The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Holmes sat, and thought. The more he thought, the more maudlin he became; eventually he emitted a deep sigh. Almost in resignation he opened a locked drawer in his oaken desk; with care he slid it open and unfastened the tin that lay within.

For a second he stared at the dried leaves, then as if motivated by some alien desire his left hand scooted across the leather desktop and snatched the oldest of his pipes. He needed clarity, ultimate focus, his friend was in danger. He, Ned Holmes, had to make the pieces in the jigsaw fit. Wherever he saw rhyme there must be reason.

Holmes filled and lit his pipe; he then took a mighty lungful of the thickly acrid smoke. He held it within him until the mood descended. Ignoring his need to breathe he puffed avidly on the pungent weed. His eyes glazed, but his body seemed vitalised, and gripping his pipe-stem in this mouth he rushed across to the far book shelf, rifling through the books. He retrieved a heavy, richly bound tome, and returned to his desk.

Coughing now, Ned opened the main desk drawer and retrieved the latest of his many note books. Quivering from both the drug and the anticipation, he fell back into his button-backed chair. For a second his eyes were glued to the Moroccan bound book, he mouthed the words ‘The Practices and Code of the Illuminati’. In the next second he opened the book and scoured through its pages madly.

He found the passage and his crooked finger ran along the line, he mumbled it softly.

“Where possible our aims for society should be achieved through consent; but time is short and even the able are far too short-sighted. The Illuminati reserve the absolute right to further its plans by subversion, taking out the upper layers of control and using the elite to enforce our changes on the masses.”

Ned pondered; he had seen many things that pointed to the Illuminati being true to their threat; this case fitted the pattern well. Now, if he could just find some of his contacts he may get to this Bellinger character ahead of Brighton. Holmes pawed through his note book enthusiastically. Just as he found the page, a knock came at the library door.

“Enter!”

The door opened and Nancy walked in, she approached Ned’s desk. Ned frowned, and placed his hand across his neat writing. When he finally spoke it was tinged with annoyance.

“Yes, what is it girl? Can you not see, I am busy?”

Nancy held a hand in front of her mouth and coughed, “Beggin’ pardon, Mr ’Olmes, but cook is leaving early today an’ she wanted to know iffen you needed luncheon... Or not?”

“Food?” Holmes asked.

“Yes sir, food, as you say.” Nancy coughed, the fumes catching her throat once more.

“Now why would I want food when I am busy?” Ned raised a hand, and wafted it, as if trying to fan the girl back through the door, “Busy!”

“Yes sir, most sorry sir... Should I...” Nancy did not finish her sentence Holmes’s stare was enough to send her back whence she came.

Holmes sighed again, “Now if I can just get on, I’m sure I can find... Ah yes, just as I thought...”

Nancy whistled as she returned to the Kitchen.

“Oh you sound ’appy me girl. What did ’is nibs ’ave to say?”

“Mr ’Olmes is busy,” Nancy sneered, and feigned wafting her hand, “’E won’t be takin’ no luncheon. ’E’s an odd ’un, for sure.”

“Mr ’Olmes is our employer, and a good man, shame on you Nance!”

“I knows, you’ve worked for ’im a long time; but ’e gives me the shudders. I dread to think what ’e gets involved in. Let alone what ’e smokes”

“Now look ’ere Nance, none of your snoopin’. You hear? Anyways, I is off, I don’t want to keep George waitin’.”

“Oh, ’as he got summat ’ot for you then Dora?”

Dora laughed, “You are a cheeky mare, and you remember it is Cook when we is workin’. I’m off, so you keep your nose clean, my girl.”

“Bye cook,” Nancy called out; under her breath she added, “Give George one from me...”

Nancy giggled, reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out her latest acquisition. A leather-bound diary.The girl jumped at the sound of a loud slam from upstairs. Once she realised what it was, she regained her composure and laughed at her foolishness. She was alone in the house now...

Then she twirled around holding the diary in the air, “All alone, and with your secrets. Soon Nance will know all about Mr Ned ’Olmes.”

Holmes continued on apace, he now approached Temple Bar; soon he would be ensconced in St Brides Library. Once he had the details he needed on the printing of the book he would move on. He may not really take to journalists too readily, but there was no better place than Fleet Street to confirm the latest in society scandal. He was certain the name Bellinger had some connotation to it, if he could just recall it. It was no good. The doings of polite society held little fascination to him other than when they collided with a case.

“Bellinger? Bellinger you say? Yes, there was something, a month or so back. Why is this of interest to you Ned, you are not working on one of Sherlock’s cases are you?”

Holmes answered in a calm tone that hid his discomfort at the mention of his illustrious cousin’s name, “No Scotty, I am working on one of my cases.”

“Really, I doubt if it will involve the Bellinger’s then. Old money, with no hint of scandal. Not likely to be mixed up in... Well, how shall I put this? One of your cases!”

“Thank you for your authoritative opinion old bean. I’m sure this is a blind alley. Just being methodical.”

“Of course. Ah, here we are...” Scotty held up a sheet of newsprint, “Society Wife Absconds During Grand Tour!”

“May I?” asked Holmes extending his hand.

“Naturally.”

“Lady Florisa Bellinger vanished during a visit to Ingolstadt in Bavaria. Local sources...”

Holmes looked at Scotty with an intense expression, “Ingolstadt,” he paused, “Of course!”

“What? Is this something I should know of?”

“No my friend, this is no tittle-tattle for your readers.” Holmes smiled, “No, it is just the location of a society for the great and the good.”

“Not a nest of abductors then?”

“Good lord. I would not have thought so, would you?”

“No, they sound unmentionably dull.”

“Quite so, unlike the prospect of a flagon at the White Hart?”

“Oh, quite unlike... I presume you will be buying Holmes?”

“Quite so.” Holmes smiled.

At first Nancy had been disappointed, mostly due to the diary not belonging to Mr Holmes, and moreso due to the style of writing. The small tight script was florridly written in green ink. The style and colour combined to make it very difficult to decipher in the dim kitchen.

Still, being the determined kind she read on, even when it meant reading each sentence several times. She was certain that there must be some reference to Ned in it; his secrets would be hers.I mean, why else would he have it?

As she read she first became shocked by its revelations, and then absorbed. Time drifted by, and as it did the girl’s arousal soared.

Eventually she untied her apron to gain access to the top buttons of her dress. They were soon undone, and her left hand started to stroke the rounded top of her right breast. Her right hand held the diary firmly until her other fingers reached a puckered nipple; at this point the diary fell to the floor, a disregarded prop.

Nancy crouched slightly and drew the hem of her skirt with its petticoats upwards. She folded her right arm to hold the linen high and wriggled her left hand through the gusset of her bloomers. She teased the tangle of hair she found there tenderly before plunging her urgent fingers into her warm folds. Her legs staggered sidewards freeing her hand and enabling her to push her fingers against the resilient nub. Nancy’s hips started a slow bucking action in time to her questing fingers, and she groaned with a soft pleasure..

At that very moment the scullery door burst open, and cook walked into the kitchen.

“Lordy me! What are you doing you, you hussy?”

Nancy grunted, and raised her bent neck to face Dora—the maid was red-faced as well as handed.

“Oh, I would have thought that was easy seen.”

“Well I never. If I had not left my umbrella here I would have missed this. That would have been a shame, would it not? My dear.”

“Sorry cook, what?”

With no more ado, cook walked across the kitchen, placed her lips against Nancy’s and her plump hand atop the girl’s still wet fingers.

“Old Dora has helped many a maid with her... Well needs, mind now they weren’t all as comely as you,” the cook retrieved her hand and brushed the fluid over her well extended tongue, “I can finish you, if you want Nancy. George can wait; you have need, a real need my dearie.”

“I can’t. Not with a woman! I want a rod, and your fingers like mine—are no compensation. Please, Dora, leave me to this. You never saw nuffink. Did you?”

“Oh, but I did. It is too late now.” So saying Dora dipped her head and circled Nancy’s exposed nipple with her lips. Tenderly she suckled.

Not so tenderly she landed on her ample behind on the kitchen floor. Her rage exploded.

“That was a wrong move Nance. You will pay for that, and I will make certain of it!”

Nancy drew her clenched fist back to her breast.

“I won’t pay, you old Tom! I’ll tell Mr ’Olmes what you done to me, and the others.”

“Ned’ll never believe you over me. I dares you to tell ’im.”

“ ’Olmes may not believe me, but what about the others? I have seen his library. ’e has lists of everythin’. I’m sure he’ll ’ave a list of them what worked here.”

Dora’s face fell, she stood, brushed off her skirt and walked to the scullery door. “I’ll fix you Nance, you see iffen I don’t!”

Nancy pushed her tongue out and gesticulated at the closing door. “Now where was I?”

Nancy bent down and picked up the diary. Minutes later all was forgotten, her desire had risen once again. But there was only desire, she could not force her wanton body to a final release. Groaning she reached over and grasped the brass stem of the poker, pulling it from the grate to her open vestibule. No sooner had the warm hilt entered her than she was disturbed once more. Nancy opened her eyes and scowled at the racket coming from the front door of 221b. The girl threw down her skirts in disgust. The poker rattled to the floor.

“That had better not be you Dora. Or Nance here might just turn murderer!".

The irate maid stomped upstairs and grasping the handle flung the door open.

It was not Dora.

“Mr ’Ove what on earth! You looks awful...” her eyes moved from the condition of his face to his condition elsewhere “...Awful big!”

Brighton sighed, and fell forward comatose—into Nancy’s outstretched arms.

With difficulty Nancy moved Hove and dragged him bodily down and into the Kitchen. Once he was there she had laid him on the table. She ignored the cutlery that clattered to the stone foor.

Despite all her pleas and the tapping of her fingers on his face he remained paralysed, unmoved. Nancy sighed and stood, in doing so she dragged her hand inadvertently over the bulge in his breeches. The reaction was immediate. The unruly organ danced a tattoo on her palm.

A grin extended across her face, she could take a peek. He would never know and she, well she—could satisfy her curiosity. Gently and slowly she unfastened his buttons on both sides of his breeches and extended the flap down, with a skilled flick she drew Brighton’s cock from its resting place in his long johns.

Her eyes twinkled, It was huge, she had never seen one so pronounced, and so purple. It looked fit to burst. Drawn by its condition she lowered her head to place a secret kiss on the pego’s weeping eye. As her lips brushed his wetness, she felt a hand on the back of her head bearing down with force.

“Ow, Mr ’Ove no! No!”

Her eyes shot from side to side, but to her shock Mr Hove’s pale hands were still slumped, useless on the oak surface of the table.

“What...” She began, but the hand pushed her down impacting Brighton’s rod deep into her unwilling mouth. A moment later her tongue was flooded with the entranced man’s spend. Gagging and spitting, she pulled free and turned to challenge her assailant.

But there was no one; only light, bright green waves of glorious light.

Ned marched home; part dejected, part elated. He had failed in his main task; Brighton’s destination remained a mystery. He would have to rely on his colleagues natural skills to ward off any danger he faced; as unsatisfactory as that thought was. Investigatory results were better, the secret of the green ink was explained and there seemed to be a link between Bellinger and the illuminati. Just then Holmes’s thoughts were interrupted.

“Not right it isn’t Mr ’Olmes!”

Ned gazed at the man with incomprehension.

“I’m sorry, sir you clearly know me. Are we acquainted?”

“Not as such no,” the man rudely hitched a thumb back over his left shoulder, Holmes followed it and was surprised to see his cook. She appeared to be agitated and was desperately trying to tell him to ignore his confronter. “I’m George an h’acqaintance of Dora there. An’ she’ all upset—something in your ’ouse has gone an upset ’er. I won’t ’ave it I won’t!”

“Maybe it would be better for me to address Miss Nelson directly?”

“Nah, no. It wouldn’t I am goin’ to look afters her now. You ’ave lost a good cook,” George eyed Holmes up and down, “... an’ you s’posed to be a Gentleman with a respectful ’ouse an’ all. Scoundrel!”

Holmes stood open mouthed, watching the irate man drag a resisting Dora from the scene. His eyes then narrowed, and he picked up a brisk pace, determined to find what was at the root of such an outrage. He ignored the gossiping crowd that had been drawn to the altercation and strode majestically homeward.

When he arrived at the door of 221b all looked perfectly calm. Holmes doubted this and hastily unlocked the door. He launched himself into his study, and then the library. All looked normal. But no, he stopped in his tracks, the diary was gone! Ned raced back to the hallway.

“Nancy, Nancy are you there? Have you let anyone in today?” There was no response.

“Nancy, Nance! Are you well? Answer me!” Still nothing.

Holmes rushed down the stairs to the servant’s quarters. He took one step into the kitchen and froze. Brighton was laid flat on the table with his member exposed for one and all. Worse still Nancy was sprawled on the floor and something most odd protruded between her splayed legs.

Despite his fear for his friend he went to Nancy’s side first, she was alive, but someone had penetrated her with a poker, the dull hilt was just visible in her pudenda. Odder still, Forty’s diary had been similarly deposited in her gaping mouth. Satisfied she was not in mortal danger he went to his friend, he was drowsy but just conscious. Ned looked down harshly on the cold jism soaking into his opened breeches.

He shook Brighton wildly.

“Hove, Hove—good god man. Wake up... What have you done!”