The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Sir Simon, so good to see you again. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?’

‘I’m in the area to pick up some items to my collections. Since I was here, I thought I would drop by and chat.’

Kenneth Brightman, the crime lord of north-western England, gestured to the chair in front of his desk. ‘Sit down, sit down. Can I offer you something to drink?’ Brightman hoped his face did not betray the churning in his stomach that had started when he had learned that Sir Simon Lucas had arrived at his headquarters. A visit from Lucas was never good. Lucas did not pay social calls or drop by for a chat. He nodded to his two bodyguards, who had positioned themselves behind him when Lucas had entered. ‘Shall I ask the boys to leave?’

‘What I have to say can be said in front of them, Ken. They will find it . . . well, let us say, they will find it instructional.’ Sir Simon Lucas sat down in the chair facing Brightman and crossed his legs. He was a picture of casual, confident elegance, elbows resting on the arms of the chair and fingers steepled in front of this face. He sat without speaking as he inspected the other man. Unlike Lucas, Brightman had not aged well. Both men were in their early 30s, yet Brightman’s body already betrayed his sloth and inactivity. Brightman sits in his office and has other people do the work, thought Lucas. That is always an unwise policy. Far better to let the troops see you in action.

Lucas remained silent for a moment longer while he continued to scrutinize the other man. Brightman’s attempt to comb over his bald spot was becoming increasingly desperate, he noted. It wasn’t until Brightman had licked his lips nervously for the fourth time that Lucas spoke. ‘I have not been receiving the expected level of receipts from you, Kenneth. Is there an explanation for the drop in the amounts you have been forwarding to me?’

‘Hard times, Sir Simon. Unemployment is up. There isn’t as much money around.’ The crime boss smiled ingratiatingly and raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders in the ‘what can you do’ gesture.

‘But the same is true throughout the country, Ken, and yet other regions are remitting even more to me. It seems the unemployed want what we have to offer them, Ken.’

‘Perhaps people are more careful about spending here.’

‘No, Ken, I think there is another reason.’

Brightman tried to regard Sir Simon with bravado. He titled his chair backwards and crossed his arms over his stomach. He was, after all, safe in his domain, surrounded by his own people. ‘And what might that be?’

‘I think you have become greedy and are trying to retain more for yourself. A little greed is permissible, Ken. You wouldn’t be where you are today if you weren’t greedy. But I wouldn’t be where I am, if I weren’t even greedier.’

‘Well, you are brave, Simon. I will give you that. You walk into my office and headquarters alone and accuse me of stealing from you. I could have you taken for the long ride. Our countryside is more deserted than the area around your estate. We could drop your body where it would never be found.’

‘Threats, Kenneth? How amusing, especially since I am not here alone.’

‘According to my count, Simon, there are three of us and one of you in this room. There are more of my men outside’

‘No wonder you are having so much trouble sending the correct amount, Ken. You can’t count.’

Brightman jerked his hands up and pointed at the bodyguards and then at himself. ‘One, two, three.’ He formed his hand into a pistol and sighted along the outstretched finger at Sir Simon. ‘Ker-shoo.’

Sir Simon smiled. ‘You are correct that the count is three to one, Ken. You are wrong in assuming that it is in your favour.’ He nodded to the bodyguards. ‘Hold him.’ The two immediately pinioned Brightman in his chair. One of them crooked a muscular arm under Brightman’s chin and held his head up and rigid. Sir Simon watched with amusement as Brightman struggled. ‘I will take only a few more moments of your time, Ken, and then I will leave you.’ He stood up and walked over to Brightman. The guards turned the crime boss to face Sir Simon. ‘This will hurt me far more than it hurts you, Ken. I do not relish a closer acquaintance with your mind.’ Sir Simon reached out and placed his fingertips on Brightman’s head. He sent his mind tendrils deep into the other man’s head. ‘Yes, it is as I thought, greed and deceit. You disappoint me, Ken. You do not live up to your name.’

Brightman slumped in his chair as his mind was invaded. ‘You can let go of him now. I have him under control.’ The guards stepped back. Sir Simon closed his eyes and let his consciousness invade Brightman. ‘So much deceit and dishonesty, Ken. We cannot allow that to continue. You will tell me the truth now. You will always tell me the truth, Ken’

‘Yes, Sir Simon.’

‘Good. How much have you been skimming off the top?’

‘Seven percent.’

‘You will send the correct amount and an additional amount equal to the amount you skimmed. Henceforth your quota will be raised to 66 percent of your income.’

‘Yes, Sir Simon.’

‘And just as a reminder of what happens to those who attempt to trifle with me, Ken, I am going to leave you with a headache. A very bad headache. Every time you attempt to cheat me or think ill of me or conspire against me, the headache will return. And each time it will be worse than the last time. The only way to avoid the headache is through complete and utter obedience and loyalty to me.’ Sir Simon sent a charge of energy into the other man. Brightman collapsed to the floor moaning and clasping his head between his hands as if to keep it from exploding. He curled up into the foetal position and writhed back and forth as pain rocketed through his mind.

Sir Simon’s final remarks were addressed to the guards. ‘You will tell others what you witnessed today. I want the EMG’s visit talked about.’ He left without looking back.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr Lomax.’

‘I wouldn’t stay in business long if I didn’t see people.’

‘That’s what we want to talk with you about, Mr. Lomax. Your business.’

‘Well, son, you can begin by introducing yourself.’

‘My name’s Henry Colson. This is my pal Bert Peters.’

‘Well, I’m a busy man, Henry. And I don’t much care for conversation. Let’s get down to business. How much do you and Bert need?’

‘Oh, we don’t need any money, Mr Lomax. At least not at the rates you charge. In fact, that’s what we are here to stop, Mr Lomax. That and your collection policies.’ As always, concentrated evil made Henry feel sad. It turned his stomach really, but, he reminded himself, he had a job to do. He was here to put an end to Lomax’s activities.

‘You’re a funny man, Henry. I’m a businessman, I charge market rates for my loans. And sometimes it takes a little force to remind debtors to pay up. “Pour encourage les autres.” That’s French for “Here’s what happens to people who forget to make their payments on time”.’ Lomax chewed on his cigar and regarded the two young men sitting in front of his desk. It had been a slow afternoon. At least these two would provide a little amusement. The bigger one, Henry, looked like a bodybuilder. That chest couldn’t have come from anything but lifting weights. He seemed a bit thick. Slow-witted, slow talking, as if speech was not something he found easy. He was dressed like a plumber in white coveralls over a tattered blue cotton shirt. There were grass stains on the knees of his coveralls. Bert looked even smaller than he was next to the big guy. Much better dressed than his friend, though. Wasn’t afraid to wear a bit of jewellery around his neck. If Lomax was any judge (and I am, he thought to himself), Bert was familiar with the streets of Kemptown. He also suspected that Bert was the brains of this outfit.

‘I am truly sorry to hear that, Mr Lomax.’ Henry closed his eyes and concentrated his mind. He pictured Lomax frozen in his chair. When he opened his eyes, the older man was regarding him with panic-stricken eyes at his sudden immobility. ‘I’m sorry that I have to keep you from moving, Mr Lomax. What I have to do will only take a few minutes. And then Bert and I will leave. Bert, perhaps you should take the cigar out of his mouth to prevent an accident. Smoking’s a vile filthy dirty habit, Mr Lomax. You really should stop. The air in this room is enough to give anyone lung cancer. If you can’t think of yourself, you should at least have more regard for others. And you might open a window occasionally. The bit of fresh air would do you good. Now, I’m going to touch your head for a few minutes. It’s not something I want to do, but it’s better to have physical contact.’

Henry shuddered as he placed his fingertips on Lomax’s forehead. How could anyone’s skin feel so greasy? This was the part of his work that he hated. Other people had such dirty minds. What he found sometimes left him feeling nauseous. He took a deep breath and focussed all of his thoughts. He probed deeply into Lomax’s mind. ‘Oh, Bert, this is terrible. This is the worst I’ve ever encountered.’ A twisted mind. Such a bad man. ‘You were right, Bert. This is the right place to start our campaign.’ Henry sent a pulse of goodness into Lomax and attached it to his pleasure centre. Everywhere he found evil and greed, he replaced it with a love of goodness and charity. It took him ten minutes to complete the operation.

‘There now, Mr Lomax. You’re going to feel much better now.’ Henry removed his hands from Lomax’s head and broke the mind link. ‘Once you start doing good, you’ll discover how great it is.’

‘I feel better already, Henry. Thank you. In fact, I feel great.’ Lomax looked down at his desk and the account book he had been scrutinizing with pleasure only a few minutes before. ‘You’re right, Henry. I haven’t been a good man. I will have to rethink what I have been doing. Loan sharking. Oh, I’ve been so evil.’ Lomax started to cry.

Henry put an arm around the other man’s shoulder. ‘There, there. Everything will be fine now, Mr Lomax. You can use all the money you have to do good and to improve the world.’

‘I feel so guilty, Henry. All the misery and pain that I’ve caused.’

‘You’ll make up for all that now, Mr Lomax. Just try it. You’ll find that goodness is its own reward. It’s much better than evil.’ Henry shook hands with Lomax and squeezed his shoulder. ‘We’re finished here, Bert. I’m thirsty. Let’s stop at the Mastiff for a drink.’ Fighting evil always left Henry with a raging thirst for a lemonade. He needed something strong and sharp to get the bad taste out of his mouth.

The thief inserted the duplicate electronic key the helpful night clerk had provided into the slot. A touch on the wrist, a thought tendril sent into the clerk, and the key had been offered without demur. Another thought tendril and the clerk’s memory of the event was erased. So simple to get what he wanted. But it always was. When the intruder pulled the plastic card out, the red light began blinking green. He gently eased the door open and quickly slipped into the room. As befitted the reputation of the hotel for discretion and attention to its guests’ comfort, the door closed with barely a sound. No one, neither the occupant of the hotel suite nor those in the adjoining rooms, was disturbed by the slight click of the lock engaging. He stood in the dark entryway and waited until his eyes adjusted. The tight-fitting door did not prevent a faint glow from the hallway from entering the room, nor did the heavy drapes covering the windows keep all light out. On the twentieth floor, the noise of Manchester scarcely intruded into the room and provided no cover for any sound he might make, but the heavy carpet and his rubber-soled shoes would muffle his approach. As long as he did not trip over a chair, he did not have to worry about waking the occupant of the suite. His black clothing and the thin black-nylon mask he had pulled over his head before entering the room made him just another shadow in the room.

He knew from the floor plan of the hotel he had consulted earlier that the bedroom lay beyond the sitting room. When his eyes had adjusted so that he could see well enough to avoid the furniture, he crossed to the door of the bedroom. Through the half-open doorway he could hear the sound of regular breathing. The occupant of the suite was asleep. He pushed the door open. The sleeper was covered by the bed sheet, his body a small mound at the right side of the wide bed. He lay on his side, his arms wrapped around one of the pillows. The intruder stepped into the bedroom, careful to make no sound that might awaken the sleeper. He removed the leather gloves that he wore so as not to leave any fingerprints. Since everything that he would subsequently touch in the room would leave with him, any prints he might leave on the object he was about to steal did not concern him. Any fibres and trace evidence he might leave behind would be lost in the jumble of data in the hotel room. With any luck, by the time the theft was discovered, the maids would have cleaned the room and obscured any sign of his entry.

With his bare fingers, he reached out and touched the object of his desire. It would be a showpiece in his collection. It was as perfect as he had anticipated. Later when it was secure, he would be able to inspect it in detail. But even in this dark room, he could tell that acquiring it was worth the risk. A pity that so few people would ever know that he owned it.

The occupant of the room dreamed of a hawk flying through the night sky, gliding silently on the wind, its presence felt only as a brief dark shadow. Something warm and comforting touched him, and he fell even more deeply into sleep. For a second there was a searing blast of pleasure and then only oblivion.

The thief pulled back the bed sheet. The man lay nude. He touched the man again and sent his thought tendrils deep into the sleeper’s mind. The sleeper arose and accompanied the intruder to the door of the suite. The intruder pulled out a cell phone and keyed in a number. He disconnected as soon as the phone on the other end rang once. The two men waited by the door until there was a light tap from the outside. Two of Sir Simon Lucas’s guards stood outside dressed in the uniform of the hotel porters and pushing a large laundry basket. Sir Simon touched the latest acquisition to his collection again, and the man collapsed into the arms of the guards. They quickly lifted the young man into the basket and closed the canvas cover. As quietly as they had arrived, they wheeled the basket away and into the waiting service elevator.

Sir Simon permitted himself a brief smile of satisfaction. The abduction had been faultless. Two of the three goals he had set himself for the trip north had been accomplished. If events were proceeding according to plan, the third goal awaited him in his room. The elevator rose smoothly up the six floors to the top level. The door slid noiselessly open. Only three doors opened off the small vestibule. Sir Simon inserted the key for his room and stepped in. As he had expected, his “guest” was awaiting him. ‘My dear, you have the virtue of punctuality. How refreshing in this careless age.’

‘We need better outfits, Henry, All the other superheroes wear tights and capes.’

‘Don’t start on that again, Bert. I can’t wear stuff like that. It shows everything.’

‘That’s the idea. We’re supposed to show off our muscles. Your mom’s got some great ideas for costumes for both of us, what with her background on stage and all. She helped me design one out for myself. White tights with thin red stripes, that will show off my legs—they’re really my best features. Well, maybe my buttocks. But those will be displayed to advantage by the tights too. And a close-fitting red jersey top that’s a little lighter than the red stripes in the tights with white trim along the collar and a white stripe running down the shoulder and along the outside of the arms, a matching red hood with white piping along the eyes slits, all-black running shoes—it’s very dramatic. I’m going to look great in it.’

Bert and Henry sat at a table in the Mastiff. Henry was on his third lemonade. Bert was still sipping his first plum brandy cream fizz. He loved the sweet syrupy drink, but he had to watch his weight. Even an active day of being a sidekick to the newest superhero wouldn’t help him keep his slim waist and trim figure if he took in too many calories.

‘Mum knows a lot about dressing actors for the stage, but I’m trying to project a different image here.’

‘Even as we speak, your mother and your Aunt Lou are out shopping for your costume. Promise me you’ll at least try it on. Your mom is putting a lot of effort into this.’ Henry sighed. Sometimes being a good son could be a burden. ‘Promise me, Henry. Give it a try.’

‘Ok, ok, Bert. I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you and mum.’

‘Good, now about the car. The ministry has budgeted enough that we can afford . . .’

‘I’m not buying a new car. There’s nothing wrong with the Mini Cooper.’

Not for the first time, Bert sighed and despaired of Henry. He was a nice guy, but he didn’t appreciate that the public expected superheroes to live up to a certain image.

‘It’s just not suitable, Henry.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s not the Batmobile is what’s wrong with it. Every other superhero has a great car. Yours is in the shop half the time. We can’t keep taking a bus to work.’ Bert rubbed his leg against Henry’s under the table.

‘Are you trying to use sex to persuade me again?’

‘You weren’t complaining last night.’

‘We can’t talk about that here. We’re in public.’

‘Henry, the Mastiff’s a gay bar. Everyone in here is in heat wondering what it’s like to have a superhero in bed.’

‘That’s not true, Bert. I’d know if everyone were interested. The correct figure is more like 62 percent. The rest want to take you to bed.’

‘Really? Show me who. Point one out to me.’ Bert started to look around but he caught himself in time. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager. That would damage the image he had carefully constructed.

‘See that black-haired guy two tables over with the moustache. He’s been undressing you for the last half-hour. I’m too embarrassed to tell you what he wants to do with you.’

Bert casually looked around as if he were stretching a sore neck. ‘Oh him, He’s a lump in bed. Expects you to do everything. Just lies there likes he’s the eighth wonder of the world.’

Henry looked shocked. ‘I’m just kidding, Henry. Don’t know the man from Adam. Not that I’d wouldn’t like to know him better, mind you. He’s got nice shoulders and arms.’ Bert directed what he knew from hours before the mirror to be one of his high-wattage smiles at the man.

‘Bert, we have a city to save.’

‘We need to relax and enjoy ourselves sometimes, Henry.’

‘Not until we’ve cleaned up Brighton. The Ministry is counting on us.’

‘Right, a city to clean up. The Ministry is counting on us.” Bert sighed again. So much work to do. Well, he had at least persuaded Henry to promise to try on the new outfit. He would return to the theme of the car later, when he had put Henry in a more receptive mood. “Uh, Henry, can I ask a question? What you did to Lomax today, what does that feel like?’

‘I don’t know, Bert. I’ve never met anyone else who could do it. I didn’t know it was anything special until Mum told me to stop it. That it wasn’t nice. I didn’t discover until a couple years ago that I could change people. And then the Ministry found out and recruited me. The rest you know. They sent me to the Superheroes Training Centre, and I met Stan and he, he . . .’

‘Now, don’t start blubbering again, Henry. Stan put up a good fight against the EMG. But he was outmatched. All those knives and sharp edges he could make with his body didn’t do him any good in the end.’

For a few minutes both of them sat quietly, lost in thought about the inevitable coming battle with the EMG.

‘We’ll just have to do our best when our time comes, Bert. None of the other heroes the EMG has defeated had mental powers. He’ll be expecting some physical ability, and I’ll defeat him by surprising him with my mind-control powers. As soon as we come near enough, I’ll overcome him with a burst of mental energy and then you can jump in and cuff him.’

‘We need to practice that move, Henry. I volunteer to play the EMG. You can try your skills on me.’

‘There are plenty of minor-league villains here in Brighton that we can hone our skills on, Bert.’

‘Henry, I’m your sidekick. You can practice your powers on me. Now, don’t answer right away, but I was thinking that when we were in bed, maybe you could . . . well, just give me a jolt or something to spice up . . .’

‘Bert, that wouldn’t be ethical. I can’t use my powers to influence you. You’re my friend.’

‘It wouldn’t have to be much, Just a little tickle.’

‘Albert Peters, I’m not that kind of guy. I would never take advantage of you.’

‘Henry, take advantage of me, please. I’m begging you. I’ll be a much better sidekick if I know what you can do. In fact, if you’ve finished that lemonade, we can go to my place and we can take advantage of each other.’

‘Bert, you’re making me blush.’

‘A guy sucking on a stick of Brighton rock makes you blush, Henry.’

‘That’s it, Bert. You’re a genius.’

‘Well, yes, that’s true, but what did I just say to convince you?’

‘You gave me an idea for my name.’

‘Punctual, Sir Simon? I do not understand.’

‘My dear, did you not receive an invitation to join me? I must talk to my staff. This is a shocking oversight and a breach of proper manners.’

‘There was a note saying that I could end the crime wave that is threatening the social fabric of our land and restore commonsense to the conduct of the commonweal if I came to this room at 2:00 am.’

‘Precisely, my dear. That outfit becomes you, by the way. Puce brings out the highlights in your hair. Your own design?’

‘Yes, and don’t change the subject.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. What is your name again? My secretary just pencilled in “encounter with superheroine in hotel room, 2:00 am”. Philip is very efficient, but I’m afraid that he’s becoming blasé about superheroes.’

‘I am Abby Carstairs, the Manchester Guardian, Sir Simon.’

‘That would explain the overdevelopment of your left arm. One assumes that you can lift an impressive amount.’

‘Indeed, Sir Simon. If you will permit a moment of levity, I represent the power of the press.’

‘Droll, most droll. May I offer you a drink?’

‘Perhaps some bottled water, if you have it. And what peril, if you will permit me to ask, do you pose to the peace of the paterland, Sir Simon?’

‘The hotel has provided both Perrier and Pellegrino. Do you have a preference?’

‘Pellegrino, please.’

‘Excellent choice, my dear. The Italians seem to be in the habit of outperforming the French. And to answer your question, I am the EMG. I trust you have heard of me. Oh, here, let me get you a towel. Well, at least water won’t ruin that costume of yours. Spandex was a wise choice.’

‘Bestir yourself to do battle, Sir Simon.’

‘How tedious. And just when we were becoming friendly.’

‘I could never befriend a fiend so foul as you.’

‘Oh, fairest Abby, we all have fiendish friends and family. It’s part of the calling plan. I would think that as the Manchester Guardian you would know that a deprived childhood led to my current depravity. I was destined from birth never to know a mother’s love. One would expect you to show some understanding of my plight and the social forces that moulded me. Who knows what is behind the evil that lurks in my heart? And before you chastise me, shouldn’t you examine yourself? I daresay even you have done the odd bit of evil in your time.’

‘Never, Sir Simon. My heart is as pure as I am punctual.’

‘You never gossiped about your friends in school? Never made cutting remarks about their clothing? Never intentionally bruised an opponent’s shin playing field hockey?’

‘That would be a low blow, Sir Simon, and most unsporting.’

‘True. But that never stopped me.’

‘Defend yourself, Vile Villain.’

‘Do watch your step. You could slip on all that water on the floor.’

‘You are a gentleman at least, Sir Simon.’

‘Perhaps we should shake hands first and agree to a fair fight.’

‘Yes, good manners are important.’ The Manchester Guardian offered Sir Simon her hand.

‘My dear, you should look after your hands. I suppose the calluses are a result of the weightlifting but it is inexcusable not to treat your cuticles with more respect.’ Sir Simon held the superheroine’s hand gently.

‘Oh, Sir Simon, I simply feel stunned, I sense a need to rest supine on this soft sofa. It’s silly of me, I know, but I feel quite giddy and light-headed.’

‘Yes, my dear. You do. Now go to sleep. That’s a good girl.’ Sir Simon mentally blasted the Manchester Guardian with one of his superhero punches. She would remain out until his guards could deliver her to Dr Esterhazy for preparation for his collection. Really she had been no challenge at all. The Ministry of Superheroes was scraping the bottom of the barrel if this was the best they could send against him. Hardly worth the trip. He pressed a button on his cell phone. ‘I have another package of laundry for the truck south. Please pick it up immediately. I need to sleep. It’s been a long day.’

‘Just relax, Henry. You’re so tense, today.’ Bert was attempting to massage a knot our of Henry’s shoulders. ‘You must not be exercising the muscles in your upper back correctly. They’re all tight. I don’t think exercise is supposed to leave your muscles this taut.’

‘I was digging in the garden earlier. Must have pulled the muscle then. That feels good, Bert.’

‘I’m rather good at this, Henry, if I do so say myself.’

‘Mmm. Very good. Magic hands.’

‘Remember yesterday, how I helped you relax by talking about floating?’

‘That was very nice, Bert. I enjoyed that. Plus . . . the other stuff. That was nice, too.’

‘Shall I do that again?’

‘Yes, please. I would like that.’

‘Ok, then let’s begin. Just take a deep breath, Henry. Breathe in nice and slowly. Fill your lungs. Now hold it for a second. And then breathe out slowly. Empty your lungs of all that air. And as you do, just relax your body. Relax your mind. Breathe all the tension out of your body. Breathe all the tension out of your mind.’ Bert slowly talked Henry through relaxing all the parts of his body, as he continued to massage Henry’s back.

‘Your body feels so light. Lighter than air. So much lighter than air. It just floats on the air, Held up by the air, like a glider on the wind. It feels so good to be so light. Free of all restraints, free of all cares. Just drifting along on my words. Just relax more and more. And the more you relax, the better you will feel. It feels so good just to relax and float under my control. Just relax. Let Bert take care of everything. You’re safe with me, Henry. Just relax. Nothing to worry about. Just listen to my voice and let me guide you. You like it so much when I guide you, Henry. You feel so good when you follow my suggestions. Nothing makes you feel better than following my suggestions. We have been here before. Remember how good you feel when you follow my suggestions. So good. So very good. Now, without waking up, Henry, you are going to turn over and lie on your back. Very good, Henry. Soon you will feel even better than you feel right now. Now, I want you to remember yesterday. We were talking just as we are right now. You were lying on your back just as you are right now. And you bent both of your legs and rested your heels on my shoulders. You legs are rising up again. So much lighter than air now, and you rest them gently on my shoulders. Good, Henry. So good. You feel so good. You feel so very, very good.

‘Now, Henry, remember yesterday, how you took me in your hand and guided me into you. You want to do that again, Henry. You will feel so good when I am inside you. It makes you feel so good to have me inside you. That’s right. Just guide me into you, Henry. Just relax. Don’t tighten up. This will make you feel so very, very good.

‘There we are, Henry. Now you feel so much better to have me inside you. You love this feeling. Just relax, Henry, and follow along with what I am saying. Just listen to what I am saying and do what I tell you to do. It will make you feel so very, very good.

‘We are connected now, Henry. You feel so good and so relaxed and so safe. The waves of pleasure fill your body. Henry, you are so relaxed and so comfortable with me. I want you to reach out with your mind and stimulate my body. Make me feel so good, Henry. Imagine one of those thought lines reaching from your mind into my mind. Find my pleasure centre, the centre that . . .”

Henry gently probed Bert’s mind until he located the pleasure centre. He sent the merest wisp of thought into Bert, just a small stimulus of energy. He held Bert tight and began licking his neck, that very sensitive spot beneath the ear where the neck meets the shoulder. At the same time he sent a stronger charge of energy into Bert. Bert slumped forward onto his chest and lay still. Gradually it dawned on Henry that Bert had stopped speaking and that he didn’t seem to be moving.

‘You’re being very quiet, Bert. Bert? Bert? Oh my lord, what have I done? Bert? Bert? Wake up. Oh, what do I do now?’ Henry looked down in horror at the supine body of his sidekick and felt Bert’s swollen . . . Bert’s swollen thingy within himself. It felt huge. Oh lord, he had maimed his sidekick. What would the Ministry do when they found out he had damaged Bert? He could never forgive himself. Weakness, it was unforgivable weakness. Oh, he would never have sex again if only Bert would just be ok.

Bert moaned, and his eyes fluttered open. For a second only the whites were visible, and then the iris and pupils rolled back into place. His face was the picture of bliss. ‘O Henry, do you think you could do that again if I, if I . . .’ Bert was not so stunned that he had forgotten how shy Henry was about certain words. ‘If I continue doing what I’m doing to you?’

‘Oh, Bert, I’m so glad you’re alive. I thought I had injured you. I won’t do it again. I don’t know my own strength.’

‘You just have to learn to control it, Henry. Maybe about a tenth of the strength of the last charge.’

‘I shouldn’t do this, Bertie. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Just be careful, Henry. But, please, not too careful. A little more. You can be a bit wild. A bit wild is good, Henry. Ooooooooo, yessssssssss.’

. . . . . . .

Much later, Henry and Bert lay exhausted in bed, Bert resting on top of Henry. It had been supersex, thought Henry. But he shouldn’t use his powers to manipulate Bert. Bert was his pal, and he shouldn’t be controlling him. His mind-control powers should be reserved for fighting evil. The Ministry of Superheroes and, beyond that, the country were depending on him and Bert to bring an end to the reign of the EMG. Pleasures like this could become addictive and make them lose their concentration on their mission

“Henry? Are you awake? Listen to me, please. Don’t get me wrong. That was supersex, the best I’ve ever had. But I don’t think we should do that again. I’m not sure I like having you inside my mind, controlling me. Even if it’s just in fun. And the Ministry is depending on us. We need to prepare to fight the EMG. We’ll get distracted if we get addicted to . . . whatever just happened.”

“That’s just what I was thinking, Bert.” Henry gave his sidekick a gentle squeeze and broke the link to Bert’s mind.

‘Is there anything else, Philip?’

‘Yes, Sir Simon. Dr Esterhazy reports that the newest recruit is almost ready and will be available for programming after Tuesday night. You have two hours free on Thursday morning, from 10 until 12. Shall I reserve that time?’

‘Yes. My compliments to the doctor. The new recruit will make an excellent addition to my collection.’

‘Very good, Sir, I will tell Dr Esterhazy to have the subject ready for you on Thursday morning. Sir, there is one more thing.’

‘What is it, Philip?’

‘Mr Adams reports that there are rumours of a new superhero.’

‘Oh, good lord. Not another one,’ sighed Sir Simon in exasperation. ‘Really this is becoming too annoying. I just eliminated the Manchester Guardian three weeks ago. I do hope this one will be more of a challenge. The Guardian definitely did not live up to her publicity. More sound than substance there. Where’s the new one operating and what is he or she called?’

‘It is a he, Sir. He’s working out of Brighton and calls himself Brighton Rock.’

‘How sweet, how very sweet. Get me more information on him, and then I will decide how to deal with him.’

‘Yes, Sir. I have prepared a dossier with all known information on the Rock.’

‘I should have known you would display your usual competence, Philip. Leave it here. I shall read it later.’

‘Sir, should I order another display cabinet? All the cabinets in the trophy room are full, Sir, now that the Manchester Guardian has been added to your collection.’

‘If this plague of superheroes doesn’t end soon, Philip, we will have to call the builders in to add another room to the west wing. Let’s wait a bit on ordering a new display case. The last time I visited the trophy room, I noticed that the Yorkshire Beef was looking overdone and dry. If this Rock would make a better display, we’ll hang the Beef in cold storage and substitute the Rock for him.’

‘Very good, Sir Simon.’

‘Thank you, Philip. Now, please send the duty guard in and hold all calls for a couple of hours.’ He briefly touched Philip on the shoulder and sent a soupcon of pleasure to his mind. It was expedient to reward efficiency in a subordinate. Philip halted in mid-stride and moaned softly, as a brief look of sublime enjoyment flitted across his face.

Sir Simon Lucas stepped to the window and surveyed his domain. The immaculately manicured lawns sloped down in a series of terraces to his lake. Two of his gardeners were weeding the lower flower beds, their well-muscled tanned bodies gleaming with sweat in the sun. He thought he recognized one of the gardeners from the curve of his back. He was certain that one used to be a guard. Somewhere on the other side of the house another gardener was mowing the lawn, the only sound other than a few bird calls that disturbed the silence of the countryside. Not for the first time Sir Simon let this thoughts wander to the empire of crime that allowed him this well-tended privacy. Would his neighbours be so respectful of him if they knew that he was the ‘mysterious crime lord’ the newspapers had dubbed the ‘Evil Mindwarp Guy’? It had taken him several years, but now the entire country was his. Every criminal in the country ultimately worked for him, and tributes from every nefarious enterprise flowed upward to his hands. The only challenge to his control came from this constant parade of superheroes. Perhaps a few donations to the right politicians would put an end to these pestiferous nuisances. He would have to look into that.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie. The guard who entered was one of the newer ones. He was still fresh enough to amuse Sir Simon for a few more times. His youthful body had that hardness Sir Simon prized, almost as if it were made of thick rubber that had been inflated until it was taut and pneumatic. This one had a swimmer’s body, muscled, lithe. The depilation had left the guard’s body hairless and totally smooth. Like all the duty guards, he was dressed only in a black jockstrap. Sir Simon was a connoisseur of the male form, but his guards did not display their genitals before him. And the waistband of the strap covered the small tattoo consisting of the label “PROPERTY OF LUCAS ENTERPRISES,” the Lucas Enterprises logo of a hawk in flight, and the barcode used for inventory purposes. Sometimes it amused him to pull the strap away from a guard’s body and look at the tattoo. If he did say so himself, the design he had created was tasteful. The mark of his ownership added enormously to the value of his properties and his enjoyment of them.

‘A drink.’ Behind him he heard the soft clink of the glass stopper being pulled from the decanter and the splash of the whiskey into a glass. The guard approached him and held out a salver with the heavy glass, the dark amber single malt refracted in its many facets. After Sir Simon took the glass, the guard knelt at his side. His fingers stroked the guard’s head, and he let the tendrils of his power penetrate the guard’s mind. Good, there were no thoughts in the guard other than adoration and worship of him, nothing but submission and obedience and pleasure in serving him. Sir Simon gently stimulated the guard’s control centre. From deep within the guard’s mind, pleasure rippled outward along his nerves and coursed throughout his body. Sir Simon liked to remind his servants of the rewards to be had from obedience and submission.

As had Philip, the guard moaned. Sir Simon loved that sound. He revelled in the power that gave him such control over others. He could make anyone do anything. All it took was the slightest touch and that gentle invasion, the charge of energy travelling from his mind to the other person and finding the spot within the person’s brain that made him want to obey and serve. He had never experienced it himself, of course, but to judge from his servants’ reactions, it was addictive.

Life was very sweet, thought Sir Simon as his eyes again looked out the window. The guard knelt motionless as Sir Simon continued to stroke his head and neck, the guard’s hair soft and silken as he drew his fingertips through it, the skin of his neck so firm and tight—flawless. The panorama visible through the window—the acres of dark green lawn, the tasteful gardens with their disciplined display of carefully chosen colours, the placid blue lake, the deep, almost black woods surrounding Sir Simon’s manor—meant nothing to the guard. All he thought about was the Master’s touch upon his body; his only hope was that the Master would find him worthy, that the Master would use him.

Sir Simon sat in his favourite chair and motioned the guard closer. As he pondered how best to gain control of Parliament, he absentmindedly stroked the back of the guard’s smooth thighs. He was so intent on his own thoughts that he failed to notice the look of ecstasy on his pet’s face.

‘Mum, I think these tights shrunk in the wash.’

‘No, I bought new ones in a smaller size. The last pair I bought was too big.’

‘But, Mum, they’re . . . well, they’re too revealing. I can’t go out like this. It shows everything.’ Henry Colson twisted around to look at his back in the mirror. The fabric had been cut so that the seam in the rear nestled deep between his buttocks, and the tights clung to his well-rounded cheeks. As he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, the muscles in his thighs and ass rippled and stretched the tights. The front was even worse—the thin layer of pink fabric over his groin left nothing to the imagination. Even the veins were visible if you looked closely. And you could count them, he thought. Both of them.

‘That’s the idea. I was talking with Beryl, and she said that everyone is saying that the Brighton Rock is too modest. Those coveralls you want to wear don’t present you in your best light. Superheroes are supposed to reveal everything, show you’ve got nothing to hide. You’re too shy for your own good, Henry. You could learn something from Bert. He’s not afraid to wear tight clothes.’

‘Bert would do better to keep his mind on our mission. We’re here to put an end to the EMG, to see that this wave of crime is brought to an end and that truth and justice prevail once more. Instead all he thinks about is finding someone to go home with at the end of his ‘shift.’ And what’s this shift business he’s always talking about. We are on duty 24/7/365. To hear him talk, you would think the Ministry is supposed to pay us overtime if we work more than eight hours a day. Where’s the sidekick anyway? He should be here by now.’

‘I forgot to tell you. He dropped by earlier for a cup of tea. He has a date tonight and won’t be around.’

‘That’s the second night this week, Mum. He’s just not reliable. Criminals don’t take holidays. Nor can we. I like Bert, but I need someone I can count on to watch my back in tight situations.’

‘You’re too hard on him, Henry. He’s young, and, well, he has needs, son.’

‘You know what I think, Mum. I think he’s staying out on protest. He was on about the car again, About how it wasn’t suitable for a superhero.’

‘He may have something there. A Mini Cooper is fine for shopping and visiting Aunt Lou, but if you’re going to make a mark, you need something more showy, one of them flashy foreign cars. Something that says a superhero is charging to the rescue. I bet the EMG doesn’t rid around in a Mini Cooper. You barely fit into it anyway, you’re so big. It takes you five minutes to get and out of it. What you going to do if you’re chasing the EMG and have to get out and pursue him on foot? He’d be ten miles away by the time you got out from under the wheel.’

‘Mum, I’m trying to save the world here, not impress it. Besides, the car is fuel efficient. It’s important that we make a statement to young people everywhere. We have to be green.’

‘Leave that to Mr Planet.’ Mrs. Colson sighed. Even though he was her own son, she had to admit that Henry was hopeless. He was a good boy, but he had no style. He would rather potter about in the garden and deadhead the daisies than go out for a bit of fun. Well, he took after his father in that. A decent man without an ounce of excitement in him. A crossword was his idea of a thrilling evening. Well, god rest his soul. He had been a good husband, and Fridays, she must admit, Fridays had been a treat. She smiled to herself in remembrance.

‘Mum, did you buy a new top too!’ Henry stared in shock at the knit jersey. It encased his torso in gleaming flesh-coloured fabric with lime-green candy stripes, the pink ‘R’ in the centre of his chest flanked on either side by his bulging pecs. His biceps strained the cloth and distorted the stripes, emphasizing the size of the muscle. His nipples were positively perky as they poked up against the fabric. Every nook and cranny of his body was visible. Nothing was hidden. He might as well have painted the stripes on his body.

‘I got a shorter cape, too. It will show more of your lower body. The old one covered up too much.’

‘Mum, I won’t be able to walk through Kemptown in this outfit.’

‘Now, son, trust your old mum. You’re going to be an inspiration to every young man in Brighton. They’re going to eat you up.’

‘That’s what worries me.’

‘I’ve got to get ready. Ada is picking me in a few minutes.’

‘Where are you off to?’

‘We’re going to see the new show at the Dome. Elaine is performing tonight. If you’re taking the car, you’ll need to fill the tank. I didn’t have time earlier after I finished shopping for you.’

The Rock pulled on his knee-high pink candy-striped boots and adjusted the matching mask over his face. ‘I shouldn’t be driving with this on. It obstructs my side vision.’ From head to foot, he was covered in bright candy stripes. ‘How am I going to drive without Bert watching for cross-traffic?’ Another evening of fighting crime with no one to relax with afterward, he thought sourly. He had so looked forward to a long chat with Bert, the review of the evening’s action, the tallying of accomplishments, the shared intimacy of two brothers battling evil. It was hard enough being a superhero, but when he had signed on for the job, no one had mentioned the loneliness of a superhero without a sidekick to cuddle at the end of the night. Bert had become rather distant since that day he had used his mind-control powers on him. Well, it was the old story. One partner always cared more than the other. It just wasn’t fair. Perhaps he should apply for a superdog.

He shut the front door a bit harder than necessary. Across Upper Crescent street, that nosey Mrs Parker drew aside the curtains and peered out to discover which of her neighbours was going out. When she saw the Rock, she called her husband and her daughter to the window. As he turned his back to them to open the car door, he felt exposed. He might as well have been naked for all the concealment his costume provided. As he manoeuvred his body under the steering wheel, he could hear her talking about him through the open window. ‘Joan, get back. Don’t look. He’s not fit to be seen. James, you must have a talk with him. I don’t care if he is a crime fighter and a superhero. He can’t walk around a decent neighbourhood like this dressed liked that.’ His mood did not improve when he discovered that the car wouldn’t start. His mother must have been driving on the fumes at the end.

Sir Simon closed the file folder with the dossier on the Brighton Rock. There were some interesting twists to this superhero’s modus operandi. For one thing, the Rock seemed bent more on reforming criminals than on putting them in jail. In the week or so that he had been active, he had somehow convinced old Wiley Lomax to give up loan sharking and devote his talents to raising money for orphans. And Tommy Hobbes had apparently abandoned his cross-channel smuggling operations and was now using his fleet of small boats to give senior citizens free trips to the Channel Islands. Sir Simon’s income would suffer if this continued—which it would not, of course. He made a note on the folder telling Philip to clear his appointments for the weekend. Unfortunately he could not trust his subordinates to deal with the superheroes. Only he had the powers to do that. And it was best to nip these heroes in the bud (or with some of them, he smiled to himself, in the butt) before they got too active and began giving people the idea that they could get away with being good.

He would have to travel down to Brighton after tending to the new addition to his collection on Thursday. A day or two should be enough to deal with the Rock. He made another note to Philip to order a new plaque for the display case. ‘The Brighton Rock.’ He checked Sunday’s date and added ‘July 8, 2007.’ Best not to assume the Rock would be a pushover. It was wiser to allow two days, perhaps use the opportunity to drop in on his troops in the south. A pat on the back or a tightening of the screw—it never hurt to remind them that the boss was watching. Yes, the sea air would do him good. But not, he shuddered at the thought, in Brighton. He added a note to Philip—reservations at the Carleton Crest for the weekend for himself, Philip, two guards, and his driver. And book a table at that restaurant in Pyecombe that dear Geoff FitzMorac had been raving about in his last review. The one that had the toad-in-the-hole made with certified nonorganic eggs and farm-factory pork-part chipolatas and boiled sprouts with genuine margarine and the super spotted dick pudding with artificial soy-based clotted cream substitute. Giles’s review had had his mouth watering. He could taste the feast already. Perhaps if he asked ahead of time, they would make boiled cabbage as well. He would need extra energy this weekend.

He opened the dossier again and idly leafed through the photographs of the Rock and his sidekick. The duo was so new that the sidekick was still nameless. Bert, just plain Bert, for now. Perhaps he should be called “Candy Wrapper.” Well, he would be out of business soon, and then he would need no name. For some reason, the Rock looked familiar. He couldn’t quite say why, but definitely someone he had seen before. He would ask Philip in the morning. Philip had a good memory for faces. And he must say that the Rock had a superb body. Much better than the usual run of heroes he had been encountering lately. In fact, perhaps the Rock would make a good guard. He could have the doctor prepare him for service rather than display. It was something to think about at least. Mentally Sir Simon stripped the Rock of his costume and dressed him in a black jockstrap. Oh, definitely something to think about. Much bigger than his usual guard, but for a change, that might be welcome. The sidekick wasn’t bad either. Both would be excellent additions to his collections, either as guards or as displays. He took a sip of his drink and savoured the bite of the smoky whiskey on his tongue.

The thought of the two superheroes under his control aroused him. He closed the folder. Who should he have tonight? The pictures of the Rock had made him hungry for something in a large size. He mentally reviewed the roster of his guards and then picked up the phone. He rather fancied the all-beef paddy special. ‘Prepare Sean and send him to my bedroom at midnight.’

It was nearly nine-thirty before the Rock got the car filled up. There was no point in driving now. Every parking space would be taken. He had made the mistake of calling a taxi to take him to central Brighton and had to endure the driver’s curiosity. ‘Oh, so you’re the new superhero. What’re are those clothes made of? Looks like rubber or latex. Wait until I tell the wife who was riding in my cab tonight. Can I get a picture of the two of us? I’ve got my camera right here. It won’t take a second.’ A passer-by had agreed to take the picture on the condition that the driver then take his picture with the Rock. So the Rock had posed with his arm around the driver’s shoulder. Long-time mates, on the strength of a cabride. Same with the passer-by.

Soon there was a queue of eager posers, all of them wanting a picture. Each of them found it necessary to grasp the Rock firmly on some portion of his anatomy. One of the kids had hands sticky from an ice cream treat. A chocolate paw print marked each place he had touched the Rock’s thighs. In the end, he had had to be quite firm in reminding his fans that he was there to prevent evildoers from taking over Brighton before he could get away. And then it was not without complaints from those remaining in the queue. ‘Just because ’e’s a super’ero ’e thinks ’e can be rude.’ ‘The Margate Mongoose was ever so much nicer before the EMG got him. A proper gentleman he was. He gave Gran his autograph. She still has it framed above the mantle.’ Those were the quotable remarks. Some people just couldn’t fathom that he had feelings even if he was a superhero. Couldn’t they see that he was trying his best? He wasn’t doing this for himself after all.

And then there was all the pointing and sniggering behind his back as he walked. He tried to stride purposefully through the crowds, ever alert to the radiations of evil that marked the habitual criminal, but it was hard to take his mission seriously when he couldn’t walk five feet without someone patting his rear. A couple of the lads even pinched it. He could feel his buttocks straining the fabric with each step he took, the seam disappearing into the crack. He could even picture how it looked, the glut tensing and riding up as he took a stride and then rolling down as the other one moved up with the next step, the motion of the muscle inviting one’s hand to touch it. He became lost in a reverie for a second as he recalled the feel of a hard muscle bunching under his palm, Stan looking around with a smile as he realized that Henry was shyly touching him. Stan had been a work of art. His mentor at the Superhero Training Centre in Hampstead, he had helped Henry overcome his inhibitions and grow in so many ways. Henry would be eternally grateful. If he closed his eyes, he could feel Stan’s arm around his shoulder, the feel of Stan’s body in bed, the surprising softness of Stan’s lips against his throat. He felt the familiar stirring in his groin as he thought of Stan. He barely registered the camera flash as someone took his picture. All he was aware of was the empty feeling as he thought of Stan’s brief career as the Sheffield Knife before he was knackered by the EMG.

His daydream was interrupted suddenly as he felt an emanation of evil from a side-street. A lost tourist had wandered down the wrong path, and two miscreants were about to accost her. The Rock hurried down the dark street after her, his thoughts reaching out to the two would-be muggers. One of them was about to snatch the woman’s purse when he stopped in mid-thought. ‘Ma’am, do you need help finding your way?’

‘Oh, yes, I thought this would be a shortcut back to Lewes Road, but I seem to have taken a wrong turn.’

‘Brighton can be very confusing, ma’am. If you’d like, we’ll show you the way.’

The three walked past the Rock, paying him not a second’s notice. At least he had done one good thing tonight, he thought. Oh, if he ever found Bert, he would . . . In fact, why didn’t he find Bert? Bert could earn his pay. He probably was ensconced in the Mastiff, trying to impress some visiting tourist.

The Rock trudged back to St James Street. The Mastiff was crowded with its customary mix of locals and visitors. Luckily, Mike was behind the bar. If any knew where Bert was, he would. ‘If it isn’t the Rock come to visit us now. Taking a break from being a hero? Must be thirsty work. Your usual, Rock?’ Mike paused long enough to look the Rock up and down. ‘Hmm. Nice. Didn’t know you were cut, Rock. Some people favour that.’

‘Mum thought this outfit would improve my image.’ For once the Rock was glad of the mask. It hid his blushes.

‘Your mother is a wise woman, Rock. Must be her background on the stage, makes her know how to show off your . . . better points. Takes balls to wear those tights, though.’ Mike smiled at the Rock as he slid the pint of diet lemonade across the bar.

‘Have you seen Bert tonight?’

‘He was in here earlier. Talking to some guy about a car. He left with him.’

‘What guy?’

‘Not a local. Never saw him before. He was asking a lot of questions about you and Bert earlier, and when Bert walked in, he cornered him. They sat at that table for a couple of rounds and then left together.’

‘You don’t know where?’

‘None of my business, Rock, what Bert gets up to on his day off. You’d better drink up. I’m about to call time. Early closing tonight.’

The streets were crowded with people leaving the pubs, and he couldn’t get a taxi. He had to walk home through a light rain. His mother was still out having fun with her friends when he got back. He climbed the stairs to his room. He stripped off his costume and put it in the laundry basket. It smelled. He suspected that he smelled as well. He took a quick shower in lukewarm water so as to conserve energy, brushed his teeth, put on his flannel pyjamas, and lay down on his bed. He had slept in the same bed his entire life and had outgrown it several years before. Now his arms trailed on the floor, and his feet extended beyond the bottom. The light from the streetlamp outside shone through the thin curtain. He put on the eye mask Aunt Lou had given him years ago when as a boy he had complained about the light. He quickly went to sleep.

Sir Simon lay face down on the massage table as Sean gave his entire body a deep, penetrating kneading. The aroma of the scented oil perfumed the air. The soft light of the candles flickered on the walls, the shadows magnifying Sean’s size. When he felt thoroughly relaxed, all the tension removed from his body by Sean’s hands, he sent a thought tendril up through Sean’s arms and into his mind. He found the proper spot and gave it a light tap, just enough to make Sean receptive and turn his mind toward another form of satisfaction. He felt his servant pause for just a moment as he switched gears and his libido took over. Another tap, and Sean moaned with desire. Sir Simon rolled over and sat up. Sean was licking his lips, his eyes anticipating the pleasures of Simon’s body. Simon moved to the bed and lay down on his back, his head and shoulders propped up on several pillows. The freshly laundered and ironed silk sheets felt cool beneath his body. There were some who said that money couldn’t buy happiness. What fools, he chuckled to himself. It might not be happiness, but it was far from misery.

Sean stood beside his bed waiting for further instructions. Simon stroked the inside of Sean’s thighs, his hand gliding over the smooth flesh, his thoughts reaching into Sean’s mind. Sean bent low over Simon’s groin and took Simon into his mouth. Simon stroked his hair, murmuring encouragement and adjusting the tension of Sean’s lips and cheeks and the length of the strokes. Just enough to keep him rigid. He traced the column of Sean’s backbone down until the flesh parted at the buttocks. His fingers probed between them. Sean began to moan more loudly and to pant. Simon liked to see one of the lads get excited. He sent another thought into Sean’s mind. Sean gave a final long wet lick and then smoothly impaled himself, his face filled with the ecstasy of pleasing Simon. Sean’s tight butt fit itself closely around Simon, and the straps of Sean’s jockstrap pushed against his groin as Sean pressed his body down.

Sir Simon motioned for his servant to lean forward. He pinched Sean’s nipples gently between his fingers and sent pulses into the guard’s body. With each pulse, Sean rose up slightly and tightened his muscled ass, gently squeezing Simon. Simon calibrated Sean’s motions until both of them were just at the edge of orgasm. Simon held himself at that point, but he built the pressure in Sean’s mind until the young man began begging him for more. Simon thought a little amusement would suit him better. He reached into Sean’s mind and imaged a glittering ice sculpture, true in every detail, very cold, very hard, inside Sean. Sean shrieked in pain as the cold stabbed through his body. But the guard could not stop riding his cock, taking it deeper and deeper inside of him, shivering and trembling as his body froze. Gradually Simon changed the column of ice into gleaming steel, just as cold and just as hard. And the harder Sean rode it, the hotter it became. Not too hot, he decided. After all, he wasn’t a sadist. Just hot enough to make Sean groan so delectably. Sean loves the burning pain, he thought. “Oh, yes. Make it hotter. Please make it hotter,” moaned the doll on the end of his cock. Control was so erotic. He would toy with Sean as long as he could, he decided, and then make his puppet faint from the pleasure of an anal orgasm. The explosion in his ass would obliterate him. Simon thrust upward into his willing servant, calculating the exact degree of pleasure that would torment Sean most.

Henry awoke to the sound of his mother singing one of her old show tunes in the kitchen. He hadn’t heard her sing like that since his father had died. It was one of the happy memories of his childhood. Every Friday evening his parents had gone out to the pub with their friends. When they came back, they always brought him chocolates and sent him to bed. The next morning his mother would be singing as she prepared breakfast. His parents had so loved their ‘Friday night treat,’ as they called it. Well, it was good to see his mother get out again. He hadn’t even heard her come in last night. For all that he knew, she had just arrived home. She was thoughtful that way, careful not to disturb his sleep. She had mourned his father too long. Perhaps he should suggest that she could start dating again. Mr Turner down the street had asked him how his mother was doing the other day. He might make a good partner for her. It was time he did something for his mum; she would never date if left to her own devices.

When he came downstairs, his mother set two sausage rolls, a fried tomato, and two slices of thick fried bread onto a plate and handed it to him. ‘Don’t know why, but I feel ravenous this morning. Eetabix just weren’t enough. For some reason, sausage rolls popped into my mind as the proper breakfast today.’ She burst into song again as she fix a plate for herself.

‘Good show, Mum?’

‘The best. Elaine just put me in the mood for fun. Ada and Lou and I went out afterwards to the pier. Haven’t been there in years. I had forgotten how much I enjoy a bit of nonsense. Did me good to get out.’

‘Just the three of you then?’

‘Well, we met some people Ada knows from work. They had a friend visiting from up north, and we all went out together. We closed the place down and then went back to Ada’s house for a drink. It was quite late when we broke up, and I walked the visitor back to his hotel.’

‘It’s good to see you enjoy yourself again, Mum.’

‘What about you, Son? I haven’t read the story in this morning’s paper about you. Who did you reform last night?’

‘It was a slow night, Mum. Didn’t do anything worthy of note.’

‘But you’re on the front page.’

She handed Henry the paper. There from the front page he strode toward the camera, apparently lost in thought, ‘Local superhero on patrol in Brighton.’ The flash from the camera illuminated all of the Rock’s assets. Through some trick of lighting, he appeared to be naked below the waist. A carefully positioned star burst kept the paper from an x rating. Suddenly Henry lost his appetite for sausage rolls. The phone began ringing with the first of the calls from the media.

The headline ‘Member for Netherende calls for investigation of Superhero scandal. “Does the Brighton Rod have a place on our streets?” Parliamentary inquiry of Ministry of Superheroes demanded’ greeted Sir Simon as he unfolded the newspaper over breakfast on Thursday morning. If things continued in this manner, he thought, he would not need to deal with the Rock personally. Protestors from the League of Public Decency, the Mothers for Modesty Campaign, and the Bishops’ Boys Foundation were picketing the Rock’s house and calling on him to turn in his cape and retire. Sir Simon’s wish exactly. Yesterday the Brighton Rock had been greeted with catcalls when he emerged for an evening of heroic daring-do and had been forced to retreat into his house and change into coveralls. They were not, to judge from the picture, a success.

‘Philip, does the Brighton Rock remind you of anyone? His face looks familiar.’

‘Yes, Sir Simon, I noticed the resemblance immediately. You see a similar face every morning.’

‘But he looks nothing like you, Philip.’

‘No, you mistake my meaning. He looks like you. Same build. Same nose. Same chin. If the uncensored pictures on the internet are any guide, he also is like you in another respect.’

Sir Simon cocked an eye at his personal assistant as he buttered a bun. Philip pointed to the picture in the newspaper. ‘I refer to the part covered in that photo.’ By now, it had been reproduced hundreds of time, and the original was widely available. The Rock had become the punch line of a thousand jokes, many of them focussing on the size of his equipment. Rumour had resulted in overnight growth of the object in question to truly superheroic proportions.

‘It will be interesting to see it in person.’

‘We are still going to Brighton, then?’

‘Yes, as soon as I finish at Dr Esterhazy’s.’

‘Our undercover agent has made contact with the no-name sidekick. They have met twice already and have arranged to meet again tonight. We have also infiltrated someone into his family circle.’

‘Good work, Philip. Arrange suitable rewards for our men in Brighton.’

‘I can’t leave you for a minute and you get in trouble. Let me see the outfit your mother bought.’

‘It’s in the top drawer. I think it shrunk in the laundry when I cleaned it.’

‘I bet you used hot water again, didn’t you? How many times have I told you these fabrics are delicate. They have to be washed at low temperatures, no bleach, no strong detergents, soft soap only. This is it?’ Bert held the garments up against his body, measuring them for size.

‘Yes, the jersey and the cape match the tights.’

‘Your mother gave you these to wear?’ Burt licked his lips. ‘They would be tight on me, let alone someone as big as you. In fact, Henry, can I have these? I can put these to good use. I’ve met this great guy. He’ll really like me in these.’ Burt smiled in anticipation of a repetition of the previous night’s acrobatics.

‘That’s another thing, Bert. I thought we were a team, and now you’re seeing someone else.’

‘Henry, Henry. I told you right from the start, an open relationship. Didn’t I tell you an open relationship? I never promised you would be the only one. We have an open relationship. Superhero and sidekick with benefits. William is fun, and he takes me to expensive places. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel, I don’t know, like there’s sparks flying between us. Do you know what I’m talking about?’

‘That’s how you make me feel.’

‘Oh, Henry. What am I going to do with you?’ Bert regarded Henry with tolerant amusement. ‘Come here, big guy. Let Bertie work a little magic.’

‘No, you’ve got William to do for you now.’

‘Henry! Come here. You know you want it. Come on. Sit down on the bed where I can put my arms around you. That’s better. Now lie back. Relax. Just let Bertie take care of everything.’ Bertie sighed to himself. It took so much energy just to keep Henry fired up and the Rock in action. No one at the Training Centre had told him that Henry had self-esteem problems. If he had known what it would be like, he would have accepted the position with the Huntington Fox. God, the legs on that guy. Of course, the Fox hadn’t lasted long against the EMG. A short chase, a few jumps, and the EMG had his tail. But he had opted for Henry because he wanted the Brighton lights. Henry was a good lad, his heart was in the right place, and he did have the power (and the other evening had been stupendous), but he was a bit naïve and simple. Wouldn’t last a minute on his own without Bert to look after him.

‘There, now, doesn’t that feel good?’

‘It’s ok.’

‘Just ok? To judge from the bulge, you seem to be enjoying it. What if I do this?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Just relax, Henry, just close your eyes and relax. You’re safe in Bertie’s hands now. Just relax.’

‘Oh, Bertie, that feels so good.’

‘Just relax, Henry. Remember last time, and how you relaxed so completely and then I gave you the deep, deep, penetrating massage. Would you like me to do that again?’

‘Please, Bertie.’

‘All right, Henry. Good, you fixed the squeak in the bed. You won’t have to worry that we’re disturbing your mum.’

‘Arghhhh.’

‘Henry, if you roar like that, the whole neighbourhood is going to be disturbed.’

. . . . . . . .

‘See, you enjoyed yourself. You feel better now, don’t you?’

‘How can you tell?’

‘You’re singing. You always sing when you’ve had a good time.’

‘Ah, Sir Simon. Everything is ready for you.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Sir Simon watched the trainee through the observation window. The newspapers were no longer giving the story front-page treatment, but they still occasionally ran a story on the young man’s sudden disappearance. Perhaps it had not been wise to abduct Antonio Arcangelo, the sensational new striker for the Loch Nessies. There had been a lot of publicity. But the moment he had seen that boyish look, those curly black locks draped artlessly over his forehead, the firm mouth, the supple athletic body, he had lusted to harvest the lad. And he was, after all, the EMG, and he got what he wanted, always. The police had confessed that they were baffled by the lack of evidence. Antonio had gone missing from his hotel room the night before the big game with United. The absence of the teams’ star was not noted until several hours later when he failed to show up for the game. An added bonus had been the Nessies’ loss to United. Sir Simon had made a lot of money on that game. It had looked as if the Nessies would win against United on the strength of Antonio’s skills, and the betting had run heavily in their favour.

For the last three weeks, the doctor had been subjecting Antonio’s body and mind to chemical stimulants designed to lower his resistance to the barrage of suggestions that filled his ears during every waking moment. Now, the trainee lay in a stupor on the examination table, waiting for the conversion. His entire body felt heavy, too heavy to move. Even his thoughts felt heavy and sluggish. His past was dim. Antonio felt that something important was about to happen, but he couldn’t seem to focus on it very much. The images flickered in and out of his mind. The moment he caught at a thought, he slipped away into a dreamless state, where shadowy white-clad figures glided in and out of his sight. When he could arrange his thoughts in some sort of order, he suspected that he had been injured in a game and was being treated in hospital.

A dark figure came into his field of vision and blocked most of the light. It felt good to be out of the harsh light. Antonio was dimly conscious of hands reaching out to his forehead and cool fingers rubbing the areas beside his eyes. A calming circular motion. All he wanted to do was just to relax. It felt so good just to relax and close his eyes. He took a deep breath, the muscles of his stomach and chest swelling, and then he let it out slowly and relaxed. His eyelids were so heavy, all he wanted to do was close them and just relax and go deeper and deeper. Down further and further. His entire body floating, weightless, stripped of all concerns, so warm, so comfortable, so safe, so relaxed. Feelings of peace and serenity filled his mind. He felt so good. He had never felt better in his life. The more he relaxed and opened his mind, the better he felt. And he felt so good. And he felt better and better the more he relaxed and opened his mind.

There was a chalkboard filled with the details of the life of someone named Antonio Arcangelo. The dark figure picked up an eraser and slowly erased all the writing on the chalkboard. Then he took a wet cloth and wiped away even the dust of Antonio’s life. Antonio had ceased to be. The chalkboard was empty. He felt so much better now freed of all of burden of the past, empty, the chalkboard pristine, waiting to be written on. He just let go. No more Antonio. No more anything. Just empty and obedient.

Obedient to Sir Simon. Tony was Sir Simon’s servant. Tony had always been Sir Simon’s servant. It felt so good to be Sir Simon’s servant. He existed to serve and please Sir Simon and only Sir Simon. Totally obedient to Sir Simon. It felt so good to serve and to please Sir Simon. Sir Simon was the centre of his life. Sir Simon was the master, the owner, Sir Simon’s pleasure the sole concern of his life.

Sir Simon was deep inside his mind, and Tony felt so good. He had never felt better. He felt even better when Sir Simon controlled him and reached inside his mind and made him feel so good. The power of Sir Simon’s orgasms, the pleasure that only Sir Simon could bring him. Now he must sleep. Sir Simon wanted him to sleep. He must sleep, and when he awoke, he wouldn’t be sick any more. He would be back to normal, and he would return to his duties as Sir Simon’s servant. He had always been Sir Simon’s servant, proudly wearing Sir Simon’s livery of a black jockstrap.

‘I thought we could go for a drive this morning. Help me take the top off the car.’

‘Super, William. It will be nice to get away from Brighton for a change.’

As Bert had anticipated, William had been appreciative of the Rock outfit when he had put on it the night before. Most appreciative, in fact.

‘We can drop in on a friend of mine who’s staying at the Carleton. I’m sure Sir Simon will invite us to lunch.’

Bert liked the sound of ‘Sir’ Simon and lunch at the Carleton. He was sure that on what the Ministry paid him, he couldn’t afford to order a glass of water at the Carleton. The wind blowing through the car made it impossible to talk, but he loved the way it ruffled his hair. He was sure that he would look even more alluring than usual when they arrived at the Carleton. The dishevelled hair, the dark stubble on his unshaven face. The slightly dissolute pout he had practiced for so long in the mirror that added a slight threat of menace to his boyish looks. His dancer’s body with its agile promise. If Sir Simon was an friend of William, perhaps they shared certain interests. A meal à trois at the Carleton. He could grow accustomed to that.

And, in the event, it was more than he dreamed possible. Simon had been so friendly and made him immediately feel at ease. He reminded Bert of someone else. Not in manner, but in looks. He couldn’t figure out who Simon looked like. He certainly didn’t know anyone that suave and elegant.

Simon ordered lunch for the three of them and had it served on the balcony of his suite on the top floor of the Carleton. The balcony looked out over the sea, and they had complete privacy. After the waiters cleared away lunch, Bert leaned on the parapet and gazed out across the Channel. It was a perfect day. The blue sky was mirrored in the great grey-blue ocean, the French seacoast was a dim brown and green smudge on the horizon. A few white puffy clouds floating in the distance were echoed in the white sails of a boat that skimmed along offshore. When William excused himself to make a few phone calls, he was left alone with Simon.

When Simon stood next to him on the balcony, he could almost feel the heat from his body. It was so flattering to have such a handsome, obviously successful man interested in him. Bert subtly shifted his weight so that his buttocks jutted out at what he knew was an attractive angle. When Simon touched him on the wrist, Bert felt a wave of pleasure flow up his arm and then through his body. ‘I could use a bright, good-looking lad like you in my organization, Bert.’

‘I’ve already a job, Sir Simon.’

‘Simon, just plain Simon. No need for formality. Come inside and we can discuss this. I’m sure I can make you an offer you can’t refuse.’

Bert sat next to Simon on the couch. Simon gently stroked the back of his neck. ‘William tells me that you are the Brighton Rock’s assistant.’

Bert felt so warm and comfortable. ‘Yes, he depends on me. He’s a bit of a duffer.’

‘I wonder how much job security there is for you in working with the Rock. He hardly seems destined to last long, given all the negative publicity he’s been attracting lately. You don’t want to be associated with someone like that. It could affect your future job prospects if an employer thought you were a participant in his perversions.’

Simon’s touch was so wonderful. Just that light stroking of his neck, that wonderfully sensitive spot beneath the ear. No one had ever touched that spot with so much finesse. It felt as if his entire body was floating in the air. He had never felt so aroused yet so light.

‘It’s an important job, though. At the Ministry of Superheroes, they are relying on the Rock to bring the EMG to justice.’

Simon smiled. It was such a lovely smile. Bert would do anything for another one of those smiles. ‘But how much time does the Rock have left? The EMG has defeated every superhero the Ministry has sent against him. He has a room filled with the trophies chronicling his victories over them.’

‘How do you know that?’ Bert had never felt so certain that the Rock was doomed. He was hopeless. Better to get out while he could. He didn’t want to end up a trophy in the EMG’s collection.

‘I’ve seen it. I can show it to you. You will enjoy seeing it.’

‘Yes, I would like that.’

‘You will enjoy it very much. It will be the greatest pleasure in your life.’

‘Yes, the greatest pleasure in my life.’

Simon placed a hand on either side of Bert’s face and drew him close. Bert’s lips parted as Simon kissed him and sent a wave of oblivion through his mind. Bert would float in a sea of wonderful dreams during the entire trip to Dr Esterhazy’s laboratory.

Simon smiled again as he surveyed the sidekick’s limp body. He loved his life. No other profession offered such rewards. Whatever he wanted was his. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, I will add the Rock to my collection. Today, he would treat himself to Philip and the two guards, perhaps even the chauffeur, and then a swim in the ocean before dinner. It would be the perfect start to the weekend.

‘Mum, they’ve got Bert. The EMG has got Bert.’

The Rock held up a piece of paper that had been lying on the floor of the front hall. Someone had stuck it through the mail flap during the night. In letters cut out of magazines, it proclaimed in lurid type: ‘If you want to see Bert before I warp his mind, be on the beach at Selsey at midnight. Come alone. Do not alert the police. Follow instructions or Bert will suffer the consequences. The EMG.’

‘Ignore it, Henry, it’s just a joke. Some kids pulling your leg. Bert will show up any moment.’

‘He didn’t call yesterday. I didn’t hear from him. Mum, the EMG has kidnapped Bert. I’ve got to rescue him.’

‘Bert’s not reliable. You said so yourself. He’s probably taken off for a long weekend with this new friend of his. This William, he was telling me about. He’s very keen on his pleasures, is our Bert. In any case, how do you know the note is real? It could just be a hoax designed to lure you into danger or some newspaper’s stunt to get more pictures.’

‘I can feel the evil in the note, Mum. It’s got the aura of evil, it’s got the bad vibes, the malevolent emanations. Only the EMG could leave so much evil in a piece of paper.’

‘Son, if the EMG has Bert, he would have one of his many minions prepare the note. You wouldn’t sense anything but servitude. The EMG’s too important to waste his time cutting letters out of magazines. You’re imagining things. That’s your problem. Too much imagination. Not enough common sense.’

‘Fine. Don’t believe me. At least I thought I could count on you, Mum. Everybody is deserting me and turning against me.’

‘Son, I don’t like your tone. You’re not too old for a spanking. I still have your father’s belt.’

As always, Henry felt contrite at upsetting his mother. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’ve just been under a lot of tension lately. What with the press bothering me and the pickets outside the house and all.’

‘That’s no excuse for such behaviour, Henry. To think that at my age, my own son would accuse me of deserting him. Your father and I worked hard all our lives to provide for you, and this is the thanks I get.’ His mother slammed her cup down so hard on the table that tea splashed the tablecloth. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do.’

‘I’m sorry, Mum. You’re probably right. It’s just a hoax.’

‘Probably? I am right,’ Mrs Colson declared fiercely. ‘You mark my words, Son. Bert will turn up tonight, singing his head off. Now lift your plate and glass of milk so I can remove this cloth. I want to soak it before those stains set.’

Luckily, Mrs. Colson had arranged to show the visitor from the north around Brighton on Saturday evening, and Henry had been able to leave the house without her quizzing him about where he was going. His mother had taken the car, however, and he had had to take the bus to Selsey. The village of Selsey was surrounded by beach, and he had no idea where he was supposed to wait. So at 11:55 he stood near the tip of the peninsula. The lights of Selsey shimmered in the water, and he could hear an occasional burst of laughter from someone’s television. The slap of waves against the moored boats only served to emphasize the silence. A few late revellers walked the beach, and a friendly dog had approached him for a sniff. He opened his mind and searched for the sensation that he felt whenever he was in the presence of evil. There was nothing. Perhaps his mother had been right. At 12:30, he abandoned the effort. It had been a hoax. At least he wasn’t dressed in the Rock costume. The newspapers wouldn’t have a picture of him being embarrassed.

The last bus had left hours ago. He could either walk to Bognor Regis and try to find a room at this late hour or spend the night on the beach and return in the morning. Somehow the thought of being alone seemed preferable. He hoped the police didn’t check the beach at night. He’d better find a sheltered spot.

‘Good evening.’

Henry gave a start. He hadn’t heard or felt the man approaching. That in itself was unusual. Usually he felt something from everyone he passed. He must have been so lost in thought that his antennae were turned off.

‘Hello.’ Even in the dim light on the beach, it was apparent that the man was attractive. He was almost as large and tall as Henry. For once Henry was not looking down at the person he was talking with. There was, he discovered, an unfamiliar feeling of pleasure from looking another human being directly in the eye. The other man’s dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his eyes flashed as they caught the light. At least it wasn’t the EMG. There was nothing but goodwill and kindness emanating from the stranger. ‘A nice evening for a walk on the beach. Do you come here often?’

‘No, it’s my first time. And you.’

‘My first time also. I am just visiting the area and thought a walk in the night air would help clear my head. I’m staying at the Carleton Crest.’

‘Never been there. A bit above my means.’

The stranger smiled. ‘My name is Simon Lucas, by the way. If you don’t mind some company on your walk, perhaps I could accompany you for a distance.’

‘Henry Colson.’

‘Your face is familiar, Mr. Colson. Have we met before?’

Henry stared at Simon Lucas as the two of them walked close to a light on the pier. ‘You also remind me of someone, Mr. Lucas. I can’t quite think who.’ Henry was very conscious of the stranger’s closeness, the way his muscular legs stretched the fabric of his jeans, the easy fit of his coat over his wide shoulders. Simon Lucas smiled and offered Henry a hand as he stepped up onto the seawall.

When Simon sent a small tingle of pleasure into Henry, his intent was to lull Henry and begin the seduction that would end with Henry in his bed at the Carleton and then under transport to Dr Esterhazy’s. Henry reacted without thinking to the invasion. He sent a wave of pleasure back into Simon.

The two of them gasped in surprise. It was the first time in their lives that either had experienced the sensations they could cause in others. Simon looked quizzically at Henry. The two were still holding hands. He send a stronger wave of pleasure into Henry, and Henry’s response left him gasping.

‘You . . .’

‘I never . . .’

The two embraced in a frenzy of delight. Each sent energy into the other’s pleasure centres, in an escalating orgy of sensations. It wasn’t until every dog in Selsey began barking that they became conscious that they were standing on a public street. Already householders were beginning to turn on lights and pull back curtains to see what was upsetting the dogs.

‘We are causing a disturbance in the farce. My hotel is just a few minutes’ walk.’ Simon pointed eastward along the beach. Henry could only nod his assent. He felt so short of breath and dizzy. He followed Simon along the cliff path. To his right, the waves from a distant storm far out in the Atlantic began pounding the beach and roared over the shingle, disturbing the quiet of the peaceful English countryside. The foam glittered white against the shale as it surged up the beach and then retreated. Henry was dimly conscious of entering a brightly lit area and then getting into an elevator with Simon. When they were alone in the elevator, Simon touched him and they exchanged sparks, laughing with their newfound delight.

Simon locked the door after them. The two tore off their clothes and began exploring each other’s body, testing the pleasures only each could give the other. When Henry formed a mental image of a column deep in Simon’s mind and began sending concentric bands of energy up and down it, Simon knew that at long last he had found his superhero.

Hours later, as they lay exhausted in bed, Simon idly explored Henry’s mind. It was an ineffable pleasure for Henry to open his mind with complete trust and let Simon wander through it. The two of them were locked in a mind meld.

‘You have very strong feelings for your mother.’

‘Yes, she’s a wonderful woman.’

‘I never knew my mother. She died when I was born. I was raised by my father.’

Henry suddenly felt all of Simon’s loneliness and knew the pains of a small, unloved child brought up in a cold household.

‘But that’s terrible.’ Thoughts of his own loving parents arose in his mind.

‘Oh, that is so wonderful. I had no idea. I would like to meet your mother.’

‘I can’t wait to introduce you to mum. She’ll be so pleased that I finally found someone.’

Sir Simon’s Rolls Royce blocked the entrance to Upper Crescent street. It was too wide to make its way down the narrow street. The arrival of the expensive motorcar had attracted immediate attention, and curtains had twitched as people had peeked out at the distinguished-looking stranger the Colson boy had brought home. The residents of Upper Crescent suddenly found reasons to be in the street and to stroll slowly past the Colson home.

‘Henry, I need you to run to the store to get milk.’

‘We’ve got milk, Mum.’

‘Henry, I want to talk to our guest alone. Run, no, don’t run, walk to the store to get a pint of milk. Take the money from my purse. Take your time. I need an hour to speak with Simon.’

She and Simon waited without speaking until they heard the door close behind Henry. Mrs Colson stood up and watched him walk down the street. When Henry turned the corner, she pulled the drapes and sat down opposite Simon. ‘Was your father Sir Henry Lucas?’

‘Yes, but how do you know that?’

‘Do you have a port-wine birthmark shaped like a dagger on the inside of your right thigh?’

‘I used to. I had it removed by laser surgery.’

Mrs Colson gasped, and her eyes watered. She reached beneath an end table and pulled out a photo album. ‘In my youth, I was a singer. I performed at several clubs in London, appeared in reviews, that sort of thing. I never became famous, but people were beginning to notice me.’ She opened the album and quickly thumbed through the pages. ‘This is your father and me.’ His father had his arms around a scantily clad showgirl that was obviously a younger version of the woman seated opposite Simon.

‘Your father and I were close friends for a while. Very close friends. Then something happened, and I had to quit the stage for several months. Your father took care of me and arranged for the hospital and everything.’

‘What happened?’ Simon had begun to suspect the answer.

‘I became pregnant. I only saw Ralph, that was what I called the baby, briefly. Your father told me that he had arranged for an adoption, and the baby was taken away from me after a few days. But apparently, he decided to raise Ralph himself. You must have seen the resemblance between Henry and yourself.’

‘My name is Ralph? Henry and I are brothers? But Dad told me, he told my mother had died giving birth to me.’

‘Half-brothers, you would be. . . . Tell me, do you have certain mental powers?’

‘Yes, I’m just like Henry. I can reach inside other people’s minds and influence them.’

‘Oh, son!’

‘Mummy!’

In his excitement, Simon let loose a great burst of energy. To his astonishment, the woman he had just discovered was his mother deflected the burst and sent it back against him. ‘You, too?’

‘Well, neither of you inherited your powers from your fathers. Both of them were nice men, but not particularly talented. Well that’s not quite right. They were not completely untalented.’ She smiled to herself before gathering herself together again. ‘Now see here. Henry doesn’t know about me, and you are not to tell him. Your powers and Henry’s were diluted by your father’s genes. I have the powers in full. I’ve hidden my abilities from him, so that I could protect him without injuring his pride. It would destroy what little self-confidence he has if he found out that half the superheroic deeds he’s performed have been my doing. So you keep your mouth shut about it or I’ll give you whatfor. Now, does Henry know that you’re the EMG.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Son, a mother knows. Now you and Henry have a bit of a thing going, don’t you? What’s the matter? You look shocked.’

‘Oh no, I just realized. We committed incest. I thought I had found my soul mate and instead I shacked up with my brother.’

‘Well, at least you won’t have to worry about the children being born with two heads.’

‘But why didn’t you and my father get married?’

‘We came from two different worlds. Could a chorus girl from Brighton find happiness as the wife of the rich and titled Sir Henry Lucas? NO, no, your father and I agreed that it was better to part.’ She raised a hankie to wipe a tear from her eye. ‘Is that your car down the street?’ The sudden shift to her adamantine mode stunned Simon. He nodded yes, unable to speak. ‘I want you to get into it and drive away. I’ll tell Henry a story. And you’re to send that fool Bert back unharmed. I need some time to think how to handle this.’

‘But now that I’ve found you and Henry, I want to be with you.’

‘Oh, I’ll be in touch, Ralph, or Simon, or whatever you call yourself. You can be sure of that. We just need to step back and think how best to proceed. Henry’s belief in goodness won’t survive finding out that you are the EMG, and I can tell that you would be unwilling to give up your posh lifestyle and settle down in Brighton. Now go. I want you out of Brighton before Henry comes back.’

Suddenly she turned the full brunt of her protectiveness of Henry upon Simon. He fled.

Simon was in the mood for a dark and stormy night. Nature, however, was not cooperating. He stood on the terrace that ran along the back of his house. The perfect reflection of the moon in the waters of his lake was unruffled by the faint cool breeze scented with the smell of new-mown grass. In his forest all was calm, even the night hunters were quiet. Predators and prey seemed wrapped in a unnatural truce. In the distance a lamb baaed for its mother. What a pathetic fallacy, he thought. Fallacy led by a short route to phallus. He couldn’t get Henry’s image out of his mind. Everything reminded him of his newfound brother. And Mommy dearest, he mustn’t forget her. She had abandoned him seemingly without a second’s thought when he was a week old. Now all she could think about was Henry’s happiness. What about his? Did he mean nothing to her? No wonder father had not married her. Probably discerned the cold-hearted gold digger beneath those overdeveloped—well, at least he knew from whom Henry had inherited his pecs. Those luscious, ripe, hard . . . oh, god. He was the EMG, he couldn’t fall for the first superhero to come along with mental powers equal to his own. Come—oh how Henry had gushed. He had thought the man would never stop. That shy little smile. That cute little dimple on his left cheek that had appeared whenever he shifted his weight onto that leg.

Did life hold no more pleasures for him? Was evil no longer to be his good? Could he, the vilest, most malevolent criminal mastermind ever to own the United Kingdom, not to mention Calais and the historic duchy of Brittany, several islands in the Caribbean, and a complete collection of all the Toby mugs ever manufactured, find happiness only in the arms of a superhero from Brighton? The trust with which Henry had let him roam through his mind. He had had no shields. It was so seductive to be trusted so utterly. To be exposed to so much goodness. He could have crushed Henry then. Ground the Brighton Rock into a powder. But he had held back. Was he developing a sweet tooth? Was he being tempted by Henry’s elemental goodness? Was the EMG’s career over? Would he devote the rest of his days to good works to make amends for all the misery he had caused? Rushing home at the end of the day to spend the evening in the arms of his beloved superhero in a rose-covered shepherd’s cottage on a country lane, with no mod cons?

A smile played across Sir Simon’s mouth as surveyed the superb scene before his eyes. Not likely, he thought. Not bloody likely. He must remind Philip in the morning to order a new plaque for the display case. For a moment he thought about waiting until after his victory over the Rock to inscribe the date. But that struck him as a cowardly admission that the Rock’s defeat could ever be in doubt.

Next Sunday’s date would do, July 15. With the dawn wind, the hawk would rise into the air, circling about, until it spotted its prey. The hunter would plummet through the air, grasp the fluffy little pink bunny wabbit in its razor-sharp talons and soar into the sky, the rising sun its sole companion in the blue empyrean.

He would set up the meeting. The sidekick could be the messenger after he had finished programming him.