tagMind ControlJoan Ch. 02

Joan Ch. 02


Some Time Before -

The door swung open, a little bell rang, and Mr. Rowe walked into the bookshop located on the narrow street. It looked like any other bookshop he had been in, only this one was smaller and didn't look prosperous. He glanced at the owner, a strange looking man with a long nose and tiny, little eyes. "That must be Mr. Puddle," he thought. He went over to the counter, keeping his black hat on and setting down his cane.

"I was referred to you by Dr. Charles," Mr. Rowe said.

Mr. Puddle grinned. "You've come to the right place. A friend of Dr. Charles is a friend of mine. How can I help you, sir?"

"I work at a nearby firm," Mr. Rowe began nervously. "Mr. Pryce hired a new assistant for me. A woman, a most attractive woman." Mr. Rowe looked around carefully to ensure that they were alone. "I lust for her, sir."

"A natural inclination," Mr. Puddle said. "Do not worry, sir. I am perfectly confidential and do not judge the appetites of a man, especially appetites we all share."

"Excellent, sir. Most excellent."

"The woman you are interested in is educated and unmarried correct?"

"She is," Mr. Rowe said. "One of those new independent women we hear so much about these days."

"Oh good," Mr. Puddle said. "Most good. I take it that she is quite the reader?"

"Why yes, she is in fact."

"Then all you need to do is send her my way," Mr. Puddle explained.

"If I may ask, sir. How does it work? What exactly will be done?"

Mr. Puddle motioned for Mr. Rowe to follow. They went to a door quietly tucked into the back corner of the shop that was locked. Mr. Puddle took out and iron key and unlocked it. They went through, Mr. Puddle lit several lamps so that the room was well lighted. Mr. Rowe was surrounded by little red books with black lettering. Mr. Puddle handed him one. "Go on and read a little," Mr. Puddle said.

Mr. Rowe opened the book and read a few paragraphs. "It's absolute rubbish," he said. "Just oddly written smut is all. What peculiar syntax."

"To the male brain it is rubbish," Mr. Puddle explained. "It has no effect on the male mind whatsoever. Not even a hint of eroticism. However, to the feminine mind, the effect is quite different. That volume there is called 'The Submission.' It creates a sort of shock to the female brain, confuses and fractures it. The next volume is 'Sinful Things,' which begins the process of reordering her mind to the desired arrangement. The others you don't need to concern yourself with. All that matters is that she'll be submissive and obedient to your demands."

"Extraordinary," Mr. Rowe gasped. "Is it a sort of hypnosis then?"

Mr. Puddle shrugged. "Possibly," he said. "Some think of it as sorcery. All that matters is that her mind and body will come under your control."

"My control," Mr. Rowe whispered to himself. He looked up. "How much? How much for your service?"

"Five thousand imperials."

"Five thousand? I don't have that sort of money. I can't manage it."

"This is a high risk business, my friend."

Mr. Rowe thought about it carefully. "I have to have her," he said. It came to him, it would be risky but it was the only way. "I'll have the money. How will I know that the, uh, flower can be plucked?"

"You will know easily enough," Mr. Puddle told him. "Don't push things too hard and fast and your opportunity will come about soon enough."

Mr. Rowe nodded and went to the door. He paused and asked, "are you certain that she will even read that filth?"

Mr. Puddle grinned and said, "most certain, sir. Oh, what's the name of the intended?"

"Joan," Mr. Rowe answered.

~ o ~

At Present -

Mr. Rowe cracked open his door and peaked out at Joan. She was at her desk by the window, hard at work. He noticed the change in her over the last few weeks. She almost seemed ready to rip off her dress at one point but now she was different again, more like herself but not. It was strange. Her vibrant red hair was worn up, but in a more attractive fashion. She had bought new dresses as well, brighter in color and a little tighter than what she used to wear. He could now see the magnificent swell of her big breasts more clearly as they pressed against the fabric. He felt himself stiffen but didn't know if the fruit was ripe for the picking. "It would be best to be slow and steady," he thought. "Don't rush it. That is what Mr. Puddle said."

He stepped out and went over to her desk. He leaned down as if inspecting her work and gently put his hand on her back. Joan seemed to respond.

"Most excellent work, Joan. You're doing a fine job."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, sir."

His hand caressed her back a little, nothing in her face seemed to change. So he pushed it a little further, sliding his hand down to the small of her back. Her cheeks reddened and she let out a little sigh. She shifted in her seat, but it seemed more out of anticipation than anything else. Her green eyes looked at him all big and bright, he could see the want and need in them. Mr. Puddle was right, he did know exactly when the time was right.

"In my office," he suddenly said.

She nodded and they went into his office. He shut the door and sat behind his desk. "You are doing well here at Stock & Pryce," he said to her. "However, I think that you can do better. Apply yourself more to benefit the firm."

She asked, "what did you have in mind, sir?"

"Well, you have such natural talents, Joan. Talents you are not taken advantage of. Why don't you wear more jewelry for instance."

Joan was caught off guard by the question. "I've never cared for it, sir. I always preferred to spend my money on books and art lectures. Things to expand my world and independence."

"I see. So you have no intention to marry and live a more proper and traditional life?"

"No, sir. It's not what I want."

"Then tell me what you want."

"I'm not sure anymore," she said. "I used to think a career but something happened that seems to have changed me. I can't really explain or go into it, but now I feel this strange sort of drive towards something else. Never mind me, sir, I'm just babbling."

At that moment, someone knocked and ruined the scene. It was a clerk who was sent to inform Mr. Rowe that Mr. Pryce wanted to see him. Mr. Rowe thanked the young man and sent Joan back to work at her desk. After making sure he was presentable, Mr. Rowe went upstairs to Mr. Pryce's office.

He went up. Mr. Rowe knew what it was about but needed to feign ignorance. He only hoped that he had covered his tracks enough to avert suspicion from himself. Five thousand imperials stolen would be noticed, Mr. Rowe knew that. However, he had been cautious and it would look as though the money had simply vanished from the books. It was something a clerk could be blamed for. Sure, the clerk would be terminated, but it was better than Mr. Rowe going to prison for theft.

When he went into Mr. Pryce's office, Mr. Pryce was sitting behind his desk with a stern but worried expression on his face. "This is very grave, Mr. Rowe," the old man said. "Very grave."

"Is it, sir?"

Mr. Rowe closed the door and came in. There was a young clerk sitting on the sofa under a painting of a rowboat on a lake. The clerk was rather average in height and build, but had coal black hair, just a little too long. Mr. Rowe glanced at the young clerk, noting his odd grin and then turned his own attention to Mr. Pryce.

"Most grave," Mr. Pryce repeated. "Five thousand imperials have disappeared from our account. We're a financial institution Mr. Rowe, if we can't manage our own finances, the public will lose faith in us and we'll smash. We'll go right down the gutter and be laughed as we fall. I will not be laughed at."

"Of course, sir."

"I'm placing the task of finding that five thousand on you, Mr. Rowe. Put that girl of yours on it...what's her name?"

"Do you mean Joan, sir?"

"That's her," Mr. Pryce exclaimed. "She has a knack for bookkeeping, that one. The two of you find the money and do it discreetly. Not a word to anyone. This matter does not leave this office, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good," Mr. Pryce said with a nod. "You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Mr. Rowe left the office and went down back to his own. On his way in, Joan asked, "everything all right, sir?"

"Absolutely," he told her with a smile. "No need to worry your pretty, little head."

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