The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A blast of wintry chill swept amber leaves into the Hypnotic Shoppe as a frantic young man lunged inside. The doorbells hanging from the knob shattered the stillness of the quiet, stuffy room. At the large round table in the center of the room, by the bookshelves, sat Wendy, with her friends Amy and Carla. Wendy was reading Amy’s cards, as Carla watched on skeptically. They all looked up as they were approached, the wind blowing their clothes lightly. The man was roughly 22, tall and thin, with the clothes of a skateboarder, or musician. His face was patchy brown shadows of unshaven fuzz, and his long brown hair strung over his face in places. He was breathing so hard, everyone in the room started hyperventilating, till Wendy stood. Grabbing his arm, she sat the man down at the table, beside Carla. Carla smiled shyly, unlike her.

“My God what is the matter! Are you ok?” Wendy was concerned more than the average store vendor would be.

“Can you get the costumes off? Can you make them come off”?! The man shouted with fear from his lungs filling the room.

“Calm the Hell down, alright? What costumes? Wendy, I didn’t sell him any cos”, Carla was cut off by more frantic yelling.

“They can’t get their Halloween costumes off! It’s like they molded to them!” The room sat deadly silent as the books, the clothing racks, and the stunned women absorbed the sound waves of his voice. A moment later, the man became aware of him, and swallowed hard. He inhaled and spoke slower.

“My girlfriend had this Halloween party out at her parents’ mortuary on ‘Stony Hill’, they own it, and they’re all still dressed, still acting like,,,” his voice trailed. Stony Hill was what the younger people called Pleasant Hill cemetery. His girlfriend must be Angela Flock, a junior in the same college Wendy attended. She had met her once, at the School Renaissance Fair. Angela was pretty, energetic, in the Honor Roll, and wealthy. Except for living in the funeral home on “Stony Hill”, she would be the most sought after single girl in the city.

“Please”, the man said, “I don’t know who else to see. The police think I’m lying. Can you come with me?” Carla was fumbling with her small bottle of special cologne, the one she bought a few days before, She decided this good looking skaterboy type would work to test it on, him or one of his friends. Carla stood up, palming the bottle.

“Come on, Wendy! Amy can watch the store for the next two hours, and then we can all meet at the club!”

Amy spoke with apprehension in her voice. “Be careful OK? And be there before they stop serving food, OK?” She twisted her long hair nervously around a thin, bony finger. Amy’s dress hem blew again as the door opened, the three exiting quickly. Wendy grabbed up her thick, dusty brown book from the counter as she passed, and waved behind her, over her shoulder.

See you in a bit Ames, bye for now!” Her words mingled with jangling bells and echoed slightly.

Wendy pulled her long, black wool coat around her tightly as she peeked into the windows of the main door. The distraught young man stood beside her, stomping his feet from the chill, as much as his nervousness. She could see nothing through the drapes, so she stood, smiling at the worried man.

He was in his mid twenties, about Wendy and Angela’s age, if a year younger. She didn’t recognize him from school, but she wasn’t very popular in school- her ballet classes and her religious beliefs, with general oddness as icing on her cake, ensured this. She exuded calm as she took his left glove in her right.

“Angela’s fine, I’m sure. We’re just going to go in there, find her, and in whatever condition she’s in, we’ll take her to the shoppe. I have my book here”, raising up the old leathery tome under her arm. “My jewelry and the tablet I placed under my tongue in the car, those are going to help me too, so don’t worry. I’ve seen this before.”

Wendy remembered the young lady with the Indian costume not long ago.

“Were there any Indians? Maybe some that escaped and left the party?”

The young man thought. “There was everything. Yeah, there was Indians, maybe ten or so. Hell, there were over three hundred people at the party!” He shook from fear and cold.

“What’s your name?” Wendy smiled. Instantly the man’s ego and demeanor returned.

“Well, it’s Carl, but everyone calls me Buzz. I play bass, get it?” buzz began to make air guitar gestures, acting out the strumming and shaking, his face contorting as if hearing loud squealing, or feedback from his amplifier- also called buzzing. Wendy giggled.

“Buzz! Haha, well, first chew this up ok? Pretend it’s a breath mint.” She held out her black wool mitten, displaying a small white square, like a candy or gum.

“This isn’t going to make me see weird and trippy shit is it?” Wendy frowned from his suggestion, and his use of a swear word, which she felt was a sign of diminished brain usage or capacity, rather than focusing on the possible sin. Her right eyebrow raised on the outside end.

“Buzz, this is going to help you. If you don’t take it, you have to stay out here, and can wait in the car with Carla, or go back and keep Amy company at the Shoppe. The really weird stuff,” Wendy motioned with her free mittened hand, “The trippy things, as you say, they’re in there.” When she looked up at him, Buzz had already swallowed the item, and was grimacing.

“God that was nasty! Sure wasn’t no breath mint!” He chuckled. Buzz began to explain the layout of the building as he knew it. His experience mingled with Wendy’s memories of her graduation, giving them both a decent idea of the house layout.

The building was long, two stories, with a large basement. On the main floor there was a large viewing room, and a couple small rooms off of it, with a bathroom, and kitchen. A winding staircase, enclosed and immediately on the right as you enter, take you to the upstairs rooms. On the right are personal rooms, bedrooms, on the left is another large room, where the dancing was being done. It has long wooden floors, occasional mirrors on the walls, and 5 chandeliers in a row hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Beautiful wooden truss beams were visible above, and there was a small raised area at the end, usually a place for setting up a band, or guest speaker. The bathroom was at the end of the hall. The basement steps could be gotten to by a room on the main floor, or through the door out back, before you get into the house. Behind the house was the old Amish style barn, and the family’s recently plowed cornfield. A chicken coop and sheep pen finished off the house and ground s. In front of the building, stretching out to the road, was the cemetery. It was very, very wide, roaming over the gentle hilly ground, with trees and shrubs spaced throughout, giving it a more European look, unlike the traditional “rock garden” American cemeteries mimicked. Many of the tombs and plots had shrubs and flower arrangements surrounding them. In spring and summer it was a quiet and pretty place to walk and read, but in the late fall it was cold, windy and gothic.

Crashing sounds startled the two rescuers, making them jump back several feet from the ornate white double doors. They stood with their backs to one of the pillars on the porch, glancing at each other, gathering their wills. The sound was like someone throwing a table full of silverware and glassware across a room, and seemingly smashing against the stairway just inside the doors. The crashing continued for over ten seconds though, till finally dying out.

Buzz jumped, shrugging his shoulders, gesturing with his hands as he approached the doors.

“Yo-yo-yo, they only think they got game, they ain’t seen what we bringin’ right?” He placed his hand firmly on the brass handle of the left door, and planted his thumb on the latching thumb rest on top. He glanced over his shoulder at Wendy, as if suggesting she would be O.K. He nodded toward the doorway, beckoning.

“Right!” Wendy took a deep breath and stood straight. She walked up to Buzz, speaking into his thick black leather jacket and shoulder blades.

“Find Angela, get out. Find Angela, Get out. Ready,” Buzz pressed down on the latch, the cold brass making a click noise.

“Steady,,,” Wendy pressed against Buzz’ back.

“GO!” Both pressed hard into the door and rushed it with all their strength and weight. The door gave about a foot, and then stopped, impeded by some barrier on the other side. The smell of smoke escaped through the small gap. Buzz reached his hand in to clear the obstacle, but quickly removed it when he felt a sharp slap on the back of his hand.

“OW!” He pulled his hand out but leaned harder against the door. Wendy leaned harder against Buzz, yelling.

“Let us in!! We’re here for Angela!”

The vision of a man, long sweaty black hair pulled back from his eyes and draped over his shoulders, entered the small door opening. He spoke loud and boldly, with only a hint of fear.

“Who seeks His Majesty’s daughter? Speak and swear your loyalty upon this Holy sword!” Protruding through the door’s shadowy gap came a shiny slender object at belly height. Wendy rolled to her left to avoid it, and Buzz grabbed the ornately etched blade with his right glove. The blade easily bent in half, upward. The light on the porch showed it to be a child’s toy sword, one that would be worn at a costume party. Buzz spoke.

“It’s me Buzz, I’m back dude, let us in!”

Loud scraping and tinkling of broken glass echoed out the door as the doorman bellowed into the building.

“Hurry! Sir Buzz has returned with reinforcements!”

Wendy was pulled off her feet by grabby hands at her shoulders, sucked into a nightmare of smoke, debris under foot and flickering firelight, and shrieking screams of pain in the distance.

Buzz and Wendy were pulled quickly through the door, smoke billowing around them in a dark veil. Their breath was clearly visible in the air. Candles were lit and small sconces on the walls flickered from the chilly gust that heralded their entrance. No less than four men rushed them through the large room, toward the small room off the right corner.

The room was once a viewing room, with plush chairs, benches along the walls, elegant and colonial. Now the chairs had been broken up, wood piles stacked in the corners, and in the center of the room. The sofas were dragged toward the back of the room. Two doors were on the right wall, the first one closed, the far one open and full of people. A small fire was crackling and burning from within the fireplace in the far room. It was used as a meditation room, or counseling for distraught family members, but now housed over ten people, huddled together.

In the center of the room was 4 young men, in their late teens or early twenties. The oldest was barking orders out, and the others were linking shoulders together, and swiping at the air with crude wooden swords made from broken furniture. The man with long stringy black hair stopped the procession with a wave of his hand, gesturing to the practice leader. The tall, wavy-haired red headed man approached, with his drill team taking a rest. The black haired man in his early thirties sheathed his magic plastic blade.

“Eric, I’m taking Sir Buzz and his wench to see His Majesty”. He seemed to need Eric’s permission. Wendy’s mouth dropped.

“Victor, Tell my father we will be prepared to attack by tomorrow morning- God grant us victory.” Eric wiped his sweaty, sooty brow. He extended his hand, wearing a thick, leather fireplace glove.

“Sir Buzz. Will you join us? Things are desperate.”

Buzz smiled, but shrugged, unsure of what to say or do in a madhouse full of psychotics. Eric gestured to Wendy.

“This is all you could bring back? A serving girl?”

Wendy turned sharply to Victor. “Sir, you were leading us to His majesty?” Victor nodded, bowing slightly to Eric as he turned and headed toward the small room lit by the glow of firelight.

“Now we will practice charges!” Eric resumed his training. Buzz watched for a second, then joined Wendy.

As they entered the crowded room, Wendy noted the costumes worn. Everyone of the women was wearing either a peasant’s garb, or the rich medieval gowns of royalty. The royalty was sitting on what chairs and sofas were left, along the draped walls. The servants were acting out their part, stoking the fire and cooking something in a pot. In the center of the north wall was the fireplace. Two boys in their mid-teens were standing beside it, wearing shiny plastic breastplates, and plastic helmets with visors lifted up. They guarded the fire, only allowing the two cooking wenches to meddle with the flame. On the far right wall, to the east, in the center of the sofas, stood the podium usually used by ministers during a viewing. The old mansion, turned funeral home, was now turned into a war zone.

Wendy twisted the brass handle on the right Victorian door, and pulled. The double doors were made of light wood, and not particularly thick, but they were nearly three meters tall. Though unlocked, the door swung slowly, and Wendy had to shift her large leather tome fully into her left arm, to tug the door open.

‘Still no sign of buzz,,’ she thought, and peered into the large gap in the doorway. The room was still in good condition, little having been ransacked, or else the inhabitants had cleaned it up. A large dining room, there were two china cabinets, each wooden structure on its own wall. The china looked exquisite and old, shining in the light of the six candles burning steadily in the candelabra, in the center of the large dark wood table.

Three women sat at old, high back chairs, playing a card game. They were giggling, cackling, and not paying any attention to Wendy. Their costumes were Victorian gowns, nicer than some of the other costumes, more realistic. These dresses, with veils, hats, even the cigarette holders, would pass for authentic, and probably were. Wendy hoped these ladies were related to Angela, and their new “king”. She shuffled slowly up to an older lady in a beautiful maroon Victorian gown, and small black felt hat.

“Excuse me,” asked Wendy in a shy voice.

“Oh, yes dear, could you get me another mint julep?” The lady’s smile was honest and polite, but her eyes were glassy and hollow, unfixed, as if she was staring at a woman on a planet directly behind Wendy. Wendy realized this was not her fault, and she swelled with pity.

“Yes Ma’am, right away.” Wendy stepped around toward the small door into the kitchen, and noticed it was barred and locked.

“Shouldn’t I use this door?”

The lady sitting on the end, wearing a blue Victorian gown with white lace modesty, laughed. “Those witches would make you into a stew in seconds! I know one of them too! Mary lives in my retirement communi, commun,” The harder she chased after the thoughts of modern day, the faster they escaped her.

“My plantation, she has always been into the herbalism and such, best beware young lady! Goodness what you children will wear these days!”

“Um, yes,” Wendy thought quickly. “I needed to get a nice dress from Angela. You know Angela right? Where is she?” Wendy crouched beside the table, at the height of the older ladies. The smoke from the strange cigarettes in the ladies’ holders was thick.

“Oh, that poor girl!” The heavy lady in the blue dress visibly sunk in her chair. “They grabbed her, took her upstairs they did dear. They come through here sometimes, to sell things to the witches, and we charge them a royalty, we all must eat mustn’t we?” Wendy caught herself laughing, mostly out of politeness to the old lady. Her laugh however wasn’t typically quiet and mild, but more outgoing and social. This did not go unnoticed by Wendy, who wondered if she too was becoming affected by the ambience.

Wendy stood quickly and headed for the large double doors to the main room. She paused to smile at the old ladies that immediately forgot everything else in favor of their card game. She shut the door after her as she backed out.

The large guards in plastic armor and taffeta capes had returned and being taller and well built, easily slammed her against the wall, pinning her there with their bodies. Their breath smelled like coffee and Dinty Moore stew, and they’d been a while without a bath. They grinned to each other, slobbering mouths inches from her own.

Wendy shrugged her shoulders, struggling for any distance possible from the two large young men. She might have thought them good looking, in any other circumstance, now she just needed free.

“Buzz! Help me! Let me go!!!” Wendy protested. The thinner of the beefy men, on the right, smiled, his glassy eyes not totally focused.

“Eh,, what’s this then,, you’re either a witch come to kill us all, or a wench, eh?” His left hand was roughly pinching at Wendy’s semi-exposed right butt cheek, while his right applied pressure to her upper chest, stapling her to the wall.

“Wenches that gives kisses, gets to go, witches burn and gets eaten they does!” The wider and darker haired man on Wendy’s left side had nasty rotting teeth. She thought about the Indian lady from the store. In one second to be transformed into a gorgeous Indian princess, or to have the bad luck to actually become the facsimile of a medieval guard, breath, teeth, and what about his college education? This party was over 300 people, mostly college students, administration, faculty, and social climbers, rubbing elbows with one of the most influential families in the city. Now this likely college student was licking Wendy’s cheek, while his large dirty hand squeezed her left breast so hard she gasped. Tears welled, from the pain, the fear and the bad breath.

“Hearken to me! Release the girl or taste my steel!”

Buzz was holding the plastic sword of the king high over his head, in a threatening posture. On his head was a plastic silver helmet, with no visor, just open-faced. The two guards gasped in fear, and slowly peeled off to either side of Wendy. The man on the left spoke.

“We meanin’ no harm, Lord, she may be a witch!”

Buzz walked up to Wendy. He was calm, confident, unlike a few minutes ago. A quick glance to his eyes revealed the characteristic glassy, far away stare. She would have to be careful- though physically the same, mentally now he was Sir Buzz.

Wendy curtsied low, dropping her gaze and addressing the mentally altered Buzz. Buzz held out his hand, to be taken, or perhaps kissed. Wendy saw the growing snicker on the faces of the guards. Should she play this wrong, she could end up Sir Buzz’ wench, or back in the guards’ hands.

“Please Sir, your weapon and your helmet scare me, you look terrible and scary to me Sir.” She fought hard to hold back a smile. The weapon and helmet were cheap children’s toys. The guards must have seen something she didn’t though- they were positively in awe of the sword.

Sir Buzz dramatically removed the helmet, and stuck the sword into the small plastic sheath, bejeweled with colored plastic stones.

“There, gentle lady, be not afrrr,” Buzz stuttered. He blinked many times, while Wendy took his hand, leading him slowly toward the stairwell.

“Lord?” The heavier guard looked suspicious “Be ye bewitched?” His hand was hovering over a chair leg, broken off and stuck through his belt like a sword.

Buzz was waving them off, still shaky but walking quickly to the stairs with Wendy. The small capsule he had taken prevented him from permanent physical change, and his mental changes were immediately changing back, once he had let go of the costume articles.