The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dashwood struggled to pull on his gloves, never once taking his eyes from Holmes. “I know you from somewhere! You have been trailing me, Dashwood paused, “You were at the George and Vulture. So you know something of my history.”

“Yes, and I am not impressed—it seems you are as foolish as your forebears,” Holmes sneered, before slapping Dashwood hard around the face, “Sir, you are a cad. I challenge you!”

Just as Holmes had calculated, this provoked Dashwood into a rage. Impatiently he cast aside his gloves and launched himself at Ned. Brighton grasped the gloves and threw them with all his force far through the window.

By the time he swivelled back—a life and death struggle was going on. Dashwood repeatedly smashed Holmes’ head into the skirting board. As Brighton dashed to his friend’s aid, he was struck by the incorrigible contrast between the carnal wrestling on the bed and Holmes’ desperate defence.

Before Hove could intercede, Ned struck back. He had managed to force his legs under Dashwood. With a mighty roar he straightened them into Albert’s unprotected stomach. The surprised attacker was launched across the room. For a brief instant, the carnality on the bed was stilled by Dashwood’s unexpected arrival in the very midst of it. Then he disappeared in a sea of curves and legs, the giggles raising a tone in their intensity.

“Get off me you whores, I have no interest—our enemies are upon us!” Screamed Dashwood.

Unfortunately for Dashwood, Thomas had arrived on the landing. He was just in time to hear the agonised outburst. He headed directly toward the third bedroom on the left of him. What he saw there pushed him over the edge of sanity.

To his hallucinating eyes, he saw Satan himself cavorting with his lustful demoness’s. Then one demoness turned to face him and he realised his error; this was no child of hell. No, it was an angel with Mary’s face—and Satan was trying to ravish her!

With a terrible roar, Thomas launched himself bodily into the tangled throng. Naked demoness’s reared away from him, leaving his way clear for an assault on Satan himself. To his eternal dismay the Lord of darkness was too cunning for him. The Devil grasped the angel and used her to shield himself. Then Satan bellowed his rage.

“Get this madman away from me! What is wrong with him? His eyes!—Save me.”

Thomas gently manoeuvred the angel to one side, before targeting his hand accurately—his aim was true. Despite the burning pain he felt, Thomas gripped hard and closed his fist securely. He, Thomas Green, had the Devil’s own distended genitals trapped in his tight hand.

Satan screamed, clearly trying to summon his foul kind. In immediate response, a wise Thomas twisted his wrist as hard as he could. The Devil released the angel and attempted to flee. Even hampered as he was, by having an irate farmer attached to his most sensitive nether parts, he managed to escape the bed. Slowly the Lord of pain crawled to the door.

Dashwood painfully dragged himself and Thomas out onto the landing. Albert rained blows down onto the old man’s head and shoulders, but the stubborn fool clung on grimly. The forced strangulation of Dashwood’s testicles was intense, and finally it crushed them to a pulp. Albert winced and felt his grip on reality fail, the world started to darken.

Holmes recovered from the stupefying events first and dashed out to try and prevent Thomas from emasculating his shrieking foe. Ned caught up with the oddly coupled pairing and attempted to calm Thomas.

“Thomas, I do not think our friend will escape. You may let go of him now.”

“I have the devil by the tail Mr Holmes, you and Hove just keep the imps away from my angel.”

“Thomas, calm now they are just girl’s—they will not harm Mary.”

“No, not the demoness’s, fool! The imps that came out of the walls when I destroyed the foul images.” Thomas groaned.

Holmes looked more closely at Thomas, his hair and face was coated in fine dust.

All became clear to him in an instant.

“When you destroyed the images you inhaled a poison Thomas. The things you see are not real.”

“Not real? Then why does he struggle so.” Thomas asked, before tugging violently on his hand hold.

Dashwood barely reacted, for he was part-way into a swoon.

“Just let him go, you have trapped the Devil well Thomas. Hove and I will take care of him now. You should attend to the angel.”

“My Mary, the angel—yes. You are right Mr Holmes.”

At once, Thomas stood and walked calmly to the bedroom. He left Dashwood comatose and a mere shadow of the man he once had been. Hove joined Holmes and stared down at Albert Dashwood, whose form twitched slightly at their feet.

“Well, I think he is not too much of a threat, old chap. Nasty thing that!”

“True, remember this event well Brighton. Noxious substances have a habit of catching up with those who abuse them.” Ned sighed, and lit his pipe, “A salutary lesson for us all.”

“Indeed, most wise.” Coughed Brighton.

Hove heard a call from below.

“Mr Holmes, Mr Hove I’m back, with the police!”

“Up here Reverend!” Hove replied.

“Hove?” Asked Holmes.

“Yes, old bean.”

“Perhaps you could dress, and encourage the ladies to do likewise. Before our guests arrive?”

“Well I will be jiggered, I totally forgot.” Laughed Hove.

“It would seem that although Mr Holmes and Mr Hove have cleared up the mystery about the icon—with some notable, erm, handiwork from Mr Green—we are still left with a number of conundrums.” Said the Reverend Pearson, as he peered over his newly polished desk.

“I would agree. We are less than clear about several things.” Holmes frowned.

“Well to me it is all as plain as day,” said the portly police Sergeant, “We have stopped a nasty conspiracy to over throw the throne. The culprits are either dead, captured or being sought at this very moment. We should be very pleased!”

“The defilers should rot in hell!” Added Thomas, who was still a little twitchy.

Mary closed her right hand around his, part for his comfort and part for hers.

“Well if not hell, Oxford Gaol should suffice. Mind you I would not be surprised to see them all swing. Treason against the crown, the gallows may be busy.” The Sergeant whistled between his teeth.

“I am sure your men will round up the other six conspirators quickly Ambleforce, but what of the instigator? What do we know of the real force behind this the Illuminati?” Asked Holmes.

“Well they are foreign sir, which is outside my jurisdiction. But if they step foot in England!” Ambleforce’s chops waggled with threat.

“But we have no idea who they are, how are we to know if they are here, or indeed anywhere else?” Asked Hove.

“Precisely, excellent question.” Holmes nodded.

“This might help, but it is written in the Devil’s own tongue.” Thomas held up the pocketbook, “I took this from the dead demon outside.”

Holmes took the notebook and glanced through it with interest. He then passed it to Sergeant Ambleforce. “That may hold some clues, if you get some code breakers on to it.”

“Looks like a lunatics work to me. No there is nothing worth wasting police time on here.” Ambleforce pronounced, stroking his mutton chop sideburns, “Keep it as a memento if you wish sir.”

“I should like Mr Holmes to have it Sergeant. I am sure he will investigate it thoroughly.” Smiled Thomas.

Ambleforce harrumphed his annoyance and handed the pocket book back to Holmes. “I will not detain you gentlemen any longer. I must away—urgent ‘real’ police business. I am as always your humble servant.”

“Goodbye Sergeant, and thank you!” Called the Reverend to the closing door.

“Now to more mundane things, gentlemen,” William spoke softly, “what are we to do with the girl’s?”

“Send them home I suggest.” Said Holmes.

“Yes, but how do we explain the ‘events’ to their parents?”

“Well I doubt if they will say too much themselves, under the circumstances.” Advised Brighton.

“Hove has a point. Just apologise for delaying them with extra church duties.”

“All night?” Said William, his mouth agape.

“Well they did know it was a special service?” Asked Holmes.

“Hmm, perhaps...” William mulled over the suggestion.

“Or you could explain the real circumstances.” Suggested Hove, helpfully.

“Ah no, I think on this occasion Mr Holmes may have a better solution. But what of Clarice?”

“What of her,” asked Hove, " send her home as well.”

“Clarice was a ward of the Parish, she has no home,” William sighed, “but under the circumstances, I can not recommend she stays here.”

“I have some friends in Oxford, I am sure the ladies I am thinking of would happily house her. They are both of excellent character—I will vouch for them personally.” Suggested Holmes.

“Excellent, but I have concerns about her travelling to Oxford alone after her recent ordeal.”

“Then worry no more Reverend, I shall use it as an excuse to visit my old friends, Ruby and Constance. I will make a fine break after this unseemly affair.” Holmes smiled wistfully.

“As long as it is not too much of a chore for you, I will accept.” William nodded.

“It will be a pleasure, a pure pleasure.” Holmes replied.

“Well then all that remains is for me to thank you, and hand over the church’s payment—together with our eternal gratitude to your good self and Mr Hove.”

“Most gratifying.” Holmes nodded.

The meeting disbanded with polite nods. As Holmes closed the door behind himself and Brighton, he overheard one last comment.

“Reverend Pearson, I am afraid Mary will not be staying with you either. Not due to any fault on your part. But the situation makes it improper,” Thomas paused, " In any case we are to start a family, so my beloved wife will be needed at the Green farm.”

The oak door cut off William’s reply.

“Well then Holmes, back to Oxford for us then!” Ventured Brighton.

“More accurately for me. I need you to return to London, Hove. Take this Pocketbook to Oliver, see if the Society can break the code.”

“Quite so, I will see you in a couple of days then?” Brighton asked.

“It could be a little longer. I want to make sure Clarice is well bedded in before I take my leave.” Holmes said, trying not to smile.

“Of course, abso-bally-lutely, after this dashed mess. I quite understand, old boy.”

Holmes lit his pipe. As he puffed away merrily waiting for Clarice to appear, he wondered. Did Hove actually understand? He suppressed a light chuckle.

“Holmes! I thought you had become lost, old bean. Capital that you should arrive now. I have just this very morning received a letter back from Dr Thomas.”

“Excellent news Hove, but may I get in the door first?” Joked Ned.

“Indubitably. Sorry old man!” Chirped Brighton.

Half an hour later Holmes sat at his desk examining both the letter and the returned notebook. “Well they have cracked the code, but it is up to the two of us to effect the translation, Hove—we may as well start.” Ned reached in his pocket and found his churchwarden.

“Before we do Ned, I am dying to know, how did Clarice settle in?”

“Ah, yes the delightful Clarice, very well bedded I would say Brighton. Ruby and Constance send their regards.”

“Bedded?” Hove smiled, “I believe you mean bedded in, it is unlike you to confuse your words Holmes.” Hove laughed.

“If you say so Brighton, if you say so.” Nodded Holmes, “The translation, hmm...” He puffed away impatiently.

“Of course.” Hove sat besides his mentor.

The hours passed and many names were deciphered along with their level and importance in the ranks of the Illuminati. Holmes was like a man possessed, or rather a man desperate to find something.

“Shall we break for lunch Ned, I am quite famished, I am sure you are too?”

“We don’t stop until I have found him, he must be here...” Holmes muttered.

“Who old chap, who are we searching for?” Asked Brighton perplexed.

“We will see, my friend we will see.”

Their heads went down once more. Eventually Holmes sat back and sighed.

“Do you realise what you have just spelt, one letter at a time?” He asked.

“Ned, I am quite unsure who I am anymore, let alone what I spelt.”

“Read it for yourself Hove, I won’t spoil the surprise.”

Brighton read out the words with growing enthusiasm.

“Membre Sancti Primus: Alphonso Burgabiter—Well, I will be jiggered!”