The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magic’s a funny old thing. Most people don’t believe in it. Which helps in my line, more than you’d think. ’Cause then they never see the con within the con. And too many of those that do believe in magic think it lets you do anything. Which is almost true. They don’t understand that while it does let you do anything, you can’t pull it up out of nowhere. But the threat’s always good. The truth is, magic’s about balance. Nothing’s free. If I want a taxi, that’s easy, I can get a taxi anytime. But it’s got to be paid for. My ‘magically’ appearing taxi means someone else doesn’t get their ride. And easier still if I make that someone else me. So sometime, when I want a taxi, I don’t get one, and I have to take the tube. Doesn’t worry me, you can find interesting things on the tube. So I can pay for a taxi I called, or store one up for later. Or I can push it off to some other bastard, and one night they’re left wondering where every taxi in London has gone. I don’t like doing that much, though, ’cause pushing the balance off to someone else is getting close to the black. You have to be careful with that, too much and it can stain. But I can manage a little. Like I said, magic is all about balance. The real trick is knowing how to turn one missed taxi into half a dozen times you get one. Or something even better. But I’m not sharing that.

It’d be nice if I could just magic up anything I wanted, cost free. As I can’t, I have to find some other way to pay the bills. And magic, or even a reputation for it, is always good for getting the leverage to set up a con. It might be getting some rat pack stock brokers to think I’m going to summon up a demon to pull the market their way, or scamming some rich old biddy who wants to talk to her dead husband or even the occasional ghostbusting when there isn’t a real ghost within 20 miles. ’Course I pick the ones I scam, the ones who tricked and cheated their way to what they have, whose souls are so dried up it’s a wonder they still support the mortal coil. That way the taint stays with them and I get out clean. A con within a con within a con.

But, balance being what it is, sometimes no matter how hard I try I find myself landed with a job that I can’t con my way through. A friend of a friend knows someone who needs something and I have to do it, because not all bills are paid in five pound notes and sometimes the universe demands a payback. Still, even then I don’t do it for free.

So that’s how I found myself in this living room in Muswell Hill. So middle class it makes the back of my eyeballs itch. I’m dying for a smoke but there are no ashtrays here and I know if I light up I’ll be losing this meal ticket. Everything clean and neat and bought new. Except for the family heirlooms of course, not that second-rate Royal Doulton is my idea of an heirloom. Someone left me one of those things I’d boot it into the next county. The place is so tidy and I wonder who’s doing the cleaning now, with Mrs Bowman, Janet to her friends, crying her eyes out and the husband, Alan, looking all stiff and British. In the way some blokes are when they haven’t the faintest idea what to do but need to maintain that image of the being the head of the family.

“So,” I say, taking another sip of the tea. It’s a good blend, better than I expected. I take another look around and note just how much all this stuff would have cost and think of adding a bit to my fee. The Bowmans look like they can afford it. “You say that your daughter has fallen in with the wrong crowd? I’m sorry, but kids do that all the time.” I know there must be more than that to it, but the friend of a friend wasn’t very forthcoming. That’s the trouble with magic types. They can be frustratingly vague. All “I sense evil coming,” and all that bollocks. I sense evil in your future, too. Everyone’s got the tax man coming next year.

“Yes, but well, Alice is a good girl,” the mother forces out between tears. And of course she emphasises the ‘good’. I try not to roll my eyes. Two things I should tell her. If I had a pound for every mother who thought their daughter was a good girl and the daughter in question could teach both Aleister Crowley and Paris Hilton a thing or two then I wouldn’t need to take jobs like this. Second, there are just some names you shouldn’t use. Alice. Just begging for the poor girl to go down some magic rabbit hole and never come out. Maybe that’s happened to this one. Well, more than maybe, almost certainly. Or I wouldn’t be here. Magic runs on serendipity as well as balance.

She’s a pretty thing, too, if the photos mother has pushed at me are anything to go by. Blonde, of course. Not that the original Alice was, but everyone believes it now. Belief’s a powerful thing. Got her looks from her mother, who is still sobbing out her story. “But she’s fallen in with some bad people. We tried to keep her away from them, didn’t we dear?” She looks at her husband, who just nods gravely and pats her hand. I raise my eyebrows. He’s feeling that futile? I wonder how long ago Alice fell off the rails. But then, I’m a cynical bastard.

“How long since you’ve seen her?” I could soften them up for a while, but I can sense that I don’t need to. They’ll pay for getting their daughter back. And I want to get out of here before the suburban sterility makes my blood clot. Possibly literally.

“A week now”. Surprise. Father actually speaks. Before he can say anymore his wife cuts in. “We’ve tried all her friends, but no-one knows anything and the police are no use.” No surprises there, on either count. If little Alice has herself mixed up in something mystical then the police won’t be able to find their arses let alone the girl. And if there’s any real magic mixed in this then any friends won’t dare open their mouths.

I sigh. “London’s a big city. I won’t find your daughter with just a photo.” Implying that with something more I will. You need to give the target a reason to believe. Even if I have the nasty feeling all I’ll be bringing back to chateau Bowman is a corpse. But these days it’s all about ‘closure’ isn’t it? So even that should get me a payday. Call me a heartless bastard. You won’t be the first. “Who’s her best friend? Who does she never go anywhere without?” Not everyone has one, but maybe Alice does. It’s a chance, but maybe luck’s on my side today. There are other things I can try, but let’s try the obvious detective work before we hit the mystical.

“Well, there’s Jill, but we haven’t seen her much lately, I think they fell out. And the police said she didn’t know anything.” I smile. Maybe the police didn’t ask the right questions.

Jill’s not hard to find, with what the Bowmans told me and as soon as I see her I know I’m on the right track. She’s reeking of magic so much it’s certain she hasn’t just been near some, but that it’s been used on her. She’s in one of those half-trendy coffee shops that university kids go to when they think they can solve all the world’s problems over a cappuccino made from coffee beans that some monkey’s eaten and shitted out. Fits, really. It’s clear she’s on edge, lost in herself.

So I sit down, “Hullo Jill.”

“What, who are you?” Her dark eyes are wide, long dark hair framing a pale face. “Get, get away,” Christ, if she shakes any more she’ll spill her coffee.

“I’m looking for Alice. The Bowman’s sent me.” I pull out a fag and light up. She probably won’t like it, but I don’t need her calm. Off-balance suits me better.

Her eyes go wide. “I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen her. I told the police.”

“Yeah, sure. I wouldn’t tell them anything either.”

“No, really, I haven’t seen her, for, for days.” She shakes her head, but it’s not that that gets my attention. It’s the look in her eyes. Something off, something not quite focussed. Her hands start shaking again.

I grab them. “Here, luv, don’t want spill that coffee.”

She stills for a moment, then rips one hand away “Let me go.”

I back off. I’ve seen enough. Someone’s done a real number on little Jill. Not that they knew what they were doing. Sloppy work, left her open as a book, once I clear a few cobwebs away.

Two girls, fresh in university, thinking they were all grown up. I mean, what is it with kids and university? Here’s your student card, drop your common sense over there and collect your possibly fatal increase in curiosity on the way out. Glad I never went. Of course, not all university students end up with a group of want-to-be black mages. Or, in this, case maybe ones that actually made the grade. Just what we need, another group of ambitious idiots begging for a demonic possession or something worse. If they actually are onto real power I’d have come across them sooner or later. Serendipity.

Back to the open book.

Jill wasn’t quite as stupid as her friend. She wasn’t clear about it but something made her run away. Smart. Not Alice though. Looks like she had a crush on one of them. Older students, promises of real magic. Alice wouldn’t be the first uni student who’d drop her panties for that, not that I phrase it quite that way to Jill. She insists Alice wouldn’t do that. That Alice never had. And I’m starting to worry a bit more, because if Alice never has, well, that can attract all the wrong sorts. Virgin sacrifices are every bit as powerful as the stories would have you believe. I take a hard look at Jill and it seems that she hasn’t been as restrained as she claims her friend was. Did she escape or was she let go when they scented a bigger prize?

I still don’t have any proper names, they didn’t give their last names out, at least not to the fresh-faced likely leg over action that might be all they thought Jill was. But I have a place and while Jill says they aren’t there anymore it’s enough. Because somebody will be there and that will set me on the path to finding where they are now.

And as I start to follow the chain I can smell it. Every step on the way it’s a little stronger. The scent of black magic, rubbed off on the people this group has had contact with. Which helps me. If they believe that magic’s real it makes it easier for me to scare them. Physically I don’t look that tough. I can handle myself, but I’m no-one’s idea of an enforcer. But give me a believer and I show them a little taste of what I can do and they’re wetting themselves to tell me what I want to know.

So it’s a only the night of the day after I was sitting in the Bowman’s spotless living room and I’m heading down worn and pitted steps that were carved by some poor bugger a few hundred years ago. The two places might be in the same city, but it’s only types like me that would ever be in both places. I wonder, sometimes, if I’ll ever find an end to all the sewers and caverns under London. Or if the black magic amateurs will ever give up on places like these. I mean, if the backlash from their stupid fumblings doesn’t kill them, then the pneumonia from spending hours in a dank cavern will. Still, I have to admit it works as sympathetic magic. There’s nothing like a dark stinking sewer to match a rotting soul.

The other thing they never seem to think about is how all the mildew makes it easy to sneak up on them. When will they ever think to use daddy’s money to hire some guards? There’s not a lot of sound down here, and precious little light. I have to mind the water, don’t want to alert them by splashing around like a kid at the local council pool. I can sense something off to the left, south, closer to the Thames. The tunnel that way is colder. And there just might be a hint of light, green, like something glowing on a rotting corpse. All things I’ve seen dozens of times before.

Then, just when I think it’s going to be easy to find them, I sense someone behind me. Don’t tell me I’ve found the one group that actually thinks of guards? I press myself into the side of the tunnel. Moss is the nicest thing I’m probably pushing into my coat, but I’ll worry about the dry cleaning later. More important is getting myself out of here in one piece.

Whoever it is coming up behind is no professional. I can hear the slipping and splashing a mile away. And they’ve got a bloody torch. Still, if they’re looking for intruders they probably don’t mind being found. The torch hasn’t hit me yet, I can see its light shining down the last cross tunnel. I look around, and can see a darker patch a little further down the tunnel I’m in. It takes me longer than I’d like to get there, as I don’t want to give myself away by stepping in any of the pools. Bugger what it would do to the shoes, and it would, the water is half sludge. But it would make too much noise.

Still, whoever it is isn’t moving that fast either and I’m safe in some sort of nook in the wall before they turn the corner. It’s hard to see over the light but they don’t seem very big and they aren’t moving with much certainty. Oh bugger me, it’s no guard. It’s Jill.

I step out into the light of her torch. She pulls up with a start. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss.

“Umm,” she hesitates, I can hear her foot dragging a circle, like a little girl caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. “I followed you. She’s my friend, I shouldn’t have left her.”

It’s an innocent story. Maybe a bit too innocent. She could be telling the truth, or she could be part of this and tracking me. Either way, I give myself a mental kick for not watching out for a tail. I was in too much of a hurry to get this done to be careful about covering my tracks. A lesson for the future. Whatever the truth is, I’m stuck with her now. If I send her off she’ll either warn her friends or keeping following me.

“Right, you do exactly what I say. Turn off the torch and stop stepping in the bleeding puddles. I don’t know how they haven’t heard you already.”

“Umm, if I turn off the torch how will I see the puddles?”

I feel like slapping her but I don’t. “Just take my hand.” I can make sure she does what she needs to do. I’ll probably be tripping over cracks in the pavement for a week to make up for it, but if that’s what it takes to stop us drawing attention, then I’ll live with it.

It doesn’t take long to work out I was heading in the right direction. Who else would be down here chanting in bastardised Latin? The harder part is keeping Jill from giving us away. I recognise bits of the chant and I don’t want Jill seeing what I think is out there.

She tries to put her head around the corner but I manage to pull her back and muffle her cry.

“Look,” I say, feeling like a school teacher as I wag my finger in her face. “Just stay here and keep your head down. Draw attention to us before I’m ready and we’re not getting out of here.” I don’t know if it’s the tone in my voice or just the feel of the place but she nods agreement. I have to admit even I don’t like it down here. I can feel ripples of power crawling over my skin. Whoever this lot are, they have some idea what they are doing.

A quick look around the corner confirms my worst fears. Black candles, cloaked figures, the whole Hammer Horror jumble sale. Including a very still figure on the altar with what I’m pretty sure is gash in her neck that shouldn’t be there. I’d had a nasty feeling that the Latin I was hearing was the end of a sacrificial ceremony, not the beginning.

Heroes are the ones who make it in time to stop the sacrifice.

Never said I as one of them

Still, I’d also seen enough to know how to take this little group of Satanists.

They’re still so wrapped up in themselves that I’m half way into the chamber before they even realise I’m there.

I lean up against a pillar and light a fag. I’d been dying for one all the way down this stupid slime pit they chose.

“Evening, gents. Yeah, I know, I’m defiling the sacred place and all that. You want to do something about that?” I love the looks on their faces. The shock slipping into fury is priceless.

They think they have all the power in the world at their fingertips, after their virgin sacrifice. They don’t of course, but what they have should be enough to make me into another oily smear down here. Except that they don’t know anywhere near as much about magic as they think they do. They don’t know about balance. They’ve been taking and grasping and not paying the universe back. The bill would have been served on them sometime soon even if I hadn’t happened along. It’s why you don’t run across black magic as much as the tabloids would have you think you should.

The show probably looks pretty spectacular from where I’m sure Jill is now peering around the corner. Flashes and arcs of magical energy between me and them. Shields, some shining, some pools of dark, put up and then smashed into a million glittering fragments. Must look pretty impressive, me out magicing all of them. I am, and I’m not, depending how you look at it. Almost all the energy is coming from them. I just need to expend a little bit to make their balance payment come due now. So everything they throw at me, more and more in their fury, just gets thrown back. I love it when someone else does most of my work for me. It doesn’t take long and they’ve killed themselves with everything they tried to use on me.

It must have been quick, my cigarette is only half burnt down.

And then the hard part starts. Because Jill has rushed over to the body on the altar and she’s screaming the place down when she realises it’s Alice, her throat neatly cut. A black magic coven isn’t half as hard to deal with as an hysterical woman.

“Easy luv, there’s nothing we can do for her now.” I put my arms around Jill, comfort’s not my thing but I do what I can. Not that it’s that hard a task, Jill is every bit as attractive as Alice. Well, as Alice used to be. Having your throat cut and lying on a stone slab in the London sewers isn’t good for anyone’s looks.

“She can’t be gone. She can’t,” Jill sobs into my shoulder. “I can still feel her.” I shake my head but then I catch something. Maybe Jill has a bit of magic herself. Maybe that’s how she was able to follow me.

Because she’s right. Alice isn’t gone. Her body’s cold on the altar and any doctor would pronounce her and move on. But that’s how science treats death. Magic’s different. Alice’s body is on the altar. But she’s in the corner as well. Insubstantial, arms hugging herself. Her soul, what makes Alice, Alice. And as far as magic is concerned, you’re not dead until your soul has moved on.

Alice isn’t quite dead yet.

Not that bringing back someone who is as almost dead as Alice is now is easy. Death’s going to be coming for her soon. I’m surprised she didn’t pick her up when she collected the brat pack. Doesn’t matter. I’m not paying that price. Not for some stupid little girl from Muswell Hill who went and got herself killed.

I try to ignore her.

Not that it’s easy. I know she can see me. She knows I can see her. Insubstantial Alice is looking right at me.

“Am I dead?” she asks. They always ask that. Jill looks around. She must have heard something. She really does have some talent.

“Yeah, sorry luv.”

“Alice?” asks Jill. More than some talent

“Jill?”

Bugger, I think, this is going to get complicated.

Little Jill ignores her friend and turns on me. “That’s her. I can see her! Can’t you do something?”

I could do lots of things. Like turning around and walking back out through the sewers. That would be the smart thing.

But then Jill looks at me, all doe-eyed and pleading and I know I’m not going to be that smart.

I could tie Alice’s soul to her. Like I said, Jill has talent and having a bound soul, especially a willing one, is all types of useful.

That’s not what Jill wants.

She wants her friend back.

You’ll get a bigger payment if the girl’s alive. A little voice in my head tells me. The one that likes making sure I have more than a fiver in my wallet.

But to get that payment Alice’s soul is going to have go back in her body and that gash on her pretty neck is going to have disappear.

Not cheap, not cheap at all.

One easy way to do it would be to slit Jill’s throat. The knife they used is lying by the side of Alice’s body. Like for like.

The universe is into that sort of thing.

Killing innocents isn’t my scene. And anyway, then I’d just have Alice screaming about Jill.

I might be able to find some object or knick-knack with enough power. But that would take too long. I can see Alice starting to fade. Death’s going to be dropping by again any moment now.

There’s only one thing powerful enough to put against death.

Sex.

And it’s not just a case of bending Jill over the altar for a quickie. If it was that easy to bring someone back most funerals would turn into orgies.

“Do you want your friend back?” I ask, already regretting it.

“Yes!” Jill cries. “What do you want? I’ll do anything.”

Most people would be in pieces over their dead friend. Especially seeing her ghost. But not little Jill. Her being a believer helps. But she’s stupid. Or at least ignorant. I’ll have to fix that when I get around to it. Promising ‘anything’? Stupid.

But stupid I can use.

“Jill,” I say. “Look at me.”

And the stupid little thing does. Because she trusts me. She trusts me to bring her friend back. She trusts me because I will.

She just doesn’t know the price.

“What will you do, Jill?” I ask. My magic’s reaching out for her. Subtle, for now.

Too subtle for her to notice.

“Anything,” she says.

And that’s all it takes.

“Stop it!” Alice cries angrily.

Cranky ghosts can be fucking pains in the neck. I’m just lucky Alice is a baby ghost and hasn’t worked out how to throw things around. Like that knife.

I can feel the heat of her anger though.

Alice’s ghost is right up in my face. I have to look through her to see Jill.

“What did you do to her, you bastard? What’s she doing?”

Even obscured by her spectral friend, it’s pretty obvious what Jill is doing, one hand pawing at her chest, the other fumbling at the button on her jeans. Her eyelids are fluttering, a moan escaping her lips.

Not sure she’s capable of words right now.

Alice spins away from me and hurries over to her friend. If she’d been a ghost longer she’d have worked out she can float faster than she can run. But thanks to Jill she won’t get that chance. I can sense the gash closing up on Alice’s neck.

“Jill!” Alice cries, trying to shake her friend but her hands go right through Jill. “Jill! Stop it!”

“Wanna fuck,” Jill mutters, one hand now inside her jeans. “Wanna fuck so bad.”

“That’s right, luv,” I agree. “How many times you going to fuck?”

“Lots.” A dreamy smile steals over Jill’s pretty features. “Gunna fuck lots.”

Jill doesn’t know it, but she’s making a promise to the universe. She’s swaying from side to side, one hand playing across her tits while the other is working away inside her jeans. Sex can balance death. But it’s not one for one.

Nowhere near one for one.

Jill’s going to have spend a lot of time spreading her legs to pay for getting her friend back.

“How are you going to get fucked?” I ask.

“In my p-pussy,” the girl mumbles, her eyes half-closed, already thinking about it. Picturing it. Drowning in it. “In my mouth. In my arse. With my tits. Wanna fuck.”

Fucking is now the most important thing in Jill’s life. She’s got a debt to pay off.

She’s eager to pay, smiling at the idea.

Alice doesn’t seem so happy. “Damn you!” she cries, popping back up in front of me, her hands reaching up to claw at my eyes.

Well, they would, if her hands didn’t pass straight through me.

I can feel the cold though.

Time to get Alice back in her body.

“No! I won’t!” Alice cries. Like I said, ghosts know things the living don’t. “It’s not. Not if Jill.” She’s crying, her spectral tears sparkling in the light. “I’m dead, let her go.”

“Too late, luv,” I shrug, pulling out another fag. “She’s made the deal. Whether you come back or not.”

Alice looks over her shoulder at her friend. Jill’s just standing there, pawing at herself and muttering about how good it’s going to be getting fucked.

“Like she is now, Jill’s probably going to be on some street corner first thing tomorrow.” I light my fag. Damn things are probably going to kill me someday. “And with the way she can only think about getting fucked, well, she’ll probably do anything anyone tells her.”

“Please,” Alice pleads. Just like Jill pleaded about her. She must care about Jill. Symmetry. Magic likes that too. “There has to be something.”

“Course there is, luv,” I smile, seeing the possibilities. “There always is. Like they say, a problem shared is a problem halved.”

“W-what?” Alice cries, backing away from me. “No. No!”

“Well,” I shrug. “It’s up to you. Either way, you’re getting back in that body.” I point where Alice’s physical form is lying on the altar. The gash on her neck has vanished. Just needs her soul plopped back in and she’ll be doing a right proper Lazarus act. I can see her fighting the pull. “And you get to watch Jill be an empty-headed fuck puppet. Or you can help her.”

Alice sighs. Or at least she would, if a ghost could draw breath. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ll spend your time horny as—” I stop myself. Saying the “H” would right now would be a bad idea. The morons are dead, their spirits are long gone. But some of their magic is still lying about. Using certain words here would make me almost as dumb as them. “Horny. You both will. Getting fucked will be the most important thing in your life. But you’ll have some control.” I take another drag. “Up to you.”

Alice swallows. Straightens up. “I’ll do it,” she says, trying to look brave.

She doesn’t know what brave is.

“What will you do?”

“I’ll, I’ll have sex. I’ll.” And it’s almost like she’s never said the word. Maybe she hasn’t. “I’ll fuck.”

And that’s all it takes.

There’s a gasp as her soul is sucked into her body, Alice’s eyes shooting wide, her back arching.

“Alice?” Jill asks uncertainly. There’s enough space in her head now to worry about her friend.

Jill rushes to her side to help as Alice climbs unsteadily off the altar.

As Alice stands there, knees wobbling, their arms wrap around each other, holding each other tight. And then those hands start moving, one tentatively brushing an arse, another running up past a waist to brush the side of a breast. A hand burying itself in long hair. There’s a moan just before lips meet. There’s so much heat pouring off the pair it’s not so cold down here anymore.

It’s no surprise really. When they promised to fuck, they didn’t say anything about just men.

I watch as Alice’s hand slips slowly inside her friend’s jeans, Jill having left them conveniently undone. The raven-haired beauty’s lips form a perfect ‘O’ as Alice’s fingers find just the right spot.

The look of eagerness mixed with trepidation on Alice’s face is something to behold.

I’ve done them a favour, really. All the time they spend fucking each other is less time they’ll spend bending over for strangers.

They’ll still be doing that, though.

“Ladies,” I call out.

Alice jumps back. From the look of guilt on her she’s probably forgotten I was here. Jill doesn’t seem to care, openly drinking her friend in, fingertips playing over Alice’s body.

“Do you really want to do this here?” I chide. My hand indicates the surrounds, the burnt and battered bodies of Alice’s would-be sacrificers littering the dank chamber.

It’s enough to cool even Jill’s ardour.

For the moment.

The next day I’m back in Muswell Hill. With the money in my pocket, I can stomach suburbia for a bit.

“Thank you,” Alice’s father says with a curt nod. All strong gaze, man to man. Spare me.

Alice and Jill are sitting side by side on the lounge, both pairs of hands entwined. I don’t think Alice’s parents realise just how hard the girl’s thighs are pressed together.

Mother’s still bawling her eyes out at having her daughter back, intact.

Which isn’t quite true.

Alice is in one piece, but I doubt she meets mummy dearest’s definition of ‘intact’. Not after what we did the night before.

You think I was going to leave them to it? Please.

After what happened I had a responsibility to introduce the girls to their new life.

“Is she safe now?” Father asks.

“Yes,” I assure him. The idiots are dead. And Alice won’t be targeted for any more virgin sacrifices. Not possible, when she has no virginities left. I made doubly sure of that.

“Jill helped,” I add. What I don’t say is that Jill helped both in finding Alice and what we did last night. You might say she was an equal partner. Or that I fucked her brains out as much as I did Alice’s. “You’re daughter went through a lot, though, mate.” He lets me calling him mate slide. Just as well, for him. “I think it will help her to have Jill around.”

Both girls look up at me and smile.

You think I’m being a softy?

Those two girls have a lot of work to do paying off the debt to the universe for getting Alice back. They’ll have fun with each other, but that’ll never cover it.

They’ll be making lots of new friends.

Or clients.

Up to them.

But that’s not what I’m talking about. Turns out Jill wasn’t the only one with a bit of talent. Alice has some too. No wonder she was targeted. With the right teacher, this pair could work up to a decent level of power.

And it’s obvious what path they’re going to take. Sex magic really is one of the oldest forms.

Their teacher would have to be careful though. Make sure they keep paying off the debt. Only give them lessons occasionally. Take too much from them and you could be landed with part of their debt.

Wouldn’t want that.

Probably needs someone who knows the background.

Never been much for teaching

But I’ll make the sacrifice.

(The End)