The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nesting Dolls

Chapter 2 – The Voyeur

Chloe groaned as she woke up. It had to be morning. It had to be some kind of strange dream that Shelby was a bimbo after hours, working at some sort of strip joint with some of the brightest women in Dallas. There was no way that it could be real.

Then she got a good look at her surroundings. TVs surrounded her on every side, showing every corner of the bar. Her... co-workers-to-be, she realized with a twisting rush of acceptance... were on every channel, strutting their stuff to stoned drunks. She recognized her boss with his arm candy of the week—and though the little blonde was stunning, Christina outclassed her just in the way her hips moved under her skirt as she brought them another round.

On another screen, Li pirouetted like a dancer through a thick knot of people, and her grace would have made a choreographer weep for its beauty. On another screen, Sofia giggled without sound as men ran their hands along the voluptuous curves of her body. On another screen, Shelby balanced a tray of appetizers against her chest, letting patrons fish little dainties out of her cleavage. On yet another screen, a redhead that Chloe didn’t recognize was at the bar, and some kind of drinking contest that seemed to involve her freckles was going on.

Chloe’s brain was still rebooting, and all the food and drink being consumed reminded her that she hadn’t had anything in hours. Her stomach rumbled. She turned her head as much as she could and saw the glass with the pink lemonade on it. Some instinct warned her that it could be poison, but her body overruled her after a quick sniff told her that it wasn’t alcoholic, and she downed the glass in two swallows.

Okay. What the hell is going on here? Job interview, then dopey perfume, then pretty lights... no, don’t think about the pretty lights... then absolute pitch blackness. Now it’s I don’t know what the fuck o’clock, my belt is missing, my zipper is down, I am in a room full of security camera footage that seems ready to turn into softcore porn at any moment, and I’m not 100% sure where I am. I should want to leave. Why don’t I want to leave?

Then she looked at the screens again and saw how hot the party was getting. Oh. Oh, my, she thought, watching as the flirtation levels increased sharply. Couples were making out. Singles were finding hook-ups in dark corners. The staffers wandered through like messengers, teasing with their legs and breasts, coming up to the groups that were about to lose their clothes and saying something to them that Chloe couldn’t make out from the footage. Some ignored it. Others snapped out of it and handed over their credit cards to pay their tabs, then left. But most went upstairs in the same trance she remembered watching her co-workers fall into when their Mistress came by.

“Oh...” she gasped. The word—the idea of having a Mistress—was making her wet, but it was the rampant makeouts and grouping that were making her hot. She’d never been so turned on in her life. She had had spring fever before. She had felt raging hormones before. But nothing like this. This took everything she had ever felt and turned it up to eleven.

Looking at the scenes of decadence unfolding all around her, she chose her boss to stare at as he caressed his date’s cleavage and ran a hand up her legs. Chloe felt her temperature rising as she watched the scene, and her hips thrust against the chair, seeking some kind of satisfaction. Wait. Zipper down means...

As her boss and his date were invited upstairs, Chloe remembered that she was unzipped and took full advantage of the opportunity to jam a hand down her jeans and finger herself, dreaming up a fantasy of what was going on on the upper floor. Her legs flailed, her hips pumped, her fingers twitched, and all she could think about was getting herself off as soon as possible. She was only peripherally aware of the shoes that flew off her feet and left skid marks on the wall, or the puddle of jeans and panties on the floor below her chair. Her eyes were locked on the show on the screen, and pleasure was all she could think about.

After a longer while than usual, she came—but unlike most times, instead of wanting to curl up into a ball and drift off to sleep, Chloe needed more. Much more. Arousal still pulsed lazily between her legs, drawing her mind down into heat and need. Then every screen showed the same thing—the staff girls, about twenty of them, all in pink dresses, being inspected by a woman she barely recognized—but that trace of recognition was enough to freeze Chloe in place. She needed more. She needed to be hit with the full presence of the woman she knew to be her Mistress, but there was no sound. Chloe scrambled for her headphones, but they were dead and silent.

Then she saw the vibrator on the table. Long, straight, and silver, it wasn’t her style, but she needed something between her legs, and this would have to do. As the girls marched up on the screen, Chloe inserted the vibrator. She knew now that the top floor was a sex club; she didn’t need Shelby working herself naked on the pole to figure it out, though there were worse things than Shelby working herself naked on the pole.

The guests were all down to their underwear, the men rock hard, the women dripping wet. An orgy was poised to happen at any moment, one that Chloe hadn’t been invited to participate in, but had been given the chance to watch. If there was regret, it was soon driven out by the relentless whirr of the cold steel inside her, fueling the fire between her legs. Her eyes were glazed, any attention she had left focused on the sex. Orgasm after orgasm, man after man, woman after woman—there was even some girl-girl play while the men were getting ready for the next round. She drank it all in helplessly, feeling every thrust, every touch, every stroke. Her eyes only moved to follow jiggling breasts and swaying cocks. She wanted. She needed. She came.

It ended in a crescendo of climax on the screens, everyone coming in succession. Chloe hugged the screen as she slid down the wall in release and fell to the floor, sound asleep.

The scent of her comforter was the only thing telling Chloe that she was in her own bed. She was utterly wiped. Getting too old for drunken debauchery, are we? she thought as she rolled out of bed, holding a hand to her throbbing temple. Sunday penance, I guess.

She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. A pink camisole was over her shoulders—hers, but nothing she’d ever sleep in. The hint of an idea of a memory buzzed in her head, but she couldn’t remember anything about Saturday except that she’d been hired at the Rooftop.

“Must’ve had one heck of a celebration with Shelby afterwards,” she muttered sleepily, staring at her reflection. Mmmm... celebration...

Whatever she’d done the night before hadn’t been enough. She needed more. Without conscious thought, she gave in to the fever, slipped off the camisole, went under the covers, and fucked herself senseless until her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out. When she woke up again, she felt how wet and hot her pussy was and didn’t even hesitate before starting the cycle again.

Around three o’clock, her lust had ebbed to the point where she could think about something other than sex. Wow. I feel like I should be glowing, she thought as she caught a glimpse of herself in the computer monitor. Whatever had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours had certainly left her in a good mood, and hornier than she had ever been.

She let the computer boot up and go through its eight thousand programs at start-up while she put on some real clothes and made herself a tuna melt. As she brought the plate with her sandwich into the living room, she heard the ding! of her e-mail and went to check it.

About last night, the subject read, and Chloe clicked it open.

Hey, it’s Christina.

Just wanted to tell you you were FABULOUS last night, and you’re gonna do great on Saturdays. Your first real shift is Friday night. 6:30! Don’t be late!

?

Real shift? Oh, right, the job at the Rooftop! Chloe remembered, then paused. I just squealed in my thoughts. Something isn’t right here.

She forced herself to look at the situation as rationally as she could. She was working at one of the top futures firms in the world, even if it was drudgery until she could get into trading. So why was a moonlighting gig at a club the opportunity that was only knocking once? And why did the idea of prancing around in high heels and a tiny pink dress for the purpose of getting strange men all hot and bothered arouse her so very much? Why did she love the idea of showing them her breasts and letting them grope and kiss and fuck her? Why did she want so badly to be good at this job?

She licked her lips, suddenly no longer hungry for tunafish. And they say the Internet is for porn... With that, she clicked open a bookmark she hadn’t used in a while, spread out, and had ad herself again.

The tuna melt was cold by the time she came back to herself, but she was so hungry that she ate it anyway, then made a can of soup for dinner. She checked the clock and decided that all things considered, she could call it an early night. She had work in the morning, after all.

Under the comfort of her familiar sheets, her hands felt instinctively for the warm wet heat of her pussy, and she let one last climax rock her to sleep.

By the time the morning came, her weekend was a memory hardly worth the bother of accessing, and that pleased Chloe. Deep down, she knew something had been done to her, that her mind had been violated and probed—but she had no memory, and with no memory there was no proof, not even enough to try to get a leg up on Shelby by outing the nature of her moonlighting to the boss. Friendship always fell in front of office politics, after all.

Alcohol is a hell of a drug, she finally decided as she went through her morning routine, rolled on her pantyhose, and slipped into a brown suit to get ready for work. Sharp, professional—she liked the way she looked when she left the house.

But by the time she got into her car, she wanted something with a little more pizzazz. She fumbled around in the glove compartment until she came up with the blood-red lipstick she usually only wore on dates and other fancy occasions. She also found the old vial of Smile Girl she’d once bought in desperation on a layover and saved in her emergency kit ever since. One spritz made her feel giddy, reminding her of... something... another strong-scented headrush she’d experienced not too long ago...

She shook it off and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. She looked good, and when she smiled, it was a grin of pure killer confidence. For the first time, she saw the Chloe St. John that she had always known she could be, not the kid barely out of grad school. She was ready to move up, and that meant there was no time to waste. She slammed the car into gear and tore out to start her day with a vengeance.