The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A Little Night Music part 19

By T.MaskedWriter

“There was a castle by a waterfall, with a pink and purple wall,
and a princess living there.
She had no parents and was all alone. She got by her own,
and she liked it pretty well.
Cause she never wore her socks. She had a pet snake.
She bought a red guitar, and she ate a whole cake.
And there wasn’t anybody there to tell her what to do,
so she did what she wanted to.
And everybody knew the story of The Princess Who Saved Herself.”
—Jonathan Coulton, “The Princess Who Saved Herself

The Route 500 bus dropped Denise Cole off at the SeaTac Mall transit center in Federal Way. She walked through the rain, over to the comic shop, and picked up the Equals household’s hold boxes; then grabbed a coffee on the way back to take the connecting bus to their house. As a teenage girl with a distant, sad look on her face, wearing a backpack and carrying a coffee; she blended in perfectly with the bus crowd until she came to their stop.

She walked down their street, looking at the houses. It was nicer than the part of Tacoma where she lived, certainly. It was always when she got to their house that she stopped for a moment. It had been a big house when they’d bought it, and the addition of the four-car garage and library made it bigger than any other on the street. She looked across the road, where Rob, one of the neighbors, was wearing a raincoat and had and waxing his car.

“In the rain?” Denise thought, then dismissed it. Lots of people did unusual stuff in the rain in Washington, simply because if they waited for it to stop, the things would never get done. The yellow rain gear that he wore, like the girl on the salt can, told Denise they hadn’t lived in Washington long.

While she walked over to their mailbox, Eric, the other neighbor, came out of the house. He started toward her, when Rob called out his name. That made Denise look too, and she saw Rob giving him a gesture and saying something she couldn’t hear in the rain from across the street, but the idea she got from it was that he was telling his husband “Dude, it’s Denise, calm down.”

She waved to them while she got the mail. Eric calmed down and they both waved back before he went back inside and Rob went back to his waxing. It made her smile a little to know that their neighbors cared enough to watch out for their place while they were gone. They looked like strong guys, too. Between them and what Julie, Susan, and Troy could do, Denise didn’t envy anyone looking to steal Julie’s jewelry collection.

Denise retrieved the hidden key, brought in the newspaper, and turned off the alarm. She set the mail, comics, and newspaper on their kitchen table, and picked up the three hundred-dollar bills that were sitting on a note reading:

Denise, (probably)

Gotta run. Thanks for doing all this.

If we’re gone more than a week, there’ll be more.

Anything in the fridge is yours. (Except the booze! :) )

Two friends over, max. Keep them out of the bedrooms, please.

Believe in the Ruins?
Julie

Denise dumped the cold pot of coffee from yesterday that had been made on a timer after everyone had left in a hurry. She replaced the filter, unplugged the machine, and washed out the pot. She then filled a pitcher with water and went around the house, watering the plants. They were paying her a lot to come by every couple of days for this, but then, the Equals and Susan were just cool like that.

The day they’d met, Julie had talked Denise out of a plan to kill herself when a girl she’d been attracted to had threatened to out her as a lesbian to her parents and everyone at school. Later, Julie talked to the girl and convinced her to forget about the whole thing; then came to Denise’s house and had a word with her parents; at the end of which, coming out to them had been easier than she’d ever imagined, and they accepted who their daughter was with open arms.

She also found out that first day that Julie was a lifelong friend of a woman she truly admired; a beautiful, powerful woman who took shit from no one, and whom she only admired more when Julie told Denise that she also liked girls. She was into guys too, but nobody’s perfect. Someone smart enough to run her own country and beautiful enough to be the face of its tourism campaigns. Someone whom Julie had prank-called on Denise’s phone and whose number was still in it, but she was always too scared to call after the woman had yelled at them the first time. She figured her number had to have been blocked by now anyway.

The woman that they’d rushed out of the house and onto a flight for Europe, so they could be by her side after some psycho had stabbed her. She watched the video in horror on TV and worried until Troy called her to tell her what was happening. Knowing how much Denise admired her, Julie had provided occasional text updates since.

Walking through the house, Denise took notice of the photos on the walls and shelves. There was a cute photo collage that Julie had told her was part of a video played at their wedding, showing her and Troy sleeping in each other’s arms, starting as babies. One showed them at the age of four, Julie’s feet covered with mud that had gotten all over the sheets and blankets, snuggled up to also-four-year-old Troy. Pictures from camping trips where they’d pushed their sleeping bags together, asleep in the back seat of someone’s car; sitting up, but still snuggled together. In the center was the last photo from the video: the one that had been taken by Susan on the morning of the wedding day; always with Julie snuggled up to Troy and his arms wrapped around her.

And interspersed amongst the photos of their life together, a second girl who always kept her dark hair cut short. Her clothes weren’t as nice as Julie’s; until in the teenage photos, where the other girl started wearing Julie’s clothes from previous pictures. And as they got older in the photos, there was a change in her smile. The younger version of the dark-haired girl’s smile had always been genuine, but there was a dread about her smile. An impression that, whatever happy occasion going on in the photo, the girl knew that any good feelings that she was having right then would end as soon as she left. Only in the photos of her with the old, bearded man in the red smoking jacket, who looked like a Greek version of Santa Claus, did she ever seem to completely drop her guard and “allow” herself happiness.

The smile in the later photos; the ones where Denise suspected the girl was around her own age, told a different story. One where the shadow that loomed over the younger girl’s soul seemed to have been conquered. It had left its mark on her forever, but the thing that had marked her was gone and would never return. And the world that she saw now held promise. One that took pride in each picture showing her with yet another school language club trophy. It was in the surprising number of those pictures that Denise thought she looked happiest.

Denise continued her task, looking at the three friends in the picture, and hoping that on the other side of the world, they were all smiling now.

* * *

That evening, back at the castle; Troy, Julie, Susan, Maria, Stavro, and Colleen’s work/sleep/activity schedules had finally synchronized to the point that everyone could gather for dinner and conversation. They invited Generalissimo Ramirez to join them, however, he informed them that “the other woman whose wrath he fears” would rather have him home for dinner on time for once.

They gathered in the front third of the dining hall; the remaining two-thirds of the large room not being needed for such a small number of guests. Therefore, the lights in the other two-thirds of the room were off to conserve electricity, causing the long banquet table to seem to disappear off into the darkness. Maria had asked the chefs to prepare a tasting menu of local dishes for Susan’s first proper dinner in San Finzione. Jeanne served the small group; getting unrequested, but she knew to be well-meaning and unavoidable, assistance from Stavro. He proudly pointed out that the meat for the dishes had been provided by his father’s shop.

“Thanks for this,” Susan said, gesturing to the table and the six of them. “It’s been a lot to take in, and I’m happy to see ‘just you guys,’ you know?” She turned to Maria. “You have every room on the Clue board in this place; did you know that?”

“Oh, si,” Maria responded. “I laugh at the picture you send, where you are pretending to hit Troy with a candlestick in the Conservatory.”

“Oh, aye,” Colleen added. “Feck live chess, let’s play live Cluedo!”

Julie hadn’t seen the picture and started laughing first, which got everyone going.

“My God,” Julie exclaimed. “You’re right! There’s even a fucking secret passage in the Study!” She turned to Troy. “Ok, you GOTTA get one with me and the rope in there!” She got up to show the picture to Jeanne and let her in on the joke in French.

“I’m glad you’re in a good mood, Mistress,” Troy replied. “Because Helen told me what we’d have to do to get Propappou’s smoking jacket back.”

Julie turned at that. Troy’s great-grandfather had always worn a red velvet smoking jacket around the house; having been convinced by 1920s and 30s movies that smoking jackets were what successful American businessmen wore when they got home from a long day’s work. It was in that jacket that he’d found his Propappou’s old pocket watch, which he gave to Julie instead of the traditional ring, due to their shared life-long obsession with hypnosis and mind control that had led to them discovering the secret of how to do it in reality. It was that obsession that led to the habit, developed years before they became lovers, of calling each other “Master” and “Mistress” as pet names.

“Is she going to be all right to do that before we leave?”

“No, Mistress, the other thing.”

“Well, which other thing,” Julie asked. “There’s like, five of them.”

“The one that’s probably going to keep us both busy most of the day tomorrow. I had to go shopping for supplies after the hospital.” He looked down at the floor. “And a nice suit.”

Julie’s eyes widened as she realized what Helen wanted in exchange for the jacket’s safe return. Troy walked over to the light switches as she responded.

“No, dammit! She can’t do this!”

“Dearest One,” Troy said back. “It’s Helen. We both know she can, and she will. And before I left her, she said to tell you that if you’re thinking about doing a half-ass job, I’m supposed to show you where she’s going to hang it.”

“I can fucking well tell you where she can hang...”

Troy flipped the switches that lit up the other two-thirds of the room. When the far end was visible, Julie could see what Troy was trying to show her, causing the insult to trail away.

A chair was placed some distance away from the table, facing the far wall. Next to it was a small table with an ash tray and a box of Kleenex tissues on top of it, and a small wastebasket underneath.

On the wall that the chair faced were two paintings, which looked small from where they were standing, but they could make out the subjects. The one on the right was a painting of Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione, Maria’s great-grandfather and Helen’s late husband. To his left was a painting that had clearly been based on a photograph, taken of an old Greek man with a bushy, white beard, who might have looked like Santa Claus with his red velvet smoking jacket on, if he’d been wearing the cap and red pants instead of tan. It was the same man whose name was on the building where Helen was currently recuperating.

Byroni Medina, Troy’s Propappou. He’d been the first adult to understand that Helen’s home was not a safe place for a little girl, and the first person to call her “Helena.” He’d loved her like his own daughter and fought in the courts to get her away from Wade and adopt her, but lost every time. By the time Wade had killed her mother and been locked away, the courts had declared him too old to take care of her.

Although, like everyone except them, Propappou had known that Troy and Julie’s hearts belonged to each other, he had hoped that Troy and Helena might one day marry, so that she could be his great-granddaughter at least. Unfortunately, she too had noticed the obvious attraction that Troy and Julie had lived in denial of until a little over a year ago.

To the left of Propappou’s painting was an empty space on the wall, quite clearly reserved for a third painting. Julie walked to the end of the room to sit at the chair. Troy followed a few steps behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. The others watched from where they’d been seated.

* * *

A tear was forming in Julie’s eye as she looked at them. Troy handed her a Kleenex.

“She said she needs it to complete the collection: The only three men she’s ever really loved.”

Julie wiped away the tear and exhaled.

“That fucking cunt,” she said, slowly and evenly; not in anger, simply substituting the words for Helen’s name. “Has been asking for me to do a portrait of you since we were last here, Master. She could have said it was for something like this.”

“No, she couldn’t, Mistress. That’s not how she works. It involved an emotion that she couldn’t play off.”

They’d lost touch with Helen after she and Julie had met The Count in Madrid, while touring Europe after high school graduation. Their relationship had just ended badly, and Helen had decided to go back to the bar, to see if that rich-looking man who’d claimed to be a count was still there.

Julie’s knowledge that Helena had the wherewithal and the lack of scruples to take the old man for everything led to the final argument that ended their relationship. As she packed her things to return to America and pursue her degree, Helen and The Count departed for his suite.

Julie had been on the plane home that night, when, after the sex turned out to be better that Helen had expected, and she and the older man with the surprising stamina started talking to each other. A talk that occupied the rest of the night and continued through breakfast; past “getting to know you” stories, and into serious tales of their pasts.

His tales of burying his wife at a young age. Seeing his children and grandchildren fall prey to the decadent excesses of the idle rich, telling her that “Lamborghini and Cocaine have killed more San Finziones than the entire Renaissance.” How the once-proud Familia de San Finzione was now only “greedy and spoiled distant relations, with one eye on my blood pressure and the other on the throne.” And of the great-granddaughter that he felt was La Familia’s last hope, “the last little piece of me that will remain in this world after I am gone.”

The stories reminded Helen of Propappou’s stories of the people he’d buried in his own long life; both of his wives, and Troy’s grandparents and parents. And soon her own stories started flowing. Stories of climbing out her bedroom window and running from the house in the middle of the night to escape Wade’s rampages. Of the wonderful old man who took one look at her and understood that her home was a Hell to be escaped, and loved her like the father she never had. Her story of seeing Wade beat her mother to death reminded him of hearing the Nazis broadcast his father’s execution live over the radio for failing to give up the Resistance cell that was hiding young Lord Vincenzo.

They discovered more things in common, and the weekend became a week; during which, Helen noticed that she’d hardly done The Thing to the handsome old man at all. Which became an invitation for the beautiful woman who was more intelligent, confident, and a better fuck than any he’d known in decades to come home to San Finzione with him. Which quickly became the kind of whirlwind romance and marriage that both of them had previously thought only existed in movies. And, as sometimes also happened in movies, came to a sudden end.

After they’d left San Finzione before, she’d opened up to Troy about it. When they first reunited at his bachelor party, Helen had tried to downplay her grief by pretending to be callous about Vincenzo’s death. Once she’d told Troy more of the story, he informed her that he’d seen her pictures with the Count on TV, that he knew what Helen In Love looked like, and had hoped that their prank would bring her out of her shell.

Because of how she and Julie had parted in Madrid, they avoided talking about that time and Vincenzo. Sitting here now, seeing that Helena had hung the Count’s portrait on the same wall with Propappou had told Julie more than she ever had.

Julie looked around the chair. The little table had room for a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a drink to go next to the ashtray and box of Kleenex. She looked straight ahead at Propappou, then right at Vincenzo.

“She spends hours here.” Julie said, looking over at the blank spot where she saw now that a painting of Troy should be. “You said you got everything, Master?”

“Art supply shops at the marketplace had all your brands, Mistress. I got you some color choices, we can go back down there in the morning with your eye if you don’t like what I got.

Julie opened her mouth to insult Helen again, but the insult died in her throat.

“I’m sure you got the right supplies. We can start when there’s decent light in the garden. She’ll want you in front of the...” Julie bristled. “Rose bushes.”

“She doesn’t love them to make fun of you, Sunflower. She loves them because they remind her of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m counting this as a prank.”

“Hon,” Troy said. “She’s injured.”

“And I was naked on stage for her last one. She gets home the day after tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Troy said, suspiciously. “But we’re gonna be busy with this all day tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know,” Julie said, looking back down the table, where everyone else had decided to let them be and continued their conversation. “She’ll get her portrait of my husband. We’ll get it done in time, and it’ll be a piece worthy of its place amongst these two other great men.” She got up and took Troy’s hand. They started walking back toward the others.

“Doesn’t mean fucking with her’s off the table, though.” She said.

* * *

“So,” Susan asked, Maria, enjoying the coffee that Jeanne had prepared for after the meal. “When Helen gets home, will you both be Contessas or will she be Contessa again and you’re back to Lady Maria?”

“I am not so lucky,” Maria said, tired from her long day. “I shall still be Contessa-In-Reggenza until Great-Grandmama feels ready to resume her duties, and then there is a very small ceremony. I will put on the tiara and take the scepter out of its case, and we will go out onto the Speaking Balcony overlooking the Courtyard, we will say a few words to each other, I will hand her the scepter, remove the tiara and place it on her head, and then we will go back inside and she will put the scepter and tiara back in their cases and be Contessa once more.”

“Sounds kind of boring,” Susan replied.

“Si,” came Maria’s answer. “Over the centuries, very few of the Counts or Contessas, once power tranferred to them, willingly gave it back.”

“Good thing ya canceled tha’ fitting appointment, then,” Colleen replied. “If you’re only going to be wearing it a few minutes.”

“And I’m guessing it’s all in Italian, so I won’t get it anyway.” Susan thought aloud as Troy and Julie re-entered conversational range.

“Great-Grandmama has to make the decision to return to duty and declare it first. At that time, I will cheerfully return the tiara and scepter to her.”

Julie stepped into the conversation.

“How’s she getting home? I mean, this is Helena here. She’s not going to want to leave the hospital in a wheelchair, surrounded by cameras and reporters.”

Maria stopped to think.

“I suppose she could take the helicopter. If she is all right to fly at that time.”

Julie beckoned Maria over to the corner and whispered something to her.

“Si, we do have one,” Maria responded curiously. “It is in the museum, though. No San Finzione has used it in over six hundred years.”

“No San Finzione has needed to be ‘gotten’ by me as much in over six hundred years either.”

“We would have to see if it is even still serviceable. But she would be so…”

“She’ll think it was my idea. Or that I made you do it. I wouldn’t do that to you, though. Ya know, unless you wanted me to, in order to sell the story.”

“No, no. The more I think of it, the funnier it sounds.”

“So, you’re in?”

“Si, why not?”

The two laughed and hugged each other before rejoining the group to tell them the plan.