The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I walked into the office the next day bright and early—half an hour to go before business hours, in fact; the receptionist hadn’t yet got in.

This was for the simple reason that I wanted to get the video camera in without anyone making any stupid comments about it. Simplest way to do that is to ensure a lack of witnesses.

I stashed the camcorder and it’s tripod in my desk drawers and continued up to the rec room. I spent just over twenty-five minutes playing pool solo—the table now dry, if a little discoloured, but from experience no one would complain—before Kirsty walked in.

If I hadn’t known she was geared to seduce me enthusiastically, I’d have been stunned. She hardly ever turned up on time in our busy months. This was early.

“Morning,” I said. “What are you doing here so early?”

She took her coat off. No beating about the bush with this girl; stockings, which she’d probably worn so as not to seem weird on the way in, and black medium-heel shoes were all she sported. She grinned.

“Guess,” she said.

This seduction was likely to be over a lot quicker than I’d expected. Still, if she wanted playful, I could run with that.

“Playboy are running a Reader’s Colleagues section and no one bothered to tell me.”

“You don’t need that kind of magazine,” she said, stepping closer. I guessed the punchline and interrupted with one of my own.

“I don’t need that kind of magazine? Of course I bloody do. I’m a bloke, aren’t I?”

Gender stereotyping. Such a useful fallback position.

“No you don’t,” she said. I was glad she hadn’t replied to my other question. Another step forward.

“You’ve got me now.”

Yup. Saw it coming. No one’s got any creative skills these days. Including me, sad to say. Still, such is life.

See? Two cliches in as many sentences. It annoys me really; there may be nothing new under the sun, but there’s a fuck of a lot of old stuff we haven’t found yet.

Someone beat me to that observation, as well. Can’t remember who they were quoting but my opposite number with Hannon uses it as his e-mail sig. OK, I’m getting depressed. In front of a very attractive naked woman who, thanks to a couple of amber gems, will do anything for me. That can’t be right.

I pulled myself together. “This isn’t going to get you promoted, you know.”

“Oh, I think it is,” she purred. “I reckon I’ll be sitting on your personal staff before the day’s out.”

Inventiveness! I smiled at that as much as at the come-on. It wasn’t until later I realised I’d used a similar line in a sig for weeks when the Lewinsky story broke, only that was about the presidential staff.

“Is this some sort of private bet?” I asked, playing the nervous line, pretending I’d had no foreknowledge of this. I was, after all, technically her superior, although the office system meant no one paid any attention to that shit. That meant I’d naturally be cautious about office romances, were this a normal seduction.

“Oh, no,” she said. By now I was backed against the pool table, leaning backwards, while she toyed with her nipples; the adult film version of the woman running her hands over the guy’s shirt. And much more effective, incidentally. “You and me, we’re the only ones who’ll benefit from this.” She did reach out and run her hands over my shirt then; I began to consider differences in effectiveness I hadn’t bothered with before. Sure, a woman playing with her tits is an attractive sight, and it does stimulate a pretty good erection; but if she knows what she’s doing, her touch can be a lot better.

Even through a shirt.

She stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips against mine, moved her head a fraction of an inch back. I opened my own in mixed puzzlement and arousal. Her head flicked back in and her tongue was in my mouth, searching eagerly. I responded automatically.

Her hands on my shirt proved to have another bonus; they were perfectly placed to lift my jacket off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

I reflected, again, that this was likely to be an unusually short seduction.

She slipped her head back away from me again and looked at me with a deep sparkle in her eyes.

“Well?” she asked.

I didn’t bother with any more faked resistance. I dived straight back in, hands roaming over her breasts. I felt her leg slip in gently between mine and her hand at my waistband, undoing my belt.

I let myself go.

Leanne and Janet came in shortly afterward, in response to my call. I handed them old CD cases each and positioned them either side of the pool table. Kirsty did me the signal honour of stripping them topless for me, and I threw Leanne an imaginary ball, which she tracked and caught easily.

“Kirsty, go downstairs and get my camcorder and tripod out of my desk.”

“Yes, master.”

“Start playing, girls.”

I dropped into an easy chair and watched proceedings as Kirsty appointed herself camerawoman and began taping the two topless table-tennis players. I then made her start saying that until she slipped on the tongue-twister.

It took half an hour, by which time I had half an hour’s footage of two attractive topless women engaged in a bizarre parody of sporting activity which made possibly the best of their breasts. I told them to realise what they were doing and helped myself to a Sprite while Leanne and Janet caught their breath and tried to explain to themselves what they’d been doing.

I walked up behind Kirsty, still in shoes and stockings alone, and slid an arm proprietorially around her waist. She shivered excitedly at my touch and didn’t complain when I turned her around to face me and wrote PROPERTY OF STEVE RICHARDS just above her bush in the thick black marker pen we use for presentations on display boards. She looked down, sorted out the message into a viewpoint that made sense, and looked back up at me questioningly. I smiled and kissed her forehead, felt her stand on tiptoes and strain upward instinctively to meet her mouth with mine, but by that time I’d stopped kissing. “Don’t worry about the message, Kirsty.”

“Yes, master.” I put the pen in her hand. “Put it in your bag.”

“Yes, master,” she said, doing so.

“Take it home with you at the close of business today and, after you’ve showered tonight and in the morning, rewrite the message on yourself. Do this every day until the end of the two weeks. Whenever you happen to look down and see the label, you will remember how you obey me, and you will orgasm. Understood?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good,” I said. I slapped her backside lightly, and moved over to the baffled Leanne and Janet.

“What were you two playing at, then?”

“Uh... um... I...”

Leanne tailed off. I wasn’t altogether surprised. I smiled politely at her and flicked her nipple. It shot into erectness with a speed no woman in possession of her own senses or body could duplicate. She gasped as if she’d never felt it’s like, which she had, if only from me. I don’t care how experienced the lover, there are some levels of human reaction you can’t reach without being able to fiddle with the brain itself.

“Never mind, Leanne. Just sit back down.”

“Yes, master.”

She made herself comfortable perched on the pool table corner, that being the nearest thing she could sit on. I moved to Janet, since Kirsty was busy just standing to attention by her handbag.

“Janet, do you remember what happened yesterday between you and Kirsty?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good. Kirsty, I restore your memories of yesterday.” She blinked, suddenly looking utterly stunned. What she had done yesterday was now a real shock to the system, instead of a series of dull and faked memories of pool games, coffee, and casual flirting.

“Remember what happened between you and Janet, Kirsty?”

“Yes, master.”

“Excellent. You’re going to take her place.”

“Yes, master.”

She stepped away from her handbag and over toward where the two women had plunged into each other the previous day, lying down and getting herself comfortable.

“Janet, you’re cast as Kirsty. I want you to exactly duplicate what she did yesterday.”

The acknowledging “yes, master” was almost lost as she dived across the room, hurdling the pool table lengthwise—not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination—and turning in midair so she could back into the corner. I picked up the camcorder and settled down.