The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

This is another older story, written for Bad Penny’s 2009 contest, “Take Me to the Fair!” She wanted something MC and erotic, but that otherwise let her feel as if she were experiencing some sort of fair through a protagonist’s senses. So that’s what I wrote... an early evening, late-summer, county fair... something I’ve always enjoyed and am very familiar with. In that, you’ll find the first third of this story more descriptive than erotic, certainly, but I still hope you enjoy it, and can perhaps see a county fair in some of the way I’ve always seen them.

* * *

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Chapter 1: The Sights and Sounds

I stopped at the mailbox on my way up to my, to our, apartment, fumbling with my key, hoping today was the day. When I finally got it opened, I yanked out the letters inside, shuffling through them quickly, looking for... for... and there it was, thank god!

Though it wasn’t even addressed to me, I’ve never been so excited to see a letter in my entire life.

* * *

I pulled up in front of Rachel’s apartment building and stopped, giving the horn two sharp taps. It was 5:30 P.M. on the button, and I wanted to see if she’d be good to her word to be ready when I got here.

Surprisingly enough, she was, and less than a minute later, I saw the front door open and Rachel come bounding down the stairs toward my car. I was also happy to see that she’d dressed for the occasion, as we’d both agreed to do. We were heading off to a local county fair, after all, and I thought it might be fun to actually look the part. I thus wasn’t surprised to see that she was dressed almost exactly as I was, as there aren’t too many different looks when one imagines “rodeo girl”.

Outside of her wearing a jeans skirt, as opposed to my looser black one, and having a leather thong tied around her neck and dipping down into her cleavage (whereas I was wearing a loosely tied bandanna), we were perfect match... wearing those different skirts, yes, but practically identical white, Western blouses, and tan, leather cowboy boots.

Neither of us wore cowboys hats, though, as I guess we’d both thought that was a bit much. Either that, or we were equally vain about our long, brunette hair.

She opened the passenger door and climbed in, smiling. “Hi, Karen! Well, how do I look?”

“You look great,” I told her as she buckled in. “Besides, if I badmouth you, I’d be badmouthing myself, which I’m not about to do. I just thought if we’re going to go out together this evening, that we might as well look good.”

“No, no... I can see what you’re saying. If we’re going to be out there among the masses, I see no reason why we shouldn’t be stylin’ when we do.”

“Damn straight! Let’s go, then.” I put the car in gear and we took off into the hinterlands.

I figured it would take about 40 minutes to reach the fair through the rush-hour traffic, so it was good to see Rachel in a happy mood. She’s my best friend, and has been ever since I moved to this area four years ago after college. That being said, however, she still hadn’t seemed that eager when I’d first suggested we head out into God’s country to take in the early evening atmosphere of one of the local county fairs. I’d grown up in the country, and had visited many of them in my life; but Rachel was more of a city girl, and couldn’t remember having gone to one since she was about ten.

The 40 minutes passed quickly, though, as we laughed and joked and listened to the radio. We also talked about the place where we worked together and about some of the more eccentric employees who worked there. There was also a bit of double entendre silliness about bull riding and cowboys with their big... Stetsons.

As we finally drove up to the site of the fair, and could actually see it, it was fun to hear her enthusiasm continue as she spoke aloud to some of things I was feeling inside, too... about the rides, the buildings, the big tents, and the crowds of people who had already arrived.

We pulled into the parking area… basically just a big field of cut grass… and I let the crew of young people with their swinging red flashlights direct me to where I should park. We could pretty much tell we were at a country county fair the second we stepped outside the car, though.

“Oh my God... do you smell that, Karen?”

As I’d grown up on a dairy farm until I was 16, I barely had to breathe in to know what smell she was talking about.

“Of course I smell that,” I told her. “But don’t worry about it, okay? I can pretty much guarantee you that within five minutes you won’t even notice it anymore, as your nose and brain will just get tired of it and filter it out. Trust me on that.”

“Okay, sure, I trust you... but sheesh. You actually grew up in a place that smelled like this?”

“Oh, yeah. It really does bring back some great, and not-so-great, memories though. Did I ever tell you how I used to occasionally shovel manure in the winter....”

“Yes, yes, you told me about that at least three different times.”

I laughed and said, “Okay... I’ll stop. But you’ve got to remember that this place is going to trigger a lot of childhood memories for me, Rachel.”

“I can see that for sure,” she said, “and I’ll let you know if it gets too bad.”

We were up to the ticket stand by now, as the line was pretty short, what with the afternoon people still being here, and the evening “shift” still on the way. The $20 each of us had to pay was a bit of a jolt, but times change certainly, and so must the county fairs, I supposed.

But then we were inside, walking with the crowds of people... of all ages, dress, and size... and trying to figure out what we wanted to do first. Rachel was hungry, and was pushing for us to get dinner right away. I could see her point, as mixed with the smells of the barns and the domesticated animals were the smells coming from all the food vendors... from chicken to burgers to pizza to fried dough. That, and we were getting very close to the stands where they were sold.

They were making me ridiculously hungry, too, but I wanted to wait for just a little while, knowing that anticipation can only jack up one’s final appreciation of anything.

She agreed finally, so we headed off for a couple of the animal exhibits. The first one we came to was the “birds and bunnies” shed. It was here I found out that Rachel had a particular aversion to roosters.

I did notice that she seemed a bit nervous as we walked down the first row, looking over to our right to check out all the big and small bunny rabbits. It turned out she liked the sad-looking ones with the floppy ears, while my favorites were the chubby little ones with the short ears. It was when we turned and started coming back down that same aisle, the chickens and the roosters now on our right, that Rachel started to flinch, moving to my left side so my body shielded her from the “horrible” things.

“God, I hate roosters,” Rachel hissed when one of the larger ones began to crow. It startled me how tightly she clutched at my arm, looking as if she’d just seen a shark in the water, and not a rather helpless bird in a cage.

I just managed to catch myself before jibing, “I didn’t know you were so afraid of a big cocks”. After all, who was I to talk, as ‘let she who is actually getting any, cast the first stone’. I knew I hadn’t been, lately, though I wasn’t sure about Rachel. She was certainly dating more than I was, but we almost never spoke about things of the bedroom.

I didn’t think she’d want to hear about my sessions with “Mr. Vibrato”, anyway. So, instead, I just told her, “That’s all right... honest. We can skip the next row and just go look at the baby ducks, okay?”

“Thanks,” she said, still holding my arm as we hustled back to the end of the row and moved to stand next to what I’ve always called the “duckling tub”.

“Oh, lord,” Rachel whispered to me, “they’re just darling, aren’t they?”

I watched as the little things either huddled in a group on their stand, preening and sleeping, or climbed the slick ramp up to their feeder. Reaching it, they would peck away, get some grain, and lift their heads and swallow. They tried to get as much as they could before others from below pushed them over the edge, down another slide, and into the water of the tub.

“Yeah, they’re cute as buttons for sure.”

We watched for a while, enthralled by their shenanigans, until Rachel finally asked, “So, what’s next... it’s time to eat, right?”

I laughed, but told her, “In a couple. Let’s check out the big horses, first. Then we can eat. You’re okay with horses, aren’t you?”

“Of course, silly. I used to ride when I was younger.”

So we went walked off to the draft horses shed, oohing and ahhing about the incredible size of them, and the power they must be able to generate. We mainly got to look at their backsides, but a few were turned around so we could reach up and stroke their foreheads.

“Pretty damn impressive, I must say,” Rachel told me, after we’d checked out the last one. “But now it’s time to eat!”

I laughed again, but agreed this time, and we headed back toward the food area.

County fairs are just such a visceral experience... a pleasing cacophony for the senses. Along with all the smells—of hay, dust, food, people, diesel smoke if the tractor pulls are going on, and animals (and their, um... leavings)—there are the sights and sounds of the fair, too... the flashing lights of the midway and the rides, the colorful prizes, the carnies exhorting people to play their games, the mass of humanity constantly talking and moving, wearing all sorts of outfits and doing all sorts of things, children in strollers and running all about, crying out in excitement or distress....

All these stimulations and sensations become like a soft, sensual... sensual in the general sense... overload, surrounding you and coming at you from all sides until everything mixes together into one giant “thing”... a county fair.

Knowing I’d been to this particular fair a couple of times over the years, Rachel asked, “What’s good? What do you think I should eat?”

“Hmm... I know you love chicken, so why don’t you get a chicken dinner from one of the fire department booths. They’re really good, and there’s one just up here on the left.”

“What about you, Karen? Are you gonna get chicken?”

“Nope. Just past it is a 4-H stand, and if they know anything about anything, it’s about milk. They make the best milkshakes going.”

“That’s it... just a milkshake?”

“Lord no, Rach. There’s a pizza place right next to the chicken one, and I’ll get a couple of slices there... there’s nothing like a chocolate milkshake with pizza. Then we can sit down together and eat. Then, later tonight, we can split some cheese fries, and then maybe some fried dough or a funnel cake!”

It was her turn to laugh. “Okay, okay, that sounds like a plan... a, fattening, expensive plan, looking at some of these food prices. But I’m game, and I’m as hungry as one of those horses. Let’s eat!”

So we did. She got her chicken dinner, complete with baked potato, coleslaw, and rolls, and I got my milkshake and pizza. Then we sat down at a picnic table and ate until we couldn’t eat any more... for a while yet, at least.

“Ahh, that was terrific,” Rachel sighed. “Okay, I’m good to go now. As you’re the big expert on this county fair thing, why don’t you just lead and I’ll follow.”

“Fine by me,” I told her, and so the two of us took off to check out a few more exhibits before wandering down toward the midway and all the rides. We stopped off at the cow barn, visited the shed containing old farm implements, and played a few games of matching various local flora and fauna with their names.

For college-educated women, we were embarrassingly bad at that.

Then, after the obligatory waiting in line to get into the women’s bathroom, it was down to the midway, walking slowly and chatting, and just enjoying the general ambience of the fair. Though we figured we were losers before we started, we stopped at a stand to buy a handful of tickets, and then picked our gaming poison.

First off, with both of us trying to ignore the stares we were getting from the carnie running the booth, I fired some darts in the general direction of their balloon targets. In what was hardly a quelle surprise moment, I didn’t hit, or win, anything. I took a lot of grief from Rachel for that.

Next, I did manage to win two quarters by spending ten quarters on one of those “money pushing” machines. Rachel, on the other hand, used up five quarters and didn’t get any back. Silly me, I somehow it felt like I’d beaten her.

Rachel, on the other hand, “showing me how it’s done”, threw three ping-pong balls backwards, over her head, at a tableful of small fishbowls, and, on the third toss, actually managed to win a goldfish. Laughing her butt off, and as neither of us really wanted to take care of a fish, she was about to tell the man to just keep it when she noticed a very disappointed young boy who hadn’t managed such a, well... lucky shot.

So, instead, she asked him if he wanted the fish she’d won.

Somewhat surprisingly, he shook his head, “Naww... it don’t mean anything unless you win it, you know?”

I remember I nodded, as he was sort of right. It reminded me of that line from “The Color of Money”, where Fast Eddie says something about how “money won is so much better than money earned.”

So, the fish remained for someone else to win, and we moved off toward the rides.

As it was early September, it was already getting slightly dark, and if nothing else, all the colored lights on all the different rides were becoming more of a pleasure to watch. They flashed and glowed and spun around with the rides themselves, making everything seem so much more festive and fun.

I’m not a big ride fan though, and it turned out that neither was Rachel. That, and given the lines were so long for each one, we decided to pass on most of them. Rachel was interested in trying out the Zipper, but I put the kibosh on that right away. I refuse to even consider riding it anymore, ever since Jimmy Cleveland, back in the day, decided to see just how long he and I could stay upside down in one of those claustrophobic cages.

Truth be told, any ride that makes me feel that ‘moment of weightlessness’ is enough to make me sick to my stomach. Sometimes, even a slow moving Ferris Wheel can do that to me, I’m sorry to say.

We did finally decide to go on the circular swings, though, which were a lot of fun, despite the 15-minute wait. I actually enjoyed the sense of seeming to fly through the darkening night sky, and the gentle thrill that the chains might break and send me hurtling off toward the parking lot.

After that, as we were walking past the Thunderbolt and listening to Ozzy’s “Crazy Train” blasting out of its speakers, Rachel pointed up to our left and asked, “You wanna go through that thing?”

“That thing” turned out to be one of those portable, haunted fun houses that get dragged around from fair to fair. Truthfully, I’d never been in one, and didn’t really want to, but I knew that Rachel was a big fan of scary movies, the occult, and all things mystical. So, as the line wasn’t too long and was moving pretty quickly, I figured ‘what the hell’, and told her, “Sure, why not.”

Basically, the fun house look like a retrofitted railway box car, with some steps leading up to entrance at one end, and another set of stairs on the other end where customers exited, laughing and pushing at each other. When it was finally our turn to enter, we gave another carnie, who somehow managed to leer and look bored at the same time, our tickets, climbing up, and walked inside.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, frankly, but this seemed about right. It was very dark, with just enough ambient light to see where we were going, with flashes of more obvious light in the passageway up ahead of us. There were all sorts of weird sounds, too... some right next to us and some up ahead. We could hear big organ riffs, and canned, hysterical screams and moans, along with the screams, cries, and laughter from those in front of us.

Okay, okay... so I screamed a few times myself, as things seemed to reach out and touch me. I know the one time Rachel did that, goofing on me, she got a smack in the shoulder for her efforts, as I sometimes tend to react first, think later.

Actually, the whole thing was pretty enjoyable, in a lame, yet scary, sort of way.

It seems as if we’d gone to one end of the fun house, then back, when things started to get a bit strange.

Even though I was somewhat disoriented, as we turned to our right for the first time, I assumed we’d reached the back wall of place. We’d just walk this third aisle, turn right again, and then exit... right? I mean, our “boxcar” wasn’t wide enough for five aisles, was it?

That’s what I was still expecting as we reached the halfway point of the aisle.

It was then that someone in a white ghoul mask... a woman from the sound of her voice... reached an arm out in front of the two of us, moaning, “Stop! You must stop for a moment!”

I was glad Rachel’s scream preceded my own, as this woman had scared the crap out of me, and I didn’t want to seem like the only weak sister here. I didn’t have any idea of what was happening, or whether this was normal or not as her long arm barred our way. Just as I was going to challenge the ghoul on that, however, she pulled back into her hidey-hole and moaned, “Go...goooo! But beware... bewaaaarrre!”

Needless to say, we did go, as the aisle was clear in front of us now, and frankly, I was pretty anxious to get out of there. As we hustled along, translucent white masks kept flashing to life on the walls, crying, “Doom... Terror... Go back, go back!", giving me “Lord of the Rings” flashbacks like you wouldn’t believe. Finally, we reached the end.

But was it the end? I mean, I was certain we should be turning to the right and leaving, but the only opening was to our left!

With nothing else to do, we did go left, then gasped when almost instantly the opening behind us closed, leaving us standing there in the semi-dark, a thick, beaded curtain in front of us, and now a solid metal wall behind. It was so much quieter where we were now, too; quiet enough that we could hear the sound of our own breathing.

“Don’t be shy. Come in... come in...” we heard from behind the beads, the voice of our accoster thickly feminine, and more than a bit demanding.

So we stepped through them, looking around, my heart hammering more than I cared to admit.

We stood there in a room, something far too big, or wide, to possibly have been part of the fun house. It was softly carpeted, but otherwise seemed less like being in a room as being inside a tent, as the walls appeared to be made out of fabric and shuddered a bit in the “wind”. I could feel air moving, I know, and the remaining sounds of the fair and the fun house seemed so distant and thin that it was actually disorienting.

I glanced over at Rachel, almost happy to see her staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and just as startled as I was.

But somehow we were in a tent, with half a dozen big candles flickering and providing the only light. The air seemed almost smoky, and filled with the scent of sandalwood incense, and I swear I could hear a bouzouki playing. A small, rectangular table was in front of us, with two solid-looking chairs on our side of it. And there was a woman... rising from her throne-like chair on the other side of the table, walking around it to approach us....

“Verrry good... verrry good,” she half-whispered, half-chanted. “My selectors have chosen well. They’ve sent me two attractive young women who obviously long to peer into their futures, who are not afraid to approach Madame Olshavsky and find the path to their true happiness and fulfillment.”

I’m not sure I’d ever seen a woman quite like her. Her outfit screamed, “gypsy”, what with her long, flowing peasant skirt, frilly white blouse... one with some really serious décolletage happening... floral head bandana, and more shining necklaces and bracelets than you could shake a stick at.

She... Madame Olshavsky... stopped just in front of us, still looking us over. “Hmm... obviously not real cowgirls, I see... you’ve simply dressed for the occasion. Also very good, though, as it proves you’re both imaginative as well as lovely, and that you like to live things, as opposed to just watching them move around you.”

I didn’t know what to say, simply staring back at her. She was taller and older than either Rachel or I... a big, earthy, well-endowed woman, who apparently liked to show it. Not only was she physically imposing, but there was an air of confidence and authority about her that made it difficult to even speak.

Finally, Rachel broke our silence and blurted, “Where the heck are we? We were in the funhouse, and now suddenly we’re here!”

Madame simply smiled, giving us a look that was just short of condescending. “Why, in my tent, of course. This is where I give all my readings. I find things go much more smoothly and clearly here than anywhere else.” She leaned forward, her head between Rachel’s and mine, and whispered, “Certainly you can both feel it... the aura of my tent, the sense that all things are possible here.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but the aura of her lilac perfume and physical presence was swirling around me in almost dizzying waves, making it hard to think, much less respond.

“Now surely, two such obviously intelligent and beautiful young women have names,” she said, continuing to lean between us, continuing to whisper. “So now you will tell them to Madame Olshavsky, yes?”

“Rachel!” my friend practically shouted.

“Karen,” I said, my voice quieter. I hadn’t meant to tell her at all, just wanting to get out of here, but hearing Rachel’s quick response seemed to trigger my own.

“Excellent... excellent,” Madame purred, straightening up, but seemingly even closer to us. “So now, you, Rachel, and you, Karen,” she continued, putting her hands on our shoulders, “will come and sit at my table. You’ll come and sit and talk with Madame Olshavsky, and I’ll tell you what the future holds in store for you both.”

She stepped back, lightly pulling at us, and we followed. Again, I hadn’t planned that, but the older woman was insistent, and for some reason it just felt easier to accede to her wishes than to challenge them. She led us to the two chairs and guided us into them, then moved around to sit on the other side.

As she did, I finally got my act together enough to say, “Look, Madame Olshavsky... before this goes too far I need to say something. I don’t mean to be rude, and I know Rachel is sort of into stuff like this, but I don’t believe anyone can read the future. Fun’s fun, and all, but it’s certainly nothing I’m going to pay for.”

I finished, my heart hammering slightly, feeling the atmosphere of the tent seeming to close in around me like a scented fog. Madame Olshavsky simply sat there smiling indulgently at me, somehow making me feel smaller in the process.

Finally, she turned to Rachel and said, “And you, Rachel? Do you believe in Madame Olshavsky’s gifts?”

“I... I don’t know. I’d like to believe in such things, but I’m not, well... made out of money, either.” “I see,” Madame said, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair and interlocking her fingers within her rather generous cleavage. “It is justifiable that you both do not believe, as there are so many charlatans out there. Also, I do not take it as an insult that you don’t wish to pay Madame Olshavsky a small stipend for the service she is about to render. So, if I were to tell you I’ll read your fortunes for free, would that be enough for the two of you to stay?”

“Sure!” Rachel said.

“Perhaps,” I replied.

Rachel looked over at me, her eyes brighter now. She really does get off on stuff like this.

“Oh c’mon, Karen. It’ll be fun, and what have we got to lose now?”

“Yeah, maybe. But what if she demands her fee after we’re finished?”

“There will be no blatant demands for money,” Madame interrupted. “I will certainly not turn down any gratuities you wish to offer afterwards, but such payments will be entirely up to the two of you.”

“See? I’m only going to do this if you do it, too, Karen. So what do you say? Besides, what if, you know, she can actually do this? Wouldn’t it be interesting to see...?”

I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to know what my future held in store for me, but my friend wanted this, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. That, and I knew I was pretty good at not allowing myself to be strong-armed for money. And after all, it might even be fun....

“Okay, Rach. We can do it.”

“Thanks, hon. You’ll see, this will be exciting and intriguing, I’ll bet.”

We turned back to see Madame Olshavsky smiling at us.

“Very, very good. As I said before, you both want to live life, and not just be spectators. Let us begin, then.” She leaned forward and reached down under her chair, still talking, her large breasts almost coming out of her top. “Now which of the two of you has the most volatile personality, would you say?”

“Me,” Rachel told her.

“Her,” I answered, as that was pretty much a no-brainer, given our history together.

“I’m glad you both agree,” Madame said, placing a large crystal ball in the very center of the table. It sat there on its reflective black base as if it were staring at us.

Oh, brother, I thought, How cliché is this?

“Madame Olshavsky knows how cliché this must look,” she said, staring at me as she did, sending a shiver down my spine. “But this is not your normal crystal ball. It is far more than that... far more interactive. What the two of you must do now is connect with it. You must look into it, concentrate on it, and simply begin to remember your past.”

“Our past?” Rachel said, looking confused again. I must admit I was, too.

“Yes, your pasts. Almost everything that happens in the future is driven and directed by one’s past. That, and it’s the easiest way for my crystal ball to see what you both are like, to create that connection between you, and it. So just start remembering things from tonight, then backward through your life, and please try not to speak again until I tell you to.”

I thought this all was pretty crazy… but again, why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

So I started remembering the fair, and all the things that Rachel and I had done so far... and then the drive here... and then my day at work, imagining Rachel was thinking about much the same things. As we were doing that, though hardly surprisingly, the big, round crystal began to glow... faintly at first, but then more strongly as the seconds ticked by.

Then, as I tried to continue to play this out, letting memories of my past week drift through my head, the ball seemed to fill with a swirling smoke. All this was still so very clichéd, but also rather pretty, what with the glowing, shifting light in the semi-darkened room.

“You’re both doing so well, my dears, and it’s only a matter of moments before....

“Yess... there it is! The ball is beginning to connect with one of you.”