The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As dusk approached and the warmth of the summer sun faded, the cool of the evening air began to take over. The sky was still clear and it promised to be a chilly evening. The last of the tourists scattered before the oncoming darkness like mice running from a slinking black cat and the vendors in their little booths and stalls brought down their shutters and did what vendors do at the end of the day to prepare for tomorrow. Two policemen walked casually yet alertly down the boardwalk, half making their presence known to any kids with graffiti on their minds and half just enjoying one of the more pleasant beats. The pigeons, full of crumbs and bits of french fries, took to wing and roosted on nearby ledges on the overlooking buildings not far away.

Of all the little businesses that had sprung up along the old boardwalk, the fortune teller’s spot was by far the oldest. The boards had been replaced on the walk many times and always had to jog around the funny little booth that stuck out just a little into an otherwise straight path of planks. Some said an old gypsy woman had inherited it from her grandmother and came at night to take the coins from the automated fortune-telling machine. Nowadays most people preferred a real fortuneteller or one of the fancy electronic versions on a plasma screen with surround sound. This thing was a holdover from another time. One simply put a quarter in a slot and stood there waiting. After a bit of clanking and clunking and whirring the face of the mechanical gypsy woman would begin to move in a jerky, almost laughable fashion. A scratchy voice would speak the person’s fortune, which in most cases would draw far more laughter than pensive silence. Of course, there were always a few who tried to believe, if even a little bit, and hoped that no one would watch them as they paid what rapt attention they dared to this mechanical oracle.

The first faint few stars of the evening were visible now and the light they shone drove before it a chill. Anyone who was going to be outside tonight would do well to bundle up. The man who now walked along the boards with shuffling gait was obviously quite drunk. His pants were two sizes too big and stinking from more than lack of soap and water. His long wool coat might serve him adequately tonight against the cold but it could do nothing to warm the emptiness of his heart. Five days of stubble on his cheeks and chin, and hair that looked like something better suited to a scarecrow, framed two eyes of faded blue, faded like the dreams he tried to forget, blue like the peace here longed for yet doubted he would ever find again. Clutching the paper bag which surrounded his bottle of cheap wine, already half consumed, he stumbled in slow motion as might a ghost who was forever searching for the land of the living. The two policemen knew him well and would make no hassle for him on this or any evening, for although he looked for all the world like trouble wrapped in rags, he still maintained a grace about him that set him apart from most others who lived the life he did.

An empty bottle here, a can there, perhaps a quarter or a dime, and when he was really lucky some paper money. A half eaten hot dog sitting on top in a trash can would be his evening snack. A pile of newspapers in back of the magazine stand would be his bed, from which he would be gone before sunrise and the return of the other people, the tribe to which he had ceased to belong. He had once found a wallet with over two hundred dollars in it, but rather than keep the money, he had earned the title “Crazy Gabe” for turning it into the police. He was all for taking advantage of opportunity when it presented itself, but he would be damned if he would take advantage of someone’s bad luck like that. His honesty had earned him the benevolence of both the authorities and shop owners alike. Some food concessions would even leave little treats for him if they thought he might get it before the rats did. Rats! How he hated the rats! He could not begin to count the number of bites he had been inflicted with while he slept.

Now he approached the old fortunetellers booth, the familiar halfway point on his journey towards the magazine stand. Not many bottles or cans tonight and not one coin. There would be no breakfast in the little cafe tomorrow and no hot pretzel from a rolling vendor at the other end of the boardwalk. Not the first time. Not the last time. “Tomorrow would be a better day.” He had to believe that if he wanted to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He would often stop at the fortuneteller booth and lean against it to rest for a few moments before continuing on, and this evening was no exception. Bones aching from years of sleeping on concrete and exacerbated by a bad diet, he let what weight he could fall against the front of the booth. The last glow of the sun dipped below the horizon which made the ocean feel all the colder. There was no warmth to the sound of the waves in such a darkness, no comfort from a sea of sad whispers.

He rested thus for perhaps fifteen minutes and then pushed himself gently away from the wall and was about to resume his March when he saw it, a quarter sitting on the little ledge right in front of the fortune-telling machine. So, it would not be a completely fruitless evening after all. However, this evening would prove to be fruitful in a way he could not yet imagine, and a vague sort of dreamy feeling crept up through him as if from the boards themselves. In a daze he pinched the quarter between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and guided it reverently towards the slot in the front of the machine. Why was he doing this? It was twenty five cents! It was money! Money was not to be wasted on such trivial things. But yet, he felt that tonight this quarter in this place at this time had a meaning and a destiny and that it was supposed to go into that little slot. Of course he had sometimes imagined what fortunes the machine would spell out to people and what might it spell out to him if he ever had an extra quarter to spare?

Still half in disbelief he let the quarter slip from his fingers and pass down into the bowels of the mechanical fortuneteller. It made tinny rattling noises as it progressed deeper and deeper and soon the machine began to whir and creak and even to move. With one unbidden tear cresting his right eye and cascading in slow motion down his weather beaten cheek, he waited and listened as might Ulysses have waited for the Oracle at Delphi to guide him upon his journey. Crystal stars singing of distant heaven shed faint yet brilliant light upon this man, this aged child with no home and no hearth in front of which to warm his bones. And then came the words. Each syllable would have sounded to an observer like sand falling across an aluminum pie plate, but to this person who stood in awe it sounded like the most perfect angel, and this angel spoke his name. “Gabriel, here my words in your mind, deep within, deep within. Feel my thoughts drift into your thoughts, merging and melting, growing and swelling. Know that what your mind now feels it feels at my behest, for my mind is within you now and will guide you. You do want this, don’t you?”

Gabriel shook his head vigorously in the affirmative. Was he dreaming? Did he care? No, certainly not. He had learned long ago to take whatever solace he could, be it real or imaginary. If this was a dream or a hallucination from the wine he would welcome it with open arms. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and dizzy although curiously not at all drunk. He was also beginning to feel pleasantly warm as if he had just consumed a large cup of hot coffee with a bit of brandy in it. No, it was better than that. It was warm like sunshine which was inside instead of outside.

The old fortune-telling machine moved only slightly, the mouth twitching, the head turning a few degrees from side to side, as that voice of an angel came calling again, deep, deep into his hungry soul. “Gabriel, you should not sleep behind the magazine stand tonight. Sleep here behind me, behind this booth. There is a thick warm blanket there for you and even a soft pillow upon which to lay your head. Sleep here, and in the morning, if you wish, you can begin to move in a new direction. This I promise to you. You do believe me, don’t you?”

Again, Gabriel shook his head vigorously that he did. Again he felt that surge of warmth welling up from within him. It felt wonderful. It felt joyful. At the same time he was feeling oh so sleepy. Sleepy, heavy, and even dizzier. The fortune-telling machine had stopped moving and no more words came. Had he imagined all of this? Had he imagined the quarter, too? Well, let’s see. Walking around back of the little booth, paint fading and peeling from too much salt air and too much time, he stared in happy disbelief at a thick blue blanket folded neatly. Next to it was a large feather pillow covered in a blue satin pillowcase which would not have looked out of place upon the bed of royalty. Not daring to question this dream lest he wake back to the cold, the hunger, and that awful gnawing hopelessness, he stooped as gently as he could to unfold the blanket. Spreading it carefully upon the boards, he maneuvered his body delicately into the position of sleep and pulled the blanket up around him. He laid his head upon the pillow, so smooth and so soft, smelling faintly of lavender. This blanket was paradise! The cold did not even begin to penetrate and he soon felt again that magical warmth within him, and this time around him as well, for the blanket seemed to be almost alive with it. Sleep came quickly and not one rat came within twenty five yards.

Dreams of a happy youth on a farm nestled between comforting hills. Echoes of the past he had never hoped to see again. Reverberations of love and joy danced through his thoughts, sometimes bringing a tear and sometimes bringing a smile. Gentle breezes and gentle words, sounds of swallows singing and water gurgling in a small brook. He was happy as he slept. For the first time since he didn’t know when, he was happy.

Morning came, cold and fresh, and with a dampness of dew upon everything. Well, almost everything. The blanket and pillow remained completely dry. As Gabriel opened his eyes into the approaching dawn he could scarcely believe that it was real, but now he knew that it was and not simply a dream. He no longer felt dizzy or sleepy or in any way confused, and that feeling of warmth which had been such a joy the evening before was still faintly present inside him now. No hangover, no pain in his stomach, no ache in his knees and shoulders. He almost felt young again. Rising slowly and taking the time to fold the blanket carefully, just as he had found it, and placing it next to the pillow, he wanted to say thank you, yet he was unsure of whom to direct his gratitude. Walking slowly around to the front of the booth he looked in amazement at the old fortune-telling machine. A little cardboard sign on a string hung over the face.

“OUT OF ORDER.”

Gabriel did not limp now and his stride was a bit longer and springier. Reaching the south end of the boardwalk, he greeted the man delivering papers to the magazine stand with a smile. The smile was returned and he felt elated to have participated in this brief and pleasant exchange. He wanted more of the same. Turning off the boardwalk and up the little concrete steps to the street, he crossed the busy morning traffic and headed straight for the cafe. The windows were steamy from hot beverages and early conversations as he opened the door and headed to the little table by the entrance to the kitchen that no one else ever wanted to sit at because of the constant bustle there. “The usual?”, asked the waitress. Gabriel nodded, though this time with a twinkle in his eye. She looked back at him with a twinkle of her own and smiled, so broad and bright, and it just gladdened his heart to see someone else feel so happy. The cup of coffee appeared before him and he sipped, relishing both the taste and the heat. About half way through the waitress came and topped it up. Again he drank and again she stopped by to top it up. Eventually finishing, he reached into his pocket to find some coins with which to pay, but of course there were no coins. With a sense of shame rising within his throat he turned to look at the approaching waitress with the sadness of someone who has just been told the worst imaginable news. Without missing a beat, the waitress realized what had just happened and cheerfully said, “It’s on the house this morning, Gabriel. I’ve got to give my best customer a gift once in a while, don’t I?” Rising from his chair he began to offer a hug in sincere thanks, but then realized that he must stink something awful. Again, without a second of hesitation, the waitress opened her arms and accepted his gesture of gratitude, returning it with one of her own. It felt so good to have this human contact, this brief caress of living kindness.

Walking now along a side street towards the old pawnshop where he knew he would be able to rest during the morning before the shop opened after noon, he could scarcely believe his good luck. First the blanket and that wonderful pillow. Then two whole cups of coffee, and when realized that he had no money, he had received a warm hug instead of harsh words. The owner of the pawn shop opened the door as he always did, and allowed Gabriel to come in and sit in the rocking chair near the back. After he had had a bit of rest he would fetch the broom and dutifully sweep the entire shop from back to front, and easy payment for nearly six hours of a safe place in which to rest. At noon he would thank the owner and amble downtown to the soup kitchen where he would get a sandwich and something warm to drink. If the weather was nice, he would sit on a park bench and look at the pigeons. If the weather was foul, he would spend as much time as he could in the library before being asked to leave, and the rest of the afternoon behind the loading dock of a department store where there was a heat vent issuing from the wall. His supper, were he lucky enough to have it, would come from the van operated by a church which delivered styrofoam cups of chile and coffee to the homeless, until, as it so often happened, they ran out. He would then go to the back entrance of the arena, if there was a game there, and try to sneak in the door when the game ended and the fans were leaving. Making a beeline for underneath the bleachers, he would quickly gather up dropped coins, hats, pens, etc. This booty would buy him a bottle of wine with which to get through the night.

Today as he walked towards the soup kitchen he had the strangest feeling that he should be doing something else. He was hungry and he knew he needed to eat. Still, he could not shake this sensation that he should walk in a different direction. Almost as if his feet were making the decisions he turned and walked with dazed determination back towards the boardwalk. He never went there during the daytime. Although the police would tolerate him in the evening he was simply not welcome when the tourists were around. Who on earth would want to smell someone who never bathed? Crossing the busy street by the shore once again, he descended the concrete steps and moved on to the boards. Immediately a policeman on a bicycle approached. Fearing the worst, Gabriel prepared himself for his inevitable expulsion and perhaps even a harsh warning not to come back, even at night. He did not recognize this policeman, who was young and powerfully built, yet the policeman seemed to recognize him. “Good afternoon, Gabriel. Unusual to see you down here at this time of day.” That was it. Nothing more was said. Gabriel couldn’t believe it, and not wanting to stir the pot, he walked hesitantly onwards as the young policeman went about his business, riding off across the wooden walkway. Passing the magazine stand the owner nodded and smiled and Gabriel smiled back. Again it felt so good to exchange smiles with someone. Up ahead, through the throng of tourists in their colorful clothing, he could see the old fortuneteller’s booth. Two workmen in blue overalls appeared to be servicing the machine.

As he drew abreast he could see that the machine still had a little “Out of Order” sign hanging from it. The workmen appeared to be detaching the machine from the booth, probably to refurbish it, and then reinstall it later in the week. He was curious to know if the blanket and pillow that had lent him such wonderful comfort and relief last night were still there, so trying to look as if he was not really interested in anything in particular, he walked around back. The workmen took no notice. No blanket and no pillow. Had it been a dream? No. It had been real. And as Gabriel walked resolutely away towards what was usually the beginning of his sojourn along the planks, he told himself over and over again that last night had been real and his fortune really was going to change.

At the far end of the boardwalk, the part he called the beginning, (although as far as that went, either end was the beginning as much as it was the end), there was a drinking fountain. While the newer stainless steel spigot was shiny the old copper pedestal was green as forests and bespectacled with bits of chewing gum. Gabriel leaned to drink and noticed for the first time that this water tasted sweet, almost with a hint of orange. Why would he never have noticed that before? A young woman on roller skates wheeled to a stop next to him and waited for him to finish. He cut short his quench and stepped politely aside, nodding an invitation to her to drink. Immediately the young woman smiled, and despite the streaks of green in her hair and the ring in her nose, he thought she looked beautiful. He could not help but smile back, and in doing so felt the connection of warmth, a brief, wordless encounter perhaps, but full of life nonetheless. He would take this. It was a gift. She soon rolled away down the wooden planks and he resumed drinking. Again he noticed how sweet the water tasted. Definitely a hint of oranges.

Now he walked up onto the busy street and followed it east towards the arena. There was no game tonight but sometimes he would find something useful in the trash cans behind. Besides, it was a good place to panhandle, as it lay in a direct line between the theaters and an area with many parking garages. An old friend of his approached and Gabriel gave the customary nod of recognition and the faked high five. “Hey, Gabe! What happened to you, man? You get laid or something? You look good, man!”

Gabriel muttered some half-baked explanation involving two cups of free coffee end a good nights sleep. It seems to be accepted and he moved on. For some reason he felt that it would not be right to divulge what he felt was a secret about the blanket and pillow and the fortune-telling machine speaking directly to his mind. It wasn’t that he thought the validity of this statement would be doubted. Such fanciful tales were common among his brethren. It was more that he felt that experience was precious and meant only for him. To share it verbally would somehow be to disrespect it.

Behind the arena the usual row of trash cans was missing and in its place one lone wooden crate, the lid pried loose and resting diagonally on top. This was odd. He approached somewhat cautiously and looked inside, and in less time than it took for his heart to pump once, he was struck with shock as if by lightning. There inside the crate was the blue blanket and blue satin pillow, and on it a tiny red envelope, the kind one might receive an invitation to a party in. Gabriel stared in amazement. No amount of telling himself that last night was real could have prepared him for this. If he had found the blanket and pillow behind the fortuneteller that would have been one thing, but here it was in a wooden crate, the lid conveniently open, all in a completely different location. Strangest of all, or so it seemed, was that this location was one which he frequented almost every evening. He could feel the blood racing in his veins but did not attribute the rising feeling of warmth within him to that. That wonderful, delicious feeling of warmth and comfort that swelled within him how seemed so definitely to come from that blanket and pillow.

The little red envelope beckoned. With shaking hand and quivering mind he reached slowly, almost reverently, towards the envelope. It seemed warm to the touch. The flap was not glued but just tucked inside, and now he untucked it and pulled out a small red card. Unfolding it slowly, as if it were a holy book, he read the words written in gold ink. They seemed to speak to him with the voice of the fortune teller, beautiful and soft and almost singing. Happy smooth silk flowing from the voice of an opera angel. “Gabriel, this blanket and this pillow are for you. Pick them up, hold them tightly to you, close your eyes, and just walk. Don’t worry, I promise that you will not bump into anything. You do believe me, don’t you? Yes, I can feel that you do. You can feel it as well.”

As if in a dream, almost as if he was watching himself from outside his body, he tenderly bent and removed the blanket and pillow from the wooden crate, being careful to replace the lid exactly as he had found it, diagonally ajar. The feeling of warmth within him was growing as he clutched the soft material to his chest, lifted his head slightly towards the sky, and let his eyes fall closed. Not understanding why or how, his feet began to move. One foot in front of the other as if sleepwalking, not that he ever had done that, and trusting completely in the promise of that golden voice. Step after step until the steps became a cadence of happy determination. He didn’t even think of what might happen if the promise was not true and he would bump into a wall or step in front of a moving truck. With each step the warmth inside him grew and right alongside that warmth, the confidence that he would be all right. Gabriel was slightly aware of the sound his feet were making upon the pavement. It was cobblestone here which sounded different from concrete or asphalt. Then, step after step, the sound gradually began to change.

He must have walked thusly for an hour and no one had stopped him, this scruffy street person clutching pale blue bedding and walking as if possessed, with eyes closed and head held high. The sound of his footsteps had changed slowly, but had the sound changed quickly he might have opened his eyes and seen what wondrous journey he was actually making. As it was, he did not open his eyes at all until he heard her voice again. “Gabriel, stop. You are here. You can open your eyes now. Open your eyes, ....... wide awake.”

When he heard this, his feet made two more steps as he came to a halt, and each of those steps sounded for all the world as if he was walking upon grass. Opening his eyes and staring immediately at his feet, he was absolutely dumbfounded. There, beneath his soiled and tattered shoes, was velvety green new grass, so soft to walk upon, so delicious to smell. Raising his head as might a deer pause from its browsing, he looked before him, then side to side, and lastly behind. The city? Where was the city? The city was gone!

Gabriel was standing in the center of a large green field, surrounded by a glade of stately oak trees, their shade deep and inviting and full of the sounds of life. Birds called joyously to each other and the noises of gurgling water hinted of a brook not far away. “Gabriel, walk into the forest now. You may keep your eyes open, and if you look carefully, you will see me.”

The thrill! The excitement, ....... of finally seeing the angel who had guided him here, ....... was almost too much to bear. He did not want to run but he walked very quickly, not knowing which direction of forest to approach, he felt that it did not matter, and simply walked forward in the direction he was facing. Something told him to go slightly to the right, and he did, and soon he was beneath the trees, those wonderful oaks. A blue jay announced his presence and all the other birds seemed to agree, acknowledging with much fanfare that Gabriel had arrived. Not one hundred yards into the forest he came to the brook. It was only a few feet wide but vigorous with clear rushing water. For some reason he felt he should drink. He was not unusually thirsty, but he just felt within him that this was what he should do. Carefully setting down the blanket and pillow and the little red envelope, which he had kept, he moved his grizzled face towards the stream. The birds seem to sing more loudly, and more loudly still. Just as his lips touched the cool water he saw her! A face within the stream staring straight up at him!

Her eyes were an impossible lavender color, the pupils almost indistinguishable from the irises, but as Gabriel stared he could see that the pupils were slightly deeper in tone. No one had eyes like that, no human. High angular cheekbones on a long olive shaped face and wide gently smiling lips of deepest red. She was beautiful beyond belief, and it took his breath away, so that he actually sucked in a bit of the water from the stream into his lungs, which caused him to sputter and cough. Suddenly, the entire stream seemed to erupt with laughter, quivering and rippling like liquid sunlight there beneath the trees. Gabriel stared in amazement as the face took shape once more amongst the ripples. “Gabriel, dear Gabriel, we have found each other and now your mission begins.”

Mission? Mission? What was this about a mission? (These were his thoughts, but not spoken aloud.)

“I will teach you and you will learn. I will guide you and you will find. I will heal you and you will grow strong and happy beyond your wildest imaginings. The mission, for now, is to allow me these things.” Her words so soft, almost a whisper within his mind, but still that underlying sense of playful laughter, and the stream quivered slightly as she spoke. “The world you live in has grown apart from my world, and this cannot be. Although you and I will only play a small part in the reunion, it is an important part nonetheless. We will, ......... patch things up a bit, so to speak, and nature will do the rest, .......... in time.”

And so it began, Gabriel’s new education. He would sit by the stream and she would teach him. All he had to do was relax and listen. Her words would appear in his mind even as he slept, wrapped so snugly in that soft blanket and with his head upon that smooth pillow, there beneath the sentinel oaks. When he was hungry, fruit would appear within the stream. He merely had to pluck it from the water as it floated by. When he was thirsty, he only needed to bend his face to drink, and thus, with every drop and every bite, his body became renewed. Soon there were no longer any aches or pains in his knees or shoulders, his skin was clear, his lungs fresh and healthy. The mental fuzziness of life on the street was left far behind and a sense of confident clarity grew within him, and always, always, accompanied by that wonderful feeling of warmth. He was happy, just as he had been happy as a child on the farm so long ago. The only difference was that now he was a full-grown man. So how could a man experience the joy of a child? You would have to walk beneath those trees and drink from that stream to understand. You would have to hear that voice for yourself.

A year rolled by, perhaps two. It didn’t matter.

One day she beckoned him to follow and of course he did. He had never even been the least bit curious as to where the stream had arisen, or where it flowed to, but now that he had been told to follow her, he did become curious, and that curiosity built to a slow excitement. Deeper and deeper into the forest, and he half expected this stream to merge with others and form a mighty river, but that did not happen. He may have walked for days or he may have walked for hours. It didn’t matter. When he was hungry, there was fruit in the stream, and when he was thirsty, the most delicious water in the world, tasting ever so sweetly of oranges, was only a few feet away. Always her voice was present. It never left him. It was in the stream. It WAS the stream, and the stream flowed through his mind, into and out of it, as it flowed into and out of that beautiful forest. Eventually, the trees grew further and further apart, and more and more sunlight passed the luxurious canopy of branches and made it to the soft green ground. It seemed like mid afternoon when Gabriel finally reached the edge and saw the stream hurry away towards the shore in the distance, there at last to spill, laughing, into a waiting sea.

Between the shore and where he stood lay a sight he had hoped he would never see again. It was the city. “Don’t be afraid Gabriel, my love. I am with you now and will never leave, and you will always be protected. What might harm others can no longer harm you. What might frighten others should no longer frighten you. Trust me. You do trust me, don’t you? Yes, I can feel that you do.”

The raggedy clothes which he had worn when he first came into this forest were somehow now clean and new. The pants which had been two sizes too big now seemed to fit as if tailored. His shoes were no longer tattered and falling apart, but new, and creaking the way only new leather can creak. How this was possible was totally unimportant. Gabriel had learned to expect miracles and he wasn’t about to stop now. Faith in that beautiful voice, that glorious stream, had led him this far and he vowed never to go astray.

The further away from the forest he walked, the more the land around him changed. The soft green grass gave way first to drier grass and then to even sparser grass interspersed with weeds. His path gradually veered away from the friendly stream as the city grew nearer and the dry grass and weeds gave way to sandy building lots be-speckled with broken glass and styrofoam coffee cups. Before he knew it he was in the middle of the city again. He turned once to look around but the forest was no longer visible. It didn’t matter, because he knew in his heart it was always there.

Walking along the busy street by the shore, he noticed immediately that the boardwalk was having all the planks replaced again. For a moment he thought of walking along those boards for old times sake, but when he saw that the fortunetellers booth was gone, replaced by a bank of vending machines, his heart sank a little, and all thoughts out walking there vanished as would fog vanish in the morning sun. He moved now into an area of the city which he had not visited for nearly twenty years. Office towers of glass and concrete, high end department stores with giant display windows, boasting the latest fashion and folly. Banks and businesses and little sandwich shops which provided quick meals to a hurried people. On he walked, the warmth and the voice inside him. Soon he was out of the business district and among apartment buildings where dwelt those who had plenty of everything, although most always seemed to want more. Elegant women walked tiny dogs on long leashes and gentlemen with briefcases full of secrets stepped off the street and into the darkened chambers which were their homes. It was too quiet here. There was just not enough sound of life.

“Turn right here, my love”, came the beautiful voice inside Gabriel’s head. And he turned and walked slowly up the marble steps to the grandest house on the grandest street in all the city. The door was open slightly, requiring only a soft push, and he walked in as if he had lived there all his life, with only the slightest suspicion that someone might see him and realize he did not belong. No such thing happened, of course, and he climbed the three flights of stairs unchallenged, feeling absolutely no need to take a little elevator. “Turn right again.” And he did, and before him was a large paneled door of ancient looking mahogany, carved and polished and daring to claim elegance beyond that of all the other doors in the building. Again, this door was slightly open, only needing a soft nudge to gain entry. The foyer was tiled in large checker board marble of black and white. Gabriel removed his shoes here and placed them upon a little rack. Walking slowly down the hallway, he came to a great living room, a fire roaring in the huge stone fireplace. No smoke seemed to issue from the burning logs, yet this was not a fireplace of hollow metal logs punctured with gas jets, but a real fireplace burning real logs of real wood. It popped and crackled invitingly as the voice inside Gabriel’s mind guided him ever so gently to sit upon the plush leather sofa, and then to lay out upon it, and then to sleep. Somehow the blue blanket covered him and the satin pillow cradled his head, yet he would not remember placing them there.

As Gabriel slept, he dreamt the same dream that he and dreamt so many nights ago upon the boardwalk, behind the fortunetellers booth. He dreamt of his childhood on that long-ago farm, of singing birds and the gurgling brook and the warmth of love. “Gabriel, listen to me now. Hear my words within your mind, feel my stream within your thoughts, know what I say to be true.” And with that began the teaching again, only this time the teaching was different. Whereas before he had been taught the lessons of healing and strength and cleanliness, he was now taught the craft of obedience. He had never felt even remotely disobedient towards her, but now he began to understand the difference between ordinary obedience and that which he was now feeling. When she guided him to obey, he longed to obey. That longing within him, that yearning, was not simply to carry out the act of obedience itself, it was an almost unquenchable desire to please her. He felt driven to please her, almost compelled, yet not compelled. He could sense there was choice and that choice was what made his obedience so precious to her. He imagined that she had the power to force him to do anything she wished, yet forcing had never been, and would never be, her way. Hers was the style of gentlest persuasion and softest enticement, singing whispers to the heart, sunbeams of delight motivating via the pure joy that they pledged. Gabriel slept and she taught. Perhaps a day passed, perhaps a week, perhaps several months. It didn’t matter.

“Awake, my love. Eyes open, ....... wide awake.”

And Gabriel woke. He woke as he had never woken before, with a bright new awareness of everything within his view or knowledge, and with a confident sense of understanding that he was safe with her voice inside him. And just as he accepted this, that this was going to be the way of things, a constantly invisible voice to guide him, so warm and inviting, so full of promise and so pure of hope, yet forever without physical form, he heard the footsteps. As far as corporeal beings were concerned, he had really assumed that he was alone here. Her voice, her presence, was now walking down the hallway, and he knew it, as surely as he knew his own name.

“Are you awake?” Her voice no different when spoken from this most beautiful woman standing in front of him than it had been when spoken inside his mind. There she stood, long slender legs tiptoeing in shiny black heels, hidden above the knee by a hobble skirt of dark wool, above which rode a matching jacket over a cream colored silk blouse. Long and graceful arms wielding delicate yet strong hands, pointed nails of dark red. That neck! It was as if she had somehow talked a swan out of it! Her face, the face he had seen so many times in that gurgling forest stream, those enormous eyes of lavender within lavender, those smiling lips of rich red enticement. “Am I what you imagined?” she asked, her voice seeming to hold back a laugh and barely succeeding.

“I, uh, I guess. Uh, sure, I mean.........” He wasn’t doing very well, so he shut his mouth and bowed his head slightly, acknowledging her strength and beauty with that one simple motion.

Now the laughter broke forth from deep within her and filled the room as a brightly as had the sunlight filled the corridors beneath the oaks. It rippled and bounced from the ceiling and walls as surely as had the tiny waves of that magic brook. Gabriel was at once stunned, humbled, and elated. She was real! He could never have prayed for a better miracle than this. To have her voice both inside his mind, and her form before him, was more than he could actually fathom, and he grew faint. She saw this and moved to steady him, and has her hands touched his shoulders, he felt a rush of ecstasy surge through him that was unequal to anything he had ever dreamed of in all his years. She laughed again, but this time more gently. A sexy little chuckle.

“You have learned well, my love, but there is still much to be taught and still much to do. I can see that you are eager to learn and I can see that you are eager to obey. Your obedience pleases me and my pleasure warms you, doesn’t it? Yes, I can feel that it does.” She paused, as if to gather more importance into the words which came next. “Gabriel, I hope you understand, I hope you fully realize, that I am as happy to be with you as you are to be with me. What takes place between us, and inside us, is more equal than most people could ever fathom. This symbiosis is what has made possible your transformation and it is what will make possible a success of our work together. Now listen, my love, as I will teach you once again.”

And teach him she did. Whereas before her instruction had been purely within his mind, it was now joined by instruction of the body. She would teach Gabriel the arts of deft movement so that a passersby might never see him. The invisibility of peace within. He learned from her the skills of defense against any weapon without the use of a weapon. He became a master of walking softly, he became profoundly adept at speaking in such a way that his listeners would agree without realizing that there was agreement. She also taught him the glory of love making in a way that few people ever encounter, that of serving with all his heart, obeying with all his soul, all to bring her joy, and her realization of that joy would shine into him like the warmest sunshine and become his joy. He was beginning to understand that warmth he had felt well up within him that night so long ago as he stood before the fortune-telling machine. What he had experienced again the next day as the waitress gave him a hug instead of a bill. That had been but a hint of the warmth he felt glowing within him now. True joy from lovemaking could only be realized this fully if it was one and the same with kindness. Kindness could take an infinite number of forms, he saw, and loving his Mistress with a totally obedient heart and mind was but one of those forms. The relationship between the different forms of kindness was both mysterious and wonderful, both enlightening and thrilling at the same time.

Gabriel did not exactly remember going outside the apartment at all during this time and he did not have any understanding of how long that time was. Yet, at times he did venture out, sometimes with her, and sometimes alone, sent upon an errand to fetch something here or there. He was both living as if in a dream of the greatest joy imaginable, and yet fully awake and aware of everything that took place around him. All of his senses seemed heightened, not just the five physical senses, but the senses of perception and intuition as well. He became an expert in pleasing his Mistress, which gave them both immense joy. The tiniest of tasks, such as washing two wine glasses and putting them away, could deliver to him a pleasure so deep and so sublime that he would sometimes feel almost upon the edge of madness, so great was the euphoria. When she saw this, she rejoiced and exalted because it thrilled her and delighted her that he performed every little act out of greatest love. She glowed brilliantly when she was pleased, and it seemed as if the light from her would shine onto him and into him, making him a blooming flower, ever hungry for more of this intoxicating brilliance.

And then began the “errands”, although in his mind he equated them with the “missions” she had originally spoken of. He was seldom aware of what was happening when he went upon these errands, yet she always explained it to him afterwards if he asked. Sometimes he asked and sometimes he did not. It didn’t really matter, as long as he was pleasing her. And, there was a greater purpose that he sensed behind all of this, but for now that purpose was known by her and not by him. That was fine. He trusted her and he trusted her completely. If and when she wanted him to know, she would tell him. If an errand caused him a little embarrassment, it might cause her to laugh kindly at the predicament she had steered him into, but that just brought him more joy, which he in turn offered to her. Sometimes, when an errand really felt a lot more like a mission than an errand, he would encounter various dangers, yet always felt protected. She had promised that she would protect him and he could feel it within his heart, that wonderful, comforting aura of safety, that absolute certainty that everything would be all right because he had such unshakable faith in his Mistress. And then the errands became more and more dangerous.

His chronic addiction to alcohol long past, his lungs clear and free of any congestion, his muscles once again toned and supple, Gabriel looked for all the world as if he had shed twenty years. She had dressed him in fine clothes custom tailored to accentuate a form that was already attractive to the women on the street who saw him. He was never dressed so as to make too strong a statement in any direction, neither too fancy nor too plain. She preferred to see him in darker colors, navy, gray, and black, but with shirts of off-white linen or silk. The jackets she picked out for him were always of the finest materials, yet never overstated, as were the suits and tuxes he would wear when so directed.

They were seldom seen in public together, and when they were, they behaved much as would any normal couple. No one could tell, even upon the closest scrutinization, that she was his Mistress and he her willing servant. In the apartment it was all quite different, of course, as she led him in and out of every situation, be it tiny or large, with the steadiness of direction that only a true Domme could command. Gabriel was more than willing to accept this. He craved it and longed for it with his every breath. Always aware that the choice was his, his commitment only grew stronger as the months passed, and she only grew more appreciative of his efforts. To say that they were in love would have been an understatement. They were, “absorbed”, into one another with absolute totality. Every day brought new joys to be discovered and shared, and every evening brought new ecstasies to be realized and glorified.

One late afternoon, when a particularly unpleasant storm had blown in from the sea, she spoke to Gabriel in a manner more serious than her usual warm and welcoming demeanor. “My love, tonight I shall send you on a mission quite unlike any other to date. It will be more dangerous than all the others put together, but of course, you will be under my constant protection as long as you hold my presence in your heart. You will have a little conscious awareness of what is happening, but that is only to further your protection and to enhance the chances of our success. After dinner I will speak to the innermost depths of your mind just as I always have, but this time my words will guide you to a sanctuary few in this city have ever tread within. Are you ready to do this for me my love?”

Gabriel merely smiled and nodded slightly, all that was now required to signify “yes”. He knew that she would never place him in a danger that he could not get out of, and he trusted her with all his heart and soul. If it was her wish to hypnotize him and put him to these tasks, no matter what they were, that was fine with him. It was more than fine. It was his joy to agree. Washing a dish or sweeping the floor was a joy also, but not like this. The missions always brought a type of elation which he could only describe with the word “epic”, for they somehow reminded him of the deeds done by the great heroes of mythology. Gabriel was not being big headed about this in any way, for he always attributed the challenge, the success, and the overall effect these missions had on him, to his Mistress. She was the real hero, not he.

That evening he prepared dinner as he always did, with the greatest of attention to detail, as if royalty would be scrutinizing his every move. She was so very much like royalty, although of a kind far more ancient than anything the world was aware of today. He set the table meticulously, and when the time came placed the food on the proper plates, which were surrounded by the proper utensils. Into the wine glasses he poured from a bottle she had chosen, a strange looking wine almost more orange than red. The aroma was unlike anything he had ever encountered, and it made him dizzy, even from a distance. The liquid seemed too thin in the glass to be of this world, almost as if it wished to defy gravity and float away, up into the heavens where surely it must have originated. Finishing the last of the preparations, he informed his Mistress that their repast was arranged. She must have been waiting in the room next door because she entered immediately. She often watched him covertly, something which always seemed to surprise him as if it was the first time, and always seemed to arouse in him an incredible feeling of being both cared for and preyed upon. Preyed upon? Yes, preyed upon as if about to be devoured, and devoured in the most enjoyable of ways. Sometimes she could be such an imp.

Usually she wore a formal gown to dinner, and often satin gloves to match, but this evening she wore attire which raised more than his eyebrows. His mistress was clad from neck to foot in a deliciously tight fitting black cat suit, crafted from some sort of slightly shimmering fabric, the name of which he could not even begin to guess. This was not clothing for the bedroom, however, but designed for athletic activity and possibly suggesting clandestine behavior. As he pulled out her chair for her, she threw him a mischievous wink and that little smile that melted his heart in an instant. “Do you like this?”, she queried playfully. Gabriel nodded several times more than was necessary, and this brought another smile which aroused him even further. He walked to his chair and sat, all the while focusing upon her beauty, which he could not tear his eyes away from. “You must eat, my love, and it looks fabulous. Try the wine. I’m sure you’ll like it.” And as Gabriel raised his glass, dipping it in her direction in playful and loving salutation, that aroma of the strange orange wine struck his nostrils. Bringing the glass pensively to his lips, he sipped. His Mistress never took her gaze from his eyes.

Had they eaten? He couldn’t seem to remember. The only taste he could recall was that of the wine. More than taste, actually, for it seemed to tingle in his mouth and throat, not as would a carbonated beverage, but as would a passionate kiss. He was experiencing brief moments of awareness in which he could determine that he was still sitting at the table and staring intently into those lavender eyes across from him, those eyes which stared back with love and understanding deeper than anything that seemed humanly possible. To say that Gabriel was transfixed would have fallen far short. The bottle of wine emptied, and somehow most of it by way of Gabriel’s glass, he did not feel even slightly inebriated. What he did feel was intensely aroused and dreamy. He had felt this way with her many times before, but this evening seem so different, more immediate somehow, as if the addition of that strange wine had somehow upped the ante of everything. He almost thought he could hear faint music, although no music was playing. He almost thought he could feel a warm breeze, although it was cold outside and all the windows were closed. She was doing more than just hypnotizing him this time. She was transforming him.

She spoke, deeply, intensely, and with a passion both serious and playful. Each word entered his mind as would a drop of honey fall into an upturned bowl, and slowly filling the bowl, each successive drop would send slow-motion ripples throughout the rest of the honey. Brimming and drifting over the edge in languid ecstasy, becoming warmer and less viscous with every drop, with every word, Gabriel’s mind was slowly but surely undergoing a beautiful metamorphosis. He felt a strength building within his veins like a never-ending crescendo which would increase indefinitely, a miracle of power, a dream come true of magic potential. Although his focus was now almost entirely within his subconscious, he was still able to recognize with his conscious mind who he was and where. What was she planning for him that such a transformation was in order? And as his mind posed this question to no one in particular, so faded that question. The trance deepened, and he soon lost all sense of comparison between the waking world and this magnificent dream. Aside from the feeling of growing power within him, the only other thing which he was aware of was the constant sensation of deepest love he had for his Mistress and she for him. The warmth he had grown so familiar with over the last few years was now more understandable than ever, though he had long ago realized that part of it would always remain mystery, and happily so. Mystery made it all so much more enjoyable.

Had she given him instruction? He could not remember. She finished speaking and walked boldly up to him, took him in a warm yet vigorous embrace, and kissed him on the lips with all the passion of a young bride welcoming home her soldier husband from across the sea, so glad that he was alive. The warmth within him surged and mingled with the tingling feeling of power in his veins, causing him to believe for a moment that he could fly. Then, without so much as a second to pause, she turned and walked gracefully as a cat down the hallway and out the door. Somehow he knew that his course would be apparent to him and he did not struggle to recall what she had said. He stood for a few minutes and continued to relish that marvelous feeling of well-being that can only be felt by someone who is truly loved and in love. And then, as if his feet knew more than he, a short walk down the hallway and out the door came automatically, almost as if sleepwalking. She was nowhere in sight, of course, having moved off in a direction of her own. He trusted her completely to know what she was doing as well as what he was about to do, although he could not remember for all the tea in China what that was. He walked to the little elevator which he seldom took, pressed the call button, and when it arrived he stepped inside and proceeded to the ground floor.

The street was a mixture of blowing rain and scattering pedestrians, a mad little dance of panic and narrowly avoided slapstick as various parties vied for the attention of cabs while trying to avoid slipping on the wet pavement. He turned to the east and walked through the rain as if it was sunshine on a cloudless day. He did not feel the cold in the least and for some reason his clothes did not seem to be getting wet. The warmth within him was somehow pushing the rain away, creating a bubble of summer around him as he strode. Moving out of the posh residential district and into the business section of the city, now deserted at this time of night except for the occasional cleaning crew and security guard, Gabriel placed one foot in front of the other as effortlessly as a puff of dandelion down floats upon the wind. He glided more than walked, and as he moved no one seemed to notice, not policemen, not street cleaner, not prostitute. As he approached a tall glass tower a man stood hunkered against the wall and under the small awning of a doorway. “Gabe? is that you?” And for a moment Gabriel was jerked from his reverie like a fish from a happy pond, as he recognized the man who had recognized him. It was the owner of the old pawnshop where he had once sought refuge in the mornings for the price of a little sweeping. The man looked, in an instant of inspection, as if he had lost everything, for he was now dressed in the same sort of rags that Gabriel himself had once worn when he had lived on the streets. The feeling of warmth within him surged anew and he reached into his back pocket, withdrawing his wallet, from which he extracted all the cash he had, some five thousand dollars. We deep friendship in his eyes, he looked straight into the eyes of this man who had once helped him, stepped forward to embrace him with a hug of one brother to another, and during this brief moment of distraction slipped the money into the man’s coat pocket. “Sorry”, said Gabriel. “You must be thinking of someone else.” And with a smile he walked away, leaving his old friend slightly confused but very much richer.

The front doors of the office tower had been chained and padlocked from within. Somehow Gabriel knew this would be the case, and he walked past these doors without hesitation and around to the side. There was a door for delivery which had two key holes, one in an entrance knob and the other in a deadbolt above. From his shirt pocket he withdrew a long piece of stiff wire, springy yet pliable, and with a small hook at one end. This he inserted first into the keyhole of the deadbolt, and with a slight twist and jerk he could feel the lock mechanism release. Quickly doing the same to the simpler keyed knob, he opened the door and deftly walked to the small control panel on the opposite wall. Again he placed the hook of the small wire into the lock on this control panel and raised the plexiglass lid. His fingers moved as if in a dream, entering the code which would silence the burglar alarm. He was in.

A cleaning lady was busy with her work by the main elevators in the front, so he walked to the stairs which lay in the other direction and began to ascend. The strong sinews of his legs carried him effortlessly higher and higher into the most lofty reaches of the tower, a castle of financial secrets and inexplicable records which none but the rich and powerful were concerned with. Emerging on the top floor, Gabriel walked deliberately and knowingly towards the twin oak doors of the conference room. Again using the little lock pick, he passed through and again silenced the alarm from the control panel in the secret closet within. Nothing seemed like a mystery, while, at the same time, it was obvious to him that he had never been here before. Familiarity and unfamiliarity coexisting side by side in his feelings. It didn’t matter. She had told him what he needed to know and that information was as firmly implanted into his mind as was the foundation of this building implanted into the bedrock of the Earth. Gliding to the back of the room, he immediately found the hidden panel, and with a series of well-placed taps in a specific order and with a specific pressure, he unlocked the entrance to the room in which lay more wealth than all the banks in the city combined. Rows of computer screens that never slept flickered in the dimmed light. An automated voice called out from nowhere in particular and asked for the password, to which Gabriel responded with calm accuracy, at which point the voice proclaimed him welcome.

Sitting at a terminal at the far end of the room, Gabriel entered several passwords which gave him access to the first level of security. Without quite knowing why, he raised his head slightly and gazed out the window into the high darkness above the city streets. There in front of him, not two hundred yards away, was another office tower, and from a darkened window at the same level as his, came the flash of a tiny lavender light. A signal. She was there.

Now his fingers moved more quickly, and he felt a sense of urgency growing within him. Not nervousness, not panic, and certainly not paranoia, for in him rested that wonderful warmth and security which she had given. However, it was very apparent that there was no time to lose, and his fingers flew across the keyboard as he passed level after level of security until at last he had obtained that which he sought. Removing a small thumb drive from his jacket pocket, he placed it into the port in front of him and downloaded the codes in a matter of seconds. He then withdrew that thumb drive and replaced it with another, this one containing a tiny program which would erase all traces of his activity from even the cleverest of prying eyes. The film that she had told him to glue to his fingertips would leave prints which belonged to the highest executive in this corporation, making it appear as if he had done what Gabriel had just done, should anyone ever get that far in an investigation. Standing and walking to another terminal, Gabriel again played magic upon the keys and passed deep into a security system designed to monitor all activity in the building via closed-circuit cameras. Opening the bay do a disk drive, he inserted a DVD which he had carried with him. This would upload footage of empty hallways and the room he was in now, and via the means of more clever code, it would replace the footage which had just been recorded. Removing the disk and again inserting yet another thumb drive, all traces of this activity were magically made to disappear. He knew that the camera which had been focused on this terminal would swing back in less than a minute. That was as much time as he had to get out.

Walking back the way he had come and out into the conference room, being careful to close the door behind him after resetting the alarm, he went to a door on the right side of the room and again easily picked the locks. Now he ascended a short flight of stairs and soon found himself upon the flat roof, being buffeted by a cold wind and rain that happily had no effect on him whatsoever. He looked towards the building where his Mistress was, she too, was now on the roof. Again that little flash of lavender light which he answered with a flash of his own from the little LED flashlight she had given him. Taking cover behind an air vent, he watched through the darkness as she aimed a long spear gun and sent a slender yet very strong line across to his roof. Racing to catch the spear and line before it could fall off the roof, he quickly secured it to the air vent with the special radio controlled locking loop she had given him. At the other end she pulled it tight with a small electric winch till it was as taught as the string of a violin. He could hear her voice in his mind, “Trust in me, my love, and let yourself walk with confidence. Just step onto the line and come to me.” And with that Gabriel stepped off the roof and onto the tight line and began to walk, without the slightest hesitation or fear, not needing to balance himself with his hands, not needing to contemplate the height at which his feet soared.

In two minutes he was across, and his Mistress sent a brief radio signal to the locking loop around the air vent back on the roof he had come from. In an instant the line came loose and she hit the button on the winch to rapidly recoil the entire affair. So quickly did the line spin onto the little drum that there was never any danger of it touching the side of either building and thus raising an alarm. Detaching the winch from its anchor on the tiny cupola and quickly stowing the gear into two small backpacks, one for each of them, they opened the door on the cupola and descended. They could take the elevator here as this building was much less secure, and were soon at ground level where they walked to the back entrance, out the door which she had previously unlocked, and onto the rainy street. She put her arm mischievously around his waist as they strode and he reciprocated tenderly by placing his arm around her shoulders. To any who saw, two lovers on their way home from the theatre, so wrapped up in each other that they took no notice of the driving rain. The storm was increasing in its ferocity, yet to them no rain or cold could have any effect. The warmth within them was fairly raging now, and they were eager to get back to the apartment to celebrate with a feast of love making. She sensed his thoughts and spoke softly to him, audible words this time and not telepathically.

“It’s just a bit of a detour, Gabriel, so wouldn’t you like to go back by way of the old boardwalk down on the beach?” Teasing, prolonging, ..... sweet torture. The suggestion of her detour brought both anguish and elation.

He nodded, as he always did to her, a tiny movement conveying deep devotion. They soon reached to spot where once had stood the old fortune-telling machine.

“So you were impressed with my little mechanical helper, were you?” Her voice like silvery moonlight now, soft and cool and oh so strong. “I will bring it back here again someday when the time is right, and when someone else who is ready needs a safe place to sleep and a life to change.”

And they walked along the planks, smirking like schoolchildren who had just played a joke on the stuffy headmaster and for which they knew they could never be caught. They would relax in the rain and the wind from the sea and then gradually make their way back to her apartment. The tiny thumb drive containing the codes would be used to redistribute the wealth obtained by callousness and evil to those who could benefit from it the most. Orphanages, hospitals, the protection of wildlife, and the cleaning of rivers and streams. The poor and hungry in many a city would be fed and clothed and housed as a result of what they had done tonight.

Gabriel and his Mistress would engage in that ever delightful dance of loving Dominance and devoted submission, and they would rest as only those can rest with a clear conscience and a glad heart. Joys of the past never leave. They are always there. The trick is to always revere them, and thus they remain.

And the man who had owned the pawn shop would find a way to buy back his business and he would thrive. And sitting in the window for all to see who cared to look, would be an old fortune-telling machine, which no one would ever purchase. But that is as she wanted it, a price upon it which none could afford, at least not with money. Gabriel’s Mistress would tell the shop owner to accept nothing less than a perfect smile in exchange for that old machine. The man would eventually have his turn to drink from the waters of healing beneath the oaks and eat the fruit that magically floated by. For now he would sleep at night wrapped in a very soft blanket of thick blue wool and rest his head upon a pale blue satin pillow. Gifts from his old friend, Gabriel, who would keep an eye on him as he made his way up out of the gutter and back into that which we call “society”, yet is but one branch of the larger tribe which includes us all.

Gabriel dared to venture to his Mistress a question which had never seemed important nor disrespectful, yet somehow had never had behind it enough curiosity necessary to push the question out into words. “Dear Mistress, are you a gypsy?”

Oh, that wonderful eruption of laughter, so glad and joyous and full of delightful warmth! It melted his heart and dizzied him, it inspired and awed him, and it always ignited that unmistakable feeling of deepest love.

“A gypsy?”, she laughed. “Is that what you think I am?” And Gabriel somehow knew that she was so much more. And above the roiling clouds, the stars shined just a little brighter, and twinkled a bit more playfully.