The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


Chapter 20

Resurrecting Jack (part 1)

As the spring semester’s end approached Alan was as busy as he had ever been. Between preparing end of term papers, studying for final exams, his regular meetings in midtown with Wilkins and the others, the birth of Megan’s baby (Marshall Philip Kelly (“Phil”), 7 pounds even), and his daily readings of the complete files and notes of Jean-Pierre Massimo, left him little time for leisure.

To make matters worse, for some unknown reason he was losing his ability to get by with scant amounts of sleep. He still required less than the average person, but now he was sleeping everyday, sometime for more than four hours at a stretch. His other abilities were unaffected, and if anything, becoming sharper.

The documents that Neil Swindon-Smythe had recovered were a treasure trove of information about the history of Hyrcanus and a few of his fellow Seed Vessels; also extremely useful were Jack’s personal journals. Alan had learned a number of new tricks reading the diary. Now he could pass through doors, as if he was a ghost, and he could also turn invisible, not only to people, but to cameras and the like. He was always able to make others not see him by using his mind control powers, but this was more useful in this day and age, with surveillance cameras ever-present; though each of these trick took enormous mental effort, sometimes leaving him drained for hours after his training sessions.

In the back of his mind Alan was worried. He hadn’t “heard” from Jack Massimo in months, since the night of the kidnap. If Jack was out there somewhere he still had no idea where, and the silence was troubling. On top of all that the dreams he was having were sort of freaking him out. He knew that they contained clues to where Jack was and how to restore him, but he couldn’t cipher the clues in a fashion that made any sense. The one thing he was sure of was that he needed to go to Europe to figure it all out, to retrace Jack’s last steps on earth. Once the semester ended he was headed off, and he was lucky to have Mr. Karick as a guide. Who better to help him go back over Jack’s last days than the man who had been assigned to watch him every minute of every day? As he thought this through he arched his back, stretching the muscles, hearing the vertebrae click back into alignment, and he sighed.

He was reading at his desk, the laptop open, its screen glowing in the darkness of the room as Soren slept soundly in his bed. He was reviewing the text of the Scroll of Hyrcanus, his namesake, for perhaps the hundredth time. He was tired, his eyelids heavy. He persevered for another thirty minutes and then snapped the laptop closed, unplugged it, replaced it in its steel box, and used his mind to seal the box shut.

Crawling into his unmade bed he collapsed even before he could undress and pull the covers over himself, but he did not sleep. A dull buzzing sensation fell over his restless body, and out of the corner of his eye he began to sense the unearthly glow emanating from Jean-Pierre Massimo’s ring. With his last ounce of strength he lifted the hand which bore this ring and held it right in front of his face, and the glow increased, nearly blinding him in rush of pure white light. The vision began. He saw it through Jack’s eyes, heard it through Jack’s ears, smelled it through Jack’s nose.

Florescent lights, white walls, and the smell of antiseptic assaulted his senses.

* * *

29 June 2002

He could feel them getting closer; more to the point, he couldn’t feel them, and that was more worrying than anything.

As he made his way through the highways and byways of his adopted hometown he could sense the voids in his power, the null points in his perceptive abilities. He had just left the offices of his financial managers in the City of London, his car just a few feet in front of him, idling at the curbside when he saw a man across the street watching him. It was nothing new; people had been watching him for the better part of a century. But this watcher was different. He had no mind to him. No mind that he could probe and read, and after reading minds, probing the innermost thoughts of nearly all the people he had encountered over these last decades, the reality of being in close proximity to an impenetrable consciousness unnerved him.

He could feel them getting closer. More to the point, he couldn’t feel them, and that was more worrying than anything.

* * *

A hospital.

The Cancer Ward.

A stench of death, of impending mortality, pervaded the whole of the corridor.

“I’m very sorry, sir. Visiting hours have ended,” the nurse said, trying to edge him to the bank of elevators. He was undeterred.

“A terrible way to die,” he said, evenly, his eyes a million miles away. Emile had died in a place like this, the twenty-year old memory still afresh in his brain.

He had been lecturing, in the States. He hadn’t even know she was ill. All of their phone conversations and letters, and she hadn’t even broached the subject. Brave was she as she faced the final journey, braver than he would have been in her place. Had he known the solution would have been child’s play.

His flight landed and he had made immediately for the hospital. The doctor, a model of Swiss efficiency, had laid the facts before him. “One week, Dr. Massimo, perhaps less. I am sorry, there is nothing we can do for her now. We will see that she is as comfortable as can be, and let nature take its course.”

It was too late for him to do anything about it. Damn it all to hell! If he had only been here in Geneva a month ago he would have been able to reverse its progression. But now—now it was even out of his hands.

“Yes, sir, a terrible way to die,” the nurse repeated, shaking him back to the present. “But, you’ll still have to leave. Visiting hours have ended.”

He reached out with a mind probe, relieved that his powers were not failing him in his old age, and took control of the woman beside him.

He scanned her brain for information. He was looking for a patient, one in a situation he could use to his advantage.

He closed the door to Mr. Dickinson’s room and sat on the bed next to the dying man, laying hands on him like a shaman, a faith healer of old. He concentrated, using all his will, all his strength.

From the private bathroom off to the side he heard the bathtub overflow and went in there to turn off the taps. Water helped. Water made it easier. He eased himself into the tub, fully clothed, and submerged beneath the surface of the water. Through the hazy, shimmering surface of the water he stared at the tiled ceiling for a few seconds, and then closed his eyes and concentrated. A few seconds later he broke the through the surface, his lungs taking in great draughts of air. Dripping wet he made his way back into the room. As he passed the mirror he was only slightly startled by his new appearance which was now identical to the dying man laying in the bed.

Dickinson opened his eyes and they almost popped out of his head at the sight of Massimo. He thought he was having an out of body experience, like when in the movies a person dies and a shadow of them emerges and walks around the room. His double (Massimo) walked up to him and covered Dickinson’s eyes, and he was asleep again. Massimo concentrated again, and in almost an instant Dickinson’s appearance was transformed to match that of Jean-Pierre Massimo. Water helped.

* * *

The suitcase was the last of his things left in the dorm room. All the rest of his stuff was packed in his dad’s car. He was leaving for London in three days, with a security team headed by Mr. Karick, and he figured it was better to pack his bag before he moved back home.

As he was taking a long last look around his room his mom popped in and came over right next to him. “So, sweetie, are you ready?” she asked, reaching up and ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, mom, let’s go,” Alan replied kissing her on the cheek.

“It’s a shame you’re only going to be home a few days before you leave for your job in Europe,” she sighed.

“I’ll be back in a month or so, so there’ll still be two months that I’ll be home,” he said back, putting his arm around her shoulder. With his free hand he grasped the handle of the suitcase and they went out together.

That evening his family and the Van Devanters, plus Brian Lacy (Pauline’s boyfriend) went out for dinner at an Italian place a few towns over from where they all lived. Pauline looked very happy with herself, both over her impending matriculation at Harvard (coupled with Brian headed for MIT), and generally with her lot in life. She would be spending the summer again working at the local day camp, this summer as the head of girl’s half; Kate was going to be working again with runaways, this year taking groups of them on Outward Bound expeditions sponsored by her family’s foundation.

After dinner Alan and Kate begged off further family activity and went for a drive. The made their way aimlessly around the town for awhile and then stopped for coffees. Kate found them seats while Alan was at the counter. There was a long line, so it took more than a few minutes for him to join her.

“Miss me?” he asked, a goofy smile across his face as he settled in next to her on the couch in the Starbucks.

“A little.”

“Really? I was joking.”

Her face took on a furtive look and she glanced away for a moment before replying. “I’m going to miss you. When I’m away. When you’re away.” She turned her head again, not want to see him as she asked her next question. “Are you, you know, going to miss me? This summer?”

He thought about it for a moment. Despite their rocky start and past history he knew that he was developing feelings for her, had been, in fact, for quite some time. He knew Kate loved him, and it wasn’t due to any changes he had made to her. He knew form as far back as senior year, prom night to be exact, when she had sobbed and broken down and blurted out her growing feelings.

He was going away, perhaps for a month, perhaps longer, and he knew within himself that he was going to miss Kate, miss her company, in bed and out of it. The past year and a half or so had seen a startling transformation in her, and though some of it had been at his instigation, much of it had come from inside her. He unlocked her in a way, and by that freedom she was able to grasp at the things that made her unhappy, to grab them at the root and pull herself out of her destructive patterns, destructive patterns she subconsciously knew would have, if not gone checked by Alan, turned inward on herself to a higher degree. Alan understood perfectly the role he played in her transformation, but it did nothing to stanch the feelings they shared for each other.

“Yes, Katie, I’ll miss you.”

She put her hands on him and leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically.

A few minutes later he stopped the car and parked.

“What are we doing here? How are we getting in?”

He thought quickly and made up a story. “I still have the master key from when I was in charge of the newspaper.” When the had reached the double steel doors he made her turn her back, ostensibly to keep a look out. He jingled his own keys a bit while he used his mind to unlock the doors.

“This is really weird, being back in high school, and all,” she commented as they moved through the dark and silent halls. He had her “keep lookout” again as he forced open the door to the newspaper office, and within seconds of stopping at the previously locked door they were within.

She pressed up against him, on her tiptoes, trying to place her lips against his, but she found herself unexpectedly rebuffed. “What’s the matter?” she asked, a quizzical expression across her pretty face.

“Can we talk first?”

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good,” she said quietly.

“No, it’s nothing like that, I swear,” he replied, guiding them to the ratty old couch which was pushed against the back wall of the room. They sat and turned towards each other. He took her hands in his.

“This is where it all began,” he said distractedly, his eyes roaming the room, frequently stopping at the desk where he first took her. Kate shivered at the memory of it and he squeezed her hands tighter. “I just wanted to say, to tell you,” he began, losing his thread. There was silence for an uncomfortable interval. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry. For, uh, doing that to you. That day.”

She leaned into him, her head resting on his chest, her ear pressed against his shirt. She could hear his heartbeat throbbing. She blinked a few times, successfully stemming an impending flow of tears. “It’s OK,” she mumbled loud enough for him to hear, “Really, it’s OK.”

“No! It’s not OK. When I think back on what I did then I feel, well, bad about it.”

“No. Stop. You’re trying to tell me something, and you’re using this whole mea culpa thing to avoid it,” she told him as she sat up straight and looked him right in the eye. “Spill.”

“Do you remember prom night? In your room, afterwards? What you told me?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered through trembling lips, her eyes moistening.

“I-I-I think I feel the same way.”

“You, you, you l-love me?” she asked as the waterworks opened up. He nodded.

“I think so.”

“Good enough for me,” she giggled through her tears, kissing him passionately.

“But that doesn’t change the fact,” he began, interrupting her kiss, “That I was wrong when we, uh, did it that first day.”

She put her hands on his cheeks, drawing his gaze to hers; she was expecting this scene for awhile, and had a speech ready. “I don’t care about that. You’ve never heard me complain.” She paused, thinking back on that day. Her pussy began to ooze at the memory. “I didn’t like you. I never did—before that day, I mean. You were a nice enough guy, but I thought you were a wimp. I was with Chad then, and my naïve little self thought he was, to use the phrase, all that and a bag of chips. I was,” she choked up a little here, “a very, very, very unhappy person, only I didn’t know it then. Looking back on that period in my life, before, uh, THAT day,” she shuddered for a second before continuing, “I was a bitch, especially to you, and I hated myself. What you did to me that day, I mean, what WE did that day, well, there’s no other way to put it—you rocked my world. I mean, of course sexually. You know that, right? That was the best I had ever had, but like a factor of a thousand,” she giggled. “But I was, uh, rocked, in like other ways too. Wimpy Alan Marshall (sorry), so powerful, so, so so—I don’t know what.

“I was a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and I was making a bad transition, and you pulled me back from the brink. By, ah, dominating me like that, you made me a little girl for just a bit longer, and I was able to, to, I don’t know, self-reflect, something, something. I mean to say that by being your slave, your submissive I was finally able to focus on Kate the person, not Kate the popular, Kate the status seeker. You took away a small part, OK, a large part of my identity when you made me a slave to your lusts.

“But looking back on me at that time I really didn’t have an identity to speak of. I had an identity as the hunky quarterback’s boyfriend. I had an identity as the girl who was invited to every cool party. I had an identity through the fancy labels in my clothes, the cool car I got when I turned seventeen, the big house my parents lived in. Those things were of me, but the weren’t me me. You know what I’m talking about?”

He nodded, waiting for her to continue; even someone who wasn’t a telepath could tell she wasn’t quite done. She began to gently rub his cheeks as she went on.

“And you! You were alright. Not too cool, not too nerdy. A regular guy. You seemed happy about who you were, and in a way I was jealous of that. And I hated you for that. And then, and then, that day in this room. OH MY GOD!”

They both broke down in hysterical fits of laughter.

“I mean, I know you weren’t, uh, that you didn’t do that for MY benefit! You DID get a nice, uh, ride,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

He chuckled

“Where in the hell did that come from. Why did I follow you then?” she sighed. “Oh well, the mysteries of the universe, I guess. But, and this is a big, humungous, gigantic, enormous, vast, BUT, I’m really really really really really really really really glad it happened. So quit yer grousing, and stop beating yourself up already, OK?”

She kissed him, hard.

“OK,” he said pulling back for a second, a wry grin creeping across his features.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked, turning a little red-faced.

“I’m happy,” he said, evenly.


“Happy to know you. Happy to have you. Happy you have me. Pick one.”

She devoured him again, her tongue wildly exploring his mouth, her hands rapidly exploring his body, touching all of her favorite parts. She was hungry for him, and was impatient in her clothing. She pulled away from him and peeled off her shirt, and practically tore off her bra, then guided his hands to her quivering chest, sighing deeply as he began to touch her all over her exposed skin, as he was not content to confine himself to her generous breasts, but tickled her flanks and caressed the smooth skin of her stomach and back.

When she thought she could take no more she stopped his hands by grasping him at the wrists and pulled away so there was a foot of space between them on the sofa. Hurriedly she shimmied out of her pants as she watch him disrobe. The room was hot and humid, the air conditioning system in the building switched off until the morning, and she could see the fine sheen of sweat covering his well-built form. She was perspiring slightly herself as she jumped on top of him, her pantied-covered pussy rubbing hard into his exposed shaft.


“Hmm?” she answer languidly, concentrating on the feeling of his hardness sliding up and down her crotch, enjoying the feeling of it spreading the stickiness under the thin cotton fabric. “W-what?”

“I hate to sound crude, but, why are you still wearing your panties?”

She giggled lazily. “You know why.” A slight gasp escaped as the head of his dick rubbed right against her clit.

“Am I missing something?”

“Silly Alan, I left them on so you could take them off. I <pant> like it when you <pant> take them off. Take off my panties, you silly boy, now <pant>.”

Slowly he eased them down as far as he could in their position, and Kate wiggled them off the rest of the way. Now his erection rested skin to skin against her dripping gash, and she began to hump up against it, saturating the surface of his cockflesh with her plentiful girl juices. She put her palms down on her shoulders and hoisted herself up a bit, looking deeply into his eyes. He knew what she wanted and took hold of his slippery manhood, lining the tip of it against her gushing cleft. Slowly she sank down on him, devouring his manhood with her body. As she came to rest fully impaled she loosed a quiet moan and rested her head on his shoulder, content not to move. She could feel his hands on her back and flanks lightly rubbing her skin, and she shivered in arousal.

After a few minutes of just being held Kate reared back and started to slowly bounce and twirl back and forth on his shaft, and he helped her out by holding her at her hips and leisurely lifted and dropped her down on his dick. Her moans became louder as she began to jerk her hips down, smashing her crotch into his, but neither of them said a word, they just stared into each other’s faces. Hard as it was to see in the dim light of the empty office Alan could still make out the passion painted across her delicate features. Kate let out a fast yelp, and hugged him tight as her wet channel spasmed around him, and he came with her. They held one another a while longer.

* * *

“Have we changed?”

“Hmm? What are you talking about, sweetie?” Alan asked.

It was twenty minutes later, and he was driving her home through the town’s dark and deserted streets.

Alan was paying more attention to flicking his hi-beams on and off that Kate in the seat next to him.

“What are we? You know, boyfriend and girlfriend? Lovers? Master and slave?”

“Weeeeelllll,” he began, drawing out his words exaggeratedly, “I cannot assume to speak for you, but in my mind you’re my girlfriend. OK?”

She sniffled and wiped a tiny tear from the corner of her eye. “OK,” she whispered. She paused a few seconds. “But what about, you know, the other girls?”

“Yours or mine?” he shot back with a wicked grin.

She laughed. “I think I just walked right into that one. OK, then it’s settled.”

“What’s that.”

“You are my boyfriend, I am your girlfriend, but both of us can have girls.”

He laughed.

* * *

Alan had never been to Europe before; his family vacations had usually been inside the continental U.S. and Hawaii, with occasional forays to Mexico, and once to the West Indies.

It was a shame really that he wouldn’t get a chance to play tourist; his business in Europe was business. They were in Geneva, their second stop. London had proven fruitless; visits to the hotel where Massimo had been killed hadn’t turned up anything, and his office at Oxford had similarly yielded nothing of importance.

Claude Massimo met the trio (Alan, Karick and Swindon-Smythe) in his office. After an exchange of pleasantries they got down to business.

“Please, please, sit down. You are Alan Marshall, yes? I didn’t know you were coming, but I’ve been expecting you nonetheless. Please, sit. Do not be puzzled. It’s rather simple, you see.” Dr. Massimo leaned over and twirled the combination lock on the safe concealed in the credenza behind his desk and quickly righted himself holding a small metal box, about four inches by eight, as deep as it was wide.

“When our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Wilkins from New York, flew over last year to help me settle my father’s estate, well, that was the first I ever heard of you, Mr. Marshall. I take it you and my father were close?”

“We, uh, had a special bond.”

“I don’t mean to be indelicate, but, ah, how shall I state this? Ah, by, uh ‘special bond,’ ah, does that make us half brothers? I’m sorry to ask, but knowing my father as I did I am well aware that there are unacknowledged half siblings of mine peppered across the globe, and, uh,” he petered off in half embarrassment.

“No, Doctor, nothing like that, but for various reasons I would rather not elaborate upon I cannot comment further.”

“Oh. Fine fine. And uh, is Mr. Sutherland, Carl Sutherland joining us? I’m somewhat curious about him.”

“No,” Alan stated plainly, not wanting his host to know he and Sutherland were one and the (almost) same.

“My father was a very wealthy man, and he left me a large amount of money, and more to charities and institutions and such. I begrudge this Sutherland person nothing, but I found it very strange that such a large portion of my father’s estate was given to a man I had never met, never even heard about before his passing. I was just curious.”

Alan looked the man over, inside and out, and decided he was just nervous. He was more interested in the box, hoping Alan would open it in his presence.

“Do you know what it is?” Claude Massimo asked. “I tried opening it,” he admitted with a furtive look on his face, “But it seems to me to be one solid piece of metal.”

“Just a little project your father and I were collaborating on.”

Later, back at the hotel Alan opened the box. Neil was right by him, Karick watched the door.

“What is it?” Dr. Swindon-Smythe asked, his voice ripe with anticipation.

“Empty. Just a piece of paper, parchment, I think. Blank,” Alan answered, showing him. The box was steel, lined with green felt, peeling at the edges.

“Let me have a see,” Neil said, taking the parchment and examining it. “Old, maybe centuries old. Perhaps,” he began, drifting off into thought, “Perhaps it is like the box itself. Could you, ah, do that magic bit you do, like opening the box, like. You know, unlock the message on the paper like you unlocked the box?”

“Good idea!” Alan said excitedly, but to no avail. The paper remained blank even after Alan concentrated over it.

“It might be chemical,” Karick said, coming in from the suite’s other room. “I know a man, documents expert—we used to work together ages ago. He might be able to help.” He unpocketed his cell phone and began to make calls. A few hours later they were on an evening train to Paris.