The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

SUSPICIOUS MINDS

(DISCLAIMER AND FOREWORD)

First off, your basic disclaimer of “If you’re under 18 or offended by sex, please get lost.” Also, a warning that this story contains scenes of mind control so if that type of things offends you, again, just stay away.

© 2001 blankpage. Do not reproduce without explicit permission of the author. May not be archived without explicit permission, with the exception of the Erotic Mind Control Stories Archive.

* * *

And now, for something quite different.

It has been a year since blankpage and I first discussed the Volupian Takeover. Initially, blankpage asked me to do a prequel of his own concept for the Volupian Takeover, which resulted in me writing ‘Volupian Takeover: Kendra’ for him.

Since then, he has decided to rework his ideas about that saga.

Now things come full circle as blankpage has written something set in the ‘Corelleverse’ of the Ancients and I have “officially” incorporated kendra back into my own tapestry of tales.

Please enjoy another author’s vision of the Ancients’world.

.—)
Eye
* * *

The sun was so damn far away.

Those were my thoughts as I stared out through the window of my office, which hadn’t been cleaned in months. The light of the life giving star barely seeped through all the crud and the uselessly translucent drapes. What little illumination that came through the window only served to create huge shadows all over everything, that made my office look like something out of a bad film noir movie.

Still, it was the way I liked it. I was never much of a shiny happy person. I suppose that was a good thing in my line of work. I was a private investigator—a broke one, too. But I was good at what I did. Good enough to have enough pride to not tolerate being called a “private dick”.

You’d be surprised how much punch a seemingly demure young woman like me can pack if she knows what she’s doing...

A quick knock on the door broke me through my reverie. “Come in,” I called out.

And in walked a man who didn’t belong in this picture.

His dress was impeccable. Three-piece suit; gray with pinstripes. White shirt, well pressed, and a red necktie. Holding a black leather briefcase. The hair was so slicked back and perfect it made me ill. The only thing that betrayed his business here were his eyes; bloodshot and sore. Obviously hadn’t slept in a good while.

Another suspicious mind was my immediate thought.

“Dressin’ like that in this part of town’ll get you killed,” I offered.

“I always look my best,” he replied, looking down at me like I was some shit he had to step over. Or through. I’d volunteer to remove the stump from his ass, but he looked like he had business here, and the last thing I wanted to turn away is business.

“Well, pardon me for offerin’ friendly advice,” I said, looking down at my bills and shuffling them as if they were important papers. Yep, my time’s just as precious as yours, slick. “So what brings you down here?”

“Wait a second,” the guy said, peering at me like he was an old guy with myopia. “You’re a woman!” He said it like it was as bad as being a cripple or something.

I regarded him severely. “Yeah,” I said. “What’s it to you? You think my tits stand out too much when I’m doin’ my spy work, or something?”

“The name outside says Lou Reinhardt,” he replied, faking being apologetic and failing miserably. “I just thought you were...”

“A private dick,” I finished, accentuating myself with a grunt. “Well, slick, I’m the best dick there is without even having one. So cut with the smart aleck, and tell me what you’re here for.”

“My wife,” he said. “I think she’s cheating on me.” Suspicion confirmed. “Here’s a picture.” He handed me a Polaroid.

Blonde, late thirties, a figure that can only be bought. I would have passed her off as a typical trophy wife had I not noticed her eyes. Even in such a cruddy picture I could tell that she was smarter than she was probably letting on to Mr. Right here. I’m an excellent judge of character. I can always tell by the eyes.

“Every day after she comes home from work she goes back out again,” the man continued. “She says she’s doing volunteer work at some homeless shelter downtown. But she never comes back until late at night. Sometimes even two in the morning.”

“Maybe she has a high sense of community spirit,” I said, examining the polaroid.

“I’m not paying you to tell me what you think,” he grunted, opening his briefcase on a chair and rummaging through its contents. “I want you to follow her, and take pictures.”

He placed on the table five thousand-dollar billfolds. I whistled.

“Slick, I’m surprised you actually got here in one piece. But there’s no way I’m goin’ to be able to waltz out of here with this kind of cash.”

“You’re a smart woman. You can find a way,” he said with a smarmy smile. “Just wait at this address for a green Lexus and follow my wife wherever she goes. Call me when you have good pictures and I’ll come back with more money.” He handed me a piece of paper with a scrawled address and phone number.

“Maybe if I had the name of your wife...”

“No,” he cut me off. “I can’t afford to have anyone find out about this. I can’t tell you who my wife is. Just follow her and take pictures. That’s your job.”

I was so ready to tell this asshole just where he could stick his job. But $5,000 is a lot of moolah. It could hold me up for six months. And I needed the cash. Turning this down would be damn near idiotic.

“All right, slick,” I said, taking the cash. “We’ll play it your way. But if there’s more to this than you’re tellin’ me now, I will call you and ask you for more money. I don’t stick my neck out unless there’s something in it for me.”

“No problem, Ms. Reinhardt,” he said, taking his briefcase and getting up. “Please call me with the number on the paper when you have something, anything.” I didn’t bother to anticipate the mandatory professional handshake I knew was coming. I stayed seated.

But he didn’t bother with pleasantries. He simply walked out the door.

Asshole, I whispered under my breath.

And turned back towards the sun.

* * *

Following his wife was easy. I always practiced. Picking random people while I drove, and trying to follow them without being noticed. I saw some interesting places that way. And I was never caught.

This time was no exception.

She was honest with her husband as to her destination. A homeless shelter smack in the middle of Queens. It looked like your average halfway home—run down and in need of a paint job.

What surprised me somewhat was the security guard outside the door. I would expect security in the back, with all the Lexuses and Townecars being a serious eyesore in Queens. But in the front? Who’d want to steal from the homeless?

I parked my Dart out of the way. It would stand out too much. Camera in hand, I headed for the entrance. The guard stopped me.

“Sorry, lady,” he said. “You can’t come in here.”

Damn. What kind of place is this? “Why not? Isn’t this a public place? A homeless shelter? What’s wrong with me being here?”

“This shelter is privately owned, ma’am. And the owner is pretty clear on this point. She doesn’t want photographers or reporters coming in to harass her patrons.”

I looked at the camera, and put on my best act of innocence. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to come in here to look around. I’ve heard a lot about this place. I’m a tourist and I’m very civic minded, and I just thought I’d take some pictures for myself. But, if you really want me to, I’ll leave the camera.” Not the best of plans, but at least I’d be able to get inside and see what Slick’s wife was up to.

Something bothered me in the back of my mind, though. Why did a shelter require this kind of security? No pictures allowed. How very curious.

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Look, miss,” he said. “You can come in. Just don’t flash that camera too much, okay? I’ll be keeping my eye on you. I don’t want you to give me any trouble.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” I said, putting on my most well-practiced “grateful smile”. “I won’t. I promise.” Prick. And with that, the security guard showed me inside.

My jaw dropped.

The interior of the shelter was absolutely nothing like the exterior. It was downright... elegant. Air conditioned, red carpets, plush couches—it vaguely resembled the lobby of a four-star hotel. A smell tickled my nose—food. Good food, not the sloppy soup that characterized most homeless shelters. And the place was crawling with people of all shapes and sizes.

Then I noticed the building’s lack of windows.

“Feel free to look around,” the security guard called from behind me. “But remember, I’m watching you.” You’d think I was going to steal something, I thought to myself as I scanned the area for my target.

Nowhere in sight. Damn. Keep looking...

A hand touched my shoulder. I turned to see a woman looking at me with fond eyes. Her skin was dark, but she didn’t look black. Her hair was long and raven, and her face glowed with youth. She was dressed simply but well.

Her eyes were...

“I haven’t seen you around.” She spoke with a heavy accent that I couldn’t trace. “You are new, yes? New company?”

I couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes were too kind. “I’m just looking around,” I said. I’m not homeless. I stopped myself. That was too cold of a thing to say.

“You must meet Lady Kendra,” she said. “She helps us.” Her enthusiasm came forth—she sounded as if she was talking about Jesus. Lady Kendra?

Her eyes were...

A man was to my right now. Handsome. Short. Loving eyes. “Hello there,” he said, introducing himself gallantly. “My name is Richard. She is Harjis. I think she’s from India. And you are?” His eyes had those same look.

My target walked in from a hallway. She was followed by an almond colored young woman—she couldn’t have been more than 17. This could be paydirt, I thought to myself. I looked around for the security guard. He was still watching me. Damn. I needed to think fast.

“I’m Lydia,” I lied. “It’s nice to meet you two, really, it is. I’m just going to go and meet the rest of you. You all seem like very nice people.” That last part wasn’t a lie. They were nice.

But those eyes were...

“Very good!” Harjis said, smiling brightly. Her teeth looked perfect! I found it hard to believe she could have been poor. In fact, she looked very healthy. Richard, too. I smiled in return and went off, smiling at everyone but keeping my eye on my target, and making sure that security guard would stay off my tail.

And then, just when I thought that guy would never stop watching me like a hawk, fate stepped in and kissed me square on the lips. A woman stepped up to the guard and began to talk to him. They seemed to be making pleasant conversation. He was totally absorbed, moving his hands around as he spoke and smiling big time.

I made a beeline for the wife and her companion.

* * *

My target moved out of the way of prying eyes, into a part of the shelter that could best be described as a conjugal dorm hall—a narrow corridor with many doors on either side. Safe money seemed to say that bedrooms lied behind each of those doors.

I gulped. Perhaps Slick’s suspicions had been right all along? Maybe his wife had closet bisexual tendencies that he hadn’t been aware of? My mind was alive with possibilities. Maybe this wasn’t a homeless shelter after all. It could have been a brothel, and this Lady Kendra was the madam.

She had to be one damn rich madam to put up a place like this...

Whatever the cause, my target sure was trusting. Didn’t look back once. To be on the safe side, though, I stayed out of sight, standing just below the threshold of an open door. I saw the two head into a room...

They didn’t even bother to close the door behind them!

I got out my camera and crept closer. Yes, this was all too weird. Curioser and curioser, in the words of Lewis Carroll. The plot thickens, in the words of Sir Arthur Doyle. What the dilly-o, in the words of Busta Rhymes.

I heard voices from within the open room.

“Mistress, what’s wrong?” one voice said. “You look tense.” Mistress?

“My husband, Cindy,” the other voice replied. “I know he doesn’t approve of me coming here all the time. He’d be even more appalled if he knew what we were doing together.”

Oh my God, this was too good. And too bad. What had I walked into? Was it just as I had thought?

“Mistress, have faith,” the other voice said. I noticed that this voice was notably younger and more meek. It could only be the young lady. “Trust in Lady Kendra. Your husband is not yet ready to understand.” I heard the unmistakable sound of a pair of lips pressing against skin.

“I do believe in Ms. Forge, my Cindy,” the stronger voice said. “I just wish I didn’t have to sneak around with you like this. It makes me feel like I’m just using you...”

This wasn’t the first time I’d run into a cheating wife with sapphic tendencies. But it definitely never got any weirder than this. Wait a minute. Did she say Forge? Kendra Forge? Where had I heard that name before...

“Mistress,” the young voice whispered. “I know that you love me.” Another kiss. And a long pause. Then the same voice spoke in even more hushed tones. “I am yours to command, Mistress.”

It was another short time before the other voice spoke. “Do you remember the sparkle of Lady Kendra’s eyes, my Cindy?”

“Mmmm... yes,” Cindy replied. “Yes, I do, Mistress Velma.”

The sparkle?

“Remember,” Velma repeated. “Remember the way they glowed. And remember how your own eyes yearn for the glow. Can you feel that need, my sweet Cindy?”

“Yes,” Cindy said. She sounded drifty and dreamy.

Velma went on talking—the sound of her voice becoming light and soft. I heard her tell Cindy over and over about the glow. How Lady Kendra’s eyes glowed. How Cindy’s eyes wanted to glow. How, even now, she could feel them glowing...

The glow... Could it be that’s what I saw in the others’ eyes...?

It sounded like Cindy was being hypnotized. Each time Velma asked a question, Cindy sounded more and more far away. Velma deepened the suggestions each time. The glow was draining away what little was left of Cindy’s will, she said. So obedient. She loved her Cindy.

Or so she said, I quickly reminded myself. Although it was hard to keep a level fix on things. Velma’s voice was quite relaxing, really. I found it hard not to get caught up in it, to wish I knew what she meant by the sparkles in Lady Kendra’s eyes...

The sparkles that were taking Cindy so far away...

Drugs, of course. What else? I cursed myself and tried to remember why I was here. To take pictures. But how would I be able to? I was right outside the door, they would certainly not take kindly to some ragamuffin from the Bronx just hopping in and snapping pictures. I thought to try a window. I remembered there were no windows.

Damn.

The kissing sounds were escalating. I could just picture it now. Two attractive ladies groping at each other. Probably a pretty picture for a guy to imagine. It didn’t really do much for me. But to be honest, I wasn’t unhappy for Velma. With a husband like that, of course she needed to find her hot stuff elsewhere.

But did she love this Cindy? Yeah, sure. And I was Hillary fucking Clinton.

Then all of a sudden, the kissing sounds stopped.

“Cindy,” Velma said. “Chant.”

“I live to love,” Cindy said. “I love to live. I live to love. I love to live. I live to love. I love to live...”

Over and over like that she went. Like a mantra. I live to love. I love to live. I shuddered. Was this some kind of lesbian sex cult? Probably not—I saw guys in the lobby. Were they taking the rejects of New York City off the streets and brainwashing them into brainless fucktoys? My hair suddenly stood on end. I realized Velma was now chanting the same thing.

I had never experienced anything like this. The words—the way the words were said—I could feel a strange power behind them. I’m normally a real skeptic (it comes with being a reformed street urchin) and I wouldn’t really swallow anything about mantras and such. But as the words left their mouths, I could feel the effects, the meanings of the words hang in the air.

A chill ran up my spine when I realized that I was beginning to chant too.

The chanting became more feverish, and I could hear moans. Soon, the chanting ceased. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening. But still, the effects of the chant lingered in my head. The power in those simple words. It scared me. What had I gotten myself into? I tried to remember why I came.

And I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt a firm hand squeeze my shoulder. And not in a friendly type fashion. I turned around to see the face of the security guard. He was scowling.

“Uhh... I got lost?” I said, grinning sheepishly.

That was lame. And we both knew it.

* * *

I wrung the collar of my blouse a bit. I felt strange. I was majorly embarassed—I had been caught totally red handed. But this was strange because I’ve been caught before, and I’ve always managed to retain my cool.

The security guard was still talking to me. “Look, lady. I thought you were someone I could trust, but apparently I was wrong. I could call the police. I probably should. But... I’m going to let you go.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Are you done? Can I go now?”

“Get outta here,” he replied. “I don’t want to see you around here again.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but decided to hold my tongue. I was feeling too strange. It was better to just head home.

* * *

Back in the hole I call my apartment, I tried to sleep.

I wasn’t having much luck.

That homeless shelter. That whorehouse. That brainwashing center. Whatever it was—it scared the living crap out of me. I felt like I’d stumbled on a big hornet’s nest. And that any second now a million buzzing insects would descent upon me and exact their vengeance...

Or perhaps they weren’t hornets at all...

My mind drifted to a mental picture I had created. Velma and Cindy holding each other. Kissing. It wasn’t even all that sexual. But nevertheless I felt something stir inside me thinking about it. Lesbian sex! It was turning me on! What in the name of...?

“I live to love,” I heard myself whimper. “I love to...” I stopped. “Cut it out!” I told myself, and turned in my bed. I couldn’t keep my mind off what had happened today. No matter how hard I tried.

I resolved to take some sleeping pills. But not before making a mental note to self in my head.

Something crazy was going down there. I had to find out what it was.

* * *

The sun was too damn far away.

Those were my thoughts as I stared out the window of my office, half paying attention to the conversation I was having on the phone.

“Lou Reinhardt calling,” I drawled. “Remember me, Slick?”

“Of course I do,” the man replied, with a voice that could accurately convey just how high up the social ladder he believed himself to be in comparison to me. “Did you get the pictures?”

“Look, Mac,” I said. “I can’t tell you whether your wife is cheating on you or not. All I know is that she’s involved in some heavy duty shit. This isn’t your fault, I guess, but nevertheless I’m going to have to ask for more money.”

“Nothing doing,” the voice replied gruffly. “Come up with the pictures and then we’ll discuss the compensation.”

“I don’t think so, Slick,” I replied, and I think he could damn well hear that I was grinning. “You see, I have a picture of your wife, and a name. I could very easily find out who you are. Do you want everyone to know what shady affairs your wife is involved in?”

A long pause that confirmed for me that I had him. Finally, he spoke, and his voice had been taken down a notch or two in the snooty meter. “Look, I don’t want trouble. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ll get you anything you want.”

“I just want $1,000 more dollars,” I said, secretly laughing inside. “I’ll call you back with a meeting place. I don’t want to have to be caught carrying a small fortune outside this rathole of an office again.”

“Fine, sure, whatever you say,” he answered. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll be in touch,” I said. And then hung up. I began to chuckle. This was just too good. Fuck Slick’s marital woes. I was going to conduct my own damn investigation. Find out just what was going on in that homeless shelter of Sodom. I would get to the bottom of this. And Mr. Fancypants would do all the financing.

I began to laugh.

Sometimes fate was simply too good to me.

End Tale