The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Wow. I mean... just... wow.” Jessica breathed, glancing around the lobby of the five star restaurant. Classical music was being performed in the background, not from a recording or speakers, but from an actual orchestra in the far corner of the restaurant. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, marble pillars with gold inlays, and everywhere she looked she saw opulent yet tasteful reminders of the kind of eating establishment she had entered. She blushed hotly, glancing down at her clothes. She’d worn her best dress, the strapless powder blue silk with the ruffled fringe that she’d worn to the prom, but compared to the way some of the other diners were dressed, she felt as if she might as well have come in a ripped up t-shirt and faded jeans.

Noticing her discomfort, I grabbed her hand and squeezed encouragingly. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. It’s just Lorenzo’s. We eat here all the time. We ordered delivery from here while Nebby was in town, remember? Just relax, okay? I’m supposed to be the nervous one here.” I smiled a little. In hindsight, I probably should have lent her some of my own clothes. She was a bit bigger than me, but not by much. My own clothes were nothing overly special but they were designer labels.

“Katie,” she hissed softly in my ear, clutching me tight enough that it bordered on painful, “this is a five star restaurant! I’ve never been any place this swanky in my entire life!”

Huh? But wait... “You’ve been here before with us, haven’t you? I mean, um... um...” When was that, actually? “Last year, for mom’s birthday?”

“I wasn’t here. I was out of town visiting Aunt Raina that week.” She sighed, blushing even more as a man in a tuxedo, and a woman in a black sequined Prada dress walked by, staring at her disdainfully in passing. “Shit. I feel like a damned hobo next to these people.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” I apologized, squeezing her hand again. “I didn’t think you’d be so uncomfortable. I thought you’d been here...” I sighed deeply. “Never mind. Let’s just go, okay? We can go to IHOP or Carino’s or something.” I turned to head back towards the door, but Jess pulled back.

“Wait,” she said, with resignation. “No.... no. Let’s just... stay. We’re already here. And, well, I do like the food here,” she said with a small smile. “It’ll be okay.”

Shrugging, Jess and I walked through the main entrance into the lobby, where the couple from before were standing, waiting for the maitre d to return. The woman glanced up as we approached, giving us an obvious appraisal. She clicked her tongue loudly, and turned back to her escort, an obvious dismissal. By now, Jess was blushing as red as a tomato, and I, personally, had had enough. I’m normally not the confrontational type of gal by any means, but the way little Miss Snooty Bitch was acting towards Jess, who was already self-conscious, really pissed me off.

“Um, excuse me,” I said loudly, coming up behind the older well dressed woman. “Do you have some kind of a problem?”

The dark haired woman turned back to face me. “Are you speaking to me, little girl?” she asked in a bored tone that made me seriously want to knock out a few of her teeth. Growling softly, I began powering up my light, but Jess grabbed me by the arm, pulling me back.

“No, Katie, let it go,” she said soothingly, placing herself between me and the obnoxious woman. “It’s not worth it. C’mon... just try and relax, and focus on the rest of our night together.” The man chuckled ruefully, causing us to turn.

“Oh, Carmela, darling, don’t you see? They’re here together on a date!” The woman glanced at us again, turning her nose up.

“Yes... yes, Reginald, dear, I see it now, though I would have expected the butch looking one to be better dressed. Aren’t their kind supposed to be concerned with being neat and clean, and up on the latest fashions?“

“Ah, no, Carmela, darling,” the man replied. “that’s gay men. Gay women are a completely different kettle of fish.” They laughed, and this time Jess was the one who lost it.

“Of all the pompous, haughty, arrogant, self-important—who the FUCK do you think you are, you ugly, big-nosed bitch?” Jess yelled loud enough that the string quartet stopped playing. Normally, causing a scene big enough to stop every nearby conversation and make every head turn towards me would have been embarrassing, but right now I was too proud of Jess for standing up to the bitchy hawk-nosed tramp and her escort, and frankly, too pissed off to really care.

As for horse-face herself—eyes wide, mouth gaping in surprise, nostrils flared, she looked like she’d been struck in the back of the head with a two-by-four. And if there’d been one handy, believe me, I would have used it. “You... you... impertinent, low-class little urchin!” the older woman screeched. “I am the Contessa Carmela Elena de Ferdinand de Mansilla!” she replied, crossing her arms at her chest. “Just who in the hell do you think YOU are?”

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” a well dressed dark haired man stated, coming up to the podium. “I must ask you to keep your voices down, as you are disturbing the other guests. Now then, what seems to be the trouble here?”

“The trouble is these two shabby and poorly dressed young upstarts,” Reginald said with sneer. “I’m not sure exactly how they managed to slip past the doorman outside, but it’s obvious that two young women whose entire ensemble costs less than a single entree do not belong in a five star restaurant!”

“I see,” the maitre d replied with a frown, giving Jess and I a quick once-over, apparently agreeing. “And your name, Sir?”

“Reginald Van Smithe, the third, of the Richfield Van Smithes,” he replied smugly, “and the Contessa de Mansilla. We made a reservation for seven o’clock.”

“Hmmm,” the maitre d replied, skimming through the appointment book in front of him. “Ah! Yes Sir, Mr. Van Smithe, here you are. Your table shall be ready shortly. Terribly sorry for the delay.” Smile fading, he turned his attention to Jessica and I. “And you? Your names?”

Glaring a bit at Mr. and Miss Hoity Toity, I turned to face the maitre d. “Katherine Frasier and Jessica DuMont. I called a few hours ago, and Lorenzo said it was okay to come by for dinner.”

“A few hours ago, hmm?” the maitre d, murmured, glancing through his book. “It takes days to reserve a dinner reservation at Lorenzo’s Miss, not hours.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I do not see your names listed here, Miss... ahh... umm...” He froze suddenly. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?“

“Frasier,” I repeated again, crossing my arms at my chest, giving Jessica a quick wink. “Katherine Anne Frasier.”

“Frasier?!?” the maitre d gasped, jerking back from the podium, forcing a quick smile. “AH! Of course! Forgive me, Miss Frasier! Terribly sorry! Allow me to escort you to your table right away!”

“WHAT?!?” The contessa yelled, obviously upset. “What is the meaning of this? You’re letting these two go in, and you’re making us wait?“

“Yes, Madam,” the maître d said stiffly. “But do not worry, your table will be ready shortly.”

“That... that is not fair!” Reginald protested indignantly. “We were next!”

“That’s right,” Jess replied with vindication. “And after my girlfriend and I are seated, you’ll STILL be next. Have a good night.”

Veronica Albinn was half convinced she’d gone crazy.

Walking across the parking lot back to her silver Jaguar XK, she kept having the distinct feeling that she was being watched. As a former ninja assassin, her senses and reflexes had been trained to detect any and all possible threats, and to reach accordingly. Her well honed instincts had saved her life countless times before, and she’d come to rely on her ‘gut feelings’ as a way to survive.

Now, however, life was different. Putting aside her life as a contract killer, she had adapted to a new role as a heroine, a protector of the city and its inhabitants, as well as the role of wife and mother. True, she still used her fighting skills as the costumed heroine, Shinobi, but even then, most times the danger was obvious, and the threats evident. It was very rare that she was caught by surprise or unaware, and her dependence on her ‘gut instinct’ was virtually non-existent.

And yet, for the past several weeks, she’d have sworn someone was trailing her, stalking her, following her every movement. Several times the feeling had become unbearable, and she’d stopped, whirling around to challenge whomever it was, only to find some innocent, innocuous person nearby—a young child, an elderly woman, or a man on crutches. The incident with the handicapped man had been particularly embarrassing, as her nerves had been frayed past endurance and she’d struck out as she’d turned, knocking the poor man to the ground, nearly breaking his other leg in the process. She’d apologized sincerely, offering to pay any medical expenses, but the poor frightened man had hobbled away, wanting nothing more to do with the ‘crazy woman’ that had attacked him.

Which meant that her instincts were wrong. No one was after her. She was just paranoid. But the knowledge that no one was out to get her remained a moot point, as far as the rest of her mind was concerned. She remained skittish and guarded, always on edge. When she’d snapped at her husband and daughter for the third time for no reason at all, they knew something needed to be done.

“A vacation,” Parker had suggested. “A little R&R? It’s been ages since we left the city and our jobs behind and took some time off to ourselves. Mom’s been bugging me to come visit and to bring her granddaughter with me. So, what do you say? We’ve both got the vacation time to burn. Let’s leave this weekend and head up to Michigan for a couple of days.”

A good idea, and one that she’d truly actually wanted to do. But, she’d had a presentation to give today, so she’d begged off, telling Parker to take Lucy and head up without her, that she would fly out and join them in the morning. After they’d left, her anxiety had dropped back down again, and she felt herself relaxing a bit, as if the majority of her worry had been for their safety rather than her own. Nevertheless, the feeling of impending doom, of some unknown danger, persisted.

Maybe I should give Eva a call, she mused, starting her car, pulling out of the parking lot. I don’t really think I’m actually having a nervous breakdown or anything, but maybe she might have some insight into what has been bothering me these past few weeks. She sighed softly, making her way downtown, pulling to a stop at the red light. Huh. She’d probably just tell me the same thing Parker did... that I’ve just been working too hard, that between working during the day and spending my nights crouching over rooftops, I’ve spread myself too thin. And... maybe they’re right. I’m not as young as I used to be. I have a family now... maybe it’s time for Shinobi to hang up her blade for good. I mean, it’s not as if we’re really needed that much these days, with kids like Katie and Jimmy Frasier playing the hero game full time now.

She smiled, pulling in to the parking lot of the pizzeria. “Heroing is for the young, after all,” she said wearily. “And there are more than enough of the ‘new generation’ out there now to take up the slack.” Grabbing her purse, she slid out of her car, activating the auto-lock. She’d called in her dinner order an hour ago, so all she needed to do was slip in, pick up her food, and she could be back home again in time to catch her favorite show. “A night off,” she mused, slipping inside the shop, “might be just the thing I need.”

Across the street, inside a white van, Murase Sakura watched her through a pair of binoculars as she stepped inside the pizza parlor. Once the door closed, she tapped the radio transmitter around her neck. “She’s in,” she said simply, signaling the agents she had stationed around the perimeter. “Positions! As soon as she is clear of the building, we move in.”

“And here you are, ladies,” Lorenzo Aldo Giovanni Sinclair replied with a flourish, lifting the platter lid. “My latest creation—a chocolate raspberry crème Bomb.”

Jessica’s eyes widened in surprise, and I had to wipe a line of drool from my chin. “Oh my god! That looks totally awesome! It’s so pretty I almost don’t want to eat it!”

“Well I do!” I replied, grabbing my knife and fork. “Thanks, Lorenzo. This is way beyond cool!”

“My pleasure, Miss Katie,” he said with a grin. “Enjoy, and please, tell your mother I said hello!”

“I will,” I replied through a mouth of dessert, moaning softly, as the full taste hit my taste buds. Jess was having a similar reaction, shuddering slightly in pleasure. She glanced at me, shaking her head.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she said, licking her lips. “I think I finally found something I like more than having sex with you.” l laughed softly.

“Don’t feel bad. I feel the same way. Lorenzo is truly a genius.”

“Yeah, about that,” she said after another bite. “I would guess that the head chef doesn’t ordinarily visit the diners personally. I was wondering... why did he ask you to say ‘hi’ to your mom? Are they old friends or something?”

I blinked in surprise. “Really? I never told you the story? Lorenzo used to be our family’s live in chef. About fifteen years ago, he was just starting out, a recent graduate of the International Culinary Institute, and was trying to save up enough money to get hired on at a major restaurant in New York.” I grinned. “You know my mom, she’s not exactly the greatest cook in the world. When they hired Lorenzo, he was unsure, untested, but really eager to please. He had no references, no real prospects, but a lot of talent.” I took another bite of cake and sighed heavenly. “After three months, my mom fired him.”

“Wait, what? She fired him?” Jessica asked. “Why? What happened?“

“Nothing happened,” I explained. “He was, and is, just too good. Mom pulled him aside and told him that he didn’t need to be spending his time cooking for us, or working for some corporately owned restaurant chain. He was good enough that he needed to be out there on his own, sharing his culinary skills with the world. She encouraged him to start his own restaurant, and when he pointed out the fact that he had no money, no clientele, and no place to cook she cut him a check for half a million dollars and gave him the deed to this building.”

Jessica nodded, smirking. “Yeah. I can totally see your mom doing that. And I can see why you guys are his favorite customers. So, is your mom, like, the owner of Lorenzo’s, like a silent partner or something?“

“Nope. Lorenzo’s belongs to completely to Mr. Sinclair, lock, stock, and barrel,” I said with a grin. “All mom asked for was a private table, but he did us one better. Mr. Sinclair guaranteed an open reservation for any time, day or night, rain or shine, for any day of the week. Which is great, ’cause he’s a really good cook, and this place is always full.“

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth,” Jess said with a soft sigh, pushing her plate away. “Man, I am stuffed. It’s a good thing we don’t eat here all the time, or we’ve both weigh a ton!” As the waiter approached, and I grabbed for my purse, Jessica placed her hand on mine. “No, Katie, love, this is on me. I’ll pay. Our first real dinner date is my treat.”

Well, I appreciated the sentiment, but I was pretty sure Jess had no idea of what she was getting herself into. “That’s sweet, baby, but I really think I should get this one. You can pay next time.”

“Katie, I said I got this,” Jessica insisted, pulling out her billfold. “I’ll be handling the bill,” she said smoothly as the waiter arrived. “How much is it?”

The waiter handed her the small folded book. “Um, well, Madame, the total comes to $218.79 plus tip, but—”

“Two hundred and eighteen dollars?!?” Jessica nearly shouted, causing several nearby patrons to turn and stare. Blushing, she repeated in a quieter voice, “Did you say our dinner was two hundred and eighteen dollars?”

“And seventy-nine cents,": the waiter added. “But, Madame, the bill—”

“Jess, it’s okay,” I said quickly, taking out a credit card from my purse, placing it on the table. “I knew dinner would be around that much, so I brought my credit card. It’s fine. Like I said, you can play the next time.”

“But two hundred dollars? For dinner?” Jessica hissed quietly, glancing around the room. “Was the marble soufflé made with actually ground up marble or mother of pearl, or something? Was the Beef Wellington raised from the king’s royal pastures?”

“It’s a five star restaurant for a reason, Jess,” I reminded her. “Dining is expensive. You pay for the atmosphere and surroundings as well as the high quality good. And anyway, it’s pretty average—Dad and I ate at the Masa restaurant in New York last year, and it ran $330, and the food there wasn’t nearly as good as it is here.” I handed the waiter my credit card. “Please give yourself a thirty percent tip. And I’d like a receipt, please.”

“Ah, yes, well, thank you, Miss Frasier,” the waiter said, handing the card back to me, “But as I tried to say before, the bill has already been paid, by Mr. Sinclair himself.”

Awwww. How sweet! Naturally, I protested, not wanting to freeload or take advantage of Lorenzo’s generosity, but he, of course insisted. So, we graciously accepted. Heading out, we passed by the rude and obnoxious couple from before, still waiting to be seated. Our eyes met as we passed, and as much as I wanted to smile and gloat, I resisted the urge. Jess, however, had no such compulsion.

“Ta ta, darlings,” she said in a high nasally voice, mocking the Contessa. “Hope your dinner is as fabulous as ours was.” Whatever comment the bitchy blonde made was cut off as the door closed behind us, and we emerged back onto the street. Giggling, we headed towards the alleyway where we’d parked, when Jess stopped, cursing loudly. “Ah, shit! Forgot and left my purse at the table. Hold up a second, Katie, I gotta go back.”

“No problem. baby. I’ll wait.” I said nodding. Glancing up, I spotted a familiar figure heading our way. “Hey! Look Jess, it’s Mrs. Albinn coming out of Chicago Connection! I’m gonna go say hi to her. I’ll meet you back at the car.”

“Deal,” Jess answered back, sprinting back to the restaurant. I smiled, watching her move, particularly enjoying the view from the rear nearly as much as the one from the front. Man, I really had it bad.

“Hey! Aunt Roni!” I called out, waving. She looked up, and grinned, waving back.

“Katie! What brings you here?”

“Jess and I were on a date,” I replied. “Just had dinner at Lorenzo’s. You?”

“Picking up my own dinner,” she stated, holding up the pizza box. “About to head back home for a nice quiet evening in, and get caught up on this week’s Breaking Bad. I’m planning to head out of town tomorrow to meet up with Lucy and Parker at his mom’s.“

A sharp sting on the side of my neck caught my attention. I grabbed at it, feeling something thin and sharp... a needle? “Huh? Wh...” I started to say, when everything went... wonky. I blinked, the giggled, finding everything strangely funny.

“Katie? What’s wrong? Why are you... oww! What the... where?” Aunt Roni’s voice sounded strange. Echoey. And... silver sparkles danced on the edges of my vision... pretty sparkles...

“Sorry, Veronica Albinn,” another female voice called out. “I don’t think you’re going to miss your shows tonight. You, traitor, and your cute little friend are both coming with me.” She barked something else loudly, in Japanese, and several other people surrounded us. The world tilted crazily, and I think I fell... or would have, if one of the nice black clad people hadn’t caught me. Aunt Roni and I were carried into a big white van, as the dancing dazzling sparkles started to fade, going dark.

The last thing I heard, or thought I heard. as the darkness took me, was Jessica, calling out my name...