The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Katelyn looked at the empty seat at her elbow. Kirk’s largesse gone to waste. She feared it would have been hard but her husband had been talked out of the trip almost before she could suggest it.

“You think I want to waste one brain cell congratulating that fucking sadist?” He had said the moment she had opened the exit in his conversation. He didn’t attempt to talk her out of it. He muttered something about Katelyn’s need for closure.

That wasn’t it. Her teeth were on edge. She turned her head and looked over the sleeping man in the window seat. She could’ve used her husband’s seat. The man on her right slept fitfully. She clenched her teeth and saw nothing but clouds. The plane was approaching Halifax.

She balanced her backpack as she walked through baggage claim. She hadn’t taken much. A change of clothes, a trashy dress, her most expensive lingerie, winter necessities, toilet and makeup, and her tablet. She crossed out of the claim and saw Val sitting with one leg crossed over her knee. Frieda sat two seats away, hunched over her spread knees, madly using a phone the way only a high school girl could.

Katelyn zipped up her parka and squared her shoulders. The last time she had seen Frieda, the girl had been 12. She wasn’t much taller, the girl had sprouted like a weed at 10, but she was completely different in the way she carried herself.

Val... Kirk’s choice. Katelyn hoped Kirk’s divorce wasn’t so bitter but she had only truly known his ex-wife. This woman was more attractive, short red hair, clear curves, confidence. Katelyn hoped Kirk’s younger woman was older than herself. She at least hoped she looked it.

Katelyn’s stomach churned as it armed her butterflies. She felt greasy, she hated the ‘is she prettier than me?’ bullshit her brain got up to every time she saw a woman near her age. Katelyn was in great shape. She couldn’t afford the same yoga and spin classes she used to prefer but she hadn’t let poverty hurt her. She looked her Metis heritage, dark almond shaped eyes, and a light brown complexion. She forced herself to smile.

A few young men coming off the plane checked out her ass as they walked ahead of her. The three of them checked out her front too. She made eye contact. Luckily, none stopped to talk to her. Katelyn had needed the pick-me-up and hated herself for it.

She felt strong enough to approach Val.

“Aunt Katelyn!” Frieda hopped up, seeing the arrival first. All of Katelyn’s confidence eroded with the honorific and looking into the face of the teenager. Frieda had cute freckles, a little wild hair, bad dress sense. She was a beauty without effort.

“You’re here.” Val looked up. “Let’s go. You’re going to fill my tank on the drive home.”

“You’re staying with dad,” Frieda arranged herself to talk Katelyn’s ear off and keep a woman between would-be step daughter and mother. “But we haven’t told mom yet. So, you get to use my room and I get to go to Owen’s for the next two nights.”

“Owen, he’s the—”

“He’s the one who owns our asses,” Val said. The three stepped out into the winter. Katelyn took a deep breath of air. They call this winter? It was a tropical paradise compared to Alberta. Frieda yanked her gloves on tightly and dragged her toque down to her eyes. Val jogged across to the parking lot.

“Tell me about Owen, Frieda.” Katelyn prompted.

“Oh my god!” Frieda lit up like fireworks.

“Jesus fuck...” Val muttered. “Well, I better learn about this man too. Stick to the important facts.”

“What’s important?” Katelyn asked Val. Frieda turned in hope for an enlightening answer.

“How well does he eat pussy?” Val asked. Katelyn slumped.

“Oh, um, he has, uh, other girls for that,” Frieda said.

Val slumped and Katelyn pantomimed the same displeasure. She looked at Frieda though. Was Frieda one of these ‘girls for that’?”

Pancakes. Owen felt better than he had in a long time. Hell, even the shiner he had, weeks away from being fully cleared up, looked better than it had yesterday. It still looked very bad. He forked a sausage off of Tamara’s plate.

“Dude, take Jewel’s food. She’s the fat one.” Tamara kicked her nemesis under the table.

“I’m going to claw her eyes out eventually,” Jewel warned Owen.

“Don’t mess up my stuff,” Owen said, sweetly. He leaned his head on Tamara’s shoulder and smiled. “And Jewel, give Tamara a strip of bacon.”

“Ugh...” Jewel moaned.

Brandy and Barbara morosely drank their tea and picked at their little fruit cup. Brandy was livid at her sister. “Oh, shit, if I start on waffles I won’t stop until I’m a blimp!”

“Then don’t start!” Owen suggested. Of course, she had to share twin genetics with her sister. Fucking bitch! Brandy smiled wanly. She swirled the leftover juice in her fruit cup with the tip of her spoon.

At least the tea and the waters had helped soothe her hangover.

“Ah, that was good!” Owen smirked and wiped his face. Barabara on his left and Tamara on his right offered to help him but being served like an invalid was less hot fantasy nurse and more existential terror. Besides, the cast wasn’t giving him much trouble.

“In four days we’ll be late getting home,” Jewel reiterated. She had left a quarter of her pancake on her plate and the twins were eying it like vultures. Neither moved.

“Right,” Owen said. “In four days I’ll have sorted things out with M. leCarre.” He said and frowned. “It’s your husband? The one you thought was your enemy?”

“What?” Brandy looked up and Barbara lunged and snatched the abandoned plate in front of Jewel before Jewel could drop her dirty napkin on top of it.

“They’re not waffles.” Barbara defended.

“No, they’re not,” Owen nodded.

“Um, I think my husband is my sister’s enemy?” Brandy said.

“Yeah, dude would get drunk and mistake me for my sister.” She air-quoted ‘mistake’. “Wasn’t easy to push off.”

“So you stopped doing it,” Brandy scowled at Barbara.

Barbara took the last forkful of pancake and slipped it between her lips while staring down her sister.

“Don’t tease each other if you’re going to ruin our day,” Tamara corrected the twins like a schoolteacher tired of class disruptions.

“Whatever, it’s not important why. But I need you, one of you, both of you, to get him into Halifax for me.” Owen said.

“Oh!” Tamara nudged Owen with her elbow. “You wanna give... something more a try. I never thought I’d care for the lesbian stuff but wow—”

“No.”

“Oh thank god!” Jewel slumped back like the hardness disappeared from her spine. She slumped back with a smile.

“Bigot.” Tamara scowled at Jewel.

It was the first attack of Tamara’s that really hit home. Jewel dropped her eyes and turned red.

“Look,” Owen said, and took out one of the unspent coins. He stood it up and balanced it with the edge of his cast. “These are worth millions, but then I couldn’t have all of you.”

“Millions apiece?” Barbara asked.

“Millions for the set. But, if I can just buy the purchaser. I’ll get his money.”

“OK.” Brandy said. “What’s that have to do with Denis?”

“I kinda get the deal with you girls,” Owen said. “I don’t want any surprises with Maxim.”

“Good. Very smart,” Tamara stroked Owen’s arm and he kissed her. Jewel rolled her eyes.

“Good,” said Brandy. “May I send him a picture of Barbara and me naked?”

“Why would you do that?”

“He’s wanted a threesome with you for ages,” Brandy said. “Why do you think I encouraged him to seduce you so often?”

There was a flash-freeze between the sisters. Owen grabbed Barbara’s thigh before she could open up on Brandy.

“You never have to forgive her, but you have to put it in the past,” Owen said.

“But I—”

“Send the picture,” Owen said. “I’ll leave you my keys. I’m supposed to meet Kirk Marcusson when he calls. He comes tomorrow.”

“He... Kirk?” Jewel asked.

“Denny.” Owen said. “Sorry, I want to meet your husband tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Brandy agreed. The girls started filing out of the bench.

“Be a dear,” Owen said, sliding the check over to Jewel. “There’s always someone at the front to check you out.”

“Jewel, for the first time in her life, picked up the check.”

“Oh my god, Tamara’s narrating now!” Brandy laughed.

“Little did Brandy know, Barbara was about to learn how to do her twin, everything Tamara planned that day for Jewel.”

“Kinky!” Brandy smiled. “Oh, cheer up, Jewel.”

Owen was alone for the first time off of a toilet in days. He picked his phone from his pocket. Thought better of it.

“Can you refill my coffee, love?” He asked the passing waitress. A little quiet was a rare thing now. No need to hurry after the finishing touches.

Janice was lost in thought. Her breaths came hard and awkwardly as she tightened her fist in Roxxi’s hair. The little slut had gotten really good at eating pussy.

Janice had always loved sex. Even before she had discovered sex gave her extra access to hallucinogens and party drugs. She was just glad she hadn’t learned to like cocaine like her lost college friends had. She looked at the electric blue hair threaded through her fingers and moaned wildly.

Roxxi was using every muscle in her throat and hands to power Janice through their shared break. It was a lazy day. If Roxxi wasn’t still in training there’d only be two people working the store. Roxxi worked as hard at pleasing Janice as she did selling coffee. The girl just liked people to be happy.

Janice wanted to be happy. The sex, the orgies, the girls, the power, the community. She was strung out and raw almost 24-7 now. She bit down on the corner of her empty coffee cup. Her moans echoed back up her nose.

He didn’t know! Oh, god, that made her smile. It was one of the few things she’d never done before, hell, if she asked herself from two weeks ago if she would do it. She didn’t know what she would say. Would she have said, “No! I’m not going to suck my cousin’s dick!"? Would she have said, “Oh, yeah, that’s the kind of slut I am! I’d even suck my cousin’s dick!"? Why did both answers sound hollow and sarcastic in her head.

She pulled harder on Roxxi’s hair. She bumped and twisted back and forth slapping Roxxi in the ears with her thighs. Janice headbanged and chomped through the wall of her coffee cup. She closed her fist tighter and felt her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm.

A couple of knocks rapped through the office/breakroom door.

“Janny, your girlfriend’s going to need a real cleanup. And keep it a little quieter, I can hear you sometimes at the counter.”

“Thanks!” She squealed up three octaves as she answered. “She’ll be at her best.”

“Cool cool.”

Janice unknotted her fingers from Roxxi’s hair. Roxxi fell back on her heels and smiled up at Janice.

“You’re like the best puppy I could ever ask for,” Janice said.

“Ruff! Ruff!” Roxxi barked behind a big smile.

Janice leaned in and kissed Roxxi’s reddened cheeks and wet lips. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned back up for your shift.”

“You came a lot,” Roxxi said. “Were you thinking about Owen?”

“I only think about the person I’m with,” Janice lied.

“Really?” Roxxi flushed red. “I tried to, I mean I paid attention to get you off. But I was thinking about Owen.”

“Yeah?” Janice laughed. “Well, you’ll make it up to me by cleaning the mess we made on the office chair and floor.

“Of course!” Roxxi hopped up and rushed over to grab napkins from one of the boxes.

“Got to get you cleaned up first,” Janice plucked the napkins from Roxxi’s hand and started wiping her thighs. “C’mon.”

Natasha kept her eyes under the brim of her baseball cap. Gisele, Kirk, and her father had congregated at a little restaurant not far from Gisele’s hotel. A man in the window stood up, his arm was in a cast, he was greeted by Giselle with a kiss on each cheek. Her father didn’t shake his hand. Kirk rushed in to do so.

“They didn’t see us?” Hafnan asked from Natasha’s elbow. They were rather conspicuous. She rubbed her arms from the cold and shivered as she watched her employer.

“Why would they look at us?”

“Why do all of the other men who walk by look at us?” Hafnan countered.

“You look like a marshmallow,” Natasha picked Hafnan’s sleeve between the finger and thumb of her glove.

“You do not look right in these clothes,” Hafnan said. She looked over Natasha’s ballcap, thrift store jacket, and blue jeans. Her gloves were still expensive leather and there were very big stones dangling from Natasha’s ears.

“Yes, my father wouldn’t look for me like this.” Natasha said. “Do you know how to cry to get what you want?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Hafnan shook her head.

“Do I look like Giselle?” Natasha asked.

“No, she is taller, thinner, her nose and chin are sharper, your eyebrows are bigger and hair is longer. She is fair, you are tan. She—”

“How do I look the same as her?”

“You both have black hair? Are white women? Are attractive?”

“And we both dress nicely and speak French very well when we want to look angry,” Natasha said. “If you can cry, I can get us into her hotel room while she is with the coin seller.”

“Owen MacKay,” Hafnan said.

“Just so,” Natasha said. “Come on. I want to buy his coins before father can.”

“How would you do so?” Hafnan asked.

“By crying when I need to,” Natasha said, “and everything else a woman may do for what she wants.”

Owen climbed to his feet when Giselle entered the door held open by Kirk. Maxim followed and Kirk came in last. Owen tried to accept the kiss on each cheek gracefully but, even with all of the female attention he’d come to expect over the past few days, the greeting was alien to him.

The fact that Giselle was gorgeous and lit up with a genuine smile made the leap easy. He hoped he could keep Maxim to a handshake, and extended his hand after he helped Giselle into the booth.

Maxim le Carre looked at Owen’s outstretched hand. He intimidated Owen. Maxim stood a couple of inches shorter than Owen. Maxim was impeccably dressed in a rich silk suit. His hair was dark, flecked with white, and his eyes were narrow and dismissive. Owen was wearing a sweatshirt, cotton slacks, and his favorite sneakers.

Maxim nodded and walked by Owen to sit down next to Giselle. Kirk rushed over and shook Owen’s outstretched hand before he could pull it back.

“It’s good you made it. Sit. Sit.”

Giselle watched. Kirk pulled his hand away empty. She frowned. Owen slipped in.

“I’ve already eaten but their coffee’s been helpful,” Owen explained.

“You didn’t say how good it is,” Giselle worried.

“I don’t have a particularly experienced palate.” Owen frowned. He sipped his cup. “If you need to make a decision. You’re welcome to test it.”

Giselle looked to Maxim who studied Owen with a frown. Owen tried to smile.

“It is good to meet you, M. MacKay,” Maxim said.

“It is good to meet you. I hope the flight from France was comfortable.”

“Planes are never comfortable,” he said. “M. Marcusson has inspected the coins and is quite confident. They are heirlooms of my grandfather.”

“Interesting,” Owen said. “Grandpa never told me who had left them to him—”

“Left them to him?” Maxim interrupted harshly. He shook his head. “Desole.”

“De rien,” Owen said. “Though, I must admit, I am not skilled enough in French to have this conversation further in it.”

“Hello, another group is it? Do you want anything to drink?” A waitress came by, smiled prettily for her late middle aged face and passed out menus.

“Just coffee. Black.” Maxim le Carre said. “And privacy.”

“For the lady?”

“Just coffee.” Maxim reiterated.

“Alright, darlin’.” Darlin’ sounded like a slur. She nodded and left.

“You’ve brought the coins.” Maxim said when the woman had walked away.

“No sir,” Owen smiled and pulled one silver coin from his pocket. He put it on the table next to his saucer. “Just the one.”

“It is not protected.”

“He does have a beautiful display box with felt recesses for the set,” Kirk said. “Though, if I knew he might carry one around in his pocket. I’d have given him plastic sleeves.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Owen agreed. Maxim looked at the coin. He kept his hands under the table. He refused to reach for it.

“We have agreed on 200 000 Euros a coin,” Maxim said. He stopped himself. “No, I can wait. I shall buy them as a set.”

“That is how I would sell them,” Owen said. “And we haven’t agreed on two hundred thousand. That was your opening offer.”

“Mr MacKay,” Kirk said, with a very aggressive look. “That is a very generous offer. The coins themselves are only really valuable to M. le Carre. It is a buyer’s market.”

“Merci, M. Marcusson.” Maxim said, “But negotiation does not offend me.”

“Five hundred thousand, a coin.” Owen said.

“That is quite a different number.”

“Two hundred and fifty percent larger.” Owen explained.

“Yes,” Maxim frowned. “It is unacceptable. As M. Marcusson said. If I do not purchase them, they are worth perhaps a hundred Euro. Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Four hundred and eighty thousand,” Owen put down his empty cup. The waitress appeared and Owen slid his cup and saucer past Kirk so she might fill it with the others.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Kirk asked Owen.

“Not in the least,” Owen said. “I’ve never talked about money this size before.”

Giselle looked flatly at him. Maxim managed to retrieve more dislike to add to his eyes.

“I have made more of an effort to connect our offers,” Maxim said.

“Merci,” Giselle said to the waitress when she received her coffee. Kirk kept his mug turned face down. She walked away not expecting any regard or gratuity.

“I think these are worth the higher pricetag to you,” Owen said.

“Indeed. I will increase by 50 000 and you will lower by twenty. We will meet at 400 000, or so you believe?”

“Well, technically I’d still be at four-twenty when you reach 400.” Owen smiled.

“Miserable retch.” Maxim said. “Though I do respect your ideas, I will stop raising my number at three hundred thousand.”

“That leaves me at four hundred and sixty thousand dollars. Uh... Euro.” Owen smiled.

“I advise against this.”

“We’ll speak again in two days. I will have the box and all of the coins, and you’ll have a more reasonable offer.”

“And you’ll have a more unreasonable one,” Maxim nodded. “For the coffees.” He laid out a Canadian fifty dollar bill on the table. He had only drank one sip and was quite finished.

“I’ll see you then,” Owen said.

“Very well, let us be off.”

“Get your head together for the next meeting,” Kirk hissed at Owen.

“Oh, one more thing,” Owen said, ignoring Kirk and looking to Maxim. “Leave the lovely Giselle. I’d enjoy the company while I dine.”

“What kind of idiot power move do you—”

Kirk shut up when Giselle reclaimed her seat across from Owen.

“Until next meeting, M. MacKay.” Maxim said. “Giselle, I will see you when you are finished with this meeting.”

“I am so sorry, M. le Carre,” Kirk was saying as he rushed ahead to hold the door. “I didn’t expect this display after my previous meetings with—”

And they were gone out the door.

Owen smiled at Giselle.

“He didn’t blink at half a million,” Owen said. “How much could he have afforded?”

“For twelve coins?” she asked. Owen nodded. “At least thirty million, in liquid assets.”

“That means cash?” Owen smiled.

“More like electronic.”

“Good.” He balanced the coin between his cast and the table. He flicked it and it spun. Giselle flattened her hands against the table’s edge to make a guard rail. “Imagine how much I have when I take the solids as well.”

“That is not the right words for what you mean to say.”

“Once we eat, we’re going to fuck some women you’ve yet to meet.”

“Is the food here any good?” Giselle worried.

“No, it’s not. I know a place with great chicken fingers.”

“Lovely.” Giselle frowned at the suggestion.