The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Nick?” came a voice from behind me.

I turned, and my eyes took in the speaker—a tall woman with short brown hair, apologetic blue eyes, and lots of earrings.

This was perfect—just perfect. Inwardly, I felt raindrops start sprinkling on what had been a wonderful picnic. “What do you want, Rosalyn?” I sighed.

“Nick, I’m sorry,” she began.

Anger rose in my stomach, raced through my lungs, and seized my shoulders. “Too late,” I said abruptly, and turned to leave. I felt her hand on my shoulder, and spun around.

She’d crossed a line. “Don’t touch me,” I snarled. I stepped towards her, invading her space—just like I’d felt invaded when she’d touched me—and making full use of my height. “Leave me in peace, Roz—I have nothing to say to you.”

“Just hear me out,” she pleaded.

I gritted my teeth. “I called you five months ago wanting to know why your sister didn’t show up for our wedding. You could have returned my call any day since then—and instead you expect me to listen to you when we happen to run into each other at a club?”

“Nick, it’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” I said through clenched teeth. “You introduced us. You were the blasted maiden of honor. I had no explanation why the bridal party didn’t show up until Megan’s god-damn ex answered her cell phone three days later. I never want to see you ever again.”

“Nick, just give me a minute to explain,” Rosalyn pleaded. “We’ve been friends for years. Please.”

Rage seethed in my stomach. “You have twenty seconds. Go.”

“Um—”

“Nineteen, eighteen—”

“Wait! Okay, um, I’m sorry, Nick, but Megan’s ex called the day before the wedding.” Her eyes flicked to the floor. “He said he was HIV-positive—”

If Rosalyn had been a man, I’d have slapped her across the face. Instead, I settled for a grimace. “I’ve known you for four years, Rosalyn. Why the devil do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“Nick, please—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I repeated, “and after what you and your sister pulled? If you had anything to say to me, either, you wouldn’t have started lying. Go away.”

“Nick, Megan really misses you—”

“Then she should have shown up at the wedding!” I said, almost shouting. “Or you could have called me any day between last June and today.” I took a deep breath and counted to five. “Listen, Roz, I have a girlfriend, whom I’m serious about. You, and Megan, need to get a life, and not bother people who want nothing to do with you.” I turned on my heel and walked away. Roz called something after me.

I turned around, alone. “For heaven’s sake, do you want me to call the boun...cers...”

There was no sign of her.

What in heaven’s name? People don’t vanish into thin air, unless...

Bloody hell. I checked my watch. It was 10:45. What time had it been when Zelasha went to the bathroom? About 10:30?

It doesn’t take fifteen minutes to go to the bathroom—and my tussle with Rosalyn certainly hadn’t taken that long.

I was missing time. Fuck. I had to find Zelasha, now.

With the trance music blasting it was too loud for me to think clearly. I needed peace and quiet—which I wasn’t going to get in this part of the club. Maybe we could go to one of the booths on the second floor?

I pushed my way through the crowd towards the women’s bathroom when a short figure crashed into me. “Excuse me,” I said without thinking, and glanced at the woman I’d run into.

Lovely gray eyes stared up at me from an unquestionably gorgeous face. She had high cheekbones, a small nose, and short dark hair. As her eyes lit up in recognition, she stepped back with a panther’s grace. A slow smile spread over her face.

“Nick?”

“Tara?”

“Nicholas Brannock?” said Tara Gibson in an almost musical voice. “It’s great to see you!”

Tara, who had ignored me all the time we’d been in school together, was happy to see me? This was unreal. What was next? The Pope converting to scientology?

Impossible things don’t happen. Something was trying to connect in the back of my mind... but the thought fled as Tara’s small hand slipped into mine. Her skin was soft and gentle.

“What are you doing in a hypnofetish club?” she asked, staring up at me. Prickles moved from my fingers up my arms to my neck. We’d attended the same school for years, and I’d tried to engage her in conversation so many times, but she’d never once spoken to me. I’d had such a crush on her, and had wanted so badly to get to know her. So many times I’d daydreamed of swinging a pendant before Tara’s face, watching her eyes follow it, watching her surrender. And now to actually hear her mention hypnosis...

Something very urgent occurred to me. “I’m looking for my girlfriend,” I said quickly. “I have to find her. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” I tugged her hand towards the rest rooms.

“Yes, about that,” Tara said, not budging. I tried to politely withdraw my hand, but she squeezed tighter. “I’ve always wanted to be hypnotized, but I never thought I’d run into someone I know here.”

I looked over the crowd for my girlfriend, but Tara’s other hand touched my chin and gently invited me to look at her. Oh, lord, what an opportunity, to become friends with the woman I’d had a crush on growing up! But, no, I loved Zelasha...

“Do you want to try hypnotizing me?” Tara asked.

My heart leapt into my throat. I’d been so smitten by her... and now she wanted to fulfill my fantasy?

This was like a dream. To have Tara (of all people) asking me (of all people) about hypnosis (of all things) now (of all times)... and actually volunteering! Oh, lord...

How could this be happening? Why? I had an amazing girlfriend whom I was serious about... and now my high school crush shows up and wants to be part of my fantasies! How could the universe do this to me now? How was I supposed to choose?

I needed to find Zelasha.

I looked up again, but Tara’s hand nudged my head towards hers, and she smiled softly. “Look into my eyes,” she whispered.

The tables turned. I’d fantasized about seducing Tara through hypnosis, enticing her into friendship or love. The idea of Tara-as-hypnotist was so foreign, so alien... and yet those huge gray eyes were so deep and dark and enthralling.

Still holding my hand, Tara’s other arm snaked around my neck. “Deep into my eyes,” she murmured as the space between us closed. “Follow me...”

Our lips met. Tara’s felt oddly familiar, somehow, but were nonetheless delicious. Lord, oh lord oh lord oh lord. Tara’s lips were touching mine. They were exactly like I’d dreamed. I had ached for this moment for years, but I loved Zelasha, and I couldn’t let myself kiss back, I couldn’t...

And then someone pulled me off. My girlfriend slapped me across the face, then punched Tara in the nose.

Tara lost her balance and fell over backwards with a crash. “Whoa,” someone nearby said.

“Cat fight!” someone else hollered. I touched my smarting cheek. Zelasha looked from Tara to me, and her eyes shone like green fire.

“You bastard,” she whispered. “And I thought I needed to apologize!” She raised her hand to slap me again. I stood there, awaiting the blow.

Then the bouncers were there, and one of the girls grabbed Zelasha’s arms from behind. “Nick?” Frank asked. “What the hell?”

“Frank, you remember my, um, girlfriend, Zel—” Guilt surged through my breast just as anger had earlier. What the devil had I been thinking? Had I blown it with the girl I really loved? “Soon to be ex-girlfriend,” I amended. Being left at the altar was nothing compared to the possibility of losing Zelasha. “And this is...”

A bouncer I did not know was helping the woman on the floor stand up. But now she had blue eyes, blond-brown hair, and an eyebrow piercing.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Megan,” I choked.

Zelasha struggled in the bouncer’s grip. “Your ex? What the hell are you doing kissing her, you bastard?”

I’d seen several men get caught cheating, and more than a few of them had claimed they had no reason for what they had done. This simple truth meant that—although I honestly had no idea what was going on—saying so wouldn’t help my case. No one would believe me.

This was like a nightmare. How had I managed to blow it with Zelasha?

“Nick?” Frank asked, waving a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry.” I looked from him to Megan—utter fury in those loathsome blue eyes—and then to Zelasha, who seemed to be holding on to her anger so she wouldn’t burst into tears.

“Get a deprogrammer,” Frank told one of the other bouncers, who disappeared into the crowd. He looked at the three of us. “What happened here?” Frank said.

Zelasha looked at me with total hatred. “That tramp was kissing my boyfriend,” Zelasha said, addressing Frank but still staring at me.

“That’s a lie!” Megan said.

“Dammit, Nick, why did you let her kiss you?” Zelasha demanded.

“I’ll be asking the questions,” Frank said. He looked at me, and realized Zelasha had asked the right one. “Well, Nick?”

Because I’d thought she was someone else? How the devil could I have thought that? Megan looked nothing like Tara.

The other bouncer was back. “This way.”

“I’m going to let you go now,” the female bouncer told Zelasha. “You promise not to kill anyone?”

Zelasha looked at me. “For the time being,” she said coldly.

My stomach sank. I thought I was going to be sick. My world was crashing down around me. Being well-off enough to choose the job I wanted meant nothing if I couldn’t share my life with the woman I loved.

The other bouncer escorted Zelasha and I up the stairs and towards the offices. Behind us, I could hear Frank and Megan arguing.

We reached a door marked “Do not disturb.” Zelasha took the opportunity to shoot me a glare full of disgust.

“I’m sorry the usual guy is out sick tonight,” the bouncer said as he rapped on the door.

“Come in!” said a muffled voice from within.

“So we had to improvise,” he apologized. “Hopefully she can straighten everything out.” Frank opened the door and ushered us inside.

I’d never seen the inside of the deprogramming room before. It was a plain brick room; posters of Ormond McGill and Pat Collins hung on the walls. There were couches on three sides, and a plain wooden table in the center... but my gaze was instantly captured by the woman sitting on the table.

“Thank you,” she told the bouncer. He exited, closing the door behind him.

“So,” Miss Scarlett said in her musical Southern voice. “What seems to be the problem?”