The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lacey smoothed her skirt and straightened the name tag over her left breast. One more quick once-over at her reflection in the mirror and she nodded. You can do this.

The door swung open and Talisha hustled in. “Best get out there, newbie,” she said as she ducked into a free stall. “You really don’t want to start out on Jerome’s bad side.”

That got her moving quickly. Tuition, dorm fees, books ... no, if Lacey was to earn enough for all that, let alone a little pocket money besides, she would need the dining room manager to like her. Jerome’s largess determined who got the good tables, and therefore the good tips.

And there he was, his gaze alternating between his floor plan and the open pocket watch in his right hand. Lacey came up to him and waited to be noticed before stating, “Ready.”

She did her best to maintain a calm, poised posture as Jerome looked her over from head to toe. “You look good,” he finally assessed. “And right on time, too. Keep that up and you’ll do well here.”

Lacey felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Where would you like me?”

For a half moment Jerome’s eye gleamed in a way that felt vaguely unprofessional to Lacey, but he recovered quickly. “We’ll start you off slowly, since you’re new to this. You take tables six through eight, and when you’re not busy with those you can help out Talisha and Robb in their sections. We’ll see how well you do with that.”

“Yes, sir.” She started to turn but a hand on her arm stopped her.

“One second, Lacey.” Jerome’s face was serious. “What are the golden rules?”

“Take care of every customer,” she recited. “Be poised and polite at all times. And smile, no matter what.” She punctuated the third rule with her warmest smile and a tiny wink.

“Good. I’ll be watching.”

The dinner service ramped up quickly. Jerome took it easy on Lacey at first, giving her time to get one table served before seating another of hers, but before long the dining area was full to capacity and there were more guests waiting in the lounge. The tables turned over and Lacey found herself scrambling to keep up.

Late in the first service, Jerome personally seated a party of eight in Talisha’s section. Lacey, waiting at the bar for drinks for table seven, nudged Talisha and bobbed her head toward the group. “What’s up with them?”

Talisha heaved a nervous sigh. “The Marlowes,” she said. “Serious VIP guests. The old guy at the head of the table is J. Clement Marlowe, some big deal New York banker type. More money than he knows what to do with, and that was before he married up with Camille Dupree and all her millions. They met right here some 30 years ago and they’ve been comin’ back for two weeks every summer since.”

“I’ll bet they tip well.”

“They do,” Talisha agreed, “but it’s barely worth it. Mrs. M knows the owners from way back, so if you give ’em any reason at all to complain it’ll like as not mean your job.”

“Then I’m glad they’re in your section instead of mine,” Lacey gulped.

From across the dining room Jerome caught Talisha’s eye and beckoned her over. “Show time,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

With Talisha servicing her VIP table Lacey found herself stretched thinner and moving faster to help cover Talisha’s section as well as her own. Still, she remembered the rules; she made eye contact with the guests, kept her poise, and—especially as she rushed past the Marlowe table—made sure to keep that smile in place. When she saw they had finished eating Lacey breathed a sigh of relief, figuring that she’d be able to slow down soon and maybe even get a break.

But first, she had three bowls of French onion soup for table 14. She shouldered the tray and moved swiftly up the aisle, being careful because it narrowed where tables had been pushed together to accommodate the Marlowe party. Then, from behind and to her left, came the words, “Oh, Miss?”

Lacey turned neatly to the man at table 8, still stepping backward while flashing her mandatory smile. “I’ll be right with you, s—”

Her body impacted something and came to a full stop. Her tray wobbled and the three bowls of French onion soup, in accordance with Murphy’s Law, tumbled forward and dumped their entire contents on the obstacle, a young man in his early twenties who had just been rising from his chair at the Marlow table. As the hot soup doused him he instinctively jumped back, tripped over his own chair and tumbled backward to the floor.

Lacey stood still, her mind frozen in shock, watching the man fall as if in slow motion. She barely noticed the now-empty tray dropping from her hand. Then the man glared at her and shouted from the floor, “You stupid, clumsy, worthless CUNT!!”

The shout broke her mental logjam. She grabbed for a still-folded cloth napkin from the table, bent down and started dabbing at the steaming broth on his chest. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she babbled, “I didn’t see you and—”

“I’ll bet you’re sorry!” he interjected. “This suit cost more than you’ll make all season and it’s burning me while you sit there dabbing at it. Get the fuck away from me!!”

From the table, J. Clement Marlowe frowned. “Language, James.”

The younger man had risen to his knees and was pulling the shirt away from his body. He cocked his head at the older man and looked shocked. The strangeness of it all—the odd look, and the idea that he had just been admonished for cussing of all things—struck Lacey and before she could choke it off a faint giggle escaped her lips. Oh, my God, did he hear that?

He did. The man glared at her with unbridled malice. “This is funny to you, is it? I don’t fucking believe you! Pack your bags, you disgusting, inbred piece of trailer trash, because I’m going to see to it that you’re living on the street by nightfall!”

You fucking arrogant prick! She might have done more than think those words but Jerome swooped in with a large, clean towel in hand and took control. “We are extremely sorry for this incident, Mr. Marlowe,” he assured the man. “Please allow me to have the estate’s physician take care of your injuries immediately, and of course the ruined suit will be replaced at our expense. And if there is anything else I can do to assist you, please just let me know. Perhaps a complimentary massage in the spa?“

J. Clement Marlowe, Junior was standing now and wiping at his clothes with the towel. “That sounds reasonable,” he allowed, letting his voice lower for the first time. Then he pointed at Lacey and smirked. “Oh, and Jerome? I want that fired.“

“I completely understand, sir.” He turned to Lacey. “Clean this up and wait in my office.”

Lacey sat in Jerome’s office for an hour listening to the activity in the restaurant, willing herself not to cry. Of all the people I could have spilled soup on, why did it have to be a spoiled rotten trust fund baby on a power trip?

“Just lucky, I guess.”

Lacey jumped at the sound of Talisha’s voice from the doorway. “Relax, girl,” Talisha continued. “I just finally got my break and came to see how you were. Jumpy, I see. And beatin’ up on yourself.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s obvious from lookin’ at you. Don’t. We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“I’m going to get fired, Talisha. What’s to figure out?”

“Don’t be too sure,” she said. “Look, everyone knows Junior’s a prick. Jerome got back half an hour ago and ain’t been in here yet. That tells me he’s still thinkin’ about it. And that’s about as good a news as you’re likely to get tonight. Just remember, we take care of our own here.”

Dinner service wound down and the activity moved from getting food cooked and served to cleaning and closing down. Another 45 minutes went by before the office door opened again and Jerome walked in. He put two shot glasses down on the desk, produced a bottle of single malt scotch from a drawer and poured two shots. “Here,” he said, pushing one shot toward Lacey.

“You have no idea how enticing that is,” she replied, “but I’m not 21 until October.”

“There are no cops here right now, and this is medicinal.” He downed his shot and poured another.

Lacey debated another half second, took her glass, and knocked it back. The scotch burned a little but felt damned good going down. She accepted another shot, downed that, and waited.

“Here’s the problem,” Jerome said. “I like you. You aren’t exactly a natural waitress, but you were doing okay up until that accident and you took the abuse like a trooper. That kind of discipline is hard to find. Marlowe Junior is, was, and probably always will be a raging prick ... but he’s a well-connected raging prick. If I don’t fire you and Junior finds out then my job is in jeopardy.”

“I understand,” Lacey said.

He poured a third shot for each of them. “I have to fire you,” he repeated. “But Junior didn’t say I had to do it immediately. So, go back to your room and try to get a decent night’s sleep. Come back here in the morning, after the breakfast rush but before lunch—say eleven. I’ll fire you then.”

“Okay.” The third shot went down her throat more easily but it was still too soon for it to soften the impact; Lacy choked back a tear as she stood up to go. Tomorrow she would have to hitch a ride back to Desiree and hope her sister would put her up while she looked for another job.

Just as her hand fell on the doorknob, Jerome spoke again. “Lacey?”

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Stewart is usually in her office by 6am. Before you come back in the morning, you might want to pay her a visit.”

Lacey thought about that as she trudged to her room in the junior staff area. Mrs. Stewart was in charge of Housekeeping, she knew. Was this a job lead? Lacey imagined herself in a maid’s uniform, scrubbing toilets and washing bed linens, and sobbed. She could do it—hell, she’d do just about anything to get out of Desiree—but the money would barely cover her first year of college.

By the time she reached her room Lacey could feel the scotch sloshing around in her head. She stripped, flopped into bed, and let the booze have its way with her.

The hangover was mild; Lacey was up, dressed, and knocking on Mrs. Stewart’s office door by 6:45. “Look at you,” the older lady said. “I can see why Jerome likes you. You’re a fighter.”

“I feel like I’m losing the fight,” she confessed. “I don’t suppose you could use me?”

“Sweetie, I’m always looking for help. If you’re honest and not too proud, you’ll do fine here. And then in a couple of weeks, if you still want to, we can try to get you back into the dining room to make some extra money. I know what school costs from my two boys.”

Lacey grabbed at the little sliver of hope. “I really appreciate this, Mrs. Stewart.”

“We take care of our own here, sugar.”

By noon Lacey had met with Jerome to be officially fired from the dining room, returned to Housekeeping to be hired as a maid, and assigned to a wing of guest rooms on the South side of the mansion. Her partner, Gladys, welcomed her like a long-lost sister and showed her the simple tricks of room care.

By the dozenth room Lacey was lagging a bit. “This is harder work than I thought,” she confessed.

Gladys clucked. “You’ll get used to it, hon. Housekeeping may be hard work but it beats the alternative.”

Lacey stopped. “Did you hear something?”

“Something happens like that, the word gets around. But don’t worry, nobody thinks anything bad of you. That Junior Marlowe is a pompous jerk; it’s only a matter of time before somebody puts him in his place.”

“He’s in his place,” she grumbled. “It’s called Mount Olympus. Lets him look down on everyone.”

“Oh, there’s ways of taking people like that down a notch.”

“Like what?”

Gladys shivered. “Hate to think about it too much. Let’s just forget him, okay? He’s not worth it.”

“No, he’s not. But you can’t just hint at something like that and not follow through. What do you know?”

“Nothing, personally,” Gladys insisted. “I’ve just heard things. You’re a local; you know what I mean.”

Something clicked in Lacey’s mind. “Voodoo?”

“If you believe in it. Hard not to, living and working here. Some say that’s how Marlowe Senior got a Dupree to marry him in the first place.”

The conversation ended, but Lacey’s mind gnawed at the idea for the rest of the day. She finished her shift and dropped, exhausted, into bed and dreamed of a dozen ways of humiliating James Clement Marlowe Junior.

A few days later the dawn found her hiking through the woods at the northern edge of the grounds. People tended to avoid this area because of its disturbing reputation, but what Lacey wanted could be found only in such a place. She located the decrepit split-rail fence that outlined her destination, a small plot of land adjoining the Marawind compound, and walked up to the equally decrepit-looking shack at its center.

“No need to knock,” an ancient voice croaked from inside, “I can hear you. Come in.”

Lacey pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit one-room cabin. Its walls were lined with rickety bookshelves holding bottles, mason jars, tins and boxes of all description, all equally dusty and poorly marked. A stone fireplace lay dormant but showed signs of heavy use. She saw a slab bed and a rude kitchen and then faced the elderly woman in a creaky wooden rocker. Lacey knelt on the floor before the old woman and presented her with a covered basket. “I offer you this food, wise one, and humbly ask for your guidance.”

The woman took the basket and lifted the cloth. Inside were fresh-baked biscuits and a jar of orange marmalade. “It’s been a long time since anyone came to me this way,” the old lady said. “You know the old ways?”

“Only a little,” Lacey confessed. “Stories from my childhood.”

The old lady broke off a piece of biscuit and put it in her toothless mouth. “Tastey,” she remarked. “Very nice.” She ate the rest of it slowly, while Lacey waited in silence. “You have good manners for such a young one. What do you seek from me?”

Lacey told the old woman about her encounter with James Clement Marlowe Junior, relating in detail what words were said and how the man acted with her. The woman listened and ate, and in the end simply repeated her question: “What do you want?”

I want my better-paying job back, Lacey thought. I want that self-righteous prick to suffer the same humiliation he put me through. But that wouldn’t do. “I want justice, ma’am.“

The old woman cackled. “Justice, you say? Are you sure it’s not revenge you mean?”

“No, wise one.” Lacey kept her voice calm. “I know that it’s dangerous to seek vengeance. All I want is what was taken from me: my job, and some of my dignity.”

“A smart girl,” the old woman said. “I can feel you holding yourself back. All right, dearie, Granny Mae will help you. Come back to me with something of him and I’ll give you the justice you ask for.”

“Something of his? What sort of something?”

“Not his, girl—of him. Some hair, or blood, or semen perhaps. Yes, semen would be perfect.”

“But hair would work?”

The old woman chuckled at the obvious nervousness in Lacey’s face. “Yes, girl, hair will work. And I’ll need some payment as well. An old lady can’t live on biscuits and marmalade, you know.”

“Of course, wise one. How much?”

She eyed Lacey. “Three hundred dollars. And you can call me Gran.”

Lacey gulped hard but knew not to argue. “As you wish, Gran.”

The next day Lacey and Gladys were folding linens when Juanita, the maid for the VIP cottage, came in holding a small plastic sandwich bag. “Got it.”

Lacey took the bag from her and looked carefully. Inside were a dozen strands of blond hair. “You’re sure these are his?”

“Positive,” Juanita assured her. “They came from his hair brush, and nobody else uses that bathroom.”

“Thanks, Juanita. I really owe you for this.”

Juanita grinned. “Just promise me Junior Pendejo won’t like what you do with it.”

“I promise.”

“Then you owe me nothing.”

Gladys frowned as Lacey put the plastic bag in her pocket. “Is this something I should know about?”

“Nothing bad. Just a little local justice.”

“I really don’t like the sound of that, Lacey. That sort of thing has a tendency to backfire.”

“Only when you get greedy. I won’t do that.”

“I hope so for your sake.”

Saturday morning Lacey was up at dawn for her second visit to Granny Mae. She had another basket of fresh biscuits, the bag of Marlowe’s hair and a bank envelope containing three hundred dollars in cash—an unhealthy chunk of her savings, but if things went well she’d make it back in tips.

The old woman accepted the gifts and set to work. Lacey watched her as she broke off a chunk of paraffin and melted it over a low fire, sprinkling in several ingredients from the shelf and finally stirring in the hairs from the bag. She let it cool until it began to cloud and then poured the liquid into a candle mold, chanting in old, nonsensical-sounding words as the wax hardened. Finally, she opened the mold and mounted the six-inch, vaguely phallic candle into a beat-up brass candle cup. “It’s done,” she told Lacey.

“How do I use it?”

“Light the candle and speak his name to summon him to you. As long as the candle burns he must obey your every command.”

Lacey took the candle and held it reverently. “Thank you, Gran. I will use this well.”

“I hope so,” Gran replied.

Lacey finished her work quickly that day and went straight to her room. A long, hot soak in the tub removed the smell of cleanser and relaxed her body nicely. She dressed in simple clothing and waited for the phone to ring.

It happened at about 7:15. Lacey snapped her phone open. “Talisha?”

“That’s me,” her friend replied. “Not sure why you wanted to know, but they’re here. Jerome is seatin’ ’em now.”

“Thanks, ’lisha. See you soon.”

“What? Are you smokin’ somethin’?”

Lacey snapped the phone closed without responding and pulled the candle closer. With a lightly trembling hand she struck a match and held it to the wick. As the flame caught she stared into it and imagined his face. “James Clement Marlowe, Junior,” she intoned. “Come to me now.” Gran hadn’t said the command was needed, but it felt right.

In the dining room, the younger Marlowe felt a sudden sensation like a tugging at his mind. “Will you excuse me for a few minutes?”

His mother saw the odd look on his face. “Are you okay, James?”

“I’m fine,” he said, still distracted. “I just need to do something.”

“Will you be long? Should we order for you?”

“That’s fine, Mother. Not too long.”

He wandered out of the dining room and toward a part of the building he’d never visited before. Why am I doing this? he asked himself, but the only answer he could find was that he needed to. He turned a corner and saw a familiar figure approaching him. “I know you,” he puzzled. “You’re ...“

“Lacey,” she finished for him. “Not that you bothered to ask when you were calling me all those other names.”

“Lacey,” he repeated. “Why—?”

“Be silent.”

His mouth closed instantly. Lacey’s heart leapt to see it—it was really working! “Kneel,” she told him, and again he obeyed without delay. Perfect! “All right,” she told him. “When I snap my fingers, you will stand up and escort me back to the dining room, to your table. There you will apologize to me in a loud, penitent voice for your rude, obnoxious, and foul behavior last Sunday night and ask my forgiveness. You will then ask Jerome to come over if he’s not already there, and you will tell Jerome that you caused the accident, not me, and that you want to apologize to him as well. You will tell him that you will replace the suit yourself, at your own expense, and you will ask him to give me my job back. If anyone asks you why you did all of this you will explain that you realize you were a rude, insensitive jerk to me and it’s only right that you apologize. In fact you will believe this absolutely, no matter what anyone else says. Do you understand?“

Marlowe’s mouth moved as if to speak but would not open. Instead he nodded.

“Good. You may speak again but you will not ask me any questions until we reach the dining room.”

“Understood.”

Lacey snapped her fingers and Marlowe stood up. He took her arm in his and they walked together in silence toward the dining room. As they crossed into the carpeted area Marlowe found his voice. “How are you making me do this?”

“I’m not making you do anything,” she replied, thinking quickly. “You are doing these things of your own free will because you know in your heart that it’s necessary.”

His face changed from tortured to calm. “Yes, of course. You’re right.”

There was a brief clatter of something being dropped behind the bar and Jerome came out to meet them with horror on his face. Lacey gave him a quick wink and he followed them to the Marlowe table. The elder Marlowes were there along with their entourage, all looking stunned to see who Junior had brought to them. They were even more surprised when he then turned to Lacey and took her hands in his. “Lacey,” he said loudly, “I wish to apologize to you for the rude, obnoxious, and foul way that I behaved with you last Sunday night. Will you please forgive me?”

The room fell absolutely silent. Lacey looked into Junior’s eyes and smiled in triumph. “Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. Yes, I forgive you.”

Junior then turned to Jerome, who was visibly swallowing his heart again. “Jerome, the accident on Sunday night was my fault, not Lacey’s. I need to apologize to you as well. I will replace the suit at my own expense, and I hope that you will give Lacey her job back.”

It took Jerome a second to find his voice. “Yes, Mr. Marlowe, I think we can make that happen.”

“Thank you.” Junior paused, suddenly unsure what to do with himself.

The elder Marlowe offered a suggestion. “James, I think you should invite the young lady to join us for dinner.”

Yes, she thought as Junior seemed to hesitate. Invite me to join you for dinner.

“Lacey,” Junior said, “would you please join us for dinner?”

“I’d like that.” And inside she cheered. He doesn’t have to hear me to be controlled!!

With remarkable speed another chair and place setting appeared and Talisha came forward to take Lacey’s order: lobster tail with the vegetable medley and, for the fun of it, French onion soup. There was a nervous chuckle or two around the table when the soup arrived but otherwise dinner was pleasant and delicious. The men treated her with deference and the women with thinly veiled admiration. Only Mrs. Marlowe seemed wary of Lacey, and she chalked that up to her being an attractive girl getting close to her rich son.

Between the lavish dinner and the wine thoughtfully poured for her by James—he’d insisted, at her unspoken insistence, on her calling him that—Lacey was feeling wonderfully pleased with herself and just a little naughty. So when dinner ended and the group began to disburse, Lacey decided she wasn’t quite done with her justice. James, she thought, you want to escort me back to my room.

“If you’ll excuse us,” James said to his parents, “I’d like to escort Lacey back to her room.”

“Yes, of course,” his mother replied, eyeing Lacey. “Don’t be too long, though.”

They walked arm in arm back to her room in the junior staff corridor. The candle, Lacey noticed, was shorter by a half inch or so but still burning well.

James stood in the doorway looking nervous. “Well ... ummm ... I guess this is good night.”

“Not yet, James. Come inside and close the door.” He complied, of course. “Now, undress me and give me the best oral sex you can.”

James advanced on her, unzipped her dress, and lifted it off over her head. She held still and had him do the bra next, opening the clasp in back and then sliding his hands inside the cups to slip it off her. His hands were smooth and supple against her nipples and felt so good. He slipped his hands inside her panty hose and pushed them down, catching her panties at the same time and dropping them both to the floor at her ankles. She stepped out of them carefully and allowed him to lift her and carry her to the bed.

He laid her down with her feet hanging off the side and kissed her, starting at the neck and working his way down. He paused to lick and suck at each nipple, teasing them into erection and getting her juices flowing happily, before continuing down her flat belly and to the neatly trimmed thatch below. Lacey opened her legs for him and felt him settle in, then his tongue made first contact along her slit and the sensations pushed away most of her conscious thoughts. She directed him mentally—Good ... up a little ... oh, yes, more of that ... now down and in, that’s right —and he complied. Lacey wondered if this was what jockeys felt, that instinctive bond between rider and beast, and chuckled at herself a little.

The first orgasm was hard and quick. Lacey felt it start and blanked out until it was mostly over. She directed James to keep going and he brought her to another, slower, longer-lasting climax that she sustained by keeping his tongue in action until she felt herself getting too weak to continue. She ordered him to stop and he knelt there between her legs while she recovered.

“That was very nice,” she told him when she recovered the power of speech. “Did you enjoy yourself?” That prompted another giggle.

“It was ... strange,” he answered. “I didn’t want to do it, but at the same time I needed to do it and I couldn’t stop myself. It aroused me.”

“Did it, now?” Lacey sat up and reached for his crotch; sure enough, he still had most of a hard-on. For a moment she thought about having him service her with it, but she was tired and the Marlowes would come looking for him if he didn’t get back. “James, when you get in bed tonight you will strip naked, if you’re not already, and masturbate while imagining that I am compelling you to fuck me. You will realize that I’m making you do it but that will only make you more aroused. You will masturbate that way until you come, and then you’ll immediately fall asleep for the night. When you wake in the morning you won’t remember what you did after getting into bed. Go back to your room now and if anyone asks, you will tell them that you escorted me to my room and stayed a few minutes to talk.”

James stood up and headed for the door. “Wash your face first,” she added quickly when she saw the evidence of their activity on it. He complied with the new order and then left.

He walked toward the VIP cottage with his mind in a jumble. What the hell did she do to me? he wondered. For much of the evening he’d felt like he was sleepwalking, his body following impulses and commands that his mind only partially agreed to. But he deserved it, whatever it was, because he was a rude, insensitive jerk. Yes, that’s right.

By the time he reached the cottage he felt better. He didn’t feel much like socializing, though, so he bid the family goodnight and headed for bed. No sooner did he slide under the covers than he found himself getting hard and thinking of Lacey’s body and voice. He stripped off his silk pajamas, tossed them aside, and began stroking his hard cock while he imagined thrusting it inside Lacey. She’s making me do this, he remembered, but it didn’t matter. The more he thought about that the more the pressure in his groin increased. He tried his best to fight it, but in minutes he felt the eruption and a hot stream of goo oozed out all over his hand and belly. Then blackness closed in and he slept.

Lacey watched TV until she was too sleepy to pay attention anymore. She checked the clock: almost an hour since she’d dismissed James. If he hadn’t gotten himself off by now, too bad.

She snuffed out the candle. In the VIP cottage, James shifted a little and seemed to settle more comfortably into his bed.

The efficiency of the Marawind grapevine ensured Lacy a hero’s welcome in Housekeeping when she stopped by in the morning to return her uniform and key. There were hugs and high fives all around. “How did you do it?” Clarissa, one of the maids, asked.

“Feminine wiles,” Lacey said with a wink to Gladys and Juanita.

“Nice wiles,” said Beth, the assistant manager. “Play him a little more and you could be the next Shayna.” A chorus of girls murmured approval and agreement.

“Shayna?”

“Worked the Gentlemen’s Bar,” Gladys explained, “Couple three years back. Junior took a serious liking to her. Horseback rides, long walks, late nights in his room. She had him wrapped around her little finger.”

“What happened?” Lacy asked.

“His mother Did Not Approve. Shayna was sweet and pretty, but not white enough to suit Mommy Dearest. She gave Shayna a big, fat check to go away and forget Junior ever existed. And go away she did.”

“She dumped him for money? How much money?”

“Enough to set herself up at Florida State, I heard. Certainly more than she’d have made in a few summers here. But still chump change for the Marlowes.”

They chatted a little more and Lacey left with her mind racing. She had the day off, thanks to the unexpected job change, and a good five inches of candle left; how much of Mrs. Marlowe’s disapproval could she earn with those?

She returned to her room and grabbed the matches. For a moment she hesitated; was this going too far? Lacey thought about the three hundred she’d had to spend on Granny Mae and the tips she’d missed out on during her week of exile, and lit the candle. “James Clement Marlowe Junior ...”

James felt the tugging at his mind again, this time accompanied by a short flow of words. He put down his coffee cup and stood. “Excuse me, please,” he said to his parents. “I promised to spend the day with Lacey, and I don’t want to keep her waiting. I need to go.”

“In the middle of breakfast?” Mrs. Marlowe protested.

“Sorry.” And before she could object any further he had wiped his mouth and left the room.

Lacey opened the door at his knock and flashed him a quick Kiss me as if we were lovers. He embraced her and joined her in a long, sensual kiss that she found surprisingly enjoyable. She was even more pleased to notice Willis, an assistant to the concierge, coming up the hall. She had James linger in the doorway long enough to give Willis a good look at them both before pulling James into her room and closing the door.

James wiped his mouth and examined his hand as if looking at a stain. “What was that about?”

She didn’t care for his tone, but that would change soon enough. “You love me, James,” she told him. “You admire and respect me for standing up to you and you find me extremely attractive and desirable. In fact, you’ve never felt this much love for a woman before and you enjoy showing it by acting affectionately towards me whenever we are together.”

His face immediately softened as her commands took effect. He even smiled at her.

Lacey smiled back, feeling the rush of power in her belly and points south. “And because you love me, James, you want us to spend a romantic, relaxing day together. We’ll go horseback riding around the estate for a while and perhaps take a walk through some of the woods on the outer reaches. Then we’ll have lunch in the rose garden and you’ll take me to the city for the evening. When we get back from there we’ll go to your room and make love loudly and at length. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”

He grinned at her and answered, “Perfectly, my dear. Shall we go?”

The day went as planned. Lacey and James went first to the stables and picked out two good mounts for a long ride around the grounds. They explored the less densely wooded areas to the east, away from the swamps and well away from Granny Mae’s place. Several other guests were also on the trails, and each got an eyeful as Lacey and James stopped frequently to kiss and hold hands along the way. At lunch they sat in full view of a dozen other guests, including James’s parents, smooching and snuggling through an elegant meal.

After lunch one of Marawind’s limousines took James and Lacey into New Orleans. She knew the driver, a boy her age named Damien, only slightly. She spent much of the ride kissing and groping with James so that if he were the gossipy type Damien would have plenty to tell—though if pressed, Lacey would have to admit she enjoyed the groping quite enough to keep it up regardless.

She’d left it up to James to decide what to do in the city, so it was a surprise when he directed Damien to a well-known dress shop. “Are we shopping?” she asked him.

“Of course,” he said. “I can’t take you to Bayona wearing that.”

And so they shopped. Lacey tried on a number of expensive and progressively daring gowns, modeling each for his approval, before settling on a simple but alluring black evening dress. At James’s unbidden insistence she added appropriate pumps and a slim clutch. Then, as they were about to rejoin Damien, he looked her over one more time. “No, something is still missing.” He yanked her by the hand into a nearby jewelry store, where he bought her a pearl choker and matching earrings. “Now, you’re ready,” he declared.

They had dinner in the dark, intimate dining room of Bayona, a world-class restaurant housed in a 200-year-old French Quarter cottage. The food took her breath away and the service made her feel like a queen. James was in his element, showing off his knowledge of wine and food and nuzzling her as if they were newlyweds. After dinner they strolled around the French Quarter hand in hand while Damien lingered nearby. When the hour seemed late enough to be just a little scandalous, they got back into the limo and put on another show for the driver’s benefit.

By the time they reached Marawind Lacey was feeling deliciously randy and more than ready for the last stage of her plan for the day. She happily let James lead her by the hand into the VIP cottage and, with the barest of greetings to his parents as they breezed through the common area, upstairs to his room.

Lacey let James peel off her gown and relished the feel of his hands on her body. She clawed at his jacket and shirt until they came off and let him bear her over onto the bed. His fingers found her nipples and teased them into a frenzy where every little touch sent shivers of arousal down her body and made her back arch to meet him.

She heard pants unzip and drop to the floor and his hands spread her thighs apart. No you don’t, she thought. Either get out a condom or go down on me; I am not going to get pregnant tonight.

James dropped to his knees and kissed his way up her inner thigh until he reached her dripping slit. Oh, yes, she thought. Make me scream. His tongue slid expertly up and down, in and out, applying both what he’d learned the night before and the barely-coherent directions her mind kept sending him. His tongue found her clit and drew across it lovingly, sending sparks of pleasure all through her body, and then dove down lower to hit the sensitive spot hear her entrance and send her breath into hard short gasps. Lacey gave herself permission to wallow in it, making no effort whatsoever to be quiet or ladylike with her moans, gasps or grunts. She grew louder and louder as he worked his tongue all around, driving her closer and closer to the edge. “God, that’s good,” she heard herself saying. “Yes, yes, yes ... oh, god, more of that ... righ there ... RIGHT THERE ... " One more deft movement against her clit sent Lacey hurtling over the divide into orgasm. She did actually scream, loudly and at length, as James continued teasing her clit and stroking her inner wall with a long finger. Her spasms and tingles and shrieks went on and on and for Lacey time stopped almost completely. She felt her chest heaving and could barely draw enough breath between cries to sustain herself. Stop! she commanded him. Holy fuck, stop before I pass out.

As she caught her breath, she allowed herself to imagine the Marlowes in the sitting room, hiding behind their newspapers and trying to pretend not to hear the ruckus coming from their son’s room. Then James began nuzzling at her mound again and her thoughts turned back to him. She let him climb into bed next to her and held him from behind, letting her hand drop to his groin and finding a nice, full erection there to play with. She stroked him slowly and seductively, instructing him to feel free to moan her name as loudly and as often as he liked. “Oh, Lacey,” he immediately groaned. “Oh my God, I love you! Oh, Lacey!”

She pumped him some more and felt his hand reaching for her, trying to reciprocate. Sure, why not? Keeping her hand on him, she knelt up with her legs open and let him tip onto his back. Now his hand could easily reach her as she stroked him and in seconds his fingers were finding their spots. Her concentration flagged and she found her grip loosening as he fingered her, one long finger inside her and the thumb teasing the top of her slit and catching her clit indirectly. She tried to focus on keeping him moaning, but with each brush of her G-spot it got harder to think of anything but the sensations inside her. Here, she thought, grabbing his free hand and wrapping it around his hard cock, you do both of us. And she watched and listened and allowed the pleasure to take her as he pumped himself and fingered her, still moaning her name with increasing volume and breathiness. She felt the orgasm building and clutched his thigh, willing him to keep going, keep going, keep going.

His fingers worked at her spots until Lacey couldn’t hold back any more. She threw her head back and cried out at the top of her lungs as the orgasm hit. Each wave brought another loud groan as her body clenched and relaxed. She heard him call her name and then let out a long, sustained cry that announced to everyone in the house that he was coming and coming hard. She teased him a little, stroking his balls and keeping him pumping until his gasps sounded borderline painful, then told him to relax and sleep. His muscles went loose and he sunk into the bed, and his heavy breathing quickly softened into a gentle snore.

Lacey waited quietly for another half hour before cracking the door open for a peek. Seeing that the lights were out and the elder Marlowes had discreetly withdrawn to their room, she dressed and crept out of the cottage.

Back in her room, Lacey was alarmed to see that the candle was nearly exhausted—barely an inch remained in the cup. She blew it out and went to bed hoping her plan had worked.

She did not have to wait long to find out. An insistent knocking on her door woke her early in the morning. Lacey grabbed a robe and had just enough presence of mind to hide the candle before answering the door.

There, fully dressed and looking grim, was Camille Dupree Marlowe. “Good morning,” she began. “I was going to say I hope I didn’t wake you, but clearly I have. Please forgive me. We have some urgent business to discuss.”

Lacey stepped back and invited the lady in. “Please excuse the state of the room,” she said, stalling for time to wake up. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”

“No matter, Miss Devereaux.”

That brought her up short. “You know my name?”

“Of course I do, child. It’s a mother’s responsibility to find out as much as she can about the people who keep company with her son. And in your case it was not difficult; the Devereaux family is an old and storied one, after all. It’s unfortunate that Katrina humbled them so. What I do not yet know, what I’ve come to discuss with you, is what your intentions are with my son.”

Damn, Lacey thought, she gets right to it. “Intentions? I’m afraid I don’t understand.“

“Of course you do.” The scowl on her face was clear to see. “You’re hardly the first young lady to decide that there are easier ways to get money than working for it.”

Lacey measured out just a touch of indignation. “I don’t think I like your implication, Mrs. Marlowe. James loves me and I love him.”

“So it seems, yes. That display you put on yesterday all over the estate certainly got the message across. Not to mention your disgusting antics in his room last night. But I know a thing or two about my son, Miss Devereaux. Right now, you’re a common waitress and therefore have the aroma of forbidden fruit; when he realizes you are, except for the obvious character flaws, the kind of girl I might have chosen for him myself, he will lose interest in you.

“I also know a thing or two about you: where you come from, who your people are, how much you have in the bank. And I know that, like any mercenary, you have a price.”

“Really, Mrs. Marlowe? And what do you think that price might be?”

For answer, the older lady removed an envelope from her purse and held it out. Lacy took it, lifted the flap, and read the number on the check inside. Her stomach dropped six inches at the figure. “Five hundred dollars? I’m insulted, Mrs. Marlowe.”

“It will cover the withdrawal you made at your bank recently, along with a generous estimate of the tips you might have made had you been working in the dining room this past week. And let’s not forget, my dear, that James spent several thousand dollars on clothing and jewelry last night. You’ve done quite well for yourself. It’s time for you to move on.”

“You’re wrong,” Lacey insisted. “James and I are in love. You can’t buy me off so cheaply.”

The faintest trace of a smile formed on the old lady’s lips. “So what you’re saying is that I can buy you off ... for the right price.“

“You said that, I didn’t. Will you excuse me, please, Mrs. Marlowe? I have to get ready for work.”

“You don’t report to work for another three hours,” Mrs. Marlowe said. “I checked the schedule. But clearly you need some time to think over your options, so I’ll leave you.” Lacey held up the envelope with the check, but Mrs. Marlowe shook her head. “Keep it for now; if you cash it, I will expect you to stay out of my son’s sight until we have left here Friday afternoon. Good day, Miss Devereaux.”

Lacey stared daggers at the woman’s back as she walked away, then closed the door and sagged against it. The envelope weighed heavily in her hand. This was as good an offer as she would get, clearly, unless she could make a stronger case. With so little candle left, though, there wouldn’t be time for another day-long display. There would probably be time for one more sexual encounter, but that wouldn’t be enough to change his mother’s mind. And once the candle burned out, she had to figure his attraction to her would also. Unless ...

“No gift this time, girl?”

Lacey bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Gran. There wasn’t time. I ...” Then she looked up and noticed the old lady was grinning at her.

“I expect not, from what I saw yesterday on my walk.”

“You saw us?”

“Me and half the people at Marawind,” the old lady said. “But that was the idea, wasn’t it? And now you’re back because your candle is nearly used up. You should’ve brought me semen, girl. Lasts a lot longer with semen.”

“I need something more than another candle,” Lacey confessed. “I don’t just want to control him anymore. I want him to love me absolutely. I want him to propose to me.”

Granny Mae cackled, long and loud, until a coughing fit ended it. “Propose?” she squawked. “An odd kind of justice that is. What will you do, leave him at the altar?”

For the right price, she thought to herself. “Something like that.“

“But you’re still not out for revenge, you say?”

“No, Gran. Not revenge.” Just money, and a karmic slap at that snooty mother of his.

“That kind of spell isn’t cheap, you know.”

“I know. I brought this.” She handed Granny Mae the velvet box containing the necklace and earrings James had bought her. “It’s worth a thousand, at least.”

The old lady snapped the box closed again and tossed it back to her. “Useless to me, girl. If I tried to turn that into money I’d either get half its worth or have to answer to the cops as to how I got it. Either way, it won’t do. The price is a thousand five hundred”

Jesus! “I ... I can get cash for you,” Lacey promised, aware of how clearly her voice betrayed her desperation. “But it will take me a few days, and by then he’ll be out of reach. Can we ... make terms or something?“

“A credit agent, am I?” Granny Mae spat and shuffled over to one of the bookcases. She reached into a musty wooden box and removed a single crystal vial. “All right, girl, have it your way. But if you don’t pay me by the end of the week I swear I’ll make his wang grow thorns whenever you’re near him.”

“Thank you, Gran. I won’t cheat you, I promise.”

She handed Lacey the small bottle. “Bathe yourself clean, anoint your body with this and call him to you,” she instructed. “It will combine with your scent and make a perfume that will inflame his passion. Bring him to climax and he will bond to you forever; his love will run so deep that he will refuse you nothing.”

Lacey tucked the bottle carefully into her purse and bowed. “Thank you so much, Gran. I will be faithful, I swear.”

“There’ll be no pity for you if you’re not.”

Lacey just made it to work on time and was kept busy for most of the day. The little vial and the stub of candle were in her purse, and that was secured in a locker in case Mrs. Marlowe got it into her head to go snooping around.

The Marlowes came in for dinner at seven and were seated in Robb’s section. Lacey passed by the table several times and noticed James watching her. His gaze conveyed a connection, some intimacy, but nothing like the ardor of the day before. At least he doesn’t seem to hate me, she noted. And she wondered whether that was because of the tiny nub of candle she had left or the sex they’d had. At least his mother hadn’t joined the group tonight, so she was spared her icy gaze.

The evening wound down and the dining room closed. Lacey counted her tips and hurried back to her room. There she took a thorough shower, scrubbing herself with extra care and using plain soap without moisturizer or scent. She wanted nothing to interfere with Gran’s special perfume. After drying off she took the tiny bottle and applied the oily substance to her body. She dabbed it behind her ears, on either side of her throat, in the valley between her breasts, and just above her mound for good measure. Then she slipped on her robe and got out the precious last inch of candle. She straightened the wick and set it alight. “James Clement Marlowe Junior...”

In the VIP cottage, James felt the mental tug once more and obeyed. As he walked through the mansion toward the staff quarters he wondered what she would do with him tonight, and his cock tingled with anticipation in spite of himself.

James reached her door and instead of knocking turned the knob. It opened to reveal Lacey waiting for him in a dark blue bathrobe and nothing else—a sight that started his cock swelling immediately.

She stood and held out her arms, letting the robe fall open enticingly. “Come to me.”

And so he came forward and took her into his arms. He buried his face in the side of her neck and inhaled deeply. There was something different about her, he noticed ... something that made his cock jump to full attention. “I want you so much.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” she assured him. Lacey opened his pants and reached inside to stroke his hard-on. James stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, working quickly so he could keep kissing and nuzzling her. The more he smelled her, the more he wanted her.

Lacey held him close, letting him breathe in the perfume all he wanted and stroking his cock. I’ll make him come fast, she thought, and then go down on me slowly. She could feel him beginning to pull the robe off her shoulders and pumped harder.

Then, all of a sudden, she felt a strange tugging sensation in her mind. “Wait,” she said, with no idea why she was saying it. Nor did she understand why she suddenly needed to take him by the hand and lead him into the bathroom. She puzzled about it as her body wet a cloth, applied a dab of soap, and used it to bathe his chest, neck, and shoulders. Puzzlement turned to fear as she dried him off with a clean towel, and then to terror as she found herself opening the tiny crystal bottle and applying oil to his neck and chest.

She put down the bottle, laid her head on his chest and inhaled deeply. Her nipples tightened and her loins went damp and hot at the smell of him. “No more waiting,” she said.

Lacey pulled him to her and they both breathed in deeply. She took his still-hard cock in her hand and led him by it back to the bed. A rough shove put him on his back and she climbed on top of him, growling with animal lust. He thrust his hips up toward her and she guided his hard cock home, sliding him easily inside her and burying him all the way. “Oh, yes!” he cried.

“Yes!” she echoed, and felt his hands reach up to fondle her breasts while he thrust himself in and out of her. His thick shaft felt heavenly and drove her body wild as it rubbed all the right places inside her. She squeezed on him with her inner muscles, making the sensation all the better for both of them. They rocked together, moaned together, and then in a rush of timeless ecstasy they came together, crying out and gasping in rhythm as he pumped his seed into her and she took it, eagerly, hungrily, happily.

Their breathing slowed. Lacey gazed into those wondrous, adoring eyes of his and felt her heart spill over with joy. “I so love you,” she sighed, and let herself fall into his waiting arms.

“I love you, too,” he replied, “more than any woman I’ve ever known.”

They lay together, staring longingly into each other’s eyes, while the last little bit of candle wick burned itself out.

In an old shack adjoining the northern edge of the compound, two elderly women watched the lovers through a mirror. As their young bodies came to rest, Granny Mae waved a hand and the image faded away. “It’s done,” she announced.

“So it is.” Camille Dupree Marlowe blew out the freshly-made candle she held, dipped the hot end in a glass of water, and slipped the candle into her handbag.

Gran eyed her. “Keeping it, are you?”

“As insurance, yes. In case she proves to be a less than ideal daughter-in-law.”

“They’re bonded for life, my girl, just as your man is to you.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Marlowe said, “for her sake.”

She handed Granny Mae an envelope—a very thick envelope—and, with a bow, headed back toward the VIP cottage.