The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She watched Catherine sleep: eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising gently with every breath. Her gaze flicked to the drained glass beside the bed, to the loosely held papers in Catherine’s hand, then to Catherine once more. She listened to Catherine’s breathing, letting it sync with the music that pulsed from her own headset.

Her fingers flexed twice. They waited above Catherine’s right breast.

Four, three, two, one.

She stroked a circle around Catherine’s nipple. The woman stirred, but did not wake. She shifted her fingers above Catherine’s left nipple, waited for a beat, then stroked again. Catherine shifted on the bed.

Again she moved to Catherine’s right breast, pausing and stroking, then moving left. Her hands danced in time with the rhythm in her ears.

The nipples twitched, but the woman slept on.

Catherine sipped her wine and waited, looking around the restaurant. It served German cuisine, authentic as any she had tasted. She wasn’t surprised—even the air smelled expensive. Before the trip, her husband had warned her that Torre would spare no expense to secure the deal. As usual, he was right.

She looked up as Torre returned to their table. Behind him was the woman who had called him away—tall, with sharp features and a tight black ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed.

Torre smiled. “Doctor Farman, may I introduce my personal assistant, Elena?”

Catherine extended her hand to the woman. “You’re even more striking in person. Thank you for speaking with the concierge.”

“Of course. Enrique said that your comfort was vital.”

Before Catherine could react, the woman kissed her hand, then nodded to Torre and turned away. Catherine blinked with surprise.

“Back to our discussion, Doctor.” Torre said. His manicured fingers stroked the stem of his wineglass; from anyone else, the gesture would have seemed nervous. “My staff has planned an extensive tour of the facilities over the week. You will also enjoy some of Munich’s nightlife.”

Still rubbing her hand, Catherine nodded. “I’m anxious to learn if this is the right place for us.” She felt Elena’s presence behind her. A hand touched her shoulder, and slid down to cup her breast. Catherine’s eyes widened, and she turned around.

No; Elena stood far across the dining area, talking to the receptionist.

“Is anything the matter?” Torre’s fingers stroked a slow beat on the wineglass.

“I was just thinking that this restaurant was well-chosen, Señor Torre,” Catherine said, settling back in her chair. Her gown rubbed against her nipples. “This is my first visit to Munich.”

“I know we have been through this, but I must insist that you call me Enrique.”

Catherine nodded, watching his fingers.

“Now, about your company,” Torre said. His fingers paused, and Catherine felt her nipples twitch. “The patents, in particular.”

“We have rights to four key patents,” Catherine said. It was a speech she had repeated many times since the breakthrough. “Two of them have major implications on modern biotech.”

She took a deep breath before going on. Her nipples twitched against the cool silk of her gown.

Without skipping a beat, she tugged open Catherine’s nightgown, and felt the woman stir. She glanced at her chronograph: she had six hours before Catherine woke. Her fingers danced, and she bent low over Catherine’s right breast.

Eight, seven, six, five.

Her tongue swirled over the swollen nipple. Catherine’s eyes fluttered, but remained closed. She moved on to the other nipple, stroking it with her fingers, then waiting.

Four, three, two, one.

Again, she laved her tongue out, tracing a wet circle.

Catherine’s shoulders shifted, as she knew they would. She moved with Catherine’s body, flowing with the beat. Her fingers brushed against the woman’s sex and found it wet; Catherine was learning the dance.

The music skipped abruptly. Her eyes widened; she faltered and looked at her fingers.

Then the beat moved on, and her thoughts faded away.

“Ahhh, Catherine. Please come in.”

Catherine crossed the room, her shoes sinking into the rich carpet. Torre’s office was tastefully spacious, with sunlight streaming in through the broad eastern windows. Behind the oak desk, Torre smiled warmly.

“The building is very impressive,” Catherine said, settling down in a nearby chair. She straightened her blazer, feeling her breasts move inside her brassiere.

“No more than the other organizations you are speaking with,” Torre said. His fingers tapped on the burnished desktop, and Catherine’s shoulders swayed lightly in beat. “The Matsumoto headquarters has a wonderful view of Tokyo.”

“My husband enjoyed our trip there.” Still swaying, Catherine tugged at her blazer. Something wet was circling her nipples, and her breath quickened. “He would have liked this city as well.”

Torre nodded. “Is he feeling better?”

Catherine twitched on her seat. “My daughter is taking care of him.”

“She is home from school, yes?” Torre gave the table a final tap. “Elena’s daughter attends college in Switzerland as well. Perhaps they should meet.”

Catherine watched as Torre stood. His hand gestured to Catherine with an even motion that mimicked the beat in her head. Catherine felt herself rise from the chair, eyes following his open palm, shoulders still swaying. She took his arm, and felt his elbow brush against her chest. Her thighs clenched deliciously.

She looked at Torre. “How did you know that my daughter studies in Switzerland?”

Torre patted her hand. “Please. Allow me to show you the premises.”

Catherine blinked, and nodded. Her feet moved gracefully under her, pacing to the beat of Torre’s touch. With each step, she felt something swirl around her nipples.

She crouched between Catherine’s legs, listening to the beat in her ears. Her hands moved in sync, stroking the smooth flesh of Catherine’s thighs. She traced her way up; her fingers fluttered just below the woman’s sex, waited until Catherine’s hips pushed up, then moved away.

On either side of the bed, her two companions knelt astride Catherine’s limp, outstretched arms. They bent over Catherine’s breasts, carefully licking the aroused nipples. Their tongues flicked and swirled in practiced symmetry, flowing with the beat from their matched headsets. At exact intervals, Catherine shifted on the bed; they moved with her, right and left, dancing with the sleeping woman, before bending back to their task.

Pillowless, Catherine’s head lay back, her mouth slightly open, her breath coming in short, even pants. Every few seconds, a small shudder shook her body.

The music quickened. On Catherine’s sides, the two women looked down, eyes half-closed with the lull of the relentless beat. Their lips mouthed a silent countdown.

She nodded, listening to the beat rise. Her fingers fluttered low on Catherine’s quivering thighs.

Eight, seven, six, five.

She walked her fingers higher. Slowly, evenly, in perfect rhythm. Catherine’s body tensed.

Four, three, two, one.

As the beat reached its crescendo, she finally touched Catherine’s swollen cleft. It pushed up against her fingers, and she stroked it with care. In time with each caress, her companions licked a precise, wet stroke on Catherine’s nipples.

On cue, Catherine moaned softly.

The limousine hurtled down the darkened autobahn.

Inside, Catherine stared out the window. Torre had begged off on account of business, so it was Elena who sat with her. Catherine looked at the other woman, admiring her cool, aristocratic features. Elena had been a gracious guide throughout the day, patient and well-versed in the sights of Munich.

The limo swayed, and Catherine moved with it. Unseen fingers slid up her thighs, moving in time with the licking at her nipples.

Elena turned back from the mini bar. Her hand lifted like a dancer’s, and Catherine’s gaze followed. It held a crystal glass, half-full. Still swaying, Catherine’s hand rose to take the glass, the motion matching Elena’s.

It was her usual cognac, the texture smooth against her tongue. Catherine bobbed her head in satisfaction; the movement matched the wet throb of her nipples. “Thank you. The bottle you left at the hotel was excellent.”

Elena nodded back, her voice distant. “Of course. You must have your nightcap.”

Catherine sipped her cognac. “Enrique says your daughter studies in Switzerland, like my Bernadette.”

Elena was silent, and her eyes looked away. Catherine squirmed slowly on the seat, feeling the limo’s rhythmic movements. Finally, Elena looked back at her. “Please. Tell me about your daughter. Do you...see her often?”

Carefully holding her cognac, Catherine looked into her purse, and came up with her picture of Bernie from last summer. “Not as often as I like. But that’s just a mother’s love.”

Elena looked at the picture, a small smile on her lips. “A mother’s love,” she said, echoing Catherine. She picked up her own purse—less graceful now, for some reason. Her hand came up with a small, worn snapshot. “This is my Violeta.”

It was a young woman, with the Alps in the background. She shared Elena’s dark hair and aristocratic bearing, but had softer features and a shy smile. Catherine gave back the photograph, and watched Elena tuck it away with precious care. Some things would never change.

Catherine leaned back against the seat, her movement in time with the rubbing of her thighs. The unseen fingers climbed, moving up to stroke against her sex. “What is it like to work with Enrique?”

Elena curled closer, regaining her dancer’s grace. “I was with Enrique from the start. Before he acquired the Munich operations,” she murmured. Her breath felt warm against Catherine’s ear. “My company was his first acquisition.”

Catherine nodded. Her thighs spread wider.

She watched as her companions coaxed Catherine into the dance. One of the women traced her way up, to lick at Catherine’s ear. Catherine stirred; her head turned, her lips parted, her tongue came out, and the woman rewarded her with a probing kiss.

Eight, seven, six, five.

A beat later, the woman pulled away. On Catherine’s left, the other woman moved up and licked. Catherine turned to her, and their lips touched as well.

She watched and waited, hovering above Catherine’s sex, timing Catherine’s movements.

Four, three, two, one.

Finally, she moved forward and flicked her tongue out. Catherine gasped, squirming on the mattress now damp with sweat.

She licked. In her ears, the beat churned on.

Catherine walked down the research center’s tiled corridor, her left hand nestled in Torre’s arm, her heels clicking a rhythm that matched his pace. With each step, Torre’s elbow brushed against her breast. Her clothes rubbed exquisitely against her skin.

Torre’s hand tightened on her wrist; in mid-step, Catherine stopped and turned left. Her right arm slid back, and cocked at her side like a model’s.

A doorway slid open, and they entered. It was a spacious white laboratory, like the one she ran in Palo Alto. Equipment and shelves lined the walls, and the air smelled new. Torre tapped her wrist, and she let go; he stepped away, leaving her in the center of the room. “This is where your research team will be based.”

She nodded. “The equipment looks new.”

Catherine watched him walk around the room, circling her. She straightened under his gaze, arms akimbo, shifting her weight slowly to the beat in her head, feeling the licking at her crotch.

Torre paused in front of her, and Catherine lifted her chin higher. “Come,” he said, finally. “There is more to see.”

His hand brushed against Catherine’s wrist, and she turned to the door.

She licked careful shapes on Catherine’s mound, feeling the woman’s hips sway in a rhythm as old as time. Her fingers reached down to touch Catherine’s left ankle; the leg lifted in response, flexing to the beat. She traced her hand under it, down the smooth thigh, until her index finger hovered just below Catherine’s pelvis.

Listening to the music, she paused.

Eight, seven, six, five.

She nodded to her companions, and they licked out in tandem. Catherine moaned and jerked forward; her cunt slid onto the waiting finger, hung there for a beat, then pulled reluctantly away.

Four, three, two, one.

Her companions looked down at her, waiting. She hesitated, shivered, then nodded.

Catherine jerked forward again, moaning.

Europop blasted through the nightclub’s refrigerated air. Catherine shifted in her seat, feeling Torre’s knee against her stockinged leg. Elena sat with them, sipping a gin and tonic. The woman’s face was flushed, and her breath came in shallow gasps.

Catherine looked back towards the bar. The locals were cheering on the bartender—a young, lithe blonde who moved with the sinuous quickness of a cat, reaching for bottles and mixing drinks with mid-air tosses of the shaker. She basked in the attention, laughing and posing behind the bar.

Torre leaned forward. “They call her der Engel,” he said, his voice low and audible despite the music. His hands moved under the table, and Elena stirred. “She is very popular with the younger crowd.”

Catherine nodded, watching the bartender. She was pouring a row of shot glasses with blinding speed, flipping the bottle with every glass. Her arms winked in the pulsing flash of the strobe light.

With the beat, Catherine felt her body move. Unseen fingers brushed against her thighs, nudging them wider in time with the stroking at her nipples.

The bartender spun and danced. Something wet licked out, and Catherine’s crotch spasmed forward, feeling a strange fullness.

Catherine twitched, and watched on.

Four, three, two, one.

The three women rose in sync, shifting and changing places over Catherine’s sleeping body.

She settled between Catherine’s legs, felt them part and wrap around her head. Her tongue coaxed out the swollen clit, teasing it as her fingers pushed into the slick folds.

Eight, seven, six, five.

They rose and moved again, circling around. Their bodies brushed against Catherine’s at precise spots.

She bent to Catherine’s right breast, hovering her hand over the woman’s lips. Catherine’s tongue lapped out, licking at her fingers. She licked back in turn, tracing the curve of Catherine’s breast.

Four, three, two, one.

They waited at Torre’s suite. Elena had disappeared to call for the limousine, and Torre was bent over the massive stereo system. Catherine waited patiently on the sofa, moving her shoulders with the rhythm of Torre’s breathing. “I hope you enjoyed your visit,” Torre said.

“It was productive.” Catherine said. She smoothed down her skirt; despite the coolness of the room, her skin felt on fire.

Torre looked at her. “I must fly back to Ibiza tomorrow.”

Music pulsed through the speakers—Latin, with a thrumming beat that pulled Catherine from the couch. She felt Torre’s hand on her right shoulder, and she spun, clockwise into his arms.

They danced on the hardwood floor, dipping and turning with the beat. The music slowed, and Catherine edged closer to him, her feet moving in a familiar step. His fingers slid up her side, and she pressed forward, pushing her breasts against the tight muscles of his torso.

The music paused. She looked into his eyes.

Then she was spinning, being lifted into the air. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, hanging from him, feeling him against her crotch, suddenly aware of her own wetness.

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. Her wedding ring was cold around her finger.

Torre’s hand pushed aside her soaked panties, stroking a familiar beat. His shaft pressed against her.

Her body slid lower, as the beat burned into her mind.

And Catherine’s eyes snapped open.

She found herself sitting on Torre’s couch. Somehow, she was naked, and tongues were swirling at her nipples. Across her, she saw Torre lounging against the wall, loosely draped in a brown silk robe.

Two naked bodies were bent over her breasts: both women, both topped with a tangle of blonde hair. A familiar face pulled away from her left nipple—the hotel concierge, her lips moist as they traced up Catherine’s body. On her right was the bartender from the nightclub. der Engel.

Something pushed against her crotch, and Catherine looked down. She saw a bobbing head, with a tight black ponytail.

Eyes half-closed, Elena looked back at her, licking languidly.

A tongue flicked in her ear. Catherine felt her head turn of its own accord, felt her lips part to welcome the blonde’s kiss. As their tongues touched, Catherine’s pelvis thrust out to find a waiting finger. It squirmed deliciously into her.

“Elena.” Torre’s voice, harsh and low.

On all fours, Elena turned to him, her buttocks swaying, her body naked and low to the floor. Catherine watched her move away; her hips still swayed to Elena’s absent tongue, and her thighs still clenched the air where Elena had been. At her nipples, the two blondes licked on.

Elena stopped at Torre’s feet. Her head slid beneath the silk robe, to the man’s crotch, bobbing up and down. Torre stroked her hair absently.

His eyes met Catherine’s. The beat shifted.

Catherine rose from the couch, feeling the two blondes pull away. Her gaze lifted to a point above Torre’s head, and her face settled into a confident smile. She walked forward; shoulders pulled back, pelvis pushed out, hips swinging with the rhythm that churned in her mind.

A pace away from Torre, she stopped, one knee slightly bent.

Torre’s finger circled the air. Catherine spun, her arms flitting about, presenting her body. Behind her, the two blondes watched, their hands roaming over each other. She paused at a precise angle; her chin up, and her right arm cocked at her side.

Catherine licked her lips, and waited.

“You will go home to your husband,” Torre said. His voice danced with the beat in Catherine’s head, and she felt her nipples throb. “Instruct your bankers to begin the merger. Your research team must move here, but I will require you to stay in California, as my representative.”

Catherine nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment. She shifted, posing for him, faintly aware of the soft moans from the couch behind her.

“Elena will be your contact, and she will speak with my voice,” Torre said. He paused, and Catherine heard a rustle of silk. “If I choose, you may be invited to my home in Ibiza, someday.”

A hand touched Catherine’s shoulder. She turned and saw Elena: their bodies moved together for a step, then Catherine slid down between the woman’s thighs, flowing with the beat, thinking of their daughters in Switzerland.

Somewhere, a door closed. The hand tightened on her shoulder, strangely out of sync.

Four, three, two, one.

Catherine’s tongue flicked out, and began to dance.