The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We were scheduled to open at eleven on Tuesday, so the staff gathered for a last meeting at nine. I looked them all over carefully, and nodded my appreciation. They stood around me in a large circle, and every one of them looked immaculate.

“I think I can safely say that today is already a success,” I told them. “I have no doubt that you are going to do your best today. We’ve gone over everything, at least a dozen times.” They all grinned at that. “Go to it people.”

Anton and Suzy began ushering their people towards the kitchen, and Julie took hers towards the front to go over last minute items and to make sure everything was ready. The boys helped the hostesses and host put up the brass stanchions and purple ropes.

The waitstaff went to assist the cooks with prep, and the bussers and dishwashers began getting trays and dishes ready for the cooks and waitstaff.

I was impressed with our staff. They’d all volunteered to come in from nine in the morning to nine at night. Anton, Jarrod, Suzy, and Julie had divided their people up into mini-shifts, rotating people in and out frequently. The rest were on-call or in the breakroom. We all realized the real point of the first day was getting used to the job and making a good impression.

I don’t know if I can accurately give you an idea of the size of the place. When I had come to the building the downstairs had been broken up into five shops, but each of them was rather large. When we opened the space up, you could have put a small department store into the place.

The restaurant may have paled in comparison with some of the restaurants in the casinos, but it was large. I asked Lucky about it, and he tossed off the figure of four thousand square feet without blinking.

Half of that was the restaurant.

About ten, the television stations had all sent their vans around, and they were ready to start recording reactions from the attendees.

I had looked up pictures of the people I had invited, so I was ready to greet each by name as they arrived. Just before eleven, the staff came out to the front.

I stood before the door to the restaurant, which now had a blue ribbon across it.

“I’d like to welcome you all,” I told them. The boys stood with me. “This establishment has been a dream of mine for some time. But the dream is not for me, but for my sons and their friends. With the opening of this restaurant, they have a place where they can work without fear of discrimination. I hope this sets a standard for how Little People are treated in the city of Reno, and across our country.” I turned and handed the scissors to Dagger and Paddy, who proceeded to cut the ribbon. A polite cheer went up, and I nodded to the staff, who filed in behind the boys. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Little Amsterdam. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

Things went well. Which is an understatement.

I’d invited every City Council member, the Mayor (of all of the surrounding communities). State Legislators, as well as the two US Senators and the Congressmembers for Nevada. Local television and radio personalities. Several actors and actresses who had vacation homes up in Tahoe and the surrounding resort areas. Executives of some of the larger businesses in the areas, including the casinos. The Archbishop of the Diocese, ranking pastors of a number of churches in the area (I don’t think any of them ever noticed the posters in the other half of the bar). Executive Directors of a number of the charities in the area.

In three days, we served over two thousand people.

The first day was a bit of a high. All of the staff walked around with faces half full of exhilaration and half full of overwhelmed. There was a steady flow of customers, all at our invitation, eating for free.

There were a few incidents. One of the waiters dropped a glass and was about to go into hysterics when our Senator leaned over and whispered confidentially, “I do that all the time.”

Another waiter got so flustered he forgot drinks, until Lucky began tapping out a tune on the four glasses with a spoon. I walked over to the red-faced waiter, and said, “Slow down, take a deep breath. I gave the firing squad the day off.” He gave a choked laugh and seemed to relax a little.

At one point I was surprised to see the Senator mentioned before get up from his table and stroll to the bar, where the boys were working cheerfully. He chatted for a while with Lucky and Rut, received a refill of his drink, and returned to his seat.

Jarrod and I mostly mingled, although we both fetched drinks or appetizers a few times. We also checked in with Anton and Suzy constantly. Suzy took great pride in telling us how many appetizers, salads, and entrees we’d prepared and served so far. I joked with her that perhaps we should get a scoreboard up.

We’d spread the invitations out, with a range of times each guest (and their party) could come in. Jack had requested his guys have only dinner invitations, so they wouldn’t miss work. The first group to arrive was greeted with applause as they entered, by Jarrod, the waiters, the hostesses, the boys, and myself. Other guests, when informed of who the new arrivals were, joined in the applause, and a few ‘bought’ the crew drinks.

On Wednesday, things were handled differently. Only the day shift was on hand, but by now they were all used to things. The night shift had been quite smug about the extra time off they’d gotten, from Tuesday evening close to Wednesday afternoon at four.

A country-western singer heard about the opening as he was coming into town for a concert, and drove over to beg an invitation. I turned to Jeremy. “Do we have a table open?”

He pursed his lips and looked over his reservation board. “I believe we have a place for Mr. Nelson,” he said gallantly. He picked up some menus. “Amber, could you show Mr. Nelson and his guests to table five?”

One of the hostesses had hysterics at the rush, but she did it back in the breakroom. Five minutes later, she was back on the job, smiling as if nothing was the matter.

Anton managed the kitchen expertly. He rotated the cooks in and out, sending tired cooks to the break room as needed.

Jarrod was everywhere, but then again, so was I. We chatted, we answered questions, we noted comments. We got very few complaints.

At one point, on the second day, the Episcopal Bishop stopped me and asked why the other half of the restaurant wasn’t open.

“We only open that after the dinner rush,” I explained. “At night we are a gay bar, this area becomes the dance floor.”

“That explains the difference in the flooring,” he nodded, unperturbed. I was unsurprised at his reaction, I’d seen discussions of his personal views when he’d been considered for the position.

More of Jack’s guys came in for dinner Wednesday, including the crazy driver Darrin. Dagger made a show of taking Darrin’s keys away, declaring that Reno traffic was bad enough without him driving drunk.

Jack’s guys got more drinks bought for them.

At the same time, tips were steadily picking up for the waitstaff, which was shared on a percentage basis with the bussers and the dishwashers. One waiter got a one hundred dollar tip from the mayor’s wife, for having to deal with the mayor’s spoiled-rotten adult son. That was a good thing, as Lucky had been watching the man with a glint in his eye.

Thursday was the same, with a slightly smaller staff on day shift and evening shift. However, the publicity had made our invitees look forward to the experience, and some showed up early for their reservations.

When I complimented Julie on handling the line of folks waiting outside, she shrugged.

“It’s good practice,” she said calmly. “They need to know how to handle late arrivals, mixed with customers with no reservations. Besides, the line is making sure nobody lingers too long.”

Day shift handed things over to evening shift without a hitch, and two of the waiters volunteered to stay a little late to handle some of the prep work.

At eight o’clock, as the last of the dinner guests were leaving, we began moving the tables, with even cooks and waiters assisting. The tables were moved to the storeroom between the kitchen and the breakroom, and Arkansas began tuning up the music system. The cooks, dishwashers, and busboys finished cleaning up in time to leave by the restaurant entrance, as the crowds gathered at the other entrance, which now sported it’s own blue ribbon.

We had another ribbon-cutting ceremony, with much applause, and the sign was lit for the first time.

At Rut’s suggestion, we had all learned sign language over the past week, and even the restaurant staff was starting to pick it up as well (with no help from me, mind you). So we could all communicate with each other across the room, above the noise.

I helped Paddy at the door for a while, until I was relieved by Dagger. Most of the guests were well-behaved (after all, this group was paying for it), and we had to turn away very few for lack of ID.

I circulated, chatted with a few people here and there, and checked with the boys. The barbacks were working hard, without shirts as I had half-expected.

The boys themselves were dressed as I had thought they would. Every one of them had their shirts off. Rut was in his loincloth. Nagi wore his leather shorts (and the little shit kept pouring drinks with his tail). Paddy had on his jeans, boots, and armband. Arkansas was in jeans and his hat, as well as his boots, bumping and grinding as he managed booze and music. Dagger wore bleachers, boots, and braces. Lucky was in his workpants and boots, and had a “Happy St. Patrick’s Day” green bowler on his head (way off date, by the way).

At one point, Lucky caught my attention and signed to me. “Bitch at door.” I quickly made my way to the door, where a heavily made-up drag queen was berating Dagger.

“This queen has no need of a jester,” she was saying nastily as I came up, snapping her fingers in his face.

“Then this queen can go back to whatever hole she climbed out of,” I told her.

“And who are you?” she demanded.

“Part-owner of this bar,” I told her.

“Then perhaps I should talk to the other owners,” she told me coolly. “You don’t realize who I am. I can make or break this bar.” She snapped her fingers in my face.”

“One,” I held up a finger. “You have already talked to one of the other owners of the bar.” I pointed to Dagger. When I had her attention, I pointed to Paddy, then to the other four, who were currently dancing on the bar. “Two. I am well aware of who you are, Laticia LaTorture, winner of last year’s Evil Dynasty here in Reno. Three. The only thing you can make is a scene, the only thing you can break is crystal with what you laughingly call a voice. Four. This is a place for people to enjoy themselves, not to put up with your attitude. Five. Get the fuck out.” By this time, my face was close enough to count her wrinkles.

“Make me,” she told me, scowling.

“He can’t make you,” Paddy popped up next to me. “He doesn’t use substandard materials.” His hand went up to catch hers at it arced towards his face. “Dad?”

“It’s all yours,” I said quietly. Paddy’s arm jerked, and the drag queen shrieked as its arm was broken. I picked it off the floor by the back of its caftan-like dress (with the help of telekinesis) and carried it out, dumping it into the gutter. “Get lost. You’ll never be allowed back in here, under any circumstances.”

The rest of the line looked at each other, looked at me, and kept their mouths shut. The other drag queen that had accompanied “Laticia” looked at me and fluttered her eyelashes.

“If I’m good, can I come in?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not,” I shrugged.

Shortly after this, a siren was heard throughout the bar, and the music shut off. Red spinning lights came on around the bar area itself, and the boys all held up their hands to quiet folks down. A crane-like object slid away from the loft area, with a long silver tube coming from it. Lucky solemnly took the hose and filled a glass with dark amber liquid. He calmly tasted it, and then handed it to Rut. As Paddy and Dagger came hurrying up, the glass was passed down the line, ending with Dagger. Dagger grabbed the hose and filled the glass again, downing it all quickly. Then he slid down out of sight, a big grin on his face.

“I’d like to announce our first batch of micro-brew ale is now ready!” Lucky announced loudly. “So come get some before Dagger recovers and drinks all the rest!” The crowd laughed and surged forward.

No, I had no idea of what they had rigged up, but it was a great gimmick. About gave me a heart-attack, though. Of course the crowd loved it.

Occasionally, one of the boys at the bar would make sure the upstairs room was problem-free. They didn’t say anything, so I assumed it was.

I ran into Jarrod at one point.

“Hi boss,” he said happily, his arm around another man. “This is Andy.” Andy was a sexy-looking black man with a shy smile.

“Hello, Jarrod, Andy,” I nodded. “Having fun?”

“Yep,” he said happily. “I’m off tomorrow. Andy’s going to help me sleep in.”

“Good for Andy,” I laughed.

Around three, we started to clear the dance floor, and started moving the tables back. More people were lining up for the “moonlight brunch” and the staff had started arriving a half-hour before. Jarrod had departed long before, Andy in tow, via the cab I’d called for him.

Suzy came up to me, looking concerned. “How long you been going?”

“I had a nap this afternoon,” I told her. Then I found myself yawning. “Maybe I should gather up the boys and head to bed.”

“The boys went upstairs an hour ago,” she pointed out. I looked, and saw Rut at the bar. “Boy, you are out of it. Rut went up for a nap hours ago, and just came back down. Go, boss, we can handle it.”

Friday I woke up feeling wonderful. All of my boys were waking up around me, and we had a good tussle in the bed.

It was the first day of paying customers, but the coverage in the newspaper, TV and radio had done its work. We were slammed, and I even took over a couple tables, as did Jeremy (Julie, by decree, worked the same shift as Suzy). But our customers all seemed happy, and I saw some people who had been there the night before.

It was a long weekend, and I have to give full credit to the boys and the staff. They really pulled it together.

Jarrod was back at work on Saturday, and had a grin on his face. (Andy started showing up towards the end of the lunch rush, and having a drink at the bar while chatting with Jarrod.)