The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I had planned that Sunday would be a lazy day for all of us. However, the boys decided to dust and clean in the morning, except for Rut, who was helping Ian with a design for the parking lot. That didn’t take them long, and I liked what they did. The side fronting the main drag had a distinctive Old World flavor, with iron gates and arched niches where the plants would go. Rut also cut the corner of the two streets at an angle, so that traffic from either direction would be able to see. There were also wooden benches along the two streets, as two bus lines crossed at the intersection. Ian made sure the area was well lighted, without spoiling the charm.

Once the boys were done with cleaning, they all adjourned to the kitchen. They were all eager to do a little cooking ahead, and it was Nagi and Rut that were advocating doing some baking. Their efforts were good for all of us in other ways as well, as the smells of cooking food and baking pastries permeated the entire floor.

Ian had expressed a wish to do some more exploring on his own, and I made sure he had some spending money.

Thorn and Deke were on the Internet, entertaining themselves, so I felt free to go into my office and do some work.

I spent a little time puttering around, arranging things to my liking, and then started transferring some of my old files to the new computer. I’d bought the closest thing to state of the art that I could find, so that didn’t take long. Once everything was transferred over, I wiped the old hard drives, and set them aside to go into storage, just in case.

Then I buckled down and started working on some fiction, planning to get at least 25 pages done before the end of the day. I prefer to set these little goals for myself, it gives me something to shoot for, not to mention it strengthens a good work habit.

Every so often, one of the boys would sneak in and deposit a plate of food or a glass of something liquid next to my elbow. I like to munch on things while I write.

Eventually I stood up to stretch, noted the time, and saw that I had exceeded my goal. I saved the work I had done, and shut the computer down.

The boys were packing up baked goods. I leaned against the doorframe, looking at what they had done, that I could see at least, and clapped. They looked up with bright grins.

“That’s a lot of food,” I said approvingly. “And thanks for the snacks, guys, they were great.”

Every surface of the kitchen and dining room had something on it, and it wasn’t a mess. There were cookies and loaves of bread cooling, as well as a bunch of exotic looking pastries. The three slow-cookers were full of bubbling somethings (one looked like a pot roast). Plastic storage bowls were being filled by the little guys with other things. The storage bowls were being set off to the side to cool before going into the freezer or refrigerator. As each pot or pan was emptied, they were rinsed and put into the dishwasher.

“I hope you let the other guys sample the food as well,” I added.

“Oh, they’ve been eating,” Rut nodded, as he checked the contents of one of the slow-cookers. A familiar scent came to me, and I laughed.

“Is that my chicken soup recipe?” I asked. Nagi looked up.

“Yes, sir, I found it,” he told me. “That’s the second batch, so we have it on hand just in case.”

“Great,” I approved. Not that any of the boys would need it; the chicken soup recipe I’d developed almost five years before was made to combat cold and flu symptoms. “How much did you spice it up?”

“I used white pepper instead of black,” he replied. “It tastes good.”

“Sounds good to me,” I assured him. “Always wanted to try that, but never got around to buying it.”

“Rut made up some of the orange-carrot vinaigrette, and raspberry too,” Paddy reported. “Plus some garlic butter and honey mayo, while we were waiting for the cookies to get done.”

“Good for you,” I nodded to Rut. “I take it that it was Paddy that made up the barbeque sauce. I’d know that taste anywhere.” One of the items they’d brought into me was one of my favorite snack foods, cocktail franks in barbeque sauce.

“Yes, Dad,” Paddy confirmed, blushing slightly.

“What’s Lucky been working on?” I asked.

“I’ve been chopping and stuff,” Lucky replied, holding up all ten fingers to show that they were still intact. I chuckled.

“What have Ian, Thorn and Deke been up to?” I asked.

“Thorn and Deke are reading some of your books,” Rut mentioned. “Ian hasn’t come back yet.”

I thought that was definitely odd, since Ian had said he wasn’t planning to be out for more than a few hours. I ‘looked’ up and down the street, but didn’t see him. I went back to the office and got the interface.

I started swearing. Ian was in jail.

I didn’t for a minute think that Ian had done something illegal. Pete had never been in trouble the entire time he’d been an adult, and that had carried over to his reincarnation as Ian.

I did some checking for some information I would need. I couldn’t think of a way to get the story from Ian, and wasn’t particularly interested in the details; I was pretty sure I’d just get angrier. I was going to get this straightened out, and fast.

I walked into the dining room, where Thorn and Deke were already setting the table, all of the baked goods having been bundled up and put in storage already.

“Go ahead and eat without me,” I told them. They all looked up, surprised, and noted that I had gotten dressed.

“What’s wrong?” Rut asked, his eyes wide.

“Ian’s in jail,” I told them. “I’m going to go get him out.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lucky asked, stepping forward.

“Taking anybody with me is going to cause more questions than we want right now,” I shook my head. “And it won’t help anything to expose you to the kind of bigotry that Reno cops specialize in. If this looks like it will take more than an hour or so, I’ll call you. Keep Ian’s dinner warm for him, OK?”

I walked into the police department and stopped at the desk, where a lone officer was working. He looked up at me, and flinched.

I’d worked myself into a rage on the drive to the station, and Reno traffic hadn’t helped.

I started by laying down the documents I had with me.

“This is my identification, I am Padraigh O’Duine,” I began. The man flushed at my tone of voice, it sounded like I was teaching kindergarten. “This is the court order assigning guardianship of a minor, Ian O’Duine, aged fifteen, to me. This is the resident alien identification for said minor. This is the passport for said minor. Now, I would appreciate it if you would tell Captain Burgess, who I know is in his office, that I would like to know why you have thrown a minor into a jail cell with a number of adult offenders, in clear violation of his Miranda and other civil rights.” I glared at the man, and he scrambled for the phone. While he was talking on the phone, he was also punching up records on his computer screen.

I’d had to search for the last three items, as they had still been in the mail, and apported them to me.

I waited for about three minutes, when I saw a police officer come out to the front desk. He was a short man, but massively bulked out. I checked the interface I had brought with me, and it confirmed that the man abused steroids. But I had suspected that for over a year, I had run into Officer Brubacher before.

The first time I had run across Brubacher, he had been responding to my 911 call. A drunk who lived in an apartment on the second floor of my building had tried to break into my apartment, threatening to rip my head off when he got through the door (I’d never figured out why he’d been mad at me, I’d never even spoken or nodded to the man before). Brubacher had, when I demanded to submit a written complaint, told me to shut up and go back into my apartment. When I had resisted, he had shoved me into a wall, in full view of three security guards (they’d been hired by the management).

The second time was when Brubacher had been the officer to respond to my call when I spotted a man breaking into the car belonging to a neighbor across the street. Brubacher had threatened to arrest me, instead, when I tried to tell him where I had seen the man disappear to just before the police arrived.

Brubacher came towards me, a cocky smirk on his face. “Show me these documents,” he demanded.

“No,” I replied. “You’re not Captain Burgess. You’re Officer Brubacher, you’re an abuser of steroids, and you just did three lines of coke in the bathroom.” I pitched my voice to carry, and several people stopped and stared. Then I lowered my voice. “And you’re a puny, short little piece of shit.”

“Sir, do you want to be arrested?” Brubacher asked me, his eyes on fire.

“It would take a man to arrest me,” I told him quietly. “And it would take no less than three acts of divine intervention to raise you to the exalted level of cockroach.”

Brubacher raised his fist, just as a voice came from behind him.

“Brubacher, what the hell are you doing?” the quiet, stern voice asked. I looked up and recognized the picture of the Captain the interface had shown me.

“Captain Burgess,” I acknowledged with a nod. “I trust you have an explanation for this?”

“For what, Mr. —?” the captain looked confused. It looked genuine. I glanced over at the desk sergeant, and he looked away.

“Fine, it seems the sergeant failed to contact you, I will go through this again,” I shrugged. I moved past Brubacher, ignoring him. “I am the legal guardian of my nephew, Ian O’Duine, who is fifteen. I want to know why I was not contacted when he was arrested, why I was not present for the reading of Miranda rights, and why I have not received a phone call as to his being placed in jail. I’d also like to know why he was put into a jail cell with a number of hardened criminals of adult age, in clear violation of federal and state guidelines.”

“Sergeant, do we have anyone by that name?” the Captain asked.

“Ah, yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Uh, his age is listed as twenty-one.”

“Anybody can look at him and know he is fifteen,” I snorted. “What was the charge?”

“Answer him,” the Captain said, when the sergeant looked to him for support.

“”Uh, robbery,” the sergeant replied. “He had a number of one hundred dollar bills on him at time of arrest.”

I pulled out a notepad, and quickly wrote seven serial numbers on the sheet. I ripped it off and handed it to the Captain. “Here are the serial numbers of the bills I gave my nephew yesterday for spending money. I have a photographic memory.” The Captain raised an eyebrow at that and turned to the sergeant.

“Is he in holding?” The sergeant nodded. “Get him out here.” The Captain turned back to me and Brubacher. “I take it, Officer, you were the arresting officer?” Brubacher nodded. “Mr. O’Duine, I apologize that your day has been interrupted by this. I am taking a personal interest in this case.” He glared at Brubacher, before turning to whisper to the sergeant, who looked cowed.

We had to wait about ten minutes for them to bring Ian out. They’d put him in the orange jumpsuit, several sizes too big, and he had wrist and ankle restraints. He was escorted by two large guards. He had a nasty bruise on the side of his face, and the way he cradled his chest with one arm had me seeing red.

“My, two big men to guard a scared teenager,” I observed acidly. “What’s the matter, couldn’t you find some bazookas to guard him with?”

“Brubacher told us he was violent,” one guard objected sullenly.

“Oh, yeah, I can see that,” I spat. I stepped forward to take charge of Ian, and one of the guards put up his hand to keep me away. “Unless you never want to see that arm again, I suggest you get it out of my way. Because right now you are more in danger from me than any fairy tale Brubacher spun out of thin air.”

“Get out of his way,” the Captain ordered. I gathered Ian to me tenderly. Then I stepped away and pulled the restraints apart with my bare hands. I turned around and tossed the pieces at Brubacher.

“If I ever see you near me, my family, my place of business, or my residence, I will drop you out of an airplane from thirty thousand feet,” I snarled at him. “And the only thing you’ll have as a parachute is your useless ball sac, you fucking pindick.”

One of the guards grabbed me from behind, attempting to put his arms around my chest.

“Captain, is this man in any way essential to the running of this force as a competent police force?” I asked icily.

“Let him go, officer,” the Captain ordered, although his eyebrows were still up in his hairline over my removal of Ian’s restraints. Even as he said it, Brubacher was going for his gun. He stood there, pointing the gun at me, his eyes crazed.

“Brubacher—“ the Captain thundered.

“Can it,” I cut him off. “Brubacher, you better hope that first puny bullet kills me. You better hope that the first twenty kill me. But I’d advise you to save the last one for yourself, because it will be preferable to what I am going to do to you.” I tensed one hand, and squeezed. Brubacher squealed as I telekinetically squeezed his nuts, and dropped the gun.

After a minute or two of staring, a leggy blonde woman in uniform came out and handed the Captain a clipboard. He wrote on it and accepted a large envelope from her. He undid the clasp, and poured the contents onto the desk beside him. He pulled the bills from the money clip, and compared the bills to the list I’d given him.

“I note that there are six of the serial numbers here, with smaller bills in the amount of forty-three dollars,” he said clinically. “As well as a pack of gum.” He looked up at Ian. “I sincerely hope you didn’t pay fifty dollars for that money clip, son, it isn’t worth five bucks.”

“They said it was gold,” Ian said weakly, almost to tears. I put my arm around his shoulders and hugged him.

“Officers, take Brubacher to room six,” the captain ordered, scooping up Ian’s personal effects into the envelope. “Mr. O’Duine, would you and your nephew come with me, please?” He stopped to say something to the leggy blonde, and she nodded, appraising me with cool eyes.

“We’ll wait in here,” he motioned me to one door. “We can start as soon as the transcriptionist gets here.” He took a seat across from the two of us. “Young man, I realize you’ve had a rough time, I can see it easily enough. But I hope you will help me to understand what happened today, so that I can make sure that it never happens again.”

The transcriptionist came in a few minutes after that, carrying her machine. When she nodded to the Captain, he turned to Ian. “Please describe to me what happened, starting with when you met Officer Brubacher.

Ian’s tale was rather simple. He’d stopped at the pawnshop, bought a money-clip that had caught his eye, and then stopped at the 7-Eleven down the street. Officer Brubacher had pulled up, and started pestering him with questions. Ian had tried to answer them, but none of the answers had suited Brubacher. Then Brubacher had grabbed him by the arm, threatening to arrest him.

“I just freaked,” Ian sobbed. “I just wanted to get away from him, he was making all these threats, he sounded crazy. But he slammed me against the front window of the store, and when I fell down he started kicking me. The next thing I knew, he was pulling me out of the police car and into the station. He wouldn’t let me call my uncle, or anything, claimed I was just making up stories.”

“That 7-Eleven has outside cameras,” I told the Captain quietly. “They’ll show he’s telling the truth. I already know he is. I know my nephew, he’s always been a good kid. He took care of my sister for a year before she died, by himself.” Ian started to cry again, quietly, and I gathered him to me, gently. I was still worried about his ribs.

“Mr. O’Duine, Ian, you’re free to go,” the Captain told us quietly. “I will notify you, Mr. O’Duine, if there’s anything else we need from you. I just need you to sign something to show you’ve received Ian’s personal belongings back.” He passed me a plastic bag that had Ian’s clothing in it.

We waited a few minutes, and the leggy blonde appeared with another clipboard. She virtually ignored me as I signed the paper, but I noticed that her eyes went to Ian with a certain amount of compassion.

“Captain Burgess, I just wanted to say I appreciate your handling of this matter,” I told him. “But if I see evidence of a Blue Wall, I swear to you that I will tear it down, with my bare hands and bare teeth.”

“I understand your concern, Mr. O’Duine,” the Captain replied, with a small smile. The leggy blonde stared at me in shock.

“Wait a minute,” I objected, and turned back to the table. I dumped out the envelope, and then the plastic bag. I swore. “What room was Brubacher in again?” I asked dangerously.

“What’s wrong?” the Captain asked. The transcriptionist and the blonde drew away from me.

“I bought Ian a new cellphone just a couple days ago,” I growled. “And it’s not here.” I turned and left the room, walking down the hall, looking for room 6.

I burst through the door, and went straight for Brubacher. The two other officers tried to restrain me, but I just dragged them around the table with me. I pinned Brubacher up against the wall by his throat.

“Where’s the cellphone?” I demanded. His eyes got evasive, as if there was anybody else in the room that was going to help him. “You better talk fast, pin-dick, or you’re going to be a quadruple amputee for the rest of your miserable, pitiable life.”

“Tell him, Brubacher,” the Captain commanded from behind me. “Where’s the boy’s cellphone?”

“And Brubacher, I will know if you lie,” I growled. He pulled a cellphone out of his pocket, and I took it from him. I flipped it open, and then shut it. I put it in Brubacher’s shirt pocket. “Congratulations, you just bought yourself a broken cellphone. My son picked that out special, for his cousin. It’s $230. Should I rip it out of what passes for your skull, or will you be paying cash?”

“Mr. O’Duine, the police department will pay for the cellphone,” the Captain informed me quietly. “I’ll have a check for you by morning.”

I dropped Brubacher and straightened my shirt. “You’ll also be getting a bill from the hospital,” I told the Captain coldly. “I’m taking my nephew there now.”

Ian had taken advantage of the situation to put his clothes on, and left the jumpsuit laying on the table. I had to help him put on his boots, though, he couldn’t bend over without pain.

Officers got out of my way quickly, as we walked out. I pulled out of the parking lot, and drove to the hospital.

I hadn’t altered Ian’s pheromones like mine, so the nurses were very attentive to him. The admissions nurse as much as told me the Captain had called ahead, we were whisked right in. I called the boys and let them know that we’d be home soon, that we just had to take care of a few things. I didn’t want them to worry.

It’s the quickest I’ve ever been in and out of an Emergency Room in my life. The doctor taped Ian’s ribs and gave me a prescription for pain medication. They also put a couple stitches into his face.

When we got back, the boys had a surprise for us. I learned later that they had sent Deke out to the dollar store for party decorations, so there was crepe paper and streamers everywhere.

I couldn’t tell if Ian was laughing or crying. But he got a lot of attention from the boys, as I ate my dinner and they practically hand-fed him his.

I motioned to Thorn and we went into another room. I used the interface, so that nobody would be able to see or hear anything from the room. Then I broke down and cried.

I told Thorn what had happened, and he was alternately pissed and proud.

“Pissers,” he swore. “Well, you warned me about the rozzers here. Guess we’ll have to be more careful.” He cocked his head at me. “Why didn’t the danger sense kick in, then?”

“The boys’ senses and mine are linked,” I explained. “If there’s danger to one of us, the rest of us know. I didn’t do that with Ian, I figured he’d want to be a bit more independent. See, even I can be dumb some times.”

“Might want to fix that,” he told me. “And you weren’t dumb, you’re just not God, that’s all.”

“Should have thought it through,” I replied, shaking my head.

“So build me a laser,” he told me, reminding me of how I had cut Deke short on the same self-blame game. I tried to laugh, and we went back to the dining room.

“You could fix this, right sir?” Rut asked, concerned as he examined the bruise on Ian’s face.

“It would be risky,” I sighed. “This time we’ve made tracks. The officers saw him, and how bad he was hurt. The hospital has records, and we have to go back in a week so the doc can see how he’s healing. But I’ll leave it to Ian. I can remove the pain, though, and he’ll heal quick anyway.”

“I’ll be OK,” Ian nodded, subdued. I tried to smile at him, to reassure him, but couldn’t really muster that much enthusiasm myself.

The boys tried to keep our spirits up, but it was a pretty subdued night for all of us. When we went to bed (the boys had pulled a bunch of the futons together to form a larger bed), all anyone wanted to do was cuddle, which suited me just fine.