The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A Bird in the Hand

by Baltimore Rogers

Part I—Searching

Seraph took another pass over River City, her perfect body encased in her shiny new gold and silver costume, curves glinting in the twilight, feathery wings reflecting the purple glow of the fading light, the super-eyesight in her deep green eyes all but useless. The high-altitude perspective of a flying crime-fighter was good for many things, but searching for a missing person was not one of them. Even so, she didn’t know what else to do. Spring break would be over in just a few more days, and then she would have to leave Oregon and go back to school in Southern California. She still couldn’t find the other winged heroine: her partner, her foster-mother, her mentor, her ex-lover, her friend.

Avenging Angel, Angela Prentiss, had dropped off the map suddenly, the same day that college let out for spring break. Seraph, Patricia Sellars, knew Angela was in trouble immediately. The mystic bond they shared through the Tears of the Valkyrie alerted her as soon as it happened, before anyone at Angela’s “day job”—biotech researcher at Braxton Technologies—even realized she was missing. Patty’s plans to go to Cabo San Lucas with her suitemates were abandoned when she realized her fellow Tear-bearer was in danger.

The Tears of the Valkyrie are a source of ancient magic power, but not much to look at really; they are just two teardrop-shaped crystals of amber, each about the size of a fingernail. But the women chosen to bear them gain incredible powers: the magical ability to fly and mystical wings to go with it, eagle-sharp eyesight and super-hearing, super-strength—well, not “Omega Girl” strength, but they did lift an armored car off the ground together once—and limited rapid healing.

And then there were the mystic psychic powers that bound them together: an almost impossible to describe empathy for each other, and the links to the past. Each bearer had at her disposal centuries of memories of all the past bearers of the same Tear.

Seraph smiled as she remembered how her geeky science-nerd mentor Angela had explained it to her: “It’s like we’re Bene Gesserit Sith Lords.” Tough-girl foster-child Patty didn’t get either reference at the time. Of course, looking into her Tear Memories later Patty could see that Angie, going by “Angel Girl” at the time, had once tried to share the same joke with her mentor, Eagle Woman, Delores Gutierrez. Delores had given Angie the same blank stare that Patty had, so Patty didn’t feel quite so stupid. But even so, after Patty had accepted the Tear and accepted Angie as her new foster-mother, Angie made sure Patty found out what the joke meant. Angie jokingly “locked” her in a room in the Prentiss mansion with all 6 “Star Wars” movies and all 6 “Dune” novels and “didn’t let her out” until she finished them.

In fact, though these mystical psychic powers were a source of strength and wisdom, both of those powers bore down more heavily on Seraph. First there were the Tear Memories themselves. As it turns out, three of the most recent bearers of Patty’s Tear had died in the line of duty. Lady Britannia’s young partner, Nike, had borne Patty’s Tear back in World War II. She had died in the air over the English Channel during the Battle of Britain. Later, Lady B’s second protégée, who also took the name Nike, died over Omaha Beach during the Normandy invasion on D-Day. Lady B’s third student, Phoenix, survived the war, married her GI lover, and took both Tears to America when Lady Britannia retired.

Fifteen years later, the Swallow, Nicole Taliaferro, another Bearer of Patty’s Tear, died in the ’63 race riots in River City. It turns out that Tear-given rapid healing is not much help when you have 3 bullets in your lungs, 1 in your heart, and fall 50 feet to the pavement. Her mentor, the Falconess, tried fruitlessly for years to bring her killers to justice. It didn’t help that Nicole was shot in the back, 5 times. It didn’t help that the bullets were all standard police issue .38s. It didn’t help that the police “lost” the ballistics report...and the bullets. And it most definitely didn’t help that Nicole had been black.

It was tough for Angie to live with the memories of mentors that lost their younger partners, but it was even tougher for Patty to live with the memories of bullets tearing her flesh and pain that ended only in the sweet kiss of death.

Beyond the Tear Memories there was the weight of the connection with Angela itself. When bisexual Angie began to have feelings, sexual feelings, for her young ward, Patty knew almost before Angie did.

Truth to tell, it would have been hard for anyone close to Patty not to fall in love with her in those days. From the short, scrawny kid sidekick at age 15, she seemed to come into a woman’s curvy body almost overnight. By her 17th birthday her athletic, narrow waist was now bounded below by generous hips and a lovely, inviting derrière, and bounded above by large but perfectly-formed breasts. And it was all wrapped in flawless, creamy skin, topped with lush, beautiful dark brown hair. The tough, street-wise tomboy was now a sexy, rich beauty queen, almost in spite of herself.

Angela really couldn’t help the way she felt. Yet at the same time she knew that her thoroughly straight foster-daughter in no way reciprocated those feelings. But she was a scientist, used to repressing and containing her feelings, so she did try to hide it.

Patty of course knew better. She was young, free-spirited, but inexperienced. She didn’t know how to deal with her mentor’s unwanted desire. Angela’s love was a burden on her. Every time Angie criticized her dates or her clothing choices Patty assumed that Angie was jealous. They fought. A lot. At least they kept it at home though. They didn’t let it affect their working relationship as super heroines, or so they told themselves.

And then, suddenly, it got worse. Two years ago when the false goddess “Aphrodite”, Venus Satore, had tried to take over River City, the enslaved hero Super Sonic had in turn captured and enthralled Avenging Angel and Seraph. It had amused Satore to make the two Tear-bearers into lesbian lovers. In the months that followed, Angel and Seraph were frequently seen necking in public while ostensibly performing one errand or another for their “goddess”.

Eventually, somehow, Super Sonic threw off the yoke of Satore and defeated her, leaving behind only the broken and disfigured shell of a woman. And Angie and Patty were suddenly free. They awkwardly tried to reclaim their old relationship, but it was hard. Their new nickname, “the Flying Dykes”, managed to stick, to the great embarrassment of both. Both Patty and Angie unfairly blamed Angie for that. They started avoiding each other. They started patrolling separately. They grew apart. When Patty graduated high school that year, she chose a college far, far away from the embarrassment of her mentor’s love. Angie let her go.

Now it was a year and a half later, and Seraph was blaming herself. If I hadn’t gotten angry at Angie for something that was Aphrodite’s fault, she thought, I wouldn’t have left. We would have been patrolling together. I could have helped her. She didn’t really know if any of that was true, but that didn’t stop her from beating herself up over it. Night was falling. Patty was tired and discouraged. Eventually she gave up the aerial search and flew home. Dismayed again by the growing pile of unopened mail at the front door, Patty resolved to go through it in the morning.

The next day, over eggs, toast and orange juice, Patty began to work through the mail. Bills, ad flyers, bills, investment offers, political smears, bills. About halfway through she stopped cold. In her hand was a white postcard containing nothing on it but a drawing of a jet-black index finger. Suddenly Patty was standing, with magic, feathery-white wings appearing on her back.

* * *

At about the same time Nigel Grimalde was enjoying a leisurely breakfast meeting with his senior VPs on the balcony of his top-floor office in the eponymous Grimalde Tower. The business part of the meeting was concluded. They were all enjoying the beautiful clear day, looking out onto his sky-high view of downtown River City, and his unobstructed view of Mackenzie Park, at the confluence of Willamette and Mackenzie Rivers.

Once again Grimalde scanned the sky looking for the pest. She should have figured it out by now. Maybe he was giving her too much credit? Maybe he’d have to give the stupid bitch a roadmap! Wait, in the distance, was that a pair of wings? Why yes, it was! Coming from the northwest, downstream, the direction of the Prentiss estate. It was most definitely Seraph. As she got closer to the Tower, as her sexy, metallic-shiny bodysuit began to become as apparent as her huge feathery wings, his bodyguards quietly, unobtrusively deployed themselves around the balcony. As Seraph alighted on the balcony they reached into their bulging suit coats and pulled out their Uzis.

“Well,” said Nigel, “If it’s not ‘Flying Dyke, Junior’. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“You can save the insults, Grimalde. I’m here to deal with this,” she held up the card and stepped forward.

Seven guns immediately trained on her.

“I recommend that you stop there, missy. Last I heard you’re not bulletproof. You are trespassing. And you are interrupting a business meeting.”

“You and your yes men can discuss your golf handicaps anytime. What do you know about this?”

Grimalde took a closer look at the card. “Blackfinger,” he said, “but what does that have to do with me?” The gangster was well known for this calling card. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew it meant trouble.

“Word on the street was that Blackfinger had cancelled his contract on us after the Aphrodite incident.”


“Avenging Angel is missing, and I found this in her mail.”

“Maybe the word on the street was wrong?” Nigel posited, “I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Word on the street is that you are in bed with Blackfinger so deep that you say ‘Gesundheit’ whenever he sneezes.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” said Nigel. After all, I am Blackfinger, he thought. “Furthermore, it’s slander. And if you repeat it, I’ll sue the wings off of your cute little shoulders.“

She pursed her lips and fumed. Why do the bad guys always seem to have it so easy, and the heroes always have to walk on eggshells? “Look, do you want to prove that you’re on the up-and-up?” she countered, “You’ve got resources. You’ve got contacts. Help me find her. Help me get her back.”

“How do you know he hasn’t already offed her?”

She took a deep breath to calm her anger at his flippant disregard for her mentor’s plight. “Believe me, I’d know.” Angie’s ‘Tear’ would have magically appeared in my hand. I’d be mourning her and looking for her replacement, she thought. “Are you going to help me?“

“There might be some...possibilities, that I can bring to bear. But I don’t have time to talk right now. I have a business to run. A legitimate business. Come back this evening, say 6:30, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Barely containing her rage, Seraph turned and flew off.

* * *

Having served their purpose, he dismissed the executives and the guards. Back at his desk, Nigel fingered his intercom, “Delores, you can come in now.”

Through a side door came a dark-haired woman in a slinky black dress. Her body language screamed her lust, and it was clearly directed at the man behind the desk. Not for the first time, Nigel marveled at how well-preserved Delores Gutierrez was for 43. Quite the MILF, he thought, Well, except in reverse.

He smiled as she approached. “Stop there. What do you have to say, Delores?”

Suddenly weak, the woman fell to her knees. “Please. Please fuck me, Mr. Grimalde. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Why Ms. Gutierrez. I’m shocked!” he joked cruelly, “If you’re ready to be a good girl, I think I can accommodate you. But only in the ass today.” Grimalde gestured for her to bend over the desk.

Delores blanched visibly, but she was already unzipping her dress. “Um, sure, Mr. Grimalde. Any way you want it. I’m lubed up and ready to go.”

“Of course you are, dear. But first, maybe we could talk a little more about the Tears of the Valkyrie.”

Delores was already naked by now and bent over. “Please, Mr. Grimalde, sir. I need it so bad! I’ll tell you anything. Anything you want to know.”

“I know you will, sweet cheeks. I know you will.” Yes, forget “Mom I’d Like to Fuck”, he chuckled to himself, This is definitely a “Mom Who Needs To Fuck Me”.

While he interrogated her, Nigel picked up the remote and changed the channel, revealing a live video of Avenging Angel. The heroine was stripped naked and strapped spread-eagle to a titanium-alloy rack. Various electrical monitors were attached to her head and chest. Her mouth was ball-gagged, with a water tube attached. In her cunt was a large vibrator jammed ten inches deep and buzzing like a whole hive of bees.

While Nigel watched it was clear that Angela was getting close to an orgasm. He grabbed Delores by the hair as he buttfucked her, turning her head to watch her former protégée. As the apparatus detected the edge of Angie’s arousal, it shut off the power to the vibrator and slowly pulled it out. The heroine screamed around the gag and cried like a little child.

Delores Gutierrez cried too, knowing that she had betrayed her old friend. But she nonetheless did everything in her power to satisfy the man who owned her. When he finally came in her ass, he gave her permission to come too. Pleasure indescribable pulsated throughout Delores’s body, and, as always, her mind, her will, could not help but follow. She would do anything, anything at all, to feel like this again...

* * *

Part II—Negotiating

At 6:30 PM sharp Seraph alighted again on Nigel’s balcony.

He was there waiting for her. He opened the door right away. “Please come in,” he said with exaggerated politeness.

“I’d rather not be in an enclosed space with you if you don’t mind.” She was certain that this slimeball has calibrated her power down to the milliwatt. The wall of bulletproof glass that connected his office to the balcony would be too thick for her to break, as would be the door Grimalde was holding open; she was sure.

Grimalde turned away from her and stepped back into the office. “Well, I would rather not be picked up and thrown off my own balcony by a mad vigilante. So I guess we are at an impasse. But if you want me to help you, I suggest you come inside. Now!”

Against her better judgment, Seraph furled her wings behind her and stepped into the office. To her surprise Nigel left the door open.

“You can leave anytime you want. But if you come anywhere near me without my permission, the door will lock shut, and the cavalry will come running. Rest assured, no matter what you do to me, they will mow you down.”

“Fair enough.”

The interior of the office was huge, the size of a small ballroom. Most of it was open space. There was a large desk and several chairs off to the side of the balcony door, near the scenic exterior wall of glass. On the far side of the room, near what appeared to be the main double doors into the rest of the executive floor, was a huge TV screen, a couch and some easy chairs. Around the walls of the huge room were over a dozen doors leading to points unknown: Closets? Restrooms? Secret wormholes to other dimensions? Who could tell? Interspersed on the walls between the doors around the room were all sorts of no-doubt-expensive artworks. The sky-blue domed ceiling was ribbed with gold-painted curved beams. A big gilded cage, to trap a big bird. Her gloomy thoughts matched her grim expression.

Having laid the ground rules, Grimalde turned his back on the heroine and walked toward the center of the room where there was a large, but somehow obviously temporary, dining table. Beside the table was an equally temporary catered food service and a waiter in chef’s hat and restaurant kitchen whites, young, blonde and female.

“I was just about to have dinner. Care to join me?”

“Not hungry,” Seraph said. It was a lie. She was famished. She hadn’t eaten since Blackfinger’s calling card had interrupted her breakfast.

“Oh come now,” said Grimalde, “You can’t take your eyes off the food. Sit. Eat. If you want I’ll sample everything first to prove it’s not poisoned. Jessie—”

“Um, Josie, sir,” the server said.

“Whatever. Make her a plate. A full fillet and a little bit of everything else. Okay, kiddo, two plates, neither one touched. Pick the one you want.”

Patty still didn’t trust the slimeball, but she couldn’t see how this could be dangerous, and she was hungry. “The one on the left,” she said as she sat down at the far end of the long table, away from Nigel. The salmon fillet was perfect. It had probably been swimming in the river this morning. The garlic potatoes tasted as good as they smelled. The mixed veggies had just the right texture and crunch, and the subtle seasoning enhanced, rather than masked their flavor. The whole meal was perfect. She was even more suspicious. What did he want?

“I figured you’d sit all the way over there,” said Nigel, “I have something to show you. It’s sitting on the chair to your left.”

It was neatly folded, but unmistakable—sky blue spandex, dark blue gloves and opera mask, white stockings, blue ballet slippers with white trim and blue ribbons—it was Avenging Angel’s costume. Patty and Angie had lived together. Patty knew this costume almost as well as her own. Especially with as many times as she had, well, removed it. Her cheeks reddened as she thought again of her shameful months as Venus Satore’s slave and Angie’s lesbian lover.

“Something bugging you, kid?” said Nigel.

“I’m not a kid,” she growled back, “Where did you get this?”

“Apparently Blackfinger’s men can be bought,” he said, “So, there was of course some hair and skin found on that outfit. I took the liberty of running a DNA match. It matches local society maven-cum-nerd Angela Prentiss. Is that who it should match, Patty?”

Distractedly, Seraph said only, “Yes”. Then she gasped, suddenly realizing that she had outed both of their secret identities with one word.

“Jessie, pour the lady some wine. A nice California chardonnay for a nice California college girl,” he said. She flinched. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, Patty. I’ve known who you winged do-gooders are for years. Here, two glasses. Pick whichever you like. I’ll take the other. I know you’re not 21 yet, not for a few more months, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

If this is a trap, she thought, now is the time to get out. She eyed the open door. Then she looked again at her partner’s uniform. I’ve got to save her, and Grimalde has all the cards. She took the glass on the right this time.

She took a sip of the wine, then another. “What do you want, Grimalde, a blow job?”

“Your crudeness is not amusing, child. To start with, I want you to call me Nigel. After all, I’m trying to help you, right?”

“Okay...Nigel,” she replied, then paused to consider her words. She downed more salmon, washing it down with more chardonnay. She continued, “Can you help me rescue my partner?”

“Well, of course, this is complicated. It’s dangerous to cross Blackfinger.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

“Dangerous to me, Patty.”

“I can tell him that I scared it out of you, that I flew you off the balcony and dangled you over the side of the tower until you talked. I’m a ‘mad vigilante’, right?”

“You think you can convince Blackfinger that goody-goody Seraph went with lethal force?”

“To get back my lover? I think he’d believe it.”

A greasy smile crossed his lips. “So it’s true? You two really are ‘The Flying Dykes’?”

“No, it’s not. It was Satore. She changed me.”

“Aaah, but she didn’t have to change Angie, did she?”

Seraph turned red again.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I think the state of Oregon would frown on a foster mother putting the moves on her foster daughter. Maybe I should keep you two apart.”

“It’s not like that. She never...Look, stop the games, Gr—, uh, Nigel. Are you gonna help or not?”

“I’m gonna help you—”

Patty exhaled audibly.

“—for a price.”

She looked back at him grimly. This is what she was expecting since she first saw Blackfinger’s card. Blackfinger had kidnapped Avenging Angel, but Grimalde was going to name the ransom.

“What price?”

“Well, I’m already out a pretty penny getting that uniform. The rest of the information is gonna cost even more...”

“How much, total?”

“One and a half million.”

Patty swallowed hard. Sure the Prentiss family fortune was more than that, probably in the ten-to-fifteen million range. But it’s not like Patty had access to all that, or even that it was all in ready liquid assets to start with.

“Nigel, I can’t get at that much money right away.”

“Of course not. You’re one of the good guys. I’ll take your IOU. I’m sure you’re good for it.” In truth Nigel didn’t give a flying (HA!) fuck about the money. But he had to keep pushing Seraph. Keep pushing until he had her.

“Okay,” she replied. Wait a minute. This is nuts, she thought, I just agreed to pay Nigel Grimalde a ransom for Angie! Why am I doing this? What’s going on here?

“But that’s not all. I’m really sticking my neck out here. All the bodyguards in the world are only so good against Blackfinger. I want some personal compensation too.”

“What kind of compensation?”

“I’m going to take you up on your oh-so-generous offer. I want you to suck my dick, little girl.”

Patty stood suddenly, knocking her chair to the floor.

“Deal’s off, Nigel,” she fumed as she stormed toward the open balcony door.

She turned and glanced at the white-clad server, Jessie, uh, Josie, who was present for this whole embarrassing scene. Her expression was as neutral as if nothing had happened at all, as if their disagreement was about favorite sports teams, or maybe correct technique for a backhand tennis stroke. Patty braced herself to launch through the door and into the free, clear sky.

“Wait!” Nigel shouted.

For some unfathomable reason Patty stopped and turned to face him.

“So what’s the plan here, Patty? Are you just gonna go back to Pepperdine and then pick up the search again over summer break? Hmm? You’re so close, and all you have to do is this one little thing. This one little unsavory thing. And you’ll get her back. Don’t be a fool, Patty. Do it. Think of it as a down payment, a gesture of good faith.”

“You fucking bastard!” Her words were defiant, but everything else, her expression, her body language, all said surrender. She started walking back toward him.

“Oh, that’s too bad. The cost just went up. Now you have to beg me to let you suck my dick. You really should be more polite. Rudeness can have such negative consequences.“

She stopped again. Her eyes began to brim with tears. It just wasn’t fair!

“On your knees.” Grimalde smiled as Patty dropped to her knees and crawled toward him. It was working. She was almost his and she didn’t even know it yet. Seraph was rationalizing all of her behavior into the need to save Avenging Angel. If I can just keep her off balance a bit longer, he thought, She’ll be mine.

“Well, make it convincing.”

Patty looked up at him like he was a bad smell. “Nigel, please let me suck your cock.”

“Oh, come on. You can do better than that. Stop fighting it. Say it like you mean it. Better yet, really mean it. I want you to want my cock.”

Something strange was happening, but Patty couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She looked at the bulge in Nigel’s pants. It really did look hot, huge, inviting, manly. It’s not like she was a total virgin. She had done it before. Admittedly, it had mostly been Aphrodite making her do it with Parker Albinn, Super Sonic, but still... There had been other times. Okay, one other time. Oh Goddess, I’m so messed up. But that’s beside the point. Do I really want to do it? Do I really want to suck his cock? Yes. Yes, I do. But it’s so...humiliating!

“Nigel,” she mumbled, looking at the floor, brunette waves hanging over her face to hide her embarrassment, “I really do need it. I want to have you. Please, Nigel. I’ll, I’ll suck you so good, long, so hard. Please, please let me suck you.”

He smiled and turned his chair toward her. “Wow. You almost have me convinced. Okay, have at it,” he said, gesturing toward his crotch.

What the hell? she thought, He expects me to pull it out, too?

On her knees she inched closer to him, wings flaring out behind her, nostrils flaring on her face. She unbuckled his belt, opened his pants, and stopped. One last time she glanced at the audience for her humiliation, Josie the server, still as impassive as ever although her face was red as a beet, busying herself with the food, looking anywhere but at Patty and Nigel. Patty had to steel herself to pull out his cock, but she did it. Her face flushed with embarrassment...and surprise. The tube of flesh in her gloved hands was not the first cock she had ever seen, but it was easily the largest.

And he’s not even hard yet, she thought. Engrossed in the task before her, she didn’t notice as the outer door, her escape hatch, swung closed.

“Come on, now, Seraph, dear, in the mouth,” said Nigel, “Oooooh, that’s it. All the way in.”

Of course, Seraph didn’t actually take it all the way in. Less than half his length made it into her mouth before his glans reached her tonsils and her gag reflex forced her to stop. But what she lacked in cocksucking skill, she more than made up for in beauty and humiliation. Nigel was hard as a rock in no time. But that didn’t stop him from taking it further.

Nigel turned to the server and excused her, which made Patty turn an even deeper shade of red. As Josie closed the main double doors of the huge office behind her, Nigel picked up his remote, muted the sound, and changed the channel. It was the live video of Avenging Angel. While Patty Sellars was working his shaft, he watched Angela Prentiss silently go through cycle after frustrating cycle of arousal and denial.

He felt smug knowing that he could keep Angie’s libido going up and down like a yo-yo literally forever. Angie’s own healing power was keeping her vaginal walls from getting raw and bleeding under the repeated assault of the plastic tool. But nothing was healing her mind. He was driving the blonde heroine insane, and he knew it.

Not forgetting the humiliated brunette heroine between his legs, he urged her on too, “Use your tongue, cocksucker. Use your lips. Use your hands. Make it worth my while or you can pack up and leave.”

“Naaugh!” she said with cock-stuffed mouth. She wrapped he lips tighter around his shaft now and sucked harder. She worked her tongue all around it. She started working up and down vigorously, slathering the underside with her tongue on the down stroke, rubbing the fringe of his glans against the rough roof of her mouth on the back stroke, teasing the slit with her tongue before going down again. She gently played with his balls with one gloved hand, while the other hand stroked the lower part of the shaft that she couldn’t reach with her mouth.

Nigel was in heaven. He’d certainly had more professionally-competent fellatio many times before, but the fact that this blow job was from this gorgeous super-slut made all the difference. Between the humiliation happening between his legs, and the orgasm denial torture happening on-screen, he was nearly ready to blow. But Nigel Grimalde was nothing if not a man of great self-discipline. He managed to get his urge to come back under his control again. He wanted this to last a long, long time. More and more he critiqued Patty’s technique. He made her change things up. He instructed her condescendingly on the fine points of corkscrew action, lip placement, tongue motion.

On screen the vibrator re-inserted itself and turned back on again. Angie’s eyes showed her melting, surrendering under the onslaught of the buzzing invader and then weeping piteously when it stopped.

Nigel grabbed Patty’s hair and started thrusting, pushing down her throat, ignoring her gagging noises. She, for her part, didn’t dare resist. When he pulled her hair and pushed into her throat, she furled her wings tight against her shoulders and put her arms behind her back like some sort of BDSM bottom angel. Desire was foremost in her mind, which surprised her to no end. But there was also anger at his rough treatment. She had to contain that anger; she had to resist the temptation to hit him, to push him away. She couldn’t wreck her only chance to save Angie.

Eventually, finally, when he could tell that even Patty’s super-strong jaw was beginning to ache, he turned off the TV and let himself come. First pumping down her throat, then pulling back to pump into her mouth, then pulling back farther to apply the last few ropes onto her face and hair.

The humiliated, soiled heroine swallowed the nasty-tasting contents of her mouth and looked up at Nigel’s grinning face with utter disgust. “Where is the bathroom, Nigel? I need to clean off this slime.”

“I think we are done with ‘Nigel’ now. You may call me ‘Mr. Grimalde’.”


“Ask again, nicely, without the attitude, and call me ‘Mr. Grimalde’.”

Utterly defeated, Patty looked up at him sheepishly. “Um, please Mr. Grimalde, may I clean up in your bathroom?”


“No?” she asked, her lower lip trembling, on the verge of crying.

“No, come with me.”

Now she was sure something was wrong. She looked toward the balcony and saw that the door was shut and locked, but she knew somehow that it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have been able to leave without permission anyway. What’s happening to me? What has he done to me?

Sobbing now her tears began to flow freely. “But you said I...I...I just had to do the one thing, and, and...”

From the far side of the room, Nigel was holding open a door. “I lied. Deal with it. Well, what are you waiting for, bitch? Come with me.”

Patty groaned and started moving.

“Did you hear me ask you a question?”

“Um, Yes.”

“Not acceptable. When I ask you a question, you answer with respect. ‘Yes, Mr. Grimalde.’ ‘No, Mr. Grimalde.’ ‘I’m stupid little bitch and I fell behind, Mr. Grimalde.’ Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Grimalde,” she whined. What’s going on? How did this happen to me?

“And put the wings away, you won’t need them in here.”

“Yes, Mr. Grimalde.” How did he know about that? She willed her wings to disappear. Now she looked like a normal human, well, an abnormally beautiful human, garishly dressed in gold and silver.

They entered a narrow windowless corridor. Nigel stopped at the far end turned before opening the door.

“Wipe the jizz off of your face and eat it. Swallow every drop.”

“Yes, Mr. Grimalde,” she said. Wiping the cum from her face, she shoveled the nasty stuff off her face, onto her gloves, and into her mouth.

He looked her up and down. He grinned. “Put your hands behind your head and shake your tits. Don’t stop until I tell you too. And follow me.”

“Yes, Mr. Grimalde.” Hands locked obediently behind her head, she began to gyrate her torso, making her boobs bounce and sway and jiggle as best they could while constrained by her skin-tight uniform.

He opened the door and walked into the room, it was a large, well-appointed bedroom. As she entered she could see another door, opened, through which she could see a balcony above a spacious living area a floor below. Apparently the bedroom was part of an entire two-story penthouse apartment attached to his office. The significance of the fact that there was a direct route from the office to the bedroom did not escape her notice, even as she shimmied and shook, following him into the bedroom.

“This is driving you mad, isn’t it? Knowing that I have you under my complete control.”

“Yes, Mr. Grimalde. I can’t understand it. What did you do to me?” Hands still trapped behind her head, tits bouncing, swaying, bouncing.

“Yes, that’s the question of the hour, isn’t it, Jiggly? Was it something in the wine? Maybe it was in the salmon. Maybe it was in the air when you walked into my office. Maybe it was on the postcard from Blackfinger, and it rubbed off when you touched it. Maybe it’s some microwave pattern that I fired straight into your brain from a hidden panel; zzzzzap! Or what if, what if you never really escaped Satore’s control? What if I’ve just figured out how to grab the leash that she left attached to you, hmmm? I think I’ll just let you wonder about all that. Is that okay with you, cunt?”

“No, please, Mr. Grimalde. I want to know!”

“HA! Too bad. You can stop the dancing, drop your hands, and act natural now.”

She shook her head, dropped her arms and stopped her frantic gyrations. “Thank you, Mr. Grimalde.”

“Listen carefully. You love me, deeply and hopelessly, even though you still think of me as your enemy. You feel empty and purposeless without my cock inside you. Whenever I touch you, wherever I touch you, you will feel sexual pleasure unless I tell you to feel something else. Whenever I’m fucking you, however I’m fucking you, you’ll rapidly rise to the cusp of an orgasm and stay there until I give you permission to come. Whenever I tell you to come, whether I am fucking you or not, you will immediately experience the most pleasure any human is capable of experiencing, all over your body. If I tell you you are good, you will feel good all over, not ‘orgasm’ good, just ‘sexy happy’ good. On the other hand if I tell you that you have been bad or inadequate or that I am displeased with you, you will feel pain, illness, disorientation, nausea until you have pleased me. Do you understand?”

He could see her facial expressions reflecting a mind that was rewiring itself on the fly, but ultimately she reached the end and responded, “Yes, Mr. Grimalde. I understand.”

“You will not consciously recall that I have given you any of these instructions, but you will follow them to the letter.”

More mental gymnastics and then silence. Then...wordless yearning as her eyes were drawn helplessly to her enemy, the man of her dreams.

“We’re gonna have a very good time tonight. Aren’t we, Seraph?”

“I hate you, Mr. Grimalde.”

Nigel reached out and gently touched her face. “I hate you too, baby doll.”

Moaning, she leaned into his hand like a cat begging to be petted. Her face flushed with embarrassment and desire. “Please. Please, can I...” Tears came again to her green, green eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble.

Nigel grinned a shark-toothed grin.

(to be continued…)