The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I pulled out of the god-forsaken parking lot and headed south, reviewing the case in my mind as I made my way toward Phil’s Garage.

I was having trouble getting a mental picture of Carina. I had Veronica’s descriptions, but she was tapping into memories from earlier times and that just didn’t seem to match up with present day.

When Carina left her old life, she apparently didn’t go half-way. It was possible this was just a sexuality identity issue for her. Maybe she was afraid to tell daddy that she liked girls or maybe she was just tired of living life under the demands of her monied parents. Either way, Carina made a full cut from her previous life and moved from silver spoons and crystal candlelight to living in a trailer park slum, complete with trailer trash roommate. Her breeding had stood out, though, so people noticed her. People like Floyd.

And Allison.

I was beginning to get interested. Not excited, mind you- I didn’t know enough yet to get excited- but interested. Carina apparently didn’t start acting unusual until Allison was in the picture. The moment Allison showed up, Carina dropped the whole new life she had given up everything she knew for and went away. And stranger yet, she had run up her ex’s credit cards and hocked her jewelry. That didn’t make sense. Maybe she didn’t have access to daddy’s money anymore, but I’d bet dollars against dill pickles that she still had a stash of coin tucked away. So maxing out the credit cards and hocking the jewelry sounded more malicious than larceny for the sake of needing money.

Having met the carnivorous Tonya, I had no doubt she could inspire that reaction. But everyone kept saying what a nice girl Carina was, and nice girls aren’t prone to unprovoked acts of vengeance like that. So that suggested that maybe…just maybe…Carina was doing something because someone else told her to do it. Someone who perhaps had just met her and didn’t realize that the trailer park girl Sylvia was actually worth more money than the trailer park and everybody in it.

Allison was becoming a person of interest.

Phil’s Garage smelled like a racetrack pit stop. Old worn tires were piled randomly. Out-of-date calendars with naked women were hung next to posters advertising various tools and engine parts. The concrete was oil-stained and the smell of grease and old rubber was prominent. Loud pneumatic air bursts assaulted the casual visitor.

I glanced around until I spotted a pair of legs sticking out from under an old Ford Mustang.

“Hey,” I said to the legs.

There was no answer.

“Hey!” I said a little louder. There was a muffled curse that I was pretty sure was a very naughty word. Then the legs moved away from the car, followed by a very grease-covered body. The grease creature sat up.

“Well?” he said.

“Are you Phil?”

“Fuck, no, I ain’t Phil.”

“In that case, where can I find Phil?”

The grease creature gave me a very unfriendly look. Then he pointed outside. “See the big semi rig parked out there?” he said, his words slow and patronizing. “Phil is working on it. I’m sure Phil will be very excited to speak with you. Why don’t you go talk to Phil?”

“I’ll do that. Thanks,” I said. Then because I felt we had gotten off on the wrong foot, I said, “Hey, that’s a really sweet car you’re working on. ’67 Mustang, right?”

He looked at me like I had slapped an orphan and eaten a kitten. “It’s a ’65,” he said. He gave me a final glare and rolled back under the car.

These mechanic types could be so sensitive.

I walked through the rolling garage doors and made my way toward the semi parked outside. Sure enough, I could see someone on working on the huge engine. Their back was to me and most of their upper body was inside the engine.

I got as close as I could without invading the guy’s personal space. “Hey,” I said. “Are you Phil?”

There was no answer and I thought I was going to have to shout this time. Apparently working next to loud pneumatic bursts all day affected the hearing. But then he straightened and turned.

“Yeah?”

I blinked. “You’re Phil?”

“Yeah, I am. That a problem?”

“No,” I said. “I just...well, the person who referred me to you didn’t mention that you were...”

“A woman?”

“Exactly.”

“Women can’t fix trucks?”

“Of course they can,” I said. “Maybe they can even do it right. It’s just that Phil’s a guy’s name, so I just naturally thought—”

“It doesn’t sound like you thought at all. ‘Phil’ is short for ‘Ophelia’. Now what do you want?”

I sighed. I was starting to hate this case.

Phil was at least three inches taller than my six feet and her shoulders were broader than mine. She had a square jaw and what looked like a crewcut jammed under a baseball cap. She also had a massive chest, but it didn’t add to her femininity in any meaningful way. It was a wasted rack.

“Well?” she said.

I had a feeling that she wasn’t easily fooled and that dancing around would hurt more than help. It might also get me a punch in the nose. I decided to shoot straight.

“My name is Jack Wolfe,” I said. “I’m a private dick. I’m trying to find Allison so I can speak with her. A mutual friend said you could help me.”

There was a pause as she digested that. Then she started wiping her greasy hands with an only slightly less greasy rag. “I imagine that mutual ‘friend’ is Tonya,” she said, sounding a shade less aggressive. “Nobody else would be stupid enough to give a stranger my name. Why do you need to speak to Allison?”

“I’m trying to locate a missing person,” I said, “and Allison may know something.”

“Well, sorry, chief,” she said, “but I can’t help you there.”

“I’m not trying to make trouble for her,” I said. “I just need to ask her some questions. You sure you can’t cut me some slack?”

Phil smiled. It was a surprisingly good smile. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you, chief,” she said. “I said I can’t help you. At least not the way you’re asking.“

I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not getting you.”

Phil reached into her tool box and pulled out a large sledge hammer. It looked heavy, but she hefted it one-handed. She leaned over the engine and answered me, punctuating her statements with loud metallic whacks on something inside the monstrous engine.

“Allison and I are no longer together,” she said. WHACK. “She left me a while ago.” WHACK.

Well, damn. That complicated things. “I’m sorry to hear that, Phil,” I said. “Any idea where I could look for her?”

Phil gave the engine a final whack, then turned to me. The knotted muscles in her arms gleamed with sweat. The hammer hung casually in her hand.

“You’re pretty all-fired-up to talk to her, aintcha?” she said. “Well, chief, the person you should be speaking to is Hannah.”

“Hannah?”

Phil dropped the hammer into her tool box. It wasn’t a long drop, but it had the effect of sounding like a small detonation.

“Allison left me to become one of Hannah’s girls, chief.”

That got my attention. “One of Hannah’s girls? What exactly does that entail?”

Phil pulled some more tools from her box and went back to working on the semi engine. She continued talking, however.

“Ain’t for me to say, chief,” she said. “You wanna know that, you need to go see for yourself. She runs a dive a little south of here, called The Cat’s Meow.”

Suddenly she turned from the engine and bellowed toward the garage.

“YO, BILLY!”

The surly mechanic that had directed me to Phil walked to the edge of the garage. “Yeah?”

“BRING MY LUNCH BUCKET OUT HERE!”

Billy disappeared into the office, then reappeared moments later with a large red lunch box. He trudged out and handed the lunch box to the big lady mechanic. Then he went back to work on the Mustang.

Phil sat down on top of her heavy toolbox. I sat on the concrete and put my back to the big semi tire.

“So...The Cat’s Meow?” I said.

“Yeah,” said Phil, biting into a thick sandwich. “You need to be careful there, chief. Hannah’s not one to mess with, you know?”

I nodded. If Phil walked carefully around Hannah, then I needed to watch my step as well. “I’ll be careful,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Don’t cost me nothin’ to say it, chief. Beer?”

My eyes widened at the unexpected offer. I was surprised, but not so surprised that I turned her down. We cracked open our beers- which were pleasantly chilled- and sat quietly for a few minutes as Phil ate her lunch.

We tossed our empty cans into her lunch box and stood up. I knew she had told me everything she was going to and that it was time to go.

“One question before I go, Phil,” I said. “What made you think it was Tonya that sent me to you?”

“Tonya’s not a very nice person, chief,” she said. “She acted very warm and loving when we first started going out and I didn’t realize until later that she’s actually a very hard, very edgy cynic. She feels the world owes her. I’m different from her. I think that if you want something, you need to make it happen, not sit around bitching about how unfair life is. Our worldviews were simply too different, so I finally broke it off.”

I nodded, listening.

“Tonya knows Allison and I have split up,” said Phil, a half-amused smile on her face. “Sending you to me to find Allison is simply Tonya’s effort to tweak me. It’s petty, but so is Tonya.”

Remembering that Tonya had also neglected to tell me that Phil was a woman, I realized that Phil was probably right about Tonya’s pettiness. On the other hand, I had still managed to get a lead, so it wasn’t a loss.

I had trouble picturing the introspective Phil and the angry Tonya together, but it took all kinds. What a world we live in.

The interior of The Cat’s Meow was dark, busy and almost as skanky as Phil said. A hearty gent behind the bar was serving drinks, so I made my way in his direction.

He placed a napkin in front of me. “I’m Sean. What’ll it be, mac?”

“Bourbon,” I said.

He stepped away. A minute later he was back with my drink.

“Can’t say I recall seeing you here before, mac,” he said.

“That’s right,” I said. “Just passing through. Looking for a friend. Maybe you could help.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Who’s the friend?”

I took a swallow of my drink. “Hannah.”

The barman stared at me for a moment. Then his eyes shifted to something behind me and suddenly I sensed a large, hulking presence beside me.

He was big. Four or five inches over six feet and beefy with it. Broad face. None of his individual parts seemed to fit right, but taken as a whole, he was an oiled machine. He also ordered a drink while barely moving his lips. He had enforcer written all over him.

“Hey, Slab,” said Sean, giving me a significant sideways glance. “What can I get for you?”

The voluminous Slab growled something. I couldn’t understand what he said, but apparently Sean did, as the barman made a drink and set it in front of the man-mountain.

Slab picked up the cocktail glass, which disappeared inside his huge paw. He drank the contents in one swallow, then set down the glass. He turned and gave me a look that said volumes, but volumes of what, I had no idea. Then he walked to the end of the bar and stood there.

I watched him go, then said to the barman, “Who’s that mug?”

“Just a guy,” said Sean.

“He didn’t pay for his drink,” I said. “Does he work for the bar?”

“Sure,” said Sean. “He’s the busboy.”

“If that’s your busboy, I sure don’t want to meet your bouncer.”

Sean chuckled, the practiced laugh of the professional bartender. “Aw, don’t worry, mac,” he said. “As long as you stay on his good side, ol’ Slab’s a pussycat.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“You do that, mac.”

Two guys stepped up to the bar to order drinks, so I took advantage of the lull to gather my thoughts. Man-mountain wetting his whistle right next to me was an introduction of sorts. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a healthy relationship to pursue. Still, it was a good sign that I was on the right track. I just needed to figure out my next step.

I glanced around the bar. It was a dive, all right, but it had a strange flavor that didn’t match your typical gin joint. The clientele was an odd hodge-podge of drinkers. Pretty boys drank with suited businessmen. Socialites flirted with grizzled bikers. It was an eclectic collection and I couldn’t pin down the common thread that tied them all together.

Then a pretty boy walked to the end of the bar and stood next to Slab. Slab looked at Sean. The bartender gave him a nod. Slab turned and opened a door behind him that I hadn’t noticed earlier. There was a hallway behind the door. The pretty boy entered the hallway and Slab closed the door behind him.

I knew the connection then. Usually a setup like that means gambling, but I would have bet my fedora there wasn’t a gambler in the house. This scene wasn’t about action. The common string here was sex.

Sean came back and took my empty glass. “Refill, mac?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’d rather meet Hannah.”

He looked at me without comment and for a moment I thought I was about to get another visit from Slab. Then I dropped a sawbuck on the bar. He gazed over the other customers at the bar with casual disinterest. Not a good start, but at least he wasn’t giving the high sign to big-and-ugly. I sighed and dropped a double sawbuck on top of the previous bill. The barman shifted just enough so he could laugh directly in my face. I growled and dropped a half C-note on top of the pile.

He didn’t move toward the money. “Get serious or get gone.”

I stared at him. Then I peeled off two more C-notes and dropped them on the pile. “That serious enough for you?”

“Might be. I’ll see if she feels like having company,” he said. “Up to her whether she wants to talk to you or not, mac.”

He reached out for the money. I slapped my hand on top of his. “Payment to be received upon services rendered, pal.”

Unfazed, he looked me in the eyes. “The only service I’m rendering, mac, is informing Miss Hannah that somebody is interested in meeting her. Whether she says yes, no, boo or fuck you, that’s between you and her. And since I don’t work for free, you can either flash me this squid now or ask Slab really nicely to let you go in uninvited. Your choice, mac.”

I mulled it over, but it really wasn’t much of a choice. I let go of his hand. He gathered the stack of bills and crammed them in his pocket. Then he nodded to me and walked past Slab through the door into the back.

Slab stared at me while I waited for Sean to return. I wanted to give him a friendly wave, but I had a feeling my kind gesture would be misinterpreted. I suspected I was getting close to something, but I wasn’t sure what. I didn’t have too much time to think about it, though, because Sean the bartender returned then.

“All right, mac,” he said. “Miss Hannah will see you. Go through that door and take the hallway down to the last door. Knock twice before you enter.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

The bartender leaned forward. “And don’t do anything unwise. Things happen to guys who make mistakes like that. Got that?”

I gave him my best unimpressed look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that.”

What a friendly joint.

Sometimes you have to talk to a person and be in their presence for a while before you truly understand them. None of that uncertainty applied to Miss Hannah.

She was a six-foot platinum blonde dressed in skin-tight leather from head to toe. Tight leather pants hugged her rounded bottom, her wide, rounded hips rolling and creaking with every move. Her leather corset was laced tight, putting her incredibly lush bosom on display, cleavage bulging. Knee-high stiletto boots clicked the floor as she walked. Her hands and forearms were covered by long, soft leather gloves that reached nearly to her elbows. Her lips were bright red and glossy.

Her presence filled the room. Her every move was authority personified, with a steel smile and eyes that could count the money in your wallet. This was a lot of woman. The kind of woman who could break your heart…or your arms.

She made her way to a chair that had obviously been custom-ordered. As she sat down, a young blond guy with a muscular build and wearing nothing but a gold Speedo knelt down and slid the knee-high stiletto boot off her leg. He grasped her bare foot in both his hands and began rubbing her foot with extreme attention. On the other side of Miss Hannah, a barefoot girl wearing a see-thru latex unitard and a leather “slave” collar kneeled down and lay her head on Miss Hannah’s lap.

“So you wish to speak with me,” said Miss Hannah. “Sean indicates that you’re a man who appears to know how to handle himself. I find myself wondering why a man such as yourself would make a trip here to see me. Your name, please.”

“Jack Wolfe,” I said. “I’m a private dick.”

“Oh?” she said. “I see. And what could I know that would have any interest whatsoever to a private detective, Mister Wolfe?”

I glanced around. Two women were sitting in a corner kissing, oblivious to everything around them. A naked pretty boy stood absolutely still while two girls oiled his hairless, muscular body from hairline to toes. A man was bent over a table, his wrists restrained, while a woman wearing a thick, black strap-on stroked the toy into the man’s plump ass. A girl kneeled in front of a black man, her head bobbing slowly as she worked his long tool deep into her throat. Another naked man was strapped standing in a rack. A woman dressed as a nurse struck his bare buttocks with a wicked-looking cat-o’—nine-tails whip.

It was a perverse Candyland. Any second now I expected to see a rabbit with a wristwatch…and probably a strap-on as well. And yet in the center of all this exotic lust and heat sat Miss Hannah, and she shined like a beacon.

“Mister Wolfe?” she said again. The industrious beefcake at her feet had removed her other boot and was now rubbing her other foot.

“Sorry,” I said, returning my attention to business. “I got distracted for a moment. I’m looking for someone.”

“Who would that be, Mister Wolfe?”

“Her name is Allison, Miss Hannah. I’m told you might know her.”

I suddenly realized the room had gone quiet. The moans and groans had ceased. The cracks of the cat-o’—nine-tails had stopped. Even the sound of phalluses sliding into heavily lubricated holes had disappeared.

Miss Hannah’s expression hadn’t changed, but it was fifteen degrees cooler. “I’m sorry, Mister Wolfe,” she said. “I’m afraid you heard wrong. I don’t know anyone named Allison. And even if I did, I’d be unlikely to share that information with one such as yourself. You have wasted your time, detective. And mine.”

“Miss Hannah,” I said, “I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”

“That doesn’t concern me in the least, Mister Wolfe,” she said. “Now I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“I’d rather stay, Miss Hannah, and learn what it is you’re afraid of.”

“I have asked you to leave once, Mister Wolfe. I don’t ask anything twice.”

Too late I realized a couple of the muscular pretty boys had moved closer to me. One of them put a dainty paw on my shoulder.

“Time for you go, mister,” he said. It was the beefcake that had been rubbing Miss Hannah’s feet.

I half-turned and slapped his hand off my shoulder. “Hands off the merchandise, bub.”

He gave me a short, hard shot to the mouth. I saw stars, but I didn’t drop. Instead I feigned a swoon, then came in with an upper-cut that lifted him to his tippy-toes. His eyes glazed and he was out before he hit the floor.

“Who’s next?” I said, trying to sound tougher than I felt.

I needn’t have bothered. There were too many of them. I dropped another one with a solid kick to the slats, but two others grabbed my arms and a third one buried his fist in my gut.

I threw up on him. He hit me again. I tried to throw up again, but didn’t have anything left. He looped a punch to my face. Then he threw a couple more haymakers for good measure.

My legs were noodles. I was only standing because the two pretty boys were still holding me up by my arms.

Finally Miss Hannah said, “Enough.”

The berk who’d been hitting me stepped away. Through swollen, half-shut eyes I saw Miss Hannah stand up and walk toward me.

“You’re admirable in many ways, Mister Wolfe,” she said. “I might have liked you under different circumstances. But now I have to make you understand that I am not to be defied for the sake of whatever grandstand play you were attempting.”

She held out an empty hand. The evil-looking cat-o’—nine-tails whip was placed in the gloved palm of her hand.

“Do it,” she said.

The two beefcakes wrestled me into a bent over position. All I could see was the floor between me and Miss Hannah’s bare feet. My shirt was pulled up and over my head, leaving my back bare from neck to waist. I tried to pull free, but I didn’t have enough left in the tank to wrangle out.

“And now for your lesson, Mister Wolfe,” said Miss Hannah. Then she brought the multi-strapped whip down across my back.

I didn’t make a sound, but that didn’t stop her. She lashed me repeatedly and I soon lost count of the strokes. My back quickly became a fiery pool of napalm, but still she didn’t stop. Perhaps she got frustrated because I didn’t make a peep, but it felt like she put a little extra oomph into the last couple blows. It was a little victory, but I was taking whatever I could get by this point.

She finally tired and stopped whipping me. I was hardly a threat at this point and the pretty boys released my arms. I dropped to the floor, barely conscious. Miss Hannah handed the whip to a flunky and then stood over me, looking down.

“I’m sorry we had to have this conversation, Mister Wolfe,” said Miss Hannah. She reached out and stroked my cheek with her bare toes. “You’d make a wonderful addition to my chain. Perhaps next time. Come by here uninvited again, however, and I won’t be nearly so nice.”

Miss Hannah turned and walked back to her chair. Then she sat down. “See Mister Wolfe out,” she said.

Through a blurry haze, I felt myself lifted by my arms and taken toward the door, my feet dragging. I heard the door open and then I had the sensation of flying. Until I hit the floor. Then the darkness took over.