The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Triggers

by Pan

“And so, if you check the calculations, you’ll see…yes, Ms Buckeridge?”

Emma looked around, confused. She wasn’t used to being called upon in class, especially .

“Um, what? I mean, uh, pardon, professor?”

“If you’re going to interrupt me with a question, at least have it ready.”

“But I…I don’t have a question.”

A titter spread around the class, and Emma’s professor adjusted his glasses, a clear sign that he was preparing his most sarcastic tone.

“Then I suggest you put your hand down.”

Emma looked up at her hand, and was mildly surprised to find that it was, indeed, raised.

“Sorry,” she said, a crinkle appearing in the middle of her forehead. She lowered her hand, and the professor continued his lecture.

Several minutes later, he reached the end of his lecture.

“Now, my advice to those of you working in groups; you’ll save yourself a lot of time and stress if you avoid working from false premises. Even if you trust your partners, check the calculations, research the variables, and…yes, Ms Buckeridge?”

Emma cocked her head to the side, before glancing up and realizing her hand was up again.

“Sorry,” she said again, looking at her hand as though it belonged to someone else.

After class, a few people threw her an odd stare, but Emma barely noticed. It was her final class before winter break, and her mind was already at the pub with her friends.

* * *

“Okay,” Lois said, when the two of them were three drinks in. The boys were up the other end of the room, playing darts—they were the only two women in their group of friends, and since they were rarely interested in darts, that left them with a lot of one-on-one time. “What was with the prank in class today?”

“What prank?”

“You know,” she said, waving her hand around sloppily. “Interrupting the prof every time he asked someone to check the calculations…”

She paused mid-sentence, and threw Emma an odd glance. It took Emma a few seconds to realize what the cause of Lois’s expression was—it seemed that her hand was at it again.

How odd.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not,” Emma said, bemused. “I mean, I’m not doing it intentionally.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

Lois stared at her for a few seconds.

“Check the calculations.”

As the pair watched, Emma’s hand slowly rose, until it was extended above her head. Lois put her beer down, and made firm eye-contact with her friend.

“Emma Amanda Buckeridge. If you keep your hand down for the next minute, I will give you fifty pounds.”

Emma nodded, not entirely sure why Lois was being so sincere.

“Check the calculations.”

“Looks like you’re out fifty pounds,” Emma said smugly, until she followed Lois’s gaze and found her hand hovering above her head.

“Oh.”

“Hey boys! Come here, see what I’ve found!”

In response to their friend’s enthusiasm, the trio of men put their darts to the side and came to the end of the bar where the two women were sitting.

“Check the calculations.”

Emma’s four friends laughed and joked about the weird reaction, but it wasn’t until they’d had her raise her hand a dozen times before Eric—the eldest of the group—came up with a theory.

“Let’s face it, it’s bound to come up in any math lecture, especially one by Professor Jones. It’s practically a catchphrase of his.”

“So what’re you saying?”

“So I’m saying if you can somehow put a Pavlovian response into someone, that’s one that’s good for a laugh.”

“What, you think Emma’s been…trained, somehow?”

“Well let’s face it, what other explanation could there be?”

“Guys, I haven’t been trained.”

“Then why is your hand raising whenever someone says…well, you know. Whenever someone says it.”

It was an odd and somewhat unsettling thought, and the group silently agreed to change subject. It wasn’t until later in the evening—much later, after Lois had gone home—that Brian raised the subject again.

“Okay,” he said, his words slurred and his body swaying slightly from side-to-side. “We’ve found one trigger—what if there’s others?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, what if Emma’s been trained to do other stuff as well?”

“I haven’t been trained,” Emma protested weakly, but the boys—fuelled by curiosity and alcohol—ignored her.

“So how do we find the others?”

“We can’t just string any combinations of words together. That way madness lies.”

“There aren’t others,” Emma said. “I’m telling you, I haven’t been trained.”

Arthur, scratching his head thoughtfully, was the first to offer a workable theory.

“Okay. Check the calculations…”—they barely noticed Emma’s hand floating into the air—“…is something that Emma was almost bound to run into eventually. Maybe the rest are like that as well.”

“What’s something a college student is almost guaranteed to hear?”

“Pencils down,” Brian said, and Emma sneezed.

“Holy shit. Pencils down!”

There was a pause, as everyone stared at Emma.

“What?” she said defensively. “I just needed to sneeze.”

“Good guess,” Arthur said, “but it doesn’t need to be student-specific. What’s something that anyone is likely to hear over the course of a week?”

The boys threw around a few more suggestions, but despite their best efforts, came up with nothing. Brian even tried “Pencils down” a few more times, but none of their guesses did anything but make Emma more and more annoyed.

“You guys are being dicks,” she pouted, and the three of them bought her the next round as an apology.

It wasn’t until an hour later, when the pub was threatening to close that they stumbled upon another trigger. And in fairness, it wasn’t even them that discovered it.

“Last call!” the bartender bellowed, and Emma left the group mid-sentence, walking straight into the lady’s bathroom.

“Hey!” Eric called after her. When she didn’t respond, he turned to his friends. “You think we went too far?”

“Nah,” Brian slurred. “Emma’s cool.”

“Okay,” Eric said with a shrug, more than happy to accept the idea that he wasn’t being a bad person.

When Emma returned just a few minutes later, she was holding her bra. Without a word, she held it out to Arthur.

“Uh…”

It was immediately obvious to all three guys that the bra in Emma’s hand was the one she’d been wearing all evening. Not because they recognised the cut or the color, but because Emma’s generous bosom was now pressing up against her shirt directly, and the outline of two thick nipples were clearly visible.

“What’s this for?”

“What?”

The guys exchanged worried glances. Emma was pissed—hell, they all were—but she wasn’t this drunk.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Giving you what?”

When Emma followed Brian’s pointing finger, she raised one eyebrow, but she didn’t look worried or scared.

“Oh,” she said, and dropped the bra on the floor. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” Arthur said slowly, before his eyes widened. Even through the haze, he’d put two and two together. “Oh my god, guys. That must have been another trigger—what the fuck were we talking about?”

It only took a few minutes of experimentation to stumble across the trigger—when Brian excitedly called out “Last call,” Emma stopped her protestations and headed straight for the bathroom.

This time when Emma returned, it was her knickers that she was holding out. Eric took them without pointing out what she was doing, and it didn’t seem as if she even noticed.

“Last cmmmph!”

Arthur was surprised to find Eric’s hand covering his mouth before he could complete the command. He leapt back angrily.

“What the hell, bruv?”

“You idiot—look at what she’s wearing. If we send her back into the bathroom, she’s going to come out without a top, and then what are we going to do? We can’t exactly take her home naked.”

Opening his mouth to object, Arthur closed it a few seconds later.

Eric had a point.

“Home?”

“Hell yeah. I want to see what else we can find…besides, we can’t exactly send her out into the streets by herself. What if someone who doesn’t care about her like I do finds a trigger?”

“Guys, I’m right here,” Emma said. She stomped her foot, an action that caused a ripple to pass through her generous chest, and the argument abated for a second as the three men watched the jiggle. “You can’t just talk about me like I’m…like I’m…like I’m not right here.”

“You’re right,” Eric said. “Do you want to come hang out at ours?”

“I mean, I should probably…”

“We have booze,” Arthur added, and Emma required no more persuading after that. She’d crashed on their couches before—dozens of times—and they’d never offered her free drinks to do so.

As the four students piled into the cab, they accidentally discovered another trigger—the cabbie’s friendly “So where are you from?” caused Emma to wink. Not just a normal wink—she didn’t just close and reopen one eye. In response to the question, she gave a saucy grin, tilted her head and twitched her nose once before giving a huge, flirty wink—even making a clicking sound with her tongue as she did.

They didn’t really want to experiment in front of a stranger, so other than asking the cabbie “So where are you from?” back to see Emma repeat the large gesture, no more of the young woman’s triggers were used the whole way home.

Back at the boys’ house, however, things suddenly got much more businesslike.

In response to her objections, a bottle of vodka that Brian had laying around was pressed into her hand, and she occasionally swigged it as the boys tried all manner of common phrases and expressions, watching her like she was going to share the secrets of life in response to the random words they threw at her.

They found a few minor ones—“Got a ciggie?” caused her to blink her luscious lids and respond with “I’ve got more than that, sailor”. “Excuse me miss,” resulted in a slow curtsey which somehow managed to erotically reveal her long legs—just for an instant, but certainly with the intent of arousing.

It wasn’t until they moved into common date questions that they really found gold.

“So what are you passionate about?” resulted in Emma undoing the top button of her shirt. As they asked it again and again, the rest of her buttons quickly became undone, and it wasn’t long until a breeze was the only thing standing between them and seeing their friend topless.

“Have you met anyone else from Tinder?” caused Emma to start playing footsie with whoever asked it, and “What’s your favourite book?” made her reach out and start playing with the questioner’s arm.

“I had a really good time tonight” (or slight variations thereof) had a startling effect—Emma practically launched herself at the asker, pushing herself against them and kissing them passionately.

It quickly became obvious that whoever had programmed Emma’s responses (“programmed” was a word that all three of them felt uncomfortable using, but they had to admit—that seemed like what had happened) had been determined that Emma should never let a date go home alone.

Even “Last call” (which they tested again at home—even with her underwear removed, it still worked, leaving their friend sitting in front of them without shoes) ensured that if none of the other triggers worked, Emma would make it very clear what she wanted from her date before the night was over.

Strangest of all, Emma seemed to have genuinely no idea that she was doing any of it. Even after making out with all three of them, until they pointed it out she didn’t even seem to have noticed. Her reaction once she was made aware of her actions was always the same:

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Guys…” Eric finally said, having sobered up considerably after a few hours of experimentation. “Are you sure we should be doing this? I mean, it’s our friend—shouldn’t we be looking out for her?”

“We are,” Brian said insistently. “Look, we didn’t make these triggers—we just found them. If we didn’t, someone else would. We’re just finding out what they do, so we can warn her.”

“There’s nothing to warn me about,” Emma said horizontally from the couch. She’d managed to get through a significant portion of the bottle. When the triggers activated, her body seemed to immediately sober up, but the rest of the time she was the friendly, fun-loving drunken girl they all knew and loved.

Brian and Eric turned to Arthur for support, but he was staring at Emma, an intense look on his face. There was a lengthy silence, until Arthur snapped his fingers and excitedly leaned forward.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” he said, and everyone was taken aback when Emma sat up, dropped to her knees in front of him, and enthusiastically began unzipping his pants.

“How did you know that would work?” Brian asked, and Arthur grinned in reply.

“I was trying to think about what I’d say to a girl when I got her home.”

“And ‘fuck you’re gorgeous’ was the top of the list?”

In response to her trigger phrase, Emma turned to Brian and began unzipping his pants instead.

“Guys,” Eric said, slightly alarmed. “Guys. What the fuck are we doing?”

“We’re working this out,” Brian said, a huge grin on his face. Emma had made her way through his zipper, and was fishing around for the erection he’d been nursing ever since Emma’s top had become completely unbuttoned.

“This is wrong.”

“I dunno, Eric—it didn’t seem so wrong when her tongue was halfway down your throat.”

“That was different,” Eric replied, a blush creeping up his neck. “We didn’t know if that would work for each of us…”

“Well, we don’t really know if she’s going to do this. This is just an experiment, like all the others have been.”

“No,” Eric protested hollowly. “No, this is…this isn’t okay. Emma…fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Emma paused, her mouth about to engulf the erection that she’d managed to pull through Brian’s pants. After what looked like a moment of regret, she put his cock away again, and turned her attention to Eric.

“Eric, dude!”

“What? I’m trying to protect her!”

“By getting her to swallow your meat?”

“No, by…I had to get her away from you somehow. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“Of course she does. Yo, Emma…”

Emma was struggling with the buttons in Eric’s pants, and turned to see what Brian had to say as she continued trying to unbutton them.

“Hmmm?”

“You know you’re about to give a blow-job, right?”

Emma tilted her head to the side thoughtfully.

“Oh,” she said, and went back to her task.

“See,” Brian said smugly.

“That doesn’t prove anything…” Eric said, but his argument was starting to sound weak even to him.

“Sure it does,” Arthur said, speaking up from the corner. “Every other time, she’s apologized. This time, she just acknowledged it. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s totally fine with it.”

“Well…” Eric said, and then Emma’s hand wrapped around his erection and his protestations died in his throat.

As she began swallowing his hardness down her throat, Brian pulled Arthur to the side.

“What’s up?”

“You have any other ideas for trigger-words that might be said once you get a girl to the bedroom?”

“Of course I do.”

“Great; me too. But let’s save them until she’s done with Eric—after all, we have all night.”

“We sure do,” Arthur said with a grin, and the two sat to the side, watching curiously as one of their friends gave another friend head, their minds spinning with possibilities of what Emma would be doing next.