The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I.

These were not the kinds of streets one would readily be caught traversing at this late hour. But Lucy had had little choice in the matter. Her efforts to move up in the company she worked for had met with initial old boy’s club resistance but with percerverance and hard work she was beginning to break it down. But to realize her ambitions sacrifices had to be made. The trappings of success, the accouterments, all the things that made appearance outweigh actual skill had to be taken into consideration and adjusted for. And Lucy who had scrounged and loaned her way through business school nights wasn’t willing to let appearances hold her back now. So all the three hundred dollar business suits and briefcases, business cards, makeup and hair styling took priority over lesser priorities like ...living. Once she moved on up she’d move on out of her digs on the wrong side of the tracks and into something nice and swanky uptown. But still, these late night trips home through this neighborhood always were somewhat unnerving. At this hour it was too quiet. Even the drunks and panhandlers had retired to their boxes and stairwells and were well off the main thoroughfare. The streets were empty. Filled only with shadows of unrealized but well imagined menace. Her imagination always kept her company in the darkness. It had become her constant companion. Thankfully her only companion. But tonight the shadows moved in a way that was not imagined. The shadows, as if responding to her long played out imaginings offered up a new companion. A man. Not of imagination or shadow, but of living flesh!

Lucy felt terrible fear. Her immediate and primal instinct was correctly to flee. Run from the darkness that seemed to radiate from this strange and fearsome man. Take a different course well around him. But that meant going into the side streets and alleys and that was more immediately threatening than someone who hadn’t even really seemed to take any notice of her. She slowed her pace to try and assess the situation better without getting so close she couldn’t change her mind and flee later. He was well dressed and of average height. Clean shaven from what she could see in this light and certainly didn’t carry himself like he was some sort of rum pot or deranged drugged up masher. His expensive looking (clearly custom tailored, nothing comes off the rack and fits like that) business suit precluded his being a gangbanger or anyone else from the hood. At this inconsistency she inwardly suppressed a slight nervous laugh. He had nothing about his appearance that she should fear, and yet he really seemed out of place, like a fish in a desert, or something equally incongruous. And that was what made his presence the most disturbing. Meeting another uptowner here. In fact it kind of fueled her hyper active imagination,more so than the empty shadows had. After the initial if slight relaxing at seeing something familiar. He was still an unknown and a strange one at that. For a moment her fear completely stopped her from proceeding. And feeling suddenly awkward and inconspicuous she absurdly made the “casual” gesture of opening her compact to powder her nose. She suddenly felt both absurd, and afraid. This mental arrangement was no better. Feeling completely stupid now she hurried on, meaning to pass the fellow at the most respectable distance possible without further embarrassing herself. He still barely acknowledged her presence. She was past him and on her way now. She began to relax. Her pace further eased when he heard no footsteps following.

It was only then he made a polite sound to draw her attention. She stopped, her heart stopped. A cold irrational dread overcame her. No good could come from an encounter this late, on this street. She didn’t want to be tomorrow’s headline, or a missing person, or worse.

The man seemingly sensed her fear. He smiled his most non-threatening smile and made no movement or even slightest of gestures towards her. Time seemed frozen as the awkward moments passed. Actually only seconds, but they seemed so much longer. He made his initial move without ever physically changing the distance between them. He mentally measured the distance at about twelve feet. She obviously couldn’t see this calculation. He searched around inside himself for something useful. He found something; sympathy. He chose to gently radiate that to mask his true nature. Lucy felt sudden unexplainable... sympathy? It made absolutely no sense but he was somehow tragic standing there doing nothing but look menacing. Her instinct was still to flee this dark man in this potentially dangerous dark place. The lighting, the remoteness, the hour all made this route home and such an encounter bad ideas. She tensed, like a rabbit confronted with a large hungry predator. He in turn continued to do absolutely nothing in a most menacing manner. He searched down deep inside, he had all the fear he needed. No more was required or desirable, but he needed to take some of hers even if he had to let go of something more valuable. He made a choice. Pity for fear. A bad trade under even these circumstances, but she had intrigued him and he wants her badly. Like a jilted lover, like a wolf upon a hare, like an empty soul needing filling. Such sad eyes she observes. Such big sad doe eyes. So much pain there. And a need.

He curses silently that he has no love to give her. Love is so rare. Lust is so common and crude, but that isn’t appropriate here. At least not at this moment. Lust does not last. It fades even from him. There is none anyway so the thought is simply a wasted moment. He sees the fear returning. Her instincts are good. The instinct to survive, flee an unknown danger. She is no deer in his emotional headlights. She is a frightened alert rabbit. Fear will make her flee, not freeze. His thoughtful hesitation has nearly cost him his opportunity. He curses his distraction.

“Excuse me”, he begins. “I appear to be... lost. Could you perhaps help me?” His tentative smile and arching eyebrows give him what he hopes is a desperate needy expression. He has had much practice in looking one way or another to heighten the effect of his very special charisma. “I am afraid that I find myself in a part of town I would have avoided after dark.” he smiles more widely, he see’s he has anticipated her very thoughts. A furtive theatrical look around, mimicking her own uneasiness. Purely for effect. He knows now that she will help helpless things, he has seen the motherly instinct. Felt, tasted it. The one that will easily overwhelm the instinct to flee. He licks delicately at her tender concern, but takes none. He needs her to feel this compassion. “I fear I was nearly accosted a few streets back by some unsavory looking ruffians.” She is impressed with his gentlemanly manner, his defenselessness, his being so out of place in these surroundings. He is a creature out of his element. He is certainly not dressed to be walking in this part of town. Even some of the more aggressive drunks in a pack might consider him an easy roll for a few bucks.

“I’m not really sure I can help, but my name is Lucy. I live about ten minutes from here. What the heck are you doing walking around here after dark?” Quickly he moves forward, like a fluid flowing into a space. He smiles gratefully, almost too fast to be seen he extends a hand. It is warm and tender, so grateful, even a little scared. Her feeling reflected back and misinterpreted. He mirrors her and she feels comfortable with what she sees. “I, my uh car, broke down.” It made sense. She feels suddenly silly at all the things that have run through her mind. She half realizes that a second hand, a more powerful and self assured one, has closed over hers. Strong but grateful. Slowly he releases his grip. Letting this advantageous moment pass, one where he had the advantage further eases her. He has refined his approach to an art. Now, he takes the last of her fear. He gives her in return momentary peace and a warm fuzzy motherly feeling of comfort. She takes this lost little fledgling under her wing. Like a baby bird fallen from its nest she is going to do what she can to keep it safe. She cannot leave him to the mercy of these streets. She does not stop to consider that it might be in itself a baby predator. So often in nature the most beautiful or helpless looking things are not what they seem. Beauty masking a predatory nature. He has such big sad doe eyes, such soft friendly hands, such a gentlemanly manner. Such a desperate need which she interprets to be for help.

II.

When Lucy awakes in the morning she is completely emotionally drained. She is naked. Both emotionally and physically. Her emotionless eyes slowly open. The apartment is cold and dark even with the light that filters between the dirty gray smog stained building stacked one upon another like dying plants smothering the sunlight and each other. She is indifferent to the cold, indifferent to her unusual lack of modesty, indifferent to what became of her “fledgling”. She doesn’t bother to concern herself with the fact she has overslept and is late for work, the overdue rent, all the pointless crap that is her pointless life. She doesn’t even seem concerned that she has been a willing sex toy. As all her openings attest she has been well used and repeatedly. Like a high priced whore or worse a blowup sex doll. She was very bad, very willing, very enthusiastic, very emotional, like an animal. He even entered her like one at least once she could remember. When had she become promiscuous, and started having sex with complete strangers? She is not concerned with the fact that this is not in her nature either. Or her catholic upbringing, which she followed and fervently believed in until last night when she had been done unto and done unto another like the whore of Babylon herself? Had she begged him to beat her, use her? She just continues to lay there completely content to remain completely indifferent. She is a deep empty hole, full of his essence. She is a void from which nothing escapes. And likewise she doesn’t care enough for anything to enter. She closes her eyes and sleeps. Slipping into her own darkness. It requires no effort, which is what she cares to expend.

III.

In a charming little sidewalk cafe’ a very average but impeccably well dressed man savors the warm fuzzy feelings of the previous evening over a cappuccino perfectly made. He sips lightly at the frothy liquid while drinking in the sea of emotions surging past in the street and on the sidewalk. There is such a wonderfully delicious quality to the frantic morning migration. Their emotions are agitated like a cappuccino’s froth. The analogy amuses him. The froth is the best part. They are plain old boring decaf by lunchtime. Everything gone but the quiet desperation, and a sense of pointlessness. No croissant on the side or rich cream. Coffee, plain black. Hold the sugar and the will to really live. For a moment he thinks he almost feels pity of his own for them, but realizes it is just a residual of the wonderful evening he has spent. He is warmed by (Lucy’s?) touching concern. He wishes he had saved her, savored her over many nights. But the need had been more immediate. She had wetted his appetite; and hunger had blinded him to his gluttonous frenzy. She really had enjoyed being set free of her self inflicted restraints. To give of herself. To give herself. So much of her had had no outlet. And once tapped she flowed out into him. She was a puppet dancing lithely on emotional strings. She had willingly taken him in, in every sense. She was a spigot full open. And she danced well at his every emotional command. Still, It was rather sad. A body, a mind like hers had so much more to give. He reached inside to experience some of the sadness in a second hand vicarious manner. He had none of his own, but had saved some, set a little aside for such occasions. It is rare for him to indulge himself in this manner. He samples the sadness that was undoubtedly her life or someone else’s, he could not be sure. While the feeling lasted he was satisfied; that he had helped her to live, if only for one night. But sitting there in the warming sun amid the multitudes that muddled past the cheery little cafe, a feeling overcomes him. It is delicious. It is strong. It is more than a mere snack as the girl had been. It is a (model?). Such contempt and conceit could maintain him for days, maybe weeks. And she won’t be missed as the whole world thinks she is a bitch. So delicious.

He absent mindedly drops an obscenely large tip onto the table, humoring himself with this facade of humanity, and follows the sweet dark emotions into the crowd. “Lunch... is... served...” he whispers haughtily as he begins to follow. “And she will serve...” he muses, “So many of my needs she will serve.” Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t fill up on appetizers after all...” he muses.

He is not referring to the cappachio and croissant.