The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Walk!” The big gruff man growled and pulled Owen by the back of his shirt. He had tried to go limp, just make things a pain for the goon. That was only a decent strategy, if the gorilla wasn’t willing to hit you. Owen’s ribs ached as he slung one foot in front of the other across the concrete parking lot under the hotel.

“Do not make such a scene,” the whiter, richer, smugger girl said.

“Please,” the browner, geekier, more demure girl insisted. Her accent wasn’t anything like the rich girl but neither were local.

“You’re… um… I’m walking, you don’t have to drag me!” Owen bristled under the big hand that dragged him. “Is this about Elizabeth? You know she left you, I’m just another guy. This is irrational.”

Owen was lying, of course. He was the one who had accidentally bought Elizabeth and took her as a sex slave. No one should believe the coins were magic. No one except for those who had seen them work. That was himself and Maxim le Carre. Owen wondered about Natasha. She was clearly the daughter, or niece of Maxim. Worth buying, in fact, from her figure and face alone. More importantly, she’d be a hostage and bargaining chip. It’d be a good play but Elizabeth had the box. But that’s why he had secreted an unused one into his cast. Smiling so broadly wasn’t yet the best strategy as a kidnapping victim.

“Brett! Shit! I was trying to remember your name!”

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” Brett answered.

“He is coming,” the brown girl said. “Do not be angry.”

She wasn’t calming down Brett to help out Owen. By the way she was looking around, she just didn’t want attention. Well, that made sense.

“Owen,” Natasha turned and looked at him with a hand on her hip. “Shut up and come along.”

“Yeah, shutting up,” he sighed. He walked into the elevator. The women stood behind him; Brett blocked the door in front of him. Owen had a thought, sweep quickly backwards, use Natasha as a shield. Brett was a goon but would he hit a woman?

Owen didn’t make a move. Besides, Natasha could just do his go limp strategy and then what would Owen have done? Bruise her ribs? The thought of injuring a woman sickened him. The third floor bell dinged and the foursome got off.

“Hafnan, la porte,” Natasha said.

“Oui, maîtresse.” Hafnan hurried forward, fishing her keycard from her coat pocket. Owen figured Natasha hadn’t even bothered bringing hers with her. She had Hafnan. Though Owen didn’t know how that might help him. They entered the hotel room. It was generic room with two queen sized beds. All of the clothes and luggage were packed into the closet and neatly arranged.

“So, you got me here,” Owen said. “Is your thug still necessary?”

“You think I’m going to let you use your whatever-the-fuck on these sweet girls too?” Brett breathed fire.

“No, I don’t think you will,” Owen said, looking flatly at Brett. “What can I do for you, Miss le Carre?”

“Ugh... “ Natasha said. “I wish to buy the coins.”

“That’ll be difficult, Elizabeth has them and your gorilla didn’t let her come with me.” Owen used his head to direct Natasha’s attention to Brett. “I heard that in a lot of old detective movies, never thought I’d get to say it.”

“That is lovely,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yes, I wish to buy the coins.”

“Coins?” Brett said. “Look, I don’t give a shit about coins. You promised, you’d get my—You’d get her away from this fuckwit. I don’t give a shit about fucking coins.”

“They are integral,” Natasha said. “Fine, I’ll buy your—Which one? The blonde? Which twin sister is that?”

“Non,” Hafnan shook her head. “The one in black dress outside of apartment building.”

“You don’t get a lot of practice with English,” Owen noted. “You’re doing very well. Very easy to understand.”

“Merci,” Hafnan looked away.

“Whatever, we’ll buy her too,” Natasha scowled. “She’s worth half a coin herself, no?”

“Elizabeth is not for fucking sale!” Brett said. “What the fuck?”

“Yes, the adults are talking. She’ll call you when it’s time for walkies,” Owen said, taunting the thug.

“Are you trying to get me to hit you again?”

“Yes,” Owen nodded. “The police are going to take good pictures of my ribs. Plus there’s the wrist you rebroke and this.” He gestured to his more than halfway healed black eye. “I can take another slug.”

“I have no interest in the blonde,” Natasha said. “She’ll be yours, we’ll be gone. If you are just going to be noisy. Please leave.”

Brett was about to storm out of the hotel room. He looked at Hafnan. “Give me her.”

“Dude, just crack her over the skull and drag her by the hair like the caveman you are,” Owen sneered.

“Fuck off.” Brett didn’t take another look at Hafnan and strode for the door. His courage gave out and he turned. “I just wanted someone to talk with at the bar. I’m not like him.”

“Yeah, you can’t keep a woman,” Owen smiled as the door slammed shut with Brett outside it.

“Are you happy riling him up?” Natasha asked.

“Yes,” Owen said with a nod.

“I do not drink alcohol,” Hafnan said, frowning. “I wouldn’t have gone to the bar with him.”

“I wish you’d told him,” Owen smiled. “Can you get some ice and a towel for me? My rib is really hurting.”

“Go,” Natasha sent Hafnan to fetch. “The coins.”

“Your father’s paying me millions for them,” Owen said.

“What?” Natasha asked. “His stupid obsessions. Fuck.”

“You’re not much of a negotiator,” Owen laughed. “I’m missing our meeting right now, you know.”

“I know, this is why I had to get you right now.” Natasha said. “Your—Brett’s—The blonde has the coins?”

“Yes, she should,” I nodded.

“And you trust her?” Natasha said. “She changed men less than a month ago.”

“A little under two weeks.”

“You cannot know her well enough.” Natasha shook her head. “Brett thinks you drugged her. Your green haired slut has drugs. Is that how you caught the blonde?”

“No, I didn’t drug her, and I’ve known Elizabeth for three years,” Owen said. The restaurant had been his and Janice’s hangout long before Elizabeth had started working there.

“She is taking the coins to my father right now.” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

I fucking hope not! Owen frowned, keeping his worry in his mind and mostly off of his face. “She has probably retreated. Contacted the police.”

“So, they may still be available for sale.”

Owen didn’t even pretend to hide his blooming joyous smile. No, they were not for sale. They were only bait. She was in contest with her father, this was too easy. He slipped his thumb into the edge of his cast. His spirited away coin has fallen out.

“You have stopped smiling like an idiot,” Natasha sneered.

“Let me call Elizabeth,” he said. “No. Let me call Janice.”

“Who—”

“Green haired slut.” Owen smiled, looking forward to telling his cousin this story.

“Why her?”

“Because I know her number. The others are just in my phone.”

Natasha nodded and picked her iPhone from her purse.

Elizabeth hadn’t called the cops. She didn’t want Brett to get into trouble. She wanted to get Owen back. She felt cold for doing so. Instead, she walked back into the apartment building and up to Janice’s door. Janice wasn’t home.

“Is everything OK? What did he forget?” One of the twins (not the green haired one, but Elizabeth couldn’t come up with their names—let alone which one was which—with a gun to her head) asked from Owen’s door. Elizabeth smiled and turned back to the elevator. She found Carlos and Davy outside of the building.

“Oh shit! Oh shit! Are you OK, Lizzie?” Carlos rushed over first.

“I thought you guys had been smart enough to leave,” Elizabeth frowned.

“Well, we didn’t think things were this fucked up with the rich girl and Hafnan,” Davy said. “She had said something about clearing things up with your new boyfriend. You’d been mopey around work. She asked if we could help.”

“If we had known Brett was that kind of guy,” Carlos shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’ve known guys like him in Afghanistan. Especially after a dear John letter.”

“And his actions are my fault?” She asked aghast.

“No, of course not!” Carlos said. “Anyone who throws their weight and muscles around like that is at fault.” Elizabeth scoffed at that. Carlos frowned and stepped closer. ”Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” she said, curtly. “I have to sort this out.”

“What can we do to help?” Davy said.

“You don’t think you’ve done enough?” Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her. She hoped they’d give her the exact opposite answer than they did.

“We’ll do whatever it takes!” Carlos said.

“What do you want? How can we help?” Davy added.

This wasn’t about what she wanted. It was about what she had to do.

“Do you know the green haired girl who comes in with Owen?”

“Janice?” Davy elbowed Carlos. “Not as well as this man.”

“What?”

“It was before she had green hair.”

“He’s a man-whore,” Davy explained, but he dropped his smile when he met Elizabeth’s eyes. “Look, Janice and Owen had been coming to the restaurant before you started working. Janice used to be pretty easy.”

“Used to be?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She shook her head before Davy could add more. “Look, I gotta go talk to her. She’ll figure out what to do.”

“Um…” Carlos looked up and down the street. “You know what? I get it. Keep this in house. No sense in getting anyone in real trouble.”

“Not unless Brett goes hard.” Davy said.

“Yes,” Carlos agreed. “If things get violent, we’ll get the cops.”

“Whatever,” Elizabeth hoped she was walking away from them. She turned left, heading to Spring Garden and Janice’s coffee shop. The boys ran up to flank her.

“Est-ce que c’est lui? Je n’aime pas attendre,” Maxim growled impatiently. Kirk sipped his beer and rolled his eyes.

“C’est ta fille,” Giselle said, looking at the display.

“Donne le moi,” Maxim reached and plucked the cell phone from Giselle’s hand. “Vous avez venu au Canada?”

“Oh. Crap. I was not expecting you.”

“Who answered her phone? “ Natasha’s voice came from behind Owen’s. Maxim’s face went stony hard.

“Why are you with my daughter?”

Kirk laughed miserably. He held his tongue and looked away from Maxim’s icy glare.

“Oh, that’s not important. I’m with Natasha le Carre.”

“Yes, I understand that.”

“She’s the daughter of the man who I’m selling the coins to. She wants to make me an offer that’ll outbid her father.”

“It is a mutual deal. The only thing you can get out of my father is money,” Natasha said. “Money is the least of my concerns.”

“What the hell is she doing?”

“So, more money is more money.”

“This is a foolish ploy, Monsieur MacKay. I have control over the access my daughter has to the money. I can simply prevent her from making the purchase and force you to deal with me.” Maxim said.

“Wonderful, that’s what I figured. Now will you please put her on, I did call her after all.”

“Amenez-le ici. Maintenant!” Maxim demanded, and thrust the phone back to Giselle.

“To our daughters and clients,” Kirk said, raising a glass. His face was a twist of sarcasm and anger. “May they never meet.”

“Be quiet.” Maxim said to Kirk.

“Oui, Maitre,” Giselle said, meeting Maxim’s eyes. He nodded. “I’ll leave immediately.”

“Where are you going? Where are they?”

“They are back at the hotel,” Giselle explained. “I have to go.”

“What room number?” Maxim asked, with a dark smile.

“What did you do! You fucking miserable idiot!” Natasha growled down at the screen of her phone. Owen was holding up his shirt as Hafnan applied packed up ice to Owen’s rib.

“I made a phone call to—”

“To Giselle!” She waved her phone. “Who is with my father!”

“Oh, well, yes. She was the best choice for—”

“You gave her the room number!” Natasha shouted. “Hafnan, get out stuff we are going!”

“OK, but—”

“If you want your money, come with me and—”

“Actually, your father said he was cutting you off.”

“Why don’t I have that gorilla who hates you rip your arms off!”

“Because you want the coins,” Owen said.

“Mademoiselle…” Hafnan said, holding their two bags.

“You packed those very quickly,” Owen frowned.

“Merci,” Hafnan nodded. “But, uh, where are we going?”

“I have an apartment,” Owen smiled.

“No.” Natasha pointed her finger sharply at Owen’s face. “Come on. We will get Brett and he will take us to his apartment.”

“I think Davy and Carlos are nicer men. We could go to their apartment,” Hafnan suggested.

“No, they want nothing more to do with us,” Natasha condemned. “Cowards.”

“But…” Hafnan pouted her lips and started carrying their bags behind Natasha.

“I can carry one,” Owen offered.

“Merci,” Hafnan put the smaller bag into Owen’s hand. He never asked for the larger. Natasha had already stormed out of the room and was clopping to the elevator in her stilettos. She had been wearing winter boots when they had been out. Had she changed into shoes since arriving? Owen frowned. It wouldn’t be the first thing about a woman he hadn’t noticed.

“Do not antagonize him,” Natasha said to Owen.

“But it’s remarkably easy.” Owen smiled broadly.

“He is heartbroken,” Hafnan said. “You don’t need to be mean like him.”

“No, I don’t,” Owen agreed. The sarcastic wind fell from his sails.

“You told my father on me,” Natasha said as the elevator doors closed. “What are you? A child?”

“No, just a naughty boy,” Owen smirked at Natasha.

“How did you collect such beautiful women?” Natasha sneered.

“Perhaps he is handsome after he heals up?” Hafnan suggested hopefully. Owen smiled a crooked smile at her.

“Perhaps indeed.”

“It is not important,” Natasha said. The elevator doors opened. She strode forward, phone in hand, and beaming gleefully to acquire a signal. “Get Brett, Hafnan.”

“Oui, maitresse.” Hafnan bent her knees and shot off towards the hotel bar.

“Au, merci, je m’appelle Natasha le Carre. Je voudrais faire un transfert d’argent.”

Owen tilted his head. He hadn’t had a French class since grade 10. He understood merci and a had a good guess for Je m’appelle.

“Des millions.” She said, and noticed Owen watching her. She narrowed her eyes, covered her mouth, and took a few steps away. “Oui, je peux tenir.”

She looked up with a frown. “Go, see to Hafnan. I will move the money before my father can. Go.”

“Alright,” Owen shrugged. He crossed the lobby towards the bar. If he knew how to whistle he would. Buying Natasha, getting the money, and fucking the hell off? Perhaps somewhere it didn’t snow and sleet and slush until mid-April. He licked his lips and Hafnan jogged into his chest as he tried to enter the door.

“Brett n’est pas—” She was breathing heavy and shook her head. “The waitress said he did not come down to drink.”

“Well, what’s plan B then?” Owen said with a smile.

Brett drove his truck out of the city. He needed to clear his head and he could do that better going bumping around some shitty roads out of town than he could stuck in traffic. He slammed his fist into the wheel. A shitty Nickelback song came on the radio. He cranked it up.

“Yes I did.” Elizabeth’s answer to him was like an electric mixer in his gut. He clenched his teeth and turned off the highway. The rougher asphalt of the old road rattled his truck. That’s what he’d bought it for. Elizabeth had always loved the rough and tumble side of him, provided he stopped asking her to go camping or roughing it every summer. Look but don’t touch. No, look and touch, but don’t follow it into the rainy dark woods.

He clipped a pothole, mostly filled in with a few day-old snow. The entire cab bumped and shook. Change rattled in the ashtray. His travel mug wobbled in the cup holder. A piece of silver bounced on the back bench. It caught the corner of his eye. Frowning, he pulled over.

There it was: a little more square than a loonie, a little more gray than an old quarter. Coins. That’s what that French bitch had wanted. Brett snatched it up. His eyes opened wide and he fell limp in his bucket seat.

Fuck. She did have to be a whore.

Brett had never been so pissed and angry in his life. He looked calm, almost defeated. He put his blinker on and started the three point turn to get around and back to Halifax.