The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hi, Susan here. Mander drove Julie and I to the SeaTac Mall, where we switched cars with one of the Ultimados. Then, he drove us to the airport parking garage, where we switched cars with another before going downtown to meet Helen.

“We got home like this last night.” I looked over at the other rear passenger seat and said to Julie. “We changed cabs twice on the way back from the consulate, too.”

Rain splattered the windshield as Mander made his way up I-5 for what had to be the fourth time for him in the past two days (If you include the drive up from Portland.).

I looked down at my outfit again and over to Julie. We were both dressed in long coats, with kerchiefs wrapped around our heads to conceal our hair. Dark sunglasses completed the look.

“Is there a special reason,” I asked her. “Why Helen wants us to dress like 1970s housewives sneaking off to meet The Other Man at a seedy motel?”

“I’m guessing so that if any paparazzi get our pictures, we’ll be unrecognizable.”

“I don’t know about that.” Mander said from the driver’s seat. “Two beautiful ladies with ’Er Countessness. So, three beautiful ladies? Someone’s gonna wanna know who those ‘mysterious beauties’ with ’er are.”

“Thanks. And that’s why she wanted us to wear striking shoes.” Julie said, before turning to me from Mander. “Any cameras we come across will all be pointed at Helena. But one of them, like Mander says, might think to care who these ‘mystery women’ are, so someone MAY snap a picture of us. And the shoes are a detail that’ll stand out. Neither of us have ankle tattoos, so if anyone remembers us, it’ll be for our feet and the shoes. If we have to risk camera exposure, those’ll be the detail that draws the eye. Worst case, you have to live with the knowledge that somewhere in the South, a Baptist minister or politician is whacking off to a picture of your feet.” She lowered her sunglasses and looked me in the eye. “You get used to it.”

It sounded logical.

There were more protesters outside the Seattle Hotel de Società Finzione than yesterday. Different groups now, dressed for the rain. Mostly protesting all the violence from yesterday. The cops in riot gear with assault rifles were now patrolling the streets, as well as gathered around the barricades. By an astounding coincidence, one of the Ultimados had just retrieved the LeBaron, and we found the same spot vacant as yesterday.

“Sue had this idea yesterday,” I told Julie as we walked. “Of grabbing a megaphone and telling all the racist assholes to go home and read a science book or something.”

Julie thought about that a moment.

“Troy would approve, then he’d rethink it and disapprove. Half the crowd have their phones out and are recording this. I know the whole ‘million hits on YouTube overnight’ thing’s only in the movies, but half the videos that get to that point started out like George Carlin said. ‘There’s always some dick, some yoyo, some putz; and he is going to film EVERYTHING!’ Some guy’s walking around with a camera, just in case he sees something like a beautiful woman taking a bullhorn and commanding a crowd of idiots to go home and realize that other people having the same rights as them isn’t a bad thing; and them all doing it. What have you said was the main lesson you took from all those years of customer service?”

“EVERYONE has ALWAYS been ‘waiting twenty minutes’ for their food or on hold. Never more, never less. Twenty minutes every time.”

“The other thing.”

I sighed.

“’That Guy’ is always out there. Dammit, Troilus, you’re not even here and you’re right.”

We made our way through the crowd. I decided not to go topless this time. Thinking about it now, it’s entirely likely that someone caught me on camera. However, I wasn’t doing anything anyone else in the crowd wasn’t doing, and Julie’s earlier example was probably true there, too: If anyone got me on film, they’re probably just jerking it to my tits somewhere right now. Suzy-Ho told me she could certainly live with the knowledge as we entered the lobby.

Helen was upstairs, surveying the damage up in the La Contessa suite. None of us were in the security system to use the express elevator, and the regular elevators weren’t serving that floor currently, so I tried phoning Helen from the lobby. It went through on the third try, and she sent Velazquez, now in uniform, down to collect us. The hallway upstairs to enter the suite looked like… well, like a small war had been held in it yesterday. I looked at the bullet holes, broken decorations, and the hunk of twisted metal that was one of the fire exit doors the day before and remembered seeing those explosions on the monitors. It’d been such a nice place the last time I walked through it.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat on one of the couches and beckoned us over. She was on the phone with Maria, speaking Italian. I knew this not just because she said Maria’s name, but because as of yesterday, I know the language myself. Something Suzy-Q brought back from one of her trips to Helen’s Subconscious. I mouthed a “Hi, Maria” as we sat and did the math in my head. One in the afternoon in Seattle would be ten o’clock at night in San Finzione. Helen told her that we were here, Maria said hi back, and they ended the call.

“Everyone ok?” I asked her.

“Yeah. The Triads are boarding up their windows in San Finzione, and I’m going to have to convince a movie studio to come film a summer blockbuster in the city.”

“Or buy one.” Julie replied. Helen’s eyes lit up at that. She picked up her phone again and held it in the way she does when she’s about to leave a voice memo to Jeanne. From Helen’s tone and what I could guess of the French by what I know in Italian, it seemed she was asking Jeanne to see if any movie studios were for sale. (I also understand why Julie was so confused last night, as she searched her head for French words to approximate the Italian ones that I was saying and deduce the meaning.) She ended the memo and lit a new cigarette. I looked in the ash tray and saw she’d had more than a few while waiting for us.

“Called Whyte, he’s leaking the video of me in the warehouse where all this started, commanding those goons around. It’ll hit the evening news.”

“Can’t you deny it?” Julie asked. “Say it’s not you on the tape?”

“Oh no,” Helen replied. “He hasn’t shown it to me, but I commanded them to carve things into each other’s foreheads, and one guy got his own cattle prod up the ass; he wouldn’t have anything to show the media if it wasn’t good.”

“So, are you saying it’s time to start packing up the house for San Finzione?” I asked.

Helen gave a worried smile, as if she wanted to say “maybe,” but was looking for a spin to put on it.

“That offer’s not just for emergencies, you know.” Helen replied, having found one. “Just, any time you’re bored with the country whose very name is a bigger punchline than mine on Rita’s show.”

“Oh, Claire texted,” Julie said, giving Helen her out. “She said she’d forgotten to compliment you on your response to the ‘grab ’em by the pussy’ thing.”

I remembered her response, but let them steer the conversation. I picked up that the “pack up and move” discussion wasn’t one either wanted to have right now, and let them make their way back to Helen’s problem.

“Thanks, but I’ll grab my own. I have more faith that MY dainty little lady-hands are up to the job than yours?”

“Yeah. She asked if you’d leave it as a voice mail before you go. And speaking of going, what’re we going to do about this?”

“And why,” I asked. “Does it involve us dressing like we’re bored with our suburban lives and are going out shoplifting to get some kind of thrill?”

Helen turned to Julie.

“You explained the shoe thing, right?”

“On the way here.” Julie responded.

“Ok, good.” Helen nodded to her, then turned back to me. “I have to bury the story. We can’t go to every news station in town, seeing if anyone’s gotten an anonymous video of me. I have to give them something that’ll make them forget all about it. I need to make a big, extravagant splash. I asked you two to dress like that for the same reason I’m going to have to ask Mander to hang back. There will be cameras. Paparazzi intervention was inevitable. And, as it happens, necessary. I just need to think of someone I know locally…” She took another drag, her eyes widened.

“Boris,” Helen whispered almost reverently. “I have one more call to make to set everything up, then we can go. Have you had lunch yet?”

“Not yet.” Julie admitted.

“Right.” Helen nodded. “What’s the most expensive place in town? We’ll start there.”

“Metropolitan Grill’s open.” Julie said, taking out her emerald green iPad.

“Do they take reservations?” Helen said, getting up and walking toward the balcony door.

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Don’t make one. Call’s going through, just a sec.” Helen started walking toward the master bedroom, speaking Russian to someone, presumably the Boris she’d just mentioned. I turned to Julie.

“Do you know what she’s got planned?” I asked her.

“Something requiring an entourage. Helen generally doesn’t have one of those, unless you count the Ultimados, but they’re on the job. That’s where we’d come in: as her hangers-on. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’m guessing we’re about to do something that only rich, famous, pretty white girls can get away with.”

“So,” I thought aloud. “Absolutely anything.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Helen returned, saying “dosvedanya” to whomever Boris is and ending her call. She grabbed her black Prada Arcade purse from the table and turned back to us. “Shall we go? We’re going to need a decent lunch.”

We left, and she continued talking on the way down the elevator. Velasquez was still too famous for the video of her and Maisson shooting Morgan to be seen by the media in public again, so Sgt. Pappas and three other Ultimados whom I hadn’t met before escorted us. (It’s not like I’ve met every one of them. Just, ya know, a lot.)

“So, if low-profile was what I was trying, and failing, admittedly, to do yesterday, today, I need the exact opposite. I need paparazzi swarming about, watching my every move, and hanging onto my every word. I’m talking about complete overexposure! It’s coming up on one, now. By six o’clock tonight, I need Ma and Pa America to be completely fucking sick of hearing the name Contessa Helena de San Finzione, and reporters sick of saying my whole name and title like that and giving me an asinine nickname that makes anyone with a brain change the channel or stop reading right there! If we want to start taking bets now, my money’s on ‘H-Fin.’ So, we’re hitting the town. I posted on Twitter where we’re going for lunch.”

“Didn’t Whyte kill some guys at lunch yesterday?” I asked. “Isn’t that a really bad move?”

“That was when the Elders were backing him up. Now he’s got to be more careful than that. I’ve got dirt on him, too. At least three confessions to murder and sending Morgan to kill me. But the fucker’s right; I have more to lose than he does.”

“So…” I thought aloud some more. “Your plan to keep us from being discovered is to drag us in front of cameras all day?”

“Yeah,” Mander spoke up. “We’ve discussed my aversion to cameras, Your Countessness.”

“Oh, I’ll just tell them you’re the taller half of Right Said Fred, they’ll ignore you. They’re all going to be crowding around me, pointing their cameras at me. And they’ll be a small enough group that I’ll be able to command them not to take any pictures when one of you is in the shot. If someone shoves a microphone in your face,” Helen pointed and me and Julie. “They won’t be too busy to do The Thing and make them go away. They can cover each other, too.”

“We’re just going to have lunch and invite the press, then?” Julie asked. “Also, my money’s on ‘Sandy Fin’ for your obnoxious media nickname.”

Helen reached into her purse as she replied.

“We’re having lunch because we’ll need our strength. We’re inviting the press, so they’ll follow me around all day.” She produced an American Express Centurion Card. “And then, whether you fucking like it or not, I’m taking you two shopping!”

Troy Equals sat at his computer. With the information to start looking into Triad connections for Whyte, the hackers were making headway. He looked at a couple of spreadsheets that they’d been able to get out of Hong Kong thus far. A smirk grew on Troy’s face.

“He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies.” Troy told Carlito Cortez, head of the San Finzione Ministry of Intelligence’s Electronic Intelligence Gathering Division, over Skype. “Smuggling arms, medicine, drugs of the other kind…” Troy paused a moment. “Women. Whyte Electronics certainly gives him a distribution network to work with. I’d imagine Customs probably waves them through to keep the unruly mobs who’ve lined up around the block for the newest Whyte smartphone from revolting. I really think his bank records are going to be the key. Any luck with those?”

“Afraid not.” Cortez replied. “Money goes to the Caymens and Switzerland. We’ll never get warrants. And we’d need better access than we can forge here to hack in.”

Troy’s phone rang at that moment. He recognized the international prefix for San Finzione. He only knew five phone numbers in the country: Helen’s direct line, Maria’s, Stavro’s, Colleen’s, and the main number for Castle Finzione. Had he given the Yia-Yia his number?

“Just a moment, Carlito. Someone from San Finzione is trying to call, and practically everyone I know there is with the government.” He answered the phone. “Hello.”

“Señor Equals.” The voice of Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez, Supreme Commander of San Finzione’s armed forces, said. “I trust things are going well?”

“Yes, sir.” Troy responded. He wondered for a moment if Helen gave the Generalissimo his number, supposed that was ok; then remembered that as close personal friends of La Contessa, the Ultimados had files on him, Julie, and Susan that would certainly include phone numbers. There were a few ways Ramirez could have gotten his number. “We’ve made some progress; however, there are avenues we can’t pursue without access to international banking systems.”

“I see.” Ramirez responded. Troy heard him lighting a cigarette on the other end. A familiar sound from calls with Helen. He looked over at the pictures of the three ladies on his desk. “You have the Skype, si?”

“Yes. I’m working with Carlito in the Ministry of Intelligence on it now. I can give you the number if you like.” Ramirez said that he would, so Troy gave it to him. “Maria and Stavro should have it, too. Is something going on with them, sir?”

“Oh, no. That is not why I call you.” Troy heard him take a long drag. “I call because I wish to know how La Contessa is doing, and I call you with this question, rather than her, so that I might receive a straight answer.”

Troy nodded. Ramirez apparently did know Helen quite well.

“She’s trying to downplay everything that’s going on; hide her worries with humor, the usual. I think we’ve gotten through to her, though. She knows we’re here for her and that she’s not in this alone. Julie, Susan, and Mander are with her now. While we’re seeking straight answers, Generalissimo, what do you know about Mander?”

Ramirez thought for a moment.

“I know him. I would not describe him as ‘a good man,’ more of a ‘talented’ one. He respects La Contessa, and he knows that she delivers on her promises, so whatever she has offered for his protection, he knows he will receive it if she survives; and she will beat any other offers he receives. I don’t think that he is a danger to any of you for the same reason. I would, therefore, not question his… let us call it ‘loyalty;’ however, there are a great many other things that I would question.”

“So,” Troy thought. “He knows which side his bread’s buttered on, at least. That’s good. Which one of them is the bad influence on the other?”

“That would be hard to say.” Ramirez replied, thinking on the expression Troy had just used. He wasn’t familiar with it and would have to remember it. “With you and Señora Equals and Señorita Bailey, she has a family. With Mander, she has an accomplice.”

“Well, they’re all in the city now. I’m here alone. There’s, ah, something going on with the phones there today, so I haven’t got all the details. She’s trying to take control of a news story, I think.”

Ramirez was silent for several seconds.

“I have some speeches to practice in the mirror, then. Thank you, Señor Equals.”

“And how are you doing, Generalissimo?”

Ramirez put out his cigarette.

“There was a political cartoon today. La Contessa is being stabbed, and I am recoiling with frost on my fingers, because the gun on my belt is frozen in a block of ice.”

“That is completely undeserved, sir. I hope you understand that there are people in the world who know the truth.”

“Si. The news is starting to do ‘Has the Media Gone Too Far’ stories. La Contessa says that means that they’re getting tired of reporting it, and want to seem better than their competition by moving on to something new before the others. It will be over soon.”

“I hope you and Maria and the whole country are ok.”

They ended the call. Troy went back to speaking with Carlito about what they had, and what could be done with the scattered money trails, when another Skype call came in to Troy’s computer. He answered it, and a face he didn’t recognize was on the other end.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Equals.” Said the man on the screen.

“No Français.” Troy replied. “Damn, my wife’s not here. Maybe Maisson’s still across the street…”

“Ah, it is all right. I know English.” Said the man on the other end. “I am Detective Inspector Luc Allaine with Interpol. A friend gave me your number. I understand you are American. Eh, please do not sue me.”

Troy smiled at that.

“Yeah, I’m on the west coast. We like a little ‘hi, how’re you doing’ before getting on to the suing everybody.”

“That is good.” Luc replied, seeming to not know whether or not Troy was joking back. “Now, my friend tells me that you are having some difficulties obtaining international banking records?”

Susan again. I’d ridden in Helen’s limo a couple of times before, and I’d expected the four of us and the Ultimados to be jammed into the back of it, but one rode up front, and three followed behind in an SUV, giving us the back to ourselves as we headed to the restaurant.

“I should explain before we get started.” I told them. “That someone in my head has forbidden me from ever doing a Sex and the City bit. It’s Sue, and I think she really means it.”

“Not big enough for us.” Helen said, taking out a small box I’d never seen before. I watched her open it and take out a gold cigarette holder. (For all the smoking she does, I’ve never seen Helen use a cigarette holder before. Not only does she actually have one, but it’s gold, and she keeps it on standby in a protective case.) “We need to be full-on Absolutely Fabulous here. But without the drugs and booze.”

“No!” I said. “We’re not doing Ab-Fab either!”

“Why not?” Julie asked.

“Because,” I told her. “You are OBVIOUSLY Patsy, which makes Helen Edina by default, and that leaves me as Bubble!”

“Bubble was the hot one.” Helen replied.

“And the stupid one! And no, the hot one was Saffie and you know it!”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Well,” Julie asked. “Would you rather get treated like Saffie or Bubble?”

“Bubble.” I grumbled in reluctant agreement.

“All right.” Mander said. “If that’s the game, then I’m definitely Marshall. Cause then I get to be Mike from The Young Ones, an’ General Staal, too. Also, I’m gonna take the longshot on the annoying media nickname thing an’ pick ‘Fin-Bone.’”

Helen nodded.

“Only fair. So yes, we’re going to be spending enough to feed starving villages today. Probably four of them for lunch alone. Just, please remember that I also DO feed starving villages when I’m not having to resort to shit like this.” She turned to me. “And yes, I’m going to be buying you lots of stuff today. It’s not because I want you to be my friend, it’s because you ARE my friend, and I NEED you to! If you don’t want to get anything for yourself, hit Sharper Image or a comic shop and get Troy some cool stuff. Or get things to donate later; I’ll be doing a lot of that. Hey, if there’s a collectible shop, and they’ve got a phaser or Leonard Nimoy’s spleen on the wall, I don’t care how much it is, you’re getting it.” She turned to Mander. “And don’t think you’re out of this, either. You see that Rolex you always wanted, you let me know. I think I have a punch card with them by now.”

We pulled up to the restaurant. Before the Ultimados were out of the SUV, people with cameras swarmed the limo.

“I’m not going to be rude to any wait staff or retail clerks.” I told Helen.

“Neither is anyone else. That’s not the kind of thing we want to do. Tip heavily and often. You guys wanna take some of the platinum cards and split up or just stay with me?”

“I’d prefer if you all stayed together.” Mander said. He turned to Helen. “Before we left, Mr. Equals offered me $5,000 to look after the two of them today. He said if I got another offer an’ I were up front wit’ you about it, your counter-offer would absolutely beat it, you’d decide to keep Julie an’ Susan close enough that I could watch all three of you easier anyway, an’ I clean up on both ends.”

“Fucking Troilus. Ok, I’ll double it, but that doesn’t get you out of buying shit, too. One of the Ultimados will open that door for me in ten seconds. Anyone have anything else?”

She took the big, gaudy sunglasses she’d been wearing when she showed up on the porch out of her purse and put them on with a flick of her wrist.

“Yeah.” I said. “My choice for the nickname bet is just your initials: C.H.D.S.F..”

She lit the cigarette in the holder.

“Let’s do this, Sweetie-Darlings.”

The door opened, and Helen disappeared into the flashbulbs.

“Lovely to see you all!” The voice of the woman I’d been speaking to a moment ago told the crowd of photographers. “Ignore the nobodies with me, everyone. They’re SO Nobody that any shots you get with them in the picture will be worthless and you’ll destroy all copies immediately. Now, who else is famished? Lunch is SIMPLY on me! You’re all going to need your strength to keep up today!”

Contessa Helena de San Finzione walked toward the entrance and we followed.