The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

“And did Dr Orsini leave a suicide note?” Bree’s eyes lit up as she leaned back on her elbows, her blonde ponytail skimming the carpet behind her.

Petra winced. Sometimes Bree could make even a sensible question sound gossipy, and she didn’t have to keep saying the s-word.

But their friend Holly didn’t seem to mind. She shook her head, glancing out over Bree’s balcony at the woodland beyond. “That’s one of the stranger things, actually. They think she tried to.”

She’d come here to worry with them. Right now, she even seemed grateful for the question. “I think Dean Roerich needs someone to vent to about it. Why he picked me I don’t know.

“Anyway, the police told him they’d found some pages in her day-planner with a few scratched-out lines, and three documents on her computer, including a draft e-mail. All created a few minutes before they think she killed herself.”

She looked at Petra and Bree, and shrugged. “All blank. The technogeeks say there’s nothing to recover. She opened them and either didn’t type anything, or deleted it before there was any autosave.”

“Wow.” Bree drew her toned legs back along the carpet, fussing with the hem of the cutoff jeans. “I’ve heard of attempted suicide, but attempted suicide-notes?”

Holly smiled wryly at her. “I didn’t really know Marianne Orsini very well, but I gather she was very precise.”

“As in anal?” Bree blinked.

“No comment. But she may have been trying to find the absolute clearest thing to say, then gave up trying to say it.”

Bree nodded vigorously. “That must really have pissed her off.”

Holly ran a hand through her chestnut pageboy. “Couldn’t tell you. I’ve been—was—her deputy for barely a month. I don’t even know if she really wanted me, or was just humoring the University when they suggested taking on a mini-she.

“The other weird thing was that she was looking up something on hypnosis—books on her desk, bookmarks on her browser. Right before the suicide note, um, attempts.” She managed a small grin at Bree.

Bree nodded approvingly. “Like that classic-Trek episode. Where the other starship crew was frantically researching ESP? And then blew themselves up?”

They stared at her.

“The second pilot. Spock was logical.”

Petra remembered but it was too much fun sharing Holly’s deadpan.

“Then their eyes got silver,” Bree mumbled. “Oh, never mind.”

“We teach people not to research frantically,” Holly said at last. But she was too preoccupied for trekker-baiting. “Anyway, the hypnosis angle has Roerich all upset, too.”

“What exactly was Orsini looking up?” Petra didn’t know how curious she was but it seemed like the question to ask.

Holly lifted a hand. “No idea. He just hates having more unknowns. The bigger question, unfortunately, is the discrepancy in the drug stores.

“The psychoactive ones,” she amended quickly, before Bree could play with drug stores. “Dr Orsini had the key to the cabinet, so to speak, and I’m gathering there’s inventory not accounted for.”

Petra and Bree both made faces, and Bree shook her head. “That’s not a good way for them to welcome their new acting director.”

It did suck. Petra tried to tell how stressed Holly was. “Is this why they want you to replace her yesterday if not sooner?”

“Uh-huh.” Holly emptied her water, and Bree rose nimbly to take the bottle. As she strode out, she waggled it toward Petra, who shook her head. “Fortunately she knew how to delegate, so her staff’s up to speed. I don’t have to start that from scratch, anyway.”

She looked out the window again. “In fact, I’m getting vibes from the Dean that if I can guide Orsini’s institute through this mess, they may decide they’ve found her permanent replacement.”

“They have,” Petra said. “If they’re smart.”

Holly shrugged modestly, but smiled.

She’d been the trio’s big achiever, with her fast-track M.D.—Bree called her “the smart Angel,” despite Holly’s apt response that Bree had the right name. But Holly seemed too young for this.

Petra knew her friend, though. And Holly wouldn’t hesitate to play the gallant underdog. It might deflect some of the crap the institute would draw with suspicions about drug mishandling.

“So what’s missing?” Bree swept back in, handing Holly another water. “Fun drugs?” She found a sunnier spot to bask, nearer the sliding-glass door. Visiting Bree was often like being hosted by a hospitable cat.

“Scary ones.” Holly nodded thanks. “It’s one of the things I’ll get to find out tomorrow. I have to talk to a couple of the corporate sponsors, then sign the nondisclosure agreements to get ‘read into’ their projects. That’s what some of the drugs are for.”

“Oh. Corporate sponsors. Say n’more.” Bree did the Monty Python move and winked at Petra.

“Actually,” Holly admitted, “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“Dr Charpentier, I’m sure you’ll have it all in hand right quick!” Petra could still sound like their old philosophy professor. Being two octaves higher just made it stranger.

Holly raised her glass but frowned at it before drinking. “Speaking of which, I’ll need a clear—”

“Say n’more.” Bree leaned forward and reached up for the drink. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Thanks. I’d better make tracks.”

As they hugged goodbye, Bree cocked her head. “Not what you expected when you left there Friday, huh?”

Holly just laughed and hugged Petra. Bree gestured, and Petra lingered after Holly’d gone. Bree vanished into the kitchen and came out with a fresh pair of bottles, juice this time.

Sipping as they went back to the living room, she looked at the clock. “Wow. Holly did make an early night of it.”

“I don’t expect she’ll spend much of it sleeping.” Petra watched Bree stretch out again in the last slanted band of sunlight she could find.

“No,” Bree said. “Being Holly, though, she’ll do her best. I picture her lying there for hours, trying. She should’ve stayed with us.

“So what about this suicidal anal-compulsive ex-boss of hers? Use your powers, Pet-Ra!”

“Please.” Petra rolled her eyes. “I am so over that cartoon superheroine gig.”

Bree thrust out her lower lip, adjusting it with her fingers, and then looked like a crestfallen child.

“OK, OK. My—Battle-Unicroid was real. But he’s retired. We only chat when I’m on the other coast.

“Anyway, Orsini’s not Holly’s ex-boss. She didn’t actually resign, so much as . . .”

Bree waved it away. “Possibly sold drugs, researched hypnosis kinda, does a half-dozen blank drafts, then—how did she kill herself?”

Petra shrugged, content to let her ramble. Absorbing Holly’s anxiety had taken more out of her than Bree, as usual.

Well, Bree was a personal trainer, so she probably worked out most of her tensions. “I don’t recall that Holly said how.”

Bree sucked down some juice and Petra followed suit.

Then Bree froze. “Wait. Maybe they weren’t suicide notes! Maybe it was a novel, but she couldn’t even nail the opening dark-and-stormy, and out of sheer frustration—”

“Twisted, Bree. Twisted.” Petra gazed out at the sunset, not even eager to fence with her. She was ready to worry more about Holly.

Bree sensed it and their talk shifted into more benign nostalgia. Petra let her guide the conversation, and soon Bree’s animated observations were soothing her more than informing her.

She just nodded and watched the sky darken when Bree raised a finger and reached for her cellphone. “Hey, Holly, it’s Bree, it’s six-fifteen, I’m just hoping you got home OK. And also that I got voicemail because you turned it off, not because you’re talking Dean Whatsisface down off his roof. Love ya.”

She grinned up at Petra, who peered back at her. It was way later than 6:15, wasn’t it? But when Petra considering looking for a clock, it suddenly seemed less worth the effort.

“I really hope he lets her rest,” Bree said. Petra blinked, letting it go. Roerich would seek reassurance at all hours.

Petra could almost feel Holly’s need for sleep.

Someone knocked.

Bree frowned at her as if Petra knew who it was, then went to answer it. Petra let the lassitude take her. It wasn’t her front door to answer. Or her institute to organize.

Bree’s voice startled her. “Sorry, I don’t—

“Hey, who the—?” Then she was backing into the room, legs taut under her cutoff jeans.

An copper-haired, strong-featured woman advanced on her, smiling. Under her very short business suit she showed almost as much leg as Bree, but with none of the vulnerability.

Petra stared at them, completely at a loss.

The woman raised one hand and flipped it palm-out at Bree—and Bree stopped. The hand moved a little, and Bree brought her legs together.

“Yes.” The intruder’s voice was low, amused. “You’re the weaker one.”

She’d backed Bree far enough into the living room for Petra to see her friend’s profile. Bree was staring at the woman wide-eyed—more awed than angry.

“Obey me.” The woman pointed.

Bree stiffened, hands by her sides. The woman savored her like that.

She turned to Petra.

The light-eyed gaze hit Petra all through her being. She lay paralyzed, as if the woman had pressed her physically into the cushions.

Who—what was she? Had she done this to Bree?

When Petra tried to glance at Bree, she couldn’t look away. The more she tried, the weaker she felt. The woman’s eyes seemed to grow, filling Petra’s mind.

“And the challenge.” Her voice reached into Petra’s mind, too.

Petra was terrified. She was as helpless as Bree seemed to be. She wondered if her own face were as blank as Bree’s—

“Not enough to stay free.” Her laugh scared Petra. It was gentle. “But worth softening.”

She moved closer. For a second Petra saw Bree, staring into space where the woman had been.

Then there was a coldly pretty, pale face under the red hair. A widow’s peak over pale brows and paler eyes.

No. Not just paler.

Yellow.

Petra saw only those eyes.

2.

Petra’s body was as heavy and sluggish as her thoughts. Even when the stranger turned those eyes from her they glowed in Petra’s mind like demonic moons.

While they’d transfixed her, the woman had reached down, her hand looming in shadow and sharp perfume to caress Petra’s ear and jaw. “Obey me,” she’d said just as Petra felt her touch, and it seemed to throb down through Petra’s body.

Obey me. The voice echoed in her mind, conquering it as those eyes had.

The stranger looked away, releasing Petra enough that she could remember Bree. She couldn’t move, or push the eyes and voice out of her head, but she was able to shift her gaze to her friend.

For a heartbeat, she rejoiced. Bree seemed to be waking from the woman’s spell, blinking and moving her head. If Bree could fight it, they could both—

“Obey me.”

Petra twitched as it rang in her mind like a bell. But the command was for Bree, and the blonde jerked into back into stillness. She looked even more out of it than Petra felt.

When the woman pointed, Bree trembled as if feeling her will.

“Display yourself, Bree.”

Bree’s arms rose to the man’s shirt she wore and stopped, and for a second Petra thought she was resisting.

But she only stared unblinkingly at the intruder. “I obey, Mistress.” Expressionlessly, she untied the shirt below her bust, letting it fall behind her.

“Each garment you remove for me,” the woman said, “is another shred of will that you surrender.

“Obey me.”

“I obey, Mistress.” Neither looking away from the woman, nor even blinking, Bree reached back up and undid her bra, showing them her teardrop breasts.

She hesitated. Then Petra saw her friend’s nipples were erect. She wasn’t trying to fight the command. The woman was making her feel that surrender, and making her like it.

As Bree’s bikini slid down her legs to join the cutoffs, Petra was even more afraid. She saw Bree’s cell near her, but if Bree’d been subdued this fast, she might not want to call for help.

Petra jerked in panic, but couldn’t break the spell. Her nerveless body barely twitched.

The woman turned and smiled.

Looking back at Bree, Petra saw the blonde once again at attention. Petra ached to see Bree’s fit, wiry body so docile, and seeing her nude—God. Bree’d been happy enough to go topless back in college, but even then she’d been shy about full-frontal.

Now it hurt how unresistingly she showed this stranger her pussy.

The woman pointed.

Eyes fixed on her, Bree knelt, hands floating up and behind her head.

“Think only of obedience.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Bree trembled again, with what really looked like arousal.

The woman loomed over Petra, then rested her knee beside Petra’s leg. Their thighs brushed. Petra tried to squirm but her body seemed to lose strength, as if the woman pulled it from her.

Her eyes recaptured Petra’s. Petra fought to keep them from erasing the rest of her world, again.

Her hands were on Petra’s shoulders, then her temples, then her flaccid arms. They stroked muscles that wouldn’t serve Petra now.

The woman seemed to know the weaknesses of Petra’s body as well as of her mind. Her touch soothed and dulled Petra’s resistance. Then she’d find just the spot that send a warm jolt of pleasure spearing through Petra’s fears, melting whatever she’d been trying to think.

As she massaged, she spoke, and the stroking kept smoothing away Petra’s resolve not to listen. It was hard to pay attention anyway. Those eyes filled her mind wherever the warm caresses left her room to think.

Even frozen under that basilisk stare, Petra felt her body relaxing.

Accepting. Being softened. Just as the woman said—so much was happening just as this woman said—

She’s hypnotizing me.

But she couldn’t. Could she? No one could be hypnotized against their will. Petra knew that. And every bit of her will was focused now on not submitting, not letting this stranger into her head. Not ending up glassy-eyed and obedient like Bree.

But Bree was obedient. And she hadn’t wanted it—there was no way she’d willingly let this woman hypnotize her into kneeling naked like a slave in her own home, staring blankly at nothing. This had been against Bree’s will. She’d fought.

And lost almost instantly. Enthralled where she stood.

The woman talked so casually about the shreds of Bree’s will, after shattering it in seconds.

That made it harder for Petra to steel her own.

Obedience swung in her head like an implacable pendulum, carrying her away. The woman was speaking to Petra about obedience and it was flattening her thoughts. As if she was hypnotizing Petra after all, repeating it until Petra submitted. Became obedient.

Petra clung to her will. But undermining her, as soft as Bree’s unresisting nudity, was a fear that her will had no role in this. Except to be lost.

“Struggling.” The lips moved but she spoke to Petra’s mind. “I like that. Fucking something’s always better when it’s tight.”

Fingertips found tension behind Petra’s ears, dissolved it. Petra felt weaker.

“You’re trying to resist hypnosis, Petra. But you know only the weak fantasy you all think is hypnosis. None of you ever learn what true hypnosis is.

“Until one of us enslaves you. Slaves don’t resist.”

She touched Petra a certain way and Petra just zoned and had no idea what else the voice had told her. Only that it was in her head now.

None of you. One of us.

Enough of Petra was left to become even more afraid. Who was this woman?

What was she?

She was in Petra’s head. She had some terrible power that mindzapped Bree into an obedient zombie and stripped Petra’s strength and Petra couldn’t move.

This wasn’t hypnosis. It was something much worse.

It was working.

“Obey me.”

Petra heard herself moan as it meshed with the echoes. Whatever this woman was using on her, it crashed right through Petra’s defenses. She wasn’t turned on like Bree—but maybe she would be, as soon as this witch decided she wanted Petra wet and weaker.

Witch. Alien? Vampire?

She—it—She wasn’t a fantasy monster. She was solid and strong and close enough to kiss Petra, and she was sucking Petra’s mind out through her eyes.

Petra fought to keep thinking. She wasn’t the only one in danger. Bree might—

“Bree is a toy.”

The witch had read her mind. Petra felt more hope die.

“Tame enough to obey without direct touch.”

Petra breathed deeply, before realizing she was inhaling the witch’s scent. Perfume and musk and otherness.

An alien. Or the seductive, terrible reality of a Fairy.

She was beautiful, even with something wrong about her—her unearthly pallor, the alien yellow of her eyes, the seductively odd geometry of her face.

Whatever she was, her kind knew how defenseless humans were against pretty poison.

Petra moaned again. What are you?

The woman just smiled. That frightened Petra more than naming herself. Human slaves wouldn’t need to know.

“You’re very weak, Petra.” It rang in her mind. It must be true. She was weak. She would lose.

“Not as weak as beautiful Bree. She was mine almost too quickly, though. So malleable. She’ll be fun to play with, but Bree isn’t for serious use.”

Petra clutched feebly at anger: this bitch was dismissing smart, tough Bree as some kind of natural slave? “A toy”? Bree took no shit from anyone.

But she knelt and said “Mistress” now. Instead of aiding Petra or going for help, she stayed on her knees. Like an obedient slave.

Petra faded. Bree had no will and Petra couldn’t help her. She was so weak.

“You will make a fine tool.” She caressed Petra’s face. “Once you’ve been reshaped. And properly trained. But by then you’ll be an eager trainee.”

Her power seemed to flood through Petra, who could only stare helplessly up at her.

“Then you’ll be as happy and fulfilled as Bree is.”

The eyes didn’t release Petra’s. “Isn’t that right, Bree?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Bree sounded calm and totally certain.

“She won’t help you, Petra. But soon you won’t want any. Except mine, telling you what to think.”

Petra stared up into the stranger’s eyes. Point taken: Bree was controlled. Now it was Petra’s turn to succumb.

Petra felt her heart racing. No. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. She’d fight, and keep fighting, and—

—and then the witch could do this the hard way. Petra would end up kneeling blankly beside Bree.

“You’re being hypnotized now, Petra. True hypnosis.

“I am destroying your will. You will exist solely to carry out mine.”

The words throbbed inside her, hopelessly overwhelming her own scattered thoughts. Petra could feel her will loosening, weakening.

Dissolving.

“You cannot fight my power over you, Petra. You’re being hypnotized.

“You cannot resist. With each deep breath you take you forget any desire to resist. You enjoy surrendering your will. You want only to submit to me and sleep. You’re being hypnotized.

“Soon there will be nothing in your mind but absolute obedience.

The woman kept speaking. Her voice was a drone in Petra’s head, tranquilizing her efforts to pay attention. Petra looked up, trembling under the massage, ready to fall asleep.

She didn’t dare. But each word humming into her mind made her dizzier. Drowsier. They kept Petra thinking about being hypnotized. The fear couldn’t keep up.

Later, much later, the voice told Petra to sleep.

Petra found her eyes closing, no longer knowing why they shouldn’t.

The voice became stronger in her mind.

And those eyes had floated inside with her. Sleep sealed her in and bound her while they bored into her, owned her.

Softened her.

Petra never knew when she started repeating what the voice told her. By then she believed it completely.

3.

Her eyes were open. She didn’t remember when they’d opened—only that it had been at someone else’s will. She was standing now, looking over Bree’s balcony at the moonlit woods. Petra saw the trees but didn’t think about them.

She thought about obedience.

Petra tried not to, but something pulsed behind her eyes, obliterating every other thought she summoned.

She kept trying. If she stopped, she might never know anything but obedience again.

She didn’t remember why that was bad.

She didn’t remember waking up, and barely remembered sleeping. She’d gone to sleep because someone had told her to. She’d had to obey.

Obey her Mistress.

Petra struggled against having a Mistress but it was stamped onto her brain, more real than her own name. The woman had hypnotized her, reached into her mind and taken control, and now Petra would obey Her. She had to.

But I don’t—

Heat between her thighs broke her focus. Petra remembered she liked obeying commands. She knew she was being conditioned, but it was already too strong.

More pulses stunned Petra out of trying to resist.

She’d been hypnotized. Really hypnotized.

As she tried to deny it inside, she felt herself juicing. Her pussy cooled excitingly.

In the air. While she’d slept, her clothes had come off.

She shivered, unable to break out of her sentry-pose. She’d been asleep, completely in the witch’s power. Maybe the woman had stripped Petra, fondling her while she’d been too entranced to know it. Made Bree do it, one sleepwalker disrobing another.

Or the hypnotist had just said Display yourself, Petra and Petra had obeyed. Each garment she removed, another shred of her will gone . . .

Fleeing that image, she struggled to stay aware of Bree. Her friend still knelt, lost in trance, but she’d lowered her hands to rest palms-up on her thighs.

Petra caught herself staring at Bree’s pussy. The pink slit under its trimmed golden triangle, which Bree was so shy about, was artlessly exposed now at the Y of her kneeling crotch, between the offering hands. Bree’s empty eyes stayed fixated where Mistress had put them.

It frightened Petra anew that she liked looking at the other girl that way. Bree looked so hot in Her thrall. So obedient. Bree was obedience, an empty pretty vessel for Her desires.

Thinking it warmed Petra’s cunt as if someone were licking her. She dampened to imagine leaving Bree like that forever. Lost to Mistress.

Petra didn’t see Her, and tried to wonder what She was doing. It was easier to let the curiosity seep away, and wait emptily upon Her will.

You will make a fine tool. Once you’ve been reshaped.

She’d said Petra would be eager, then. Soon. Petra clung to believing She was wrong.

Swallowing, she tried to speak.

“Bree?”

Barely more than a whisper, it felt like a shout. Petra hoped it wouldn’t summon the hypnotist back from wherever She’d gone in the apartment.

But she worried whether there were still enough left of Bree to summon.

Then Bree’s eyelids fluttered, as though she were fighting sleep. Petra dimly admired her for still being able to fight anything now.

Bree’s eyes opened wider and focused on her. “Petra?” Bree’s whisper was even softer. “I’m—ohhhh.” Her eyelids drooped. “She got you, too . . .”

“Bree.” Speaking was harder than thinking. And she could taste other words. Sleep now, Bree. Sleep and obey. So horribly tempting, to send her drowsy blonde friend back under.

Instead she whispered, “Can you move?”

Bree peered at her, swaying.

“Move? No, I must . . . I can’t . . .” Her eyelids drooped again but she forced them up, made herself concentrate on Petra.

“Petra? We need to . . .”

Her eyes dimmed, refocused. “We must obey Her.” Bree’s voice was low and suddenly certain. Her face was still slack, but her back arched and her thighs tightened.

Petra tried to argue, but her own clit buzzed at obey. As she recovered, she saw her friend’s eyes closing again.

Then Bree woke again. “Petra? I’m—sorry. That was—that’s all that’s in my head.” She sighed wearily. “My will is . . . gone. There’s just Hers, in—”

Her gaze blurred again. “There is only Her will.” She shivered, her nipples bulleted again.

“No, Bree.” Petra stopped. It took a second to come up with the rest. “We’ve both been hypnotized.” That was true. And so exciting.

She should keep talking about being hypnotized, until both of them were asleep again. They—

“We.

“Have to.” She closed her eyes, wanted to leave them closed.

No. “Get out of here.”

Bree looked at her again, uncertainty clouding her face at last. “Get . . . out? OK . . . but—”

Her head swiveled right. Her eyes widened as they glazed over. She floated to her feet.

“Mistress.” Bree was a mindwiped statue again. “I must obey.”

Mistress strode over from wherever She’d been. Petra was queasily certain She’d been right there listening to them, both of them hypnotized out of sensing her until She wished.

She barely glanced at Bree. “Brave Petra. Trying to snap your friend out of My evil spell.”

Petra tried to hate Her smile. But knowing She was pleased brought back that ghost-tongue in her slit.

New truths thrust up excitingly into her thoughts. I love losing to Her. I resist only to please Her.

Petra stared, but it only trapped her in Mistress’ seductive gaze.

Serving Her is my only purpose.

Submitting to Her turns me on.

I am a weak will-less human.

I am natural livestock. Wrong, and insulting, and ridiculous.

Petra’s mind spasmed around them like anal beads.

She gasped and moaned, and she believed them more now than a moment before.

Mistress’ laugh almost made her orgasm. She came closer, cupped Petra’s breast and thumbed her nipple, watching coolly as Petra trembled and juiced.

I’m not a slave. I don’t get wet when . . .

She did now. Mistress had bent her mind. Petra shuddered with what else this sorceress could twist her into wanting.

“Seduce Me, Petra.”

Her cunt spasmed. Petra felt wanton and dirty, and trembled from need more than fear.

She should fight. Or run. Rescue Bree, tranced or not.

Not roll her hips like a harem slave praying to be chosen, getting hotter with each move.

She’d lost. Mistress had made her a slave, and all she could do was obey.

Petra pressed against Mistress, Her suit deliciously rough against Petra’s nudity. Deliberately Petra looked into Her eyes, letting them pull her close.

Her lips found Mistress’. A sliver of her mind that wasn’t yet liquefied into bliss wondered what she tasted. What Mistress was.

Something humans serve.

The sliver was gone. So was Petra. Straddling Her thigh, Petra humped Her, the fabric rubbing her to madness but not orgasm. Mistress let Petra stain Her skirt, squeezing her ass to spur her on.

Then She pushed her away, and Petra came automatically to attention before Her. She still wanted to slut for Mistress, but her passion was just one of Mistress’ reins.

“When you two leave here, Petra, it will be as My windup dolls. With nothing but My bidding in your minds.” She smiled, watching it arouse Petra, savoring her dazed fear.

She kept staring, and Petra felt the pull of Her will. The compulsion filled her like a need to come. The words owned her tongue.

“I obey, Mistress.”

Even her voice betrayed her. It forced its way out of her but she said it huskily, seductively, still a harem-slave in need.

She whined, feeling defeat. And despaired at how good it felt.

“Yes. Back in the couch now, Petra.”

“I obey, Mistress.” She was already getting addicted.

Nothing in my mind but absolute obedience. Not yet, but Petra was starting to want it.

Then she was sitting again, Bree’s sofa rough and warm under her bare skin.

She’s going to hypnotize me again. I’m already Her slave but She’s going to make me something more.

Or something less.

Mistress wasn’t looking at her, so she managed to see Bree again. It scared her that Bree was destined to be something less. A toy for Her.

They were in Bree’s place, Bree’s home, and after Mistress had smoothed her mind Bree might not be enough of a person to warrant a home. Just a spot on Her bed, or a basket at—

No!

“What—?” Petra heard herself.

Mistress’ head turned in surprise. Petra was surprised, too.

Mistress’ gaze paralyzed her. “Yes, Petra.”

Petra blinked, stared. “What do You want with us?” A little anger for Bree, quelled into blankness in her own place, sparked under Petra’s fear. Anger for whoever her fellow slaves were—the warmblooded living, Earthlings, nonmutants. The livestock. “Why are You doing this?”

Because She could, of course.

Mistress approached, smiling avidly. She reached down, tracing Petra’s eyebrow with Her fingertip, soothing Petra despite herself.

“Obey Me.”

“I obey, Mistress.” Petra sobbed once, surprised them both again. She felt herself lessen.

“It won’t be long, Petra.” Mistress actually sounded sympathetic. “Lean back.”

She knelt on the cushion beside Petra, spreading Petra’s arms and fondling her breasts before gripping her head gently. Petra fell into Her stare without needing orders.

Mistress’ power flowed in again, owning her. Her caresses were more sexual, but Petra had no will to resist. The pleasure seduced her.

She gazed at Mistress, heard only Her, arched into Her touch.

When She commanded Petra to open herself, Petra’s thighs went as slack and limp as her mind. She felt them loosened and parted, and then forgot in the deeper joy of learning Her will.

When Petra might have felt velvet lips and tongue and gentle hot breath on her cunt, she was too deep to know them as anything but obedience-pleasure itself. She mewed her allegiance and bucked under the tonguelashing.

Soon she was asleep again, at Mistress’ will. Petra slept and kept listening.

4.

“Petra?”

She opened her eyes, wondering when she’d closed them. And why. And why was she still at Bree’s? She was awake but a little fuzzy, the way she felt after major painkillers, but it’d been years—

Bree was in front of her.

Bree was naked, every perfectly-toned inch of her. Petra felt deja vu, but she’d never seen all of Bree, had she? Bree looked like she’d just been asleep, but she was waking fast as she stared at Petra.

Petra felt the cool air before looking down. She was nude, too.

At her look, Bree’d crossed her arms suddenly. Seeing her athletic friend suddenly so nervous made Petra ache, and she reached for her before stopping. But Bree shook her head and accepted Petra’s hand. Weirdness needed company.

“How did we get like this?”

“The last thing I remember,” Petra began, before discovering there wasn’t one. Holly’d left. Then they’d stayed and talked. And then—

“Someone was here.” Bree’s little-girl whisper was too raw, and Petra pulled her close. Bree held her tightly, her breath hot on Petra’s shoulder as she spoke. “She was—it was a woman.”

It seemed to spark Petra’s memory, but maybe she was just . . .

Bree was the one they stayed close to, crossing lonely parking lots at night. There was something weird about being the one she clung to. God, and Bree felt so nice against her. That heat on her skin as the blonde breathed, how soft her breasts were, how firm the rest of her—

What? She kept herself from pulling away or stiffening, making herself focus on calming Bree.

A woman. “That—I think so, too.” It was erotic to speak so gently against Bree’s hair. Petra fought to concentrate.

Then almost regretted it, because she could almost see someone now, smell her. No—Her.

Bree was looking around her apartment in case the mystery woman were still there, and each glance made her ease closer again. Petra felt oddly certain they were alone, but whoever’d been able to leave them like this was capable of anything.

She slid against Bree, arm around her waist. “We’ll figure this out.”

Bree was looking at her clothes, folded neatly on an ottoman, but didn’t leap to put them on. Petra saw her own on the sofa, likewise arranged. Whatever had happened had been orderly, at least.

“She did something to us,” Bree murmured. “She got us to undress, and go to sleep, and—” She pulled away, just as Petra guessed what else they might have done before they’d awakened. But Petra kept hold of her shoulder and Bree let her.

“Maybe we should check our bank accounts,” Bree said. “This is like those stories where they use some ground-up South American plant to control people and make them give up PIN codes and shit.”

But as she said it, she didn’t tense against Petra as if she really believed it.

“We were here, though,” Petra said. “Not in some bar letting Beavis and Butthead slip us roofies.”

“Talk about scary.” Bree shivered once. It might have been a stillborn laugh.

“We should call the cops,” Petra said, without enthusiasm.

Bree shook her head, her hair brushing Petra’s shoulder. “Tell them what, though? We woke up naked in my apartment togeth—”

They looked at each other. If we were guys we’d start talking sports now. Really loud.

They smiled and didn’t pull apart.

“Good point.” Petra grinned. “But I’m sure they’d love to interview us about it.”

Bree nodded. “Have us reenact it.” Her smile faded. “Whatever it was.” She took a breath, eased away from Petra.

“Gonna check the place out.” She strode toward the door to check the locks without even detouring for her clothes, and Petra stared at her ass and legs before catching herself.

“So,” Bree called, “do you think we got hypnotized or something?”

Hypnotized. It tweaked her clit. Petra gasped, but Bree was too far to hear.

“Um, that’s one possibility,” she managed, not trusting her voice with more. As scary-arousing as seeing Bree nude and dazed, it was in her mind, in her cunt—the two of them in trance, obeying the mystery woman, naked and obedient.

Programmed to forget Her, when She stopped playing with them.

But no one got hypnotized unless they let it happen.

Petra stopped thinking about it. She turned to look at the kitchen and balcony, leaving her own clothes so as not to leave Bree as the only nude girl here. Not the best way to root out someone lurking here, but Petra still felt that if there’d been a mysterious visitor, She was gone.

“Chain’s on,” Bree said.

Petra nodded toward the balcony. “Stop bar’s still there too.” All was well. Until Petra pictured one of them sleepwalking to the door to slide the chain—then rejoining the other and closing her eyes again.

“Bedroom,” Bree said, turning toward it but not moving. That was her safe place, that she was most afraid am intruder had violated.

Petra took her hand and squeezed, and they went together to look.

Empty.

Bree sighed a little too deeply, and didn’t let go of Petra’s hand. Had she wanted to find someone here, instead of still wondering who’d done whatever this was?

Then they looked at each other, holding hands in the bedroom doorway. Bree looked so wounded and so sexy and Petra had never felt so strongly for her longtime—

They moved together, and Bree’s cheek brushed hers and they were kissing. Petra feared it, and enjoyed it, and drank deeply of her friend.

And on her mouth tasted what must be pussy, which Petra had never . . .

She held Bree as Bree held her, urgently, feeling the other girl flow across her hips, seeking each other’s heat. Before their pussies met she eased Bree away, letting the blonde head slide to her shoulder and keeping her arms around her.

“God, Petra, I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Shhh.” Petra kissed her cheek and tightened the hug. Vulnerability glowed from Bree’s soft skin, making Petra fierce and ready to protect her from all who’d ravish her.

Including me. It made her wet—Bree’s rapid breath, her skin, her needy cunt so close. I could have her. Now. With a squeeze and a kiss.

As Bree looked up at her, Petra tried to keep it out of her eyes.

On the bed, there. Or kneeling right here. Bree would obey.

Petra rode the urge and turned it into a chaste hug. Bree’s delicate, feverish ear stroked her eyelid and she swallowed the moan.

They faced each other, and the trust in Bree’s eyes almost killed Petra where she stood.

What the fuck is happening to me?

“I feel it too.” Bree reached up, cupped her cheek. “Anyone else would be raping me.” She blinked. “I mean, you feel—?”

Petra nodded, and kissed Bree’s palm. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but yes. I want you. But not—not when you’re crazy.” She smiled tightly. “Speaking as an expert on crazy, just now.”

Bree’s eyes lit up but she was careful enough not to slip temptingly closer. “Hey.

“A therapist?”

“I’m not in therapy.” Petra wondered whether she should be.

“Me neither. But there’s one in my building. She does hypnosis. I mean we could—”

She saw Petra’s eyes. “But, if, I mean—I could tell her it’s just me. But then . . .”

Petra shook her head. “No, that’s OK. If that’s what someone did to us, I’d rather have a pro tell me. But—”

She pictured again the hypnotist that could do this to a couple of strong-minded people like them—cautiously, as if just the thought could summon Her. She thought about movies where they’d taken an extraterrestrial plague germ to a rural doctor, and half the county died. A hypnotist this powerful . . .

Petra considered her nude, beautiful friend.

A hypnotist that powerful would have prepared Her victims before leaving them. Would know what they’d do after waking—maybe implanted it Herself.

Would not let some mere therapist trespass in minds She’d conquered.

Would hypnotize Her slaves into becoming their own antitheft devices. Petra felt it happen and surrendered.

“No, Bree.” Petra groaned happily as the control harnessed her. She tightened her hold on Bree, capturing the blonde’s bewildered stare.

“Only Mistress may hypnotize us.”

It was hot and fun, like the best game she’d ever played. She’d drawn character Slavegirl and rolled Obedience every single time.

“Oh god. Petra? It’s real?”

Bree’s response made her want to finger herself, but she had to obey.

“We must obey only Her.”

Petra let the words stun her, rolled her hips as something faded in Bree’s eyes.

“Obey . . . only . . . Her . . .” Bree’s gaze went vague—then focused. A strange smile played onto her lips, under suddenly unblinking eyes. “Yes. I must obey Mistress.

“You must obey.”

As Her power flowed into Bree, it leaked from Petra. In one breath she was passive, ready to obey Bree.

Bree led her to the bed. When she released Petra’s hand, Petra stood blankly while she turned on something on the nighttable.

Music played, too soft to bother the neighbors but compelling to the two hypnotized women. Petra let Bree draw her onto the sheets, spellbound by her empty stare.

They flowed together, left hands reaching to each other’s pussies, right arms embracing. Kissing and stroking, they melted onto the pillow, staring each other into an abyss of trance, chanting commands back and forth, demanding and promising obedience to Her.

Petra felt herself turning Bree into more of a pet, felt Bree destroying her will, climaxed at how erotic Bree was as slave and enslaver.

She’d forgotten everything but a rolling, depthless orgasm when the low music changed, and Mistress’ voice spoke to Her slavegirls.