The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The morning was mild and the leaves were just breaking on the trees when Cecilia stepped out of the townhouse where she lived with her mother, locked the door carefully behind her, and set off for school. A thin, shy, brown-haired girl, she habitually walked with her head down and books pressed against her chest. She was a little worried about the history test she had that morning. She noticed someone coming out of the Nomeda house next door, probably Nick. Maybe she could avoid him.

In contrast to the trendy townhouse where Cecilia lived, the Nomeda house was a big, stately, old Victorian building that squatted in the middle of a huge lot like it had been there forever, its yard perpetually shaded by a ring of grand old elms and maples. The house was a better preserved example of the rundown, older homes that had been torn down to make way for the new townhouse complex. Cecilia was one of the few teens in the complex, the majority of the units being occupied by upwardly mobile young couples or established professionals. Although Nick was her age he attended a different school, some private institute for gifted students.

Cecilia looked up to see Nick Nomeda looking at her. That guy gave her the creeps. There was something weird about his eyes. He smiled at her as he walked closer. A sly, knowing smile, almost sinister. He said something, still looking at her. It sounded like “harry boobday”

“What, what did you say?” she said blankly, her eyes locked on his. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said Happy Birthday, Celia. It is your birthday today, isn’t it?”

“What? Oh, yeah, it is. Thanks.” Those eyes....

“You’re eighteen now, right?”

“Yes. How did you know—”

“I guess you’re legally an adult,” he said. “and all the pleasures of womanhood are yours.” He turned suddenly and walked away.

Cecilia shook her head. What was that all about?

Maybe I’d better get a haircut, Cecilia reflected, looking at herself in the mirror next morning. I’m getting kind of shaggy. She ran her hand through her mousy brown hair. It felt a little thicker than usual, probably that new shampoo. But hadn’t she gotten a haircut just two weeks ago? She finished getting dressed for school.

Lydia Loveswell had just popped out to get the paper when she heard a friendly voice behind her. “Good morning Mrs. Loveswell.” She turned to find the Nomeda boy smiling at her. He had schoolbooks under one arm. “Good morning. Uhm, Nick is it?” She knew he was the son of the Nomeda’s who lived in the big house at the end of the street. She didn’t like them particularly; they always struck her as a little strange. And the boy was just odd, in some undefinable way.

“Yes, that right. Nick Nomeda. I guess we’re neighbours. Nice day to be outside, isn’t it.”

Somehow Nick’s innocent remark made Lydia feel very awkward. Of course she was hardly dressed to be outside. She was standing on the front steps of her townhouse, still in her nightgown and slippers, with her housecoat unfastened. She had just opened the door to get the newspaper.

“Yes, yes it is.” she said uncertainly, drawing her robe more tightly around her. He had not taken his eyes from her face, but somehow she felt exposed. There was something odd about this kid.

“I hope we can be good neighbours,” the boy went on. “My mom says a neighbourhood is sort of like a marriage. If you want to get along you have to be co-operative. Make accommodations. Otherwise you’ll get into a fight with your neighbours and end up not talking. Sort of like a divorce, huh?”

Lydia stood motionless, newspaper in hand. What a peculiar choice of analogy. Did he somehow know of her own impending divorce? How could he, she had only been to see her lawyer today. It was just a coincidence. “Yes, I guess it is sort of like that,” she found herself saying. “You have to try to co-operate.” What was it about his eyes?

“Well, I have to get to school. I’ll be seeing you, Mrs. Loveswell.” He turned and trotted away down the street, leaving Lydia standing on her front step. After a moment she shook herself out of her reverie and went back inside.

Later that day Cecilia slipped into a washroom between classes, dropped her books beside the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She lifted her loose sweater and examined herself. No wonder she had felt so uncomfortable this morning: her bra was too small. It was an old one, and she had probably just outgrown it. She decided to go shopping after school for a new one.

Late that afternoon Cecilia tried on the new bra in the changing room of a store in the mall. She had graduated to a new cup size. Finally. Being a late bloomer was one thing, but Cecilia had despaired of her breasts ever getting to decent size. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. Maybe she should get a haircut while she was here.

David Loveswell put down his briefcase and leaned over to give his young wife a peck on the cheek. She turned away. “You’re late,” she said coldly.

“Awe c’mon, don’t start that crap. I just stopped for a drink on the way home. We won the Crumpett case! I felt like celebrating.”

“You could have called.”

“Shit, Lydia, baby, I never got the chance. Come on, don’t be mad.” He put his arms around her. “Look, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we skip dinner and have a little celebration of our own.” He let one hand stray to her behind so she would know what he meant. “Afterwards we can order in Chinese food.”

Lydia, who hated being called baby, was about to reply that she was in no mood for his thoughtless advances. But then she remembered her conversation with the Nomeda kid that morning. Maybe she should try being a little more co-operative. Accommodating. That was important, wasn’t it. She forced a smile. “All right, Mr. big-shot lawyer. Let’s celebrate.”

“That’s my girl!” David was privately surprised at his wife’s willingness to have spontaneous sex, but he wasn’t about to let a good chance go to waste. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. Later, after David had finished his usual selfish lovemaking, Lydia lay on the bed and reflected that it had been a little better than usual. She had co-operated, concentrating on getting him off rather than just her own pleasure. She felt good about that.

“There you go,” said the stylist, lifting off the blanket. “What do you think?” Cecilia regarded herself in the mirror over the sink. Her new haircut looked sharp, her normally drab hair appearing somewhat fuller than before. Maybe a shade lighter too. That new shampoo was working wonders. “I like it,” she said. She squirmed a little. Somehow she had bought the wrong size of bra.

It was Saturday morning and Cecilia regarded her naked torso in her bedroom mirror. There was no doubt about it. Her breasts were getting bigger. That was good news as far as Cecilia was concerned, but wasn’t this kind of fast? She was on her second new bra in less than two weeks. Talk about a growth spurt. She hefted her breasts experimentally. Yes, they were definitely heavier. She brushed a thumb over her left nipple and started at the rush of pleasure. More sensitive too.

“Isn’t it about time you got a haircut?” Cecilia’s mother said over breakfast one morning.

“But Mom, I just got one. Less than a week ago. My hair is going nuts!” She brushed her long bangs out of her eyes.

“Don’t be silly dear,” her mother said, “Hair only grows an inch a month.”

“Mine’s more like an inch a day,” Cecilia said, but her mother wasn’t listening.

“There goes that Nomeda boy. What’s his name? Rick?” She was looking out the window.

“Nick”

“Yes, of course. He’s a strange one. I wonder what he’s talking to April about?” April was a neighbour. She worked in an office downtown, real estate or some such. A round, friendly woman. “You know, I ran into him on the street the other day, and we had the strangest conversation. He’s remarkably thoughtful for a boy his age. We got talking about his schoolwork, and he kept saying that it wasn’t brains or luck that got you through but discipline. You had to work at it, like anything else. Discipline....” She took a sip of her coffee, lost in thought. Cecilia brushed her hair out of her eyes and felt her breasts shift beneath her sweatshirt.

“Look,” said Lydia Loveswell, hands on her hips, “If you must drag me to these stupid company parties, you could at least have the decency not to flirt with every bimbo in the place!” She glared at her husband furiously.

Her husband crushed his beer can in one hand. “I wasn’t flirting, dammit! I told you, Monica simply wanted to know something about my work so I told her, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet she did. Does your legal expertise include cross-examining boobs? Hell, David you were practically drooling!”

“Lydia that’s bullshit and you know it. I was just working the room. These parties are important; if I want to get ahead, I have to fit in socially with the senior partners.”

“Oh, really? Tell me, which of Monica’s headlights is the more senior?” She looked at her enraged husband in disgust.

He thumped his hand on the arm of the chair. “Jesus Lydia, will you give it a rest! It just so happens that Monica is a fully qualified legal secretary, and she works for one of the partners. She can be a pipeline to the inside circle. It’s not my fault that she’s also good looking. I was just being sociable.” Though he would be a lot more than just sociable given half a chance. Shit but that woman had a body. Wasn’t shy about showing it off, either.

“Sociable!” Lydia spat. “You danced with her half the night. It might have been sociable to spend a few minutes with your own wife, too! Or were you too mesmerized by big tits to remember that?”

David said, “For god’s sake Lydia stop it! You’re acting like a jealous fishwife. Monica is a great dancer and I happen to like dancing. And maybe I wouldn’t need the company of other women if my wife was a little more of a real woman and less of a dried up prude!”

Lydia reeled at the insult and started back with a vicious retort. Her conversation with Nick Nomeda came back to her. Co-operation. That was key. She forced herself to calm down.

“I—, well, all right,” she said softly.

David blinked. “What?”

“You’re right, David. I’m over-reacting. It was just a party, and, and you know what you have to do to get ahead. I guess I can’t blame you for talking with Monica, she is very pretty. Do you want another beer?”

David looked at her, nonplussed. “That would be fine,” he said.

“Hey, Celia, you got your hair done!” exclaimed her best friend Leanne by her locker one day. “Looks good!”

Cecilia brushed her hair back and smiled nervously. “Thanks, I’m, uh, wearing it differently. Makes it look longer.” She wanted to talk about something else.

Leanne ran her fingers through the shoulder-length hair. “Did you color it too?”

“No!”

“Oops. Sorry. I just thought, it looked...lighter, that’s all. Why are you so touchy?”

“It’s nothing. I’m having a bad hair day.”

After school she stopped by a hairdresser for another haircut. She was too embarrassed to go back to her regular salon, not less than a week after her last cut. As she sat forlornly in the chair the woman fussed over her light brown hair, suggesting a number of different styles. “It’s almost a shame to cut it,” she insisted, fluffing it up with her fingers, “It’s so strong and healthy. You know, it would take a perm really well.”

“Just cut it.” Cecilia growled. “Short.”

The hairdresser sighed. “Very well, if that’s what you want.” She picked up her scissors and proceeded to trim Cecilia’s hair boyishly short. Cecilia sat uncomfortably in the chair, reminding herself that after the cut she really had to go buy another new bra.

Both improvements lasted less than three days.