Roger, holding a red rock in his hands, about the size of a man’s head. Skip was a different man than the one he had become familiar with over the several years of conflict. What Roger was confronted with was a clean-shaven young man, probably in his early thirties, still with rounded cheeks and a ruddy complexion. Still, there was something about him—there was anger there behind his eyes, yes, and impatience.

Skip placed the rock under a loose tile in the floor and rejoined the group. Laughing at some private joke, the six walked out of the room, and everything blurred. The pages of the wall calendar turned three times until a particularly sexy picture of Monroe lying on a bearskin rug announced that it was June. The six men were back. He recognized all of them except for one man with piercing blue eyes and a brown beard touched by stray hairs of grey. Once again Skip removed the rock from the floor and placed it on a table. He took a hammer and chisel, breathed deeply, and smashed the rock in half. A pulsing red stone lay inside, smooth and unweathered, while the pocked and worn red rock lay shattered around the table. Skip picked up the stone and sighed.

“Well, it’s lucky that we didn’t melt down the rock yet for molding. You were right, James.” The last sentence sounded like it was extracted from him by a dentist.

“Oh, hey, Skip. Just a lucky guess. We can do your plan now, though.” Was James an idiot? The worst way to appease someone who was envious of success was to play it off like it didn’t matter—it just made the other person feel stupid for caring so much, and all the more resentful of the seeming nonchalance.

Skip grabbed the rock and slid it into his pocket. The six turned and walked out. The pages turned again until Monroe, standing nude next to a black and white fire, announced “DECEMBER”. The men walked in again, each wearing the jewelry. And the man he didn’t know wore a red necklace—there was still a piece of that rock on the loose. Shouting distracted him from his thoughts.

“IT’S NOT RIGHT, SKIP!”

“You shut the fuck up James. You shut up NOW. We VOTED. The security guard has to be silenced. Everything we’ve worked for could be DESTROYED. Because you have a FUCKING CONSCIENCE ATTACK?” Skip was in James’s face, screaming at the top of his lungs, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Fuck you, Skip. I’m out.”

“You can’t just WALK OUT, JAMES. You could give us all away. What, you think the government is just gonna let us get away with these private experiments?”

“What are you going to do, Skip? Kill me? Like that security guard? What the fuck IS WRONG WITH YOU?” James turned and walked out of the room. Skip reached into his pocket, but one of the other men restrained him.

“GET OFF ME, RICK. STOP BEING A FUCKING PUSSY!”

“No, Skip. Let him go. He won’t rat on us. Now, c’mon. There’s still five of us. Let’s do what we gotta do.”

The scene vanished, and Roger was back on the jet. He glanced outside his window. The plane was still in the air. Apparently time had stopped here while he’d been in the past. This bracelet was more powerful than he’d thought—more powerful certainly than the original owner had known.

As the plane touched down on the private airstrip outside the small town, Roger was lost in his thoughts. He had a chance now to make up for what he’d failed at in the 70’s. Fuck this up, and his life had meant nothing.

Kate threw Steve off of her, towards the door. Danger. Monster. Attack. If it kills us, no more sex. Must keep dog out. “STEVE! SHUT THE DOOR.”

Steve clawed for the handle as he stumbled toward the hallway. The creature sniffed the air twice, then bounded towards him. It was truly a monstrosity—it was the size of horse, with a gigantic, barrel-shaped torso and thick long legs capped by frying-pan sized paws with three giant claws at the end of each. It had the face of a dog, but with teeth Kate had only seen in Jurassic Park. And it’s eyes...they glowed blue with unholy fire. The door closed just as it sprang. CRASH. The door shuddered on its frame. Steve exhaled loudly.

“Holy shit Kate, what was tha—” The door burst off its hinges and crushed Steve underneath the weight of the gigantic dog. Carl ran for the window, but was caught in mid-stride. The beast bore Carl down underneath him. From the bed Kate heard the snap of bone and low snarling. “No more fuck,” Kate thought, and whimpered. She needed a cock inside her. Now!

Whimpering was a mistake. The beast, distracted from its feeding, lifted its head in the air, a bloody piece of flesh still in its jaws. Its eyes burned with renewed fire as it saw Kate on the bed. With a roar, it sprang at her.

“Oh shitohshitohshitohshit.” Josh’s swearing became a mantra as he sprinted down the sidewalk toward Kate’s house. He understood what had happened to her—being warped by the necklace three times in 24 hours, and at such close proximity, was too much for anyone to handle. She had taken on the characteristics of the wishes he had made—since they had all related to sex, she had become obsessed with it.

Finally the house appeared on his right. The tree, the white paint, the—shattered second story window? Josh tore through the front yard, slammed the door open and pounded up the stairs. Glass shards crunched under his feet until he stopped, frozen. A bloody corpse lay on the floor in front of the bed. A hideous monster crouched on the bed, eating something. His higher brain, before it ceased to work altogether, made one coherent thought—“Kate. Dead”—then switched onto automatic pilot. He wished to kill this thing, this thing that had robbed him of Kate, the kindest woman he had ever known, the woman he had fucked up, tainted, and finally exposed to this hideous creature alone. He didn’t wish for it to be dead, or go back to wherever it came from—he wished to kill it.

And so it was that he found himself alone against a giant hellhound, a silver longsword gripped in his hands. The sword flashed with red fire, and the energy sprang from it to the creature on the bed. It howled in anguish, and turned. Its taste for blood was not yet sated. Nothing it had encountered yet in this pathetic world had even put up a fight. This would be a worthy challenge. The creature bared its teeth at Josh, then hopped onto the floor and padded softly towards him. Josh held the sword in front of him, backing away slowly. There was a room behind him, a larger one, where he could take a full swing. As he reached the doorframe, everything slowed down. Four things happpened together: the beast jumped toward him, its fangs bared; the back of his foot hit the raised section of carpet in the room behind him; his balance shifted to compensate, then failed miserably; and he began to fall backwards.

The beast sailed over his head as the sword, its handle still gripped tightly in his right hand, swung up in the air as he flailed to regain his balance. The tip of the sword flashed, and the flaming silver parted the creature’s belly easily, dumping blue flame all over Josh. An otherworldly howl emanated from the beast as it slammed into the back wall of the room behind, quivered, and slumped motionless to the ground.

Josh’s face felt as if it were on fire.

It was.

He ripped part of his shirt off and desperately pounded his face with the fabric, hoping to smother the flame. After an eternity of agony the smoke stopped, and his face became cool. Odd. Touching an iron or a frying pan had never felt like this. He staggered to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. An unmarked face greeted him. Except the eyes. His eyes were blue—not brown. What the fuck had it done to him? A moan from the other room reminded him of what had gone on. “Kate.”

The figure on the ground was moaning. It wasn’t Kate—it was a naked man. Worthless. A lifeless hand stretched out from under the door—another naked man lay underneath. What the fuck had Kate done? Where was she? Then he saw the bed. Kate—it was she. No doubt about it—what was left of her, anyway. She was dead. He had known it from the second he had seen that creature—he still felt like he was strapped down in front of a pitching machine been turned all the way up and directed at him. The grief and pain inside battered him again and again, and just when he felt it begin to slow, he remembered something she’d said, or the way she’d tilted her head back when she smiled. This room was suffused with his brief memories of her. He staggered to the bed, turned, and wept into his hands.

No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. There had to be something he could do. He could bring her back. Yes. Back. He had to. It was his fault. He had to make it right. He had the power. He could do anything with the necklace.

As the necklace began to pulsate, flashing an intense red glow over the inside of the room, Josh’s eyes glowed with a fire that would have matched the hellhound’s.

Roger welcomed the solid ground. He paused for a moment and inhaled the crisp air deeply. He had never been to this part of the country—it was beautful. The tall trees surrounding the small landing strip looked ancient; as if they had never been logged. Somewhere a bird cawed. Jesus, there were places in the US that were still like this? He closed his eyes to take in the atmosphere—his troubles forgotten—until a wave of force smashed him onto the ground.

It was as if everything bad that had ever happened to him, everything that had caused him pain, had gathered together and assaulted him. Deaths of relatives, break-ups, his failures as a leader, he was taunted, attacked, left broken and battered.

“Roger, you all right?” That sweet voice, with just a hint of a Spanish accent, cutting through the pain. His eyes cracked open.

“You...didn’t feel that?”

“Feel what, Roger?” Odd, that flash of disappointment every time she said his name—ah yes. The hypnosis. Linda had been his most successful ever—deep down, she had wanted to be dominated by a powerful man. But why hadn’t she felt that primal force?

“Let me check you to make sure you’re all right.” With expert hands she prodded his feet, his legs, lingered on his groin, then moved to his hands. “Everything...apppppppeaaarrrssss......o..............”

Roger sat up, shaking his head to remove the lingering voices. His bracelet was rotating around his wrist at an impossible speed. It must have been—he had to get it off! He was about to lose a finger when he realized that he had to make it stop first. But it had always been so powerful...except for just after he had used it to seduce an underling. Then it seemed relatively harmless. Well, it was worth a shot.

“Linda?”

“Yessssssss?”

“You want to have sex with me now, don’t you?”

“Heeerre? Innnn thaaaaaa opppppennnnn?”

“Yes. You have no doubts. You have no taboos about that kind of thing, do you Linda? That only detracts from your pleasure.”

“Yesssss....thattttt woulddddd beeeee niiice...”

“Ok, then, snap out of it. One, two, three.”

“Wha—oh Roger! Let’s make love! Right here.”

He lay back on the ground as she unhooked the button on his pants and slid them down. She crouched above him, her short black skirt pulled up around her waist, her red shirt heaving. She wasn’t wearing panties. Good. Dry pine needles crackled on the ground as she shifted her feet to balance herself. Satisfied with her position, she guided his cock into her. Somehow she was already sopping wet. God, it felt good to be inside her again. He felt like a kid with a brand-new toy. As she rocked up and down on him, she brushed her hair out of her face with her left hand, her face contorted with pleasure. He saw her pussy envelope him, then let him go, then take him in again. Then Roger did something he hadn’t done in many years of sex with his employees—he took over. He wrapped around Linda’s body, pulling her close to him, then took one hand off of her to push himself up. In one motion he rose up, then slowly lowered himself down. All he saw was Linda’s beautiful caramel-colored face underneath him, her soft brown eyes, her huge lashes, her eyes...

He took it slow—somehow it just felt right. The sun poured its soft light onto the back of his neck, suffusing him with warmth. The loneliness of fifteen minutes ago was gone; the feeling inside now was something new. His hands slowly unbuttoned her blouse, freeing the gorgeous breasts inside. He could see their soft brown curves rise in perfect circles. He ran a fingernail between them, down to her belly button, then ran a fingernail up her breast to her nipple as he ran another down, meeting at that beautiful dark circle. He watched her face intently as he pushed in and out of her. Now she was biting her lip, now she was squinting her eyes, now she was pushing her hair back, now she was concentrating intensely, now, now, now, now, now now now nownownownow she opened her eyes and screamed with pleasure as he came inside her, as his mind cleared of all thoughts, and became an empty vessel. Sex with Linda was the ultimate meditation.

Utter contentment replaced whatever had been there before as he pulled out of her and rolled off. He stared at the azure sky and wondered how he’d never managed to come here.

“Roger, what’s this?”

“What?”

“This bracelet. I’ve never seen it before.”

The bracelet! He had to remove it. He fumbled for the catch as he jumped to his feet. He had forgotten everything. Everything! Because of that woman! He started to scowl at her before he got lost in her beautiful, but confused, face.

“Nothing, Linda. Don’t worry about it. Come on! We have to MOVE!”

A hastily assembled meeting of agents was taking place at the house across the street from Kate’s.

“What’s the latest report?”

“Same. He’s just standing over her. His necklace is flashing with increased speed, though. Something’s going to happen soon.”

“We’ve got to hit him now! There’s no time to waste. Four teams of five, move in directly onto the second floor from all sides. Vanguard formation, no sound. We must take him by surprise.”

“Sir!” they responded in unison. As one they rushed off, separating into teams as they went. They’d done this before. Commander Briggs propped himself against the windowsill as he watched them from the second story window. It was a complex dance, almost, like that Baryshnikov he’d caught at the Kennedy. The intelligence, reflexes, and intense amount of training each agent possessed never failed to amaze him. They were scaling the house now. He pulled out his standard-issue binoculars to focus in on the scene in the bedroom. They’d been unable to interfere, of course—their presence was to remain secret until they’d made their move. Civilian casualties were acceptable to protect that. His earpiece crackled to life.

“Waiting on the word, sir.”

“Go.”

The fifteen agents he could see crashed through the windows of the house at what seemed like the same moment. The perp shouted something at the agents, then drew what looked like a gigantic sword.

“SHOOT TO KILL,” Briggs said over the channel. Agents drew their guns and began firing. The madman flopped about as bullet after bullet smashed through bone and flesh. After what had to have been a hundred rounds, he fell. Agents began to high-five one another as they walked out of the room. Grabbing the necklace was a job for the boss. Now was celebration time. This had been the most dangerous perp they’d faced in years. Bonuses would be liberally given.

Then, somehow, the man rose up. Each wound glowed with blue fire instead of pouring out blood.

“WATCH OUT! HE’S BEHIND YOU!”

The agents turned as one, just in time to meet a wall of blue flame. Like that, the Agency’s roster of active field personnel dropped to zero.

Josh turned and looked across the street. He could sense a man’s presence there. The man’s hate and fear radiated from his body. Fool. Josh focused, and the man burst into flame. Now just pain came from the house, now nothing.

The Yurometer built into Roger’s black Taurus beeped frantically as he entered town and passed the large “WELCOME” sign. All the detectors were beeping. This town had been pounded with psychic energy for the better part of a week. It was corrupted, now. They’d made the mistake before of ignoring the background energies, and been confronted with towns whose children made that kid from “The Mask” look like Farrah Fawcette. Something had to be done here—cleanup on a scale that had never been attempted.

The quiet residential streets passed by until he found the one he was looking for. It looked like all the others—except for the house that was burning with blue fire. A fire truck and a crowd of curious neighbors had crowded around it. He checked the address—it was the house that all the energies had been emanating from.

“Jesus, Roger, what happened here?”

Christ, Linda. He didn’t want her in danger here. “Whoever has been causing all the activity up here did this. I’ve...never seen anything...like this. Linda...I...I don’t want you getting hurt here.”

“I’m an agent, just like everyone else.”

“Yes...but you’re different. This shouldn’t be your first assignment. You need an easy one, to get you into the swing.”

“I’d rather get my start here than busting some old lady for magical garden gnomes, Roger. And I want to stay with you.”

“And I want you to stay with me. But...”

“Then no discussion.” She put her finger on his lips, and for a second he forgot about the fire, the madman, everything.

“Ok. But we have to avoid attention here. Just go up and gossip.”

Roger approached an elderly woman first. Probably desperate for human interaction.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but what happened here?”

“Oh, my, I’ve never seen anything like this in all my years here, the house just erupted, and this young man just came running out, all bloody, with all this blue fire all over him, and he just start running down the street like a bat out of hell. Mercy!”

What the hell happened to this guy? Blue fire? He signaled to Linda and started walking back to the car.

“Well? What did you get?”

“Someone saw this kid, about 25, come running out of the house, covered in blood and fire, and take off towards his house.”

“His house? Where?”

She pointed down the street. “At the cross street over there. An old-style house. Can’t miss it, they said.”

A minute later they pulled up outside what had to be the house. Jesus, it was ugly. The door hung off its hinges, and fire still crackled on the front lawn. Whatever the kid was up to, it didn’t involve subterfuge.

“Linda. Get your gun out. Shhh...we have to take these guys by surprise. He’s human like anyone else. One bullet and...”

They went in side by side, following the trail of smoldering carpet to another door that barely clung to the wall. This one displayed a flight of stairs going down into a basement where Roger could make out a blue glow. This had to be it.

“Linda. Stay here. If I die, I want you to dial 555 on my cell phone, then tell them I’m dead. They’ll take it from there. If that happens, you clear out.”

“Ok, Roger.” She even knew when not to question him. God, she was...

“Linda...I love you. I know I’m old, and you’re young, but...if I get through...”

“Roger...go. You’ll make it.”

He stepped down onto the first step.

Josh threw book after book off the shelf. Nothing. NOTHING! Nothing on raising the dead, nothing on giant monsters, nothing on blue flaming wounds, nothing on withstanding a hail of gunfire. He was so ANGRY.

The bookshelf burst into flame, then the desk. Josh didn’t notice. He had suddenly felt the wave of anxiety from upstairs. Someone was here. More agents? He would deal with them like before. And...behind him?

He whirled as Roger pointed the gun in his face. Not an agent...an older-looking man, dressed in a suit, a bit disheveled.

“Look, I won’t hesitate to kill you, old man. Leave, and I don’t have to.”

“Doesn’t work that way. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Josh.”

“Josh, you’ve come way too far now for me to just back away. You’re doing things that...I’ve never seen before. You’re a clear and present danger to the survival of the United States.”

“What? I haven’t done anything!”

“Well, I haven’t seen my team of agents, so you must have killed twenty or so men. Each with families. Children. Parents. You’ve crossed the barrier, and probably let some things leak onto earth that should never have come here. Is that enough? Or should I go on.”

No. NO. NO. The beast...it was because of...NO. “That’s a fucking lie,” he almost whispered. “You’re scared because I have this...this...” He fingered the necklace. “Power.”

“Damn right.” The man pulled the trigger five times. Josh rocked backwards, then regained his balance.

“Oh, FUCK YOU.” The man burst into blue flame. Screaming, he ran towards Josh and gripped him.

“IT’S OVER JOSH.” Then he fell to his knees, then onto his face.

Christ. Another body. A frantic voice from upstairs roused him.

“...dead. Said you know what to do. Oh, CHRIST, he’s gone.”

A woman. Kate. Oh, god. Josh fell back into a chair, sobbing tears of blue fire. The beast...it was his fault. Him. He did it. The presence upstairs gradually faded away in his mind. He was left with his thoughts.

Linda hugged her knees to her chest as she waited in the airport lobby at Manchester International Airport, New Hampshire, watching CNN. Wolf Blitzer was on.

“At 4:15 PM, a B-52 crash-landed into a small New Hampshire town. The plane was carrying a small nuclear warhead that was inexplicably armed. The force of the impact detonated the bomb, destroying the town. Five hundred on the ground, as well as the three-person flight crew were killed. There were no survivors and, as of yet, no explanation. And now, with comment, President Bush.”

A small black raven flew over a smoking hole in the forest. It had lost its mate five dark cycles ago, and its nest had been incinerated by the flames. Green trees and the big clearing with all the stone structures and the two-legs had been replaced by brown, bubbling earth, impossible to land on. The black strips of land that ran away from the clearing were empty of the large, noisy predators that sometimes left delicious offerings. Wait—here was something. A flash from the ground caught the eye of the raven.

Circling slowly around, the object grew into focus. It was red, shiny, and it just laid there on the ground, letting the sunlight glint off it. It would give the raven great cachet with the other survivors of the fire. Perhaps it would land a new mate.

As it gripped the necklace in its beak, the raven dreamed of what might be.