The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When Angel awoke she quickly found a hotel on her phone that allowed pets and asked Pat to take here there. As they drove she asked him many questions about his wife and kids. She couldn’t seem to get enough about the stories he told of them, funny stories, serious stories, life stories. Angel would always say something to prod him on to tell more. She would respond with quips of her own to, often penetrating observations or questions, some of them serious, others joking. He found her mind so very adept and inquisitive.

At some point he developed the strongest feeling that Angel was asking these questions to get some kind of once removed experience of what it was to have a family to enjoy and love and to be loved by a family. This made him sad.

When they parked Angel woke up Sparky and both decamped from the cab. She approached his open window and put the cab fare in his hand.

He was surprised she the money for it. It was a substantial sum. He had not really expected to get paid the full amount or maybe none at all, but he didn’t care. If you couldn’t help someone in trouble then what kind of person were you?

She then surprised him yet again. She offered to get him a room for the night before his trip back to LA but he refused. He wanted to return to his family. Angel understood that, it had not been long ago when she too would have traveled for endless hours to return to the person she loved.

She reached into her purse and put her hand through the open window, dropping a tied up bundle of money in his lap.

Pat picked it up and started counting. They were all hundreds. With each bill that went by he felt more and more dizzy. When he finished it had reached ten thousand dollars. He sat there stunned, totally unable to comprehend what was happening.

Where had this young girl gotten this money? How much did she have? What was she running from? All these thoughts swirled like a kaleidoscope in his reeling mind.

One thing he was certain of was that no matter what had happened back in LA, Angel was on the side of right in life’s ledger of moral judgment. Driving over these many years he had become a consummate discerner of character and every fiber of his being told him Angel was a good person.

He also knew something else, no way in hell he was going to take this obscene amount of money from this young girl. Who knew what lay ahead of her or if she would ever need it.

Pat shook his head. “Angel, I really appreciate this. You have no idea how much. But I’m not going to take it. I didn’t bring you here to make a score. I wanted to do it, OK? It was my choice. So if you don’t take it, I will throw it out the window at you when I pull out. And that’s final. No arguments young lady.”

Pat felt bad pulling age rank on the girl and talking to her like an adult to a kid but he had to make sure she knew this was not going to happen. She owed him no favors and he was not going to take one from her.

He prepared for her to protest, to plead maybe, with emotion, like a young girl would but she just stood there, for the longest time, looking at him with a most unusual calm gracing her features. Gone was that adorable, expressive young face. She looked for all intents and purposes like she was analyzing him, appraising what he had said.

Angel stepped close, right up to window and leaned in. She reached out and put her soft, delicate, tiny, pale girlish hand in his and interlocked their fingers together. She closed her hand creating a bond of touch. He could feel the warmth and smoothness of her so young hand.

Her face was just inches from his and as she looked at him, square on, her incredibly blue eyes seemed lit from within, sparkling. Pat had never seen such clear, perfect blue eyes before.

“Pat. I’m going to tell you something I will never tell anyone again.”

He stared into her face, transfixed. This girl had a way of throwing him curve balls, one after another that he just couldn’t hit. Hell, he couldn’t even prepare for them. Strike one. Angel, who are you? What are you doing?

“Pat, have you ever had a conversation with a cat?”

“Sure. I own one. Talk to her all the time. Wife thinks I’m crazy.”

Angel smiled. “No. I mean a conversation.”

Once again she threw him totally off balance. Another curve. Was she kidding or joking? She had to be. He gazed into her face to ascertain the answer. But what he saw there froze him from laughing or making a joke.

She had a soft, slightly wry smile on her mouth, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, but her face had the look of someone dead serious.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Back there,” she tossed her head back, meaning back there in LA, “was someone I cared about very much. And there was a man who came into our lives and did horrific, unspeakable things to her. Things I would never tell you and that you would never want to know. He changed her in a way you wouldn’t think possible. He destroyed all the good in her. That wasn’t easy because she was all good before she met him.”

Brianna! The girl she was pleading with! He didn’t want to hear any more but he had to. He had to know.

“Go on.”

“I tried like hell to help her, to save her but I couldn’t. The damage was done. I freed her but I couldn’t save her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her hand.

“One night, sitting in a parking lot, in a car, I met this cat. He walked up to the car and spoke to me. It made prophecies about what would happen to me if I tried to help my friend. They were not good. And some of them came true.”

Pat knew Angel had not really talked to a cat but was using this parable to impart very important, intimate information to him. Things she needed him to know. Her face was so grown up now, no kid at all. He couldn’t get over what this girl was doing and how she was doing it. Another curve ball. Strike two.

“Was the cat a friend? Was it trying to help you?” he asked, totally entranced by what she was saying and going with it as she wanted.

She thought a moment and then sliced her hand through the night air. “Half and half maybe. He gave me a chance to see but I was too scared to leave the car and find out.”

She looked him square in the eyes. “The last two things he said would happen to me if kept trying to help my....friend...were I would throw my potential away and that I would die.”

Ice formed in Pat’s chest hearing this. “But you didn’t stop, did you?”

“You didn’t leave me hanging on that street corner, did you? When you could have just driven away,” was her answer.

He understood. He understood everything now.

“You see Pat, for the last few weeks, there have been nothing but bad thoughts in my head. I felt dead. I was dead. Nothing but misery. Until the moment you picked me up.”

He nodded.

“Ever since then, leaving all that behind I have felt normal again. I don’t have any bad thoughts rat fucking my mind. Tonight, for the first time in forever I know when I go to bed I will not be at the mercy of those bad thoughts. I will feel clean.”

She smiled at him.

“And it’s all because of you. And if you don’t take this money it will bother me. I will think about it all night. I won’t get to sleep. I will think about it for a long, long time Pat. I will think about it all the time, how you would not do me this one small favor.”

She looked so hopeful at him, so beautiful, so in need. “Do you really want to hurt me like that? Destroy the peace I finally have?”

Jesus Christ, he thought. How the hell did she do this?

Suddenly he felt like the kid and she the adult. And now it was like he was doing her a favor by taking the money instead of the other way around. How had she so effortlessly flipped the script on him?

Now there was no way he couldn’t take the money. Not looking into that face and hearing that story. Not after she put it like that, a dagger at his heart and soul.

Swing and a miss, strike three! You’re out! Never even hit a foul tip. Never came close Pat. He could only shake his head. It dawned on him that there was no winning an argument with this girl.

“Fair enough. You win.”

At those words she looked at him with appreciation and thanks. Her faced softened with happiness. But there was something else. One of her smooth dark eyebrows raised just a bit, and in her sparkling eyes and the faintest corners of her lips he thought he detected a playful, concealed mirth just under the surface. As though she had just played a game with him. She knows she boxed me in, damn her! And she knows I know! But what was there to do except as this girl dictated? Angel had won and they both knew it.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” He didn’t want to leave her. He felt so close to her so quickly. He knew he would miss her, he could feel it already.

She nodded. “I guess so,” Angel replied, like Pat there was hesitation, reluctance in her voice. The two had come far together, so much more than just the miles binding them now.

“Thanks for everything Pat. I will never forget you. I hope you have a good life.”

“Yeah, with a bit of luck, right?”

She nodded. Yes, with a bit of luck, always, she thought.

He looked her face over, memorizing it, this girl he had picked up with her dog. Man what a night. “Have a good life too, Angel. I won’t forget you either.”

He tightened the grip on her hand. “Wait.”

He reached into his glove box and pulled out a card.

“This has my address and phone number. I give it to certain people I meet. If you are ever in LA again and need a ride call me. Or if you ever need a place to stay, a good meal, my wife is a hell of a cook, as you can see.” He patted the paunch on his belly.

“My wife and kids would love to meet you. I think you would like them.”

She took the card and smiled. She felt honored by this offer. How this good man trusted and liked her this much. And she knew she would like his family.

“Someday I will. I promise.” And she meant it. If Kendra didn’t kill her.

When he spoke it was with meaning. “Angel, no matter what happened back there, no matter what you….lost…you’re going to make it. I have met all kinds in this old cab over the years and I can tell. You’re one of those who will make it. If you ever see that cat again, tell him I said he can stick his prophesies up his ass.”

She slowly took her hand out of his, neither really wanting to let go. She raised it and put it on his cheek, holding it there, feeling the skin of this man who had been so kind and selfless. She leaned in and gave him a soft, gentle kiss on the lips.

“Drive safe.”

He smiled at her. She thought his smile so guileless and beautiful. “No worries. I’m good at this,” he replied.

She smiled back. He thought her smile so lovely. “You sure are.”

And then she turned and walked away, the girl and her dog and the story whose terrible details and secrets only she knew retreating from him.

As he drove off he kept glancing back at her in the mirror, straining to keep her in sight till the last moment until she was gone, just like she had never existed.

As he drove home Pat wondered what his wife would think of Angel Blake, the mysterious teenage girl with money, running from some nightmare she was pulled into, trying to escape the doom forecast by a cat. He knew she would fascinated by the whole story wanting to know and wallow in every detail, asking him endless questions.

But for one of the few times in his life he would have to let her down, keep something from her. He would only tell her that he had taken a frightened girl far from her troubles. Angel’s story was given in confidence, he understood that limb she had climbed out on with him and just as she said she would never tell anyone for the rest of her life, neither would he. He just couldn’t figure out how to explain the money to his wife. But he had a long drive to come up with that one and he knew he would. As he said, he was good at this.

Angel was so tired even after her cab sleep that as soon as she entered her hotel room she collapsed on the bed and passed out. Sparky leapt up and cuddled next to her both sharing in the body warmth.

In the morning Angel took a good long shower with the temperature as hot as she could bear. It was as though she was washing the past weeks off not only from her skin but her psyche.

She emerged from the shower and there was Sparky, laying on the floor, staring up at her, his little stump tail wagging. She reached down and pet him with her wet hand. It was so good to have someone love you.

She walked to the mirror and stared at her moist body, her face. Droplets of water dripped down her and her pale skin glowed with moisture.

She thought back on last night, trying to wrap her mind around it, come to terms with what she had done.

In his last moments before he died by her meticulous plan Sarkosian had called her Dark Angel, the answer to his bar question finally revealed and he was right. She had been so dark these last few weeks in her plan and ruthless execution of it.

Life had been twisted, ferocious and wild to her for so long and she had been forced to be twisted, ferocious and wild to survive it.

She gazed at her face, so young, so innocent, so sweet and who was looking back at her: Liar, thief, murderer.

But given that reality, she knew she was strong enough to carry the burden of what she had done. The weight of it would not crush her.

Events had tried so hard to destroy her and what she held dear and ultimately she was glad she would not accept being a victim like so many others. She would not give in those who had tried to prey on her, curl up in a helpless ball or run away with tail between legs ceding the ground of her life to stronger people who wanted to take it from her and plant their flag there. She was strong enough and smart enough to fight back, to survive and to win.

She looked at herself for a few moments more, the unusual blueness of her eyes, her short hair, dark with water, plastered to her face and neck in lively, appealing patterns.

And she decided that weighing everything in balance, she liked who she was and nothing that happened had changed that.

Angel was surfing the web, reading every story she could find on what the press colorfully christened the ‘Warehouse Massacre’. She was always alert to any trouble that could come her way, somehow things getting traced back to her.

But her worries were unfounded. The police had done the perfunctory investigation but it seemed pretty clear what had gone down: A drug deal went rotten. There was an old saying, marijuana deals are done with a handshake, coke deals with a gun. This seemed to be just another object lesson of that aphorism.

And in the end, who really cared if a bunch of hoods killed each other? Was that such a bad thing?

Of course the dead became celebs in that gruesome way these kinds of stories elevated them to. The news and social media couldn’t get enough. It was food for their black souls and a boon for ratings and clicks.

The press and internet ran stories about them: Marius, Franko, Robert. They expounded on their lives and dark deaths, interviewing old friends and classmates and family.

But of Sarkosian there was nothing.

He had no social security card, no birth certificate and no finger prints on file. His house and drivers license were all in phony names. He had no wife, no kids, no relatives, at least that anyone could find.

No friends or relatives came forward to explain who he really was no matter how many times his picture appeared on TV, in newspapers and the internet. No matter how the police and reporters dug, they could find nothing.

He had no bank accounts or money deposited anywhere that required a name. Everything he bought he paid for in cash, including his luxurious house and expensive cars

The only source of income that was found was a job title of executive vice president of a company Marius owned that had parking lots all over Los Angeles. This company made millions a year and Sarkosian’s salary on the books came to one point two million a year.

But there were no checks showing he was ever paid. Just written statements of payments in the companies’ computerized ledger.

Angel guessed he had been paid the amounts shown and even more, but this was just a front to pay taxes on his expensive personal holdings. Sarkosian would never see the inside of a jail on tax evasion charges like Al Capone. Angel was sure that his real income, his illicit income far surpassed what the books said he earned.

And she wondered where all that money was? Hidden in stashes somewhere, in Switzerland or the Bahamas? Some perhaps secreted in safety deposit boxes?

What would become of that money? Would the heirs of Marius and Sarkosian know where it was and scoop it up? Or did the killer have hidden family and friends he took care of? Did they have access to it? Or would it just sit there forever, waiting for a man who would never come for it?

The only thing the police knew was his name on the street, as an enforcer for Marius was Sarkosian. Nothing else existed of him. No one had come to claim the body.

It was if he had materialized on earth out of thin air.

This mystery intrigued Angel. She wondered about that terrible and enigmatic man. The one person she could not manipulate and bend to her ends; the only person who had figured her out just a few precious seconds too late.

She wondered why he chose that way of life and why and how he so completely buried his true identity. She wondered if she could do the same if she needed to. How would you go about it?

He had been very young once. What were the hopes and dreams of the child Sarkosian?

Did he experience something horrible as a child, as she had; some unimaginable abuse? Did he deal with it as she did, killing her tormentor in some clever way?

She knew in her gut that if this was the case he had indeed preceded her in that solution. Did it all twist him into what he became? She had a strong feeling that something had happened to him, long ago.

She felt some odd kinship with him, after all, both were killers of multiple people, a very exclusive club but also because she knew that if it hadn’t been for Brianna, she could have ended up being every bit the monster Sarkosian had been, perhaps even worse. She had felt the pull of it when she was at her nadir.

But she had been lucky that night Brianna had stopped her car to pick up that straggly runaway.

Had anyone stopped to pick up Sarkosian? She found she wished someone had; that some metaphoric car had stopped and taken him in, the driver to be Sarkosian’s Brianna. It might have saved him and so many others.

Or maybe it had happened but made no difference at all. Maybe he just was what he was and nothing could have altered it.

She thought idly that someday in the future if she had the time and money she might launch her own search for who he was. She found she wanted to know his real story.

Angel shut down her PC and walked to the small patio of her apartment. She was in a midsized town outside San Diego. She had learned about it from Franko’s many talks about the area. It was a nice town, clean, friendly, mostly crime free.

As she looked out on the town in the night she thought of Franko, how he said this was where he would live with her, raise their family together, as he became a drug kingpin in San Diego just up the way.

But he would never return here now, she had taken everything he wanted away with the simple pull of the trigger that sent that bullet into his brain. It took just a second and everything he was and everything he would be was gone forever.

Once in while she felt melancholy for him and especially for Marius. She had lain with them, known every inch of their bodies, as they had hers, and they had told her things as lovers do. She had come to know them as people, as human beings and all that went with it: hopes, dreams, desires, fears, quirks, intelligence, humor, manner of speaking, thinking, making love; their whole personalities. All the ingredients that stirred together created each individual person. They were not strangers when she ended their lives. Of course she knew their deaths saved countless others in their stead but the fact was she had killed them all, four unsuspecting victims. Planned it, moved the pieces in place and slaughtered them like so much cattle. It didn’t get any colder than that and there was no getting around it.

It was something she had done, murdered them all and she would have to live with that. She knew better than anyone the blood on her hands, but she also knew if given the chance she would not change a thing. There was nothing to be done about it except try to live a good life and help others just as Brianna had taught her; be the best version of herself and try expiate her sins to some degree in increments over the years.

Her thoughts drifted to her true gone love, as they often did. She wondered what Brianna was doing now that Robert was out of her life. She hoped she had found some kind of peace without that bastard in her head.

Angel retreated to the living room with a mug of hot coco. She relaxed in her favorite stuffed chair, took out her sketch pad and began to draw. She had a certain amount of skill at it and found the practice relaxing. She often drew pictures of Sparky in various reposes and hung them up on the wall around a picture Brianna had paid a professional photographer to take of Sparky.

Tonight she was drawing Brianna, her Brianna of old. It brought back so many warm memories. She loved that.

She found herself drawing Brianna a lot. But she never hung them on the wall. They always ended up in a dark drawer, hidden from her sight and those of any visitors. Over time they piled up, one on top of the other.

Once done with a drawing of Brianna she never looked at it again.

She hoped that Brianna would not honor that promise to come looking for her but she also knew they had unfinished business to attend to. It was unavoidable.

She would not spend her life looking to see if Brianna was coming up behind her with lethal intent. Soon she would put her plan into motion to know exactly what Brianna was doing and where she was.

Angel would not lose everything she had attained with such hard earned cost because Brianna wanted her dead no matter how much she loved her. That was an impossibility, something she could not allow.

She knew they would meet again, one last time, but only at the time and place of Angel’s choosing.

Time slipped away, as it does for everyone, losing it without really knowing its precious passage.

Angel enrolled in college, paying her way. Her grades were no less than A’s in every class, always on the Dean’s list and after a few semesters she was awarded a scholarship which enabled her to hold onto most of the warehouse cash.

She started her own soccer program for children at a orphanage, just as Brianna had done and found joy there, running in the playing field to exhaustion, laughing, learning, teaching, passing on the game skills Brianna had taught her, experiencing the selfless pleasure of human contact with the kids who were desperate for love and attention and were so quick to give her theirs.

Sometimes in the hustle and bustle of a game or practice she thought she could see Brianna out of the corner of her eye, running next to her, smiling at her, urging her on. It was while being with those kids that it almost seemed like Brianna was still with her. Almost.

She took a part time job at another veterinary clinic. The reasons were threefold: it helped her learn about her course of studies, it helped to keep up appearances with her spending but mostly because she loved helping the innocent animals she had such a soft spot for. And so for Angel life went on.

Kendra and Candi stayed shacked up, stripping at the new club, bringing hordes of customers in and making big money while partying the night away every chance they had fucking each other and many other young, pretty girls. Candi obeyed Kendra slavishly in all things. And Kendra used Candi in so many wicked ways. Kendra never tempered her impulses in what she did with Candi’s body and Candi didn’t want her too. It was a mutual perversion each loved.

But Kendra had other impulses and desires she had to sate, ones she needed to do alone, away from her apartment, lest they be traced back to her. Desires that were more intoxicating to her than any others.

To indulge in those she inhabited the bars and clubs that catered to the wealthy.

Sometimes she had red hair, sometimes black, sometimes platinum blond, all wigs to disguise the short dirty blonde hair she loved so much. She always wore sunglasses.

When a man approached her she would engage in flirtatious conversation.

She would ask the perspective john questions in her friendly, sexy way, irresistibly drawing them out, making them feel special, as if she gave a damn about them.

If the man had big money, a family, a wife and kids, a reputation, she would make him drive to various deserted lots at night with the promise of sweet reward. If he was single she would quickly disengage from him in no uncertain terms.

For those who passed the test and drove her to their sexual rendezvous their experience invariably ended up much more than they bargained for. She turned from seductress personified into a vicious dominatrix, quickly incapacitating them and inflicting brutal beatings followed by knife cuts along their skin. She would masturbate wildly as she hurt and punished them cumming over and over again, after decorating her face and naked body with their blood.

Then she would leave the man in his car, going to her own that she had secreted there much earlier.

A few of these men were damaged so severely they spent weeks in the hospital. One had permanent nerve damage. Another needed reconstructive surgery to his face. Another lost his a kidney from being assaulted so brutally. Another went blind in one eye.

Little souvenirs for a lifetime bought from a few stolen, sub rosa moments with such a gorgeous looking woman.

They always told the police they were car jacked by men, or mugged, after all, who wants that kind of publicly in their circles; or a messy, embarrassing divorce and losing everything you worked so hard all your life for? The police of course suspected differently but if the men refused to tell the truth what was to be done?

Kendra picked her sexual playthings wisely and with devious cunning.

One night, a year after the Warehouse Massacre Kendra never showed up for her shift at the club. Candi called her phone but got no answer. She rushed home frenzied with worry.

When she got there Kendra was gone along with most of her cloths and belongings.

Kendra Kelly had simply disappeared.

Pretty, blonde Candi Rizzo, just 22 years old, never got over losing Kendra, her perfect willful, savage, dominating Menchit. She replaced coke with crack to douse her pain and started mixing stripping with low rent street walking.

Two years later she disappeared too.