The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hove whistled merrily as he walked along the country track.

“Glad to see you in such good form this morning Brighton, I feared for your health last night.” Holmes said cheerily.

“Takes more then some damnable Hun to bring me down Holmes, my old chap.”

“I wish I had your outlook on life Hove, my take is somewhat darker.”

“Now do not get maudlin again, we have nearly cracked this case.” Hove smiled.

“Ha! There you go once more, the eternal optimist.” Holmes quipped, “Still I must say it is a splendid day.”

The friends walked on a few hundred yards in merry conversation, before things took a very odd turn. A wild man stepped out in front of them, he brandished a broken branch -which he thrust at them with gusto. He growled and grunted incoherently for several seconds before beginning what became a tirade of abuse.

“Now I have yea! Not so clever now are you, you damnable heretics. I may be but an old man with a staff, but David slew Goliath did he not! I may die in the process, but I shall take one of yea devils to hell with me, I’ll venture!” He snarled, “Devil got your tongues—come now demons say something!”

“I’m sorry sir have we by chance trespassed on your land. If you would forgive us, we are not locals.” Holmes replied calmly, without ever taking his eyes off the pointed end of the wavering staff.

“I know you are not locals, I am no fool. You were here for the Sabbath in the church. You carry the signs sir, the gloves you wear and that package you carry with such care.”

“Sabbath at the church! Hove I fear we may be too late...” Holmes quietened, as the pointed staff dug into his chest.

“Back, back you devil. Yea do not fool Thomas!”

Hove strode forward and grasped the staff, with a hard, sudden twist he ripped it from the elderly mans grasp.

“That sir is enough! Kindly threaten us no more.” Brighton barked.

The outraged man now did a very odd thing, he fell to his knees in tears. “Forgive me Mary, yet again I have failed both you and the lord. Do as yea will demons, life holds no thrall for me any more.”

Holmes bent forward and gripped the distressed man by his upper arm. Gently he helped him to his feet. “Please Thomas, calm yourself, Hove and I will do you no harm. Whom, by the by, is Mary, pray tell?”

“Mary, my poor lost wife, was the housekeeper to Reverend Pearson.” Thomas trembled, too afeared was he to lie.

“Reverend Pearson, Thomas—we are in his employ, to stop this dastardly undertaking.”

“To stop it? I thought he was central to it?” Thomas asked, slack jawed.

“No, he knows of the disgrace it could bring. He has asked us to recover the icon.” Hove replied.

“Icon? Yes, yes I saw that—but you have it sir. In the cloth.” Thomas added pointing to Holmes.

“This is but a copy, but you say the icon was at the church last night?”

“Aye, at that awful ceremony.”

“Listen Thomas we will lay all of this to rest, but we need your help.” Holmes said.

“Help, why should I help? You could be demons.”

“We could, as you say, be demons. But ask yourself a question if that is the case.”

“What question?” Asked Thomas bleakly.

“Why are you still alive?” Asked Holmes.

Thomas blinked.

“How may I assist sir?” He asked.

Holmes smiled, “Good man, follow us.”

The mismatched trio walked on towards the vicarage, Thomas pausing occasionally to point out the way.

His eyes opened and stared angrily at the sun high above him. He had much to do, Hans went to get up—every fibre and sinew in his abused body protested. Groaning he slowly straightened his back, then he reached into the deep pocket of his cape to find the maps. But he drew his hand away, wincing in pain. He looked down at his ragged hands, he cursed the Englishmen with vehemence.

Carefully extracting his map Hans orientated himself and headed of steadily, if uncomfortably, to the south. As he walked the mulled over the plans, by now the Reverend would have held the first Sabbath as he had directed Dashwood. They were close to the pinnacle, soon the membership would swell and the illuminati’s power would filter into each level of government. They were so close, but these meddlesome investigators now had the evidence they needed.

Hans clenched his teeth and ground one ruined hand into the palm of the other, he needed the pain—to drive him on. As he pounded his fist, he would pound the interlopers into dust. Then and only then would he get the recognition he deserved, and the power—the power to rule this despicable island. Then they would pay, they would all pay!

Holmes and Hove approached the door to the manse.

“Be wary my friend, things may not be all they seem.” Holmes warned.

Brighton nodded sagely. He then rapped the door knocker with some force. A few seconds passed before the door was opened by a young woman.

“Welcome gentlemen, is the Reverend expecting you?” She asked politely.

“Most certainly, he contacted us and asked us to arrive as quickly as we could. My card, miss.”

“Mr Holmes, yes my master is expecting you, please come in.”

Holmes walked beside Hove, in the way he had, he noticed that his young partner was smitten with the housekeeper. He whispered to his friend “Old boy, I do believe that is Thomas’s spouse.”

“Indeed Holmes, and why should that concern me?” Brighton said, innocently.

“No reason.” Holmes replied, smiling inwardly.

“May I present Mr Holmes & Mr Hove from London, Reverend.” Mary said.

“Thank you Mary, could you clear away the breakfast tray please.”

Mary crossed the room and picked up the tray, unfortunately her grip was not secure—the contents fell spreading rapidly across the Reverends previously tidy desk. Pearson rose, his face dark with embarrassment and anger, he took one step and swiped his hand viciously across Mary’s face. The girl reeled backwards from the force of the physical rebuke. Hove dashed forward to rescue the tearful girl.

“Sir, you are a cad! That was clearly and accident. What sort of minister strikes a young woman thus.”

“The girl is clumsy sir, I lose my patience with her. I will thank you not to question the way I correct my staff.”

Hove went to reply, but was corrected by a sideward glance from Holmes. Mary slumped in Brighton’s arms.

“I think I have a touch of the vapours.” She groaned.

“And it is no wonder if you ask me. Where is your room? I will take you to recover.” Hove enquired, his eyes full of kindness.

“On the second floor, as long as my master permits..” She answered.

William’s waved dismissively.

“Take her, she is of no use to me.” Then he reached up and pulled on a bell cord.

Hove collected Mary in his arms, and walked with her to the door, he paused and glared briefly at the Reverend. His opinion of the cleric was writ deeply in the frown on his face. Skilfully he manoeuvred his way into the hall, ignoring the kitchen maid who passed him hurrying on her way to the Reverend’s study.

He walked to the stairs and swiftly scaled the way to the second floor, limply Mary indicated the third door on the left. He opened the door with his elbow, and swept into the room. On the bed before him a Sapphic orgy was in full motion. In a single movement Mary slipped from his arms and joined her sinful sisters on the bed.

“What the devil...”

Hove’s words were cut off by Dashwood’s gloved hand clamping over his mouth and nose.

The maid left the room with a curtsey, her cleaning duties complete.

“Mr Holmes where are my manners, please be seated.” Said William, “How do your enquiries progress?”

“Slowly, with discretion, as always. Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all, please there is an ashtray on the table. Slowly you say, that is disappointing.”

“Is it,” Holmes puffed away liberally, “is it really disappointing to you?”

“What a very odd question, yes it is I had hoped for great progress. After all, your fee...”

“Is very reasonable, considering the risk Hove and I have been put to. The reason I ask is that you seem somewhat changed. I thought you may have altered your mind or allegiances?”

“My only allegiance is to god, and I will thank you not to question it!”

“You do seem oddly temperamental. Never mind, maybe this will calm you.” Holmes reached inside his cloak and retrieved the package from its hiding place. Careful to handle it only by its wrapping he placed it on the Reverend’s desk.

“But, it can not be! How can you have the icon...” Pearson’s voice drained away.

“When you used it in a Sabbath only last night?” Asked Holmes, smiling.

“Yes, but how can you know?” Gasped William.

“I know many things Reverend, but I choose when I reveal them.”

William reached forward to grasp the icon.

“I would advise you to wear these first, it is impregnated.” So saying, Holmes threw the membre sancti’s gloves on the table, “It is fresh from the caves in West Wycombe and although its ‘power’ may need attending to, it could still affect you through touch.”

Blinking his disbelief away Pearson donned the gloves and unwrapped the icon. When he saw it he gasped. “But how?” Like a possessed man he tore across the room to his book case, there he removed a false row of six apparently thick tomes and levered up the box lid. His trembling hands withdrew the contents, a small package topped by some familiar looking gloves. He threw the gloves to one side and took the icon to his desk, there he unwrapped it and stared in horror at the two identical images.

“How, how? How, Mr Holmes can there be two?” William asked.

“Two? There are many more than two Reverend. There are as many as are needed.” Holmes replied.

“What?” Asked Pearson, his mouth hanging open.

“The icons only exist to persuade the unwary of their power -and thus the power of the ‘Illuminati’. But the icons possess no power, beyond that which is applied to them.”

“Applied to them? In what way?”

Holmes took a deep draw on his pipe and withdrew the vials from his pocket. He placed them on the Reverend’s desk, well within his reach, but far beyond the pastors. “Plant extracts of the most dangerous kind. These innocuous liquids are potent mind altering substances. Swallowed, inhaled or adsorbed through the skin they will cause hallucination in the sanest of men.” The bowl of Holmes’s churchwarden glowed savagely, “Hallucination and desire is produced by one extract and paralysis by the other, combine the two in differing proportion and you can convince anyone of anything.”

“So the visions, the passion?” William’s eyes widened.

“All induced, and all, but all, false. Of course such powerful substances are addictive, and over a lifetime highly toxic.” Holmes smiled warmly, “Which is one of the real reasons for the gloves—protection.”

“There are other reasons for the gloves? I thought they protected the image.” Pearson asked.

“Protection from that applied to the false icons, and as weapons. The gloves gave you have been impregnated on the outer layer with one extract at high dose. Held over the face so the victim has to inhale the noxious fume, once done for sufficient time—the poor soul is temporarily paralysed.”

“Good grief, that is barbarous! You mean, all I was promised -all I saw, was illusion?” Pearson asked.

“Indeed, just smoke and mirrors, dear Reverend.”

“And these substances are addictive and toxic?” Asked William his eyes hardening.

“I have this on the good authority of my friend, Dr Oliver Thomas of the Royal Society. Even in small quantity, if the exposure is frequent these extracts are fatal.”

William’s mind flew back through the years, to the image of his father abusing himself, one hand on his organ—and the other bare hand on the frame of the icon. He shuddered with revulsion.

“The most important side-effect for the illuminati is however, I believe—paranoia. This they use to create an unholy lust for...” Holmes did not finish the sentence, the Reverend however did.

“Power... Tell me one thing Holmes, if you were to imbibe these substances unknown to the illuminati and without guidance?”

“I think they would most likely slowly drive you to insanity.”

“As they do. I have seen it. My own beloved father,” William raised a hand to wipe away the tears forming at his eyes, “tell me Holmes—how can I help you stop these monsters?”

Ned thought for a second, for his decision now could prove vital. He decided to trust William, not on the basis of logic -but purely on the hatred he now saw burning within the Reverend Pearson.