The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was dark and Robert was ready to leave the club, pick up Angel and head to the warehouse. He was almost out the club door when Kendra slid in front of him radiating sex and lust.

“Hey lover, where you heading?”

“Have to take care of some business. Be back soon.”

She moved her bare arms sensuously up and around his neck. He could feel the heat pouring from her exquisite body. “I’m really, really looking forward to tomorrow night.”

“Yeah me too. Look I gotta go.”

She leaned in and kissed him hard. “When I get off tonight can we go to your place and fuck?”

“Sure, why not?”

She giggled. He noticed it was hollow end empty, almost by rote instead of inspired by happiness or anything human. Her eyes were blank and wide like they only used to look when she was having a session with the drug or he gave her the command words. But now it seemed it had become a permanent part of her.

“I want you to fuck me hard all night while I think about killing those fuckers. While I think about all that blood.”

A hard deep chill ran up his spin. Jesus Christ. What’s going on in her head? He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know the answer but deep down he already did. And he also knew he would have to do something about it once this all finished.

Angel stood in front of the mirror putting on her jeans and bra. She had been playing the stereo loud and now the slow, haunting strains of The Pretty Reckless’ ‘House upon a Hill’ filled the apartment. They were her and Brianna’s favorite group.

Somewhere in the end of all this hate

There’s a light ahead that shines into this grave

That’s in the end of all this pain

Angel’s mind drifted back to the last day of her stepfather’s life. He was taking the first steps down that tall almost vertical ladder. She was holding it for him as usual but today there was a hammer sticking out of her back pocket.

When she was sure he was too far below the roof to crawl back on she shifted position and dug her heels in, pulling with all her might. The vertical angle of the ladder aided in the fifteen year olds efforts but it was a will and determination to survive and to exact revenge that fueled her muscles as she strained.

Slowly, inexorably the ladder began to tip out. Angel’s step father looked down and realization dawned, his step daughter was trying to kill him. He looked at her face attempting to coerce some kind of sympathy from her, to trick her into doubt, into changing her mind; after all she was only a fifteen year old girl. She must be terrified and conflicted over what she was attempting.

But what he saw in her face left no doubt of her will and no hope for reprieve. Gone was the sweet fresh looking young teen on whom he had taken his pleasure; her face now frozen in a sneer, her lips curled up baring her white teeth like some predatory animal. Her eyes gleamed with nothing put pure malice.

He yelled out as he fell, a cry of rage and fear intermingled for three stories, it seemed to him as though the fall took forever. His cries ceased suddenly with a sickening crack as he head hit the asphalt driveway.

In the night ahead, there a light upon this house on a hill

Living living still, their intention is to kill and they will, they will

Angel took out the hammer and strode to the body. She looked down and saw blood pouring from his shattered skull: Blood and something thicker and redder. He was still alive, gasping for air, looking at her with bulging, pleading eyes.

She pointed the hammer at him. “Guess I don’t need this, you landed just right.” She leaned over him. “You must have a big appetite after all that work. I’ll go in and make us a good supper Daddy.” She turned and walked away.

Angel cooked Fettuccine that night, one of her favorite dishes. She knew the secret to a great Fettuccine was the fontinella cheese. You could never find a restaurant that used it. She enjoyed a slow cold beer with dinner.

After taking a leisurely hour eating she returned to him, finding him dead.

She returned to house and picked up the phone her blue eyes composed for the moment. Then she closed them, making herself play the last part. When they opened they were full of tears and soon she was sobbing. She dialed 911.

“Please! Come quick, my step daddy fell off his ladder. He’s hurt real bad. Come as fast as you can!”

But the children are doing fine, I think about them all the time

Until they drink the wine….and they will, they will, they will

Kendra was dancing on stage, having the time of her life. She had a new prop she had just incorporated into one of her acts. A six inch long serrated knife with a leering, fanged demon’s head handle that she ran languidly along her body and tossed effortlessly about as she danced. She wielded it like a third arm, as though an extension of her body she was so smooth with it.

She had her serpent arm band on, her eyes were sunken dark pools from the eye shadow and mascara so expertly applied, her lips encased in black lipstick only combined to enhance her evil seductress look. The dark red choker around her neck alluded to blood. Her long legs encased in black thigh high boots with impossibly high heels; her strong, irresistibly sexy body swaying hypnotically to the music enthralling all who watched. She was the living, flesh apotheosis of dark, twisted forbidden sex incarnate.

The audience was going nuts with the combination of danger and sensuality she radiated. Kendra smiled alluringly thinking how perfectly she would get off having a good violent nasty fuck with them and then cutting their heads off. She started to pant.

Somewhere in the end we’re all insane

To think that light ahead will save us from this grave

That’s in the end of all this pain

Sarkosian was plowing his favorite fuck buddy. She was on her back as he held her arms down, shoving it in, near climax.

His mind drifted back to the other night. Marius needed some work done; a man who seemed a bit too loose with his words when he drank at his favorite bar. He spoke about money loaned to a union boss and mentioned Marius’ name. He did it, too often, when he got drunk.

Sarkosian waited outside the bar this particular night and followed him as he wobbled up the street. He knew the man. He was a high ranking union official and bag man for Marius.

Sarkosian waited until the man was next to an alley and then was on him in an instant. He grabbed the man’s elbow.

“Sarkosian!” the man bubbled, full of alcoholic bonhomie. “What are you doing here?”

Sarkosian smiled like he was the man’s best friend in the world. “Looking for you. Marius likes your work for us. You are such a lucky man. Bigger things for you my old friend. Big money. So very big. Interested?”

The man grinned, the drink fueling his greed and dulling is instincts. “Fuck, that’s what I want to hear. What’s he have in mind? Anything for Marius, anything for you Sarkosian. You know that.”

“I know this above all else. It’s why you have been picked. This will be quick. Let us talk.” Sarkosian led the man into the dark alley. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro’s even though he didn’t smoke. He knew the man did and he knew his brand. Not Winston, not menthol, it was Marlboro’s. It was the little things like this that Sarkosian knew were so important, that could tip the odds in his favor.

With Sarkosian killing was always a work of art instigated by his understanding of the victim’s nature. To kill was not enough, the true mark of his art was the legerdemain that preceded it, that threw the victim off, the misdirection that left them totally unaware of what was at hand.

He sidled up close. “Smoke?” he asked holding the pack alluringly. He knew from long observation it was virtually impossible for any drunken smoker to refuse a cigarette. Especially so when it was his brand.

“Hey thanks.” The man reached out and took a cigarette from the pack. Instantly Sarkosian had a lighter in his hand like a one two punch in boxing and struck the flint firing it up.

Sarkosian moved closer, right up on him.

“Here you go. Enjoy.”

“Appreciate that,” the man said, lighting the cigarette. And he did. Imagine a big shot like Sarkosian lighting his cigarette! He knew he was heading for the real gravy train now but he tried to keep his excitement in check.

The glow of the tiny fire showed his face in relief to the inky blackness of the alley.

“Hey,” the man said, now becoming slowly perplexed. “When did you start smoking?” It was a thought and question he would have asked sooner had the booze not addled his mind. Sarkosian of course knew this and he felt pride in how he had judged it. It was so beautiful, like nothing else on earth.

Sarkosian smiled. “I never have. Those things are dangerous.” Like magic the long thin knife was in Sarkosian’s hand held low, unseen.

Suddenly the man’s eyes opened wide, the cigarette trembled in his lips then fell, flashing to the ground like a fire fly in its gravity dive as the last puff of smoke in his life drifted out of his mouth, curling the opposite direction, upwards into the black heavens.

He stared at Sarkosian, their faces just inches apart, almost like lovers. Sarkosian still had the lighter working right up close, so he could see every nuance of the man’s face and eyes: the shock, the wonder, the confusion. And like a lover Saskosian’s smile grew wider and his eyes became lidded in pleasure as he twisted the thin knife around inside the man’s liver, ripping it into irredeemable shards.

Finally Sarkosian clicked the lighter off and the man’s face was snuffed out of the light and into darkness. He never had time to make a noise and now he didn’t have the strength of even a baby to do so.

Sarkosian had killed in any number of ways over his career but the knife was what he favored above all else. It meant he had to get close to the victim, dangerous territory and this excited him but even more so the moment he plunged the knife home, the intimate feeling of connection he had with the victim as he, or she, became helpless was unparalleled.

Sarkosian held him up for a moment then gently lowered him down to the ground, seated his back against the building making sure he could sit up.

He walked up the alley to come out on another street away from the body, where his car was parked. Sarkosian was always careful, always stacked the odds in his favor in everything he did.

The man lay there death now seconds away, the last synapses of his brain fading into the big endless eternal nothing, like so many victims in Sarkosian’s red wake, never really fully aware what had happened to him.

A rat behind a garbage can watched him in the final extremis, waited a few more beats then inched forward.

Sarkosian thought about the look in the man’s face those last seconds of his life as he stared at his girl and continued to fuck near orgasm. He could see the man just as though it was happening all over again and suddenly he could feel the moment of release coming. The girl was moaning but Sarkosian came in silence like he always did.

Sarkosian never made noise during sex. Almost as though making a sound would attract attention that would be unwanted to someone in his line of work.

As he dressed she was lounging in bed, enjoying that post orgasmic buzz. “God that look you gave me there at the end. You looked like you were in heaven, so intense too. It was amazing,” she said. “Am I really that good?” she asked, a touch of vanity in her voice.

“You are always so good,” he replied as he picked up his gun and knife from the table, not looking at her. He put the gun in his shoulder holster.

Sarkosian enjoyed the meetings with Franko. He could smell the fear pouring off the big man like it was frying in grease. He wondered how anyone could be so afraid. It was an emotion foreign to him.

What was the worst thing that could happen in your life? You died. So what, then you didn’t know anything anyway. What was there to fear?

In the night ahead, there’s a light upon this house on a hill

Living, living still, their intention is to kill and they will, they will

Marius sat by the pool at his house alone. The city he ran was down below, spread out in glittery supplication before him but his mind was elsewhere. For the first time in years he felt unsure. Either Angel was lying to him for some reason or Sarkosian had turned. It was strange feeling for him, foreign.

If Sarkosian had betrayed him it was an inherent hazard in their line of work. He had attained the big chair by killing his boss ten years ago; a man who made the fatal mistake of trusting someone as ambition as Marius. You paid for those kinds of mistakes in their business and you only paid once.

But Marius was great judge of character and had long ago figured Sarkosian as a man who liked to stay in the shadows, away from the spotlight the boss position necessitated. It bothered him greatly that he may have misjudged. It was an indictment of his own judgment. That disturbed him even more than the possibly of Sarkosian’s betrayal.

Either Angel or Sarkosian would not survive this night; both results a loss as he liked and admired each of them for different reasons.

He could bring any dozen men with him to the warehouse but he would not. If he erred with Sarkosian his pride and singular honor dictated that he redress that mistake himself. If he had made the mistake, he would correct it. He had elevated Sarkosian personally and he would remove him personally if it was required.

If the worst case was true he had to take out Sarkosian first. Sarkosian was a professional, a master of his trade, the real danger. Robert and Little were mere dilettantes playing at a man’s game. As good as Sarkosian was Marius knew he was better. Once he dispensed with Sarkosian he knew he could do the other two long before they could react.

Marius’ thoughts drifted back to his youth, when he first started making his reputation as a street brawler, the Great Marius who had never lost in over a hundred fights.

He could still hear howl of the crowds in abandoned warehouses and parking lots and recondite arenas as he took on all comers in fights that only ended when one man was incapacitated…or dead. Blood flowed in this fights like wine and Marius reveled in it, his opponent’s blood and his own.

He could still hear that noise and see the frenzied faces of people holding up money to bet as the punches and kicks flew between him and his opponent.

Back then he had little, a pittance compared to the riches and power now at his whim and disposal. But back then, in Blood Sport, fighting for pride and reputation and survival, for the sheer atavistic joy of breaking another human with his bare hands had been the best time of his life.

Not money or great homes or fancy cars or gorgeous girls or even power could equal what that had given him. He was Marius, a name said in awe, the king of the underground arenas and no man no matter how big, strong or skilled could ever pull him off his bloody throne. Back then he had no gang to watch his back, it was just him and he loved it that way.

Slowly Marius came back to moment. He finished off his whisky and looked at his watch. It was time to go; enticed by the arena of Blood Sport one more time, alone, the way he preferred it.

He picked up the pistol from the table and strode out with confidence, not looking back for even an instant at his accumulated possessions, a man entering the arena he always lived for and owned, already knowing what the outcome would be and who would emerge victorious.

But the children are doing fine, I think about them all the time

Until they drink the wine…and they will, they will, they will

Robert sat in his car outside Angel’s house. He had been mulling over all that Angel had said, trying to decipher what she had to gain by lying. In the end he had begun to believe it. She had absolutely nothing to gain no matter how many angles he threw around in his mind. Tonight would be the irrefutable proof of her assertion or the exposure of her lie. There was no way she could dodge it. And he would make sure she was right next to him the whole time.

And if she was lying in the end what would it matter? She was totally out of her depth and would only realize it at the last fatal moment when Kendra wiped her from this earth. He reached into his glove box, pulled out his Colt 45, slid a round into the chamber and tucked it behind his waistband. He felt better having it tonight, just in case. With that idiot little girl, who knew what could happen?

Franko went into his closet and picked up the briefcase. He always had a dread of meeting with Sarkosian no matter how amiable the small man acted.

There was something so creepy and unreal about him. He hoped Angel could get some angle with Marius that could get him out of High Lights fast. If not he would have to stick with his plan and endure more meetings with Sarkosian.

He carried the briefcase out of the closet walked into the living room and retrieved his gun from the table. He was whistling as he walked out the door trying to buck up his spirits; whistling past the graveyard.

Angel had finished dressing. She had put on a large blouse over her blue jeans to hide the gun Franko had given her. She looked at her reflection and in her minds eye she could see the ladder falling, her step father screaming even three years later.

In this house upon a hill

The dead are living still, their intention is to kill, and they will, they will

Keep your children safe inside, out of pocket out of mind

Until they drink the wine…..and they will, they will, they will

Angel picked up the gun and shoved it in her waistband.

She walked to the front door trailed by an excited Sparky. The very gentle dog could read Angel’s emotions perfectly and he knew something was wrong. He scampered around the door, blocking her exit.

She knelt down and called to him. He thrust himself into her waiting arms his body shivering with worry. She put a finger gently on his black, wet nose. She loved how it felt. “Baby I have to leave for a while, I left you extra food in your bowl and water and cold milk. I know how much you love milk. I do too. You’re just like me.”

Sparky kept nudging her and boxed her with his paws desperate to keep her there.

She started speaking but her voice began to crack. She was fighting like hell to keep from crying because she didn’t want to upset her beloved Sparky more than he was.

Suddenly it all came crashing down on her.

She had only wanted to be a happy girl, like her friends in school, with a normal life and a shot at a future she would fashion for herself. But it seemed like some dark, malevolent force had stalked her just out of eyesight her whole life.

She had been born out of wedlock to a mother who loved and cared for her with a passion. Angel had reciprocated and idolized her mom and wanted to emulate her.

She died, killed by a drunk driver when Angel was thirteen. Angel had been so happy till that moment. Now she was devastated, emotionally eviscerated. It was the end of her world.

She turned to the only person she had to try get through the pain, her loving step father. She knew with his help she could somehow try get through the agony of what had happened. It was what family was all about. She was so fortunate to have him in the face of the traumatic time she was thrust into. She knew without him she would not make it.

And her stepfather who had been so nice and kind to Angel and her mother suddenly turned, revealing himself to her with a total change in personality, even in how he acted and spoke. Not long after his reign of terror began with his night time visits to the young girl’s bed room for ‘family time’ activities with the rope.

Angel discovered in the hardest way possible her mom had made a mistake, marrying a monster-chameleon who hid his true form so well as the most accomplished monsters are apt to do.

And so she navigated her mother’s death with her stepfather’s help, just not in the way she had imagined. He totally destroyed her emotions including grief. She felt nothing after a while but numbness. She couldn’t feel a thing for her mother because she felt nothing for herself either.

Angel had survived this for two and a half years until her stepdad started fixing the roof, giving her the opportunity she had long waited for.

Running away from a series of foster homes whose owners cared more about the money they received than caring for Angel had been an easy decision to make. It was this series of disappointments with these people who pretended to like her, that convinced Angel that no one would ever really love her except for her dead mother.

She determined she would face the world with a cocky don’t give a shit insouciance that belied the dead feeling she had inside. She didn’t want the world to know how broken she was. No one gave a fuck about her and she resolved to not give a fuck about anyone right back. Now she would be the user, she would take what she wanted and anyone she hurt could fuck off and die.

But Brianna slowly changed her entire outlook. The beautiful young girl had quickly put Angel first, doing things, making sacrifices to help her, a total stranger, a runaway.

She had taken Angel in, skipped work; fed her, clothed her and most importantly spent so much precious time with her. They did things Angel had only dreamed about, going to museums, concerts, amusement parks, the zoo, ocean diving in Key West and so much more.

She gently encouraged Angel to think about her future and plan for it, to start studying again. She bought Angel school books and studied with her. Not in an oppressive demanding way, but in a fun interesting way. Brianna was a better teacher than any she had experienced in school.

She talked to her like they were equals, about funny things, goofy things, smart things, sad things, personal things, anything at all that came into both girls’ minds. Nothing was off limits.

Angel found herself doing something she never thought she would again, laughing, really laughing, from joy and amusement and pleasure like normal people.

Brianna cared for her, she wanted to help her and she wasn’t paid a dime to do it but instead spent her own hard earned money. And Brianna risked jail for her, harboring an underage runaway for years.

Over time Angel realized that besides her mom one other person loved her unequivocally: sweet, intelligent, funny Brianna and it was an epiphany that changed the fifteen year olds whole world view. Angel knew there was true love for her and by some miracle that special person had found her one night hitchhiking to nowhere but a bad end.

But it didn’t stop there. Brianna began to take Angel to the soccer practices she ran for young girls who lived at an abused and orphaned young girl’s institute.

At first Angel didn’t want to go. What did she care about those kids? But over time things changed. Brianna would coach and practice and play with the kids and every time they had such great fun. The kids would laugh and cheer and play hard and for a brief time forget their troubles. Brianna loved those kids and treated them like little sisters. Eventually Angel got sucked in and began having the time of her life playing and helping Brianna coach them.

After practices Brianna would take them to movies or dinners or amusement parks or the beach. Angel could see the kids grow closer as a team, could see Brianna’s love and patience and lessons paying off affecting them in so many ways. Even the most damaged and introverted of the little girls emerged from their shells.

Angel could see how those young girls loved and worshipped Brianna and she found herself feeling the same way.

Brianna had in her own easy way taught her the best life lesson of all: while it is great to love and be loved, it was all about caring for people, helping them that was the greatest reward, which made a person whole. And Angel, erstwhile avowed misanthrope now glowed with joy and calm every time she and Brianna would enter those kids’ lives.

She realized that somewhere, sometime, under Brianna’s many ministrations in all the good things she showed her and welcomed her to join in on the old Angel died and a new one was born.

And as trust blossomed to fierce love in Angel’s heart she knew she wanted to be just like Brianna, not physically, but inside, where it counted most.

And now, at this moment, knowing she would likely die this night, saying goodbye to this helpless, loving dog that her real Brianna had given her it became too much. That reality was that Sparky, this dog she loved beyond words, down to the very marrow of her body was the final link she would ever have to her precious love.

All of it hit her at once: her mother’s death, her stepfather’s abuse; how Robert had taken her Brianna, destroyed her like some snake injecting her with lethal venom before Angel even knew what was happening.

How she sold herself at the club to strangers bringing back horrific memories and dreams of her stepfather and fucked Franko and Marius all in a desperate attempt to cobble together a plan to save the only person she knew she would ever want to share her life with.

All these things, this endless constant, physical and emotional meat grinder of pain now conspired against her; each new part of her plan over the long weeks sacrificing another piece of her away in the process until she felt like there was almost nothing left of herself.

She felt so close to crazy now. She could feel crazy like it was a corporeal being, reaching out its hand to her, asking soothingly for a deadly, permanent shake that would end her suffering, and she wanted so much to take it and give in.

Tonight that plan she had sacrificed so much for would work or it wouldn’t and if not she would die. She knew she would be fine with either outcome because at least it would all finally end. Angel was at the end of her tether and didn’t have the strength to do this one more day.

But she could see it to the finish this one last night. Even if Brianna was lost to her forever, as Angel dreaded, there were two other things she wanted, two things she needed to take out of this horror if she survived. And both those things would be at the warehouse tonight exactly as she had made happen.

And the fifteen year old version of herself who had waited and plotted for years for the exact moment to deal with her monster step father was still there, inside, urging her on into the breach one more time.

If in the end if it proved she could not save Brianna she would still fight to the death to be the person Brianna had seen inside her. And keep a part of Brianna alive by living the life and being the person her lover had nurtured her into understanding she could be.

She composed herself for this brutally painful good bye. “Look…I’ll be back tonight.” She hugged Sparky so tight, so fucking tight. She couldn’t let go, feeling Sparky’s heart pounding in his warm soft body; one parting too many even for a runaway. She stopped talking, unable to go on, just hugging, holding, holding, holding on.

She took deep breaths trying to calm down. She gave him a pretty smile she didn’t know how she managed to manufacture.

“I’ll be back. Just wait here for me. And if….if…I can’t..if something happens…I told Mrs. Jeffors at the clinic to come get you tomorrow unless I call her tonight. I told her I might have to leave on a family emergency. She has a nice husband and young kids. You will….love….it…” a sob escaped her as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Just remember no matter what happens I love you. I love you so much. I’ll always love you. Don’t forget that. Please don’t forget me…don’t forget..Brianna. She loved you as much as I do.” She kissed him over and over again.

She got up fast, she couldn’t take another second of this, knowing she was moments away from collapsing and moved to the door. Sparky followed shaking furiously with nervousness.

She stepped out and gave him one last gentle smile and then the door closed on him.

Sparky sat down not moving, looking longingly at where his master had gone out and began to whine, alone. He would not move from that spot, not for food or milk.

It was a brutally hot and sticky night that Friday in the City of Angels, breaking records that went back over seventy years. There was heat lightening in the sky that produced strange yellow and red flashes inside the clouds that lit them with eldritch charges.

At the old warehouse the last working sodium lamp stood, its light flickering, dimming and fading like a forgotten remaining sentinel of a long dead brigade.

It stood waiting, the lone witness to the events that would transpire there. It stood waiting for four men:

Robert Maxin, who was driven to control everything in his life and would go to any length to get it and secure the club that meant more to him than human ever could.

Franko Little, a man determined to live far bigger dreams than those meted out to him by others more powerful.

Sarkosian, a creature of shadows, shadows that were the pillars supporting an empire that only he and few others knew existed. A man no one could honestly say they understood, even those closest to him. A man whose appetites and joys and thoughts were as secret as everything else about him. A man who had murdered over fifty others with no more a thought to it than buying a loaf of bread at the store.

Marius Sullas, the gangster who could not lose, who was too smart, cunning, too cruel to ever taste defeat. A man with an army behind him. A man with senators, police captains, business leaders, clergymen on his pay roll ready to jump at his beck and call. A man who could look around a corner and see what was there long before he arrived. A man responsible for fifteen deaths personally in his life and hundreds more entered in his tally book of sins through the drugs his organization peddled and killings he had ordered. The most powerful and feared individual in the city of Los Angeles.

And the lamp stood witness for one other: Angel Blake, a tiny young girl, a ragged, lone runaway, abuse survivor, brutally stripped of her mother and then the love of her life who had saved her, barely eighteen years old. Who through her force of will, ingenuity and primal desperation brought these powerful dangerous men to that bloody confluence on that hot, strange night.

And as the warm winds twirled and danced and buffeted off the parched cracked asphalt parking lot behind the old warehouse the predators of the night could smell the sickly sweet, cloying scent of death in the air.