The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Under New Management

(mc, md, mf, nc)

This story may be distributed via any on-line medium, so long as no one is charged any amount for access to the story, and the above e-mail address and this disclaimer are retained verbatim.

Copyright © 1998 Q. Daphne A.

* * *

The door-buzzer split the quiet in the rented condo. Lisa nearly jumped out of her seat when it went off. As she stood up, putting her book away in the drawer next to the chair, she thought that it was good she and and the other girls with whom she split the “trick pad” were letting this place go at the end of the month; that buzzer was getting on her nerves. Nina, Julie and Dawn can go get a place of their own, and I can finally start looking for a job I can still do in ten years.

Keep him waiting, but not too long, she told herself. She grinned as she remembered Steph, the Grand Old Dame of prostitution (at least, that’s how Lisa remembered her), telling her that on her first day of work. She surveyed the room, making sure everything was in order: clean sheets, candles, condoms discreetly tucked into a carved wooden box on the bedside table, lube in the drawer below. Lisa walked into the entryway, surveying herself in the mirror. Long blonde hair neatly brushed and down around her shoulders, lipstick adjusted (just one shade too red of perfectly tasteful), big blue eyes unobscured by glasses. (“Get contacts,” Steph had briskly instructed her when she was hired. “Only wear glasses if the client wants a bookish woman. No exceptions.") A few lines around her eyes and mouth, but they enhanced her looks, made her lovely instead of cute. At least, Lisa thought to herself, that’s what I like to believe; in a few years, I’ll be ready for Grand Old Dame status myself. In her ads, she was 26, six years younger than her driver’s license would report. For a call-girl, admitting to being over 30 was like placing an ad reading, “Gorgeous, buxom escort with only a mild case of leprosy seeks generous gentlemen.”

Lisa adjusted her dress, a little black number, which delicately displayed her ample bosom. “Remember,” Steph had lectured her, “the client wants a slut, but in a lady’s wrapper.” She took a deep breath, and raced to the door, glancing at the hall clock as she did so. 7:02pm. Punctual. I like that in a client, she thought as she pulled open the door, leaning forward slightly. Lisa thought of this particular presentation as her specialty: it looked like she had been rushing to open the door, automatically excusing the delay, while the lean gave the client a direct view down her front. Clients seemed to appreciate it.

This one certainly did. His eyes flicked down to her front and lingered there, obscuring her view of his face. She said, in her best slightly-out-of-breath voice, “Hi! You must be Richard.” Clients liked it when you remembered their names from the appointment book, and this was test #1 for weirdos: they always used assumed names, and over half of them couldn’t keep straight which one they used. If he acted surprised, or confused, that was a warning. This one, however, didn’t bat an eye; her cleavage was clearly a bit too fascinating.

Eyes reluctantly leaving her tits, the presumed Richard looked up, and smiled. “Yes. Victoria?” he asked. Lisa scanned him quickly: good suit, understated tie, not old (mid-30s, probably), grey eyes, dark hair, just a trace of gray at the temples. Looks fit. Nice smile. Lisa relaxed; both his tone of voice in saying her (professional) name and four years of reading the body language of clients told her he was safe. Every escort worries that the next client will be that one in ten thousand who will later appear on the news, in an orange jump-suit conveniently labelled “Blass County Jail,” while his neighbors talk about how, no, they can’t imagine that he was the one that killed all those women, he was always so nice and polite. Kept to himself.

Enough of that line of thought, Lisa told herself firmly. I’m not going to get in the mood for anything that way. “That’s me! Come in, and thanks for being right on time.” Lisa opened the door, and let him pass her. “Just head off to the left, there.” Lisa followed him down, taking some time to study him from the rear. Nice body, she thought. Firm step. That briefcase has to have cost big bucks. Assuming that he’s not too strange, I could get used to a regular like this.

He turned the corner into the “living room,” which had been turned into the main bedroom. He sat down on the couch, comfortably, as if he lived there himself. Lisa sat down on the other end of the sofa, and waited for Richard to start the conversation.

He cocked his head to one side, and grinned. “Thank you for taking the appointment on such short notice,” he said. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you.”

Lisa smiled back. “Not a problem at all.” Her mind immediately dropped him into the “visit to the dentist” category. Most clients want to be treated like they are on a date, Steph had told her, and that’s sometimes a bit of stretch, but you can go with it. Others, she had said, either are into, or just don’t mind, realizing that it’s a visit to a particular kind of professional. Like a visit to the dentist, only much more fun. You probably won’t get a huge tip out of them, but they make good regulars. Good old Steph. I hope she’ll be happy up in Oregon on that ranch she bought, Lisa thought, briefly.

“So, how did you get our number?” Lisa asked. Time to start the conversation.

“Well, actually, I got it from Stephanie Tilson,” Richard said.

Lisa blinked. “From Steph? You know her? Are you, um, a client of hers?”

Richard laughed. “No, not a client. A ... well, a business associate.”

Lisa looked him over, more interested now. “Well, Steph always had lots of irons in the fire.” OK, Lisa, you’ll need to go the extra mile for this one, she thought.

Richard nodded. “A very clever woman, Ms. Tilson. I was very impressed by her.”

OK, Lisa, she thought, time to get down to it. “Speaking of business, did Steph tell you about our usual... well, our usual...” This was the one part she had never gotten good at, the “OK, it’s going to cost you this much to get access to this body you’ve been staring at. Cough it up.” speech.

Richard smiled, “Usual fee? Yes. I have $400 with me, in cash; I trust that will be acceptable for the hour appointment?”

Lisa tried not to let the amazement show on her face. That was nearly twice her usual hourly rate. She paused for a moment... was Steph doing some kind of weird test? But what if she was? Lisa didn’t work for her anymore, hadn’t for years, and Steph would never let a free-spending client go with anything that wasn’t nailed down still in his wallet. “That’s fine,” Lisa said, as casually as she could.

Richard just smiled, and pulled out his pocketbook from his jacket; from it, he took a bright green envelope, and handed it to her. It made a very comforting weight in her hand. “So, Richard,” Lisa said, standing slowly. “If you’ll make yourself comfortable here, I’ll be right back.”

Lisa gave him another smile, and walked out of the room to the kitchen. She opened the envelope, and pulled out the stack of $20s. One hundred, two hundred... yep, $400. Cool, she thought; this will be a very nice little sum with which to end the evening. She tried to keep from just wasting the cash as it came in, put some away in savings, but it never seemed to quite happen. Stop spending it all, she chided herself again, as she hid the money in the crisper in the fridge. Make sure it all doesn’t vanish into books, records and clothes. Not many more days of turning tricks for you, dearie, she thought as she slid the drawer closed. All that nice tax-free cash is going away, so you’d better make every last penny count.

She walked quickly over to the smaller bathroom. Time for final preparations. She pulled off her panties, tucking them into the bag she left there. Sitting down on the toilet, she carefully applied lube in her slit, up into her vagina, indulging herself for a few moments by sliding a finger up and down over her clit. After the reaction of her first few clients when they saw her have to lube up before they could fuck her, she knew that this was one part of the fantasy that had to be perfect: she had to be wet while being untouched by human hands, at least down there. Cleaning off her fingers, she adjusted her garters, stockings, and dress, and with a final confirmation in the mirror, she left, back into the living room.

She expected to find Richard nude, or at least in the process, when she returned; after all, isn’t that what the universal prostitute code phrase of “get comfortable” means? But he was still sitting on the couch, hadn’t moved an inch, his briefcase open on his lap. He was reading from a small, red, spiral-bound notebook. When Lisa saw the notebook, she had a strange, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t imagine why.

“Um, well, don’t you want to get a bit more... unclothed?” she asked, trying to sound alluring. Why is my throat so dry? she thought.

Richard looked up, and looked her over, his eyes starting at her hair and methodically working their way down to her legs. Lisa automatically dropped into “position,” one heel-clad foot forward, hips rocked provocatively, bust out, letting him eye her. What’s wrong with me? she thought. Having a client stare at me is part of the job; why is it bothering me now? She tried for a flirtatious smile, but she could feel her mouth refusing to behave itself, as her nerves got worse. Great, she thought, a perfectly nice client comes in, pays me twice my usual rate, and he’s a friend of Steph’s, and I make a face at him. But that red notebook! It looks so familiar...

Richard broke the awkward silence, his voice still light and friendly. “You are a very beautiful woman, Lisa.”

“Why, thank you, Richard, that’s...” Lisa started, then stopped. She could feel her thighs grow cold with fear, her face drain of blood, her heart start to race. He had called her by her real name. No client had ever found out her real name, and several had tried, sometimes to the point of getting a bit scary. “Um, Richard, please call me Victoria.” No point in denying it, she thought, but let’s cut it out now.

Richard smiled again, his winning smile. “But that’s just the name you use for clients, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but you’re...” Lisa started. Oh, Jesus, what’s going on? What’s up with him? Did Steph tell him her name? What else did she tell him?

Richard shook his head, very slowly, as if in possession of a delightful secret. “No, I’m not really a client. I’m the new... proprietor. Steph sold out to me.”

Lisa blinked. Sold out? Sold out what? The old agency? Steph had closed that down after the police pressure had gotten heavy... it had been an election year, after all. Lisa cleared her throat, and tried to keep her voice even. “Well, but, I don’t work for Steph. I haven’t for years. She got me my start, but I left her agency back... oh, three years ago. More. And I’m perfectly happy working independently.”

Richard looked at her with his head cocked, again, as if he was having trouble understanding her. Suddenly, his expression cleared. “That’s great! That’s just wonderful! She did a great job!” he said, looking at Lisa as if she were a particularly nice piece of statuary.

“Richard,” she said firmly, “I’m think I’m going to have to...”

Richard cut her off. He looked in the book, and said something to her. It was a word... no, three words... but she couldn’t hear them. Or, rather, the sounds went into her ears and into her nerves but some part of her brain caught them, dragged them away, took them as a trigger to do something to her. Suddenly, she grew dizzy, staggered a bit... and she could feel herself drop down to her knees, as if suddenly struck but that wasn’t important because doors were opening walls were falling memories were coming back where was she what was happening...

She was in Steph’s office. Steph was sitting across from her in the desk, chain-smoking as always. Lisa hadn’t been happy when she heard that Steph Needed To Talk To Her... why? Lisa couldn’t think of anything she had done wrong.

Steph looked across at her, and snapped (Steph always snapped), “I’m closing down the agency.”

Lisa blinked. “Closing down? Why?”

Steph sat back, heavily. “It’s a fucking election year. I can’t keep the DA off my back, he’s running, and his honorable opponent,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “is going to make an issue of his not dealing with the scum of the earth, like us.” She sighed. “Murder’s down 10%, robbery 22%, so if there’s going to be an issue, it’s going to be us.”

Lisa thought for a second. “Um, but, what about the girls?” she said, thinking, What about me?

Steph stubbed out her cigarette, and looked at her, her eyes suddenly burning with intensity. If Lisa hadn’t been sitting already, she’d have taken a step back. “You’re going to keep working. For me. All of you.”

Lisa returned the gaze, although it took an effort. “I... I don’t get it, Steph. If there’s no agency, how are we going to keep working for you?”

Steph looked at her as if she was a trouble-making child in school. “You’re all going independent. The DA isn’t going to make a big deal out of independents, it’s the big agencies like ours that he wants. You’ll go independent, and you’ll pay me a percentage of your income, just like now.”

It was Lisa’s turn to stare. “Um, Steph, listen. You know I’ve never tried to cheat you.” “I know, hon, you’ve always been straight with me,” Steph nodded, giving Lisa a thin smile. Lisa continued, “But, but there are plenty of girls who would screw you for every penny if they could. It’s bad enough now... if we’re independent, how are you going to keep track of the money?”

Steph sat back in the chair. What’s up with her? Lisa thought. She looks so strange... sad, even. “Lisa, that’s the other reason I wanted to see you. There are going to be some other changes. I’m tired of disloyal girls. I’m tired of taking the little sluts, teaching them a good living... a very good living... and having them stab me in the back every time I turn around. Cyndi turned state’s evidence on me last year, did you know that?” Lisa didn’t, but that kind of thing happened. Cost of doing business.

Steph snorted. “I loved that girl like a daughter. Cost me $25,000 to beat that rap, and I still only got out of it by having Nina blow the prosecutor about a dozen times. And then only because he was too stupid to check for a hidden camera.” Steph scribbled something in the red notebook, the one where she kept all of her girl’s names and numbers... in code, she had assured the younger girl, when her employee had worried about the notebook falling into the cops’ hands.

“So, what? You’re going to get rid of all the back-stabbers?”

Steph nodded. “Something like that. Here, let me show you something.” She picked a remote control up off her desk, and turned on the small TV in the office. Lisa looked over at it, wondering why it was turned away from Steph’s desk, towards her. And when did Steph get a VCR?

The TV screen was suddenly filled with swirling, dancing colors, pulsing and writhing. It was pretty, in a weird, sickening sort of way. Lisa tried to look away, to ask Steph what the hell this was, but it kept dragging her back... pulling her back... pulling her in. Vaguely, she could hear Steph’s voice say with infinitely sadness, “Sorry about this, Lisa, but business is business. No exceptions.”

Then, there were just the colors, swirling and writhing, penetrating her like no client, no lover, nothing had ever penetrated before, deep into her mind, opening her up, eating away at her brain, and she thought she might have given a little scream, or a moan, or some small and helpless noise before the colors closed in, slid into her brain like a cock into a cunt, filled her with thoughts that weren’t hers, but she might not have made any sound at all, she might have just thought briefly that she wanted to...

Lisa slowly opened her eyes, remembering. She wanted to move, to say something, but she felt so tired, like every muscle in her body was fatigued, useless. Her eyes were half-open, not really seeing the room around her. Richard was sitting, now, on the dresser next to the couch, next to the TV, the TV and VCR that they used to show porno movies if the client wanted them.

Lisa remembered, now, that she never took all of the money back out of the crisper. She only took 60%, never more than 60%, round down if you can’t make change, never more than 60%... She could even see the math in her head like a caption across the bottom of her vision, “$200 means $120, $180 means $100...”

Richard watched her, and she realized he was talking. “Ms. Tilson is a very good businesswoman in her own way, but she lacked vision. I provided her with a rather amazing apparatus, and she used it to solve the most trivial of problems. She got all of her girls, including you, working for themselves, carrying all their own expenses... and still got to keep her fee. No one could ever track it back to her, even if you got arrested. And who’d bother hassling an independent working girl? Clever, I suppose, but not nearly clever enough. It’s like inventing gunpowder, and only using it for fireworks.”

What was he talking about? Lisa thought. What’s going on? Why can I not... move at all? What’s he doing?

Richard pulled a tape out of his briefcase, and slid it into the VCR. Reaching over, he turned the TV power on, then put on a pair of sunglasses, with odd, opaque-looking red lenses.

As the TV warmed up, Richard continued. “Ms. Tilson was of the old school of madame. Having been a hooker herself, she identified with them. She couldn’t imagine a truly different way of operating the business. But I can. Things are changing, now, Lisa. The business is going to be very different. Clients want new things, different things. Things that a girl just can’t provide without suitable training. Things that a good actress just can’t deliver. Things that can’t be provided by a woman rented by the hour.”

Suddenly, the TV screen came on, and the colors were back. The fascinating horrible wonderful hideous writhing complex colors that started instantly working their way into her, touching her everywhere, penetrating deep into her mind and she could feel things changing and she could feel her sex getting wet and it wasn’t just lube and her mouth opened a little bit like a cock was waiting for it and it was like her mind was wet and open and spread wide and panting and eager for this huge horrible wonderful cock that was sliding into it from the colors and fucking her brain hard again and again and she was forgetting things and remembering others and her name wasn’t even Lisa anymore and it never had been and what was happening and who was that man in her mind and what was he doing to her and...

Richard stood up, pulled out a cellphone, and started dialing. He said, more to himself than to her, “And there will always be those who would rather buy than rent.”

This time, she knew that she screamed. But it wasn’t very loud.

Richard spoke for a moment with someone on the phone, then hung up. He looked at Lisa... or, at least, the former Lisa. She was staring at the TV, the lights playing over her face, her eyes huge, glazed and staring. Mouth half-open. One hand was at her groin, slowly playing with herself. Her large nipples showed clearly through the black dress. Richard sighed. He’d considered briefly keeping her for himself, but the offer was just too generous. And business was business, and “no exceptions” was a good policy. There would be plenty more girls, soon enough. Nina was working tomorrow night, wasn’t she? he thought, checking the notebook.

The doorbell rang softly, and Victoria sprang to her feet, pulling her dress down carefully. She looked at the clock as she dashed to the door; 7:55pm, nearly an hour late... but Thomas was often late. That was OK, he’s an important man, she told himself; he has lots of obligations besides her. A wife, kids, an important job at an important bank, even another mistress. She knew that, but that didn’t keep her from getting impatient. She’d been masturbating, just a little bit, while she waited for him. Even knowing he was supposed to be there made her SO wet...

She flung open the door, bending over, nearly falling out of her dress. Thomas was there, and she could feel her cunt clench slightly just seeing him. Even after all these months as his mistress, he still had that effect on her. He gave her a small peck on the cheek (clench drip), and breezed by her with a brief, “Sorry I’m late.”

He sat down heavily in the chair in the living room, and she came over, kneeling beside him, stroking his legs. “Hard day, love?” she said, her huge blue eyes filled with concern. God, whatever it takes to make him happy, she thought. Anything. Anything at all.

He looked down, and smiled. She could feel her spirits lift at that smile. “Not that bad. Just long.” He stretched, slowly. “Just a blowjob tonight, though, Vicky.”

She could feel her cunt pulse, a droplet of her moisture running down her leg at the suggestion. “One blowjob, coming up, Master,” she said, smiling as she reached for his zipper. She loved calling him Master, it made her feel like a prize possession, an exquisite work of art, cherished and taken care of. In moments, as her mouth slowly slid down over his amazing, wonderful, incredible cock, she had the first orgasm of the night, but, she was sure, not the last.

By the time he had her bent over on the bed, and was fucking her hard, she had long since lost track of the orgasms. Just the thought that her oral sex skills were good enough to make him want her pussy, too, had driven her over the edge. Her body responded so well, so automatically to him that she could let her mind drift, just a bit, back to when she was first introduced to him by Richard. It was all she could do to keep from dropping to her knees and begging him to let her be his mistress, his slave, his toy, his possession, anything he wanted. She could feel her panties soak through, that instant. Richard had been right, like he always was; Thomas was her dream Master. She liked to go back to that night; it was the most pleasant memory she had.

Later that first night, when Thomas had mounted her for the first time ever, covering her, spreading her sopping, whorish (but only for him, now, forever) cunt wide open, fucking her, pounding into her, making her the sex-slave she always wanted to be, being the dominant, possessive lover she had always needed, she had a sudden, funny thought, and whispered in his ear, “So, gasp Master, should I get oooh panties that say ahhh, ‘Under New Management’?”

They both had laughed.