The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cape City Chronicles

v1: Today the City, Tomorrow...

#19: Before the Storm!

by Jennifer Kohl

Starfury opened her eyes and groaned. Her body was stiff, her hair mussed, and sweat clung to her. Her night in the dreamscape had been... intense. She had reveled in pleasure beyond any she’d known on Earth, chains of glorious orgasms, as she served and fucked and sucked.

But all that had to be locked away now. Just a dream, to be filed away and allowed to fade like a dream, not permitted to seep into her subconscious. Her Tylifarian mind allowed that kind of segmenting, at least if she kept the experience to those periods when the portions of her brain that made the connection were resting.

Elsewhere in the Gamma Pi house, the other girls were stirring from intense nights of their own. All had had intensely sexual dreams, the third time in less than a week they had felt a rush of sexual energy—but then, all three were single at the moment, and that happened in dry spells, didn’t it? So Stephanie resolved to use her vibrator before bed tonight, and Aisha to take a cold shower.

But Candice was worried. Candice had dreamed of him, of submitting to him, of the pleasure of being his obedient fucktoy. I shouldn’t be having those dreams. Michelle cleansed the memories! She thought about her time with him—and yes, there was the revulsion, just as she would have felt before he touched her, before he conditioned her to crave being used by him. She didn’t crave it anymore, so why? Why was she having those dreams?

I should ask Michelle, she thought. But that was the problem. She had a nasty suspicion about where the dreams were coming from—because if they couldn’t be from her, the only other person who had touched those memories was Michelle. Which if true, meant Michelle had been compromised by them—and that made Michelle the one person she couldn’t risk asking.

Cara, meanwhile, was not worried. She didn’t permit herself anything as intense as worry—that was too close to fear, and her powers did strange and dangerous things when she was afraid. Emotions like that had to be stored up and filed away, to be released a little bit at a time when needed.

She was, however, concerned. She was disciplined, in control, and self-aware, and what sexual desire did to her powers was even worse than fear. When it struck out of nowhere last night she had immediately, instinctively, even in her sleep, boxed it up and stored it away. She couldn’t risk a repeat of the other two times she’d released sexual energy recently—three was a magically powerful number, and the last thing she or the city needed was a portal to a sex dimension tearing open in her bedroom.

But now it was in her head, in its box, and could be examined closely, carefully. She floated above her bed in lotus position, eyes closed, and meditated on it until it was clear: this was not her lust, this craving for control, for submission, for obedience. It had intruded from outside, from somewhere near, just as she’d suspected that first night. And there weren’t many people nearby from whom it might have come.

So she went downstairs for breakfast, and when she saw Candice down there as well, she sat across from her at the table and quietly nibbled at her breakfast bar. Candice seemed content with the quiet, which was good—sometimes the other girls were very loud, and that made it hard for Cara to focus, but Candice seemed absorbed with the coffee mug she was staring into.

So there was no interference as Cara focused her gaze inward, opened the gaze of her mind, and turned it outward. She was not a telepath like Michelle. Not even truly an empath, in the psychic sense; but magic was, at its core, made of emotion, and she could see and read magic very well. She had learned, with much practice, to read how the emotional energies in a room diverted and colored the circulation of magic within it, and to use that to fuel her spells when her own feelings didn’t quite match what she wanted to do.

And the feelings around Candice were... worry. Concern. Frustration. A touch of fear. A little bit of self-loathing, and a healthy amount of anger. An echo of desire, but not the actuality of it, and not a trace of submission. Which meant there was only one other possibility.

“I’m worried about Michelle,” Candice said quietly, and Cara was so startled she almost showed it.

“How do you mean?” Cara asked cautiously.

“I’ve been having... dreams. About—about what happened to me. And I don’t think they’re coming from me. I think...” She trailed off.

“You think she’s compromised by him somehow?” asked Cara. That would explain everything.

“Not somehow,” replied Candice. “By me. My memories. She had to see them to take them. Feel them. Experience them. I think he got her through them.”

“She has dealt with our memories of control before,” said Cara. “All of us.”

“But not like this,” said Candice. “You don’t know, Cara.” She seemed to shrink as she stared into her coffee cup, huddling in on herself and clutching it two-handed for warmth. “He doesn’t just control you. Doesn’t just control you into liking it. He makes you like it, and then uses that to control you. It’s... insidious. Powerful. Irresistible. Once he has you... once he had me...“

“You’re free now,” said Cara. “He’s not unstoppable. He’s in jail, and you’re free, and Dr. Goode is treating his other victims. He’s going to be tried, and convicted, and put away where he can’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

“But if he’s got Michelle—” Candice started.

“Then we will help Michelle,” said Cara.

* * *

Janelle walked into Teknos Industries and showed the guard her permanent visitor’s pass. This wasn’t unusual for her—Teknos was a giant in medical research and development, and Janelle was an expert in both emergency medicine and biochemistry, so she was frequently hired on for a few hours of consulting work. So frequently that she was issued a badge only held by a handful of others, which marked them as visitors but allowed as much run of the place as an employee.

So she was able to enter the elevator unescorted, and at this time of day it was empty. That made it simple to swipe her badge, just like any employee would have to before hitting buttons—but her badge was special in another way, and when she didn’t press any buttons for thirty seconds, the elevator registered that she wanted to go to the level that didn’t have a button—the subbasement below the parking decks.

The doors opened onto a catwalk over a vast chamber, hewn directly into the rock below the city. It had to be big, big enough to hold Iron Lady’s lab and prototyping facility, a track for Comet, training rooms large and sturdy enough for Athena and Gloriana to practice, shielded enough to contain Riot and Pinup’s powers, plus monitoring equipment to keep track of everything from police band to local deals being made on the Dark Web to orbital early-warning systems for nuclear strikes on Earth and invaders from beyond.

These were Janelle’s friends. Her comrades. Her family. She trusted them completely, had ever since they swore to each other to stitch the team and the city back together in the wake of the Reign. It had made sense for Janelle to be part of the team then—she was a healer and the city needed healing, and she had invented the drugs that defeated Pheromona. Now... she wasn’t so sure.

Suddenly, Comet was standing next to her. “Hey!” she chirped—it was the only way to describe her high, energetic voice. “Haven’t seen you here in a while!”

“I’ve been busy at work,” Janelle said. “And luckily, we haven’t needed a healer for any missions.”

“That’s true,” said Comet. She was small, almost as short as Janelle and noticeably skinnier. Her red, curly hair was cropped short, brown eyes twinkled perpetually in her tanned, angular face. “But always nice to have, just in case.”

“You have accelerated healing, Hailey. Amanita and Helena are both invulnerable, and Laura wears techno-armor.”

“Yeah, but what about Technopath? Or Roxy? They get hurt sometimes!”

“Roxanne hates you calling her that.”

“I know.” Comet grinned.

Almost against her will, Janelle found herself smiling back. “How is Technopath, anyway?” They were the only member of the team whose name Janelle didn’t know. She wasn’t sure anyone did. Laura, maybe, or Helena—they’d been in the Protectors the longest, and knew Technopath the best.

Comet shrugged. “Off the roster for now. Same with Laura. You know the rules.”

Janelle nodded. Anyone subjected to villain mind control had to be cleared by a psychologist at Miskatonic before returning to work. “It’s a good rule.”

“I guess,” said Comet. “Sucks though. I hate talking to shrinks.”

“You hate anything that requires you to sit still for more than ten minutes.”

“True,” Comet answered. “Still.”

Janelle looked around. “Where is everyone else, anyway? There a mission?”

“Nah,” said Comet. “Roxy’s touring in Steel City and Ariana’s got a shoot in the Bahamas. Amanita’s got a meeting upstairs, and MP’s got night shift, so me and Helena are holding down the fort.”

Janelle nodded. “Thanks. I’ll go talk to Helena then.”

“Cool,” said Comet. “Later!” Then she was gone, zipping away on the catwalk and down to the track so fast all she left was the streak of pale-purple light for which she was named.

Janelle walked down from the catwalk rather more slowly, until she reached the lift down into the monitoring station. As she reached the bottom, the high-backed chair in front of the console turned to reveal a tall, strikingly beautiful woman in her thirties: Helena.

“Hello, Janelle,” the woman said, her voice low and throaty with just a hint of an accent. “We have missed you.”

Janelle smiled. She genuinely liked Helena—everyone did. “I missed you too.”

“But that’s not why you’re here.”

“No,” said Janelle. “I’ve gotten some... worrying news.”

Helena raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Oh? About what, and from whom?”

“From my... street-level contacts.”

“You mean vigilantes.” Helena’s voice was warm—it was always warm—but there was just enough disapproval there to remind Janelle of past arguments with the team. Most of them didn’t like her working with unauthorized capes—all right, vigilantes, Janelle admitted to herself. But Janelle wasn’t a crimefighter like them, not really. Janelle’s job wasn’t punishing evil, it was healing injury, reducing harm. Sometimes that meant helping them stop people who were harming others—but just as she didn’t care whether a gunshot victim in her ER was cop, criminal, or civilian, she didn’t care whether the people helping her reduce the harm of violence in the streets were sanctioned by the city and the Protectors or not. Frankly, they needed people on the edge between criminal and hero—they were the best early warning system the city had.

“The point is,” said Janelle, “that a minor telepath got in the room with Masters and his new bodyguard, and she was brainwashed. He’s either got new allies, or been developing tech or magic of his own.”

“Not magic,” said Helena. “The city’s magics are calm for the moment—no deep changes or rising storms, none of the shifts a powerful new player would create. Or an old player making new moves, for that matter.”

Janelle nodded. Helena’s magic was beyond anyone else in the city, and maybe the world. Far beyond Janelle’s own limited powers, though Janelle was the better healer. If she said it wasn’t magic, it wasn’t magic. “There’ve been rumors of new players in town, and old players coming back. Like that Mastermind guy, and that creep at the university.”

Helena nodded. “Something is certainly stirring,” she said. “There are worrying signs in the streets of a brewing war between Masters and the spider.” She stood, all six feet and change of her, statuesque, commanding. She drew the hairpin out of her bun—a stylized spear and shield—and the room filled with a flash of light and the blast of a horn. Helena was still tall and commanding, but her elegant pantsuit was now replaced by the armor of an ancient warrior, spear in hand and a shield on her arm, her dark curls coiling over bare, muscular shoulders. As always, Janelle had to suppress the urge to stare in awe. Brianna had referred to the Protectors as demigods, and several practically were—but only one was actually a goddess. Or an interdimensional alien spirit with vast magical powers that had inhabited a series of chosen human women over the millennia; some might argue for one or the other, but Janelle didn’t really see the difference.

“Let us summon our sisters,” said Athena. “The scent of battle is in the air, and we will be needed.”

* * *

Alex woke from the best night’s sleep she’d had in some time. Ali was right, she thought, and didn’t continue into what her sister had been right about. It was enough that she was, and it had soothed Alex enough to be able to sleep. She’d been so worked up last night about... something, but the bad guy was caught, wasn’t he? Now she could focus on finding her partner and stopping Pheromona. No point in worrying about anything else.

Today was going to be that rarity in her line of work, a calm day. She just knew it.

* * *