The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

BETSY VISITS FRANZ

This is a work of fiction and refers to mind control as well as various non-consensual body modifications together with the imbibing of dangerous potions. And, there’s a bit of sex in here too. If you object to this type of story then move away now.

If you’re reading this far, I’m assuming you want to read on. Fine. But always remember, this is fiction. It’s absolutely not applicable to the real world. If you do seriously take this story to be representative of real world goings on, then please, please, please let me know what you’re taking.

All the characters depicted are fictitious—except for me, of course.

A loud knocking woke Betsy suddenly from her sleep in her shed at the bottom of her garden. Her body immediately jerked upright from the workbench that was serving as her pillow. Her legs straightened and she stood, overturning her chair before she turned to face the source of the noise. Somehow she now had a throwing knife in her raised hand. The knocker knocked again before her brain caught up with all this activity. “I’m awake”, she grumbled as she went to answer the door. “In fact you knocked me up you bugger”, she added as an afterthought.

She flung open the flimsy door saying angrily, “How’d you know I was here? Nobody’s supposed to know where I am”. The knife disappeared as soon as she saw there was no danger.

The postie, for it was the postie, decided the knife was his imagination and didn’t leg it. He handed her a postcard and a letter. She wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. Which was fair, as he wasn’t exactly what she was expecting either.

“How’d you know I was here”? Betsy repeated.

“Look at the address”, he replied, nodding at the postcard.

Betsy looked.

Miss Betsy Leohtar,
69 Letsby Ave,
Jesmond,
Newcastle upon Tyne
NE99 1GZ

(Note to postie. This is to be hand delivered. She will be in the shed at the bottom of the garden. Just walk around and knock on the shed door).

“That’s impossible”, exclaimed Betsy. How’d he know where I would be? I didn’t know meself ‘till an hour ago. And how did you get in here? The gate’s locked”

“I don’t know. And the gate’s not locked”. He didn’t like her tone, especially after he had gone to all that trouble hand delivering it for her. He didn’t even know why he did that. There was a perfectly good letterbox in the front door. He should have posted it there. That’s his fucking job for God’s sake. All this was extra. It wasn’t his job to wander all over the landscape just to hand deliver people’s mail.

‘Ungrateful bitch’, he thought as he left. “No tits, either”, he added. He slammed the gate behind him to make a point and went back to his job feeling a bit creeped out. He still remembered the knife he didn’t see.

Betsy watched him open the locked garden gate and slam it shut behind him. She went to the gate and checked. Yes. There it was. The hasp Betsy had fitted solidly yonks ago and had locked that very morning with her heavy duty padlock. There it was—still locked. She tried to open the gate just like the postie just did and couldn’t. She had to use her key to unlock the padlock. It worked perfectly. Except that it didn’t.

‘Something’s not right’, she thought as she returned to her warm and cosy shed. Sitting down at her workbench, she looked around. The clear space in front of her was where her head was just a few moments before. It was tempting, the cutie was just waiting for her to resume, but that something not right was still not right. She looked around, trying to determine if anything was disturbed. She couldn’t see anything wrong.

Her eyes widened as a thought passed through her brain, taking a short cut to somewhere more productive. ‘I wonder’, she thought. She went outside and checked the shed’s posts. The shed was raised on posts to keep the floor 30cm above the ground. She looked at each post very carefully and determined that the pixie protectors were still in place and working. Shaking her head she returned to the warmth and comfort inside her shed.

The only relatively new item there, was the mobile she brought back from that mall as a souvenir a while ago now. She had just remembered she had it, and was now investigating. Well, that was an hour ago. Now, she was stuck. She had seen a number of NCIS shows so she knew what to do and had already copied the information in it. Then she took it apart to see if there was anything else she could learn from it. Nothing much so far. The electronics checked out as standard and she couldn’t think what else to investigate. That security guard had led a pretty boring life. When Betsy compared what was on this mobile to what was on her own, she shuddered. How can people lead such dull lives? Don’t they get bored?

Eventually she focused on the card, now on the bench in front of her, address side up. Her address was still there but the additional directions to the postie had gone.

Not erased.

Gone.

No trace they had been there in the first place.

She used a magnifying glass to make sure, just like the cutie on NCIS would’ve done. She fancied her. There definitely was no trace. Betsy wondered what the cutie would do here. Something slick and fast and enthusiastic as all hell that ignored all budgets and available equipment and practical science. Stupid show. Not realistic at all. She liked the cutie though. She took the time for a little daydream that included the cutie. After a while she snapped herself out of it and brought her mind back to the here and now.

“Somebody’s playing silly buggers”, she murmured to herself before she picked the letter up and opened it. The letter didn’t creep her out as much as the card did, so she felt safe opening it.

She read it and sighed. It was from a troll. Somebody with the unlikely name of Mr. Arthur Troll had, somehow, heard her lecture at a W.I. meeting all about how Amazons cut off their right tits in order to fire their bows. Obviously this was for right handed Amazons only. The left handed ones cut their left tit off. Apparently this Mr. Arthur Troll thought different and proceeded to prove it. Prove the whole thing, not the right and left handed stuff. Betsy read it through thoroughly, crumpled it up and threw it into the corner with all the other rubbish.

Occasionally she would clear that area up and leave everything there out for the pixies. She didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, what they did with it, but she did know her life would be hell if she didn’t. So she did.

Anyway, Betsy knew he was wrong. She didn’t have the proof he did, but she knew she was right. And that’s better than all the erudition and knowledge this guy had. Betsy liked her version. It was more dramatic. Anyway, that was a great lecture. Betsy had gone on in great length describing how anyone could cut off her own tit. It was complete with slides as well. No W.I. lecture would be complete without slides. She also showed examples of the best knives to do it with, along with an illustrated tutorial. Betsy got a cup of tea afterwards. It was horrible. Those old people couldn’t make proper tea. They were enthusiastic about the lecture though. Betsy was pleased at that. They asked a lot of questions and asked where they could buy such knives. Betsy immediately saw a chance for profit and took orders. With the bulk discount she managed to get she made £27-8s-3d profit, (the knives were from a warehouse clearance of old stock) which she forgot to tell to the oldies.

Eventually she had to turn her attention back to that postcard. She turned it over warily and looked at it. It was handwritten with a cheap ballpoint. Fantastic deduction she thought. Even the cutie could work that one out. She really wanted to return her full attention back to the cutie but the message was basic and she read it before she could think not to.

Go and visit Franz.

Your Loving God,
Loki

“What”? She exclaimed aloud. “I’m busy. Anyway, I can’t. He’s a competitor”.

A loud peal of thunder suddenly sounded quite close. Betsy paid it no heed.

This was Britain, after all.

It thundered again. Louder and closer.

“Oh piss off. I know that’s not you. It’s Thor that does the thunder and you and him aren’t exactly close nowadays, are you? I know it’s about those stupid films, but they’re American and nobody counts them as valid ‘cause they’re American. Even Americans don’t count them as valid ‘cause they’re American”.

She received a huffed silence at her attempts at family reunion.

Betsy had a think about this but couldn’t work out anything to do right now, so she went back to sleep in order to work out what to do with the cutie.

She told Betsy to go as, coincidently, just the other day, She had worked out an agreement where the two groups could go about their businesses without disturbing each other. ‘Coincidence me arse’, thought Betsy, but she didn’t say it out loud for fear of another lecture. The agreement had resulted in a spirit of friendliness and cooperation so She immediately called Dieter and made the arrangements. Betsy’s mind had wandered for a while and she didn’t get exactly what excuse She made for the visit. But that didn’t matter, did it? Everyone knew those sorts of explanations were lies. After all, this was politics, wasn’t it?

Betsy found herself walking on German soil the next morning. She still had Her instructions in her head. “Now try and find out what that potion is they’re always boasting about”, She had told Betsy when the arrangements were made. “I’m hearing it’s a mind control drink Franz obtained by milking Rati while she slept. If it is, watch out. Franz will have to be phenomenally good to get that whichever way he got it. And don’t go believing everything they tell you either. Work it out. I know you can. You do have the brains. Try and use them this time”.

Betsy spent the whole hour in the plane taking umbrage at that little dig. Faeryfaye had offered to fly her over pillion on her broom but Betsy was afraid of those things, even with the seat belts fitted and motor-cycle helmets, stirrups and goggles offered. She couldn’t understand what kept them up. Anyway, she drove too fast and her MOT was way overdue. Betsy had never seen her license either. What was the government doing letting her get away with things like that? Betsy wondered about backhanders. And Betsy did use her brains. She did. Everybody knew that. It was well known that was. That potion intrigued her though. Betsy didn’t like secrets—well, she didn’t like not knowing not-Betsy secrets. Her own were private of course.

Franz met her off the plane and Betsy was immediately impressed. At 188cm he was significantly taller than her. She wondered if she should have worn her stillies. She still didn’t like them, but they could be useful at times. Vicky had taught her how to fight in them. Betsy was impressed and vowed never to disparage them again. They could cause awesome damage. She now regularly bought a fresh pig carcass to hang from her bedroom ceiling so she could practice her kicks on something real. Vicky taught her that technique as well. She had to keep buying new stillies though – they started to smell after a few months’ practise. That was expensive, but worth it. In return, Betsy had taught Vicky her knife skills, especially the Willie Garvin fast draw. Betsy liked Vicky. Pity she worked for a different group. Where was Vicky anyway? She hadn’t heard from her in ages.

Anyway, she wasn’t wearing her stillies and she hadn’t brought them. So, nothing could be done there. Betsy would have to look up to Franz all the time – well, unless she managed to get him lying down that is.

But Franz’ height was only the initial impression from a few metres away. The closer Betsy got to him, the more impressive he became. His eyes, his looks, his eyes, his bearing, his eyes, his clothes, don’t look at his eyes, his smile all conspired to win her over. Betsy was no novice at this game and she realised what was happening almost immediately. She should do something about it. But she didn’t want to. She liked the thought of spending time with this German and didn’t want to spoil her chances. Her training won, however, and she was within a pace of him with her hand out for a shake when she checked out the parameters for glamour spells. Then she looked into his eyes and melted. Definitely a glamour spell she thought. She didn’t have to check anything, she knew and didn’t care.

Franz took her small, soft and delicate hand in his massive, strong, yet erotically gentle hand and, oh so gently, used it to guide her body closer so he could kiss her. Basic French style—one kiss on each cheek. Betsy looked at him with lust in her eyes.

“Oh you are good”, she said.

He laughed. “Not good enough I think”, he answered. You aren’t taken in at all, are you? You’re just accepting the glamour because you like it. You can snap out of it any time you want”.

Betsy pouted. She thought she would get away with that. She always had before.

“I like your image and I want to continue seeing it”, she answered.

He laughed. “OK then. Let’s get you to my flat and settle you in.

The journey there was uneventful, especially as all Betsy could see was how handsome he was. She never took her eyes off him, which was good because she didn’t freak out at him driving on the wrong side of the road, which is unnatural as everyone knows. Once inside he said, “All right then, perhaps you’ll want to tone down your reverence, at least for the moment”.

Betsy pouted, but toned it down and looked around. Oh my. Franz was really good. The flat was decorated in understated flawlessness. Everything was perfect, from the welcome mat at the door to each small knick-knack on the walls. Everything fitted and flowed into each other. The furniture fitted effortlessly. Betsy was amazed how a Louis XVI occasional table could sit so well with the rough miner’s crackett next to it, but it did. The old and the new, the expensive and the cheap, all fitted. Take one thing away, any one thing, and everything would clash horribly, but put them together in this way at this time in this place and it was perfection.

Betsy looked around in awe, then looked suspiciously at Franz. She reluctantly pulled up her full glamour defences and looked around again. It was the same. This was real. ‘Holy Shit’, she thought.

She looked at him. “This is amazing”, she said. “How do you do it? Is there a technique”?

“It’s nothing, really”, he answered. It’s just something I pulled together over time. You should have seen it before”.

“I wish I had”, she answered.

He laughed. “Please sit down. Anywhere. Do you want a drink”?

Betsy smiled and sat on a perfect settee. “Thanks. A coffee if you don’t mind”. She knew how foreigners made tea.

He smiled and went to the kitchen to make their drinks.

Betsy looked round, looking for flaws but couldn’t find any. She didn’t like that. Everybody had flaws, didn’t they? How the hell could she deal with someone without any flaws? That’s impossible. She wondered if they would fuck.

He returned with their drinks, set them down and sat down himself, nearly opposite her. He started to talk. Small talk. Proper, intelligent, small talk. Designed to put his guest at ease and comfortable and responsive. Betsy found herself becoming at ease and comfortable and responsive. She knew what he was doing and was annoyed. She couldn’t do small talk herself. She got impatient. Why couldn’t people just get right down and say what they mean or just fuck? Everything gets sorted much faster that way. But she was enjoying this. Until she realised she was starting to say way too much. Her eyes widened in shock.

She interrupted. “How the hell did you do that? You haven’t used magick at all, but you’ve nearly got me to say all my private stuff. And I don’t tell that to anyone”.

He laughed gently, in that unique alpha male way he had. “You’re right. It’s not magick”, he said. “It’s just good manners. Don’t you pay attention to your guests? Don’t you want them to be comfortable and relaxed? After all, a guest is in strange territory, even if she agreed to go there herself. And being strange, she will be defensive and consequently won’t enjoy herself as she should. And her host wants her to enjoy herself. After all, that’s a host’s responsibility”.

He laughed and Betsy joined in without answering. She felt more at ease that way.

“Now then”, he said. “Let’s get our business out of the way. I’m supposed to evaluate you so we can predict your actions in certain scenarios. Also, to predict what sort of project She will send you to cover. What are you supposed to find out about me”?

Betsy thought about that in her own special way. She let herself letch over Franz in her head. She thought about what she would do to him and, more importantly, what she he would do to her. By her third mental orgasm, she had an answer. She decided to accept his offer.

“Generally the same, but also with details and sources of that potion you have. We think it’s for mind control and we want that confirmed. We want to be able to detect it and counteract it at will”.

He smiled. “Well then, here’s my evaluation of you. You are extremely confident and talented. I’m not exactly sure exactly what you’re talented in, but I do know your talents must be of a high order. Your decision making process is different though. You seem to think about one thing while somewhere in your head, a part of your brain is doing all the calculations and risk analyses. I don’t think you are conscious of this activity either. You were either born with this ability or you developed it. It doesn’t matter. The point is you have it and use it. That acceptance of my glamour when we met at the airport is proof. You detected it immediately, which is a high talent in its own right, yet you accepted the glamour and went with it. This indicates a high confidence in your own abilities, which seems to be warranted”.

Betsy actually blushed. She hadn’t blushed since she had to speak in front of the class when she was 12 and she was wearing her full school uniform as well. She had forgotten it was a non-uniform day and it didn’t help that she hated that uniform. She’d only had it for a couple of months and she was already noticeably growing out of it. She remembered her mam despairing at the cost of her clothes during that growing spell, which didn’t help as she realised, even then, that there would be no more clothes for her for quite a while. Betsy blushed all the more when she realised she was blushing. She stammered out a thank you, then composed herself.

“You have high magickal ability, especially in classical Elven glamour. I don’t know what else you can do, but, whatever it is it’s to an extremely high standard. You are also a superb politician, and therefore, not to be trusted”.

He smiled. “Thank you. Now, if we were deadly enemies, how would you deal with me”?

Betsy answered immediately. “Sniper’s rifle. In the back. At at least two kilometres range”.

He laughed again, louder and less inhibited. “It’s good we are not enemies then”. He looked closely at her, “You know, I think you would do that”.

She nodded.

He shuddered. “Now”, he continued, “how are you going to get the information on that potion of mine”?

Betsy shrugged. “Suppose you just tell me”?

He laughed. “No. I don’t think so”.

They ended up going out for dinner at a nearby restaurant. Like everything else Franz did, it was excellent.

“That was delicious, Franz. Thank you”.

He smiled in acknowledgement.

“But there’s one thing I noticed that doesn’t seem to fit”.

He evoked the Spock eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

“It’s your flat. Like everything about you it’s perfect. And this place is in walking distance from it, so both of us can drink all we want without bothering with taxis. But, if we turned left instead of right when leaving your flat, I think we would be in a very different area”.

He gave her a big grin. “You spotted it. Yes, you’re absolutely correct. That’s the local red light district, just beyond the curve in the road. It doesn’t have a good reputation, but they don’t trespass outside their area. You can’t see it from the flat, or from the grounds outside the flat, but it begins proper about 100 metres from my door. You’ve no idea how much cheaper that makes the flat. I couldn’t afford not to take that into consideration when I was looking for a place of my own”.

Betsy smiled and nodded her head. “It’s the same in Britain too. My house now costs more than £20,000 and I’ve done nothing to it. I don’t understand it. It’s some form of magick I don’t understand”. She shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just something we have to live with.

Later, she went to sleep in the bed in the spare room on her own. Like everything else Franz did, it was perfect. She slept like a log. Nothing alarmed her. She didn’t even worry about the pixie protection on her shed and house. Nothing had ever happened there but that was because she continually worried about it.

She dreamed about Franz, not the cutie.

The next morning she awoke with an idea in her head and immediately sent a text.

Breakfast was, obviously, perfect. Betsy wondered when she would get sick of perfection. She was normally sick of anything by this time. But this perfection seemed to be different. Betsy wasn’t bored by it yet. She still wanted to revel in all this perfection.

After breakfast they sat in the lounge and talked of where Betsy wanted to visit while she was here. Franz’s mobile rang in the middle of this talk and he took it without moving away. Betsy’s hearing was good but she couldn’t hear anything the caller said. That was interesting, she thought. She could normally hear a caller from this distance. Therefore the mobile has been modified or it was some sort of magick she didn’t know about. She couldn’t detect any magick, so, it must be technology. She was certain she could detect all forms of magick at this range. She was certain of that, wasn’t she?

The call ended eventually. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It’s an emergency or I would have got another to go. I’ll be away all day probably, so you’ll have to look after yourself. I’ll get you the spare keys. Is there anything you specifically want to do”?

“She smiled. Just find out about that potion”.

He laughed. While his laugh distracted him she evoked a homeopathic nano-spell deep in his brain. It was undetectable. Well, she thought it was. Jaenelle Silvarmayne had taught her the technique and she had claimed it was undetectable. It didn’t give accurate results though. It just nudged the recipient in the right direction. Sometimes the right direction still gave the wrong results, but Betsy had high hopes for it this time.

He thought awhile. “I’ll tell you what then. How about you take some and see what happens throughout the day? I’ll leave you instructions to stay in the house and clean it. Nothing else, I promise”.

‘Bingo’, Betsy thought as she pretended to think. She looked at him and he felt something deep in his brain politely knock. He relaxed and let her in. She had a quick and respectful look round, liked what she saw, then exited.

“Thank you. I accept”.

He smiled and nodded, then went to his bedroom. He returned with a tiny receptacle half full of some liquid and offered it to her. She took it carefully and looked at it carefully. After smelling it, she looked at him then drank it in one easy gulp.

He smiled. “It’ll take a few minutes to act and it’ll be obvious when it does. I’ll give you your instructions then, then leave. You’ll be able to see if you can overcome it with your mind”. He smiled. “I’m sure I’ll come back to a sparkling clean house”.

Betsy smiled back while assessing her feelings, trying to work out how the thing worked. “Such a small amount”, she said questioningly.

“Yes, it’s very potent”.

“Can it be mixed with other things? There’s no taste so that won’t be a problem”.

“No, unfortunately it can’t... Hey! That’s cheating”.

“No it isn’t. I never said anything about not cheating, did I”?

“Ah, it’s taken effect I see. And—no you didn’t. You are sneaky. I’ll remember that. Now you know what to do. I want this house spick and span when I return, which will be this evening sometime. Don’t leave the house. Oh yes, the potion is addictive. It’ll take you a few days after it’s worn off to get rid of the addiction. That’ll be us evens for your cheating”. Betsy thought that he cheated first by not telling her it was addictive before she took it, but decided to say nothing about it, especially as it hadn’t worked at all. Nothing had happened.

She smiled as she heard him out and watched him as he got his jacket and left. They said their goodbyes to each other.

Franz had given her the spare keys before he left, so she thought she would leave and wander about Freiburg and see the sights. That’ll teach him. She was obviously too powerful for the potion. So, she was surprised and a tad perturbed when she found herself looking for the cleaning implements. “Bloody Hell”, She said aloud. She could still talk anyway. ‘Interesting’ she thought. ‘It’s reversed my oral bio-survival circuit and my anal emotional territorial circuit and combined them into one with him as the alpha. My other circuits have been drastically reduced as well. That should be easy to deal with’.

It wasn’t. She tried everything she knew, but the best result she could get was a slowing down of her determination to do her tasks. And even that ‘result’ was short lived.

Betsy wasn’t a very good cleaner. She usually got some of her friends to clean her house on the promise of a good and thorough ecstatically orgasmic night. Betsy liked those far more than cleaning – so, win-win. But, here and now, she discovered she was making a total effort to clean properly and thoroughly. This was getting embarrassing. Who moved the furniture to clean underneath it? That space was reserved for stuffing all the uncollected carpet debris out of sight as well as all those bits and bobs you didn’t want to deal with right now. Wasn’t it?

Betsy was a couple of hours into her mammoth task when she realised the potion was very moreish. She wanted more potion and she wanted it now. But Franz wasn’t there to give it to her. So, she realised, she would have to redouble her efforts in order to impress him so much he would give her more when he returned. Meanwhile she would just have to accept the feelings and get on with her tasks. She hadn’t realised just how much work there was in cleaning a flat properly. She belonged to the ‘Oh Fuck It, That’ll Do’ school, but she was determined to remember this when she got her own house cleaned. Obviously they weren’t cleaning it properly up ‘till now. Lazy buggers the lot of them. But not anymore. Now Betsy knew what was involved she wouldn’t dole out the orgasms unless her house was cleaned properly. Unless she wanted one herself of course, she added, once she thought that thought through.

It was then that it hit her. She stopped cleaning and sat down to think. Once she stopped her tasks her head started aching, but she bravely persevered with her thoughts. She was good at being brave. Everybody said so. Why was she doing all this work just to beg for more of the stuff? He probably wouldn’t give her any more would he? But he might and that’s worth working for isn’t it? But she could get it herself. He went into his bedroom to get it so the potion is in there, isn’t it? Why not just go and get it now? Why wait for a maybe second dose? Why not go now for a certain second dose? Why didn’t she think of this before?

Betsy was finding it harder and harder to think, but she did get that far. So she went. She looked in his bedroom. Nothing obvious there. She didn’t know what to do now. Then she chastised herself. ‘It’s hidden, dummy’, she told herself, when she could get the thought through. It was like thinking through treacle, but she was managing it. The pain didn’t help either. Her head was beginning to really hurt now. She could ignore that, couldn’t she? She was good at ignoring things. That was a Betsy trait, wasn’t it?

Once she had a plan she found she could follow it, despite the headaches. She started to search properly, without caring about neatness. Speed was of the essence now and she could tidy up later, before he returned, couldn’t she? She moved furniture and emptied drawers, noticing he ironed his socks and boxers. ‘Bloody hell. Who does that? Someone who has someone to do it for him’ came her own reply to her own question. Did he think Betsy would do that? No fucking way. She’d take the headaches rather than do that. She continued to search.

She found the floor safe under a hidden hatch in the floorboards under the bed, which should have been easy to move if she knew the technique, but she didn’t. She couldn’t be bothered to work it out, so she lifted the bed onto its side and opened the hatch. Now she could see the safe. Good. It was old fashioned, with a key. How old was this thing? Anyway, that was good. Betsy could open it. But she needed tools.

What remained of her thinking ability was becoming concerned with the mess she had just made and she would have to clean up, when she remembered there was a hammer and a small toolbox in the cleaning cupboard. Then her way forward cleared again. She got them and used them to work the tangs free from the forks of the cutlery set. It looked to be an expensive set, if Betsy was any judge, but this was more important, wasn’t it? She shaped the tangs and used them as lockpicks to open the safe. It should have been easy but, for some reason, it wasn’t. Betsy had to remind herself often to go slowly and carefully. For some reason, she was becoming very impatient. Finally, after many failed attempts, the tumblers danced to her tune and she turned the big, old fashioned handle. But the safe door still wouldn’t open. Betsy was beside herself now. She nearly cried. She was so close. Her head was suddenly splitting and it was so hard to think. Why wasn’t she doing the housework? She had been ordered to do the housework after all.

Two deep breaths later, she had an idea and looked carefully. Yes, there definitely was an electronic lock there as well. The sneaky bugger had hidden it. It took her long minutes to get her brain to concentrate for a few seconds, but those few seconds solved the puzzle. She went back to the kitchen where she picked up Franz’s cup that hadn’t been washed yet. With luck it would never be now – at least not by her. Another ten minutes elapsed while she found some sellotape, but finally she lifted Franz’s print from the cup. Carefully she returned to the safe and placed the sellotape over the fingerprint pad, then tried to open the safe door.

It opened.

Inside was a pile of papers and money which Betsy scooped out and threw onto the floor. Once she scooped out all the rubbish, there was nothing left. She screamed. It had to be here because she hurt. Her head pounded and her being screamed for the potion. She scrabbled in the safe which resulted in her nails bleeding. Eventually, she stopped and thought, it was extra hard, but she did it. Her own safe at home was a decoy, but she’d checked all the places it could be here, so it must be in this safe. Therefore it was there and she just couldn’t see it. Poe used that method, didn’t he? She forced herself to be calm and investigate the safe properly. It took a few minutes, but she did find the hidden switch that opened the back of the safe and inside that enclosure was a bottle with liquid in.

She grabbed it, opened it and drank it in almost one single movement. Afterwards she realised there was a lot of it compared to the minuscule amount she was given. But that was afterwards. Here and now she drank it all without thinking. I mean, thinking is hard and painful so why think when you can do?

Franz opened the door and walked in. It was very late and he expected a totally clean and tidy house. He wasn’t disappointed. Except that he also expected Betsy to be waiting for him at the door. After all, she would be desperate for another dose and he was the only provider she knew of. In fact, he was the only provider of this potion in the world and there was no chance of obtaining more. Rati would never be fooled like that again. He frowned and called out her name, but no answer. He knew Betsy was normally capable of determining the potion was in his bedroom, but the potion’s effects so far had removed that sort of rationality from its imbibers. He walked in and looked around. The kitchen and living areas were freshly cleaned anyway. Betsy had obviously worked hard at her task. He was pleased at that. He had a vague worry that she would be able to overcome the potion as he certainly didn’t underestimate her abilities. However, he reminded himself that nobody he knew could overcome it, so he was confident Betsy would succumb also. Now, where was she?

He found her in his bedroom, which was a tip. Furniture overturned, things thrown all over the room. Betsy was naked and asleep on the mattress which was on the floor as the bed was overturned. He wondered how she did that. That bed was on tracks and he needed a spanner to remove it. But those thoughts were fleeting. He was interested in Betsy. She looked asleep. He moved closer to her and saw the open safe in the corner. A sudden shiver went through him. He hoped against hope she hadn’t found the potion as no one knew what a larger dose would do. Looking around the safe area he saw the empty potion bottle and was horrified. What had she done? What had he done?

He hurried over to her to check her over. Cradling her head in his arms he started checking her for signs of life. He wasn’t hopeful. She was a dead weight in his arms. He was kneeling there checking for a pulse when she opened her eyes.

He nearly shit himself. Those eyes were wide and mad and stared directly into his. A predatory smile slowly spread on her face. Suddenly, faster than he thought possible, her hands reached up and grabbed his collar and pulled down violently, ripping the shirt off his back. Faster than he could think he was twisted around and his jacket was now off. He felt fingers wrap round his belt then a sudden searing pain in his back as his belt was snapped and his trousers ripped off. Now he was under her somehow and she was kissing him. He couldn’t stop her. Her tongue was everywhere. He tried pushing her off but she was faster than him by a long way. And stronger. She was frighteningly strong. He panicked and started to shake and shout until she entered his mind. She entered it before after a polite knocking and waiting for him to let her in. He could tell then she was about as strong as he was in this area. But not now. This time she just entered as if the door was open, and took over. It was all over before he could start to think what to do. He became compliant.

She immediately sixty-nined him. Again she moved him round as if he was weightless. And this time he acquiesced. All he could think about was pleasing her. All she could think about was getting pleasure. And her total experience in this area was mutual pleasure, so, true to form, she was pleasuring him at the same time. Her thought processes now didn’t allow for any new ideas.

Betsy knew all about men, so she knew they couldn’t last long. But she knew a technique which she employed automatically. There is a pressure spot directly between the cock and the arse. Press it and the man stops wanting to cum. Betsy used this time after time on Franz. This technique is improved if the pressure is not diluted so Betsy used her nail. Franz jumped at each press but Franz’s wanting to cum stopped. So—good. But Franz’s jumping disturbed Betsy’s pleasure so Betsy held onto Franz tighter with her legs, pressing him deeper into her pussy.

Franz was doing his own thing and Betsy approved based on the orgasms she was receiving. But they were never enough. Over time, she clamped his head deep into her cunt harder and harder. Eventually, Betsy had no idea of the time, Franz started flagging. Betsy was puzzled. She was enjoying herself and she had ensured Franz was also enjoying himself, so why was his cock deflating?

This was no good, even in her present state. She stopped and looked at him. “Keep going”, she ordered, to no avail. Franz was asleep. Betsy was not sated by any means but her training was asserting itself and she stopped to investigate. Franz was now just a dead weight. ‘He can’t be dead’, she thought to herself. Thinking was becoming difficult again, the headaches were returning fast, but Betsy had to think. ‘He’s just asleep’, she concluded and proceeded to check. She whacked his cock, to no avail. She pinched his cheeks and slapped them when nothing happened.

‘Is he dead’? She thought to herself. ‘Maybe I cut off his air. Better check’. She checked quickly as she could feel the desperation returning. She wanted, no, she needed more orgasms and she wasn’t getting any. Putting her face to his mouth, she could feel his breath. It was slow and shallow, but he was breathing. ‘Good’, she thought. ‘He can continue once I get him awake. How do I do that’? She thought in desperation. Her head was hurting with flashes of pain and thinking was becoming difficult. Eventually she thought he was in a coma.

‘What would the cutie do’? She thought when she remembered the cutie could do anything. Betsy pulled his eyelids back with her fingers and stared at his eyes. The pupils were dilated, extremely dilated. Betsy was puzzled. The cutie would know what to do, but she wasn’t telling Betsy. ‘Stupid tart’, Betsy said, talking to the cutie. “What does this mean”? Eventually Betsy worked out it meant he was sleeping. After all, he was breathing wasn’t he’?

She had to wait until he awoke naturally. Betsy couldn’t wake him. He must be exhausted. After all, he was only a man and men just couldn’t do sex for long, could they? She just had to wait.

But what was she to do during the wait? She couldn’t just sit around doing nothing. The pain in her head would kill her unless she could stop it. And the only way she knew how to stop it was to orgasm. Repeatedly. And Franz was the only one here who could do this. She didn’t know anyone else here. Her splitting head forced her thoughts into different areas and she remembered she could wank. So she wanked. Nothing happened. She screamed in frustration. Franz was her only hope so she had to help him. That was absolute. The realisation that she had a plan of action she could focus on reduced the pain in her head so she could think a bit better.

Betsy determined to help Franz. That was the way to stop the pain. If she helped Franz the pain would stop and she would get her orgasms. Obviously, he was a man and men just didn’t have the stamina for proper sex. The pain in her head was starting to build up again, but she found she could bear it—just. She slowly remembered a technique she learned long ago in India. What was she doing in India? She couldn’t remember, but she could remember how to do it.

Once a decision had been made, action on it was easy as her focus left no room for the headaches. She righted the bed and tossed the mattress back on it. Then she tossed Franz on the mattress. Then Betsy went to work. Luckily no equipment was needed. Just Betsy’s administrations and some oil. She ran to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of vegetable oil.

One of Betsy’s housekeepers liked to play at nurses when she wasn’t in a French maid’s outfit flitting about cleaning and dusting. She had a nurse’s uniform and she checked Betsy every which way when the cleaning was done. Betsy learned. She could now take a pulse and know what it meant. She remembered she could check other physical properties as well. So Betsy checked Franz’ vital signs now. Betsy couldn’t take the pulse where her nurse took hers but she found a place on his wrist – strange place – that gave a good reading.

Franz’s vital signs told Betsy that Franz had come off total exhaustion a little bit, which should be good enough—just. Betsy tried massaging his cock and after a while got a response. Good. Betsy stopped. Betsy only wanted a reaction, not full arousal. His cock wasn’t needed now. In fact, Betsy had decided, she didn’t know how, that his cock was his problem. She realised he suffered from premature ejaculation, like all men. She got into position and got herself comfortable. That was important as this was going to take some time. She needed to be able to reach both Franz’s tits with minimal time delay between.

Betsy oiled Franz’s tits then started with tit massage on both at once. Slowly, ever so slowly massaging each in circles between thumbs and fingers using the special pressure technique she had been taught. Eventually Betsy felt his skin respond. It started to get warm and sweaty. Good. Betsy licked off the sweat, ‘cause it was tasty, and proceeded. After another half hour it was time for the next step. Betsy let go of his nearest tit and started to suck on it while continuing her hand massage with other one. This took time but Betsy was patient. She was focussing and this removed the headaches. She sucked the tit until it responded then Betsy switched and sucked the other tit until that one responded as well then Betsy sucked the first tit again until that one responded more then again with other and again and again and again for hours. Betsy was in a fugue now, operating automatically, when, at last, she got the reaction she wanted. The first tit started to express milk. Mmmmm, tasty. Betsy quickly woke up and massaged the other tit to the same point. Then, more massage till both tits were expressing milk freely. Well more than freely, they were gushing.

About time. Betsy was thirsty.

Betsy stood up to admire her handiwork and immediately fell over. She was dizzy because she had been in fugue too long. She stayed on the floor for a little while until she felt OK, then she stood and admired her handiwork.

Betsy’s mobile rang. The noise startled her. She desperately wanted to ignore it, but the ringtone was the one she reserved for emergencies – Sousa’s ‘Liberty Bell March’. She growled at the noise but went to deal with it. After scrabbling around the mess on the floor she found her bag and inside it, her mobile. She looked at the live feed video coming from the inside of her house. This was not getting her any nearer to orgasms so the headaches returned suddenly and explosively. It was so bad her vision was impaired. She could hardly see what was happening in her home. She could discern vaguely that there were two men in there searching her bedroom very carefully, making sure to put everything back where they found it. She switched cameras and saw more people, men and women, searching her home. That wasn’t right but she knew she couldn’t do anything about this now. She would just have to leave them and deal with it later. One of the men spoke. It was an American accent. The pain in Betsy’s head almost defeated her but she realised at the last moment she could do something. So, she did the only thing available to her. She decoupled the pixie-protection on her house. She’d sort out the aftermath later when she could think. Now, back to fixing Franz.

She turned back to Franz and saw he now had an impressive pair of boobs that would look good on any booby woman, never mind a man. He would be so proud when he woke and found out. Franz could stimulate his boobs and express milk whenever he wanted and he could keep that going for hours and hours. That would be a long long time for Franz to be stimulated. A much longer stimulation than his cock could ever give him. He could now rest his cock and stimulate his tits and so have continuous stimulation. Now, he could eat her out at the same time and that could last forever. This was much better than that non-working cock. Milk production would die down in an hour or two after stimulation but she supposed Franz had better wear a maternity bra to stop him looking silly when he was out and about. He wouldn’t want to have liquid always dribbling down his shirt when he was in company. OK, that would be easy to achieve. Betsy would buy Franz’s first bra and Franz would be so proud and put it away for best while Franz bought his own. Betsy felt the warm glow of helping a friend sweep all over her.

Betsy stepped back and saw her error. Franz’s cock was now half the size it should be. No doubt from all the tit stimulation Betsy gave. Betsy slapped her forehead with her right hand and said “DOH”.

A few months ago, Betsy was in the Bronx seeing Cuthbert. Before going, She warned Betsy that She liked Cuthbert the funny way he was and Betsy hadn’t to change him, at least for now. Betsy pouted and went into the huff for a bit but got over it and went to the Bronx anyway. She needn’t have bothered warning Betsy ‘cause Betsy rarely saw Cuthbert. He was very busy and was always in meetings or with customers or with suppliers. Betsy couldn’t see how anyone could live with that incredible schedule for long but Cuthbert seemed OK with it. Well, whenever he saw Betsy he was a bit nervous and shaky, probably thinking about his next meeting. Another thing was Cuthbert never seemed to get any time to himself. Even in the odd moments Cuthbert wasn’t doing business, there was always someone round him so Betsy had no chance to help him even if she wanted to. But this wasn’t a problem as She didn’t want it anyway. Betsy did help in his shop though. She went to the shop a few times and convinced people to buy. They seemed pleased to buy the most expensive option then quickly leave to go home and try it out. Betsy prided herself on that. She knew she was a great salesgirl. Anyway, Betsy did notice Cuthbert slapped his forehead and said ‘DOH’ whenever he made a mistake. He made lots of mistakes so the gesture penetrated Betsy’s head. She thought it cool and decided to use it herself. But that was months ago and she never makes mistakes so Betsy never did the gesture until now. This time Betsy realised she made a mistake and subconsciously remembered so Betsy slapped her forehead and said ‘DOH’!

Three minutes and seventeen seconds later Betsy’s arm came up to the top of the bed and she used it to haul herself up from the floor. Her face was wan and bloodless. Her eyes dull and unfocused and when she hauled herself up enough, her vomit covered torso could be seen by any observer, if there was one. Betsy tried to stand but decided to continue using the bed as a support. What happened? Thinking was especially difficult again as there were extreme stabbing pains slicing through her head. Trying to see what happened was also difficult. Blinding white light flashing on and off didn’t help. Nor did the fuzziness that Betsy now saw in everything, once Betsy learned to see between the flashes. She eventually understood this was her own doing. As soon as she started to realise this was her own fault, her subconscious immediately came to her aid and blamed Cuthbert. Obviously it was Cuthbert’s fault. It was his gesture wasn’t it. Therefore it was Cuthbert’s fault. He should’ve said not to hit so hard. Betsy would compensate Cuthbert, but later. She couldn’t face that now. She had Franz to fix and Betsy wasn’t feeling too well.

So Betsy looked closely at Franz and got another shock. Now there were two Franz’ and each had four tits. It took a while to work out she was seeing double. She started to lean towards him but fell over him instead while projectile vomiting all over him. “Woops”, she said. Betsy wanted to go to sleep now but had Franz to fix so she lay on top of him and rested a while. That stopped her falling over anyway. She eventually managed to restart the tit massage and suck, changing from one tit to another for another hour until Betsy tasted blood coming out with the milk. Mmmm tastes good. She helped herself to this nectar for a while, until it stopped.

Betsy had now finished her task. Franz now so much better and he would never need his cock again. She tested this by lifting his head and tit and making sure he could suck and bite his own tits. He could. Good. At least Franz would get hours of enjoyment out of the newness in his body. The blood in his milk was caused by excessive stimulation and his tits would settle down to producing pure milk again. Lots of it now, Franz would be ecstatic about this. Franz could now express enough milk to send couple of litres to each lady friend every day. Lady friends would be ecstatic as well. Franz’ milk was potent. It would make his lady friends big and strong and give them bigger tits and put hairs on their chests. Franz would need lots of pads for when Franz went out though. But obviously he couldn’t go out a lot now, say about half hour a day ‘cause he needed time to express the milk.

Betsy was pleased but still sick. Falling off Franz, she stood using a wall as support. She checked Franz between flashes and saw his cock was now tiny. Only good for peeing. In fact Betsy thought it possible she could push it inside out and create a pussy for Franz. That would be good. Franz would be able to wear double dildo belt with vibrating dildos and pleasure himself with that while massaging and biting his tits and nipples at the other end. Betsy couldn’t do that and often wondered what it was like. Franz would be able to tell her, once he recovered consciousness. But most women wanted that and now, Franz has that ability. But Betsy felt that enough was enough and she would leave that for another day. Betsy was now finished and wanted to lie down alone in a bed and sleep for days and days and days.

But, the flat was now in a mess and Betsy had to fix it. She was obliged to, wasn’t she? She had her orders. But Betsy couldn’t face all the bending and stooping now but an idea popped into her head, borne out of desperation. She searched and eventually found her phone where she threw it and tried to call but couldn’t see her contact list well enough. So she guessed.

Her first call was answered by Kay. Betsy disconnected immediately. She couldn’t face the long chat chatterbox Kay always had. She tried a bit further on. Maybelle answered, perky as ever and obviously multi-tasking judging by the sex noises on the line. Betsy disconnected, didn’t ever want Maybelle to know about this. A bit further on and Trish answered. Betsy disconnected again.

The next time she got through to the right person. “Need job doing now. Can do?” Betsy slurred. The answer was surprised and worried but Betsy shook that off and got a commitment. “Need to come now to Franz’s apartment and clean up. Will leave money on table for expenses. Don’t worry about the key, just pick lock like I taught you. It’s easy, only a 5 lever mortise. No, I’m OK. I just have other things to do. NO, I’m really OK. Come now.” Betsy looked again at Franz and added “Get Franz proper maternity bra as well. No get twenty five, Franz will need at least that many. Also get lots of pads. I’ll leave more money on the table for expenses. Don’t worry, Franz will sleep for days”. Having got that agreement, Betsy was now happy. Candi would do a good job. Candi liked to clean up in her little maid’s outfit. It seemed to be all she did. Previously, Betsy tried to help Candi by getting her to clean Betsy’s own house on a permanent basis, but Candi was always too busy. Pity. Betsy didn’t like cleaning up. Anyway, everything was now sorted.

Betsy only fell over once while finding her clothes. But, once found, there was another problem. They were covered in stale vomit. So, Betsy had to walk through streets of Freiburg covered in sick and staggering and falling over from time to time, and with slurring speech as well, and, she just realised now, not speaking German. She could speak German when she arrived, couldn’t she? She was sure she could. But now she couldn’t. She tried and nothing happened. This was not good. Betsy had to think again. Normally Betsy got a headache when thinking, but Betsy’s head was still shrieking from stabbing pains so that it made no difference. Now Betsy had the luxury of thinking without it causing discomfort. Betsy was proud and patriotic. There was no way people here were going to see a Brit in this state. So, she opened the hidden compartment in the bottom of her bag and took out a number of passports. Eventually she managed to look through and picked Kay’s passport out replacing it with her own. Betsy couldn’t talk Canadian but could talk Bronx now. Same difference anyway, just remember to sat ‘hey’ in every sentence.

She couldn’t go to any normal hotel, not like this. Fortunately Franz lived on the edge of a dodgy red light district. There was bound to be a hotel nearby where a passport and money were only required – probably just money needed. No more questions. OK, how was she to get money? Betsy lurched round the room, looking for the money she remembered tossing aside when she searched the contents of the safe. She eventually collected a nice fat wad. Betsy looked but with her eyes still flashing and fuzzy and seeing double she couldn’t see whether they were 10 Euros or 100 Euros or 1000 Euros. OK, assume ten Euro notes to be on the safe side. With eyes still flashing and fuzzy and still seeing double, she left a pile on the table for Candi and took the rest for a hotel. Franz would be OK with this, after all Betsy was helping him, right?

Eventually, she managed to put on her vomit stained dress and panties and clutching her bag, Betsy started to walk to the door. She fell over again. She tried to remove her stillies before realising she wasn’t wearing any. In fact, she wasn’t wearing shoes at all. She got back to her feet, lurched to the door and went in search of a local hotel or a place to stay or somewhere to sleep, remembering to speak Bronx with ‘hey’ in every sentence.

Over in Mens Imperium headquarters, somewhere in America, Tilly Jigger and Stewart Herschel tried to determine why their eight agents just stopped transmitting and couldn’t be found.

The reign of the Freiburg sex fiend lasted seventy three days before it stopped as mysteriously as it started.

A long time later Betsy returned to her home, surreptitiously, in the middle of the night. She had taken the long way home and was careful not to be seen, especially by anybody she knew. The day before, she checked her home defences and learned that her pixie-defences were all turned off. She had immediately reinstated them ensuring they were activated in sequence in order to eliminate the little buggers from her home. She wondered how this had happened, but not for long. She couldn’t remember much from the past few months and she suspected she didn’t want to. Her house was fine and safe when she entered. She went straight to the kitchen where she had herself a proper cup of tea for the first time in months, then went to bed.

On approaching her bedroom she heard gentle low pitched chimes sounding at irregular intervals. Never having heard that sound there before, she entered her bedroom quickly with a throwing knife in her hand. Eight highly polished and expertly wired-together skeletons were hanging on wires from her ceiling, surrounding her bed like a set of ancient bed-curtains and bumping each other gently, chiming in the breeze from the open window which was closed when she left for her holidays.

Betsy made a face. ‘Serves them right for trying to burgle me when pixies are on the loose’, she thought as she stripped and, moving a pair of bony legs aside, got into bed for the first good sleep in a long time. ‘I wonder what the binmen will say if I just dump these skeletons in the bin’, was her last thought before sleep overcame her gentle, innocent brain.