The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Then

Maggie spotted the young woman from across the club, and could not take her eyes off her.

It was her hair Maggie noticed first. Every strand was perfect. It was a shining cinnamon-brown, mostly straight, and it was all piled elegantly on top of her head. Her lips were the perfect shade of crimson, with just the right tint to enhance and flatter her natural beauty without overpowering it. Her face had gentle curves; her mouth was relaxed into a deliciously playful smile.

The girl’s dark eyes flicked from one to another as she laughed with her three friends, and it took all Maggie’s strength of will to tear her gaze away. Many people have beautiful eyes, but perhaps one in a thousand have a pair whose depth invites you to stare, to fall, to drown. This young woman was in the thousandth of that thousand. She had the softest, most enchanting pair of eyes Maggie had ever seen. She couldn’t tell the colour from where she stood, but they were surrounded by mysterious shadows of eyeliner and mascara. The young woman was made up to perfectly enhance her natural charm without overwhelming it.

Maggie turned away and leaned back against a pillar, heart thumping in her chest. The cinnamon-haired girl’s face was fixed in her mind. Even the memory of her eyes was alluring.

Oh, why did I see someone who looks like that my first time at a club like this, Maggie wondered. Looking at her is addicting! But I mustn’t stare. I mustn’t invade her privacy or scare her away.

Maggie imagined herself standing face-to-face with her. The girl’s dark eyes would captivate her, mischief glimmering in them as Maggie let herself go. Maggie could lose herself in the sensational circles of pupil and iris whose magic spells would draw her in and hold her fast.

But whom am I kidding, Maggie thought. What’s romantic? Flowers, candle-lit suppers, walks in the moonlight. She’d dreamed so many times of sharing those things with a boyfriend—or a girlfriend, she supposed. But she knew from years of dating that no one else enjoyed holding hands the way she did. No one else loved staring into each others’ eyes the way she did, taking comfort from the fact that your loved one wanted you. Maggie thought such moments sitting before the fireplace and exploring each other’s bodies while maintaining intimate eye contact were priceless. The moments she’d had that in her life had been so few and so brief. She loved focusing intently on her loved one’s expressions. She thought it was romantic. Other people thought it creepy.

The cinnamon-haired girl across the club was one in a million for having such bewitching, seductive eyes. The possibility of her being another of the one-in-a-zillion people who would find staring into each others’ eyes for minutes on end to be romantic—well, it was too small for Maggie to hope for.

Maggie wanted to meet her, to go over and talk to her. How could she do that? It was difficult enough for her to approach someone sitting alone at a bar. The young woman was sitting at a table with her friends—two ladies and one gentleman. As one of the other woman’s arms was laced through the gentleman’s, Maggie hoped beyond all hope that the object of her fascination was unattached. But there was no indication that the cinnamon-haired girl and her friends wanted any more company. How could she go over and introduce herself without any mutual friends? How could she make a good first impression, out of the blue, when she had no idea what the other woman’s tastes were? How could Maggie possibly introduce herself without coming across like a desperate slut?

Maggie stole another glance. The young woman was wearing a black top with wide sleeves. A maroon corset wrapped around her midsection. From this angle Maggie couldn’t quite tell what she wore below, but she caught a glimpse of red.

The young woman was laughing again. What Maggie wouldn’t give to hear what her voice sounded like!

The cinnamon-haired girl’s gaze flickered over in Maggie’s direction, and Maggie quickly averted her own. Time to move, she thought, and she made her way to the dance floor. How can I make that girl notice me without scaring her away, she wondered. If she catches me staring, she’ll be terrified! She’ll think I’m stalking her.

After a few songs—perhaps ten minutes of dancing—Maggie decided she needed a drink. She was driving, so contented herself with tea.

When Maggie arrived at the bar, she glanced back at the girl’s table—but the young lady was looking right in her direction, and their eyes met.

The girl’s eyes were brown, a mysterious, unreal shade so soft and bottomless that Maggie could just stare at it for hours, searching for the depths within. It seemed as if the corner of the girl’s mouth twitched, and Maggie’s heart leapt into her throat. I must have imagined that little half-smile, Maggie thought. She swallowed hard, remembered to look away—oh please don’t let me scare her off, she thought—but when her eyes flickered back, the girl was still looking at her. No, Maggie told herself realistically, she’s probably just looking at something close to me. But the cinnamon-haired woman’s expression had changed. She was grinning like an imp.

Trying to get her breath back, Maggie looked at the floor. When she looked up again one of the girl’s friends was looking at her, too, a bit shyly. The other woman and the man were whispering and laughing. Oh, foolish to think the young lady might possibly have noticed me, Maggie thought. She couldn’t have said anything to her friends.

Then the young woman reached up and unclasped her hair.

Maggie almost died. She felt like she was in a movie and everything was pre-scripted. The young lady’s smooth-as-silk brown hair fell down behind her shoulders. She shook her head, and glamorous long tresses flowed around her face. With a few quick movements, the young woman ran a hand through it, and hooked the left side behind her ear. She drew the rest forward over her right shoulder. It covered her cheek and flowed elegantly down over her chest.

Maggie had no choice. The time for deliberation was passed. If she did not move, she would never forgive herself. Swallowing hard, and trying not to be too obviously smitten—she thought she covered rather well, but she could not be sure with those mesmerising brown eyes observing her—she made her way over to their table.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, Maggie thought. She wished she had time to check her appearance first! But there was none. Just put one foot in front of the other, she told herself. Be graceful!

All four stopped talking as Maggie approached. “Good evening, my lord, my ladies,” she said with a quick curtsey. “Pardon the intrusion,” she continued, her gaze sweeping over the three friends, “but I wondered if my princess—” now Maggie looked directly into the young lady’s soft brown eyes—“would join me in a dance?”

Maggie’s heart was pounding. She’d spoken with a confidence she did not feel.

The young lady grinned openly, the spark of playfulness never leaving her lips. “Why yes,” she replied, clearly surprised by Maggie’s terminology but not missing a beat. She stood, and taking Maggie’s hand—hers was comfortable and warm—followed her onto the dance floor.

The current song was ending, so the two women stood facing each other for a split second before the next one began. The sweet jazz of a familiar melody commenced. Once again Maggie felt like she was in a movie, and she was being given no choice but to follow the script the universe had written. It was a slow song.

The cinnamon-haired girl reached for her—both arms moving for her shoulders—but Maggie caught her right hand in her left as her own right touched her waist. Maggie was several inches taller, and almost certainly older. The saxophones’ easy song was reflected in the sugary touch of the young woman’s skin and the pleasantly surprised sparkle in her made-up eyes as their fingers curled together.

The young lady’s left hand rested easily on Maggie’s shoulder. She let Maggie lead, and the two stepped and turned easily to the rhythm. Maggie thought briefly of trying a more complicated step, but all such ideas soon passed from her mind. She didn’t want to change anything. She was in the moment, for they were looking into each other’s eyes.

The young lady’s gaze never wavered. Her eyes conveyed ease and comfort, openness and daring. She was willing to be there, to be interested, to try.

“Would my princess tell me her name?” Maggie whispered.

“Nia,” the young woman murmured back in a soft Irish accent.

Now

“I hit on you,” Maggie gasped. “I hit on you!”

Nia touched her cheek. “Yes, you did. I didn’t realise how nervous you were. You’re so romantic!”

“I guess I am,” Maggie said, blushing.

“What made you decide to go that night?”

“I dared myself,” she admitted. “I’d been thinking about it for weeks, going to a gay-friendly place, I mean. I never thought I’d hit on anyone. I never thought I’d get hit on. I thought I’d see what it was like and go home unimpressed.”

“But I impressed you?” Nia asked.

“Oh yes.”

Nia giggled. “You’re even sexy when you’re innocent.”

Then

They danced.

The slow song ended, but as the pace picked up Nia didn’t disengage completely. Instead, she kept hold of Maggie’s left hand with her right. They were the only pair on the floor, but continued to dance as a couple.

“My princess is a good dancer,” Maggie said softly.

Nia grinned. “Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself.” Then she added, “my sweet.”

Maggie grinned back and twirled her. Her heart was pounding, but the young woman’s easy flirting was making her feel more at ease. “Thanks for dancing with me!”

“Thanks for asking me,” Nia replied with a smile. “I don’t get asked that often.”

Maggie was dumbstruck. Nia saw the expression on her face, and laughed.

“No, most people ask my friend,” she explained.

“How could I not?” Maggie stammered, and made an effort to keep her voice smooth. “Your—my princess’s charm outshines anything I’ve ever seen.

“You’re gonna make me blush,” Nia said.

“If we were outside, my princess would outshine the stars.” Maggie wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say—she didn’t want to come on too strong—but then, what’s life without taking risks?

Nia looked away coyly, but Maggie caught a glimpse of the grin she was trying to hide. Nia didn’t mind flattery! Of course, everything Maggie had said was the complete truth.

Maggie twirled Nia again as the song ended, but did not release her hand. The music changed. The new song wasn’t slow, but it did have a more languid beat than the previous one. Nia took Maggie’s left hand again, and Maggie invited her closer with a tiny tug with her right. Maggie was reading the young woman correctly: Nia wanted to couples-dance, for her left arm went around Maggie’s neck. The Irish girl’s luxuriant cinnamon-brown hair tumbled over her right shoulder, flowing over her slender figure. Maggie would die to have hair like that: long and wavy, elegant in its simplicity. Her own hair was limp and mouse-brown. She always wore it in a braid.

Maggie could no longer look into Nia’s eyes, as she could see only part of the Irish girl’s face behind her cinnamon hair; but her elegantly clad body was very close.

“Most people gravitate to Alice,” Nia murmured into Maggie’s ear.

“She’s your friend?” Maggie asked as they gently spun to the rhythm.

“Yes—I’m usually her foil,” Nia confessed. “I’ve heard about the size of my thighs too many times.”

Maggie glanced down. Nia wasn’t tall, and she was slender, if not skinny. If Maggie hadn’t been so focused on her face during the previous dance, she would probably have stared at Nia’s hips. The way she swayed them back and forth reminded her of a cobra charming its prey.

“Are you kidding?” Maggie whispered. “You dance like a goddess.”

Nia’s arm tightened around her neck, and she touched her head to Maggie’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you.”

“I could dance with my princess all night,” Maggie said without thinking, and immediately regretted it.

Maggie started to apologize, but Nia had already said “You’re on.”

They both laughed. “I don’t mean to come on too strong,” Maggie added. She couldn’t believe she was being so bold, but it all came naturally.

“Hey,” Nia whispered. “Just be yourself. Let’s get to know each other.”

“Thanks,” Maggie confessed. “I was so afraid I’d scare you away, the way I was staring at you.”

Nia laughed again. “Don’t worry. I daydream about that.”

“It doesn’t creep you out?”

“Oh, it’d creep Keeran out,” Nia said, “But I like it. I like that you look at me that way.”

A new song began, and they danced without touching, facing each other. “The way you look at me makes me feel beautiful,” Nia told her.

“You are beautiful, princess,” Maggie told her honestly.

Nia smiled. “Go ahead, my sweet. Look at me. Look at me like I’m irresistible.”

So Maggie did. They danced, and her eyes never left Nia’s.

The young woman ate it up. Soon she was grinning, her soft brown eyes shining.

The songs slowed down. Maggie beckoned, and the two women moved into the classical position again.

“All right... best book you ever read?” Maggie asked.

“The Vampire Lestat. I like the Egyptian stuff.”

“Mmm-hmm.” If only I were blonde, Maggie thought.

“You?” Nia asked.

“Lord of the Rings,” Maggie said.

“Ooo—before or after the movies?”

“Before. I think I first read it when I was a teenager.”

“What was your favourite part of the movies?”

That was easy. “I am no man,” Maggie quoted, and dipped her.

Nia giggled as Maggie pulled her back up. “Yours?” Maggie asked.

“But I can carry you,” Nia quoted back at her.

“When did you first read Anne Rice?”

“I guess I was about fourteen.”

“My, you started early.”

“Vampyres are in my blood.”

Maggie shivered at her answer. “What?” Nia asked.

“Nothing.” The tempo sped up again, but they kept dancing close. “What’s your dream job?” Maggie asked.

“Hmm. Past or present?”

“Either.” Maggie spun her.

“I’d be a wise woman, you know, help people heal, help solve their problems. You?”

Maggie smiled wryly. “I would write music. Actually, I do write music.”

“Yeah? What’ve you done?”

“Didn’t say I was famous,” Maggie grinned.

Nia giggled. “What do you like to compose?”

“Honestly?”

“Honest.”

“I wrote some songs for a Goth band,” Maggie confessed. “A vampyre album. You’ve probably never heard of them.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Nia grinned.

The song was drawing to its end. “Why me?” Nia asked.

“Why?” Maggie was speechless for a moment. “The way you smiled at me. Your hair, your eyes, your face, your figure. That’s why. Not just your looks, but the way you move.”

Nia gave Maggie a come-hither look, her brown irises dark behind long lashes. Feeling a little weak in the knees, Maggie gave the other woman a quick hug, but Nia turned her head and caught her with her eyes. Maggie kissed the other girl’s cheek, and inhaled the incense-spice of Nia’s perfume.