The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Shoulda Known Better

* * *

Author’s note: So, I tried something a little new this time. I was going for a kind of noir feel, like something you might find in a Mickey Spillane novel, but with a modern twist. Not sure if it came across that way… my protagonist almost seems a bit more like Frank Drebin from the Naked Gun movies than Mike Hammer from One Lonely Night. Ah well. It is what it is. Hopefully it’s close enough to the mark that you, fair readers, will find some entertainment from it. Hope you enjoy.

As I sat watching the last few grains of sand fall in the hourglass that was the remainder of my life, I was reminded of something that Socrates once said: The only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing. Heh. Well, I supposed that meant I was about to become the wisest damn person in the history of the world, because as soon as this insane psychotic mob boss’ Brain Drain 3000 finished warming up, I wouldn’t know a goddamn thing. Which was kind of ironic in a way I wouldn’t be able to appreciate in another thirty seconds or so.

And to think, the day had started off to be such a nice one too...

* * *

“Ughnn!” I groaned loudly, stumbling back as the fist to my face sent me sprawling. I landed hard on my rump, which, if I may say so myself, was a rather nice one. Not too flat, or concave, yet not obscenely huge; I wasn’t a ‘sistah’ or anything, but baby definitely had back. I’ve been told I have a really nice rack, and some people think I have really great legs, but my personal vanity is my rear end. Hey, when you grow up with a step brother that listened to Sir Mix-A-Lot so often he could recite nearly every rhyme the man published from heart it’s bound to have an effect on ya! Anyway... shaking the cobwebs out of my head, I glanced up at the smirking face of the stinking filthy whore that sucked punched me.

“Nice shot, Gertie,” I rasped, licking the blood from my lips. Damn, she might have chipped a tooth with that haymaker. Bitch. “Really nice shot,” I amended, grinning savagely. “But the answer is still no. I ain’t gonna roll over and play ‘stoolie’ no matter how nicely ya ask.” The large, well-muscled buzz-cut blonde raised an eyebrow, and glancing at her partner, who merely shrugged silently, sighed, and cracked her knuckles.

“I see,” she replied in a thick, heavy accent that registered somewhere between an Austrian Frau and a German Kaiser about to blitzkrieg, “and here I thought I’d made my intentions perfectly clear. I’m not asking for the information, Miss Sanford, I am demanding it! My employer is a very powerful man, and not the kind you say ‘no’ to—”

“Then I suppose I should be honored to be the first,” I replied evenly, getting back to my feet. “Look, Gertie, I told yer boss over the phone hours ago. My client files are confidential. As in PRIVATE. As in, I don’t share them with any Tom, Dick, and Harriet that shows up at my door and asks, no matter how much money she offers me... or, how hard she hits when the bribery fails.”

Which was true enough. Not that I couldn’t use the dough. Fifty thousand smackers for a name, a telephone number and a few old photographs was awfully tempting. But this was my reputation we were talking about here. And I may have been a washed up ex-cop with a very MINOR drinking problem, a PI license and a dusty ramshackle office that looked like it’s last occupant was that 1930’s private dick, Phil Marlowe... but a girl’s got her pride if nothing else. I was the honest, hardworking type... well, mostly, anyway.... and with my God given assets, I sure as hell could have done a lot better than a mere fifty thousand if I’d decided to whore myself out! Bottom line, I wasn’t going to budge on this. I fingered the holster tucked tightly just inside my jacket; if things got rough, I wasn’t above ventilating Brigitte Nielsen over there, though the blood stains would void any chance of my getting the security deposit back on this dump.

“Look, dollface,” the impeccably dressed dark haired man standing behind Brunhilda said, speaking for the first time, “we’re not leaving here without the file on Ms. Tabitha Winters. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me either way. Regardless, we WILL get the information.”

I sighed softly, considering my options. Amazonia was clearly the brawn of the group, which meant Mr. Smooth was the brains. Almost as if in confirmation, I felt a slight twinge in the back of my skull, a sure sign that I was being scanned. Crap. Greendove sent a psychic. Guess he really IS serious about getting this information. Still... I have the upper hand in this little confrontation. Pausing a moment for dramatic effect, I pretended to ponder for a moment before whipping out my gun, grinning wickedly, pointing it at Big Bertha. “Sorry, folks... but I think I’ll choose the hard way.”

Both of them stared at me, grinning right back at me, with Slick no doubt planning to play his trump card. I do have to admit to a certain bit of satisfaction watching his smile falter, turning from confidence, to confusion, then to clarity as he realized with horror that his Jedi Mind tricks were wasted on me. That satisfaction doubled when I cocked my pistol, still pointed at the blonde’s head, and saw her smile fade as well.

“Um, Trevor, what are you waiting for?” she asked nervously. “Make her put down the gun!”

“I... I can’t!” he yelled in alarm, backing slowly towards the door. “She’s a damned Resistor! I can’t take control of her mind!”

Yep. I was a Resistor all right. Kind of funny in a way. Mama Sanford always told me my head was full of concrete growing up, and for lack of a better analogy, she was right. In a world of evil mind controllers and helpless victims, I was among the few that had no fear. My mind was like a slab of concrete; hypnosis wouldn’t stick, and psychic control slid off like water off a duck’s back. Not the greatest talent to have, overall, but in this line of work, it did come in handy.

Glancing at my two suddenly nervous guests, I gestured with the gun. “So...any chance you two would like to reconsider your earlier position on trying to force my help?” With a growl, both thugs back slowly back towards the front door. “Oh, and do me a favor and give your boss, Jack Greendove a message for me: ‘Next time he decides to try and strong arm me, he’d better do his homework first!’”

* * *

Yeah. Me and my big mouth. Shoulda known better. Never taunt a psychopathic mob boss with a penchant for elaborate deathtrap and torture scenarios. And definitely never give them clues on how to beat you in a confrontation. Believe it or not, some people actually DO listen to advice and take it to heart. And in my case, the slimy psychopathic mob boss actually took the time out to do his homework.

You see, I’m one of those extremely careful types that’s always checking over her shoulder, tends to avoid walking down blind alleys at night, and packs heat when she’s out and about, just in case. Hey, it ain’t paranoia when someone really IS out to get you, yanno? And I made my share of enemies back during my time on the force... and quite a few more since. Anyway, considering my rough-and-tumble background, my police training, and my natural athletic prowess, I was pretty much more than capable of looking after myself, should the need arise. Mama Sanford didn’t raise no dummies. Unfortunately, Mama Sanford wasn’t the best chef in the world, and we learned early on the joys of eating out. Unlike most P.I.’s, I don’t smoke, dose up, or drink myself into a stupor—remember, very very MINOR drinking problem—but I did have my vice. And I would crawl naked through rusty nails and broken glass, covered in burning kerosene for a fully loaded Black Angus hot dog from the Smoke Joint over on South Elliot! Every Friday, like clockwork, I’d swing by on my way home and pick up a pair of dogs, and a sixteen ounce root bear, something my stepbrother and I used to day way back when we were still kids. And wouldn’t you know it, that’s precisely when Greendove decided to make his move.

Well, actually, it was Big Bertha, who made her move... armed with an obviously illegally modified police issue Taser.

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living,” I heard when my eyes opened again, finding myself in what appeared to be an old abandoned warehouse, stripped naked, strapped down hand and foot in what looked like Dr. Kevorkian’s dentist chair, or possibly Dr. Frankenstein’s barber chair. My head was also strapped down tightly in place, restricting my view, but my host, ever the gentleman, kindly walked into view. “Ms. Anastasia Sanford, so nice to see you again,” Jack Greendove replied, running a finely manicured hand along the edge of his finely coiffed and slicked back raven hair. He chuckled slightly, making a point of looking me over in nauseatingly slow detail. “And, I do mean ALL of you,” he added with a leer that made me want to vomit.

“Bite me, sleaze,” I replied, with venom, “and for the last time, the name’s ‘Stacy’. Only family gets to call me ‘Anastasia’.” I didn’t bother to struggle in my bonds. I’d been in this setup before, a time or two, even before I’d left the force. Scum like Greendove only got off by seeing you struggle; he’d already gotten a free peep show, I wasn’t about to add to his enjoyment. “You can tell your female Arnold Schwarzenegger clone that she owes me seven-fifty for the food and drinks she made me spill, plus the dry cleaning bill.” Greendove merely laughed.

“Ever the spit-fire, aren’t you, my dear?” he replied, not the slightest unfazed by my calm demeanor. That was never a good sign. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? You know why you’re here. I want the information you dug up from the Winters investigation, and I want it now. Since you refused to give it to my subordinates, I had you brought here so I could ask you personally. What is the passcode?”

I laughed inwardly. “Oh? Your hacker boys having a little trouble cracking the file protection on my computer? Gee, that’s too bad. I guess it’s a good thing you had a backup plan—kidnapping me, that is. So, what now? Gonna use the old thumbscrews? Bamboo shoots? Waterboard me ’til I puke? Or going to give yer pet Psychic another go?” I tried to shake my head, momentarily forgetting it was strapped into place. Oh well. “Doesn’t matter. You can do whatever the hell you want, Greendove... I ain’t gonna sing.”

Kinda stupid, I know. Taunting the bad guy when I’m all tied up and at his mercy. Still, I had an out. I just had to stall for as long as possible. Eventually someone would come looking for me. Someone big, strong and with one hell of a temper. And, hell, I could take a little pain. As long as he didn’t start chopping off bits and pieces, I could take anything he could dish out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” Jackie Boy replied calmly, pacing slowly back and forth, still completely at ease despite my refusal to help. “As you suggested, I did my homework on you. You are as tough, fearless and resourceful as your reputation claims you to be. And, of course, the fact that you’re a Resistor.” He shook his head. “Didn’t know that. It explains a lot, though... about why you are one of the most trusted private dicks in the state. Anything that goes into that head of yours stays a secret.” He chuckled, walking a few steps back, to the far wall, near a large electrical switch box. “That is,” he added ominously, “until now!”

I blinked at the sudden flood of bright lights, then gasped as a strange buzzing permeated the area... particularly the areas beneath my seat and above my head. Fully illuminated, I now saw that the warehouse was not nearly as empty and abandoned as I’d thought. Several computer terminals and various other machines whirred to life, all of which were connected to the very chair in which I sat. The bad feeling I’d had in the pit of my stomach since coming to in this place kicked into overdrive. Despite myself, I began to struggle against my bonds.

“Worried now, are you?” Greendove said with a chuckle. “Well, you should be! You are strapped into the ‘Brain Drain 3000’... or so my associate Dr. Nivens calls it. You may have heard it mentioned on the news a few months ago by another name... the ‘Neural Extrapolator’.” I gasped, feeling icy travel down my spine. “Yes, the very same! A few phone calls, and a lot of money changing hands, and I became this baby’s new owner! So, Anastasia, what do you think about that?”

I personally thought it sucked big hairy donkey balls. There have been very few times in my life when I’ve been scared. I’m not a pansy, not the type to cringe or jump in a scary movie, or wilt when I see blood. As a police officer I had faced my fair share of criminal scum, looked over the sharpened edge of a switchblade, and stared down the barrel of a loaded gun. I’m proud to say that even at the worst of it, I’d never lost my composure even when my knees were so weak it was a wonder I hadn’t collapsed to the ground. But right then, knowing where I was, what I was strapped in... it was all I could do to keep from loosing my bladder and crying like a little baby.

The Neural Extrapolator was the brainchild of Professor Eli Millson, Professor Milton Trask, and Dr. Steven Wright, a trio of University eggheads doing research into the human mind. The idea was to create a machine capable of scanning the human mind, reading its thoughts and memories and downloading them into a form where they could be stored and view, like any other kind of electronic data. I’d heard the initial tests were very promising, that for a time there was major buzz about their work, and the idea of finally understanding everything about the human mind. And then... success and tragedy. Success, in that the machine worked perfectly on its first official human trial, properly downloading and storing the test subjects memories and thoughts.

The tragedy stood in the fact that the test subject was left a mindless shell by the process, her mind completely erased and wiped clean by the procedure.

Panic and outrage ensued. Suits filed. Criminal charges filed. Yadda yadda yadda... and the machine itself, rather than being dismantled, was stored away in federal custody, where it could be ‘studied’ later, to see if the flaw in its design might someday be corrected. It was presumed stored in a secure top secret government facility, far from the hands of the public.

Yeah right. Secure my ass!

“So, Miss Sanford,” Greendove taunted me, as he booted up the system, “you’re suddenly quiet. No caustic remarks? No witty repartee? No ‘You’ll never get away with this, you bastard’?”

“You’ll never get away with this y... ahh, shit!” I caught myself, his last comment coming just as I’d broken out of my fugue enough to make some kind of reply. “Wait, wait! Aren’t you even going to ask me if I’ve reconsidered? If I want to talk now? Yanno, all things considered, I am feeling a bit more talkative!”

“Ah, no, actually,” Greendove replied with a smirk, scrolling through the monitor menu, no doubt preparing to empty my brain. “It would be a waste of time. You are too tough and too committed to be swayed by bodily harm or threat of death. And even if I DID believe the threat to having my mind erased was enough to get you to talk, I have no guarantee that the passcode you’d give me would be the right one! MY hackers tell me that your computer is set up to delete all the files and wipe the hard drive if an improper code is put in.” He shrugged. “This way, I’ll be sure.”

Curse my damned paranoid overly careful self! Should have known better. I had officially cooked my own goose. I was just starting to lament my choice of career when the chair underneath me began to move.

“Ahhh! What the hell?” I exclaimed suddenly, as the seat beneath me split and slid away from my thighs and something hold hard and flexible thrust its way between them. Oh? Oh. OH! “You bastard!” I screeched with indignity as I felt myself violated... then violated again as the procedure repeated itself from behind as well. I growled my contempt as he nearly doubled over laughing. If I ever get out of this mess, I vowed silently, we’ll see you much YOU like having something stuck up yer ass!

“Sorry, I forgot to mention,” Greendove replied after a moment, once I’d gotten used to the invaders, “my friend, Dr. Nivens, took the opportunity to... augment the machine’s natural design a bit... to make it more enjoyable for you. You see, it takes the machine several minutes to warm up, and a few more for the electrodes at your temples to fully charge. We discussed it, and decided that it was only fair that you got to enjoy your last few moments as a rational thinking human being. My dearly departed momma always used to say, if you gotta go, go out with a smile, so I figure you should go out with a bang instead of a whimper.”

Any clever retort, or desperate plea I might have made was cut off as the dildos inside me surged to life. My eyes crossed as the pistoning and vibrating actions keyed up an arousal I was sure would have been impossible under such circumstances. I was never a ‘beauty’ in the classical sense, but I had a nice face and a smoking body, and had had my share of hot steamy sex before. Well... not lately... I was, admittedly, in a bit of a dry spell... but.... anyway, the point was, nothing I’d had in the past thirty-six years of my life compared to what I was experiencing now, at what was most likely the very end of my life!

Was that the reason it was so fucking good? Was there something about the bondage, the element of danger, that made this all so damned hot? I’d never considered myself that kinky, but damn! I suddenly understood why sexy hot women became superheroes in the comics, or online stories, dressing in skin tight spandex that just screamed for some evil maniacal bad guy to kidnap, strip, and subject you to dangerous, perilous, over-the-top sexual torment! Forget variety... danger was the fucking spice of life!

Damn! I was fading fast. I had no plans, no tricks, no ‘last minute escape the deathtrap and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat’ ploys left. I was toast. But then, just as I felt the electrodes on my head begin to buzz, signaling a full charge, just as I felt myself about to reach my crest, something occurred to me.

“Ready to lose your mind,” Greendove taunted me, hand hovering on the kill switch, “but in a good way?”

“Wait... wait... a second,” I gasped, gritting my teeth to keep from moaning. Damn, my tits were on fire! “Just one question... please!” Intrigued, he paused, head tilted to the side.

“Really? One question?” He shrugged, stepping back from the panel, giving me a few more seconds of sentient existence. “Alright then. What do you want to know?”

“Um... what time is it?”

He blinked, staring at me incredulously. I’d expected as much, probably wondering if I was going to ask something profound, something thought evoking, or make some kind of joke, some personal taunt in defiance to my fate. Heh. Under normal circumstances, maybe. If I had some kind of ace in the hole, some last minute escape prepared, then definitely. But honestly, this was a shot in the dark. I didn’t own a watch, I was usually too busy to keep track of the time, and when one day blends into another you kind of stop bothering. Right now, though, it was extremely important.

“Are you kidding?” Jackie Boy asked, rolling his eyes. “You wanted to know what time it is? Are you afraid of missing the latest episode of ‘Glee’? Tch... fine,” he said in disgust, glancing down at his watch, one hand still holding tightly to the switch. “It’s now currently nine o’clock. La de fucking da. Hope it was worth it.”

Yeah. I hope so too, I thought to myself, closing my eyes, and screaming HELP silently in my mind.

“Time to say goodnight, Gracie!” Jackie crowed, preparing to flip the switch.

I cringed, expecting that hand to swing down, and bring about my doom... and let out a small sigh of relief as I cracked open an eye and say Jackie Boy frozen, his hand shaking slightly, but without flipping the switch. Yes! YES! I guess I DID make that dinner date for tonight after all! Jackie Boy stared at me, eyes wide, bulging even, and with a strange jerking movement, released the switch, walked over to the main door, unlocked it, and opened it.

And immediately fell back to the ground as the extremely large, extremely muscular, dark skinned behemoth drove a hamhock sized fist into his face!

“Anastasia!” he bellowed, the echo of his voice sounding very much like a lion roaring in the mostly empty warehouse walls. Yeah, one of the reasons he’s the only living person allowed to call me by that name is that it sounds so fucking cool when he says it. His eyes locked onto me, slid down, peering at my pale bared flesh, then slide quickly to the side. “Hang on, I’ll get you out.”

I giggled, mostly from stress relief, but also from the fact that my clit was still being stimulated unbearably. “Ryan! Thank G-god” I managed, my eyelids beginning to flutter, as my toes started to curl. “Oooohh... fuck... can’t hold it back... any... longer—”

And just like that, the vibrators went dead. I blinked, gasping, nearly gaggling, my epic climax snatched back out of range just when it was within my grasp! My eyes opened and glared hard at my would-be savior, who managed to pointedly avoid staring at my naked body as he unstrapped me. And who COULDN’T HAVE WAITED FIVE MORE FUCKING SECONDS!! Uggghh!

“Anastasia, are you alright?” my brother asked as he helped me back to my feet. I growled at him, extremely grateful for the rescue, but slightly miffed at being left unsatisfied. “Here. I, uh, um, found some clothes for you, to, um...yanno... wear... outside in one of the offices,” he mumbled, showing a handful of clothing into my arms.

“Thanks, Ryan,” I replied with a sigh, sliding the t-shirt up over my head. “What took you so long to find me, anyway?”

He smirked. “Well, sis, this is YOU we’re talking about. I swear, you’d be late for your own funeral!” He sighed softly. “When you made a date to have dinner with me and watch my copy of The Avengers a few weeks ago, you said six o’clock. I didn’t get worried enough to start looking for you until eight-thirty. Luckily that rock hard head of yours is easy enough to scan for—I could find you in my sleep.”

Which was, in this case, a very lucky break. Unlike myself, my step-brother had been born one of the gifted, a psychic with phenomenal power. Lucky for the rest of us, he was also born with the sweetest, kindest disposition, and a sweet but firm mother capable of installing a true sense of right and wrong. And lucky for me, he was familiar enough with the inner workings of my concrete encased brain to pick up even my pitiful excuse for a psychic transmission. Glancing down at the sprawled out form of my former tormentor, I thought to myself, Of course, being kindhearted isn’t the same thing as being a pushover.

“Think you busted his nose, bro,” I commented as I finished dressing, sliding my feet into an old pair of loafers.

“No less than he deserves,” Ryan replied gruffly, giving the man one last backward glance. “I read the papers. I know what he does for a living. And don’t worry, I fixed it so he won’t be bothering you again... him or his hired goons.” I winced slightly at his ominous tone. Ryan hated using his powers on other people that way; Jackie Boy must have really gotten on his bad side if he felt the need to intervene. Ah well. I’d make it up to him later.

“So... have you eaten yet?” I asked him as we made our way out of the building and back onto the city streets. “My own meal was interrupted before I could get the chance to eat it.”

“Yeah, I went ahead and ate while I waited for you to show,” he replied, leading me to his car, “but we can stop by and grab something on the way to my apartment. What are you in the mood for?”

“Well, actually,” I said with a grin, “I’ve really got a hankerin’ for a fully loaded dog from the Smoke Joint. I know it’s a bit out of the way from here, but...”

Ryan merely laughed, cutting a hard U-turn, heading back into the city. “Yeah, yeah, little sis, I know. Shoulda known better.”

((end))