Chapter 1

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Mind Control, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Mystery, Science Fiction, Polygamy/Polyamory, Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Helen's day takes an unexpected twist.

“Fear me, you lords and lady preachers.
I descend upon your Earth from the skies.
I command your very souls, you unbelievers.
Bring before me what is mine.
The Seven Seas of Rhye.”
-Queen, “The Seven Seas of Rhye”

Airbrakes hissed as the semi-truck pulled up to the harbor gate. The younger of the two guards in the gatehouse took a break from slapping the screen of the monitor that had gone out a minute before.

“It fine, Jacques,” the older man grumbled in exasperation. “I make report in morning. Do your rounds.”

“But I just go to piss and all these cameras...” The older guard cut him off, waving to the driver of the truck, who put the mighty vehicle in Park and rolled down the drivers’ window.

“Is pigeons. You gonna work the docks a long time, New Kid. Cameras go out. Do the rounds, I got this.”

The younger man started to grumble, but was too new to risk it. He checked his pistol and flashlight, hooked the heavy Detex Clock onto his belt, and was off. The older guard watched him walk off with bemusement, fiddling with the much newer and lighter digital version of the same device that he carried.

When the rookie was out of sight, he walked up to the driver’s side window. In the darkness of the cab, his face was shaded by the brim of the trucker’s cap he wore. The older guard didn’t bother looking closer.

“My apologies,” he said to the driver. “He is new. Too ‘fresh-faced’ to get how things work yet, eh?”

The driver wordlessly extended a thick envelope of cash out the window. The guard took it, thumbed through the bills, and stuck it in his pocket. He returned to the guardhouse and opened the gate to let the truck pass. Once it was around the corner ahead, he closed the gate, went behind the bank of monitors, bent down, and plugged it back in. He straightened up and turned to see the rookie’s pistol pointing between his eyes.


Inside the warehouse that the truck was making its way toward, a Chinese man in a suit with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder raked a cattle prod across the bars of a jail cell door, making loud zapping sounds and causing blue sparks to fly from the bars.

“QUIET,” he barked in his native language to the women in the cell, watching as they cowered away from the sparks. They hadn’t been making any noise; he simply enjoyed doing the thing with the prod and did it again.

Another Chinese man with an assault rifle and a pack of several rolls of duct tape stepped into the larger room outside the cell.

“That’s enough,” he told the man with the cattle prod, tossing him the duct tape. “Truck’s coming. Get them ready to move.”

With a look of disgust for the women, he ran the prod over the bars one last time before telling them all to face the wall. The other man unshouldered his weapon and covered him as he opened the cell to bind the women’s hands and mouths with the tape.

Out on the main floor, two men watched as the truck came to a stop outside the warehouse. The driver flashed the headlights twice, then got out and walked toward the door, his cap pulled down low over his face, obscured further by the shadows cast by the headlights. The driver stopped a few feet short of the door and raised both hands to show that he was unarmed. One of the men unlocked the door and let him in.

“You’re late,” one of the men barked at him in Cantonese.

“There was a complication,” the driver said in the same language, stepping into the warehouse. One of the men noticed the curve of the driver’s breasts from underneath the coveralls a moment too late as the cap came off, revealing short black hair with curly bangs. “Me. Now don’t move or speak.”

The two men froze perfectly still as Contessa Helena de San Finzione dropped the cap and took their weapons. She turned to one of them.

“How many more of you are there?”

“Twelve,” he replied, wanting to shout an alarm or pull the trigger of his gun, but unable to move even slightly or say anything except the answer to her question.

“All know Cantonese?” He nodded and she continued. “Call them out here and away from the girls in a way that won’t arouse suspicion,” she said to him, taking a seat at a folding table and fiddling with the Mah Jong game they’d been playing before her arrival as the man shouted.

“Truck’s here! Driver needs help again, everyone out here,” he called out, betraying his comrades.

The fear filing him now was a special one. A fear that he realized he should have had back in Hong Kong when one of the superstitious elder brothers in his family learned where his work was carrying him and offered an old charm or blessing to him, assuring him that the stories of The Viper That Speaks All The Tongues of Man’s ability to make men obey her commands were true. A fear that he should not have mocked on the journey to this land when one of his brothers would ask what to do if they encountered The Viper and he’d flick out his balisong quicker than their eyes could see, no matter how drunk he was and shout “I CUT OUT HER TONGUE! Before she speak ANY Tongue of Man” and laugh the question off.

It was a fear compounded by the fact that the three inches it rested in his pocket from his fingertips may as well have been the distance of leaving it in Hong Kong for his ability to compel his fingers to reach for it. Unable to do so until, as more of his brothers entered the room, she ordered them to put all their weapons in a pile, strip, and kneel in a row as if being arrested; and he complied along with them and tossed it onto the pile. It was the fear of all his bravado’s uselessness being made manifest as he and the others obligingly disarmed the building’s traps and disabled the alarms for her.

When everyone was returned to their arrest positions, Contessa Helena de San Finzione pulled the neckline of the t-shirt she wore forward, tilted her head, and spoke English down at her bra.

“All clear.” She looked up and made certain the thugs were in a safe area. “Move in.”

The garage door rolled open and Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez entered the building in full breaching gear, his MP5 at the ready. Four of the men and women of San Finzione’s elite Squadra de Ultimados troops poured through the door behind him. Two other teams followed suit at the side exits. The Generalissimo confirmed La Contessa’s assessment that the warehouse floor was secure and ordered the troops to secure the rest of the building and locate the prisoners. Helena gave him an expectant look. Ramirez sighed and nodded.

“Do it,” he said into his headset. Lines dropped from the skylights, and four more Ultimados rappelled in from the roof.

Helen applauded and rose to her feet, preparing to drag her chair over to address the prisoners when one of the Ultimados came forward and carried the chair for her. She gave a graceful nod of thanks, and sat down in front of the group of men, producing a cigarette and lighting it before addressing them in Cantonese.

“I know that was excessive, but they brought the gear with them and I really wanted to see them do it up close like this, so they indulged me. Anyway, gentlemen, welcome to San Finzione. I am your hostess, Contessa Helena de San Finzione. I’m afraid my schedule only permits me a couple of minutes for photos, but I’ll try to see as many of you as I can in turn.” She paused and thought for a moment. “I’m sorry, ignore that last part. It’s late and I’ve got a ‘surprise drop-in’ on the castle tour this afternoon; I’ve been practicing for it.” She took a long drag of her cigarette and continued.

“I admit to some curiosity, though. This looks for all the world like a Triad operation. But you see that can’t be right; because I’ve explained to the Triads that slavery and human trafficking DO NOT HAPPEN in San Finzione!” The captive thugs were surprised that she didn’t pull a gun and shoot one of them right then from her tone. Helena paused and seemed to collect herself before speaking further.

“And I know the Elders didn’t order this operation, because I would then have to pay a formal visit to Hong Kong, and nobody wants that. OOH!” Her eyes lit on a nice leather jacket in the pile of clothing and she walked over and put it on, giving the thugs a look that said that whoever it belonged to before, the jacket was hers now. Helena returned to her chair with her new jacket and continued.

“So this wasn’t sanctioned from on high; this is the work of some upstart who thinks he’s ready for the big time. You’ll tell me in a bit. You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, and then you’re going to deliver a message for me. The nature of that message and how strongly it will be worded depend upon the condition in which I find your captives. I’ll be right back. Until then, you’ll do everything my people tell you to or...” She stood up and crushed out the cigarette, then looked back up at the prisoners with a sweet smile.

“Or they’ll tattle on you.”


Two of the Ultimados were covering a door in the hallway. Contessa Helena de San Finzione approached them, bathed in the light from the flashlights on their helmets and pulling something long and wrapped in plastic from her coveralls.

“The cell is in here, Contessa,” one of them said through his gas mask. “The room hasn’t been swept for traps yet.”

“It’s clean,” she replied, tearing open the plastic and producing four green glow sticks from it. “And turn those fucking lights off!” As they complied, she snapped and shook the glow sticks, then handed one each to the men. “I know movies always show the rescuers shining big flashlights in their faces. These women have been locked in darkness for who-knows-how-many days. You’ll blind them.”

Helena entered the room and gently tossed one of the green glow sticks between the bars of the cell door. It rolled about three feet and illuminated the women cowering into the back corners from the light. It was hard for her to make out numbers in the darkness. Most were white women in their late teens and 20s with assorted other skin tones mixed in; their mouths and wrists bound with duct tape. Looking over the ripped clothing and tangled, greasy hair on the women’s heads, she pointed to one of them and motioned her over to the door. When the woman approached, Helen carefully removed the tape from over her mouth and leaned forward and spoke softly to her.

“Can you understand me? What language do you speak,” Helena asked in English. She began asking the question in French, but the woman nodded and mouthed “English.” She nodded her understanding and motioned for the woman to step back as she opened the door and stepped in, holding the other glow stick in front of her.

“You are safe now,” she told them. “My men and I are here to rescue you. You are within the borders of the Sovereign County and Nation-State of San Finzione and I am Contessa Helena de San Finzione. The soldiers you will be seeing are with me. They are the men and women of my Squadra de Ultimados, and they are here to help you. We’ll be taking you to receive food, clothing, and medical attention, and then we can work on returning you home. I must know something first.”

She took a seat on the single bed that was the only furnishing in the room. Helena motioned for the woman she’d spoken to before to come sit next to her. She removed the duct tape from her wrists, took the woman’s hand, and looked her in the eyes.

“Just be calm. I need to know how they’ve been treating you. Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”

The woman looked into Helena’s eyes and a peaceful calm washed over her as she began to speak.


Contessa Helena de San Finzione returned to the warehouse floor, where the prisoners were still waiting on their knees. She held a roll of duct tape in her hand.

“None of you look at them,” she shouted in Cantonese. The thugs instantly turned their heads away as the women shielded their eyes and entered the room. The Ultimados stood between the women and their captors as they were led out of the building to where paramedics and buses were waiting. When Lisa, the one Helena had spoken to, walked past, she pointed out the man who’d been so enthusiastic about the cattle prod. Helena motioned for the women not to leave just yet.

She walked over to the pile of weapons and retrieved the cattle prod. A balisong knife on the floor caught her eye and she picked it up, flicking it open and closed a couple of times. Helen remembered nights in her early teen years sleeping with a less-ornate model of the same blade under her pillow. She cut off a strip of tape and put her new knife in her new jacket as she walked over to the man Lisa had pointed out.

“You like this one, don’t you,” she asked him in Cantonese. He didn’t want to nod his agreement but found himself unable to stop. Helena gave him the roll of tape as she looked down the length of the prod.

“You’re going to go back into the cell with this. You’re going to tape down the button, and then you’re going to shove it up your ass by the live end as far as it will go.” She thought for a second, and then put the tape over a spot about a foot down its length. “You can stop when you get to...” She moved the mark down another four inches. “Here.”

She held out the prod, and with a terrified look, he took it and rose to his feet, crying as he grimly walked back to the cell, knowing he was unable to stop himself from obeying her commands. Helena smiled at the faces of horror on the remaining criminals.

“The night’s young, gentlemen,” she said to them. “Coming right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Helena stepped outside, her new jacket keeping away the chill of the wind blowing off the Mediterranean. Generalissimo Ramirez was overseeing other soldiers escorting the women to a group of ambulances or onto buses. She took out a cigarette and lit it, offering one and the lighter to Ramirez, who took them.

“Excellent work, Hernando,” she said to him. “How’s the other team doing with the ship?”

The Generalissimo looked out over the water at a ship sitting in the harbor. From the bow, a green flare lifted off into the sky. He gave a little smile.

“They have taken it, Contessa. I suspect I’ll have a more full report soon. Our inside man has also arrested the gate guard and wants to know what you want done with him.”

Helena meditated on the idea for a few puffs before speaking.

“He’s not really a part of this. Go through the motions of arresting him, then contact the Ministry of Intelligence and set him up with a handler. There were five hundred Euros in that envelope. Tell him whenever someone gives him another; he’ll get twice that for notifying us immediately.”

Ramirez took in what she said and nodded.

“We’re rewarding him for accepting bribes?”

“We’re gaining an asset. If we throw him in prison today, someone else will be at that gatehouse taking bribes tomorrow; someone who won’t owe us his freedom and new source of income. A man who’ll stay bought is a valuable thing.” She looked at him a moment. “Something else is bothering you.”

“You should not have come on the raid. The Ultimados could have brought the criminals to you. You certainly should not have been the first inside.”

“I’m a countess, I make entrances. It’s what I do. And don’t tell me about harm’s way when you strode right into the building with no regard for your own safety.”

The Generalissimo took a long drag of his cigarette before responding. He knew about the strange power that La Contessa had over the wills of men, but had been against her being involved personally in the raid from the beginning.

“La Contessa promised that she would have them all disarmed before we entered and I know you well enough to know that it would be true. Nonetheless, entering a room like that with no smoke or flashbang cover, I took the lead to draw fire from the men behind me.” She inhaled for several seconds as well before responding.

“That’s because you understand what it is to hold people’s lives in your hands, Ramirez. You take that seriously. So do I.” They smoked in silence until electric sounds and screaming came from deep within the warehouse.

“So what is that,” he asked. Helena smiled as she put out her cigarette.

“A noteworthy exception.” She turned to enter the building, then stopped and turned back to face him. “Why is it, Hernando, that the only time we ever share a smoke is when lives are on the line?”


When La Contessa insisted on interrogating the prisoners in the warehouse, some of the Ultimados grumbled. Grilling these men could take days for a professional interrogator. They needed to be locked up separately so that they couldn’t concoct a story. It would take sleep and food deprivation for days to get them to talk.

They were surprised when it took less than an hour. One by one, the prisoners sat at the table with La Contessa, She asked each man a few questions in Chinese, and each of them answered every question she asked as she typed notes into her phone, then told him to go return to the same position as before. The only one who didn’t do exactly the same as the others was the man lying on a stretcher on his stomach with a large metal rod sticking from his rectum, whom she walked over and talked to instead. When she had everything she wanted from them, she asked one of the Ultimados to bring her the box from the front seat of the truck. Helena turned to face the one who remained.

“Have you ever driven a big rig like that,” she asked. The man nodded in the negative. “It’s a little scary at first, but you get over it quickly, and then it’s fun as hell.” She picked up her phone and brought up Siri, speaking French. “Message for Jeanne: Jeanne, can you check the garage and see if I have an 18-wheeler, and if I don’t, get me one? Thanks.”

Helena took a pen from her pocket and searched for a piece of paper. Her eyes lit on a discarded pizza box and she walked over and ripped off the lid, then returned to the table with it and started to draw something on the underside.

“I’m not much of an artist,” she said to the Ultimado, making small talk as she drew. “I have a friend who’s really good, but I didn’t exactly have time to commission her or fly her over from the States or anything.” She finished drawing the two large Chinese characters as the other Ultimado returned with a cardboard box. Helena instructed him to bring it over to her chair by the kneeling men, then followed and sat before them.

“Gentlemen,” she said in Cantonese. “Our conversations have been most enlightening.” She checked the notes on her phone. “And after you’ve reported to the Elders, if any of you see this ... Raymond Chen ... when you get back to Hong Kong, tell him we’ll be talking quite soon; unless the Elders want to save me a trip and themselves a social call by taking care of him for me. Oh, didn’t I say? We ARE going to put you all onto a plane for Hong Kong after we’re done here. Won’t be much longer now.”

The criminals began looking at each other and giving smiles of relief, then turned back to see the look on La Contessa’s face and realized she wasn’t done speaking.

“You really should have waited until I was finished to start getting your hopes up. Now, of course, we can’t let you return home from San Finzione without souvenirs.” She bent down over the cardboard box, then took out the balisong and cut it open. “Who did this belong to?” The man she’d first spoken to when she entered bowed his head. “Well, it’s mine now. And, I only brought five switchblades, looks like there’s two more in the weapon pile here. And 14 of you, so you’ll have to take turns and one of you is going to have to get Firefly over there.” She gathered them up and dumped them on the floor in front of her, along with the five from the box. Helena then leaned the pizza box lid against the larger cardboard box so all the men could see the large Chinese characters for “Peddler of Slaves” that she’d drawn.

“In a moment, I will kick these knives over to you. You will pick them up and use them for no other purpose than carving this into the forehead of the man to your left. Use big characters so it can be seen from a distance. When you’re done, hand the knife to him so he can do the same for you. Then slide the blades back over. None of you shall move or scream while you are being marked.”

She kicked the switchblades over to the men. With looks of confusion regarding why they were following her orders, they picked up the knives and did as she commanded. Men groaned against the pain but could offer no resistance, and the ones who did the carving did so with hearts full of dread, knowing that they would follow right after. Eyes stung as blood that they were unable to wipe away dripped down their foreheads and into them. When the knives were returned, La Contessa tossed washcloths to the men and told them to clean their faces, and then addressed them again.

“From this day forth, you shall keep your heads shaven and never wear anything over or cover your marks. Whenever anyone at all asks about your mark, you will tell them how you took women from their homes and families and sold them on the other side of the world. You will tell them of the cruel things you have done to your captives, and then you will accept any punishment they choose to give you without resistance. Oh, and one last thing...” She dumped the remaining contents of the box onto the floor and started tossing the shirts inside to the men. “You will be certain to wear these until after you report to the Elders.”

The gangsters held up the printed t-shirts bearing a silhouette of Castle Finzione with “Come to San Finzione” in friendly yellow letters beneath it.

“A twenty Euro value in any airport gift shop, gentlemen. And now, you will go peaceably with La Policia as they escort you to your flight home. We’ll see if any of the doctors outside want to work on Ol’ Lightning Butt here before you leave.” She gestured to the man on the stretcher.

“I hope you have all enjoyed your visit to San Finzione. By all means,” Helena looked them in the eyes again and said in her most commanding voice “TELL YOUR FRIENDS AND CO-WORKERS ABOUT YOUR VISIT!”


After the cleanup, Contessa Helena de San Finzione paced before the 20 men and women of the Squadra de Ultimados who’d participated in the raid. Their riot gear had been removed, and all stood at attention, wearing their fatigues and the black with emerald-green striped berets of their division. Generalissimo Ramirez walked alongside her and Capitan Ortega, Ramirez’s replacement since being promoted to Generalissimo of San Finzione’s armed forces; walked three feet behind them.

“Again, excellent work, Ramirez; Ortega,” Helena said as she looked over the troops, still wearing her truck-driving disguise; and then addressed them all. “All of you, well done out there. Thanks again for the skylight thing.”

“It is our duty to protect and defend San Finzione and La Contessa,” Ortega said from behind them. Helena nodded. Her eye caught a blonde woman and a black-haired man amongst the Ultimados, both of whom she knew to be unmarried from their files.

“You two, you will come with me to Castle Finzione for a special debriefing. Your Contessa owes you her gratitude. Everyone else, as you were. First two rounds at the taverna are on me, ladies and gentlemen.”

The soldiers saluted and Capitan Ortega dismissed them. La Contessa turned to Ramirez.

“Still room for one more in the limo, Hernando. San Finzione owes you a great deal of thanks too.”

“I am still a married man, Contessa.” Helena sighed.

“Another medal it is, then. Ciao.”

The two that La Contessa had selected followed her to a waiting emerald-green limousine and the chauffer closed the door behind them.


Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat in the middle of the back seat of the limo. The two Tenentes took the rear-facing seats on either side opposite her. Helena lit a cigarette and gestured toward the mini-bar.

“Your work was outstanding, Velasquez, Maisson,” she said as she removed the leather jacket and baseball cap and shoved them to one side on the seat. “I know you serve without thought of reward, but San Finzione owes you a great debt.” Helena unhooked the straps on the overalls she wore. She met their gazes as she slipped them over her shoulders and allowed the front flap to fall forward, and then began slowly unbuttoning the plaid flannel shirt she wore under them.

“And as Contessa, I am pleased to give you the People’s gratitude. Why don’t you slip out of those uniforms and let me see the brave soldiers I’ll be honoring tonight?” As the two soldiers began to obey her suggestion, a text came in on her phone. She slipped the shirt off and fished her phone out of the pocket to read Generalissimo Ramirez’s message.

“Oops,” Helena said as she began unhooking her bra. “Forgot I was still wearing a live microphone; just a moment.” She removed her bra, rolled down the window, and tossed it out. She rolled up the window and thumped the roof twice and the driver pulled away. “Now come sit with your Contessa and let her think on how best to reward your service.”


“Generalissimo,” Capitan Ortega said as the two of them watched La Contessa enter the limo with her companions. “I must debrief all of the men, I will need those two. How long shall she keep them?”

Ramirez listened to something in his ear, then took out a phone and sent a text. A moment later, the window of the limousine opened and a bra was dropped from it. He watched with a smile as the chauffer drove them away to the castle.

“You have plenty of other men to debrief, Capitan. As for those two,” he gave a small smile before turning to face Ortega. “They’ll be back. When La Contessa tires of them.”

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