The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Title: Limbo

Part: Chapter 08 — Hospitality

Universe: Limbo

Keywords: nosex

Summary: So that’s why the world ended: God would never let the Mets win.

——OBLIGATORY PREAMBLE——

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real events that take place in the near future are completely coincidental. I swear to you, I’m totally not working on bringing about ArMEGAddon (that’s every apocalypse in history, all at once). For realsies. Pinky swear.

This is primarily a story that follows the ‘organic process’ stream of writing, which means it could end up containing kinks so kinky that there isn’t even a term for it—or it could be all snuggles ’n cuddles. That said, there are monsters, magic, masters, mistresses, and mind control involved, so related themes might pop up. If you think to yourself “This is about to turn into something I really, really don’t dig”, then feel free to skip ahead a few paragraphs (or skip to the end of the chapter).

This is a work-in-progress. I will update my preambles if/when I get a Limbo website up, but in the meantime, keep posted to my ASSTR for updates. Also, feel free to send questions, comments, suggestions, marriage proposals, death threats, fan mail, hate mail, or exclusive offers for penis enlargement and ‘f4k3_r0|e><e$’ to waxing.carnauba at gmail.com.

——END PREAMBLE. YOU CAN STOP SKIPPING NOW.——

8 – Hospitality

It got to the point where I was sick of my own reflection. I’d tried to remember exactly what I’d felt during the dream, but it had been completely involuntary. It was now the third day since I grew the mask. Three days standing in the bathroom, trying to will the protrusions back into my cheeks.

“Master?” I heard behind me. Over the shoulder of my reflection, I saw Carrie in the doorway, hunched over, hand on her side.

“Is something wrong?”

“My stomach hurts.”

I could see tears welling in her eyes, and from what I could gleam from her mind, she was severely understating her discomfort.

“It’s her appendix,” I heard Nyx’ voice. “She’ll need attention.”

I swore under my breath. If Nyx was telling me, that meant she couldn’t do anything about it herself. I swore again, louder, as I mulled over my options.

Carrie just looked at me, wounded eyes leaking down her cheeks as she slid to her knees, drawing sharp breaths as she doubled over.

“How long has it been hurting?”

Carrie shook her head. “A day. I’m sorry—I thought it was just something I ate.”

A full day? Had I really been so involved with my face that I didn’t notice her in this much pain for a full day? “God, I’m sorry.”

I turned back to the mirror, pressing a fingertip against the protruding bone of my cheek. Her appendix. I have to look normal if we stand a rat’s chance in hell at getting her fixed. I focused as hard as I could on my finger and face, but still nothing.

When I heard Carrie whimper, I was struck by guilt. I knew what it looked like—she was dying, and I literally turned my back on her. There’s no way she could know.

The guilt brought with it panic, which somehow managed to spark something inside me. Instead of focusing on the whole thing—the face and the finger—I found myself focusing down, to the very structure of the bone. If I focused, I could feel the structure beneath the physical self—blood, marrow, calcium, and a chemical force—almost an instinct—of how it all fits together. And, with enough concentration, I felt the bone shift.

I didn’t have time to feel proud or excited. I mashed the extra bone down like clay, and pulled the flesh closed. It felt almost like putty the way it fused together, and when I lifted my fingers, my face was completely back to normal, without so much as a scar.

“Hang tight,” I told Cassie as I slid past. “I’ll get you fixed up, but there’s something I’ve got to do.”

Crow had a look of surprise when she saw that my face was back to normal, but she clutched the box tightly and held it away from me. “What do you want?”

“I’m in a hurry. Give me a sprig of death net.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I glanced over to Nyx, who still sat cross-legged. Student and Nancy looked on silently, Nancy clutching a can of tuna in her palms.

“Carrie’s sick. She needs to go to the hospital.”

Crow stared at me expectantly.

“God damn it, do I have to take it by force?”

“The one condition was that I hold onto the abomination. It is to never leave my sight.”

I stared at her, eyes filled with rage. “Do you really want to weigh the value of your life against hers?”

“I won’t let you give this to King.”

My heart dropped. “How do you know?”

“Do you think you were my first champion? I happened upon you by accident. He why I came to this town.”

I nodded slowly.

“Crazy bastard,” Crow scoffed. “Didn’t even hear me out. He tried to capture me. Called me a ‘specimen’.”

“How much do you know about him?”

Crow shook her head. “The people of my land had heard that he was a demon slayer. They say he has an immortal army at his hand that he runs out of the hospital.”

“Demon slayer.” I shook my head. “He’s a surgeon. Dr. King. He doesn’t run an army out of the hospital—he runs the hospital itself. And everything within four blocks of it. That ‘army’ is half made of people who he took as payment for surgeries. I’m not going to sell Carrie. I need the death net.”

Crow clutched the box tighter. “You mean to give it to him as a weapon.”

“He’s also a researcher,” I said. “He’s obsessed with figuring out how supernatural beings work. I guarantee he’ll take a sprig of death net as payment.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I touched Crow’s shoulder with one finger, literally tapping into her nervous system and sending a shock of pain through her body. The old woman gave a yelp of absolute agony and convulsed for an instant, sending the box flying out of her arms to skitter along the floor.

I opened it up for a moment, tearing a dark, squirming tendril from the creature before snapping the lid shut and resting it next to the woman.

Crow stared up at me through her long gray hair, spiteful and defeated.

I held the creature up to her, feeding it through my fingertips, causing it to grow. When it reached about eight inches in length, it sprouted an eyeball that, if I didn’t know any better, was mockingly staring directly at her.

The eye quickly went dead, however, as I removed everything I’d put into it, slowly now, careful to preserve the husk as well as I could. “I have no intention of violating our agreement. I wouldn’t going to bring him a live one,” I told Crow.

The elderly woman lowered her eyes in humiliation as she fumbled for the box.

On my way to the cupboard beneath the sink to fetch a grocery bag for the corpse, I noticed Nancy, still gripping the can as though her life depended on it.

“Did you do that?” I asked Student.

She said nothing, but beamed proudly at me.

“Very nice.”

* * *

“I’m sorry for making you do this,” Carrie whimpered into my ear as I piggy-backed her down the street.

Normally, carrying someone down the road like this is the worst thing you could do—not only are you obviously unarmed, but you’re also hobbled by carrying a big sack of fresh meat—but my shitty part of town was literally down the road from the northern gate of King’s territory. Even the dogs knew enough not to approach the row of burned-out, overturned vehicles that walled it off from the south end of my neighbourhood.

I stopped in the middle of the road, some twenty feet from a fortified, upright bus that stood with doors open. “She’s sick,” I shouted to invisible ears. “We need help.”

“You have two guns on you,” I heard a distant voice shout back. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Appendix.”

After a few moments of silence, I heard, “Come through the bus.”

The bus was of the big yellow school fare, windows reinforced with thick metal, with gun slats cut facing the outside world. Two heavy metal army-type munitions boxes sat empty and caked with dust, lids open lolling open, welded to the floor of the bus. The bus had long since been gutted of seats, but shards of metal stood from the floor as a reminder of when they’d been unceremoniously ripped out. From the emergency exit at the back, three men and two women stood to greet us, each armed with an automatic weapon. A few people I’d known growing up had disappeared in the hospital, but none of these faces were familiar.

“Walk ahead of us,” a short girl with long red braided pigtails ordered. Her voice was as curt and serious as her face, both with a hardness that could only be earned through experience—hell, even her braids were hard and all-business, tight and unadorned and clearly woven more for sport than style.

I nodded and followed her instructions, stepping from the bus and starting down the hill. Four blocks doesn’t seem like much when you’re driving, but it becomes a hell of a long way when you’re fighting the urge to rush your dying lover to the emergency room for fear that one of the five guns at your back—or two hidden sharpshooters that were undoubtedly still trained on us—might be a little jumpy.

“Master?” Carrie whispered into my ear.

“It’s okay. I’m taking you to King. He’s going to fix you up.”

Carrie remained quiet, wincing from each step.

“I know this isn’t the right time to ask,” I whispered, “but was it me?”

“What?”

“Did this happen while I was—you know, feeding you.”

Carrie kissed me softly on the neck. “Don’t worry. I don’t think so.”

“What are you going on about?” I heard the red-haired girl behind me.

“Baseball. I think the Yankees are gonna win the pennant this year.” I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth—if they were the paranoid type, I might have just blown my chances at having Carrie taken care-of, but thankfully, the girl responded with a laugh.

“I think the Angels already knocked them out of contention,” the girl replied.

Judging by the laughs from her compatriots, I could tell they were tense, but experienced enough to loosen up. It was a mixed blessing; it meant they likely weren’t twitchy—but it also meant they were that much more dangerous. The bag that dangled from my wrist suddenly seemed lighter—more insignificant. I started to wonder if it would be enough—and if it wasn’t, if I’d have to fight my way out of there.

“The Angels and Yankees aren’t even in the same division, are they?” I asked over my shoulder.

“What the hell do I know?” the redhead snorted. “I never followed baseball.”

“It was the Mets,” one of our guards grumbled, this one in a Def Leppard tee-shirt.

“What?”

“New York was taken out top of the sixth on the third game of the goddamn Subway Series.”

“Really?” I couldn’t quite remember.

“Damn Mets were winning, too.”

“Red’s still got it right,” said the other woman, a tall blond with her hair pulled into a tight bun. “Angels won the series.”

I smiled, picking up my gait slightly. “I guess so. Is it alright if we hurry? She’s in a lot of pain.”

Hearing no protests behind me, I sped to the fastest I could manage without breaking into a jog, and I could hear the footsteps behind me keeping exact pace.

“They seem nice,” I mentioned to Carrie, this time in a regular voice.

Carrie wrapped her arms tighter across my chest, my new pace already having an effect on her pain, but she swallowed it and managed to answer. “Yeah.”

“Listen, I’m pretty sure we’re good to pay for this, and the appendix is one of those zero-risk deals, but—” I wasn’t sure if this would make her uneasy, but it was too late to stop. “I love you.”

Carrie kissed my neck again.

“I don’t think you and Nancy ever heard me say it out loud. But if they decide I don’t have enough to pay for your treatment, I’m going to have to leave and come back for you later. But I will come back for you. I’ll always come back.”

I felt her sweet lips against my earlobe this time, drawing it into her mouth and flicking it with her tongue as she said, “I know, Master. Thank you.”

“And your sister, too. You’re both stuck with me.”

The large bay doors of the emergency room were surprisingly pristine. When the world went wrong, the hospital was devastated—hundreds of people brought injured, dying, or dead loved ones, making a smorgasbord for the monsters that came with the first wave, and the second wave—the ‘righteous avengers’—saw the makeshift fortifications the staff had put up for the demons, as an invitation for battle, assuming everyone who wasn’t in the streets with open arms were sinners with something to hide. The angels had barely touched the rest of the town—which is ironic, considering the fact that the rest of the town was where all the people who deserved it were hiding. But now the emergency room stood as it did before everything went wrong, its huge glass windows replaced, its automatic rolling doors still functional. Not only that, but it was spotless. It was eerie—the whole building didn’t belong.

The waiting room was empty, but there was still a young woman dressed in pastel nursing clothes manning the reception desk, and a pair of men in scrubs already waiting with a gurney at the ready.

“They’ll take her,” the redhead told me. “While they prep her, we can talk business.”

I turned my head and gave Carrie a peck on the lips before letting the orderlies strip her from me and wheel her through a pair of badge-activated sliding doors.

I waited until Carrie was out of my view before finally speaking. “I have something for King.”

The redhead reacted by furrowing her brows, while her companions raised their guns.

I slowly lay the plastic bag on the ground and reached in, carefully watching my captors.

The weapons lowered alongside their jaws as they stared at the creature I pulled from the bag. While it was neurologically dead, I’d left it with just barely enough water in it to keep it somewhat flexible. It stared off into space as it wiggled in my grip in a motion reminiscent of a macabre rubber dong.

“Think he’d be interested?”

* * *

King was a lot shorter than I thought he’d be. From what I’d heard of him, I’d always pictured a massive, imposing Saxon lord, battleaxe in one hand, scalpel in the other. But the sheer glee in his reaction to the death net tentacle, I could tell that the rumors at least one part of it right—he was a fervent collector. The passion in his heart was the sort of thing you’d only find through obsessive fascination.

King looked to the redhead and jerked his head to the side. All at once all of the guards filed out of the waiting room. “Where did you say you found this?” he asked me, holding the tentacle gingerly in his palms, staring into the dead eye.

“There was a whole town covered in it,” I told him. “A ways east of here, I think. It’s scary stuff—it seemed to brainwash some of the locals into becoming its gardeners. Turned the rest to food, I guess. But that’s not the best of it.”

King looked to me, eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. It was hard to believe that this was the notoriously ruthless tyrant who ruled these blocks. Then again, I’d heard about King through Warren, who had heard about him through the hippies from the mall commune. And from what Warren says, those guys don’t seem to like anyone.

I gave a slight pause, lowering my voice for dramatic effect. “The tenders called it an ‘Ancient One’.”

King’s eyes narrowed. “You mean—”

I nodded. “Lovecraft.”

A massive smile swept across King’s face. “I absolutely must get a living sample.”

I shook my head. “If that were still possible, I’d be dead.”

The smile melted slightly. “Surely, if it covered the entire town, it wouldn’t all be gone.”

“It was all one organism,” I told him. “Massive and sprawling, but all connected, so when—”

King’s smile was now completely gone, replaced by anticipation. For a moment, I stopped to wonder if I was actually just about to blurt out ‘when I drained the life out of it.’

“A demon,” I said. Well, I suppose it was indirectly true. “It just touched the thing, and it all shriveled and died. The whole creature. Miles of the damn stuff.”

King nodded and stared at me silently for a few moments. From what I could read, his mind was wrestling with the idea of letting me in on something huge. “Could I show you something?”

“Sure.”

King carefully laid the monstrosity on the reception desk and barked an order before swiping his badge and leading me through the glass doors, through winding halls, all well-lit, cheery-colored, and perfectly spotless.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked as he led me through more swipe-access doors and into an elevator.

“Sure.”

“I live up the road, and—well, I remember what the hospital looked like after the angels.”

King nodded. “You want to know why we repaired it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t it have been better to fortify it?”

The elevator opened on the sixth floor, and King led me out and through another set of swipe-access doors. “If you lived up the road, that means you’re local. So you’ve probably heard the rumors.”

I shrugged. “I’m kinda starting to doubt the ones I’ve heard.”

King nodded. “You shouldn’t. We started most of those rumors ourselves. We want people coming in to know that we expect payment, and that we’ll accept manpower. But we don’t hold people against their will. People come in expecting to lose their freedom, then see the state of the hospital and realize that staying isn’t a loss of freedom at all. There’s something to being a part of our community that makes outside feel like the prison. Our rumors help paint this horrible picture in their mind of what life will be like, and when they find out how things actually are here, they almost always join us by their own volition.” King swiped his access card again, this time unlocking a large, heavy metal door with no window.

Through the door was a large wall-sized metal cabinet I recognized from crime dramas—he’d taken me to the morgue. Or rather, a morgue—I seemed to remember the old hospital having its morgue at ground-level.

King counted three over and two down, pulling open the freezer and sliding out a covered figure.

“What you’re about to see is the pride of my demon collection,” King told me. “I found it myself—it somehow got into the sleeping quarters on four and managed to kill almost a dozen people before we brought it down.”

With considerably less flourish than I expected, King lifted the sheet.

The creature was four feet tall, with armor similar to Nyx—his face was one solid piece of black carapace, his eye sockets hollow and dead, presumably once lit like Nyx, but his head was lumpy and disfigured. His limbs were stick-like and spindly, and his abdomen was fat beneath its black plating. But the most notable feature was laying next to his body, stretching from his hips to his face. The creature had a three-foot long dick.

Aside from its absurd size, the giant phallus was very much shaped like a human, only the top was ridged with spiked plates, and the tip had a razor-sharp bone Prince Albert stud the size of a butcher’s knife.

“That,” King said, “is an Incubus—a male succubus.”

I stared at the creature and thought of Nyx. It looked like a grotesque caricature of what a male Nyx might look like, if it were drawn to offend.

“That seems awfully ugly to be a he-succubus.”

King shrugged. “It’s the difference between male and female ideas of dominant sexuality. For the woman, it’s about control and usury, whereas to the man, it’s about—well, his penis.”

So much for the nightmare. “So what’s it like—inside?”

King snapped on a latex glove before carefully taking hold of the bridge of the creature’s nose, carefully lifting the plate off, revealing muscle, tendon, and bone. Obviously he had already thoroughly dissected the creature; to get it looking as intact as it did must have taken an incredible amount of painstaking effort. “Within the carapace, its musculature, nervous system, and skeletal structure seems to still be human,” he said, continuing to name off muscles and bones that I’d never heard of as he pointed them out.

“So how do they do what they do, then?”

King smiled and replaced the incubus’ face. “That brings me to the prize of my whole collection.” He led me to an extremely thick metal door and knocked twice before flicking open a hinged porthole and gesturing me to look inside.

The sight within was absolutely incredible. Kneeling cross-legged, arms to her sides, just like Nyx always did, was the flawless, milky-white skin of a real, honest-to-God angel. She was wearing mint-green hospital scrubs, the clothing itself modest and loosely fitting, but you could tell from the way it tented over the tops of her breasts that she was anatomically impressive, with just over a handful of firm suppleness crowned by nipples that gave the slightest protrusion through the unflattering fabric. Her hair was black and wavy, draping over her shoulders and down her sides, coming to rest just barely above the floor. In spite of the fact that she was in shackles, and had apparently been bound like this for years, her hair looked immaculate, with the front pulled out of her face in tight, neat twists and tied behind her head in an Elizabethan-style wreath. Her face was round, cute, and unassuming—very similar to Nancy’s, only a tiny bit more heart-shaped, with a slightly sharper chin.

The angel’s flesh actually glowed, enough to bathe the room around her in soft lighting yet barely noticeable to look at, and folded at her back were a massive pair of downy wings bound closed by thick chains, the spine of each white feather shimmering a shade brighter than her skin. A pair of peculiar shackles were wrapped around her wrists, their chain loose with slack, but leading to a pulley in the ceiling, presumably connected to winch controls somewhere by the door.

“We managed to trap her in a shielded MRI suite,” King said behind me. “They can usually do all kinds of nasty stuff from a distance—mind control, teleportation—but something about the shielding disrupted all that.”

I placed my hand on the side of the door and tried to reach through it, to connect to her as I’d managed to with Nyx, trying to call out to her.

Her eyes snapped open, her pure white irises shining even brighter than her skin, and in the back of my head, I felt the slightest tingle—undeniably, the angel trying to communicate. She stared at me for a moment, the itch of her voice in the back of my head desperate, excited, but otherwise completely unintelligible. “She’s beautiful,” I told King. “She’s been here for all these years?”

King nodded. “She doesn’t eat or drink. Actually doesn’t do much of anything. We were hoping she’d demonstrate some of the physics-defying abilities we’ve seen Angels use so we could study them—we’ve got video, spetrometers, giger counters, and heat-mapping sensors on her at all times, just in case. But all she does is sit there. We’ve even tried leaving her unchained and turning our backs, but she always seems to know.”

“Damn.”

“Indeed. She might as well be in the fridge. She’s nice to look at, though.”

“She certainly is. Hey, I don’t suppose I could see her face-to-face, could I?”

King thought hard for a few moments. “I appreciate your specimen and respect your interest. The only reason you’re seeing her in the first place is because you’re the first person to offer me a gift of science instead of food, weapons, or service. But with all due respect, I did just meet you.”

I turned to him, looked him in the eyes. I didn’t like manipulating him, but I knew that I’d already gotten her to use at least one of her powers. Maybe I could talk to her—get her to help him out in exchange for more freedom. I was sure to make it seem like it was his suggestion.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” King finally said as I undermined his better judgment.

The heavy door required three latches to be thrown, a swipe of his card, and an access code to be entered. He made a point of shielding the code from me—the Ancient One bought me more his trust than I’d hoped, but definitely not all of it.

“Stay outside the room,” he said. “Her chain can reach the door, and she can stop your heart just by touching you.”

The angel and I stared at each other for a few pregnant moments.

“What are you?” I finally heard at the back of my head. Her voice was commanding—righteous, for lack of a better term. Far less playful than Nyx, yet somehow warmer in its depth. Any anticipation she’d felt when I reached her through the door had evidently passed.

“Why are you here?” I answered, not wanting to explain to an agent of righteous genocide that a demon had taught me telepathy.

“I should ask you the same.”

“I’m not here to antagonize you,” I told her.

The angel’s eyes once again closed. “Then leave me to revel in my failure.”

“Why are you hiding your abilities?”

The angel remained silent.

“Would you be willing to cooperate in exchange for more freedom?”

Nothing.

“Will your compatriots ever come back for you?”

Still nothing.

“Will you at least give me your name?”

“Alright, you’ve gawked enough,” King said, placing a hand on my shoulder and pulling me out of the way of the door.

“Gabrielle,” was the last thing I heard the Angel say before the barrier shut, blotting her out of my mind.

While King was going about sealing in his willing captive, I asked, “If the only thing that prevents her from using her powers is the shielding in that room, why doesn’t she just blink out when you open the door?”

King laughed. “This used to be DI. The whole floor is shielded.”

* * *

“Master?” Carrie’s voice was weak and raspy—but it was still beautiful.

I ignored the look the nurse at the recovery desk shot me. “Yeah, Carrie. I’m right here.”

“I had a bad dream about that hospital,” she said, eyelids fluttering shut.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. You’re safe.”