The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Silken: Family Counseling

Chapter 1

“Family counseling? Why bother, Mom? I’m leaving for college next in a few months.”

Diane sighed. On one level, her son Tom was right: he was almost 19, soon to leave home. Was the effort even worth it at this point, trying to work on their parent-child relationship?

Her husband didn’t think so. “Time will fix this—he’ll like his home more once he has actually has to live in the real world,” Alex had said.

Diane would have gone along with her husband’s hands-off approach, except for the recommendation of a friend.

“Dr. Beine is simply wonderful,” Jody Hostler had told her while the two had been out for coffee the week before. “Me and my son Ben were at each other’s throats until we tried some of the doctor’s relationship-building techniques. We’ve never been closer.”

Jody and Diane were much alike—married, middle class moms in their early 40’s, each the mother of a single college-bound son. If counseling had worked for Jody and Ben, it followed that it would have the same effect on Diane and her boy. Didn’t she have an obligation to at least try?

“Let’s just at least see what he has to say,” Diane said, driving the family’s Volvo SUV down the rain-slick streets. “This is just an intro session. If we don’t think it’ll be any use, we don’t have to come back.”

Tom played varsity soccer and lacrosse. All those hours on the practice fields had made him lean and strong. Diane glanced over at him. His defined features, combined with the glare of opposing traffic’s headlights, made the sneer on his face look like a singularity of disgust.

“Maybe I should just wait in the car, because I can tell you right now that this is a total waste of time.”

Yeah, you’re probably right. Diane ignored her thoughts, instead said, “We’re almost there. We’re going to this session. Look at the bright side: you can tell him how what an awful mother I am.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Just keep in mind I’ll get a chance to tell him about you too, Tom.” The broken curfews. The locker room fight with—more of an attack on—some junior varsity teammates that would have cost Tom and Jody’s son their respective scholarships if the lacrosse coach hadn’t hushed the whole thing up. The used condom Diane had found while emptying Tom’s bathroom trashcan.

According to Jody, this was all normal teenage male stuff. Maybe it was. Tom seemed unique, however, both in his shamelessness, and to his indifference about the worry and hurt he was causing his parents.

They pulled into the office park. “Mom, you can tell him I’m a serial rapist for all I care.”

It was after 6pm. Flood lamps painted the squat, brick-and-glass buildings themselves in a harsh, white light. All the windows were dark except for one, the parking lot empty save for a Porsche, presumably belonging to Dr. Beine.

Inside, a twenty-something receptionist in a slightly too-tight knit top and black pants greeted them. The swell of the girl’s breasts exerted a pull on Tom’s eyes similar to that of the sun upon the Earth.

Diane made chitchat in an effort to distract from her son’s leering. “It’s nice that you keep evening hours.” The doctor’s office had actually been the one to suggest the later appointment.

The receptionist handed Diane some paperwork to fill out. “We find it’s really convenient for a lot of our clients. Plus, some people aren’t comfortable with others knowing about their therapy, so the after-hours is best.”

Diane filled out her information as she spoke. Her age—40—she could understand, but why did a counselor want weight? She wasn’t as fit as her varsity letter son, but she did enough treadmill and free weights at the gym to have gotten jealous glances from other moms on the prom-planning committee. Still, no reason why a psychologist needed to calculate her BMI. She left most of the lines about her physical health blank. “I’m surprised anyone would be self-conscious about therapy these days.”

The receptionist swept some of her light brown hair from her face. “Me too. I think it’s something to be proud of, actually, doing whatever it takes to make one’s family whole.”

Diane wasn’t used to receptionists being quote so philosophical about their employer’s work. It sounded a bit cult-like. “Right.”

“But, you know, some people aren’t comfortable with that. Sometimes no witnesses is just best for everyone involved.” The receptionist laughed.

“Sure.” An uneasiness gripped Diane. Being at this office park with no one else around. The receptionist’s words. The fact that it was Dr. Beine’s office that had suggested the late appointed. It all suddenly seemed so very off.

“The doctor is this way,” the receptionist said. “Please follow me.”

Diane hesitated. Come on, you’re being silly. Jody highly recommended this guy, after all. If the receptionist seemed too devoted to the doctor’s work, the most reasonable explanation would be that she sleeping with her employer. After all, there had been only one other car in the parking lot.

The receptionist guided them down a long hallway. The artwork on the walls were all watercolor prints of some idyllic small town. The main street, river, library, and various Victorian homes of Arclight, or so the frames’ copper placards read.

The ceiling-mounted spotlights on the artwork were the hallway’s only source of illumination, giving everything the softness of candlelight. It all made Diane feel as though she were walking down a secret passage.

Stop it! Diane thought. There was nothing to be afraid of. Tom certainly wasn’t afraid. Of course, Tom seemed to notice nothing at the moment save the receptionist’s swaying ass.

Finally they came to Dr. Beine’s office. “Mrs. Diane Martinez and her son Tom,” the receptionist announced before closing the door behind her as she left.

Beine stood from behind his desk. He was taller than Tom, if only by a little, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His full head of hair was the color of brushed steel, but his face looked too young to have so much gray. Diane couldn’t tell if he was a very distinguished looking man of 40, or a very young looking man of 55. Regardless, there was no denying he was handsome, and she felt herself relax in his confident presence.

He gestured to two armchairs, one beside the other, with a third—his—facing them. “Thank you so much for coming.” His English was perfect, but had the slightest of German accents.

The chairs looked like they belonged in a Victorian manor’s study upholstered as they were in tufted, red leather.

Sitting where Beine had directed, Diane tried to adjust the armchair, but found it much heavier than it looked. “Well, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. Jody Hostler spoke very highly of you.”

“I was happy to help Jody and her son. Her husband too.”

“We are hoping you’ll do the same for us.” She saw Tom rolling his eyes, and slapped his arm. “Don’t be like that, this is serious.”

“Ow!” Tom said, surprised that his mother would smack him in public, but hamming up any discomfort he actually felt for the benefit of their audience.

Diane recovered from her outburst, looked back up at the doctor. His eyebrows were raised, and she felt a wave of shame. “Well, clearly there’s a lot to work on. Let’s get started, shall we?” He eased himself into the third chair.

Diane looked around uncertainly. “How does this work? I mean, do you want to talk to us both at once? Or should I leave the room so you can talk to us one-on-one at first?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve seen enough, actually. And anyway, Jody was very explicit about the stresses in your mother-son relationship,” Dr. Beine said.

Tom blinked. Even if he didn’t know the laws about it, the idea of doctor sharing information about patients felt wrong. “What?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, Mrs. Hostler told me about how you’ve been acting, Tom, lashing out at your parents to prove your independence. As if independence is proven by being cruel to those that love you most.”

Diane’s face turned red—she couldn’t believe her best friend would talk about their problems with a stranger. Even more maddening was that a supposed professional would be classless to advertise such a breach of trust. “Apologize to my boy.”

“It’s only the truth, Mrs. Martinez, just like it’s the truth you’ve been able to give Tom the trust a man deserves. And yes, he is a man, not a boy, as you just demeaningly referred to him now. Young men Tom’s age have sex and occasionally get into fights. It’s natural, but your reaction to that—trusting him less, treating him more like a child from what Mrs. Hostler has told me, only made Tom’s rebellion inevitable.”

Tom turned to his mother. “Well, he may be a prick, but he’s kind of right about that part.”

“I’m right about everything. As was Mrs. Hostler, who thought you and your mother would benefit from the same counseling and treatment we administered to her and her son.”

“We?” Tom asked. “Was that the royal ‘we’ or your multiple personalities talking, asshole?”

“By we, I simply meant that group of which I am apart, and which you will soon be as well. Trust me. My methods are unusual, but at the end, you will be much happier, your familiar relationship much, much stronger.”

“No, doctor, I don’t think this is going to work out after all,” Diane said, promising herself next time she felt uneasy, she’d listen to her gut.

“Mrs. Martinez, for the good of you are your family, I’m afraid the choice is no longer yours.”

She stared at him. “And what the hell, precisely, is that supposed to mean?”

“This.” In a fluid motion, Dr. Beine took out his cell phone, and swiped the screen.

Both Tom and Diane jumped from their chairs. Tom looked at the backseat of his jeans like he’d been stung by a bee. “What the fuck?”

His mother similarly was grabbing her right ass cheek through her suit’s pants. She looked at the chairs she and her son had just been in. In both now, a needle from one of the seat cushion tufting buttons had risen, pricking them both. Then she watched as both needles withdrew back into the seats.

Diane felt the warm numbness begin to spread from her ass cheek to her legs. “Oh my god, Tom—he drugged us!”

“Oh man, you are so fucking dead!” Tom took a step towards Beine only to have his legs give out beneath him.

“Unfortunately, your athlete’s metabolism will only make the sedative affect your system even faster.”

Tom’s speech was slurred. “I’ll kill you!”

“You’re a very brave young man, Tom, but eventually you’ll look back on this and thank me.”

Tom’s eyes went leaden. “Fuck you,” he mumbled.

Beine smiled. “More likely than not.”

Tom looked over at his mother. The toxin had hit her system slightly more slowly, but now she slumped into an armchair.

Tom hadn’t any motor control left. Dr. Beine knelt down to keep Tom’s head from hitting the hardwood floor. “Mom, I’m sorry… for… everything…” Unconsciousness overtook the young man.

Diane was crying. “Why are you doing this?”

Beine looked up from Tom. “You will find out soon enough, Diane. And along the way, you’ll learn a great deal about yourself too.”

Diane’s eyes eventually closed and her breath became very shallow.

The office door opened, and the receptionist entered. She had her cell phone in her hand. A live view of Beine’s office, taken from a camera hidden in the ceiling, was on the display before she turned off the screen.

“That was faster than most,” she said, peeling off her tight top

“They were in more pain than most, Marissa. Best to speed their healing. Now, be a good girl and get the stockings.”

“Of course.”