The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next day passed quickly. While Julie painted Troy’s portrait during the day, and Maria continued taking on the business of running the country, Colleen showed Susan around the city. Stavro had returned to work at the Citizens’ Grievance Office, which had surprisingly little to handle that day. Even the regulars, who showed up with a new complaint or the same one every day, seemed to understand that La Contessa-In-Reggenza had enough to deal with at the moment, and their neighbor’s yappy dog could be dealt with another time.

In the evening, Troy and Julie visited Helen together. The doctors agreed that the prognosis was good enough for Dr. Maisson, Jeanne, and a couple of temporary resident nurses to continue her recovery back at the castle. Barring anything happening in the night, she would be released for in-home care the next day.

Helen had gotten Troy and Julie to wheel her down to the cafeteria for a cigarette, and was enjoying every drag. She was wearing Propappou’s red smoking jacket, her head and right hand poking out of the garment that was far too big for her. Her left arm was in a sling, completely concealed under the robe; and her right stuck out of a bunched-up sleeve, holding her smoke.

Helen’s morale had been improved by the knowledge that the portrait was done. Julie gave her a message from Maria, followed by insulting Helena for not just saying why she wanted Troy’s portrait so badly. Helena thanked her for the message and insulted her back about why It wasn’t enough that Julie knew she wanted it so badly, and then normal conversation was able to continue.

“How’s Susan doing?” Helena asked them, taking a puff.

“Now that she’s not having to keep us from going to pieces,” Julie said, taking a sip of the orange soda that she’d bought with dinner. “It’s kind of an adventure for her. She got Ramirez to take her to the…” Julie paused, trying to think of a better word than “assassin” or “Guy who tried to kill you.” She settled on “The Fucker’s motel room, and she caught some important details for them.”

Helena smiled.

“Ramirez told me. It sounds like she’s coming along really well with The Thing, then. I mean, observation is, like, a third of it. And from what he said, it took a lot of confidence to say the things she did.”

Troy took a sip of Julie’s soda before replying.

“If it wasn’t so hokey, I’d say something about how she’s always had it inside her...”

“It is, Master,” Julie said, cutting him off. “So, please don’t. Unless you were building up to a sex joke, in which case, sorry.” Julie tried to think of a decent sex joke of her own to make, but the moment had passed, so she continued. “But yeah, she got me through the worst day since The Houses were sold.” She thought for a moment. “Wait, no! The worst day since the LAST time we thought you were dead, bitch!”

She thought another moment, and Helen was about to respond when Julie raised her hand.

“You didn’t go to all this to get me to paint the fucking portrait, did you?”

Helen looked down at her abdomen, at the area that was beneath a hospital gown and the folds of Propappou’s jacket; where she could feel the bandages covering her wounds. She pulled down the neck of her gown to show the stitched cut on her right breast, then tilted her neck to show them the cut on it.

“The tourism ad campaign after the Festival ends is going to be ’Visit Our Lovely Beaches.’ As soon as Maisson says I’m able, I’m going to shoot a commercial in a two-piece thong bikini, playing volleyball with a bunch of supermodels. I’m supposed to dive into the sand to return a serve, then stand up, turn to the camera, lower my sunglasses, wink, smile, and give JUST enough nipple poke-through and boob bounce for the talking head shows to make a ‘controversy’ out of it and give us loads of free advertising in the process. Then, I’m supposed to say ‘And you never know WHO you’ll meet on the beach!’ And after we get it right, I have to do the whole thing again in nineteen other languages. I’m going to have to get the scars removed for that, Julie. I want to see all three of the most important men in my life, not join the other two!”

Helen took a deep drag and pulled a thick manila envelope from within the depths of the smoking jacket.

“Besides, I’d never ask an artist to work for free. I’ve always intended to pay you.”

“You know I don’t want money, Helena.”

“I said ‘pay,’ not ‘insult.’ Those will always be on the house for you, Hon.” She tossed the envelope onto the table, toward her. It landed with a jingling noise. “I know the day The Houses sold was the saddest day of your life. You were so sad, in fact, that you never stopped to think ‘Who the fuck would pay asking price for both your parents’ houses, a few hours apart, on the same day?’”

Julie gave Helen a shocked look, letting her know that she really hadn’t thought about it much. She let out a small “fu…” sound before stopping herself. Helen continued.

“They were my home too, you know. Deed and keys to your new summer place in Anchorage are in there. It’s one property, now that I finally got that tunnel we always talked about put in. Now, don’t pull that shit again.”

Troy and Julie smiled in silence, but they gave each other a shocked and happy look at the mention of the secret tunnel they’d talked about digging between their two houses since they were all kids.

“Well fuck, thanks, Helena! I’d show you how grateful I am, but I don’t think you’ll be up to it before we have to go home.” Julie looked at her phone. “We’d better get back and see how Susan’s day’s been. We’ll try to be here to wheel you home in the morning.”

“No.” Helen replied. “I can’t be seen leaving the hospital in a wheelchair. I have to show that this fucker hasn’t gotten to me in the slightest.”

“You’ve been stabbed,” Troy commented. “And everyone leaves the hospital in a wheelchair. I think it’s a law or something.”

“Troy,” Helen asked the man that she thought of as “The first boy I ever truly loved.” “Who do you think is the most hated woman in the world?”

“Hilary Cli—“

“Second.”

“You.” Troy answered without hesitation.

“Exactly,” Helen replied. “You’d have liked Vincenzo, Troy. He believed that kindness could work, too. Do you know just how many people’s agendas that very concept; that kindness can work in this world, fucks with? San Finzione is converting to 100% solar and wind power within the next three years. We’re expected to generate a surplus that we can sell to our neighbors. How many oil and nuclear power companies do you think that idea sits well with? The government and Società Finzione have a true working partnership that benefits both, but always puts The People’s needs first. How many industries do you think would just shut down if the idea of Compassionate Capitalism took hold? With the warlords scattered and in retreat, our troops in Uongo are helping the Uongoians take back their homeland; like the proud, strong people that they’d always been, and I knew that they could be again with a little help from their friends. Anything you do in Africa, good or bad, pisses off somebody. Our minimum wage, retirement, and disabled pensions pay enough to survive with dignity. Do we have people on TV arguing that the poor should die, simply for BEING poor! That part happens here, too. But we sure as fuck don’t give someone like that power!

“The man who stabbed me was NOT the only person in the world to wake up that morning, plotting my death. He got through, but Maria can show you the Ultimados’ after-action reports about the five or six that didn’t even make it to within sight of me that day. And every day. Sometimes, I don’t even know anyone’s there until I read about it in the next morning’s report.”

Helen took a breath before continuing.

“Lately, especially after our talks the last time you guys came here; I’ve remembered the importance of his vision. Propappou would have liked it, and someone told me he wouldn’t appreciate how I got where I am today.” Troy looked down, remembering telling her that, before learning more of her side of the story. She turned to Julie.

“Yeah, you thought I’d really fucked an old man to death to get his crown. It was one of the first things you said to me after all that time.” The look on her face was too sad to match the anger in her words, as was her voice. “And I encouraged it in you, I admit; because I’d rather have your disgust than your sadness, Julie. I got enough of that when we were kids.” She turned to look at the pair of them, wincing. “So, no, I can’t afford to allow myself weakness, even in the eyes of the people that I love the most. Those other people who get to leave in a wheelchair aren’t surrounded by cameras when they do it; or have enemies constantly seeking any advantage to exploit. I could take the helicopter, but the doctors are concerned about my stitches and turbulence. Yes, it’s about image; however, no, It’s not about my ego.”

Julie gave an understanding nod, then received a text.

“Well, I’m certain we can come up with something befitting you, Helena. Just a sec.”

Julie typed a response. Under her breath, she muttered as she typed.

“Hey! Yeah, we’re with her right now.” She hit Send and looked back up.

“Hmm,” Helen hummed curiously. “Who was that?”

“Oh, Denise. Young friend I met recently. Helped her out with a problem. Thanks to you, actually.” Julie got a reply. “Denise says to get well soon, by the way. She’s taking care of the house while we’re gone. Huge fan of yours, you ‘talked to her’ once.”

Julie grinned. Helen immediately knew what the grin and emphasis were about.

“Well, ‘stop giving out my fucking number’ aside, if I’ve re-learned anything recently, it’s that your choice in friends means she’s got to be pretty special. Tell me about her.”

The following day, Contessa Helena de San Finzione was ready to leave the hospital. Dr. Tenente Paul Maisson of La Squadra de Ultimados wheeled her into the elevator.

“The electric one’s ready at the castle?” She asked in French, wearing Propappou’s bathrobe over the pajamas that had been brought for her. “Not that I’m not grateful for the extra security of an Ultimado at my back, just that however long you want me in this thing, I’d rather get myself around.”

Because she had both internal and external stitching to be concerned with, Maisson had ordered her to be on bedrest for the next two weeks, depending on how she was healing. Helena wasn’t going to do The Thing to her doctor for not liking his advice, so they negotiated and met at “wheelchair-bound, with close monitoring.”

“Oui, Contessa,” Dr. Maisson replied. “Everything has arrived and is set up at the castle.”

Maisson had given La Contessa a list of the medical equipment and supplies that would be needed for her recuperation to continue back at the castle, and she arranged for the newest models to be ordered from the manufacturers, so that she could donate the equipment to the hospital afterwards.

“Good.” She said with a nod as the elevator came to the ground floor. Helen picked up her phone with her right hand, her left arm still in a sling, and activated the microphone.

“Message to Jeanne: Hey, Jeanne, I need to put together a special gift bag when I get home. Different from the usual ones, I’m probably going to send you to the marketplace with a list.” She looked up at Dr. Tenente Maisson. “Also, can’t believe I’ve never thought to look into this myself; can you find out if I get to knight people? Always wondered about that. Thanks.”

He wheeled her through back corridors toward the ambulance garage.

“Thought Troy and Julie were going to be here.” She told Maisson.

“They may not have anticipated the traffic. The main road from the hospital to the castle is closed to vehicle traffic for your journey home.”

Helen nodded at that. They entered the garage, where an ambulance was parked.

“I’m leaving in one of those?” Helen asked. “That’s worse than being seen in the wheelchair!”

“Non, Contessa,” Maisson replied. “Contessa-In-Reggenza Maria said that your transport home should be more… er… ‘becoming of you.’”

Helen looked at him curiously.

“She sent the carriage and horses?”

“Not quite, Contessa.”

He wheeled her around the ambulance, to reveal her ride home.

Helen looked it over in amusement.

“I’m pretty fucking sure this wasn’t Contessa Maria’s idea, Maisson.” She wheeled to the door, and Maisson helped her into the conveyance. “But something tells me that the person whose it was wouldn’t do it if you didn’t say it was safe. And I’m not going to give that skanky cow the satisfaction of backing down. Load me in, Doc, and see you back at the castle.”

At a table in an outdoor café outside the San Finzione Marketplace, The Yia-Yia sat with her vino. Today, however, she was not alone.

A young couple, about Tessa’s age, had stopped by her table. When they offered to buy her another bottle, she remembered them from about a year ago. The Greek Boy and his new American Bride. They’d been on their honeymoon and had something to do with that funny business in the park. They’d brought a second woman with them this time, who didn’t speak Greek, not even on Mrs. Greek Boy’s “American, but trying so hard, God bless her” level; so they didn’t have much to say to each other. She didn’t ask, but from what she could see of the three of them together, the Greek boy and his wife had some kind of ‘French’ arrangement with the other woman, and they all seemed happy.

As they talked, the Yia-Yia noticed that there were no cars passing the corner where the café stood. The sidewalks, on the other hand, were crowded with people holding signs and watching the street. The three seated with her glanced toward the street, occasionally. They appeared to be waiting for something, like all the others; but they’d taken time to stop and have a drink with her, so that made them good kids, like Tessa. She wondered if they were friends of hers.

Soon, the crowd around them seemed to perk up, as if someone had spotted the thing they were all waiting for. The youngsters turned toward the street, phones at the ready, just like every young person these days. The noise of the crowd turned to cheering, and it looked like they were throwing confetti into the streets.

A slow-moving police car was the first thing the Yia-Yia saw. Even she might have been able to catch up with it at the speed it was driving. It was followed by four soldiers with their automatic rifles at the ready. The young people kept filming as the next sight appeared.

Eight oiled, muscular men; wearing nothing but loincloths, were carrying a litter on two poles. Mounted atop the poles was an antique carriage for a single occupant. Ornately carved, the carriage was inlaid with gold and silver trim, and studded with emeralds. The side doors bore the crest of La Familia de San Finzione.

The Yia-Yia only saw the occupant’s face for a moment, but could have sworn that the woman inside the carriage was Tessa. Then she thought against it. Tessa wasn’t like that woman. Tessa wouldn’t have pointed accusingly at the Greek boy’s wife, or given her a look that was equal parts love, anger, and amusement. Maybe it was that woman who sort of looked like Tessa, from the posters some of young people with the signs were still carrying. If she remembered by the time she saw Tessa again, she’d have to tell her about this aristocratic snob who bore a bit of a resemblance to her.

The three younger people had to leave soon after she passed. They said goodbye quickly, but politely, then started running in the direction that the marchers had been going last night. The Yia-Yia watched as the Greek Boy and his wife grabbed each other’s hand before they ran across the street and out of sight.

The Yia-Yia wondered what was so interesting in that direction, and considered getting up and following them to see, when the waiter came and refilled her wine glass.

Yeah, why change a good thing now?

Contessa Helena de San Finzione tried to will her cheeks not to redden and waved to the crowds while the eight Ultimados carried her through the streets. The signs that people were carrying, as the men ran her from the hospital to the castle, were mostly positive ones about her; rather than the usual 50-50 ratio.

Seeing so many of The People take to the streets to wish her well reminded Helen that even Julie couldn’t have arranged all this without Maria’s participation. And she wouldn’t do The Thing to Maria for the sake of a prank, so Maria must have thought it would be funny and agreed to it. By the time they’d reached the bottom of the hill up to the castle, the smile on Helen’s face had changed from the one she used for waving to crowds to the real one she used when she was proud of Maria.

“Welcome, Dearest One,” Helen thought to herself. “To MY family now.”

The Ultimados took her through the castle gates, which closed behind them. They continued the journey to the main entrance, where Maria, Stavro, Jeanne, Troy, Julie, Susan, Colleen, Maisson, Generalissimo Ramirez, his wife and two children; were applauding her entrance. The Ultimados gently set the litter down in front of them, where a motorized wheelchair was waiting. Troy, Stavro, and Maisson stepped forward to help her out of the litter and into the wheelchair.

“How did you guys beat me here,” she asked Troy. “They would’ve had to close the roads for this.”

“Turns out we know someone who owns a helicopter,” he answered. “Caught a lift with Dr. Tenente Maisson.”

The three men backed away quickly, aware that someone else had top hugging priority. Maria ran up to her Great-Grandmama, then stopped as she tried to figure out how to hug her without hurting her. Troy helped guide Maria’s hands to where it would be safe to wrap her arms around her and begin the hug. Nobody bothered to note how long it lasted; however, it went on for some time, and many tears and whispered words in Italian were involved.

Troy and Stavro’s hugs were next, due to their immediate proximity afterwards. Julie gave Colleen her spot in line because she hadn’t been able to get to the hospital, so had gone the longest without seeing Helen. Julie went next, and while Jeanne thought over whether or not she should hug her mistress in public, Violeta took her turn. Afterwards, Helena motioned for Jeanne to come for one as well, and she complied. The Generalissimo and Maisson settled for salutes, which Helena returned.

That left one member of the group. The others stood back as Helen gave the control stick on her chair a few experimental tries before wheeling over to Susan; still standing by Ramirez. A few seconds passed, neither of them knowing what to say first. Helen broke the silence by extending her right hand.

“Hi.” Helen said.

Susan reached out and took her hand.

“Hi.” Susan responded.

They shook twice and stopped, both of their eyes conveying the message to each other “We have a lot more to talk about, but this is not the place.” Susan looked up from Helen to see everyone else with their backs turned, talking amongst themselves about things they should go take care of right now. Helen started to look, before her left shoulder reminded her not to turn her head too far for a while. She turned the control stick on the chair to see everyone pointedly looking away from the two of them, over-casually walking off in groups.

“It would seem,” Helen said to Susan, as the castle entrance was clearing. “That we’re being left with some free time here. Give me an hour or so to get cleaned up and into something besides a hospital gown or jammies, and meet me in the ballroom?”

Susan thought it odd that Helen would want to meet her in the place where she’d been stabbed, but agreed. Helen tried not to look too far over her shoulder to call for Maisson and Jeanne.

“I imagine I’m going to need some help with all that for a while.” Helen explained. “That’s why I say an hour or so.”

Susan agreed again, and went into the castle to find something to do until then. She decided to begin the hike to the ballroom.