The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Phil was already standing at the head of the table when the two women joined the meeting, making chit-chat at an uncomfortable volume with the co-workers unfortunate enough to be seated near the front of the room. More than a dozen executives fidgeted at a laminate table which nearly ran the length of the space, and only two seats left: across from one another, and directly adjacent to Phil’s presentation.

“Finally!” he clapped as they entered, “something to look at!” He laughed to himself, looking around and finding little support amongst his clearly uncomfortable audience. “I was beginning to fear you’d fired all the women, Brian!”

An awkward silence, but one that Phil clearly didn’t have the tact to read. Mia scooted by the leering man and found her seat, eyes on the floor, but Janet didn’t back down. Five years his senior, she held Phil’s eye with a silent scowl, pulling back her chair and descending into it without so much as a twitch.

“Oh Jan, don’t pull that card,” he chuckled, pointing gun-fingers in what he surely believed was charisma. “You know if I had my way, your whole department would be filled with eye-candy!” Phil held his hand to his chest. “I’m a huge supporter of affirmative action, you know—” he paused, “just as long as I get something out of it too, if you know what I mean!” The room was dead silent but for Phil’s hooting, loud and long enough for the fifteen attendees.

A few executives rubbed their temples, weary but not surprised, and Brian—the poor man tasked with running these quarterly meetings—cleared his throat. “W—would you like to get started, Phil?”

Gun-fingers again, now across the room. “Love to.”

Hic—

Janet’s eyes were drawn six feet across the table to Mia, who had just hiccupped into her fingers.

“Excuse me, I—” hic “—sorry.” Hiccups. I’ve had them all morning.

She was beet red, one hand politely held against her lips, and the other somewhere below the table.

Phil glanced around the room before returning his attention back to the Coordinator, pleased as punch to see her on the back-step. “Maybe we should scare you with some bad news?” he joked, but his ribbing again fell flat.

“I’ll be okay,” Mia apologized. “Please just ignore them.”

After a pause, mortifying for the poor woman, Phil began his presentation. The projector blinked to life, casting out a massive image onto the screen behind him—the stubbled entrepreneur himself below a bold clip-art title: “PHILLIP HAWTHORNE: SALES WUNDERKIND”. The projected Phil was somehow wearing the same suit as the one he wore today—you had to give him credit for the work he put into the idea, as terrible an idea as it was. “So as you can see,” he began, “things last quarter were pretty good.” The misguided Sales Manager raised his eyebrows, blinking back and forth between the smiling image of himself and the rest of his co-workers. “But here’s how we can make the next one even better.”

Hic—

Mia met Janet’s eye, tensing. She quickly broke off the connection, eyes lingering for a suspicious moment on her boss’s blouse. The hiccups continued.

Glick—

Phil’s presentation droned on in the background, nothing out of the ordinary. Janet followed along his slides with a concerned expression—she knew his line of thinking would inevitably lead to her slice of the budgetary pie—but her attention drifted more towards studying Mia in her peripheral vision.

The young woman bit her lip, snuck another glance at Janet’s sweat-patched chest.

Click—

Her peeping was growing less subtle, and the Marketer herself was already having trouble keeping her hands from wandering between her legs. It was a feat of strength for her to side-eye Mia, grab her attention and flutter her lashes knowingly. Flirty, she channeled. Tease her.

Bckak—

The young woman breathed deeply. Unable now to look anywhere else. Phil clicked through to another slide, started in on some mindless anecdote about a lunch he had with some such-and-such client and the such-and-such deals they worked out over drinks.

Janet leaned forward in faux concentration, a bountiful offering for Mia’s distracted eyes. She uncrossed her legs and a sensual musk rose up from beneath her skirt.

Cluc—

The blood drained from Mia’s cheekbones, but her lips remained bright red—Janet could tell, because the hand pressed against them had just reached under the table to join its partner. She was breathing heavy—

B-cluc

—heaving between her “hiccups”. Blinders on to all but Janet’s tits, the girl licked her lips and pawed at her groin through at least three layers of fabric.

“—and that’s when Tommy says to me, he says—” Phil paused to sniff the air. “Does anybody smell that?”

Indeed, Janet and Mia’s secretions were growing pungent. Both had spread their legs open toward the other, hot miasma wafting across, combining below, the conference table like decomposing flowers and soft fleshy pheromones. Janet ruffled her blouse just below the collar, fanning it back and forth in an attempt to cool down. The white fabric was sticky with sweat, she only noticed now, and Mia could surely make out the colour of her lacey bra below.

Cluck

Receiving no response, Phil continued his presentation with a sour look on his usually confident face. Janet’s shirt-fanning was circulating air between her sweaty breasts, curling beneath her arm-pits, and wafting it out through the conference room.

B-cluck?

The persistent scratch of fingernails-on-tweed grew audible from beneath the table. Mia was hiding her undulations well, but that effort consumed all her bandwidth. Her eyes, her drooling bottom lip, told any curious onlooker exactly what she was up to.

“Oh…” she sighed, gluck, eyes tracing the outline of her boss’s abundant mammaries.

Phil glanced her way before clicking to the next slide, launching into a second tirade against “cheapskates who won’t sign onto the eighteen month contract”. A damn good salesman, Phil was, but observation evidently wasn’t his strong suit. Mia’s actions, from where he was standing, couldn’t have been all that concealed—and she wasn’t making any effort to slow down.

Quite the opposite.

Blood pumped through Janet’s legs, Janet’s chest, Janet’s surging clit. The pill was liberating her, she felt. The pill was letting her be who she’d always known she was. A aggressor. An alpha. She turned from the presentation, breasts still jiggling under the fingers which primped her top button, and locked eyes with her subordinate.

Glick

The air was sour. That persistent report of itch-on-fabric grew faster, slimy. Poor Mia was creaming through her work clothes.

Janet smiled, knowingly. Condescending, she raised her eyebrows in faux surprise and—with subtlety that could move mountains—pressed her breasts together between her biceps ever so slightly.

“Ah—” Mia breathed.

Phil stuttered.

“Oh!” she moaned—

He paused. All eyes on Mia, fingers still scouring, eyes still drinking.

Cluck! “I—”

She rose, tears in her eyes, both hands between her soaking legs.

“I’m so hic sorry—” The air swirled around her as she shoved Phil from her path (left imprints on his sleeve) and bolted clumsily for the door.

“Mia? Are you in here?” Janet could hear sobbing from one of the bathroom stalls, furthest from the entrance. The room was otherwise empty, a steady drip drip drip mingling with the twenty-something’s muffled clucks and sniffles. “Mia?”

The girl was upset for obvious reasons, hiding in the first place her mortified mind could devise. Now, though, she was cornered. The last person she’d like to have found her was now clacking her heels across the tiles, standing awkward on the other side of the slide-latched door.

“Mia?” Janet tapped her knuckles gently against the laminate. “It’s okay, Mia.”

But it wasn’t. From this distance, Mia could smell her boss again. Thoughts racing, mind clouding, her hands wandered the way they’d been wandering in the conference room. “I—” she sobbed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—cluck—Jan.”

Through the stall door, Mia could make out the sound of fabric shuffling. Or was that in here? Was she rubbing her crotch again without realizing? The sniffling girl white-knuckled her knees in an effort to force her hands to behave, again surprised by the size of the wet, creamy patch messing the fabric that had been unfortunate to find its way between her legs.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Janet spoke in a tone Mia recognized as motherly. “Let me see,” she pleaded, “I can help.”

The offer was as tempting as it was terrific. Sparks flew behind the young woman’s eyes as the Marketing Director’s musk steamed up this section of the washroom. And yet she somehow also sensed the predator-prey relationship into which their roles had devolved. Mia pawed her hopeless cunny, mind racing to such an extent that she felt the world move at a snail’s pace. Janet was hunting, she intuited, and now she’d been caught. The question, then, was simple: Do I want to be eaten?

From her seat on the toilet lid, Mia’s wet fingers reached out uncertain, slowly pulling the latch from its hook. Click. Loose on its hinges, the door crept open in slow motion. Musk rolled in: sweat, heat, organic humidity. Tender fingers appeared—grabbed the door firm, and completed its motion.

Janet stared hungrily down into Mia’s confused eyes. Her jacket was missing. Blouse untucked, sweat stained, open to her bellybutton. Braless. Her tits spilled out, ate up more and more of Mia’s field of vision as she stepped in closer.

B-cawk

Click.

The latch slid behind Janet, her turgid nipples pointing inches from Mia’s drooling lip.