The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

THE HAZARDS OF HYPERIA HARDNOX

Chapter 2 — In Position

Our heroine, Hyperia Hardnox, has assumed the identity of Lascivia Lavender, femme fatale leader of SLEAZO! We now follow her as she steps into the lion’s den to face a surprisingly personal peril....

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Hyperia parked in the gravel lot at the end of a long winding driveway. The site was just as the mission notes described it—an abandoned industrial park where an unused building could be acquired cheaply and used without attracting attention. Just the place for the SLEAZO conspirators to set up shop.

Nobody was in sight, but she was in the viewfield of at least two security cameras. From now until the mission was done, she had to stay in character and look natural.

A quick scan with her cell phone would look natural enough; as far as anyone watching could see she was simply checking her calendar or reading her e-mail. In fact, she was trying to hack into the site’s wi-fi network.

It didn’t work. She hadn’t really expected it to, but it was worth a try. She could use the phone’s special hardware to jam the signals if necessary, but not piggyback on them.

She climbed out of the car slowly and carefully. Part of her preparation had been to practice wearing the shortest heels and longest skirt consistent with this masquerade. She could kick off the shoes if she needed to run or fight, but all she could do about the dress was to ignore the persistent feeling that she was one false move away from a wardrobe malfunction.

She walked toward the door with a sign identifying it as “Jackson Chemical Supply’s”. It was spelled correctly in her notes and the county records; perhaps SLEAZO had just hired the cheapest sign painter. Standards were slipping everywhere, she thought ruefully.

Getting back to the matter at hand, she went to the door and pressed the intercom button.

“Hello?”

“Is Ginger Butch there?” she replied, giving the expected greeting mentioned in one of the intercepted messages.

“Just a moment.” Footsteps approached, and the door swung open. A short muscular redheaded woman in a security guard uniform stood in the foyer. “Ginger Butch speaking.” She leaned forward to take a look at the ID badge hanging around Hyperia’s neck, taking much longer than necessary and allowing her gaze to wander considerably afield of the little rectangle.

“This way,” she said, slipping her arm around Hyperia’s waist. She couldn’t help stiffening a bit at the overly familiar touch. Did this woman know—or perhaps “know” in the Biblical sense—the real Lascivia Lavender? She told herself that the question arose out of professional concern for maintaining her cover, not prurient curiosity.

She forced herself to relax, and put her own hand on Ginger’s hip. That, based on everything she’d read, was what the real Lavender would do in this situation. Ginger responded by giving her a quick squeeze as she continued to lead her down the corridor.

“I got your message last night,” Ginger said.

Hyperia gave a vaguely affirmative mumble. She’d received a final intel update an hour ago; the only outgoing message from Lavender’s account since yesterday morning had been the Agency’s forged e-mail telling the lab to expect her three hours early. That must be the message she meant.

“I decided that I wanted to get this done as soon as possible,” Hyperia added, hoping to steer matters toward the business at hand and away from Ginger’s personal attentions.

“Oh, absolutely!” Ginger replied in a mischevious tone. “Here we are,” she continued as they stopped at an office door. The nameplate read “Ginger Butch”—apparently, it was her real name. “Some parents need to be slapped.” Hyperia thought as Ginger unlocked the door and led her inside.

“Have a seat,” she said, waving her toward a large recliner that looked very out of place in the otherwise spartan room.

Hyperia sat down. Ginger took a cell phone out of her pocket and fiddled with it.

“This is the new toy I told you about.” The Agency’s interceptions file didn’t include any messages from Ginger Butch, nor did it mention anything that seemed to fit this comment. Apparently they’d missed at least one communication channel.

“Officially, it’s a security measure, so I was able to put it on SLEAZO’s budget,” the redhead continued as she swiped her fingers over the screen and then stabbed one down.

The phone beeped—and curved brackets sprung out of the chair to enclose Hyperia’s neck and wrists and ankles. She gasped.

“I know I should have shown it to you first, but I just couldn’t resist. If you don’t like it, just say the word and I’ll let you out.”

“Let me out!” Even as she yelled the demand, Hyperia realized that it wasn’t that simple.

“Say the word...” Ginger purred. “You know the rules. Once we get started, I’m your butch and you’re my bitch unless you say the word.“

According to her notes, Lascivia Lavender always set the ground rules for her sexual encounters in advance. She preferred it that way, so that the event itself would feel spontaneous. Last night, in communications that had somehow evaded the Agency’s surveillance net, Lascivia and Ginger had planned this rendezvous in detail. That plan included some secret safeword, without which her protests would be dismissed as play-acting.

Hyperia had walked right into their kinky game completely unaware. When she got back, she was going to turn the Signals Intelligence department upside down and roast somebody alive.

First, though, she was going to have to get herself out of this predicament.

“I mean it! Let me out of here!” She yanked at the restraints as hard as she could. They didn’t budge. “I’ve got work to do!” she exclaimed, trying another tack.

“I don’t think so...” Ginger sing-songed as she opened the bottom left desk drawer.

Generic protests weren’t going to do any good... though they might be necessary to stay in character. She didn’t know the safeword that would end the game. Saying that she’d forgotten it would definitely blow her cover—the real Lascivia Lavender had a photographic memory and a habit of smugly showing it off.

Her eyes widened as Ginger Butch held up a long knob-ended wand.

“Are you ready?”

“No! Please!” Hyperia told herself that she was just playing along while she tried to think of something, not crying out in panic.

“Well, I’m ready, and I’m in charge here.” her captor said matter-of-factly as she began squeezing a tube of pink gel onto the rod. “You can say ‘no’ as much as you like. It just makes me hot. And, deep down, it makes you hot, too. You’ll see that when I change those ‘no’s into ‘ooohhhh’s.“

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