The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Reverend sighed as he hung his hat on the coat-stand in the hallway of the vicarage, it had been a long day. His housekeeper walked from the kitchen and smiled briefly before speaking.

“How was your journey into London Reverend Pearson?”

“Awful, do you have any idea of the moral turpitude in that dark City. It is disgraceful. Henley is much more godly Mary.”

“I do not doubt it sir, I have never seen the attraction of the City.”

“No, nor should you be tempted Mary. I value your soul too much, and so should you.”

“Have no fear William. Now, some supper after your trials?”

Pearson smiled. “How can I resist, although I do not want to become as portly as my father was Mary.”

“Good food did him no harm, no harm at all.”

“No I am aware of that Mary, it was the consumption. I had no intention to suggest anything else.”

Innocently Mary moved forward and tapped William’s stomach. “Skin and bone, just skin and bone.” She joked, but her laughter died on her lips. Even as an innocent it was obvious to her that her touch had enflamed the normally docile Reverend. He moved swiftly, and kissed her roughly. Mary pulled away in terror.

“I am so sorry Mary. I have no idea of what came over me. I apologise profusely.”

Mary just trembled, as confused by her own response as she was by William’s lust.

“I will pass on supper Mary, and go straight to my bed. Please put this far from your mind. It will never happen again, goodnight.”

William walked to the stairwell and ascended the stairs wearily. In his bedroom he undressed swiftly and he was just pulling his night-smock over his head when he saw it. Beside his bobbing erection, just to the right of his manhood was a raised reddened circle.

He touched it warily, running his finger tip over its surface. William winced at the dual sensations of pleasure and pain. Something made him frown and he moved closer to the mirror to examine the wound. Gingerly he pulled back the wiry hairs for a clearer view. There he saw it, reflected and inverted, but there could be no doubt, it was the first of the three sixes that formed the mark.

The Reverend William Pearson felt his blood run cold.

Dashwood entered the ante-room. He nodded and took his place at the head of the table. He spoke in a reverential tone.

“We here assembled vow our lives to Satan, death unto death. Say I, Albert Dashwood.”

“Say I, Ralph Vansittart.”

“Say I, George Hogarth.”

“Say I Theodore Potter.”

“Say I, Frederick Duffield.”

“Say I, Ernst Thomson.”

“And I, Peter Whitehead.”

Dashwood spoke once more. “We the Monks of Medmenham, sons of the Hellfire club salute you dark lord. Watch over your brethren.”

“Well?” Said Vansittart, impatiently.

“All goes to plan, except for one small detail.” Replied Dashwood.

“Small details are important man! What is it?” Barked Hogarth.

“The Reverend managed to hire a private detective prior to Clarice finding him.”

“His name? Address? He must be despatched!” Said Duffield.

“Details we lack at this point brethren.”

“Then Clarice must be issued forth to deal with the unruly priest.”

“My feelings too. Are we agreed?” Asked Dashwood.

“We are!” Came the resounding reply.

“Then let us project.” Ordered Dashwood.

The seated brethren joined hands and tilted their heads backwards in silent exultation.

Clarice writhed atop the girl, her head wedged between the sullied maiden’s legs; just as securely as was the maiden’s head between hers. Her mouth worked on the soft folds, probing, nibbling—finding the spot. Clarice was rewarded with a warm draft of fluid which she drunkenly guzzled. And then...

Coldness, darkness, the rushing of wind. Madly her spirit flew, high above West Wycombe, then veering steeply it swept away to the south.

Clarice’s world came back into focus. She was elsewhere.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she could make out the room. It was a bedroom, but not one like her own. No this one was bare, austere in comparison. Her ears pricked up, she sensed the heavy breathing. Creeping forward she found the source, the Reverend Pearson lying on his crumpled bed, his night-smock around his neck as he urgently manipulated his turgid organ.

Clarice smiled and then bent to take William’s manhood in her warm mouth. The questions could wait, at least for a while.

Mary woke early, as was her way. But this day she did not rush to rise. She lay still, swaddled in the twisted sheets, her mind consumed by the fierce embrace that William had laid on her last evening. She knew he should not have given into his temptation, but she forgave him that easily.

She was however harsher on herself. She had been brought up to know better. She knew the fate of the adulteress, yet it was not the warning fires of hell that warmed her blood. No to her shame, it was William’s urgent touch. The thoughts faded as soon as he spoke.

“Come on Mary, move thy self, or you will be late for the Reverend.” Thomas chided from the bedroom door.

“I may not go to the vicarage today Thomas my love.” She replied.

“Why are thee ill Mary?” Thomas asked, his grey eyes showing naught but concern.

“I am...” Mary coughed, “I am unsure if I should ever return there Thomas.”

Thomas crossed the room and sat on the edge of their bed, he stroked back his almost white hair with a trembling hand. “But why? Has something happened?”

“A valuable icon has vanished from the vestry.”

“Why should that concern you,” Thomas paused, “Surely they do not think you took it?”

“No, nothing like that. It is just that since the theft the vicarage seems unwelcoming, even evil.”

“Mary I am shocked. How can you, of all people, say such a thing? No, this will not do. If you leave now you will be suspected. I forbid it!”

“Please Thomas, I know my own mind in this.” Mary protested.

“I have spoken Mary, and as your husband and your elder I know better of these things. You will do as I direct you, and no more of this foolhardy attitude.”

So saying Thomas reached over and picked up the bible that sat beside his side of the bed.

“Now let me see, yes, yes this is it. Read here Mary and be guided, see Proverbs ‘If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small’.” Thomas smiled down at Mary patiently.

“Yes Thomas, I see.” Mary said quietly.

“Good! The answer to all things is in here Mary. We shall speak of this no more. I must go now; the farm will not tend itself.” So saying Thomas rose stiffly and limped towards the door. “Maybe this day the Lord will even loosen my aching bones.”

“I pray it is so Thomas.”

“You are a good wife Mary, try to avoid the petulance of youth and you will surely prosper.” Thomas smiled indulgently and closed the bedroom door.

Mary sighed once, deeply, and then rose to face the day ahead.

Holmes paced steadily, puffing deeply on his beloved pipe. His brow was furrowed with the effort of his consternation. Hove looked on expectantly, as he knew the symptoms well. As if to a cue Ned stopped pacing, turned and focussed his steady gaze on Brighton.

“This is our plan of campaign. I will go to the library and study the texts on the illuminati and the notorious Hellfire club. I want you to go to the Cartographer in Regent Street; there you will acquire the most detailed maps you can of Henley, West Wycombe and Medmenham. Both modern day maps and also maps drawn in the late Eighteenth Century.”

Hove nodded.

“We need to understand our enemy if we are to defeat him.” Holmes murmured.

“And regain this accused icon, eh what, old boy.” Added Brighton.

“Forget the icon Hove, it is but a diversion. A device to fool the uncertain follower. All it does is help the illuminati in their quest to rule us all. Gain the mind of man and his heart will soon follow”

“Yes, precisely—my thoughts entirely Ned. So we destroy the icon, and free them!”

“You miss my point, we must expose the icon for the subterfuge it is. We must undermine the mind games of the illuminati. It is the only way, and somewhere there is a clue how to do it. The clue is what we must find and soon—for I fear the game is afoot.”

Brighton scratched the back of his head with gusto.

“I think I will just go and get these maps Holmes and leave you to puzzle this one through.”

“Excellent, yes do, do. Oh and Brighton—be careful.”

“Really Holmes I doubt if a map shop contains too much for me to fear. Toodle-pip old bean.”

Holmes did not reply, he had begun to pace once more.

William Pearson was in top form. He had slept like a top and now he ate a hearty breakfast. He shifted his seat back a little and pushed his almost empty plate away, he then drained the last of his tea with relish.

“You are very quiet this morning Mary, are you quite well?”

“Quite well Reverend, I am just a little upset about the events of last evening.” Mary said shyly.

“Really, what events would they be Mary?”

“Surely you remember?”

“How can I remember anything, when I arrived home you had already departed for the day.”

“Departed, but...” Mary’s reply was cut short.

“No need to apologise Mary. I was extremely late back. I did not expect you to wait for me.” William paused, “Still I must away now, tempus fugit Mary. Oh, and please, give my regards to Thomas when you see him.”

Mary slumped down in William’s vacated chair, just as soon as she heard the front door close. Tears streamed down her face, did she imagine last night she wondered? Or was William being insufferably cruel? He did seem very different. Was she going mad?

Her fevered brain stopped in its deliberations. Someone was singing. Someone was singing upstairs! Slowly Mary made her way up the staircase, avoiding the creaky steps. Steadily she worked her way towards the sound issuing from William’s bedroom.

“Early one morning, just as I was rising, I heard a sweet maiden in the valley below,”

Mary gazed unbelievingly at the naked back of a woman wearing only her drawers. She sat before the mirror of William’s dresser, and brushed her auburn hair vigorously.

“Oh, don’t deceive me, Oh never leave me, How could you treat a poor maiden so!”

Without warning the woman turned and looked directly into Mary’s eyes. With a flick of her eyes the temptress encouraged Mary to look lower, and feast her senses on the smooth hillocks of her breasts. Without a word the woman rose and moved to the bed, where she reclined. She raised a lazy hand and beckoned Mary to her side.

Mary felt her legs respond, despite her mind and soul; she stumbled toward the succubus. Once at the creatures side Mary stiffened, her body attempting to rebel against the fingers that stole under her dress hem and slid upwards along her calf.

The vision spoke.

“I am Clarice, and we shall be friends. Close friends.”

Mary tried to turn, to run, to resist, but something in the voice held her still. It was the feeling of Clarice’s hand on her thigh that broke the trance. At last she could move!

Mary bent forward and took Clarice’s hard right nipple bud between her lips. Somewhere deep in Mary’s mind a verse from proverbs echoed.

He sat far back in his cab seat, he was travel-weary. But at least he was on the jpurneys final leg. He gazed out at the thick London fog and shuddered. Even through the yellow haze he knew where he was; this was Threadneedle Street, they had made good time.

“Hya up! Gwan now...” Called the driver in his impenetrable accent.

The carriage swung to the left and rattled over the cobblestones of Finch Lane. At once he realised where he was headed. ‘The George and Vulture’ he thought, and smiled wryly, ‘So traditional, so predictable, so very English.’

He stalked into the bar and saw that his host was already there. Without hesitation he walked to Dashwood. When he spoke he could barely contain his irony.

“Where else brother, where else.” His smile was easy and deceptively warm.

“You would rather we met at the caves?” Asked Dashwood, his face a mask of concern.

“No, not at all. This place has a longer tradition than the caves, Dashwood—it seems appropriate.”

“Good, I would not want to offend you...” Dashwood waited for his guest to supply his name.

“You have not, and you may call me Membre Sancti.” His guest replied.

“One of the inner circle, I am honoured Membre Sancti.” Dashwood templed his fingers, blowing on them lightly.

“Indeed, due to the importance of your mission to the brethren. Mind you, should you fail the response will be more immediate and less respectful.”

“As is understood. How may I assist?”

“I need news of the diversion.”

“It progresses well Membre Sancti, the girl is convinced and our cover is in place. We have one issue to settle prior to making our move.”

“Which is?” The guest scowled.

“The disposal of a private investigator, nothing to concern the circle, I assure you.”

“May I hold your hands Dashwood?”

“Of course.” Dashwood separated his fingertips and dropped his now dry hands into the gloved hands of his guest.

The Membre Sancti closed his eyes and gripped Dashwood’s hands in his vice-like grip. Dashwood grimaced, partly due to his crushed digits, but mostly due to presence of another in his mind. Eventually the examination ended and the guest opened his dark eyes.

“Your heart is true to the brotherhood, but your mind is too certain. Keep this investigator alive, the brethren may have a use for him.”

“But we have decided on our action.” Dashwood protested.

“No. Let me be very precise with my English. The fact is you had decided. The decision is revoked!” The Membre Sancti brought his gloved fist down on the table with enough force to temporarily silence the public house chatter.

Dashwood went to swallow, but he lacked the spittle. Meekly he nodded.

“Here are your orders, follow them to the letter. Use the dark arts as you must, but be aware these are just our disguise. Do not make the mistake of your forebears and let them seduce you. That way lies death, not salvation.”

“Of course, I obey.” Dashwood bowed his head.

“Now my indulgent brother, I am tired—are my rooms prepared.”

“They are indeed Membre Sancti, to the letter of your stated requirements.”

“That is most gratifying. Farewell—for we shall not meet in the morrow, my task leads me onwards Dashwood, always onwards.”

“I understand your grace, goodnight.”

The tall man stood and made his way to the stairs, he did not look back.

“You are in room...” Dashwood’s voice was stilled by the dismissive wave of the Membre Sancti’s right hand.

Neither of the men noticed the interest paid to them by a gentleman who sat beside the stairwell. He did not draw attention to his presence in any way, he just quietly and thoughtfully smoked his pipe.

The tall man reached the first floor, and walked unerringly to the third door on the right in the low corridor. He opened the door and looked towards the occupied bed. He smiled when he saw the locks of curly dark hair covering both the identical pillows.

Dashwood was good to his word. The Membre Sancti crossed to the bed and roughly pulled back the covers. His eyes feasted on the two erect man stalks that, as yet, stood untouched.

For the first time since leaving the inner sanctum the Membre Sancti removed his fine leather gloves.