The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“In five… four…”

The technician finished the countdown with his fingers and pointed at Contessa Helena de San Finzione. She sat in a Louis XV chair, completely naked except for jewelry. She wore emerald earrings, and her tiara on her head. Her wedding ring, her signet ring, and the small emerald pendant she wore, dangling above her bare breasts were the only other objects on her body. Next to her, sitting on a couch that looked a lot like the one her parents had were Sally and Cara, America’s Favorite Fifty-Something Early-Morning Drinkers; or rather, distorted versions of them, reminding her of pictures of Sensory Homunculi with their giant hands that held wine glasses bigger than their gargantuan ears; enormous chins with exaggerated lips and mouths. The first time Helen saw one, she’d thought it was a figurine of some racist old-time cartoon character before being informed that it was a neuroscientific research tool.

A blistering metal version of the “back from commercial” jingle that Helen thought was pretty cool started and the Sally and Cara Things began animatedly pretending to be in the middle of talking about something, their exaggerated gestures of excitement about the imaginary subject causing pints-at-a-time of wine to slosh out of their glasses.

“And we’re back,” the Cara-Thing said to the camera. “Our guest today likes to think she’s accomplished a lot, but if that’s the case, why’s she naked in our studio?” Helen now noticed that she was naked. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see some of the crew and members of the audience (“Hmm,” she thought. “This show doesn’t usually have a studio audience.”) looking directly at her had started touching themselves, and she imagined a sizable portion of the home audience were gazing upon her naked form, their hands slowly starting to move down to between their legs. Helen wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed that all over the globe, people were simultaneously masturbating to the sight of her nude body on live television or more aroused that one of her deepest fantasies was currently being fulfilled.

“That’s right, Cara,” the Sally-Thing chimed in. “She’s the offspring of a no-good piece-of-shit and his murder victim, and if her friends hadn’t taught her to control minds, would be either dead, stripping, or streetwalking right now. After she used it to get revenge, she married a rich European noble for his money and throne, turning the true heir into her lesbian sex slave. Please welcome Helen Parker, ladies and gentlemen!”

The audience applauded. Helen frowned. Only four people in the world had her permission to use that name, and neither of these two were Troy, Julie, Susan, or Barbara Walters. Helen opened her mouth to say something before Sally spoke again.

“Now Helen, you were a COMPLETE slut in school. I mean, how many of the boys joked about ‘Parking with Parker?’” The audience laughed. Helen sat up. Yes, everything they were saying was true, but she wasn’t going to sit idle for it.

“This isn’t the interview I was promised,” she said. “But since you’re clearly fishing for ratings here, that joke predated me. It was started over someone else.”

“Oh, yes,” The Cara-Thing said, stroking her chin in a gesture that took a second or two because of the size of both her chin and her hand. “The older sister that nobody talks about, who ran off before you were old enough to even pronounce her name. What was it again?”

“Persephone.” Helen replied. It had been so long since she’d said it, the name felt strange on her lips; a dimly-remembered sense-memory like the taste of a candy from childhood that hasn’t been made in years. “Yeah, Paneffee! Right. That’s how I said it then. Oh, she didn’t come to either funeral, so I figure she’d gotta be dead by now or she’d have shown up looking for money or something long ago.”

“Wow, Mom sure was into Mythology, wasn’t she,” The Sally-Thing chimed in. “That’s right, Persephone. The one who stole all Wade’s guns, sold them for a quarter their value for cash to hop a plane to LA, and was never seen again. Is that right?”

Helen started laughing, her breasts seeming to jiggle lazily, like Father Time Himself was also watching and enjoying the free show, and was extending each moment of time as it applied to her tits to savor the sight of Helena’s erect nipples.

“The best part… he took it out on us mercilessly for it, of course, but still, the BEST part… was HE’D stolen them first!” She continued to laugh and thrust her chest forward to give Chronos a better view. “So, he couldn’t even get them back! And the fucker was on probation too! If he’d even SAID they were his, they’d have locked him back up!” Helen stopped to catch her breath, but started talking again before she’d caught it.

“He… he started taking me to pawn stuff with him… cause they gave him a better deal if he brought his little girl with him… and he’d get this sad look when he’d check out the gun racks. It took me years to figure out why! Because it was… it was the grave of his little John Dillinger ‘World-Famous… Notorious Bank Robber’ dreams!” Her laughter died down.

“That’s right,” The Cara-Thing said, in exactly the way one might if one were slowly drawing one’s knife and staring at the vulnerable back of the foolish hero of a western while walking behind him along a ledge inside a torchlit abandoned mine. “Now, he died of a shanking in prison brawl, which you used this power to make him provoke, and then it failed you today, and now you’ve been shanked too. How does that make you feel?”

Helen had to think about that for a moment.

“Hmm… see the poetry there, certainly. Not sure why the thing didn’t work. Oh wait! That just happened a little bit ago, didn’t it? How long ago was that?”

“Oh, who can tell, “Cara-Thing said. “You passed out pretty quick there. About the time Maisson was ripping off your clothes.”

“Yeah, he’s good at that,” Helena said wistfully, then something dawned on her. “Oh, GOD no! This is one of those fucking Near-Death Vision things, isn’t it? I hoped those were all movie bullshit.”

“Nope,” said Sally-Thing. “Contessa Helena de San Finzione,” The audience chanted along with her. “THIS! IS! YOUR! DEATH!”

“Well, maybe,” Cara-Thing butted in. “I mean, you’re a hot, rich, famous white chick, so they’re probably trying real hard to save you up there. Out there. Down there. We don’t know how this works, to be honest.”

“Ok,” said Helena as she tried to bring the left side of her brain into the conversation. “This isn’t a concussion thing, because someone would have knocked me out or brought me out of it by now, and if it was a nightmare, I’d have woken the fuck up when you two first started looking creepy. Not like Sally and Cara’s usual ‘too damn happy to be trying to seem relevant at 4 am’ creepy; but like what anti-drug cartoons try to bullshit kids into thinking you see on drugs.” Cara-Thing replied.

“We could be all of those catching up with you too, who knows? Point is, you’re stuck here and you’re going to have to ride it out.”

“Do I have any control over this?” Helena asked.

“See for yourself,” Sally-Thing replied. “The whole world is staring at your naked body and can see you’re getting turned on by it, while you’re being interviewed by grotesque mockeries of people you detest on too visceral a level to even hate-fuck.” Helena cut her off excitedly.

“I know this one! It’s because my True Father and My Husband were both senior citizens the whole time I knew them! I have a great respect for the elderly as a result! I’m no morning person, but I’ve become accustomed to waking up with the sun! And you’re the first people many of them see when they turn on the TV in the morning! I hold you in contempt for spoon-feeding them a steady diet of Pablum, and that’s why I’ve been idly playing with my tits this whole time! Because that’s at least a cheap thrill, and that’s more than you cackling gossip hens have given them since trampolines were ‘the latest fad!’”

“Well said, Helen. You certainly put the real us in their place. So, try it. What do you want more than anything in the world right now?”

Helena thought. A lit cigarette appeared in her hand. She took a puff.

“All right, let’s see where this goes,” Contessa Helena de San Finzione said as she uncrossed her legs. She held the cigarette to her lips in her right hand, rested her left on her hip, and leaned forward to stare into the camera; thrusting her breasts deliberately now. She blew a smoke ring as she spoke to the viewers at home with a wicked grin.

“Don’t touch that dial, folks.”

Troy and Julie Equals sat in the back of an official limousine from the San Finzione Consulate in Seattle, gripping each other’s hands tightly. Susan sat on Troy’s other side, his other hand on her knee while she kept re-checking her iPad for any news or messages.

After Susan woke the pair and told them the news, they went back to the house across the street and spoke to the Ultimados again. Troy and Julie confirmed that they’d not only known about the two elite commandos answerable only to Helen and the Generalissimo who’d been posing as a gay couple across the street for the past few months, but had asked them point blank, made them tell the truth, then made them forget the conversation by the third day.

Susan was the only one to accept Helen’s offer of citizenship and sign the papers. Troy and Julie still had valid passports from their honeymoon trip, but Susan thought she’d have a couple more months to apply for one if she decided to take Troy & Julie’s offer to come with them for their anniversary trip to San Finzione, so the only way for her to get onto a flight to San Finzione with them was to sign.

Before leaving, the three of them Did What They Do to convince the Ultimados to give Susan the login to their direct link with Castle Finzione. Maria was still in a secure location and couldn’t be reached directly, but Susan’s access allowed her to get someone to relay a message that they were on their way and Maria had been able to relay word via back that she’d heard they were coming and would call as soon as she was able.

Julie broke the silence as the diplomatic plates got them waved through another security checkpoint.

“I didn’t even know there was an Air Finzione.” She said, looking at various airlines’ planes wheeling onto the tarmac.

“There isn’t really one until next week, Mistress,” Troy said back. “I mean, Helen tipped me off about it weeks ago; we’ve all got two-thousand shares in our portfolios. The consul got hold of Helen’s business manager, told her who we were, and they arranged a ‘pre-maiden flight’ for us.”

Troy was pursuing a doctorate in Economics. Even without being able to command the wills of others, Troy’s natural financial genius that had been encouraged by Propappou, his great-grandfather, would still have allowed the two of them to afford a comfortable life.

“You remember that thing back in Africa,” Susan asked. “She needed a plane, there were some hassles after… the story ends ‘Helen has an airline now.’”

“Guess I’ve been out of the loop,” Julie replied with a crack in her voice that made Troy sit up and take notice before she turned to him. “And YOU better not be thinking about what this is going to do to our portfolios, fucker!”

Troy recognized the warning signs of something that rarely happened to his best friend. He let go of her hand and Susan’s knee and wrapped his arms around Julie. She buried her face in his shoulder and began to sob. Susan had only seen Julie like this once before; the last time they thought Helen had died, back in Uongo.

“And that fucking cunt… better not be… playing another fucking prank!” Julie said in tearful gasps. Susan got up from her seat and Troy slid over. Julie slid with him without looking up so Susan could sit on the other side of her and hold her as well. Troy stroked her hair.

“I love her too, Sunflower,” he said soothingly to his wife. “I love her too. We’ll be there soon. Sooner than before. All the flights between Seattle and San Finzione are SST routes. Half the time.

“Wow,” Julie said, tears subsiding. “It’s almost like… like Helena planned it that way or something.”

Susan snickered at that. Troy followed a second later. Susan tried to hold it, but the “Of COURSE she TOTALLY planned it” look on Troy’s face was too much and a second snicker soon became laughter. It made Troy laugh harder, which made Julie give him a small “stop that” punch in the shoulder her face wasn’t buried in before the sobs turned to shakes of laughter as well. By the time the car had passed the last security checkpoint to the hangars, Julie had recovered.

“I’m sorry, you had to see that, Susan.” Julie said.

“You’ve seen me worse, lady.” She punctuated the statement with a kiss. Something dawned on Julie then.

“Shit, this is your first ride in a limo, Susan, isn’t it?” Susan nodded.

“Dropped out, never been to a prom or anything. About to be my first airplane trip, too.”

At that moment, the limo pulled up to an aircraft hangar; out of which, a streamlined supersonic passenger jet, painted white with Air Finzione written down the length of the fuselage in emerald green letters was rolling. Smaller letters below the logo displayed the airline’s website: www.AirFinzione.snfnz. It came to a stop and a stair car drove up to the door for them. The limo rolled to a stop in front of the stairs and the driver opened the door for them. He handed Troy an envelope containing three tickets. A willowy stewardess with long, red hair descended the stairs and took the envelope from him, examining the tickets inside. Susan looked confused.

“I thought this was how people got on planes in old movies. Aren’t we supposed to go through the airport and get felt up by the security guys?”

“Not for special friends of La Contessa,” the stewardess whose nametag identified her as Colleen replied with an Irish lilt. The chauffer opened the limousine’s trunk and set the three overnight bags that they’d barely had time to pack in front of them. The ladies were carrying purses, so Troy picked up and shouldered two on his left arm and one on his right.

“These are all our bags,” Troy told Colleen. “What seats are we in?” Colleen replied with a musical laugh.

“Why sir, these tickets are for Contessa Class. You’ll be in the suite at the front of the plane. If you’ll just follow me.”

Susan raised an eyebrow.

“Suite?”

Julie leaned over and whispered in her ear as Colleen ascended the stairs; both she and Susan watching Colleen’s rear wiggle as Troy followed behind her.

“Big day of firsts for you, hon. First limo ride, first plane ride, first suite, first time joining the Mile High Club, first time Doing What We Do to seduce a hot, Irish redheaded stewardess into a foursome…”

Susan’s eyes widened, the smile on her girlfriend’s face was too infectious to resist returning it, especially considering her recent tears. Julie continued talking as they followed a distance behind Troy and Colleen disappearing at the top of the stairs.

“I got in at 3 AM after driving eight hours. Troy was already asleep when I got home and I was tired, so I crawled into bed and told that man just before we fell asleep that I expected to receive a good and proper fucking from him in the morning.”

When they reached the top of the stairs, Julie turned and wrapped her arms around Susan’s waist, drawing her in tighter for a deep kiss.

“And yeah, I’m scared to fucking death for Helena, but I still haven’t gotten that fucking from him. And now that you’re with us, I expect one from you, too. It’s a 14-hour flight with just us on the plane, it would plain rude of me not to… encourage her to join us.”

They both laughed, kissed again, and got on board as the craft taxied to the runway.