The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When the bus finally rolled up to the stop at Third and Oak, Ophelia let out a sigh of relief. There were two reasons, really— one, that she was finally getting picked up and carried away from that neighborhood at a time of night that was dangerous, and two, that there was a bus at all.

She dropped her change—her Exact Change, Drivers Carry No Money—into the slot and walked back between the seats as the Driver With No Money pulled away from the curb. She sat down about half way to the back; near the door but still far enough from the only other passenger to feel comfortable.

She looked out the window and watched the buildings pass by. She was drained, and it was just one more day in two years of draining. “It will be good to be home,” were the only words she had the energy to even think.

After a few moments she looked forward, and let her eyes scan the advertisements overhead. She couldn’t help but critique them... after all, it was her livelihood.

According to the signs, the world was the evening news, makeup, and military service, along with Gus Dunlap, who would be performing at Chuckles, a comedy bar at the unmarked border between downtown and the Victorian-era Grands. She wondered how she could “get prepared for a night of insane hilarity” when she couldn’t find the time or strength to do anything beyond work, much less find and go out on a date.

“Get prepared for a night of insane hilarity, while I serve in the Army tonight on Channel Four at six and eleven, because ‘L’amour du Jour Skin Care’ is how I show my face to the world,” she thought, with dryness that belied fatigue more than humor.

“Long ride at night,” said a voice from behind her. She turned around for a moment and looked at the woman sitting near the back.

“Yeah,” she said, turning back to face the front. She hated to admit it, but even as minimal as it was, it was nice to have something a little more interesting than “Franco’s Gym—Where Muscles Abound” to think about. She needed to get out more.

“It’s a good change of pace though, though, don’t you think?” This time, Ophelia moved her whole body, shifting sideways in her seat.

“Well, compared to standing like a hooker on a street corner at ten at night waiting for a bus, anything is a good change of pace,” she answered.

“Unless you find yourself on another corner. Some changes are better than others, after all.” The woman laughed. It poured into Ophelia’s ears like gentle rain. It had been a long time since she’d heard something that sounded so free of tension.

Its infection spread to Ophelia, who began to also giggle, if only from being slap-happy. When she was able to stop, she asked, “So what puts you on the bus this late at night?”

“Just heading home after a long day,” said the woman. “It’ll be good to get home, light a few candles and have some dinner. I might even get out the china.”

“Yeah,” said Ophelia, once again finding herself at a loss for words.

The woman stood and walked forward. Ophelia was a bit let down that her momentary conversation, such as it was, was coming to an end so soon with this stranger’s departure. She felt like someone crossing the desert who had been given a few drops of water, only to have the canteen taken away. But as the woman came up beside her, she sat down across the aisle.

With a feeling of relief that was a little stronger than the situation warranted, Ophelia asked, “So what kind of work do you do?” She winced, wishing she were more well-versed in the art of small talk.

“I talk for a living. I put my voice on commercials. It pays the bills, I guess.”

“Pretty competitive business. It’s not easy to make a living doing voiceovers.”

“Competitive, yes, but I’ve found that I’m in demand, and can charge higher fees. I’ve done pretty well just by word of mouth, I guess,” said the woman, smiling as if she didn’t realize the little joke she’d just made. “And I have other things I do that help make ends meet.”

“I guess you’re a persuasive representative, then. Most advertising agencies won’t hire anyone if they can’t see a history of immediate results,” said Ophelia.

“Oh? And just how would you know that?” It didn’t feel like a challenge, but a genuine question.

“I work for Grenoble and...”

“Cunts,” finished the woman.

“No, it’s pronounced, ‘coonts,’ even though it’s spelled K-U-N-T-Z,” she explained with a beleaguered patience that told of something spoken far too many times. She’d had lots of opportunities over the years. “Damn it—and it was so nice for a moment, too,” she added in silence.

“Shame. Cunts is much more fun,” said the woman. “Or is ‘are’ the correct word? I guess it depends on what the meaning of ‘are’ are. Is. Whatever.”

It was so unexpected that Ophelia broke into laughter that pushed itself through her nose before breaking her lips open in a smile. “Well, I’ve never heard that before,” she said between giggles.

“You have to laugh, or you get bitter. My own name is something I’ve had to deal with for years. Leslie Anne Cummins. You just work for a company. You can imagine the comments I get.”

“I don’t know about that. I think Ophelia Kuntz is at least as bad.”

“Oh, my God!” said Leslie, leaning back and laughing. Again the sound tripped over Ophelia’s ears like music. “What are the chances? Oh, Feel Ya Cunts and Lesbi-anne Cummin’—together at last!”

Ophelia knew she should be offended—would have been, normally— but somehow, late at night and tired, it just tickled her even more and she joined her bus-mate in gleeful giggles as they laughed their way past the next six bus stops.

One of them was Ophelia’s.

“Oh, crap, crap, crap! I missed my stop! God, I don’t want to walk all the way back there!”

“Well, you could just ride with me and take the bus back on the return trip.”

“No, I can’t... I need sleep!”

“Yes, you can. Look, the turn-around is only about ten miles out, and I don’t get off until there, and... well, I’m enjoying our conversation. I was kind of hoping you were, too.”

“Oh, I am, but... oh, hell. It’s ten blocks by now. And yes, I’m enjoying it, too. I don’t get a chance to talk to people outside the agency anymore. I guess maybe it’s a good thing my car wouldn’t start this morning. I guess if you don’t mind...” Ophelia sat back, still wearing a frown, but she could feel her mood shifting back to something more pleasant.

“Good girl. This will give me a chance to pitch myself at you.”

“Considering our names, and at least my lack of anything but hetero orientation, that isn’t necessarily the best choice of words, Lesbi-Ann,” said Ophelia, grinning.

“Coming from anyone else... it would be disgusting for you to call me that,” said Leslie, shooting back before her eyes widened and she added, “God, it only gets worse, doesn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not so bad. At least people remember our names,” said Ophelia. “But listen, I really don’t do business outside of the agency.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “Here. This is one free pass to my office, where you can show me your stuff.”

Leslie grinned.

Ophelia blushed. “This name thing really does kind of change the whole nature of a conversation, doesn’t it.”

“Funny you should mention that,” said Leslie. “That’s really how I do my work. I have this knack for changing minds by changing the nature of communication.”

“You’d have to,” agreed Ophelia.

“No, I’m talking about something more profound. Like this: ‘You may think you’ve felt everything there is to feel, but when you ride on the Metro Transit System, there is nothing like the happenstance, electric touch of another passenger. It’s like you get the secret pleasure of a shared memory... or is it the memories you will create together? Come find love on the Metro.’ ”

She brought her hand up from her lap, fingers brushing the back of Ophelia’s hand as she took the offered card.

Ophelia trembled as a spark of pleasure moved up her arm and spread in tingles over her scalp. Her eyes closed as it moved through her head. She could almost taste it on her tongue, paralyzing it as a tiny, breathy moan pressed out of her lips.

When she could speak, she opened her eyes and said, “Wh-what the hell was that?”

“A beginning,” said Leslie, smiling. “A change in communication.”

Ophelia’s eyes grew slightly wider. Lips. Full, luscious, inviting lips. Wet, hungry lips that...

“... long to be kissed,” said Leslie.

Ophelia shook her head. Had Leslie been saying all that?

“You see, Ophelia, there really is no way to resist me, once I have decided to change your mind about something. Once you’ve started to listen, even a little, there’s nothing that can keep you from becoming mine.”

“What the hell is this? What’s happening to me? Why is my pussy getting slick, and why is my clit talking to me in a whole new language?” Ophelia’s brain shouted at her.

Her mouth opened and worked for a moment before she spoke again. “This isn’t right, Leslie. I need to get off... the bus, I mean... I...” She reached up to press the signal ribbon, but her hand was sluggish.

She fought the sudden lethargy of her muscles, and started to make some progress, but somehow, the strip didn’t seem to be getting any closer.

“Stop.”

Ophelia stopped.

“Look at me, Ophelia.”

Ophelia struggled to find something to distract herself, but her head seemed to turn on its own as she followed the command. It was as if Leslie were talking not just to her, but directly to her muscles, to her arms and legs, and breasts, and... “Do not go there,” her inner voice warned. But in knowing that it was a place for her thoughts to go, it was already too late.

She felt a sudden flow of juices in her center. Her flower. Her pussy. Her... cunt.

“Listen to me. I am not just a woman. I am... let’s say I’m in tune with nature. You might call it magic. To me, it is just the way of things. It is the way of things for you, too, now. Once touched, always mine. And the longer you are mine, the more joyful you are. The more pleasure you feel in making me happy.

“I didn’t create the rules. They are a matter of nature running its course. Your surrender, love and obedience to me are as sure as the sun rising in the morning. Feel it as it spreads through you like the familiar warmth of thoughts that come to you as you awaken in the morning.”

Ophelia tried not to feel it, but in the act of trying, only felt it more strongly, seducing her, calling her like something that had been alive in her, hiding underneath the facade of her day-to-day life for... for longer than she could remember.

Leslie’s voice returned, like the joyful cascade of a waterfall, filling he mind, making her forget she was on a bus, trying to get home... home was an abstract concept... so changeable... it was Leslie who felt like home, she realized, as if she had been missing something so present, so far beyond obvious, that it had all but disappeared from conscious thought.

“This is the truth, and you have no choice but to believe me. It is so painful to not believe, always worse and worse pain, in your emotions, and in your body... but it is such pleasure and bliss to accept the truth, pleasure that only gets stronger and deeper. More blissful. By morning, you will not be able to imagine how you lived without me. By this time tomorrow night, your life before will seem a horrible nightmare by comparison.

“You are beginning to see that already, aren’t you.”

Ophelia was near tears. She didn’t ask for this, didn’t want it. She didn’t want to be a... queer. She didn’t want to be a... lone. Alone. She didn’t want to be alone. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t want to be subject to... to...

Everything she’d known before. But it wasn’t bad before, was it? It wasn’t... good, either. So alone. So desolate. How had she not known, not seen? “Ignorance is bliss...” intoned a stray thought.

She felt more than saw the truth of it. Of Leslie. Of love. Of obedience. Of pleasure. They were all the same thing. She moaned again, but more loudly this time. Even the vibrations from her throat worked in concert with the changes coursing their way through her, arousing her body and consciousness.

“Yes, I see it,” whispered Ophelia, tears falling down her cheeks as they broke free. They were no longer tears of fear, but of something else. Maybe it was mourning for the part of her that could no longer claim happiness in being alone... no, it was more. It was the prospect of being without Leslie.

“We are destined to make love. To let go and share completely. To fuck like bunnies. To taste the most forbidden pleasures that only two women can share,” crooned Leslie.

There was no denying any of it. She could feel each word, each truth travel to the center of her brain and sprout, spreading through every conscious and unconscious particle of her existence, bonding in ways beyond her ability to express.

“My voice is a hot tongue caressing your clit. My scent is a drug that melts your mind and reshapes it into a vessel for my will. Obeying me is pleasure upon pleasure. It consumes all that you are, until you are nothing but a part of me, of my voice, of my simplest and most complex thoughts.

“It is beyond mere bliss. Each new vista of love, lust and pleasure is tied and bound to me. No matter how you feel pleasure and delight, I am the Source. If you take a hot bath, I am the water. If you walk in a meadow, I am the breeze and the smells that delight you. If you masturbate, I am your fingers, your toys. If you enjoy a glass of wine, I am the warmth and the flavor. If you take a lover, it is only through your bottomless devotion to me that your pleasure comes. So it is with all things.”

Ophelia’s eyes rolled back into her head a she writhed from the words, no longer able to think, but only to feel the power and truth that was Leslie, writing herself, her will into the life, the soul that was Ophelia. Her nipples hardened and her clit sang a sharp song of wanton need, screaming lust into her open mind.

Orgasm, the pleasure of Leslie, shattered the last of her resistance, filling her with a trickle, then a stream, then a river, and then an ocean of abandoned pleasure, her toes and fingers clenching as she screamed in hot, needy throes of bliss, head thrashing, pussy and asshole pulsing and clenching, unaware of the bus, the driver, or the passing streetlights... there was only Leslie... Leslie, who gave her all meaning, all truth, all pleasure, all...

She disappeared into the lightning-fire of lust and complete surrender as her body convulsed in endless climax.

She felt a touch on her hand and opened her eyes.

“Ophelia, are you okay? That must have been some dream.”

She shook her head and tried to clear out the cobwebs. She shuddered as an aftershock of the most incredible climax of her life told her that at least that part was real.

“What... I...”

“It’s okay. You were just really tired, I guess.”

“But Leslie... I... you...”

“We’re almost at my stop. I have to get off, now.”

“I...”

“Hey, would you like me to take you? Back to your stop I mean.”

“Um, Leslie, I... no... I don’t know,” stammered Ophelia, too embarrassed to even begin to explain.

“What?” said Leslie, looking at Ophelia with genuine curiosity.

“Was that... did you... um...”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking. I asked to audition, and you gave me your card. Is that what you mean?”

Ophelia could only glance into Leslie’s eyes, still blushing at the amazing dream. Already she was starting to mourn its passing. She closed her mouth which had been hanging open, loose and wet. It had all been an odd and stupid mirage of the soul. She really did need to get out more. God, it had been so good. It was painful to even start to let it go, to doubt the reality of what had happened.

Leslie gave a little shrug and reached inside the waistband of her long skirt, as if searching for something. She pulled her hand back out and waved it under Ophelia’s nose. “Or do you mean this?”

As Ophelia’s mind melted at the scent of Leslie’s essence. Joy and bliss called to her like a hungry lover... it was real... it was... shaping her... her core, her existence into something receptive completely to Leslie’s desires, Leslie’s will. She had a fleeting thought of wondering how she had ever lived without this woman in her life, without her guidance and direction... without the love and purpose she gave.

Leslie looked at her new soulthrall in appreciation. She had taken many women throughout the city, and some had even moved away over the years, spreading her influence like a delicate web across the country and around the world.

But Ophelia... was special. She had barely used her power at all to enrapture her. And once she felt the full force of Leslie’s nature, they would be bound together for all time, and even beyond the gates of death. She had found her vessel, her handmaiden.

Her heart was overflowing with joy... and hot, burning lust.

She stood and held out her hand. Ophelia took it gently, her body rising as if pulled by unseen strings from above her.

As the bus came to a stop, the driver stood, faced Leslie, and gave a respectful nod of recognition before departing so that she could get a quick cup of coffee across the street.

“I think we both should get off now, Ophelia. It’s time to ride each other. It’s time to take your place with me. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” It was the only word Ophelia could say, could even think, as she followed her destiny up the aisle. And as she followed Leslie down the steps and onto the street, and as they began to walk down the block to the abode she knew would soon also be her own, she had but one thought.

“Oh, it will be good... so good... to be home.”