Finding Kelly (Revision)
Copyright© 2026 by littlefrog454
Chapter 2: Taking Advantage of Kelly
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 2: Taking Advantage of Kelly - Synopsis: An older man and his Friday night poker pals decide they want to try their hand at creating a sex slave and his son's beautiful 19 year old girlfriend Kelly is chosen to be the lucky recipient for the experiment.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Hypnosis Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Gang Bang Orgy Anal Sex Double Penetration
“Oh, hello Mister Baron.” Kelly says when she answers the door of her and my Son’s, apartment the next morning.
“Karl, Kelly, just plane old Karl. No need to be so formal. Heck you’ve been dating James for almost 6 months now, Kelly, ha, ha, ha.” I tell her and laugh.
“Ok, Mister ... Karl, what do you want?” She snaps sharply seeming irritated for some reason.
“I just came by to see if you need anything, Kelly. James, is going to be gone all week, and I’m just offering to help out. Aren’t you going to invite me in like a, Good Girl, Kelly?” At the emphasized, “Good Girl”, her eyes seem to unfocus for a moment. Yes, I was looking directly into them this time when I said the, “Good Girl”, trigger, and the black pupils in the center of her eyes actually contracted to mere pinpoints and then expanded again. In fact, her black pupils were so dilated that only a thin ring of light blue iris remained visible. They did this a couple of times in rapid succession while her whole body seems to tremble for a moment.
“Yes, yes, of course, Mister Baron, please come in.” She hastily steps back into the apartment room, and invites me in and shuts the door.
“Why don’t you sit down like a, Good Girl, Kelly, where we can have a nice long pleasant talk.” I direct her, and once again her eyes seem to unfocus, and her whole body seems to tremble for a moment.
“Yes, Sir, sit down like a, Good Girl.” She says, well, she mumbles out loud as she sits down on the end of the sofa looking a bit confused. I sit down on the other end facing her.
“Sleep Kelly, sleep.” I use her trigger that Pete had implanted.
“What? ... What?... “ She stammers trying to resist.
“Sleep Kelly, sleep.” I calmly use her trigger again, and she’s out ... well, under anyway.
“Kelly you are deeply hypnotized now. Completely under my power. When I snap my fingers our Kelly will wake up and come out to play, ha, ha, ha. Our Kelly will, listen, follow, and obey. Taking control and obeying all her orders and commands and loving it.” I primed our Kelly.
“Snap.” I snapped my fingers loudly.
“Prepare for your reward Kelly.” I gave her her preparatory trigger and allowed her orgasm to build. I waited a full 5 agonizing minutes before allowing her to cum.
“Cum for me like a, Good Girl, Kelly.” I gave her her reward and release, and she passed out. After she recovered I started my questions.
“Kelly what do you think of older men?” I started off asking.
“I’m drawn to older men, Sir.” Kelly answers without any hesitation, and I loved that Sir she put on the end without any prompting from me.
“Explain.” I used Pete’s technique on her.
“My mother Lucy had just turned 18 when she married my father, he was 35 at the time. He had already been married twice and had two families and 4 other children to support. He was truly the definitive definition of a “Deadbeat Dad”, Sir, ha, ha, ha. I don’t really even remember him, or what he looked like even, and he deserted us when I was only 4. I never saw why my mother ever married the looser in the first place.” She paused, and then went on.
“Anyway, Mom got a job as a salesclerk and I got raised mostly by her Mother and Father ... well stepfather really ... her real father died when she was young and her mother remarried Don latter. Don was much older than Nancy, Lucy’s Mother, my Grandma. Don worked on the railroad, and he’d be gone for weeks at a time, and when he showed back up at home he’d drag Grandma off to the bedroom, lock the bedroom door, and they would go at it all day sometimes. And yes, Karl I would hear a lot of moaning and groaning, but I was too young to know what they were doing in the locked room. Of course like any other precocious child I was curious.
“One day Nancy was gone and Don was home and my mother Lucy came in from work early. I guess they forgot I was home from school with a cold. In no time Don had my mother draped over the back of the sofa, butt high up in the air, skirt up over her ass and panties gone, and he was plowing her with his massive cock, aka, that thing between his legs. Mother was screaming and moaning loudly, and Don was grunting like a mad bull, and I was 8 almost 9 at the time. Well being a child, and not knowing any better, I rushed into the room and screamed and pounded on Don and told him to stop hurting my Mother any more. Both my Mother and Don were shocked and separated.” Once again she paused. Maybe she was expecting me to ask questions? Anyway then she went on.
“Don told my Mother to explain it to me, and when my Mother hesitated Don started the explanation himself: “Kelly honey, women were put here on Earth to pleasure men. That is their main purpose in life, honey. I wasn’t hurting your Mother, I was giving her pleasure. What I was doing to your Mother is only natural, and your Mother was loving every bit of it ... she wasn’t in any pain girl. Tell her, Lucy”. He ordered my Mother, and Mother told me that she was enjoying every bit of it. Well I was a precocious spoiled little brat, and I knew I was a girl ... a woman ... and if it was so good I wanted some of it too, if it was all that good, and I guess you could say I patted my little foot down and sullied up and demanded some too, ha, ha, ha.” She paused and looked me expectantly before going on.
“Well to make a long story short, Mother explained the birds and the bees to me. She also explained that I would have to be much, much older than I was to participate in these adult games like her and Don were playing. They also made me swear to not tell Grandma. I guess you would have to say that I imprinted on older men like Don and that monster cock of his at that moment. I had my first period at 11, and got the birth control implant at 13. I was still subconsciously saving myself for Don when Ricky, Charlotte Wilson’s older brother blackmailed me and her into having sex with him. I also have to admit he was almost as well hung as Don. We were 16 and he was 21, 5 years older than us, and in college. I guess technically I saw him as an “older man”, and that’s why I didn’t put up much of a fight when he enslaved us, ha, ha, ha.” Kelly paused to look me in the eye before going on.
“So yes, Mister Baron, I’ve been drawn to you since the day, James took me to your house and I met you.” Kelly finished her tale.
“So you don’t have any problem being our Slave ... our Sex Slave, Kelly.” I asked.
“No Sir, but I would rather just be your Slave, Sir.” Kelly, told me honestly.
“What do you really think of James, my Son, Kelly?” Ok, I had to ask.
“James is a boy. I met him just after the Wilson’s left town. He loves me I can tell, but he could never truly satisfy me, Sir.” Kelly answered back honestly.
“Do you have any problems being my Slave, Kelly?” I asked her.
“You know I don’t, Master, but why do I have to be subservient to her, she’s weak ... she’s...” I loved her using, Master, but I cut her off.
“But your ... well your other self anyway is my Son’s, girlfriend, and I can’t just take you ... her away from him...” Kelly broke in this time.
“But I could just break up with him ... he means nothing to me...” I broke in again before it went any further.
“And show back up at my place the next day? No! Kelly, James, would find out, and it would break his heart. He would never forgive me for stealing his girlfriend. We’ll just have to play this out, Kelly. Maybe you can convince him he’s not in love with you gently, or convince him to share you with me. In the meantime you’ll secretly be our Sex Slave, and continue being his faithful girlfriend as the other Kelly. Now get naked where I can fuck you, Slave, we still have most of two weeks together.” I told her as she was already hastily, or should I say energetically, removing her cloths.
“Won’t she realize she’s loosing time, Master?” Kelly asks me, throwing in that Master on her own without me even ordering her to.
“It’s your job Slave to make sure she doesn’t question anything, Kelly.” I reminded her.
“It would still be a lot easier if you just made me the dominate one, and allowed me to play being his girlfriend, Master.” Kelly told me again.
“I’ll think about it, Slave.” I told her honestly.
Out of the Blue
“Karl, Myra has come home, and she wants to talk to you.” May, my ex-wife, Myra’s, Mother, excitedly told me when I answered the phone.
At first I didn’t even connect what she was talking about. I mean Myra had walked out on me ... us ... all of us, years ago when James was only 6. Hell that was over 13 long years ago, she would be almost 40 now I quickly calculated in my head. After all she had done to us why in Hell would she return now I had to ask myself when all the parts of the scrambled jigsaw puzzle my mind was working on finally fitted the pieces together.
“Why the Hell would I want to talk to Myra now, May?” I couldn’t keep the disgusted irony and bitter anger out of my voice.
“You have to talk to her, Karl ... she’s dying.” May told me and sobbed on the phone.
“So?” I was determined to stay hard, and not listen to anything they had to say.
“You have to let her explain what really happened, Karl.” May begged me.
“What’s there to explain, May? She walked out on us all, end of story.” I told her once again.
“It’s not that simple, Karl, and you need to hear her out.” May started and Ralph took over the phone from there.
“You need to know what they did to my little girl Karl. Get over here right now, Karl, or I’ll damn well come over there and drag your sorry ass over here!” Ralph shouted into the phone at me, and I knew that Ralph was a man of his word. If I didn’t go he would try and we were both too old and out of shape to enjoy a good fist fight I reasoned.
“Ok, Ok, I’ll come damn it.” I shouted back belligerently, and hung up the phone in disgust.
An hour latter I was at Myra’s parents home. I really don’t know what I expected to find there, but it surly wasn’t the frail old faded worn-out white headed woman in the clear plastic oxygen tent they lead me to. I had married Myra at 18, when she was a wild, young, and frankly an untamed thing, and she had left me and James 6 years latter when she was 25, at her physical peak I thought at the time.
Myra was one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. Think Monica Anna Maria Bellucci the Italian actress, movie star and fashion model that was a Bond girl in Spectre. Myra was 5’ 7, 38-25-36, at about 115 pounds back then. She had been a flawless olive skinned Italian beauty, beautiful face, healthy dark brown almost black hair, and strikingly beautiful cornflower blue eyes, and a great toned body. The woman in the oxygen tent, if it was Myra, was only 39 year’s old, but she looked like one of the ancient hags from Shakespeare’s, MacBeth. Honestly, she looked like one of the three witch hags form a bad MacBeth play with her long unkempt pure white hair splayed around the pillow.
“What’s wrong with her?” I demanded of May and Ralph Bianchi, her parents, when I saw her like that.
“You know Danny, the Smith’s boy, our cousin’s kid.” Ralph started off.
“I guess.” I answered back distractedly.
“Well he was going to medical school out there at UCLA. Well, he got to going with a girl that was involved in Doctors Without Borders, DWB. Their mission statement is, “to provide impartial medical relief to the victims of war, disease, and natural or man-made disaster, without regard to race, religion, or political affiliation.” Anyway they, him and his fiancé, wound up down in Mexico, well Baja really. Anyway they wound up doing charity work for Doctors Without Borders, DWB, at Tijuana, Mexico. While he was going through the terminally ill dying patients wards at Hospital General Tijuana he came across Myra. At first he couldn’t believe it was her, she was just listed as an, unknown female indigent, Jane Doe, on the hospitals records. He couldn’t find a match when he had a buddy run her prints through the National Crime Information Center (NCIC) data base. Then he remembered when we all had ourselves typed and tested for donating bone marrow that time. He contacted the Be The Match Registry as a part of DWB and bingo it was your ex-wife sure enough. DWB pulled some strings and got her a temporary American Passport and ID. With the Passport and ID they were able to get her transported across the country to our home here in Atlanta, Georgia.” Ralph stopped and the room went quite again.
“What’s wrong with her Ralph?” I asked again.
“The Docs say her immune system is attacking her own body. None of the immune-suppressing drugs we have available have done anything to stop it.” Ralph gave me the bad news.
“You say you ran her through the National Crime Information Center, NCIC?” I asked again.
“Yes, and she’s not listed as missing either. She’s not listed in any of the national data banks, not even SS, Social Security. Oh yes, I did find out one other interesting thing Karl. Four years ago her new husband, Phillip Conway, quietly divorced her and remarried a piece that was almost underage jail bait. Hell, she was just barely 16, and he couldn’t have legally married her here in California, or anywhere else here on the West Coast where the age of consent is 18. I know this because of the Internet chatter, or should I say Internet scandal, about it when I Goggled, Phillip Conway on the Internet. Danny will be back in a little while and he can give you the details on the disease. Let her sleep peacefully for now, Karl.” Ralph told me and turned toward the kitchen for a coffee.
An explanation
“A healthy immune system defends the body against disease and infection Karl, but if the immune system malfunctions it can mistakenly attack healthy cells, tissues, and organs. This is called autoimmune disease, AID. These attacks can affect any part of the body, weakening body functions, and can even turn life-threatening. That’s what is happening to Myra right now.” Danny started his explanation.
“What happened, did Myra get breast implants, or something, Danny?” I sneered at Danny, and yes I knew I was acting like an complete asshole, but I was still going to remain hard and cold, she had hurt me deeply years ago.
“No Mister Baron your ex-wife has literally hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny titanium nitrite and gold microchips in her head. Historically speaking, digital computers of today evolved from the von Neumann model. It is composed of three specific components, or subsystems, a CPU, central processing unit, memory, and input/output interfaces. It operates via the execution of explicit instructions via access to memory by a number of processors. On the other hand, neural networks are based on efforts to model information processing on living biological systems. Unlike the von Neumann model, neural network computing doesn’t separate memory from processing.”
“A biological neural network is composed of groups of chemically connected or functionally associated neurons. A single neuron may be connected to many other neurons and the total number of neurons and connections in a network may be extensive. Connections, called synapses, are usually formed from axons to dendrites, though dendrodendritic synapses and other connections are possible. Apart from the electrical signaling, there are other forms of signaling that arise from neurotransmitter diffusion. But some people are convinced it’s all electrical signals.”
“These microchips that are in Myra’s head, each one no bigger than a grain of sand, are spaced all around her brain at every critical part and junction it seems. Every individual one of these devilish little devices is wirelessly programmable to deliver a electrical pulse on command. Sure it’s a minuscule electrical pulse true, but it is large enough to override the brain’s own natural electrical pulses Karl.”
“Once the subject’s brain is mapped out by the external super computer they evidently have, whoever the Hell, “THEY”, are, they now know exactly which button to push to get the desired result they want, ha, ha, ha. We figure the subject ... the slave, in this case Myra, wore a small box, the receiving unit on her body somewhere, and the ... the ... Master had a ... a ... remote control.” Danny paused at that point to let that sink in.
“I guess that would be Zebra Laboratory Technologies Corporation, ZLTC, and that bastard Phillip Conway, her big shot company husband, Danny.” I told him feeling angry and bitter.
“Well anyway when her immune system started breaking down they just dumped her across the border in Mexico without any identification on her.” Danny told me.
“That would make sense, Danny, their headquarters’ was in Yuma, Arizona, and they lived in the exclusive Pfeifer Estates there. Los Algodones, Mexico is right next door. There’s a lot of whorehouses and/or human trafficking going on over there on the Mexican side of the border because of the Air Force base and top secret experimental proving grounds there. A lot of horny GI’s, and mad scientist types, looking for something to screw. Myra was one beautiful woman back then.” I explained to him what my own research years ago had turned up about Yuma and the surrounding area. Well that plus my own time at MCRD, San Diego, and Tijuana.
“Well anyway they must have dumped her off over the border we figure. Somehow from there she got to Mexicali, and from Mexicali over to Tijuana Hospital General. Anyway that’s where we found her, Karl.” Danny finished.
“And how do you know about these titanium nitrite and gold microchip things, Danny?” I asked.
“Auto immune disease, AID, is no different than any other disease Karl. Sure we have immunosuppressive drugs to fight it ... well at least to delay it, but the first step is to look for what is causing the infection. In this case we narrowed it down to her brain pretty fast, and used CT and MRI to detect them. The CT, computed tomography, scan which uses X-rays is faster, but it didn’t pick them up, but the slower MRI, magnetic resonance imaging, scan with the dye picked them up just fine.” Danny paused and I broke in.
“Then you can remove them right?” I questioned him, excited that there might yet be hope for Myra.
“Frankly Karl we, the medical community, haven’t got a clue how they even got the damn things in there without causing massive brain damage in the first place. It should have been impossible we all agree. We would have to physically operate on her, remove whole sections of her skull to get at the brain tissue itself underneath to get at them. Then remember they’re the size of a grain of sand. Not the size of a pill, or a BB, a grain of sand, Karl, The operation would leave her a permanent vegetable in the end. A perfect example of the operation was a success, but the patient died on the operating table.” With that said, Danny finished up and allowed me to visit my dying ex-wife who was popping in and out of consciousness.
Some things are too personal to put down on paper, I guess this is some of that. She begged me ... ME! ... for forgiveness ... me the asshole that just let her go without a fight, and had blamed her for it all these years. Hell yes, I forgave her, but I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself. A man should fight for what is his, for what he loves, and I hadn’t put up any fight. I had let everyone down I realized too late to help anyone.
When I left the hospital that night I was feeling pretty low, even suicidal I will admit. The thought of eating a bullet, or feeding one to dear loving Phillip Conway, her loving husband ... well, ex-husband I guess now, ha, ha, ha ... was top on my mind. The thoughts were all looping around through my mind over and over like a bad dream ... a fucking nightmare ... as I drove home that night.
When I got home I went straight to the den and the liquor cabinet. There I pored myself a stiff two finger shot of Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch whisky. Then taking the bottle with me I retired to kitchen, where I soon had cracked six eggs in the Teflon coated frying pan, and was sprinkling grated cheddar cheese and black pepper on top of my scrambled eggs. Well, I hadn’t eaten in awhile, and man doesn’t live on Scotch alone, even good Scotch, believe it or not. Taking my scrambled eggs, a glass of milk, and the bottle of Scotch with me, I went back to the living room and sat down on the coach in the dark to brood about the unfairness of life.
“Good afternoon Mister Baron.” Said the man in the black suit, black shirt, even a black tie, and reflective aviator style sunglasses sitting in the shadows directly in front of me in the darkest corner of the room.
Yeah, sure I’m a cop, and yes, I was armed with my good old fateful Army issued Colt government model 1911A1, 45 acp, but the guy in front of me was casually holding, if I wasn’t sadly mistaken, a Walther P38 9mm pistol with the infamous built-in silencer. Yeah, there are silencers that attach to pistols and/or rifles, but that makes the pistol a foot longer and much harder to conceal, or handle for that matter. The spook agencies, those that don’t even have three letter initial names, like the old OSS, Office of Strategic Services, came to prefer the P38 because it could be modified easily.
The original 5 inch barrel version was replaced with a longer 7.5 inch barrel. The extra 5 inches of barrel that now extended from the frame was drilled straight through diagonally with a .125 drill bit at .33 inch intervals up and down the barrel. Then a unique 2 inch in diameter oval steel wool packed silencer was screwed on over the extended barrel. It made for both a more accurate, and a more compact silent pistol. The 9mm Parabellum ammunition for it is almost universal, and there are even subsonic loads that remove the sonic boom when the bullet breaks the sound barrier. If you are interested they even make a snub nosed version of the P38 now.
“You don’t mind if I don’t get up, or stop eating, do you?” I asked, always the smart ass in these kinds of situations. Look, be real, if he was going to shoot me he would have already shot me dead I reasoned. Why get scared now?
“Is it 9mm, or 45 Colt.” I asked next out of curiosity, because rumor had it that the new ones were chambered for the 45 Colt acp, which is a big slow 185gr jacketed hollow point subsonic bullet.
“45 Colt acp, though some old school still prefer the 9mm Parabellum, Karl ... you don’t mind if I call you Karl, do you Karl?” He asked, like it made a difference with him holding the gun.
“Oh feel free Mister ... Mister ... mi casa es tu casa ... my house is your house, ha, ha, ha.” I laughed and fished for information.
“Just to keep you from thinking about doing something fatally stupid, Karl, please reach into your jacket slowly and remove your pistol left handed by the butt Karl ... two finger please ... now pop the mag release ... That’s good so far, now jack the slide back.” I did and the round in the chamber flipped out and clattered on the floor loudly.
“I see old habits die hard, Karl.” Mister Nameless whoever the Hell he was said and laughed.
“Well the 1911 ain’t no fancy double action, and one under the hammer gives you a slight edge if you really need to use it in a hurry. Besides the safeties are good, no way you are going to shoot your own foot off accidentally with the good old 1911A1 even if you drop it, ha, ha, ha...” I babbled on.
“Ok, you can put it back in the holster rig. Ok, is that all?” He asked.
“Sure.” I answered back innocently.
“Just when I thought we were bonding so well together, Karl. Reach down slowly left handed to your right ankle and remove that S&W Chief’s Special 38 carefully. Now place it on the floor and kick it away. That was nauty of you, Karl.” He scolded me.
“Sorry Mister ... Mister ... I didn’t get your name? In all the excitement I plumb forgot that little one was there, ha, ha, ha.” I laughed.
“Now, take these zip ties,” He said, throwing a handful of them to me, “and tie your ankles together, now your right wrist to your belt ... snug them down tight now. Ok, now I think we can talk like civilized gentlemen without you hurting yourself or somebody else. Mainly yourself.” He informed me.
“Do you mind if I finish my eggs? I’m still hungry.” I asked since I still had one arm free, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to shoot ... kill me yet.
“Sure Karl that’s why I generously left your left hand and arm free. I’ve already helped myself to your liquor cabinet. I’m a tequila mescal man myself.” He said, showing me the bottle.
“There’s an interesting story behind that phrase, “mi casa es su casa”, or simply, “es tu casa”, Karl. It goes back at least as far as the conquest of Mexico by Spain. According to the memoir of Bernal Díaz, one of the original Spanish conquistadors, when Cortez arrived in the palace of Moctezuma, the Aztec emperor said to him, “this is your house”, believing him to be Qetzeqatl, the Aztec god who was prophesied to return and claim the throne. That’s where the Mexican phrase started.” He told me and paused for a moment.
“We, my agency anyway, was responsible for getting your ex-wife out of that whorehouse in Los Algodones, Mexico and over to Mexicali, Mexico. Of course our actions in this were not altogether entirely altruistic, Mister Baron. Admittedly, we were primarily interested in what had been done to her ... and the others. She is the first we have been able to ... to ... lets say quietly acquire without too much unhealthy notice. Yes, we are aware of Doctors Without Borders, DWB, we also have our own sources inside the organization. We were also responsible for getting her the MRI and CT.” He told me bluntly.
“Is there a cure?” I had to ask.
“I am sincerely sorry Karl, but no, and they have done this to others ... mainly women ... mainly beautiful women. The rumors started that they were providing sex slaves to important people. It is quite easy to drug, or in some case just provide the drug and addict women and get them to do just about anything you want, but everybody is aware that the women are drugged and addicted. The only problem is this can result in embarrassing situations with drug enforcement authorities, ha, ha, ha. These women we are talking about didn’t appear to be drugged and/or addicted, but after three or four years they suddenly became sick and finally they would mysteriously die, or suffer a heart attack, or something else fatal, and die.”
“Before you ask, they were immediately cremated, and no we couldn’t even get a sample of the ash. They had elaborate ceremonies where the ash was scatter to the winds to free their trapped spirits and other strange weird religious practices, ha, ha, ha. We frankly don’t know why your wife wound up over there in that Algodones whorehouse, but if it’s any consolation to you, Phillip Conway, himself had a terrible car accident a few weeks ago and is very dead ... no not us ... his own people from what we can piece together.” Nameless paused, there and I told him what I remembered now.
“13 years ago somebody anonymously sent me a E-mail with a A/V clip attachment of Myra having sex with her boss Phillip Conway. It seemed she was having an affair with her big shot corporate boss behind my back. In the A/V clip, or should I say the 60 minute porn movie. You could actually tell somebody had heavily edited it together. In the movie Myra’s every hole, mouth, cunt, and asshole, was fucked at least once by her loving boss Phillip Conway. Yes, I had met the man several times at different company shindigs, like the annual Christmas party, I was required to attend.
I can’t say I liked the man, but then on the other hand I didn’t dislike him either at the time. I have to admit I had never realized Myra was so flexible until I got that movie, and honestly, sure he was a little younger, but I was much better endowed than him I think. Anyway they fucked all over the office, in the chair, over the chair, on the desk, over the desk ... you get the picture. In different positions, Missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, 69, and others I didn’t know existed. I guess I should have realized then that Phillip himself had sent it. Evidently he became obsessed with Myra and was comparing himself to me. Trying to prove he was a better man I guess.” Once again I was fitting pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together in my own mind as I talked.
“That could explain why she wound up over there in Los Algodones, Mexico. As you said, he became obsessed with her, and couldn’t just kill her ... well arrange a nice neat convenient accident for her. He must have stashed her away over there thinking they would develop a cure eventually.
“Who the Hell is this, “THEY?” I had to ask.
THEY