The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It is a very rare set of circumstances that upsets the normal order of things. Usually it is I that must cajole my good friend Sherlock Holmes into allowing the public an insight into his methods. In this case it was he that insisted upon a record being kept.

Fortunately for my piece of mind he did concede that like “The Giant Rat of Sumatra” it was a tale for which the world was not yet ready. And so it was with some relief that I bound the manuscript up with those other sordid scriblings and placed it in the sealed metal box that in some bleak future will be buried unread under my own tombstone.

It was the year of 1896, some months previously I had married my dear wife and departed baker street for the last time, intent on taking an extended honeymoon exploring in some of the more distant European capitals, what with that, setting up a home together and starting a medical practice I had had little opportunity to visit my old roommate. And so in late November I determined to renew my acquaintance with the world’s only, consulting detective.

I arrived at 221b Baker Street, and quickly bustled in out of the typically foul weather. As my good friend had insisted upon my keeping a spare key I bypassed the redoubtable Mrs Hudson and proceeded up the stairs to the great detective’s lair.

I opened the door to find a sight that shocked my sensibilities to the core. One can of course overlook the inhaling or injection of certain unwholesome oriental herbs, but there are certain practices between men that the law, and society in general, has a very definite opinion on.

A blonde, tousel headed, well built young man lay bent over the back of a dining room chair, his trousers about his ankles, his rear bright red from the attention of a sound thrashing being applied. He appeared to be enjoying the experience quite noticably,... in a highly indiscrete and inappropriate manner.

Sherlock Holmes of course was completely unperturbed by my presence “Come in, my dear fellow, you must be drenched. You really should not have purchased Marks’ Brothers galoshes, they really are quite inferior in quality.”

“Holmes! What in heavens name are you doing to that young man!” I exclaimed, thoroughly scandalized.

“Ah? Our little experiment? As medical doctor you may find my research most instructive” he continued enthusiastically “You see before you the applied practical results of Dr Freidrich Anton Mesmer’s thesis on Applied Animal Magnetism. I have placed Charlie here in a light trance and told him that any pain that he feels is really pleasure. This has allowed me to observe the amount of lividity produced by varying degrees of impact. By measuring the extent of Charlies.. umm.. reaction, I can quantify the degree of pain engendered by various implements and degree’s of force.”

“What tosh!” I replied, medically trained, my eyes sized up a quite exceptional and fully prominant endowment on the youth. " Mesmer was nothing but a charletan, a quack forbidden to practice in no less than three Countries!”

“Indeed?” replied Holmes “Perhaps you would like a demonstration...but first..we really do have young Charlie at a disadvantage, it’s quite unfair to remove his dignity so.”

Holmes turned to his attention to the youth, whom I suddenly recognized as one of the street urchins who had been my friend’s eyes and ears during some of our earliest cases, a “Baker Street Irregular” as we had called them.

It had been several years since I’d last seen Charlie Wiggins. In that time he had flourished, fully 2ft taller and a hundred times more presentable. The transformation from 12 year old ragamuffin to a 17 year old young Beau, was quite remarkable and in its way comparable to the flower girl Professor Higgins’ had presented as a debutant that spring.

“Charlie, stand up. I am going to count down to one, when I reach one you will awaken feeling refreshed. Three..two..one”

Charlie’s eyes opened and became wide like saucers when he saw me. “Blimy! Mister ‘olmes! Its Mister Watson!” he exclaimed as if he had not seen me before that moment. hurriedly grabbing and pulling up his under garments.

I was feeling somewhat embarrassed on the young man’s behalf. Clearly recent Dr Marchant’s famous article in The Lancet dismissing Mesmer’s work had less veracity than I had thought...and my faith in my friend’s integrity was renewed. My medical curiosity aroused I turned to Charlie.

“How are you feeling Charlie? I hope Holmes’ experiments have not caused you discomfort.”

“Discomfort?” replied Charlie puzzled “Oive never felt better. Oive even been pestering mister ‘olmes ‘ere to perform ‘is hexpery-ments more often like.”

My eyebrow raised, It must have been obvious to Holmes that I was still not entirely convinced.

“I wonder if you could assist me in a related experiment Doctor.” said Sherlock Holmes. “Besides the medical applications of this technique, I am sure that you perceive the danger should a criminal Mastermind such as Professor Moriarty choose to employ animal magnetism to corrupt some poor innocent. According to Doctor Mesmer’s Thesis a strong and determined mind can easily dispel the trance state. It would be quite instructive to see how true that is.”

Having chronicled many of Holmes’ cases I could quite imagine the sort of deviltry to which he alluded.

“Very well” I said preparing myself. “I think you will find me sufficiently strong willed.”

“Might I borrow your Hunter, Doctor?” He asked.

I nodded detaching my watch from my waistcoat and handing it to him. Holmes took the pocketwatch and opened it hanging it from its long chain.

“Please observe the time piece” he instructed letting the watch swing gently on its chain. “take note of the second hand as it moves, slipping back slightly before it moves forward.”

“it would help if you held it still” I grumbled trying to follow the swaying of the timepiece.

His mouth twitched slightly, the closest I had ever seen to a smile on his face.

“listen to it’s tick...tick...tick. It’s winding down getting slower and slower. If you listen very closely you can hear it.”

I frowned concentrating on the sound. I had wound the Hunter only that morning and was somewhat concerned that my friend’s diagnosis might require a visit to a watchmaker.

“Each tick taking slightly longer than the last, and I expect that the longer you wait for the next tick the more tired you feel. Can you hear the difference in cadence as it slows?” he asked.

I frowned, I could almost detect the longer pause between each tick. I Yawned, and concentrated harder. The Hunter really was slowing, I was certain of it. Meanwhile Holmes’ voice droned on in the background.

“...and as the second hand reaches twelve, you will realize that you are fast asleep, totally relaxed, ready to believe anything that I tell you.”

The second hand reached 12 and I realized suddenly that I was asleep.

“How are you feeling?” he asked

“I am asleep.” I replied, and after a long moment’s thought added “..and totally relaxed.”

“Good. I would like to tell you something. Its something that, in your mind, forms one of the foundations of what you believe to be true. You believe that anything that goes on between myself and Charlie is perfectly normal and acceptable behavior.”

Charlie whispered something in his ear.

“..And if either of us refer to you by your first name you will find yourself eager to join in. You will also feel a compelling desire to chronicle your experiences over the next week in a text kept separate and hidden. I will now count down to one, when I reach one you will awaken feeling refreshed, you will not remember anything that has been said while you were asleep. Three.. Two.. One.”

I blinked “I must have dozed off for a minute. It seems you were correct though, a prepared mind can resist this mesmerism thing.”

Sherlock Holmes slumped into his armchair. Clearly my ability to resist had been unexpected.

“Charlie, lock the door, and come here. We won’t want to be disturbed for a while.”

“Yes, Master ‘olmes” replied Charlie returning to sit on Holmes’ lap, leaning close to kiss him in the French manner.

“Can I offer you some tea?” asked Holmes breaking the passionate kiss long enough to observe the pleasantries.

“Why, thank you” I replied, taking the proffered cup. “How are things with you these days?”

“Quite satisfactory.” said Holmes one hand about Charlies’ waist the other inside his shirt. “As you know, I am now receiving ample funds so that I could room alone should I desire it. In truth I found that I needed a companion to keep my wits sharp...and so I arranged for Charlie here to move in. He’s proved quite effective in alleviating my occasional dark mood..much better in fact than those oriental herbs you so disapprove of.”

“I am relieved. That vile concoction was not good for your health” I admonished.

While we had talked Charlie had slipped off his shirt revealing a physique that appeared to my expert eye to be at very peak of lean muscularity that the lower classes seem to atain with little or no effort, his abdomen like six small foothills below two plateau’s of pectoral muscle. Holmes’ fingers caressed those tightly bunched muscles as delicately as if he were playing his violin, moving gradually down behind charlies belt and into the area of the young man’s private particulars.

“Are you working on anything in particular at the moment?” I asked sipping my tea “I suspect that your interest in the Doctor Mesmer’s discredited work is not a mere whim.”

“Perceptive as ever, Watson.” replied Holmes easing Charlie’s prodigious “John Willy” out of his under-ware, giving it a vigorous massage.

Ceasing his ministrations Sherlock Holmes got up and moved to the paper strewn bureau, picking up a notebook. Charlie, having been dislodged took, the opportunity to slip out of his remaining clothes, “Standing to attention” in both meanings of the phrase.

“Just last week I was summoned, along with The Dean of St Paul’s , by a rather predictably perplexed Inspector Tobias Gregson. An empty townhouse in Great George Street had been broken into.” explained Holmes allowing Charlie to remove his dressing gown.

Clearly my unannounced arrival had interrupted my friend’s intent to have a bath, and he had only had time to slip the robe before seeing me. I frowned inwardly certain that there was something wrong with my deduction, but not sure what.

“A clergyman?” I asked “Why would a churchman be required at a crime scene?...and why would a simple breaking and entering require your skills?”

“The withdrawing room had been daubed in bloody symbols, clearly some more than usually unsavory occult rite had been performed...and then there’s this..” replied Holmes, handing me the notebook.

The notebook contained a whole series of sketches, done in an expert hand, each depicting two naked young ladies in a succession of confrontations with a young gentleman, each scene more explicit and lustful than the last.

“Good lord!” I exclaimed, deeply offended by the debauchery being played out in the notebook.

whilst I examined the sketches Charlie had quietly sunk to his knees in front of Holmes, his hands resting on Holmes hips, his head at about waist level bobbing back and forward in a sort of nodding motion, almost as if he was sucking something.

“It’s a disgrace!” I opined “It really does show the lack of moral fortitude in the youth of today! Have you had any success catching the scoundrel that has degraded these ladies so?”

“Is he the villain Watson? Or is he in fact the victim? These sketches tell a story to be sure. But are they a truthful record or a fiction designed to mislead us.” replied Holmes.

“And the connection with Mesmer’s Applied Animal Magnetism? I confess I do not see it.” I admitted.

“If you turn to the first sketch, you will see the three principals enjoying tea from a Ming Dynasty tea service. Quite distinctive and valuable in it’s own right. The Tea Service was found at the scene, along with a rather unique blend of Chinese leaf.” Holmes confided, his left hand tousling Charlies hair as the head continued its rhythmic motion.

“The Tea was poisoned?” I hazarded.

“Not at all. It seems to be a mild euphoric, with a pleasant cinnamon aftertaste. No, what makes it of interest is that about 30 minutes after imbibing it places even the strongest mind in a passive and receptive state, a blank slate upon which a Mesmerist can write unimpeded.” said Holmes checking the time on my Hunter and passing it back to me.

“So one or more of these people was little more than a puppet?” I asked and then a thought occurred to me. How had Holmes known of the exact time of effect?

“You have tested this devils brew on someone.” I accused.

Charlie stood up and faced me, a wide grin on his face. “Cor blimey JOHN, you dun ‘arf catch on quick”

I felt a wave of dizziness and a sudden realization that all the time Holmes had been talking, Charlie had been performing an unnatural act upon my friend!

I am ashamed to say that my reaction was not the natural revulsion I would normally feel, but instead an overwhelming desire to join in.

“Tha’s right JOHN” said Charlie “Ee did test the brew, tested it on ‘is self so ‘E did.”

I was speechless. It seemed that the moment he mentioned my name the unnatural desires I was feeling fanned higher...nearly irresistible.

“Why?” I gasped.

“Well JOHN, it were like this....Holmes ‘E drank the stuff and says to me. To prove this potion does what I think ask me to do thing’s I’d not normally do...so I did.” explained Charlie.

“Now recently I’ve bin earning an extra guinea performing certain services for that Mister Wilde. And I tell you JOHN, I like how it feels, like it lots. So I thought to meself, I know exactly what Mister ‘olmes wouldn’t normally do.”

I wish I could say that I had some witty or defiant retort but every time he used my christian name all I could think of was his muscular sun browned naked body.

“Now JOHN, listen closely. I’m a bad boy, when I make a mistake I need to be spanked and after Oive been spanked I need to be buggered. You’re going to secretly enjoy buggering me but 3 minutes after you ejaculate you’ll forget doin’ it. You’ll know when I’ve been bad because I will say “I’m sorry John.” instructed Charlie.

“You scoudrel!” I admonished

“I’m Sorry John” he replied a wicked grin creasing his lips.

“You’ve been a very bad boy Wiggins.” I said, annoyed at his manipulations. How dare you use this...this Mesmerism.. On us! You deserve a good thrashing and no mistake.”

I grabbed him in one of the wrestling holds I had learned in the army..a half nelson...pinning him against the arm chair and proceeded give his a good hiding.

“ow, ow, Oime sorry John” he cried.

Something about the vigorous thrashing, probably the physical exertion, caused my private part to tent my trousers, pushing out through the gap between the buttons, the fabric tight about its root.

I moved close to Charlie, reaching over him so that I could cuff him around the ear, coincidentally my exposed part seemed to find itself pressed between the boy’s warm buttocks.

I would dearly like to forget what happened next, but for some reason I cannot fathom, I feel compelled to write it down.

Suddenly it was as if the world was no longer important, no longer there. All that existed was my private part clenched in a warm crevasse. All that mattered was gratification of my basest carnal desires. I thrust forward until I felt a rough obstruction, hot against the head of my member. Slowly I pushed forward, the heat expanding to form a ring of fire that tightened like a noose around the neck once the head had passed.

I pulled back and then thrust forward again feeling that ring of fire pass over my manhood again more rapidly.

Lost in the sensation I repeated the movement. With each thrust the tightness of that hellfire place was less, the passage becoming smooth and slick. I recall grasping each side of Charlie’s hips, to aid my thrusting.

In some still logical part of my mind I noted that the swelling of desire takes longer and comes from a deeper level when one is standing as opposed to the usual horizontal situation.

Finally my carnal desire reached its peak and...I apologize for this crudity..Why am I writing this?!..

I ejaculated, the fluid of love, uncommonly thick and copious pushing its way back out of that hot confined hole, lubricating like a balm...I cried out, unable to contain myself.

Charlie clenched his buttocks and cried out, leaving a stain of his own upon the dinning chair’s embroidered cushion

Finally some element of self control returned and I hastily made myself decent.

I was about to expound further on Wiggin’s character flaws when my eye caught sight of the Hunter swaying on the end of its fob chain.

“You forgot your pocket watch” said Sherlock Holmes holding out the Hunter.

As I write this the memory seems as clear as day. I am at a loss to explain it, but until I picked up my pen and dipped it into the India, this entire aspect of the case had entirely slipped my mind.

What I recalled at the time was taking the pocket watch from Sherlock Holmes and feeling a wave of dizziness.

“Are you feeling unwell?” he asked, concerned

“No, no. I am fine.” I answered, the events I have just related being completely forgotten in that instant.

Trying to regain the thread of the conversation I ventured “How do you intend to apprehend these bloody handed Satanists? Were there any clues? The origin of the tea perhaps? or some peculiarity of the sketch artist’s materials?”

“Oh bravo! Watson” he congratulated “correct on both counts. Take a closer look at the sketch paper.”

I looked closer, I confess I completely failed to note anything unusual. I shrugged, and said as much to Sherlock Holmes.

“This paper is unique.” he stated “it measures precisely 11″ 5/16 x 8″ ¼, slightly shorter and wider than a piece of foolscap. No printer or stationer in England or on the continent produces this format. Now observe the watermark.”

I held the paper up to the gaslight, there was indeed a watermark. I read aloud “Kodak Premium A4 Inkjet paper”

“Kodak” explained Holmes “Is a Scandinavian chemical company specializing in the manufacture of nitrate of silver...and this is where things get interesting, their telegraph says they have only one customer in England, a Mister Henry Fox-Talbot of LaCock Abbey, Wiltshire.”

“Then we have our man!” I ejaculated.

Holmes face took on a stern look. “I will make no comment until I have spoken to Mr Fox-Talbot. Suffice it to say that the watermark raises more questions than it answers.”

“We had intended to take the 6:00 am Great Western to Bath.” explained Holmes. “You are welcome to accompany us of course.”

“My wife....” I began, intending to make my reluctant excuses.

“Aww C’mon JOHN” said Charlie “Even oi can see ya wants to really. Writ on yur face plain as day so it is.... And as its late why not sleep over, Mrs Watson won’t mind.”

The temptation of one more adventure with Sherlock Holmes was too much to resist of course and before I knew it I had agreed to go with them.