The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next morning, I got in before Ron, and discreetly installed a pair of air fresheners in his office. A pair of ’Extra-Strength Potency’ dispensers…basically the most powerful-sounding name I could find.

I ran into our cleaning lady while I was there, Mrs Witsen. She had just finished vacuuming Ron’s office, and as I smiled “Good morning” at her, I noticed she looked slightly ill—Ron’s office has no opening windows, and so the room still reeked.

It wasn’t as bad as yesterday, I was relieved to discover. I guess he’d left the windows open all night, to help air out the smell, plus whatever Mrs Witsen had done.

They only took a minute to install before I was out of there. I didn’t know if my new addition to his office would completely mask the smell, but I was sure that it couldn’t hurt.

Weirdly enough, as I sat down at my desk, I found myself taking a big whiff of my clothes. Just checking to make sure I don’t smell, I told myself.

Yeah. That was all it was.

It wasn’t long before Ron arrived, avoided eye-contact, and immediately closed the door to his office. Rolling my eyes, I wondered why he couldn’t just “take care of business” at home in the morning. Maybe his wife was refusing to help? Or maybe the medication was particularly strong in the morning, something like that.

Or hell, maybe he had taken care of it at home. Based on yesterday’s frequency, he seemed to need to go all the time. Good thing Miranda had come up with the closed-door policy; if he’d been using our shared restroom, that would have pretty quickly caused a problem.

Again, it was about 45 minutes before Ron sheepishly opened his door. I took a deep breath, and entered the room to give him the messages that I’d taken while he was…while he’d had the door closed.

Entering the room, I was amazed to discover that the smell was somehow worse than it had been yesterday. It took all my self-control not to gag on the spot. All I wanted to do was run out of the room and deeply breathe the clean, air-conditioned air at my desk…but I had a job to do, and I knew I had to persevere.

I stood there, trying desperately not to breathe, as I relayed the messages. When I was done, Ron nodded, and I left the room.

He didn’t need to tell me to close the door behind me.

That day was largely the same as the first. I couldn’t tell you why, but I made a resolve to deliver all of Ron’s messages in his office. Maybe it was to ensure that he didn’t feel ostracized, like a freak—it was my job to help him get through this difficult time, after all.

Maybe it was to convince myself that the air fresheners had been a good idea, and hadn’t just resulted in a combination of two terrible smells.

I don’t know. And it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was helping Ron.

Roughly once every forty minutes, Ron would CC me on an email, or send me a note directly. Whenever he did, I knew that he was…done. That it was safe to go in.

And so I’d knock on the door, wait for the all-clear, and then enter and recount his messages, maybe ask for guidance on whatever task I was working on.

It didn’t take long—maybe two or three minutes—before Ron would go beet-red and start to sweat, and I’d take the unspoken hint and leave him to…take care of himself.

Forty minutes later, this pattern would repeat.

The more I went into Ron’s office, the greater sympathy I had for him. Like, at least I was able to get stuff done when I wasn’t delivering messages (not that delivering messages isn’t, like, getting stuff done). My poor boss’s productivity must have been completely shot—honestly, I was starting to get worried that he wouldn’t be up to meeting our new client’s needs.

No. I wouldn’t let that happened. No matter what, I was going to help Ron get through this, whatever he was going through.

The more I went into Ron’s office, the less the smell bothered me, too. I guess it just took some getting used to. By lunchtime, I was breathing normally in Ron’s office.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, I was almost enjoying the smell.

Not, like, enjoying the smell. I didn’t want to use it as perfume or anything like that. But—except for the weird way it mixed with the air fresheners—it really wasn’t so bad. It was natural, you know?

I’d never enjoyed the smell of Nico’s room, per se, but he was on the school’s hockey team and sometimes we’d hang out after practice. After a few hours on the ice, Nico really built up a sweat, and he wasn’t exactly the type to wear deodorant.

And I loved it. He smelled like a man, and that made me feel like a woman, y’know?

Um, not that Ron was making me feel like a woman, of course. It was just a nice smell. I mean, not nice, but not as bad as I’d found it the previous day.

It was natural, is all. It was a natural, manly smell, and I could definitely imagine worse things to be surrounded by.

When I was sitting at my desk between visits, I almost missed it.

I was packing up, getting ready to go, when Miranda stopped by.

“Is Ron…”

“In his office,” I smiled back.

I was halfway out the door when I realized. God—without the exposure to it all day, Miranda was going to be appalled by the smell. I should have warned her! Or warned Ron. Or, or, or…

Sitting in my car, I forced myself to take several deep breaths, to calm myself down. The smell of Ron’s office must have permeated my clothes or something, because I found myself smelling him, smelling the pungent odor of his office.

And for reasons I can’t explain…it helped. It helped calm me down, helped remind me that Ron didn’t need me to defend him. He was a man.

I was there to help him. To serve him.

Like, as his secretary. You know what I mean.

He could more than handle Miranda; of that, I was certain.

I was surprised to find Miranda waiting at my desk when I got to work the next day. She’s normally in once or twice a week, but definitely not every day.

And I don’t think I’d ever before seen her three days in a row.

“Looks like we can’t get rid of you!” I joked, wincing as soon as the words left my mouth. God, what a dumb thing to say, especially to your boss.

I would never have said anything like that to Ron.

“I met with Ron last night,” she said, ignoring my attempt at humor—thank god. She was wearing a grey skirt and a chic green sweater—I couldn’t help but admire her legs as she spoke. “For almost two hours. Since you weren’t there, I tried to take notes. Are you able to type them up for me?”

“Of course,” I nodded. I was amazed that Ron had managed to go so long without…well. “Is there anything I should be aware of?”

Miranda paused, before leaning in.

“Ron trusts you, and so do I. This doesn’t leave this office, understand?”

“Of course.”

“We’re worried about keeping the new client. Ron’s…condition…means that he hasn’t been able to keep on top of everything.”

For some reason, Miranda’s attention drifted away for a moment, but she quickly collected herself and continued.

“You know what a big deal this contract is, and you know that Ron’s going to do all he can. Just…do everything you can to help him, okay?”

“Of course,” I said earnestly. “If you can think of anything further I can do, let me know.”

For a second, I thought I felt Miranda’s eyes flick down my body, but before I could be sure if I was imagining it, she continued.

“Of course,” she echoed back to me. “But you know how much we value initiative in this company. If you can think of anything that will help, I want you to go for it.”

“Yes ma’am,” I responded, blushing slightly as I did. ‘Ma’am’. Miranda was barely a decade older than me. “I’ll keep my brain peeled.”

Miranda shot me an odd look. By the time I realized what I’d said, she was gone.

God. My cheeks could not have been redder. I’d bookended that conversation with embarrassing exchanges. Way to impress the boss, hey?

For the rest of the morning, I tried to take Miranda’s words to heart. Anything I could think of that would help the company, that would help Ron, I did. I got so engrossed in my work, I totally forgot to take him his messages—it was lunchtime before I realized my mistake, leaping to my feet and practically running into Ron’s office.

“Oh my god! I’m so, so sorry.”

As quickly as I’d run into my boss’s office, I left again.

I’d forgotten to knock.

I’d been so worked up about getting Ron his messages, I’d completely forgotten to knock.

I’d broken the closed-door policy.

I hadn’t seen anything, thank god, but…I mean, it was pretty clear what I hadn’t seen.

And if not seeing it wasn’t enough, the smell.

The smell.

It was obvious that Ron had…just…

Or was in the middle of.

Either way, the smell was so much stronger than yesterday—almost strong enough to completely overpower those damn air fresheners. I should have come in early again just to remove them.

I waited a minute, to collect myself, then knocked, waiting for the all-clear before I entered.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir,” I said, trying to sound cool and collected. Trying to sound more like Miranda. “Won’t happen again. I have your messages.”

Despite the fact that the smell was so much more stronger than the day before, it still wasn’t bothering me. By the time I finished the messages, I was practically gulping it in.

“That’s all, sir,” I said, giving a weird little half-bow as I started to leave the room. What the hell was wrong with me? “Do let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

I closed the door behind me.

I skipped lunch that day. Ron needed my help. The company needed my help. Instead, I checked my emails for the first time that day.

That was when I noticed something unusual.

For the past two days, Ron’s email output had been sporadic. Like I said, I had been basically using email to know when he was…available. He’d send nothing for half an hour or more, then send two or three in a row. I’d been using those as a cue to know it was safe to deliver his messages…and then there’d be another half-hour gap.

That morning, I hadn’t been checking my inbox (I’d been going through the specs that the client had sent—my job involves some light proof-reading, and I knew this was time-sensitive) or delivering Ron’s messages.

And all morning, Ron had been steadily sending emails out.

Not to me—I guess he’d realized I was busy with the specs. But he CC’s me on anything important, so that I can know what he’s up to (and add appointments to his calendar, etc).

Looking more closely, I could see that he hadn’t been emailing all morning. Over the course of the day, he’d taken at least two or three half-hour breaks.

But it was a marked difference from yesterday, when the half-hour breaks had taken up the vast majority of his day.

I noted it as odd and went back to proof-reading. It’s such a boring job, it’s nice to have a puzzle of some kind for your brain to chew on while you do.

I’d reached the last document when it hit me. I sat bolt upright, eyebrows raised.

Ron’s inability to focus yesterday, and the day before. His need to…close his door, over and over and over again.

Had that been because of…me?