The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

❧ September 24th. Friday.

The inside of our new house was as beautiful as the outside. The foyer was huge, it looked almost as big as our house at home. It wasn’t as big as it looked, just the effect of all those pillars and beams arranged to guide your lines of sight, but it was still larger than any room I’d ever seen in a private house. Around the edges of the room were two grand, curving staircases that led up to a balcony around the edge of the room. The floor below was black and white marble tiles, a chessboard made irregular as the occasional grey slabs interrupted the pattern. Above, concentric rings of glazed gothic arches reached up to the apex of the glass roof. And just below the top, what at first glance looked like a glittering chandelier then turned out – as the light shifted to allow a clearer focus – to be a polished silver bell.

Hannelore was the first to stand in the middle of the floor and look up at it. “There’s no clapper,” she said. I walked over to her, shoes click-clacking like the tick of a clock on the hard tiles, and looked up. That’s the big difference between me and my half-sister; I was caught up admiring what was clearly a work of art, with detail too fine to even see from so far away. She looked at what was there, and immediately saw the flaws. Well, that was one difference; the bigger one was that she was way more studious and less hedonistic than the slut I’d been at her age.

“It’s on the outside,” Jim pointed, and though I didn’t really understand bellmaking, I could see what he meant, “They call it the Colonial Bell, though it was some rich guy’s folly a hundred years ago, nothing to do with colonies.” The bell hung from a fine metal frame of concentric rings, probably what had made me think of a chandelier. Among the spokes and struts, though, was a heavy double-hammer shaped like crab claws, or a pair of baroque compasses. The chain attached to that, presumably, would make the bell ring.

“That’s why this place is called Bell House, then,” Alex smiled. She was standing beside Jim, with her hand resting possessively on his thigh when she was sure dad wouldn’t notice. A few months ago, I would have expected that to make me jealous, even if I wasn’t sure who I should be envying. Now it seemed so natural: I love that crazy punk girl, and I like to see her doing whatever makes her happy.

Off the main hall, there were two doors beneath each staircase, and two doors on either side of the upstairs balcony. Short corridors led to flats that could just as easily have been self-contained, if Jim hadn’t bought the place and decided to make it a house. He showed us the shared areas first; the doors under the stairs led to a kitchen and dining room on one side, and a luxurious bathroom on the other. The fixtures weren’t new, and weren’t as clean as I would have hoped. But I knew that was one of the first things Jim had planned to replace, so wasn’t such a big deal. Also on the ground level was one door which had “Kiva” chalked on the door already, a guest room, a lounge, and a door whose little brass plaque proclaimed it to be a ‘drawing room’. As I stuck my head in, not quite sure what to expect, I found it was a reasonably spacious chamber lined with bookshelves on all sides. The ceiling was higher than I would have thought possible, certainly higher than in the hallway outside, so I guessed there must be a half staircase somewhere upstairs.

I was looking forward to checking out the rooms that would be my home for the next year or more, and idly wondering if I might be able to steal a long enough moment with one of my loves without my dad and sister looking in. As we came back out into the vast foyer, I turned right to head up one of the arcing staircases that defined the perimeter of the room. They were made of what looked like olive green marble, with grey and black flecks just beneath the surface. But the click of my shoes on the steps wasn’t resonant enough, they must be just some kind of veneer or plastic. Along the edge of each step was a thin copper-coloured runner, and a double line of small black and white checkered tiles. The handrail was copper too, in some places smooth and in some places with a worn-looking green tinge on the surface.

It was a beautiful feature, and as I danced up the steps I thought that maybe it was symbolic of the house as a whole. Beautiful, the work of a master, but left to decay. And yet as soon as you looked at the details, you knew there was something that would be worth all the effort, all the different skills required to repair it. I wondered if that could represent our relationship, too, in the way that poets always seem to do. Certainly, it had a lot of different elements that had come together in just the right proportions to make a whole. And there were all kinds of exciting possibilities waiting in unexplored, dark corners of my psyche. But the house was old and waiting to be restored, and what could that symbolise?

Master Jim, I giggled as I thought of it. He was old, austere, and mysterious; and had been granted a new lease of life with two college girls. I spun round to tell him what had come into my mind, already trying to guess what kind of punishment I should be looking forward to, and only then realised that I’d been hurrying upstairs on my own. Everyone else had stopped in the foyer, face-to-face with a stranger. He must have been standing in the doorway, and I’d got too carried away with the poetry in my head to notice.

From here, the scene was like something from an old western. The stranger stood opposite Jim, with everyone else further back in a rough half circle. He even had his hands at his sides, slightly raised as if planning to make a quick draw. The impression was made all the more appropriate by a long grey-brown coat, with mud and dust marks around the hem in almost the same colours, and a wide-brimmed hat. I was just wondering what kind of clothes shop you’d go to for that kind of odd ensemble when the stranger doffed his hat and twirled it between both hands. As he looked around I saw slightly unkempt shoulder-length ash blond hair framing cheekbones more high and delicate, and eyes more insightful, that the rugged frontiersman my mind’s eye might have conjured.

“Everyone,” Jim made a grandiose sweeping gesture like a non-contact hug to include the whole extended family, “This is our flatmate Julian Chesterfield, who’ll be taking the suite on the far left. Jules, this is Alexandria Wellington, and the charming young lady smiling at you from the balcony is Olivia Norton. And this is Olivia’s father, Mick, and her sister–”

“Half sister,” she interrupted petulantly.

“–half sister, Hannelore Bridport-Norton, always a stickler for the facts.” My little sis glared at him, but light-heartedly. He knew she didn’t really care, it was some silly inside-joke that I didn’t think was worth thinking about any further. Me, and dad, and Hannelore, were family. Any details beyond that were irrelevant, and over the past few months Jim had come close enough to be considered part of the family too. Who knows, though I knew I was letting my imagination run away with me when I thought like that, maybe in a few years Jim would have to introduce her as his half-sister-in-law.

“I’m so pleased to meet you all,” the stranger – Jules – spoke softly, with the faintest trace of an accent that must have been oriental originally. That wasn’t what surprised me, though. The shock was in the tone, high and mellow, that was surely too high for a Julian’s voice. Juliet, maybe, but… My train of thought juddered to a halt. Had Jim ever actually told us that Jules was a guy? He…she…they had an androgynous figure, with no sign of feminine curves, but their heart-shaped face was one I’d call ‘pretty’ more readily than ‘handsome’.

Juliana? Julienne? I guess there were a fair few feminine names that could have sounded like Julian if my ears were expecting a boy. I just couldn’t be sure, though, and that was more disconcerting than anything. I ran back down the stairs to introduce myself properly, hoping that things would be a little clearer once I got a closer look. I called out as I dashed down: “Hi, pleased to meet you.”

For a moment about halfway down the stairs, I glanced to my left at the glistening brass banister rail. Somehow, in this impossibly elegant entranceway, a crazy idea came to mind. Maybe it was one too many silly old films, from when I was exploring the dusty depths of Alex’s video collection, or maybe there’s something intrinsically inviting about a brass banister. Not today though; I didn’t want our new flatmate to think I was nuts on first meeting. She could learn that if she ever found out half the stuff I was really into.

A moment’s distraction was all it took. One foot caught the edge of one of the shiny steps at full speed, and before I knew what was happening the ceiling with its ornate glass dome wheeled overhead as my legs shot out from under me.

Cartoons lie. There’s no stupid little birds fluttering around your head, or stars and planets. Bone on stone doesn’t make a humorous clang, and you don’t just stand up again a minute later feeling dazed. You’re flying through the air, don’t even have time to think why the world is spinning, and then there’s a bright light. People talking, but the words don’t seem to make any sense. A fuzzy moment of confusion where you don’t need to think or to wonder what’s going on, where it doesn’t matter where you are because everything’s a dream.

The pain rushed back and I closed my eyes against the harsh white light. It didn’t help much, I could see every vein on the inside of my eyelids outlined in burning pink. Then the light went away, and I heard a voice say “I think she’s okay.”

I opened my eyes again, and the bright light was gone. Jim was leaning over me, penlight in hand. Alex, Jules, and Hannelore were clustered behind him, while I could hear the tap-tap-tap of dad’s work shoes pacing somewhere behind me. My first instinct was to ask what happened, but that would just be too cliché to believe; almost as bad as asking Where am I?

“I guess you’re managing to focus OK, so it seems there’s no harm done,” Jim was talking to me rather than about me now, and I gave a little smile despite the dull pain spreading through my head, “You slipped on the stairs and bashed your head on the bottom one pretty hard. Do you remember? Doesn’t look like anything’s broken, but you need to let us know straight away if you start feeling dizzy or anything.”

“Good thing we’ve got a doctor in the house,” Jules said, “I bet that must hurt like heck.” I lifted my head enough to nod, and winced as the dull ache of a bruise throbbed through the whole of my skull. I still felt a little dazed, but he – or she – seemed slightly amused, and I couldn’t figure out why. I guess this was the kind of thing that ends up on those ‘Funniest Home Videos’ shows, and everybody laughs at some poor girl getting her brains knocked out, but surely you wouldn’t smirk at seeing someone actually hurt. Then a lightbulb came on in my head; another example of cartoons being nothing like reality, but it did feel like some switch had been flipped and I suddenly saw what I’d missed. ”A doctor in the house”. Jim didn’t have ‘Dr.’ on his business cards, and he never introduced himself as a doctor. Was Jules commenting on his sudden rush to first aid? or was that a sly reference to Doctor Darkside, crafted to escape my family’s attention?

Then I noticed that Alex’s concerned expression included a raised eyebrow. As soon as she realised she had my attention, she nodded towards my legs. I realised that in the fall, my skirt had ridden up almost to my waist. Certainly far enough to expose my panties to anyone directly in front of me, adding embarrassment to injury. I tugged the hem down quickly, and wondered who might have seen. And then I saw Master’s lips shape the word “Sorry,” and a locked memory came flooding back.

”You like the new underwear I have bought for you, and I know you like surprises. So you’re going to find yourself wearing those panties on the day you first visit the new house. You won’t even remember that anything special is happening, until me or Alex, or anyone else you show them to, comments about the words on your crotch. You know you will love the surprise, you will become so horny the moment you realise that you’ve been completely unaware of the words you are wearing. You will know how deeply those words will affect you, and because the thought of that excites you so much, you won’t need to know what they will do. And because you are waiting, once you are aware those words are there you will become more and more excited at every moment until you hear them spoken aloud. You will wait like a good girl, Olivia, because you cannot touch yourself or remove the panties until you hear those two words. You’re starting to get aroused even now, aren’t you my pet…”

Yes. I could feel the heat rising inside me, making me flushed, and the humiliating thought that a total stranger had seen my post-hypnotic suggestions only turned me on more. My parents had told me there’s something wrong with me enough times, but I never stopped wondering if there wasn’t something more extreme, more intense that I was missing out on.

Alex helped me to my feet, and whispered “I don’t think your dad saw.” I nodded in relief as she continued, “Can’t say anything about Jules though, she was right next to me. Just hope she won’t think we’re all freaks and decide she doesn’t want to move in with us.”

After reassuring the adults a few times that I was okay, we decided to continue the grand tour. At the top of the stairs – which Jim made an extra note to be extra careful on until he could afford anti-slip mats – the balcony turned out to be a green-tiled ring right around the room, decorated with end tables, love seats and low bookshelves between the tall, thin windows. Four doors gave access to the other rooms; spaced equally around the perimeter of the circle.

“I was bullied in school,” Jules said as we slowly climbed the stairs. I didn’t know what to say, not sure if this was something he wanted to get out in the open, or just a comment to break the silence. “Never fitted in, never wanted to be a good little sheep like the other girls and boys. I spent a whole year with a black eye when I was fifteen. Then I left school, studied Python and on my own, and did freelancing from home. On the net, if you act like the genius who wrote the book on it, nobody knows you’re a dysfunctional seventeen year old proto-goth who hasn’t spoken to another human face to face since leaving school.”

“Wow, that must have been–” I didn’t know if Hannelore was going to say ‘tough’, or ‘scary’, or ‘awesome’. To me, that kind of existence was so alien I couldn’t even imagine it; my whole worldview was built around interaction with my friends and the people who matter to me.

“It was great, don’t get me wrong. I had all the video games I wanted, a flat of my own, and I could order whatever I needed. My mom didn’t like it, but I guess she thought it’s better than getting kicked senseless every other week. All I’d ever seen friends do for each other at school was gossip, borrow money, and cheat on tests. I was self-sufficient in terms of money, knowledge, and entertainment, so why would I need them?”

Nobody had an answer to that one. We were shocked speechless. Except, I noticed, for Jim. He was keeping his expression neutral, but a secret smile twinkled in his eyes as he produced a bunch of keys and opened up one of the corridors. I could probably have given a persuasive answer to her rhetorical question, but I guessed Jim had already given her one; so I kept quiet and waited for the rest of the story.

“I made friends online. It was an accident at first, finding a newsgroup to discuss some of the peculiarities of the new PCRE extensions, and then I got sucked into all the off-topic chat. Before I knew it, fellow geeks had become friends, and I was hanging around on other chat rooms where they go, and there I finally heard about what I’m missing. So at 25, I’m finally heading off to college. I’m studying theatre arts, because I can’t retreat and do it on my own. And the Doctor – Mr Bicksteen, I mean – well, he’s said he’d help me meet a group of people I should be able to trust, who won’t kick me for being different. So… sorry if I’m kind of quiet initially.”

Beyond the door was a short corridor with one door on the right, then one on the left, then one on either side at the far end. As Jim strode to the end and ran through his big bunch of keys, Jules managed to squeeze in one last comment: “There’s a wonderful world out here, and I’m ready to explore.”

I didn’t notice that dad and Hannelore were looking to me for approval before they went into what would soon be my room. A realisation clicked, the moment Jules paraphrased the slogan of an Internet chat room I used: He was another excitable trance addict. He was coming out into the real world to find the one thing an Internet friend could never do like a real person: sex.

In this house, I guessed, a pretty boy/girl like that was unlikely to have any trouble getting it.