The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dashwood looked on in dismay, as Clarice tried to persuade William and Mary to stop fondling and attend to her commands. Finally he snapped and dashing across the room he dealt a back handed slap to Clarice. The slap sent the surprised woman to the floor. William stopped manipulating his housekeeper’s quim and looked at the interloper aghast.

“Enough! It is time to work, do you all understand. I am not a patient man.” Dashwood shouted.

Clarice rose unsteadily to her feet, and then glared at Dashwood.

“You fool, you will pay for striking me!” She railed.

“In what way whore? You have no power. You are but a plaything for us.”

“I have power! I flew here as a witch, did I not?” Clarice grumbled.

“You have no idea, do you? Without our illuminated knowledge you would be nought,” Dashwood pulled in his breath noisily, “Now be quiet woman!”

Clarice looked to the heaven’s and summoned her assumed powers. Turning she glared once more at Dashwood and let out a terrible curse.

“Wither this annoying upstart away! I, the whore of Nazareth demand it!”

Nothing happened. Clarice repeated the spell, once more nothing. Confused she slumped back to the floor, her eyes flickering as she tried to comprehend her apparent impotence.

“Good, now sit there and think about things—while I organise events.” Sneered Dashwood. He turned back to the trembling couple.

“Now, good sir you will stop your love-play and summon the detective here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes—how? Do you want me to write to him?”

“No, send a telegram—the Post Office in Henley has a Wheatstone’s, if you leave now—he should have it today.”

“Yes, now of course, when do you want him to come?” Asked William.

“As soon as possible, tell him it is urgent. Tell him the very Empire is at stake.”

“Yes, shall I take Mary with me?”

“No, I have need of her here.” Smiled Dashwood.

“Ne.., need of her, in what way?”

“In a way you need not know Reverend. Now get dressed, and run along.” Dashwood waved his hand dismissively.

“Yes, m-master at once.” William scurried away to retrieve his hastily discarded garb. In minutes he was gone.

Dashwood kicked Clarice impolitely with his foot.

“Slave, I have needs,” He smiled wickedly, “I have the need to be entertained.”

“How may I serve you master?” Came the bleak reply.

“I would like you to service Mary whilst I watch. Not too repugnant a task I expect?”

“How? How should I service her master?”

“With your hands, I will guide you.”

“Yes master, as you say.” Clarice rose and walked to the bed, her hands fell between Mary’s thighs. There they fluttered.

“Enter her with a finger...” Dashwood sighed.

Clarice complied, slipping her first finger deeply into Mary’s stretched slit.

“More, more fingers—harder.” Dashwood croaked.

Skilfully Clarice wiggled her fingers deep into the chasm of Mary’s quim. As she pushed harder she felt the bluntness of the mouth of Mary’s womb.

“More, hand—urgh, more...” Grunted Dashwood, his glistening eyes bulging.

The motivated slave folded her thumb in towards her palm, she pushed against the mounting resistance. Her hand stuttered and then slid fully inside Mary. Clarice felt the damp walls suck against her plunging fist. Mary bucked wildly causing the mouth of her quim to open and close around Clarice’s pumping wrist.

Dashwood groaned as his convulsing organ freed its load into his britches. He felt the satisfaction of power rip through him. He was ready, he was ready for anything.

“Holmes, Ned!—We have a telegram... From the Reverend.”

Ned took the scrap of paper from Hove. He read it silently until he reached one phrase.

“...the very Empire is in danger. Please attend me as soon as you can, there is much I can not tell you in such a public way.”

“It sounds incredible Holmes, can it be true?”

“Yes it is. I overheard them last night. The one who assaulted you inferred as much.”

“Good grief, we had better pack Holmes!”

“We shall stick to the plan my friend. I fear we shall need you to be in fine fettle. We can expect a fight. I just hope we can stop them.”

Brighton blinked, in all the years he had know Holmes he had never heard him express doubt, not about anything. This was serious.

He liked this area, it was to be much preferred to the smog and bustle of London. During his walk he could sense the centuries of work that had gone on here. Dashwood’s folly in converting the ruined Norman church into the golden ball adorned ‘St. Laurence’s’ had been preceded by real work.

Prior to the eccentric Francis Dashwood, the caves had been a chalk mine, digging into the very substance that formed the rolling hills; long mounds that extended all the way into the aptly named High Wycombe. Before chalk was carved from them, the miners had extracted a very basic building material that was still greatly in evidence locally; flint—walls and houses glistened with its dark, knapped faces.

During all this time and longer they had waited, now finally there was a window of opportunity; this time they would seize it! This small country laid claim to nearly a third of the world, now that power would transfer to worthy leaders. Leaders who would cull the weak and the imbeciles, enslave the unworthy, and permit the truly enlightened to rule this so far misguided Earth.

He had one simple task to complete and that would ensure the ceremony was effective and impressive; as was surely necessary. The great and the good would soon assemble in these caves. There they would be witness to the apparent wonder of the icon and the blackest of arts.

More importantly they would see they very thing that each of them lusted for most—power. They would be seduced into membership of the club, as a way of meeting their own desires, but unknowingly they would satisfy but one desire; the noble desire of the illuminati.

Blinking, he gazed upwards at the arched structure over his head, then his eyes lowered and settled on the entrance to the tunnel. His gloved hands pulled his cloak around his solid, but hunched shoulders. Then he lit the oil-lamp and descended into the hallowed earth.

Dashwood sat comfortably amongst his co-conspirators, all gathered around the high altar. He gazed past the stalls and the choir screen out into the nave. The pews were filled, some were merely local gentry, temporarily needed for resources and ensuring acquiesce in the immediate area. Mixed in with the hoi polloi were significant individuals, some destined to become disciples; others mere slaves. Running his eye quickly over them he could see, Wingate, Sykes, Reverend Storrs, Milner and Samuel. More like an assembly before the Queen than a local vicar!

Dashwood smiled at that thought, one day they would assemble before the Queen, and then—succeed her. Behind him in the apse, the chantry door opened and the Reverend walked in in solemn silence. Beside him draped from head to foot in a flowing black robe was Clarice. Albert was surprised, but pleased, to see the authority that now virtually shone from William Pearson; his transformation from humble parish priest was almost complete. William stood directly in front of the ‘monks’ and addressed the assembled.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in sight of our lord to celebrate a truly wondrous event.” William paused, “This poor wicked child has been turned from the path of the devil, and shown the light of the lord. She had been seduced into the darkness by a local coven, before being saved by the noble Knight’s of St Francis, who are seated behind me.”

Polite applause rippled through the church.

“In praise of this godly act I have organised this unique service.” Imperceptibly William signalled with his right hand. As one the seven seated ‘knights’ rose, their long white robes flowing around them. Heads held high they walked forward, as they did their rank split, and four moved to stand to the left of William, three to the right of Clarice.

“Each knight wears a ring with the seal of our holy church on his hand. The seals each contain a fragment of the very cross our lord was sacrificed on. His blood and pain shed for us all!” William raised his eyes to the arch of the transept, “It was this power that saved this once foul creature from the bowels of hell!”

The Reverend addressed the hushed assembly once more.

“Such is the power of the rings that each monastic knight wears gloves to protect themselves from prolonged contact with the relics. Otherwise they would be exulted and become angels at the lord’s side. As much as they each long for this, their work is here, on earth amongst us sinners.

Each of you has been invited to this ceremony to bear witness to the salvation of our dear sister. Due to your own good works you are to receive the blessing of the Knight’s of St. Francis.”

William smiled, and took one step forward.

“As I call you, in groups of seven, please step forward and kiss the seal on one of the knights rings.”

“Viscount Samuel, Sir Mark Sykes, Sir Reginald Wingate, Reverend John Storrs, Viscount Milner, Sir Henry McMachon, Earl Kitchener...”

The summoned rose, and moved forward for their blessing. All eyes were on them. Including one uninvited pair that stared out from the darkness of the porch, close to the north door. Silent and resentful the lone figure crouched and waited.

“I say old chap, I know I do not usually question you. But are you sure we are doing the right thing?”

“Indeed Hove, quite sure. Pray tell me, what thing would you have me do?”

“Surely we should be attending to the Reverend in his hour of need, rather than gallivanting around and visiting caves?”

“Certainly we should, but I for one—would rather avoid a trap. What say you Brighton?”

“A trap, by heaven! Are you sure?” Asked Hove.

“No, I may indeed be wrong, but even so there is something in the cave we must retrieve first old boy.”

“Ah, I understand.” Hove thought for a second, “What would that be Ned?”

“Why an icon my dear fellow, an icon.” Holmes tapped Brighton on the chest.

“So we can destroy the accursed thing!” Hove smiled.

“No, so we can prove it is not what it is claimed to be.”

“Oh, I see,” once more Brighton paused, “How?”

“When we find its wicked sister; the other icon.”

“Other icon?” Hove asked.

“Never mind, Hove it is more important now that we move on without delay. Are you quite recovered from yesterday’s events?”

“Yes I am, but thank you for enquiring old bean.” Hove smiled.

“Then let us move on.” So saying Holmes handed one oil lamp to Hove and lit the other.

Together the two investigators entered the hell fire caves.