Alpha Sin (mind control erotica) (2 page)

Henry was due to be back from his Miami trip
this evening. He hadn't called from the airport, which was mildly
irritating, but if he had become a man she wouldn't press the
issue. If he had become a man she wouldn't have to. Thoughts of a
new Henry, a stronger Henry, a Henry she could be proud of filled
her thoughts while she waited for him to return. To be honest, it
was a bit of a turn on -- affection, financial security, and
masculinity in one package was all she'd ever wanted.

As the hour of arrival drew near she felt an
excited anticipation building within herself, like it did when she
was a girl on her birthday. She sat near the living room's picture
windows, waiting for the taxi to deliver him home. He hadn't called
from the airport upon arrival; she absently hoped that forgetting
to check in with her wasn't part of his new manly persona. She
didn't see why it would be, but maybe ancient pagan sex gods had
weird ideas of what manliness was.

When the cab pulled up in front of the house,
she quickly stepped away from the window so as to avoid looking too
eager. Oh, is that you, Henry? I hadn't noticed your return. How
was your trip? And then he'd take her in his arms and kiss her,
deeply. She'd swoon. She knew she would.

She sat on a stool near the kitchen counter,
trying several times to arrange herself as casually as possible,
finally deciding on demurely crossed-legs with a magazine in
hand.

The front door opened, and in walked Henry,
jacket over one arm, hat on his head. He looked, she thought,
exhausted, but not in the way he usually was. It was a good sign.
He stood up straight, not slouched, and his head didn't hang.
Instead of avoiding eye contact, his gaze sought out hers almost
instantly.

Angela's anticipation spiked, and she looked
up from the magazine she wasn't reading. "Hey, honey, how was your
trip?"

He was next to her in a second, baggage
dropped by the door, a growl in his throat, eyes narrowed. His
strong fingers were at her throat, gripping her jaw, turning her
face towards him. She was too surprised to do much other than yelp
as he crushed his lips against hers. She let out a muffled cry of
surprise and shock; the action was so unexpected, so
uncharacteristic, she literally had no idea what to do.

"Henry, what--" she managed to turn her face
aside from his.

His answer was to stand her up and half-slam
her against the wall, pinning one of her wrists above her head, the
other held tightly at her side, and press his lips against the soft
flesh of her neck. She felt his hard teeth gripping tender skin,
and gasped.

She'd never seen him this passionate before,
but there was something else behind it. Something dark. Something
indomitable. She was definitely afraid -- terrified almost -- but
excited at the same time. This was far more than she had been
expecting.

"Henry," she moaned, and that seemed to
excite him further.

Her husband pinned her other hand above her
head, then holding them both in place, reached up under her skirt
and gripped her panties waistband. Hoping for the best, she'd worn
a pair of expensive French-lace underwear. She gasped as he tore
them off, ripping them in the process, the light material tearing
easily.

"Those were hundred-dollar La Perla panties,
Henry!"

The venom in her voice didn't seem to
dissuade him as his fingers returned, sliding roughly inside her.
This was a far cry from his usual almost tentative touch, far more
brutal than even Carlos's aggressive sexuality. She gasped in shock
and surprise, and he stuffed the black lace into her open
mouth.

Angela cried out around the material in her
mouth. It was too different, too strange, too far from the pale to
be aroused, to be frightened, to be anything but shocked.

"Just shut the fuck up, goddamn it," he
hissed, the words even more shocking than what had preceded
them.

He lifted her, then, forcing her legs apart,
and she felt his hard cock -- rock hard, possibly harder than she'd
ever felt -- pressing against her crotch. It was all she could do
to hold on to his shoulders as he positioned her, then lowered her
body while thrusting himself up into her. The penetration was
sudden, forceful, and a little painful.

She found herself not minding.

Henry fucked Angela against the wall hard,
slamming her against it with each thrust, while she held on for
dear life. It was all that she'd wanted. It was more than she hoped
for. He was finally giving her what she wanted, fucking her like a
man, like more of a man than Carlos had been. He was taking what he
wanted.

She moaned into the panties stuffed into her
mouth.

He fucked her harder, each thrust sending her
head smacking back into the wall, but she didn't care. Her nails
dug into his shoulder through his work-shirt. His hands were under
her ass-cheeks, supporting her, and she wrapped her legs around his
waist.

She let out a last long groan as an orgasm
ripped its way through her body. She hadn't cum in a long time, not
even with Carlos, and the power of it sent stars in front of her
eyes.

When her pleasure haze ended, Henry had
finished, had cum inside her, had left her in the hall to take a
shower. She felt his seed dripping from her well-fucked pussy as
she crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom door, still
unsteady.

"My god, Henry, what's come over you?" she
slurred.

The faucet turned off and Henry stepped out
of the shower. She saw him in a new light, with new admiration. He
was handsome, broad shouldered, in good shape, with a new dark
confidence to his features.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said.
"Later."

"Okay," was all she could manage, watching
him walk by towards their bedroom.

#

"It was like he's a whole new man," Angela
said, a broad grin on her face.

"I thought I saw a certain glow about you,"
Roxy said with a giggle. "Glad to hear the sex-god thing worked out
for you."

Carol nodded. "I hear it hasn't worked out so
well for everybody."

"Really?" Angela asked, leaning forward. "I'd
heard Mary was committed, but that's all."

She had a semi-regular lunch date with
Roxanne and Carol, two of her fellow Daughters of Lilith. The sex
god Cernunnos had been a frequent topic of discussion and
speculation.

Roxy lowered her voice and whisper. "Notice
anyone missing?"

Angela looked at her friends. "Emily?"

Roxy nodded. "Rumor is that she used the
sex-god chant, and it turned her into a total slut."

"No way!" Carol said.

Roxy nodded. "I also hear that Janet used it
to sleep with her daughter's boyfriend, and she caught them
together."

"No way!" Carol said.

"Mmm hmm."

"What else have you heard?" Angela asked.

Roxy sat back, folding her arms, her new
silver watchband flashing in the sun. "That's all."

"I don't want this to blow up in my face,"
Angela said. "Like turning Henry into a man slut. Or something.
Wasn't Beth going to use it, too?"

"Yeah, she totally did," Roxy grinned. "To
get her husband more open to trying new things in bed. I hear it
turned him into a total perv."

Carol laughed. "Serves her right!"

"You used Cernunnos, too." Angela sipped her
mojito. "You haven't experienced any... side effects?"

"No." The answer came quickly, then more
softly. "No."

"You're sure?" Carol asked.

"It's fine. Really. What about you, Carol?
Anything you want from the sex god?"

Carol laughed. "My sex life is fine, thanks.
No. Hm."

"What is it?"

"My brother and his wife are trying to
conceive. Maybe I can get the sex god to help their fertility."

"Aww," Roxy said. "That's so sweet. You're
such a good sister."

"It's the least I can do," Carol said.
"They've gone to all kinds of fertility doctors."

"I've met Oscar," Roxy said, licking her
teeth. "If I were Jenny I wouldn't mind all the trying."

Carol threw her napkin at the girl. "Ick! No,
but it's a big problem for them."

"I can imagine," Angela said. "Okay, I'm
going to get home. I bought a new nightie, and I want to surprise
Henry when he comes home from work."

"Later, girl!" Roxy waved.

#

"Darling, I'm home, and I've got something
special--"

Angela stopped short as she was greeted by
the sight of her husband and his secretary in their living room.
Some bags were lined up alongside the door.

Her eyes flickered from her husband's grim
face to the seriousness of his secretary's. Christina, she believed
the woman's name was. "What's this?"

"Angela," her husband said, hand on the back
of the couch. "Do you know who called me while I was at that
conference?"

She shook her head.

"Carlos. Our gardener. You do know Carlos,
don't you?"

The boutique bag fell from Angela's hand.
"Henry--"

"I know, I was surprised, too," Henry said,
walking to the wet-bar and pouring himself a scotch. "What could be
so important that our gardener needs to call me when I'm away at a
conference?"

Angela moved swiftly to her husband's side.
"Henry, I can explain."

Henry quickly downed the glass and shook his
wife off of his arm. "Carlos explained quite adequately, dear. At
first I was depressed. I wondered what I'd done wrong, where I'd
let you down, why I wasn't enough for you. I blamed myself for your
infidelity. Can you believe it?"

He chuckled.

"I spent hours wondering what part of me
wasn't good enough. But then I realized something, Angela. I
realized that it's never enough for you. I've never been enough for
you. Everything I do, everything I try, you tear me down, and then
belittle me for being torn down. You attack me at every turn, at
every weakness, for everything that doesn't measure up to some
fantasy conception of what a man is supposed to be."

"No," Angela said. "It's not like that, I
love you, I--"

"Love? You don't know what the fuck love is,
you ungrateful bitch. You married me for my money, for the name,
for the status it carries. You're a bitch, Angela, but more than
that, you're a pathetic, shallow, worthless human being."

Angela couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"How dare you talk to me that way! So, what, you get your revenge
by fucking your slut secretary, and now you think you've got some
sort of moral high-ground?"

"Tina?" He glanced at his secretary, still
standing uncomfortably near the wall. "I haven't been fucking Tina.
No, she gave me something you withheld for a lot longer than sex.
She gave me understanding. She gave me support. She held me while I
cried -- yes, Angela, cried, not for you, but for the eight years
of my life I wasted trying to be 'enough' for you -- she calmed me
down when my depression turned to anger. She was there for me,
Angela, in the way that mattered. The way that truly mattered, but
we didn't have sex. I'm not going to start fucking other women
without ending 'us' first."

"Is that what this is about, then?" Angela
glanced towards the luggage by the door. "Some grand gesture on
your part, waiting until I get home to leave, like a teenager who
wants to make sure his mother hears when he slams the door? Is that
what you are, Henry? A teenage boy lashing out?"

Henry laughed. She couldn't remember the last
time she'd heard it, a healthy throaty sound so unlike his usual
nervous chuckle.

"Move out? No, Angela, I'm not moving out.
Those are for you. I'm kicking you to the curb."

How dare he? How fucking dare he? "If you
think for ONE second that I'm going to--"

"I do, and you will." Henry's voice had gone
flat, dangerous. "If you will recall our prenuptial agreement, Mrs.
Fordham, you will recall a quite punitive infidelity clause. If I
press it -- and Carlos has agreed to act as witness -- then you
will be left with nothing. You will be destitute, dear, without so
much as the clothes on your back."

Angela stared, slack jawed. "Henry..."

"Don't say a word, Angela. Just go. Go.
You'll have the divorce papers by the end of the week."

"Where... where will I go?"

"Like I give a fuck."

Angela mutely picked up the suitcases by the
door and walked to the master bedroom, still in shock, still not
processing exactly what had happened. Her drawers had been emptied
onto the bed, her clothes strewn from the closet. She cried,
weeping for herself, for what she was losing, for the mistake that
she'd made, for her uncertain future. She cried silently, not
giving Henry the satisfaction of hearing her, not understanding why
he was being so mean, so unfair.

He'd get over it, she decided as her tears
dried. Henry, even with confidence, was still Henry. He'd rage a
bit, mope a bit, maybe fuck his secretary, then feel guilty for
kicking her out. He'd come crawling to her, beg her to come back.
It wasn't, after all, like he could function without her. Poor dear
was just dependent on her. It was her fault, really, and that damn
incantation. It had confused him.

The most important thing now was to make a
good impression upon leaving. She gathered up her bags,
stiff-backed, and walked back to the living room.

"Henry, I'm leaving. You have my number when
you decide--"

The words caught in her throat as she caught
sight of her husband, trousers around his ankles, secretary bent
over the couch with her skirt hiked up around her hips. He was
fucking the girl, hard but not fast, taking his time without hurry.
The woman's hands clawed at the slipcover, clenching with each
shuddering thrust.

He looked up at his wife, not stopping his
steady rhythm. "Are you still here?"