The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Stop now, and step away from the edge.” The voice spoke flatly, but the blinding lights made it impossible to see who was speaking.

Although her face was shadowed by an overhanging hood, the figure standing illuminated in the glare, precariously close to the roof’s edge, was clearly female, her form fitting clothing cutting a trim athletic silhouette as she continued pulling on what appeared to be very loose coveralls, made of some light, almost shiny material.

“We know who you are and why you’re here,” the voice continued, “and it’s o.k.; we can work something out.”

The woman, having pulled the fasteners on the garment tight, stood to face the lights, a defiant air emanating from her pose as the lips of her shadowed face curled upward in a smile.

“No fun, are you, boys?” She spoke with a taunt.

Standing, boldly facing those who had her surrounded with one hand on her hip in mocking arrogance, it became clear to all present that the suit itself was tightly fit, and it was the sides, something under the arms which gave the appearance of extra bagginess.

“Oh shit!” the voice gasped, “Stop right there!” Those holding the lights rushed forward.

The red lips shone full as she threw her head back, and with a laugh, turned toward the edge. “You gotta die of something, boys! Ciao.” Suddenly, the edge of the roof was empty as the figure seemed to drop away into the darkness.

Reaching the edge, the strong lights probed the darkness below, seeing only empty lawn below. “She jumped, she fucking jumped,” a new voice spoke, “suicide; we were going to give her a deal and she offs herself.”

“You think so?” the first voice asked. Somewhere in the dark night, a flapping, like a flag in a strong wind, could be heard.

Brooks sat quietly, admiring and scrutinizing the striking creature who sat opposite her. The industrial spy and professional thief was herself well known for her looks, with her angelic face and bright brown eyes framed by a short bob of jet-black hair. Her tall, slim, dancer build suited her work, giving her a certain grace when she moved, and an air of something almost dangerous, like the face of an innocent girl placed on the body of a hunting cat.

“That was some piece of work you did in Chicago last month” The Beauty spoke, her soft, dark eyes seemed to flash as she spoke, looking deep into those of the woman sitting opposite her. Seeing no easily discernable reaction, the heiress took another delicate sip of tea.

“Was it?’ Brooks smiled, looking down briefly into her swirling coffee and back into those equally dark eyes. Sipping coffee, and glancing absently at her plain-seeming PDA lying face up on the table, she studied the other woman, who sat looking at her with those dark eyes, those eyes which seemed to see all with a hint of underlying intensity, even as the woman herself seemed outwardly soft. All the while, Brooks was running through a mental checklist and comparing it with what she saw sitting across from her.

Beren Omenaa was thirty-one years of age, Turkish born and educated at both Princeton and Cambridge. Her father had passed away when she was a child, and she had lived most of her adult life with her aunt, travelling extensively. She was active in a number of humanitarian causes, and had recently taken the head of her family’s vast international holdings after her mother passed away earlier in the year.

In her mind, Olivia Brooks knew this was her, the woman’s eyes told her more than anything else, those inescapable eyes shining out from the soft face of a Princess. The PDA, or so it was meant to appear, showed her the rest, the woman had come alone to this sidewalk café, as agreed, and there wasn’t a hint of electronic surveillance anywhere. Brooks smiled and took a deeper drink of her coffee.

“Are you satisfied, Miss Brooks?” the eyes flashed again and the face flowed into a warm smile, almost absently tossing her long black hair with a slight movement of her head.

“Satisfied?” Brooks smiled back; she was trying to get a fix on the woman’s accent. Obviously she’d been living in New York for some time, but there was something—or several somethings—not quite entirely worn away, giving her songstress voice a layered, slightly exotic quality.

“Your gadget and your friend over there pretending to be a waiter have no doubt confirmed that I’ve indeed kept my end of our agreement,” Beren gave a slight nod toward the serving counter where a waiter and waitress stood chatting.

“Go on.” Brooks returned her gaze. She knew it was on the level, but in her line of work you didn’t stay free by being the first to lay your cards on the table. Oh, Alex, you wore those shoes again, didn’t you? she thought, wondering just what overlooked, tiny detail had blown her lookout’s cover.

“I wish to hire you Miss Brooks—or may I call you Olivia?—to conduct corporate espionage, because that is what you do, and do very well. Now you may relax, because, having told you of my highly illegal intent, I am now in a far more dangerous position than you, and were I a cop trying to set you up, you would need only ask me and, were I to lie, any evidence collected here would be inadmissible in a court of law.” Somehow the softness of her features didn’t quite contradict the deep knowingness of her eyes as she sipped her tea and waited.

“Please call me Brooks.” She hated the name Olivia: only people she didn’t like were allowed to use it, and the beauty seated across from her, with those wonderful dark eyes, was somebody she somehow wanted to like. Everyone she knew called her Brooks—or Brooksie, which the few she really liked sometimes used.

Security was tight here, very tight, as Brooks pulled herself over the edge of the roof and lay pressed flat on her belly, listening, feeling vibrations and catching her breath after the long climb.

The job itself was a strange one, hired a month before by an heiress to investigate her own recently inherited corporate holdings, which literally spanned the globe. A very large deposit had been made in her numbered account to cover expenses (she had quietly moved the bulk of it into three separate accounts in different banks to protect herself further) and an entirely free reign had been granted. The only stipulation had been that the investigation be a quiet one, using passive means at first, to determine which locations merited a less passive inspection.

Her client, Beren Omenaa, had taken over the family holdings, which included an extensive shipping network, multinational manufacturing and agricultural operations, and several massive call centers in the Far East. The family had also been an early mover in Internet-based business, including news agencies, matchmaking, job placement, and online studies. Brooks had spent an entire month just analyzing it, and wrapping her comprehension around the sheer magnitude of it all; this massive business entity which no one seemed to have ever heard of, and had never offered stock on any exchange.

As the apparent sole owner, Miss Omenaa was one very wealthy, very powerful woman, making her someone Brooks was both deeply interested in, and also wary of. People with such vast power could help you, or they could destroy you, with no effort at all. So far she had found no reason to doubt her client, though, this highly educated, graceful Princess she had only met once. The woman had been thrust into control over something she had never really known existed, and so far had been unable to find out just how vast it truly was.

There had also been two kidnapping attempts, both failed, which, investigations discovered; had used assets owned under her newly acquired empire. She simply wanted to know what it was that she owned, something someone within those holdings didn’t seem to want her to know.

Spying on her own client was something new for Brooks. Normally she was hired by one corporation to steal from another, or to uncover the efforts of a rival to steal. Usually the booty was information, and often, after she had stolen from one, that firm, instead of taking action against her, would hire her for their own espionage aims.

She knew that even if she were caught, jail time was highly unlikely, given that everyone in this high-powered world had a use for her skills, which was why she never carried weapons: they created more complications than they solved, and people who used them tended to be very bad for business. If caught, she knew that there would be a dark room, and interrogation by some company security officer, with the accompanying threats and intimidation, which, after she endured without revealing her employers, would end in her release, and subsequent hiring under a new contract.

It was a strange game, and she loved it.

She slowly began to move, almost snakelike across the smooth surface of the roof, pushing a small backpack ahead of her and constantly scanning for cameras or other sensors. Security in this place—a huge call center complex—was exceptionally tight, which was one reason she had selected it for a closer look. Her first attempt, simply showing up to apply for a job, had not met with success; in fact, the way it had failed had piqued her curiosity even higher. She had not met with refusal; actually, she had not been able to apply. The female security guards had simply turned her away, telling her there were no openings, and refusing to tell her any more. In that brief time, her trained eyes had noted that the security measures seemed directed inward, rather than outward. What was it they didn’t want getting out? She wondered.

It also seemed very strange that, given the huge workforce the place must house, it only had a relatively small parking lot, and only four ground level entrances, which were not arranged to accommodate high levels of traffic, but were very well guarded. Climbing the seven storey, nearly windowless, gray concrete structure to gain access to rooftop ventilation systems had been her only option.

The vast, glowing hive of constant activity that was Mumbai stretched out below her, and nearly as far as she could see, far to the west she could see headlights streaming along the Bandra worli sea link, gateway to the Arabian Sea beyond.

With the huge city in full festival mode, it had been relatively easy for her to move about unnoticed; her fluency in both Urdu and Hindi hadn’t hurt either.

She reached her first objective easily, a low square structure standing about a meter above the roof surface, with a metal hood stretched over the top: the central ventilation port. Standing in its shadow, she peered over the side, into a seemingly bottomless shaft; luckily, there were handholds leading down one side. Her scans showed no indication of electronic surveillance at all, something which struck her as odd—but then, everything about this place seemed odd, deepening the mystery, and, like the sparkle of a priceless gem, she couldn’t resist its pull.

After securing several bundles of gear—including her wing suit, street clothes, and coil of climbing rope—to hang under the metal hood of the vent shaft, out of sight, she began her descent down into the building, carrying only a small shoulder bag full of equipment. Like the stereotypical cat-burglar, she wore a black, tight-fitting turtleneck and tight-fitting black leggings, with split-toed ninja boots for quiet movement and enhanced grip. At her waist, she wore an elastic belt which supported a small assortment of tools in pouches.

It was a long descent before she began to see openings, but, nearing them, she began to sense a vaguely floral note in the air, something almost familiar, but that she couldn’t quite place, but it was definitely getting stronger. There was music coming from somewhere, not loud, but also becoming clearer.

Carefully, and quietly she moved into the largest of three ducts which led off from the vertical shaft. The music was more noticeable here, a rhythmic mix of lightly plucked strings and woodwinds, not completely unlike the traditional music she’d heard that day in an open air marketplace she’d visited in the city—partly a real shopping trip and partly to keep up the appearance of the tourist she was posing as. This music had a somewhat different flavor to it, and a constant, almost pulse-like drumbeat.

It could be felt, as well as heard, but somehow wasn’t loud.

Looking out through a vent, into a large room below, she was in awe. The scene seemed pulled from another world, like something straight out of the Arabian Nights. It was a huge floor, with tapestries of red, gold, and blue draping from every wall, and ornate, arched doorways leading to who-knew-where. The air was thick with perfume and the sudden burst of color blurred her vision briefly before her mind caught up again.

What drew her attention the most were the women. They were everywhere, walking among tables, each seating eight, all of whom wore phone headsets and looked at computer monitors while their fingers typed away. It the nature of their attire struck her immediately: all of them were dressed identically, wearing light blue draped halter tops, and shalwar pants of sheer blue fabric, with, apparently, nothing underneath. At their foreheads, the faint glint of a silver band supporting a gleaming blue gem could be seen.

Slowly she began to notice a few who were dressed differently. Several women she could see wore veils which obscured the bottom portion of their faces, and blue sheer skirts over their similarly see through pants.

Then she saw them, two women moving among the flow of blue, wearing gold accented black dresses, which hung just below the knee and shone like fine silk. Their heads sparkled with a thin gold circlet supporting a rolled black veil which hung loosely under their chins, framing their

perfect faces. At the center of their foreheads, the gold bands held a brightly glowing white jewel. The blue-clad women parted like the sea to let them pass.

Brooks realized after a while that she had been watching motionless, lost in the scene for quite some time, her mind falling in with the musical rhythm which seemed to drive the whole place. Shaking her head, she looked at her watch. “Damn,” she spat, and wondered where the last twenty minutes had gone. There was something else, a sexual something, growing within her, which she did her best to brush aside. Hell of a time to get a case of the hornies, she thought, and shook herself again.

To the side, a bank of computer monitors caught her attention: at each sat one of the blue clad women. Somehow, she knew, she had to get access to the computer system, the nature of the place seemed to present complications she hadn’t faced before, but the job was still the job and she would adapt as she always did.

Moving off through the ductwork, she took time to peer out each vent, looking for likely points of entry away from view, and each time it was easy to fall into the rhythm of the place, and hard to pull herself away. All the while her body screamed with sexual heat. The strangeness of this place seemed to have no end, but she had a job to do, and there was no thought of turning back.

Dropping to the floor in a defensive stance, she looked around quickly and determined that she was alone.

The room was draped with tapestries of fine silk in black and gold, with the sparkle of jewels everywhere. Along one wall there were four beds, each with a small console, and two pairs of headphones hung on hooks. Along the far wall there were shelves with neatly folded garments, also of black and gold, with eight pairs of elegant gold sandals.

Turning toward the only door, she saw that next to it stood two chairs, each of which would have been at home in a dentist’s office, if it weren’t for the sparkle of gold and jewels, and … she froze, realizing something: in the seat of each chair was a large, very prominent phallus, which, though apparently retracted, seemed ready to spring upward at any moment to impale anyone who happened to sit down. At the head were more headphones, and what appeared to be some sort of visor.

Her eyes drifted back to the thing which protruded from the seat, and it took her several long seconds to realize she was staring. And a few more to realize that one hand had slipped to her waistband and was slowly inching its way down, while the other was making languid circles on one breast to the rhythm of the music which thrummed through the whole place. She let out a long slow breath, exhaling the strongly perfumed air.

Then there was a sound, the door was opening.

Shit! her thoughts screamed, as her reflexes drove her backward to the wall opposite the clothes. She quickly slipped behind a veil of black silk which hung down the wall.

In strode a pair of the black and gold-clad women, followed by two more. The first two began to slowly remove each other’s garments while the other two stood at attention. Brooks could feel the music pulsing from the wall, and was able to wonder why her thoughts were so heavy, and her body so turned on, but watching the fluid motions of the now naked women as they very slowly smoothed oil into each other’s glistening skin pushed those lesser concerns away. At each of their wrists tinkled delicate glass bangles with just a hint of gold hue about them, and at their foreheads the white jewels pulsed with an inner glow which kept time with the rhythm Brooks could feel, as well as hear. The black veils framed their flawless, engrossed faces perfectly.

Brooks realized she was touching herself again, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to want to stop, or be compelled to wonder why. In her mind, she knew something about the music, and the place itself was affecting her mind and body, but, hidden as she was, she wasn’t moved to worry. What she was seeing filled her whole attention.

“Ödül,” the two who stood at attention spoke in unison. Brooks heard the word, but didn’t recognize the language it came from, but the effect on the two who stood, glistening with oil, lips locked in a passionate kiss. Their legs buckled slightly as their bodies shook, and a small bit of liquid streamed down their legs as their bodies convulsed closer together.

Brooks realized only too late that her own sigh had been made aloud. Two heads, then two more, turned toward her, from their foreheads the white jewels pulsed as if feeding light directly into Brooks’ mind.

“Davetsiz gelen misafir,” four sets of deliciously glistening lips spoke in unison; again, Brooks didn’t understand the words, but the pulsing lights filled her mind, “heykel gibi hareketsiz.” These last words tingled through her, seeming to touch every part of her through the pulsing light. She realized that she couldn’t move any part of her body. “Halim selim,” the four faces which filled her vision spoke again, and suddenly she felt a wave of soft relaxation come over her, and the fact that she couldn’t move a muscle didn’t concern her at all.

The two stunningly radiant women who glowed with the sheen of oil parted and turned; ignoring the intruder hiding at the far wall, they walked to the chairs and sat down. Slowly they placed the headphones over their ears and seemed to melt softly into the chairs while their clothed companions and the frozen intruder watched silently. The visor swung down over their faces, their forehead jewels and gold circlet aligning perfectly with its top edge.

“Keyif,” the two seated women breathed as one when the chairs came to life and the appendages in each seat extended slowly upward into their waiting folds.

Slowly Brooks realized that the other two women had moved and were now standing directly in front of her. They were very beautiful, one with long auburn hair and one with hair that shone like the silk tapestry Brooks had used to hide herself.

“Esir,” when they spoke, Brooks felt the unfamiliar word shiver through her body and mind, carried by the wonderful, warm light. “Halim selim,” again, Brooks was suddenly awash in soft calm as she allowed the pulsing light full access to her mind and body.

The auburn-haired woman slowly reached to her gold-laced belt, and brought forth an ornate circlet braided of fine silver mounted with a gleaming blue gem at the front and a rolled veil of soft blue sheer attached at either side. The golden-haired woman reached out with both hands and gently lifted Brooks’ hair while the other lowered the circlet over the frozen intruder’s head and guided the rolled veil so it hung low and just under her chin.

Brooks couldn’t move at all, but a warm sense of calm filled her whole being.

The metal felt cold and then warmed quickly as it touched her skin and the women stepped back slightly, allowing the hair to settle back on her head. The circlet seemed to shrink slightly until it encircled her head in with a snug, slender ring of pure silver, and she felt a blissful tingle spread through her whole body.

“Itaat etmek,” the new words echoed through her receptive, docile brain. Obey, her mind told her; she would obey.

“Evet Denetleyici,” her mouth moved, “evet hazırım.” Within her mind, she knew she had just told her controllers “yes… yes, I am ready.” A wave of warm pleasure overflowed through her body and mind, blotting out all else, all else but the beautiful, radiant faces of her controllers.

“Bizi izleyin,” the controllers spoke, and obediently, without a word, she followed them out of the room.