The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Haiku: Part 3

* * *

Ashe wanted to rub on something.

She wanted to rub on something.

It was like all of her senses had been multiplied: the office seemed to reek of perfume, cologne, printer ink; conversations from behind solid wooden doors came to her ears crisp and clear; her vision was sharper; she was fairly sure she’d be able to count the individual fibers on the carpet if she wanted to.

And touch. Her skirt on her legs. Her thighs brushing together. Even her wrists, touching her hips when she swung her arms. Everything punctuated with sensation.

She felt like an animal, and she was fairly sure that she was in heat.

What she didn’t know was that she looked different, too. Her pupils were slightly dilated, a subconscious sign of arousal. Her skin was flushed with a ruddy glow. She was breathing faster than normal. Her heart rate was slightly higher. Her body was producing pheromones at the rate of a person who was actually having sex.

She radiated lust in a hundred different ways that were too subtle for the conscious mind to perceive, but on that level, everyone around her responded. It was visceral, low, their own bodies reacting to signals they didn’t understand in ways they didn’t understand. She could smell it.

It was strong from most of the men, no surprise there (although it was negative from one or two, which puzzled her but wouldn’t have if she’d been in her right mind). From women it was much more mixed; a few were strongly negative, but most fell in the range of neutral. And a few had been positive, stronger even than the men. The scents of their desire had almost knocked her over.

Ashe didn’t ponder what it meant. She just knew what was and what was not.

And she needed to get the company contact list from someone in payroll. It would have the addresses she needed. The company directory told her the names she needed, and she already had that: anyone was free to access it.

She strode into that wing of the building, conscious of her every movement. Of how every action affected every action.

She was an animal.

She was the queen of Sheba.

She was a harem dancer in a cloud of hashish.

She was a dominatrix in a dungeon, a braided leather whip in her hand.

She was an Amazon.

At that moment, Ashe was confident that she could get anyone in the building to do anything she wanted. Anything at all.

She understood how to move, how to talk, how to make it happen. It came to her with crystalline clarity: the ancient parts of the human brain, how they reacted, how to manipulate them. The old pathways, far in the back of the mind, little grey roads that people ignored, tried to ignore, tried to pretend weren’t there in civilized society. They were still there. They were always there. People had forgotten. She remembered.

She strode into the payroll office, a humming force of nature, and smelled for her target.

There. In the back. A shy girl in a tiny cubicle, her head down, bent over a keyboard, long brown hair almost covering her face. Hiding. Ashe smelled the hiding. And when the girl’s eyes flicked up to her, she smelled something else.

Desire like a red pool, emanating from the girl like an electric charge. Like the men but stronger. Like the odd few women she had sensed out of a hundred that day. Ashe understood. The girl was hers. She didn’t know how or why—it had something to do with what Haiku had done to her, obviously, but beyond that—she just knew that it was. The girl was hers.

She walked over to the desk, aware of the girl was trying not to watch her, and read the name plate. It said BRENDA MCCULOUGH.

“Brenda,” she said, smiling, one hand on the desk, and waited for the response. She knew that was the right thing to do. It came to her like a script beneath her thoughts.

Brenda stopped pretending that she didn’t know she had a visitor and looked up. “Hi?”

“My boss needs a copy of the company emergency contact list,” Ashe said, rolling her eyes a little. Bosses, right? “That’s something you have here, right?”

“Oh!” Brenda sat up. “Yes, I think. No one’s ever asked for it. I don’t think there’s ever been an emergency.” She made a little half laugh and then her face fell. It was like she had tried to inflate herself and then popped.

Ashe smelled confusion, insecurity, desire. She smiled warmly.

“Can I get that?”

“Ok.” Brenda looked at the monitor. “I’ve literally never been asked. Heh. One second.” She pushed her glasses up.

Ashe walked around the desk and stood behind her. She saw the girl tense, smelled anxiousness. She leaned down, watching the girl work. Aware of the girl’s awareness of their closeness. Aware that the girl was picking things up in her scent, things that were setting chemicals into motion in the back of her mind. Chemicals. They were all made of chemicals.

Brenda clicked one folder, clicked back out of it. Paused, gathered herself.

“Sorry, heh,” she mumbled. “I said I’ve literally never been asked, right? Heh.”

“It’s all right. Take your time,” Ashe smiled into the girl’s ear. Aware of the girl’s pulse speeding up, her skin starting to flush, goosebumps rising. Hairs standing up on the back of her neck.

She leaned in closer, letting her breast brush the girl’s shoulder. A shockwave from that: the girl’s scent virtually exploded; a light sweat broke out all over her; her lips became slightly more red.

She put a hand on the desk and leaned over farther, this time letting her breast rest on the girl’s shoulder and stay there. The girl was almost quivering now, her hand jerky on the mouse, clicking things randomly, searching for the right one, trying not to panic. The back of her brain reacting in ancient ways: one animal to another. In heat. Never having felt it, feeling it now.

And then Ashe smelled the girl’s sex, and knew events were about to cascade out of either of their control.

“Here,” Brenda said, her voice uneven. “Do you want me to print it?”

“Yes, please,” Ashe said into her ear. Ages of civilization falling apart around them, two young women behind a desk, barely touching.

Brenda clicked PRINT.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to—” she rolled her chair back, “I’ve got to use the bathroom. It should print. In a second. Printer’s... there.” She pointed, and now her hand was clearly shaking.

“Thank you, Brenda.” She stood back, but not too far. Making the girl pass very close to her. One more dose of her scent. A blush breaking out on the girl’s neck, visible for anyone to see.

It took a couple of minutes, the printer making its little sounds, then Ashe snatched the hot sheets, folding them into a small square which she tucked into her bra, and followed the girl into the bathroom.

* * *

Brenda was standing by the sink, looking mousy and fragile as she washed her hands. Her ears poked through the long brown locks. To a casual observer she appeared to be at typical bathroom business, but Ashe knew she was standing at the sink to avoid going back out into the office.

“Hey,” Ashe said.

Brenda jumped, splashing a handful of water onto herself. When she saw who the voice belonged to a mix of joy and dread flashed across her face.

“Hi. Um.” She looked down at herself and the mess she’d made and froze.

“Are you all right?” Aware of her own legs as she approached the girl. Aware of her body moving through the empty space.

“Yeah. I’m... I think I’m coming down with something. Or something. I dunno. Heh.” Her thin hands went back to the sink, halfheartedly.

“Here.” Ashe grabbed a handful of paper towels. “You’re all wet.” And smiled at herself because she’d just uttered a Genuine Porno Line. And she didn’t care. The gears were in motion.

She dabbed at the girl’s stomach. Felt the reaction. It was sharp and almost violent.

Brenda stared at her hands, then her jaw set and she looked Ashe in the eyes. Her pupils were dilated, her skin flushed. Eyes filled with a nameless need.

“I don’t know what’s... thank you. I feel really weird.” She stood there, embarrassed, and let herself be cleaned. She seemed helpless to act.

“I do too.” Dab. The girl’s stomach trembled under her hand. “It’s been like this all day. I don’t know what’s going on.”

She leaned closer. Casually. Close enough to smell the girl’s breath, hear her ragged breathing. Aware of their nearness. Aware of the girl’s awareness.

It built on itself, the tension between them becoming a tangible thing, a guitar string about to break. The air seemed to hum.

“Brenda.”

Brenda started. She didn’t answer.

“Brenda. I’m not sure what’s going on.” Her hand stopped dabbing at the girl’s stomach and began to slide up. “But.” She leaned closer, close enough to actually feel the girl’s breath on her lips. “But if you wouldn’t mind terribly, I think that I would like to kiss y—”

The girl jumped her.

It was almost a literal leap; she threw her arms around Ashe’s neck and then their lips were together with furious, almost panicked kisses. Her lips were hot and her breasts pressed against Ashe’s chest like things in the way of what she was trying to get at. One of her thin legs wrapped around Ashe’s ass and pulled them together, tight, their thighs and stomachs smooshed together in a feverish fray of girl.

Ashe steered them towards a stall, one hand in the girl’s hair, one on her ass and kicked the door open and spun her inside, a little uh! leaving her lips as her back hit the wall of the stall, then fumbling, fumbling, fumbling to close the door with one hand, pulling their shirts out with the other.

The shape of the girl under her clothes was startling. Ashe felt at her like a hungry blind person. What looked like a thin, angular body was apparently an optical illusion created by her square-cut business coat and her posture (a shy slouch); but underneath she was an hourglass. Her waist was tiny and her hips were wide, and her breasts were a handful each. Ashe grabbed a handful, felt the melting response.

She snaked her hand into the girl’s business skirt and pulled at her underwear, tightening it into a line against her cleft for a moment, paused, feeling her reaction (tense, melt) and then her fingers were searching and she felt slickness like exotic hot oil.

Weak noises escaped Brenda’s lips.

Ashe was not gentle with her.

One of her arms flopped back as if offering herself up. Her hips twitched and began to rock, her ass touching the wall then lifting off of it when she tensed, which was each time Ashe’s fingers did something different. Her face was tilted up, her eyes squeezed shut, her brow knotted with an expression somewhere between pain and puzzlement.

Ashe opened her eyes to peek—she thought that was somehow cheating but she couldn’t help herself and the girl was hardly kissing her back anymore, just breathing into her mouth with sweet, ragged breaths—and saw all of that.

She thought that the girl was the most desirable thing she’d ever seen, and then that she had her so there was no reason to keep wanting her like that, and then that she didn’t have her because no one ever had anyone, and then she saw the patchy blush on the girl’s cheek (which was very near her right eye from her position) and forgot about things like that, and her hand moved and made the girl shudder.

She wanted to throw her on the floor, tear off that silly business shirt and see what the hourglass looked like. She wanted to kick down the wall of the stall so they could fall over and she could see the girl’s stomach when it ran through her again. But she couldn’t. The both of them were devolving but she still knew that being caught having sex on the floor of the women’s bathroom would be a bad thing.

Then: the sound of the bathroom door opening. Heels on tile.

She froze.

Brenda whimpered against the sudden stop and ground her hips forward. More. She didn’t seem to be aware or if she was, didn’t seem to be able to help herself. Ashe broke the kiss and pulled her hand—the one between her own legs, the one slick with her own arousal—out and covered the girl’s mouth with it.

Shh, she mimed.

It had the opposite effect. Brenda’s eyes rolled up. Her tongue flicked like a warm wet snake. Licking. The girl was licking her palm, licking the fresh dampness. It was too much.

The heels stopped.

That—that sudden awareness of the real danger of being caught—did for Brenda what Ashe had not (not yet, anyway) been able to do. Her body spasmed, like a ripple running through her, and she came on Ashe’s hand, silently, gagged against the bathroom wall.

The sink ran briefly, then the heels clicked back out of the room. The woman had just come to check her makeup, and hadn’t heard a thing.

* * *

Later.

Their shirts were tucked back in, their hair was fixed (Ashe’s was now down, to hide the scratch marks on her neck), their underwear was in little balls at the bottoms of each of their coat pockets. They stood at the sinks. Brenda avoided Ashe’s eyes. She’d washed her hands twice, not out of any sense that they were dirty, but just for something to do.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said in a small voice.

“Or me.”

“I don’t want you to think—I mean, I’m not... I have a boyfriend.”

Your scent says otherwise.

“It’s all right,” Ashe smiled. Her face was pinker than usual. Afterglow.

“But I mean, I don’t want you to think—”

“It’s all right.” She took the girl by the cheek. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened. It was a fluke.”

“Really?”

“Really. Never happened.”

Brenda’s face was a mask of gratitude.

“And if you want to watch me leave,” Ashe’s voice dropped, “I’ll never even know it.”

She turned and walked out, one foot in front of the other like models do to make their hips swing, feeling the fabric on her waist and the girl’s eyes on her ass and the day looking up.

* * *

It was back at her desk that she heard Haiku. Felt Haiku, rather.

Did you get the information?

She looked around. She was suddenly sure that everyone would know she was hearing voices. No one noticed.

She covered her mouth with her hand and whispered, “Yes.”

You don’t have to speak. Just form the thoughts and send them to me.

Ashe hesitated.

“I’m not sure I know how to... do that.”

Imagine yourself speaking, if that helps. Form the words in your mind, just don’t say them.

Ok. It was easy, natural even, once she thought of it like that.

Bring the information to me.

I can’t right now... I’ve been hardly here all day as it is. On my lunch break I could slip out—

MY KIDNAPPED SISTER WILL NOT WAIT FOR YOUR LUNCH BREAK YOU WILL COME NOW NOW NOW

The force of it doubled her over. It was like a hurricane in her mind. It didn’t hurt, but for a moment she couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Across the room, heads turned.

“Are you all right?” Her boss. Ashe looked up at him.

“No,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Prior. I shouldn’t have even come in today. I’m feeling really not well. I think I should go.”

He said something else, something in a conciliatory tone, but she didn’t even hear the words—she was nodding, then staggering towards the door, dizzy.

* * *

Gwen ran—actually sprinted for probably the first time in her (albeit short) adult life—back to her apartment, back to her computer, and began searching.

For “hawk woman” she got a bunch of pages about a comic book character she’d never heard of named, naturally enough, Hawkwoman.

For “shape shifter” she got an assortment of pages about weight loss equipment, a computer game that she’d also never heard of, and an article on shape-shifting in folklore.

For “a woman turned into a fucking hawk” she got, somehow, a mix of political rants and pages about Hudson Hawk.

She went to NIGHTWATCHERZ chat, looking for the founder, someone who went by the name Zaphod and typically haunted the room 16 hours a day, not saying anything. He was there, not saying anything.

Twenty minutes of private messages later she had him on the phone.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was nasal and higher than she’d expected. Also, younger.

“What sort of thing can turn into a hawk?”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. What can do that?”

“Well, do you mean a human? Or an animal, or a monster, or an alien, or what?”

“A human. I think. If not, something that could look human when it wanted to.”

“Could be anything. Literally every culture in the world has some legend about people changing into animals. That’s not even counting fairy tales, actual religions, books, movies, comics... it’s a popular theme.”

“Which of the stories is most likely to be based on a real thing?”

He laughed.

“Well if you asked the people that invented them, that’d be all of them. In North America, what you’re thinking of is a skinwalker. I’m sure if you did a search for sightings you’d turn up roughly the same amount as any other given boogeyman.”

“It was a woman.”

“It?”

“She. It was a boogeywoman. Not a boogeyman.”

“See, the way you say that, it’s like you’re talking about an actual thing.”

Gwen took a breath.

“A half hour ago, I saw a woman turn into a hawk and fly away. Literally. Right in front of me. It was like she... shimmered for a sec, and then poof. Bird.”

She waited for the response. It was a long time coming.

“Ok,” he said. Flatly.

“You don’t believe me.”

“You certainly don’t sound like you’re lying. I believe that you think you saw something, yes.”

“How can you not believe me? You’re the leader of Nightwatcherz!”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. I’m sure you really did see something. But if you thought my first reaction would be to think that there really is a fairytale monster in your back yard... look, Nightwatcherz is a hobby. The paranormal is interesting stuff. But if you’re actually believing all of it, then you’re missing the point.”

But you’re the leader of Nightwatcherz!

“Ok, this conversation is getting kind of circular. Can I ask... has this sort of thing ever happened to you before? Maybe you should talk to someone about it, like someone who—”

“You! That’s who you’re supposed to talk to when you see something like that! You!”

“Maybe you should—”

She hung up.

* * *

Ashe hesitated outside her door.

The anger in Haiku’s psychic message had been palpable; she’d almost tasted it. But she didn’t sense that anymore. She figured that, if she could sense anger from halfway across the city, then if Haiku were still angry, she’d know it from right outside the apartment. Didn’t matter anyway. She went in.

Haiku was sitting on the couch, naked as always.

Her skin was glossy with a thin sheen of sweat and a slight blush was all over her. There was a damp washcloth in her hand and her breathing seemed labored. She looked like she’d just run a race. When she heard the door open she glanced up, an odd expression on her face—then looked away.

Ashe began to strip, tossing the suit jacket onto a chair.

“Wait.” Haiku looked up again. “Don’t do that.”

“Are you ok? You look...”

“A little too ok. I’d like to explain something to you.” Her eyes flicked up with the same odd expression. “Your leash isn’t just a way for me to call you when needed. The link doesn’t just allow us to share thoughts. It also allows us to share experiences. To the mind, there is no difference between a thought and an emotion. While we’re in the same room it’s much stronger, as you can probably tell. Here.” She put down the washcloth and pinched herself on the arm.

Ow!“ Ashe jumped. It felt like... well, it felt like someone had pinched her. Hard. She rubbed her arm. “Ow?”

“See? When we’re close, we can pick up on even little things like that. From far away though, it has to be something strong. Any intense pain, anger... or pleasure,” and she looked at Ashe pointedly, “will be shared by the other.”

Ashe felt the blood leave her face. The bathroom. Brenda.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even mean to... I mean, I just saw her, and it was like a chain reaction of I don’t even know what—”

“It’s ok.” She smiled (weakly). “It’s not uncommon for a pet to be overwhelmed by her new awareness at first. You didn’t pee on the rug so you’re already doing better than some. But please, no more sex until we’ve found my sister.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Thank you. Now.”

She stood and approached Ashe, a bead of sweat running down her side, from her ribs to her hips, as she did. Heat seemed to radiate off of her. She glistened.

And between her legs—Ashe looked away quickly, too late—the woman’s dark bush was clearly damp. There had been activity there, recently. Her upper thighs were slick and it was not all sweat. Ashe’s own fault. She tried to think of other things.

“I need to strengthen your leash. You know what to do.”

“Yes.” She looked at Haiku’s eyes. Trying not to think of the way her breasts had moved when she stood (they weren’t quite large enough to swing; they were a handful each, just like Brenda’s, and any more than a handful is wasted anyway; but there was still a definite movement there).

Trying not to think of her scent.

Sweat and sex.

Inches away.

She tried just to look but the scent had done it and she felt an old familiar tug within herself, that feeling which was, and had always been, the beginning of her own arousal.

She started to drift, like before, like she was falling up into a place filled with echoes and whispers and pleasure—but that only added to it, and as she began to slip away she carried it with her, she was—

Haiku broke it off.

Her breathing was ragged. The blush on her cheeks and neck had gotten deeper.

“Stop... being turned on. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashe whispered.

“It’s ok. We’ll do it quick. Look.”

“Ok.” She looked at her owner’s eyes once again. They were the color of—the only thing she could think of was rootbeer-flavored hard candy, penny candy, shot and flecked with streaks of lighter brown. The kind you could hold in the sun and almost see the center if you tried.

She could hear the woman’s thoughts, bleeding over into her own:

Her skin is so white. It’s like the color of cream. Like you could just... how can someone have skin like that? That’s absurd skin to have.

She’s shivering. Is she cold? Wait, no. That’s not shivering. That’s quivering.

Do it faster. You’re not doing it fast enough. You need and look at the color of her eyes. That’s an absurd color of green. That can’t even be real. And that hair. That—

“Fuck it,” Haiku breathed, and pulled her forward by the lapel.

They dropped to their knees through unspoken agreement—they literally did not need to speak to agree on something anymore—and went to tearing off Ashe’s clothes.

Buttons came off of her business shirt. Heels flew across the room and hit the wall dangerously close to expensive electronics (an HDTV). Skirt: zipper broken as it was torn open. Underwear: ripped. Haiku ripped them down halfway with her teeth then pulled them off the rest of the way, the material abrading Ashe’s legs with the violent downward motion.

Lie back. Haiku was kissing her stomach, her side, that place where the swell of her breast met her ribs. Then she turned around, facing away from her, and moved atop of her, straddling her, crouching back, and then the woman’s sex was there, in front of her face, her dark pubic hair glistening with moisture, and then—

Haiku’s tongue.

Sharp, slippery pleasure exploded through her mind, so much that she lost awareness of herself for a moment. It was not one sensation but two: she felt it and she felt Haiku feeling it, and when she came back to herself her back had arched and her eyes had squeezed shut and her lips had parted in a soundless gasp.

It was bizarre, insane, the sensation echoing back and forth between them; but at the same time, like feedback. Like a microphone placed in front of a speaker.

And then her eyes were open and she knew what to do. She’d never been with a woman before—not like that—but it came to her and it was somehow like riding a bike she’d never ridden.

She pulled the woman’s hips to her mouth—the scent of her owner’s arousal was overpowering, everywhere—and flicked her tongue. And, at the same time, Haiku did the same thing to her.

Lights exploded behind her eyes.

It was four different sensations: as pleasure stabbed through one it stabbed through the other; as Haiku’s tongue tortured her she felt the echo of that same sensation, and then back again, and then back again; as the taste of sex overwhelmed one woman’s senses it overwhelmed the other’s.

Ashe felt herself twitch, shuddering already, but it didn’t stop there; the response came instantly, magnified, and carrying with it the force of her own orgasm—

It built on itself, ricocheting back and forth between them, a loop of code multiplying out of control—

She spasmed again, and again, she couldn’t stop it, each time the sensation would bounce back to her stronger—Haiku’s brown legs flexing beside each side of her face, the jiggle of her ass as she shuddered, her stomach, the feel of her hips, her relentless tongue—

Ashe’s arms dropped back to the carpet, limp, but the Haiku’s sex was still pressed against her mouth, the sweet musk all she could think—

She was helpless, her body transformed into a lightning rod being struck over and over—

And then it was getting distant; even as it tore through her again it got farther away, the storm receding through thick walls—

The taste of her owner was her last sensation before nothing.

* * *

When Ashe returned to herself she was lying on the couch. Haiku was leaning over her, smiling.

“And that’s why I’m not supposed to do things like that with pets,” she said.

“Did I faint?”

“Like a Southern damsel. It was cute. You almost took me with you.”

Ashe smiled at herself. “Does that happen... a lot?”

“I wouldn’t know. That’s the first time I’ve ever done that with a pet.”

A secret pride welled up in her.

* * *

“Do you have the information you went for? At work?”

Oh, right.

Haiku had allowed her time to recover, to lounge on the couch with the sweat drying, ten minutes or more, and her tone as she said that was gentle—but firm, too.

“Yes, it’s over there.” She sat up and motioned to the pile of clothes. “But all of those people will be at work for hours.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah.”

“And I made you rush home.”

“It’s all right. I probably shouldn’t be out in public at the moment. Unsupervised, anyway. Heh.”

Heh.

Heh.

She wondered if her being in a good mood was putting Haiku in a better mood just by being near her.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“If your sister’s like you, why can’t she just... change back? Into a person? Or into something... else. If that’s how it works.”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “It worries me. If they gave her something to keep her docile,” and this time when she said the word it wasn’t pleasant and soft, the way it had been when it echoed through Ashe’s mind earlier; she spat it out, two harsh syllables that made her lips twist, “something like a tranquilizer to keep her quiet, she may be too confused to. It’s very different, when you’re like that. Your mind doesn’t work the same.

“And the longer we stay... like that, the more we become like the animal. If she doesn’t change back soon, she will forget how to. She will remain a lion unless I find her and snap her out of it.”

“Oh, wow. Ok.”

She waited for Haiku to give her an order, or do the thing with her eyes, or groom her again, but Haiku just sat looking at the carpet as if trying to read some message within the fibers. The sun was high in the sky but she didn’t turn the air conditioning on; she sensed that Haiku liked it better that way. The sheen of sweat that covered them now was from actual heat, not being in heat.

“So... what should we do?” she asked.

“Wait.”

She waited. After a while she began to stare at the floor because that’s what Haiku was doing. The building made little noises around them: the refrigerator’s compressor kicking on, a car passing on the street, leaves rustling in the trees out back, wind chimes somewhere. Motes of dust floated in the sunlight above the carpet.

The silence grew long. Ashe fidgeted, trying to think of something to say.

“Oh!” She brightened and looked up. “Do you like Scrabble?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

They looked at the floor.

“But we can play, if you want,” Haiku offered.

“No, it’s all right. I was just sayin’.”

They looked at the floor.